1. MI5 Safe House 1 and Surrounds, London. 10:45 hours.

"This was a pretty dumb move, Harry. I'll smooth things over, then we'll figure this mess out. Together."

Coaver had turned to follow the younger agent out the door when Harry responded, politely but flatly,

"Thank you, Jim, but I believe we can 'figure this mess out' on our own, without the CIA's involvement."

Freezing almost in mid-stride, the American turned on his heel, hazel-green eyes blazing in a white face full of barely-controlled fury.

"No! For once in your life you can sit down and fucking listen, Hal!" Gesturing at Glenn, still standing in the doorway, as well as Erin and Dimitri, he ordered, "You lot. Outside." No-one moved, although the two MI5 officers turned their eyes to their boss but he was staring at his old friend, face unreadable, as he thought about what had just passed between them in the inner room. After another moment Jim roared, "NOW!" The sound seemed to snap Harry out of his fugue; catching their gaze, he indicated for Erin and Dimitri to leave, which they did with some reluctance, forcing an even more reluctant Agent Glenn through the doorway in front of them. Not that any of them went far, hovering outside the door in the hope of hearing something of what was being said inside.

Back inside, Harry was subjecting Jim to a death-stare but to absolutely no avail as Coaver, having been subjected to them on more than one occasion in the past, was standing, arms folded over his chest, staring back at him, unblinking, waiting for the silent storm to end. It did, eventually.

"That was uncalled for."

The Englishman's voice was low and furious but there was also that note of uncertainty in it that had begun to creep into his mien during their earlier words in the inner room and Coaver jumped on it. Unfolding his arms and heaving a sigh he said, apologetically,

"I know, Hal, but it was also necessary. We really do have to talk about this, today, before things get more out of hand than they already are."

Slightly mollified by the softer tone and allowing his thoughts to open up, just a little, Harry responded, cautiously,

"What do you mean by 'this', exactly?"

Another sigh and the American took a few steps closer, fixing his friend with a clear, concerned gaze.

"Everything, Hal. We know what's going on, not just with the agreement but behind the scenes. In Moscow. In fact, I believe we know more than you do about that part of it. Who's pulling the strings. Who's been manoeuvring all of us around like so many pieces on a chess board in a game we didn't know we were playing, thirty years ago or now. It's gotten beyond your ability to control what's happening, or mine, but together we might just be able to figure out what to do before it gets even more deadly than it already is."

Harry watched him talk, impassive, but deep in the back of his mind a small thought was beginning to wriggle, working its way free of the bonds it had been locked in for the past three decades, a thought that had been making its presence felt with tiny stirrings for the past few weeks. Still unwilling to allow it to identify itself he finally said,

"I doubt you know everything, Jim, no matter what you think." The other man's face hardened again but, suddenly exhausted, Harry held up a hand. "But you may well know things that we don't, and vice versa. Is this about Ilya's involvement?"

Coaver's eyes didn't waiver from Harry's.

"No, Harry. Ilya has no involvement. He's a pawn as much as the rest of us. You know it's not him. You know it's not me. You know, deep down, that it's Elena."

"Don't start on her again—"

"I have to, Hal!" The voice was harsh, razor-edged. "I have to make you recognise the truth! Think about it: there is no-one else it can be. She's been using all of us, including Ilya and Sasha, since the start, for a political aim that we've never been aware of before now—"

Stubborn and pig-headed, he still wouldn't acknowledge it. Not quite that easily.

"No. We used her. And what do you mean about using Sasha? She would not have done that to our son—"

"Hal, he's not your son! You know it, I know it, she certainly knows it, we've all known it for three damned decades!" Turning away, Coaver began to pace, echoing Harry's movement from earlier. "Damn it, Hal, I know why you wanted that child to be yours and I have some sympathy but it was never true!"

The worm of a thought was struggling more vigorously now, bringing up old doubts, pain and memories from a previous millennium but still it was denied identity.

"How do you know he's not my son? Everything fitted—"

"No, Harry, it didn't!" The American turned and strode over to loom over his old friend. "You just wanted it to. And how do I know? Because we've got Elena's medical records from that time and she was pregnant before you arrived in Berlin! The child wasn't born two weeks early, he was a week overdue! And if you don't believe it then I'll organise a God-damned DNA test to prove it. Take the scales off your eyes, Hal, and have a good look: Sasha is a Mini-Me of Ilya, not you!"

A shaft of pain lanced through the Englishman's heart as the worm of a thought finally broke free and forth into the fully-blown realisation that he had been ignoring ever since Berlin in 1980. Sasha wasn't his, never had been, never would be. He felt something dissolving inside him as he faced that truth, that the boy he had wanted so much, to fill the echoing void, was not his to claim. His gut was telling him that Coaver was telling the truth and that meant Elena had lied to him then and had continued that lie now. So why, and what else was she lying about? He knew Jim had never believed that story and he also knew that, unlike the woman, Jim had never lied to him, about anything: he was about the only CIA agent – and one of the few if you included MI5 or MI6, come to that – with whom Harry had ever worked who was genuinely honourable and trustworthy. Which left them exactly where? The thought might have become a realisation but he still couldn't give in to it that easily, not yet, it would mean the destruction of one of the major pillars of his existence, so again he prevaricated.

"You'll have to prove it."

Jim had seen the pain and knew what it meant but he also knew there was more at stake here that Harry's private heart-ache so he hardened his own heart and said quietly,

"I will, Hal. That and more. I'll give you everything we've got and we can go through it, with what you have, together and decide where to go next. This is bigger then both of us and we don't have much time left – give me an hour after we get out of here and I'll come over to your office."

Harry's gaze was on the concrete floor and he looked both immensely weary and slightly sick, momentarily drained of all energy. Jim Coaver watched him, quietly, waiting and barely daring to breathe. If Hal didn't accept the truth now then they were all doomed.

Harry could feel the other man's eyes on him as he stared at the floor, unseeing, trying to control his whirling thoughts. It couldn't be true but he knew it was. Had known from the start, really. The honey-trap with Elena had been exactly that and proceeding as planned until she had dropped the news that she was pregnant and the child was his. In the state of mind that he had been in at the time it had changed his feelings towards the operation in an instant and all his paternal instincts, so recently and fiercely reawakened with the arrival of Catherine, had taken over, over-riding common-sense. Deep, elemental love for his children, despite his almost total inability to articulate it, had always been one of his driving characteristics, expressing itself in recent decades in the well-known but publicly unacknowledged care that he had for his officers, but in the case of Sasha it had instantly an unforgivably blinded him to the reality of what was going on. He wanted that child and he had refused, then or since, to listen either to Jim or his own mind on the truth of the matter. And now here they were. Potentially, due to his self-applied blinkers, Tariq had died and possibly even old Max. Acknowledging that Elena was lying had changed everything.

The metaphorical knife in his chest twisted as he faced his truth and he squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't – wouldn't – think about it now. There were more urgent tasks at hand. Maybe later, when all of this was over, he and Jim could get together over a drink. If Jim ever forgave him for the past few weeks.

Coaver was still watching his old friend, well able to read the turmoil in his averted face despite the mask the other man had pulled over his features. Please, Hal, come through this and join us in sorting it out. That way there may be some redemption for both of us…

The other man finally lifted his face and the American breathed a quiet sigh of relief at what he saw there. Grief, certainly, regret and guilt as well but also a hard acknowledgement that the game had just changed and a determination to deal with it. He was certain there was a tiny flicker of revenge burning in the depths of the dark eyes that looked at him. Good. If they could harness that fury then the disaster he could feel building up on the horizon might yet be averted.

"Very well." He glanced at his watch. "11.45 on the Grid. Your evidence had better be good."

"It is. Alright, let's get out of here and get on with it."

When they walked through the outer door Erin and Dimitri were conspicuously, casually, leaning against one wall a few feet away from the door while Glenn and the other pair were further up towards the exit, looking impatient. The American went off with his Special Activities Division escort while Harry stayed behind to explain what was going on to his officers. Levendis took the news that they were now going to be working with the CIA impassively while Erin began to voice some objections but, at the expression on her boss' face, quickly swallowed her words and they slowly made their way towards the exit. The woman's phone chirped as they went and she answered it, trailing behind the men a little as they walked, finishing the conversation as they arrived back in the daylight, where, although bright, it was starting to gently rain and the sound of a vehicle, now out of view, could be heard fading away at the top of the access, presumably Glenn returning Jim to the Embassy. With a quiet sigh she said, carefully, unsure of Harry's reaction,

"It was Ruth. She told the Home Secretary, who told the CIA."

Harry didn't seem to be really listening, gazing instead up the ramp where the sound of an approaching motorbike could be heard bouncing off the concrete walls. Instead, Dimitri asked, puzzled,

"How did Ruth find out?"

Annoyance flashed across her face.

"Calum told her, he said she pulled rank—"

The source of the noise barrelled down the drive and was thrown into a sharp halt behind the trio's Audi, the rider remaining astride but lifting her visor as she fished around inside her jacket, staring directly at Harry.

"Sir Harry."

"That's me."

A pair of fine black eyes was all he could see as she hauled out an identity wallet and held it up for him.

"Agent Tallulah Zanon, CIA. Director Coaver has just been kidnapped. I have called in backup but I need you to help track the vehicle, please."

The voice was Southern, with a slow New Orleans drawl, but that barely registered as the import of her words did. The trio glanced at each other and Erin breathed,

"Oh, my God," as the import of what had happened sunk in.

"We've got to move, Sir, trust me. He's in a blue-grey Citroen van," the older woman said, snapping her visor shut and gunning the motor of her bike as she swung the machine around and accelerated away, the others piling into the Audi as Dimitri started the vehicle. He threw it into reverse, tyres squealing in protest as they backed up and around and then powered off in pursuit of the green Kawasaki. The chase was short and wild as they gained steadily on the van; Calum, back on the Grid but on the phone in the car, had picked up the vehicle and was tracking it and navigating for them as they headed north-west, along Edgware Road and towards the A40 that would take them out of town. Just as the van came into sight, the Kawasaki on its tail, Calum said,

"You've got a CIA car 100 yards ahead of the van, travelling towards it. Want me to keep them updated?"

A terse,

"Yes," was all Harry had time for before the van dived off the main road and onto the narrow side streets, twisting and turning around corners, both van and car skidding on the wet surfaces although the bike was more sure-footed. Calum was frantically directing the CIA car on an interception route when the van took another fast turn and the Audi over-shot. Calum swore as he recalculated the route; Dimitri slammed on the brakes and backed up as Harry ordered Erin to get ready to take a shot at the tyres to stop the van. She was leaning out the window, trying to get a bead on the tyres while avoiding Tallulah when the CIA car suddenly appeared out of a cross-street ahead of the van, causing it to slew sideways as the driver tried to avoid the car before careering into a row of bollards. The woman was off the bike and standing, pistol at the ready as her fellow agents spilled out of their vehicle and the doors of the Audi opened to do the same with the MI5 crew. The back doors of the van were flung back and Coaver was thrown out the door as the van's driver tried, in vain, to restart the engine. The American hit the tar with a mighty thump and rolled a couple of times as the two men in the front of the vehicle tried to make their escape, to be greeted by a wall of weapons pointed at them. In the back the other two men had realised there was no-where to go once the van wouldn't re-start and appeared in the doorway, one of them pulling a pistol out but he didn't stand a chance as Tallulah's weapon coughed and he screamed as the bullet hit his shoulder. The other man, the one masquerading as Agent Glenn, realised he was now the target of three weapons as Zanon turned her attention to him and he dropped his own gun, raising his hands in surrender. She gestured to him to get down on the road and then walked over to him, weapon at the ready and with Erin and Dimitri providing cover, as Harry, satisfied things were under control, ran the few steps towards his old friend and knelt down beside him, laying a gentle hand on the other man's right shoulder.

"Jim?"

Coaver, stunned and winded, was staring at the road surface about six inches in front of his face, unable to focus on anything else for the moment, but the voice broke through and brought him back to the present, along with a sudden awareness of how much just about everything hurt. At least the pain meant he was still alive. Cautiously trying to move a few extremities a burning shaft of agony shot through his right knee, the one that had hit the road first, and he let out an involuntary groan. The hand on his shoulder tightened, carefully, and the voice added,

"You keep still. There's an ambulance on its way."

Harry was worried but wouldn't let it show. Although the vehicle hadn't been moving, Jim had still landed forcefully on the road and there was the distinct possibility of fractures, especially spinal ones, or internal bleeding to deal with. At his words, though, the American groaned again and stretched, wincing but apparently able to bear it, lifting his head to look up at him through still-dazed eyes.

"Why? Do you think I need one?" He spat some blood and lifted a hand to wipe more out of his left eye before gingerly dropping his cheek to the road again. It was wet, with a mixture of blood and the rain that he was now aware was soaking them all, but at least it was cool to the touch. The dry humour relieved some of the older man's concerns and he finally replied tartly,

"Well, it will make a change from me having to patch you up!"

Coaver coughed, still getting his breathing under control, but managed an equally tart,

"As I recall, last time it was me patching you up so that makes it your turn, buddy!"

They grinned at each other for a moment until the sound of another car squealing to a halt behind them broke the atmosphere. Jim closed his eyes, aware of the mother of all headaches starting, while Harry glanced up sharply to see more black-suited, armed Americans pouring out of the vehicle.

"Looks like the rest of your cavalry has arrived, Jim."

"Mmmm… about time."

The new arrivals looked around uncertainly, trying to assess the situation, seeing nothing but their Director prone on the ground, bloodied and bruised and either unconscious or dead with MI5's Head of Counter-Intelligence kneeling by him, and four other people face down on the tar with seven guns pointed at them. Striding forward, a young Hispanic man with spiked hair, pierced eyebrow and tattoos peaking out from collar and cuff, pointed his own weapon directly at the blond Englishman and demanded, bravado trying – and failing – to cover his nervousness,

"What the hell happened, Pearce? You had better explain, pronto."

The hazel brown eyes looking up at him flashed in annoyance but before the older man could respond Tallulah's voice cut through the air, sharp as a whip.

"Mind your manners, Agent Silva! Apologise to Sir Harry."

The young man suddenly realised that his immediate superior was present but the adrenaline coursing through his veins made him plough on indiscreetly.

"I'll apologise when he tells me what's going on—"

"You will apologise now, Raul," a quiet voice came from the ground. A quiet voice with a note in it that didn't auger well for the young man's future in the Service if he didn't obey, immediately. Jim, having listened to the previous exchange with growing horror at the lack of manners, had finally opened his eyes and fixed his subordinate with a flat, green stare that had quailed significantly tougher opponents as he spoke and had the satisfaction of seeing the young man turn pale and swallow. Raul Silva had, along with the rest of his makeshift team, proven invaluable over the past few weeks and was genuinely talented but clearly still had a little growing up to do, needing to learn to remain dispassionate under pressure…

Finally understanding that he had overstepped the mark and with the situation calming Raul felt a flush of mortification under the iron gaze of both Tallulah Zanon and Jim Coaver. Taking a deep breath and lowering his gun he said, stiffly,

"I'm sorry, Sir Harry. That was inappropriate."

The dark eyes didn't soften and Raul felt himself cringing even more as the soft voice responded, knife-like,

"Indeed it was. However, I will accept your apologies on this occasion and will leave your re-education up to your superiors. In the meantime, you are on UK soil, subject to British laws and we generally do not allow foreign agents to wave their guns around. We are beginning to attract attention so I would appreciate it if you would put that gun away and assist my team with removing the perpetrators and yourselves as soon as possible while we get your Director some medical attention."

It was clearly an order but the young man glanced from Harry to Jim and then Tallulah, unsure of whether to act on it. Now struggling to sit up, Jim sighed and said, barely audible,

"Do it, Raul. Get them back to the office so we can question them in private." The last was delivered coldly, implacable, and Harry, knowing what was about to happen, felt slightly sorry for whomever Agent Glenn really was. Only slightly, though. After what had just happened, he deserved everything that was about to descend upon him.

To give them their due, the CIA agents, aided by Dimitri and Erin, had the scene cleared away within minutes, the kidnappers being removed under armed guard in the back of their own van and the remaining Americans, apart from Tallulah and Jim, vanishing just as the ambulance and the police arrived. Coaver had been inclined to argue about the necessity for the former but had been persuaded by Harry that it might be a good idea for him to be seen disappearing in an ambulance, for the sake of whatever operation they were about to undertake. The arrival of the local constabulary reinforced the idea; as he was about to be aided into the back of the vehicle by the paramedics Harry said quietly,

"I presume this will delay our meeting? Let me know when you are feeling up to it—"

"No, Hal." The other man's left hand reached out and grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. "This makes it more urgent than ever. That was a direct attack on me and my organisation – they've been following me for weeks – so they must have worked out how close we are to the truth and panicked when they saw you picking me up. They're getting desperate and things will only escalate until we can stop them." The exertion of moving through the pain was wearing him out but he knew he couldn't let it rest now he had started to get through to his old friend. "We have to go through everything, now, and work out a way to counter these people, before they get completely out of control. You know me: I'll be okay in an hour or so."

Privately, Harry doubted that. Obviously Jim had no idea how bad he looked but there was something in his voice that made the older man hesitate and then bite back what he was about to say, instead giving a sharp nod.

"Very well. But the meeting will be at Grosvenor Square, at 12:30, and you—" he suddenly turned on Tallulah "—will let me know if he's not up to it."

She inclined her head in turn.

"Yes, Sir. I will."

PC Plod was approaching by now so Harry reluctantly let the pair go, Jim into the back of the ambulance and Tallulah back onto her bike to follow it sedately to the hospital and then guide her boss straight through casualty and out a side exit to where a car she had organised en-route was waiting to take him back to the Embassy and their own M.O. Back at the scene, Erin and Dimitri had been stonewalling the police until the ambulance drove off, after which Harry strode over to intercept the approaching constable and announced in tones not to be argued with,

"Thank you for your arrival, Officer, but everything has been sorted out here. Nothing further needs to be done."

The copper, in her mid-thirties with a care-worn face and fed up with the young couple's prevarications, stopped short at his words and frowned at him.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I will be the judge of that. We had reports of several people waving guns around and shots being fired so if you know anything we would appreciate you and your friends here telling us the truth about whatever you're up to."

"There is nothing to report. As I said, everything has been dealt with so you are free to go on your way. Good day." He turned and started to walk away but the officer wasn't prepared to let it go so easily, despite having just been given what was clearly an order.

"Just a minute. I don't know who you think you are but I believe you'll find my authority exceeds yours."

The blond man turned to face her, eyes like flint, and said with chilling finality, exuding a fearsome authority,

"I believe you will find you are wrong. I would strongly advise you not to press the matter. Again, good day," before heading off, his two apprentices in tow, towards their car. She took note of the number plate but had a strangely sinking feeling when her own young side-kick finally piped up with,

"Who the hell were they, Ma'am?"

Still staring down the road after the now-vanished Audi, she finally replied, bleakly,

"Remember this day, young Rohan. I believe you have just had your introduction to the delightful denizens of MI5."