Chapter One

[This story takes place between the events of Cliffhanger (infiltrating the base in Khazakhstan) and The Only Easy Day… Was Yesterday (infiltrating the oil rig).]

Time being imperative, apparently, I found myself booked onto the first train available, and a clear indication of the importance of my new paymasters was that no one baulked at the short-notice, first-class fare, which provided me with breakfast and about six inches more legroom than standard, for the rack-rate price of a night at Claridges. As the dawn broke over the countryside whisking past me at an alarming speed, I rubbed my gritty eyes and considered my lot.

I'd read Riley's file twice in the last twenty-four hours, and whilst it was technically obvious why they were backing him for this job, I remained ambiguous. I had learnt through many years of hard experience that the average soldier shared the same level of technological literacy as an avocado. Of course, I came from the position of an extreme outlier, and I suspected most of the general population knew no better, but there's only so much of your life you can spend trying to winkle technical information about your enemies from the entirely ignorant before it because a highly contentious point.

Since he'd joined up, he'd been clean: no other convictions after the GBH that had caused him to be expelled from his comp sci course and drafted into the Army on a short-lived sentence reduction program. A short reconnoitre through his personnel file revealed technical abilities beyond the normal: cobbling together a virtual tunnel in his spare time to avoid restrictions on streaming porn on official computers to name but one of many, many violations of MoD internet policy. He'd been sniffed by the Doughnut after the third offence, but had turned them down, preferring apparently to continue to live and die by the sword rather than the keyboard and had remained a thorn in the side of the sysadmins ever since.

Finally, after meditating on this dichotomy of the soldier programmer and the rest of the frankly bizarre mission parameters I'd been set for several hours, I stumbled from the train at Lockerbie, dragging my bags down behind me onto the empty platform.

Being deserted, I should have spotted him lurking straight away, but in the rush to prepare the file, no one had considered updating the photograph that went with it. Also, I was tired, and I had been expecting them to send a minion to transport me out to the base, so it took a few minutes for me to realise that the handsome, off-duty builder in his threadbare, sagging hoodie and filthy jeans was Riley himself.

My brain short-circuited. It had been prepared for gawky, pallid and spotty and had failed to apply the transformations of time, regular exercise and an improved diet. As I approached Riley pushed himself away from the wall he was slumped against without taking his hands from his pockets. His mouth twisted into a wry, rakish smile and I felt my own lips tighten in response. I had already envisioned, this sojourn to the arse-end of Scotland to be a special level of Hell, so things were looking up. Riley hadn't just grown into his features, he was strikingly handsome: an unexpected, and not unwelcome development.

"Miss Wolf?" He stared at me from beneath his hooded lids, his smile evolving into a sneer.

"Mr Riley" I replied, the smile dying on my lips and my tone icy. He knew how to address me properly, but he chose not to. I could correct him, but on the occasions before that I'd had to play out this tired old exchange, I'd been accused of pretentiousness. Now older, I knew a calculated insult thrown at me, an arrogant attempt to set the tone of the relationship. Fuck you too! I thought.

He snorted, derisively. "I knew you'd be a posh bird, but an actual pashmina?" He poured scorn into the last word.

"Says who?" I snapped back "The fucking Pearly King of West Freugh?"

He laughed. "That's a new one!" he said.

"Some of us make the effort." I sniped "This isn't even a pashmina. It's just a scarf."

"Yeah, alright" he replied, defensively. "You've made your point"

An awkward silence descended until he said, "Is that the lot?" and nodded towards my bags.

"Yes." I replied.

"This way." He jerked his head towards the side of the station, and where I guessed there was a car park. He didn't offer to help with the bags. Wanker, I thought, bitterly, as I hauled myself along behind him. I opened the boot myself, and hefted my luggage in without assistance, but Riley held open the passenger door for me and I slid in without speaking to him.

A few moments later, he dropped behind the wheel. From the outside, the car - an old Golf GTI- appeared to be a spacious hot-hatch, but both of us cleared six feet, and Riley had packed about half my weight in muscle across his shoulders. It was distinctly cramped, and with no breeze between us, his cheap aftershave was suddenly overwhelming. I felt as if he had rammed a ball of sandpaper down my throat. He stuck the key in the ignition and turned to speak to me.

"You can call me Simon" he said, and he held out his hand. I took it, giving him a thin smile as I did so. His grip was warm, and dry. Old calluses and excoriations rasped under my soft fingertips.

"Stacey." I replied.

"Stacey" he repeated, letting go of my hand but holding my gaze as he twisted the key, the car roaring to life, his blue eyes alarmingly bright and piercing. He smiled, and I clenched my jaw against the spark I felt inside, trying to hold onto the pissed off feeling. Riley was attractive, even if he was a prick.

"You the nerd then?"

"I'm a professional nerd, Simon. You're the one who does it for free in their spare time." I observed.

He laughed. "Fair point." He pulled out onto the street and started working his way out of the town. "How'd you land this job?"

"Skillset matched." I said, bluntly, allowing the two words to leave everything else unsaid.

"I thought they'd send us an American." He mused.

I shrugged. I couldn't be sure if he meant to make simple small talk or dig for more details. I didn't want him to press it, not just yet. I might technically have the skills to put off this caper, but I didn't feel like stressing my fragile confidence in subversion just yet.

"What's West Freugh like?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Unless you like cows, it's pretty much a complete shit hole in the middle of fucking nowhere. You'd have almost been just as fast flying to fucking Belfast and getting the ferry to Stranraer than getting the train and driving there."

"I heard there's a Book Town." I offered.

"Fucking nerds." He muttered. "Yeah. There's a Book Town. Knock yourself out. The rest of us just fuck off up the coast when we've got the chance, which tells you exactly how much fun it is."

I rolled my eyes and sighed. This was going to be a long six weeks.