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himself. YouM think, he'd be more careful after the Rome attempt on his life.' '

'Not that kind of man, is he, sir?' Fox sipped some of his tea. 'On the other hand, the way^things are going,"^erh2ps he won't come at all. The South American connection is of primary importance to the Catholic Church and they see us as the villain of the piece iff this Falklands business. They don't want him to come and the speech he made in Rome yesterday seemed to hint that he wouldn't.'

Til be perfectly happy with that,' Ferguson said. 'It would relieve trie of the responsibility of making sure some madman or other doesn't try to shoot him while he's in England. On the other hand, several million British Catholics would be bitterly disappointed.'

'I understand the Archbishops of Liverpool and Glasgow

have flown off to the Vatican today to try to persuade him to change his mind,' Fox said.

'Yes, well let's hope they fail miserably.'

The bleeper sounded on the red telephone on Ferguson's desk, the phone reserved for top security rated traffic only.

'See what that is, Harry.'

Fox lifted the receiver. 'Fox here.' He listened for a moment then turned, face grave and held out the phone. 'Ulster, sir. Army headquarters Lisburn and it isn't good!'

It had started that morning just before seven o'clock outside the village of Kilgannon some ten miles from Londonderry. Patrick Leary had delivered the post in the area for fifteen years now and his Royal Mail van was a familiar sight.

His routine was always the same. He reported for work at headquarters in Londonderry at five-thirty promptly, picked up the mail for the first delivery of the day, already sorted by the night staff, filled up his petrol tank at the transport pumps then set off for Kilgannon. And always at half past six he would pull intcdfittrack in the trees beside Kilgannon Bridge to read the moSHgipaper, eat his breakfast sandwiches and have a cup"Si dprfee from his thermos flask. It was a routine which, unfortunately for Leary, had not gone unnoticed.

Cuchulain watched him for ten minutes, waiting patiently for Leary to finish his sandwiches. Then the man got out, as he always did, and walked a little way into the wood. There was a slight sound behind him of a twig cracking under a foot. As he turned in alarm, Cuchulain slipped out of the trees.

He presented a formidable figure and Leary was immediately terrified. Cuchulain wore a dark anorak and a blackbalaclava helmet which left only his eyes, nose and mouth exposed. He carried a PPK semi-automatic pistol in his left hand with a Carswell silencer screwed to the end of the barrel.

'Do as you're told and you'll live,' Cuchulain said. His voice was soft with a Southern Irish accent.

'Anything,' Leary croaked. 'I've got a family - please.'

'Take off your cap and the raincoat and lay them down.'

Leary did as he was told and Cuchulain held out his right hand so that Leary saw the large white capsule nestling in the centre of the glove. 'Now, swallow that like a good boy.'

'Would you poison me?' Leary was sweating now.

'You'll be out for approximately four hours, that's all,' Cuchulain reassured him. 'Better that way.' He raised the gun. 'Better than this.'

Leary took the capsule, hand shaking, and swallowed it down. His legs seemed to turn to rubber, there was an air of unreality to everything, then a hand was on his shoulder pushing him down. The grass was cool against his face, then there was only the darkness.

Dr Hans Wolfgang Baum was a remarkable man. Born in Berlin in 1950, the son of a prominent industrialist, on his father's death in 1970 he had inherited a fortune equivalent to ten million dollars and wide business interests. Many people in his position would have been content to live a life of pleasure, which Baum did, with the important distinction that he derived his pleasure from work. jflL

He had a doctorate in engineering sciengRrom the University of Berlin, a law degree from the London School of Economics,