Fairchild put a hand out and touched her on the knee. ‘He’s in a safe house being watched over by a couple of mates from the regiment.’

She slumped back in her seat. The thought that he’d died had wracked her with guilt. They’d never properly made up but now there was a second chance for her to do that. She made a silent promise to herself she wouldn’t let the chance slip by.

The past few hours had been overwhelming and tiredness swept in. She closed her eyes for one moment and the next there was a hand on her shoulder.

‘We’re here.’

The night was gone, the darkness replaced by golden sunbeams shining through lush woodland, Fairchild’s mansion standing bathed in the morning light. Fairchild showed her in and took her through to a huge dining room; within seconds a pot of tea and a cooked breakfast had arrived.

‘Tuck in,’ Fairchild said. ‘You must be hungry.’

Silva nodded as the tray of food was placed on the table. She went across and sat down. ‘Where’s Itchy?’

‘He’s upstairs chilling out. Don’t worry, he told us everything. It’s all under control.’ Fairchild took a chair opposite her as she began to eat. ‘You’ll be wanting answers, but I’m not the person to give them to you.’

‘Who is, then?’ Silva muttered through a mouthful of bacon.

‘He’ll be here in a minute.’

‘Right.’ Silva carried on eating. Took a drink of tea. When she’d finished, Fairchild asked if she wanted some more. ‘No,’ she said.

Ten minutes later there was the sound of the front door opening and one of Fairchild’s aides appeared.

‘He’s here, sir.’

‘Show him through.’

Silva turned her head to see a man in a dark suit walk into the room. Rectangular frameless glasses. Short brown hair. A hand moving up to touch his glasses. The bank manager-cum-wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Simeon Weiss.

‘What the hell is he doing here?’ Silva pushed back her chair from the table and glared at Fairchild. ‘You’ve sold me out, you bastard!’

‘Nobody’s sold anyone out, Ms da Silva,’ Weiss said. ‘Leastways not yet.’

‘Please, Rebecca.’ Fairchild gestured at the table. ‘Sit down and listen to what Simeon has to say.’

‘He threatened me and he killed Neil Milligan.’

‘We did not kill Mr Milligan,’ Weiss said.

‘Who did, then?’

‘Hope’s people.’

‘Mavers? The CIA?’

‘She paid off Mavers and a few others, but the CIA? Good God, no, she hasn’t got control of them. At least not yet.’

‘That’s what this is all about, Rebecca.’ Fairchild approached the table and drew out a chair. ‘Stopping Karen Hope before it gets to a point where she can’t be stopped.’

Silva turned to Weiss. ‘I thought that’s what you were trying to prevent me doing? Stopping Karen Hope.’

‘Well—’