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       Copyright

      HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

      Copyright © Harry Patterson 2016

      Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

      Harry Patterson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

      Source ISBN: 9780008160272

      Ebook Edition © December 2016 ISBN: 9780008160296

      Version: 2017-09-27

       Dedication

       For Madeleine Cameron With love and grateful thanks

       Epigraph

       The bell tolls at midnight, but only when Death requires it.

       —Irish proverb

       Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Also by Jack Higgins

       About the Publisher

WASHINGTON AND LONDON

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      AN EAST WIND with driving rain and sleet pushed across the airport as the Gulfstream landed. It was immediately approached by a security limousine from the White House, which Blake Johnson, alighting from the plane, was surprised to see was being driven by his longtime secretary, Alice Quarmby. He opened the passenger door, tossed his valise inside, and joined her.

      “What are you doing here?”

      “Protecting your back, you idiot,” she told him, as she drove away. “You were supposed to bring Jake Cazalet back with you from London, and here you are, alone. I’m a nervous old broad when it comes to my boss, so I’d like to know why.”

      “Sorry, Alice, it’s for the ears of the President only.”

      “Well, it better be good. With his second term coming up, he needs to show who’s in charge, and here’s former President Jake Cazalet—a fine president in his day, mind you—dining with the Prime Minister and giving interviews to the media as if he’s the official mouthpiece for American foreign policy. You know the White House isn’t pleased about that.”

      “I know—but enough about that. Anything else come up?”

      “Apparently, the President has made a new friend.”

      “Really? Who?”

      “A Colonel Samuel Hunter. I did some research—don’t ask me where. He has a decent black-ops record in the army, nothing spectacular, and since then, he’s spent five years with the CIA, where he runs a Special Projects Department. He gets around a lot.”

      “So what’s the ‘special project’ he’s come up with that appeals to the Oval Office?”

      “The President has become interested in the private-army business since you were last here.”

      “Mercenaries?”

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