Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, it means a lot. Thank you.

Chapter Four: Threads

Spinning a delicate, intricate web between the rear view mirror and the back of the driver's sun visor, the spider lost at least seven of his eight footings. His sheer downwards drop was interrupted as the car swerved a corner. The silk thread he continued to secrete suddenly turned from a place of sanctuary to a perilous rope swing at the mercy of shifting gravitational forces. This dizzying pendulum cycle only ended when he came to rest on the steering wheel clutching hand of Lucas North. A respite in a world turned upside down which lasted barely a nanosecond before the spider was shaken off with a muttered, irritable curse. Violently propelled over to the passenger seat, he landed on his back on the bare knee of Ros Myers who shrieked piercingly and flicked him to the floor before he could so much as writhe his ungainly frame the correct way up. From there, it was a downward thrust of a size eight stiletto heel, and one meagre arachnid existence was snuffed out forever.

After the fall, the ending was swift and painless, but utterly merciless. The only lamentation was for the mess on Ros' shoe, a mild inconvenience expedited as the spider's remains were smeared across the carpeted foot rest.

"Did you get the bastard?" asked Lucas, briefly taking his eye off the road to look at Ros.

"I should've shot it," she dryly replied. "Yeah, he's history."

Lucas smirked and returned his attention to the road ahead. It was getting on and they were nearly late for work. He would have been on time if he hadn't stopped to pick up Ros on spur of the moment, but it seemed a gentlemanly thing to do. Since it'd been years since he last had the chance to do the 'gentlemanly thing', he found he couldn't resist. But, now they were stuck in traffic and Ros was uncommunicatively hunched over her phone.

Inexplicably, Lucas found his thoughts drifting back to the spider. It began with him wondering whether a member of the Animal Liberation Front had ever squashed a spider. It was something the vast majority of people did without so much as a second's thought. But now, Lucas was thinking. Being a spider was very much like being a spy. You worked in secret, in dark crevices where you could weave your web and trap your unsuspecting prey in the deceptively strong, adhesive threads. Always intertwining, always intricate, always easily swept away by the most basic of feather dusters. When your web was gone, you were back to square one and even the narrowest of shafts of light, falling at just the wrong angle, could blow your cover. And if you fell in plain sight, the ending could be just as swift. A bullet in the head was just as decisive as a rolled up newspaper, or airborne telephone directory descending from nowhere.

You think you're safe; you think you're invisible. You're probably wrong.

"Who was that King who watched a spider build a web?" he asked, once the traffic moved off again.

"King David?" she answered with uncertainty. "Better ask Ruth."

No, that wasn't him. While he cursed his lack of attention in History class, the traffic moved off once more. But as it did, a small idea percolated happily in his head. Why walk straight into the Black Flag/ALF web when he could tempt them into his own?

Digestive biscuits didn't make for the greatest of breakfasts, but Harry was content all the same. Ruth had made them both proper coffee, none of that instant nonsense and she served it right: thick as tar. Together, they settled in the meeting room with the smart screen tuned to the BBC, catching the last of the breakfast news. While the inane shenanigans of z-list celebrities was recounted, Harry groaned audibly, like an aging Daily Mail reader and glowered darkly up at the screen.

"Why is this even on the news?" he demanded to know. "Why?"

Ruth rolled her eyes. "Because people don't want to be bombarded with doom and gloom over their morning cornflakes, perhaps?"

This theory only seemed to cause Harry actual, physical pain. "Since when have we been a nation of such delicate snowflakes?" he asked, eyes narrowed and expression scandalised. "And cornflakes are for sissies," he added, reaching for another digestive.

Ruth was happy, after the previous day's bumpy ride. She informed Harry of the call she got from Lucile earlier that morning, confirming that the first morning's broadcast had gone smoothly and Ben was in place for the beginning of the Trade and Industry Minister's tour of the north east.

"She's got plans of every place the Minister is visiting, so she knows exactly where Ben should be stationed and where he should move the minister to next," Ruth explained.

There were coordinates involved, and travel directions that she didn't go into because she still didn't fully understand the logistics involved herself. But she made sure Harry got the gist of it. Before she could finish her explanation, however, the news cut to the Minister's tour. The news clip showed a black car pulling into the driveway of a factory, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the asphalt. A small knot of men surged forwards to open the door and, for just the briefest of moments, Ben Kaplan was visible among them, blending in with the others. Harry smiled, 'famous at last,' he thought wryly to himself. Ben vanished as soon as he appeared, and the Minister herself climbed out of the back of the car.

"And they all lived happily ever after," said Ruth, turning away from the screen.

Satisfied that the tour was going well, Harry flicked the switch and watched the screen go dark. It was one less thing to worry about, as they focused all their efforts on finding out more about Black Flag. About which Ruth had lost a night's sleep over.

"They're political," she said. "Maybe they're copying the tactics of the Animal Rights lot to deliberately throw us off the scent, knowing we would lump them all in together."

The thought had occurred to Harry more than once. But the cautionary streak in his nature couldn't accede to closing off the Animal Rights investigation. Besides, the clue was in the name of the group itself, as Ruth had pointed out a few days before.

"There is a history of anarchists attracting the same type of people who join up with Animal Lib," he pointed out. "A certain over-lap, shall we say."

"Harry, there's a certain over-lap between veganism and animal lib. Doesn't mean we can get the police to arrest every single person who's ever been to Glastonbury just on the tangential off-chance," she countered.

"So, what do we do?" asked Harry, sighing heavily. "We don't even know who they are."

Ruth still had no answer and the pair of them descending into a brief silence that was broken by neither one of them.

"Draw them out."

Lucas' voice startled them both. They whirled round to see the man himself loitering in the doorway, suddenly apologetic.

"Sorry, I did knock," he said, before turning to Ruth. "Do you know which King watched a spider in a cave?"

Perplexed, Ruth shot Lucas a dubious look. Her hesitation in answering came not from ignorance, but from her internal struggle to find any relevance in the question.

"Robert Bruce," she finally enlightened him. "After an overall successful campaign, Bruce suffered a heavy defeat and had to flee the field in fear of his life. He hid a cave, completely despondent. While there, he noticed a spider trying to reach its web high in the crevices. It failed six times, but refused to give up and kept on climbing. Deciding he could learn a thing or two, he decided to give the battle another go and won. Er, why?"

While she answered, Lucas expression lit up triumphantly. He slid into a seat beside Harry and opposite Ruth.

"I want to set myself up as an activist who shares similar goals to Animal Liberation Front," he began explaining. "See if I can strike up an affiliation with them and see if I can build inroads that way. I need a website, first of all. An email to communicate through. Perhaps a blog and photo gallery. Something to show the admin of their official website and make me look like the real deal and draw them to me, rather than the other way round."

Harry's expression wrinkled, making him slightly concerned. "And you got this bright idea from Robert Bruce's friendly spider?"

Some of the enthusiasm drained from Lucas, he sagged back in his chair almost despondently. "In a manner of speaking," he admitted. "But I think it makes sense."

"Actually, I think it's a pretty good idea," said Ruth, causing Lucas to perk back up again. "It'll take time to build up a bond of trust, but that's always the way. I say speak to Malcolm and he can get you your website and blog. I can type up some posts and back date them to fabricate some history for you."

"Oh, I am not saying it's a bad idea," Harry quickly cut back in. "I just didn't see the spider link. Regardless, it's good. Do as Ruth suggested, speak to Malcolm and we can get you up and running. My only concern is you ending up on their rogue's gallery."

"We can pull the site and block their servers if that happens. But there's more," Ruth cut in, suddenly on her feet. Harry thought she was about to bolt for the door following her clear eureka moment, leaving both him and Lucas hanging on a cliff edge. But she merely began pacing, her method of choice for marshalling a rush of thoughts and ideas into cohesion. "Broaden the appeal of your fake site to encompass Anarchism and Anarcho-Syndicalism. Tempt in as many social misfits as you can and see if you can draw out any information. It may take time, but it's a lot quicker than what we're doing at the moment: which is basically nothing."

Harry nodded, signalling his assent. How could he argue, when the alternative was sitting back and waiting for the other side to make the next move? Now that he had thought about it a little more, he decided he might even give Lucas' animal-loving, anarchism credentials a bit of a boost by faking an attack or two and laying it at Lucas' door. After all, he'd done it before and quite enjoyed it.

The carved wooden edifice that was the door to Leon's father's study remained shut and unyielding. He stood there looking at it, as if willing it to open through sheer mind power alone. But after another restless, sleepless night he doubted he had the mind power to so much as fight his way out of a wet paper bag. Whenever the vacuuming downstairs stopped, he could hear the muffled sounds of the conversation his father was having on the phone. He'd get an absolute bollocking if he walked in there while his father had people with him, but Shelley senior normally didn't object to phone calls being interrupted. If it was that sensitive, Leon would be waved back out again. All the same, he decided to play it safe and remain out of sight.

He's talking to her, he thought to himself as he picked up a few hushed sweet nothings, and willed himself to vanish on the spot. Still, whatever it was Emma was planning, she clearly hadn't done it yet. Leon felt himself temporarily paralysed by a tremor of last minute nerves and wrestled with the idea of walking away from it all. He could tell his father what he'd done, come clean and put it right. He would never have to see Emma again. But that thought made him feel cold and alone, a feeling he never wanted to have to contend with ever again.

"I miss you too, darling," his father said, ending the call. "Take care, now."

Two seconds later, he heard the click of the handset being replaced and Leon paused again. His hand trembled as he reached out to knock. Before he could, however, his father called out and ushered him inside. When he peered around the door, he found his father prepared to rush back out again. Leon sighed inwardly.

"Dad, I need to talk to you," he said, making a try for it anyway.

"I'm busy Lee, can't it wait?"

David Shelley had already pulled his jacket from the back of his chair and was shrugging it over his shoulders.

"Please, Dad, it'll only take a minute."

His father fixed him with a pointed look. "Half a minute."

It was as good as it got, so Leon let himself inside properly. With the clock ticking down on his allotted time, he decided to get straight to the point. All doubts about spilling the beans banished.

"I want to go away for a few days; maybe a week," he explained. "A camping trip with friends from school. Is that okay?"

His father was stuffing papers into his briefcase while Leon spoke, barely paying him any mind.

"Of course it's okay," he replied, making no fuss. "Just text or call to let me know you're still alive. Don't get too drunk and pass out in the street-"

"It's not like that," Leon quickly cut in. "I promise."

His father paused half way to the door and raised a knowing smile. "I'm sure." Before he left, he looked Leon up and down carefully, as though noticing something amiss for the first time. "Are you okay? You look rather pale and … well, distracted."

Suddenly thrown a lifeline to come clean, Leon hesitated. But on the wall behind the desk, the clock continued ticking. There was no time. There was never any time.

"I – I'm fine," he stammered, half-heartedly.

With no further ado, his father left for whatever meetings and parliamentary sessions his day had in store and Leon found himself watching the spot where he vanished for a long time. It was too late to back out now, so at length he made his way outside with his rucksack packed with the change of clothes Emma had given to him the day before. Inside was a boiler suit, like the ones forensics wore, only black and with equally dark hoods. To obscure their identities further, they all bought Guy Fawkes face masks. Green tinged, fixed malignant smile and neat goatee. If anyone stopped them, they'd look like Anonymous activists. Not illegal, but still a pain in the arse enough to warrant a little undue attention if they get stopped by the Police.

Leaving the house, Leon emerged onto the street outside and looked both ways before turning left. When he reached the bottom of his street, he found her there already. It was only her in the car, the others were making their own way down to Suffolk. She rolled down the window and greeted him with a smile. "I was beginning to think you'd bottled it."

Feeling a little more confident now that he was in her presence again, Leon returned her smile. "Never," he replied. It wasn't a complete lie.

Ruth called Lucile one more time before they left for the evening. Everyone else bar Harry had already gone and there would be no one else in the office before nine the following morning. Still, she was beginning to feel like an old mother hen, constantly clucking over the newer recruits as though she'd never been away. Even Harry had looked at her as if to say 'you worry too much.'

"Hey, Lucy, just checking up to see if everything's okay?" said Ruth, once her colleague picked up.

"Yes, it's fine, honestly!" Lucile laughed back. Clearly, she thought Ruth was worrying too much as well.

"I know, I know," Ruth sighed, apologetically. "You know how it is: I'd worry if there was nothing to worry about. But here, you need anything call me on my house phone or mobile. Any time."

"I will, I promise."

When she hung up Ruth logged the call, six pm precisely, before shutting down her computer. All the while, Harry waited impatiently by the pods, tapping his toe to hurry her along. Not wishing to keep him waiting, she grabbed her jacket and jogged across the Grid until she was level with him.

"Can we go now? Contrary to popular opinion, Ruth, the Grid isn't my actual home."

Narked by his crabbiness, Ruth rolled her eyes. "Well come on, then. I'll buy you a large whiskey to make up for wait."

She was in the mood to celebrate anyway. The day had been more productive than she could have imagined. Although she was unsure as to whether an Anarcho-Environmentalist was an actual thing, they had spent the day turning Lucas into one all the same. Something to catch the eyes of both the Anarchists and the Animal Libbers at the same time. A few shared goals and similar agendas. Not enough to be rivals; just enough to be allies. Only time would tell whether it was enough to actually work.

The local pub was a proper pub. There was a fireplace in the lounge bar that looked as though it was actually used during winter months. Complete with a large Irish Wolfhound fast asleep, his tail thumping rhythmically against the worn carpet as chased rabbits in his dreams. The couple who owned the pub were a middle aged married couple who recommended their vast selection of real ales. Opting for something a little lighter, Lucile ordered a gin and tonic to have with her salmon salad and made her way to the back beer garden.

Since she and Pete were trying for a baby, Lucile had quit smoking. But she still liked to ease the cravings through some cheeky second hand smoking outside. It was the scummiest thing she had ever indulged in, but when the cravings came she was like a junky, shaking and sweating for even the faintest of blessed nicotine vapour trails. Besides, the even was warm and balmy and still bright. Jade green treetops, emerald fields and squat, sandstone houses stretched out downhill. The church bells tolled the hour. It was a pocket of England forgotten by time and rapacious urban developers. She was keen to savour every free moment she had before returning to London; so much so, she thought she might have been hasty in her decision to abandon her quest for a rural retreat. After all, the baby she and Pete were undoubtedly soon to have would love it. The mini Lucile's and Pete's could play freely, if the traffic levels in this village were anything to go by. By the time her food and drink arrived, she had made the decision to stop by the local Estate Agents to see what was going locally.

While she ate, she called her husband on her mobile and chatted between leisurely mouthfuls. When that call ended, it was almost seven pm, just time for one more gin and tonic before heading back to the bunker. Inside the pub, she got a thrill out of telling a local fellow drinker her false name cover story – an act that made her feel like a proper spy, rather than a plain old liar. She couldn't understand why some of her more jaded colleagues grew sick of it, but for them – she supposed – the excitement was gone and the rush no longer carried them through. For her, it was bolstered as the landlady seemed to be listening in while she served the other punter.

"Is it just the woodland wildlife you're covering?" the landlady asked, interested. "Our hanging baskets get all sorts of butterflies and whatnot. We could keep an eye out, if you like."

Before Lucile could answer, the older gentleman chipped in too.

"You should come and see my gardens: our roses get them every summer," he said.

Lucile merely smiled and reached for a card she kept in her purse.

"I'm only based in the woods, but if you see anything unusual, make a note of what it looks like and call this number," she handed over the card that with a phone number of a fake environmental agency. If they did call, they would get Ruth Evershed pretending to care about butterflies and their reports instantly forgotten. She just hoped they had the good sense not to squash their subjects in an effort to 'help'.

She left at eight pm, after bidding the landlady and old punter a farewell. Outside the pub, she took in the view one more time and breathed a grateful lungful of clean country air and set off at a brisk pace on the path to her temporary home.

There were eight of them in total. Emma was coordinating, with six others all pulling their weight behind her. That only left Leon, who was under strict orders not to leave Emma's side and do everything she asked without hesitation. He thought he could live with that, seeing as this was his first ever operation, but it changed Emma. Once again, all the warmth went out of her and was replaced by this machine like demeanour. She was in charge, and her charge was exercised ruthlessly and without feeling. She slipped away, once the others had donned their clothes and masks and slipped into the woods, to make a private phone call to someone Leon didn't know. It seemed to take forever and, when he checked his watch, he noted that it really was getting late. Almost eight pm. Whatever they were planning, it would possibly take all night seeing as there was no way they could simply walk into a bunker. Especially not an active MoD bunker. Truth be told, he was still rather perplexed as to how they were going about this.

Still, Emma had made it abundantly clear that it wasn't his place to question, so he fell into pace with her as they slipped into the woods. They hadn't realised it would be so dark, but this merely went in their favour. Rays of pale, dying sunlight filtered green through the overhead canopy, scarcely lighting their path a few feet ahead of them. Despite the heat of the summer, the ground beneath their feet was still soft and springy, concealing their footsteps even if they hadn't covered their shoes. Several times, Leon went to speak, but Emma shushed him every time, ending the last effort with the threat of a slap if he made another sound. Finally, they reached a fenced off area with signs warning off trespassers and they knew they had reached the spot.

Emma placed a hand softly at his elbow, drawing him well back from the spot. They retreated out of sight of the beaten track. Once concealed, the slipped their masks firmly into place and held it place by drawing their hoods down low. As Leon sorted his out, he caught sight of some of the others, similarly concealed from view, but watching out for any approach.

"Now we wait," Emma whispered low. "Even if it takes all night. We cover each other if we need to piss. Show me your phone?"

He knew she meant to see the time on the display, so he pressed a button to wake it up and tilted it towards her. It was just gone eight pm. Emma nodded and turned back towards the MoD fence. All their phones were on silent, but they were to send messages to one another, a silent relay as soon as human footsteps were heard. If whoever was in that bunker came out of the installation itself, it was down to Emma to act. That was as much as Leon knew. If the person didn't come out at all, he didn't know what would happen. He guessed they could all go home with no harm done and low spirits.

Once waiting commenced, time seemed to slow. Left alone with his thoughts and last minute doubts, Leon was once again submerged with the urge to run. Only his pride kept him rooted to the spot behind a thicket of trees and gorse. Every small sound seemed amplified in the dark, silent woods. Birds taking flight, rodents rushing through the undergrowth, even the odd owl calling out as the night settled in and the woods darkened further. After what seemed an age, Emma's phone vibrated, Leon could hear the soft hum from within her pocket. She answered it, shielding the screen so the light didn't betray their location. Leon could see it, too. It was just gone nine pm, and a lone female had been spotted approaching the site.

Lucile hadn't had the time to check the local Estate Agents after all. It was dusk by the time she left the pub, and growing darker by the time she reached the woods. Inside the forest, it was good as night itself. Cursing her own negligence, she used the light of her mobile phone to light the way as best she could and quickened her pace as she picked her way home cautiously. Stray tree roots jutting through the earth almost caught her out more than once and she had to throw out a hand to steady herself against the nearest tree. She knew she was going the right way, she had already made the journey a few times over the last twenty-four hours since her arrival. But it was more treacherous at night, and after stumbling over another tree root she dropped her phone. She cursed and dropped to the ground herself, groping for it hurriedly before the lit up screen went dark and stung her hands on some nettles in the process.

"Shit!" she cursed aloud.

Ignoring the sting, she snatched as her phone and paused to catch her breath before continuing. When she did, she slowed down and took her time instead hurrying herself into a frenzy. As she neared the MoD's land, she breathed a sigh of relief all the same. She reached into her bag, fumbling for her keys as she approached the main fence, and it was there that a pin-prick of light from into the bushes caught her eye. She froze, peering intently into the undergrowth. The same light, like a mobile phone lit up, came again from ten feet down. Shone directly at her. She whirled round, peering in that direction, about to call out.

"Hello?" she finally called, gathering her wits. "Hello, is anyone there?"

The sound of her own voice answered back in an echo. An owl hooted, but other than that there was nothing. Heartbeat racing, she took a few steps towards where she thought she had seen the second light. But as soon as she moved, the sound of footsteps hurried away behind her while, simultaneously, another light shone further down the tracks in the opposite direction.

"Who is that?" she called out, growing angry.

Dizzy and disorientated she spun in a circle, trying to get the culprits in view but it was much too dark to see into even the near distance. Now she could hear footsteps all around her, surrounding her and she didn't even know whether she was simply imagining it or whether it was there. Lucile's brief anger flared and burned away, succumbing to desperation as a cold sweat prickled against her skin.

"Please," she cried out, tremulously. "Show yourselves!"

The rustle of fabric and a heavy footfall sounded directly behind her. Lucile spun round, panting heavily as her lungs struggled to stay apace with her heart and a leering, blank eyed masked face loomed out of the darkness. She barely had time to register it before the shrill scream escaped her, resounding off the trees and startling several birds into sudden flight. A small shower of dead leaves and pines cascaded down into her hair as she turned and ran back towards the edge of the woods, dropping her phone again. She had no time to pick it up, she had to run as hard as she could. But, she had barely gone ten feet before she ploughed into something cold and solid. Hoping it was merely a tree, she tried to push herself away and run around it. But it wasn't branches that encircled her waist and held her fast, it was two strong, human arms. Another masked attacker slid one hand over her mouth to stifle her continued screams.

"We are not going to hurt you," the man's voices spoke low in her ear. "Do as we say, and you will not be harmed."

Under the circumstances, it was less than reassuring. But far off, she heard a woman's voice and Lucile's most potent fear of rape subsided, at least. But she continued to struggle all the same. The woman had found her keys, where Lucile had dropped them and was already letting herself into the MoD compound. The man held Lucile all the tighter, making sure she was immobilised. She tried to bite him, but her jaw was clamped firmly shut.

"We will not hurt you," the voice repeated. "That's not who we are. That's not what we do. We are Black Flag, and we're going to make this world a much better place for everyone. Cooperate, and you can share our new world."

Exhausted and drained, Lucile couldn't fight any longer. She let herself fall limp in the big, burly man's arms. Whatever it was they wanted with her, all she could do was hope to throw them off. Somehow.

Thank you again for reading, reviews would be welcome. Thank you.