A/N: Lots of pondering but not much plotting as the team eat doughnuts and try to establish their next move. Feel free to leave a review - it'd be much appreciated!

Snow. Lucas couldn't stand it.

It look picturesque on a Christmas card and pretty from a frosty window but actually walking through the stuff was not an enjoyable experience, especially as the stairs up to the roof were frail anyway without the additional hazard of ice and crunching snow beneath his boots.

It reminded Lucas of Moscow, which had always been bitterly cold but particularly so in winter. The prison window had allowed enough heat to chill his cell during nights, forcing Lucas to curl up shivering on the floor, praying for some warmth – preferably, warmth that wasn't boiling water thrown on his arms and legs. Oleg had convinced him it was compensation for the cold nights, but when Lucas' skin was raw and puckered it didn't feel like any form of reward.

London, on the other hand, looked strangely beautiful. After years staring at the four walls of a cell with a dissonant soundtrack of screams, Lucas gained an appreciation for simple things; the sound of walking crispy leaves, a sunrise and the smell of a roast dinner being among his favourites.

His stomach complained at the thought of food – he hadn't bothered to pay a fortune out of his already pitiful salary for a canteen jacket potato as an excuse for dinner. He and Ros had been in the Grid all day and they were into a good portion of the night now, searching for Fahir. Would he carry out the attack himself, or pay someone? It seemed impossible to guess, as he seemed to have a taste for blood but had enough funding to pay someone off to do his dirty work. They were monitoring all flights from Istanbul to any airport in the country, checking backgrounds of all passengers, but so far they hadn't found anything - Lucas had stolen a few moments away to stretch his legs and get some fresh air.

Despite Harry's insistence for them not to stay late (something about needing rested and objective officers, which Lucas could only assume was a joke considering the current stress they were all facing) Ros had given one look to Lucas that told him she wasn't going to be obeying this order, and Lucas' raised eyebrow in return told that he agreed. Ros had practically shoved Zaf in a taxi, declaring that he needed to rest up and Erin and Dimitri had left hours ago, but Lucas didn't mind that there were few officers on hand to track down Fahir. Working away with Ros at any hour of the night was something that Lucas missed about working here – she was company, but not the sort that would prattle on irritably nor question him about his current wellbeing. It was familiar and easy to be with Ros and it reminded Lucas of the 'good days'.

'Good days'. A term he had picked up at regular visits to Tring: Harry's orders. Diane Jewell looked permanently terrified of him but Lucas was making some sense of his doubts and fears, along with hearing stories from other residents of Adam who had apparently had the shortest spell there on record after storming out in under an hour.

Big Ben interrupted his musing: it was midnight. Lucas stole a few more seconds looking at the London skyline, gloriously alight and peppered with snowflakes which were falling harder now. Lucas shivered in his coat, stuffing his hands into his pockets and precariously treading back down the stairs into the Grid.

"Anything?" he asked, even though Ros' frown told all.

"Nothing at all. So either he's paying someone so innocuous that we'd never pick up on them, or he's completely invisible," said Ros, leaning back in her seat.

"Is it possible that he's already here?" asked Lucas.

"We'd have found him at the airport. And I did a background check on all supply ferries coming into the ports for the past month just in case he didn't want to travel the conventional way," replied Ros. "So I think it's very unlikely that he's here."

"What about another route?" pondered Lucas, leaning across Ros' desk to tap at the keyboard. "Check the files for any route from Istanbul to here, illegal or otherwise."

"Or, just ask me," chipped in a voice, moving to perch on the desk.

"I put you in a taxi four hours ago; how long have you been here?" Ros sighed.

"Not four, don't worry. Three, maybe. Three and a half?" Zaf handed both of them a cup of takeaway coffee and grinned.

"You need to rest," insisted Ros.

"And so do you, but you're not going to bother. I won't tell Harry if you won't. Insomniacs anonymous." Zaf opened the paper bag he had clasped under his arm. "Doughnut?"

Lucas smiled, claiming the one coated in the most sugar.

"So, this route. I think I know what it is." Zaf manoeuvred his swivel chair beside Ros' desk and reached for a doughnut.

"Care to tell us?" asked Ros sweetly, refusing to acknowledge the presence of the sugary snacks which were childish indulgences and not suitable for a working environment – Lucas made this deduction by her raised eyebrows.

"We discovered an illegal immigrant network into this country in 2005, organised by a Middle-Eastern Prince," started Zaf. "It was a truck that went from Istanbul through Bulgaria into Serbia, then into Austria and across the Channel by ferry. We put Adam in undercover on the truck because we knew the route was being used by Mohammed Yazdi."

"The Moroccan school bus bomber?" asked Ros.

"That's the one. We thought he was coming to the UK to lead up a major terror attack – turned out he wanted to assassinate the Prince."

"Was he successful?" questioned Lucas.

"Yeah. It was Juliet Shaw's smart idea to put the two of them in the same room together."

Ros' eye roll shook the entire room.

"Not her biggest fan?" quipped Zaf.

"Actually Zaf, she tried to kill me, so I don't think that's really a foundation for a solid friendship," said Ros bluntly.

"Seriously?" Zaf had paused mid-bite in disbelief.

"Do you want to finish telling us about this route or do you want to start telling stories?" asked Ros.

Zaf's expression told that he would much prefer to investigate the latter but he continued his story anyway. "So, we found this route and closed it down. Operation successful. But no-one's been monitoring it for years, which explains why you two have never heard of it. So, it could be up and running again."

"How the hell did you figure this out?" asked Ros, eventually resisting and reaching for a doughnut from the bag which was rapidly becoming emptier.
"I've spent this evening tracking phone calls and emails in Istanbul in general to see if Fahir's in contact with someone here, and around the site where people met for the truck there have been a lot of enquiries recently about when the next route is running. I dug a little deeper and found that the truck doesn't leave monthly anymore as that was too easy to spot."
"When was the last arrival?" Lucas asked.

"Just over a week ago," said Zaf.

"So he could be here already." Ros' frown dominated her entire face at the thought of having spent all night here searching for a man who was already in the country.

"Maybe, or he could be on one of these flights," offered Zaf.

"But he'd know we were monitoring them," said Lucas.

"And he told us that the bomb was set for Oxford Street. In his last call to Ayla he even threw in the time – it's set for midday."

"So why would he tell us all this? It must be a bluff," said Zaf.

"Or, he wants us all to be there," offered Lucas. "Because he knows we can't detonate the bomb. Imagine – several MI5 officers killed as well as civilians. It's the perfect strike against the Service."

"It sounds like our friend has taken inspiration from Davie King," said a new voice, laced with bitter undertones. Harry plucked a doughnut from the bag on Ros' desk and chewed thoughtfully. "Mind you, none of you were here for that debacle."

"Bright and early, refreshed to work?" Ros asked him.

"Well, I knew none of you would be sleeping. I thought I'd come and offer my extensive wisdom of having dealt with a sufficient range of unpredictable bastards over the years." Harry reached for a chair and parked himself next to Lucas. "What have you got so far?"

Harry's eye-rolling over the next few minutes of explanation would have put Ros to shame.

"So, we don't know if he's here yet or not, if the bomb is real or not, or whether he's physically carrying out the attack or not?" Harry shook his head sharply enough that it was a wonder it didn't separate from his neck, reaching for the last doughnut much to Zaf's distress.

"We need to cover all combinations; consider every angle," said Ros. "Lucas, if he's in the country already he'll have booked into somewhere close by – check all hotels within a ten mile radius of London for recent customers." She turned to Zaf. "I need you to get details of anywhere that might sell devices that could be manufactured into effective dirty bombs - check underground dealings here but also in Istanbul. If he came by the truck he could have packed the bomb but if he's flying he would have picked it up here. I'm going to lean on his lovely wife for any last drop of information she can remember. Harry, I need you to monitor the airport CCTV we've got in case he gets onto a flight."

"Rosalind, I may be older than you bright young officers but I'm your senior and have many more talents than simply monitoring surveillance, so don't be afraid to give me a more arduous task," said Harry.

Lucas looked at Zaf and caught his grin.

"Fine. Pressurise Camden. The mole who directed us to the unsafe safe house in Istanbul may well be involved in this attack – see what he knows." Ros clicked the biro she had been deftly spinning between her fingers, moving to check the CCTV for just one last time.

Lucas noticed the disappointment on Harry's face when he didn't have to end up calling Camden and barking orders down the phone, for Fahir was boarding a flight to Heathrow airport that would enter the UK at 6am today.

"Got him."