The contents of four manila files were strewn around him.

Four files. Four individuals. One mother-fucking nightmare.

File One. The largest by far. Information on Dale Victor.

Whatever Cunningham had been willing to admit, Victor had

posed a problem to his organisation. The man was a populist. Just as John Knowles had been before the last election. Sure, Victor had none of Knowles’ brilliance. And certainly none of his beliefs. But still, the man was electable. He could have beaten Knowles.

And if he had, he would have been that rare thing. An uncontrollable politician.

It was an unacceptable scenario for the organisation. A president they could not buy or blackmail. Dale Victor was too rich for the former, and too shameless for the latter. No scandal ever seemed to touch the man. He cared about nothing but his own rise to power, and it damn well looked like he might pull it off. And so when it seemed he might have something damaging on Knowles – something that could at the very least cost Knowles re-election and see him replaced with the uncontrollable Dale Victor – Cunningham had acted without hesitation.

After all the efforts the organisation had made to take control of the presidency? Cunningham couldn’t lose it.

No. Victor had had to go. And so Cunningham had seen to it. He had done the right thing, he remained sure of that.

Even if it had triggered the shitstorm that had followed.

File Two. Much smaller. Nizar Mansour.

Where things had started to go wrong.

Mansour had seemed the perfect patsy for the bombing of Flight PA16. A few camera movements here and there, to dispel any doubt as to who had placed the bomb in the hold. A little planted evidence, to firm up the perceived motive. All designed to point to one man, a refugee from an Islamic war zone. And all ready to be found once Romeo Meyer’s team had silenced him.

Except Mansour had not been silenced. Not yet, anyway. And as long as he was alive, he remained a ticking bomb. A problem that needed to be addressed. And in that respect he was far from alone.

File Three. Thicker again. ISB agent Joe Dempsey.

This one was a complication of a different kind. Another mistake. But this time his. The file told Cunningham of a long list of exploits and assignments. Information Cunningham should have accessed before authorising Braddock’s team.

If I’d read this first . . . if I’d known what this sonofabitch was capable of . . . I’d have sent a whole fucking regiment.

But the mistake had been made. That couldn’t be changed now. And because of it Dempsey was still alive and had gone to ground. And from what the file said about him, Cunningham doubted he would be found any time soon. Certainly not until he had achieved his objective.

And Cunningham thought he knew what that objective must be.

He wants to bring all this to Knowles’ door. Afghanistan. Quilty. Victor. The plane. Everything.