Midnight Runner. Jack Higgins

the size of her oil interests in the Middle East. Rashid Investments controls a third of all production there. She could bring down the whole house of cards if she wanted to.’

      ‘Christ,’ Ferguson groaned. ‘A third of Middle Eastern oil production.’

      Dillon turned back to Roper. ‘What about here at home? She hasn’t made grants to the IRA or the Ulster Freedom Fighters or anything like that?’

      ‘No, but there are a lot of fringe organizations, like the People’s Army, the Socialist Marxist League, the Nationalist Liberation Group, the United Anarchists, and so on – and all the contributions presented as educational grants.’

      ‘And next time there’s a riot in London, how many of the members will be there?’ Hannah asked.

      Roper shrugged. ‘She’s very clever. Everything is done in the open and above board. Many people would applaud what she’s doing.’

      ‘On the surface, maybe,’ Ferguson said. ‘But she’s clever, all right. What about Act of Class Warfare?’

      ‘Despite its name, it seems pretty innocuous. Its biggest feature is a kind of outdoor educational programme for kids from twelve to eighteen. School parties, canoeing, trekking, mountain climbing.’

      ‘I wonder what the older students get?’ Dillon asked.

      ‘Its headquarters is in western Scotland, in a town called Moidart, at Loch Dhu Castle. Yes, it belongs to the Countess.’

      Ferguson was astonished. ‘But I’ve been there. We all have.’

      Even Roper was surprised. ‘What do you mean?’

      It was Dillon who answered. ‘A few years ago, we had to deal with a very bad article named Carl Morgan who’d rented that castle for a few weeks. The General, Hannah, and I took him on from Ardmurchan Lodge on the other side of the loch.’

      Hannah turned to Ferguson. ‘But Lady Katherine owned it.’

      ‘Actually, it’s a little more complicated than that,’ said Roper. ‘When Sir Paul Dauncey received the title of Earl of Loch Dhu from James the First, it was an old castle even then. It was rebuilt in mid-Victorian style by one of the later Earls, starting in 1850, but the family hardly ever used it – they preferred Dauncey Place. More recently, they leased it to the Campbell family for fifty years. On the death of Lady Katherine Rose five years ago, the lease reverted to the Daunceys.’

      ‘Or since the marriage of Kate’s mother to the Rashids,’ Dillon said.

      ‘Carl Jung once said there was a thing called synchronicity,’ Hannah said. ‘An event going beyond mere coincidence that makes you think there’s some deeper meaning involved.’

      ‘Yes, spooky, isn’t it?’ Dillon said. ‘Kate Rashid’s been waiting for us to turn up all this time.’

      ‘Don’t talk nonsense.’ It was Ferguson who interjected. ‘But, you know, I think it’s time for us to shake the pot a bit.’

      ‘What do you mean, sir?’ Hannah asked.

      Ferguson turned to Dillon. ‘Sean, I think it’s time for “we know that they know and they know that we know”.’

      ‘And what would that accomplish?’ Dillon asked.

      ‘All right. Now, this is top secret and for your ears only, and Whitehall would probably skin me alive for telling you – but for the past couple of years, Kate Rashid’s done…some work for the government. She’s been a secret emissary for the Foreign Office and the Prime Minister.’

      ‘What?!’ Hannah exclaimed. ‘Oh, I can’t believe this!’

      ‘Do we get to know who’s at the other end?’ Dillon asked.

      ‘Saddam Hussein.’

      ‘Good God,’ Hannah moaned.

      ‘She knows him well, you see, and he’s a great admirer.’

      ‘She can’t put a foot wrong, can she?’ Roper commented. ‘So what you’re saying is that she has protectors, that we’d have difficulty getting certain people to think ill of her at the highest levels of government.’

      ‘Yes. But I damn well do,’ Ferguson said.

      ‘And you’d like Kate Rashid to know you’re on her case?’

      ‘Exactly.’ He turned to Hannah Bernstein. ‘You and Dillon, I want you to go to Loch Dhu castle, see what you can stir up.’

      ‘When, sir?’

      ‘Right now. Phone Farley Field. Tell Lacey and Parry to get the Gulfstream ready. If I remember right, there’s an old abandoned RAF strip by the Loch. It’s only four hundred and fifty miles, it should take you an hour and a half.’

      ‘We’d need transport, sir.’

      ‘Then phone the air-sea rescue base at Oban. Tell them to send an unmarked car. Do it now. Go on, Superintendent, you can use your mobile in the car.’

      He almost pushed her out of the room, and Dillon smiled at Roper as he followed. ‘Now you know how we won the war.’

      ‘Which war?’ Roper asked.

      At Farley Field, the small RAF installation used for covert operations, they were greeted by Squadron Leader Lacey and Flight Lieutenant Parry. Both officers were holders of the Air Force Cross, awarded for hazardous operations in various parts of the world on Ferguson’s behalf. Both men wore nondescript blue flying overalls with no rank tabs.

      Lacey said, ‘Nice to see you, Sean. Will it be messy?’

      ‘Probably not – but you never know, do you?’

      ‘We’re using the Lear, since it doesn’t have RAF roundels, Superintendent. You did say you wanted this business low-key.’

      ‘Of course. Let’s get moving.’

      She went up the ladder, Dillon behind her, and the pilots followed. Lacey went to the cockpit and Parry closed the door. A minute later, they sped down the runway and took off, climbing fast to thirty thousand feet.

      ‘Why the emphasis on anonymity when Ferguson wants Kate to know it’s us?’ Dillon asked.

      ‘We’re a covert organization, and we want to keep it that way. A plane with RAF roundels and two officers in uniform could form the basis of a formal complaint if the Countess so desired.’

      ‘Ah, Kate would never do that. There are rules, even in our business.’

      ‘You’ve never obeyed a rule in your life.’

      He lit a cigarette. ‘The ones that suit me, I do. How are you feeling these days, Hannah?’

      The previous year, during the feud with the Rashids, she’d been shot three times by an Arab gunman.

      ‘Don’t fuss, Dillon. I’m here, aren’t I?’

      ‘Ah, the hard woman you are.’

      ‘Oh, shut up.’

      Parry had left a couple of newspapers on the seat. She picked up The Times and started to read.

      At the same time, other things were happening in the world. In Kosovo, Daniel Quinn entered the village of Leci in a Land Rover owned by the British Household Cavalry Regiment. A trooper stood up behind a mounted machine gun and another drove while Quinn, wearing a combat jacket, sat in the rear beside a corporal of horse – the equivalent of a sergeant in other units – named Varley.

      It started to rain. There was smoke in the air, acrid in the damp, from houses still burning. There was no sign of the population.

      Varley said, ‘It looks as if that same Albanian flying column’s been here, too.’

      ‘Could we be in trouble?’

      ‘Probably