'The Garrick?' Miller was surprised. 'I thought you were a member of the Cavalry Club.'

'Of course, but everybody likes the Garrick; all those actors and writers and so on. It makes a difference from matters military. I'll see you in the bar.'

Justin Talbot went straight to his mother's house at Marley Court to unpack and get a change of clothes. He had just come out of the shower when his mobile sounded. He answered and found himself speaking to the Preacher.

'Good to hear from you,' Talbot said. 'I had an excellent trip.'

'You had a disastrous trip, you stupid fool,' Hassan told him.

Talbot said, 'What the hell? I don't have to put up with you talking to me like that.'

'Listen to the tape I received, Talbot. Then you'll see why I'm angry.' Talbot did, and with some horror. When it was finished, he called the Preacher back and Shah answered at once. 'What have you got to say?'

'It was in the heat of battle, so I shot my mouth off. Regrettable, and I apologize, but I don't see how it hurts us.'

'You think not? This General Charles Ferguson is a legend in the counter-terrorism field. He has been an absolute thorn in the flesh of Al Qaeda, and so are the people who work for him. Dillon, Holley, Miller; they'll all start nosing around. If Holley hadn't kept his business partner, Hamid Malik, informed of all his doings, and Malik hadn't confided in Hakim, we'd never have known.'

'So what's the problem?' Talbot asked. 'If this Holley guy tells his business partner about everything, then we should be able to find out about what happens next, shouldn't we?'

'You just don't get it, do you? All Charles Ferguson and this Major Roper had to go on was a muddled tape, and then in you came with that absurdly dramatic code name, Shamrock, announcing to the world: What a spectacular. Warrenpoint all over again and it worked big time. Osama will be delighted.'

Talbot had made a mistake there, and he knew it. 'So I got a bit overenthusiastic.'

'And what was your touching dedication supposed to mean? You can rest in peace now, Sean. Night bless?'

Talbot said, 'That's got nothing to do with you.'

'Everything has something to do with me. Answer me.'

'Sean Kelly was my friend, a stable boy at Talbot Place. He was only nineteen, but he was a Provo like all his family. Some of those wounded Highlanders managed to fight back, and Sean took a bullet.'

'How heart-warming. When you joined the Army, the Troubles must have given you a problem, didn't it, knowing which side you were on?'

'I was never in Ulster with the Grenadier Guards.'

'But you certainly were with Twenty-Two SAS. More than twenty covert operations, wasn't it? One in County Tyrone where your unit ambushed and killed eight members of the PIRA. I wonder how your friends in Kilmartin would react if they knew?'

'You bastard,' Justin Talbot said.

'Action and passion, that's what you like, a bloody good scrap; and you don't care who the opponent is. Of course, you've never been certain which side you were on, Fenian or Prod. If only your mother had told you that you were Catholic years ago, you might have turned out different.'

Justin Talbot struggled to control his rage. 'That is nonsense. What the hell are you saying?' 'Your father was a Catholic.'

'Of course he was. Everyone knew that. But I'm a Protestant. My grandfather is a Presbyterian Unionist who loathes Catholics beyond anything else on this earth. He enjoyed telling me throughout my childhood that I was a bastard, but at least a Protestant one.'

'And he was wrong. You were baptized into the Roman Catholic faith on the fifth of August, Nineteen sixty-four, two weeks after your birth, by Father Alan Winkler of St Mary the Virgin Church, Dun Street, Mayfair.'

Talbot tried deep breathing to steady himself. 'What are you saying? Is this true? Did anybody know?'

'I believe your grandmother did. She was a remarkable woman to put up with your grandfather all those years, and your mother takes after her. You're hardly a fool. You must have been aware that I'm a careful man. I do my research, Justin.'

'All right,' Talbot said wearily. 'Where is all this leading?'

'Everything stays as it is. Since the Peace Process, many old IRA hands have sought employment in London.'

'What about them?'

'I'm sure your IRA connections in Kilmartin would be able to contact such people if necessary.'

'What for?'

'Ferguson and his people are formidable foes. It pays to be just as formidable an opposition.'

'What the hell are you talking about: open warfare in the London streets?'

'No, I'm saying we must be prepared. The opposition knows your code name is Shamrock. They surmise you might be Irish. Your leadership of the ambush seems to indicate you are a soldier of experience, and because of the name Warrenpoint, it reinforces their opinion that you could be a military man. We must stay vigilant, that's what I'm saying. If we receive the slightest hint, from Hakim or anyone else, that they're getting close to your identity, then we'll have to deal with them.' Shah took a breath. 'All right. That's enough for now. What are your plans?'

'My mother is at Talbot Place. I'm going to fly myself over to join her this afternoon. The old man is poorly again.'

'I'm amazed he hasn't managed to fall downstairs by now. Perhaps he needs a nudge?'

'Don't think I haven't thought of it.' He dressed quickly in clothes suitable for flying, jeans and an old jacket. He had plenty of clothes at Talbot Place, and so took only a flight bag with a few things in it. Before leaving, though, he phoned Sir Hedley Chase at his house in Kensington to tell him he intended to call. Chase's job as Chairman of Talbot International might be a well-paid sinecure, but the old boy was sharp and took things seriously.

'I'm just going out for lunch,' the General said. 'At the Garrick Club. Got a taxi waiting. Why don't you join me?'

Justin Talbot hesitated, for he wanted to be on his way, but there was that military thing that bound soldiers together and had done so since time immemorial. A general was a general, and you didn't say no. A couple of hours wouldn't make any difference.

'I'll be with you as soon as I can, Sir Hedley,' he said, and was driving out of the garage in his mother's Mini Cooper five minutes later. At the club, Sir Hedley Chase was greeted warmly by the porters on duty, and he told them who his guest was going to be. Then, helped by his stick, he negotiated the stairs, and went into the bar. It wasn't particularly busy. Two men were sitting comfortably at a corner table drinking brandy and ginger ale, and Sir Hedley realized with pleasure that he knew one of them.

'What a perfectly splendid idea, Charles, a Horse's Neck. I'll have one, too. How long has it been. A year? Two?' he asked.

'Three,' Ferguson told him, and said to his guest, 'General Sir Hedley Chase, Grenadier Guards. A Captain when I was a Subaltern. Very 'ard on me, he was.'

'Made a man of you,' Sir Hedley told him.

'And this,' said Ferguson, 'is Major Harry Miller, Intelligence Corps, Member of Parliament and Under-Secretary of State.'

'For what?' Sir Hedley enquired.

'For the Prime Minister, sir.' Miller shook hands.

'Oh, one of those, are you? I'll have to be careful. The Queen, gentlemen.' He toasted them. 'What are you up to, Charles? Still a security wallah?'

'I'm at the PM's bidding. What about you?'

'Bit of a sinecure, really. I'm Chairman of Talbot International. We're in the Middle East and Pakistan, supply the army there with trucks, helicopters, armoured cars, that sort of thing.'

'The Gulf War and Afghanistan must have boosted business,' Miller said.