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whisper seemed to fill the room.
    After a moment, Kate said, ‘But who will attempt this thing?’
    ‘A mercenary. With the peace process taking over Northern Ireland, there are many expert IRA killers at loose ends.’ He produced an envelope and passed it to her. ‘This man, one Aidan Bell, comes highly recommended. He is to be found in County Down. It seems he shot a Russian general for the Chechens, and blew up his staff. A man willing to take risks. Go and see him, Kate. Take George with you. He’s soldiered over there and knows the ropes.’
    There was no longer any hesitation. A decision had been reached. ‘Of course, brother.’
    ‘One other thing.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘You liked Sean Dillon?’
    ‘I told you.’
    ‘Go and see him. Arrange an accidental meeting. Concoct a story. See what he knows of Aidan Bell.’
    She smiled. ‘It’ll be a pleasure.’
    ‘Well, don’t make it too much of one.’ He smiled back at her.

London
    County Down, Northern Ireland
    Kate Rashid went through the information her brother had supplied and it was good, detailed stuff. Aidan Bell was forty-eight years of age, had been a member of the IRA since the age of twenty, and had never served a day in prison. For years, he’d been a member of the Irish National Liberation Army, a very extremist organization. He had often been at loggerheads with the Provisional IRA but was responsible for some important hits.
    The most interesting fact was that over the years, he had also worked as a mercenary, cash on the nail, for many foreign revolutionary movements.
    Kate put the matter into the hands of her head of security at Rashid Investments, a trusted man and ex-paratrooper named Frank Kelly. Not in complete detail, however. She didn’t trust any employee that much. At this stage, all she wanted
    was a chance to meet Dillon as if by chance, and it came on the following Monday night.
    Kelly phoned her at the South Audley Street house, which was only five minutes up the road from the Dorchester. ‘Dillon has just gone into the Piano Bar. He seems dressed for a night out, got a dark blue suit on and a Guards tie.’ ‘But he wasn’t in the Guards.’ ‘Probably taking the piss, if you’ll excuse my language, ma’am. I did a lot of Irish time in One Para. I know about this guy.’
    ‘I didn’t realize you were in One Para, Kelly. Did you know my brother George?’
    ‘Yes, ma’am, though he was way above me. He was a Second Lieutenant, and I was just a Sergeant in my day.’
    ‘Fine. Have you a car there?’ ‘One of the company Mercs.’ ‘Drive up and get me. You can come to the Dorchester and wait. You personally, Kelly. I don’t want anyone else.’
    ‘Lady Kate, I wouldn’t dream of making it anyone else,’ Kelly told her.
    He picked her up, a well-dressed man no more than five-feet-eight, with a good, hard face and hair close-cropped, the Army bit that wouldn’t
    go away. In no time, he had dropped her at the Dorchester and parked in one of the privileged spaces.
    She went through the swinging doors, trim in a black trouser suit. As she walked into the bar, there was music, and there was Dillon playing the piano again.
    Guiliano turned up. ‘Lady Kate, what a pleasure. The usual table?’
    ‘No, the bottom left by the piano. I’d like to speak to the pianist.’
    ‘Ah, Mr Dillon. He’s good, isn’t he? Sits in before our regular comes, only now and then. Lord knows what he does the rest of the time. You know him?’
    ‘You could say that.’
    He escorted her to the table. She nodded to Dillon, ordered a glass of Krug champagne, sat down, and took out her mobile phone, which was strictly against bar rules. She called her brother George at his apartment not too far away.
    When he answered, she said, ‘I’m in the Piano Bar at the Dorchester. Dillon is here and Frank Kelly is outside. Call him on his mobile, and tell him to pick you up. I want you.’
    ‘Of course,’ George said. ‘See you