Several months and a new computer later, Mako is back with an update!

Someone pointed out my breaks between sections aren't there, hopefully they will be now. FF net formatting is evil.

--

Lyle and Luke retreated to Kitty's flat, Kev in tow. It wasn't good for security – they didn't want to be seen at each others' houses by neighbours, who could report to the magicians – but they were drawing too much attention by hauling an unconscious man across town, and Kitty lived closest to the site of the accident.

Kev slumped in Kitty's armchair, the only chair in the room. The other two sat on the floor, and Kitty sat on her bed, leaning forward as she listened intently to Luke's terse account of the events.

"It was almost certainly a djinni. The government must be staking out spots we've been seen in before." She frowned, concentrating, then seemed to come to a conclusion. When she spoke it was quickly, decisively.

"We'll stay in one group when we're on mission from now on. I'll inform the secondary groups. No point taking risks, if we have to fight it'd be best to be together, and they'll be looking for smaller groups. You two go home, I'll look after Kev here. The others will notify me when they get back and we'll call a meeting then."

Kitty waved them out of the door, waiting until it was shut before relaxing from her commanding pose. You had to look in control, after all. No matter Kev could easily have been killed by the djinni, or captured. Look like a leader, Kitty.

God, they could so easily have been captured.

But that was the risk they took, had always been the risk.

They needed a new strategy. They had new resources – the secret name of John Mandrake, and Bartimaeus' support.

They needed a new plan…

--

Nathaniel waved his hand in a signal, and the foliot door-guard opened the door to his office. A man entered, rushing in his excitement.

Nathaniel surveyed him coldly.

Myron DiMira, a lackey. Black guy with an afro. Laconic. Intelligent. He missed out on promotion for the solely because he was not at all good at formalities and had a disregard for rules that would have been unacceptable in one less brilliant.

His family owned a restraunt, and he blatantly broke regulations by going to visit them every week, Nathaniel remembered. The discovery of this had seen him sent to do drudge work. He was somewhat irritating, having a naturally loud voice and a flamboyant, arrogant manner of speaking.

His face was flushed from running, and he had been grinning (somewhat manically, Nathaniel thought) before he noticed his superior's disdain. He looked exhausted, but any weariness was pushed back by the importance of whatever news he had to bring.

Nathaniel eyed him for a few seconds longer, unnerving the man (trying to, at least; DiMira's face was blank in an attitude of subservience). He doubtless thought his news was important, but he needed remember his place. His enthusiasm had no place in an office of the government.

"You may give your report, Mr DiMira."

The man tried, with an edge that could have been subtle sarcasm, to give his voice the icy precision of Mandrake's.

"I am with the team that has been monitoring the Search Sphere tracking the Resistance member, sir

"Yesterday the, uh, quarry, met a – we presume – friend of his. This friend called him by the name 'Stefan', and his reaction showed this was information he didn't want revealed. We presume, then, that this is his true name."

"I don't need your opinions or analysis; where was he when this happened?" Nathaniel didn't disguise his irritation at the man.

"Uh, On the Chiltern Railway. Heading to Oxfordshire. Sir."

"Good. Send a team out to track him. Don't bother with trying to retrieve him yet; I'll send a djinni to help with that. Don't want the operation being botched up now, do we?"

Myron thought to himself what he would like to say: that it was your plan and your fault that it went wrong, you pompous brat. But his job was worth more than a chance at Mandrake, for the moment.

For the moment…

--

The Exercitus Populo's leaders had congregated in Hyde Park as the sun set. Kitty watched her lieutenants as they digested the news of the djinni's attack and the inferences her team had made: most seemed nervous - more openly so here, without their respective groups looking to them for advice, than they would have been normally.

That was good. Hiding your emotions wasn't something you could do 24/7. She had done for years, and she knew how hard it was.

Until Bartimaeus had joined the group.

She had come to confide in him. It had started when he'd kidnapped her (at Mandrake's request – he'd never have that power over her again) and then again when she'd summoned him for the first time (she winced at the memory of her hysteria; he'd seen the worst of her).

Now it wasn't that she was telling him her deepest thoughts, just that she was telling him her doubts about whatever plans or schemes the EP were dreaming up. She discussed strategy with the other Cell Leaders, all right, but it was with Bartimaeus she was frank about her doubts – she didn't have to act like she was in command - the trusted leader – with him.

It was a relief just to be able to talk, and as annoying, pedantic and amoral as Bartimaeus could be, he was approachable, frank, and honest; he had, in other words, the qualities of a confidant.

Oh, yeah, the meeting.

The Leaders had had enough time to talk, and Kitty sat up and forward, a gesture which gained the attention of her lieutenants immediately.

"Everyone is clear on the situation?"

Nods, murmurs of assent.

"And you're happy with my strategy for dealing with it? – It's temporary, remember."

She looked directly at Sane as she asked – Sane, whose name was an alias, had looked distinctly unconvinced when she'd told them what she'd decided to do (each cell to stay in one group for operations). He was the most difficult of the leaders; a homeless man who had been in a gang, and had, Kitty was pretty sure, been involved in crime, he was often uncomfortable with having to defer to Kitty's leadership. Still, he and his group, which was composed of his homeless contacts, were very useful.

She could afford to give him a bit of leeway, so long as he stayed respectful. His group, unlike the others, could easily survive outside her command.

Sure enough, he spoke up.

"I reckon we're more obvious as one group – too many different people who shouldn't go round together normally"

"You have a point, but they're looking for pairs and threes"

"Not with my lot. They're not looking for us at all. We'd stand out more; tell them what you're doing"

She considered it. He was right this time, or at least not wrong.

"Your call, Sane"

Myra, another leader, called out a warning. Two magicians were heading their direction. No, Kitty thought, they were just off course, not heading towards the group, but close enough to overhear the conversation. Still, better safe that sorry.

"I heard Liss's kid was due, My'," she asked "what's up with that?"

Myra murmured that it was looking to be late, and that Liss had gone in for a check-up yesterday.

The story had been decided on as a conversation changer earlier, and was true – Myra did have a sister, Liss, with a child due. It was one of several strategies to throw listeners off track: a conversation begun that was would sound real to listeners and did not take much arranging.

It was far from infallible, but still. It worked.

The magicians passed by, not sparing a second glance for the motley group of commoners sprawled on the grass.

Better safe than sorry.

--

Stefan, meanwhile, was feeling very sorry.

He'd been recognised, despite dyed hair and glasses, by a former friend, who'd addressed him by the name he was trying so hard not to reveal. He'd managed to convince the friend he wasn't Stefan, but the damage was done. That was the name he used with the EP, and he dreaded to think what the magicians could do with the knowledge.

He'd headed to Oxford because he'd lived there as a boy, and thus knew the area, but there wasn't likely to be anyone who recognised him, nearly ten years later.

So he'd thought. But then Michael, the former friend, had known him from their time at Uni (Sheffield), not from when he'd lived in Oxford. Who would see the nondescript twelve year old boy in an student with a lank blonde mane concealing his features and strikingly dark brown eyes - contacts.

He'd get work, lodge somewhere, and wait until it was safe.

That had been the plan. Now, walking down Cornmarket street, he was sure there was someone following him. A gothic looking girl, seen in the corner of his eye.

The Goth wouldn't bother him if he couldn't see past the form. It was a demon.

He'd stayed on the move for an hour, hoping against hope it would lose interest. It had followed him everywhere, or stood outside waiting for him to return.

He shuddered. How long could he stay in a safe area? When the shops shut, when it got dark, when people went home, he would have nowhere to go.

He'd have to face the thing.

Have to fight.

He had a silver knife, but he'd never used it. He'd been the scout, looking out for trouble, not the warrior who dealt with whatever he spotted.

Keeping one hand on the knife in his pocket, he paused, looking towards a poster on the wall, attention focused on the movement in his peripheral vision. His trail circled around, keeping a crowd between itself and Stefan.

It can't know that I can see its true form, he thought, or it wouldn't take so much care staying back. The demon, in its true form, stood maybe a head and a half taller than the average human.

What use is seeing it as it is? He wondered. Apart from it being easy to spot in a crowd, not much.

He moved on from the poster, heading the way he had been going before his pause. The year (it seems like far more) that he'd spent with the Exercitus Populo had taught him a lot about what to do when being followed – never go home, stay in public, and never, ever, let it show that you know you're being followed.

He entered a café – it was dusk and the place was packed with diner. He picked up a menu, and, realising uninterestedly it was a pizzeria, chose a Margarita. He hadn't got that much money left, but he didn't dare use a credit card or withdraw money.

Would it matter? He had been compromised already.

Stefan, focus on surviving, day by day. Plan for tonight, now.

He could go to a bed and breakfast, a hotel. That would do for tonight.

Get a room on ground floor, then the demon (always assume the worst: that they can fly and get through any normal security and get you out the same way) can't drag you out so easily.

Try and make sure you can make a scene if anything happens. Get a room near other people.

A waitress placed a plate of food in front of him. He thanked her and dug in, realising how hungry he was.

It wasn't over yet. He could still make it.

The figure of the demon shifted uneasily in the corner of his eye…

--

Kitty and Bartimaeus sat in Kitty's flat, the former in her armchair nursing a cup of coffee and the later, in Ptolemy's form, listening to her from where he was sprawled on the floor.

"So we could tell him we've got contacts in the Sun and we could print his birthname on the front page… would that work, d'ja think?"

Bartimaeus smirked at "contacts in the Sun", and looked up at her, considering it.

"He might have enough power to veto it; stop that edition of the Sun being printed…"

"We're not really going to publish it in the Sun" Kitty said, a touch irritation, maybe even scorn, in her voice "No-one would believe it in the Sun, besides, no magicians would read it"

Bartimaeus muttered something acerbic about Kitty's overestimation of magician's tastes, but they both knew it was just him covering for his slip in not realising the commoner's plan. Kitty explained the real plan.

"We'll get Lor to publish it in that student rag of his: the magicians can't censor it then, how will they know what we're printing. Besides, even if they did catch it, everyone involved in printing it would know 'Natty's' name, so would all the people sent us. Win-win.

"Also, we'll put it on the internet. Kami from Myra's lot knows all about computers and stuff; she'll get it on the internet for us."

Neither of the pair knew anything about the internet – which was still a very new thing, due to the magicians' dominion of society and said groups unwillingness to do by technology something they could monopolise with magic – but it had gained an almost mythical status with covert groups such as theirs. Kitty had been convinced to buy two computers with dial-up and Kami was writing a program to send email between the two.

This illegal method of communication was said (by Kami, at least) to be totally untraceable, quick, and couldn't be bugged by anyone, not even demons (a fact confirmed by Bartimaeus).

The disadvantage was that if they were caught with such technology, they would be sent to the Tower…

But then, that danger meant little to people whose lives would be forfeit if their identities were ever found out by the state.

Bartimaeus's thought less of the fabled internet than the humans, and he just shrugged at this.

"Have you thought how you'll get the message to him? He's not going to be easy to intimidate, you know

"And no, I won't send the message for you. As I said, I don't want my name mentioned."

They had agreed not to mention Bartimaeus, as Mandrake would be more intimidated if he didn't know their sources, and Bartimaeus would be safer if he was kept out of it. The ancient djinni had joined Kitty's cause, but wasn't prepared to gamble more than necessary on it. He was the only one of them who could walk out of it freely (at the moment, in any case) and wasn't about to give up that security.

"We'll… phone him. Ask him to meet us somewhere: 'Nathaniel… I know who you are… come to us, Nathaniel'"She dropped the mock-freaky voice and turned serious again, talking to herself more than to him: "Don't threaten him, knowing his name is threatening enough… don't engage in conversation, just say a time and a place and call him by that name."

There was silence for a moment as they both imagined the conversation. Bartimaeus spoke first.

"Good plan, at least compared to what you people normally come up with." He shifted position on the floor and smirked as he watched Kitty decide how to react. She was less temperamental than the average magician – a good thing in someone who could force you to do their will, allied or not - but had none of their experience in dealing with spirits such as he. Therefore, blatantly magical/demonic traits of his threw her, and referring to the human race in the third person worked a treat.

For all her human/spirit alliance plans, he knew she would be very disturbed to see him in his true form, and although she and the other EP (they all used the abbreviation, Exercitus Populo being too long and New Resistance being dropped by Kitty due to her unease at them sharing the name of the ill-fated group) had got used to talking to him in various animal forms, they were awkward about it.

Kitty decided to ignore the slight and move on the conversation, but again Bartimaeus spoke first.

"Who's going to call Natty?"

Kitty hadn't considered it, but she, as was her custom, thought aloud:

"He's talked to me before, so I'm out; we want someone self-confident – Lor would be good, or Ciara…"

"You should call." Bartimaeus sounded uncharacteristically certain; although he was self-confident, even arrogant, he tended not to speak in absolutes like that.

"He knows you enough to think he can recognise your voice, but not well enough to be sure it's you. He'll be freaked, really freaked, but he won't be certain. He'll have to come to the meeting and see if it is you."

He was grinning at the perfection of the plan. Kitty thought it over, looking sceptical. She did see the merit of the idea, but years of having the final say on plans had taught her caution.

Finally, she nodded.

"We'll do it. I'll tell them at the meeting tomorrow."

--

Up in Westminster, Nathaniel addressed Sephra.

"This is your chance to redeem yourself. Do not fail me."

The djinni nodded, sullen attitude brightening at the chance to get out. She faded from view, slowly.

Nathaniel watched coolly as the last wisps of… colour, light or whatever the djinni had left behind… dispersed.

She was arrogant, sullen and thoroughly distasteful. Not to mention the forms she took, tauntingly reminiscent of people he knew: the face that looked, oh so subtly, like that of the commoner Kitty Jones; the mannerisms that echoed his long-lost teacher Mrs Lutyens, or his surrogate mother Mrs Underwood.

It was rude and offensive (and disturbing… he thought, not that she'd get the satisfaction of knowing it. She'd have to go.

After she'd completed her mission.

Recapturing the commoner Stefan.