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There was a sharp knock on the Governor’s door and a senior prison officer charged in unannounced.

‘You’d better come quickly, sir,’ was all he said before rushing back out.

The Governor knew from the expression on the officer’s face that it had to be a riot or a suspicious death. He quickly left his office, ran after him, and didn’t stop running until he reached Block A, where he noticed all the doors were locked, except one.

He entered O’Driscoll’s cell to see the prison doctor leaning over his patient.

The doctor answered the Governor’s question before he could ask it. ‘He’s been dead for about an hour.’

‘Cause of death?’ stammered the Governor.

‘Poisoning,’ said the doctor. ‘The bitter smell of almond rather suggests cyanide. However, I’ll know much more after I’ve carried out a full analysis, I’ll have a report on your desk later today.’ He paused while he looked up at the Governor. ‘What I can’t understand is how it was possible for O’Driscoll to get hold of cyanide, when there is none in my pharmacy.’

The Governor wasn’t taking in the doctor’s words, as his mind was already at the airport.

•••

The limousine shot off the motorway and headed for a gate reserved for VIPs and special assignments. The Ambassador’s cortège fell neatly into both categories. As the hearse approached the entrance, it once again slowed back down to a funereal pace, not wishing to attract any unnecessary attention. It proceeded slowly into the airport and drove across the tarmac to a waiting plane on the far side of the runway.

Hani Khalil stared down at the two cars from the observation deck on the fourth floor. He watched as the hearse came to a halt at the back of an aircraft, which had its cargo door lowered in preparation for the sad occasion. He even wore a black armband on the left sleeve of his suit.

Six coffin-bearers, who carried out this exercise fairly regularly, stepped forward as the driver opened the back door of the hearse, to find Sally, head bowed, weeping. They assumed she had to be the widow accompanying her dead husband.

The six men eased the coffin out of its resting place and inone well-practised movement lifted it up onto their shoulders. They then slow-marched in step towards the open door. They proceeded with dignity up the wide ramp and disappeared into the hold, closely followed by the Ambassador and Sally, who continued to play their role in the fiction.

Khalil was unable to see what was going on inside the hold, but only had to wait a few moments before the six coffin-bearers reappeared and made their way back into the airport, at the same slow respectful pace, having completed their task.

Khalil’s eyes never left the gaping hole as he waited for the Ambassador to reappear. When he eventually did, the Lebanese agent was surprised to see that Sir Bernard Anscombe was accompanied by a man in a British Airways uniform. Khalil assumed he must have been waiting for them on board.

Sally did not join them, but quickly returned to the car. Khalil was puzzled why she’d even gone into the hold in the first place, but he was now concentrating on the tall thin man, who had an unkempt beard and whose jacket was a little too large and hung on him like a coathanger. The Ambassador accompanied him to the steps of the plane, where the two men shook hands. Both Sir Bernard and Khalil watched him as he climbed the steps and disappeared inside the aircraft.

Once the cabin door had closed, the Ambassador walked back to his car, where he joined his secretary. She opened her bulky handbag, and Sir Bernard stared down at the fifty thousand dollars in cash that she had removed from the coffin.

‘My bonus?’ asked Sally hopefully.

‘No such luck, Sally,’ said the Ambassador smiling. ‘Simon explained that the money belongs to Sean’s wife, so I want you to deposit the cash in the Embassy account and ask themto transfer the full amount to a Mrs Sean O’Driscoll at the Bank of Ireland in Dublin. I’ll have to call her later today, and try and put a gloss on it, but it won’t be easy.’

The Ambassador sat back and watched as the plane left its stand and began to taxi towards the far runway, before taking its place in a long queue waiting for take-off.

Khalil was surprised that the Ambassador’s car remained by the runway. What was he waiting for?

Then, just as British Airways flight 017 reached the head of the queue and was waiting for the tower to allow take-off, another car came speeding through the VIP gate, lights flashing, siren blaring, and didn’t slow down as it headed towards the waiting aircraft.

The Governor had already called ahead to warn air traffic control that an escaped prisoner was on board and to order them to instruct the pilot to return to his stand and await further instructions. He jumped out of his car, assuming his orders would have been obeyed without question and the plane would return to its stand.

He watched in disbelief as the aircraft continued to move, first slowly and then more quickly as it accelerated along the runway, before finally taking off.

He stared up at the plane as it rose in the sky, unable to understand why his clear orders had been ignored. Who would have the nerve to countermand them?

Khalil also watched the plane take off, and two things puzzled him. Why had the Governor turned up at the last minute, only to watch the plane as it disappeared above the clouds? But, even more puzzling, who was the man dressed in a British Airways uniform that didn’t fit?

The Ambassador’s car didn’t move until he’d seen the plane disappear, when he relaxed for the first time. He picked upthe phone in his armrest and dialled the Foreign Office in London.

‘He’s on his way.’

‘God save the Queen,’ said Trevelyan.

‘God save the King,’ said the Ambassador.