LITMIR.BIZ

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house in the far distance. It was raining lightly, evening drawing in, and she wore an Australian drover’s coat, a broad-brimmed hat pulled down over auburn hair that framed a calm and serious face. She spoke into a cell phone.

      ‘They’re here, Aunt Meg.’

      Margaret Flynn took the call in the kitchen. At seventy-six, she was a handsome woman still, in jerkin and riding breeches, hair white, face tanned. There was still a hint of the actress she had been in her youth.

      ‘Wonderful, but when your uncle Tod called from Dublin Airport, he said they wanted to change as soon as possible.’

      ‘More cloak and dagger again,’ Hannah said. ‘When are they going to learn that the IRA is past its prime and nobody wants to know any more?’

      ‘Of course, love, Tod and Kelly know that. It’s just security work they do these days. Anyway, I’ve given the stable hands the night off, so you get here when you can. We’ll have dinner a little later.’

      There had long been a dark suspicion that the car bomb which had killed Hannah’s parents and injured her so badly had been meant for Tod. Perhaps someone was settling an old score? Hannah frequently remembered that possibility with some bitterness.

      She sat there for a moment longer, stroking and patting the mare. ‘That’s men for you, Fancy, still playing games in the schoolyard and then never seeming to learn that sometimes people get hurt.’ She shook her head. ‘Security, my arse,’ and she rode away.

      Tod and Kelly showered in the wet room on the ground floor of Drumgoole Place, then set about shaving their beards, which took quite some time. After that, they sat side by side and Meg cut their hair in turn.

      ‘Will ye watch what you’re doing, woman?’ Tod said.

      She cuffed him. ‘You’re in good hands. I learned everything there is to know about hairdressing in my theatre days. I’ll see to the cuts first, then use the right solvents to treat the colour.’

      Hannah moved in from the corridor, limping, a walking stick in her right hand. ‘What a couple of beauties.’

      ‘You show some respect, girl,’ Tod told her. ‘We’ve been away earning a crust. Takes money to run this place.’

      ‘Where to this time?’

      Kelly looked hunted, but Tod said, ‘Nothing much, just inspecting the security system for the company that runs the ferries from Harwich to the Hook of Holland. No big deal.’

      ‘A pity.’ She tossed some matches into Tod’s lap. ‘I found those in the kitchen. They advertise a café in Nantucket. That would have been much more exciting.’

      She went out, and Meg picked up the matches.

      ‘I wonder where these came from?’

      ‘Don’t ask me,’ Tod said. ‘I don’t know.’

      She said, ‘You told me you were dressing up to put one over on a rival firm for someone you were working for?’

      ‘So we were,’ he said. ‘Just business, Meg. Is she pleased about the Royal College of Music?’

      ‘I’m not really sure. It’s not residential, so accommodation is going to be a problem with it being London.’

      ‘Don’t worry, these days we’ve got plenty of money. Just keep on cutting and bring back my auburn hair.’

      Which she did, cut Kelly’s very short and darkened the white to grey.

      ‘Marvellous,’ Tod said. ‘I feel human again. Let’s have dinner.’

      Ferguson’s Daimler and driver were waiting when the Gulfstream landed at Farley. Dillon had left his Mini Cooper there, but Sara had nothing.

      ‘I’ve decided not to go home tonight,’ Ferguson said. ‘I’d like to have words with Roper sooner rather than later, so I’ll stay in the guest wing at Holland Park.’

      Dillon often did the same, and said, ‘I’d like to join you.’

      ‘That’s fine by me, but I expect you’ll be wanting a lift to Highfield Court to see your grandfather?’ he said to Sara.

      ‘He won’t be there, he’s touring the lecture circuit. “God and the Mind of Man,” his favourite topic. Everyone wants Rabbi Nathan Gideon these days.’

      ‘And so they should,’ Dillon told her. ‘He’s a great man.’

      ‘Actually, I’d welcome your input, Captain,’ Ferguson said, ‘So jump in and we’ll be on our way. We’ll see you there, Dillon.’

      When Roper returned from the shower, it was to find that Ferguson and the others had arrived and had gone upstairs to unpack, but he had another visitor waiting.

      Dr Ali Saif was an Egyptian with an English grandmother who’d not only sent him to Eton but supplied him with a UK passport under filial law. A brilliant scholar, a senior lecturer in archaeology at London University, he had initially found Osama’s message attractive enough for him to offer his services to the Army of God charity. As with others, one could be drawn into the activities of Al Qaeda without realizing it, especially with the hypnotic tones of the Master on the telephone to guide you.

      He’d been caught in a bad situation, however, and his decision to act on the side of right had not only saved lives but impressed Ferguson enough to save him from prison and find a use for his talents as an interrogator of Muslims suspected of terrorism, at Tenby Street safe house run by MI5.

      ‘Have they arrived?’ Ali enquired, and before Roper could answer him, Ferguson, Sara, and Dillon walked in.

      ‘Ali, it’s you,’ Ferguson said in surprise.

      ‘We were talking earlier,’ Roper told him. ‘He’s been fully informed about the latest development. After his past services to us, I felt he could be trusted to keep it to himself.’

      ‘Your account of Belfast 1979 was extraordinary, Mr Dillon,’ Ali said. ‘It’s certainly possible that these men, Flynn and Kelly, could have something to do with the affair. I’ve already learned in my short time at MI5 that individuals from dissident Irish groups have used their past experience in all kinds of violent situations, from Eastern Europe to the Middle East. Does anyone else know?’

      ‘No, actually, which is rather interesting.’ Ferguson said. ‘I haven’t mentioned them to anybody, not even the Prime Minister.’

      ‘So what are you going to do?’ Roper asked. ‘Keeping the PM uninformed seems risky to me.’

      ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’ He turned to Ali Saif. ‘I need hardly remind you that what you’ve heard is privileged and not for your masters at MI5. Now, meanwhile, you’ve had personal experience with AQ in London. What’s your take?’

      Sara said, ‘Considering it’s not very long since the last Master died, this new one seems to have got to work pretty quickly.’

      ‘But Al Qaeda is organized for such situations,’ Ali told her. ‘There is a Grand Council, nobody knows where, which issues its decisions in Paris. General ben Levi was killed in London, and nobody outside the Council knew his true identity until the day he died. His replacement, from what little we have discovered about this worldwide cult, will have been put in place instantly.’

      ‘So what was the purpose of the attempt on Jake Cazalet’s life?’

      ‘He looked like easy meat, and they would have destroyed an American icon, shown the world they could get away with it, given two fingers to the Great Satan.’

      ‘Only they didn’t,’ Ferguson said.

      Ali nodded. ‘Because of the coincidence of your visit, General.’

      ‘Ironic, really,’ Dillon said. ‘If the President hadn’t decided to have us privately thanked, Cazalet would be dead now.’

      ‘Exactly.’

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