Big thanks to Wombledon for doing without sleep to beta this chapter…

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At five to eight the next morning, Gene was waiting for Brian Cruickshank on the edge of St James's Park; he sat by the war memorial and watched the Household Cavalry going through their drill on Horse Guards Parade. At eight on the dot, a black XJS whispered to a halt in front of him, and Cruickshank emerged from the back seat. The car whispered away again, and Cruickshank stood for a moment watching the cavalrymen in their spectacular uniforms, harness jingling, hooves crisp on the sandy gravel. 'All that power under tight control. Discipline. Trust. Pretty costumes, too.' Cruickshank sighed, and dropped a white paper bag into Gene's lap, handing him a plastic cup of tea.

'Cheers, sir.' Gene bit into a bacon and tomato toastie almost as good as the ones he used to get from Minnie's caff at the bottom of Deansgate. 'That is lovely. Best breakfast I've had for a long time. Thanks.'

'I don't want to ruin your appetite, but we need to talk about your charming friends, the Carterets.'

Gene turned his head away, embarrassed. But after a moment, taking a deep breath, he looked back at Cruickshank. 'Indeed, sir.'

'There's no question that they're involved – too many connections. But we need solid evidence – have to pull it all together. Find their recruits; the Halevy boy threw himself into our hands, but there are others. The so-called priests who recruited the children, for instance, and the contacts they used to get hold of explosives. Most of all, we need to know who's behind all this.'

'You don't believe it's Jack Carteret's show?'

'No. He's too unstable. Dragging you in and marking you in such a brutal way – it was showing his hand far too much. Either he grossly underestimated you or he's lost the plot. Or both.'

'An operation like this doesn't come cheap, either.'

'No. And Carteret doesn't have the money, neither does his company. Not according to the books, anyway. Countermeasure is just about washing its face, but not much more. I did wonder, to begin with, whether this was all a sick publicity stunt to kick-start Countermeasure's new sales drive.'

Gene snorted. 'They'd have done as well to send Miranda out prospecting. She's a lot cheaper, and she has a persuasive tongue.'

'So I hear, Gene.'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

'So... what – you want me back in there?'

'Can't see a better way. Can you?'

'Don't want to see them again, except for seeing their faces when the jury sends them down for life.'

'Carteret at least would be a candidate for Broadmoor.'

'Huh.' Gene rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly. 'He's not mad. Twisted, yes, but sane enough to pay for the decisions he's made.

'We don't have enough evidence for a search warrant – unless you tell the judge what happened to you in that house.'

'Even so, no direct connection to the bombings or the Bengalis.'

'Exactly. Can you get back in there?'

'Probably. But Carteret has his own flat in Surrey.'

'I know. We're keeping tabs on it. If you can find something at the Islington house, we can get a warrant for the Sunbury flat.'

'Aren't you being a bit coy, sir? You can put your spooky fingers wherever you like – why do you need search warrants?'

'This has to go through the courts. Public are being scared. Public need to see villains tried and sentenced. We need to go through the motions.'

'So I've got to swim through the shit.' Gene sniffed.

'If you will dive into such dangerous waters, Gene...' Cruickshank gave him a slit-eyed look and got glared at, briefly.

'We'll protect you, Gene. Your, er, personal involvement in this need not be made public.'

'Back scratching, sir?'

'Getting the job done, DCI Hunt. We've got enough to contend with dealing with the IRA – we don't need neo-Nazis and religious fundamentalists fanning the flames as well. There'll be time for them later.'

The two men discussed logistics before they parted, Cruickshank walking back to the Yard, and Gene to his motor, parked in Birdcage Walk.

Driving back through the traffic, Gene thought about Cruickshank. He was young for a Super, and had the mark of Hyde all over him. Spooky bastard by definition, being Special Branch; Hyde-trained made him extra tricky. Likable though, which was a bit worrying. Almost trustworthy.

He nipped over Lambeth Bridge – quicker through Bermondsey and back over Tower Bridge than following the embankment as the Thames wound its way through the city. Straight. Best way to do things. Alex's face flashed into his mind. Then Miranda's. How could I have been such a fool? Have to talk to Alex. Explain. Can't let her leave. We were so close. He changed gear angrily, gunning the engine and whipping through amber lights.

Gene got hold of Ray on the radio. 'How's the hangover, Raymondo?'

'Haven't got one, Guv.'

'Comes of not drinking. You're going soft, Carling.'

'Guv...'

'Don't get your bra in a twist, you girl. Listen. Is DI Jaspan around?'

Ray snorted. 'Poncey git. Not what I'd called a Mancunian. Reminds me of T...'

'Yeah, yeah – shut up. At least he supports a decent football team. Send him over to the caff on Leman Street in ten minutes.'

'You not coming in, Guv?'

'I'm on leave, remember?'

'But...'

'You're not Billy Goat Gruff, Carling. No buts.'

'DI Drake's driving me mad, Guv...'

'Not interested. She's got enough work to keep her out of your perm. Bugger off, Ray, and do something useful. Not a word, Ray. I bloody mean it.'

Jaspan was at the table furthest from the door when Gene pushed his way in. The boss, a comfortable-looking woman in her early fifties, was by the table almost before Gene had settled himself. 'DCI Hunt, how delightful. And a new recruit to Fenchurch East?' She purred at Jaspan, who grinned at her.

'A visitor from the frozen North, love. Won't be here long, so make the most of him.' Gene looked at Jaspan, fit as a butcher's dog and the sort to attract women of a certain age. 'You'd better watch it, Jaspan. Bridie here will have you for breakfast before you've got your lips round her floury baps.'

Jaspan chuckled and gave Bridie the eye. 'If you can do me a good stiff coffee, Bridie, I'll come every day.'

'Ooh, a live one, Mr Hunt.' Bridie giggled and went back to the kitchen, shouting the order ahead of her.

Gene looked down his nose at the young DI across the table, giving him the stare. Jaspan looked back at him, apparently unfazed.

'To what do I owe the honour, DCI Hunt?'

'You have just given in to a craving for a decent bacon buttie, lad. I am not here. I am on leave, taking my well-earned leisure in a variety of gratifying ways.'

'Understood.'

'I hope so, sonny. For if I hear that word has got around to anyone, anywhere in Scarborough Street, that we have had this conversation, you will be returning to Manchester in several buckets.'

'No worries, Guv.'

'No worries... Hmm. What dialect of the North West is that? Hyde, perhaps?'

'Just common parlance, Guv.'

'Common parlance. Common parlance.' Gene wrapped his mouth around the words, savouring them. 'Very good. Right. Tell me everything you know about these Nazi nutters we're dealing with.'

Jaspan spilled the beans, unlike Bridie who plonked down two plates of them, with a small heap of toast and two fat brown sausages per man. 'Tuck in, gentlemen. We can't have you fading away, can we? Wouldn't be safe in our beds...'

Gene did as bid, taking great mouthfuls of his second breakfast as Jaspan talked. If he had to go back into the snake pit, at least he'd know what to look for.

He rang Miranda from home. He had to beg, but eventually she agreed to see him at Theberton Street that night at eleven.

The Quattro slid silently to a halt in Liverpool Road at quarter to eleven, where Gene could see Miranda's front door, gleaming in the glow of the street lamps. He watched the house for ten minutes, then prowled quietly round the corner to see what he could see of the back of the building. Not much, as it turned out. The garden wall was too high, and all the windows on the top two floors were dark. Nothing for it but to announce himself and keep every sense alert.

Miranda was nervous, trying to keep cool as she opened the door to him.

'What's wrong, my little scorpion?' Gene gripped Miranda's chin and tipped her head back. 'Scared of me?'

'Of you? Hardly.' She leered at him. 'You've been brought to heel, my damaged darling. No, if you must know, I'm a bit nervous of Jack finding out. He wouldn't be impressed if he knew I was seeing you tonight. Not at all…'

'So why did you agree?'

'I wanted to see how you were. I'm very fond of you, my sweet.' Miranda dug her fingernails into Gene's arm as she pulled him through the hall and into the drawing room. 'And you gave satisfaction for a while. You have… assets. Well, one asset.' She giggled and reached for Gene's fly.

He swatted her hand away. 'Oh, no. None of that, sweetie. You lost that privilege the last time we met.'

Miranda pouted like a French adolescent. 'Mmm. My poor baby. Didn't you like our little threesome? I thought Jack tended to your interests rather well. He gives good head, don't you think?' She rubbed herself against Gene, looking up at him, eyes half-closed.

'He does that. He's a sick deviant sadist, but he knows what to do with the crown jewels, credit where it's due. You could take lessons.'

Miranda swiped at him. 'Bastard.'

Gene caught her wrists and with commendable dexterity, handcuffed her. 'Settle down, you viper. You have things to tell me.'

Miranda started shrieking; Gene put a hand over her mouth and the other behind her head, and silenced her. 'You can be quiet and awake, or quiet and asleep. You choose.' Miranda squealed beneath his hand and tried to hit him, eyes blazing fury. Gene cracked her on the jaw with his fist just hard enough to silence her, and dropped her unconscious on to the sofa. No time now to worry about chivalry – a woman who could involve herself in terrorising children had crossed a line to join the rest of the world's scum.

Miranda wouldn't be out for long, so Gene didn't have much time. He looked again at the bookcase – saw the book with Countermeasure's logo on its cover – The Lightning and the Sun. Some of the names Jaspan had mentioned that morning – Peronnik, Evola. Mein Kampf. He remembered seeing them before, only a week earlier. It seemed like years. There was a shelf full of books about Sir Francis Drake, and more about Walter Raleigh. Separating the two British heroes was a family bible; Gene pulled the big volume down and opened it – folded into the flyleaf was a heavy piece of paper. A family tree, with Miranda's name at the bottom, Francis Drake close to the top, and the name Grenville scattered across the page. Sir Richard Grenville, Baronet, was a row above Miranda, to her left – her uncle.

Why did he know the name? He knew that name… His damned memory was still patchy after the concussion he'd taken in this bloody house. Grenville. Grenville. Below his name, and linked to it, was the name Lucilla: his daughter. And in pencil, written faintly in the margin, was the name Raleigh Hereward H. What did the H stand for? Gene folded the page and stuffed it in his inside pocket.

He was rifling through a tall cupboard when Miranda came to, whimpering. Gene glanced at her and continued searching but the little blonde suddenly started screaming, and Gene dived on her. 'Shut the fuck up, you harpy.' He hesitated to hit her again, and looking for something to gag her, turned… to find Haggerty right behind him. Haggerty drove his fist into Gene's solar plexus and knocked the wind from him; Gene doubled over, gasping for air, and Harry chopped down on the back of his neck, dropping Gene to the floor like a sack of wet sand. Semiconscious and winded, Gene heard a door bang shut, and once again was alone in the house. He was deathly slow. It took him several months to pull himself to his knees, leaning on a chair, and another year or so to heave himself to his feet, barely able to stay upright, dizzy and unable to focus. There was a crash as the front door was kicked open; Graham Clarke and three Branch officers barrelled through the door to find Gene staggering down the hall, bellowing. 'Your fucking sergeant… I'll kill the bastard…'

Clarke grabbed Gene by the shoulders and shook him. 'What are you talking about, Hunt? Where's Miranda Carteret?'

'Sergeant Wanker's taken her. He's in it up to his grinning arsehole…'

'Get him back to Fenchurch East and get the quack to see him. I don't know if he's drunk or concussed but he's making no sense.'

As Gene was bundled out of the door he shouted over his shoulder at Clarke. 'I'm telling you it's Special Bastard Haggerty…'

'You're talking crap, Hunt. I want to know exactly how you let a small skinny bird overpower you and get away. It's going to be a good story, I bet.'

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Alex had been with Jaspan and Womble at Luigi's, but it was well after midnight and she'd had enough. As she got to the top of the basement steps she saw figures emerging from the station. Gene – with an officer she didn't recognise. They were heading for a squad car as Alex ran across the street. 'Gene? Gene!'

He looked towards her, but said nothing, got into the back of the car and slammed the door before Alex could reach him. The car pulled away, leaving Alex in the road, watching the tail lights vanish round the corner.

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TBC