Apologies for the delay. I had a surprisingly busy start to the year.


Ruth's fingers danced along the rim of the mug that was on the table in front of her; tapping out an irregular rhythm as she glanced once again at the clock on the mantelpiece. Since their spat in the kitchen, Ruth had done her best to keep her distance from O'Dowd. She knew full well that he was trying to unsettle her, and she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he'd succeeded. She had made tea for Harry as a sort of peace-offering, and he had accepted the gesture with his usual quiet acknowledgement. She'd been grateful that he'd not tried to push her for details about what had happened in the kitchen. O'Dowd had remained in the room with them for the remainder of the afternoon however; spoiling any chance of explaining herself.

She glanced up at the clock again; wondering how much longer it would be until Ros returned.

"I get the feeling that you're not enjoying the company," Harry told her with a smile as he finished laying out the cards for yet another game of patience.

The fingers immediately stopped their dance and Ruth shot him an awkward smile.

"Sorry."

Harry nodded in the direction of O'Dowd, who appeared to be dozing.

"I take it our guest is the reason for your desire to be someplace else."

Ruth glanced in the direction of the sofa, checking that the man's eyes were truly shut before nodding.

"He gives me the creeps," she whispered confidentially.

Harry frowned as he reached the end of the first pass of cards, still unable to make a move.

"Has he said anything to you?"

Ruth thought back to the conversation in the kitchen.

"Nothing," she told Harry with a shake of her head. She was determined not to let the man intimidate her.

"Hmmm, well let me know if he does. From what I hear, he doesn't usually waste the opportunity of winding people up."

Ruth flinched as the phone on the table beeped twice; the display screen lighting up, informing her that there was a message waiting.

"That'll be Ros." Without bothering to pick up the message, Ruth pushed her chair away from the table and rose to her feet.

"I'm sorry you had to spend your afternoon like this," Harry apologised, watching as Ruth checked and double-checked her belongings; always somehow managing to make it look as though she was in danger of leaving something vital behind.

Finally, seemingly happy with the arrangements she flashed him a rare smile.

"I've spent worse afternoons," she told him honestly. She nodded towards the sofa. "It's just a shame that he was here."

Harry's mouth twitched with amusement, wondering if Ruth realised that she'd just admitted that she liked the idea of the two of them spending quiet time together somewhere. He thought it best, in the circumstances, not to point that out to her.

"I know I don't need to tell you to be careful...just..."

Ruth sighed. "Check in with Malcolm and make sure that no-one follows the car home," she completed the sentence. "It's fine Harry, I have done this sort of thing before you know."

Harry waited for Ruth to get halfway across the room before calling her back.

"Do you not want to take your phone with you?"

He watched as she came to a halt and paused, taking a deep breath before turning on her heel and stalking back towards the table, sweeping the phone from the surface with a scowl on her face.

"Red five on black six," she told him smartly, and headed back across the room again.

Harry's eyes immediately darted down to the cards laid out in front of him. Sure enough there was the move, just as she'd said. He raised his head to say something only to hear the latch on the door click shut.

Smiling, he completed the move and turned over the next card in the pile.

"So are you sleeping with her then?" a lazy voice from the sofa floated into the air.

Harry ignored the question, the smile on his face quickly masked. He concentrated on the cards as he heard the sofa creak, indicating that O'Dowd was moving.

"Just stay where you are," Harry said calmly. "Keep away from the windows, you know the drill."

"Playing the perfect professional are you now?" O'Dowd said with a mocking tone, turning his attention towards the now closed door. "So..." he let the word hang in the air. "Are you getting it together with your little moral compass? There's a bit of an age gap thing going on there....if you don't mind me saying.

"If you don't have anything useful to say then I suggest that you sit down and shut up. If it's entertainment you're after, I'm sure that you'll find that Cbeebies is somewhere among the television channels."

O'Dowd grinned. "Hit a little nerve did I? I always thought it was an urban myth that MI5 kept all its affairs within the office ... seems it's true after all. Got the impression that she'd be better at the theory than the practical though."

O'Dowd waited for some sort of response from Harry. When he realised that none was forthcoming, he sighed heavily and turned back to face the television.

"All quiet then?" Ros' questioning tone broke the silence as she opened the door and made her way into the room.

"God help us," O'Dowd remarked flatly, turning his head to watch her as she entered. "The ice maiden's back. I can just feel the temperature in the room plummeting."

"I see you haven't managed to get him shot whilst I was away." Ros pointedly ignored O'Dowd as she crossed the room, heading towards the kitchen, looking to deposit the bags that she was carrying.

Harry's nose wrinkled at the smell that was emanating from the plain white carriers. "That isn't curry, is it?"

Ros nodded. "Not my choice I'm afraid. This is what happens when you let Zaf order the food. This is probably what he thinks of as a well-balanced meal!"

"It's going to stink the place out," Harry grumbled, placing the remaining cards on the table and moving to help Ros.

"I hope you're hungry...it looks as though he's ordered enough for half a dozen people."

She placed the bags down on the kitchen worktop and started searching the cupboards for plates.

Harry joined Ros in the kitchen and proceeded to pull open the drawers, searching for cutlery.

"Did you have any luck with Burrows?" Harry whispered.

Ros shook her head. "He's got his mind so fixed on the fortune that he imagines he'll make, that he won't listen to anything."

"Can't say as though I'm completely surprised," Harry admitted. "But I was hoping that he'd see reason."

"I don't believe that it's a concept he's familiar with. Adam's back on the Grid. He suggested that we just leave and let O'Dowd get what's coming to him."

"The suggestion's tempting," Harry admitted, closing a drawer and looking around for something else to make him look busy.

"You don't have to go through the whole routine just for my benefit," O'Dowd's voice floated in from the living room. "If you want to talk about me, go right ahead."

Ros slammed a cupboard door shut.

"Are you sure that we're not allowed to kill him?" she growled under her breath.

Harry suppressed a smile and pulled open another drawer, removing three sets of cutlery. If Ros and O'Dowd were left alone in the same room for too long, he had a sneaking suspicion that only one of them would end up leaving the room alive.


"Come on, come on," Malcolm coaxed as he waited impatiently for the scan he was running to complete. He'd spent the best part of the afternoon searching through the emails that had been received by the support group that Matthews belonged to. He'd been hoping to come across something that would help in the discovery of who was leaking information. He'd worked his way back through the traffic on the group, and most of it had followed a similar pattern. One person adding to an existing thread when a birthday or a special occasion was looming; the others replying with words of sympathy and support. There had been little variety in the pattern of posting until the early hours of the day of O'Dowd's release. At a little before 3am; someone had accessed the group's account and started a new thread. The poster was a member of the group but had been inactive for a couple of years. The thread detailed the impending release of O'Dowd, and raised questions as to what the other members of the group should do. There was something about the posting out of the blue that piqued Malcolm's interest. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but he was determined to find out where it had come from.

From across the office he heard a low whistle from Zaf. He sighed inwardly; knowing that there was more to come. In his experience Zaf was unable to keep a piece of news to himself for more than a few moments. Sure enough moments later Zaf's voice broke the silence.

"Just what did you tell Ros to do to Simon Burrows?"

"I'm sorry?" Malcolm raised his head from his work and glanced across the office.

Zaf pointed at the screen he was sat in front of. "I was just looking at the updates coming in and there's a call placed from Waterhouse Publishing claiming that they've had a break in."

Malcolm pushed his chair away from his desk made his way quickly to Zaf's side; scanning the monitor, looking for the relevant story.

"That's a little on the suspicious side," he agreed as he read the copy. "It's a little too close to pass off as coincidental." He tilted his head to one side as he weighed up a thought. "You don't seriously suppose that Ros …" he let the thought tail off, trying to work out if she would have had the time to pay another visit there before arriving at the safe house.

Zaf's face broke into a smile. "I'm not sure exactly what she's capable of," he admitted. "But I don't think she'd resort to breaking and entering. Seems a little too... pedestrian for her – lacking a little something in style. Now, if there was a report of a message scrawled on the wall in blood, or a small rodent eviscerated on Burrows' desk … then I might believe it was Ros!"

Malcolm tried and failed to suppress a smile. "There's a chance that it's nothing more than a break-in ...but ..."

"I'm not due to start my shift for another hour or so. You want me to take a look at the place?" Zaf offered. "I should be able to get there and back without much trouble."

Malcolm considered the matter for a moment. "Would you mind?"

"I'm on it." Zaf pushed his chair away from the desk and rose to his feet. "If there's even the slightest hint of rodent remains you'll be the first to know!"


O'Dowd tensed and let out a gasp of pain.

Ros did her best to ignore him and continued reading her book, angling the pages to pick up more light from the lamp in the corner. Moments later there was another gasp of pain, louder this time.

"If you're looking to garner sympathy, you are wasting your time," she told him drily, turning a page without bothering to look up.

O'Dowd grimaced and clutched at his stomach. "I bet you sit there with that supercilious smile on your face when you watch the appeal films on Children in Need," he told her through gritted teeth.

Ros ignored him and continued with her reading.

"Oh come on," O'Dowd pleaded after a few moments. "You've got to do something for me."

Ros raised an eyebrow; still not turning her attention to O'Dowd. "Have I?"

O'Dowd waited for another wave of pain to pass. "Sure. You've got a duty of care to protect me. That means that you've got to look after my health."

"No," Ros corrected him. "It just means that we're not allowed to let anyone kill you. If you kill yourself, then that's hardly our fault."

"I'll see you lose your job for this," O'Dowd snapped; his anger getting the better of him.

"You think so? You think that the British Government is going to sack me on the word of a convicted murderer...I don't think so...do you?"

"You can't deny me medical care...It's against the Geneva Convention."

"....Which applies in wartime, chiefly to non-combatants and prisoners of war. You, as far as I'm aware, fall into neither category. I don't think it was ever ratified to include ex-cons." Ros slowly licked the tip of one finger and turned another page of the book. "If you knew you had an ulcer, then you shouldn't have eaten spicy food."

"I didn't see much else on offer."

Ros didn't reply but simply turned another page of her book. She was going to have a little chat with Zaf when his shift began.


Outside the offices of Waterhouse Publishing a thin strip of blue and white striped tape fluttered forlornly in the breeze. As a barrier it was next to useless, as an indicator that Zaf had in fact reached the right place, it was invaluable.

He had hugged the shadows; waiting impatiently in the darkness of an abandoned doorway for the last officer to secure the premises and head off back to his patrol car.

Satisfied that there was no-one to see him, Zaf broke cover and ducked beneath the thin strand of tape. He assessed the strength of the lock in seconds. A locksmith had made a hasty repair job on the door, but the quality of workmanship gave Zaf the impression that the persistent rain and the lateness of the hour had been at the forefront of the man's mind. He made short work of the lock, and silently slipped into the darkness within.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a slender torch and switched it on, letting the beam play over the hallway in front of him. The floor was coated in unopened letters. It was apparent that the current occupants of the building cared little for the previous tenants. He let the beam move on a little further and it washed over the bottom of the staircase. He let out a sigh as he headed towards it; just once he wanted to investigate a company where they had their premises on the ground floor!

Finally reaching the correct floor, he made his way through the still open door and into the mess that the intruder had made.

Zaf let out a low whistle as he took in the state of the office. Whoever had been there had been thorough. It looked as though every cupboard had been emptied; the contents were now strewn across the floor in untidy piles of scrunched up paper.

He grimaced as he felt his shoes sink into soaking wet carpet. A second sweep across the small room revealed the fact that the water cooler had been tipped over; Zaf frowned as he realised the effect that that was likely to have on the documents on the floor. There was no sign of a computer anywhere in the room, and Zaf had the feeling that Burrows wasn't likely to be too forthcoming about the location of a back up.

He let the beam of the torch play over the surfaces again; the intruder had been thorough and Zaf found that he couldn't quite silence the nagging voice at the back of his mind. Opportunist burglars were rarely tidy; they searched the places where valuables were most likely to be found and they were in and out of a building in the shortest time possible. The devastation in front of him pointed towards someone who'd been unhurried and methodical in their approach; every cupboard had been opened – documents had been strewn everywhere as though someone were trying to mask where their real interest had lain.

He killed the torch as he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the stairs. The heavy rain had masked the sound of the front door opening and Zaf realised that he was now trapped. The only way out was past whoever it was on the stairs. He glanced around; looking for something to use as cover. He moved as quickly and quietly as he could across the room and ducked behind one of the emptied filing cabinets.

Moments later the door to the office was opened and a narrow beam of white light crept across the debris.

"You may as well come out," a voice called out. "I know you're here. I saw you enter the building a little while ago." There was a pause and Zaf heard the click of a safety catch being released. ".... There's nowhere to run."


O'Dowd stretched out lazily and stared across at Ros. "Where's your boss then?"

Ros ignored O'Dowd and kept her attention fixed firmly on the book she was reading. Much to her dismay O'Dowd's ulcer appeared to no longer be giving him any discomfort and he was back to his irritating ways.

"I bet his slipped off to go and see his girlfriend..." O'Dowd paused. "You do realise that he's having an affair with that other officer? That one that you replaced? The one that looks as though she wouldn't say boo to a goose!"

Ros did her best to carry on with her book, but O'Dowd wasn't so easily put off. "I'm assuming that they don't go Mills-ing and Boon-ing around the office? Not with your man Harry at his age anyway. I'm sure it's all furtive meetings in empty broom closets, and illicit get togethers among the filing cabinets."

Ros sighed. "Believe it or not, I actually couldn't care less about the relationships that may or may not be going on between my colleagues."

She heard O'Dowd shift in his seat.

"Oh come on," he argued. "I bet you're just a little bit curious? You want to know why everyone who isn't you in the department seems to be getting some."

Ros raised her head and placed her book face down on the arm of the chair. "If paying you some attention means that you are going to move on from this incredibly childish conversation, then consider me all ears," she told him flatly.

"Let me guess... You never were one to join in with the rest, were you?" O'Dowd tilted his head to one side as he regarded the pouting Ros. "What is it? Only child syndrome? Never learnt to play well with others?"

Ros remained silent and O'Dowd considered her for a few more seconds. "No, scratch that, you had to learn the art of manipulation somewhere. Middle child?" he scanned her impassive face. "I'm right, aren't I? Always there ready to play off the oldest against the youngest and yet come away from it looking as though butter wouldn't melt. Mind you, you always had to fight for the attention, didn't you? Not the oldest, not the first born. But also not the cute youngest one. The middle one…the one of least importance." O'Dowd smiled. "I'd say you went a little overboard in over-compensating for your lack of status."

"Shut up." Ros told him flatly.

O'Dowd held up a hand. "Did you hear that? That was the sound of a nerve being struck. Unmistakable."

Ros rose from her seat and headed towards the kitchen. "You must have just been the most popular person on your wing," she remarked as she flicked on the kitchen light.

O'Dowd watched her go, stretching out in his chair, the smile on his face spreading. When there wasn't anything else to distract you, there was nothing quite like making your own entertainment.


Oliver Mace sat in the dark and stared at the ringing phone. It was getting to the stage where he no longer wanted to answer it; no longer wanted to find out what was going on.

Reaching forward, he reluctantly lifted the phone from its receiver.

"We need to have a little chat," the voice on the other end of the line told him.

Mace licked his lips nervously. "There's nothing we can do to touch him now."

He held the phone away from his ear as he heard the laugh from the other end.

"Now's not the time to play the innocent here Oliver. You either know where he is, or you know where to look to find the information."

Mace shook his head. "I can't do that. There won't be a paper trail."

"I've come too far to fall down at this little hurdle Oliver. If you can't or won't help me, then I can only assume that you're with them. When the dominoes start to topple, you make sure that you're not in their path."

Mace massaged his tired eyes with his free hand. Life was full of decisions; some of them were simple and affected no-one ... some were so huge that they had the potential to change the political outlook of a nation. He took a breath. "If I tell you what I know ... what happens then?"

"We carry on being friends and you can expect to stay on until you draw your pension."

"I meant ...."

"I am well aware what you meant Oliver. What do you care for the ground troops of Five? It's not as though they're in a position to further your career. We need O'Dowd silenced. We'll tidy up all the loose ends and none of it will lead back to you."

"These are still officers of the service that we're talking about," Mace protested.

"Grow a set Oliver, and do it quick. I want the location of the safe house, and I want it before the end of the night."

Mace opened his mouth to protest but was met with nothing but the sound of the dial tone. He slowly replaced the handset and sat back in his chair. He clasped his hands together and tapped his thumbs upon his upper lip as he thought.

After a few moments he made his decision. Reaching forward he turned on the monitor of his PC. There were folders where the information he was seeking could be found.... and he knew a back way in.