when it stopped, then started to beat again, I came round as a different guy. Certainly, from around that time I've seen things, and myself, completely differently.'
'Are you saying you've lost your self-belief?'
'I don't think so. Truth be told, when I'm not with you, and them upstairs, I'm happiest doing my job. That's why I fought so hard when it was under threat. That's the main reason why Sarah and I are in the trouble we're in right now.' He looked at her, suddenly, sharply. 'Who's the most important person in your life?'
'You are.' Her reply was instant.
'Good. Next.'
'James Andrew, because he's special; he's my blood and he's you, scaled down.'
'Then if anything happens to me, you raise him, and make him different. Instil some humility in him; my dad tried it with me, but he failed… possibly because he wasn't very good at it himself,' he added.
'Nothing's going to happen to you for a very long time,' she said, 'so let's not even go there. What's the point of your question?'
'My point is that if I made the same list, totally honestly, the names on it, in order, would be you, the Jazzer and Seonaid, my blood children, first equal, then Mark and then me. Sarah would follow on somewhere.'
'I see. Not a good basis for a sustainable marriage, is that what you're saying?'
'Unless you both think the same way, and you realise it and accept it'
'And what if that special person comes along?'
'I think Ron Neidholm may have been that special person for Sarah.'
'And what about you?'
His mouth fell open slightly with surprise as he looked at her. 'God, don't you know that? I met her long ago. She died long ago.'
'Mum.'
'Of course.' He felt his eyes mist over, and turned his head away so that she would not see. 'I have never got over your mother's death, Alexis. I've put it away in a box inside me, like that box of hers I hid in the attic in the old cottage, but the hurt has always been there. It always will be. You have no idea how much I miss her.'
'Maybe I do,' she whispered, with a catch in her voice, but he did not notice.
'There is no day goes by without me thinking of her and feeling the pain of her loss. Tell me, did you assume that if I had found out about her infidelities when she was alive I'd have divorced her?'
'I suppose I did.'
'Well, you're wrong. I could never have done that because I loved her with all my being, and she loved me in the same way. Okay, I was arrogant and driven and consumed by ambition, and she was manipulative, immoral and ruthless. Those guys of hers: they thought they were using her, and all the time it was the other way round.' He laughed. 'There we were, the two of us, the
'Pops, you've had twenty years to think about this. If you'd found out at the time…'
'I'd have felt the same. I'd have forgiven her, like she forgave me once.'
'Jesus, this is confession time! When was that?'
'When we were engaged: I had a heavy thing for a while with someone else.'
'Someone she knew?'
'No.'
'And is she still around, this person?'
'Very much so, but keep it to yourself. It was Lou Bankier; we were at university at the same time. At the end of the day, I chucked her and went back to Myra; told her about it.' He chuckled. 'At the time I thought she took it very well. Eventually I found out why: she'd been doing the same with my best pal!'
He turned to face his daughter once again. 'Am I making sense?'
'Yes. I'm just astounded by it all.' She looked at him, her eyes big and earnest. 'Pops, you and Sarah: you've both got all this baggage. Couldn't you just put it down and get on with your life together?'
'Settle for what we've got, you mean? That's the decision we have to make.'
'It's not that difficult, is it? With trust and honesty on both sides, couldn't you give it a try?'
'If there were no other issues, we could.'
The big eyes narrowed. 'What sort of issues?'
'Female.'
'Oh, shit. Are you seeing someone else?'
'I wouldn't put it like that, certainly not in the sense you mean, but there's someone I like very much.'
'It's not Lou again, is it?'
'Wash your mouth out, girl!' he said, indignantly. 'She's married, and to my friend at that; I've got a scrap of personal morality left! Does the name Aileen de Marco mean anything to you?'
'Sure does. I should be shocked. Why am I not?'
'Because she's a very compelling and charismatic woman.'
'That's certainly how she comes across on television,' Alex conceded. She picked up her wine-glass from the floor. 'Bloody hell. Pops. What are you going to do?'
'What I always do… until Sarah comes home, at least. Get my head down and lose myself in my job. God knows, right now it needs my full attention.'
Twenty-one
'Can I ask you something, Neil?' said Bandit Mackenzie.
'You already did.'
'Eh?'
'You asked if you could ask me something. That, of itself, constitutes a question. The answer is 'yes'. However, there is no guarantee that you will get a reply.'
'I'll take my chances. Do you always look this knackered in the morning?'
McIlhenney grunted. 'It shows, does it? My wife's pregnant; it's like sleeping with a chorus line.'
'Ah, I know that one. Commiserations, pal. How long does she have to go?'
'Quite some time yet; about four months.' He was glad that Mackenzie had bought the lie. The dream had recurred the night before, even more vividly: it was not something he wanted to be drawn into discussing. For all Lou's reassurance, he had found it profoundly disturbing.
Their conversation was interrupted as the door of the conference room swung open, and Amanda Dennis entered, followed by Bob Skinner, Willie Haggerty and Sean Green. She was carrying a bulky folder, which she laid on the table.
'Good morning, gentlemen,' said the DCC. 'Let's get this going.' McIlhenney looked at him and moaned inwardly: he was sharp-eyed and focused, as if jet-lag did not exist for him. Suddenly the day promised to be very busy. 'Amanda.'
She nodded and opened the folder, then took four brown foolscap envelopes from it and handed one to each of the police officers. 'Inside these,' she began, 'you will find photographs of our four targets and intelligence notes on each.' She took a photo from her folder and held it up. 'Naim Latifi.' It showed a clear colour image of a swarthy, moustached man, with a thick mop of grey-flecked hair.
She laid it down and selected a second shot. 'Fadil Ramadani.' The photograph was less sharp than the first, as if it had been taken from a greater distance and enlarged, but the sharp, foxy features and V-shaped hairline were recognisable.
She held up a third. 'Samir Bajram.' The subject looked younger than the other two, and bigger, more muscular. His head was shaved and he wore a gold ring in his ear, with a crescent hanging from it. He was smiling at the camera.
'The other two are surveillance shots,' Skinner observed. 'How was this one obtained?'
Dennis looked at him. 'It was taken by a member of the German security service who infiltrated the gang as
