The smile faded slowly. 'They've got one at Hereford, in their collection — ' He looked around suddenly, first at the ruins, and then at the wooded hillsides above them ' — I'd be delighted to show the Hereford one to you, if you still doubt me — and Dr Mitchell, Miss Franklin — ?' Having made his dummy1

point, he came back to Audley at last. 'So, now that I really am one of your team, Dr Audley . . . shall we go, then?'

Audley felt the first spots of rain in the wind spatter his face, out of the darker clouds which had been drifting like smoke among the topmost trees of the ridges.

'Ah — David . . . Dr Audley — ' Mary Franklin had assimilated everything she hadn't known before, both about Russian military entrenching-tools and about Major Peter Richardson. So now she was as sharp as a Spetsnaz spade turning over in the air before it struck ' — I must report in, to say where we're going.'

And she must do bloody-well more than that, now they had wrapped up fifteen-years-ago, to give Henry Jaggard all he needed for his horse-trading. 'Yes, Miss Franklin.' Apart from which, he badly needed to know what Henry Jaggard himself was doing, after his own advice from last evening, which not even Jaggard could safely have ignored; but which, equally, he couldn't ask for now, in front of Richardson, who wanted blood, not glasnost! 'And perhaps you can also ask Henry to alert Hereford —the SAS — to expect us, while you're about it.'

'And to get them off their arses, too.' Outwardly, Richardson nodded, prudent, one-of-the-team-again commonsense, in agreement. But Audley caught more than that in his enthusiasm. 'We need to seal off this whole area, if Lukianov is back in it. But not crudely, Miss Franklin: we've got to make sure he gets in first. Otherwise he'll back off — do you dummy1

see?'

'Yes.' For the first time Major Richardson got a Mary Franklin smile. 'I do take your point, believe me.' Then Audley received a Mary Franklin frown, which froze him with his mouth slightly open. 'We have a phone cleared here, Dr Audley. So ... if you would stay here — or, maybe get into my car, perhaps?' Mitchell received the rest of the frown. 'And, if you care to go with the Major, Dr Mitchell —

to Hereford? After I have reported in — ?' The frown reversed itself, quite dazzlingly, as the original smile hit Richardson between the eyes again. 'I'm sure Dr Mitchell knows the way, Major. And I will follow you, with Dr Audley.'

She might not know about spades. But she knew what she wanted — and how to get it exactly, with that movement order, which split them neatly, beyond argument.

No trouble, Charlie had said.

But . . . what a waste — that loyalty to Henry Jaggard!

Audley thought. 'Very well, Miss Franklin. Right, Peter —?'

2

'Damn this weather.' Mary Franklin squinted through the rain-blurred windscreen at the rear lights of the Porsche.

'And we shouldn't be doing this, anyway. It isn't necessary.'

'No.' Audley settled back comfortably for the first time in dummy1

days. And she smelt good, too. 'Is that what Henry Jaggard said?' He could imagine what Henry Jaggard had said: Don't let the bastards out of your sight, Miss Franklin.

'Don't worry, Paul will look after the Major. And I know the way, if we lose them. I know all this country quite well, as it happens. From my old days.'

'Yes?' In spite of what he'd said (but because of what the egregious Jaggard had said?), she was determined not to lose the Porsche. But she gave him a quick glance, nevertheless. 'How was that? You've never had anything much to do with the SAS, have you?'

It was hardly a question; she had his long professional curriculum vitae at her fingertips for sure, Jaggard would have seen to that too. 'No, not much — hardly anything, really. But I meant the old old days, Miss Franklin . . . may I call you "Mary", Miss Franklin?'

'Of course, Dr Audley.' She had the measure of the Porsche now: she was a good driver, predictably. And the Porsche was also slowing down somewhat — also predictably, as its occupants began to talk to each other, each having no doubt decided that there was more to be gained from the other by a temporary alliance than by chalk-and-cheese antagonism.

'What "old" old days?'

'When I was a student. And after.' The past pointed conveniently to the present. 'The Middle Ages was my special period. And the Welsh Marches are very . . .

medieval, Mary. Lots of big castles . . . Chepstow, Raglan up dummy1

ahead . . . Pembroke, to the west.'

'Yes?' She nodded politely into the murk. 'You wrote a book about the Earl of Pembroke, didn't you?'

'William Marshall — yes.' That would have been in the CV.

'And lots of smaller castles. And middling ones, like the

"quadrilateral" — Skenfrith, Grosmont, White and Maerdy, from Marshall's time. Although Hubert de Burgh held them then, of course.' He threw the names in deliberately. 'They control the Monow valley, which is the way into Wales from Hereford. And out of it, into England — Hereford-Worcester, Hereford-Gloucester . . . and Cheltenham.'

'Cheltenham?' Her interest stirred, as he intended it should.

'Indeed. And do you enjoy working for Henry Jaggard, Mary?'

The rain slashed down more heavily. 'I thought we were talking about medieval castles, Dr Audley?'

'You ought to work for Research and Development. You'd have much more fun . . . Did you do what I asked, last evening? Has Henry made contact with the Russians?'

She reached forward to increase the speed of the windscreen-wipers. 'A meeting has been arranged for this afternoon. At 4 P.M. — '

Audley frowned. 'As late as that?'

'Is that late?' She peered at a signpost. '"St Briavels Castle" ... Is that one of your "middling" castles, Dr Audley?'