“Right, tell me the worst,” Cazalet said.

“I’d say that’s Hannah Bernstein,” Blake told him.

Cazalet was immediately concerned. “Just how bad is she?”

“Very,” Ferguson told him. “Ashimov ran her down in the street deliberately. She’s undergoing treatment at a specialized neurological unit right now.”

“Anything we can do, General, just ask – that goes without saying.”

“She’s in good hands, sir. She’s in the care of George Dawson, one of the best brain surgeons in the business. But there’s a limit to what the human body can stand, Mr. President. This could be the end of her career.”

“She won’t like that.”

There was silence, for there was nothing to say. After a while, Ferguson carried on.

“Thanks to the efforts of Major Roper, our computer expert, we established that Major Ashimov had fled to Belov’s house in County Louth, in company with Novikova. He also established that Belov himself was there – but about to leave for Moscow.”

“And knowing Dillon, he decided to stop him.”

Ferguson nodded. “By a beach drop, backed up by young Billy Salter.”

“Our young gangster friend? He does get around. Must have been difficult, though.”

“Mr. President, that is a particularly IRA area. There isn’t a policeman for miles, and strangers stick out like sore thumbs. Any kind of trouble, people keep their heads down and stay indoors. They don’t want to know. It was a very tricky drop.”

“So, what was the body count?”

“Three IRA in the house, plus Ashimov. Novikova, Belov and an IRA man named Tod Murphy made it out to sea in a boat, but Dillon had rigged it with a little Semtex and detonated it by remote control.”

“By God, he’s a ruthless bastard,” Cazalet said. “After that, I think I could do with another one. Clancy?”

Clancy obliged and recharged their glasses. It was Blake who said, “The curious thing is – this all took place three weeks ago and there hasn’t been a word about it anywhere. You’d think that Belov’s death would have caused ripples at least.”