Jennifer's bedroom

Later that night

Jennifer might not have found the words to express her appreciation for Kelly's actions and gentle consideration towards Sophie, but she did convey her gratitude nevertheless...in bed. By the time she was done, he was practically begging for mercy.

She snuggled up against him, stroking his chest, waiting for him to say something so she could enjoy the rumble of his deep voice within his chest. He obliged: "Do I get to live?" he pleaded.

Jennifer chuckled and playfully pinched his nipple. "I'll think about it." She sobered. "Sophie really likes you, Kelly." This was true; her talk with Sophie on the subject turned out to be very short. Her daughter was brimming over with happiness; she'd really enjoyed Kelly's company ("He's really nice, Mum, I've got a really good feeling about him, so don't you go chasing him off," Sophie had told her mock-reprovingly, and Jennifer had laughed, well-pleased).

Kelly nodded solemnly, knowing it was time to talk seriously. "I know; it's mutual. She's quite a girl. Woman, really," he reflected, "she's the most mature and thoughtful person her age I've talked to in years."

"She's still a child," Jennifer couldn't help pointing out, with a mother's innate caution.

"Of course she is," he agreed, not wanting her to get the wrong idea or to think he had; he knew instantly what she was implying but he wasn't offended. Oh, Sophie was gorgeous, it was true, and he could see the attraction she might (no, would; she really was lovely) hold for some men...but she was, after all, only fourteen. Jennifer relaxed on seeing that he understood that, both intellectually and, more importantly, emotionally.

An earlier boyfriend, a year ago, hadn't...and had started showing entirely the wrong kind of interest in Sophie, who admittedly had started developing at the tender age of nine or so (just as Jennifer herself had) and, physically at least, was more of a woman than a girl. Thankfully she'd seen it coming - especially once she'd discovered to her horror that he'd been sniffing and even licking her unwashed knickers - and had wisely told her mother; Jennifer openly called Brian out at a parents' meeting - and discovered from another mother attending that he had priors. A WPC attending the meeting arrested him, and that was that.

But Kelly wasn't that type; Sophie would never have been so affectionate with him if he were. She had an uncanny nose for such men; thankfully Brian was the only one Jennifer had started seeing, as most were more obvious and gave themselves away. Other relationships of hers had gone wrong for the usual reason: most men just couldn't accept the notion of a ready-made family even in this day and age, couldn't accept another man's child, especially one of Sophie's age.

Could Kelly? She couldn't help but wonder, even at this early stage. He, too, was mature and thoughtful; surely the thought had crossed his mind...

She wasn't to know that indeed it had, and that it scared him...Sophie's illness only made it worse. He'd be accepting a hell of a responsibility, he knew, if he pursued a serious relationship with Jennifer.

The problem was that already he'd found himself wanting to.

It was about more than just the dynamite sex; they connected, on a personal level, not unlike Sex Tape's Annie and Jay. He liked Jennifer, not just her delicious body or those beautiful red tresses. He didn't give a damn that he wasn't Sophie's natural father; of course she and Jennifer came as a package deal. He'd never thought otherwise from the moment she'd told him she had a daughter. Sophie was the kind of little girl a man could easily learn to love, and he knew from experience that bonds chosen could be and often were stronger than familial bonds. His friendship with Alec was a prime example; they were closer than family.

And certainly he of all people knew all about responsibility.

Ed's words in response to the IAC's criticism of his relaxation of the fraternisation regulations rang in his mind:

"What's the use of trying to defeat the Aliens if we become them?" Ed had protested stridently. "Romantic and sexual relationships are a large part of what makes us human; trying to deny that only increases the already sky-high stress levels. We are a gregarious species; no amount of training or regulations can change that. It's time to go with the flow and take human nature into account."

He'd also answered the entirely understandable and correct objection that relationships were exploitable weaknesses, citing the very example they were trying to use to undermine his position: "Yes, it's true the Aliens exploited Paul Roper's devotion to his wife to further their ends. It's true his love for her made him vulnerable to blackmail. But it is also true that it was that same love which gave him the strength to pull himself together and cooperate with us! It gave him the courage to volunteer to take on a UFO, alone, with nothing but a rocket launcher! If not for him, they would have destroyed Moonbase! The last word ever to pass his lips was Carol's name!"

Indeed, in 1990, the same year in which Straker decided to rescind the regulations, the Aliens made the mistake of repeating a near-successful strategy, the one and only time they'd ever done so (aside from the tried-and-trusted method of threatening loved ones to coerce their unwilling stooges, of course). This time they targeted Ian Bower, a SHADO operative who'd been married and had had a daughter before he was recruited. He was an expert on several control systems which were an integral part of SID, hence his recruitment despite the obvious risk, and was charged with performing routine systems analyses and installing upgrades derived therefrom.

The Aliens demanded he sabotage the satellite instead of enhancing it, and kidnapped Alessandra as leverage. But he called their bluff, knowing too well that the Aliens would not release his daughter under any circumstances...because she was in perfect health and her tissue type was one known to be highly favoured by them; it was apparently their commonest type.

Though it did him no good in the end, on joining SHADO and learning about the Aliens he'd actually prepared for the possibility of his daughter's kidnapping; he'd had her tissue type checked to see if she would be of interest to them. Thus he reasoned with bleak logic that his little girl (she was seventeen) was already dead or worse, and so set a trap, having nothing to lose: when an Alien agent contacted him to deliver a piece of Alien tech they wanted Ian to install in SID's primary cognition module, he instead tackled the agent in a desperate, brutal fight and dragged him to SHADO HQ, there to be interrogated.

The incoming UFOs which were depending on Ian's sabotage to enable them to slip past Moonbase's defences were instead destroyed handily by the Interceptors, having been deceived first by a false 'distress, malfunction' signal from SID, shortly after Ian had visited it on his scheduled maintenance flight (which he still conducted in order to lull any suspicions the Aliens might have had).

Ian was found dead in his quarters on Moonbase, an empty vial of poison in one hand and a detailed suicide note in the other; it was a considerable blow to SHADO to lose such a skilled engineer. But the real tragedy of the case was that just half an hour later Moonbase received word that his daughter had in fact been rescued, using information wrung from the Alien agent; she'd been held on Earth until the Aliens could arrange pickup of her organs.

Her father had been absolutely correct about their intentions; they had planned to use her for involuntary organ donation all along whether he cooperated or not.

Alessandra was found strapped naked to a table in a sterile room, terrified almost into insanity and clearly expecting to be killed at any moment...surrounded by instruments that were clearly medical in nature - and, the rescue team's leader told Straker, shivering, "scary".

There was blood everywhere...from, it turned out, two other unfortunates, who'd been surgically slaughtered while she watched helplessly. The most harrowing part of Alessandra's account concerned the second victim, a woman in her late twenties who'd pleaded for her life not on her own account but for the sake of her two children. The Alien surgeon/butcher paid no heed whatsoever and cut her to pieces as readily as he had the first, male victim. "More than anything," Alessandra had told Ed tearfully, "the worst part was that he didn't care. He just...didn't...care."

One consequence of the incident was that SHADO training procedures were updated to include a section informally titled 'Proper Procedure in the Event of Alien Kidnapping of A Loved One', which made it totally, brutally clear that the Aliens were not to be trusted in such event. Operatives and cadets were informed in no uncertain terms that they were henceforth required to assume the worst and act accordingly. Though he never stated it, Ed assumed and hoped the Aliens would somehow become aware of this change in policy (as they somehow knew so many other things), recognise the futility of the strategy and stop trying it. Certainly they hadn't attempted it since, so he might have been right.

"Then again," a cynical IAC member suggested at a 1991 meeting, "it might be that they never repeat a strategy."

But Ed was unruffled. "True. But we get the same benefit, so I really don't see that it matters."

Another, far more positive outcome resulted when Ed took the unusual step of telling the girl - after she'd undergone intensive therapy and counselling - the truth about her father's death, and that he was a hero; she responded by requesting enlistment in SHADO, as he'd expected and hoped. Six years later she had risen in the ranks to assume command of the newly-commissioned Skydiver Five, having demonstrated a keen aptitude for Skydiver duty and having served with distinction on Two in various capacities for five years. Her father would've been so proud.

Psychological studies had borne out Ed's position; though the number of family-related absences and people reporting late for duty increased a little as might be expected, absences caused by stress and illness took a sharp nosedive after increasing steadily in the ten years since SHADO had been certified operational. A small study group of psych specialists had privately approached him that year, and told him bluntly that stress factors were rising to potentially catastrophic levels that would reach a peak in another two years or less unless something was done.

They pulled no punches; they informed him that the resulting crisis would almost certainly cripple SHADO...with the obvious consequences that implied. There had already been danger signs, such as Turner's betrayal - they warned him grimly that Turner would not be the last traitor SHADO might harbour. They deliberately didn't specifically recommend what he should do, but his immediate response was what they'd expected and, privately, hoped, namely to rescind the fraternisation regulations - though in fact he'd actually been considering it since 1988.

He'd already seen disaster looming as clearly as they had - but he'd been uncertain of what to do about it until the group had approached him, and after that the proper course of action was suddenly obvious.

Overall efficiency ratings immediately improved across the board. The only contributing factor the study group could identify was the fact that people were now relieving stress levels more effectively than before by, e.g., making love with partners, or even just talking to them. The regulations had been carefully amended in such a way that relationships between differing ranks in the same chain of command were still discouraged, but people could fraternise between different departments and/or duty stations - or even in the same chain of command providing their ranks were equal.

This policy was amended further to define 'acceptable' relationships as ones which did not adversely affect operatives' performance of their duty, rank issues notwithstanding. Gay and Mark were by far the best example; she routinely ordered her husband to undertake potentially lethal missions...and neither of them had ever hesitated. If Colonel Bradley gave the order to launch, Captain Bradley would launch, and that was that.

One peculiar relationship that resulted from the change in policy was between a male Moonbase engineer (facetiously referred to as 'One of the Few', given Moonbase's heavily skewed gender ratio) and a female Skydiver Three rating. They met by sheer chance while both were on furlough - they recognised each other, as they'd frequently bumped into each other during their training, and they hit it off immediately...in fact, they were in bed less than an hour after meeting. It was the ultimate in long-distance relationships, and they generally didn't see each other for more than 8% or so of the time, or roughly one month in twelve.

That didn't prevent the couple from conceiving and successfully raising three children.

Their only explanation: "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." The SHADO psychologists were still scratching their heads over it; such an assignation shouldn't work, even given the renowned resilience of human beings, but it did. They were still going strong even thirty years after fraternisation was deregulated, and their children had grown up to be decent, well-adjusted people who'd excelled in school and were prospering as adults. Indeed, one had been recruited by SHADO Security.

Not even the Commander was forbidden to fraternise, even with someone outside of SHADO, though it went without saying that any such prospective partner would undergo security checks and any resulting family would be carefully monitored by a 24/7 protection detail. Various people who would be expected to be part of a child's life, such as child-minders, teachers and so on, would be meticulously selected and trained by SHADO, thus ensuring safety and security at all times. It wasn't perfect, and would still give any worthwhile security chief ulcers, but it worked; Ed's daughters Esther and Victoria, and his son John, had never had cause to worry.

Nor, Kelly resolved, would Sophie, if things went the way he was now hoping they would.

He knew Jennifer wouldn't make it easy, what with her quick temper. Then again her first and foremost concern was Sophie's welfare, so she wouldn't want to make it easy for him, even if she could. Doubtless she'd reasoned subconsciously that he should prove he was worth the effort on her part by making the effort on his part. It'd be well worth it, he decided.

He'd had enough of solitude. He was tired of sleeping alone, of being alone. He had, he felt, reached a point in his life where he was finally ready to move on from Katniss' death; in fact he'd come to realise Katniss herself would've said it was about time he did. It'd be good to share his life with women like Jennifer and Sophie, a touch of normality in a life anything but normal.

She cried out softly in pleasure as he caressed her intimately. The future could wait; they were here, now, together, and that was what counted.

Enjoy now, he chided himself, stop thinking so much about the damn past. I did love Katniss dearly, but she's gone - and Jennifer's not. God, she smells so good...

Reynolds Associates

4 a.m. that same morning

Having received the nondescript man's report, the consultant took out the telepathic relay and reported: ‟The bond is established with the target. Eyewitness confirms."

‟Excellent. We will proceed to the next stage. Alert our specialist."

Even controlled as he was, he couldn't help shuddering at the thought of...that woman. She was vile.

But he had his orders.

She was enthusiastic on seeing the pictures. "Ooh, they're lovely - and they're redheads, so I bet they can really stand pain! Yes, this will be fun!"

Jennifer's home

Three hours later

As the toast popped out of the toaster, done to perfection (thanks, Tom, she recalled, fondly remembering the handsome geek she'd once dated and who'd tweaked her toaster's software somehow so it always delivered perfect toast), her doorbell rang. That's odd. I don't usually get callers before I take Sophie to school. Probably door-to-door idiots, she mused. She'd long since mastered techniques of dismissing such.

But the two men at her door were utterly other than what she'd expected, and her voice dried up in her throat. Both were wearing suits, but there were one or two little details that seemed...odd. For one thing, neither was wearing a tie. They were both below average height and thinly built, and one of them gave the impression that his suit was just hanging on him instead of being worn, as if he wasn't used to wearing such a thing.

As if he wasn't used to wearing any sort of clothes, the thought drifted across her mind, for no apparent reason.

There was something about his skin...no, that's nonsense. It can't be.

The colours of the clothes, too, didn't quite work; there was a little too much contrast. Also, the cut was all wrong; it seemed out of date somehow. She had the irrational feeling that they simply didn't know how to dress properly. The impressions were confusing her, and that worried her more than a little. She found herself wishing she hadn't insisted Kelly leave before Sophie got up for school (as if she didn't already know he'd spent the night there!).

"Good morning," one man said flatly. "You are Jennifer Harrison?"

"Y - yes," she confirmed, suddenly nervous for no reason she could pin down. "Can I help you?"

The other man, the one who didn't look as if he belonged in a suit, looked silently at his companion; the latter spoke again, as if prompted. "It is we who can help you. Your daughter is terminally ill."

Jennifer's hackles rose, but she didn't react as she normally would have. How do they know that? Then again, it's hardly a state secret. "May I ask how you know that?" Then she made the mistake of jumping to a conclusion. "Are you from Reynolds Associates?"

A glance from one man, followed by a reply from the other: "We have consulted them. We represent an agency which may be able to offer an alternative treatment."

All her instincts were screaming that something, somehow, was terribly wrong here - but the part of her that was Sophie's mother had the controlling vote, and mercilessly overrode them. If there was a better answer, then...

"Come in," she offered, knowing beyond question she was making a terrible mistake.

But she had to take the chance. With Sophie's life at stake, what choice did she have?

They sat on the worn couch across from her, and simply gazed at her. The man who hadn't spoken yet was starting to frighten her; he kept looking at her almost clinically, as if he was assessing her instead of appreciating her. She wasn't vain - her teen years had taught her the folly of that - but she knew she was attractive, and that just didn't seem to be registering with him. He wasn't interested...at all.

But it wasn't the sort of disinterest a gay man might have shown, since even gay men appreciated a girl's prettiness as much as the next hetero guy. No, it was more that it didn't...matter.

He wasn't ogling her; she realised suddenly and with a frisson of horror that he was...dissecting her with his eyes. She suddenly had the irrational conviction that he wanted to whip out a scalpel, tie her to the kitchen table and gut her like a frog on a biology student's lab bench. It was a major effort to keep her voice steady as she inquired, "Um, which agency do you represent? I've already consulted several. What are you offering?"

The silent man glanced across at his companion yet again. Had she not been so frightened, she'd have found the mannerism irritating. Sure enough, he spoke: "It would be easier to demonstrate."

"You want to see Sophie?" Jennifer asked carefully. She was testing them, to see if they'd continue the pattern of behaviour; this time, they glanced at each other.

The speaker confirmed, "Yes. It would be difficult to demonstrate otherwise."

"Uh...okay," she answered uncertainly. What is wrong here? Why am I so frightened? They're offering to help her.

But she couldn't forget the best advice that her Gran had ever given her: "Go with your instincts." The trouble was that her instincts were begging her to scream for help, to grab Sophie and run, call the police or a neighbour or someone...!

Stop it! Jennifer told herself firmly. You're letting your imagination run away with you. Just hear them out, it can't do any harm. "Sophie, dear, would you come down, please? I need a word."

"Okay, Mum," Sophie called. Shortly Jennifer could hear her coming down the stairs.

The staircase had twelve steps, and Sophie always took each one; she had a touch of OCD about things like that. It was for this reason that Jennifer felt a renewed stab of fear when the count stopped at ten. It was because Sophie had paused on seeing the men; she'd always been gregarious and pleased to meet new people, even door-to-door salesmen, so this was out of character for her.

She knew instantly that Sophie was as frightened as she was.

It took everything Jennifer had not to scream "RUN!".She knew Sophie would, without question; she trusted her Mum, bless her. Sophie would also trust her to take flight herself, or fight like a demon to protect her.

She bloody well would, too.

Sophie made her way slowly into the living room and sat on her mother's lap, again out of character - she didn't do that any more as she was 'a big girl now', in her own words, and Jennifer had approved of this mature, moving-on attitude on Sophie's part (while engaging in the usual motherly schizophrenia of wanting to encourage her daughter to leave childish things behind on the one hand, and missing the intimacy of having her little girl sitting on her lap on the other).

The silent man glanced at his spokesman yet again, and the second man began describing the treatment they were offering. Jennifer barely heard any of it; she was too busy fighting her irrational terror and struggling not to show it. Sophie, too, was maintaining control...barely. At one point the man offered Sophie a small bottle of a strange-looking bluish concoction; she sipped cautiously, but managed to smile at the taste. "It tastes like honey, Mum," she said, and soon finished it.

To Jennifer's astonishment the blue spot on Sophie's left cheek slowly altered in hue, turning a little paler, and she could have sworn it shrank a bit. She briefly forgot her fear and stared at the spot in wonder. "That's...amazing," she managed, gently touching Sophie's cheek.

"It is a mere demonstration," the man told her, "and will be efficacious for a short time only. The full course of treatment is more involved."

And more expensive, Jennifer added mentally. But if it costs less than RA's treatment, she caught herself thinking hopefully, we'll be able to treat her in time...

For there was something she hadn't yet found the courage, or the words, to tell Sophie...or, indeed, anyone:

They weren't going to make it.

She'd cast a what-if projection using a spreadsheet and reached the bleak conclusion that she wasn't going to make the £2,000,000 target in the time they had, even if she started charging double, working 24/7 - and, worst of all, fully catering to the perverts who wanted to do everything short of actually killing her. For some reason she'd become Shadow Services' biggest magnet to them outside of Isobel, who by all accounts was indeed a dirty little slut and proud of it.

Then again, she'd been contacted once more - not through the agency, but directly - by the client keen on strangulation, who'd offered her a new, bizarre deal in writing: she would pay a minimum of £25,000 for every session, or £50,000 if Jennifer genuinely passed out; £100,000 if her heart stopped, however briefly; and £5,000,000 - payable to Sophie, or her duly appointed legal guardian - if she died and the client (who claimed to have paramedic training) was unable to revive her...

Jennifer's home...well after Sophie's bedtime

Two weeks ago

"Call it an insurance policy," she suggested brightly, as if such an offer was made by people every day.

"How can you even consider this?" Jennifer cried. More to the point, she screamed to herself, how can I?!

"You'd be surprised how boring being rich can be, Jenny," Lorraine Chalmers shrugged with casual indifference. "I've sampled many of the, shall we say, conventional diversions, and like Count Karnstein in the movie Twins Of Evil, 'I am bored with this world and its pathetic pleasures'. Like him, I want to 'reach beyond the flesh'. I've come to believe the only way I can do that is to indulge in more extreme forms of pleasure.

"I discovered erotic strangulation by accident when I got into a fight with some bitch or other. I started throttling her just to subdue her, because I'd had just about enough of her nonsense, and I suddenly realised I was enjoying it...a lot. I've paid quite a few tarts, whores and escorts for it. I haven't killed anyone or done serious harm...but I think I'd like to."

Jennifer finally blurted out the question she really wanted to ask, though she was afraid to, being unable to predict how the woman would react: "Lorraine, do you - do you want to kill me?!"

For a long moment, Lorraine simply looked at her, and then smiled kindly. "Not as such, Jenny. After all," a contrite note crept into her voice, "that would make your little girl an orphan, and I'd hate to do that. I was, and I know it's no fun. I earned my fortune, and I damn well had to fight every step of the way for it, believe me. No, it'd be more accurate to say that I don't want to kill you, I don't intend to...but if you were to die, I believe I'd rather enjoy it...even though I'd do everything I could to resuscitate you."

"That's - that's contradictory," Jennifer objected feebly; this was so surreal she couldn't believe she was even having this conversation.

"So I contradict myself," Lorraine shrugged, "as Walt Whitman said, 'I am large. I contain multitudes.' So...are you up for it?"

While Jennifer was entirely willing to die for Sophie if she had to, she certainly didn't want to. But she knew Lorraine could certainly afford the amounts she'd named; she owned stock in a number of mobile phone companies, so Sylvia's background check on her had said. Even five million was little more than petty cash to her, so her offer was probably genuine. Sylvia had told her soberly that the check had shown Lorraine was into extreme pleasures, and that she was probably serious about wanting to seriously hurt or even kill someone - but she did have the training she claimed.

Hell, she had the full CPR kit, even a defibrillator, and she did serve as a paramedic on occasion. That was hardly the sort of thing rich people generally did, but perhaps she was doing it just on a whim; rich people did tend to indulge their whims, purely because they could.

Then again, she might well be doing it to indulge her sadism...

"Is she crazy?!" Jennifer demanded in near-hysteria the next day in Sylvia's office.

"No, love, but that makes it worse, I'd say," Sylvia told her. "No, she might be a little unhinged, certainly amoral - but she isn't crazy. I suspect she'd want you to give her a hand in making it look like suicide or something in case you did die."

"But...but why?" Jennifer asked plaintively.

"She'd enjoy it," Sylvia said bleakly, simply. "There's no more complex reason than that here. Sometimes people enjoy things they shouldn't. It'd be what police call a thrill kill, or lust murder. She's a sadist in the bone; she just wants to relish your fear, pain and suffering. It really is that simple." She shook her head. "Someone like that shouldn't be a paramedic. If I could prove anything, I'd call the ambulance service and warn them. Maybe I should anyway, else she might let someone die and then say she didn't get there in time," she reflected, shivering.

The real horror of it, though, was that Jennifer was actually considering Lorraine's proposal.

If she had some guarantee that Sophie would be provided for if worse came to worst - and she was willing to bet Sylvia could help her there - then she couldn't reject the proposition out of hand, horrifying and perverse though it was. She could handle being repeatedly throttled, surely; a couple of dozen sessions and she'd be well on the way to having enough for Sophie's treatment.

She could even deal (she hoped) with the evil, hungry look in Lorraine's eyes as she bore down on Jennifer's neck, her fingers gouging, squeezing. She'd reluctantly decided to allow the woman a taste, for five thousand pounds (Lorraine was nothing if not generous, Jennifer had to admit, and in order to avoid attracting the attention of the security services, for Jennifer's sake, she'd paid half into Jennifer's account and half in cash), and she'd seldom been so frightened.

Lorraine had actually licked her lips, panting in excitement, her eyes bright, almost feverish, as Jennifer choked and struggled for the thirty seconds they'd agreed on. It was the longest thirty seconds of her life, though she was in little doubt they might have been the last thirty seconds had Lorraine not kept her word.

But perhaps Lorraine was lying; it was certainly likely. She'd met the woman's eyes during her ordeal, and she'd seen nothing but naked bloodlust in them. Perhaps Lorraine really did want to kill her, and had no intention of reviving her...or perhaps she would, only to kill her again.

But if it was that or being forced to watch Sophie die, slowly and in agony, the choice was all too clear.

Her only real concern was whether or not her daughter would understand why she'd done it, why she'd allowed Lorraine to kill her, and if Sophie would ever forgive her...

She dragged her focus of attention back to the men and their offer, knowing she was trying to distract herself from her fear, which was now so strong she was on the verge of wetting herself. She had no idea how Sophie was staying so calm, though she could feel the poor child trembling.

"What - what would I have to do?" she made herself ask. "How much will it be?"

To her surprise, they stood up. The spokesman said flatly, "Nothing, at present. Take a day to think about it. We will be in touch."

The silent man gave Jennifer one more look, his eyes roving over her body in an entirely unsexy way, and those eyes, colder than deep space, met hers.

In that moment she abruptly knew, she was absolutely certain.

He wanted to kill her.

This man wanted very much to kill and/or mutilate her where she stood. She was as sure of it as she was of her own name. Yet she was equally certain his desire wasn't born of malice, or sadistic pleasure like Lorraine's; it was strangely clinical. Somehow, though, that made it worse.

Without a word, they walked out.

Jennifer went to the front door to watch them leave and shut it quickly, locking it almost by reflex. She then turned to Sophie - who threw herself into her arms, crying.

It was several minutes before her terrified sobs subsided. "M - Mum," she quavered, "who - who were they? Why...?"

Why was I so frightened, Jennifer knew she was asking. "I don't know, sweetie," she admitted, answering both questions.

"You felt it, too, didn't you?" Sophie whispered, clinging to her, a limpet to Jennifer's rock (though she could hardly claim to be feeling so steady). "There was something...something wrong..."

"I nearly wet myself," admitted Jennifer, trying to defuse the tension with a little humour.

Sophie looked sheepishly at her. "Actually...I did, a bit. I'm sorry, Mum..."

Jennifer gathered her into an affectionate hug, stroking her luxurious hair reassuringly. "Oh, that's all right, love," she managed a gentle laugh at Sophie's worried, woebegone look, "don't worry about it! Oh, that's such a little thing, sweetheart, it doesn't matter, honestly!"

"Y - you're not angry with me?" Sophie asked worriedly. Jennifer was momentarily puzzled by this until she suddenly realised why Sophie was so apprehensive: a few months back another girl had wet herself laughing, and her mother, meeting her at the school entrance, was unduly embarrassed and furious; she'd slapped the poor child hard enough to turn her cheek red.

Jennifer wasn't the only one who'd thought the punishment to be way out of proportion, or even totally unnecessary, and the woman lost custody of her daughter not long afterwards - a teacher saw the event and forcibly intervened despite the risk to her career, shielding the sobbing girl with her own body and yelling angrily, "I don't care if she is your daughter, you're not doing that again! Leave the poor girl alone, you sadistic bitch, or I swear to God you'll damn well get the same!"

An investigation soon proved the woman had a habit of using her daughter as a punchbag, in the deranged belief she was teaching the child proper manners. "What," the judge sternly demanded of her, "did the girl learn from being struck hard enough to crack her ribs?!"

Oh, Jennifer had smacked Sophie a few times - but not for over five years now, never that hard or anywhere near it, and never, ever over something so trivial. Rather, the last time she'd chastised Sophie was for running across a busy road despite all she'd been taught and scaring Jennifer to death; the time before that, for riding her bike on the same road without her helmet.

Jennifer was helped there, though, by her cousin Nancy, who'd lost her beloved son Nathan in an accident and now had to live with the knowledge that he'd have survived if only she'd insisted he wear a helmet...he died of a head injury a cycle helmet would've prevented. Nancy's stern but tearful lecture to Sophie left the girl in no doubt she was in the wrong, and she'd never repeated the error.

Indeed, the last time someone called Sophie a wuss for wearing a helmet, she'd fixed the girl in question with a forceful glare and told her coldly: "Tell that to Nathan. Oh, wait, you can't - he's dead because he didn't wear one!" Jennifer had been proud of her for that on seeing the heckler's reaction: she turned pale with shock, and never raised the issue again.

Jennifer had always been a subscriber to the Heinlein school of parenting, as her mother had been before her: Do it right now, but only when they deserve it, never harder than absolutely necessary, and always explain why, following up with a reassuring hug - after which it was over and done, and forget it. She'd never had to give Sophie more than a gentle smack to make her point, and had never wanted to.

As a child Jennifer herself had quickly learned to behave, and didn't remember being smacked more than three or four times...and spanked once when she'd passed through a brief phase of compulsive theft in her early teens, as was common among children of that age. It hadn't hurt that much, but the humiliation, more than the pain, had taught her the necessary lesson and broken her of the habit.

Her father had chosen to spank her in front of a number of relatives, a couple of whom were male; the humiliation was deliberate, to make her think about what she'd done. The lesson was well-learned; she'd never stolen again, and later learned on her own account to be too proud to do so.

She did wonder occasionally why she enjoyed spanking so much now, when she certainly hadn't then.

She used to cry whenever she had to administer corporal punishment to Sophie, but one tearful visit to her Gran, confessing her guilt and sense of failure, had cured her of that...when, to her shock, Gran slapped her. "We'll have no more of that nonsense, child!" she snapped. "Answer me this: Was it necessary?"

"Yes, I think so," Jennifer sobbed, rubbing her smarting cheek.

"Has Sophie learned her lesson?"

"Yes." She knew Sophie had. On the rare occasions Jennifer had had to chastise her, she'd never needed to do it more than once so far. Once was enough to make the point, it seemed, and Jennifer was proud of that fact.

"Then why cry about it? Far better she receive a gentle smack now and no harm done, than that she should grow into an undisciplined faux adult and that the world should then strike her far more harshly...and give not a whit of sympathy for her pain!"

"But -"

"You have not failed, Jennifer," Gran now spoke more softly, "for children will misbehave at times however carefully they are taught; such is their nature. When they do so, they must be punished in proportion to the misdemeanour, to remind them of proper behaviour. It is painful, yes, for both parties - but necessary.

"One little slip, though, does not represent 'failure' on your part or hers; on the contrary, I have always observed her to be a very well-behaved child." She gently stroked the cheek she'd slapped, and Jennifer felt better. "You really are being too hard on yourself, dear. You are a good mother; you have learned well from the example set by your mother, just as she learnt from mine."

"Oh," Jennifer answered in a small voice. "Thank you, Gran."

"Some things need to be taught more than once, it is true; but once learned, they will never be forgotten. Sophie's children will come to thank you for the necessary lessons you teach her now."

So Jennifer just kissed her and tousled her hair affectionately, not upset in the least. "Angry over a little slip like that? No, no, you'll just need to change, that's all, love," she told her daughter soothingly. "No, these things happen, don't worry about it - one extra pair of knickers in the weekly wash? Oh, that's hardly the end of the world, is it? Besides, I'm an adult, but I've done it myself once or twice," she confessed, her own sheepish and self-deprecating expression making Sophie smile, as she'd intended.

It was perfectly true, of course, but Sophie didn't need to know it was a) deliberate and b) for money. Besides, who hadn't wet themselves on occasion?

"No, you just go upstairs and change your knickers, sweetheart, and no harm done, eh? Then..." she trailed off.

"Then what?" Sophie wondered.

Now isn't that a question and a half, Jennifer mused, but gently shooed Sophie up the stairs and stood, thinking frantically. She knew immediately she was not sending or taking her daughter to school. There was danger to her - from where, whom or what sort, she had no idea, but she was again going with her instincts. The strongest of them was screaming at her to get Sophie to a place of safety, but where?

There was no way she could take her to Sylvia's parlour, and she'd sworn never to go near her ex-husband again until he grew a pair and acknowledged his responsibilities as a father beyond simply paying maintenance. She doubted he'd be of any use in this situation anyway...whatever the hell the situation actually was.

Someone with fewer qualifications from the University of Life might have gone to or phoned the police, but Jennifer knew better. For one thing, the men hadn't done anything illegal; causing knicker-wetting terror in a woman and her daughter simply by existing could hardly be called a criminal offence. It wasn't illegal to just want to kill someone, nor could she prove it, however certain she was. Nor had she any proof they intended harm to Sophie - hell, she didn't even know who they were!

Not to mention the fact that I can't go to the bloody police, she considered ruefully, not after everything I've been up to lately...

It came to her: Gran, of course. She'll help.

As Sophie came downstairs, having changed her knickers (and also, without needing to be told, her skirt, the ever-observant and proud mother in Jennifer couldn't help but notice and approve - oh, she's such a good girl), she called for a taxi; her car was currently off-road for slightly overdue maintenance. On friends' advice she'd taken it to Caleb Willis' garage; he and his son Isaac had a reputation for good, reasonably priced work.

And her car was hardly the most urgent priority in her life at the moment.

She had no way of knowing, then, that the call had been intercepted.

Penelope Terry could never have explained why she was doing this. She only knew that there was something terribly wrong. She'd seen the two men enter Jennifer's home; there seemed to be no duress, apparently nothing untoward, and yet...

She made her decision. If she was wrong there'd be hell to pay, but she was too experienced an operative to ignore such a strong feeling. By virtue of Commander's Discretion following the recent sort-of invasion, a select few operatives had been briefed on Project Nostradamus, and Penelope was one of them; thus she never ignored her instincts now - hell, for all she knew she might be one of the psi-sensitives discussed in the report.

She could have applied for testing and knew she probably should, but she hadn't dared...because she was afraid of what the answer might be.

When the taxi arrived she bluntly ordered the driver to get out of the car. Naturally he protested; she drew her gun and made it very clear he could obey or die where he sat. She wasn't bluffing; even if her suspicions weren't correct, she could still justify the act under the terms of the Fraser Directive, if indirectly: Sophie was Jennifer's daughter, and Jennifer was involved with the Commander, thus there was a connection.

Another operative took charge of him; he would receive a sedative/amnesia shot and later return to his life as if nothing had happened. It was Penelope who rang Jennifer's doorbell. "Hi," she smiled, "taxi for Ms. Harrison?"

Jennifer, who'd answered the bell, almost spoke - then fell silent. It didn't take a SHADO operative of Penelope's experience to discern why. The woman was, she noted professionally, in full fight-or-flight mode; more, she was protecting her little girl, and so it was prudent to regard her as extremely dangerous even though unarmed and untrained. Right now, she clearly wasn't sure who to trust and might well explode into desperate violence at the drop of a hat. So, once again, Penelope decided to take a risk. It would later earn her a commendation, a pay rise and an extra two days' furlough, in recognition of her initiative and excellent judgement.

She smiled again, more gently, and said, "I'm not actually a taxi driver, ma'am; I intercepted the call. I'm Penelope Terry; I work for the same security firm Kelly McAllister does, and Sylvia Margolis did. Mr. McAllister's my boss, actually." She knew she'd hit the right note; Jennifer relaxed immediately.

"Oh, I see. Um, may I ask why?"

"Those two men who just called," Penelope answered frankly, "there was something just a little off about 'em, wasn't there?"

That's putting it mildly, Jennifer thought. "Wait - why were you here?" Her voice rose. "Are - are you spying on us?"

"No," Penelope assured her, "more watching over you both. Mr. McAllister has a lot of enemies, ma'am, so it's standard procedure to watch over his family and friends. Believe me, he hates it too, but," she shrugged, "needs must."

"Oh," Jennifer conceded, "yes, that makes sense, I suppose." She could indeed see the difference between spying on someone and watching over them, and the knowledge mollified her. "I wish he'd told me, though," she couldn't help griping.

"Where do you need to go?"

"No, not me," Jennifer shook her head, "my daughter Sophie. Keep her safe, please. I'm sending her to her Nan's; she'll look after her."

"It would make sense to get her away, just in case," Penelope agreed, "but shouldn't she be going to school?"

That convinced Jennifer of the woman's sincerity; surely a would-be kidnapper wouldn't think of that. Besides, she'd known Sylvia had worked for Kelly's firm - Jennifer doubted that was common knowledge, even though Shadow Services had made quite a name for itself. "School can wait," she said determinedly. She gave Penelope Gran's address.

"Ma'am, something's just occurred to me," Penelope said. "If Sophie's in danger, is an old lady the best choice to protect her?"

"Oh, you don't know my Gran," Jennifer chuckled, "she might be old, but she's still as spry as they come...and she has a shotgun, and knows how to use it. She killed a burglar with it a few years ago, actually." Indeed she had; there'd been a fuss, but the case was soon ruled as self-defence, just like the case of Richard Osborn-Brooks in 2018.

Off the record, though, the detective sergeant investigating the matter knew Cherry personally, and vehemently declared, "If you lot think I've got the balls to arrest Cherry Bisquet over such a matter of principle as 'an Englishman's home is his castle', you can bloody well think again! I'm not that brave and I doubt any of you are, either!" There was general, rueful laughter at that. "I'll ask her - ask her - to come down to the station and that's as far as I'm going!"

Besides, no-one believed for an instant that such a dignified, gracious old lady would be capable of murder...

Jennifer, of course, knew full well the man's death wasn't an accident or anything...far from it. Cherry Bisquet, her Gran, had quite deliberately shot to kill, given her absolute conviction that burglars had no business being in a person's home without invitation and therefore didn't deserve mercy. Nor did he receive any, other than in the sense that he died instantly.

("He accepted the risk when he decided upon such a nefarious lifestyle," Gran declared scornfully, "and therefore he had no-one to blame but himself. If he had family, he should have thought of them before embarking upon a life of crime. I fear I can find no sympathy whatsoever. He should not have been in my home, that's all there is to it!")

"Got it," Penelope grinned in return, "I have a granny who's just the same." The one who taught me how to shoot when I was younger than your kid, she didn't add.

Jennifer hugged Sophie tightly and kissed her. "Sophie, this is Penelope; she works for Kelly. Go with her, love, it'll be alright." She knew, somehow, that it would be. She instinctively trusted this woman, who struck her as strong and very competent. She wasn't to know it yet, but her instincts were spot-on. "Tell your Nan what happened - oh, and ask her to call the school, let them know you won't be in today. She could say you're not feeling well," she suggested on impulse, "and they do know what you've got, so they'll believe that."

"Okay, Mum," Sophie agreed, liking Penelope straight away.

"She'll be safe with me," Penelope promised gently, and it was true; Jennifer wasn't aware of it, of course, but as required by her oath of duty, Penelope would readily sacrifice herself and the entire CPD rather than allow her charge to come to harm, and would as readily kill anyone who was foolish enough to try. "But what about you, ma'am?"

"Jennifer," Jennifer told her. "I...well, I don't know..." But then she did. "Kelly. I'll call Kelly," she decided.

Good luck, Penelope thought. She smiled once more as Sophie got into the taxi, ensured her seatbelt was securely fastened and set off.

But Kelly wasn't answering at home. Jennifer suddenly realised she didn't know any other number for him. In fact she had no idea where he was, nor did she know which firm he worked for. She could probably find it on the Internet, but she had a horrible feeling there was no time to search.

Then, again, the obvious solution hit her:

Sylvia.