Chapter 1

It was around half past four in the afternoon, and the sky was a muted grey. The sun had been struggling to break through the clouds all day, but it appeared that it now given up. In the distance, dark clouds of rain could be seen, and they would no doubt soon be right overhead. Harry Pearce, Connie James and Malcolm Wynn-Jones had taken the recent quietness at Thames House to enjoy a few well-deserved glasses of whiskey in the pub 'The George'. Despite the fact that things at work had been slow, they still were discussing the current state of affairs in their profession.

"The Russians hate us, the Americans are messing with us, and the Iranians are probably busy dreaming up ways of blowing us to kingdom-come." Harry took another sip of his drink before continuing. "Do we have no 'friends' in this world?"

"Who needs enemies when you have 'friends' like these?" Connie quoted, further proving Harry's point.

Harry nodded. "Precisely."

They lapsed into silence for a while, all of them gazing out of the window and watching the world pass by.

"I wonder what Amber and Lucas are doing with themselves now," Malcolm said after a considerable amount of time had passed.

"Well, we can only hope that their marriage hasn't broken up yet," replied Harry.

"They married under a year ago; I somehow doubt that they've divorced now. They were very much in love last time we saw them," Connie reminded him.

"Everyone does on their wedding day," Harry muttered.

"Don't be so pessimistic. Just because you had an unfortunate marriage breakdown doesn't mean everyone else has."

Harry winced slightly as Connie's words turned his thoughts to his marriage, and the combination of bitterness and guilt that he still felt towards it. He brought the glass of whiskey to his lips again, almost relishing in the feel of the burning in his throat as he downed the remainder of his drink. Suddenly his phone rang, and he glanced briefly at the caller ID before answering.

"Jo?"

"Harry, we've got a problem. Something big just happened."

"We're on our way back." Harry turned to Connie and Malcolm and said, "Come on, we're needed."

Ten minutes later, and Harry, Connie and Malcolm returned to the Grid. Stepping through the pods, they were met with a set of unfamiliar faces standing around and talking amongst themselves. Harry's first thought was that they were being investigated for some unknown reason, but he quickly realised that he would have had more warning than this. Then again, his relationship with Richard Dolby - the head of MI5 - was rather strained at present.

"What the hell is going on?" Harry exclaimed, pushing his way past three men who were in his way.

"This lot are from MI6," Jo said, appearing next to his left elbow.

"Why? What's happened?" asked Connie.

"The Russians have traced the Al Qaeda cell that tried to detonate a bomb in Manchester to a small village in Chechnya. Now's our chance to lift their cell," answered Ben.

"Meeting room," Harry commanded. He turned back to Ben and said, "So MI6 are here to liaise and to compare notes on how we can get the Russians to give us their guys?"

"Correct," replied Ben. "Word is that Andrew Stanton is on his way over to discuss possible assets."

"Blimey; the head of MI6. Best behaviour everyone."

They had only just taken their seats around the large, oak table in the meeting room when Andrew Stanton walked in, followed by several of his men. He hovered at the head of the table, drumming his fingers impatiently on its surface while he waited for silence to fall.

"So, Sir Harry-" Andrew began.

"Just Harry," he interrupted, then waved his hand for Andrew to speak again.

Andrew cleared his throat slightly before continuing. "You're aware of the situation?" Harry nodded. "Good. We need to know if you have any assets that could possibly have the correct leverage to persuade the Russians to give up their guys, because we have none."

Harry thought for a moment. One name sprang to his mind, but he hated to think about it. How could he even be sure that he would agree? But then again, he had no one else, let alone anyone else that he trusted as much.

"Well, I do know of one person," he said finally.

Andrew looked at him questioningly. "Go on," he prompted.

"He left the service a while ago, but he's the only person I know of who has any chance of persuading the Russians…"

Andrew leant forwards slightly in anticipation. "What's his name?"

"Lucas North."