Epilogue

Desmond Harker looked up from his paperback novel, to see a cream-suited man pull a chair up in front of his cell.

"I've heard a lot about you."

"If you're from the force or the KLPD then I don't want to hear it."

"Oh, I'm not . I'm just interested in how a man of your calibre could end up in a place like this."

"Are you one of Garth's?"

"I assure you, I've no love for that man and his little cabal. I'm here, Mr. Harker, to offer you a new job."

"There's one problem: I'm in jail."

"That can be fixed."

Harker looked up again and shut his novel, tossing it onto the hard mattress of his bunk bed. "I'm sorry?"

"I said 'it can be fixed'. I can get you out of here, on one condition."

"I work for you?"

"Exactly. It's what I was offered twenty years ago. And now I'm extending that you you." The man leaned closer to the bars. "So what do you say, Desmond?"

"What's the job?"

"Oh, you know, your specialty. Getting things from point A to point B without...without attracting attention of some nosy people."

"I don't do that anymore."

"Of course you do! And you probably will when I add a nice summer house in Cuba to the equation."

"I'm listening."

The suited man smiled. "Excellent." He reached a gloved hand through the bars. "I'm Jim Sarcos, nice to meet you."

Holly was on the brink of dipping into the dark void of sleep when the nurse signal went off. She blinked, rubbing her eyes and going over to the bed.

Oberon had the remote in one hand, and he was soaked in sweat.

"You're awake," she said.

"Did I...what happened?"

"You got knocked out. Practically comatose. But the doctors said you'll be okay. And you are, right?"

"Where's doctor Fischer?"

"He's dead."

"What?"

"Turns out he was working for Garth." She put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be gone for a few days, that okay?"

"Gone? To do what?"

"To help Arthur train the second wave of recruits."

Oberon smiled. "You got the position, didn't you?"

Holly smiled, looking up as the nurse entered. "Just a few days. It'll be good to be back home again."

"Make me proud, Maleagant."

"You can count on me."

A right hand burst from the water, wrinkled from being submerged for so long, and clamped onto the edge of the wooden dock. A second hand emerged, and grabbed the plank next to the first, both working to move a body out of the water.

"You're late."

Michael Bishop coughed, spitting water onto the dock, and looked up at the figure in the shadows. "And you were so much help."

"You said it was a solo mission."

"It's over now. Let's go home."

"Did you get what you came for?"

"If you're talking about closure, no. And I don't think I'll ever get it." He got to his feet and staggered towards the figure.

"I meant did you identify him?"

"Then yes, I did."

"Good work. Let's go home."

After an excruciating two hours, the door to Tahal's office opened, and a grey-haired Texan stepped in. "You're lucky."

Tahal sighed in relief. "And I thought karma was catching up."

"You still believe in that bullshit?" The Texan crashed on the armchair Tahal had placed in a corner of his room. "Diana can't do anything to you. To us."

"Why didn't they?"

"You didn't fail. Not exactly, I mean. You got the leader of their French branch, and they're no closer to finding us."

"But Antoine and Fischer are dead and Marcel is in prison."

"The last one can be changed."

"Perhaps. But he's worthless now that they know him."

"You said you had a plan?"

"It's still going on. Tomorrow, I'm putting Phase Three into action, with or without their approval."

"And the elections?"

"My friends can take care of that."

The Texan stood up and went to the door. "Everything well?"

"Now that I'm not going to be removed from the helm, yes. You here tomorrow?"

"I'm here till your friends get to work."

Tahal nodded, and watched as the door to his office closed. He pressed a button on the microphone on his desk. "Send in the Phase Three documents, please."