'Time of death, two o'clock, Matron, agreed?'

She nodded, wiping her eyes, and went back down the corridor. Dillon stood there, looking through the window. Holley put an arm about him for a moment.

'Come on, Sean, let them get on with what they've got to do.'

They went back to the lounge and Bellamy found them ten minutes later. 'There's absolutely nothing I can say except that the reaction of coming back to life, as it were, obviously put an enormous strain on his entire system, which was weakened already by the brain surgery.'

'I've absolutely no complaint, Professor. This is a remarkable hospital, as I know more than once from my own experience. If you couldn't save him, no one could.'

'I believe you are the only relative?' Dillon nodded. 'So I presume you'll want everything done right, a Catholic burial and so on? Everything above board – not like some of the cases that have come my way from you and Ferguson in the past?'

'Of course.'

'Then that means a post mortem, and a coroner's inquest. Obviously, this would take some time. And it would require that proceedings be brought against Justin Talbot in a court of law.'

'That's how I see it, too.'

'Perhaps you should discuss it with Ferguson?'

'He will want to do what's right for him. I want to do what's right for Mickeen.'

'I understand how you feel, but I really think you should talk to Ferguson. When I start handling this in the way you wish, I don't want to find any roadblocks waiting for me, if you know what I mean.'

'I do, but I intend to have things the way I want them this time, and Ferguson's going to have to accept that.' He got up and shook hands. 'Many thanks, Professor, but we'll be on our way.' Holley drove again on the way back and Dillon just sat there, gazing out at the traffic. Roper called and said, 'A terrible business, Sean. Bellamy's been in touch and filled us in.'

'What do you think of the Shamrock affair now?'

'It's so unlikely that it must be true. There's an imbalance in the man, a kind of madness – there must be, for someone who has everything to risk losing the lot.'

'Maybe it's because he's decided that in having everything, he's got nothing. Then there's the whole relationship with Al Qaeda to explain,' Dillon said. 'Is Ferguson there?' he added.

'He's been called to a Cabinet Office meeting with Harry Miller, and then he's on the list to see the Prime Minister. Told me to tell you he'll see you both early evening.'

'And Talbot?'

'When I raised the matter, he said that since there was absolutely nowhere in the world that Talbot could hide, there was no rush. He's probably right. The way I see it, with all that Talbot money, they'll have a phalanx of the finest barristers in the business working for him. He's a decorated war hero, wounded in Afghanistan – imagine what the psychiatrists will make of that.'

'To hell with the barristers and the psychiatrists – Talbot's mine.' 'If he's still alive, I want to lift him,' Dillon said. He was sitting in the computer room with Roper and Holley at Holland Park. 'Everything according to the law. I want his arrest, a post mortem, a coroner's inquest and, most of all, I want to see him standing in the dock of the Old Bailey. I owe it to Mickeen.'

'I've crossed him off my guest list,' Roper said. 'He deserves everything they can throw at him, but the way things look, you aren't going to get it. I remember during the Cold War, if you arrested a Communist spy, he never ended up in the dock because they wanted to turn him.'

'Are you saying that's what Ferguson wants to do with Talbot?'

'No, Sean,' Roper said. 'What I think is that this might go way beyond Ferguson. We're talking politics here, and on an international level.'

'And you agree with that?'

'Don't insult me, you daft bastard. Just listen, for once in your life. What do you think it's like sitting here year after year in this wheelchair, knowing what's right and not being able to do anything about it because of the system?'

Dillon said, 'I'm sorry, Giles, this business has really got to me.'

Roper reached for his bottle of Scotch, poured a large one and tossed it back. 'Here's the bad news. Ferguson's already been told by the Cabinet Office to invoke the Official Secrets Act when Mickeen's death is put before a special crown coroner. The coroner will give a closed court order. No jury necessary. They'll issue a burial order, and that's it.'

'To whom?' Dillon said. 'Mr Teague and the disposal team?' Roper ignored him. 'It all takes place quickly. I'd say about a week.'

There was a silence between the three of them, and it was Roper who said, 'You know, I did some checking. Talbot International has a Citation X. In the past couple of days, it's flown from Belfast to Algeria and back again. Landed today, just after noon, in Belfast.'

Holley said, 'A great plane that some say is the fastest commercial jet in the world.'

'And the pity of it all,' said Roper, 'is that I haven't been able to tell Ferguson about it.'

'Why not?' Dillon asked.

'I can't go breaking in on him when he's at a Cabinet Office, can I? Or when he's with the Prime Minister?'

'So what are you saying?' Holley asked.

Roper looked up at the clock. 'Twenty to three. It's half an hour to Farley, and you could make Belfast in one hour. If there happened to be, say, a Mercedes waiting, you could be at Kilmartin at five o'clock.'

'How the hell did you manage to arrange all this?'

'It's better you don't know.' Roper reached into his desk. 'Here's a copy of the warrant authorizing you to take into custody Major Justin Talbot wherever he may be found. You've got your MI5 warrant card, Sean, but here's one for you, Daniel. I took it for granted you wouldn't mind using the plane.'

'I wouldn't miss it for anything.' Holley turned to Dillon. 'Let's get going, then.' They rushed out. Roper put the weather chart for the Irish Sea up on the screen. A nice summer afternoon, nightfall about eight o'clock, possibility of showers later. Ah, well, that was Ireland for you. He wondered how Ferguson was going to take it and discovered that he didn't really care, and he was laughing as he poured another Scotch. At Talbot Place, Justin had spent much of the day dozing. His forehead was damp when Larry Ryan dropped in for the second time that day to see him. It was four-thirty, the sky clouding over, a rumble of thunder in the far distance.

Jean greeted the doctor and accompanied him to her son's bedroom. She stood with Murphy while Ryan examined him, and Justin said, 'Here we are again, Larry, well done thou good and faithful servant.'

'Shut up, Justin,' Jean said.

'Only joking, Mum.'

Ryan said, 'You always did, Justin. I might call in again later.'

He went out, and Jean and Murphy followed him. 'How is he?' she asked.

'Not good, his temperature is a hundred and three and the pulse is racing. The heart's under great strain in my opinion. I really do think he needs not only hospital, but intensive care.'

'But you and Murphy have done so much for him.'

'I'm not certain it's enough, Jean. If that fever really erupts, it will be the death of him'.

'He's determined to tough it out,' she said. 'What can I do?'

'There's not much left but prayer, I suppose. Has Father Cassidy been to see him?'

'Justin refused to speak to him.'

'That's a shame. I saw the old boy myself earlier. He told me he'll be asking people to pray for Justin.'

Jean said, 'I doubt he'll appreciate it.'

Ryan said to Murphy, 'He can't bathe or shower, because I don't think it wise to disturb the dressings. Just give him a body wash and fresh garments of some sort.' He kissed Jean on the cheek. 'Take care, and I want you to know you can rely on me, Jean. I'll call back this evening again around seven.'