‘He told me his family was threatened, but that doesn’t scare me. We should simply hand all the material to the newspapers.’

‘Brave words, but futile. You see I wouldn’t mind betting the authorities know some, if not all, of this already. No media outlet will touch the story, firstly because the government will issue D notices to prevent publication, secondly because the forces that threatened Milligan will threaten anybody who tries to disseminate the information.’

‘I told you, that doesn’t worry me.’

‘Well it should.’ Fairchild held his wine glass and swirled the contents, gazing down into the pale alcohol. He appeared distracted, disturbed perhaps. He took another sip and put the glass down. ‘Your father wants Hope dead and he thinks you’re the right person to kill her.’

‘Great. Nice he has faith in me for a change.’

‘Rebecca, there are dozens of stories floating around the US media about Karen Hope. Everything from dodgy arms deals to devil worship. One I read says she had a baby and killed it and ate the child’s heart as part of a witch’s spell. Depending where you choose to get your news, she is either a white supremacist or a communist. She’s secretly a Muslim. A Jew. A Scientologist. A radical pro-lifer. A vegan who lives on spinach smoothies. An alien.’

‘Fake news.’

‘Exactly. Day and night the public are bludgeoned with these stories – why do you think they’ll believe your mother’s?’

‘Because there’s proof. The photograph with Haddad and Latif.’

‘I saw an image the other day that showed Hope having sex with a horse. Is that proof she’s into bestiality?’

‘Of course not.’ Silva stayed silent for a beat. She turned her head in the direction of the man with the lager. ‘If you and my father are convinced killing her is the only option why don’t you use your own people? You must have dozens of mercenaries you can call on.’

‘You’ve overestimated my set-up. I have people on the ground in various countries, but most are freelancers and none as capable as you. This is a job for a specialist, for somebody at the top of their field.’ Fairchild looked at Silva and sighed. ‘Here.’

Fairchild unzipped a leather document folder and pulled out a large envelope. He reached in and carefully extracted a couple of pictures. One was an aerial photograph, the other a similar image to the one of the villa Fairchild had shown her before; this time the little terrace was empty aside from a table with a parasol.