A Season in Hell. Jack Higgins

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      Villiers said wryly to Ferguson, ‘I told you. The smartest brain on Wall Street.’

      ‘Exactly, Brigadier,’ she said. ‘So if you’re Tony’s boss, what does that make you, and what’s more to the point, why are you involved in what I would have assumed was a matter for the police?’

      ‘Tony was right, Mrs Talbot. You’re an exceptional woman.’ He glanced at his watch and stood up. ‘We’d better get going.’

      ‘Where to?’ she said.

      ‘My dear Mrs Talbot, you wanted to go to the inquest. Then by all means we’ll go, and in my car. We can talk on the way.’

      She and Ferguson sat together on the rear seat of the Daimler limousine, Villiers opposite on the jump seat, the glass partition raised between them and the driver.

      Ferguson said, ‘There are aspects of this case, one in particular, which do make this, at least in theory, a matter of national security rather than a more conventional crime that would be handled by the police.’

      ‘That’s hardly the kind of statement to instil confidence,’ she said. ‘It takes me right back to Vietnam and my protest days. I mean, I’ve experienced the best the CIA have to offer at first hand, Brigadier.’

      ‘You’d better do the explaining, Tony.’

      ‘International terrorism needs money to keep going,’ Villiers said. ‘A great deal of money, not only for arms, which are expensive, but to fund operations. Drugs are a ready source of that kind of money and we’ve known for some time that in Ulster both the IRA and various Protestant paramilitary organizations have been raising money by becoming involved in the trade.’

      ‘But how does this affect Eric?’

      Villiers took an envelope from his pocket and passed it to her. ‘There’s a more detailed postmortem report from France. They discovered not only heroin and cocaine, but a mixture of scopolamine and phenothiazine in his blood. In Colombia, where it originated, it’s known as burundanga.’

      ‘It induces a kind of chemical hypnosis, Mrs Talbot,’ Ferguson put in. ‘Reduces the subject to being a zombie for a while.’

      ‘And that happened to Eric?’ she whispered.

      ‘Yes, and during the past year, four members of the IRA executed by Protestant factions in Ulster have had traces of the same drug revealed at their postmortems.’

      ‘And that’s what makes it a security matter, Mrs Talbot. It’s a very rare occurrence,’ Ferguson said. ‘Four members of the IRA in Ulster and now your stepson.’

      ‘And you think there could be a connection?’ she said.

      ‘Perhaps the same people were involved,’ the Brigadier told her. ‘That’s what we’re getting at. We’ve got a computer hunt on now covering all Western European countries.’

      ‘And what have you found?’

      ‘Several cases in France over the past three years, all rather similar to your stepson’s actually. Death by drowning under the influence of drugs.’

      Barbera’s suggestion could no longer be avoided.

      ‘Which would seem to suggest to me,’ she said evenly, ‘that a number of people have been murdered while in this state of chemical hypnosis you mention.’

      ‘So it would appear,’ he said.

      ‘Murdered for one reason only. So that their bodies could be used like some damned suitcase.’ She hammered a clenched fist on her knee. ‘They did that to Eric. Why?’

      ‘Five million pounds a time, Mrs Talbot, that’s our conservative estimate of each consignment of heroin at street prices.’

      She took out the silver case. Villiers gave her a light. The smoking helped to steady her trembling. And it was anger she felt now. No, more than that – rage. They were entering the outskirts of Canterbury, threading their way through the ancient streets. She gazed up at the towering spires of the great cathedral.

      ‘It’s very beautiful.’

      ‘The birthplace of English Christianity,’ Ferguson told her. ‘Founded by St Augustine in Saxon times.’

      ‘And bombed by the Nazis in 1942.’ Villiers shrugged. ‘Not exactly a military target, but we bombed some of their cathedral towns, so they bombed some of ours.’

      The Daimler turned into a quiet square. She said, ‘So the computer hasn’t thrown up any more cases then?’

      ‘I’m afraid not,’ the Brigadier said.

      ‘That’s not quite true,’ Villiers put in. ‘A case came up this morning. I didn’t have a chance to tell you. Eighteen-year-old girl found in the Thames at Wapping a few months ago.’

      ‘You’re sure?’

      ‘I’m afraid so, sir.’ Villiers paused. ‘Actually, she was Egan’s foster sister, sir.’

      Ferguson was astonished. ‘You mean Sean Egan?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Good God.’

      Sarah interrupted. ‘And who would this Sean Egan be?’

      ‘A young sergeant who served with me in the SAS. Badly wounded in the Falklands. He’s just left the Service.’

      ‘Tell me about him,’ she demanded, but at that moment they pulled in at the kerb at the bottom of a row of steps leading up to an imposing Georgian building.

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