‘Gladly,’ Kirkham said, ‘if we had one I could examine.’

‘What about Glenning?’ Hal couldn’t take his eyes off the pile of dust.

‘Yes, poor bastard,’ Reid replied. ‘Somebody is going to have to tell his wife.’

In his office filled with antique furniture and books that had not been opened for many a year, the General lit a small black cigar and offered the others whisky from a crystal decanter. Hal distributed the drinks on a tarnished silver tray.

‘I don’t believe we can afford to wait any longer, General,’ Reid said once they were all seated around the large desk. Hal retired to a shadowy corner, invisible but watching.

‘I agree.’ The General swirled the amber liquid in his glass and then inhaled the honeyed fragrance. ‘Thought so for a while now, to be honest. But as you know, the PM is a cautious man.’

‘There’s no great urgency,’ Catherine Manning said. ‘They’ve left us alone in recent months. In fact, intelligence hasn’t reported any sightings of them anywhere.’ She looked to Reid for confirmation.

‘Make no mistake, the Tuatha De Danann are still out there.’ Reid had a file filled with the latest briefings from his men and women out in the communities. ‘And the things that came along with the old gods are certainly still a threat. Villages in the Yorkshire Dales being terrorised by some creature that turns people to stone. Something with blades for hands cutting people up in Liverpool. The National Parks, the fells and fens — whole swathes of the country inaccessible unless you’ve got a squadron of heavily armed men-’

‘The Tuatha De Danann are the root of it all,’ the General said firmly. ‘Without them, none of these other things would be here.’

‘But we’re still not adequately equipped to fight them,’ Manning protested. ‘How can we be expected to go up against gods-’