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against London Transport. There are some weirdly disaffected people in this world. They get very pissed off because fares are going up or trains don’t run on time, or because they’ve been fired from their job as a ticket clerk. They begin to be obsessed and before long you’ve got a deranged person with a hugely destructive rage. There are some off-the-wall loonies in the quietest of suburbs. Strange men in string vests and combat jackets are patiently building tiny bombs in their garden sheds even as we sit here. You know that. I know that. So why do you assume this to be an act of the IRA or any other terrorist group?’
    â€˜Some assumptions need to be made. We cannot go around whistling in the dark, Frank.’
    â€˜In my experience, organized terrorists always claim responsibility. There’s hardly ever an exception. They’re in the business of making statements, violent statements, and it does them no damn good to carry out the violence without claiming it. It doesn’t fulfil them. It doesn’t satisfy them.’
    Nimmo was quiet a moment. He clasped his fleshy hands on the desk and looked aggravated by Pagan’s tone of voice. ‘Frank, Frank. Let’s clear the air. I understand you think you’ve been wronged. I don’t condemn you for your sense of injustice. I sympathize with it. You feel you were unjustly discarded. It was not an easy decision for us to make. Reorganization often entails difficult adjustment.’
    Difficult adjustment, Pagan thought. He stared at Nimmo. You’ll never know, George.
    â€˜But what you perceive as exile was nothing more than, yo, a temporary business. We put you on hold, of course. I am not denying that. I admit it might have been done with more, shall we say, finesse. But it was not my decision alone, Frank. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t make decisions in a vacuum. I consult. I inquire. I survey. That is the way business is done around here now.’
    â€˜By consensus.’
    â€˜As you say. Some of your colleagues, even those who express admiration for you, admit to a certain suspicion that you are not entirely a team player. I think you would agree with that assessment. And in a world of team players, the man who likes to carry the ball alone is sometimes suspect. You have an inclination to do things your own way. This tempered the decision to put you on hold. Keep that in mind, Frank. It was never the intention to discard you permanently. Far from it.’
    A world of team players, Pagan thought. He wondered if he wanted to live in it. It suggested drab conformity, a deadening of initiative. Men of little flair compensated for their failure of imagination by banding together in castrated herds that called themselves committees.
    Nimmo said, ‘And now we have a situation that we believe will suit your talents.’ He opened a drawer absently, glanced inside, closed it again. ‘I think you are the best man to deal with this affair.’
    A little chilly flattery. Pagan wasn’t buying it. It was too late in the day to be convinced that Nimmo felt even the smallest regret that an injury had been done. Besides, with all his talk of team players, it was clear that Nimmo didn’t accept total responsibility for the banishing order. He was too shifty for that, too cunning. He spread the blame around in a tidy fashion. But it was hard to shovel shit without some sticking to you.
    â€˜Isn’t MI5 in on this?’ Pagan asked. ‘I thought counter-terrorism fell into their domain.’
    â€˜They’re sniffing around, of course. But as you just pointed out, there has been no terrorist claim. Consequently, no terrorist organization is as yet officially responsible. So our friends see it for the moment as, yo, more or less a police matter. We may have interference. They are not uninterested, naturally. They have an eye on the situation.’ Nimmo got up and walked to the bookshelves and