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you’ll guard Molly Rashid.”
    “I liked her,” Greta said, handing out vodka.
    “Which leaves you and me, Billy boy, to go to Iraq,” Dillon told him.
    “Saving the world again.”
    “The job of all great men,” Dillon said. “Now, tell me how you see this gig going,” he asked Roper.
    “Well, at some stage I imagine it would involve you or Billy kicking the door of that villa open, gun in hand.”
    “Very funny, Roper.”
    At that moment, Roper’s Codex Four, his secure mobile phone, rang, and he could see it was Harry Salter.
    “Harry! What’s up?” he asked.
    “Is everyone there?”
    “Not for long.”
    “Put me on speakerphone and I’ll tell you what’s up.” He waited a moment. “Remember George Moon and his thug Big Harold?”
    “Personally, I’ll never forget them,” Roper said.
    “Listen and learn, children.” Harry’s voice floated out of the phone.
    By the time he had finished, everybody was up to date on the events at the Harvest Moon.
    At the end, Billy groaned. “Ruby? Ruby Moon at the Dark Man?”
    “She’s safely tucked up in bed right now. It could be a lot worse, Billy. It’ll make a man of you, old boy, isn’t that what they say?”
    “Not at the school I went to.”
    “And it was one of the finest public schools in London, too. I want-

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    ed to make a gent of him, teach him how to behave. Look how it turned out.”
    “Yes, you’ve created a gentleman gangster. A highwayman!” Roper laughed. “It certainly suits Billy.”
    “All right, let’s have you home, Billy. I smell things happening over there. Make an old man happy and tell me all about it.”
    “I’ll see you in twenty minutes,” Billy said and clicked off. He turned to Roper and Dillon. “So, what’s the deal?”
    “We’ll keep Ferguson out of it entirely,” said Roper. “I’ll arrange false papers—I think you’ll play war correspondents again. I’ll book a flight from Farley Field. Dillon takes the rap for telling Lacey and Parry it’s an unexpected flight, highly secret and so on. The weapons will be supplied by the quartermaster at Farley. I know a firm called Recovery that’ll help us in Baghdad. It’ll just take a call to make sure. I can let you know tomorrow. Off you go.”
    “Christ Almighty. Titanium waistcoats again.”
    Billy left, and Dillon walked Greta out and watched as Henderson let Billy out of the electronic gates. After he drove away, they went back inside.
    “I think I’ll sleep in staff quarters,” Greta said, and at that moment Ferguson’s voice echoed out of Roper’s computer, and he sounded annoyed.
    “Isn’t anyone there?”
    G R E T A J U M P E D , Roper placed a finger on his lips and Dillon poured Bushmills from a bottle on the corner table.
    “I’m here, boss. You know us, we never close,” Roper said.
    “How’s Brussels?” Dillon put in.
    “Bloody boring, but that’s politics for you. As far as the Prime Minister is concerned, though, we’re into another time of the wolf.”
    “A second Cold War?” Dillon said.

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J A C K H I G G I N S
    “I think we’ve known that for a while. General Volkov never leaves Putin’s side, and as for that fat fool Lhuzkov at the embassy, we’ll deal with him later. So things are quiet at the moment?”
    “Absolutely, Your Honor, and boring with it.”
    “The stage Irishman act is past its sell-by date, Dillon. All right, if that’s all, I’ll say good night. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
    He clicked off and Dillon said, “I’m going to bed for a while. Knowing you, you’re going to get started on the false papers.”
    “Nothing like a bit of forgery to pass away my lonely night. It’s like something out of Dickens,” and Roper turned to his beloved computers. “Sean—the mystery man from al-Qaeda, the Broker. Do you believe in him?”
    “Absolutely,” Dillon said.
    Roper smiled. “I’m so pleased. So do I.”
    I N T H E E M B A S S Y I N B R U S S