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Chapter Ten: Teenage Kicks

"Is that the lot, missus?"

The man in the ill-fitting jeans had just treated Ros to the last flash of his hairy arse crack as he bent down to pick up the final rabbit cage. He loaded it into the back of a white van with the Mrs. Tiggywinkle's Petting Zoo logo and telephone number and turned back towards her with a clipboard in his hands. Ros tried to smile, but she'd tried not to look at the man's crack and failed miserably at that too. He walked up the path and adjusted the angle of his Mrs Tiggywinkle's cap, sliding a pen from behind his ear. When he reached her again, he handed her both the clipboard and the pen.

"Just sign your name there and there," he instructed, indicating the relevant dotted lines.

Taking the clipboard and pen, Ros signed her fake name with a flourish and handed it back.

"That's the lot, thanks," she replied, handing the documents back.

The man nodded, and turned to walk away. But then he paused and looked back at Ros, still standing in the doorway. She had been waiting for this moment, she had sensed its approach since the man first turned up. Mrs. Tiggywinkle's had been given a cover story to explain the rabbits and why they needed to be taken, but Malcolm's excuses needed some serious work: he'd told the petting zoo that they were simply unwanted pets.

"You know," he said, gesticulating with the clipboard. "People like you really shouldn't take on new pets unless you're willing to take care of them, for the rest of their lives."

The colour rose in her cheeks, but she wasn't going to be beaten that easily. "And people like you shouldn't leave the house unless you have jeans that fit and a sturdy belt. Good day, sir."

Ros was smiling now. She closed the door on the man's wide-eyed, scandalised face and returned to the kitchen, where Lucas was nursing a fresh pot of tea and a bulging, squirming sweater. Pausing in the doorway, she leaned against the frame and took in the sight of him. His gaze kept darting down the front of his sweater, where she could just see two large ears jutting from the collar, brushing against Lucas' throat.

"Should I be jealous?" she asked, smiling despite her deep reservations.

When Lucas looked up at her, he had a silent, imploring look in his eye. He wrapped his arms protectively and gently around the bulge in his sweater. "He's only a baby, Ros… I just couldn't let him go."

It had happened during the late night Op. Their stooge bunnies were housed alongside other rabbits that hadn't yet been tested for anything, to stop them accidentally getting mixed in with those that had. Their cages had been marked with luminous white stickers, so they knew which ones were theirs. However, Ros knew that all of the animals on that side of the room were untested. All she had to do was accidentally on purpose open up another cage and rescue one of the real test animals. An action she could only risk once, and a risk she took with the intention of sending the animal off to a better life with the others. But all actions had unintended consequences, and now the real rescue bunny was snuggled down Lucas' sweater.

"Lucas," she groaned. "You can't keep him."

Lucas raised the hem of his sweater and out from under it a rabbit with caramel coloured fur wriggled out. He was plump, with long pale gold ears and wide black eyes. Lucas sat him on the breakfast bar and poked a raw carrot at him. The rabbit sniffed at the tip of the carrot, before starting to nibble furiously at it, to Lucas' clear delight.

"We've bonded," said Lucas, looking back up Ros. "See."

Faced with defeat, Ros moved over to sit beside Lucas and his new pet and sighed deeply.

"He'll dehydrate unless you get a proper water bottle for him. One of those ones you fix to the side of a proper hutch. You know hutches? Those rabbit houses that you also do not possess. They tend to have straw and wood shavings which, would you believe it, you also seem to lack."

Lucas grinned sheepishly and had the decency to blush. "Can you tell Harry I might be late for work? I have some stuff to pick up from the pet shop."

Ros could just imagine the look on Harry's face as she explained this one away. For that reason alone, she readily agreed to do it. "Take your time."

It was only ten am, and because of their late night they were not due in until the afternoon, anyway.

"Thanks, Ros," replied Lucas, getting up and kissing her temple. "I better go now. Just put this little fella back in his box before you leave. There's a blanket and some lettuce in there for him."

He grabbed his car keys from within the fruit bowl on the kitchen table and was just making for the back door when Ros called him back.

"Wait a minute!" she said, reaching for her mobile phone. "Let me take a photo of you holding him."

Lucas looked dubious. "Er, what?"

"As loath as I am to encourage this folly," she explained. "I do think it'd make a great anecdote for your fake website."

She had her phone ready by the time Lucas had the rabbit back in his arms. He was holding it the same way most people hold new born babies, but that was all the better for Ros. She framed the photograph so that Lucas' head and shoulders were out of shot. Only his chest was in frame and the rabbit was the main focus. Satisfied, she slid the phone back into her pocket and kissed Lucas goodbye.

Leon's hands shook as he fumbled with the loose change to pay his bus fare. The driver sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, trying to hurry him up. Leon tried to apologise, flushing brightly as he remembered that there were still other people waiting behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, to where a young woman with a pushchair was frowning at him in frustration and an elderly gentleman queued with admirable patience. But the distraction made him drop his money and coins rolled off into the distance and under the seats. Giving up in mounting desperation, he pulled a five pound note from his wallet and held it out to the driver.

"Is that enough to get to Milbank?" he asked, realising he didn't even know how much it cost.

The driver gave the bank note a filthy look. "I ain't got change for that, son. Three pounds forty-five pence; that's how much it is."

Mercifully, he found two £2 coins and dropped them down on the counter fixed to the driver's door. Without waiting for the change, he lurched off down the aisle to find a vacant seat. But he'd barely gone a few steps before he heard the angry voice of the driver calling him back.

"Your ticket!"

Reluctantly, embarrassed, Leon turned to fetch his ticket, doing his best to ignore the cursing driver.

"That personality by-pass really must've hurt," Leon snarked at him, snatching the ticket away.

Once seated, he slouched low on the back seat and hoisted his ruck sack onto his lap. Inside, he had packed a spare set of socks and boxer shorts, along with his tooth brush and tooth paste and a can of deodorant. In his wallet, he had thirty pounds to tide him over, should he need it. But now that he was on his way, he didn't know if he would be allowed to keep any of it. He would be in prison by the end of the day and, even if they did let him keep his spare underwear and hygiene products, he hardly had enough to tide him over for two full life sentences. His stomach churned painfully as he thought about it. He wasn't thinking straight; he knew he wasn't thinking straight but he didn't know what else to do. All he knew was that he needed to be prepared, but he didn't know what for. He had never been in trouble with the law before and he couldn't imagine what was awaiting him at the end of his journey.

Can people even walk into Thames House? Leon had no clue. Before that morning, he hadn't even known where Thames House was and only found it courtesy of Google maps. There was no information about how to get in, or who to approach once in there. But surely, he thought to himself, there will be guards on the door who would be willing to help.

Every shop the bus drove past had newsstands bearing headlines relating to the assassination of Sinead Kelly. It was everywhere Leon turned. And now, so to was Black Flag's claim of responsibility. Finally, Emma was getting the credibility she craved. Once, she thrilled him; he thought she understood him. He believed in her and what she said. That they could make a difference; they could make the world a better place. She lied to him, just like everyone else. But could he betray her, even now? His mouth ran dry with fear as he pondered that internal question. No, he didn't want to betray her. He had to betray her, before anyone else could get hurt or killed.

As the bus wound through the streets of London, Leon pondered their relationship. She had been gentle with him when they first made love – her realising that it was his first time. They had spent whole nights chatting on Skype, after she had learned that his insomnia was so bad that he spent his nights alone and lonely. She let him talk about the things that made him cry and the things that made him feel unloved. Emma was thoughtful, passionate and tender. It was only in the heat of the moment that he had seen her become fanatical, ruthless and cold. It was only with hindsight that he realised Emma had come into his life when he was at his most vulnerable, and wrung him so hard his pips had not so much begun to squeak, but to mush together to form a light, fluffy paste. Yet, he couldn't be angry with her. She was doing what manipulative people do – he was the one who allowed himself to be manipulated.

With all the emotions boiling inside him, he didn't even realise he was in tearing up. Hastily, he swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and sighed with relief when his stop came into view. He ignored the driver completely as he hopped off the bus and walked towards the roundabout on Milbank. Thames House was right there, on the corner. Opposite it was the busy road and the river. Some tree lined walkways were in the distance. The building couldn't be missed. But, to his dismay, there were no doormen or guards to be seen anywhere. He tried to stop a passer-by to see if they knew how to get in, but the man blanked him as though he were invisible.

There, Leon paused and looked up at Thames House. Several stories high, it was an imposing building with a grand entrance. Large double doors of oak that remained firmly shut to him, and any other member of the public. Would there be a reception on the other side of the door? Do spies even have a reception desk? Where he stood, he was being jostled by the people passing outside. Not one of them stopped to look at Thames House, less still actually walk inside. Realising that he had mistaken things, Leon began to back away. As he stepped backwards, he bumped into someone walking up behind him.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, whirling round to see who'd he'd trodden on.

She was a tall woman, with neat shoulder length blond hair and hard eyes. Dressed smartly, in expensive jeans and a smart white blouse.

"For God's sake, watch it!" she snapped at him, before striding towards the door of Thames House.

Leon swiftly overcame his embarrassment and called out to the woman. "Hey! Wait a minute!"

But the door to Espionage HQ slammed shut in his face as he rushed to catch up with her. Taking the hint, Leon walked turned and walked back down the road with feet that felt as though they had turned to lead.

Ruth glanced over the website with a critical eye. The colour scheme was a militaristic bright green and black. The text and font a bold silver white, lined in black. Down the right hand side was a sidebar with contact details, an archives section that had been entirely fabricated by herself and Malcolm, a picture gallery with stills from the lab break-in; a film section that contained clips of Ros' footage and, most importantly of all, a guestbook open to the browsing public. They had covered their tracks by hosting the site on a German server, so no hackers could trace it back to them and their IP was running through a proxy that bounced it round the globe. All were tactics employed by other activist groups so in itself, would not arouse suspicion.

To Ruth's left, the web designer Malcolm, was watching her reaction carefully. Occasionally, he glanced over at Harry, who was sat to his right. As always, the boss' expression was all but unreadable. He just looked mildly curious as he scratched at his chin, green eyes deepened in the reflected glow of the website. Eventually, Harry leaned forwards in his seat and pointed the tip of a biro at the link for the Guestbook.

"So, we can harvest the IP addresses of any person who posts a comment there?" he asked, turning to Malcolm.

"As long as they're not using a proxy," replied Malcolm. "And most people don't. Luckily for us, the majority of people think all they have to do is erase their browsing history, cache and cookies in order to be untraceable. But the hard core will know about proxies, I daresay."

That was Harry's main concern: that the ones they really wanted would have wised up to traceable IP addresses a long time ago. They were placing too much reliance on the technical ignorance of the people they sought. But for now, it was all they had. Ruth's concerns, however, were more aesthetic.

"Do you really think Lucas wants to be known to all the world as "The Bovine Warrior"?" she asked, one brow raised disbelievingly.

To Malcolm's other side, Harry snorted with laughter. The techie, however, was rather more abashed.

"I'm afraid to say I really couldn't think of anything better," he explained, apologetically. "Er, any suggestions?"

"No! That's good, Malcolm," Harry interjected, grinning impishly. "Sounds like some kind of super hero for livestock. Can we make him a special cow skin cape? A bit like Batman, except Lucas will be Cowman?"

Ruth's brow creased into a scowl. "Cow skin?" she repeated, quizzically. "Isn't that leather?"

"No, I mean the full black and white cow coloured type," retorted Harry. "Every super hero needs a super hero weapon. How about a set of fully functioning udders-"

The rest of Harry's sentence was cut off by an indignant Malcolm. "Please, you two, can we start to take this seriously?"

He shot them both looks of purest disapproval, first to Harry the main offender, then to Ruth who'd dissolved into laughter she fought to suppress. They chorused their apologies before turning back to the website. It hadn't yet gone live, so they still had time to tinker with it. Because one of Harry's main concerns was that their Anarcho-Environmentalist was a little too perfect, a little too fully formed. It was as if The Bovine Warrior had sprung from the earth, fully formed, instead of developing naturally. He had a huge back catalogue of actions that no one would have heard of, even though they were newsworthy. However, his musings on Lucas' thin plausibility was interrupted by the arrival of Ros Myers on the Grid.

Harry checked the clock, noticing it was still only midday and he hadn't been expecting Ros or Lucas for another hour. Not after they had been working until the small hours of the morning. She caught his eye and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Some horrible teenage thing bumped into me outside," she complained, approaching the station around which all three were gathered. "It actually touched me," she added with horror.

Horror that wasn't feigned. She held her arms up as though expecting to see some physical manifestation of this encounter breaking out on her skin.

"That must have been awful for you, Ros," said Ruth, making room for her. "Do you think you might have been infected?"

Ros paused, still on her feet. "Actually, I think I accidentally slammed the door in his face."

Harry sat back and gave his Section Head a most curious look. "Accidentally?" he repeated, disbelievingly. The others hid their smirks.

"Yes, accidentally," replied Ros, looking scandalised. "He said something, but I was already through the door. When I went back out to see what he wanted, he was gone."

Malcolm looked thoughtful for a minute. "Maybe he was just wanted to apologise?"

Ros shrugged. "It's possible, I suppose."

"Curious," said Harry. "Anyway, is Lucas with you?"

Ros sat down in the chair Ruth pulled up and looked at Harry with a grin from ear to ear. "You'll never guess why he's running late."

A number of expressions chased themselves across Harry's face as Ros explained the situation. He couldn't decide whether anger or hilarity were more fitting; as ever the job had left him feeling conflicted. Ruth, however, looked impressed. "Well, I think it's sweet."

"And it does give us more fodder for the site," Malcolm chipped in. "A nice feel good story. Do you have the photo you took, Ros? I'll upload it to the site now."

Harry noticed that Ruth had returned to her attempts at cracking Lucile's last code. As they she had predicted the night before, Ben had burned the codes they were using so they didn't have that to go on. Beneath the veneer of their chatter and banter, the situation remained as grim as it was before. They had one out of control, newly budding terrorist group that had killed two people, and very little information to go on.

"Ros," said Harry, getting to his feet.

Ros got up also, and Harry drew her to one side.

"Once Malcolm's finished, call Lucas and tell him to go straight over to David Shelley's house instead of coming here. Ask him to find out what he can about Kelly's last movements and whether there's any way information could have leaked from within his department. Then once he's spoken to the Secretary, to come back here."

Ros nodded in agreement. "Sure."

"Then you and I can go and see the Home Secretary now."

With that, he turned towards his office to get ready to go.

Lucas knelt down in front of the new rabbit hutch and poked his finger through the bars. The newly christened Starsky hopped over to him right away, sniffing at his finger to see if it was edible. They were an unlikely duo, but one that would serve a higher purpose. "If I'm going undercover, then so are you," he informed the rabbit, now nipping at the pad of his finger. Once he'd adjusted the water bottle, Lucas got up and returned to the kitchen to get his keys. He was running late for his meeting with the Secretary of State.

After the usual painful crawl through the London afternoon traffic, Lucas finally made it to the home of the Defence Secretary. His house was one of many in a smart cul-de-sac in the north of the city. White washed and immaculate, the Edwardian houses were among the most sought after in the city. Not bad at all for a former Communist agitator from West Yorkshire. He parked up opposite the house, pulling the car up as close as he could to the railings that surrounded the opposite park. The road was empty, the other residents still at work at that hour. So Lucas crossed without hesitation, opening the decorative gate and taking the front steps two at a time. Once he had rang the doorbell, he stood back from the door and drew a deep breath. He made sure his dark jacket was at least smart looking, as he got the thoughts in his head straightened out.

Following a wait of no more than half a minute, the door was open by a teenage boy. Lucas had to look downwards at him, he was barely five foot seven. Thin and pale, with an over-abundance of loose black curls that fell into his equally dark eyes. He looked like he'd been dragged backwards through a hedge.

"Can I speak to your father, please?" asked Lucas, having to guess at the boy's relationship to David Shelley.

Beneath that mop of a fringe, the boy's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You're not a journalist, are you?"

Lucas attempted a reassuring smile as he took out his wallet. Inside, he kept a false Police badge, but Shelley senior would know who he was.

"Chief Inspector Liam Nicholls," he said, holding up the ID card.

The boy took it from him and held it close to his face. Lucas waited patiently, pretending he wasn't surprised at the boy's attention to detail. Evidently satisfied, the door opened fully and Lucas stepped inside.

"Come with me," said the teen. "He's in his study."

Lucas noticed the kid was shaking as he handed back the ID card, but he supposed it was natural. He followed him towards the back of the hallway, up a flight of stairs and then another, where the boy stopped in front of a large oak door. A spacious house, the corridor led two ways, seemingly to a bathroom and some private bedrooms and there was another floor above them. The walls were all soulless, neutral colours that made the place feel sterile and cold. Only the thick pile carpet beneath his feet felt anything like 'home'.

The boy introduced 'Liam Nicholls' to his father, once they were inside the equally spacious and neutral office, but the Defence Secretary already knew who Lucas really was. The father smiled indulgently at the son before showing him the door. Before leaving, the teen looked back at Lucas appraisingly. A look that made him feel uncomfortable.

"Harry said you'd be coming, Mr North. Thank you. Is Ms Myers not with you?"

Lucas shook the man's hand. "No, she's been called away. But all I want is to ask a few questions. If that's okay?"

It wasn't okay. The other man was grieving and he perched on the edge of his desk, looking over at Lucas though bloodshot, tired eyes. But all the same, he nodded his head and tried to raise a smile. He had to go through the motions; he would do it because it had to be done. "Yes," said the Defence Secretary. "Yes, of course."

Leon got as far as the stairs, where he sat on the top step with his knees drawn up to his chest and chin propped on his knees. He couldn't hear what was being said in the office, but nor was he trying to. He wrapped his arms around himself, making himself as small as possible on the steps, thinking and dwelling. He remembered everything that Lucile had told him before they killed her. It had occurred to him that the Policeman already knew it was him, that he was in there only to tell his Dad what he'd done. But if that were true, his father seemed to be taking the news that his only child was as good as a murder rather well. He could see the door to the study through the bars of the bannister, he could just hear the muffled murmur of the two men's voices.

So he waited, and waited. His backside ached horribly and his nerves were screaming at him again. But still he waited on the top step, feeling numb and empty. When the Policeman came out again, well over an hour later, his father came with him. The two men frowned when they saw him sitting there. If it hadn't been for the Policeman's continued presence, his father would have scolded him there and then. Feeling stiff and sore, Leon got up from where he'd been sat.

"I'll show the Policeman out, you stay here," he told his father.

For a minute, it looked as if his father would insist. But eventually, he nodded and bid farewell to the visitor there. Alone with the policeman, Leon led the way back down the stairs, to the front door. But before he opened it, he paused and looked up at the other man. Tall and uncompromising, his jaw was set like he'd been carved from rock. He was imposing in a way that Leon would have felt himself shrinking back under any circumstances.

"It was me," he said to the Policeman.

For a moment, it seemed as though he hadn't been heard. The Policeman's eyes narrowed, looking him up and down.

"What?"

Leon's gaze lowered, so he was looking at his feet. "I said it was me. I did it."

When he looked back up at the Policeman, he wore the expression of a man showing great forbearance. "Look, kid, if this some joke-"

"No!" Leon cut him off abruptly. "There was a woman in a bunker, her name was Lucile. She told me there was something inside her, that has my name on it and if you look for it, you'll find it. She told me I had to speak with Lady Lazarus, but she didn't tell me how to contact her. She said something about GCHQ, but I don't think Lazarus is there. I don't know how else to prove it. Check what I say and it's true, I swear-"

"Wait, wait!" the Policeman's expression darkened, his demeanour rigid. He was taking him seriously now, Leon could tell. All that despite the fact his explanation sounded like the ravings of a lunatic. The policeman looked up the stairs, the way they'd just come. When he looked back at Leon, he spoke soft and low. "Tell your Dad you're going to stay with a friend for the night. Then you're coming with me."

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