LITMIR.BIZ

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foreign minister?’

      ‘Absolutely. He’s not just a pretty face in a Brioni suit, our Daniel.’

      ‘I didn’t say he was.’ She shrugged. ‘Obviously, he’s killed a few people.’

      ‘A lot of people, Sara, don’t kid yourself. And he’s too old for you. By the way, I went to hear your grandfather give a sermon.’

      ‘You what?’

      ‘I looked him up online. Rabbi Nathan Gideon, Emeritus Professor at London University, and famous for his sermons, so I went to hear one. I saw him at a synagogue in West Hampstead. Tony took me in the van. People were most kind, loaned me a yarmulke for my head and provided one for Tony, also. He thoroughly enjoyed the sermon. Human rights and what to do about its failures. I introduced myself and told him I worked for the Ministry of Defence and that we were going to be colleagues. He asked us back for tea. Whether this broke the Sabbath ruling, I’m not sure, but he did also provide some rather delicious biscuits.’

      ‘And this was at the Highfield Court house in Mayfair?’

      ‘That’s right. Tony was fascinated. Your grandfather gave him a book on Judaism, and he talks of nothing else.’

      ‘Are you completely mad?’

      ‘I sometimes think I am, but one thing is certain – Nathan Gideon is a wonderful man, and I’d be privileged to have his friendship.’

      ‘Is there anything else I should know?’

      ‘Yes, since you appear to be interested in Holley. His father was a hardline Protestant who didn’t like Catholics, but happened to fall in love with one who came from an equally hardline IRA family.’

      ‘So that explains his foot in both camps?’

      ‘Yes. And it led him as a young man to take refuge with the IRA, who sent him to a terrorist training camp in the Algerian desert, from which he emerged a thoroughly dangerous individual. So be warned. Anything else?’

      ‘Holland Park. What’s its purpose?’

      ‘To keep watch over terrorism. London is the dream destination for any jihadist. He can speak openly about intending to destroy our way of life and even involve himself in a plot or two.’

      ‘But the security services and the police are there to do something about that.’

      ‘Like arrest him and then discover that because of human rights laws, he can’t even be deported when he entered the country illegally?’

      ‘It’s hard to believe that.’

      ‘You’ll take worse things than that in your stride when you work for us. A couple of years ago, an Al Qaeda-based unit caused a terrible accident to happen to Harry Miller’s limousine on Park Lane. Unfortunately, Harry’s wife was using the car that morning. She and the chauffeur were killed.’

      ‘That’s terrible. What happened then?’

      ‘The bombmaker was traced. It was an IRA sleeper living in London. He was dying of cancer and fingered his Al Qaeda paymaster. After he died, Dillon called in a disposal team.’

      ‘Disposal team?’

      ‘A quick bullet solves most problems, but you need our personal undertaker, Mr Teague, and his associates to clean up and take the body away. A couple of hours later and it’s six pounds of grey ash.’

      ‘What happened to the paymaster?’ Sara asked.

      ‘Harry made that personal. Went round to the Al Qaeda guy’s house, shot him dead, and left Al Qaeda to clear up. I mean, they wouldn’t be likely to call in the police, would they?’

      ‘I wonder if I’m going to be able to cope with Holland Park.’

      ‘You’ll do fine. I’ve seen your file. There were at least twenty Taliban corpses around that Sultan.’

      ‘That was war.’

      ‘And so is this, sweetheart. By the way, I’m told you’ve been awarded a Military Cross for Abusan.’

      She was reeling now. ‘But that can’t be true.’

      ‘The Intelligence Corps couldn’t resist putting their golden girl up for a medal for bravery. Of course, people like us don’t get medals, it’s too public, so Ferguson isn’t pleased. But don’t worry, you’ll get it. Just don’t expect a fuss.’

      ‘Giles, why don’t you go to hell and take Ferguson with you?’

      ‘I’ve been there, Sara, and it wasn’t good. Enjoy the Pierre, give my best to Sean, and watch it with Daniel.’

      ‘Just go, Giles.’ And he did.

      She checked on the screen again, thoroughly annoyed, and brought up Daniel Holley. Medium height, brown hair that was rather long, the slight smile of a man who didn’t take his world too seriously and who looked ten years younger than he was.

      In spite of the tattoos on his arms, common to convicts who’d spent time in the Lubyanka Prison, there was no sign of the killer on that handsome and rather attractive face, and yet that was exactly what he was. It was all there, his record in the field, meticulously put together by Giles Roper.

      She went and unpacked, just the essentials since she was accompanying Ferguson to London, but she’d made sure to bring her dress uniform for tonight’s reception. The Yanks would be there, but they were friends. The Russians were another matter, and she had heard that Colonel Josef Lermov of Russian Military Intelligence, the GRU, head of station at the London Embassy, would be present. His book on international terrorism had become essential reading in military circles.

      She hung up her uniform tunic with the medal ribbons, the neat skirt, shirt and tie, high-polished shoes, the dress cap. Good old khaki splendour. Just like graduating at Sandhurst, except for the medals. Ten years of her life.

      ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Sara,’ she murmured, then went into the splendid bathroom and started to fill the tub.

      At seven-thirty that evening, Dillon was sitting at a corner seat in the bar at the Pierre, dressed in a black velvet corduroy suit and enjoying a Bushmills whiskey, when Holley entered, wearing a beautifully tailored single-breasted suit of midnight blue, a snow-white shirt, and a blue striped tie.

      ‘Daniel, you look like a whiskey advert. You’ve excelled yourself. What about our new associate?’

      Holley waved to the waiter and called for a vodka on crushed ice. ‘I tried to get through to her room, but the duty manager said she was resting. Roper’s put everything online, though.’

      ‘Is there much there?’

      ‘The usual identity card photos that make anyone, male or female, look like a prison officer. She has red hair.’

      ‘I look forward to that,’ Dillon said. ‘I love red hair.’

      ‘There was one unusual thing. Some video footage of her undergoing therapy for her wounded leg at Hadleigh Court.’

      ‘The army rehab centre?’ Dillon said.

      ‘I found it a bit disturbing.’

      ‘What’s her birth date?’

      ‘Fourth of September.’

      ‘Virgo.’ Dillon shook his head. ‘The only zodiac sign represented by a female. Still waters run deep with one of those, and you being the wrong sort of Leo, with Mars in opposition to Venus, you’ve got nothing but trouble on your plate where the ladies are concerned.’

      ‘Thanks very much, Sean, most helpful, particularly as I’m not in the market for a relationship.’

      ‘What did Roper have to say about Sara Gideon?’

      ‘She’s a bit bothered about being dragooned into Holland Park. And apparently she’s up for

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