He poured and passed the first plastic glass to Monica, and Billy said to Kurbsky, “There’s a lesson for all of us. We said it would be smooth as silk, dead simple, and it would have been if that bird, the chambermaid, hadn’t happened to be clocking on shift by the taxi rank and seen you.”

“Saw me and heard me, because the doorman asked for my destination to tell the taxi driver.”

“That’s what doormen in top hotels do.” Dillon handed him a glass. “It’s called service.”

Billy raised his glass. “Anyway, we’ve been there and done that. Here’s to what comes next.” He smiled at Kurbsky. “Who knows? You might grow to like it.”

Kurbsky said sharply, “You obviously know what is intended for me. What does come next?”

“That’s for General Charles Ferguson to tell you-he’s the boss.”

“That was never clear to me. The boss of what, exactly?”

“The Prime Minister’s personal security unit.”

“And you’ve obviously dealt with this kind of thing before.”

“Too bleeding right,” Billy told him. “Our rules are there are no rules, not these days, not with all the terrorists and murderers emerging free from court, thanks to stupid laws and clever lawyers.”

“And how did you get involved with him?” Kurbsky asked.

“I used to be a gangster, but it got boring. So did my uncle Harry. Dillon here was a top enforcer with the Provisional IRA, and the two guys flying this plane are decorated RAF officers. The point is, we can be worse than the bad guys.”

Kurbsky turned to Monica. “And you? Are you worse than the bad guys?”

She hesitated. “Now and then, I can be useful.”

Dillon topped his glass up. “Who knows what you could end up doing?”

AT FARLEY, Ferguson ’s Daimler drove straight up to the Chieftain when it rolled to a halt, Parry dropped the airstair door, and Kurbsky went down and got in the rear seat beside Ferguson. It sped away at once, and the General said, “Charles Ferguson,” and shook hands. “Heard about the spot of bother on the train.”

“Yes, rather unfortunate,” Kurbsky said.

“You’re here now, and that’s the main thing. We’re going to the Holland Park safe house. Most of my work emanates from there, and Major Roper is based there. It has the fullest facilities, extreme security, and it’s very high-tech, which saves on staff. I need only a couple of Military Police sergeants to keep things smooth. One of them, Doyle, is driving the car now, and Sergeant Henderson is back at the house.”

“And what about me?”

“We’ve put together some ideas, which we’ll explain to you shortly. I think you’ll find them rather interesting.”

“Excellent,” Kurbsky said. “I can’t wait to see what you have in store.”

BACK AT FARLEY, Harry drove across the tarmac to the Chieftain in his Bentley, put the window down, and leaned out, grinning.

“Let’s be having you. Ferguson wants us all down at Holland Park.” They climbed in and he drove away. “So it worked okay, he’s here. Bleeding marvelous. He must be a right villain, knocking off three like that.”

“ Ferguson told you?” Billy demanded.

“He certainly did. We’re like a club, Billy, the six of us. We’re the ones who know everything. He won’t tell Svetlana about this. Kurbsky being her nephew and everything, she mightn’t like to think of him running around and knocking off people. Let’s face it, though, he’s obviously got a talent for it. I tell you, he’d have done well in the East End in the old days when the Krays were running things. He’ll be giving you a run for your money, Dillon.”

Monica leaned forward and said, “Harry, you’re one of a kind.”

AT HOLLAND PARK, they found Ferguson and Kurbsky with Roper in the computer room. Harry needed an introduction and shook hands warmly.

“You certainly don’t take prisoners, my old son.”

“Only if there is a choice, and there wasn’t.” Kurbsky turned to Ferguson. “What about my aunt? She must be anxious to see me.”

“Of course. I’ve put her and Katya in one of our staff apartments.” He turned to Monica. “Perhaps you could do the honors? You know where it is.”

“Of course.” Monica led the way. “It’s on the ground floor and not far.” A couple of minutes later, she paused at a door. “It’s a big moment, Alex, for both of you.”

“For her especially, I think, because of her age. I must get it right, for her sake.”

“For both your sakes.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek and held his hand for a moment.

“You are a remarkable woman.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “Sean Dillon is a very lucky man, I think.”

He opened the door, and Monica glimpsed Svetlana on a sofa by the window, Katya beside her. Svetlana got to her feet and Kurbsky stood there for a moment. Then Svetlana held out her hands and said, “Alexander, can it be you? I can’t believe it after all these years.”

“Like the bad penny, I’ve turned up again, Babushka.”

There was a flood of tears, and he closed the door. A short while later it opened again, and Katya emerged and closed it. “He introduced me, but it’s very emotional for Svetlana in there.”

“Let’s leave them to it and go and join the others,” Monica said.

Ferguson was in the corner of the bar area, talking to Dillon and Harry. Billy was sitting with Roper, and the two women joined them.

“How did it go?” Roper asked.

“Floods of tears from Svetlana. Her precious boy back after all these years. He even called her Babushka.”

“I thought that meant grandmother in Russian?” Roper said.

“It seems it was his pet name for her when he was very little. She is so relieved to see him. Just can’t believe he’s got here safely.”

Monica glanced at Roper, who nodded. “Tell her what happened. After all, you were there.”

WHEN SHE WAS finished listening, Katya looked grave but not particularly shocked. “It’s a bloody nose for the GRU, but Alex is what he is.”

“God knows, he saw enough during the years of war,” Monica said.

“I think there’s more to it than that.” Katya moved to Roper’s side table with the bottles, opened the vodka, and poured one. “Something else, something deep in his soul, perhaps blossomed during the wars and won’t go away again.”

“Perhaps.” Monica was uncertain.

Roper reached for his whiskey, the pain in his left shoulder and back suddenly intense. “She’s got a point, Monica. Take you. A class act. An academic at a famous and ancient university, with doctorates galore, and yet when push came to shove, you shot that IRA bastard dead last year. I mean, where did that come from?” He swallowed his whiskey. “I know, I’m the pot calling the kettle black, but one thing’s certain. It would be difficult for Svetlana to take on board the fact that her beloved nephew has just stiffed three people.”

“I think we’re all agreed on that,” Katya said. “I’ll go and see how they are getting on.”

She went out, and Billy said, “One smart lady, Katya.”

“Well, I wouldn’t disagree with you.” Roper pushed his glass over and Monica poured another scotch. “Is it a bad day?” Monica asked him.

“Monica, it’s always a bad day, but I’m alive, if not exactly kicking, when I should have been in bits and pieces, like a lot of the poor sods coming back from Afghanistan and Iraq these days. It occurs to me that in the great scheme of things, there might have been a meaning to my survival.”

“I didn’t know you were religious,” Billy told him.

“I’m not, Billy, but I believe in reason and purpose.”

The conversation was cut off by the appearance of Kurbsky with Katya, and Svetlana on his arm. Katya said, “Svetlana wants Alex to watch my show now, so that he knows what we have in mind. I’ve spoken to Ferguson, and he and Dillon and Harry have gone ahead to the viewing theater.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Roper said.