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  More than twenty-five thousand people worked on the seven levels of the Pentagon, two of which were below ground. Despite its size, the five-sided building had been designed so that a person would never take more than seven minutes to walk between any two points. Yokely strode along the corridor towards the Defense Secretary’s office. A PFPA guard was murmuring into his radio but he stopped long enough to open the door so that Yokely could go inside. The Pentagon Force Protection Agency had been set up not long after the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks, the clearest case of locking the stable door after the horse had bolted that Yokely had ever seen. American Airlines Flight 77 had slammed into the west side of the building, killing one hundred and twenty-five military personnel and Pentagon workers plus the sixty-four people on the plane.

  Christopher Mullins was sitting at his desk and he made no move to get up. There was a bottle of Scotch and a half-empty glass close to his right hand. ‘Sit down, Richard,’ he said, waving at a chair. Yokely sat down. The Defense Secretary looked like shit. He was in his early sixties but looked a decade older. What was left of his receding hair was flecked with dandruff and there were dark bags under his eyes. He had loosened his tie but was still wearing his jacket. He wiped his chin with his hand, reached for the glass and then appeared to have a change of heart and sat back in his chair. ‘Have you heard about the plane that went down out of JFK?’

  Yokely nodded. ‘Only what was on CNN.’

  ‘CNN doesn’t know shit,’ said the Defense Secretary. ‘It was shot down by terrorists and we’ve got them under wraps. And by “we”, I mean me. They’re not in the system.’

  Yokely raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

  ‘So there are several ways the scenario can play out. I can put them in the system, which means we get them to trial in months or years and all the time they sit in their cells we’ll have kidnappings and hostage-taking and hijacking and who knows what else as their terrorist buddies do all they can to get them released. Then when we do eventually strap them down and inject them with whatever it is we inject them with these days we’ll be creating martyrs to inspire a whole new generation of terrorists.’

  ‘I’m assuming you have a Plan B?’ said Yokely.

  ‘Like I said, they’re not in the system. And they can stay that way. So Plan B would be that we interrogate them, find out what they know, and then we dispose of them.’

  This time Yokely raised both eyebrows.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Richard. I’m not suggesting anything that you haven’t done before. That is the whole point of Grey Fox.’

  ‘Grey Fox tends to get involved when all other options have been tried,’ said Yokely. ‘This sounds like we’re going straight to Plan B.’

  ‘It has to be that way,’ said Mullins. ‘GITMO showed us what happens when we go the interrogation route. The whole world bitches and moans and we get all that crap about human rights. You and I know both know that anyone who ended up in Guantanamo Bay deserved to be there. But listening to the Times and the Post, you’d think we were the fucking enemy, not al-fucking-Qaeda.’ He shook his head in contempt, then reached for his glass again. This time he drained it. ‘Sometimes you wonder whose side the fucking media are on. It sometimes feels to me that half the journalists in this country would be happier under Sharia law.’ He refilled his glass. ‘We have to move now and we have to move quickly. We have what we might call a window of opportunity. There is a brief period of time available to us in which we can strike back at the terrorists in such a way that they will never, ever, repeat their actions of today.’ He sniffed. ‘Have you got a cigarette?’

  ‘Cigars,’ said Yokely.

  ‘I hate cigars,’ said Mullins. ‘I’d given up cigarettes.’ He shrugged. ‘But at times like this …’ He motioned for Yokely to give him a cigar. Yokely fished out his cigar case and gave one to the man, then looked at him expectantly. ‘Of course, you too,’ said Mullins.

  Yokely slid one of his small cigars between his lips, then leaned over and lit the Secretary’s with a battered Zippo before lighting his own.

  The Defense Secretary blew smoke up at the ceiling. ‘The Israelis had the right idea, after Munich,’ he said.

  ‘The Wrath of God?’ said Yokely.

  ‘Exactly.’

  The Wrath Of God was Israel’s response to the massacre at the 1972 Olympics in Munich where eleven Israeli Olympic athletes were taken hostage and eventually killed by the Palestinian terrorist group Black September. Over the following twenty years, Mossad assassins tracked down and killed more than twenty-five people involved in the terrorist outrage. No trials, no interrogations, just retribution. Revenge.

  ‘I heard from a Mossad contact that before each assassination they sent flowers to the next of kin, with a message – “a reminder that we do not forget and we do not forgive”. I always thought that was a nice touch.’

  The Defense Secretary nodded. ‘That’s the route we’re going to take, Richard. But without the fucking flowers. These people, they don’t care about the country they live in. Family, clan, tribe, that’s all they care about. The problem is they think they can carry out acts like this without there being repercussions to the things they care about. So that’s going to change. We’re going to hit their families, Richard. And we’re going to hit them hard.’

  Yokely nodded slowly. The group he worked for – Grey Fox – was often tasked with assassinations, but usually they were the result of considerable deliberations in the White House and came after all other avenues had been at least considered. On this occasion it felt that the retribution was a knee-jerk reaction and he had learned from experience that the old adage ‘revenge is a dish best served cold’ was true. But he wasn’t being asked his opinion, he was being tasked with an assignment and he would do it to the best of his ability. Come what may. ‘These terrorists, how many are there?’

  ‘Three,’ said Mullins. ‘One’s dead already.’

  ‘And where are they exactly?’

  ‘They’re in a disused warehouse in Queens. It was the closest place we could find at short notice.’

  Yokely frowned. ‘And why haven’t the cops got them?’

  ‘Blind luck,’ said Mullins. ‘They were changing vehicles and a guy spotted them and was smart enough to know what he’d got.’

  ‘But he didn’t call the cops?’

  ‘He’s got a pretty low opinion of law enforcement at the local and state level. They’ve turned him down in the past and he’s been trying to get a job with Homeland Security. He called the last guy who’d interviewed him and he called his boss and his boss called me. So as things stand right now there’s just a handful of people who know that we have these men.’

  ‘Including the President?’

  ‘Of course. I’d hardly be running this by you without the President’s approval. But he’s in Japan and won’t be back until tomorrow. Richard, I want you to find out who put this together and I want them dead. No trials, no appeals, just do what has to be done. I want these bastards to know that if they fuck with the US of A the US of A will fuck with them.’

  ‘Do we leave the bodies where they fall?’

  The Defense Secretary shrugged. ‘I don’t care. Just make sure you leave no trails. So long as they’re dead, we’re good.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Yokely. There were three ways of carrying out an assassination: a straightforward hit where the body was left in open view; a killing made to look like an accident; or a disappearance, where the body was never found. Yokely was proficient at all three.

  ‘So, this guy that found them. What can you tell me about him?’

  ‘Former army. Served in Iraq. Name’s Dean Martin. That’s all I know. He’s got the terrorists under wraps with a Homeland Security agent called Tommy Garcia. Garcia reports to the head of Homeland Security so the loop is pretty tight.’ Mullins flashed Yokely a tight smile. ‘I’ve had Garcia checked out, he’s dependable so you can use him for any Homeland Security in
tel you need.’

  ‘Does he know what I’ll be doing?’

  ‘No, just that he’ll be assisting with the initial investigation. Cut him loose as soon as possible, and obviously tell him to keep mum. I want you only using personnel that you’ve used before. I don’t need to tell you how sensitive this is, Richard. And if anything goes wrong there must be total deniability. Total and absolute.’

  ‘I understand that,’ said Yokely. ‘And so far as the operation goes, how far do I take it?’

  ‘As far as it goes,’ said Mullins. ‘Everyone involved, everyone who helped them, everyone who supplied equipment, paperwork. And their families. Their wives, their husbands, their parents.’

  ‘And their children?’

  ‘We wipe out their genes, Richard. We show them that if they attack us, everything they ever were, everything they might be, everything they think they will be leaving behind, it all goes. If we do this one time, it’ll stand as a warning for ever. And after this, no one will fuck with Americans. Even suicide bombers will think twice about blowing themselves to Kingdom Come if they know it’d mean the death of their loved ones.’

  ‘Maybe not if they thought they’d be joining them in paradise,’ said Yokely. ‘This was the President’s idea? I wouldn’t have thought he’d have the imagination.’

  The Defense Secretary chuckled. ‘The concept is based on a CIA paper I submitted after Nine Eleven,’ he said. ‘I put forward the proposition that if we couldn’t get our hands on Bin Laden then we should hold his gene pool responsible for his actions; that we should round up every human being who shared his DNA and lock them up on the understanding that they would be freed only when he gave himself up or died.’

  ‘How was it received?’

  ‘With a lot of head shaking and political correctness bullshit, of course,’ said Mullins. ‘But that’s changed now. If we let the bastards get away with this it’ll be open season on our airlines forever more. So it stops now. Here and now.’

  ‘Has this been cleared by the White House?’

  ‘It’s sanctioned, we have the President’s blessing, but the fewer people who know what’s happening, the better.’

  ‘And funding?’

  ‘You already have access to the Grey Fox black accounts. Use what you need. I’ll make sure that more is made available before the end of the week.’

  ‘And manpower?’

  ‘The usual suspects, obviously, but pull in whoever you need. But again, the fewer in the loop, the better.’

  ‘And if anything goes wrong?’

  ‘I’m assuming it won’t be an issue, Richard. But depending on the circumstances, we should be able to pull you out of any shit you fall into. Just don’t fall.’

  ‘I don’t plan to,’ said Yokely. ‘But I’m always happier performing with a safety net.’

  ‘We’ll take care of you, Richard,’ said Mullins. ‘You have my word.’

  ‘And when do I stop? At what point will I have done enough?’

  ‘I’ll contact you through the usual channels,’ said Mullins. ‘Other than that there is to be no communication. I don’t need reports from you and you don’t need my clearance for any actions. You have carte blanche to do whatever needs doing.’ He held out his hand. ‘You’re going to be changing the world for the better,’ he said.

  They shook hands. Mullins had a firm grip and he put his left hand on top of Yokely’s hand, the way an undertaker might console a grieving relative.

  ‘I hope it works out that way,’ said Yokely. ‘One more thing. What about the King of Cool?’

  The Defense Secretary frowned. ‘The King Of Cool?’

  ‘Dean Martin. What do we do with him?’

  Mullins tightened his grip on Yokely’s hand. ‘That’s your call,’ he said.

  Chapter 8

  Present Day, London

  C harlotte Button walked slowly up to the front door and rang the bell. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, wondering what the hell she could possibly say. There were no words. There just weren’t. The door opened. It was Tony. Patsy’s husband. His eyes were red and he was holding a bottle of wine in one hand and an empty glass in the other.

  ‘She’s in the garden,’ he said, his voice a dull monotone.

  Button’s phone buzzed in her raincoat pocket and she took it out. It was a text message from Ellis: Where the hell are you?

  Button put the phone away. Tony was still standing there, a faraway look in his eyes.

  ‘Tony, I’m so sorry,’ she said, but even as the words left her mouth she realised how pointless the sentiment was. Sorry wouldn’t solve anything. Sorry wouldn’t make it better. Sorry wouldn’t bring Eleanor back.

  Tony blinked, then seemed to see her for the first time. He forced a smile.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Charlie,’ he said.

  Button hugged him tearfully. He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. ‘This is just …’

  ‘I know, I know.’

  ‘Come on through. Please. She’s in the garden. Oh, I said that didn’t I?’ He pushed the door closed with his shoulder.

  ‘Here, let me take them off you.’ She relieved him of the bottle and the glass and followed him through to the kitchen.

  He picked up another glass and then opened the kitchen door. The sky had darkened and the first stars were appearing overhead. Patsy Ellis was sitting on a bench overlooking a small rock pool, her head in her hands. Tony stood looking at her. ‘I feel so bloody useless,’ he said. ‘What am I supposed to do, Charlie?’

  ‘Just be here for her,’ said Button. She handed him the bottle and glass, walked over to the bench and sat down. Ellis looked up and smiled through her tears. ‘What took you so fucking long?’ she whispered.

  Button put her arm around her. ‘I’m sorry.’ She kissed Ellis on the cheek and tasted salt. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ said Tony behind them. ‘It was a football match. A bloody football match.’

  Button shook her head. ‘Awful,’ she said.

  ‘Eleanor was taking her sister to the match,’ he said. ‘Sarah’s a huge United fan.’ He shook his head. ‘Was a fan. She was a United fan. I have to get used to using the past tense. Who does that, Charlie? What sort of person bombs a football match?’

  ‘You know who does that!’ Ellis hissed at him. ‘We all know.’

  Tony took an involuntary step back and almost stumbled into the pool.

  ‘And they’ll keep doing it until someone stops them,’ said Ellis, louder this time.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Button, and gave Ellis a hug.

  ‘No, it’s not okay,’ mumbled Ellis, and she began to sob. Her husband looked at Button helplessly.

  ‘Just put the wine down and go,’ said Button quietly. ‘Let me talk to her.’

  ‘I should stay,’ he protested.

  ‘No, I’m okay,’ said Ellis, blinking away her tears. ‘I’m okay. I just need to talk to Charlie.’

  ‘Patsy …’

  ‘I’m okay, really. I won’t be long.’ She stared at him. ‘Please. Just do this for me.’

  He sniffed. ‘Okay.’ He looked at Button, and his lip trembled. ‘Take care of her.’ He put the bottle and glasses on the bench and stood there, still not sure if he should go or stay.

  ‘I will,’ said Button. She put her arm around Ellis and hugged her. ‘We’ll be okay. Just give us a few minutes.’

  He nodded sadly and walked slowly back to the house.

  ‘Tell me this is just a dream,’ whispered Ellis. ‘Tell me everything is okay and Eleanor’s not dead and the world is just the way it was two hours ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Patsy.’

  ‘Tony said I should ask my doctor to give me some tablets. Tablets? What the fuck are tablets going to do? Are tablets going to bring Eleanor back?’

  Button shook her head.

  ‘I said I wanted a drink and everyone is like, “You shouldn’t drink, darling, drinking won�
�t help.” What the fuck, Charlie, drugs will help but alcohol is some sort of mortal sin? Where’s the logic in that?’

  ‘Nothing wrong with wine in my experience,’ said Button. She took her arm away, reached for the bottle and poured wine into one of the glasses. She gave it to Ellis and she took a couple of gulps. Button opened her mouth to tell her to slow down but then decided against it. She was entitled to drink any way she wanted to. She poured wine for herself and sipped it.

  ‘Remember when you and I took Eleanor riding, that first time?’ said Ellis. ‘She loved it so much. We agreed to pay for her lessons after that and it cost us thousands. She could have ridden for England if she’d kept at it. Then she discovered boys.’ She shook her head and took another gulp of wine. ‘She wanted kids, too. That’s what she wanted more than anything; she just had to find the right man. And now she’ll never get the chance.’ She wiped away her tears, then put down her glass and dabbed at her face with a handkerchief. ‘I can’t believe I’m never going to see her again. Never going to talk to her. Never going to hold her. Eleanor was my goddaughter, but she was as close to me as Hannah. Closer in some ways. Hannah has always been so bloody independent, ever since she was tiny. Once she went to university we barely saw her. But Eleanor was here all the time. She was always the first to call on my birthday.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘This is so unfair, Charlie.’

  ‘How are Eleanor and Sarah’s parents?’

  ‘How do you think?’ said Ellis bitterly. ‘They’ve lost both of their daughters. They’re devastated. We said we’d go but they said not now, they don’t want to see anybody. We’ll go around tomorrow.’ Tears were running down her face.

  Button put down her own glass and reached for Ellis. Ellis sobbed and buried her face against Button’s shoulder. Then she took a slow, deep breath and straightened up. She swallowed, then looked into her eyes. ‘I need you to do something for me, Charlie.’

  Button stared back at her. ‘Anything,’ she said, and she knew the moment the words left her mouth that she meant it. ‘What do you want me to do?’