‘I don’t believe it.’ A look of astonishment spread across Javed’s face. ‘We’re going to go after Taher?’

‘Precisely.’

Chapter Nine

Silva spent another restless night at her mother’s house and the next morning rode cross-country from Marlborough to Matthew Fairchild’s place which, according to his business card, was located south of London, a few miles from Gatwick airport. The weather had changed from the previous day and she hurtled along beneath dark clouds, heavy rain making the road surfaces treacherous. She turned off a main road, the headlight on her bike piercing the gloom as she drove into thick woodland. After a mile the trees gave way to manicured parkland surrounding a large mansion, the grounds protected by high fences. A light glared out from a stone gatehouse, a shadow in one window. Silva rolled the bike to a stop at the heavy iron gates and removed her helmet. The door to the gatehouse swung open and a security guard emerged. He nodded at Silva.

‘You got a delivery?’ he said. ‘Only everything gets signed for down here. No need to go up to the house.’

‘The delivery is me,’ Silva said. ‘Tell Mr Fairchild Rebecca is here. Rebecca da Silva.’

‘Wait a moment.’ The guard strode across to the gatehouse and disappeared inside.

Silva sat astride her motorbike, drumming her fingers on the petrol tank. The guard was taking an age. She was about to forget about the whole thing when he reappeared.

‘You can go up there.’ He pressed a little key fob and the gates began to swing open. ‘Somebody will meet you at the front.’

Moments later she was gliding to a stop at the front of the house. At the top of a set of grand steps a door opened and Matthew Fairchild emerged.

‘Rebecca!’ Fairchild spread his arms wide and trotted down the steps as if he was making an entrance in some glitzy musical. ‘Why on earth didn’t you call ahead and let me know you were coming?’

‘I was in the neighbourhood.’ Silva removed her helmet. ‘I thought we needed a chat about Karen Hope.’

‘Right.’ Fairchild’s expression turned sombre. ‘You’d better come in.’

Inside, dark oak panelling adorned the walls and Silva’s feet moved silently across a thick carpet. Fairchild led her past a room where an open door showed a well-equipped office. There were several computer monitors and keyboards and a number of television screens showing rolling news channels. An array of newspapers lay spread across a large desk.

‘The hub of my business,’ Fairchild said, noticing Silva’s interest. ‘My game is security. Protecting business interests or charity projects, supporting governance through the provision of law and order. There are many places in the world where a little stability can go a long way. I seek to provide that stability.’

‘And what about a terrorist attack in Tunisia? How does that fit in?’