Author's note: I am sure that my internet search history for this story has raised a flag in some organisation...

Also, I am travelling this week, so my posting schedule may be disrupted.

"Then what is it?" Barbara demanded.

"Not here," Matthew said as he gestured to the ticket window. "Three adults please."

No one spoke as they wound around the metal guide rails and up the ramp to the boarding platform. As Matthew had speculated, they were given a capsule by themselves. Barbara shuddered as the door slid shut and clicked into place. The car moved slowly and smoothly backwards.

"It's a great view. First of the city, then over the East Coast."

Barbara sensed Tommy's impatience. "Well, what was it?"

Matthew took a deep breath. "Well hidden for a start. I had three samples taken. Two one litre samples then a five litre. I know that sounds paranoid, but I wanted to be sure. The first two were water. Distilled water with a colourant to make it look like a chemical. That made me highly suspicious. But the third one confirmed it as there was broken glass in the sample."

Barbara screwed up her eyes and looked at Tommy. He seemed equally perplexed. "Water and broken glass?"

"To fool Customs, some companies place a bottle over the sample cock inside the tank and fill it with the genuine product as per the manifest. Then the rest of the tank usually has substandard or watered down versions. I thought someone could use the same trick and they had."

Matthew looked pleased with himself but he still had not disclosed the real contents. "So other than glass, what was in the third sample?"

"It's not good news, I'm afraid. As close as I can tell, it is Ethyl N-2-diisopropylaminoethyl methylphosphonothiolate."

Barbara rolled her eyes. "In English."

Matthew looked at each of them in turn. "It's a nerve agent. A nasty one. Worse than sarin. It attacks the central nervous system causing paralysis and eventually death when it stops the diaphragm, making breathing impossible."

"Bloody hell," Barbara said.

Tommy took her hand. "So aerial disbursement like sarin?"

"Not necessarily, although if it was put into a dirty bomb, the fallout could spread it over half of England," Matthew said. "It's more lethal by absorption through the skin. Anything over about two square inches is deadly. So a palm on a handrail, holding a strap on a train, putting your hand out to steady yourself would be fatalWhat's nasty about this is that they can let it off any time and then it will settle on surfaces and kill people much later. Because it's not a living organism, it stays potent for a very long time."

Tommy exhaled loudly. "It would take authorities too long to identify something like that. They could kills thousands."

Matthew nodded. "In a big city with it being dispersed in public areas and on public transport, it could be hundreds of thousands even a million. If that tank is full, it's enough to kill everyone in a big city. Think New York, Tokyo, London."

The trio stood speechless and stared at the sprawl of Singapore slowly rising into view. Barbara's mind raced with the possibilities.

Tommy ran his fingers through his hair then swore. "Have you been exposed? Or the man taking the sample?"

"No. I prefer to take precautions. He had a chemical-safe gas mask and thick gloves which is standard when we are identifying an unknown substance. I told him it was a container shipped to us months ago but we had lost the paperwork and did not know what was inside. He has no idea it was actually dangerous. I used a full Rad suit thinking it was radioactive. If either of us had been exposed, we'd be dead by now."

"So where's the sample?" Barbara asked.

"Sealed inside three anti-corrosion tins and locked in my safe. I have no idea how to dispose of it safely. I was thinking it needs to be encased in several metres of concrete and buried somewhere in the middle of a desert."

Tommy rubbed his face with his palm. "Any idea how they would have sourced it?"

Matthew shook his head. "Most of this stuff was developed in Russia, but I imagine it could be produced anywhere. And I suppose for the right price anything is for sale."

Barbara sank onto the benches that lined the capsule. "This is way above our pay-grades. We need to report this to the authorities."

"Who?" Matthew asked. "If we tell MI6, you can bet James Thornbury will have us all killed, probably starting with Peter. Have you heard from him?"

Tommy pulled out his phone. "No messages." He sat next to Barbara. "How do I check Facebook?"

"Like this." Barbara clicked through a few screens. "He's posted a photo with Tim."

Tommy studied the photo carefully. "He angled it oddly but casually."

"Typical selfie," Barbara said wondering what he had seen.

"Maybe. See that man in the background?"

Barbara took the phone and enlarged the photo. "Yeah, I do. You think he sent us a photo of Mr Tan?"

"It's what I would try, so yes. I think we can assume that."

"Can we ask Winston to run it through the computer?"

"No. It might cost him his job."

"The fate of mankind versus Winston's job. We all know one extra photo can be caught up in a run."

"Barbara, no. I won't put him in that position. We'll attack it from a different angle"

She knew he was right. "Yeah, okay. Sorry."

Matthew sat down beside her, but looked up at Tommy. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Find out what you can about it, especially how to destroy it safely. But don't poke around on the internet too much. It might arouse suspicion."

"One of the benefits of my profession is that I have access to a large database and library. I will find something we can use."

"We also need to keep an eye out for any movement, or registration of a planned shipment. We need to know where it was headed."

"I'll keep a watch on it."

"And what are we going do Tommy?" Barbara asked.

"Go back to the hotel and work through everything we know trying to find a way in to this mess. In the meantime, we probably should look at the view."

No matter how they tackled it, the two detectives had no idea how to proceed. They had a watch on the container and knew it's contents but rather than giving them more options, it had narrowed them.

"Maybe we should go to Hong Kong and confront Mr Tan," Barbara said.

"How? And what do we do? Kidnap him and hold them to ransom? Your container and plans in exchange for your boss?"

"Something like that."

Tommy raked his fingers through his hair and began to pace in front of the window. "Maybe we should go to the High Commission tomorrow and tell them what we know."

Barbara kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet onto the couch. "No one will believe it. And..."

"And what?"

"If we tip their hand, they might hurt Peter."

"We should go to Hong Kong and get him out of there."

Barbara shook her head. "No. As soon as we booked our flights, they'd know and he'd be in trouble. Maybe we can warn him."

"How?"

"Leave a message on Facebook."

"What? Hi, beware, there are people about to torture and kill you."

Barbara made a face. "Where's your phone?"

Tommy walked over and sat next to her. "Here."

"We could send him a private message, but if someone gets his phone it's too risky. Let's comment on his photo, and hope he understands."

Peter was unsure whether Mr Tan was the evil mastermind Tommy believed, or merely an addict co-opted into turning a blind eye as his company was used. The man carried himself well, had impeccable manners, and seemingly no interest in running his shipping firm. Peter could see the signs of addiction. Mr Tan needed to gamble. He had been almost literally pulled from the casino in time to make their flight, and in the cab, in the airline lounge and on the flight he had barely lifted his head from his iPad and his online slot machine game.

Mr Tan had expensive tastes and checked into the famous Peninsula Hotel. Met by a Rolls Royce at the airport, he and Peter had been whisked along the freeway into Kowloon while they sipped on Bollinger. The once brilliant harbour was shaded by the pollution from China's rapid industrialisation. It made the city close in on itself and Peter was overwhelmed by the sheer density of the high-rise apartments that dominated the landscape.

The Peninsula staff appeared to know Mr Tan and fawned on him enough to make the usually dour man smile. They were escorted to a corner suite high in the tower behind the classic old hotel that had been proudly staring out towards Hong Kong Island since 1928. The main room was decorated in soft grey wallpaper with starkly contrasting lacquered black wood trim and splashes of gold. A brass telescope was positioned at the window which had a stunning panoramic view of the harbour and cityscape of the island. Traditional Chinese watercolours of misty mountains and bridges hung on the walls. Expensive abstract sculptures depicting the human form sat on pedestals and in wall nooks. Most posed in acts of sport, war or love. Peter walked to the window and watched mesmerised as vessels of all sizes and shapes hurried by. One was a traditional dark wooden junk with a high stern and three faded red sails that fluted like the dorsal fins of a sailfish.

"You like?"

"Yes, Mr Tan. You have exquisite taste and the view is wonderful."

"I own this suite," he said and puffed out his chest. He clicked his fingers at the porter. "Show Mr Lynley to his room. We leave for dinner in thirty minutes. Formal dress."

Peter's room looked out over the Kowloon streets. In the fading light, they were alive with scurrying ant-like people, and myriads of colour from flashing neon signs all vying for attention. Yellow taxis wove through traffic as they hurried up and down the roads. Hong Kong was full of movement and life.

He quickly unpacked, his clothes looking lonely in the vast walk-in wardrobe. He called guest services and asked to have his suit and shirt steamed. The man arrived within a minute and Peter realised the suite had a private butler. He smiled then shook his head. He could get used to this lifestyle, but it was typical of Tommy to have the title and money and eschew such luxuries. Sometimes Peter thought the wrong son was the heir.

He quickly showered, then as he waited for his tuxedo to be returned, he pulled out his phone. As expected, there were no messages. Several of his friends, especially old school chums, had commented on his photo with Tim. There was also a comment from George Cornwallen.

Looks like you are having fun. Found the missing horse. Weather here worse than expected. Make the most of your time there. Stay as long as you can.

Peter frowned. His brother was sending him a message, but he was not sure what to make of it. He assumed the horse was the container and the comment about the weather suggested its contents were worse. How much worse than nuclear material could you get? But what did he mean by telling him to stay?

Peter ran his hand through his hair then poured a whiskey from the decanter on the table. As he sat at the window he thought that if he behaved like his brother the answer would come.

"You want me to delay Mr Tan's return to China? How exactly?" Peter finished his whiskey trying hard not to think and hoping an idea popped into his head. He laughed aloud when one did. He picked up his phone and messaged his brother.