Ben was frisked and ushered briskly into one of the choppers by big, silent men in dark suits and dark glasses. He watched through a window as Callaghan put Alex and Zoë on the second chopper and boarded with them.

The flight took a long time, and it was evening when the helicopters touched down at a private airstrip where black SUVs stood on the runway together with men with guns. Ben was escorted across the tarmac to a sleek jet. The guards kept him away from Alex and Zoë.

Some time later, the jet landed at what looked like a military airfield. More black cars were waiting for them. Ben was marched across to one of them, a door held open for him, an agent sitting either side of him. Callaghan climbed into the front passenger seat and the car took off at high speed, leading the way for a procession of vehicles. Nobody spoke.

But Ben could guess where he was being taken.

Langley, Virginia, CIA Headquarters. As the cavalcade of cars approached the vast sprawl of buildings, he saw his guess was right. Armed security personnel guarded the tall steel gates that bore the eagle-and-star seal of the Central Intelligence Agency. Callaghan flashed a card as they went through, and a series of gates glided open for them. They drove through building complexes with thousands of windows, illuminated like starships in the dusk, past floodlit lawns where rows of US flags fluttered in the breeze. Everything was immaculate, a monument to unflinching national pride and self-possessed superiority.

Then the car stopped and Ben was led inside a building. The place was milling with activity, more layers of security to pass through and hundreds of workers swarming through the wide corridors. Callaghan walked briskly, and Ben followed, aware of the men in black suits right behind him. Glancing over his shoulder he spotted Alex fifteen yards behind. She was being escorted along by more of the same dark, taciturn men. She smiled at him, but it was a nervous smile. Zoë was nowhere to be seen.

Ben followed Callaghan through an open-plan labyrinth of operations rooms that were heavily cluttered with desks and computer terminals, staff and security personnel swarming everywhere. The place looked like the London Stock Exchange. Rows of clocks displaying the times in different countries. Hundreds of monitors flashing and blinking, giant screens on the walls showing news broadcasts from all over the world. Brightly lit electronic political maps of the globe, animated to show movements and developments that Ben could only guess at as he walked by. Everywhere he looked, scores of people were glued to the screens as though American national security would collapse into rubble and anarchy if they glanced away for just an instant.

At the far end of the last operations room they walked through was a set of glass sliding doors. The room beyond was hidden behind vertical blinds. A security guard rose from a desk as they approached. Callaghan handed him a card. The doors glided open with a slick whoosh, and Ben followed Callaghan into a long conference room.

In the middle was a glistening table, surrounded by leather chairs. Three walls were panelled with wood, the fourth was a large mirrored window flanked by a pair of flags, the US Stars and Stripes on the left and the emblem of the CIA on the right, embroidered in white and gold thread. The ceiling was low and studded with spotlights.

The silent agents ushered Alex into the room and left. The doors glided shut and clicked. She glanced at Ben, clearly full of things to say but feeling compelled to stay quiet. He held her gaze for a second, putting reassurance in his eyes.

Seated at the head of the conference table was a large, broad-shouldered black man in his early sixties, wearing a sombre suit and a navy tie. There was an air of gravity about him, like a judge. Callaghan walked around the table and took a seat to his right, straightened his tie and looked to him for the first word. It was obvious who was in charge here.

‘My name is Murdoch,’ said the big man. His voice was deep and mellifluous. Ben could clearly see the intelligence in his eyes. He gestured at the chairs on his left, calm and slow in his movements. ‘Please. Take a seat.’

Ben sat, and Alex sat three feet away. She coughed nervously.

Ben was determined to seize the initiative here. The place was designed to intimidate. That wasn’t going to happen. ‘Where’s Zoë?’ he demanded.

‘Miss Bradbury is in very good hands,’ Murdoch replied calmly. ‘Agent Callaghan here is in charge of her protection.’

‘She’s in CIA custody?’

‘She’s safe,’ Murdoch said. ‘That’s all you need to know.’ He pursed his lips, formulating his thoughts. He leaned heavily on the table and gazed at Ben with penetrating eyes. ‘This is a very ugly situation. For all of us,’ he added meaningfully. Then his eyes darted across and the steady gaze landed on Alex. ‘Agent Fiorante, you realise you’re in a lot of trouble here. Before we get started, have you anything to say?’

Ben could feel the tension in her, like a crackle of electricity next to him. She clearly knew what he’d already guessed, that on the other side of the mirrored window there were people watching and listening, filming and transcribing every word that was being said in the room.

‘Nothing that isn’t already in the statement I made on the way here,’ she said coolly.

‘Let’s run through it again, for the record,’ Murdoch said.

Callaghan smiled coldly.

Alex spoke carefully, measuring every word. ‘I was part of Jones’s team, under the impression that we were taking part in authorised operations. However, during that time I witnessed a number of incidents that I found highly suspect, to say the least. I can testify that Jones personally executed the two Georgia police officers as well as Dr Greenberg at the facility near Chinook, Montana. It all happened right in front of me. I will further testify that Jones and his associates were using the Montana facility to imprison, and, if we hadn’t intervened, to torture and murder Zoë Bradbury.’

‘And you didn’t think to report any of this to your superiors at the time,’ Callaghan cut in from across the table, staring aggressively at her.

‘Sir, Agent Jones was my immediate superior. And I was concerned for my safety. That said, I regret my actions.’

Murdoch’s face was impassive. He nodded gravely. ‘This is an issue we can address later on.’ He turned to Ben. ‘Let’s talk about you. I’ve seen your military record. We know exactly who you are. So there’s no point whatsoever in pretence.’

Ben returned his steady gaze. ‘I had no intention of concealing anything from you.’

‘You were hired by Miss Bradbury’s family to locate her.’

Ben shook his head. ‘I was helping a friend. I had no professional involvement.’

‘Whatever you say. But the body count is beginning to look like one of your old military operations. First Greece. Then Georgia. Then Montana. Our investigation team is still pulling dead men out of the Mountain View Hotel. All either active or former government agents. The farm where we found you resembles a war zone. From what I can see, Major Hope, you leave a trail of devastation and mayhem in your wake everywhere you go.’

‘Only when people stand in the way,’ Ben said. ‘And you can call me Mr Hope.’

‘Right. I see you’re retired.’

‘I’m a theology student.’

Murdoch’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. ‘So would you mind telling me what exactly has been going on with this Bradbury kidnapping?’

‘It was never really about Zoë Bradbury,’ Ben said. ‘She’s only an incidental part of it. It’s about something bigger. Much bigger.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like war,’ Ben said. ‘The war to end all wars.’

‘This is making no sense to me,’ Murdoch rumbled. ‘Let’s take it from the top. You’re claiming that Special Agent Jones was part of some kind of ghost organisation, working from within the Agency.’

‘Right under your noses. He and his associates have been making use of your resources for their own aims.’

‘Which are?’

‘It took me a while to work it out,’ Ben said. ‘But like I told you, I study the Bible. It’s all in there. It’s been there for thousands of years, written into prophetic scripture.’

Callaghan shook his head in confusion.

‘The Book of Revelation,’ Ben said.

‘Give us a break,’ Callaghan sneered. ‘The Omen. Number of the Beast.’

‘Can’t you shut this cretin up?’ Ben asked Murdoch.

‘Shut up, Callaghan,’ Murdoch said, keeping his eyes on Ben. ‘Mr Hope, I would like you to explain this to me clearly.’

‘The organisation is a militant evangelical Christian cell. Their goal is a terrorist strike in Jerusalem.’

Callaghan burst out laughing. Murdoch glanced at him, his serious expression holding.

‘If you don’t believe me,’ Ben said, ‘maybe you’ll believe one of your own people. You took my phone away from me at the farm. Let me have it back.’

‘Who do you want to call?’ Callaghan chuckled. ‘Your lawyer? Or your priest?’

‘Give him the phone,’ Murdoch said.

Callaghan made an exaggerated gesture of surrender, reached down into his case and brought out a clear plastic bag. He tipped the phone out of it. Ben picked it up, turned it on and scrolled through the menu. Then he placed the phone on the table with the screen facing the two men, and played back the video recording of Jones for them.

The man sat framed on the tiny screen. He talked. They watched and listened. Callaghan loosened his tie and shifted in his seat. Murdoch’s sombre expression drew darker. The playback ended with Jones disappearing out of the frame, and the sound of the wooden stake punching through his body as he fell to his death. Ben reached across and turned it off.

‘You realise this confession was obtained illegally,’ Murdoch warned. ‘It doesn’t constitute evidence.’

‘Nothing very legal about any of it,’ Ben said. ‘I administered the truth serum that Special Agent Jones was going to give to Zoë Bradbury. They didn’t exactly have a doctor’s prescription.’

Murdoch glared heavily at him. ‘Keep talking.’

Ben filled in what he knew. He started at the beginning and worked his way through to the end, leaving nothing out. By the end of it, he knew he had Murdoch’s attention. Deep furrows had appeared on the man’s brow.

But Callaghan was staring sceptically. ‘This Slater, the guy you claim Jones was taking orders from. Shame he never mentioned that name during his statement.’

‘It’s true,’ Alex cut in, glancing nervously at Ben.

‘Did you personally meet this man?’ Callaghan asked her harshly.

She paused a beat, then shook her head. ‘No, sir, not as such.’

Callaghan smiled and pointed at Ben. ‘So we only have his word for it.’

‘You got a first name for him?’ Murdoch said.

‘I never got around to asking,’ Ben replied. ‘We weren’t really on first-name terms.’

‘So basically you have no idea who he is,’ Callaghan said.

‘I could describe him,’ Ben said. ‘He’s about my age, North American Caucasian, red hair, slight build, about five-eight, professional, moneyed, expensive watch.’

‘Not exactly hard data,’ Callaghan spat.

‘But still, I’d like to know more about him,’ Murdoch cut in. ‘If this guy exists, he’s on our database.’ He laid his hands flat on the table, lips puckering in concentration. ‘Let’s leave that aside. I just don’t get what you’re telling me here. Why does a Christian group want to start a war?’

‘Let me make it simple,’ Ben said. ‘Someone is staging a deliberate attempt to force biblical prophecy to come true. Perhaps because they truly believe it’s going to happen. Maybe they’re tired of waiting for God to make the first move. Or maybe it’s a trick, to make it look as if it’s about to come true, in order to dupe millions of believers into thinking the End Times are about to start. Either way, I believe the motive is largely political.’

‘Involving whom?’ Murdoch asked calmly. ‘And at what level?’

‘I don’t know. But it’s at a high level. Whoever this is, they have a lot to gain by steering the world towards war and generating mass panic, or mass euphoria, among a core of more than fifty million American voters.’

‘This is totally absurd,’ Callaghan said. ‘Crazy. Purely speculative.’

Murdoch ignored him, watching Ben with a look that said he was taking this very seriously now. ‘How do you get to this conclusion?’

‘Think of Jerusalem from a strategic point of view,’ Ben said. ‘You’ve got the holiest sites of Judaism and Islam side by side in the same city. A place of anger and frustration. A religious powder-keg, just waiting for a spark to set it off. And it’s Ground Zero for the End Time movement. Fifty million pairs of eyes glued to it, interpreting every incident that takes place there, and every development in world politics, strictly and exclusively in terms of apocalyptic Bible prophecy.’

Murdoch nodded. ‘OK, I’m with you. Go on.’

‘The prophecy states that the war will begin with an attack on God’s chosen people of Israel,’ Ben said. ‘Now, what would you do if you wanted to set something like that in motion?’

Murdoch thought for a moment. ‘I’d take advantage of the religious tension in Jerusalem. I’d look for a way to provoke Muslim leaders into wanting to strike at the Jews, big time.’

‘So the first blow struck would have to target the Muslims,’ Ben said, ‘in the certain knowledge that the Islamic world would want to launch a strong reprisal against their enemies.’

‘Therefore we’re looking at an initial attack on Islam.’

Ben nodded. ‘Correct. Something that would significantly upset the Islamic world. Something designed to shock and provoke them like nothing ever before, that would be guaranteed to gain that kind of dramatic response from them.’

Murdoch raised his eyebrows. ‘Specifically?’

‘I’d be speculating,’ Ben said. ‘An act of terrorism. A high-level assassination. Very daring, and extremely insulting to them.’

Murdoch clicked his tongue. ‘That’s a pretty broad field. We have no idea what’s planned, or who the perpetrator would be. We don’t know where to start.’

‘We do know two things,’ Ben said. ‘One, it’s going to happen within something like the next twenty hours. And two, it’s going to get blamed on a Jewish operative.’

Callaghan grimaced and slapped his palm on the table. ‘This is ridiculous.’

Murdoch paid him no attention. ‘Let me tell you why I’m worried about this,’ he said. He turned to the mirrored window and Ben saw that he’d been right. Murdoch gestured. ‘Stop filming, stop transcription.’

Then he turned back to Ben and Alex. He frowned. ‘What I’m about to tell you does not leave this room. Three months ago an Israeli MOSSAD agent, a professional assassin known to the CIA as Salomon, vanished suddenly off the radar screen. Presumed dead. No body was found, and nobody has stepped forward to claim responsibility for his killing, if that’s what it is. This is highly speculative, but I don’t find it hard to put Salomon’s disappearance together with what you’ve told me here today.’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you find his prints on the assassination weapon,’ Ben said. ‘And his wallet full of credit cards lying nearby.’ He smiled. ‘Like the ones they just happened to find in the burned-out wreckage of 9/11, with the terrorists’ IDs on.’

Murdoch’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m going to ignore that comment.’

‘I know all about dirty war,’ Ben said. ‘You don’t get used as a pawn without learning how the game works.’

Callaghan slumped back in his seat, staring hard at his colleague. ‘You’re not going to take this man seriously, are you, sir? He’s a loose cannon. An anarchist.’

Murdoch slowly turned and glared at him. ‘I take this very seriously indeed,’ he rumbled. ‘And, Callaghan, if you have nothing more constructive to say, I suggest you say nothing at all.’

Callaghan went quiet.

Murdoch leaned across the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then exhaled noisily. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to clear this with my superiors. But when they hear what I have to say, it’s extremely likely that you, Mr Hope, will be on a flight to Israel.’

‘To do what?’

‘To try to stop this catastrophe from happening, if indeed that’s what’s being planned. You’ll be supplied with everything you need once you touch down in Jerusalem. Callaghan will put you together with our people there.’

Ben shook his head. ‘I don’t work for you.’

‘Consider yourself enlisted. Unofficially, of course.’

‘I gave you the information,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve done my part. Now I want to go home. This is your problem.’

Murdoch’s frown-lines deepened. ‘I think that, if you’re right about this, World War Three is going to be everybody’s problem. And apparently we don’t have a lot of time to figure out a solution.’ He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. ‘I can’t send company agents in on this. It’s the kind of situation where an outsider would be more useful to me. Someone who can’t be traced to us.’

‘You mean, if something were to happen to me,’ Ben said. ‘Collateral damage. Easy to bury.’

‘Consider it a favour to us,’ Murdoch said. ‘And of course we’d show our appreciation by forgetting the incident in Georgia. Maybe there’s some delinquent with other murders to his name that we can find to pin the cop killing on. You get my drift?’

‘Sir, can I remind you I’m a witness to the fact that Agent Jones murdered those two officers,’ Alex protested.

‘I think you should keep your mouth shut, Agent Fiorante. There’s also the issue of your involvement in this situation. You admit to having shot a fellow agent. That’s not something we can just skip over lightly.’ Murdoch settled back in his chair and folded his hands across his belly. ‘So, Mr Hope. Either you co-operate with us in this matter, or you’ll be charged with the murder of two police officers and several Government agents. And Agent Fiorante will spend the next decade in a federal prison for her own actions. Your choice.’

‘What makes you think I’m the right man for the job?’

‘Let’s not mess around, Major. The clock is ticking. If it comes down to a sniper-counter-sniper situation, I have evidence that proves to me that you’re just about the best guy in the world for this job.’ Murdoch reached into his pocket and took out a matchbox. Slid the tiny drawer open with his finger. Took out a spent match and tossed it on the table. ‘Ring any bells?’

Ben stared at it. ‘Let’s say I go along with this. I have some conditions.’

Murdoch nodded. ‘I’m a reasonable man. I’m listening.’

‘I want Zoë Bradbury flown home to her family.’

‘Not an option,’ Callaghan cut in. ‘She’s a witness.’

‘She’s also a victim,’ Ben said. ‘A victim of the fact that your agency is corrupted and people within it are abusing its power. So, unless you want that information getting out there, you arrange for her to be flown home under close guard and given top priority police protection in the UK until these people are caught.’

Murdoch thought about it for a moment. ‘OK, agreed. But she will have to come back here to testify, if required.’

‘And I want your personal guarantee that in return for my co-operation, there’ll be no question of any charges levelled at Agent Fiorante.’

Murdoch nodded slowly. ‘Anything else?’

‘I left behind a complicated situation in Greece. There’s a Corfu police captain called Stephanides who’d probably like to talk to me again.’

Murdoch waved his hand. ‘We can take care of that. He never heard of you. Anything else?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Then we have a deal,’ Murdoch said. ‘And you’re on your way to Jerusalem.’