"No, darling. Just make sure that you don't."

Sat.u.r.day morning found him in Oxford at The Lion. The pub was crammed with students and Percy was already there, a pint of beer in front of him.

Rupert paused beside him. "I'll just get a drink."

He pushed through the crowd and saw Helen Quinn and young Grant at the end of the bar. He smiled and went over and ordered a large Jack Daniel's from the barman.

"h.e.l.lo, there," he said. "You're going to the rally, then?"

Grant stopped smiling and became aggressive. "What's it got to do with you?"

"Alan, shut up." She smiled at Dauncey. "Yes, we're going on the bus."

"I wish you wouldn't. It could get very nasty. The more I've read about it, the more likely it sounds that there'll be violence, and we simply couldn't condone anything like that."

Students nearby were listening and Percy, coming forward, had also heard. Grant said, "You don't approve?"

"Not of riots, and police trying to crack your skull with a baton."

"Afraid, are you? A ponce like you would be. Rupert Dauncey. What kind of a name is that?"

Students standing around laughed and Helen said, "Stop it, Alan."

He ignored her. "I know what it is, it's a ponce's name."

Rupert smiled gently. "If you say so," picked up his drink, and returned to Percy.

The professor said, "I'm sorry about that."

"That's okay. He's young. But I meant what I said. I think it's all too dangerous. I want you to get on that bus and tell them not to go."

"Get on the bus? But I told you. I've other plans. I-"

"You can forget them. Listen to me. The Countess and the Rashid Educational Trust acted in good faith in supporting Act of Cla.s.s Warfare. We believed in its philosophy-but we do not not believe in violent protest." believe in violent protest."

"But I can't control their behavior."

"I realize that. But you can tell them how you feel when they're on the bus."

"No, I-"

"Professor." Dauncey leaned close. "We've put a lot of trust in you. Also a lot of money. Wouldn't it be a shame if it should come out that there is a discrepancy of fifty thousand pounds in the ACW accounts?"

Percy seemed to shrivel up. "I don't know anything about that," he whispered.

"Oh, yes, you do. Imagine what it would be like at Wandsworth, someone like you, sharing the showers with murderers and s.e.x offenders. Not a pretty picture, Professor."

Percy had turned white. "For G.o.d's sake, no."

"We wouldn't appreciate the scandal ourselves. It would damage our reputation. But it would damage you much more, wouldn't it?"

"All right," Percy moaned. "Whatever you say. But they'll go anyway, no matter what I say."

"Oh, I'll back you up. You can introduce me as representing Rashid. n.o.body can say afterwards that we didn't do our best." He looked across the room and saw Grant making for the men's room and got up. "I'll be back."

When he went into the toilet, Grant was just finishing. He turned, pulling up his zipper. For the moment, they were alone.

"What do you want, ponce?"

Rupert kicked him on the right shin, doubled him over with a blow to the stomach, then grabbed the left wrist and twisted the arm straight. He raised a clenched fist.

"How'd you like me to break it for you?"

Grant moaned with pain. "No, please, stop."

Rupert exerted more pressure. Grant cried out and Rupert swung him around and slapped his face. "Now listen to me. I happen to know you're here at Oxford only because all your expenses are paid by an outside scholarship. Do you know who's behind that scholarship? Do you?"

Grant moaned again and shook his head.

"We are. The Rashid Educational Trust. And we can take it away so fast it'll make your head spin. So, step out of line with me again and you'll be out of Oxford and working at McDonald's. Understand?" are. The Rashid Educational Trust. And we can take it away so fast it'll make your head spin. So, step out of line with me again and you'll be out of Oxford and working at McDonald's. Understand?"

"Yes," Grant rubbed his arm, tears in his eyes.

Rupert lit a Marlboro. "So this is what I want you to do."

Alan Grant fumbled in his pocket for a tissue, and his fingers brushed against the pen his brother had sent him. Something, a bad feeling, made him switch it on now.

Rupert took a paper bag from his pocket.

"There are three pieces of candy in there, chocolates. Each has an Ecstasy tablet inside. I want you to offer the girl one during the demonstration."

"Why-why should I do that?"

"Because there's a fair chance you'll be busted by the police when the riot starts, which it will. A drug bust would be very embarra.s.sing for her father, you understand?"

"What happens if the s.h.i.t doesn't hit the fan? If she takes the pill and doesn't get arrested?"

"There'll be other times. Just get her back to that bus in one piece."

"We aren't coming back tonight."

"Why?"

"My brother's working in Germany. He's got a one-room flat in Wapping. He said I could spend the weekend there."

"And she agreed?"

"Yes."

Rupert shook his head. "She must be hard up. What's the address?"

"Ten Ca.n.a.l Street. It's just up from Ca.n.a.l Wharf on the Thames."

"Do you have a mobile phone?"

"No, just the house phone."

Rupert took out his diary and pencil. "Give me the number," which Grant did. "Right. Now look after her. I'll check you out this evening. Remember, give her the pill during during the demonstration. And make sure she doesn't mix it with alcohol. I don't want her sick, Grant, just high. Are we clear?" the demonstration. And make sure she doesn't mix it with alcohol. I don't want her sick, Grant, just high. Are we clear?"

Grant mumbled yes.

"And if you say anything-anything-about this to anyone, you will be very, very sorry. Is that clear, too?"

Grant nodded.

"Good. Now you can go."

He gave Grant time to leave, then followed him. Most of the students had gone, but Percy still waited in the booth.

Rupert said, "Come on. Get ready to make your speech," and led the way out.

The coach waited outside the school hall. About forty people were on board and half a dozen students stood on the pavement, chattering in antic.i.p.ation. Rupert and Percy climbed up into the bus.

"So you're coming with us, sir?" someone called.

"Yes, but against my better judgment. I believe this whole thing could turn very nasty," Percy said.

Someone shouted, "Get stuffed."

"No, seriously. Act of Cla.s.s Warfare isn't about violence. We're about change, peaceful change. I fear this is a dreadful mistake. We shouldn't go, none of us should go."

Rupert took over. "Listen, my name is Dauncey and I represent the Rashid Educational Trust. As some of you know, we help sponsor Act of Cla.s.s Warfare, but we can't condone violence of any kind, and believe me, it's going to get violent today. Professor Percy is right-it's the right cause, but the wrong time and place."

The reaction was just what he expected. A chorus of "Why are we waiting?" burst from the back of the coach, and Rupert shrugged. "It's on your own heads, then."

He sat next to Percy. Helen was across the aisle from him. Grant averted his gaze and looked out of the window. The girl smiled.

"It's quite exciting, really," she said to Rupert.

"Your first riot."

"Oh, I don't believe all that. It'll be fine, I'm sure of it."

"Let's hope you're right."

She turned away, her face troubled.

Bobby Hawk's funeral was at eleven o'clock that same morning at a small village called Pool Bridge in Kent, an hour out of London. Ferguson went down and Dillon accompanied him. It was still bad March weather, with only the hope of spring to look forward to.

Dillon lit a cigarette and opened his window. "Nice countryside."

It started to drizzle. Ferguson said, "I wonder what she's been up to since they got back?"

"I have no idea. The events in Hazar the last few days must have given her something to think about, though."

"Anything new from Roper?"

"Not a thing. He says he's been through all available leads. He can't explore her mind. He can only try and find a pattern to her actions, which means she's got to make the next move."

"I take your point."

"Anyway, I'm seeing him this afternoon, just in case."

"Good." Ferguson leaned back. "I wonder how Tony's making out."

"She shouldn't have annoyed him," Dillon commented. "That was a serious error on her part. She'll live to regret it."

"Let's hope so," Ferguson told him, and they entered Pool Bridge.

The village was typically old English, with cottages, an ancient church, a pub, and a country hotel that looked Georgian. There was a line of cars parked at the side of the church, and Ferguson cursed softly.

"d.a.m.n it, we're late. Come on, Dillon," and he got out and hurried to the large oak door.

The service had just started, and the church was so full that they had to stand at the back. They saw the coffin, and the rector in his vestments on the steps of the sanctuary above it. Mrs. Hawk and her two daughters, all in black, occupied the front pew. The commanding officer of the Lifeguards was there, and his opposite number from the Blues and Royals, supporting each other, as always.

Late in the service, the Lifeguards' colonel joined the rector on the steps, and outlined Bobby Hawk's brief career, praising him for his service and character.

Yes, but what does it all mean? Dillon asked himself. What's the point? The boy was only twenty-two years old, and then the organ started and the hymns began.

Outside at the graveside, the drizzle turned to heavy rain and the General's chauffeur appeared and discreetly offered an umbrella.

"Why does it always rain at funerals?" Dillon asked.

"Some kind of tradition, I suppose," Ferguson said.

And then it was over, and the crowd started to make their way to the country hotel. There was a selection of wines, a buffet. Most people seemed to know each other. Dillon asked one of the waiters to get him a Bushmills and stood back.

Mrs. Hawk approached Ferguson and kissed his cheeks. "Good of you to come, Charles."

"I'm surprised you'll talk to me. To a certain extent, your son was working for me."

"He was doing his duty, Charles, and that's all that matters."

She moved on, and the Lifeguard colonel approached. "Nice to see you, Charles. It's a bad business. That's two cornets Tony Villiers has lost out there."

"You think he'll find difficulty in replacing young Hawk?"

"Not while there are enough mad young fools just out of Sandhurst."