“I told Mrs. Boulder to go early,” Teddy said, when they went into the kitchen. “It’s all ready. I’ll serve. She left the potatoes in the oven on a low heat and everything else is cold.”

Hannah helped him and the President opened two bottles of ice-cold Sancerre. They had cold salmon, new potatoes, salad, and crusty bread, but the conversation was episodic. Everyone had eyes only for the mobile phone that Judas had given to Dillon and which lay on the table.

Teddy said, “I’ll make some coffee.”

Dillon glanced at his watch. “It’s been an hour. What the hell. I say we access the Defense Department’s computer and ask the same question. Let’s get on with it.”

Blake Johnson glanced at the President, and Jake Cazalet said, “Go for broke, Blake.”

Blake got up and went out. Dillon said, “Right, let’s clear the table and you do the coffee, Teddy, though I’d rather have a teabag myself.”

He and Hannah cleared and had barely finished when Blake returned. “I accessed on the joint plan Langley, FBI, and the Defense Department. Totally negative response on Judas and the Maccabees.”

“So now we wait,” Ferguson said.

Teddy produced the coffee and Dillon’s tea, and they all sat down again at the kitchen table. It was quiet, very quiet and Jake Cazalet said, “It’s no good, nothing’s happening.”

The phone rang.

Judas said to Dillon, “Hey, old buddy, you tried me out and didn’t find me wanting. Just like London, you access those computer systems looking for me and my people and I’ll know.”

“Stuff you, you’re a bloody sadist.” Dillon deliberately made himself sound outraged and frustrated.

“Don’t lose your cool, old buddy. Just tell the President that now he knows the score. If he tries to involve security forces in this, his daughter dies instantly. If he refuses to sign Nemesis, she dies.”

“You’re crazy,” Dillon said.

“No, just practical. Give the President my best.”

Judas switched off and Dillon turned to Hannah. “You’re a bloody genius. He doesn’t know the Basement exists. What’s just happened is proof.”

“Okay,” Blake Johnson said. “So the situation is something like this. The Basement computer is clear, although there’s no information on him. If we try the other main security services, he knows, and knows very quickly.”

“And we’ve had our two goes,” Dillon said. “If we try to involve any of the other security services, he’ll kill Marie.”

“And you believe that?” the President said.

“I’ve never been more certain.”

“But he can’t access our telephone systems, and that includes mobiles if we persist in using Codex Four systems,” Hannah said. “So at least we can have closed communication.”

“That’s true,” Ferguson agreed.

“But any whiff on any regular communication circuit and we’ve had it,” Blake Johnson said. “Frankly, Mr. President, the fact that when I accessed such sensitive areas as those security computers, he knew in less than half an hour, really does show the power of the Maccabee organization. I believe that if we do try to involve the CIA and other institutions, the odds are that he will know.”

“But what can I do?” the President demanded. “I’m already breaking every damn rule in the book, all protocol, by not informing the Secretary of State and the Joint Chiefs, not to say the heads of the CIA and FBI.”

“Exactly,” Blake said, “which is why one of your predecessors invented the Basement. We can’t trust anyone, that’s the point.”

“Fine, but there is another point. I’ll hit Arab terrorists hard if they merit it and if I have to, but I can’t in all conscience sign Nemesis when the Committee meets next week. I mean, what do I do?”

There was stillness and, for some reason, it was Dillon they turned to. He said, “There could be a way forward if we move fast, but the next step is me catching my death, according to Judas. I think that’s rather a good idea.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Ferguson asked.

“I’ll take my chances when we get back to Washington. I’ll wear a bullet-proof vest.”

“Not much good if the shooter goes for a headshot,” Johnson said.

“Well, you take a chance every day of your life.”

“Then what, Mr. Dillon?” Cazalet asked.

“I used to be a student at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London, Mr. President. I even acted with the National Theatre. I’ve always had an ability to change and not just with makeup. Let me show you. Here, give me your glasses, Teddy.”

Teddy handed them over and Dillon went out and closed the door. When it opened again, he shuffled in, limping heavily on the right leg, his head slightly down, a look of pain on his face, but it wasn’t just that, not only the glasses. His body language had changed. It was as if he had become another person.

“Good God,” the President said. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“The Man of a Thousand Faces he was called in international intelligence circles,” Ferguson said. “On the run in Ireland twenty years with the IRA and we never touched his collar once.”

“Once I’m officially dead in Washington, I’ll change,” Dillon said, “dye my hair a different color, tinted glasses, perhaps cheek pouches, we’ll see. Another passport, of course, but no problem. I always carry two or three with me, and makeup according to the photo on whichever I choose.”

“If you need help, I have a friend who lives in my apartment block,” Teddy said. “Mildred Atkinson. She does makeup for a lot of the big stars. She was telling me she did DeNiro last week.”

“Is she safe?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, I’ll see.”

Hannah said, “As regards general security, we only have five days anyway before the Future Projects Committee meets.”

“So what happens?” the President said.

“The heart of the problem is quite simple,” Dillon told him. “Where is she being held? All I know definitely is that it’s within twelve hours by boat from Sicily.”

“Yes, but you can’t account for those twelve hours,” Ferguson said. “It could be less than that.”

“Yes, but if we accept twelve hours maximum, within the range could be Corsica if we went west, the Tunisian or Egyptian coasts, Italy, Greece, Turkey.”

“Have you missed anything?” Johnson said ironically.

“God knows. Marie told me that when David Braun kidnapped her in Corfu, he said she was going for a little plane ride.”

There was a pause. The President said, “Okay, you end up dead, you change your identity. Then what?”

“The Brigadier and the Chief Inspector go home in the Lear, grieving. I’ll go to Ireland and run down Riley. I’ll bring him to London and he can identify the lawyer for us from the Wandsworth Prison surveillance tapes.”

Johnson said, “You actually think you can find Riley?”

“I believe so. I think he’ll head straight for his cousin’s farm in Tullamore. He had the Irish passport the Brigadier got him, he had my operating money. There would be no sense in him not going back to Ireland. He’s safe there.”

The President nodded. “Yes, it makes sense.” He turned to Blake. “It seems to me what Mr. Dillon needs is instant transportation. He doesn’t want to have to hang around wasting time wherever it is he goes.”

“No problem, Mr. President. I have the new Gulfstream Five private jet on hand, flown in it several times lately. It’s a hell of a plane.”

The President turned to Dillon. “You could fly to Ireland in not much more than six hours in the Gulfstream.” He nodded to Blake Johnson. “I’d like you to go with him. Teddy can hold the fort here.”

“At your orders, Mr. President,” Blake said.

Cazalet nodded. “That’s it, then. All I can say is get to it. Is the helicopter ready, Teddy?”

“Standing by.”

“You go with them. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dillon said, “Just one thing. I like your daughter and I don’t like Judas and I’ll do anything to get her back, even if it means playing public executioner again. Is that all right with you?”