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told you. The aim of this operation is to create a controlled explosion. A minimum of collateral damage.’
    ‘I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, I’ll make contact if I can, but otherwise, forget about me and wait. My identity remains in place?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘How were you able to set that up without being logged?’
    ‘Well, that’s where your relatively advanced age comes in handy.’
    Shelley shot him a look.
    ‘“ Relatively ”, I said. Anyway, what it means is that it’s a paper record. One from the pile marked “to be digitised”. Old school, you see.’
    ‘And the player’s wife? The one who alerted you to all of this?’
    ‘She’s being kept informed.’
    ‘Is she, indeed? Why do I get the impression she’s well connected?’
    Claridge chuckled. ‘And why do I get the impression you did a little checking on me, before you embarked on this mission?’
    ‘Enough to find out who you studied with at Cambridge.’
    ‘Then you’ll know that in Sarah we have a strong ally.’
    ‘Okay. You tell her I’m close.’
    Claridge nodded. ‘So what happens now?’
    ‘I don’t know. I’m hoping I’ll think of something.’

CHAPTER 10
    THE HOME SECRETARY , Sarah Farmer, and her husband paid little attention to their television, even though it was on. Both were engrossed in other pursuits: Sarah was peering at papers spread on the coffee table in front of her, face bathed in the glowing light of her laptop screen; Kenneth was sprawled on the second sofa, his MacBook open, angled away from her.
    ‘Have you noticed we never actually watch anything any more?’ she said.
    ‘What was that, dear?’
    ‘We’re always working, looking at our computers. What is it that’s got your attention?’
    His eyes appeared over the aluminium lid. Eyes she once knew well. Now she wondered if she ever knew Kenneth at all. If what Simon thought was true, she had married a monster.
    ‘Oh, nothing really,’ he said. ‘Nothing to interest you.’
    ‘It’s not hunting equipment again, is it?’ she said sternly, knowing it would be. Kenneth had taken to deleting his Internet history and was in the habit of finding an excuse to slap his MacBook shut whenever she could see it. But the other day she’d caughthim looking at telescopic sights on his laptop, the way other men looked at porn. ‘I realise you had to give up hunting after I was elected, dear—’
    ‘Well, I had no choice,’ he scowled through an instant fog of resentment. ‘It wouldn’t have done for your public image, would it?’
    ‘And I’m very grateful. I hope the rewards have made it worthwhile.’
    He acknowledged the point with a petulant frown.
    ‘So I hate to see you torturing yourself this way. Besides, it’s golf that keeps you busy now, isn’t it? You’ve been doing such a lot of that lately.’
    She wondered if she sounded as disingenuous as she felt. Hunting equipment. God! She’d always known that her ascension to the post of Home Secretary would involve discovering some dark and unpalatable truths. She could never have imagined how repellent they were, or how close to home they would lie.
    How ironic that she’d suspected him of an affair. Right now, she’d happily settle for that.
    An instant-messaging bubble appeared on her laptop screen: ‘:-)’ sent by ‘SC’. Simon Claridge.
    With a click of the trackpad she dismissed it and stood. ‘Tell you what,’ she said to Kenneth, trying to sound affectionate, ‘you look at hunting sites all you want.’
    ‘That’s very good of you, I must say, to allow me to look at the websites of my choice. Far be it from you to treat me like your personal puppet, eh?’
    God , she thought. Who had taken the man she married and replaced him with this . . . person ? If he was caught for this business, would he blame it on her – on her career?
    With a heavy heart she stood. ‘I need to make a private call, Kenneth. State business.’
    ‘You have my blessing,’ he said