‘On the contrary.’ Holm hunched forward. There was a junction ahead and he needed to take the exit if they were going to Felixstowe to alert the Border Force. For a moment his hand hovered over the indicator stalk, but he didn’t flick it. He’d changed his mind. ‘We’re telling nobody, Farakh.’

‘You just told me they’re smuggling weapons, right? Well they’re sitting in the warehouse right now just waiting to be picked up. We’ve got to stop them.’

‘Remember the mole? If it becomes common knowledge we’ve discovered the smuggling operation then Taher will vanish into thin air just as he’s done numerous times before. The most important thing we can do is find out the ultimate destination for the weapons and hope Taher is involved at the other end.’

‘And how the hell are we going to do that?’

Holm shrugged. ‘At the moment I haven’t a bloody clue.’

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Silva and Itchy took two rooms at a Travelodge a dozen miles up the A1 from RAF Wittering. There was a pub attached to the hotel, and after a meal they sat and drank a couple of beers and discussed what they’d seen. Silva put the battery back in her phone. Several texts pinged in from Sean. He’d be in Cambridge overnight. Did she want to meet tomorrow? She replied that she did and would arrive in time for lunch.

‘And what are you going to tell him?’ Itchy asked. ‘If he’s involved in this you’ll have shown our hand.’

‘I know,’ Silva said. ‘But I can’t believe he is. I think he was there on genuine US State Department business. You saw Greg Mavers? He’s the deputy ambassador. Then there was that American general and the UK defence secretary. I don’t think any of them would be aware of what happened later on.’

‘Do you think he’ll believe you?’

‘No idea.’ Silva took a sip from her beer. ‘But I want you to visit Fairchild and tell him what we saw. Stay there until I turn up or call you.’

‘And if you don’t?’

‘Then you’ll know Sean is part of the conspiracy, won’t you?’

Itchy’s eyes widened and he picked up his pint glass, taking a long draw before clunking the glass down on the table.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I guess I will.’

The next day she met Sean in the centre of Cambridge and they wandered through the city before having a meal in an old inn. Dark panelled walls, low ceilings, and a lack of natural light gave the place a conspiratorial atmosphere. The palpable tension between them when they’d parted in London had gone and Sean was back to his old self.

‘I love England,’ Sean said as they tucked into their food. ‘So much history. Did you know Isaac Newton supposedly drank in this pub?’