Once again thanks to those who read and even greater thanks to those who reviewed. The angst is rising.
The Grid. Approx 3.00pm
Harry's face was etched with a rich combination of shock and confusion. Confusion because he had never, to the best of his knowledge met anyone surnamed Vardec, shock because those seven small words had effectively spiked his growing belief that Catherine's disappearance was unrelated to his own activities. Mentally straining to rearrange his earlier theories he was conscious of the impatience radiating from Jane. If she wasn't neutralised in short order he'd be atomised in the ensuing explosion. His mind was still rifling through a lifetime index of names, enemies and friends, past and present, as he attempted to decontaminate her.
"You tell me and we'll both know."
"Harry!" That single word uttered chillingly contained an air of total disbelief.
"I'm serious. I've never heard the name before. I've absolutely no idea who this Gene's father is."
Jane re read the note carefully before batting back savagely. "And where exactly does it say that your friend was male?"
The underpinning inference was obvious, forcing Harry into amending his previous statement. "Then I'll repeat, I don't know anyone of that surname."
Jane's incredulity had shifted not a jot as he tried again, "I know exactly what you're thinking. I've never pretended to be a monk but I've always used a legend for any casual encounters, and as you are well aware anything more sustained is subject to a vetting which would have thrown up any alias."
He really could have done without these enforced references to his less than continent past. He didn't expect Jane to forgive and forget entirely, but that all his sincerely meant efforts of the last two days counted for less than nothing seared him more than he could ever have expected. His hurt made manifest in his next words. "I know some things you can't forget Jane but do you really think so little of me?"
Her eyes, glinting through the shutters of distrust wordlessly answered the question. Worry, anger, disappointment all jumbled into a toxic mix as his frustrations vented themselves in a furious outburst, "Jane, my infidelities during our marriage are a matter of record. Whatever bedroom activities I may have indulged in since our divorce are really none of your business. So why then would I need to avoid telling you the truth?"
Commonsense told Jane that Harry wasn't prevaricating. She wanted to believe him but previous experience was acting as a retardant. In times past she'd accepted his endless denials and excuses, only to discover that her trust had been betrayed. His protestations of innocence abandoned only when confronted with irrefutable evidence of his perfidy in the shape mysterious fingernail scratches scored into his back, or by her waving in his face the carelessly forgotten half empty packet of condoms that she'd unearthed from its furtive locale in a corner of his suitcase. Memories that still stung, particularly in relation to his fling with 'Smug Cow' aka Juliet Shaw. Leopards and spots didn't change easily, and three decades of doubt couldn't be set aside so lightly. He read all these thoughts filtering across her face; if she'd punched his forehead with a stamp marked 'LIAR' she couldn't have made her sceptism more obvious.
When she failed to give any indication of softening her stance Harry finally snapped. "Thank you for believing that I'd prolong a lie with our daughter's life as the betting chip."
The hovering full blown row was finally ignited by Jane's outraged response. "Don't you dare take that tone to me, or have the gall to pretend that you've told me everything about your current life."
Harry's face, unusually for him, turned ashen as he was reduced to a stunned silence. For a couple of seconds he was rigid with shock until he registered that her comment was general, yelled in anger, not specific – she couldn't know about Ruth, could she? Recovering he spat back with, "How dare you even imply that I'm not doing my utmost to rescue Catherine from danger. So much for you trusting..."
His remaining words were staunched by a discreet cough from the doorway accompanied by a tentative rap. Dimitri was standing there, shuffling with all the usual discomfit of the bystander walking into an obvious row. Flushed faces in Dimitri's experience meant either amorous intent or vicious argument. He didn't fancy being an audience to either. His embarrassment was matched by that of the participants, both of whom clammed up in an instant.
"Sorry to interrupt but Malcolm and Calum have buzzed for release, they've completed the initial assessment."
Swallowing down his anger as he reached for his discarded jacket Harry, while deliberately ignoring Jane, instructed, "Very well, everyone in the Briefing Room, as quickly as possible." Dimitri didn't need telling twice, any port to avoid the storm of which he seemed to have provided the temporary eye. He departed on a duel mission. Priority: to gather the troops, secondary consideration: advise them come equipped with Intel and earplugs.
Still not looking at Jane Harry rearranged his clothing, his hopes of any rapport in tatters. A few short minutes ago he'd been concerned about the possible effect the closeness of her body might have on him, but had not wished to distance himself lest she mistakenly assumed he was rejecting her. Now, spurred on by an anger rooted in disappointment, he just wanted her out of his sight. Sitting there with her eyes flashing, her ears closed and her mouth ready to utter endless condemnations she was a living reminder of his folly in attempting to atone for his past sins through current actions.
Furious at being ignored but keen to explain Jane made a waspish attempt to apologise, "I'm sorry Harry but with our past history you can't blame me for thinking..." As apologies went it had the same effect as the words 'fat', fire' and 'throw' although the response was less than warm. For a man with such a volcanic temper his glacier like tones were a shock, signalling a cold anger that would have had most of his subordinates scurrying for cover.
"Since you obviously can't trust me it has ceased to matter to me what you think."
With that he turned on his heel and walked briskly away, his exit marked by his closing of the office door with the hint of a slam. Left alone, shuddering with shock, not entirely attributable to her concerns over Catherine, Jane wondered what she should do. She didn't dare follow, he'd not invited her into the meeting and she didn't want to risk the humiliation of being ordered out. Sinking into the sofa with her head in her hands she contemplated the ruins of the relationship they'd been striving to repair. Pragmatically she'd probably just seen the promised help with her divorce walk out the door, practically, given that she had no current access to her bank account, she was dependent upon Harry for her bed and board. Surprisingly, she knew that these considerations weighed as minor, she could always fall back on her original plan re the divorce and contact Rebecca to rescue her from London, even at the price of enduring an endless diatribe of 'I could have told you so's'. Unbelievably, incredibly, what was upsetting her most was the sudden withdrawal of Harry's caring friendship.
Stupid, stupid man, couldn't he see how upset and worried she was. Didn't he understand that her reaction was a reflex, a neural pathway conditioned to instant suspicion at the merest hint of him with other women. And stupid, stupid her, as if she hadn't known for years that Harry, while brilliant at invoking Eros, possessed all the skills of a Martian when it came to decoding any emotion more complicated than lust pure and simple, well simple if not exactly pure. She'd actually said it aloud to his face about half an hour earlier. Then, in the sheer panic invoked by Catherine's notes, combined with Harry's claims of total ignorance, that knowledge had temporarily and fatally deserted her, leading to a dispute that now left her stranded, alone in his goldfish bowl of an office. Casting her eyes around she lighted on the generously filled whisky decanter balancing in tempting proximity to the desk. Harry obviously had no inhibitions about drinking at work. She supposed he needed some prop, something to numb the daily pain of living with his decisions, some sense of warmth in the midst of his loneliness. She considered the possibility of consuming the golden liquor. A temporary removal of his sole source of comfort. A revenge that would be drunke,n rather than sweet, for his unreasonable anger, with the added bonus of giving her a few hours of welcome oblivion. Harry would be furious of course - only the truly favoured got to share his expensive connoisseur approved malt - but what the hell, he already was. Her tentative hand stretching out to at least essay a hesitant sip – in truth she actually hated the taste of Harry's favourite tipple - was stayed only by a quiet knock on the door signalling the arrival of Malcolm.
"Jane we're waiting for you in the Briefing Room."
Normally pride would have prevented Jane from showing her feelings so obviously but, still shaken by Harry's reaction to her probably ill founded suspicions, she failed to raise her normal defensive shield saying in a voice that held the merest hint of a tremor.
"He doesn't need me there Malcolm, and he certainly doesn't want me."
Malcolm yielded little to Harry in the realm of the emotional inarticulate, and most definitely did not possess Harry's level of hands on experience with women. But having been delegated by a fuming, anger flushed Harry to collect the unsettled, shivering Jane even he was quite capable of divining that they had had a falling out that made the relationship between the FSB and CIA look positively cuddly.
"Jane, I don't know what you quarrelled about, but Harry certainly wouldn't have sent me here if he didn't want you."
Gathering herself upwards both physically and mentally Jane managed a wan smile.
"And Harry always gets what he wants." It was a question as much as a statement.
Despite the profession he was allied to, Malcolm was not a natural liar. He hesitated briefly. What Harry had wanted, what he had really, really wanted was Ruth and...and telling Jane that wouldn't help to resolve what he interpreted as a situation with a capital S. Avoiding her eyes he managed to temporise with, "In a work situation normally yes, he does."
Jane noted the measured reply. It confirmed her now entrenched suspicion, enhanced by Harry's nightmare the previous evening, that something, or some event, in Harry's personal life was cloaked in a mystery known to the team. A mystery moreover that they were conspiring to hide from the stranger in their midst. That in itself didn't surprise her. She knew him to be a man of secrets. None of her business he would claim. She disagreed. How could they achieve any degree of friendship when whatever was tormenting him kept throwing its shadowy cloak across their fumbling attempts at communication? For now though she decided to avail herself of the time honoured advice on what to do when stuck in a hole, relieved that for the moment her dishonourable discharge from the Grid appeared to be subject to a stay of execution.
As she followed Malcolm into the Briefing room, entering nervously through the door he politely held open for her, Harry looked over her head rather than at her, as he barked in frigid greeting, "Thank you for deigning to join us Jane. Now we're all finally assembled and before we move onto the more pressing and lengthy issue of the memory stick, I'd like to clear up any new Intel or theories surrounding the events at Catherine's flat."
The rest of the team were wondering whatcould have occurred to make Harry snap at Jane so coldly. In a cartoon he'd have been sitting below a thundercloud discharging flashes of lightening. Jane, ahead of them on that one, was curious as to why Harry,having staked his wholly believable claim to concern over their daughter, was postponing an immediate discussion relating to the key piece of evidence.
That puzzle was solved the instant she'd looked across at Calum. The Grid joker had vanished; masked behind a chalk white face fetchingly tinged with a sickly off green sheen that, as a veteran of various school excursions, she recognised as a proclamation that the owner had recently thrown up. For the sake of the cleaners she hoped Calum had managed to reach the Gents first. Mopping up vomit was a task that had invariably made her gag. While Harry hadn't exactly overwhelmed her with his domestic virtues, he'd proved much more adept at dealing with the shit and sick emanating from ill children than herself. A transferable skill from his dubious job, not exercised as often as she'd have wished due to said job calling him away to shot and, allegedly, shag in defence of the realm. Pulling her darkling thoughts back into the Briefing Room the motivation underlying Harry's current procrastination was clear. He wanted to give Calum, on whom the material viewed had obviously had a profound effect, recovery time before making him publicly discuss the horrors. It revealed an unexpected level of sensitivity towards his staff that made her recent accusations seem even more unjust.
Reflection was abandoned as Harry barked across the table, "Any news about the intruder we put into hospital last night?"
Amidst the deluge of other complications thumping onto their desks hourly this minor detail had slipped most minds. Fortunately Malcolm, the veteran of multi tasking, was ready with an update, "The officer we have on watch informs me that the gentleman has severe concussion and is judged not medically fit for interrogation at present."
Harry's face intimated that he could think of a few ways of ensuring that the not so hapless prisoner was helped towards a speedy recovery. His suggestions for alternative treatments, unlikely to be within the ethical scope of NHS delivery, were destined to remain a secret, their revelation prevented by Calum who marked his faltering return to normality by reminding them that,
"I thought we'd already concluded it was a black op spearheaded by the CIA. If they are behind it they must have some contact with the gang in Brixton who we know supplied the car watching the bombing, and collected Garside's unidentified and untraced replacement."
Dimitri, while not exactly objecting, had a quibble. "So in that case if they murdered the bloke with the laptop why was..." He paused for a second. "Do we have a name for the murdering murdee? And what information do we have about our friend in hospital? Calum you mentioned the police database earlier."
Malcolm behalf of the techies was ready with the Intel, "The man fished out of the Thames was called Dave Wilson. The gentleman caught yesterday evening has a couple of convictions for possession of drugs and seems to calim ownership of more legends that the Ancient Greeks. His real name appears to be Alan Payne."
Calum, on the road to recovery grinned, "Self fulfilling surname once Harry and Dimitri said hello."
A ripple of relief ran around the table. Calum the quipper was resurrected. Acknowledging this with a gentle quirk of the lips Dimitri returned to his original question, "What I was asking is this. If Wilson, who also had a record, was murdered to avoid trace why then was Payne sent into the flat when it was still being watched?"
A riddle indeed, even Erin's smooth brow began to show unwonted evidence of deep wrinkles. After a few moments Calum's cogitations resulted in yet another query.
"Harry, Garside didn't see you and Jane entering Catherine's flat did he?"
"No, what of it?"
"So Wilson was seen by the other policeman on duty, the one who wasn't killed. Even if the plod couldn't id him he'd have left DNA. As he had been convicted that meant he was traceable."
Erin saw a hole in his reasoning, "Yes but the same could be said for Payne, so what difference does that make?"
Hercules had his labours to vex him; Calum had his explanations to a dullard group.
"Payne only entered after the place had been checked out and from the unguarded rear entrance. If Harry and Dimitri hadn't happened to be there he'd not have been detected." As words hovered on the tip of Erin's tongue he answered her unspoken objection. "Okay he would have been - but he wasn't to know that the ordinary copper dozing outside the front door was Jason with an MI5 legend and an array of monitoring equipment. If all went according to plan Payne could have retrieved Mr Snuggles or anything else without us knowing."
As Calum paused for breath all eyes, including Jane's, finally rested on Harry as they waited for either affirmation or negation. Harry, having rubbed his face wearily as he considered, uttered a single command, "Continue."
Calum progressed to the next stage of his theory, ears alert for challenges. "Garside doesn't have a record, nor have we traced one for his watchman successor. Visible but clean skins, conveyed there by a gang headed by a ghost called O'Docherty." He halted for a breather, hoping that the others were finally following him. "O'Docherty is allegedly American, inhibiting our chances of tracing links on the UK databases while flagging up searches with the cousins, alerting them to conceal anything smelling of halibut."
Malcolm glanced at Harry as he said in support, "I'd agree. That links with the document on Garside's kindle."
Harry, having reviewed all the statements concurred. "Hired by the gang but reporting straight to the CIA. It's possible." Other than Harry everyone looked mystified. Malcolm speedily explained, "We found a contact number on the ereader that finally, after I'd done a little hacking, was tracked to the American Embassy."
"Don't be so modest mate, undetected hacking of the CIA is genius level work."
Under different circumstances Jane and Harry would both have laughed independently at the slight start the tremendously formal Malcolm gave when thus addressed. Amusement having been banished to the land of limbo Harry simply nodded to Calum to continue his exposition,
"Wilson and Payne have records but were supposed to avoid being seen. If picked up they are traced back to the gang in Brixton. The CIA, while lurking in the shadows at a remove of about three are pulling the strings. At least they're doing so in London. Their attempt to collect Jane was more open, but wouldn't have been detected if it hadn't been for Laura. As I understand it Jane is often away from home for short periods so the chances were that she'd not have been missed for a couple of days or so. Long enough to accomplish whatever purpose they had in mind."
While Jane was striving to fight down the feeling of sheer personal terror that Calum had just invoked, the assembled spooks began to sway their heads in vigorous agreement. Her fear subdued, the sight reminded Jane of a set of fairground nodding dogs. Despite the precarious position she was in, and her consequent vow to imitate a fly on the wall, she felt obliged to disturb this congratulatory basking with an irritating buzz of a reminder.
"It also wasn't very shadowy to plant a bomb and then watch me being blown to atoms. Or I could have been."
A still smarting Harry finally addressed her, "No one's claimed that they were efficient." The edge in his voice was inescapable, the hurt in Jane's eyes visible to all, as she shot back, "Fortunate for me then that you weren't in charge."
"You'd never have traced me. If I ever kill you it'll be by much more subtle methods.
Wounded and angry Jane fought on. "Well you've done your best to destroy me in other ways, so feel free to finish the job."
The rest of the team held their respective breaths. The endless Harry and Jane sparring they'd quickly become accustomed to, even found it mildly amusing, but this instant blazing hostility springing from two equally hot tempers was different and unsettling. Suddenly the centrally heated Grid had been plunged into an atmosphere of Arctic intensity. Reluctant witnesses, made deeply uncomfortable by their enforced viewing of an intensely private fight, they sat still and silent, mentally reacting in their own individual ways.
Erin was inwardly groaning, in the past she'd survived the terrible twos with Rosie at home, now she was confronted with the furious fifties at work, and was less than sanguine about her chances of escaping the fallout unscathed.
Dimitri, whose arrival on the Grid had preceded that of Erin and Calum, was wondering how much more of Harry's private public dealings with the women in his life he could cope with, while resolving to avoid similar public rows with Erin.
Calum now understood why Catherine had a history of walking blithely into war zones, they must be a cake walk compared to being caught up in the parental cross fire.
Malcolm was practicing a hitherto unknown form of geek Zen, mentally envisaging a new theorem of binary coding whereby one and one remained permanently separated by a big fat zero.
The two combatants having shouted one another into a thunderous silence were mutually aghast at being betrayed into publicly revealing such a flaring personal antagonism. Jane, beneath her disguising glare, was invested with an aura of distress and confusion. Harry's fury hardened stare was concealing the emotional contortions that were leaving him torn between wanting to reassure her that he hadn't really meant the cutting words spoken in anger and, conversely, wanting to walk around the table and shake the infuriating woman with the laser beam eyes for her sheer bloody intransigence in not believing the truth when she heard it. Masculine pride dictated that after her wilful refusal to accept his word it wasn't for him to act as supplicant. Knowledge of his ex-spouse informed him that it was highly unlikely that Jane would be prepared to admit she was at fault. Therein rested the nub, they were both equally stubborn and both equally disinclined to yield from an entrenched position for fear of seeming weak.
The unity of friendship that Harry the ex-husband and co-parent had wanted, that he still wanted, seemed increasingly unlikely. The barrier between them transcended the merely physical. If only he could talk to her sensibly and calmly, explain and insist that somehow they had to continue in their attempts to hurdle over their baggage strewn past, somehow force her listen not simply to his words but also to accept that he was no longer the feckless, self confident youth she'd married. But for now, in this room, with the fate of their daughter under discussion Harry the spook reigned.
He accepted the inevitability of this decision, forced upon him out of necessity, his relationship with Jane could go on hold; the invisible clock running on Catherine's life couldn't. Even worse he knew that he'd have made the same call, to shelve that vital conversation, had his daughter not been involved. How often had he done so with Ruth? Too often, but it was of such choices, agonising and destructive to anything that resembled his personal happiness, that his life had been composed. Now was not the time to change the habit of over three decades. Would it ever be?
Grid persona racked into place he began to sum up. "So in conclusion our working theory remains that the CIA is either using this gang, or set it up as a front for their very deep cover work. I'd opt for the latter as they had to move quickly once the bomb plot failed. The CIA gave the details of the two clean skins we caught watching the flat to the gang who act as the middlemen in hiring them. Presumably the Wilson and Payne were already gang members. Overall this makes the CIA damn near untraceable."
Malcolm have one challenge. "The dead man was professionally executed. According to the police reports that doesn't match the gang profile of petty theft and limited violence."
Dimitri pursed his lips for a moment and then suggested, "They may have been hired by the gang in the same way as Garside, a one off. If their names were then given to the CIA they may be responsible for the execution."
As the unhardened Grid newcomer Jane couldn't help herself, "Isn't that what we civilians call murder? Not that it matters to any family I suppose, dead is dead."
Harry gave himself a quick internal shake, such a statement, reflecting the abnormal morality of MI5 in which murder presented as normal and acceptable could have come from Ruth. Knowing the paralysing effect these memories had upon his concentration he pushed them back, rebuking Jane a little more gruffly than intended, "Let's not worry about the terminology, as you said dead is dead. Dimitri anything to add?"
Jane wondered which was worse, the continuing failure of Harry to respond to her, or the sympathic looks being flashed at her by Erin. Jane hated pity, in her opinion it was one of the few traits she and Harry had always shared. If he had decided to rewind to their relationship back to the state pertaining two days previously so be it, she'd cope without Miss MI5's patronage.
Dimitri noting her renewed glare made haste, anything to avoid another ringside seat in the ongoing, unedifying spectacle of the Harry and Jane showdown.
"Wilson had a drug habit, Payne has drug related convictions. Kill them both and leave evidence with Payne's body directing the police towards the local drug barons." He smirked slightly as he added, "We may have done Payne a favour by putting him into hospital."
Harry's frown implied that when he got his hands on Payne, this piece of luck might have been over stated. In the absence of Payne to confirm or refute Harry announced, "It sounds feasible, if this duo were ever traced back to the gang after the break ins or even ... 'in deference to your sensibilities Jane' ... their murder the police are unlikely to believe a bunch of criminals shouting,' It's not me guv' when caught red handed. For the CIA it was just their bad luck, and our good fortune that I had reasons for a covert approach and saw Garside. Who else would normally notice a regular exchange of blokes in bus shelters?"
Dimitri was pondering, "As they were hired quickly after the original bomb plot went wrong, clean skin or not I'd assume they were on the death list as well once their work was done. The CIA seems fairly desperate to avoid detection. It might be worth checking to see if an unidentified body matching the Garside's partner has turned up."
While Malcolm scribbled a note an unimpressed Erin, having registered Jane's blench, defended Jane's original objection, "What would be the point of that? Jane is right, the bomb was open, not covert. Anyone setting it must have known MI5 would get involved as a result."
Malcolm, while wondering if this was an example of the feminist sisters sticking together, was able to plug that gap in her reasoning. "Firstly in the original plot the CCTV was turned off and they didn't plan on a surviving eye witness. Secondly they'd have difficulty linking Catherine with Harry because I know how deeply he buried the family details from prying eyes. Also Catherine uses Jane's maiden name. Plus if they did try to trace her they'll not find a birth certificate for Catherine Townsend since she was registered as Pearce."
Jane nodded in confirmation, "That's correct and her birth certificate isn't the easiest to find as she was born in Cologne."
Erin wasn't to be deterred, "Yes, but having set a bomb they'd still have had to cope with MI5 crawling around."
Harry having digested all these suggestions supported Malcolm with a mildly impatient. "As far as they knew they were not bombing the flat of Catherine Townsend, daughter of the Head of Section D, but Catherine Townsend the documentary maker. I'd bet my shirt..."
"One of the few you have left after my borrowings of yesterday." Jane's interjection in the hope of restoring relations with a frowning Sir Harry Pearce onto a more even keel went for nought as Harry, oblivious to her verbal olive branch, continued onwards.
"In their place I would have prepared a faked Intel blaming it all on Muslim extremists incensed by Catherine's programme on forced marriage. Win win, the CIA get the memory stick blasted out of existence, and stir up anti Muslim feeling to justify what ever set of interventions Uncle Sam wants to drag this country into next."
Before everyone could sigh with relief at having found a logical solution to this part of the puzzle Harry punctured the self satisfaction with, "We have a one huge problem with this theory. Lack of concrete proof."
Malcolm and Calum exchanged glances before Calum said,
"When the police discovered our interest in this group the local plod contacted us to say they are planning a raid tonight. The Chief Constable is getting ratty about the clean up rate and needs to raise his profile with a crusade on gang crime."
A sharp indrawn breath of amazement greeted this announcement. Jane's confusion on this score was answered by a kindly explanation from the chivalrous Malcolm.
"The policeman who was killed was one of their colleagues and they heard on the grapevine that MI5 might help. Normally they don't cooperate but like us they look after their own. Seemingly they've had someone working under undercover with that gang for a couple of months."
There was an expectant hush. Heads twisted towards Harry as the team confidentially awaited the almost inevitable outburst. Harry's choleric views on help and cooperation with her Majesty's Constabulary were notorious, historically refused on the grounds that, 'I'm not relying on a group who signally failed to arrest Noddy for traffic offences.'
Finally he uttered with a reluctant snort, "That grapevine needs pruning. We can't stop them so we'll gift them Batman. With his tattoos, he should fit nicely if they need extra help undercover. Inform them that we'll want access to any interviews and complete disclosure of all information received."
With this topic exhausted Harry turned to Erin. "Did you get anything from the traffic CCTV mole to confirm this?"
Erin bit her lip gently, "I must say he was very helpful, but his immediate reply makes the theory just advanced fall apart."
Two steps forward in discovering his daughter's fate, now confronted with at least one step backwards. A flick of his eyes towards Jane's flinty face confirmed that he'd forfeited any feelings of warmth and understanding from that quarter. With a degree of horror he realised that in the past couple of days he'd been using her reluctant companionship as a crutch. Having kicked it away in a moment of what he still thought of as justified anger he was once again condemned to suffer in emotional solitude. Everyone had a breaking point, his had loomed perilously near when Ruth died in his arms; the struggle not to founder then had been hard fought and barely won. Would a failure to recover Catherine alive, breathing, and uninjured mark his final defeat? Trying to subdue these realisations, which could only hinder progress, he asked the obvious question.
"Well who did he say he was working for?"
Erin avoided looking Harry in the eye as she answered. "Er how about MI5?"
Thanks for reading to the end. If you have an odd moment please review.