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to her. ‘And you’re asking for me? I work for Ferguson.’
    ‘So you’ll tell him. This isn’t an intelligence matter. I want back-up, that’s all, and in that damn place you’re the best. What’s the matter, doesn’t Ferguson ever let you work freelance?’
    ‘I’ll see what the good Brigadier thinks, and I’ll let you know.’
    At Ferguson’s flat later that night, he gave the Brigadier a rundown of what had taken place.
    Hannah Bernstein heard it all, too. When Dillon was finished, Ferguson thought about it, then turned to her.
    ‘What do you think?’
    ‘On the surface, it makes sense. The Rashid outfit is definitely into Ulster these days, but so are a lot of people. On the other hand, it’s a good story. Too good.’
    Ferguson turned to Dillon, who smiled and said, ‘I always believed in women coppers. She’s right.’
    Ferguson nodded. ‘There’s a hidden agenda. See if you can find out what, Sean.’
    ‘There you go, calling me Sean again.’ Dillon smiled. ‘Still and all, things are quiet. I’ll take a look.’
    ‘And keep in touch,’ Ferguson told him.
    The Rashid Gulfstream flew from RAF Northolt, a popular venue with executive jets that found problems with the congestion of Heathrow. Besides the two pilots, the other people on board were Kate, Dillon, George Rashid and Kelly. Dillon had arrived last, and once they were in flight, he opened the bar box and found a half bottle of Bushmills.
    ‘We still don’t know what’s happening,’ Kate said.
    ‘Well, it’s reasonably simple. Aidan Bell at Drumcree is expecting you sometime tomorrow to discover whatever you want to discuss with him. We land this afternoon at Aldergrove. My arrangements are that we go to a little fishing port called Magee, sail overnight to Drumcree and you can see Bell in the morning.’
    There was silence. She said, ‘Are you sure about this?’
    ‘It’s a nice forty-foot boat called Aran. I could handle it myself, but these two can act as deckhands. It leaves Aidan Bell slightly left-footed, you arriving that way - he won’t expect it - so a bright girl should do rather well.’
    ‘Bastard,’ she told him. ‘Why is it I think of you like that?’
    ‘Because that’s what I am.’
    ‘Well, as long as you’re my bastard on this thing, all right?’
    Not that she believed him, not for a moment, but she had her agenda and she was playing it through.
    The flight was normal, the drive down to the coast just as uneventful. Magee was a small place,
    the kind that in the old days had been mainly occupied with fishing. The Aran was tied up at the pier, a shabby boat, as Dillon had said, forty feet, but having used Ferguson’s best efforts, he knew it had twin screws and the kind of engine you needed for action by night. He waited until almost midnight before leaving.
    They had a simple meal of fried eggs and canned spaghetti bolognese, and even split a bottle of white wine so cheap that it had a screw cap instead of a cork.
    ‘We’ll take our leave,’ Dillon said. ‘The weather isn’t too bad. Wind’s six or seven. Half engines mostly.’ He nodded to George and Kelly. ‘You two cast off, then I suggest you get some sleep. There’s no way of knowing how things will go in the morning.’
    ‘And what about you?’ Kate asked.
    ‘I’ll manage.’
    ‘Dillon, I’ve been sailing boats for years.’
    ‘Then if it gets rough, you can give me a hand.’
    As the Aran moved out to sea, the tide was still running in. Visibility was poor, rain drifting. Kate stood beside Dillon in the wheelhouse, with only the light over the chart table.
    “Rain squalls and maybe fog in the morning,’ he
    said. ‘Are you okay? There are sea-sickness pills in that drawer.’
    ‘I told you, Dillon, I’ve sailed before. I’ll make some tea and perhaps a sandwich.’
    Not long afterwards, he smelled bacon, and she came into the wheelhouse with a thermos flask of tea and three sandwiches. ‘Two for you, one for me.’ ‘And