‘Karen Hope was undoubtedly a crook, a fraud and a murderer. However, in very few jurisdictions does that give you the right to execute her without trial.’ Weiss lifted his shoulders in resignation. ‘If we were to give your mother the credit she deserves it would be simple for anyone to work out you must have been the sniper, both in Positano and in Tunisia.’

‘Some people know already.’

‘Knowing is not the same as having the evidence.’

‘They could still come after me. The US government. Haddad. Taher.’

‘When we release your mother’s material, which we will do shortly, the US will back off. Now Hope is dead, the rationale for any sort of coverup has gone. Haddad is likely to face trial in Saudia Arabia. The trial will be swift and the verdict is not in doubt. I imagine the punishment will be quite barbaric. As for Taher, well, we’re closing in on him.’

‘Right.’ Silva wasn’t convinced. ‘And what about the Hope family? Brandon and the father. Those kinds of dynasties tend to bear grudges.’

‘Brandon Hope has disappeared. If and when he surfaces he’ll have a lot of explaining to do.’

Could her worries be dismissed so easily? It was noticeable that at no point since she’d returned from Tunisia had she been offered any kind of protection. There’d been no talk of a new identity or of relocation.

‘One more thing – your motorbike.’ Weiss pulled a set of keys from his pocket and placed them on the table. ‘I had it brought here. It’s in Fairchild’s garage.’

‘So I can go now?’

‘In a bit.’ Weiss slipped over to the window and peered out. A chauffeured car was rolling down the driveway.

‘Who’s that?’ Silva craned her neck but Weiss stood blocking the view of the front steps. He turned and trotted to the door. As he reached it the door swung open, to reveal a woman standing there. Brown tweed. Glasses on a bony nose. Something like a character from an Agatha Christie novel.

‘My boss.’ Weiss almost seemed to bow his head in deference. ‘The new Director General of MI5. Fiona Huxtable.’

‘Ms da Silva.’ Huxtable’s hand was extended as she strode across the room. ‘It’s a pleasure.’

Silva shook Huxtable’s hand. If the title was supposed to impress her it hadn’t. If anything it had made her suspicious.

‘What’s this about?’ she said.

‘Loose ends,’ Huxtable said. She gestured to the chairs near the fireplace. Silva went across and sat while Huxtable perched on the edge of her chair like a bird. ‘I came here to thank you. You’ve done this country a great service, perhaps not just this country.’

‘You used us,’ Silva said. ‘We were pawns on the board.’