A/N Thanks for all your reviews. You will have to wait a little longer to discover what has happened to Lt. Carter and Mrs Becker. For now - GO LESTER! :D

Lester was on the phone, receiver in one hand, glass of whisky in the other and desperately wishing he hadn't given up smoking all those years ago. The Minister had put him directly through to the Home Secretary but the call wasn't going as well as he had hoped. The Home Secretary was adamant that it was MI6's call. They had alleged Becker's guilt, they had supplied the evidence to the police, the bomb making equipment and fingerprints, and this evidence was irrefutable. Unless he could get MI6 to retract their accusation, his hands were tied and there was nothing he, or anyone else for that matter, could do for Captain Becker.

Lester replaced the telephone handset, took a large swig of the fiery amber liquid in his glass, comforted by the warm trail it left down his throat, and then rubbed a hand over his tired face. He had been on the phone for the last five hours and was still no nearer a solution for Becker. At least the nerds had found Becker's mother. That was a consolation at least. As long as she was still alive, of course, and that there were no mishaps during her retrieval. There had been radio silence from Lt. Carter and his team for a very long time and it made Lester nervous. He looked out of his glass walls down into the Ops Room. Jess and Connor were still fiddling with the laptop ADD but he had no idea what they were trying to accomplish. Perhaps he ought to find out. Before he could rise from his chair, his telephone rang and this time it was Acting Metropolitan Police Commissioner Tim Godwin returning his call. Unfortunately, despite Lester threatening to call in several favours owed to him by the Acting Commissioner, the response from the police was much the same as the Home Secretary. As MI6 was involved, they couldn't interfere. He couldn't get the charges dropped without the sanction of MI6. Lester slammed the phone down again and finished off his whisky in one gulp, before pouring himself another. He closed his eyes and leant back in his chair. God, I'm going to be an alcoholic before this is over! he thought miserably.

Paddington Green Police Station - maximum security terrorist holding facility and Becker's home for possibly the next 28 days if he was lucky. As a terror suspect he had no rights - no phone call, no solicitor, no right to remain silent. Anything he said would be used against him and anything he didn't say would be taken as evidence of his guilt. He had been stripped of his clothing and made to dress in a paper, forensic jumpsuit. He was barefoot and cold.

He had been left sitting alone, hands still cuffed behind his back, in the small metal-walled interrogation room. He sat upright in the chair, his head bowed forward, his beard almost touching his chest. His eyes were closed, but not in sleep. His mind was racing, even as he struggled to keep it blank. He knew he should think of nothing, that would assist him in resisting his interrogators' questioning, but his thoughts had other ideas. He knew why he was here, his guilt had festered in the pit of his stomach from the moment he had killed those twenty five innocent people and was now beginning to eat its way through his insides. He knew Lester had advised him to say nothing, and he would say nothing, even though he didn't really believe Lester would be able to get him out of this. He wasn't even sure that was what he wanted, such was his need to be punished. But one thought over-rode everything else as he sat there alone. Instead of contemplating his predicament, one voice, one smile, one word flashed across his brain over and over. Jess, Jess, Jess.

He scrunched up his eyes. Why was he thinking about Jess? She didn't want him. She'd turned him down. And who could blame her? He was a murderer, a killer. Why was he surprised that she had pushed him away? But he remembered how she had held him as he had told her about the bombing, how she had stroked his hair comfortingly, how she had told him it was all ok. Why had she done that? So gently, so lovingly. His senses betrayed him further as he remembered their kiss. Her eyes, wide and surprised, the pupils dilated, as he had drawn closer to her, the softness of her mouth beneath his, the taste of her lips - a taste that was still there on his tongue, delicious and intoxicating. She had returned his kiss, he was sure of it. And for that one brief moment he had been acutely happy.

The door to the interrogation room banged open and he gratefully accepted the interruption of his torture, even though he knew a different kind of torture would have to be endured. Opening his eyes and lifting his head he could see the two men who had entered were police officers. He sighed. They would ask him the same questions they had asked him an hour ago and he would reply with the same answer: Becker, Captain, 59620060 - name, rank and service number. He repeated it, like a litany, to every question he was asked. As before, the ranking police officer became frustrated and slammed his fist on the metal table between them. Becker lowered his head again, knowing the officers would exit the room and leave him sitting there for another hour or two. Unfortunately for Becker, the slamming of the officer's fist brought two other men into the room. These men were not police officers. Looking up at them, Becker immediately identified them as MI6. These guys couldn't have been more obvious if they'd worn a large badge with the words "I'm MI6" flashing repeatedly in bright neon pink. For the first time since he'd been arrested, Becker felt nervous.

The police officers left. "You have thirty minutes," one of the officers told the MI6 operatives.

"More time than we need," stated one suited man, smugly.

Becker grimaced, bracing himself for the onslaught. And they didn't disappoint. Instead of a verbal interrogation, the MI6 agents kicked Becker's chair backwards, causing it to tip and crash to the floor, banging Becker's head hard against the metal surface. He grunted and closed his eyes. He was in no position to defend himself; his hands were still cuffed behind his back. That made no difference to the nameless, faceless MI6 agents. They punched and kicked the downed soldier, laughing as he winced when their blows made contact with the earlier injuries he had sustained at the hands of Kabir. They stopped as suddenly as they had begun. Becker's face streamed with blood from abrasions to his eyes, nose and mouth. Every inch of his body felt trampled and he wished he was able to pass out at will. Instead he was forced to endure this new agony; no blissful oblivion for him. One of the MI6 agents hunkered down over him and, gripping Becker's bruised chin between his finger and thumb, pulled the soldier's head round to face him.

"Call yourself British Army? You have betrayed your Queen, your country and your regiment, soldier! Shame on you!" He spat in Becker's face.

Becker wrenched his head away, coughing, spraying blood across the metal floor.

The second MI6 agent swatted the first on the shoulder with his hand. "Time to go," he said and the two men turned to leave.

The police officers re-entered the room and became alarmed by the bloodied mess that was Captain Becker.

"What the hell have you done?" one demanded.

"We haven't done anything," said one MI6 agent. The police officer frowned and the second MI6 agent clarified.

"You have never seen us, we were never here," he told the police officer with a grin and the two suited men sauntered out of the interrogation room.

The custody sergeant knelt down next to Becker. "Better get the police surgeon," he muttered with a frown.

Becker closed his eyes as the room began to sway and let darkness consume his consciousness.

Lester needed a break. He'd had enough of being told there was nothing he could do for his Head of Security. There was always something, leverage of some kind, that was how politics worked. He just had to find it. He wandered down the steps into the Ops Room, still a hive of repair activity, and loomed over the two techies still sitting on the floor surrounded by laptops.

"You two had better not be internet shopping," he grumbled, crossly. "Unless you're buying me a new ear." He rubbed at the ear that had been fairly stuck to the telephone for the last several hours as if trying to bring some life back into it.

"No luck with the Minister?" Connor asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Lester declined to comment and instead gestured to the laptops flashing away at his feet.

"What on earth are you two doing?" he demanded in a tone that indicated he wasn't really interested but felt compelled to ask.

Jess looked up at him, her face bright with discovery.

"Rider's PA, Penny, is an amazing woman! She's left a whole load of encrypted information on the MI6 mainframe. We're trying to download it now. But the laptops were struggling for memory space so we've had to switch to an external hard drive," she babbled excitedly.

Lester shook his head, his face bored and impassive. What the hell did any of that mean, anyway?

Suddenly, Connor became animated.

"Hurry Jess - they've found us!" he exclaimed, tapping one of the laptop screens with his finger.

"What?" cried Jess. "I can't hurry - the laptop is working at maximum capacity as it is!"

"They're deleting the code, line by line! We're going to lose it!" shouted Connor. His screen flickered and went blank. "No! Damn it!" Connor thumped his hand on the laptop keyboard.

Jess grimaced as her laptop ceased downloading. "Lets just hope we've got enough," she muttered.

This sparked Lester's interest. "Enough for what?" he enquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Leverage," she said, grinning at Lester.

Some time later Lester's voice could be heard reverberating round the Ops Room.

"Believe me, Sir John Sawers will want to hear what I have to say," he stated loudly into the speaker phone on his desk, the door to his office left wide open in his haste to make this call.

The recipient's voice was not so audible but the listeners in the Ops Room could recognise that the MI6 receptionist was stalling.

"Yes, well, you tell the Head of MI6 that if he doesn't make time to take my call, he will hear what I have to say on the 6 o'clock News!" roared Lester, intimidating the phone and making it tremble.

Lester drummed his fingers on his desk as the phone went silent. There was an odd crackle and a very definite click, as if the phone call was being recorded and traced (and most likely it was) and then the very top man at MI6 cleared his throat and spoke in a deep, rather irritated voice.

"This is Sir John Sawers. You are James Lester?" he demanded, authority resounding in his tone. This was a man not used to having his orders disobeyed or jumped up little civil servants threatening him.

"Ah, Sir John, how nice to speak with you at last," Lester's tone was brittle. "I have a little matter that I wish to discuss with you."

"Regarding the terrorist you've been harbouring?" Sawers asked, determined to keep the upper hand.

Lester laughed, mirthlessly. "My Head of Security is no terrorist, I assure you. However, I do have rather compelling evidence that your Commander Rider was a traitor."

There was silence on the other end of the line and Lester smiled. "Yes, I thought that might get your attention."

"That's a very big accusation Mr Lester," said Sawers carefully. Lester could almost see him clicking his fingers at his minions, ordering them to discover the truth of his statement.

"Isn't it, though? But then, so is accusing Captain Becker of being a terrorist. He was working on the orders of Commander Rider, you see. At the time, he had no idea then that it was actually Rider who was working for the terrorist, Kabir. In fact, once he discovered the treachery, it was Becker that saw to it that neither Rider nor Kabir could harm anyone else ever again. He single-handedly killed them both and in so doing has landed himself in the hot water he is in now." He paused, trying to gauge Sir John's reaction. Again there was silence. So Lester continued. "So, you see, this could all be highly embarrassing for MI6 if it accidentally leaked out, for example."

"Just what exactly are you implying, Mr Lester?" asked Sir John tersely.

"Oh, I'm not implying, sir," said Lester with a grim smile. "I am telling you that if you don't arrange for all charges and accusations against Captain Becker to be dropped within, say, the next two hours, my next call will be to the BBC with an exclusive on the traitor at MI6. And the subsequent cover up being supervised by your good self. Very embarrassing, I'd say."

There was a long pause before Sir John spoke again. When he did, his tone was icy.

"And just where did you find this rather compelling evidence you say you have?" he demanded.

Lester smirked, even though Sir John could not see him. "The MI6 mainframe. We hacked into your systems, oh, about an hour ago and retrieved an awful lot of very interesting information before we were discovered and locked out. Perhaps you'd like to double check that with your technical people? Again, rather embarrassing for the security services don't you think? Although, I do have two very brilliant people on my staff, if I do say so myself." Lester winked at Connor and Jess, loitering outside his door and they grinned back, absurdly pleased with such a rare compliment from Lester.

"That's an extremely serious offence you have ordered your staff to commit, Mr Lester," stated Sir John, coldly, stalling for time as his minions checked the computer logs for evidence of illegal entry. They found it, of course, and Lester's timings were spot on. Sir John pursed his lips angrily.

"Oh, I didn't tell them to do it. They did it anyway. Freelancers! What can you do?" Lester pretended to sound exasperated. "But, of course, you will overlook their little indiscretion as well, won't you Sir John?"

"I don't like being threatened, Mr Lester. You would be well advised to keep all of this to yourself and let the law handle Captain Becker."

"Fine, fine," agreed Lester. "Jess!" he shouted loudly across his office. "Get me the number for the BBC, would you?"

"Alright, Mr Lester," said Sir John hastily. "You have my attention. Email your evidence to my personal account. I will look it over and if I think it is compelling enough, I will see what I can do for your man. If not, you had better be watching your back in future. Because the security services will be."

"Very well, Sir John. An email will be sent to you shortly. But we will obviously be keeping the original evidence close to hand so don't attempt to alter or, indeed, disappear any of it."

Sir John snorted as if that kind of behaviour was ludicrous.

"And I suggest you watch your back too, Sir. One last word of advice - never threaten the man who owns a Mammoth." Lester told the Head of MI6 glibly before abruptly ending the phone call.

Connor, Jess, Abby and Emily grinned and applauded spontaneously.

"Don't celebrate yet," Lester told them sternly. "We've just jumped out of the proverbial frying pan and into a very large fire."

So, has Lester saved the day? Will MI6 crumble under the pressure? REVIEWS PLEASE - I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT THEM! :D