'I'd say so. Do you remember the Norah Bell affair?'

'How could I forget? I shot her dead.'

'She and her boyfriend found it no problem to join the crew of that riverboat…'

'Waiters,' Hannah said. 'It's easy enough to carry the canapes around.'

Dillon stood up suddenly. 'I'd better go. God bless, Hannah.'

'Take care, Dillon.'

He got a cab to Cavendish Place and found Ferguson and Blake sitting on either side of the fire, talking. He explained what he had found.

'Are you suggesting the same script as with Norah Bell?' Ferguson asked.

'Hannah thinks so, and so do I. What do we do? Inform the Security Services?'

Ferguson snorted. 'That bunch? They'd only screw it up royally. You know that, Dillon.' 'All right, so what do we do?' 'Tell you what,' Blake said. 'I love rivers. Take me on the same trip tomorrow, Sean, and let's see what we can see.'

The next morning was typical London, the rain drifting down as Dillon and Blake boarded the Prince Regent at the Savoy Pier. A grey morning out of season, there were no more than fifteen people on the boat.

'It's a great city,' Blake said, as they stood under the awning at the stern. 'Even in the rain.'

'Dublin's not bad, and Manhattan has a feel to it, but, yes, the Thames is special.'

'Tell me about this business with Norah Bell, Sean.'

'An Iranian fundamentalist group called the Army of God didn't like Arafat's deal with Israel over the new status of Palestine. They also didn't care for the President presiding over the meeting at the White House and giving the agreement his blessing. So they approached a Loyalist hit man from Ulster and his girlfriend, names of Michael Ahern and Norah Bell, characters so bad that even the Red Hand of Ulster had thrown them out.'

'And what was the deal?'

'Five million sterling to kill the President.'

'My God, even I never heard of that,' Blake said.

'Oh, it was kept under wraps. The Prime Minister cooked up an evening of frivolity and cocktails for the President, cruising the Thames past the Houses of Parliament and ending up at Westminster Pier. Ahern and Norah got on board by pretending to be waiters. A confederate had left a couple of Walthers for them.'

'And?'

'Well, I managed to work it out and at the last moment joined the boat with Charles and Hannah. I killed Ahern, but Norah gutted me with a spring knife. Hannah shot her dead.' Dillon lit a cigarette. 'It was a bad scene. For a while, it looked as if I was finished, but with the help of friends, I made it.'

'A hell of a story.'

The door opened behind them and a waitress came through. 'Coffee, gentlemen, or the bar is open?'

'Coffee for me,' Blake said.

Dillon smiled. 'I'll have tea and an Irish whiskey or Scotch, if you insist.'

They stayed under the awning and the young woman finally came back with a tray.

Dillon said to her, 'So, you must be pretty excited about this big event coming up.'

'Oh, yes,' she said. 'In fact, you're lucky. Today's our last day before the company pulls the Prince Regent out of service to titivate it up for the big night.'

'Will you be working?' Dillon asked.

'I'm afraid not.' She was obviously disgruntled. 'Believe it or not, they're bringing in a Royal Navy crew to run the boat and some firm to do the catering. We can't even get near the place.'

'That's a hell of a shame,' Blake said.

'Yeah, but that's life. Excuse me, gentlemen.' Blake drank his coffee and Dillon poured his whiskey into his tea as the rain increased in force. The American said, 'What do you think?' Dillon sighed. 'There's just something… I can't put my finger on it. It's just – look, I did my time on jobs like this, right? And I never liked my left hand to know what my right hand was doing. You tried to get people to look one way so they'd miss what's happening the other way. This – it's all just flat in our face.'

'I agree, but you can't afford to take the risk, Dillon. You've got to get the security people out here in full force. All your efforts have got to be focused on this boat.'

Dillon turned, smiling, his personality almost changing. 'Jesus, son, you're right. All our efforts. It's so obvious, it's too obvious. What was I thinking?'

He pulled out his phone and got through to Ferguson. 'Blake and I are on the Prince Regent.'

'So you think that's where they'll hit?'

'Nope. Not in a thousand years. Have you got the itinerary there?'

'Yes.'

'Where's the Premier staying?'

'At the Dorchester, that suite on the top floor.'

Dillon said, 'Perfect. I'll get back to you.' He turned to Blake. 'He's staying on the top floor of the Dorchester. I know that suite. It's got the best rooftop views in London from its terrace. You stand out there and you can see everyone – and everyone can see you.'

'You think that's it?'

'I could be totally wrong, but if I wanted my left hand not to know what my right was doing – that's where I'd do it.'

In the drawing room at South Audley Street, Paul, Kate and Michael sat at a table with Bell. It was the moment Aidan Bell disclosed the truth.

'Ferguson's going to be on tenterhooks. He's expecting a hit, and by now he's convinced himself it'll be on the boat trip. But it won't.'

'What? Then what's your plan?' Kate asked.

'The Premier's staying on the top floor of the Dorchester. There are some lovely flat roofs below, with perfect lines of fire. I'll climb up there and do it myself.'

There was silence. Michael said, 'I'll go with you.'

'Hey, that's not necessary.'

'Bell, this time I want to make sure. I was trained as a marksman myself. I'm going with you.'

Paul Rashid said, 'And so am I.'

Kate said, 'For God's sake, Paul, what are you thinking of? Three people? It's much too dangerous.'

'I don't care. This is our last chance, Kate. If we fail this time, then it doesn't matter if we get caught anyway.' He turned and smiled, and for the first time she thought it the smile of the truly mad. 'This is for George, Kate, and for our mother. There's no turning back.'

Dillon, Blake and Ferguson visited the Dorchester and were shown up to the suite. The views from the terrace were as advertised. They were extraordinary – and extraordinarily dangerous.

'Dillon's right,' Ferguson said. 'The Premier can't stay here.'

'How will you handle it?' Blake asked.

'No need to make a big fuss. I'll just tell the Prime Minister's office that I'm not happy with the overall security.'

'Which means you won't need to explain the plot,' Blake said.

'Exactly. Low key, that's how we'll keep it. I'll see the Prime Minister again.'

At Downing Street, Dillon sat in the Daimler while Ferguson and Blake were taken to the Prime Minister's study. He was sitting with a small man in his early fifties, with white hair and the look of the academic he'd once been. He was Simon Carter, the Deputy Director of the Security Services, and no friend of Ferguson.

'So what happened in Hazar?' the Prime Minister asked.

'Well, for one thing, the Council of Elders is still intact, thanks to Dillon.'

'Not that little Irish swine again,' Carter said.

'Carter, we're not friends, but I've never disputed your efficiency in the past. Let me tell you what Dillon achieved, if you'll allow me, Prime Minister.'

'Of course.'

Afterwards, the Prime Minister said, 'Extraordinary,' and even Carter had to agree.

'Now tell him about Nantucket,' the Prime Minister said.

This time, when Ferguson had finished, Carter said, 'It's incredible, the whole damn business.' He looked more shaken than Ferguson had ever seen him. 'Well, it's clear we'll have to cancel everything with the Premier, wipe it all out.'

'Hold on,' Ferguson said. 'We have a better idea.'

'What is that?' the Prime Minister said.