SIX DEGREES

A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.

Chapter 04|Chasing Tails

Lifting a hand, Monty felt her palm peel away from sweaty vinyl seating. Hong Kong's ubiquitous red and silver cabs were a far cry from the plush limousine which had been her conveyance less than a week before, but a roof was a roof and, as their driver pulled in near a white guardhouse, she turned her attention to the drenched city beyond fogging glass. Outside, monsoonal rain had abated, leaving a constant drizzle in its wake to splash from steaming pavements, turning Kowloon's tall spires across the harbour into fuzzy, multi-coloured glows against the dreary evening, tops disappearing into low hanging cloud. Sandwiching that neon show, grey water caught little of the display, lapping against this closer shore, where stood a white mass of low buildings projecting out into the bay, windows warm in front of dull waves.

On the bench's far side, Jethro finished dealing with their fare and, hearing his door open, the girl followed suit, way preceded by a cheap plastic umbrella. First long step clearing the gutter to keep cuffs of white linen trousers out of its raging torrent, she joined her handler on slick concrete, feeling the air's humid touch already beginning to bead on cool skin. Despite its former intensity, the downpour had done little to abate tropical heat and, seeking the solace of another chilled interior, she allowed herself to be guided past the gatehouse and its booms, along a concrete seawall toward the complex beyond.

From behind came the splash of tyres as a second taxi came to a halt, for all the good that would do its occupant, and moments later it could be heard pulling away once more.

Founded in the late nineteenth century by British expatriates, the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club had not acquired its Kellet Island home until the thirties, eventually finding that connected to expanding shores as constant land shortages pushed reclamation farther into the bay. While the city had grown up around it however, the clubhouse remained resolutely period, retaining its Royal charter after Handover and, stepping across its threshold, the fratello found themselves in a world of deep carpet, hardwood panelling, and polished brass.

Closing her umbrella to leave it in the stand provided, Monty followed her partner to a small reception counter, the latter reaching into a breast pocket to produce heavy folded paper, wearing the pennant of the Royal Corinthian Yacht Club in its corner.

Proffering the letter of introduction, he smiled. "Alex Harrington, I thought it polite to make myself known, rather than just blundering in."

Taking a moment to scan the presented document, the receptionist returned his smile, before handing it back and gesturing to a heavy leather-bound volume. "Thank you Mr. Harrington, if you could just sign the visitors' book, and welcome to the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Jethro let her words hang for a moment, beginning to fill out details for both members of his party before replying. "Actually, we were after a bite to eat."

"There's the Main Bar, and Bistro..." she glanced out the door, before looking the pair's attire up and down, "...but in this weather you might be better off in the Compass Room."

"Sounds like that may be the go, can you..."

Taking the hint, their opposite stood slightly to gesture deeper into the building as the book's pen was returned. "That way, then up the stairs. You will not miss it."

Nodding thanks, Monty felt herself guided away.

While a floor plan had not proven readily available on public record, for once being slightly lost was more help than hindrance and, finally climbing carpeted treads, the cyborg preceded her partner as they emerged into the building's upper level. Above, wood inlays picked out, as the room's name suggested, the points of a compass, brass installation hanging at its centre casting light onto white table cloths below. Pausing, the fratello found itself met by a neatly dressed waiter who, taking two menus in hand, started to guide them through occupied tables toward where panoramic glass overlooked the harbour, bookended by an upright piano, currently wafting airy notes across chattering diners.

They never made it.

Partway across the floor, another staff member intercepted the pair, stopping its escort with an upheld palm and quick burst of Cantonese, pointing to where another hand waved above seated heads. Halting mid-stride, Monty watched as her partner followed the gesture, and a broad grin spread across his face. Breaking off from the waiter he strode away, letting the man bustle along in their wake.

Trailing, the young spy took a moment to evaluate their new companion. Obviously a local, he would have had to be in his late fifties at least, dark hair showing the first flecks of grey over olive skin, formerly athletic build just starting to fill out. That was covered by a dark blue polo shirt, the RHKYC crest emblazoned on its breast, over linen shorts with long socks and, as they pulled up before him, he grasped Jethro's hand.

"Well, well... this is a surprise."

"Hello Allen."

Now he looked at the waiter. "They will join me, Yuen."

Bowing, their server placed menus down, holding a chair out for the fratello's female half as he left to find extra cutlery.

Hovering presence gone, their new host spoke again, voice lower this time. "Jethro Blacker. There is a name I did not expect to be hearing from any time soon."

"I hope the surprise was a good one." Gesturing across the table, the SWA man nodded to his partner. "Allen, this is Madeline Archer. Maddie, meet Allen Cheung, also known as Tiger."

"Formerly as Tiger. That name has... baggage... attached I would prefer people not be reminded of. It's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Archer." Shaking hands, he gave his opposite number a questioning glance. "A little younger than your usual Blacker Girl fare, Jethro?"

Monty felt herself twitch at that remark, but the response was quick.

"She's a mite better than that, you can talk freely with her..."

The statement was met with a dubious look. "If you say so."

"...Allen used to be one of ours."

"Never officially, and I bowed out completely after Handover. Cutting ties was... safer."

"I'm sure the prospect of being paid by both sides for information didn't hurt either."

"Business is business."

The conversation tailed off as their server reappeared, neatly arranging serviettes, cutlery, and glasses for the table's newest arrivals, trading fresh implements for a drinks order and its existing occupant's dirty crockery.

Waiting until he was once more out of earshot, Allen's voice lowered again. "Actually, the current management is not so fond of my presence either."

"Ours or theirs?"

No response, earning a silent nod from Jethro, who continued. "And speaking of, how about we get down to business? I'd say we've maybe half an hour before the Autumn Orchid manages to worm its way in here."

At those words, their opposite's eyes narrowed. "Just what have you gotten yourself into?"

"That, Tiger, is what we're trying to find out..."

"...and, we're coming up disturbingly short on just how Hong Kong's resident spook community is currently arranged." Monty finished for him.

Now Allen returned his attention to her. "That I can help with, though I somehow doubt you came here solely to spy on the neighbours, hmm?"

Looking across at her partner now, the girl cocked an eyebrow, holding fire to let the response hang until, finally, she continued. "No, that is just fallout. We're chasing an intermodal container, forty foot variety, ISO code is MSKU, zero-zero-seven, one-one-six, check five. It should have been unloaded onto Kwai Tsing from a Greek registered freighter, Anagnos Dragon, somewhere around late February or early March. What I would like to know is where it wound up after that."

"And just how much is that information worth to you?"

Another glance at her partner, this time actually handing off the conversation.

"You've never over-charged me before, I don't expect you to start now."

"That has always depended on how simple, or not, the task at hand was."

"Considering what you have delivered on previously, this should be very simple." Extracting his phone, the handler typed something out, before passing it across the table. "I think that would be reasonable."

Inspecting it, the Chinaman shook his head, own fingers flashing before passing the phone back. "And I think you are living a decade in the past."

Continuing the mobile's journey on so his own partner could inspect the figure, Jethro pulled a face. "I still say you're looking high. I'm asking you to find a stray shipping container, not for names and addresses of the KGB First Directorate."

"Things are more difficult now, and I will be starting from scratch, which means engaging others, putting out feelers, taking risks; all that costs money. I could maybe drop it by five percent, and give you what I know regarding the current espionage community here as well."

Sharing a glance with her handler, the girl offered a small shrug: the ask seemed a little high but, vexingly, the going rate for information in this hemisphere was something outside her usual repertoire, so she was going to have to defer judgement. Taking her signal though, the other nodded.

"Let's hear what you know first then." That got another quizzical look, and so he continued. "You know I won't screw you, but I also want a fair deal in return."

The spy trailed off at that as the waiter reappeared, champagne bottle in hand, which was held out to Allen for approval, its dark green label emblazoned with a gold 'S'.

Rain had stopped outside now, standing water covering the city in a reflective sheen and, attention turning from where their server set about extracting the cork, Monty watched silently as a hydrofoil ferry skated past on the harbour beyond, headed east, probably making for the New Territories. She wasn't entirely comfortable with this, too much information being given away for too nebulous of a payoff. Unfortunately, with Zhang nipping at their heels and so little to go on, doling out some of the leg work was going to be a necessary evil.

The quiet percussive sound of champagne opening brought her attention back to where the waiter was pouring three tall flutes.

Hopefully it was the right gamble to take.

Placing the heavy bottle on ice, he produced a pen and pad to take meal orders from the fratello while Jethro picked up his own drink, lifting it slightly. "To old friends..."

Repeating the toast, Monty took a sip, savouring fine, complex flavours as she watched the staffer move away again with a bow.

"...and on that note, shall you tell me about our old friends from the SIS and China?"

Pausing, Allen seemed to consider the question.

"By the sounds of things, you've already run into Second Department, and my countrymen have been ramping up efforts here. The push though is coming from their Ministry of State Security, which is currently being restructured according to the ears I still have inside. If that is the case, I would say all the sharks are jostling to get a bigger bite of the pie."

Halting, the man drew at sparkling wine, and Monty used the moment to mull over his words: nothing not previously tabled by Algy, but it was nice to have some confirmation. Of course, politics being politics, if the MSS were out to prove their worth then that may also go some way toward explaining...

"Which does not explain why we were hauled in by the Army, rather than some civil servant out to make himself a name."

That got a small nod. "I was getting there: Second Department has been ramping up as well, whether to match the MSS, or move in on their turf during the chaos."

"And I'm sure there are plenty in that camp willing to use the opportunity for personal gain as well." Put in Jethro.

"It would be safe to say so." He seemed to inspect his glass. "Someone over at Second Department must be taking notice too. Rather than keeping full central control, they've been splitting personnel out into cells."

"Playing the hungry ones off in competition against each other as cell leaders I take it."

"That would be the assumption, but it's a shift from their usual, more centralised, structure."

Which would explain Zhang and his operation.

"Do you have names?"

Allen's attention turned back to Monty. "A few."

He paused, and the girl drew slowly at her drink, waiting, before cocking an eyebrow. "Would you care to enlighten us further?"

"That depends if you are willing to pay or not."

Silence again, and the young spy held her opposite's gaze. Preferably she would like to know what she was getting first, but the only potential probe she had would be a gamble, one she would very much prefer not to take.

Jethro, however, seemed to have been thinking down similar lines.

"Does the name Jianyu mean anything to you?"

At his words their broker seemed to jerk, swinging eyes around to bear on her partner.

"I can't say it does..."

"You're not helping your argument."

"Things have been moving quickly on the Chinese front, it takes time for information to filter down. You will get everything I know, but the situation is still... fluid."

"And how much is 'everything'?"

Allen seemed to pause again, eyes once more flicking to Monty, and the eyebrow returned to its raised position.

"Names, photos, dossiers on most permanent, upper ranking, staff to one extent or another, and whatever can be put together on the newcomers."

Now the young spy turned to shoot an unimpressed expression at her partner, who gave a thin lipped look in return, before again addressing their companion.

"So what about our friends in the other camp, the SIS? Or anyone else present for that matter."

Another sip of champagne; she could almost see mental cogs grinding as Tiger changed gears.

"Everyone is still present, though warier. The SIS in particular seem to have been keeping a low profile under Charlie Wilkes. From what I hear, most of what they do undertake is focused on the MSS. I think the Army's tactics change has made them shy."

"Or perhaps the MSS has more common interests than Second Department."

The suggestion received a head shake. "Both are covering the same ground, if anything the Army has itself involved in more areas."

"And what precisely would those be?"

Halting, their opposite seemed to realise he had perhaps been giving a little too much away for free.

"How should I know?" The tone was testy.

"You were the one who just said the Army was involved in more operations."

Another pause, and finally a more exasperated noise. "Jethro, I can help you find your container, but my days of having an ear in every court are long gone. My generation, and my contacts, have moved on, or are dead, and I'm getting too old to tussle with finding new players anymore."

"Which makes me less inclined to pay your asking price."

The words hung in the air for a moment, soft piano wafting around them.

"I can drop it another five percent, but that's it."

"Five, but with an overview on the other services currently present, including any recent personnel changes, and obviously no-one finds out to whom you were talking." Her handler paused, apparently seeing the expression on the other man's face. "Come now, I'm not asking much more than a little additional clerical work."

Conversation trailed off again as their waiter made his return, plates in hand, allowing space for that to be considered. Watching a nicely cooked piece of pork belly tap down in front of her, Monty allowed her glass to be refilled, before the attendant took his leave again.

The time though had seemingly been enough for Allen as well and, sighing, he looked once more at Jethro.

"Fine, the additional five percent off, and I'll put together something on the general state of things intelligence wise..." he glanced at a black-faced chronograph, "...and with that, I should probably be taking my leave."

"You don't need somewhere to contact us?"

That got a small snort. "Nearing 'venerable' age I may be, but this is still my city. You can though pick up the bill."

Standing with him, the handler made his farewells, voices rising again to more natural tones, before the Chinaman turned to Monty.

"I was glad to meet you too, Ms. Archer. Sorry I could not stay longer, but there is work to be done."

With that he was gone and, eyeing the expensive bottle of Salon still rested in its ice bucket, the girl returned to watch his disappearing back.

That was going to put a dent in their operational budget.

Now, however, Jethro leaned in. "That was not quite as informative as I could have hoped... we need to start spending a bit more time on this side of the world to keep the contacts fresh."

"Can we trust him?"

A nod. "Yes, the trick with Tiger is making sure he commits to what he will deliver, before you commit to a price."

"Is that so?" Cutting a morsel of pork, the girl chewed it slowly, thinking. "I'm not entirely sold on the reliability of his information. Call me silly, but I'm fairly certain a change in methodology should pique interest with the SIS, not scare them away."

"Could be Charlie's been prioritising one service, perhaps hoping to get an ear or two of his own in on the ground floor during their reshuffle. Personally I would prefer to split across both but..."

"...but you are not him, I realise."

Now it was Jethro's turn to finish chewing before he spoke. "Still, at the moment we're flying blind. If even only half of what we get back is good, it's better than where we're at now. More importantly though, if he can do the leg work for us finding the Padania's container, that is going to save a lot of potential exposure."

The young spy nodded, that she would be willing to use him for, however...

"I still think we should take whatever he gives us with a grain of salt."

"Hopefully it will be sufficient enough to at least act as background. I meant what I told Zhang: I would far prefer to avoid tussling with the Autumn Orchid, properly tussling, unless we absolutely have to... and speaking of whom."

Looking up from her meal again, Monty scanned the glass reflection, in which one of their constant minders, this one previously christened Paul, was just emerging from carpeted steps. That certainly had not taken long, less than the half hour previously tendered, not by much mind, but enough to sit up and take notice.

"Everything aside though, it is still going to be a week or two, minimum, before Tiger can get back to us..." now he gestured across the table, over Monty's shoulder, to where she could see 'Paul' conversing with their waiter, "...in the interim, what say we do something about that."

Engulfed by deep shadow, Monty looked back toward The Upper House, keen vision picking out the faces of reception staff in fine clarity. Here, under the Island Shangri-La hotel's main entrance, at the edge of the light, anyone returning that gaze would be hard pressed to spot her slender form, bright lobby behind robbing her position of detail.

At least the rain had held off tonight, so far.

Really, it had been a fifty-fifty gamble as to whom would be here this evening, her or Jethro. Fortunately, Zhang's chosen lackey of the minute had decided Jethro to be the higher priority target and, on their parting ways, had left her to her own devices.

Actually, she was not entirely certain how to feel about that, but it was convenient nonetheless.

On the far side of the street a movement caught her attention and, focusing in on it, the young agent watched as her handler's figure appeared around their hotel's corner, moving at a leisurely pace toward its lower lobby. That was not her major point of interest though and, giving another moment to ensure he made it safely inside, her study turned to his trailing escort. Pausing in a fold of grey stonework, features lit from below, 'John' also waited long enough to see his mark safely home, pulling a cigarette packet from one navy blazer pocket as he did.

Tapping out a skinny paper cylinder from its bright red resting place, the 2PLA agent put the remainder away, before extracting a phone, screen briefly shifting shadows across his features until it was wedged against an ear. Unfortunately he was too distant to make out anything said but, whatever the conversation, it did not last long and, hiding the mobile again, its owner struck a match to ignite his smoke, looking directly into the floodlight between his feet in the process. Taking a deep drag he dropped the little stick of wood, grinding it out with a foot, before turning back the direction he had come.

Seizing that opportunity, Monty gave her own surrounds one last inspection. Most likely whoever had been tasked with watching the entrance would be doing so from somewhere slightly more permanent than a van on the street, but it did not hurt to check anyway.

Content she remained unobserved from this level at least, the spy began moving also, taking a longer route through lush, street-corner gardens to remain farther from her own hotel walls, before emerging onto a wide boulevard, cutting along the building's flank. Crossing it to get farther from dark stonework, she found John's form again, striding downhill toward the bay.

Careful to maintain a safe distance, the girl followed as he crossed to her own flank, descent continuing alongside the tarmac's steep incline. Dodging the overpass off its end he instead turned right, around over-grown retaining walls and onto the long stretch of Queens Road, headed east, back toward Wan Chai.

Away from upmarket hotels of the opulent Mid Levels, footpaths became narrower, more obstructed, hemmed in by towering skyscrapers and, briefly weighing her options, the young agent reduced her spacing accordingly. It was not ideal, and with each metre closer she approached her risk of being caught went up, but staying undetected was also no good should the target be lost in the process. Tailing someone through a crowd was work enough at the best of times, let alone when the competition knew exactly what one looked like but, good though the SWA's boffins may have made her vision, it would be a long time before she could see through solid objects.

Continuing on toward the older city, thickening crowds brought her even closer to maintain contact and, sidling past a glazed facade, she used its reflection to check behind herself: a last opportunity before, ahead, shining glass and steel gave way to dilapidated, rust-streaked concrete. Around it, the sheen of spit and polish was replaced by garish signage suspended above bustling crowds, separating street life from apartments above and, under flickering light, she saw John turn down an alley of small shops and eateries.

It was doubtful he would be going home already, which left either the call of hunger, or that he was clearing his own tail. She could only assume the latter and, arriving at the laneway's corner, she peered past. It was quieter down there, off the main drag, and quickly her mark's blazer-covered back was located inspecting a menu board, lights reflecting from its laminated surface. No details though, no facial features, which suggested he would be unable to see her as well, and she paused.

It was a good thing she did too as now he did look up, turning around, and the young spy drew quickly back out of sight.

Bollocks.

Though fairly certain she had not been caught, she had also broken contact, and bets were fair he would not want to hang around. Giving a count of ten, the girl stepped out into the lane again, sliding in behind a local headed the same direction.

Nothing. John was nowhere to be seen and, suppressing a growl, she pulled out from behind her impromptu cover, striding down the lane's length, peering into shops and restaurants as she went. It was a risk, and only a rudimentary inspection but, if her mark had headed out the other end, she needed to get there before he strayed too far.

Emerging onto another stretch of wide tarmac she looked around: still nothing. Nothing left, nothing right, nothing left again on the main road, and she paused another heartbeat, glancing back the way she had come. True, she could have missed her target in one of the stores, but to her right the road split again just a few metres on, cutting back on itself.

If he was in a shop he could wait.

Decision made, Monty swung right, rounding the harder turn.

The footpath slimmed down again here, leaving space on the road's centre for tall, skinny trams and, scanning the condensed crowd she caught a flash of navy fabric. John was moving quickly, obviously trying to put some space between himself and anyone whom may have been following, and the cyborg edged off in his wake, slender form dancing through the meandering throng, once more closing the gap. Doing so, she offered up a dry word of thanks to Zhang for getting his people to prioritise Jethro: without the benefits of enhanced vision and smaller size, it was doubtful her partner would have been able to stay with the mark. As vexing as being permanently fourteen could make things generally, it had its uses.

Seemingly content with his previous efforts in paranoia however, the Second Department operative stayed his current route, following the road as it curved around into ever older parts of the city and, as footpaths closed down tighter, Monty found herself similarly narrowing the gap.

Dodging by another slow-mover, the young spy tried to grab a glimpse behind herself. While John's newfound pace made life easier in one respect, it also robbed her of opportunity to check her own tail, and that had gone on long enough now to start making her uncomfortable. For all she knew, another of Zhang's people could be closing in from behind.

Father ahead, she saw John's head twitch upwards slightly, apparently reading shopfront signs, before returning forward, and a few steps later it happened again.

The third time his movement was larger and, taking the warning, his young tail broke off her pursuit, ducking into a jeweller's doorway, watching through panes of glass as her mark paused, before ambling into a convenience store. That was good, that would give her time and, turning as if to inspect garish gold jewellery on the doorway's other flank, she took the moment to sweep her surroundings.

Clear. Still.

Not finding any recognisable faces, Monty swung back so she could eye the convenience store once more over cheap, jade-set, rings, nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. She had never been a great fan of gold, and what now spread before her really was particularly tasteless.

"You like?"

Eyes flicking briefly sideways, she caught sight of a small man in shirt sleeves and tie.

"Not really."

"Then why you look?"

"Well I can't decide I don't like it without looking first..." Ahead, John stepped out again, plastic bag in hand. Browsing he had not been and, taking a moment to scan the street, he continued on his way. "...good evening to you."

That was met by a string of Cantonese abuse, forcing the young spy to duck briefly out of sight as she merged once more into foot traffic, avoiding its few turned heads.

Fortunately that noise was brief, nor was it out of place, and it did not take long to reacquire her target. Now their course parted from screeching tram tracks, heading instead into Wan Chai's dirty back streets. The buildings here were lower, nestled amongst towering skyscrapers all around, façades flaking away to reveal multiple layers of paint, bark rings for the concrete jungle. Instead of towering leafy giants however, hardy greenery sprouted from leaking downpipes, joining concrete cancer to chip away at crumbling walls.

Leaving the main thoroughfare, the pair's pace slowed to a crawl, footpath life spilling out into gritty streets to wash around delivery trucks, raucous local tones mixed amongst rumbling diesel engines underneath hanging walkways linking laneway sides, and the ubiquitous flickering signs. Along either flank, small restaurants and street food vendors hawked their wares, intent on poaching custom from the bustling multi-storey, twin-building, cooked food centre on this lane's far end.

Ahead, John paused again, and Monty pressed herself into the shadows between two eateries as he looked around, before letting himself into a skinny door, steps leading upward behind it.

Giving her mark another moment to get away, the girl continued along her course, coming to a halt once more in shadow, this time in the entry of a loading dock beneath one of the food market's overhanging gantries. Safely ensconced she was given a neat view of John's apartment block, frontages facing onto the main laneway and a cluttered alley between it and the market proper.

While the thoroughfare on which she stood remained busy, the more confined stretch of tarmac seemed significantly less so, wall above festooned with exposed pipe work. Certainly it was not the worst looking place around the area, not even within her current narrow field of view, but it was far from the nicest as well, windows hung with decaying casement frames, rough boxes of air conditioners poking out over makeshift eves to face market dock ventilations slits across the way.

Yes, the market, its complex melange of scents wafting down, carrying with them the chatter of diners and, waiting where she was, Monty felt her stomach growl. It had been an awfully long time since she last ate.

Above, a window illuminated on John's side of the alley, and she slunk father back into shadow as another air-conditioning compressor joined the chorus already rattling its way around concrete walls. With a bit of luck, that would be her mark's.

A minute passed.

Then another, and a shadow passed briefly across the light.

Allowing her watch to run out three more, Monty checked the window again and, content activity behind its grubby panes had subsided, set about getting an angle on its occupant.

Any cyborg, even one in her own 'detuned' state, could have made the jump from street level to a higher vantage point with ease, but in a city so densely packed as Hong Kong, it would not be a question of if she got seen, but rather how many would catch her act. Or course she had her own, less superhuman, methods of reaching higher storeys as well, buy why take the risk when she did not need to?

Breaking from her hide, the girl made a quick walk toward market internal stairs, rapidly climbing toward its third floor. Even this far into evening the building remained busy, open stalls serving communal tables scattered across its concourse and, shouldering her way through the crowd, Monty felt her stomach growl again.

Fresh air of the higher pedestrian bridge found her some respite from hunger inducing scents, but only some. The second market building to which this walkway connected was lower than its sibling, putting her now level with its roof, again surrounded by small kitchens under a tin canopy, blocking any access to its edges. Halting instead at the pathway's end, the girl leant against steel railing, giving herself sightlines on the closer corner of John's accommodation. Counting off windows to find his apartment, she extracted her phone to tinker away at it, similar to any girl her age, shuffling a few steps sideways in the process to get a better angle into her former tail's abode.

It wasn't much of a view, obstructed by the rusting air conditioner filling one frame place of glass, but it was enough. Inside she could see a small square of room, papers arranged neatly across a table just visible and, while John was not currently evident, the edge of a laptop also protruded into sight, vibrating slightly as someone hammered away at it.

She couldn't wait here long, but hopefully he would move before she had to up sticks and carry on. Stabilising her phone on the bridge handrail, the young spy quickly took a photo of what little she could see, before bringing the tiny lens to bear on bustling streets beneath, one eye remaining on her target. Good as that eye may have been however, whatever documentation the opposing agent had out remained illegible from this distance.

A minute passed again, then five and, making a show of inspecting her watch, the girl leaned forward to tap her mobile's corner against the guardrail thoughtfully. She should be moving on and, while coming back would not be ideal, she was probably pushing her luck in terms of how long she could so conspicuously loiter.

Switching cameras on the phone, its facing lens was used to do a surreptitious sweep of the crowd at her back, small sensor struggling in low light.

Not perfect, but it would have to do.

In the window below however, a movement caught her attention, and refocussing on that square she saw a hand reach out to close the laptop. Checking she had the correct camera selected, the young agent retrained it on her target as John leaned briefly into view, gathering up documentation, before returning once more out of sight.

Another heartbeat, then a figure passing along the room's length, head obscured by the window frame, documents in hand. That last caused Monty to pause, waiting to see what he came back with.

Nothing. Empty arms.

That was good, she now had a rough idea where those documents might be stored, which would do her for tonight.

And now it was most definitely time to leave.

Snapping a few more shots of the building and street for good measure, the young spy did a quick about face, scanning food centre patrons as she disappeared into their midst, phone dropping into a deep pocket.

She had, frankly, been in place far longer than was comfortable, and now it might not be a bad idea to put some less visible distance between herself and here.

Striding through the crowd, Monty made her way toward the rooftop's far side, confident steps continuing between two food stores, into the claustrophobic gap separating their backs and the building's edge. It was dank back here, smell of decay wafting from scraps inevitably lost by surrounding kitchens into pools of foetid water washing up against the kerbing she now stood beside, blocked drains preventing it from trickling off into the alley below.

Stepping around something unrecognisable which was slowly disintegrating across rooftop concrete, the girl surveyed what lay before her. Even in this somewhat decrepit part of the city the markets were lower than their surrounding buildings, and going upward was going to expose her, which brought its own problems. She was going to get spotted by someone, there was just no way around it, the trick was ensuring she was not spotted by the wrong someone. However, if she could get even a block or two away without touching ground, it would vastly reduce her risk of being tracked back to John's safe house.

Either way, she could not afford to stay up for long.

Eyeing a crumbling window ledge across and above thoughtfully, she checked her phone was securely stowed then, taking two quick paces, stepped onto the guardrail to leap lightly upward. Arcing across the deep gap, one foot was wedged against a protruding concrete pier and she pushed against it for purchase to propel herself higher, slender fingers catching the sill, hauling her up onto it. Not stopping however, one of the multitude of hanging drainpipes gave enough purchase to quickly ascend the vertical face, rolling bodily over an upper handrail onto the apartment block roof, landing on the balls of her feet.

Going from that crouch into an easy jog between built-up rubbish, the young agent allowed herself a small smile: yes, any cyborg worth her salt could get up a storey or three with little difficulty. How many could make their efforts appear as those of a regular human being was, however, an entirely different matter and, if she was going to be seen, her performance couldn't appear as anything but.

The edge of this roof was fast approaching and, not breaking stride, she bounded up onto its handrail, fingertips brushing powdering paint lightly to continue a flat arc over the alley far below, knees collapsing as she hit the opposite block, tumbling into a roll to push forward once more.

Directly ahead, the next tower stretched skywards, barricading her path to the main road beyond: too much effort for too little gain.

Opposite however, diagonally across a wider stretch of tarmac, bamboo poles jutted out from green shade cloth, crawling up the outside of another crumbling apartment block and, changing course, Monty angled toward it. The road below would be too wide for even the most competent human acrobat to cross in one hit and, reaching the edge, she instead fell from it to squat against vertical concrete, fingers just gripping the roof, looking down, searching.

Finding what looked like a decent target, the girl dropped, spinning through midair to land catlike atop the concrete parapet of balconies below, putting her just above a multitude of neon signs stretching out over the street. Moving swiftly until once more above a likely looking candidate, the young agent kicked sideways into another airborne tumble, halting forward motion to drop lightly atop it, close to solid fixings so it wouldn't sway, before dancing out along its length.

While large, the steel gantry did not span the entire gap, but it was far enough and, reaching its end, Monty continued on, thrusting again out into space, trading height for distance until she slammed into the building opposite. Practised hands caught the parapet rail to swing against concrete, legs compressing to thrust her back up and under her hold onto the narrow ledge beyond. From there, another jog had her at this building's end, vaulting intervening fencing before floating through space once more to skate between bamboo poles, rolling onto scaffold deck with a clatter.

Safely behind the shade cloth's protective shield, the girl finally slowed, placing steps carefully so as not to shake structure anymore and give away her presence: the landing had been bad enough for that, she didn't need to broadcast additional telltales.

Finding a foothold on lashed down flooring, the young spy slunk along this building's length, rounding its corner before looking down on bustling streets below, their glow filtered through heavy cloth. Light on the outside was fine, that would help keep her hidden, but she needed a way down without simply dropping into the milling throng's presence.

At least now she was low enough to be level with shops and restaurants rather than apartments and, attention turning to the tower's crumbling face, she continued along her swaying walkway until a likely looking window presented itself. Pausing, the cyborg placed one ear by it, blocking the other so she could concentrate on what emanated from inside.

Silence.

Shrugging, she wedged fingers behind steel framing to haul the single pane open, glancing surreptitiously through to inspect what lay beyond.

That, as it turned out, was a somewhat squalid looking bathroom, empty paper towel dispenser and overflowing bin suggesting it to be of the public variety. That was good, and the girl swung inside, feet landing on either flank of a stained squat toilet.

Taking a moment to return the window to such state as she had found it, Monty made use of the sink to wash residual dirt and powdered paint from her hands, before standing back to inspect her reflection in a corroded mirror. Adjusting a few stray strands of hair back into place, she straightened her outfit, before making for the exit.

As luck would have it, the facilities were indeed public and, emerging from their door, she found herself in the cramped, humid corridors of a small shopping arcade, shoehorned in beneath apartments overhead. Nothing flash, nothing fancy, probably not somewhere foreigners tended to frequently venture and, feeling a few curious gazes begin to swing her direction, she continued on in search of a path back to ground.

Descent pausing just long enough to purchase a trinket or two the cyborg stepped, bag in hand, onto the broad pavements of Hennessy Road, running east-west down slender flats between mountains and bay. More usefully, it was also home to the city's iconic double-deck trams and, finding a stop, she caught the next service heading west, watching faces as they boarded or alighted the vehicle: none recognisable as having been brought from the aged shopping centre through which she had exfiltrated herself, nor anywhere else for that matter. Not that there was much point in concealing where she and her partner were staying, but it would be preferable that no-one on the other side saw her return from this end of town.

With that in mind, she let the tram roll past its closest stop to their hotel, abandoning hard, wooden, seating father west, past the high court. Climbing tall stairs allowed her to continue around its back, buildings on her left, well kept parklands rolling skyward up Victoria Peak on her right, a far cry from decrepit urbanism less than two kilometres down the road.

Fortunately tram stops were not placed far apart, and a short walk had her approaching the Upper House's dark façade, opposite that direction in which she had left in pursuit of John.

Inside, gloriously empty elevators made for a quick journey to her own floor and, tapping out a faux all-clear on the fratello's door, she let herself in.

"I'm back."

"In the lounge."

Following her partner's voice, the girl found him laid out on their sofa's wide cushions, shoes missing but chinos and shirt still present, bugged design book propped up on his chest.

As she entered, his head lolled over to look at her. "How did you go?"

Depositing her plastic bag on the table, Monty turned a small smile on him. "It's nice to sometimes just look around on your own, and I picked up a few trinkets for the relatives back home."

"Anything good?"

"No, it's all tacky and atrocious, but the younger ones might like it... there's no accounting for people's tastes."

That earned another smile and, rolling up onto his feet, Jethro padded over to wrap strong arms around her, planting a kiss atop her head. "Well, at least some of that's out of the way then. You ready to head out for dinner?"

Disengaging just far enough to look up at him, Monty gave a small, tired, chuckle. "Actually, I think I'm just about ready for a bath, feeding, and no further requirement to stand on my own two feet for the evening's remainder."

"Bath of the shower, or actual, variety?"

"Actual."

That got a pause before, leaning down to steal another kiss, her handler stepped back, pushing her toward the bedroom.

"Run along then, I'll order up. Did you want anything in particular?"

Removing shoes, she considered that for a moment. "I don't have a menu. Pick me something seafood based?"

Hearing an answer in the affirmative, Monty moved through to set the suite's large, standalone, stone tub filling, before retreating once more to their bedroom, gaze turning to the brightly lit skyline outside as she stripped off humidity dampened clothes. Placing those neatly into a hotel laundry bag, another though struck her, bringing with it a grimace: whoever was eavesdropping on them would have heard her comment about tourist trinkets.

Now she was actually going to have to take the things with her when they left.

Uttering a sigh, the slender girl returned whence she had come, killing bathroom main lights on the way to leave just warm point illumination. Finding its centrepiece bath almost full, the tap's flow was quelled, and she stepped gracefully into it, settling into warm water with a contented noise. Feeling aches and pains of the day start to eke away, she looked once more toward the skyline spread out beyond panoramic windows, sparkling bright behind low mood lighting. As inconvenient as never breaking the 'travelling couple' routine could be in some respects, it certainly had its advantages as well.

Relaxing back once more, she lolled farther into a watery embrace. Now of course lay ahead another round of the waiting game, letting things stabilise after her leaving Jethro to his own devices that afternoon. The last thing they needed was for Zhang to begin assigning two tails at any particular moment, that could be... decidedly irksome. Now was time to let their competition get comfortable again.

From behind came the quiet clap of a door closing, followed by whirring motors as bathroom blinds began to slowly descend and, rolling her head over, she found Jethro padding across from the door, naked bar a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist. Settling beside the tub so their heads were together, she gave a small smile as her partner reached over to tilt her chin up, moving in to take another kiss. As it continued, those fingers ran gently down her neck, into the water and across her collar bone, tracing a line beneath one small breast to finally rest at her side, tickling lightly over smooth skin.

Pulling back, the former SIS spy eyed her tenderly. "Room service said they would need twenty minutes. I asked for them to hold off a... little longer."

Now Monty cocked an eyebrow, wry smile flitting soft lips to accompany it. "Is that so? I'm not certain if I should be appreciative, or point out I've not eaten since before midday."

"If you want, I can get hurry them up again and feed you here."

"With you coordinating I would only wind up swimming with dinner."

Whirring motors stopped as the blinds seated home and, reaching across her, Jethro pushed a heavy steel button down, which was answered by the hum of machinery and whoosh of water jets as the spa started up, bubbling around the girl in their soft massage.

Leaning closer, his voice dropped further. "So? How did you go?"

Mirroring that movement, the cyborg started. "I managed to follow John to his safe house, at least that's my current assumption as to its function. He had documentation and a computer in there, I couldn't see much but there are photos of what I could. Presuming those were related to us, I definitely think it worth going back for another look."

There was a pause as her partner mulled that over.

"The intent was always to go and take a look, though it is nice to know the effort will likely not be in vain. What we need now is to remove John long enough that you've time to snoop around, and get out of here unseen to boot."

That earned another cocked eyebrow. "And just how do you propose we do those? Parting ways may be viable a second time, but I wouldn't count on a third, and I'd prefer to keep round two in reserve."

"Frankly the ball's in their park now, so it could be a bit of a wait on timing anyway, which may not be a bad thing depending on how easily spooked Zhang is. As to getting you out of here..." Jethro looked upward, apparently intent on the ceiling while he thought, "...well, Song was very proud of how all her linen gets dealt with out of sight, perhaps it's time we figured out precisely how that's achieved."

Trundling down narrow tarmac between buildings and motorway, the linen truck slowed to a halt, waiting its turn to enter an onramp toward one of Hong Kong's cross-bay tunnels. Rumbling at idle, its tarpaulin rear cover shifted slightly, a lithe figure slipping from beneath, quickly scampering across the footpath to now closed store fronts. Shimmying up a slender bamboo pole and back into the same scaffold as had served on her previous visit to this end of the city, Monty paused to ensure she had not been spotted, watching on as her transport's light turned green and it pulled away, oblivious to the exiting stowaway.

It had taken over a week before John obliged them by once more picking Jethro up at night and, while their current lack of information was still forcing the fratello's progress to a crawl, the time had been put to good use. Mostly that had involved avoiding any real spook-like activities and, a small grimace crossed her face, getting Zhang's people used to the idea that her partner may be occasionally allowed out on his own. However, somewhere in there had also been found opportunity to discover where The Upper House sent its laundry.

Glancing at the street far below, the agent pulled off a dark grey flat cap, holding it close to her chest to minimise light spill from her phone as she checked for messages. Nothing, her handler still had his tail in tow.

Or something else had happened.

Pushing that latter thought aside, she slipped the mobile away, double checking it was properly secured behind dark charcoal leggings before replacing her cap. What Jethro did was out of her hands now. She had her own part in this job to play, and the faster she completed it, the sooner she could have her partner back off the street.

Hong Kong never truly slept, but this late at night its bustling pavements had ebbed, and she scampered across rooftops, light traceuse's touch leaving little but rushing air in her wake, following a longer, more difficult route back to John's safe house. Despite having shut for the night, the food market's lower side was given a wide berth in favour of its taller sibling, and she tripped across gravel to look down into the alley between it at her target apartment block.

While the market's cooked food section may have long since closed, rumbling trucks still echoed up from below as fresh produce was brought in for the next day's proceedings, hauled down from the New Territories and China. The quieter alley provided some respite from that, but she would be better staying well above ground level if at all possible, and her attention instead turned higher, studying her intended destination.

Entering through casement windows had already been deemed infeasible, potential to cause frames visible damage trying to reach internal latches too high, but a small open terrace area offered more tantalising prospects. Strung with washing lines, it presumably represented communal space and, giving it a last once over, Monty took two steps to send herself arcing across the alley, rolling with her landing to cushion the fall.

Cut into the apartment block wall, a door lead onto John's floor and, placing leather-gloved fingers upon the handle, she twisted.

If this really were a communal space then...

Metal moved under her grasp, and the spy gave a small sigh of relief: one less holdup she need deal with.

Pulling rickety wood open slightly she peeked through the crack, before stepping into a dingy corridor beyond. While not squalid, it had certainly seen better days, paint heavily weathered, chipped and streaked by mildew stains. From somewhere emanated the sound of a television set and, moving forward under flickering florescent tubes, she counted off doors until she was standing in front of what should be John's safe house.

No time to lose. Deserted right now it may have been, but the corridor was still public access and, placing an ear against incongruously solid timber she listened briefly, before producing a folding knife, the blade of which was run around the gap between panel and frame. Finding no sign of telltales Monty returned it to its pocket, swapped for a thin leather wallet, which in turn gave up a tension wrench and slender hook tool.

At the corridor's end lay a set of stairs, from which now wafted slurred tones, wending their way up from the entrance below: not what she needed. She could rake if required, but that was a hit and miss affair at best and, putting a small amount of torque on the door lock plug, she set to work.

Feeling back with her curved pick, she counted off pins, five in total and, finding the farthest rearward, began working it slowly until, with a small click, the plug shifted a fraction under her tensioning thumb.

This had better be the correct room.

The voices were closer now, climbing upward, and working forward she repeated the process.

Four.

Three.

Two.

Nothing difficult so far, but whomever was approaching could only be on the the next landing down, close enough to make out individual voices and staggering, drunken feet.

Edging the final pin up, she suddenly felt the plug jump again, before binding against her tool, eliciting a growl as she glanced toward the stair once more: spool pin, not particularly challenging, but something she could do without right now as well.

Above the stair balustrade she could see a black haired scalp, pausing as it swayed in place, another just below and behind. If they started moving again...

Suddenly the head disappeared, followed by loud retching.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She couldn't count on much of a reprieve, ten, maybe fifteen seconds at best and, easing pressure on the wrench slightly, she jammed her hook once more against the recalcitrant pin, pushing harder.

With another small click it too jumped across the shear line, and she felt the plug rotate smoothly as black hair appeared once more at the corridor's end. Removing both tools, she slunk inside, closing the door quietly and checking it was again locked.

John's room was dark, lit only by light seeping from the city outside, and she waited silently in the gloom until rolling footsteps had taken themselves upward and out of reach.

That murk would be fine were she here solely for her own benefit, but she was going to need better than that and, closing ragged curtains, she flicked on the light, filling the room with a dim, incandescent glow. Giving eyes a second to adjust, Monty surveyed what lay around her. Apparently that which she had spied through the window constituted much of it: a table with two chairs on scuffed vinyl, worn rug beneath doing little to warm the space. Beyond it a small kitchenette supported both sink and single-burner stove, bookended by a combined shower/toilet unit.

By the standards of cheap Hong Kong accommodation it was actually not bad.

The space's other end however was where her interest likely lay, the direction John had taken his documents and, turning that way, she moved to investigate a low bed and free-standing wardrobe. The latter proved tightly packed, hangers crammed in along its length, speaking of her mark's sartorial requirements.

That, or he was somehow related to Kara.

If she had time it might be worth getting photos of what was in there, however that would be a nice-to-have, rather than a need and, moving on, she knelt down to inspect the bed. A laptop lying atop it remained ignored: John had been using paper documents, which were easier, so she wasn't going to bother with the computer unless she absolutely had to. Underneath the wooden frame however looked a bit more hopeful, trails in accumulated dust suggesting something had been dragged out recently. Kneeling down to take photos as she went, the young spy rummaged her way back, eventually extracting a steel box, lid secured by a hefty padlock.

It was a solid sort of thing and, getting both under lights to better discern what she was up against, the girl lifted its heavy brass body. The lock itself was large, ornamented, and seemingly of Chinese manufacture, fit and finish such that shimming would not be an option. Under it, a non-standard keyway promised to make life more difficult than preferred also and, breaking picks out again, Monty once more inserted a hook to feel around inside.

Well, at least it still felt pin-tumbler-like.

Finding somewhere for the tension wrench to get purchase, she set to work.

It certainly was not so simple a task as the door had been but, finally, she was rewarded with a satisfying click as the plug gave way, twisting to let the shackle spring apart. That process had cost her time however and, placing the lock to one side, she inspected the box's lid for telltales before lifting it open.

Inside lay a thick stack of documents bearing simplified jiǎnhuàzì script, the black Type 77 pistol set atop them forming a particularly deadly paperweight. Recording how things were arranged, Monty extracted the gun, setting it neatly to one side, along with boxes of spare ammunition, some bearing markings not in Chinese, but for Russian 9x18mm Makarov.

So, they now knew John was going armed, and if he was, then bets were probably safe his compatriots would be similarly equipped.

The wad of documents was also removed, revealing glossy photo prints beneath and, looking at what lay first in that collection, the young agent's expression turned grim. The face there carried less age, hair longer and without its trademark sideburns, but she would recognise those features anywhere, not just because she saw them every day, but because they had been burned into her memory since she first awakened. Picking up Jethro's picture, she inspected it closer: the image was clear, a front and side mug shot, text in the bottom corner censored out, not that the touch was doing much good. The only place a mug shot this old could have come from was the archives of Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service which, no matter how she looked at it, was very worrying indeed.

Setting that aside, the girl began to work through other images in the collection, arranging them so as to be easily returned in order. These were more recent, apparently taken at the shop Zhang brought them to on arrival, accompanied by photos of herself from the same visit, and the cyborg scowled. Obviously there would be no studio shots of her, but that she had not spotted a hidden photographer was also inestimably vexing, and she set about burning the angle each was taken at into her mind. If time allowed it would be nice to go back and figure out what vantage points had been used.

Finishing with that set, Monty's attention turned to the next shot in sequence... and paused, one eyebrow cocking slightly at what lay before her.

Now that she had not expected.

It was another mug shot, similar to Jethro's, though slightly newer: a woman's face, strong Eurasian features covering cold blue eyes, long black hair pulled back into a low ponytail.

Putting that down for a moment, the girl worked quickly through remaining images, spreading them out to better present the whole picture, before sitting back on her haunches to inspect her handiwork.

Mary Christmas... well now, didn't she just turn up in the most interesting of places.

The remaining photos were again more recent, taken at the same shop, from the same vantage points, as those of her fratello, Mercedes limousine however replaced by a simple Hong Kong taxi. Seemingly Zhang was using that as his own private photo booth, and speaking of...

Placing the female agent's mug shot beside her handler's, Monty got a picture of both for later comparison, before putting it back in sequence. Starting from Mary's end, she began to work her way along the line, recording each frame as she went. Those were going to make for particularly interesting study. For starters, if the other spy were in town now, then Algy had either been telling fibs about the SIS's lack of people on the ground, or had not been made aware in the first place.

And it would certainly be nice to finally get off the back foot and start drawing some hard conclusions insofar as the woman was concerned... hopefully.

In the apartment's low light however her phone camera was not fast and, moving to capture the next image, the mobile suddenly buzzed, causing her to freeze. The number she didn't recognise, but that was to be expected, her partner's calls would be going out under the identity of some other device nearby, but the message was simple and clear: '12'.

Twelve minutes. That was how long since Jethro and his tail had apparently parted company. Twelve... more than enough time to get from Wan Chai's entertainment district to here. That had been supposed to come earlier, immediately if possible, what on earth had taken him so long to contact her?

She wasn't anywhere near done, but no time to loose and no time to worry now. Stepping back, she grabbed the last two shots in Mary's set together, before quickly re-packing the box as it had been found. Locked up once more, she left it long enough to stand and kill apartment lights, opening curtains again to instead let dim illumination from beyond spill in.

It took another moment for eyes to adjust back to the gloom, enough at least to start re-arranging equipment under the bed, but she had no idea how close John would be and, for all she knew, that could be very close indeed.

Putting a last cardboard box away, hiding the document stash completely, she checked her work quickly against the phone picture as, from outside, came the sound of footsteps in the passage.

Not using the door then... Plan B.

Moving quickly to the window, Monty lifted its heavy swing-catch, before opening ancient glazing wide. Dangling legs out, a probing toe found one of the pipe clusters Dynabolted to concrete beneath and, testing briefly to ensure it would take her weight, she slipped outside.

Take her weight it might, but round piping made for a precarious perch at best and, sill grasped with one hand, she used the other to push the window shut, a slender finger slipped inside to hold its fastener clear until the last second as the frame closed into position. Behind dirty glass the catch handle dropped slightly, then stopped, tongue not fully seated home as, from the hallway, came a jingle of keys.

That had to be John returning.

Grip tightening further on her slim hold, Monty pressed her other palm once more against the window frame, shaking it, trying to dislodge the fouled mechanism. She didn't want to make too much noise but...

From the apartment came the click of a lock, and the young agent ducked out of sight, hand wedging awkwardly under the window ledge to jam her in place as the door opened inside.

A pause, then rapid glow of lights coming on as it was closed again, footsteps advancing across hard flooring, and the spy tried not the breath as a shadow cast itself upon the alley wall opposite. She could feel fingers starting to slip, but her perch was less than secure and, if she added any extra pressure, she risked tearing it from crumbling concrete.

She would have to make sure if she fell to do so away from the window, sort out what she landed on later.

Another heartbeat, John's shape opposite leaning down to inspect the unsecured frame.

Of course, if he opened it, she may have to fall anyway.

From above came a rattle as it was shoved harder into place, followed by the scrape of a catch being torqued home, and the shadow disappeared, soon followed by tones of a wardrobe opening. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Monty released her handhold, pitching forward to throw herself across the laneway below. Slots in the market wall across gave purchase enough to reach its roof, rolling across the parapet to land once more on silent feet, disappearing into the night.

Pleasant dining the Compass Room may have served for, but the RHKYC Bistro below touted its own more relaxed atmosphere, wide, umbrella-covered tables catching a cooling breeze as it wafted up Victoria Harbour: perfect conditions for a late breakfast.

Taking another bite of bacon and eggs, Monty placed cutlery gently down, before leaning back in her seat, luxuriating in its gentle touch licking through an open fronted blouse, ruffling light fabric, as a hand rested itself atop hers.

"I'm still glad you got away... mostly... clean."

Feeling its caress, the girl looked over to where her handler leaned in beside her, own chair shuffled close to share views of water before them, and her features formed a scowl.

"That may be pushing the definition."

"Don't forget we're not the only spook-game in town."

"But we are the ones they've been interacting with. For now, I think we should be on our best behaviour and not rock the boat..." the expression became even less happy, "...which means you'll need to make a few more solo visits to Wan Chai."

"Sorry. John's timing was... inopportune." Now a more cheeky expression crossed her partner's face. "If it's any consolation, I think sharing a bed with you after was punishment enough."

That earned him another unimpressed look. As far as those listening in on their hotel room were concerned, Monty had been safely asleep all night, computer covering for the sounds of a slumbering girl. Unfortunately, on her return, that cover had also precluded her from a shower until morning.

Reading the expression, Jethro gave another brief grin, before taking on a more sober countenance. "Still, near miss or no, I think what's fallen out of that particular excursion is very much worth knowing. You said the documents John had were in simplified Chinese?"

"That is what it looked like, but I never got past the first page and, honestly, I would need to check against some examples to be sure."

"Do so if you can..." half a beat as he changed tack, "...and then there's Mary."

"Yes, and then there's Mary."

"Could be a coincidence, for all we know she's on entirely unrelated business."

"And Zhang just happens to be following her as well?" Monty's face made her opinion on that particular suggestion clear. "Monaco, Alex, Switzerland, and now here... I think we're well past the stage of 'coincidence'."

Another small smile. "Glad we're in agreement then."

"What I'm not greatly liking though is how, seemingly, whomsoever leaked her presence to Zhang is presumably the same kind soul as leaked ours, and that leak seems to have come right out of the SIS."

"Those mug shots could have come from a low-level operative embedded anywhere."

"And they could not have."

There was a pause, Jethro's finger tapping against a wooden arm-rest, before he leaned forward to take another bite of eggs Benedict, chewing thoughtfully. The accompanying expression however suggested his mind had been running down similar lines to hers.

Coming back to the present, her partner continued, through practice or habit taking the opposing position. "We've only really encountered Mary in and around Europe though. Unless she was transferred, she should not have much business in the Far East."

"And if she were pursuing an investigation here? Would the Far East Station be notified?"

"That would be the polite thing to do, yes. The SIS has not always been so polite internally though." Now he paused again, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Their source aside, I would quite like to know how long Zhang has been holding those photographs. The mug shots are old, but if we can get some idea when Mary had her picture taken locally..."

"...we might be able to get some idea as to when, or whether, she is still here or not."

"Precisely."

Turning a small smile on her handler, Monty raised eyebrows slightly. "Well, I was going to suggest starting to look into Anagnos's freight forwarding out of Hong Kong but..."

"Until Tiger gets back to us I think we're better holding fire on that one, let him handle the legwork out of sight. However, it might just be time to go see if Zhang is still doing a sideline in white goods."