‘But suppose she has got something to hide. Suppose the Hope family have been supplying money and weapons to terrorists. This isn’t some dodgy news story, Sean. It’s part of the arrangement the Hope family have with Jawad al Haddad. He brokered the arms deal with the Saudi government, and Brandon Hope, as a kickback, makes sure certain shipments are delivered to Islamic extremists. Haddad’s hands appear to be clean but his objectives are still fulfilled. What’s more, in a few months’ time, he’s going to have a receptive ear in the White House.’

‘It sounds like a bad conspiracy theory.’ Sean shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Rebecca, I don’t believe it. I think your mother was sold a dummy in order to try and discredit Karen Hope.’

Sean looked at her but said nothing. The sounds of the pub intruded. Cutlery chinking on plates. The hubbub of conversation. A chorus of laughter from a nearby table.

‘I think,’ Sean said eventually, ‘that it would be best if you passed all the information to me. I’ll see to it that it gets to the right places. Not only has your mother been duped, but this looks like an attempt to subvert democracy.’ Sean shrugged. ‘Sorry.’

‘Fine.’ Silva eased back into her chair. She needed to get out of here. It had been a mistake to talk to Sean and now she worried what he might do. She pointed at her empty glass. ‘Could you get me another drink? I’m going to the loo.’

For a second Sean looked bemused but then he nodded. ‘Sure.’

Silva stood and weaved between the tables, heading for the toilets. She glanced over her shoulder. Sean was at the bar, trying to attract the attention of the barman. Silva changed direction and made for the exit. To one side of the door there was an array of coat hooks, empty in this warm weather aside from Silva’s leather jacket and helmet. She grabbed them and slipped outside, sprinting across the road to where she’d left her motorbike. A few seconds later she was riding away, dodging cyclists and pedestrians, and trying not to look back.

Chapter Thirty

She headed south, intending to rendezvous with Itchy at Fairchild’s place. First though, she wanted to check on her father.

It was a little after nine thirty in the evening when she coaxed the bike up the gravel drive. The house loomed dark against a red sky, clouds piling in from the west. The windows stood black and empty, as if the place had been abandoned long ago.