Sorry for the delay but life is a little bonkers at present. Thanks to those who read the last chapter and especially to those who reviewed.

The Grid approx 10.30am

Harry may have considered his euphemistic paper work to be his first priority but the immediate aftermath of the fraught discussions in the Meeting Room had culminated in an entirely different set of actions being promoted to pole position. Namely the drawing of the blinds obscuring visual access to his goldfish bowl, a necessary precursor to the stripping off his formal suit which, still warm from his recent occupancy, was handed over to Dimitri, accompanied by a reassurance that Harry's tailor would not blink an eyelid at his seemingly strange request.

"Savile Row clothed Burgess after his defection with no questions asked, and I made my firm sign the Act as a security precaution." Dimitri thought it sensible not to comment, an opinion not shared by a still fuming Jane who, having caught these last few words as she entered, asked scathingly,

"In case of what precisely? A terrorist wanting to know your inside leg measurement, or which side you dress on."

Faced with a pending onslaught from Jane, Harry attempted to reclaim his fractured dignity with a mild rebuke, "Being a spy I like to preserve a certain mystery."

"After nearly ten years of occasionally cohabiting with you, - when you could be bothered to come home - the effort is wasted as far as I'm concerned, so just pass me your spare underwear and get on with your oh so vital documents."

At which juncture, since Harry's endeavours to safeguard his more intimate wardrobe secrets weren't wasted on Dimitri, the cloth laden spook had made his escape, thankful that he had an irreproachable excuse to avoid witnessing yet another acerbic demonstration of Harry and Jane's megaphone methods of communication.

A muted Harry handed over the necessary items, the vicious glint in Jane's eyes making him reluctant to prolong the exchange. Silent she may have been, but as she departed she left in her wake a distinct intimation that her mutilating of Harry's underclothing was a poor substitute for mutilating those bits of Harry's anatomy that the underpants were designed to protect. Her fit of spleen ensuring that, as the door slammed shut behind her, the slight sigh he emitted as he sank into his chair was heartfelt, her indignant departure a signal for him to unearth pen and paper from his desk drawer as he prepared to indulge in a bout of old fashioned composition. Despite living in an age of high tech proliferation whenever events required the production of personally sensitive documents Harry remained stubbornly immured in the era of the quill pen. Life on the Grid having long since convinced him that the online world was an insecure environment, one in which any experienced hacker could, with a swift twirl of the fingers, snap their way through those allegedly unbreakable electronic padlocks.

The instant Jane emerged into the main Grid she felt as though she'd smashed into a barrier composed of a material even more impenetrable than the glass wall separating Harry from the hoi polloi. After enduring a two day sojourn on the Grid Jane had become fully cognoscente with its permanently entrenched high octane atmosphere, but what she sensed now was subtly different. The very air seemed alive, radiating a tension so focussed that she could swear that any disturbance, the sound of a footfall, even the lightest of coughs, would shatter it into a thousand pieces. Needing to ask a question and yet not daring to speak she was rescued by Erin, who on looking up from her computer for a moment, noticed Jane standing uncertainly beside the desk that had become her accustomed resting place. Not a stance that Erin would have expected from the tigerish woman who'd so effortlessly reduced Rosie's jargon spouting head teacher to flinders within seconds. Her attention temporarily diverted from the emails she'd been checking Erin commented.

"You appear a little lost Jane."

"I'm looking for a needle and thread, and a good light in which to sew very the small stitches needed if we are to fool Chris Coaver that Harry's clothing is normal.

It was Erin's turn to feel uncertain. Surrounded by millions, nay billions, of pounds worth of state of the art technology and she couldn't, not even for the life of Harry, locate something as humdrum as a needle and thread. She was reminded of a childhood poem, 'For the want of a nail'. It would be even more risible if Harry perished for the want of a patch in his underwear. As for Jane's other requirement, the Grid wasn't exactly bathed in natural light, indeed more than one desk spook had regarded becoming a vitamin D tablet junkie as an inevitable concomitant to their career. Malcolm, as was becoming his niche habit, walked to the rescue.

"The medical suite will have daylight bulbs and needles. A junior officer can escort you there Jane." With that puzzle resolved he informed Erin, "Calum and I need to check the disc in the sound suite, it'll take about twenty minutes."

With Jane effectively parcelled out to another department the Grid staff settled once again to their trawl against time. The unusually intense emotions washing around the Grid that Jane had sensed directly attributable to the fact that while all operatives were accustomed to scenarios in which failure quite literally meant death, when one of their own was threatened that pressure came ready attached with an extra piquancy. The majority of individuals excluded from the charmed circle of Section D, would have been stunned by their efforts, finding the loyalty on display utterly incomprehensible. Those outsiders, the unfortunate victims of the Pearce double dealing and irascibility, would have cheerfully predicted that Harry's staff would leap with joy at the prospect of getting rid of him, irrespective of the means by which that happy result was to be achieved. It was a truism that Erin was all too aware of, making her profoundly grateful that the esteem in which Harry was held meant that no three line whip was required to exhort the team into producing their collective Herculean effort to secure his safety. Harry possessed the temper of the devil, but he was their devil and they all knew him. Given a choice between Harry or the other section heads, - pen pushing jellyfish to a man - it was no contest, they'd opt for the whisky swilling, cricket loving, sharp tongued workaholic occupant of the glass windowed office every time.

Parachuted into the Grid as Acting Section Head while the vultures were circulating around Harry's balding scalp in juicy expectation that the Albany tribunal was a mere formality; an establishment precursor to authorising the Pearce career kill order, Erin's pique at her perceived demotion had lasted all of three minutes. Viewing the enthusiasm with which Harry's return was greeted by all his staff she'd instantly rumbled that his fabled hard man persona was exactly that, a protective facade. In tandem with that acceptance had come another, that being fast tracked into working for the genius spymaster, whose more repeatable exploits were the stuff of legend, and somewhat more prosaically the MI5 training manuals, was an extremely acceptable consolation prize. The flame of ambition still burned in Erin as brightly as ever. Promotion in the future would be desirable, but she had no wish to step literally into Harry's dead man's shoes. That was a price tag way too high.

With these thoughts flickering in the background of her brain Erin seated at her desk, armed with a battery of mobile phones, found her head spinning as she attempted to unearth what was happening in CIA HQ. Just outside the main Grid area, ensconced in an isolated suite were Malcolm and Calum, plugged into an impressive array of equipment, heads nodding like a pair of superannuated teenagers as they attempted to separate and isolate the individual barely perceptible sounds underlying Coaver Junior's goading of Harry. Jason meanwhile, with fingers flying and recognition software in overdrive, was trawling through endless CCTV recordings hunting for clues, although the only person he'd recognised to date was Batman, futilely resisting the efforts of Fluffy and Cuddles to convert him into a maypole. When the group reconvened on the Grid to share information, Erin, her own efforts rewarded largely by negatives, was hoping that someone, somewhere had managed to grasp a vital piece of the jigsaw Coaver had set them. It fell to Malcolm to open the discussion.

"Calum and I are agreed about the nature of the background sounds, we were fortunate in that Coaver left a window slightly open. We're looking for somewhere close by a main line railway with roads works of some description taking place in the immediate area. We suspect the room is not ground floor. From the quality of light combined with the nature of the sound we'd suggest a second or third storey location. Plus the few words we picked out from the recorded babble imply a tourist attraction in the vicinity."

Jason suggested, "The Cathedral would be the obvious magnet for visitors but I've trawled the CCTV and no road works are nearby."

Malcolm concurred, "The sound isn't quite right for that area, it's too spacious, whereas the sound we picked out seems to bounce. I think we're looking for somewhere more enclosed. The best fit to the description seems to be somewhere close by this institution." As he spoke he typed in a couple of coordinates bringing up on the computer screen the image of a narrow street, almost an expanded alleyway, marked with flaring double yellow lines and dominated by the usual nondescript London buildings, several stories high. Unremarkable, unprepossessing, the only unusual feature being the name carved and painted on a wooden board affixed above the foremost entrance.

The team indulged in a quick double take, followed by Calum groaning, "And you think I'm the joker in the pack. If Malcolm's correct I've just lost my crown."

Erin wasn't paying him any attention; instead she had already exhumed her mobile, rammed her way through speed dial, and was now instructing Batman to check out the theory. Seemingly their colleague had provided a satisfactory answer, enabling her to ring off with the statement.

"He walked past there about ten minutes ago, he confirms more or less what Malcolm has suggested, but he'll ring back when he's checked a couple of other streets nearby." Reprehensibly her relief surfaced in an accusation, "Jason that place must have CCTV, so why didn't you pick up Coaver?"

A chastened Jason was rescued by Calum, "Blind spot Erin, everything concentrated on the entrance and queuing area, not necessarily on the surrounding pavements." Having defended his colleague Calum batted an enquiry back to her, "Did you discover anything about the CIA? With that location they could be playing a sick joke. We know where they think Harry should be."

Erin shook her head. "The CIA are keeping stumm but from an unencrypted call intercept it seems that they are also in the dark. Coaver played them as well. The agents we set on watch at the Embassy report a buzz of activity but nothing focussed." Before anyone could rejoice at the CIA being hoodwinked, - not in the annals of Section D a particularly noteworthy feat of subterfuge - she reminded them all, "The bad news is that we can assume that they are also looking for Coaver and Catherine as they presumably still don't know that Harry has the memory stick."

Calum unusually was frowning, "One thing that puzzles me is where Coaver got the idea that Harry killed his father from. I mean the CIA top brass were given copies of all the documentation clearing Harry."

Erin sighed, "Yes, but while they were forced to accept it we know that in reality they still refuse to believe our story of what happened at the bunker."

Calum's reply was sardonic. "That's about the one thing they did get right, but Jim Coaver was publicly killed in a London street, he wasn't involved in the bunker end game."

Malcolm intervened, his voice weary with the weight of experience. "As the Americians would known throwing the blame on a dissident group to hide our own actions is a common practice." Aware of some of Harry's past ploys the phrase' Hoist by his own petard' was trembling towards Malcolm's lips.

Any further comments were halted by the trill from Erin's mobile. As she scanned the text message she smiled with satisfaction for the first time that day, "Good. It seems that Malcolm has pinpointed the correct location, so if we send a team in now..."

Calum protested, "I thought the idea was to be inconspicuous. Harry will achieve lift off if we put Catherine at risk."

"We'll be discreet but does anyone here really want to see Harry walk to his death while we sit back and do nothing to prevent it?"

Malcolm was forced into admitting that Erin was correct, but noticing that Harry had been granted his requested thirty minutes volunteered, "We need to tell Harry what we've discovered, let him make that decision." Matching the action to his words he moved towards the office.

Harry, having finished his valedictory letters, a depressing task that reminded him, - as if he needed reminding - of the total mess he'd made of his personal life, had been wondering how long he'd be left in peace. It didn't surprise him that the visitor who broke the embargo, practically to the second, was Malcolm. Had he set an alarm clock? An impression part confirmed when Malcolm enquired in his usual diffident way,

"Have you completed the paperwork you mentioned to Jane?" He asked no further questions. Harry was ex military, a training that included the discipline of leaving post mortem letters for family and friends.

"Yes thank you. Malcolm if I don't survive this latest encounter you'll find letters in my desk for Jane, Catherine and Graham. My funeral instructions are lodged with Human Resources, assuming that Debra Langham can at least file competently. My will is with my solicitor, you are one of the executors."

Malcolm grave faced, his stomach wrenching at Harry's matter of fact acceptance of his probable fate, made no attempt at a cheering 'it won't come to that'. They'd both lived through far too many occasions on which it had come to precisely that to waste his breath on what they would both admit to be a lying platitude. He simply nodded his understanding and waited, judging from the way in which Harry had drawn breath that his instructions remained incomplete.

"One final request Malcolm. I'd be grateful if you could ensure that Jane gets her divorce. I've left you notes about my plans for that. You'll need to work with Tom Quinn. I've written out a cheque to cover the costs, made out to you, so process that before you apply for probate. Obviously the others on the Grid can't be involved."

"The others may want to be." At Harry's quizzical expression he expounded, "Erin is grateful for the help with Rosie, Dimitri knows that without Jane the Reception would have been a disaster laid at his door and Calum won't want to be left out."

Before Harry could express his gratitude Erin entered, her perfunctory rap on the door a pure formality. Harry, not having forgotten her efforts to blank out every suggestion made earlier, greeted her arrival with a terse, "Yes. Do you call that a knock?"

Erin, who had learnt early on in her Harry Pearce experience to be sensitive to his humours, suspecting that at this moment even the much and justly despised Debra Langham might be a more welcome arrival, hurriedly replied with, "Malcolm was here first so I'll ask him to explain..."

Malcolm, lumbered with covering for Erin's plans, was tempted to allow ladies to go first, but deciding that time was too brief for point scoring tersely outlined the discoveries made in the last half hour. Discoveries that might just ensure that Harry's funeral instructions remained scented by mothballs.

"Obviously nothing is certain but as I explained to the others the background sound on the disc included that of a railway line and the drills from building or road works. The latter sounded very near to the room, possibly in the same street."

"So, London is littered with tube and rail lines and building works."

In view of the efforts being made to secure his safety Erin wanted to shake Harry for his ungracious reaction. It was a salutary reminder as to just how obstructive she must have sounded an hour or so ago. Malcolm, the veteran survivor of Harry's moods simply cleared his throat and continued,

"Agreed, but we also asked Batman to take a stroll around the area Coaver was last seen heading towards. Tell me, I know it's not an American trait, but did Jim Coaver have a sense of irony?"

Jerked into an unexpected pathway Harry expostulated, "You know we only survive in this job with a touch of black humour, Jim as much as anyone until..." Uncharacteristically he trailed off as he relived the devastation of seeing his long standing chum dying virtually in his arms, his opportunity to express his grief limited by an immediate face off with a gunwaving representative of the gungho OK Corral corrupted youths that the CIA now chose to train and employ as officers. "Why do you ask?"

"Because this is the only place in Southwark that seems to fit the bill." With that Malcolm displayed the relevant building on his Ipad, "The road works, - water board this time - are just down the road, and Batman reports hearing trains from that site. I've set a junior officer onto tracing the leases and rentals of the nearby offices, that might help us narrow down the location even further."

Leaping in before Harry could answer Erin took her turn, "So I suggest we send Dimitri, Calum and Jason disguised as workmen. Malcolm and Calum have rigged up a transmitter that should pick up the recording from your clothes, which they can then relay to the obbo van that we'll park a few streets away."

Harry's answer was a positive negative, "No Erin, it's far too risky."

"Harry where's the risk, the hole in the road is already there, has been for a few days and who really looks at workmen? As for the obbo van who'll notice one more white van in London? Dimitri and Jason won't go in if they don't have to, that I promise." Harry's mulish expression forcing her to end with a hint of asperity, "Harry we are trying to save you and Catherine. Can you really trust Coaver to let her go?"

Harry's objections were hampered by his private acknowledgment that in Erin's place he'd have made the same suggestions. Also memory lingered, yes he may have escaped with his life on previous occasions when he'd gone in without backup, but he was forced to admit that for the most part his survival could be attributed more too good luck than good judgement. Mani had kept him alive for information, Coaver didn't need that. Lucas North –John Bateman - whoever - had been confused, riddled with personal guilt. On the edge of breakdown, at the very last minute the man who had both betrayed his country, but also served it at great personal cost, had discovered in himself a last few tattered vestiges of honour. Desperate; in the grip of an identity crisis, his meeting with Harry had culminated in suicide, not the murder that everyone, including Harry, had anticipated. How many more times could he escape certain threatened death? His concern for his own safety was minimal but if, as a result of his refusing Erin's back up, events span out of control and Catherine died as a result... Needing a sensible second opinion he turned to the ever stalwart Malcolm.

"What do you think Malcolm?"

Malcolm, trapped on the spot, temporised. "If Erin can get everything in place before you contact Coaver the risk is minor. I'm more concerned that Calum and I could have been mistaken."

The very notion that Malcolm could be wrong forced Harry to suppress a derisory snort, "Very well Erin, but no interference unless Catherine is at risk. Malcolm we'll need some code words so I can authorise or delay action."

Relieved to have acquired Harry's consent without the predicted argument Erin escaped before he could change his mind, or discover that his agreement had been purely cosmetic. She'd already sent a junior officer to relieve Dimitri, currently relaxing in Savile Row, ordered the water board to vacate for a couple of hours and followed that up by informing Batman that today he was taking Fluffy and Cuddles for extra long walkies. She was also very surprised by Malcolm's willingness to deceive Harry. He was already well aware of her unauthorised actions.

Left alone the two old comrades took the measure of each other before Harry said with a wry smile, "She'd already set that up, hadn't she?"

"Yes, but what would you have done? Coaver seems very serious about killing you. After looking again at Catherine's state on that disc Erin's also ordered Nat Reynolds into the obbo van, she wants a medic on the spot."

Was this how old age started? You gave your orders and everyone ignored them on the grounds that you were senile. Harry's legendary impassivity must have cracked a trifle as Malcolm aware of his thoughts added, "The team know how much you care for your officers Harry. They are returning the compliment. Coaver is wrong, we know that, but we also know that a man with a gun and hatred in his heart is dangerous."

Conversation ended, Malcolm departed from the office, nearly colliding with Jane carrying a clothes bag containing Harry's now subtly altered suit in one hand, and his less expertly amended underclothes in the other. Handing him the latter Jane informed him, "I didn't put anything into your vest, a patch would be obvious and Coaver must know that you earn enough not to be forced into darning your underclothes. Incidentally I kept them out of sight of your staff. I thought that having them envisaging you in your underpants might be bad for discipline."

"There speaks the school teacher. And the other items?"

"The suit jacket has a large piece of Malcolm's material inserted across the back. That, he says, will increase the range considerably. The trousers have an extra lining in the area of your dodgy knee. It gives a reason, if Coaver notices - extra support for your injury."

Harry was hardly listening as he examined his unworn briefs with a high degree of alarm. "Er Jane, you've put padding in the front panel."

An unabashed Jane had her reasons. "It was the only place that wouldn't look patched, but I needed to have a reason for the insertion."

"Maybe, but I'll look a little er...well like a male ballet dancer."

"I know, but my understanding is that something called frontal enhancement has become quite popular. I believe it's the male equivalent of the 'Hello boys' bra, so if Coaver does force you to strip he'll probably just conclude that you're a sad old git trying to pull."

Several thoughts jostled through Harry's mind, the uppermost retort being, 'Any chance you're mixing me up with Robin." Before he could give it voice Malcolm popped in again, backing up Jane's initial request.

"Harry, when you've changed into your suit I would like to run some sound and distance tests. Check out the possible range. And you need to swallow this." His statement was accompanied by the somewhat formal presentation of a glass of water plus an item that resembled a small gobstopper.

Taking stock of Harry's anticipatory gulp Jane smirked, "Perhaps it would have been less painful to insert it up the other end," vanishing before he could summon up a suitably sarcastic response.

As the clock crawled towards twelve Harry was kept fully occupied wandering around Thames House in seemingly aimless circles at the behest of Malcolm who was performing a variety of tests relating to range, sound quality and a number of associated geek laden issues that Harry made no pretence of understanding. Taking orders from Malcolm was a unique experience for Harry, their long standing friendship threatening to founder on the former's rock like insistence that he checked the efficiency of the patch in Harry's underwear. Overborne by Erin's "Jane nearly went blind making stitches that wouldn't show," Harry's odyssey around the premises had culminated in his visiting the Gents and lurking in a toilet cubicle, trousers around his ankles, compelled, - in the sad absence of any other visitor talking or tinkling at the urinals - to converse with his own penis. After a brief utterly bizarre consideration as to what he would say, and having rejected, "Hello fancy seeing you here." or "What have you been up to recently," he'd settled for the time honoured "One, two, three testing." Finally as the midday witching hour approached Malcolm had proclaimed himself satisfied that even the smallest of patches should transmit adequately to the pseudo workmen, - providing that the assumed location was accurate - while the largest would give a clear range of nearly a mile. For distances beyond that they'd have to rely on the tracker and Harry's not used up his lifetime's store of luck during his previous death defying brushes with the vengeful.

A few minutes before the exact time specified Harry had summoned Malcolm, Jane and Erin into his office. Indicating that they were to sit he dialled the cited number on his mobile, placing it on speaker phone. The voice of Coaver suddenly filled the room, its mocking tone not having abated a jot.

"Thank you for being such a good boy. I'll be brief as I'm sure you are trying to trace this. Don't bother I'm not with your daughter at present. She's sleeping the sleep of the just, the just drugged that is. You will walk across the Southwark Bridge, don't bring a shadow, remember I know the tricks. Go to the Health and Safety building just beyond the bridge. That isn't where Catherine is so don't send an agent to check it. I'll be watching. When you get there ring this number again and I'll give you further instructions. Make sure you arrive at 2.00pm prompt using public transport. I'd avoid the underground, you'll be heading that way shortly, so enjoy the daylight while you can. Your daughter is just dying to see you. Divert from these instructions and she'll be just dying."

There was a mutual exhaling of breath as the speaker terminated the call. Malcolm's uppermost feeling was one of marginal relief. "It sounds as if our ultimate location may be correct, which gives us an advantage."

"It would seem so. Irrespective as to whether you are right or wrong I need to set off now if I'm to make the meeting."

Expression set to neutral, Harry exited determinedly from his office, only to hear the sound of someone dogging his footsteps. As he reached the pods he twisted around to see Jane who suddenly halted. Standing stock still, eyes large with apprehension, biting her lip as she searched for words. The last time he'd seen her look so agonised was during that far away time in Cologne.

"Harry."

"Yes"

"It's just... you will be careful won't you."

"Don't worry I'll do everything I can to get Catherine out."

"That I know, but I'd rather not attend any funeral, not even yours."

"You're assuming he'll leave enough of me to bury." Seeing her blink he added, "Jane, young Coaver has no experience of actually killing anyone and trust me it's harder than it sounds." 'And I should know having sat and watched Nicholas Blake dying in pain after I poisoned him.' "He'll have to look me in the eye as he does it and that is even more difficult."

Her anguish was still written in her face. In a clumsy attempt at comfort he continued, "Whatever happens just remember that I've been glad of your company over the past two days." Seeing her eyes threatening to fill with tears he moved towards her saying, as he implanted a fleeting kiss on her cheek, "And after all our past disagreements thanks for caring. Goodbye Jane."

With a hint of choke in her voice she murmured, "I'd prefer you to say au revoir."

"So would I, but then I did promise not to lie to you."

Before she could reply he was gone, whooshing his way through the pods and out into that dangerous wider world.

Malcolm and Erin following close behind were also grabbing coats as they prepared to leave. Noticing the movement Jane turned around, her face stricken as she begged, knowing even as she did so what the response would be. "Let me come with you, please."

Erin, while sympathising, shook her head. "Sorry Jane, but you're a civilian and if anything goes wrong and you get hurt Harry will never forgive us."

Rallying slightly Jane played her high risk card, "Then in that case I'll take a tube to Southwark." Only to find herself trumped by Erin's, "I'll be instructing Security to confine you to the Grid."

With that Erin swept out, with an uncomfortable looking Malcolm trailing behind her. A seriously frustrated Jane stormed back into Harry's recently vacated office, still infused with a sense of his presence and yet suddenly so empty. Slumping hopelessly into the sofa as she rubbed her hand against the fading imprint of his farewell kiss Jane wanted to rail against fate. For years, fuelled by the anger that had accumulated during their marriage and subsequently encouraged to think the worst of him by Robin, she'd not have been overly upset at his premature demise, although she'd have stopped short of actually wishing it. Now, just when she was beginning to understand him a little, she was terrified that she might never see him again, alive. Caring little for theology and even less for blasphemy, her bitter conclusion was that God had definitely achieved the impossible; by proving himself to be an even bigger bastard than Harry. Head in her hands as she kneaded her hair, trying to suppress the utterly useless tears she totally ignored the sound of the pods announcing a fresh arrival onto the Grid. Her threatened bout of weeping postponed as she heard footsteps approaching the office and completely cancelled when she recognised Malcolm's voice saying, "Just collecting something I left behind."

Two seconds later he appeared in the doorway holding out her jacket. "Ready to go Jane?"

Dashing to the door in an affirmative she queried "But Erin... Harry... won't you get into trouble?"

"So what are they going to do, sack me? In case they hadn't noticed I'm retired."

Jane gratefully pulling on the proffered clothing, with no intention of turning down his offer, nonetheless questioned, "But why, when I know you're a friend of Harry's and he'd not want me there?"

Strangely enough Malcolm was nearly floored by this eminently reasonable query. Unusually for him he'd acted an impulse, but absolutely refused to utter the degraded phrase that in his opinion 'it was the right thing to do' instead he produced an alternative, albeit equally truthful reason,

"Because you're an intelligent, strong willed woman who'd eventually find a means to circumvent security and I'd prefer it if you didn't stagger into Southwark endangering a high risk operation."

Thanks for taking the time to read and please review if you have a moment.