Selim got behind the wheel. "Get in, and I'll show you what a great driver I am. What would you like to do?"

Holley unbuttoned his shirt, found the Makarov round sticking in his bulletproof vest, and pulled it out. "A well-dressed man shouldn't be without one. As to what I'd like to do. That place, the Ship Hotel in Chichester, where we stopped for coffee, had a decent-looking restaurant. I'd say we could get there in half an hour. Sorry you won't be able to join me in the bottle of champagne I'm going to order."

"Then you'll have to drink it all yourself, dear boy," Selim Malik told him, and they drove away.

The lunch was all that could be expected, and Holley drank far too much champagne, as he admitted, but the real discovery was Selim's driving skill. He was first-rate.

On the way back to London, Holley, half asleep in his seat, said, "I've got to give it to you, Selim. You handle this thing like a racing driver."

"Always my dream," Selim told him. "Many years ago when I was at Oxford University, a policeman who pulled me up for speeding said, 'Who do you think you are, Stirling Moss?' "

"And you were flattered?"

"Who wouldn't be? Britain's all-time favorite star of the racetrack and a true gentleman. Now, of course, I am getting too old."

Holley was aware of nothing more after that because he fell asleep.

He woke with a start to Selim's touch on his shoulder. They were outside the hotel. "Here we are. What now?"

"Have a shower, sort myself out. Check the bruising." Holley managed a laugh.

"So you have nothing particularly important to do?"

"Everything's sorted, Selim, as I told Chekhov. It's all in order. Friday, everything comes together, and we solve the problem for Mister Big at the Kremlin. I've one call to make on my Codex, and then I'm going to turn it off so nobody can get me for the rest of the night."

"I have a suggestion. The Curzon Cinema in Shepherd's Market shows many interesting films. Tonight they show a French film directed by Jean-Pierre Melville in 1956, Bob le flambeur. It's a wonderful heist movie-an aging gangster is tempted back into one last fatal throw of the dice."

"That sounds like just my kind of movie," Holley said. "I can't wait. We'll have dinner afterwards. I'll see you in an hour."

When he called Caitlin Daly, he got an instant response. "Where are you?" he asked.

"At my office. Paperwork for the charity, and I've got a forum to attend with Monsignor Murphy."

"Don't you find it difficult to fit everything in?"

"Of course, but it's important, the work we do, and he's used to leaning on me in many ways. He's an important figure in the Catholic Church in London. Even the rich respond to him, and their money is important to us."

"When I read all the files on your people, it fascinated me that the whole Hope of Mary thing came out of Murphy doing a visit to Derry for a few months during the worst of the Troubles and being impressed by the work the Little Sisters of Pity were doing. I never got any idea he was in favor of a violent solution to the Troubles."

"He isn't. To believe in Sinn Fein and a United Ireland was always as natural as breathing for him, and I'm not saying he wouldn't confess an IRA man when the Church said he shouldn't-but not an ounce more than that. He's a great and good man."

"And a bit of a holy fool. I wonder what he'd say about your involvement in the Glorious Cause? You're sure he hasn't got an inkling?"

"Absolutely not. He'd be horrified. Stop this, Daniel, I don't want to hear any more on the subject."

"Have you had any final news from Barry and Flynn?"

"Not yet, but it's only noon over there. Flynn and Bulganin were supposed to go down to this Quogue place."

"You're right. Tomorrow will be soon enough. You'll be having a meeting in the chapel at the refuge, I suppose?"

"You're not going to suggest joining us?"

"There's no need. Everything's worked out. You've done very well. I'm going out to a show, so I'll turn off my mobile. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

He got dressed, thinking about it. She obviously wanted to be in charge, a psychological hang-up, that, because of being leader of the cell for so many years. And that was fine, though he didn't know how she'd react to his insistence that Monica Starling be taken out of the equation. He realized that it'd be better if he told her about it face-to-face, but he would leave that until tomorrow night.

His phone sounded just before he was leaving. It was Chekhov. "Daniel, you've got to understand the pressures I'm under. Ivanov is a madman. I knew he was too good to be true the first time I met him."

"How is the bastard?"

"Never mind that. He shot you in the chest. How did you survive that?"

"I was wearing a bulletproof vest under my shirt. You really should consider it for yourself, Max."

"My God, I'm going to get one straightaway, but about Ivanov. I patched him up on the boat, and drove him back to the Embassy, as you suggested. They had some top surgeon in to stitch him up, but he's going to look very strange."

"What were you doing there in the first place?"

"He was very insistent that I should take him down there and show it to him. He said that perhaps it could be useful sometime."

"In what way?"

"He didn't say. I thought he might want it for weekends. You know, boyfriends and so on."

"I didn't realize his inclinations ran that way. Mind you, that's his business. To each his own. I'm going out, so you needn't try again. If you want to cover your back, phone Lermov and tell him what happened."

"Actually, I already have."

"You're a laugh a minute, Max." Holley switched off and left.

Bob le flambeur was sensationally good and lifted his spirits in spite of the downbeat ending. "Marvelous," he told Selim as they sat in the booth at Al Busten. "They don't make them like that anymore. I didn't get a chance to tell you, by the way: Chekhov called me."

"What happened?"

Holley told him. "A pity the sod didn't die in the back of the Mercedes."

"You have a point. With such a man, one wonders what he could try next. Your big day, whatever it is, is Friday. I presume that after that your problems will be over?"

"It would be a clean break, let's put it that way."

"So what of tomorrow?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. I have one important phone call to make in the morning. The rest is just time filling."

"Then may I suggest an excellent way to spend the whole day. Twenty miles out of town is a spa and country club of which I happen to be a member. An excellent gymnasium, two swimming pools, more health treatments than you would know what to do with. There is even a golf course."

"I don't play golf."

"You can drive round in a cart with some clubs and try?"

"You know something, you're absolutely right," Holley told him, and emptied the champagne bottle into their glasses and toasted him. "And if it's anything like it's been, it'll be a nice day out in the rain."