CHAPTER TEN

"Right." Harry Pearce buttoned his jacket and gave her a taut smile as the two of them walked briskly out of the Home Office. "That's the bloody red-tape out of the way. You're official." He had already told the rest of the team that Lucas North was temporarily suspended for 'health reasons'. "Let's get back to work and let the others know."

Ros smiled back. When Harry had informed her that he was reinstating her as section chief, she had felt obliged to remind him that she was still on medical leave and hadn't yet been cleared as fit to work by David Murray. She might as well have waved a Spanish flag at a maddened bull; he had launched into a tirade liberally larded with expletives, and practically frog-marched her to a meeting with the Home Secretary to obtain his approval. William Towers had been appointed while she lay unconscious in intensive care, but Ros realised that her reputation preceded her from the way in which he took a few cautious steps backwards when they entered his office. Harry Pearce's mouth had twitched with momentary amusement. It had been a welcome, if fleeting moment of comic relief in the unrelenting grimness of the last few days.

For forty-eight hours now, Lucas's phones - analysed, tapped, and monitored around the clock - had remained obdurately silent. Harry had ordered that his section chief be detained in one of the old, now disused interrogation rooms tucked away under the eaves of Thames House; each had a small window that looked out over the river. When Ros had looked at him in surprise he had muttered self-consciously, 'He's claustrophobic. No need to turn the knife.' In his prison eyrie, Lucas himself was almost as silent as his mobile. When questioned he answered without resistance, and when the questions stopped, he would lie on his bed with his face to the wall or stare blankly out of the window. His guards reported that he slept very little, and he refused to eat; meal trays were returned untouched. Harry had him checked out by the Thames House doctor, who tentatively diagnosed 'shock', probably, Ros thought, because he didn't know what else to suggest. Personally she thought it was shame rather than shock that lay behind Lucas's behaviour; he avoided eye contact with both of them and spoke only when he was directly addressed.

As she and Harry climbed into his car she ventured, "How much longer do you think we can wait, Harry?"

Harry grimaced and jerked his thumb back towards the pompous neo-classical bulk of the Home Office. "Apparently Beecher's been cranking the pressure up. If there's no contact from Edwards by tomorrow morning it has to go public. A general alert for him and Lahan – with a cover story, obviously."

"He must know that'll spook him. If he does a runner it could be years before he surfaces again. We might never find out who he's working for." And it won't do Dr Lahan's longevity prospects much good, either. Twice Lucas had begged her for information about the girl; twice Ros had to tell him they had none.

"He couldn't give a bugger for that," Harry said tersely. "All he's worried about is how soon he can tell Langley that the threat to their precious cyber-baby's been safely defused." His impatient shove at the gear-stick caused the car to jolt in protest.

"Have you got someone liaising with him?" Ros asked.

"I've put Captain Pugwash on it," Harry replied sourly. "Beecher used to be a Navy Seal. They can talk sea-shanties together."

Ros stifled a smile. Harry's disillusionment with his two new recruits was palpable. She sympathised. Dmitri Levendis was earnest and diligent, but little else.

As they sped down Millbank her mobile rang. "Myers." The response made her flick it instantly onto speakerphone. "Red-flash," Ruth Evershed's voice repeated. "North Star in operation."

"On our way," Ros said as Harry shot through an amber light and pressed the accelerator to the floor.

Ruth was waiting for them by the pods with Tariq close on her heels like an anxious puppy.

"He called fifteen minutes ago," she said immediately.

Harry turned to Tariq. "Did you triangulate it?" The young Pakistani shook his head regretfully. "Transcript?"

"Here, Harry." Ruth held out a typed sheet of paper. Harry gave her a swift smile of thanks and turned on his heel. They took the lift in silence as Harry speed-read the transcript of the exchange between Lucas and Vaughn Edwards. Then he handed it over to Ros who skimmed it quickly as they hurried down the dusty corridor.

"Outside," Harry said without ceremony to the guard as they entered the room. With a murmured 'sir' the man obediently joined his colleague in the corridor, and Harry moved to the table. Lucas had been standing at the window; rays of sunlight at his back turned him into little more than a featureless shadow.

"Sit," Harry ordered, pointing to the chair opposite. Lucas did so; Ros carried over the guard's chair and followed suit. Harry perused the transcript again.

" 'You don't need to worry about Maya, she's safe with me. Safer than she'd be with a killer'?" he read. Lucas's sallow face flushed, but he said nothing. Harry read on. " 'Oh, don't tell me, it was all my doing. I set you up and you're as innocent as the day is long. You surely don't believe anyone's going to swallow that. Where's your evidence? Maya won't believe you, and neither will anyone else. There were witnesses, son. You were seen."

Lucas's fists clenched and a muscle in his face twitched. Harry looked up from the paper. "Are you a liar?"

"No." It was impossible to read anything into the toneless way in which he spoke. For a second he held Harry's look, and then his usually bright blue eyes, which were muddied by shadows now, lowered again.

"And he believes you'll give him Cybershell." Harry went back to reading the transcript. Ros was watching Lucas, trying to interpret his leaden body language.

"Yes." With an effort Lucas sat up straight. "He's a mercenary … it's always been his only motivation. He'll get paid by his employers. They get Cybershell. I get Maya's safety. Straight business transaction. He understands that." He put a hand to his head and shook it as if he were dizzy. Harry glanced sharply at him.

"Have you eaten today?" To Ros's surprise Harry got up. "I'll bring something."

When he had left, Lucas rubbed his red-rimmed eyes and said wearily: "I'm sorry, Ros."

Ros pushed at a dust ball with the toe of her shoe. She longed to shake him and shout the question. Did you do it? Instead, she asked: "Why didn't you tell someone?"

"Afraid. Ashamed." Lucas shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

Ros thought she knew a little more than that. Harry's approval had always been vital to Lucas and fear of his reaction had probably helped to tie his tongue. She wanted to tell him that whatever he'd done, Harry would come to understand, and might eventually even forgive him. He did me. But this was neither the time nor the place for sympathy. She made her voice more business-like.

"You do know the risk in this."

His lips curled in a weak attempt at an ironic smile, and for a split second he looked like the man she had considered a friend. "I don't think I have much left to lose, Ros."

He looked away and fell silent again as Harry returned with some sandwiches on a tray and a mug of coffee. "Eat," he said tersely. "You can't do this properly on an empty stomach."

The words were brusque, but Ros thought she sensed the same compassion that had led him to hold Lucas here rather than in the spartan, windowless cells in the basement. As Lucas mechanically forced the food down, Harry reviewed the plan again. Vaughn had said he would meet Lucas in Battersea Park at six a.m. the following day. He would bring Maya Lahan with him and exchange her for the information Lucas had said he now possessed about Cybershell. A simple, straightforward trade. Except that it won't be. In reality the handover would be a sting operation for Vaughn Edwards and the shadowy 'employers' pulling his strings. Ros, with back-up concealed nearby, would move in to arrest him once the doctor and Lucas were out of harm's way. That, Ros thought savagely, was one interrogation she could look forward to conducting.

If the plan works. That unwelcome thought had been lurking in the back of her mind ever since she and Harry had first begun to concoct it the previous day. An enormous amount depended on Lucas's willingness – and ability – to play his part. Harry had reassured her about the former – whether Lucas had been lying or telling the truth, his only way out of this situation was to co-operate with them. If he had been tricked all those years ago, only Vaughn could confirm it and for that he needed Vaughn in custody. If he were guilty as Vaughn Edwards claimed, then his only, remote hope of lenient treatment lay in helping MI-5 to foil the plot to steal Cybershell. But most important, Vaughn had doubled the blackmail stakes by taking Maya Lahan hostage. Lucas had claimed (and for all they knew might really mean) that he didn't care about his own fate. Ros had her doubts about that. From her own experience she knew that even the most unlikely people did. But there was no doubt about his desperation to save Maya Lahan. He would do whatever it took to do that. So he had the incentive to carry this off. His ability to do so was another matter entirely. Ros thought he looked like a man on the verge of nervous collapse. She would never normally consider sending a field officer out in this condition. Yet he had to be convincing. Vaughn had to believe that Lucas was genuinely handing over highly classified information. If he got so much as the whiff of a suspicion that he was being tricked, they would lose the intelligence coup of identifying his puppet-masters. And neither Lucas nor Maya would be likely to survive the failure of the operation.

When Harry had finished, he leaned towards Lucas North. His voice was hard.

"You follow the script to the letter, Lucas. One step out of line … one hint of deception, and I will have you behind bars for the rest of your life. This is the last warning you'll get. Make your choice."

"I have." There was a pause. "Trust me, Harry."

Harry got to his feet. "Prove to me that I can. Ros!" He strode to the door. Ros had one fleeting glimpse of Lucas's slumped shoulders and bowed head as the door closed behind them.

Slowly and carefully, Ros swept her binoculars over the mist-shrouded park. The bandstand looked hazy and insubstantial, like something out of a Japanese print, and Ros silently cursed the capriciousness of British weather. The park was empty at this hour but she just knew Vaughn Edwards was here somewhere; she could feel the man's presence, like a vibration in the damp air.

"You sure you couldn't use some gum, ma'am?"

No, I sodding well could not. Aloud, and without removing her binoculars from her eyes, she said as politely as she could, "No, thank you." The CIA had insisted on sending the bloody Man from La Mancha with her, and all her protests had been in vain. Paco Gutierrez wasn't unpleasant, but Ros' s tolerance for CIA 'observers' was limited at the best of times, which this wasn't. And if he called her 'ma'am' one more time she'd rearrange his shiny white American dentures for him.

She resumed watching. She and Senor Gutierrez had been jammed, chilled and uncomfortable, in the scruffy Portakabin used by the one remaining regular park-keeper for the last hour, checking that there was no sign of any uninvited guest gate-crashing the rendezvous. Lucas had been escorted back to the safe house in the early hours of the morning - Harry was taking no chances that someone might spot him leaving Thames House, put two and two together and realise that he was still being controlled by MI-5 – and would be making his way to the park alone. He had refused either to wear a wire or to carry a gun, insisting that doing so would betray his role and put Maya Lahan's life in greater danger. Ros had sensed that he was also challenging Harry to trust him enough to agree. Harry had done so, but Lucas didn't know about the minute tracker that Tariq had inserted into the hem of his coat.

"Ruth?" she murmured. "Where's our back-up?"

"Two hundred metres south of the park," Ruth's voice replied tinnily in her ear. "Lucas should be coming into view in the next two minutes, Ros."

"Thanks." Ros peered into the drizzle.

"You trust this guy, ma'am?" Gutierrez asked.

"Yes, I do. So should you," Ros snapped. She tensed. "Here he comes." She heard the CIA man checking his gun and glanced sideways. "Put that away, please. You fire on my order, not before. And not otherwise."

"Ma'am, it's CIA protocol. And Cybershell - "

"This is London. You'll get your baby back. Our way." Ros took one eye off Lucas and glared at him. Gutierrez's eyes narrowed, but he did as she said. Ros returned her concentration to Lucas, who was now close enough that she didn't need the binoculars. He had turned his collar up against the chill above it, his face was rigid with tension. Ros scrutinised the area. Show yourself, damn you.

"We could have a no-show if your guy's double-crossing us," Gutierrez pointed out.

"He isn't," Ros snapped. "Vaughn will - " she broke off. "There!"

Lucas must have seen the man at the same second that she did. He turned abruptly as Vaughn Edwards emerged around the rhododendron bushes, one hand clamped around Maya Lahan's upper arm and the other pressing a gun into her spine. The doctor looked beside herself. Her eyes were bulging with terror, and when she saw Lucas she wailed his name in a quavering voice laced with hysteria. Lucas moved towards them but stopped dead as Vaughn flicked the safety catch off the gun. Maya's hiccupping sobs climbed several notes higher in panic.

"Hurt her and I swear I'll kill you," Lucas snarled.

Vaughn laughed. "Spare us the melodrama, Lucas." Ros felt her blood boil at his sneering drawl. "Don't they write you a better script at MI-5?"

"I don't give a shit for MI-5," Lucas retorted bitterly. "Nor they for me. Not now. You made sure of that. I'm finished with them anyway. They only ever used me. Like you." He raised the envelope he was carrying. "This is what you want. All I want is Maya. Let her go. Let her come to me."

"You must think me as bloody naïve as you once were, son." As Maya Lahan struggled to free herself, he switched his grip and wrenched her arm up hard behind her back. "Stand still, you silly little bitch!" Maya squealed in pain and Ros saw Lucas blanch.

"All right!" He placed the envelope on the ground and backed away from it with his hands raised. "Take it, just let her go."

"Ma'am – Ros." Gutierrez's Spearmint-laden breath was warm on Ros's ear. "We can't let this happen."

"Hold your nerve," Ros snapped. "We have back up. As soon as he releases the girl we'll go in."

"So what are you intending to do now you're no longer the golden boy at MI-5?" Vaughn's voice was taunting, derisive. "Now they know what you really are? Nothing more than a greedy, pathetic little killer for hire, eh? What kind of a future do you think he can offer you?" The last question was to Maya, who cringed and cried as he barked it into her face.

Ros could see the muscles in Lucas's face working as he battled to master his anger and control his fear for Maya Lahan.

"That's not your concern. I've done what you wanted. Now, take it, you bastard. Take it and let her go."

Ros, her hand involuntarily straying to her own gun, watched Vaughn. He still seemed to be doubting Lucas's sincerity; his eyes were flicking constantly between the younger man's face and the envelope. At last he shoved Maya forward, prodding her shaking body towards it, his eyes never leaving Lucas.

"Bend down. Pick it up." He released her arm but kept the gun trained on her. Maya was so terrified that she could barely do as he said, but at last she straightened and held it out to him. Ros could see the envelope quivering in her trembling hands almost as much as the leaves on the trees that surrounded the bandstand were fluttering in the light wind.

It took a second for the inconsistency to strike her. What wind? The mist hadn't dissipated an inch since their arrival. Shit!

"Go!" she shouted at Gutierrez, as she span to the door. "Back-up! Now!" she rapped into her wire. As she threw herself outside she heard a shrill, hysterical scream from Maya Lahan and Lucas shouting. Maya! Maya, run! The shed – run! If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, Ros would have thought the scene had been taken from a bad detective story. Three men – Asian, by the looks of it - had sprung down from where they had been hiding on the lower branches of the trees surrounding the bandstand, shielded from view by the dense, rich foliage. Christ, they must have been there for hours. Lucas, heedless of the fact that the man was armed, had thrown himself between one of them and Maya, the second had raced to join Vaughn, and the third was turning towards the approaching threat of Ros and Gutierrez.

Ros whipped out her gun and fired a shot at his feet. "Security Services! Drop your weapon, raise your hands!" She heard the squeal of tyres. CO-19. Hallelujah.

The crack of a bullet behind her told her how wrong she had been. She heard Gutierrez swear and turned to see two more Chinese spilling from a car that had skidded to a halt fifty yards away. The first was urging Vaughn Edwards away, and the mercenary still had the Cybershell data.

"Stop!" Ros shouted, and raised her gun just as Maya Lahan, still wailing in a thin, high-pitched scream, lurched in panic between her and them. Ros cursed, sprang forward, and pushed her aside just as Lucas, who had been wrestling with the third Chinese, scrambled to his feet with the man's gun in his hands.

"Ros! He pointed, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the CO19 squad charging into the square. About bloody time. She could hear Gutierrez urging them to cut off the exits from the park, and Vaughn and the Chinese stopped in mid-flight as they did so.

"Put the gun down!" Ros trained her own on them. "Drop it!" She spared a second to glance at Lucas, who had dragged Maya Lahan aside and was trying – unsuccessfully – to calm her. "You're surrounded. Drop it and raise your hands!"

"Well, well, well." Vaughn's mocking, contemptuous drawl hadn't altered by one iota. "You finally grew some cojones and joined the big boys, Lucas. Two doting females, no less." Suddenly his tone turned vicious. "I don't think you need them both."

Instinctively, Ros threw herself to the ground as he fired. The bullet cracked and someone howled like a wounded animal. Behind her the car engine coughed into life. Ros heard two more shots and a heavy, dull thud. She glimpsed Gutierrez sprawled on the gravel and Vaughn leaping into the car as she scrambled to her feet. Then the vehicle's engine roared again and, headlights blazing through the mist, it came straight at her.

The safety of the trees was fifty feet away. Ros ran for her life, skidding on the gravel as her feet fought for purchase. She could feel the engine's heat closing on her like the breath of a hungry predator. The pain in her lungs as she fought for air was excruciating. She stumbled, almost fell, and snatched a glance backwards. The car was closer than the trees. Too late, Ros. Too bloody slow.

From behind her came two quick reports like small explosions. Then a glancing blow knocked her off her feet. As she hit the ground with a painful thud, her body thrown into a skidding roll from the impact, Ros heard a loud squeal of brakes, and the clanging, grinding, ringing screech of metal on metal. Voices were shouting urgently, but she couldn't hear what they were saying.

Lucas. She wasn't sure whether she'd spoken or whether the word was just in her head. My head. She was still panting as if she'd just run an Olympic sprint final; speech was beyond her. Stop them. Cybershell.

She tried to lever herself up but a wave of pain prevented her. Shit. She felt a shadow fall on her. Ros forced her eyes open and managed to look up. Lucas.

Lucas North stood over her, a pistol held loosely in his hand. He gave her a faint, sad smile. Then everything slid into darkness.

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