Another update. Phew. I'm spoiling you guys. Thank you for the reviews. I daren't say anything on any of the theories you have. But you're all such clever people. Still working on this, the chapters are flowing freely for once. And I like this chapter. Its one of my favourites.


M sat in her office, pen in hand, documents on her desk and scribbled absent minded responses as quickly as possible. Her mind was far away from matters of national security, even though she had a meeting with the Prime Minister (arrogant little twerp), and the Minister for Defence (not so arrogant, but still a little twerp) in half an hour.

There was too much trouble in the world at the moment, and the safety of a five year old girl should not be paramount on her mind. Nor should the whereabouts of her errant parents be bothering her quite as much.

She tapped her pen against the desk, turning her chair so she could gaze out across the Thames. London was beautiful in the summer, even though it was filled with American tourists asking why Windsor Castle had been built under Heathrow airport's main flight path. The city seemed to be covered by a jewelled gauze, which was actually the sun penetrating the petrol fumes and other general pollution that seemed to smother the city. But it was still spectacular.

London was not her domain, the world was, but she loved London more. It was a passionate relationship, volatile, loving and tender one moment, rage filled and hateful the next. Since the terrorist attacks in the city, there was an undercurrent of fear too, although most hardened Londoners would merely sniff at another terrorist attack and mutter under their breath 'bloody nuisance'. It didn't matter if your tube train was late, or if your arm had been blown off, everything was a bloody nuisance, and the only known cure was a cup of tea, with the only concession being plenty of sugar in the tea for 'the shock'.

Below her, the Thames snaked lazily through the city, the tour boats pointing out the Lego brick building of the MI6 headquarters, before moving quickly on to the London Eye and Whitehall. London was at its most charming today, red double-decker buses and black cabs idly meandering up the Embankment. M tapped her pen against the arm of her chair, and sighed.

As if on cue there was a quiet, alerting beep from her computer. M turned, impatiently, ready to dismiss whoever dared to contact her on her highest security channel.

'Alec?' she just managed to stop her mouth from dropping open. 'Is that you?'

'It is.' On her computer screen, Alec Trevelyan appeared, looking tired, dishevelled and certainly not his usual self. She couldn't quite be sure, but he looked as if he hadn't shaved for a few days.

'Where are you?'

'I can't say.' There was resignation in his voice.

'Alec,' M sighed, and slumped in her chair, for once filled with pity for another human being. 'What is going on?'

Alec seemed to slump too, and buried his head in his hands. 'Everything. Nothing. Too much. Not enough.'

'Have you found Natasha?'

'No.' Alec's voice was strangled. 'But I know who has her.'

'Who?'

'Not on this line. I can't risk telling you, M, I know what he could do to her.'

'Do you know him?'

'Yes.' This time the sigh was audible even over the connection. 'I know who he is, he knows who I am, and I know he's a dangerous bastard. If he even knew I was talking to you now, he'd kill her without a second thought.'

'Can you negotiate with him?'

Alec laughed hoarsely. 'He's not in this for any reason but to hurt me. M, you don't seem to realise, its not 'if' he'll kill her, its when.'

M's blood turned to ice, and she grabbed the edge of the desk, drawing strength from the solid bulk of the wood. 'So what can we do?'

'Give him a reason to keep her alive.'

'Does he have one?'

Alec glanced up at the screen once more, and there was genuine pain in his green eyes. 'Yes. As long as he has her, he can tell me what to do.'

'Oh dear god. It was you in Paris. Ashleigh thought she saw you, but none of us were sure.'

'Yes. He ordered me to make the hit, and I had to do it. I have to do whatever he says. Whenever he tells me to. Because if I don't, Natasha dies, and if that happens, I'll try to kill him'

'But he'll kill you first.'

'That's a definite. He's too well protected. I can't say anymore, but your initial hunch is right, M. Remember that.'

'My hunch?' M repeated, hating not knowing what he meant.

'Speak to Charles. He thinks he knows.'

'Charles.' M nodded. 'So what now?'

'You wait. There's nothing else you can do. There's nothing else I can do. I have my next order, and I have to follow it out. I wouldn't worry too much though, its not as high profile as my last hit.'

'Alec…' M said with a warning in her tone.

Alec looked steadily at her, and M saw anger there on his face. 'What? What is so different, M? You use me as your hired gun, and you pay me well for doing so. Now I'm just working for someone else, but the difference is I'm doing it to keep my daughter alive. So forgive me for being somewhat focused on my current 'work'.'

'There's a difference, Alec. I don't order you to carry out direct assassinations.'

'No, but if the opportunity comes up you aren't exactly opposed to it, are you?'

'All for Queen and Country, Alec. Lets not go there, shall we? I know how you feel about England.'

'And somehow I still end up working for it.'

There was another beeping, this time from M's intercom, and she swore under her breath. 'Alec, one moment, please. Don't go anywhere.'

'Yes?' she snapped.

There was a hesitant pause from the other end, as if they were well aware they had interrupted something important. A young male voice finally plucked up the courage to speak. 'Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but we've had a communiqué from the Americans. They've picked up someone wandering in a restricted area in Cuba. They're not happy, she won't identify herself, but she's definitely English. They're contacting different agencies hoping to shed some light on who she is.'

'And?' M rubbed her temples, knowing a headache would hit her hard later on.

'Er, well, sir, you asked to be informed about anything strange going in Cuba…'

M's head snapped up. 'Yes. Of course. Thank you.'

'Sir? What should I tell the Americans?' the disembodied voice tried to ask, but M's finger was already jabbing at the disconnect button.

Alec was still connected, she noticed with a sigh of relief.

'You're in Cuba, aren't you?' she asked.

Alec looked unsure.

'You can tell me that much at least.'

'Yes. I am. Havana. Why?'

'Because for one moment, I was hoping that you would tell me you weren't.'

'Why?' Alec asked, suddenly suspicious. 'What is going on?'

'Ashleigh is in Cuba.'

Alec swore.

'I think she's managed to get into some sort of trouble with the Americans.'

'Why is she here?' Alec snarled.

'Because she's trying to find you and her daughter.'

'And now she's in trouble.'

'Yes.' The headache was beginning to creep against her temples now, and she knew that she would have to delve into her desk for the prescription painkillers she kept for exactly this reason. 'Alec, she's in trouble, she's your wife. She's suffering too. Do you even care?'

Alec looked steadily at M. 'No,' he said coldly.

M snorted in disbelief.

'She got herself into trouble, she can get herself out of it. And then she can get the hell off this island before she jeopardises my daughter's life anymore than she already has.'

'She's just supposed to go home and wait, is 'she'?'

'Yes. Or better still, you look after her. Keep her in England, and as far away from all this as possible.'

'How chivalrous of you.'

'Chivalry has nothing to do with this, M. I want her away from all this. She'll only compromise everything. Like she always does.'

M raised an eyebrow.

'I've already said too much.'

'Yes, Alec, you have. She's your wife. And she might be in trouble.'

'And whose fault is that?'

Alec disappeared from the screen. M stared at the screen not quite sure what she had just heard.

The Prime Minster would be waiting. But first, she had to sort out the Americans. With a sigh, she picked up the phone and dialled a number.

It was days like this when retirement seemed like very pleasant option.