He half bowed. “Major Novikova?”

“Major Sharif. Please sit. Would you like a drink?”

When he had sat, she said, “I don’t like to waste time, so listen carefully.” She filled him in with a few terse sentences. “Do you know Zorin and Makeev?”

“I’ve seen them around. They’re the kind who turn their hand to anything.”

“What about Selim in Ramalla?”

“I’ve already made inquiries. I have contacts in the area. His great-uncle is expecting him tonight.”

“Tell Dillon he’s arriving tomorrow. We’ll meet here later with Makeev and Zorin and decide on our next move. And let’s be clear: Ferguson may pay you well, but if you want top dollar, Josef Belov pays more.” She smiled. “In case you were wondering.”

“I am very content, Major.” He took out a card. “My mobile number. Give me yours.” She did.

“Good. Call me as soon as you hear he’s arrived.”

“Of course.”

He half bowed and walked away.

Showered and changed into a fresh shirt and a tan linen suit, Dillon went through the hardware bag from the quartermaster at Farley Field, found a Walther, checked it out and slipped it into his right jacket pocket. He went out on the terrace, lit a cigarette and Billy joined him.

“I’m hungry. When do we eat?”

At that moment, Sharif came along the path through the palm trees.

“Mr. Dillon?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m Major Sharif. You arrived early. Sorry I wasn’t here.”

Dillon put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “That’s okay, no big deal, was it, Billy?”

Billy responded well. “Hell, no.” He held out his hand. “Good to meet you.”

Dillon said, “There’s one thing straightaway. I’ve heard from London that Greta Novikova is staying here.”

“I’ve only just heard that myself. I’ve just checked in for the night and the manager told me. We have an arrangement. He does me favors.”

“But you wouldn’t know her?”

“No. I don’t think she’s worked in Baghdad before.”

“I see. So, what about Selim? Is he turning up here?”

“He would have booked ahead, and he hasn’t. I expect he’s still driving up from Kuwait, and I think he’ll go straight to his uncle’s place in Ramalla. He’ll probably arrive tomorrow, but I’ll have better information later.”

Dillon smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “No, me ould son,” and he nodded to Billy, who took out a Walther and stood with his back to the door. “I think you’ve got better information now.”

Sharif knew a real pro when he saw one and sighed heavily, not even angry. There was a kind of resignation to him.

“Could I have a drink, Mr. Dillon? I’m that kind of Muslim.”

Dillon found a bottle of Scotch in the bar box and two glasses and poured. Sharif drank it down. He held the glass out and Dillon poured another.

Sharif said, “I was a Republican Guard and military intelligence under Saddam, because we all have to get by in life, which means I was a bad boy. But then I lost my wife and my daughter in the bombing, and that was the war, so fuck Saddam and fuck all of you, the Americans, the Brits and now the Russians, for ruining my country.”

“I appreciate the point.” Dillon toasted him. “As it happens, I’m Irish – IRA Irish, so I can be your worst nightmare. With the credentials I’ve got, I could turn you in to the Yanks, and I’m sure they’d like to have you.”

“And the alternative?”

“Work with us and I’ll guarantee that Ferguson will pay you as agreed and give you a clean slate. Mind you, he’ll expect you to continue working for him.”

Sharif was astounded. “Can this be true?”

He turned to Billy, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I just kill people when he tells me to.”

“The world’s gone crazy.”

“So they tell me,” Dillon said. “Are you in or out?”

“I’m in.”

“Good man. Now tell me what happened between you and her.”

Sharif did, and Billy said, “Zorin and Makeev sound like trouble.”

“That’s why I have you, Billy.” Dillon went to the quartermaster’s hardware bag, took out a file, opened it and selected a computer printout. “Does this look familiar?”

Sharif looked surprised. “Why, that’s Ramalla, and that’s the Selim farm just outside in the orange grove by the river. It was damaged in the war, but the old man still lives there on his own. Women relatives call in to see to his needs, so my contact informs me.”

Dillon went back to the bag and opened a false bottom that contained ten thousand American dollars operating money. He took out two thousand in fifties and handed it over.

“That’s to be going on with.”

Sharif looked astonished, but stashed the money away. “What can I say?”

“How long to Ramalla?”

“It’s forty kilometers, an hour, could be less. You want me to take you?”

“No, I have a driver who knows his way around. What I want you to do is check with your contact and call me on my mobile the moment you hear Selim’s arrived. We’ll be ready and waiting to go.”

“And Novikova?”

“Call her half an hour later. Billy and I will be a nice surprise for her and her friends when they turn up.”

“Couldn’t we just grab Selim and scarper?” Billy demanded.

“Not if we want to rub Ashimov’s nose in it. He’ll have a lot of explaining to do to Belov.” He turned to Sharif. “Off you go, then.”

Sharif said, once again slightly bewildered, “You trust me, Mr. Dillon?”

“Let’s say you strike me as an honorable man. But don’t forget to tell her you’ve told me there’s no chance of Selim before tomorrow. In the meantime, Billy and I will sample the delights of the Al Bustan restaurant and bar. It’s been a long day.”

Sharif went out, shaking his head, and Dillon called Sergeant Parker on his mobile.

“It’s Dillon. Do you know a place called Ramalla?”

“I certainly do.”

“You’re taking us there tonight. Dress in civilian clothes and don’t forget the Browning.”

“Like that, is it? If I leave now, I could be with you in an hour.”

“Dress smartly, old son. Remember it’s the Al Bustan.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” Parker laughed and switched off.

Dillon then tried Lacey and tracked him down in the mess. “Dillon here. How’s everything with you?”

“There are some interesting people around, but otherwise it’s boring. Since we’re on standby, we can’t have a drink. Whatever you’re up to, do get on with it, old lad.”

“I can’t promise, but somewhere around midnight could be a possibility. Would that give you a problem?”

“Red Priority One? Sean, they all jump to that.”

“There’s a possible passenger, but that would imply perfection in an imperfect world.”

“We’re entirely in your hands. Take care.”

Dillon snapped his Codex Four shut and turned to Billy. “That’s it for now. Let’s try that bar.”

Sharif, the old intelligence hand, decided to brave Greta Novikova face-to-face, and knocked on the door of Cottage Seven. She opened it, dressed in a bathrobe, a towel around her head.

“I’ve seen them,” he said.

“You’d better come in and tell me everything.”

Which he did, or his version of everything. “He’s a hard one, this Dillon.”

“More than you’ll ever know. But the important thing is you’ve made it clear that Selim won’t be there until tomorrow.”

“Absolutely. He’d no reason not to believe me.”

“And any news from Ramalla?”

“As I said, definitely later tonight. I’m going to check my sources now. I have police contacts in the area. A matter of some delicacy.”

“Then get on with it. I have Zorin and Makeev turning up soon.” She opened the door for him. “What is Dillon doing now?”

“He told me they were going to the bar.”

“I’m sure he would.”

She let him out, stood there frowning for a moment, then went into the bedroom and started to dress.