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Chapter Two: Dead Ends.

Home had never been such a welcome sight, even from several hundred feet in the air. Well, at least not since the last time home was a welcome sight. Lucas watched from the aircraft window as they circled the night skies over London, looking down at the nebulous fuzz of lights. The swing of the plane as it turned and descended a little further played with his spinning mind, making his stomach lurch as the world tipped sideways. Turning away before he threw up again, his thoughts returned to the city they had left behind. Having slept through the entirety of the flight, it really did feel as though he had just left Baghdad.

They left behind seventy-two people dead and over three hundred more suffering the effects of whatever comprised that bomb. A nerve agent or chemical compound that continued to wreak its havoc like so many aftershocks. An invisible enemy churning the bodies of its victims from within, destroying their eyesight and eroding the lungs. Film footage shot on a mobile phone showed hospital waiting rooms full of people choking up the remains of their own respiratory tracts.

Ros had already moved on to the 'how's' and the 'why's'. Especially the 'how'. How did Islamic State get their hands on a chemical weapon of that calibre? Lucas, meanwhile, was still stuck on the level of self-recrimination and asking 'what if?' What if he had been functioning at peak health? What if he had been able to stay conscious?

When they had first appeared, he had struggled to identify what it was, precisely, that separated Islamic State from their fundamentalist predecessors. They shared the same modus operandi; the same goals; the same arbitrary nature and penchant for religiously loaded rhetoric. Both were so ferociously out of touch with the faith they claimed to be representing, so why the split in the first place? It hadn't made much sense to him and, like the rest of the world, could only look on helpless as their meteoric rise continued.

But where Al-Qaeda performed their atrocities with a grim sense of fanatical duty; Islamic State threw themselves into the task with positive glee. To Lucas, it seemed, they simply enjoyed killing people. That that was their motivational force and they loved it so much they now try their hand at killing their own history, too.

All that hatred; all that blood. Sometimes, he hated his job.

"Ros," he said, as the plane bumped against the runway. "We're too old for Veterinary School aren't we?"

Ros looked up from the inflight magazine she was reading, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I think it's safe to say we've missed that boat, Lucas. Are you holding out for universal popularity again?"

"Not really," he replied. "Just looking for somewhere with a little less hate."

"I have bad news for you, anyway. I was entirely wrong about vets. Nathan had to have his cat put down this morning, after the vet missed its early stage cancer. He is not a popular man," she explained, matter of factly.

"I think we missed the odd early sign or two ourselves," he said. "Maybe we shouldn't be so hard on the guy."

The lights in the cabin returned to full strength and the few passengers on board prepared to disembark. Still aching all over, Lucas hauled himself out of his seat and hit his head on the baggage hold. Ros winced for him. "That just knocked some sense into you."

No matter how often she did this, Ruth couldn't get used to it. At every function and reception she attended, she ended up in the same place: somewhere on the side lines, clutching the same glass of wine for hours on end and watching everyone else have all the fun. However, her luck changed as the Home Secretary materialised at her shoulder with the Securitech MD in tow. Suspecting he was simply passing by, she had pulled her chair up to make room in the narrow aisle that separated her table from the others. But, instead of passing by, he helped himself to the seat that Harry had just vacated for a trip to the gents, then offered a third to the MD.

"What was Harry thinking, going off and leaving you all alone like this," he joked.

It was all Ruth could do not to roll her eyes. "I'm sure I'll survive, Home Secretary. Harry will be back in a minute if you want to wait for him."

She scanned the horizon, hoping he was on his way back already. But as luck would have it Harry had been engaged in conversation at the bar and was showing no sign of bringing it to a close. Feeling cut adrift, she cast around desperately for small talk revolving around either golf or gardening. Fishing, at a stretch.

"Oh, you'll do. Ruth, have you met the Managing Director of Securitech? John, this is Ruth Evershed," said William Towers. "We're very lucky to have her, you know. Ruth's public appearances are greeted with the sort of awe and wonder normally reserved for UFO sightings."

Smiling at the Home Secretaries dire attempts at charm, Ruth reached across the table and shook John Carlton's hand.

"Lovely to meet you, Miss Evershed," said Carlton.

"Likewise," she replied, noticing how flushed he looked. "Lovely do, Home Secretary."

Towers briefly glanced around, checking out the VIPs in attendance. "Not too shabby, is it. This deal with Securitech will benefit a lot of people, after all."

"God knows, the economy needs it," replied Ruth. "Where will the factory be set up? Or have the finer details yet to be ironed out?"

It was Carlton who answered her. "We're working on it. But I hope to have at least one set up in Greater Manchester – an area of high unemployment … and where I grew up myself."

A local boy done good. It was always a good look. But Towers switched the conversation round abruptly. "Harry must be seething about the news from Iraq. Are your people back yet, or are you not supposed to say anything?"

"They're on their way," Ruth replied. "And trust me, Harry is not the only one seething about this."

Which reminded her that Beth was supposed to be collecting Ros and Lucas from the airport. By now, she could only hope she had remembered. Meanwhile, Harry seemed to have forgotten her as his conversation continued at the bar. But at least he'd gotten as far as collecting their drinks. Meanwhile, the Home Secretary began regaling Carlton with details of the Iraqi operation; setting Ruth's teeth on edge. Regardless of what deals were being signed, regardless of what weaponry this man was about to supply them with, he still did not need to know operational details from the Secret Intelligence Services.

"Er, Home Secretary-"

She tried to edge into the conversation, only to be cut off again as Towers talked over.

"Myers has a tendency to err on the frosty side, but Lucas North has always struck me as a more malleable type – a bit of a personality by-pass, but a good yolk all round," Towers emphasised his point by clapping a hand on her bare knee. Ruth's eyes widened in alarm as he glanced at the offending limb. "Ah, here comes Harry."

Ruth swiftly removed Towers' hand from her knee and stood up, ready to discreetly divert Harry. But he had already clocked the scene, his gaze darting from Ruth to Towers and back again.

"Don't mind me. I was only joking when I took those vows," he said, attempting to laugh it off. But the look in Harry's eyes suggested that had it been anyone other than Towers, he would have spent the remainder of the night picking the man's teeth out of his knuckles.

Now approaching full mortification, Ruth grabbed her handbag and led Harry away. "He's telling that businessman all about Ros and Lucas. I tried to stop him but he grabbed my knee. Harry, he's pissed, you need to get him home."

"What? Me?" he retorted. "How am I supposed to do that?"

Ruth's brow creased and she shrugged. "I don't know. But state security currently depends on it!"

Harry sighed heavily, depositing their drinks in her hands before heading back towards Towers. "The things I do for this country," he moaned, before turning to the task at hand. Ruth knocked back both drinks.

Nathan put his foot down on the accelerator as the minute hand ticked towards nine. Sharaf Suleiman was never late and their meeting place was still two miles down the road. Chairman Meow lay stiff as a board on the backseat and covered in his favourite woollen blanket, drawing his owner's attention from the road. Only the prospect of being pulled over for speeding and having to explain a dead cat to the police compelled him to slow down as he closed in on the meeting place.

There was a multi storey car park close to the spot and he pulled into the ground level, finding it almost abandoned. The office blocks nearby had emptied during the recession, so this out of the way spot now lay largely abandoned. Behind that, conveniently, was the pet burial place where Chairman Meow was destined for his final journey.

There were just two other vehicles there, one of them belonging to Suleiman. Pulling in next to him, Nathan shut off the engine and turned to the back seat as though checking up on the cat. He reached over, patted down the blanket ensuring it was in place and sighed sadly.

"I won't be long," he promised.

Outside, Suleiman came up to meet him. The two of them shook hands and circled the third car that was parked nearby. There was no one inside it but they left the car park to avoid possible interruptions from the returning over. A canal path wended between the few functioning commercial buildings, so Nathan opted for that. Waiting until they had passed a small gaggle of children throwing stones into the stagnant water, Suleiman made small talk. It was a fine morning, clear and warm with the promise of only growing warmer. Far enough from the city for the traffic to sound distant, they strolled along the path like two old friends.

"Your cat is with Allah now," Suleiman promised him. "You should rejoice."

Nathan smiled. "That's very reassuring. As long as he gets his virgins too."

Suleiman sighed. "It amazes me how many people believe that."

Unwilling to enter a theological debate, Nathan let the matter drop. They had passed the stone throwing kids now and it was time to get down to business.

"Oi! Osama Bin Laden!" one of the kids called out, now they were at a safe distance.

They all burst out laughing, the sound of their footsteps scarpering into the distance before Nathan even had a chance to turn around. Not that he would have reacted anyway. When he looked back at Suleiman, however, he noticed the man beaming.

"You take that as a compliment?" he asked, confused. "Never mind the irony; that's still racial abuse!"

"I'm not stupid," Suleiman replied, still untroubled. "They're children looking for a chase; I bet they don't even know who Osama Bin Laden really is."

Nathan shrugged. He'd been called a Welsh sheep shagger often enough to simply not give a damn anymore. Their gentle walk continued, even until the concrete path petered out, giving way to over grown, beaten earth. An electric blue dragonfly hovered among the reeds on the banks of the canal, catching the younger man's eye. Suleiman didn't seem to have noticed it.

"So, your people in Iraq," Nathan began. "You have anything for us?"

"They're not my people," Suleiman pointed out. "They travelled of their own free will and not even you have the right to stop people doing that."

"We can if we suspect they're off on a suicide bombing holiday!" Nathan retorted. "We take a pretty dim view of chemical warfare, too."

"Hmmm…" Suleiman added. "That's interesting."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Nathan drew a deep breath.

Suleiman confounded him. He was always calm and rational; altogether lacking the crazed fervour that seemed to fuel his fellow fanatics. He was almost downright friendly on most occasions; this being no exception.

"It is nothing. But likewise, I have nothing to offer you," he eventually said. "I pose no danger to you, nor to this country. But wherever Jihad is being fought, that is my business."

"Oh come on, Sharaf," Nathan cut in. "Surely you saw how many people were killed in that bomb? They were Muslims, you know. And this is what I don't get about your friends in Islamic State: so far, most of their victims have been fellow Muslims. Did you know it was a chemical bomb? Is this what you wanted?"

"None of us want war-"

"That's not what I asked, Sharaf. Tell me, how did they get that bomb?"

They turned around, walking back the way they had come.

"It was sold to us," said Sharaf.

Nathan waited for him to continue, but he didn't. Exasperated, Nathan gave himself a minute to compose himself and gather his wits.

"I think we'd figured that bit out for ourselves," he said, at length. "Care to divulge the seller? You know we'll protect you, should anyone ever find out."

There was no one around. The only sound was of wading birds flapping among the mud banks and the buzz of an occasional insect. Even by the time they reached the car park again, it was still quiet. But rather than returning to their cars, Suleiman drew Nathan aside. The owner of the third car seemed to have returned as the passenger door was now open. Briefly, he considered going up a level, to the first floor from which you could look down over a mezzanine onto the ground. But Suleiman seemed content with pausing by the perimeter wall.

"It was sold to us by Securitech," said Suleiman.

Nathan's expression darkened, unsure of whether he was hearing it true.

"The same Securitech that's just signed a deal with the British Government?" he asked, sceptically.

Suleiman replied in earnest. "By the Managing Director himself. Whether you choose to believe or not is entirely your choice. But that's all I can give you."

He turned to walk away, but Nathan wasn't through with him yet. "Wait! Of course I'll tell my boss. But tell me a time and a place when I can bring him to meet with you. Work for us properly; we need you."

"I thought I already was working for you," Suleiman answered. "But, same time next week. Bring him and I'll tell him what I told you."

"Proof," Nathan said, once more delaying his departure. "Bring proof; we can't just take your word for it. Do you have any with you now; anything I can take back to my boss?"

The other man's expression fell. "I'm afraid not. I'll do what I can."

Frustrating as it was, Nathan let the other man go. He returned to his own car, ready to drop the dead cat off at the pet cemetery place for cremation. But had second thoughts of his own. It was only nine thirty and he needed to clear his head. Bagging up the Chairman in a bin liner from the boot, he began the short journey on foot.

Ros opened up proceedings by apologising for Lucas' absence. "He's in hospital being treated for dehydration," she explained in response to Ruth's alarmed look. "He could be in for a few days. Honestly, everything that could go wrong did so, and more besides."

Now that the moment had come, she realised how little there was to tell. One minute all was going well; the next and all hell had broken loose. Under normal circumstance she had leads to follow up, or ideas of how to prevent it happening again. Her only consolation was that this, in reality, was someone else's problem.

"Six are handling the Iraqi situation, which leaves us second guessing what British extremists are up to," she added, meeting Harry's gaze across the meeting room table. She then looked back at Ruth. "Is there any developments suggesting an attack on British soil?"

Ruth hesitated before answering, consulting some files. "Nothing. There is no change. Our biggest worry is people leaving the country and carrying out attacks abroad – which then becomes Six's territory."

So that was it. They just had to let the case go. It left Ros with a strangely flat feeling, as though the failure of their op was just going to be left to fester.

"We'll be attending the funerals of the MI6 Agents killed in the field," Harry said, glancing over at Ruth. "You and Lucas are welcome to join us, if you so wish."

An invitation Ros responded to with a nod. "I'll tell him tonight. There's no reason why he shouldn't be discharged in time."

There was little else to say or do. They could only get back in the saddle and carry on as before.

Nathan didn't hang around for the cremation. It would be done later; then he and Olly would be contacted to collect the Chairman's ashes when appropriate. He paid the bill and returned to his car, finding both Suleiman's and the third vehicle still there. As he entered the ground level, his attention was also caught by the return of the charming children who had resumed their stone throwing games in the near distance.

Thinking little of it, he started up the engine and put his car in gear. Slowly, he crawled the car out of the car park and paused at the entrance as his phone began to ring. Ducking down into the glove compartment, he rummaged for his mobile uttering a curse under his breath. Almost as if in response, something hit the roof of his car with a loud thump and his engine stalled. Before he could even look up, he heard footsteps fleeing from the first storey.

"Bloody feral kids!" he snapped out loud.

His phone fell silent; number not recognised. He sat up straight in the driver's seat and rubbed his tired eyes. Out of habit, he checked the back seat but found it empty. Not even a dead cat kept him company now. Despondent, revved the stalled engine, giving the vehicle a jolt as he did so. Before he pulled out into the forecourt, he noticed the children still throwing stones in the same place as moments before. While he looked, a narrow trickle of blood began running down the windscreen.

He didn't notice it at first, not until it slowly dribbled past his line of sight; slowly gathering momentum as gravity kicked in. Even then he did not move. He froze in place, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. He turned to open his door, noticing with a twist of sickness that another trickle of blood was running down his car door. Whatever it was, it was still on the roof.

Steeling himself for the worst, he kicked open the door and exited backwards so he would see what was up there right away.

Harry replaced the telephone receiver and waved Ruth over. While she crossed the Grid, he thought again about the previous night's shenanigans with the Home Secretary. When Ruth entered, he pulled up a chair for her and brought it round to his side.

"That was William Towers on the phone," he explained.

Ruth tried not to grin. "And?"

"He's forgotten everything and insists he only had two or three drinks." It was a line he himself had trotted out more times than he cared to remember. But Towers was a different matter altogether. "Don't you think it was odd? Even if he was drunk, it's not in his nature to start blithely banging on about SIS personnel in such a fashion. As for the wandering hands, well… least said, soonest mended perhaps."

He had only heard it second hand from Ruth. But Ros and her frostiness and Lucas with his personality by-pass, although flippant, was still as good as a security breech. It did not sit right with Harry; it jarred at him.

"He was celebrating, Harry," said Ruth. "Maybe he lost track of how much he'd had. Happens to the best of us. We don't all turn into gropers, though."

Harry was about to go on, but for Ruth's mobile ringing. While she answered, he got up to make coffee for them both. He passed Ros on his way to the kitchenette, but she was on the phone too, giving a fake name to Lucas' hospital. By the time he made it back to his office, Ruth had returned to her desk. She was rummaging frantically through the drawer of her desk.

"Harry!" she called over, waving her car keys at him. "We've got to go. It's Nathan."

He put the steaming cups down on Ros' desk. The Section Chief had put the phone down and was now looking up at Ruth.

"What's happened?" he asked. "Is Nathan okay?"

With the car keys in her hands, she came over to stand by them in a huddle. "He's in a state out there, but from what I can make out the asset he spoke to this morning has just been murdered. His severed head was dropped on Nathan's car as he exited the car park."

Ros' expression hardened; eyes narrowing as she worked it out. "Shit! So this happened between the end of the meeting and Nathan getting in his car. That must be a window of about two seconds!"

Ruth shook her head. "He had another errand to run. He left the scene and returned no more than twenty minutes later. Apparently the severed head was, er, very fresh."

Harry baulked. "Never mind all this; Nathan's still out there with the killer at large. Getting him back safely is our priority."

Ros caught herself on. "Of course, shall I come with you?"

He asked her to remain behind but held out his hand for Ruth to come with him. Together, they hurried off the Grid, Harry neglecting to even fetch his jacket.

"God, I hope Nathan's okay," said Ruth, as they reached the pods. "As for Suleiman; another bloody way in with these people getting a taste of his own medicine may be grimly poetic, but it's still a pain in our arse."

It was a bitter thought, but Harry had to admit that it had occurred to him too. Whatever was going on, it seemed they hit nothing but dead ends.

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