Shepherd heard the click of a key being inserted into a lock and then the front door opened. He stayed where he was, sitting in the chair behind the door. There was no way that she would be able to see him until she was in the room and by then it would be too late for her to do anything. He doubted that she would be carrying a gun, and even if she was there would be no time for her to pull it out. He looked down at the Glock in his hand. The Major had given him the gun. It had come direct from the manufacturers and had only been fired on one occasion, during testing at the indoor range, and once Shepherd had done what he had to do it would be disassembled and destroyed.

He was wearing dark clothes and black leather gloves and was sitting in the dark. He had been in the room for six hours without moving.

He heard footsteps walking down the hallway to the kitchen and then the sound of bags of shopping being placed on the counter followed by the click of an electric kettle being switched on. More footsteps back into the hall and then the rustle of a coat being removed. Then the door was pushed open and she walked into the room. She was wearing a knee-length black skirt, a pale blue shirt and a dark blue jacket, and looked more like a bank cashier than a Republican enforcer with blood on her hands. ‘Shit,’ she said. She was about to take a step back to the door when she saw the gun in his hand.

Shepherd waved the Glock at the sofa by the fireplace. ‘Sit down,’ he said.

She did as she was told. He could see her looking around for something to use as a weapon, which told him that she wasn’t carrying a gun. It didn’t matter either way; now that she was sitting she wouldn’t have time to do anything.

‘Cross your legs at the ankles,’ he said.

She obeyed him.

‘It wasn’t personal,’ she said.

‘I’m not sure that’s true.’

‘You attacked us. You killed two of our people. I’m sure you’d say that wasn’t personal either.’ Her voice was calm and measured with hardly any trace of the stress that she was under. Shepherd knew that her adrenal glands would have gone into overdrive and that she’d be geared up for flight or fight, but that wasn’t going to happen. And with her legs crossed she wouldn’t be able to spring at him.

‘OK if I smoke?’

‘Where are your cigarettes?’

‘Right-hand jacket pocket.’

‘Knock yourself out,’ said Shepherd. ‘But move very slowly and if you pull out anything that looks remotely like a weapon you’re dead.’

She nodded and slowly took out a packet of Rothmans. ‘I’ve a lighter in my pocket, too. Gold.’

‘Gold?’

‘Gold plated. It was a gift from my father.’