Dillon closed the door and switched on a lamp on one of the tables. "You great eejit," he said to the dog and fondled its ears.

He went to the drinks cabinet and found no Irish whiskey so made do with Scotch. He went and stood looking down into the fire, taking his time, and behind him the door opened. As he turned, drawing the Walther, Asta came in. She didn't notice him at first, closed the door and turned.

And she didn't show any sign of fear, stood there looking at him calmly, and then said, "That couldn't be you, could it, Dillon?"

Dillon laughed softly. "Jesus, girl, you really are on Morgan's side, aren't you?"

He slipped the Walther back in his waistband at the rear and pulled off his ski mask.

"Why shouldn't I be? He's my father, isn't he?"

"Stepfather." Dillon helped himself to a cigarette from a silver box on a coffee table and lit it with his ever-present Zippo. "Mafia stepfather."

"Father as far as I'm concerned, the only decent one I've ever known, the first version was a rat, the kind of man who sniffed around everything in a skirt. He made my mother's life hell. It was a blessing when his car ran off the road one day and he was burned to death in the crash."

"That must have been rough."

"A blessing, Dillon, and then after a year or two my mother met Carl, the best man in the world."

"Really?"

She took a cigarette from the box. "Look, Dillon, I know all about you, all about the IRA, all that stuff, and I know who decent old Ferguson really is, Carl told me."

"I bet he tells you everything. I suppose you could give me chapter and verse on the Chungking Covenant."

"Of course I could, Carl tells me everything."

"I wonder. I mean there's the Carl Morgan of the social pages, the polo player, Man of the Year, billionaire, and then back there in the shadows is the same old Mafia sources of cash flow, drugs, prostitution, gambling, extortion."

She moved to the French windows, opened one, and looked out at the rain. "Don't be tiresome, Dillon, after all, you can talk. What about all those years with the Provisional IRA? How many soldiers did you kill, how many women and kids did you blow up?"

"I hate to disappoint you, but I never blew up a woman or a child in my life. Soldiers, yes, I've killed a few of those, but as far as I'm concerned, that was war. Come to think of it, I did blow up a couple of PLO boats in Beirut harbor, but they were due to land terrorists on the Israeli coast with the deliberate intention of blowing up women and kids."

"All right, point taken. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Just curious, that's all. I wondered if you were getting anywhere, but I overheard Morgan discussing things with Murdoch, and of the Bible, there is no sign."

"It must be here," she said. "Tanner said it came back." She frowned. "I'm not giving anything away, am I? I mean you and Ferguson wouldn't be here if you didn't know."

"That's right," he said. "Lord Louis Mountbatten, the Laird, Ian Campbell, the Dakota crash in India."

"You needn't go on. Carl would love to know how you found out, but I don't suppose you'll tell me."

"Classified information." He finished his drink and there was a noise in the hall. "On my way." He pulled on his ski mask and as he slipped out of the French window, said, "See you in the morning."

The door opened and Morgan came in. He looked surprised. "Good God, Asta, you startled me. I thought you'd gone to bed."

"I decided to come down for my book and guess what, Dillon was here."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "Really?"

"He looked terribly dramatic. All in black with a ski mask. Looked like Carlos the Jackal on a bad Saturday night in Beirut. He's just gone."

"What was he after?"

"Just prowling around to see what was happening. Apparently he overheard you and Murdoch discussing your lack of success at finding the Bible." Morgan poured a brandy and came over to stand beside her at the French windows. "They know everything, Carl, Mountbatten, Corporal Tanner, the Laird, everything," she said.

"You got that much out of him?"

"Easy, Carl, he likes me and he wasn't giving anything away. He wouldn't tell me how they found out, and you said yourself it was obvious they knew otherwise why would a man like Ferguson be here."

He nodded. "And they don't care that we know. Interesting tactics." He swallowed some brandy. "Are they still picking you up in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Good." He emptied his glass and closed the window. "Bed then, and this time let's mean it."

"So the decks really are cleared for action now," Ferguson said.

"You did say you wanted him to know we were breathing down his neck," Dillon reminded him.

"Yes, it's a good tactic, don't you agree, Chief Inspector?"

He turned to Hannah Bernstein, who was leaning against his desk. "I suppose so, sir, if we're playing games, that is."

"So that's what you think we're doing?"

"I'm sorry, sir, it's just that I don't feel we're really getting to grips with this thing. We know what Morgan is up to and he knows what we are, I'm not sure it makes sense."

"It will, my dear, when that Bible turns up."

"Will it? Let's say he suddenly found it at the back of a drawer tonight, Brigadier. They could be into his Citation and flying out of the country in the morning and nothing we could do about it."

"Well, we'll just have to see, won't we." Kim came in with tea on a tray. Ferguson shook his head. "It's bed for me, I'll see you in the morning."

He went out and Kim poured the tea and retired. Hannah said to Dillon, "What do you think?"

"You could be right, but I've a hunch it isn't so." He moved to the window, opened it, and looked at the rain bouncing on the flagged terrace. "I don't think that Bible is tucked away in some casual spot so that a maid might find it while she's dusting." He turned. "Remember what Tanner said when the doctor asked him if the Bible had been returned to Loch Dhu?"

"Yes, his answer was: 'You could say that.' "

"And then he laughed. Now why would he do that?"

Hannah shrugged. "Some private joke?"

"Exactly. Quite a mystery, and I came across another tonight."

"What was that?"

Dillon said, "When I was snooping around earlier at the castle I saw Morgan and Asta going up to bed."

"So?"

"It wasn't what I expected, not a hint of a sexual relationship. At the top of the stairs he kissed her forehead and they went their separate ways."

"Now that is interesting," Hannah Bernstein told him.

"It is if you consider any theory that says his motive for killing the mother was because he had designs on Asta." Dillon finished his tea and grinned. "You can put that fine Special Branch mind to work on that one, my love, but as for me, I'm for bed," and he left her there.

The following morning it had stopped raining for the first time in two days. As the Range Rover drove up to Loch Dhu Castle, Kim at the wheel, Asta and Morgan came out and stood waiting. She wore a Glengarry bonnet, leather jacket, and a plaid skirt.

"Very ethnic," Dillon said as he got out.

"Morning," Ferguson boomed. "A good day's sport with any luck. I'm glad this damn rain's stopped."

"So am I," Morgan said. "Did you have a good night, Brigadier?"

"Certainly. Slept like a top. It's the Highland air."

Morgan turned to Dillon. "And you?"

"I'm like a cat, I only nap."

"That must be useful." Morgan turned back to the Brigadier. "Dinner tonight? Seven o'clock suit you?"

"Excellent," Ferguson said. "Black tie?"

"Of course, and bring that secretary of yours and I'll try and persuade Lady Katherine to join us."

"Couldn't look forward to it more. We'll see you this evening then," and Morgan ushered Asta down the steps into the Shogun.

As the sun came up and the morning advanced, Dillon almost forgot why he had come to this wild and lonely place as they proceeded on foot, climbing up and away from the glen. He and Asta forged ahead, leaving Ferguson and Kim to follow at their own pace.