Nothing on the screen sprung out at her so she put the phone down and returned to bed where the problem continued to nag her until eventually she drifted off to sleep.
When she woke it was still dark. She climbed out of bed and went over to the window. In the garden a crescent moon rippled in the waters of the lake. Closer, a shadow moved across the lawn, while to the right another approached the house.
Silva eased back from the window. In thirty seconds she’d dressed and was inching down the corridor to Itchy’s room. She tapped the door gently and entered.
‘Itchy!’ she whispered.
‘Huh?’ Itchy stirred beneath the duvet. ‘Wassup?’
‘Don’t put the light on. We’ve got company. Two. Outside.’
‘Shit.’ Itchy slipped from the bed. There was a rustle as he dressed. ‘They armed?’
‘No idea, but wouldn’t you be?’
‘Yes, but we’re not.’
‘No.’ Silva considered the situation. There were two men about to break into the house. If they’d been sent by Haddad then likely they were highly trained, had weapons and were prepared to kill. ‘Go and wake Mrs Collins and tell her to stay in her room. We don’t want her wandering around.’
‘And you?’
‘I’ll see to my father. Try and get him up here. Perhaps we can barricade the stairs.’
As she spoke a tinkling of glass came from the hallway, the creak of a door.
‘They’re in,’ Silva said. ‘Go!’
She ran out into the corridor and moved towards the stairwell. A grand staircase spiralled round to the first floor and then on down to the ground floor. Moonlight shone through the front door and reflected on the polished flooring. The sheen was disturbed as two figures passed along the hallway. They disappeared out of sight, heading, Silva suspected, for the stairs.
She was about to go back and find Itchy when there was an explosion of noise. A loud bang followed by the phut phut phut of a silenced pistol. Then another bang.
‘Dad!’ Silva screamed. She reached the lower floor and ran along the corridor to her father’s room. There was a smell of cordite, and as she entered the room she tripped on someone lying prone in the doorway. She stumbled, turned and knelt. ‘Oh my God! Are you hurt?’
‘I expect he’s dead.’ Her father’s voice came from the far side of the room at the same time as Itchy bounded in and flicked on the light switch. ‘I went for a killing shot and I’d be surprised if I missed.’
Silva looked at the body. She put a hand out to feel for a pulse at the man’s neck then realised it would be a wasted effort. His jacket lay open and blood inked out in a circle across his shirt. She raised her head. Her father sat on the floor half hidden behind an armchair. There was a pistol in his lap.
‘Dad,’ Silva said.
‘Browning HP,’ her father said. ‘Nice to see it still does the job. Better than the German crap he’s using.’
Silva turned back to the man on the floor. His right hand clutched a Glock pistol. ‘Austrian, Dad, not German.’
‘Same difference.’
‘Silvi!’ Itchy tapped her on the shoulder. He made a jabbing motion into the corridor at the same time as there was a clatter from the far end. ‘The other one’s out there.’
She reached for the Glock and then spun into the corridor. At the end, on the right, a door stood open. She nodded at Itchy and then crept down towards the door, both hands holding the weapon. Itchy kept to the right and when he reached the door he looked back at Silva. Then he reached in for the light switch.
The room was her father’s study. A leather-topped desk with a high-backed chair. Bookcases. At the floor-to-ceiling window, heavy velvet curtains that rippled in the non-existent breeze.
Silva fired at the same time as something cracked into the wall beside her head. She threw herself across the corridor and fired through the opening again. After the sharp retorts came the smashing of glass, and she moved forward and into the room, covering the window. As she edged in she felt a waft of cold air from outside. She inched towards the window. The glass was gone and the window had been opened onto the small balcony. She took another step and then Itchy shoved her to one side as a shot echoed from the garden below.
‘The light,’ Itchy said. ‘You’re silhouetted like a cut-out on the range.’
He moved back across the room and turned the switch off. Silva peered through the window again. A swathe of white illuminated the lawn for a moment and then there was the sound of wheels spitting gravel and an engine revving hard before fading into the still night.
‘They’re gone,’ Silva said.
‘Whoever they are.’
‘Right.’ She handed the Glock to Itchy and walked back to her father’s room, Itchy following. She looked down at the body on the floor. The man’s face seemed familiar, and he certainly wasn’t a Saudi. She cocked her head and moved round the body to view the face from a different angle.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said.
‘You know him?’ Itchy said.
‘This is so crazy. I can’t believe it.’
‘Silvi! Who is it?’
‘I only know his first name is Frank. He was at a reception in London where Karen Hope gave a speech. He’s an agent. Sean knew him.’
‘Sean? You mean he’s…? Oh great. We’re really fucked, then.’
‘Better fucked than dead.’ Silva’s father pushed himself up from where he’d been hiding behind the chair. He walked over. ‘That little shit would have killed me if I hadn’t shot first.’
‘It’s self-defence, then,’ Silva said. She reached out and gently took the
