It’s merciless and for high stakes. “The end justifies the means.” Our sort of language at Gough, Danny.’ They were on a wide street on a hill with busy traffic. They had crossed the road – Bentinick walked straight across, looking neither right nor left, ignoring horns – and stopped a few yards short of a church that was flush to the pavement. Baroque style, mid-eighteenth century, the stonework was clean: it was important. Karol Pilar was behind them, silent. Danny had lain on his bed for an hour until the phone had erupted beside his head. He’d had three minutes to get down to the lobby. The policeman must have borrowed a razor: he was clean-shaven but in the same shirt, alert, suffering no ill-effects from the night tour of the city. ‘Here, Danny, and in another place, we find evidence of courage, treachery, collateral, and the ruthlessness required of agent handlers. We hit the old brick wall, the one that has to be passed through. Was it necessary?’ The stonework up from the pavement showed bullet marks.
