I made up a middle name for Anna, because I'm not sure she has one. Anyone know?

Robert felt the room turning with nauseating slowness as he regained consciousness. He gradually became more and more aware, first of a burning pain radiating, spiralling out from his shoulder into his chest and his upper back; second of the feeling of the cold floor beneath him; third of the sensation of a momentary confusion and fear. Where was he? Why was he here? Who had taken him?

He suppressed the latter sensation as best he could, groaned, rolled onto his left side, and tried to sit up. He couldn't at first, fell back down, but eventually was able to push himself to seated. He looked around the room. It was small, empty, dimly lit, with linoleum floors, high windows of frosted glass and crossed with steel bars. A basement. Somewhere. God only knew where. There was a single door. No furniture. And a camera positioned high in the corner to the right of the door.

They know I'm awake, Robert thought. I wonder what's next. And who "they" are.

He quickly but surreptitiously checked his pockets and holster in case "they" were imbeciles. But they weren't. His phone and gun had been taken.

All he could do was wait.

Anna was getting worried. Again. Robert wasn't answering his phone. Again.

She called the officer positioned outside her apartment. "Rogers. It's the commissioner. I can't get hold of Robert. I need you to check on him. Ring the bell first. If he doesn't answer, use the key I gave you and go in, please."

She hung up and considered heading home but didn't want to overreact.

One of the skills they'd tried to teach agents training for the WSB was the ability to measure the passage of time without access to – obviously – a clock and without a clear view of the sky. Robert had always been rubbish with his estimates and lamented his lack of skill now. They'd taken his watch, probably imagining it had some sophisticated tracking device embedded in its mechanisms, or maybe a cyanide pill secreted in a hidden compartment. In fact it had neither. It had been his father's watch and did nothing but tell time. And even that it did badly, especially since the explosion off the coast of Venezuela. He usually relied on his phone to give him the proper time and wore the watch for sentimental reasons. And now they'd taken it.

Robert had no idea how long he'd been in the basement since he'd regained consciousness. It felt to him like hours but could have been as little as one. Anna. Now she had an uncanny ability to measure time. When they'd first worked together and later, after they were married, he'd made a game of testing her. They'd be on a stake out, she without a watch, and he would quiz her. What time is it now? he would ask. They'd be in bed, he thinking she couldn't possibly have been keeping track because he'd successfully distracted her. What time is it now? And she would always guess within fifteen minutes of the actual time. Robert was always amazed.

What time is it now, Anna? He wished she could answer, and he wondered if he would ever see her again.

"Repeat that please, Rogers," Anna requested. Her eyes flicked to the clock on the desk. It was just after one-thirty.

"I rang the bell, Commissioner. Then I knocked. There was no answer. So I entered the apartment. There's no sign of him."

Anna pressed her right hand to her temple. "No sign. He's not there. You've checked every room?"

"Of course, Commissioner." Rogers sounded slightly irritated. "He's gone. There's no sign of a struggle. Everything's in order. It's as if he just vanished."

Anna's jaw clenched. "He couldn't have just vanished. Did you leave your post at any time, Rogers? Even for just a few minutes? Did he, for example, ask you to run an errand for him?"

"No ma'am." Now Rogers sounded both irritated and contrite. "He couldn't have gotten by me, I swear. He didn't exit through that door. He couldn't possibly. I would have seen him and stopped him."

Anna wondered. "Okay, Rogers. I'm coming over. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." She hung up, grabbed her bag, put on her coat, and headed out her office door.

Four hours? That was Robert's new guess. He'd eventually recovered sufficiently from the stun gun that he was able to stand and pace the tiny room. He walked closer to the window and tried to listen for sounds, anything that would identify where he was being held, but he heard nothing, only silence. He walked up to stand and peer into the camera in the corner. "What next?" he asked it. "What are you waiting for? What do you want of me?" No response. Robert paced again, then finally leaned up against a wall, eventually sliding down it to sit again on the floor.

Not five minutes later he heard the sound of a key. The lock clicked, and the door swung open slowly. Robert braced himself.

Anna met Rogers at the front door of the apartment. Rogers looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, Commissioner. I don't know how this happened."

Anna frowned. "I think I do. Don't feel too contrite, Rogers. It's not your fault. The man you were watching has a long history of refusing simple requests and of taking stupid risks with his life." She pushed open the door and walked into the front entrance. "He also has a long history of exiting domiciles in unconventional ways. For example, by going out and over windows."

And Anna began inspecting every one of them, starting in the living room.

Two men stood in the doorway, one holding a gun levelled at Robert's chest, the other holding a pair of handcuffs and a small but sturdy metal chair by its backrest. "Sit down," ordered the man with the gun. "Hands behind your back." Robert didn't see any option and so when the chair was set down in the centre of the room he did as he was told. He grudgingly brought his hands around to the back of the chair where, he was disappointed to note, they were carefully and securely handcuffed to the spindles of the backrest. He knew he wouldn't be able to escape from the cuffs. They were too tight.

The two men left the room once their work was done.

"What was that about?" Robert shouted. "Was my pacing making you nervous?"

After a few minutes the door opened again and a man in an expensive-looking suit walked in. Robert was better at guessing ages than the time. Although fit and (Robert was pretty certain) what women considered extremely attractive, he was older, likely in his late seventies. His hair was white, his eyes pale blue. He seemed somehow familiar, though Robert was sure he'd never met the man before.

"You weren't making anyone nervous, Mr. Scorpio," the man said as he closed the door. "They were just preparing you for an audience with me. They had to ensure you wouldn't knock me over the head and try to escape." The man stood three feet from Robert's chair and smiled down at him coldly. "You see, I'm well aware of what you're capable of. I know everything about you. So please, allow me to introduce myself. I'm William Beaty."

That's when Robert realized the man's familiarity was in fact family resemblance.

Anna was in the guest bedroom examining the line she'd discovered expertly anchored to and skilfully hidden on the underside of the large industrial window casement. "Well, it's a step up from the bloody grappling hook, Robert" she murmured as she stood again, having crouched to study his handiwork. The line exited the corner of the window and had been concealed by the curtain, explaining why Rogers hadn't noticed it during his first search.

She stared out the window. "Should I be worried?" she asked out loud, of no one in particular.

Of course no one answered.

Robert looked up warily at Elizabeth's father. "I'd shake your hand, Mr. Beaty, but I'm indisposed. To what do I owe the pleasure of having been kidnapped?"

Beaty crossed his arms. "Blame it on parental concern. I'd like to know your intentions toward my daughter."

Robert narrowed his eyes. "I promise you they're perfectly honourable. I have absolutely no desire to sleep with her, sir. However, I would like to make her pay for her crimes. She's a murderer."

Beaty sighed. "And how many people have you killed in your life, Mr. Scorpio? A dozen? More? Twenty? Fifty?"

"How many have you killed, Mr. Beaty of Beaty-Morrisson?" Robert asked.

Beaty didn't flinch. "Thousands, Mr. Scorpio. Maybe hundreds of thousands. I manufacture weapons designed to bring about mass casualties. It's my particular talent, and, I think I can claim, my service to my country. The irony is that really I'm a peaceful man, not at all violent. It may surprise you, but I don't like killing individuals. It doesn't sit well with me. Psychologically there's a huge difference between killing or arranging to kill one person and knowing that your weapons have killed many. Although, of course, I recognize there shouldn't be." He walked closer to Robert, stared down at him. William Beaty was tall, well over six feet. "But I think you should be aware that I won't hesitate to kill you, Mr. Scorpio. You're a father. I'm sure you understand. We would do anything to protect our children, wouldn't we? I will do anything to protect my child. Are we clear?"

This time it was Robert who didn't flinch.

Anna dismissed Rogers and his partner stationed at the front door of the building. There was no point maintaining a watch now. The horse had already escaped, and not through the barn door.

Before they left, Rogers asked, "Do you want us to put out an APB on Agent Scorpio, Commissioner?"

Anna thought for a moment and then shook her head. "No. He obviously went of his own volition. I'll just have to trust he'll return the same way, and soon."

The two men left. Anna shut the door to the apartment and leaned up against it, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Then she pulled out her cell phone, brought up Robert's number again, dialed. When the call went to voicemail, she said, "Robert, I know how you got out. I'm not angry. If I'm honest, I have to admit that I'm even a little impressed. All I ask is that you please call me and let me know you're okay. I'm not going to lie. I'm getting really concerned here."

She ended the call.

Robert shifted in his seat. "So you don't want to kill me but you will – if I do what? Why exactly am I here?"

Beaty uncrossed his arms and began to walk around Robert's chair. "I'll kill you if you go after my daughter. Your life is conditional on Elizabeth's continuing completely unmolested. You don't track her, you don't try to collect evidence against her. You basically forget she exists and what you think she might have done. Your investigation stops here and now."

Robert decided to push his luck. "She's a menace. She could kill again. She has no conscience."

Beaty stopped directly behind Robert. "She could. She doesn't. I agree, Mr. Scorpio; I know my daughter better than you do. I know what she's capable of. And what she's incapable of. Her behaviour isn't a choice. She's been this way her entire life. My daughter can't feel or give love, can't understand the most basic principles governing human relationships. That's why she models her behaviour on that of others. She's incapable of being what we consider normal. Can I hold her responsible for actions she doesn't understand or accept are wrong? Can society? Is that justice?"

"So she continues, as you say, unmolested."

"Yes," Beaty replied. "But I didn't say uncontrolled. I don't approve of what she's done, obviously. But I have the means to manage, or at least contain, her behaviour. She may lack internal checks, but I have the ability to enforce external balances. I'll do it more for her protection than for others', but I will do it, I promise you."

Robert tried to twist in his chair to see Beaty. "I'm not sure I have much faith in your ability to control your daughter," he said. "Where were you when she hit me over the head and almost slit my throat?"

Beaty moved back into Robert's line of sight over his right shoulder. "That was an exceptional circumstance. You'd backed her into a corner. That kind of thing won't happen again."

"Your daughter seems easily threatened. She killed a pregnant woman to end a bizarre, self-imposed game of 'Simon Says'."

Beaty didn't immediately reply. Robert saw a passing shadow of conscience, of guilt cloud his face. "I had no way of knowing Elizabeth would do that. I only learned much later what she'd done."

"When she asked you to kill her husband."

"Who was blackmailing her."

Robert looked away from Beaty. "You're telling me to trust that you'll control your daughter. But who will control you?"

Beaty's expression was grim. "I couldn't protect Carolyn Thompson because I wasn't aware of the – seriousness of Elizabeth's problems. All I knew was that she was different. Awkward. Cold. Manipulative. I had no idea she was capable of murder. Once I realized what she'd done, I had her watched. I kept track of everyone she met, everyone she spoke to."

"Did you know she was speaking to me?"

"It's been years, Scorpio – years since the murder. And Elizabeth's life has been unremarkable. She hasn't been in a similar crisis. I relaxed my surveillance. I won't make that mistake again."

Robert was silent for a moment. "You want me to allow you to police your own daughter in exchange for my life?"

Beaty nodded. "In part. But I can sweeten the deal further. As I said earlier, we're both fathers. I'm certain we understand the lengths to which the other would go for his child. I'm in a position to offer you something I think you'll consider invaluable. I'm asking for my child in exchange for yours."

Robert felt his palms break out in a sweat. "That doesn't sound to me like a sweetened deal. That sounds more like a compounded threat. My daughter has nothing to do with this, Beaty. Even if you kill me, if you touch her, you and your daughter are dead. Robin's mother will see to that."

Beaty shook his head. "You misunderstand me, Scorpio. I'm not threatening your daughter Robin. You're right – she has nothing to do with this, and I would never involve her. The only life I'm threatening is your own. But I'm suggesting you may have added incentive to live, because in exchange for my daughter's freedom I'm offering to give you all the information I have about your other child."

Anna sat in her armchair, a cup of tea cold and untouched on the side table. She was looking out at the water and waiting.

It took Robert a moment to process what Beaty had just said. When he had finally processed it, he spoke slowly. "I don't have another child," he corrected Beaty. "I have only one. My daughter, Robin."

Beaty came around and stood in front of Robert again. "So I was right. You were never told." Beaty crossed his arms again. "I took a calculated risk. I wasn't sure, but I didn't think you'd be the type to consciously abandon your own offspring."

Robert began to think frantically what Beaty might mean, the error he might have made. Could he believe that Lucas Jones was Robert's son? Was he thinking of Holly and Luke's son Ethan? Could another of the women Robert had been in relationships with have had a child Beaty incorrectly thought was his?

Or – could one of them possibly have had a child that was his? Robert thought of Katherine. Might she have had his baby? It was possible. He began to feel an almost sick hope that Beaty was telling the truth and wasn't mistaken.

"What do you say, Scorpio?" Beaty asked. "All you have to do is agree to stay away from my daughter. Well away. For my part, I promise to have her closely monitored for the rest of her life, long after my death. I've learned my lesson. I'll make it my business to know exactly what she's up to – and to know exactly what you're up to. I'll know if you get anywhere near her again. She remains relatively free, and you get to keep on living. And on top of this I give you all the information I have about your lost child. You finally learn the truth."

Robert wondered, and felt something inside awaken at the same time as something else hardened, clicked over, switched off. He might have another daughter, a son. Did anything else really matter? Carolyn and her unborn child were long dead. Terrible things had happened and still happened all the time, and justice was never – or was excruciatingly slow in being – exacted. Robert thought of Faison, of Anna having to persuade him to take their revenge for everything that bastard had done to their family. Robert regretted making her beg. He regretted his sanctimoniousness. He wished they'd made Faison suffer more than he had. Cesar had gotten off lightly.

"I'm happy to let you handle your psychopathic daughter," Robert told Beaty. "You're welcome to deal with her problems in whatever way you can. But only if the information you've promised me rings true. If it turns out to be some kind of sick ruse, our deal is off. The deal is your child for my child. But you need to persuade me that you actually have something to offer. Because I don't believe you do."

Beaty nodded. "Fair enough. I'm confident what I have is sufficient to buy my daughter's freedom." He walked to the door, opened it, made a signal to someone outside. A briefcase was handed over. Beaty shut the door again. He opened the case and took out a fat file in a manila folder. He placed it on the floor a few feet to the right of Robert's chair. Then Beaty retrieved a key from the briefcase and showed it to Robert. "I'm going to put this in your hand. Wait five minutes and then open your handcuffs. Don't drop the key," he warned; "if you do, no one will find you for days, maybe even weeks. This building is abandoned. I think you'll find the content of the file effectively binds you to our agreement. If you then choose not to honour it, of course, you're a dead man."

Robert felt emboldened – either that or he no longer cared at all about Elizabeth and her father. "I want my watch back. It was my father's. You can keep my gun and my phone."

Beaty looked up at the camera, made a gesture. The door opened, and the man who had handcuffed Robert to the chair came in. He gave Beaty the watch and left again. Beaty put the watch on top of the file, then went around to Robert's back and placed the key in his right hand.

"My child for your child, Scorpio. A fair exchange, I think."

Beaty opened the door. Just before he left, he turned and told Robert, "Give the watch to your son. When and if you find him."

And he was gone.

Robert's heart was pounding in his chest, in his throat. His son.

He waited until he was sure more than five minutes had passed and began very carefully manipulating the key, trying to connect it with the lock, to work it into the mechanism without dropping it on the floor. The angle was difficult; his wrist had to contort strangely and painfully, but he finally managed to spring the lock. He freed one hand, then the other, and threw the cuffs into the corner of the room. They fell with a clatter.

Robert walked up to the file, crouched down. He picked up his watch and slowly buckled it onto his wrist again, taking more time than he needed, anxious and afraid to turn his attention to the stack of paper. Once finished, he stared down at the manila folder. No writing marked the outside but the paper was scuffed and looked decades old. Robert reached out his hand and opened the cover to the first sheet.

There he saw "Anna Emmaline Devane" neatly printed in the same typescript he'd seen not long ago on the first page of his own file.

It was Anna's missing dossier, the file Elizabeth had threatened Robert with. He was confused.

He stared at the first page for a long time before he finally had the courage to turn it over.