'Thirty minutes, Alpha One, this is taking much too long,' Ros told Harry as he and John exited the Home Office, having eventually persuaded an under–secretary on the first floor to allow him access to all the rooms, because 'this idiot' as he'd referred to John, had left a file there yesterday morning and now couldn't remember where. John had received a sympathetic look from the secretary in question and told Harry that they needed to be quick, because his boss was due back from Westminster any time now and he'd have his guts for garters that no one had spotted it.

Once on their own, Harry told John to open and close all the doors on the south side of the building and apologise to any of the occupants by saying that he'd misplaced his boss, namely him, and that he'd see him downstairs in the foyer when he'd finished. Half an hour later with nothing to suggest that either Blake or Connie were in the building, Harry called Tariq to ensure that they were still on his radar, before turning his attention to their next port of call, the Houses of Parliament.


Heaving with camera wielding tourists, at the start of a weekend when the house was in recess, even Harry who in no way resembled one of the throng, didn't appear to have attracted much attention, as John followed him through the foyer and in the direction of the three the three south facing towers. Unlikely as it was that anyone would be bold enough to walk into the seat of government carrying a gun, apart from Harry that was, the view of the road below and the river beyond was set to be second to none. If a gunman did intend firing a shot into the clear night sky, over the heads of a crowd of runners, at a precise time, then one of these towers would be the optimum place to do it.

'Tell me about yourself,' Harry asked John, as they battled their way between the masses that were queueing to be given a tour of the corridors of power, 'Ros tells me that your father used to be in the army, how long ago was that?'

One mention of the army to Harry and his mind had immediately forgotton how much older he now was, and reverted to the days when he'd been that bright young man who had first set out to make a difference. Early morning drill parades, discipline and more than his fair share of bollockings, that had shaped him into the man that he'd become.

Up until then Harry had barely spoken to John, but this particular question had been thrown at him, firstly because he was genuinely interested in the young man, and secondly in an effort to help them both relax. Dressed in his suit which was beginning to irritate him, he'd been constantly fiddling with the knot in his tie. Not only because because it felt alien after so many weeks without one, but because his mind had veered off back to Ruth again and her recently confessed once bizarre fascination with his ties, or more precisely in removing them. He needed concentrate and put her out of his mind, there would be plenty of time for those particular images later.

'After you,' Harry encouraged him, who as a knight of the realm had been given access to the towers by one of the porters, on the grounds that John was his nephew who was back on a flying visit from a university in Paris, where he was studying the architecture of all the major European cities. As they climbed the latest tower to a height that had Harry breathing harder with every step that he took, John regaled him with stories about his father's exploits during his thirty or so years in the army, which had ended when he'd been killed in the Falklands.

'I'm sorry,' said Harry, when John suddenly went quiet after telling him that he'd been nine when his father had been shot in the head by a sniper, wondering if what they were doing now was bringing back painful memories. That made him about thirty three, which was the ideal age for him to be joining five, which was another of the reasons that Harry had asked the question.

The view from the top of the tower was breath taking, literally as far as Harry was concerned, as he lent against the railings and took a moment to cast his eye across the river, where it was immediately drawn to Thames House. It was way too far in the distance to pick out every external feature clearly, except for the sanctuary that was the rooftop terrace. As John found his voice again and continued with his story, Harry heard none of it, as his resolve to put Ruth out of his mind deserted him again. Memories of times when they'd stood there together on some pretext or other, in the days when he'd cherished every glorious moment, but with little hope of anything but his dreams to cling onto, that had filled his sleepless nights.

If it hadn't been for John's insistence that as they hadn't found anything that perhaps they needed to move, and Ros bellowing into his ear again about time wasting, he'd have stayed put. If he'd harboured any doubts that he was going to quit MI5, which he hadn't, they'd have been dispelled in those precious few moments when he could have sworn that he'd felt her hand on his arm again. It suddenly felt easier to talk to this young man that he barely knew, who unlike him had his whole life in front of him.

'Call me Harry, not Sir,' he told John for a second time, forgetting that he'd initially been irritated that he'd been caught daydreaming.

Easier said than done, John thought to himself. This Harry whoever he was, was intriguing him more and more as the minutes went past. He'd been so assured, to the point where the poor bugger at the Home Office whoever he was had been deferential in his presence, whereas now at the top of the tower when he'd been gazing across London, his manner had changed completely, to the point where he'd looked genuinely ordinary, almost wistful. When he got the opportunity to talk to Jo again, he'd ask her about Harry, she'd tell him, he felt sure about that.


Fitzwilliam House was now a residential block of flats that has once housed the Duke and Duchess of Westminster until they'd repaired, to their house in the country. As far as Harry was concerned it was a four square sandstone built monstrosity, for those that had more money than sense. Gaining access under any circumstances was difficult, but if you knew the resident janitor because he'd been one of your assets for years, then it was a piece of cake.

'Harry, long time no see,' again had John pondering who the hell Harry was, as they were admitted without question and then invited to follow the owner of the large bunch of keys, across the glittering hallway and into the janitor's spacious office.

Had they not been pushed for time, John was certain that Harry would have accepted the cup of tea that they were being offered, instead of which he got straight down to business.

'Any recent visitors or maybe someone that you haven't seen before?' brought a negative, as they were escorted up the ornate staircase and shown into the two empty flats where the occupants were supposedly away on holiday.

'What I'm really looking for,' said Harry, changing the subject abruptly,' is a flat to rent for my dear old Dad. He used to live in London many moons ago before he moved back to Yorkshire and he's coming to visit us next month. There's no point him staying with me, I'll be out at work every day, besides which I can't afford to own anything with a view of the river. For Dad's couple of weeks it has to be close to here, it was my Mum's favourite view,' he continued, as a couple who were leaving the building popped their heads into the office and said that they were going out for the rest of the day.

John wondered who the other half of the 'us' that Harry was referring to was and if Harry actually had a father that was still alive, but if he did he was pretty sure that Mr. Pearce senior had no intension of decamping from Yorkshire to visit London, why would he? Besides which John was beginning to read Harry and tell the difference between fantasy and reality. He could understand why Jo had described Harry as the best. He was. It was amazing how he was able to spin the conversation at the drop of a hat and always manage to get the answer that he wanted.

As the front door closed behind the departing Mr and Mrs 'something double barrelled' that they'd all smiled at, their host picked up his phone. 'Have that cup of tea Harry,' he suggested, 'while I make a few calls.'

As John added tea making to his list of duties, Harry finally divested himself of his tie, adding it to the collection of useful gismos that Tariq has fixed him up with, should they run into Connie.


Ros had barely slept, totally focused on the day ahead, and John aside, the remainder of their recently acquired assets had been up since dawn, sent to mingle amongst the thousands of fun runners who had been assembling in Greenwich Park, handing in their registration forms before being given their numbers. It had already been a long day, but they'd followed her instructions to the limit and had sat for hours within spitting distance of the various registration points, ready to call her if they saw anything or anyone that looked suspicious. That done, for the second time in as many days, they were now heading to the various points along the route, where they were eventually going to join the race.

Ros wasn't taking any chances, and she Alec and Tariq had de camped to the meeting room which offered them complete privacy, although by now, their desertion of a virtually empty grid had been somewhat un-necessary. It was the do as I say, not as I do Ros, that had seen Tariq and Alec setting up screens, equipment and a mountain of cables, not to mention popping out to buy the customary pile of sandwiches and fruit that had accompanied the kettle.

Less than thirty metres behind Harry and John, who had been in Fitzwilliam House for close to their allotted thirty minutes, Jo and Ben, dressed and behaving like tourists, were shadowing them.

'Just in case,' Ros had told them, but they were to keep their distance unless she told them otherwise. Being a holiday weekend, the entire embankment was heaving with holiday makers and their children, to the point where there were queues everywhere, especially for the pleasure boats. Having spent the best part of a week either cycling or jogging along this part of the riverside, they'd both reached a point where they felt that they knew every inch of what they were now referring to as the trap, which went as far as recognising the walls and the paving stones that had been donned with their markings. Added to that, in the twenty four hours since they'd done their dummy run, the final preparations had been made and the route was now set up ready for the race. Barriers marked out the deviations to keep the already assembling spectators away from the runners, water and food stations were evident by the tables and their owners that flanked the river wall, and arrows on the ground indicated the route that the runners had to take. Spanning the route where Jo and Ben had now stopped, was the huge banner indicating that there were two kilometres to the finishing line. Their brief stop saw Ben pretending to tie an errant shoelace, while they waited to hear from the grid that Harry and John were about to reappear.

'Alpha one's on the move again,' came Ros's voice, as Harry and John emerged again and turned left in the direction of Blackfriars Bridge, before disappearing into a side street that wasn't on the agenda. Leaping to their feet, Jo and Ben ducked and dived their way between passing the traffic, causing one motorist to slam on his brakes and swear at them, as in an effort to catch up with Harry's disappearing back, they'd nearly been mown down. Reaching the pavement and carving their way through pedestrians, it couldn't have been more than a minute before they reached the entrance to the alleyway where Harry and John had turned.

'Speak to me Alpha two,' Ros's voice demanded.

At the head of the empty alleyway, Jo's vision had momentarily blurred and her voice deserted her, as panic far greater than anything she had ever experienced engulfed her.

'Ros we've lost them, she finally confessed, her head in her hands, her breathing heavy, as the implication as to what this might mean, compounded the panic that she was already feeling.

'Then find them for Christ's sake, come in Alpha one, Ros screamed,' as Tariq frantically pushed buttons and announced that Harry and John had disappeared off their monitors.


Completely unaware that they were on their own because all links to the grid had been severed, Harry ploughed on, explaining to John that they were heading to The Turrets, a small and very exclusive private school for mature students in side road that ran parallel to the embankment, where according to his source, rooms could be rented during the school holidays. 'This is the moment where you need to do exactly as I tell you, no heroics, do you understand me?' Harry had told the young man, who was after all an ordinary civilian.


'Providing that he can manage the stairs, it's an absolutely ideal spot for your dear old Dad,' his asset had told him, 'he'll be away from the main drag so it'll be nice and quiet, but he'll still have the perfect view of the river that he wants.'


Malcolm had done a sterling job and had so far managed to keep Ruth occupied. But as the day had worn on and with race time fast approaching and still with no word from Harry or the grid, his luck was about to run out. Ruth when determined and in this case scared as well, turned into an altogether different person, as she told him in no uncertain words 'that she was sorry, but she was buggered if she'd be side lined any longer, that she wasn't crazy, Harry was in trouble she could feel it,' as she reached for her coat, which given how warm it was seemed unnecessary and then grabbed her bag and said, 'well are you coming with me or not?'

With Harry's instructions not to let Ruth out of his sight reverberating in his ears, Malcolm raced after her down the path and climbed into the taxi, which according to Ruth's instructions, was taking them to the back entrance of Thames House and quickly.