Tomorrow's ghost

'But now he's come to England?'

'That's right. 'To take the war into the enemy country', as he puts it. We think they think he may make the war a bit too hot for them - so they've dropped us the word.

Only they don't know where he is, and nor do we.'

'He's pretty elusive, then.'

'The Scarlet Pimpernel's got nothing on Michael O'Leary. But we do rather think he's using some of the KGB ultra-safe houses in Yorkshire, as a matter of fact. Just a hint we've picked up.'

Back to Yorkshire double-quick.

Frances nodded. 'And just what is his war, exactly?'

'Ah ... well, you see he's got a little list. Of Criminals Sentenced by Military Tribunal for Crimes Against Ireland, as he calls it.'

'But that's old hat.'

'Sure it is. So everything in Ireland is old hat - it's all just a re-run of the same old late-night films we've seen half a dozen times before. Only this time maybe the KGB has bought the natural breaks to advertise their product.'

And that did make a difference, thought Frances grimly. It might even change the end of the film itself.

'I see. And the top name on the list is to be found in Yorkshire, presumably - is that it?'

'Yes ... and no - ' Paul stopped as he glanced in his mirror.

'What does that mean - yes or no?'

'It means ... hold on to your seat-belt, Frances dear. We are about to be flagged down by the Police - ' Paul gave her a quick reassuring smile as he decelerated and began to pull across the lanes towards the hard shoulder ' - but nothing to worry about.'

The car crunched on loose gravel. The silence inside it was suddenly unnerving, punctuated as it was by the intermittent roar and shock-wave of passing lorries labouring their way to the industrial north. Frances watched the sleek police car pull in just ahead of them, a Rover identical to their own except that it was white and ornamented with a dashing blue-red-blue stripe along its flank.

A tall young constable got out cautiously and came back to them. Paul wound down his window and fumbled inside his jacket.

The policeman bent down and peered in at them. Frances saw his eyes widen and was instantly aware that Marilyn's split skirt had divided to an indecent level.

'Paul Mitchell,' said Paul, opening his identification folder. 'And I'm in an official hurry. Please check with your superiors as quickly as you can.'

The young policeman's eyes glazed over with the effort of not looking at what they were looking at, and then switched to Paul's identification.

'Mr Mitchell - yes, sir.' The young policeman swallowed bravely. 'We have been informed about you - '

A derisive hoot cut him off: the Jaguar they had elbowed out of the road flashed by triumphantly.

'If you would be so good as to follow us, we'll clear the way for you, sir. There's a hold-up about six miles ahead ... we'll get you past it.'

'Thank you very much, officer.' Paul's politeness to the Civil Power was impeccably according to the regulations. 'We've a scheduled stop just beyond Wetherby, at the Crossways Motel. We shall be there for fifteen minutes. If you can give us ten miles after that it will be sufficient, thank you.'

'Very good, sir.' The policeman saluted. 'Just follow us.'

Paul turned to Frances. 'Well, at least the system is working now. I was supposed to be cleared all the way down, but I nearly got arrested for reckless driving instead.' He glanced down. 'And if I'd had you with me I probably would have been arrested - the view isn't conducive to careful driving. Not that it isn't enchanting also ... though I thought suspender belts were strictly for the kinky trade.'

'Keep your eyes on the road.'

'Pull your skirt together and I'll try to.'

Frances draped her plastic raincoat across her knees. 'You said 'yes and no'.'

'Eh?'

'The top name on the list.'

'Oh, yes ... in Yorkshire. Well, it isn't normally,

but it is today.'

'Is where?'

'At the University of North Yorkshire, for the conferring of honorary degrees and the opening of the new English Faculty Library.'

'You mean ... he's receiving a degree?'

'That's right. A Doctorate of Civil Law, to be exact. For trying to make peace in Ireland, a doctorate in England ... and a death sentence in Ireland. He shouldn't have tried so hard.'

'The Minister?'

'Ex-minister ... no, the Minister, that's right. It's the ex-minister who's conferring the degree - he's the Chancellor of the University now. He tried hard too, so he's also on the list. A damned unforgiving lot, the IFF,