Ferguson phoned Hannah Bernstein first at her flat. When she answered, he said, “He’s safe, Chief Inspector, back at Salinas. I’m arranging to have him back as soon as possible.”

“What was it all about, sir?”

“I don’t know. I’d like you to come round now. You can use one of the spare bedrooms. Kim will fix it up.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Next, he phoned Transportation at the Ministry of Defense and arranged the flight to Palermo. Finally, he spoke to Gagini.

“Look, I can’t tell you what this is about, Paolo, but it’s big, and I want Dillon out of Salinas and safe in Palermo as soon as possible.”

“No problem,” Gagini told him. “Let’s say you’ll owe me a favor.”

“My pleasure.”

“Ciao, Charles,” Gagini said and put down the phone.

Ferguson sat by the fire and Kim served him tea and crumpets, and although he enjoyed them, he felt extremely uneasy.

“Damn you, Dillon!” he said softly. “What have you come up with now?”

A little while later, Kim answered the door and Hannah entered with an overnight bag, which she gave him. Her raincoat was dripping and Kim took it from her.

“God, you’re soaking,” Ferguson said. “Come and sit by the fire.”

“I’m fine, Brigadier, but what about Dillon?”

“They dumped him back at Salinas, as I told you. All I know is that he said it’s big and something to do with the President.”

“My God!” she said.

“I don’t think we need to involve the Almighty just yet. I’ll get Kim to provide fresh tea and we’ll just have to possess ourselves in patience.”

At Salinas, Dillon was sitting on the terrace, rain dripping from the roof. He’d just finished a bowl of spaghetti Napoli and half a bottle of some local red wine when a police car drew up. The driver stayed behind the wheel, but a young sergeant got out and came up the steps.

“Excuse me, signor.” He paused, his English obviously poor.

Dillon helped him out in fluent Italian. “My name is Dillon, Sergeant. How can I help?”

The sergeant smiled. “I’ve had orders from Colonel Gagini in Palermo. He has ordered us to deliver you there as soon as possible.”

Another police car pulled up behind with two officers in it, the one in the passenger seat holding a machine pistol.

“A long drive,” Dillon said.

“Duty is duty, signor, and Colonel Gagini insists you are delivered in one piece.” He smiled. “Shall we go?”

“A pleasure,” Sean Dillon said, swallowed his wine, and went down the steps.

It was raining at Farley Field at nine o’clock the following morning when the Lear jet landed. Dillon disembarked and grinned at Lacey. “I wouldn’t bank on a holiday, Flight Lieutenant. You’re going to be very active.”

“Really, sir?” Lacey grinned and turned to Parry. “Ah, well, we find it breaks the monotony.”

Dillon walked toward the Daimler and found only Hannah Bernstein inside. He got in. “The great man too busy, is he?”

“He’s waiting at the office.” She pulled his head down and kissed him on the cheek. “You had me worried, you bastard.”

“Now, then, that’s bad language for a nice Jewish girl.” He lit a cigarette and opened the window. “Let’s blow the passive smoke away.”

She ignored him. “What happened? What was it all about?”

So he told her.

When he was finished, she said, “This is monstrous.”

“Yes, you could say that.”

“And this Judas. He must be mad.”

“Yes,” he said. “You could say that.”

The Brigadier, at his desk in his office at the Ministry of Defense, listened to everything. When Dillon was finished, Ferguson sat there thinking about it, and finally spoke.

“It’s the most fantastic thing I’ve ever heard of. I mean, is this man for real?”

“I questioned Gagini about Hakim,” Dillon said, “and I believe you’ve had his report.”

“Yes, a right old blood bath.”

“Judas and his Maccabees mean business, Brigadier. As I said, your worst nightmare, but real enough.”

“So what do we do?”

“All right,” Dillon said. “Let’s try him out.” He turned to Hannah. “Access the main Secret Intelligence Service computer. Tell it to select Judas Maccabeus and the Maccabees.”

She turned to Ferguson, who nodded. “Do it, Chief Inspector.”

She went out and Ferguson said, “That poor woman with you out there, she must be terrified.”

“She’s quite a lady. She’ll cope,” Dillon said.

“Cope?” Ferguson said savagely. “He’s going to kill her.”

“No, he won’t, because I’ll kill him first,” Sean Dillon said, his face like stone, and Hannah returned.

“Nothing, sir, a total blank. The computer has never heard of Judas Maccabeus and the Maccabees.”

“Good,” Dillon said. “So now we wait and see if he phones me on the special mobile,” and he took it from his pocket and placed it on the desk.

Ferguson said, “Chief Inspector, you’ve heard what Dillon has to say about the worries the Maccabees have about the future of Israel, their fears and so on. As a Jew, what do you think?”

“My grandfather is a rabbi, as you know, sir, my father very orthodox, and yet they give me loving support, even when I must break the laws imposed by my religion because of the demands of my profession. I am very proud to be Jewish, and I support Israel.”

“But?” Ferguson said. “You appear to hesitate.”

“Let me put it this way, sir. During the Second World War, the Nazis did terrible things, the British did not. They behaved as we would expect. There are Arab terrorist groups who butcher women and children. I do not expect such actions from Israelis. However, there are minority fundamentalist groups, the kind who applauded Rabin’s murder, who are as bad as any of them.”

“And you don’t approve?”

“If my grandfather, the rabbi, were here now, he would tell you that it is a fundamental tenet of Jewish law that one cannot secure one’s own survival by deliberately depriving another of life.”

“So what does that tell you about Judas?” Dillon asked.

“That this man is no religious fanatic. A practical nationalist is my guess.”

“Just like the original Judas Maccabeus?”

“Exactly.”

“And you are sure you have no sympathy for him?”

She bridled. “Why? Simply because I’m a Jew?”

Ferguson held up a placating hand. “I had to ask, Hannah, you know that.”

The mobile phone tinkled. Dillon picked it up. “Dillon here.”

“Ah, there you are, old buddy. Request to Number Three Delta computer, source, Chief Inspector Hannah Bernstein, for any information regarding the Maccabees. Response nil.”

“Yes, we are aware of that. Do you want to speak to Brigadier Ferguson?”

“What for? Just tell him to get his arse over to Washington. Time is running out, and tell Hannah Bernstein shalom and that I’m a big admirer.”

The line went dead. Dillon said, “He knew all about the inquiry.”

“That’s incredible,” Ferguson said.

“No, it’s the invisible people.”

“One of his network of Maccabees,” Hannah said.

“Exactly. By the way, he said he was a big admirer of yours.”

“The cheek of it. I’ve never even met him.”

“How do you know? How do I know? Interesting point. The fellas who kidnapped me, the others at the castle, all showed their faces, and why?”

“Because they’re just foot soldiers,” Hannah said.

“Exactly, but Judas wore a hood. Now put your fine police mind to that, Chief Inspector.”

“It’s obvious,” she said. “He has a face that could be recognized.”

“What you’re saying is he’s a somebody.”

Ferguson cut in. “Never mind any of this. What we’ve established is that he’s telling the truth. We’ve just put a question to our most powerful intelligence information computer and he has instant access. In other words, he’s cut our legs off.”