“That was it. Then he said to this guy Billy, ‘I expect our day will come.’ ”

“Oh, it will.” Ashimov nodded. “You can count on it. So they went?”

“He said he had all the keys to the cars in the courtyard. Two hours to Belfast and then home, that’s what he said.”

“Right.” Ashimov rose, picked up his pistol from the floor and put it in his waistband.

McGuire said, “What happens now? It’s a right mess.”

“Yes, it is. But we made some contingency plans, we’ll be all right. The main thing is that you’re still on board. Is that understood?”

McGuire looked baffled. “Right, Major.”

“It isn’t so much what I say, it’s what the man in Dublin says. The Provisional IRA will take care of the cleanup here. There’ll be a new team to take over from Kelly and you’ll be a part of it.”

“If you say so, Major.”

“I do. Now go to the kitchen and see if you can find some spare keys for the cars.”

“On my way.”

McGuire went out and Ashimov went along to Belov’s study and sat behind the desk with the satellite phone and rang a Moscow number. It was astonishing the clarity of these things, he thought, and also thought of Greta, surprised at how angry he felt.

A voice said in Russian, “Volkov. Who’s this?”

“Ashimov at Drumore. We have a problem.”

“Explain.”

When he was finished, Volkov said, “That’s certainly inconvenient, but our backup plans are in place. You’ll need to come to Moscow for a meeting at once.”

“Of course. Send a jet for me.”

“You’ll make the new arrangements with the IRA?”

“No need – everything’s still set.”

“Excellent. The death of Belov would be very inconvenient to our business plans.”

“Of course.”

“Another performance from Max Zubin would be in order, I think.”