Dillon offered him one from his old silver case and gave him a light. 'Let it all hang out, Tommy. You'll feel much better.'

'As I told you, I'd never met Barry personally, but he dealt with Jobert in Marseilles and I worked for Jobert, so I used to meet guys Barry sent over from Ireland on arms business. There was one, a man called Doolin, who I had dealings with in Paris. Patrick Doolin.'

Dillon broke in. 'I know that name. Found hanging in his cell at the Maze Prison.'

'That's him,' McGuire said. 'We went out on the town one night in Paris, ended up having supper on one of those dining boats that ply up and down the river, decent food, plenty to drink. He got pissed out of his mind. Started going on about Barry and what an animal he was.'

The story had a certain fascination and they all waited. ' Doolin said he used to chauffeur for Barry. I think it must have been about three years ago it happened. He was driving him somewhere at night and Barry was drunk and on something, I mean really high. He told Doolin he'd just stiffed five British Army undercover agents, four men and a woman. Said he'd put one of them through a cement mixer. I think the others were shot. I can't recall.'

'My God,' Hannah said.

'What else?' Dillon was relentless.

'You know he runs the Sons of Erin? He said that the coup was thanks to the New York branch, with a little help from someone he called the Connection.'

'The Connection?' Ferguson asked.

'Yes, someone way on the inside. Apparently, he told Doolin it was just like in the old days, when Mick Collins had detectives at Dublin Castle working for him.'

'It would seem he told Doolin a lot,' Hannah said.

Ferguson nodded. 'Keep him safe, Mr Fox. We'll be in touch.'

'Brigadier.'

Ferguson turned to the others. 'All right, let's go.'

Sitting in his office an hour later with Blake, Ferguson was surprised when Hannah came in, Dillon behind her.

'I've found something, sir,' Hannah told him. 'Three years ago, an undercover squad in Ulster was taken out, four men and a woman. The leader, Major Peter Lang, was the subject of a car bomb so huge no remains were found. Here are the details on the other four. It has to be what Barry was referring to.'

'Dear God, Peter Lang, my old friend Roger Lang's boy,' Ferguson said. 'You met his mother, Lady Helen Lang, at Tony Emsworth's funeral.'

'The lovely lady on the terrace,' Dillon said. 'With that kind of proof, I'd say we're on to something. So what's the next move?'

'I think I should have words with the President,' Blake said.

Ferguson shook his head. 'Not yet, Blake. I know you're a free agent, but please hold back, just for now. There are things I'd like to do here.' He turned to Hannah. 'Was there any back-up information, any connection with Barry?'

'No, sir, and I must tell you I've accessed both MI5 and MI6.'

He sat there, brooding. 'Phone Simon Carter at once. His ears only. Ask him what he knows about Frank Barry and the Sons of Erin and any sort of inside leak, possibly from the White House.'

'Certainly, sir.' She went out.

Ferguson stood up. 'There's a good canteen here, Blake. Let's get a sandwich and await events.'

They were sitting at a corner table half an hour later when Hannah came in and sat down. 'He was his usual irate self, sir. Well, almost.'

'What do you mean?' Ferguson asked.

'He seemed sort of shocked. In a way, I got the feeling he knew all about it, but he couldn't have.'

'That devious bugger could lie to the Almighty,' Dillon told her.

'I must say, he came back damn quick. Gave me Jack Barry's history and that's all, everything we already know.'

'And nothing about Washington or the Sons of Erin?' Blake turned to Dillon. 'Is Carter still Deputy Director of the Security Services?' 'Absolutely.'

'Then if he doesn't know anything…' Ferguson said to Hannah, 'Get him on your mobile.' She did so and passed it across. 'Simon,' Ferguson said. 'I must see you. The terrace at Westminster in thirty minutes.' 'Now look here, Ferguson…'

'Just finalizing a report for the Prime Minister. I'd welcome your input,' and Ferguson switched off and sat there thinking about it. Finally, he said, 'I'll take you, Blake, as the President's representative. That will impress him, and you, Dillon, because you always unbalance him.'

'If ever a man hated me, it's dear old Carter.' 'Yes, well, I like to have him on edge.' Ferguson turned to Hannah. 'You're the computer genius, my dear. Check everything that could possibly have a significance.' He stood up. 'Let's be on our way, gentlemen.'

The House of Commons, together with the House of Lords, is a remarkable institution, and not only because of its extraordinary history as the seat of government for the United Kingdom. Its location on the Thames is unique, but it is its facilities which are extraordinary. Twenty-six restaurants and bars provide not only excellent food, but some of the cheapest in London.

Even someone with Ferguson 's pull had to stand in line as the queue inched forward to be checked thoroughly by the largest policemen in London. They finally made the Central Lobby, moved in through a maze of corridors and found the entrance to the Terrace overlooking the Thames.

It was the chilly end of March weather, but sunny enough for them to have the awnings open. There were plenty of people about, members of the House of Lords at one end, members of the Commons at the other, foreign visitors and guests of every description.

'Thank God you're wearing a jacket, Dillon. Makes a change. At least you look respectable.'

Dillon waved to a waiter who had glasses of champagne on a tray. 'Are you with the Japanese delegation, sir?'

'What else?' Dillon passed a glass to Blake, another to Ferguson, who accepted with reluctance, and took one himself.

They stood at the parapet and looked down at the Thames. 'How good is the security?' Blake asked.

'Five-knot current down there,' Dillon said. 'Even a Navy SEAL would have problems.'

'But not this little bastard,' Ferguson told Blake. 'Floated in here the other year when your President and the PM were meeting, just to show Carter the security precautions were no good. Turned up as a waiter and served them canapes.'

Blake exploded into laughter. Dillon said, 'Carter was not best pleased.'

'Well, he wouldn't be, would he?' Blake said, and at that moment Carter appeared.

He made a face when he saw Dillon. 'For God's sake, Ferguson, do we have to have this little swine here?'

'God save your honour,' Dillon told him. ' ' Tis a kindness for you to see me, a grand man like yourself.'

'Dillon is here because I need him, so that's that. This is Blake Johnson, President Jake Cazalet's personal security man.'

'Yes, I know of Mr Johnson.' Carter shook hands reluctantly.

'To business,' Ferguson said. 'Chief Inspector Bernstein asked you for information relevant to Frank Barry and the Sons of Erin.'

'I told her everything I know. She's probably checked it out for herself on our computer. I know you do that.'

'And so do you. So, you know nothing about an American connection with Barry, possibly in the White House?' 'If I had, I'd have told you.'

Ferguson turned to Blake. 'You do the honours. Tell him everything.'

When Blake was finished, Carter was remarkably calm. 'Much of this could be nonsense. Why believe McGuire? Why accept what the wretched Doolin said?'

'On the other hand, when Blake was in Barry's hands, Barry said he had excellent sources,' Dillon pointed out.

'And he must have, because he was expecting me. He knew I wasn't McGuire,' Blake put in.

Carter seemed to have nothing to say and Ferguson waved to the waiter with the champagne. 'Another, gentlemen. Even you might do with one, Carter.'