A/N - This is a sequel to 'The Lift' and, like that story, is set a number of years after the Battle City Tournament.

Chapter 1 - Settling a score

OooooO

In a grotty late night café in central London, Stacey stared at her own blurry reflection in the plastic counter-top. It was only thirty minutes into the seven hour shift that would take her into the not-so-early hours of the morning. She was trying to resist checking her watch for the third time.

A sudden cold breeze jolted her back to reality and she looked up as a tall man entered. Scowling as he looked around him, Stacey thought he might turn around and walk straight out again. He seemed to be considering it but, looking out at the heavily falling rain; he appeared to change his mind and instead sat down on a dirty orange plastic chair in the furthest corner.

Stacey raised her eyebrows in happy surprise realising that the guy wasn't the usual calibre of customer she was becoming depressingly used to. She stood up straight and poked her head through the door that led to the squalid back room.

'Carly. Oi Carly!' she hissed at her colleague who was sitting crossed legged on a table, enjoying the peace and quiet before the rush of the theatre and night club chuck out times. 'Get your arse out here. We've got a customer.'

'Can't you deal wiv it?' came the whiney reply. 'I'm watchin' Big Bruva,'.

'Bugger off, I'm not doing your job for you! Anyway,' Stacey gave her friend a small smile, 'I don't recon you're gonna mind this one too much!'

Carly raised an eyebrow and jumped down from the table. 'What's the score?'

'I would rate him a nine or ten.'

'That good?' Carly marvelled, impressed.

She manoeuvred past Stacey and looked across the room at their only customer who was intently studying some sort of device.

'Ohhh, nice,' she whispered without taking her eyes off him.

She took a quick glance at herself in the reflection of the window, smoothed back her hair and pulled her v-neck top down a bit to show off her cleavage.

Stacey patted her on the shoulder. 'Go get 'im tiger!' she laughed.

OooooO

Owen McIntire ran down a dirty side street of London's Soho district. He kept glancing behind him and his expression was one of terror. In the hammering rain he could no longer see his pursuer and, turning a corner, he briefly harboured the hope that he had finally lost him. Or them. It was so difficult to tell as they all looked the same, black suits and sunglasses, even at 11 o'clock at night. All he knew is that they had been on his trail for days.

His counterpart had called him the previous week, sounding panicked and desperate. He had begged Owen to take him in, to protect him from people who were 'trying to get him'. Owen's heart had turned to stone, knowing that his worst fears had been confirmed.

'Stay with me? STAY with me!' he had shouted his own fears making him angry. 'You shouldn't even be phoning me you stupid bastard!'

He had quickly terminated the call and, holding the phone in one shaking hand, had contemplated his next move.

He knew he had to get out of his home town; it was too small, too obvious, too easy to search. He could try and find somewhere in the countryside, nice and remote or, or he could go to London – hide in the crowds. He had hesitated for a few more moments, his body frozen as his mind whirred feverishly.

Finally Owen had made his decision; he had gathered together every piece of paperwork in his tiny converted flat and had burnt everything in the small Victorian fireplace. Grabbing a few possessions and snatching up a small carryall he had shoved everything roughly inside. He had closed the door quietly behind him and, as he walked further down the street towards the nearest train station, he had stopped briefly. Pulling his phone out of his pocket he had dropped it on the floor and had stepped on it heavily; nodding, satisfied, when the screen had splintered. Lifting the lid off one of his neighbour's bins he had thrown the phone away.

Since that day Owen had lain low. He had found an empty building on the outskirts of central London, somewhere he had never even visited before now. He used only the cash in his pocket, hastily withdrawn at the cash point on the station platform. He hadn't contacted anyone – not even his girlfriend. But still they had found him.

The previous day he had been returning 'home' with a few groceries and that's when he'd seen them. Two guys dressed in their black suits and dark glasses, like extras from that alien film. Owen hadn't stuck around for them to spot him instead jumping on the next bus heading to the West End.

OooooO

Roland smiled faintly watching as McIntire staggered to a halt at the end of the street, hesitating briefly as he tried to guess which was the best way to go.

The pursuit had been in active progress for over an hour so far it was going almost exactly to plan. The seemingly random configuration of roads and the multitude of tiny alleyways that made up the centre of London had proved difficult but the target didn't appear to be familiar with the streets and, with detailed maps and a ten-strong team of professionals, they had managed to gain the advantage and maintain it. McIntire didn't know it but, as he zigzagged wildly from street to street, he was heading exactly where they wanted him to go.

Roland surveyed the street, making sure his next directions would be accurate. It was clearly a fruit and vegetable market during the day and the rotting leftovers collected against the curb of the road and in the doorways of some cheap-looking shops. At the end of the street he could see the garish lights of the types of establishments that were still open at this hour, shops selling porn, sex toys and women. The rain soaked street glowed with the bright colours of the neon lights, turning the tarmac into a river of pinks and reds.

'He's just exited left at the end of Berwick Street Market, he's heading back onto Wardour,' he barked into his communicator. 'Jackson, have you picked him up?' he waited a few seconds for a reply. 'Jac-'

'Got him sir. He's still heading – hold on, another right turn into…' there was the sound of running, 'he's onto Shaftsbury heading North-West towards Piccad – Damn it!'

'What? Tell me what's going on?'

There was more swearing and Jackson's voice could be heard shouting for people to get out of his way. When he came back on the line he sounded flustered.

'A play must've just finished. There're people everywhere... I can't see him.'

Without bothering to respond, Roland switched to the next frequency. 'Murdoch, keep an eye out, McIntire should be heading your way.'

'I see him,' Murdoch said quietly, 'what are my orders?'

'Just follow him covertly for the moment and keep us posted. Mr Kaiba wants to make the final move himself.'

'Understood.'

Murdoch detached himself from the shadows of the side alley, and joined the crowds of the busy London street. Shivering slightly from the cold, he shucked off his black jacket, removed his glasses and blended himself with the milling theatre goers. All night the ten-strong team had been herding McIntire, intimidating him with their matching appearance, letting him know that there was no way out. Murdoch saw the exhaustion on the man's face, and knew that the end of the pursuit was in sight.

OooooO

His eyes darting from side to side like a trapped animal, Owen began to slow his pace. He ducked into a darkened shop doorway and looked out onto the street, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He watched the happy people casually wondering towards the nearest tube, his intense gaze picking out anyone wearing black.

A man hurried past him carrying his jacket over his arm, he was smiling and calling out a woman's name as he made his way through the surrounding throng, apparently trying to catch up with someone. Owen had already turned back to the oncoming crowd when Murdoch glanced back at him.

OooooO

Working in Soho, Stacey and Carly were used to seeing all sorts: exuberant drag queens, surly prostitutes, drugged up clubbers and everything in-between. There was something distinctly different about this guy though and both girls were fascinated.

He had ordered only coffee and had sat on his own in the furthest corner, barely saying a word, for over an hour which was the typical behaviour of one of the area's habitual tramps who would pay the minimum just to have somewhere warm to go, especially on a night like this. But this guy sure as hell didn't look like a tramp. Neither did he look like he was exactly strapped for cash. For starters there was that expensive looking handheld thingy that had kept him occupied since the moment he'd sat down.

They had both been making bets about what it was since he'd first drawn it out from the inside pocket of his long overcoat. Stacey guessed that it was a mini TV screen, whilst Carly seemed convinced that it was some sort of new gaming console.

Every time Carly checked on him, which she did with a rather suspicious regularity, she tried to catch a glimpse of the screen or to properly make out the words that she could faintly hear coming from it. As the time had dragged on and her efforts continued to fail the two girls had become more and more curious. On her seventh visit to the 'well fit' if slightly 'narky' guy, she deliberately dropped a tea spoon on the floor and, when he bent to pick it up she leant over and took a long hard look at the device.

The man sat back up and held out the spoon to her. The look in his eyes was like being doused with ice cold water and, giving her best shot at an innocent smile, Carly quickly retreated.

'I cannot believe you just did that!' Stacey said in a shocked undertone. 'It was well obvious!'

'Is he still looking?' Carly asked, with her back to the room, feeling a little awkward about her subterfuge.

'Nah, he's gone back to his… well, what is it then?'

'I dunno. It 'ad a screen on it but it din't look like no computer game,' she whispered to Stacey. 'The screen's got all these little dots movin' about on a map that looks like round 'ere. He weren't doin' nothin' wiv it, just watchin' an' listening,' they both looked across at him, 'and there was this like commentree that went wiv it.'

'Commentary?'

'Yeah, like all these commands an' stuff. Like 'follow on foot, heading East West',' she tried to imitate the accent she had heard.

'What's that supposed to be, Indian or sommin?' Stacey teased.

'Shuddup!' Carly gave her friend a playful slap on the arm. 'Anyway, it sounded like some sort of pursuit were goin' on.'

'You recon he's a member of the old bill?'

They both stared at him thoughtfully.

'He don't look like no copper,' Carly concluded.

Clearly sensing that he was being watched, the man suddenly scowled and looked up at them both.

Blushing terribly, both girls ducked quickly behind the counter and dissolved into a fit of giggles.

The man stood up and grabbed his coat from where he had placed it, carefully across the table. Surreptitiously he tensed and un-tensed the muscles in his thighs trying to bring them back to life after so long sat in the hard plastic chair. He looked again at the 'empty' counter and heard the muffled giggles of the two girls. He rolled his eyes and, taking out a ten pound note, he put it down on the table and placed a tomato shaped ketchup bottle on top of it.

He slipped the hand held device into his trouser pocket and left the café.

Stacey peeked out from behind the counter. Registering that it had indeed been the tall guy who had left, the first thing she did was check his table for money. She saw the edge of the orange coloured note and allowed herself to relax slightly.

She elbowed Carly who was still giggling uncontrollably.

'Hey, you've missed the grand exit.'

Carly took a deep breath to calm herself down and then she too took a peek.

Shivering in the cold night air the man took his coat in both hands and flung it around him, deftly sliding his arms into the sleeves as the bottom of the coat flared around him dramatically.

The two girls, watching through the rain slicked window, both sighed happily at the sight. If they had known that he was of one of the world's richest bachelors, they probably would have fainted on the spot.

OooooO

Seto Kaiba had been following the pursuit with interest, watching on his potable screen as the red dots of his team began to converge on the famous London tourist spot.

'Are we ready?' he spoke into his communicator.

'I believe so sir,' Roland replied, 'Murdoch is in covert pursuit. We think McIntire will try to access the underground system at Piccadilly and we have a number of people based at the bottom of each escalator. He should be pretty well cornered once he's there.'

'Are we happy that we can do this without causing a scene – I understand that there's actually a saying in this country that makes reference to how overcrowded this area is.'

'I'm pretty certain that we can extract him with the minimum of fuss. I took the liberty of 'obtaining' some London Underground security passes. If he does become a problem then they should do the trick.'

'Good. I'm heading there now,' Seto signed off.