‘Right.’ She handed the Glock to Itchy and walked back to her father’s room, Itchy following. She looked down at the body on the floor. The man’s face seemed familiar, and he certainly wasn’t a Saudi. She cocked her head and moved round the body to view the face from a different angle.

‘Bloody hell,’ she said.

‘You know him?’ Itchy said.

‘This is so crazy. I can’t believe it.’

‘Silvi! Who is it?’

‘I only know his first name is Frank. He was at a reception in London where Karen Hope gave a speech. He’s an agent. Sean knew him.’

‘Sean? You mean he’s…? Oh great. We’re really fucked, then.’

‘Better fucked than dead.’ Silva’s father pushed himself up from where he’d been hiding behind the chair. He walked over. ‘That little shit would have killed me if I hadn’t shot first.’

‘It’s self-defence, then,’ Silva said. She reached out and gently took the Browning from her father. She engaged the safety and uncocked the weapon. ‘But this is definitely not legal.’

‘It was perfectly legal when I was in Iraq. Defending the realm. Putting my life on the line for others.’

‘Dirty work, Dad. You don’t get the credit, only the blame.’

‘Well I’ll face the consequences when the police get here. There’ll be an outcry if they lock me up simply because I shot a burglar.’

‘I don’t think he was a burglar.’ Silva cast a glance at Itchy. ‘And I don’t think we should call the police either.’

‘Why not?’

‘I told you this man is a US agent.’ Silva moved her foot and prodded the man’s arm. Blood was pooling on the carpet. ‘He and his mate were sent here to kill me.’

‘Rebecca?’ Her father looked at her as if she was a child again and had performed badly in a school test. ‘What on earth have you got yourself into?’

‘What have…?’ Silva wondered if her grandmother’s dementia was hereditary. ‘This guy is working for the US government, Dad. Do you understand what that means?’

‘I told you this wasn’t simple. I told you the only way was to kill Karen Hope. Now it’s all gone fubar.’

Her father was right about one thing, she thought. This was fubar. Fucked up beyond all repair.

‘Folks.’ Itchy. ‘We haven’t got time for this. We’ve got to split.’

‘What about the body?’ Silva stepped back. The pool of blood had grown. ‘We can’t just leave it here.’

‘You go. Kenneth and I will deal with that.’ Mrs Collins stood in the hallway looking at the stain on the carpet with some concern. ‘After all, cleaning’s what I’m good for, right?’