'Now what?' Hannah demanded.

'You can call the Lear jet to pick us up in the morning. Ferguson likes to hear bad news as soon as possible, you know that.' He spoke over his shoulder to Blake. 'What about you? Is it back to Washington ?'

'No, I think I should follow this through. I'll come to London with you and help you brave Ferguson 's wrath.'

'Right, then next stop the Europa and some decent room service.'

The Lear jet flew over at midnight and they found Flight Lieutenants Lacey and Parry waiting for them, ready for a seven o'clock departure. It was all very official. The Lear carried RAF rondels and Lacey and Parry wore RAF flying overalls with rank insignia.

'Nice to see you again, Mr Johnson,' Lacey said and turned to Dillon, who was last up the steps. 'Are we going into action again, Sean?'

'Well, let's put it this way. I wouldn't book that holiday in Marbella,' Dillon said, and went up the steps.

They took off and climbed to thirty thousand and turned across the Irish Sea. Hannah found the tea and coffee flasks and Dillon three cups.

'You said Ferguson expects us like yesterday at the Ministry of Defence?'

'That's what he said.'

'How did he sound?'

'Neutral.'

Dillon poured tea into his cup. 'Oh, dear, that's when he's at his wont.'

The big surprise was Ferguson in the Daimler limousine waiting at Farley Field. Lacey took them across, providing what shelter he could with a large golf umbrella.

'Get in, for heaven's sake, and let's get on with it. Nice to see you, Blake. Sit beside me.' Hannah and Dillon took the jump seats and she pressed the button to close the dividing window. 'Right, let's hear the worst,' Ferguson carried on. 'You do the talking, Dillon, the Irish are good at that.'

'You'd never believe his sainted mother was from Kerry,' Dillon told Blake, 'but there you go and here I go.'

He went through the events in Belfast and at Spanish Head, leaving nothing out. Ferguson listened, his face grave, until Dillon was finished.

'What a mess. He actually knew you weren't McGuire, and that was only arranged within the last few days.'

'More than that, Brigadier. He knows about the Basement, boasted about his inside source.' 'But who could that be?'

'Has to be someone in the White House. A lot of people operate out of there one way or another.'

'But the Basement is supposed to be very hush-hush,' Ferguson said.

'Just like your outfit, Brigadier, but how many people know about it?' Blake observed. 'Computer accessing is another problem. We've even had kids hack in.' 'So have we,' Ferguson agreed.

'And we do ourselves when we can, sir,' Hannah pointed out. ' Paris, Moscow…'

'Even Washington,' Dillon said. 'So, you've no clues?' Ferguson asked Blake. 'Not really. I had to use the Travel Bureau, that's a polite name for the Forging Department. I wanted a passport as Tommy McGuire in case Barry wanted to see it. Then there were travel arrangements. Plane tickets, the room at the Europa, all as McGuire.'

'And all on computers,' Hannah said.

'But it still leaves the one incontrovertible fact that he knew who you were. I don't like it.' Ferguson showed a spark of anger. 'Don't like it at all. And you can bet the President won't like it either.'

'You can say that again,' Blake said with feeling.

Ferguson nodded. 'So what's to be done?'

It was Dillon who said, 'I've been thinking about McGuire. There might be more than he's told us.'

'What makes you think that?' Hannah asked.

'There always is with people like him, you've been a copper long enough to know that.' He turned to Ferguson. 'Let me have a go at him.'

'Does that mean beating it out of him?' Hannah demanded.

'No. Just putting the fear of God in him.'

Ferguson nodded. 'Right, it's all yours.'

'Good,' Dillon said. 'This is what we'll do…"

The safe house at Holland Park was a mid-Victorian mansion behind high walls. It looked innocuous enough, but had the kind of security that made it impregnable. McGuire had been amazed at the comfort. His own room, en suite, television, excellent food. What he didn't know was that he was on screen even when he went to the toilet.

Occasionally he was taken down to a drawing room that was very pleasantly furnished with an open fire and an even larger television. He was served a more than decent meal. There was even a bottle of Chablis. The guard was just as decent, Mr Fox, who didn't wear a uniform, just a navy blue suit. Of course, McGuire didn't realize that Fox carried a. 38 Smith amp; Wesson Magnum in a holster under his left arm, just as he didn't appreciate that the large gold-framed mirror provided a perfect view for anyone in the next room, which on this occasion meant Ferguson, Blake and Hannah Bernstein.

They watched McGuire finishing his lunch, Fox standing against the wall. There was a knock at the door, Fox unlocked it and Dillon walked in.

'Well, you seem to be doing all right, Tommy,' he said. McGuire stared at him. 'It's you. What do you want?' 'Oh, just to bringyou up to date on what happened in Ulster.' He lit a cigarette, took the half-bottle of wine from its bucket and poured it into McGuire's empty glass. He sampled it. 'Not bad. Yes, we missed out on Jack Barry. He managed to fly the coop. We got rid of two of his men, Daley and Bell . Do they mean anything to you?' 'Never heard of them.'

'The strange thing was that Barry was expecting my American friend Blake, the man who was impersonating you. He knew everything about him, knew he worked for the President, claimed to have inside intelligence sources.'

'Look, none of this has anything to do with me,' McGuire said. 'I told you everything I know about Barry. If you lost him, that's your problem.'

'Well, a problem it certainly is, old son, but yours, not mine. You see, I think you're a terrible liar. I believe you know a lot more than you're telling.'

'That's bollocks. I've told you everything I know.' 'Really? All right, we'd better let you go.' 'Let me go?' McGuire was astonished.

'Well, you did put us on to Barry. Bad luck he slipped us, but not your fault, and let's face it, it isn't the kind of thing we would want advertised in open court.' He nodded to Fox. 'Bring in the Chief Inspector.' 'Certainly, sir.'

Fox went and opened the door and called and Hannah entered, an official-looking document in one hand. 'Collect the prisoner's things and deliver him to Heathrow Airport,' she told him and turned to McGuire. 'Thomas McGuire, I have here a warrant for your deportation as an unwanted alien. According to records, you entered the country on an illegal flight from Paris and you will be returned there. I have no idea how the French authorities will treat you.'

'Now look here,' McGuire began, and Dillon interrupted him.

'Good luck, Tommy. You're going to need it.'

'What do you mean?'

'Jack Barry has a lot of friends all over Europe and the Middle East – the PLO, the Libyans, people like that. He's even done business with the Mafia over the years.'

'What's that got to do with me?'

'He knows my friend Blake Johnson wasn't you, so I presume he'll want to know what you were playing at. He's going to want your balls, Tommy, so good luck.'

He turned away and McGuire said, 'For God's sake, he's a sadist, that one. I mean, he killed one guy in Ireland by putting him through a cement mixer.'

There was silence. Hannah said, 'Is that a fact, Mr McGuire?'

He looked at her, then Dillon, then sat down. 'I'm not stirring.'

'Then talk,' Dillon told him.

The door opened, and Ferguson and Blake entered. 'All right, man, get on with it,' Ferguson said.

'Give me a cigarette, for God's sake.'