This chapter gets a bit sweary, sorry. Usual disclaimers continue to apply, and sorry for the distinct lack of fluff...

As Harry quickly showered and dressed, Ruth made coffee and bacon rolls, biting her lip as Harry wrapped his roll in foil and decanted the coffee into a flask. 'What shall I tell Graham?' she asked.

'What shall you tell me about what?'

Harry's son stood in the doorway, clad in a pair of boxer shorts, distractedly scratching his chest.

'Happy Christmas, Graham.'

'Happy Christmas, Dad, Ruth.'

'Happy Christmas.' She stood on tiptoe to give him a Christmas kiss.

'Any chance of your putting some clothes on, son?' asked Harry mildly. He was all too well aware that Ruth, clad in one of his tshirts and a couple of strips of elastic that optimistically called themselves knickers, had no cause to complain about the lack of Graham's attire.

'Yeah, in a minute. What did you have to tell me? Ah, hang on. You're suited and booted and having a takeaway breakfast. It can only be the Harry Pearce take on Christmas Day. Well, don't let us hold you up.'

Harry flinched. Graham's voice was neutral, but the folded arms and cold eyes made his feelings all too clear.

'A bomb's gone off near Regent Street. I have to go. I'm sorry. Believe me, I'm sorry.'

'Yeah, you and me both. I'm going to get dressed.' Graham turned and walked out of the room.

Harry stared after his son in despair. Ruth touched his arm. 'It's okay. He'll be okay. Just...don't be too long. And be careful. Please.'

He folded his arms around her, and pulling her against his chest kissed the top of her head. 'I won't, I will, and I love you.'

Loth to drag Mike away from his family, Harry opted to drive himself in the Range Rover rather than arranging a pool car. The streets were quiet, and he made good progress, munching on his bacon roll as he drove.

As he got towards Regent Street he hit speed dial on the handsfree.

'Jenna? It's Harry. Whereabouts are you?'

'Covent Garden.'

'Okay, I'm not far behind you. Do we have any intel on this? On who's responsible?'

'Not so far.'

'No warning?'

'Not that I'm aware of.'

Harry paused as he eased to a halt for the traffic lights at King's Cross. 'Where's Phil?'

'Back at the Grid. He's doing what he can there and then he'll head over.'

No point in ruining Beth and Dimitri's Christmas unless we have to, Harry thought. 'Fine. See you shortly.'

He could already see the pall of smoke to the west above Regent Street. Grimacing, he steeled himself for the worst, yet hoped that the rows of closed shops if not Christmas Day itself would have kept the usual throngs at home; that the only damage would be to bricks and mortar. He pulled into an alley off Brewer Street, just outside the police cordon, and parked. As he headed towards Vigo Street he saw Jenna up ahead, talking to a man in a high vis jacket and hard hat. Something about the interaction gave him pause, and then the man grabbed Jenna's wrist and twisted her arm behind her back.

'Hoi!' Harry shouted, and broke into a run. As part of her training she had done basic self defence, but it looked for all the world as if she'd forgotten every lesson. Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind alarm bells were clanging but he ran on, heedless. As he reached them, Jenna shook her head, pleading, beseeching, and he slowed to a halt, confused. 'What the hell's going on? Let her go,' he snapped.

'Well, well, if it isn't the redoubtable Harry Pearce himself.'

Harry's eyes widened. He'd know that voice anywhere. He knew, too, that the police and CTC operatives that were crawling all over Vigo Street were well out of earshot.

'Oh, I'm sorry, it's Sir Harry now, isn't it? You've done rather well for yourself, so you have. But good to see you'll still do your utmost to save a colleague in distress. Oh hang on now; maybe that just applies to the beautiful female ones? The guys can fight their own battles, eh Harry?'

'Let her go,' he repeated, more quietly.

'See, Harry, I don't think I can do that. And just so you know, I have a gun to her back, and one of my colleagues nearby has his rifle sights aimed at your head, so don't go trying any funny business now.'

'What do you want?'

'Oh, I'm sorry. Did I not make myself clear? I want you.'

'Sorry, McCann, I'm spoken for.'

'Good to see you've not lost your sense of humour. I think you're going to need it, so you are. Now I have a van parked just round the corner here, and you two are coming with me.'

'Take me, but let her go. She's done nothing to anyone. For fuck's sake, McCann, are you really reduced to picking on innocent women?'

'Innocent? She works for you, Harry. I'm sure MI5 sucked every last drop of innocence out of the wee girl long since. Now walk. And keep your hands where I can see them.'

McCann shoved Jenna and she stumbled, but remained upright. As they rounded the corner, Harry could see a white, unmarked van, the numberplate obscured by mud. This had to be it. He knew that he was fast running out of time, and his options were limited. He had no earpiece, no gun; nothing on him but his wallet and mobile phone.

'So, was the bomb your handiwork then?' he asked.

'Aye.'

'Why? Why there? Why today?'

'Because, Harry Pearce, I knew that on Christmas Day you were more likely to come yourself rather than interrupt your team's day off. After all, the day has never meant much to you, has it? And I knew, too, that Myers was likely to send out the lovely raw recruit rather than risk his own uptight arse.'

Harry paused. 'You know Philip Myers?'

'Keep moving Harry. And quit stalling.'

'But why now? It's been over thirty years, for chrissake.'

''I've spent most of those years in the Maze, thanks to you and the murdering scum that pass for soldiers in the English army. I finally got out this year. Now shut the fuck up.'

They had reached the van. With one hand, McCann opened the rear door and told Jenna to get in. The split second in which he was distracted was Harry's only hope. He lunged for McCann, but the years behind bars had kept him fitter, his reactions quicker, than Harry's years sitting in the Grid had him. As Harry wrestled for the gun, McCann lashed out, sending Harry stumbling backwards.

Before he could react, McCann smashed the butt of the pistol against his skull, and everything went black.