“You’re all right now,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

“Oh, David.” She looked up, tears on her face. “I was so afraid, and Judas.” She shuddered. “He terrified me.”

“He carries a great weight,” Braun said. “Many burdens.”

“That man, the one he called Dillon, who is he?”

“You mustn’t concern yourself. I know what would be good for you, a nice bath. I’ll turn the water on and then I’ll go and check on your dinner.”

“Not tonight, David, I couldn’t eat a thing. But wine, David! God help me, I’m no drinker as a rule, but I need it tonight.”

“I’ll see you later.”

He opened the door, went out and locked it and stood for a moment in the corridor, aware that his hands were shaking.

“What’s happening to me?” he said softly and hurried away.

Up to her neck in suds, Marie de Brissac smoked a cigarette and tried to relax. It was a bad dream, the whole thing, and the explosion of rage from Judas had been terrifying. But the man Dillon. She frowned, remembering the strange ironic smile on his face as they lowered him down. It was as if he didn’t give a damn and that didn’t make sense. And then there was David. She was woman enough to know what was happening. So be it. In her present situation, she would have to use every possible advantage.

In London, it was raining, driving hard against the windows of Charles Ferguson’s flat in Cavendish Square. Hannah Bernstein peered out through the window and Kim, Ferguson’s Ghurka batman, came in from the kitchen with a pot of coffee and cups on a tray.

Ferguson, sitting by the fire, called, “Come on, Chief Inspector, no point in fretting. Have some coffee.”

She joined him, sitting in the chair opposite, and Kim poured. “No news, sir.”

“I know that,” he said. “But there will be. I mean, there has to be a meaning to all this.”

“I suppose so.”

“You like Dillon, don’t you?”

“If you mean do I fancy him, no. I don’t approve and never have. His past damns him.”

“And still you like him?”

“I know. It’s an absolute bastard, isn’t it, sir? But never mind.”

“So how did you get on at Wandsworth?”

“I saw Dunkerley, the head of security, and he told me pretty much what he told you when you phoned him. The prison is like a souk on visiting day. No way anyone in reception remembers Brown amongst several hundred people. As Mr. Dunkerley said, it was rather unfortunate that the prison officer, Jackson, the only one who handled Brown personally, was killed in that accident.”

“Accident, my backside,” Ferguson said.

“That’s what the police report says, sir. All available witnesses say he just fell forward.”

“Too damn convenient. What about the Law Society?”

“They have three George Browns on their books, or did. One died a month ago, the second is black, and the third is famous for going to court in a wheelchair.”

“I see.”

“I’ve got a copy of the reception-area surveillance tape, but only one person could identify Brown from it.”

“Riley?”

“Exactly, sir.”

“Oh dear,” Ferguson said. “And one more piece of news for you. Captain Carter has been in touch on the way back to Cyprus. He and his team were having a conference in the saloon of their boat when it appears they were gassed. They all passed out for several hours.”

“Are they all right, sir?”

“He’s not happy about two of them. They’ll book into the military hospital when they get in. We’ll keep our fingers crossed.”

Dillon, colder than ever now, leaned back against the brick wall. “Jesus,” he said softly. “A fella could tire of this in no time at all.”

There was a sudden flurry in the water and a rat slipped across his right leg. He brushed it away. “So there you are, you little rascal. Now behave yourself.”

As they’d allowed him to keep his watch, Dillon was aware of the time, although whether that was a good thing or not, he wasn’t sure, for time seemed to stretch into eternity.

He remembered noticing that it was four o’clock in the morning and then, in spite of the circumstances, he must have dozed because he came awake with a start, a rat leaping from his shoulder, and when he checked the time again, he found that it was seven-thirty.

Not long after that, a light appeared up above and Judas leaned over. “You still in one piece, Dillon?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Good. We’ll take you up.”

The bucket came down, Dillon scrambled his feet into the bucket and was hauled up slowly. As his head passed the brick wall, he saw Judas, Aaron, and Arnold standing there.

“My God, but you stink, Dillon, you really do.” Judas laughed. “Get him out of here, Aaron, and carry on as I suggested.”

He ran up the stairs ahead of them and Aaron said, “I’ll take you back to your room. I think you need a shower.”

“Or three or four,” Dillon said.

He stripped in the bathroom and put the contaminated clothing into a black plastic bag Aaron had provided. Halfway through the second shower Arnold appeared and took the bag away. Dillon tried another shower and then a fourth. As he reached for a towel, Aaron glanced in.

“Fresh clothes on the bed, Mr. Dillon.”

“The right size, I trust.”

“We know everything about you.”

“Shoes? What about shoes?”

“Those, too. I’ll be back when you’re dressed.”

Dillon dried his hair, shaved, then went into the bedroom to discover fresh underwear, a checked shirt, jeans and socks, and a pair of sneakers. He dressed quickly and was combing his hair when the door opened and Aaron appeared.

“That’s better. Are you ready for breakfast?”

“You could say that.”

“Then come this way.”

He opened the door, led the way out and along the corridor, and stopped at another door. He opened it and stepped to one side.

“This way, Mr. Dillon.”

Marie de Brissac, at her easel, turned. She hesitated, paintbrush in hand, and Aaron said, “I’ve brought you some company. I’ll bring breakfast in a moment.” The door closed and the key turned.

“Sean Dillon.” He held out his hand. “Countess, is it?”

“Never mind that. Marie will do – Marie de Brissac. Did you have a bad time?”

“A bad night, certainly. I’ll pinch one of those cigarettes if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

He lit one and blew out a plume of smoke. “Do you by any chance know where we are?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. And you?”

“I’m afraid not. Last I recall, I was in a fishing port called Salinas in Sicily. I know by my watch that I was at least twelve hours at sea, but I was unconscious most of the time.”

“The same with me. I was in Corfu when they kidnapped me. A plane ride was mentioned and then a needle in the arm, and I knew nothing until I woke up here.”

“But what in the hell is it all about?” Dillon asked, and the door opened and Braun, not Aaron, came in with a tray.

“Good morning, Mr. Dillon – Countess.” He put the tray down. “Scrambled eggs, toast, marmalade, and English breakfast tea. Much better for you than coffee. I’ll be back.”

He went out and Dillon said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s eat it while it’s hot.”

“I agree,” she said.

They sat on either side of the table and talked as they ate. Dillon said, “So we don’t know where we are. Could be Italy or Greece, maybe even Turkey or Crete. Egypt would be a possibility.”

“A wide choice, but who are you, Mr. Dillon, and why are you here?”

“I work for a branch of British intelligence. I was in Sicily to arrest in a highly illegal manner a much-wanted Arab terrorist. My partner was with me, Chief Inspector Hannah Bernstein of Special Branch at Scotland Yard. The whole thing turned out to be a setup. They took me but left Hannah to report back to my boss, Brigadier Ferguson. What about you?”