The old man pushed a register across the desk for Keogh to sign. “RUC regulations. Home address. Next port of call. The lot.”

“Fine by me.” Keogh quickly filled it in and pushed the register back across the desk.

“Martin Keogh, Wapping, London. I haven’t been to London in years.”

“A fine city.” Keogh took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one.

The old man took a room key down from a board. “At least they don’t have Paras hurtling around the streets armed to the teeth. Crazy that, sitting out in the open, even in the rain. What a target. Suicide if you ask me.”

“Not really,” Keogh told him. “It’s an old Para trick developed years ago in Aden. They travel in twos to look after each other, and with no armor in the way they can respond instantly to any attack.”

“And how would you be knowing a thing like that?”

Keogh shrugged. “Common knowledge, Da. Now can I have my key?”

It was then that the old man noticed the eyes which were of no particular color and yet were the coldest he had ever seen, and for some unaccountable reason he knew fear. And at that moment Keogh smiled and his personality changed totally. He reached across and took the key.

“Someone told me there was a decent cafe near here. The Regent?”

“That’s right. Straight across the square, to Lurgen Street. It’s by the old docks.”

“I’ll find it,” and Keogh turned and went upstairs.

He found the room easily enough, opened the door, the lock of which had obviously been forced on numerous occasions, and went in. The room was very small and smelled of damp. There was a single bed, a hanging cupboard, and a chair. There was a washbasin in the corner, but no toilet. There wasn’t even a telephone. Still, with any luck, it would only be for the one night.