Tony and Sheila always told people that they knew each other 'from the office'. But they were never allowed to say who they really worked for. When asked, each could lie and mutter something about 'the phone company'. Most civilians who had seen U*N*I*T at work had seen the military personnel, troops in red berets protecting an alleged chemical spill or a potential terror den. But ninety percent of U*N*I*T staff, including Tony and Sheila, wore jeans and sat at computer screens analyzing data.

But today was not a day for jeans. They were both blending in with a whole different set of military personnel, wearing khaki jump-suits, black gloves, black boots. "Don't get sucked out," shouted Sheila. "Not yet."

The access panel was wrenched from Tony's grip and he was left staring at the ground miles below. His fingers gripped the metal edge and he felt his entire body go cold. He was going to be sick.

Now the sound of the stratospheric wind and the enormous engines of the flying carrier made it impossible to talk. Sheila pulled up the hood of her jump-suit and straightened the giant mirrored ski-glasses. She raised a thumb to indicate that she was ready.

He looked skeptically at the bulging chute on her back, then glanced briefly at the timer on the fuses and felt his heart leap in his throat. This could all have been planned a lot better. Two agents would normally expect to escape with two chutes. But one well-packed, slightly blood-stained pack would have to do. 30-29-...

"Shit," Tony shouted and lurched sideways to grab onto Sheila's waist.

He could feel a thrilled laugh running thru her body as they both tumbled out of the ship and into the terrible, empty sky. 25-24…

:::

Chadha twirled the pasta around on his fork and held his forehead again. The thumping in his temple was coming and going. Kath Simpson had sent him four text messages. He was reluctant to reply. He was reluctant to talk to anyone at the moment.

"How's lunch?" said Kaplan, the tall cafe owner as he passed the table. "My sister is very good with the Italian food, no?" He nodded to a bemused young woman at the counter.

Chadha looked up. "Yes," he said quietly. "It's excellent. All very fresh."

"Good. She is good with all types of food. What do you like? She can do the Jain food if you like that?"

Chadha smiled to himself. "No, the veggie is great. It's perfect."

The owner smiled knowingly. "Good. Today is free. But you come back and bring all your police friends." He winked clumsily.

"I'll pass on my recommendation. But I have to pay. Put the money in your 'orphans' moneybox if you wish. Excuse me." He proffered a ten-pound note and looked awkwardly down at his cellphone as if something important had come in. Kaplan walked back to the register with a fixed smile.

Chadha reviewed the curt, poorly typed messages.

"Call me Chad Kath"

"Its kath Nest on come in"

"Chadha?"

"Your so fired!"

It was fairly obvious that his help was needed with Davidson's Directorate, but the fight with the Weevil had removed the fire from his belly.

:::

"Just stay here, Allie," said Henderson. "We'll move these jokers out of the road."

"Stay at the wheel, Smitty," said Simpson. "I'll get out." She waited for Henderson to open the rear door and let her step onto the sidewalk with him.

"You're still my prisoner," he joked. "Stay out of trouble."

The suburban traffic was backed up all the way along the short bridge toward a cramped junction where three roads joined.

It became clear that an articulated lorry had been involved in a misunderstanding at the traffic signals. The cab of the tractor was planted firmly into the brickwork of a historic two-story inn.

"That's going to need the Fire Brigade boys," said Henderson, tapping the radio on his chest. "See if there's a way to direct the traffic behind it, Allie."

She nodded and worked her way around the trailer. She caught a glimpse of Henderson as he mounted the running step to the cab.

Behind the trailer, cars were again backed up across a narrow two-lane stone bridge. The lead vehicle was trying to squeeze up on the sidewalk but a safety railing was preventing anything ambitious.

Simpson raised her palm and pointed at the road back over the bridge. "Turn it around," she shouted firmly. "Find another way over."

There was a short lull while skeptical drivers allowed the first vehicle to turn and then a general roar as engines were forced to jerk cars forwards and back in little motions.

Simpson glanced back to the trailer and saw that the rear of the trailer was close to the railing of the bridge directly over the little river. But it was steady and there was no immediate risk of it tumbling backwards.

She turned back to the traffic. The overlapping competition to be first to return over the bridge had caused a miniature gridlock among the two dozen cars. She scowled.

"Driver's dead, Smitty," her radio crackled. "Probably. Allie? How's the traffic on your end?"

She looked at the situation, and pressed the send button. "Sorted," she chuckled.

She turned to look over the trailer again. The dark blue tarpaulin was shiny and taut down the sides. Apart from some Reading phone numbers, there was little to indicate what was inside.

She pressed the send button on her radio again. "How about running the plates, Henderson? Someone will be missing this guy and his load sooner or later."

"Crowd control first, Allie," Henderson crackled. "Amateur sleuths second."

Smitt interrupted. "The automatic recognition already did it for us, Hendo. It's a bit odd."

:::

The cackle of seagulls drifted thru the window of the caravan. Victoria loved the sea air and a cool breeze on a warm day. "Andy?" she asked quietly to noone.