that, swerving in, Sara braking so hard that she sprayed gravel over everyone. She slid from the driver’s side, drawing her Colt, and Hannah joined her on the other side, weapon in hand.
“All right,” Sara cried. “That’s enough.”
The one who had picked up the sawed-off said, “I don’t think so, Captain Gideon. If you and the girl don’t put down your weapons, I will blow your housekeeper’s head off.”
On the instant, Hannah shot off the lower half of his left ear.
He cried out, blood spurting, and dropped the shotgun, and Dillon seemed to slide in at the wheel of the Mini at the same time, spraying another wave of gravel.
“My goodness, but you girls have been having fun,” he said, as he got out.
“What kept you, cousin?” Hannah demanded.
One of the men reached down to grab the shotgun, and Dillon kicked him in the face. The man fell over, and the others cried out in protest.
Dillon said, “Line up and shut up, or someone else could lose half an ear.” He turned to Hannah. “There you go, stealing my favorite party trick.”
“It runs in the family,” she told him. “The way they treated Sadie, they got what they deserved.”
“On that point, I wouldn’t argue with you.” Dillon turned to the lineup. “Who’s going to tell me who sent you, although I don’t expect to be surprised.”
They stared at him stony faced, and no one said a word except Dillon, who told them exactly what he thought of them in harsh but fluent Arabic. They stared at him in astonishment, and he returned to English.
“So let’s try again, and I would suggest that one half ear a night is enough.”
The man with the ear bleeding into the handkerchief he held against it said, “Imam Yousef Shah, although I suspect you know that.”
“As it happens, I do, so what would your name be?”
“Hamid Abed.”
“Well, keep better company is my advice. Take them to their van, Hannah. Send them on their way, and you have my permission to shoot anybody who makes a false move. Keep an eye on her, Sara, while I help Sadie indoors. She’s shaking.”
Hannah shepherded them outside to their yellow van and waited for them to scramble in. Hamid still held the handkerchief to his ear as he turned to her.
“You use that gun like a soldier. Who taught you to do that, memsahib?”
“The Provisional IRA,” she told him.
“Allah preserve me.” He was shocked. “And the leg? You are crippled?”
“Car bomb,” she said. “When it comes down to it, you lot are just beginners. Off you go, Hamid Abed, and try to behave yourself in the future.”
The van drove away; Hannah turned and walked back to Sara, who said, “What was that all about?”
“He wanted to know where I learned to shoot.”
“And you told him the IRA?”
“Which shocked the hell out of him. He called me memsahib; I thought that was Indian?”
“So it is, and I’m surprised,” Sara told her, as they entered the house. “Their attitude toward women is different from ours, so when they meet someone like you and me, they don’t know how to handle us.”
“They’ll have to learn,” Hannah said, and followed Sara in, pausing at the umbrella stand, helping herself to one of the several walking sticks.
“Leg bad tonight?” Sara asked.
“You could say that.” Hannah grinned. “One cripple to another. You, too?”
“Yes, it’s an absolute bastard. The fruits of war.”
“Ah, for that I can only offer you this.” Hannah handed her a walking stick. “On the other hand, for the hero of Abusan, a Military Cross goes with it.”
Sara gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Bless you, Hannah, for being you. I’m beginning to wonder how I ever got by without you. Let’s go and see what Sean’s up to.”
The door of the rabbi’s study stood open; Sadie had lit a fire in the magnificent Georgian grate. Dillon sat at one side, speaking to Roper, and he paused.
“Sadie went off to the kitchen to make tea and coffee. I think she’s upset,” he said.
Hannah had turned and was already on her way. Sara said, “We’ll handle it,” and hurried after her.
Sadie was sitting in a high kitchen chair sobbing, Hannah’s arm around her. “It’s okay,” Hannah told her. “I’m here now, and so is Sara.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sadie said. “I got the shotgun to chase them away, even fired a round into the sky, but it didn’t stop them. I was terrified, thinking they might be ISIS and knowing what terrible things they’ve done.”
“Well, Sara and I soon put them in their place,” Hannah said. “And as we know exactly who was responsible for the attack, we’ll be able to do something about it.”
Sadie brightened at that. “True enough.” She took a deep breath. “Go and see Sean in the study, and I’ll follow you with a trolley.”
Dillon was putting logs on the fire when they joined him. “How is she?” he asked.
“Nerves shot,” Sara told him. “Thank God we were able to get to her in time.”
“Too true, but I won’t allow it to happen again. I’ve just made that clear to Roper.”
“And what did he say?”
“Ferguson is still at Downing Street but sends his best. He’ll be with us soon, so let’s have a drink or sit down and have a cup of tea Irish-style and relax.”
At that moment, Sadie wheeled in the trolley, obviously trying to be brave. “Tea up. I’ve managed salad sandwiches and scones. Oh, I forgot to say ‘God bless all here.’ Is that right, Sean?”
“Sadie, you’re the wonder of the world.”
THE DAIMLER WAS ON THE ROAD, Sergeant Doyle at the wheel and Ferguson, Cazalet, and Blake Johnson in deep discussion, when Ferguson’s Codex rang. He answered, his smile changing to a frown.
“Roper,” he said. “Let me put it on speaker. He has rather dramatic news for us.”
Roper then gave them a detailed account of the events at Highfield Court.
“The bastards,” Blake said. “Those Brotherhood guys.”
“I agree,” Cazalet told him. “But no match for a woman who is one of the few to be awarded a Military Cross in the
