Thanks for the lovely reviews. They are much appreciated.

The Grid cont'd

No one felt inclined to contradict Malcolm's theory. Everyone was sitting wordlessly while privately wondering just how much more stress Harry could absorb as a precursor to irrevocably cracking up. Nor did anyone want to meet his eyes. They all knew that although Harry despised sympathy and pity he possessed an even greater loathing, that of being seen as vulnerable, a hapless prisoner of his emotions. Having briefly glimpsed the public anguish of this very private man weeping over Ruth's body in those few minutes before his spook autopilot resurfaced this was an experience that the team members who'd been present on that occasion had no desire to repeat. The day Harry had returned to the Grid, raw grief visible in every facial lineament, they'd followed Erin's orders and left him alone to gradually readjust to life without Ruth. Then a fortuitous Red Flash had ushered them all back into their accustomed working world of perpetual crisis. With that catalyst life in Section D had resumed its normal chaotic course, with the sole distinguishing feature between BR (before Ruth) and AR (after Ruth) being the gloom cast by Harry's permanently funereal face.

It was Jane who fractured the silence with a comment as unexpected as it was cryptic. "Very seventeenth century." While the younger members of the team considered that they had mysteries enough to solve without Jane spouting extra unfathomable riddles it fell to Malcolm, the cryptographer of note, to interpret this obscure comment.

"Are you referring to the habit of making anagrams from names and bible verses, or the revenge tragedy genre?"

Jane sighed, "Both, at least I assume that this is someone out for Harry's blood. Which, of course, means that Erin was correct on day one." Twisting around to face Erin she reminded her, "Remember you said it might be someone using family as a lever to get their hands on Harry."

Two days ago Erin would have secretly preened herself in self congratulation at her own sagacity. Now, as she tried to avert her eyes from Harry's personal crucifixion, whilst remembering how Jane had soothed her the previous evening, she could only wish that she'd been mistaken. Opening her mouth her attempt to speak clashed with Malcolm's next set of syllables. Both halted before Malcolm, ever the gentleman, gallantly said,

"After you. The Section Chief has priority."

For a moment Erin wondered if this was a sarcastic reference to her behaviour the previous day, probably not, but since it would be fully deserved anyway she decided against taking an unnecessary umbrage. Swallowing Erin made her case, "I wasn't exactly right – I was thinking it was corporate revenge, not personal."

Malcolm followed up with, "And someone after Harry's blood is a standard practice so..."

A still reeling Harry held up his hand halting any further would be consolatory remarks.

"Enough, whatever the motive we still have the CIA involved in covering up unacceptable illegal torture, a kidnapped citizen who just happens to be my daughter and a criminal gang being used by the CIA as a front for their more dubious intelligence activities. I suggest that we concentrate our minds on completing the operation as we would if I weren't involved on a personal level."

And that, everyone thought, would be easier said than done. Malcolm in particular was subject to grave reservations as he recalled the total detachment with which Harry fancied he'd approached the November Committee operation. A coruscating occasion in which Harry's paramount concern for his daughter had overcome his judgement in several instances. The only vestige of relief that Malcolm could discern was that at least this time Catherine was not a potential suspect.

Calum was the first to buckle on his mental spurs in an effort to accede to Harry's demands.

"I'd suggest we check Jim Coaver's family. Track down photos, check whereabouts, see if we can discover exactly who we're searching for."

The general nod of agreement was succeeded by another suggestion, this time emanating from Dimitri.

"I'm wondering Harry, those death threats sent to you, the ones that referred to Coaver, they all seemed a bit amateur – then they just stopped."

The absence of any obvious linkage between those events and the presumed actions of the renamed Gene Seth Jardvec was apparent in Erin's irritated expression, clearly stamped with 'and your point is?' Before she could give it tongue Dimitri continued, "We need to check the timeline but I think those threats ceased around the time Franklin began peddling his wares." He halted waiting to gauge reaction. He didn't need to expand further as Harry asked,

"So you are suggesting that since Coaver Junior was after myself, and the CIA were after Franklin, when the latter's net expanded to include Catherine their needs clashed and combined!"

"Something of that nature. Yes."

A reminder of Jane's presence came as her voice crackled with a vague relief, "It was you Harry who suggested he'd played the CIA. And thank heavens he did!"

The implication that Jane was relieved that her daughter was missing stunned the team, none of whom were sure that they'd heard correctly. Calum, while making a play of excavating his ear, spoke for them all when he exclaimed, "Excuse me!" Once again it was Malcolm, who having plugged into her intellectual wave length, was the quickest to catch her drift.

"Meaning that if he hadn't she might be dead."

Harry rubbed his face as he tried to process the various threads, something needed to unravel soon, he just hoped it wouldn't be him or, as he essayed a quick glance at Jane, his not exactly beloved ex. That Jane's face had morphed into a blank, her expression shut down indicating a retreat into her prevailing sorrows was a worrying development. He'd seen this facial retreat all too often towards the end of their marriage – he'd ignored the signs, told himself that it was temporary and she'd work though it. What at the time he'd idiotically regarded as her pig headed stubbornness had, as he'd learnt latterly during the divorce hearings, been masking a growing mental fragility. His neglect had virtually pushed her into depression, onto medication and then onwards into near addiction. Bitter regret and guilt had been buried in a series of casual relationships until years later, when he'd finally learnt to love selflessly his misplaced trust in the poisonous Elena had killed Ruth, the woman who'd redeemed him. Now the lingering aftermath of those events was returning like an unwanted boomerang, threatening to destroy his daughter. How could he explain any of this to Jane, let alone all of it? Her current reaction to these new redacted revelations was presenting him with two alternatives, both unpalatable. Bash on regardless and display as the uncaring bastard he'd been in the past, or admit his faults and attempt a sensible conversation about the situation, to which Jane would almost certainly respond by informing him that he was an unheeding selfish bastard. Pearce's choice; like Hobson's choice, but so much more visceral.

A slightly tentative voice from the end of the table proffered a suggestion. Batman, there on sufferance, was uncertain of his position. "We could ask the CIA man I brought in, and interview some of the gang the police have in custody. If we suggest that they could go down for treason they might start singing. Show them a few pictures, see if they can identify anyone."

Calum had a twinned idea, "Apart from Batman's acquaintances singing 'God save me' it might be worth checking chatter and staking out the American Embassy. Last night must have sent a few shockwaves and that means unscheduled damage limitation."

For Harry these eminently reasonable proposals were tiptoeing around the central knot of the case, namely where was Catherine and why. The November Committee operation had been disturbing but at least she'd been under his eyes, and at one stage probably literally under Danny Hunter, although he'd never actually asked that question in his relief at knowing she was safe and innocent. Her life threatening exploits in the Lebanon had been frightening, but at least he'd had some clues as to her whereabouts. At present their limited knowledge was based on guesswork and that slow progress was really beginning to irk, more than he could ever have anticipated. Seeing his team's eyes upon him he pulled himself together for the umpteenth time, - he was losing count as to how often he'd done this during the past two days. Still any action was better than none.

Sounding more incisive than he felt he announced, "Very well we'll do all of those, plus show a few mugshots to Garside, see if he can confirm anything as well. Calum and Malcolm the technical and searches, involve young Jason if need be, Erin can you arrange surveillance of the Embassy area and tailing as necessary. Batman you interview the gang in police custody. I'll take the CIA chap with Dimitri."

Before anyone could move Erin uttered a single whiplash word, "No."

Harry's furious eyes burnt into her, she gulped but stood, or rather sat her ground. "No Harry, you are too involved." Appealing to joint experience, "I couldn't be detached if it was Rosie. So please send Dimitri and Batman. Then Batman will know what has been said before he goes to the police to deal with the smaller fry."

Harry paused for a moment, every inch of his being wanted to be in that interview room, pulverising the full data out of the American who had had the temerity to even think about laying a finger on his daughter, but the detached part of him, the impeccable servant of the country default, that had always, bar one occasion, put the job before his personal interests recognised the truth of Erin's words, forcing him into a rare operational concession.

"Very well, Dimitri you and Batman do the interview but I'll be listening in."

Batman nodded but also had a request, "Any chance we can delay for long enough for me to grab some breakfast otherwise my rumbling stomach might drown out the sound of confession. Twenty minutes."

Despite the pleading tone Harry seemed likely to combust but was damped down by Malcolm's intervention, "Harry, I didn't report that when I saw the DNA match I put Jason onto researching the Coaver family. By the time Batman has refuelled I may have some possibilities which could help."

Harry rarely had to admit defeat, but one of his strengths as Section Head, and in his earlier career had been to know when a strategic retreat was in order. "No longer then. Since the CIA are also after this man they are likely to be ahead of the game, time is not on our side."

The staff departed, Batman endowing Malcolm with a look of gratitude. Left together with no witnesses Harry and Jane, both hollow eyed with worry, were mutually grappling for appropriate words. It was Harry who spoke first, "Jane get the shouting over with now. I can do without the silent condemnation."

"Before I start yelling at you I want an honest answer to a simple question. Namely did you or did you not murder Jim?"

How did he answer that one? He hadn't actually held a gun to Jim's head; that had been Jim's role back in Germany when he'd taken action to prevent Harry making one of the biggest mistakes of his life. But could he honestly say that he hadn't killed Jim when his actions had a direct bearing on his friend's death? Guilt made him temporise, "You heard my team."

"Yes, and I also know that not only would they swear that black was white, they'd probably give Beelzebub a glowing character reference if you ordered them to. Nor has it escaped my notice that while you try to protect them they return the compliment. I've known blood relatives who are less caring of one another. So once again Harry, DID YOU KILL JIM COAVER?"

Frustration had led her into yelling, making Harry relieved that the Meeting Room was soundproofed. The reverberating timbre of her shouting, while reminding him all too vividly of their pre-divorce past, had the effect of spurring him into clarity.

"If you mean did I kill him personally no, but..." he swallowed, "I was responsible for setting up the kidnap opportunity for those who did."

Jane wanted to believe him, he sounded convincing and it did meld with that slight sense of dislocation she'd had earlier but... Harry having unburdened himself was less than pleased to see the doubt writ large in her face. "Jane it is the truth, trust me."

"That's the problem Harry. You've made plausible statements before, asking for my trust when you've been lying. I've sometimes thought, to coin a phrase I once heard, that if you swallowed a nail you'd shit a corkscrew."

Harry couldn't argue with that. She was right. He'd just have to try again to convince her that he'd changed, even though he hadn't, not fundamentally anyway. He would still lie if expedient, and knew that if push came to shove he would put the interests of the state first and hand over the memory stick. What choice did he really have when it could be Catherine's life v that of everyone in the Service, or in numerical terms, one against many. His unregretted treasonous trading of Albany for Ruth's continuing existence was different, Ruth's life v retaining an obsolete deterrent that had never been operational, had been one against none. He knew that, but he could guarantee that Jane, if she ever learnt exactly why he'd been temporarily suspended from the Grid for a few weeks, would never understand that the cases weren't comparable.

"I won't deny the charge. If you can't trust me you can't. And I also won't deny that it looks as if my actions are responsible for the danger Catherine is in. If Dimitri is correct I can only wish that whoever is behind this had been given the opportunity to capture me."

Jane nodded as she said wearily, "That I do believe. And I don't suppose that you deliberately set out to put Catherine, Graham, or even myself in danger.

"It's still the effect. What's happened to Catherine, whatever that is, is a direct result of my actions."

"Not entirely." Seeing him startle at this Jane very haltingly continued, "I am unhappy that your actions seem to have allowed Catherine to be used as pawn..." As she sought for words Harry broke the silence.

"That unspoken but is not applicable in this case. My mistakes. My fault."

His humble tone of apology was greeted with an exasperated huff. "I've told you before about your guilt complex. Just get it out of your head that you are responsible for everyone's mistakes as well as your own. Yes Catherine probably is in danger due to someone wanting revenge on you but ... and this but is applicable... she was warned by Franklin, she knew this was dangerous. For goodness sake she's been putting herself in danger for years without your help."

Harry supposed he should be thrilled at the fact that for once Jane wasn't blaming him for everything, even so his own but... equally relevant to the situation... told him that in this instance the miasma of guilt that hung around him like a millstone was justified. Looking at Jane's drawn face he wasn't sure that she'd stick to this line if Catherine was found de... the unthinkable thought that was lurking with increasing dread during every additional hour she was missing.

Fortunately for the sanity of both parties before he could reject to Jane's unexpected criticism of their daughter Malcolm reappeared with an update.

"Harry we think that we've got a lead. Did you know that Jim's", - being cognisant of Harry's friendship with the CIA man Malcolm deemed that baldly referring to him as Coaver seemed a trifle frosty –"first wife had an English mother."

Before he could delve further into the Coaver genealogy Calum, who'd wandered in and overheard this last remarked in mock panic, "Shock horror, a Yank is descended from the English." He dried up as Jane shot him a withering look. Learnt behaviour from Harry or was it a shared characteristic?

Malcolm ignored the irrepressible juvenilia of his colleague in favour of continuing his briefing, "Jim's youngest son, Christopher, Chris to his friends, seems to have arrived here in September, ostensibly on a scholarship exchange of some sort. The plan being that he spent a couple of weeks or so before term started with his grandmother. However he seems to have vanished as soon as he departed for the life of academe. The Embassy was contacted but no one seemed to know what had happened. First thought was he'd gone back home but no records of that or anything. Completely under the radar."

"And that Harry would be around the time the death threats started." Calum continued, "I've checked out all the known CIA safe houses but no activity. Erin's sent a team out to watch the Embassy and she's pulling up any assets known to watch the area. The CIA chap in the cells is one Lanyon Mercardo, newish CIA recruit and easily deniable. It seems unlikely they'd let him loose on his own so he may have a work partner still running around. Jason is working on Coaver Junior's known history, acquaintances, previous visits etcetera on the basis that he must be holed up somewhere familiar to him but probably not to the CIA as they haven't been able to locate him. It could be long job though checking everything."

Malcolm had been ruminating while Calum held the floor. "It would seem he was able to pop out to meet CIA members just outside the Embassy. If we can get a positive date and time from Franklin we might be able to cut down on the CCTV trawl. Also I'm betting somewhere near Central London, he'd want to be around to monitor developments."

It made sense. Harry looked at the techies and commented, "Very well. Double check the date with Franklin and take some photos with you see if they jog his memory." Seeing Malcolm and Calum about to play a spook version of 'eeny meeny miny' moo he became more explicit. "Calum I think, he's around the same age as Franklin and his laid back appearance might coax more out of him."

Although secretly pleased to see some action beyond the computer screen Calum grumbled, "Remind me to wear a tie in the future."

As Malcolm headed towards the door Harry had a thought. "You said that Christopher had been visiting his grandmother. Send someone out to interview her. Covert, female might seem less threatening, whatever legend you think suitable. He may just have mentioned something. And ask Erin to visit Ben Dover with some snaps of the CIA man we've taken. See if he can give us an id as well."

"Consider it done."

As the team members vanished yet again Jane noted an unexpectedly wistful look on Harry's face. Despite not wanting to intrude on his private thoughts he appeared so forlorn she nonetheless asked, 'Penny for them'

"Sorry Jane. I can't help wondering how Graham would have reacted if it had been the other way around, if I'd been killed. Crack open a bottle of champagne I suspect."

Jane while appreciating his feelings wasn't inclined to pander to Harry's morose tendencies, especially when many of the circumstances he pitied himself for were largely self inflicted, particularly in respect of his difficult family relationships. Consequently her next words sounded shockingly robust.

"On Graham's budget it would probably be a can of lager, and are you seriously telling me that you'd want him in the sort of trouble Christopher Coaver will be in!"

"The voice of commonsense. What have I done without you all these years to keep me on the straight and narrow?"

"Pretty much what you did when we were married I imagine, hence the divorce."

Harry held up his hand in a gesture of defeat, "I submit. But as you're every bit as worried as I am can I ask? What are you going to do to keep the horrors at bay?"

"I need make some further enquires for Erin and be around to deal with any other peachy suggestions from Gawain. In other words what I've done for years, sublimate the worries under work."

It occurred to Harry forcibly that she could easily have been describing his life for the past few years in general, and the past few months in particular. Holding the Meeting Room door for her they passed into the Grid where Harry called out, "Dimitri find Batman. Malcolm you can listen in with me, see if anything matches with whatever Intel you've unearthed."

With that Harry and Malcolm vanished into the Pods leaving Jane hoping that whoever broke down first it wouldn't be Harry.

Deep down in the interview rooms life was already somewhat busy, although, for Calum fairly productive. Garside, perking up at the suggestion that he wasn't being left to rot had managed to confirm that one of the gang members had been his initial contact while Franklin, recognising that helping MI5 was his best bet if he wanted to reach anything approximating to old age, had been extremely exact in relation to times, places and locations. Normally Calum would have been suspicious of such precision but Franklin's lazy drawl, "I was taking note to try and convince the little lady" held a ring of truth, although Calum suspected that any daughter of the combative pair upstairs wouldn't relish that description. Franklin had also managed to identify the man currently being grilled, possibly literally, by Dimitri and Batman, as the individual he'd seen the young Coaver conversing with. The down side for Calum was that another endless trawl of CCTV beckoned. When this operation was completed he'd celebrate by watching every garish Technicolor movie he could manage. Leaving the interview room, with a promise to order Franklin a three decker sandwich by way of reward, Calum texted the result of his interview to Erin, now on her way to interview Ben Dover, before trudging back to the computer coalface to continue his ongoing endeavours to trace the evasive Christopher.

Along the corridor in Interview Room Two, - (decor: battle ship grey painted brick, lighting: single sixty watt bulb with an irritating flicker, plain table: bolted to the floor, three chairs: light blue moulded plastic of the buttock numbing variety, currently hosting the backsides of Dimitri, Batman and the man helpfully identified by the indefatigable Malcolm as Lanyon Mercudo) - the discussion that was currently taking place was nowhere near as amicable. The CIA's finest, had, with an inadvisable bellicosity, opened the conversation with a declaration that as an American citizen he should be returned to his Embassy forthwith. Dimtri, sitting back while this bluster washed over him, was chiefly occupied in wondering exactly how long he had to break the man before Harry threw caution to the wind and materialised in the guise of a malevolent genie, one who was unlikely to grant their prisoner's forthcoming wish to be transported into a land far far away.

"Very well, you want to know what we have on you. Let's see, incitement to murder, conspiracy to bomb and kill a British citizen, imitating an MI5 officer, obtaining classified information under false pretences and attempted assault of an MI5 officer in the execution of his duties." Dimitri, guessing that Lanyon had been involved in the hiring of Ben Dover, was half expecting a denial.

"Hey Brit I didn't hit anyone."

Dimitri pounced, "So you are admitting to the others."

"Hey no, that's twisting my words. It wouldn't stand up in court."

"Neither will you if you don't cough. Harry Pearce will see to that personally."

Despite his earlier reported nervousness the interviewee was continuing to suffer from what Dimitri diagnosed as an ill timed fit of bravado.

"That murdering bastard. We all know RussiaFirst was an excuse to cover up his actions. He should be in a jail serving time, facing the death penalty. Scum." With that the CIA man spat on the floor.

Dimitri could only imagine the battle that Malcolm was having to keep Harry calm and collected. Suspicions that were bang on target. Harry, throwing off Malcolm's restraining hand had leapt to his feet, halted only when Batman, clinking as he leaned forward, spoke. Instantly disproving any impression that he was just an ugly face, his next words revealed exactly why Harry was grooming him for promotion.

"It's that scum who's holding your life in his hands. You've goofed up big time mate. Now let me tell you what will be happening in your Embassy at present. The diplomats and Langley, the home to your own bastards, will currently be plotting to disown you. If this wasn't originally designated a black operation, it will have been by now. The land of the brave and the free never admits to failure and doesn't cherish failures either, which my Yankee friend is exactly what you are. So start singing the tune that tells us where Catherine Townsend is and we might just consider helping you. Otherwise we'll set you free to receive a bullet in the back of the head, like the one you used on the guy who killed the copper."

"Wait a minute."

"No way. Catherine Townsend has been missing for at least forty eight hours. Your sole choice is whether or not you want to survive."

With that sentence Batman, having produced an implacable stare that Harry Pearce couldn't have bettered, sat back, cracked his knuckles, flexed his tattoos and waited serenely while the seriously rattled man on the opposite side of the table began to process the implications. Batman and Dimitri continued to stare at him fixedly making him wriggle. The standoff was broken by Batman, who ignoring Lanyon entirely addressed Dimitri, and of course the listening Harry. "I think he's had long enough to make a decision, we'll ask Harry if he wants to contact the CIA to pick him up." His movement was stayed by an agitated voice asking,

"What do I get for helping?"

"That depends on the amount of help we get and whether it leads us to Catherine."

"Why is that silly bint so important anyway?"

Dimitri, closed his eyes briefly as his silent countdown commenced. 'One, two, there, four, five, six, seven, eight, ni...'

CRASH. Something closely akin to a human bomb burst through the door. Before either man could reluctantly intervene Lanyon had been grasped warmly by the throat and rammed up against the solid grey painted brick of the interview room walls.

Do...not...refer...to ...my...daughter...in...those...terms...you...utte r...inefficient...waste...of...flesh..." Each word reinforced by the thud of Lanyon's head greeting the wall in an affectionate embrace. Dimitri prudently refrained from suggesting that this was not the most appropriate method of condemning the USA's policy of torture. Or that if Lanyon had been more effective in the drive to cover up that policy he'd not be domiciled in this room having the shit beaten out of him by Harry. Instead he murmured, "He might talk more effectively Harry if his head is still on his shoulders."

The words penetrated Harry's anger. With disdain he released his victim, allowing Lanyon to slide weakly down the wall to remain shuddering on the floor. Batman, having politely given Harry his chair, moved around and dusted the huddled, shaking Lanyon down with some vigour before dumping him back on his original seat with the friendly advice, "Talk while you still can."

Lanyon, whose stomach was performing contortions best confined to the men's room, handicapped by a throbbing skull and seriously affected by the implication of Batman's words, which held a horrid touch of prescience, nonetheless felt obliged to emulate the famous Custer and make a last, and equally hopeless, stand for American pride.

"You can't threaten me with illegal violence."

The response seemed to acknowledge this, "No I can't." Lanyon's sag of relaxed relief was premature, halted when a voice that could have frozen the sun in splendour proceeded to qualify that denial, "But I can do what your superiors do, franchise it out to some low life and deny all knowledge. I've just viewed your countrymen's efforts at fair interrogation." Before Lanyon could argue the voice continued onwards, soft but laden with deadly purpose. "Being a reasonable man I'll be happy to grant your preference, so before I contact a specialist tell me which method you would prefer. I can offer you a choice between being be buggered with an extra long fluorescent light tube for hours on end, being stripped and tied to a post then flogged with barbed wire or, as a less vicious alternative, maybe you'd prefer a sweat box and no water, despite a bottle being placed directly in front of your eyes."

Lanyon, mesmerised by the horror of what he was hearing, tried to fend off the proposal with, "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Lanyon decided not to. A conclusion sanctified by his recall of the various rumours circulating in respect of Harry Pearce's unsavoury reputation. His brain was flashing up in neon lighting a statement attributing Sir Harry's extraordinary longevity to, 'the son of a bitch knowing exactly where the bodies are buried because he fucking well put them there himself.' Lanyon in his innocence had thought this was a claim made in jest. Now, staring into the pitiless hard amber of Harry's eyes, he realised that whoever this very 'gentil parfait knight' of the realm had adopted as a role model it sure as hell wasn't Sir Galahad. Testing the limits to which the man facing him would go in pursuit of his aims would be a very very bad idea indeed. At the back of his mind Lanyon had an inkling that he was just about to ignore CIA basic training. The conscious forefront of said mind was preoccupied with a much more immediate concept, the one informing him that if he wanted to continue performing minor acts that he'd previously taken for granted, such as breathing, he needed to placate with Harry Pearce. Fast.

Lanyon's paltry attempt to sound in control of himself was undercut by the terrified quiver in his voice as he hastened to spill enough beans to feed a vegetarian for fortnight, ie everything he knew and few bits he'd guessed at.

"I don't know much. We operate on need to know. We were told about a month ago from Langley ago that a GI had gone AWOL with sensitive information that he might try to pass on about our interrogation techniques. He was difficult to trace but one day he was seen talking to this woman. HQ went apeshit, she's a known troublemaker, always stirring up issues."

Harry's darkling look was enough to make him falter, "That's what I was told anyway. We needed to know if he'd passed anything on but couldn't get near her, she's one suspicious lady."

Harry seemed temporarily beyond speech so Dimitri struck in, "So where does Christopher Coaver come in?"

"At first he didn't but, another operative, Brad knew Christopher, I think they were at college together. They're old friends and Chris knew Brad was CIA. Anyway one day he contacted Brad, said he was in town trying to find out exactly what had happened to his father. Coaver said he was after Pearce, Brad said weren't we all and they went for a drink."

Lanyon paused to gather breath before continuing, "Brad realised that Chris was speaking with an English accent and had an idea. He offered a trade, if Coaver could get near the little bi...Ms Townsend and find out what we wanted, then we would help him get Pearce"

Having embarked on his confession a pressurised fearful Lanyon suddenly remembered who he was speaking to as he halted before stuttering, "Er you. After that he left Chris to think it over, while we checked with higher up that this would be approved."

In a spirit of sarcastic enquiry Harry asked, *Which suggestion did they approve, the use of Chris Coaver or going after me?"

"Word was that if we succeeded the CIA would get you anyway."

That made perfect sense. Obtain the memory stick, obtain the treaty, slap in an extradition request and Harry would be sampling CIA hospitality once more. How could he possibly refuse such a treat? Not planning on a frank exchange of information Harry's response was blunt and minimal.

"I take it Chris agreed."

"Yes the next day, we both met him at a prearranged spot and showed him a picture of the woman in question and gave her name. I thought it was peculiar at the time; he seemed to start a little and then said he thought he could find a way in. I honestly didn't know she was your daughter."

If Lanyon thought Harry was going to accept that as an excuse and agree to play all friends together in the sandpit he was somewhat mistaken.

"And if she hadn't been that would make your plan to kill her okay?" Harry was perilously near to losing his temper yet again. Lanyon wisely didn't answer; he was rather proud of his boyish good looks, which wouldn't be enhanced by a broken nose or a black eye.

"He asked us why we were after her and we gave him enough information to help, what we thought he was selling, not that we knew exactly – and I must admit he came up with the goods, although it took him about three weeks or so. We kept contact to a minimum; dead drops and so on. Finally though he confirmed she had got something from Franklin and it was in her flat but he didn't know where she'd hidden it. We passed that upstairs and were told that the flat was to be bombed. We, that's me and Brad were instructed to watch and report. Not wanting Chris to go up with the building we gave him the date and time of detonation. Well you know what happened; we got her and drove off."

"Except you didn't get her, or the flat." Relieved at their bungling Harry still couldn't keep the scorn of a successful professional for the incompetent rookie out of his voice."

Lanyon, not sure if he should apologise for failure in this instance, stuck to matter of fact. "We only found that out the next morning, when we discovered that a middle aged woman had been caught up in it. We set a watch on the flat while a team went to collect her mother, Chris had noted her address when he was in the flat, we thought she might know something, but she'd vanished as well."

Harry wasn't intending to reveal Jane's whereabouts as he produced his key question.

"So where is my daughter?"

Lanyon was shaking as he was forced into the admission of profound ignorance.

"I don't know. I assume that she's been taken by Chris Coaver. He obviously wants to take his revenge personally and plans to use her to do so. But I couldn't begin to guess how."

I'm hoping to get the next chapter up before I go on holiday in a fortnight but as I have problems accessing the computer I normally work on that may not be possible.

For those who were wondering the 'corkscrew' comment was made of Lord Mountbatten, Prince Philip's uncle.

Thanks for reading and if you have a moment do review.