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the half-opened door, was Simmonds. I hadn’t seen him since Gibraltar. What a switched-on boy he’d turned out to be, sorting out the inquest and basically making sure that Euan and I didn’t exist. I felt a mixture of surprise and relief to see him here. He’d had nothing to do with the Kurd job. We might be getting the kettle out after all.
    Simmonds stood up. Six feet tall, late forties, rather distinguished looking, a very polite man, I thought, as he extended his hand. He was dressed in corduroy trousers the colour of Colman’s mustard, and a shirt that looked as if he’d slept in it.
    ‘Delighted to see you again, Nick.’
    We shook hands and Lynn said, ‘Stone, Would you like a brew?’
    Things were looking up.
    ‘Thanks. Coffee, white, no sugar.’
    We all sat down. I took a wooden chair that was on the other side of the desk and had a quick look round the office, while Lynn pressed the intercom on his desk and passed the order on to the clerk. His office was at the rear of the building and overlooked the Thames. It was a very plain, very functional, very impersonal room, apart from a framed photograph on the desk of a group which I presumed were his wife and two children. There were two Easter eggs and wrapping paper on the window sill. Mounted on a wall bracket in one corner was a television; the screen was scrolling through Ceefax world news headlines. Under the TV was the obligatory officer’s squash racquet and his jacket on a coat-stand.
    Without further formalities, Lynn leaned over and said, ‘We’ve got a fastball for you.’
    I looked at Simmonds.
    Lynn continued, ‘Stone, you’re in the shit over the last job, and that’s just tough, but you can rectify that by going on this one. I’m not saying it’ll help, but at least you’re still working. Take it or leave it.’
    I said, ‘I’ll do it.’
    He’d known what I was going to say. He was already reaching for a small stack of files containing photographs and bits of paper. As a margin note on one of the sheets I could see a scribble in green ink. It could only have been written by the head of the Firm. Simmonds still hadn’t said a word.
    Lynn handed me a photograph.
    ‘Who are they?’
    ‘Michael Kerr and Morgan McGear. They’re on their way to Shannon as we speak, then flying to Heathrow for a flight to Washington. They’ve booked a return flight with Virgin and they’re running on forged southern Irish passports. I want you to take them from Shannon to Heathrow and then on to Washington. See what they’re up to and who they’re meeting.’
    I’d followed players out of the Republic before and could anticipate a problem. I said, ‘What happens if they don’t follow the plan? If they’re on forged passports, they might go through the motions just to get airside, then use their other passports to board another flight and fuck off to Amsterdam. It wouldn’t be the first time.’
    Simmonds smiled. ‘I understand your concern and it is noted. But they will go.’
    Lynn passed me a sheet of paper. ‘These are the flight details. They booked yesterday in Belfast.’
    There was a knock on the door. Three coffees arrived, one in a mug showing a Tasmanian devil, one with a vintage car on and a plain white one. I got the impression Lynn and Simmonds were on their second round.
    Simmonds picked up the plain one, Lynn picked up the car, and I was left with the Tasmanian devil running up a hill.
    ‘Who’s taking them from Belfast to Shannon?’
    Simmonds said, ‘Actually, it’s Euan. He has them at the moment. He’ll hand over to you at Shannon.’
    I smiled to myself at the mention of Euan’s name. I was now out of the system and basically just used as a K on deniable operations. The only reason I did it was to finance other things I wanted to do. What they were, I didn’t know yet; I was a thirty-seven-year-old man with a lot on his mind but not too much in it. Euan, however, still felt very much part of the system. He still