

NSSM 200

The Milieu Derivative

Malcolm Franks

Milieu Publishing

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

First Published in Great Britain in 2012 by Milieu Publishing

Copyright ©Malcolm Franks

The moral right of the author has been asserted

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 978-0-9566944-2-3

Preface

He slid towards the watch and touched at the wreckage. The hands had halted at just past ten. Light from the windows indicated the late afternoon sun was beginning to sink. Several hours had passed. He edged back to Rosa. No visible injuries, no broken bones or bullet wounds he could see other than the bloodied nose. It was hard to concentrate, focus, the mind... didn't want to work, didn't want to...

And then he saw the puncture wound, in the crease of her elbow, a needle mark. Blink, blink to focus and look along her forearm. There they were, in line astern, three red blotches. She'd been injected with the virus. They both had. They were going to die.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Maelstrom

Chapter 2 - Marcie's Law

Chapter 3 - Planning

Chapter 4 - The Woman with the Green Eyes

Chapter 5 - Inventory

Chapter 6 - Dilemma

Chapter 7 - Small Hands, Tiny Feet

Chapter 8 - A Thousand Times

Chapter 9 - Encouragement

Chapter 10 - Holding Back

Chapter 11 - Vega One

Chapter 12 - Olhos d'Agua

Chapter 13 - Temptation

Chapter 14 - Confession

Chapter 15 \- What's in a Name?

Chapter 16 \- Can't Stop the Rain

Chapter 17 - Alliance

Chapter 18 - Questions

Chapter 19 \- Pillow Talk

Chapter 20 \- London Calling

Chapter 21 \- Welcoming Committee

Chapter 22 \- Taking Control

Chapter 23 - Overboard

Chapter 24 \- Inevitable

Chapter 25 - The Promise

Chapter 26 - Choice

Chapter 27 - Image

Chapter 28 \- Hot Rain

Chapter 29 \- Reunions

Chapter 30 \- Entry

Chapter 31 \- Home Truths

Chapter 32 \- The Conversation

Chapter 33 \- Virtual Retreat

Chapter 34 \- Chase

Chapter 35 \- Rope

Chapter 36 \- Speak No More

Chapter 37 \- Damned

Chapter 38 \- Identity Crisis

Chapter 39 \- Out of Time

Chapter 40 \- Shoot the Pig

Chapter 41 \- Father's Note

Chapter 42 \- Declaration

Chapter 43 \- One More Word

Chapter 44 \- Moonlight Confession

Chapter One

Maelstrom

Pillows of black cloud were beginning to knit together on the not too distant horizon. Confirmation, if any was needed, that the predicted second storm front would soon arrive. Light was fading too, all the ingredients to a float plane pilot's worst nightmare; howling wind, driving rain, and darkness. A bead of rainwater from the earlier storm caught his eye, clinging for dear life to the side window as the air flow did its best to tear it away. Another drop near the top of the pane surrendered its grip and snaked down the glass pane, slowly meandering to the inevitable collision. He watched as the two tears of the sky collided, separating both from the comparative safety of the window.

"See anything, Matt?" asked a voice.

"No," he answered. "Before long this will be like looking for a granny in a pothole with a faulty flashlight."

"You go looking for grannies in potholes often then?"

The likening was not entirely lost on his friend. Once the dark arrived all they'd have to illuminate the surface below would be the intermittent blades of searing hot light from the lightning sure to accompany the heavy storm.

"How long has she been in the water now?" he asked.

"Coming up to an hour," said his friend.

The odds were not good, growing worse by the second.

"I'll call it in," he said, picking up the radio mike. "See if we can find out what everybody else is doing."

His companion nodded and continued the search.

"Hot potato, hot potato, this is bad dog. What's happening Donna?" he asked.

"Can you not be serious," said the voice on the radio.

True to form, the respondent had no patience for silliness.

"Hi, Grace. What are you doing there?"

"We are here to tell you everyone else has come in."

"We?" questioned Matt.

"Jenna is with me. You've been out long enough."

The suggestion made common sense. Conditions were set to deteriorate and pretty soon they would get caught up in a maelstrom.

"What does the forecast say?"

"It will last a while," said Grace.

"Maybe if we dropped a little lower, got a bit closer to the surface," suggested his friend.

Matt looked at the back of Will's thick neck, reminiscent of those exhibited by NASCAR and European Formula One drivers, the muscles developed to withstand the incredible G forces they were subjected to during a race. The neck craned at an uncomfortable angle, as if this could somehow increase the range of Will's eyesight.

"Not sure about that," said Matt. "This is a busy shipping lane and visibility is set to worsen."

"They're big enough for us to see them coming."

"Being able to see them isn't the problem, rather the other way round."

His companion jerked round, hazel eyes encased in worry.

"You heard Grace. Everyone else has called it a day."

Will's concern came as something of a surprise. As a once serving member of an elite SAS squad Will was trained to take calculated risks. But he'd also been trained to recognise a lost cause when he saw one, and this bordered on reckless.

"We're this woman's last shot," said Will.

Matt couldn't help thinking there was more to the request than his friend was revealing. To go lower in these conditions went against all logic.

"If it was Grace down there," said Will, "what would you want the pilot to do?"

Matt nodded.

"Maybe one last sweep of the area, closer to the surface, and then we'll call it a day," he said into the radio.

"Matt, it's too risky. Come in until the storm passes," said the radio. "Jenna doesn't want to go to church for a funeral."

The two men looked at each other and their faces broke out into broad grins.

"End of days, the moment you say I do," said Matt before addressing the radio. "She's running out of time, Grace,"

"Matt!" said Jenna's urgent voice. "Stop playing silly bloody superheroes and get your asses back to Victoria. We're not sending out rescue parties to save the rescue party. You're like a pair of overgrown kids."

He looked again at Will.

"She is right," he said. "There won't be a rescue party."

"I thought you meant about the kid thing."

"It'll only take a few minutes," he said into the radio.

"Don't you dare, Matt Durham," shouted Jenna. "I won't warn you again."

"You owe me for this, big time," said Matt to the wide grin of his companion.

The plane started its shuddering descent, accompanied by an onslaught of irate and unfamiliar Germanic dialect. Had he not known Grace better he would have sworn she'd addressed him with a range of colourful obscenities.

"Hold tight," said Matt.

They plunged closer to the surface. What was a serene and placid landscape was about to turn into a maelstrom of rage and bitter tempest. There wasn't much time. He skimmed the crests of the waves, hopping occasionally to avoid suddenly appearing malevolent wash intent on trying to submerge their flimsy craft. Seconds became minutes as the two scoured the surface of the water. Inexplicably the gathering wind chose to drop and the increasingly violent sea unexpectedly quell. A spear of bright light crashed close to their left.

"There!" said Will. "Something white, over there."

Another intermittent flash of light allowed Matt to catch sight of what appeared to be flotsam, attached to something coloured orange, and he reached for the radio.

"Found her," he said.

"Right, give us the co-ordinates for the Coastguard."

"She'll be dead by then, if she's not already."

"You've done enough," said the radio.

His mind was already fixed on the task at hand.

"How has she managed to stay afloat this long?" asked Matt in incredulity.

"The important thing is she has. Let's get down there."

Matt took the plane in an arc, eyes scanning the surround for any sign of nearby tonnage. Confident there was none he took them down.

"Rope," he said, motioning to the back of the plane during the approach. "Jenna will kill me if I lose you out here. Once I get close enough, jump in and get her. I'll haul you both in."

"Can it take both our weight?"

"Don't know," said Matt. "Still want to give it a go?"

"Yeah, I don't see why not."

The man had courage, but Matt knew that already. He brought them closer to the surface. Matt heard the roar of a gust of wind burst through the opened door as it picked up again and turned to look at his companion.

"You did say you were ace at this flying lark," said Will.

"No. I said we were a pair of crazy bastards."

His friend smiled and gripped the sides of the open door as they dropped the final few metres. The floats shuddered at the impact and he reduced power for the approach.

"Now," shouted Matt.

He heard the splash before switching off and dived to the open door to watch in trepidation as his friend neared the stricken woman. Hands under her chin Will turned to make his way back, Matt pulling on the rope for all his worth.

"She's alive," shouted his friend.

Between them they got her on board and Will went straight to the limp body. Carefully brushing away her bedraggled hair his eyes widened in recognition of a familiar face.

"I've got you," he said tenderly.

Eyelids flickered open to reveal brown colouring, dulled by the ordeal, and she tried to smile.

"Will, I knew you'd come for me."

Matt searched for a blanket as the young woman fought for life, a brave but futile struggle. With the last reserves draining from her body, she released her breath.

"Stay with me," pleaded Will. "Stay with me, stay..."

Matt watched his friend's shoulders slump in dismay as he fell back from the corpse.

"You knew her?" asked Matt.

The shake of the head prevented an instant response.

"We were part of the same team, Vega One," he eventually replied.

"Was she coming to see you?"

Ignoring the question Will threw off the blanket and slid his hands under the loose-fitting blouse to run his fingers over her flesh. Feeling something out of the ordinary he withdrew the hand and started to unbutton the garment.

"What are you doing?"

Again, Will chose not to answer.

"People like Helen Nash don't fall overboard a passenger ferry for no reason, not under any circumstances."

So that was her name. Moments later Will had uncovered the true cause of death, an area of skin discoloured by sea water harbouring a deep and ugly incision below the ribcage. She had been stabbed before being thrown overboard. Will lowered his head and exhaled, his worst fear confirmed.

"Any idea who?" asked Matt.

"No."

Unable to find any further words of solace Matt returned to the cockpit and picked up the radio.

"Matt, what's happening?" asked Grace's voice.

"We were too late, she's dead. You'd better call the police and ..."

He felt his arm gripped by a firm hand and turned to see Will shaking his head.

"They're going to find the wound sooner or later."

"I need some time," said Will.

"Matt, did you say the police?" asked the radio.

"No," he replied quickly. "Get an ambulance first. I'll fill you in with the details when we get back."

His companion took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Will."

"Someone will be."

The man was visibly shocked, taken aback by the death of the woman he knew. He had never seen Will shaken like this and wondered if there was more to their relationship than met the eye.

"We're coming in," he said into the radio.

"Are you both okay?"

Matt looked to his companion.

"If you need some time you'll have to be solid," he said.

His friend nodded in acknowledgement.

"We're fine," said Matt. "Be with you soon."

"What's that noise?" asked Will.

The approaching light high from the surface caught Matt's eye long before the drone of powerful engines in the water.

"Crap!" he yelled.

He rammed his thumb into the start button. The engine made its first attempt to start, cylinders slowly spinning into life at his urgent command. After an interminable number of seconds the engine spat, spluttered and then stopped.

"Not good, not good," said Matt irritably.

The vast mass of metal closed on their position, unable to see them sitting on the surface in the ever darkening light, and he pressed the red start button again as panic rose inside.

Spit, spit ...

Another few seconds passed by, another false start.

"The only good news in this situation," said Matt, "is that I wouldn't have to face Jenna."

Matt calculated distance and speed as the freighter loomed ever closer. If they bailed out now they might have a glimmer of a chance of not being sucked under with the wreckage. He pushed at the button one last time.

Spit, spit...

"Crap," he said.

Chapter Two

Marcie's Law

The engine fired. He jerked at the throttle and powered them forward, fearing there wasn't time to evade the cumbersome wall of metal fast approaching. Matt took a deep breath as they scampered over the rising swell. He pulled at the throttle again... and they speared up into the dark.

Heart settling back to an even rhythm he tried to shut out of his mind the narrowness of their close brush with certain death and glanced at Will's subdued frame. Matt had to admit to being intrigued at the turn of events and thought of asking further questions of his friend. He decided against delving further, for the time being anyway.

The harbour walls were teeming as they pulled alongside the wooden jetty. Matt put this down to the macabre fascination of people with bodies pulled from the sea and assumed word had got around. Then again the degree of interest exhibited by the seething mass suggested it wasn't just death that pulled the crowds in. It was the fact a body had been found and he just happened to be in the area to discover it. Matt wished they'd landed in secrecy, unnoticed, for wherever a crowd amassed trouble was sure to inevitably follow.

They clambered from the plane. Grace and Jenna were first to arrive backed up by Donna, his office administrator, and the emergency services. They stood in respectful silence while the body was transferred to the waiting ambulance, Will's eyes unable to maintain contact on the corpse. Most people wouldn't have noticed. Jenna had. She knew him better.

"What's wrong with Will?" asked Grace.

"Nothing," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"Because if you tell me I might find out what's on your mind at the moment," she said.

"One of these days you'll cut yourself."

"He would have to be sharper than you."

The rich Guinness eyes offered the smile which warmed him inside, as it always did. Comforting was the nearest word to describe the effect it had on him, perhaps an odd word to use but one which always seemed to fit the bill. He took her hand and squeezed lightly.

"A public display of affection," she said. "Should I be worried about anything?"

His returning half smile did little other than to arouse her curiosity. She was right of course, something did occupy his mind. This woman, Helen Nash, was on her way to the island to meet up with Will. He was sure of it.

"One day your luck will desert you," said Grace. "I wish you wouldn't take such risks."

"It's a one off. I promise."

His mind turned back to the dead woman. Nash had been assaulted to prevent her arrival, halt possible contact. Of that he was certain. He saw Jenna tug at her man's arm and lead them to where Grace and Matt stood.

"Does anyone know who the woman is?" she asked.

Matt's eye caught Will's furtive glance into the distance.

"New to town I suspect, probably a tourist," he said. "I've never seen her before."

Again, his friend remained unusually quiet. Matt studied his watch and decided to change the subject.

"I don't know about you guys but I'm feeling incredibly hungry right now."

"We'll give it a miss," said Will. "I need to change out of these," he added, referring to his sodden clothes.

"Yes, how come Will had to be the one who had to go into the water?" asked Jenna.

"Long story," replied Matt.

He reached into his pocket and tossed the keys to the pick-up over to Will.

"We'll get a taxi."

His friend grabbed them appreciatively and ushered Jenna towards the waiting vehicle.

"Take the day off tomorrow," said Matt. "Probably take that long for you to dry off."

A wisp of a smile appeared, for which Matt was relieved, and he hoped Will's mood would lighten after a day's rest. They turned to leave.

"Not so fast, Durham," said an instantly recognisable voice to halt them in their tracks.

He looked to Grace and mouthed a mild obscenity, causing her face to break out into a warm smile. Another light squeeze of her hand and he was ready to face the inquisitor.

"Officer Danbridge, such a pleasure."

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Food," he said.

"Not until you've answered some questions."

"What's to say? We found her, recovered the body from the sea and returned. End of story."

Another shape loomed into view. Matt extended his hand to the blonde haired man and they shook firmly.

"How's it going, Dan?" he asked.

"Detective Early to you, Durham," said the woman.

"What can I say?" said Dan Early. "Lions were trailing by three, two fifty four to play and it's second and seven on the forty eight. Then I get the call. I'm pissed, real pissed."

"It went to overtime," interrupted Jenna, hastily returning to the scene.

"Christ. That makes it worse. I could still be watching."

"Enough," snapped Danbridge. "Why is it when a dead body turns up on this island you happen to be in the vicinity, Durham?"

"Some people are unlucky that way."

"And some people are hiding secrets."

It was almost worth yanking her pigtail.

"Don't you ever take a day off," he said mockingly.

"Not where you're concerned. I'll find out what you're up to one day, Durham, and pin something that will stick."

The urge to yank the tail multiplied.

"You know for a pretty girl you're quite an ugly person," he said.

"That's it," she snapped, producing the cuffs.

The figure of a man stepped between the two.

"Why don't you get off his back? You have no idea what this man has done for..."

"Will, leave it," interrupted Matt. "Marcie and I got off on the wrong foot a long time ago."

He turned his attention to her partner.

"We risked our lives to try and rescue this woman, Dan. Isn't that enough?"

The temporary, uneasy, silence did not bode well. Early's face broke into a subdued smile to lighten the mood.

"Go and get your meal, Matt. We'll talk later if necessary."

"Dan!"

"Leave it, Marcie."

"He's a witness."

"To an attempted rescue, that's as much as we know."

"Thanks," said Matt.

The group dispersed, Matt taking Grace by the arm to walk leisurely up the ramped incline towards the town centre while their friends retreated to the pick-up.

"I wish you wouldn't antagonise her so much," said Grace.

"I try not to, I really do," sighed Matt.

"Try harder next time."

Chapter Three

Planning

Shafts of sun pierced the murky darkness ahead so she knew she was close. There was no sound of angry pursuit. A few more purposeful strides and she would be into the daylight, free from his spell forever. Instead of revelling in euphoria however, there was only guilt. She had loved him as a man, and continued to love him despite the creature he had become. But the only way their love could survive was to become one of them and she didn't want that; to be forever imprisoned by darkness and confined to the shadows, drinking human blood from its source.

A powerful hand wrapped itself around her ankle, tugging her naked body forcefully backwards. No, her mind screamed, I don't want to go back. She kicked out with her other foot in a desperate attempt to break free, steadily at first then ever more furiously but the hand would not release its hold. She thought to cry out when he was suddenly upon her, his breath fierce and demanding. Powerful arms circled her trembling frame as the edges of his sharp teeth sank into the flesh of her breast, and she knew. Her surrender was unconditional, complete, and she finally came to realise he was the one. It had always been him...

"Jesus Christ," he said, slapping the paperback shut and dropping it to the ground.

"What is wrong?"

"Are you sure this is a best seller?"

"Of course; the counter assistant said it is the top selling book in North America and personally recommended it."

"Christ, the guy must have some serious issues."

"It was a she, a young girl, helpful and friendly."

"That explains it then, repressed craving for monstrous romance and bestial lust. It's unnatural."

"That is disappointing news."

He chuckled aloud.

"What's yours like?"

"A tearjerker," said her concentrated face. "You wouldn't enjoy it."

"I'm not completely without heart."

"Says the man who, by his own admission, has never cried in his life," she retorted.

"There's a first time for everything."

"A leopard does not change its spots."

Maybe she was right. He never could connect with the likes of Romeo and Juliet, Gone with the Wind, Wuthering whatever it was called. Deprived of interest he started to run his fingers down the light brown skin of the inside of her arm, loitering over the creased mid-arm bend, a specific zone of her body he had recently discovered to be particularly sensitive. One blink became two then turned into a serious flutter as his fingers deftly probed the area.

"I'm reading."

"You mean you were reading."

"No, I am reading."

The stern tone didn't so much dampen as pour cold water on his intentions. He considered returning to the dreadful text but decided reading erotic literature was a poor substitute.

"How much have you got to read?"

"I'm only halfway through."

He peered at the voluminous novel in her hand and sighed in disappointment. Sensing his restlessness she dropped the tome to the ground and twisted to wrap an arm across his body and prevent him from leaving.

"I thought you were reading."

"I don't want you to get up. You'll let the cold in."

He adjusted the blanket to ensure she was fully covered and she rested her head on his chest.

"Is that better?"

"Yes, much better."

They lay quietly as he gazed up at the plethora of bright stars peppering the night sky, drawing in the scent of her hair every time he breathed in. Her fingers started to meander around his chest in a chaotic, unscientific pattern.

"Why are the people here mostly indifferent towards you?"

"You mean why do they dislike me?"

"I didn't say that."

"Jack Carter," he said after a pause.

"Wasn't he the guy who helped you when you first arrived on the island?"

"Yeah, and died for the privilege. They people think I had something to do with his murder, particularly as Jack decided to leave his estate to me."

"You weren't to know."

"Yeah, well it's not what they think. Why ask me this all of a sudden?"

"Curious."

"Now I come to think of it you've been a little thoughtful recently. Is everything okay?"

"I'm happy," she said, reaching up to kiss him lightly before resuming her position.

"Good. I was starting to think you'd changed your mind about the house."

"No," she laughed. "It is beautiful, a dream home. How many people boast having the sea at the end of their garden?"

"There's probably a few along this coast," he quipped.

The muscles of her cheek shaped into what he believed to be a contented smile against his chest.

"The house is perfect," she whispered.

This was one of life's truest pleasures; snuggling up to her on the porch in the late evening, wrapped in a warm blanket with the patio heater on under a starry night.

"You and Will were mad to continue the search. Everyone else had given up long before."

"That's why you're crazy about me."

"Why, because you are mad?"

"Yeah, something like that," he said.

"I think you overestimate your attraction."

He smiled. The smooth surface of her bare shoulder felt soft to the strokes of his hand. He liked touching her naked skin. Comforting, that word again.

"What would you have done if you didn't have any rope readily to hand?"

"Always carry rope," he said.

"I didn't know that."

"Always, never know when you're going to need some."

"Why was Will upset earlier?"

The subject had been successfully avoided all night. Or so he thought. Trust her to wait for the right moment, time it so he would have to answer.

"He knew the woman."

Grace sat up and speared one of her inquisitive looks into his eyes, the one she must have used when interrogating a junior in the boardroom.

"The woman you pulled from the sea?"

"Yes."

"Does Jenna know this?"

"I doubt it. He asked me not to say anything so you can't talk about it either."

Her searching eyes were building to the next question.

"Her name was Helen Nash. Will knew her from the time he worked for Her Majesty's Government. Whether it was in the armed services or his time with intelligence I don't know, he didn't talk about it."

Matt countered the next question in line by placing a finger to her lips.

"He didn't say."

"Say what?" she mumbled.

"Whether he was expecting her or not," he said. "There's something else though."

Lips still pinned by his finger her brow furrowed.

"Nash was stabbed before being thrown overboard. I'm guessing it was the knife wound that killed her."

Her lips started to move so he pressed a little firmer.

"That's all I know."

Grace removed his finger.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because it's none of our business," he said.

"Will is an employee. Of course it's our business."

"He's also my friend."

"Probably your only one," she said.

"I thought you were my friend."

"Not if you're going to keep secrets from me."

"Well I haven't, have I? Anyway, it's time you settled back under the blanket, you're letting the cold in."

She aped his example and lay back to gaze up at the stars.

"Do you think Sam and Genevieve ever got it together?"

He started to laugh.

"You still remember that?"

"How could I ever forget? It was the night we met. And I almost believed you. Only a man could concoct a ridiculous story of two night stars being given human names and make it sound as though it were true."

He remembered the occasion well. One of those moments in life where a certain situation felt right, seemed natural. He wondered why this memory had surfaced now. Something was on her mind, he could sense it. He at first decided to wait but impatience soon got the better of him.

"Do you miss your old life? The stature and influence of the corporate job, the obscenely limitless expenses account?"

"My old life?" she replied. "No. But I would like to be able to see papa again. I've been thinking about him a lot recently, not that there is anything we can do about it."

It had to be tough on her, not being able to visit her father, and he wished there was some kind of magic wand he could wave to make everything right. Grace had said she was happy but he had the distinct feeling something troubled her. He decided he had to know.

"What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," she said. "It's nothing."

When a woman says there is nothing on her mind then a man knows it to be untrue. Grace went quiet for a while, as though trapped in deep thought.

"Where do you think we'll be, in five years or so?"

An odd and unexpected question, he considered, somewhat out of the blue.

"Lying together on the porch of our dream home with nothing other than the stars for company I suspect. Where else?" he asked.

She returned to her deep thoughts, and this started to worry him.

"Are you... unhappy? Because I thought you just said..."

"No," she said quickly. "I'm not unhappy."

His mild confusion was evidenced in the way his stroking of her shoulder increased in tempo.

"You haven't fallen for the bookshop owner have you?" he said dryly.

"No," she laughed aloud, reaching to touch her lips against his. "It would never be the bookstore owner."

"Oh God, don't tell me it's the obnoxious builder who sold us this place."

"The builder!" she exclaimed. "The man is at least fifty!"

He shrugged.

"Well I don't know; father figure and all that stuff."

"You must have such little trust in me," she said, playfully tapping at his chest with a half-clenched fist.

He looked into the dark texture of her eyes. They never ceased to imprison his gaze. His smile evaporated into a more serious expression.

"I will always trust you," he said quietly.

What else could he say? She had surrendered everything in life for him. Grace offered another captivating smile before returning her head to his chest, her slender fingers resuming their fidgety toying.

"So what is bothering you?"

"I told you, nothing."

"We've been together for a few months now and while I don't pretend to know everything that goes on in that head of yours I can still tell when there's something on your mind. So come on, spit it out."

After a few more seconds of thought she chose to answer.

"Have you given any thought to the future, whether the time is right to sit down and talk about and plan the rest of our lives together?"

He felt sure there was meant to be an obvious context to the line of her enquiry but it escaped him, went completely over his head.

"What is there to plan? We have a profitable business, a nice home, and a huge mortgage. I don't see things changing much for quite some time. Just live each day as it comes, so to speak."

"Okay," she said after a brief pause. "I suppose it can wait for another time. It's not like planning is one of the stronger aspects of your character."

He wondered what 'it' was exactly, and what she meant by planning. All successful businesses relied on careful planning, particularly in relation to monitoring finance. That's how they could afford to move to the bigger house, five bedrooms and all. The sound of the door bell broke the uneasy peace. She jumped up from underneath the blanket and started for the front door.

"I'll get it," she said.

"Gratia..." he called.

She stopped, turned sharply, and he saw the unforgiving glare in her eyes.

"You are not supposed to call me by my real name."

"Put some clothes on before you answer the door."

Her departure was instant.

"Gratia, Grace," he mumbled. "It's the same name, just in a different language."

Troubled by the planning debate he gave no thought as to who would call at this time of night until she reappeared.

"The police are here to talk to you. Be nice."

"Crap," he said, casting aside the blanket to dress as his body temperature tumbled alarmingly. He recognised the faces the moment he stepped into the wood floored space through the patio doors. Mutt and Jeff were back on his case.

"Hi, Matt," said detective Early with a broad smile.

He shook the blonde-haired man's hand and glanced at his partner. Any thoughts of Danbridge's demeanour improving since the harbour clash were promptly dashed.

"Durham," she acknowledged, making no attempt to conceal her distaste. An impromptu silence fell over the room, hostile and discomfiting.

"Would you like a coffee?" asked Matt, ushering them to the black leather sofa.

"No thanks, we'll stand," said Danbridge. "This is still an official enquiry."

"What can I do for you?"

"It's about the woman's body recovered earlier," said the male detective.

"What about her?"

"A preliminary examination has revealed the woman had been stabbed, probably before entering the water. This is now a murder enquiry and we wondered if there was anything you could tell us."

After an initial hesitation Matt shook his head.

"Why aren't you surprised?" snapped Danbridge.

"Stunned into silence is the phrase I think you're looking for, detective."

Matt considered the phrase disarming. Danbridge clearly didn't share the same view.

"You already knew."

"Bit of a leap, even for you Marcie."

"The buttons of the woman's blouse had been fastened out of sequence, as though someone had undone them to examine the body for injuries and then hastily tied them back together again," said the male detective.

Matt hoped he'd managed to maintain enough of a passive expression to conceal his unease.

"He's lying, Dan."

"Contrary to what you might believe not everyone will lie to the police under questioning."

"They do when they've got something to hide. And you've got secrets, Durham, lots of them."

His light air of congeniality had been an effort to try and make peace with the female official. Its spectacular failure left him rueing the decision to heed Grace's advice. Danbridge hadn't taken to him from the start, and nothing was going to change her mind. His only hope of preventing any further probing was to build on the rapport he'd established with her partner. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Early spoke.

"Did you know her, Matt?"

"No. Before today I'd never seen the woman."

"That's what your friend said," replied the disappointed police officer. "Will..."

"Salmon," said Matt, trying to hide his surprise.

"He's lying to us, Dan," spat Danbridge. "I can see it in his eyes. You do know who she is, don't you?"

Matt held her withering stare head on.

"She's a complete stranger to me."

"I'm telling you, he's lying."

"Matt?" said Early.

"I've never seen or met her before."

"Who is she, Durham?" demanded Danbridge.

"Let it go, Marcie. The guy doesn't know."

"He knows. He's just not saying."

After an uncomfortable few seconds Matt decided enough was enough.

"Much as I'd like I can't help you any further with your enquiries."

The male detective touched at his partner's arm to signal the interview should be closed. Danbridge wasn't intent on being so accommodating, stepping forward to narrow the gap to Matt to a matter of inches.

"I don't like you," said Danbridge. "People without an official history have a dark and murky past. One day I'll find out who you really are, what your secret is."

The temptation to tug the ponytail resurfaced, an urge swiftly quelled by Grace's timely intervention.

"I think Matt may well be right," she said, approaching to stand supportively by his side. "For a pretty woman you are ugly on the inside."

The pointed comment worked, forcing the female detective into retreat. Grace moved in front of him and glared at the two police officials.

"Matt and Will risked their lives to rescue this woman and this is how their efforts are to be rewarded."

The blonde haired man nodded and tugged at the sleeve of his partner. She shook her arm impatiently free and returned an indignant glare of her own.

"You'll make a mistake one day, Durham. And when you do I'll be there, waiting."

"Marcie!"

Shepherding his partner away from the confrontation he took her by the arm and ushered her towards the exit. The moment she'd stormed out the door the remaining detective turned and offered an apologetic smile.

"It's okay," said Matt. "Good luck with your enquiries."

The blonde-haired man started to move, stopping suddenly to ask one more question.

"What did your friend mean, about us not knowing...?"

"He was upset," said Matt. "Will was convinced we'd get to the woman in time. I wouldn't pay any attention to what he said while in that frame of mind."

Looking far from convinced the detective nevertheless chose to leave and Matt escorted him to the door. Another dilemma awaited; did he resume the conversation with Grace on the subject he didn't understand or gloss over the matter? Matt wasn't sure what he most preferred, the barbed sniping of a law enforcement officer or trying to fathom out what was on Grace's mind. Compared to the vagaries of the female psyche public officials represented no challenge at all.

Chapter Four

The Woman with the Green Eyes

He stood quietly at the door, oblivious to the arguing voices of the two departing detectives. Whilst their arrival had proved fortuitous to an extent, providing him with pause for thought, the subject on her mind wasn't about to magically disappear overnight. He wished now he'd bothered to persevere with the book, then the conversation would never have happened. He understood they were comfortable with their present lifestyle, able to do howsoever they pleased, and couldn't see what it was that needed to change. The future would surely look after itself. What else was there to plan? Nevertheless, he couldn't help thinking the brief exchange had introduced a change of mood, altered the existing dynamic between them, one which he believed was set in stone.

He sighed. Maybe it was nothing of importance at all, and he was being unnecessarily irrational. So far better to tackle the subject and get it out of the way, whatever it was. He stepped into the living room and saw her waiting, sitting patiently on the sofa for his return.

"I thought you said Will knew the woman."

"He does. Obviously he doesn't want the police to know so I wasn't going to say anything."

"Why doesn't he want them to know?" she asked.

Matt shrugged.

"Who knows? I might ask him sometime."

As he feared, the environment between them had changed, an uncomfortable air of uncertainty existed where there was none before. He was at a loss how to break the unusual silence but felt he had to try. With impeccable timing the doorbell rang for a second time to provide him with a get-out clause, answering police questions had to be easier. Recognising the look of relief on his face she jumped up and hurried towards the door, brushing past him in the process. He thought this had broken the spell, until she turned abruptly.

"It's not something you can avoid forever. We have to talk about it one day," she said.

His defensive smile did little to ease the mood. Less so given he'd avoided even agreeing to a discussion. What on earth is 'it' he wondered as she strode away. Thoughts were swiftly broken by her reappearance.

"It's Will," she said.

He half raised an arm in an attempt to make some sort of conciliatory gesture only to be disappointed by her rapid exit, through to the kitchen to make coffee. He decided to leave her to it and turned to discover his friend fiddling with the rear of the large screen television.

"Will, what the hell are you doing?"

"This will only take a minute."

Will busied connecting one end of the electronic lead to the television, the other to a laptop. Matt sat and watched on, curious, as his friend tested the fresh connection. They already had cable and satellite so this had to be something completely new, perhaps a recently launched channel.

The process took a few more seconds to complete and then a picture of a woman sitting behind a desk formed on the forty two inch screen. He instantly recognised the green eyes above the prominent nose surrounded by the immaculately prepared long blonde hair, and elected to hide his surprise.

"Catherine Vogel," he said with feigned indifference. "The market for global genocide must have gone a little quiet."

"Hello, Matt. West coast living appears to suit you."

A figure appeared next to him and placed a coffee mug on the glass table. He glanced up and smiled before answering.

"We don't have much to complain about in life."

"Gratia," acknowledged the face on the screen with a slight nod and blink of her eyes.

"Her name is Grace now," he said.

"Of course," she said. "I apologise."

"And to what do we owe this unexpected and something of an unwelcome pleasure?" he asked

"I need to talk to you."

"Really?" he sniped. "I recall you saying we would never talk again."

"Alone," she said.

The figure started to move away and he reached for a hand to prevent her departure.

"No," he snapped. "Anything you have to say to me you say to Grace, too."

He tugged lightly at her hand and she sat down beside him. Catherine's face mirrored mild irritation.

"The choice is yours."

He kept a tight hold, wanting her to feel his affectionate touch. Grace responded by wrapping her other hand round his arm, which he took to be a good sign.

"A matter has recently arisen in which we would welcome your input and assistance," said the face from the screen.

Matt burst into sarcastic laughter.

"We?" he said, "It wasn't that long ago your people were chasing me half way around Europe trying to send me to an early grave."

"Circumstances have changed."

"Not from where we're sitting it hasn't."

She looked at her watch.

"I have a little time for games if you so wish."

As ever, Catherine remained unflappable.

"Then let me save us both a bit of time. Neither Grace nor I have any desire whatsoever to help you or any of your friends. You ordered us to get on and live our lives and that is exactly what we're doing."

"We would not come to you if it were not important."

"To you, perhaps," he said. "I doubt it's of any importance to either of us."

Her eyes narrowed. Catherine leant forward on the desk and clasped her hands together.

"I wish that were true," she said. "This situation, if allowed to continue unaddressed, will hold consequences for every part of the globe. And this also includes the west coast of North America."

He decided she was bluffing.

"What is it about the word 'no' you are unable to grasp?"

"There is much at stake and events unfold at a rapid pace."

He glanced at Will, his head bowed in apparent disinterest. Matt had to admit to being intrigued.

"I wish to initiate an introduction," said Catherine. "There are people who could explain the issue in greater detail."

"Meet who?" he asked.

"I cannot reveal their identity on this link. It is not secure. The meeting needs to be face to face."

He had never discovered the true identities of her secretive group.

"No thanks," he said. "We're okay as we are."

The grip of her clasped hands tightened, betraying growing anxiety, which he found intriguing.

"All I ask is you attend a meeting. You will then be better placed to provide us with the advice we need."

He felt Grace tighten her grip on his arm.

"It is possible non-attendance could disadvantage you," said Catherine, looking towards Grace.

At first hearing, the statement carried underlying menace. He wasn't about to be bullied.

"That's a little heavy-handed, Catherine. You know I don't respond well to coercion."

"Forgive me. I had not intended to sound threatening. That was unnecessarily clumsy. The matter is pressing and urgent."

She had to be worried. Catherine had apologised to them for a start. Now she had his interest.

"What precisely are the particular circumstances?"

Her eyes lit up in the surety she had drawn him in.

"All will be revealed should you agree to attend. We ask no more at this stage. It is accepted your participation will require reimbursement. You can name your price."

His mind swirled with possibilities, particularly with what could be secured in return. The subsequent silence announced his growing consideration. Grace reacted first, removing her hand to extricate herself from his hold. Catherine watched her rise and leave.

"Do you need a few moments?"

He nodded and headed into the lavishly furnished kitchen, to find her propped against the Belfast sink.

"What do you make of that?"

"Nothing," she snapped. "The problems of her secretive group are of no concern to us."

"It must be serious for Catherine to approach us."

"You," she snapped. "She has approached you, not us."

"It's worth a conversation."

"Now we are to discuss a matter which affects us both... because it is of interest to you," she replied.

He ignored the barb, his mind already set on what could be gained in return.

"Have you forgotten the last time? Your body still bears the scars of your last encounter with them," she added.

"All Catherine is asking for is an initial meeting."

"Initial meeting!" she snapped again. "This is but her first move. You cannot trust her. She is a malevolent witch."

"Catherine? She's one of the good guys. Getting you out of prison and saving me from execution. We owe her a lot."

"We were only in those positions because of her."

A reasonable observation, he considered, though there were an unusual set of circumstances in play.

"It can't hurt to talk to her."

"For a clever man you are remarkably slow to see what is right before your eyes, the blindingly obvious. She seeks to draw you into her web of intrigue and deceit."

"I can walk away at any time, Grace."

"While she has drawn your curiosity to the circumstance in question she has already thought several steps beyond. You must know she has other plans for you."

"I might have some plans, too. I'm not a complete idiot."

"Sometimes I really do wonder."

He could feel his patience beginning to run thin.

"There is nothing to be gained from this. Your life is here with me," she continued. "Where we already have mostly all we need."

"Mostly?" he queried.

"There are things to talk about," she replied, after a pause.

"Look, there may be a way..."

"A way to what?" she said angrily. "Avoid discussing the things which should be most important to you, our future. Or perhaps you have an ulterior motive for wanting to agree?"

"Like what?"

"Rosa Cain lives in Europe does she not?"

"Where the hell did that one come from?"

"Do you deny it?"

Matt chose not to answer thereby avoiding the potential for escalating a simple disagreement into a bigger, irretrievably wounding argument.

"Look, this sounds as if it could affect us and the only way of being sure is for me to hear what they have to say."

Grace wasn't convinced, her eyes blazing intermittent fury and emotional hurt. Perhaps he was being unreasonable. An ugly silence ensued.

"So what do you think? Should I go?"

She glanced away before returning a penetrating gaze.

"The fact you have posed the question tells me it is already in your mind to go," she said sharply.

"Look, I don't know what it is. Instinct or some sixth sense perhaps, but something tells me this could be important, to both of us. And there may be..."

"I don't want you to get involved."

"Grace..."

She turned and looked out of the window.

"Just go, Matt. You clearly wish to be elsewhere, and only do what it is you want to do anyway. Pack your bags and attend the meeting."

"We'll talk when I get back," he said softly. "I promise."

She remained silent, motionless and uncommunicative. Matt leant back and peered into the living room to see Will with his arms crossed, trying to pretend he hadn't been listening. He glanced across and Matt nodded.

"Agreed," said Will, to the face on the screen.

Chapter Five

Inventory

Over two hours had passed since he sunk into the sumptuous luxury of the dark limousine. It was eerily quiet inside. On a plane you could hear the humming of the engines, whilst a train had a particular rhythmic pattern to its travel noise. Even in a normal car it was possible to at least catch the sound of air gushing over the cabin like a strong wind. But, sat within the confines of this magnificent beast, not a sound could be heard. Judging by the two second gap between the enormous electricity pylons set back in the fields they were travelling at considerable speed. The chauffeur had said nothing during the journey to provide any clues as to their ultimate destination, though the motorway signs indicated they were heading in a south westerly direction.

Boredom started to rear its ugly head. He'd given up trying to interpret Grace's out-of-character behaviour. All he knew was that it felt right for him to be here, as though he were being called by an unseen spirit. He rummaged through the material parked in the side pocket of the door, in the hope of finding something remotely close to being mildly interesting. There was a magazine about life in the French countryside, in French, but nothing else.

Back to Grace, he sighed. Maybe there was some truth in her observation. Perhaps his keenness to attend the meeting did in truth betray an unconscious motive. His deliberations were broken by the car veering onto a slip-road to take them off the main highway. Shortly after turning to the right, they came to a rest in a nearby lay-by. The driver exited his seat and opened the door for Matt to emerge into the sunshine, his luggage promptly deposited by his feet.

"You wait," said the driver.

"Where are we?"

"Wait," the driver repeated.

And then he was gone. Matt looked around to try and get his bearings. There were no signposts in view and all he could see was acres of flat fields, in all directions. The nearest thing to civilisation was a small cottage, virtually obscured from open view by surrounding trees, some way in the distance from where he stood. Matt wished he'd taken notice of the route signs along the way. Other than the fact he knew he was in Northern Europe, this place could be almost anywhere on the planet. He wondered if he should pick up his things and start walking towards the house in the distance when a mid-sized white van pulled up alongside and a small, weathered head appeared through the open window.

"Arriere," the bald man said.

"What?"

"Arriere," repeated the man irritably, motioning with his dark eyes towards the rear of the van.

Matt clambered inside the windowless space and sat on the upturned crate. The vehicle burst ahead with such a surge he tumbled to the floor in an untidy heap. Muttering obscenities, he recovered his unsteady position and dusted the dirt from his trousers. Bereft of anything with which to occupy his mind he decided to pass the time of this next leg of the journey, in between frequently falling off the crate, by attempting to work out their route. He estimated speed and counted the number and sequence of left and right turns along the way. As soon as the van came to a halt the doors swung open and he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the burst of sunlight.

"Welcome to France. You are the first to arrive."

All he saw was a tall shape silhouetted by the burning, angry sun. He recognised the woman's voice instantly.

"Have you spent your full allocation of public funding for the financial year or something, Catherine?"

She found the quip amusing though Matt wasn't sure he could see the funny side of it.

"We are being a little cautious," she said.

He leapt out and found himself swamped in an affectionate embrace. Compared to the cold, dispassionate atmosphere he'd left behind this welcome felt like he had been thrown into a sauna. After a few moments tight embrace she released her hold.

"It is good to have you here," she said.

He couldn't say he was unhappy either. Though he felt sure Grace would come out of her dark mood eventually, he'd left the relationship feeling more than a little claustrophobic.

"Likewise," he replied, and she smiled brightly.

They entered the wooden door of the single storey cottage and she led him into a comfortable looking snug area where freshly ground coffee awaited. He made for the deep leather chair by the window only to be directed to the one by the unused hearth.

"It is the more comfortable chair," she said.

Whilst it was indeed comfortable, he regretted not being able to get a good view of the outside space. He sank back into the red leather and took the cup from her hand.

"The others will soon arrive. You should make use of the free time to prepare your mind."

"Who's coming?"

"They are the people I spoke of, over the link. We can leave introductions until they arrive. For now, take the time to relax and settle."

"Sounds good to me," he said.

They sat quietly and he made himself comfortable. He could sense her scrutinising him as his gaze drifted around the room. The long bookshelf dominated the cramped space, crammed with differently sized books on a sizeable range of subjects. Most common were the geographic and scientific volumes. Whoever lived here had to be very learned.

"How was your journey?"

"Long," he said.

She smiled without passing further comment.

"Where are we?"

"A cottage in the French countryside," she said. "I use it as a retreat from time to time."

"This is yours?"

"Yes."

"So you're a property developer to boot? Something of a business mogul on top of everything else," he said.

"No, not quite in that league," she laughed. "It is a place I use to escape and unwind. I will give you a full tour later on, though it would not take too long to complete."

He smiled softly in return.

"How is Grat... sorry, Grace?"

"I know," he said, with a gentle laugh. "I keep forgetting and call her by her real name from time to time."

"And yet you had no difficulty with your own change of name to Matt Durham."

"No. But I like the name Gratia. It suits her better too."

"She is well?"

"Good," he said. "Canadian life seems to agree with her."

She held her gaze, and he had to wonder what was going through her mind.

"No family on the horizon?"

"God forbid," he said.

"You have no desire for children?"

"The world is not a place to bring up children. Besides, the bloody things are voracious and consume everything in sight; money, food, time. They bleed you dry."

Catherine appeared to find his insight amusing.

"Being a parent is not all bad news."

"It is as far as I'm concerned."

"And Grace shares this vision?"

He looked across, out of the window.

"We've never felt the need to discuss it."

He noticed the sides of her mouth edge into a slight grin.

"But does she wish to have children?"

His silence told her he had no idea.

"Much of what you say about parenthood is true, but there are compensations too."

"Such as constantly having to clean up after them and forever wipe their snotty noses. I don't think so."

"Children are as messy or tidy as you teach them to be. As excuses go, it is a poor example you provide."

He cast an uncomfortable glance at her studious face.

"We both know what's going to happen, if not in our generation then certainly the next."

"There are no plans to rid the planet of its entire population only manage its growth," she said with an amused smile. "The species must continue to reproduce to survive. Your argument hides a deeper objection I believe."

"Maybe," he said. "But as far as I know I could be firing blanks anyway."

She laughed out aloud.

"Firing blanks? What is this phrase?"

"You know, being blessed with weak swimmers unable to do the fertilisation job."

He looked away, feeling boyishly foolish. She always had this effect on him, as if he were somehow in the presence of a superior being. Catherine held her steady gaze.

"I doubt that, somehow," she replied with a warm smile.

The certainty in her eyes unsettled him.

"Been checking up on my DNA sample have you?"

"It is on file, along with that of Grace and many thousands of others."

Her smile widened.

"So what is your real objection?" she asked.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Kids are for life. It's not like you can put them back into the bottle once they've arrived. And as soon as they do arrive the whole balance of normal everyday life is disturbed forever, creating friction out of harmony. People are never the same after they've had kids."

"You have experience of such an impact?"

His fingers lightly tapped against the leather upholstery of the armrest, gradually increasing in pace.

"I remember my parents arguing constantly. Sometimes it was money, mostly about their lives together. An aunt once told me they were happy when first wed. So I guess..."

"You believe the change in their relationship was down to your arrival?"

"I have no burning desire to procreate."

He exhaled deeply for being unnecessarily open. As a rule he didn't like to talk about himself. For some reason, he felt the need to get it off his chest. What he couldn't understand was her ongoing interest.

"Will told you, didn't he? I knew I shouldn't let him draw me on the subject during the airport run."

She laughed aloud again.

"He was appointed as your minder."

"The guy would be almost likeable if it wasn't for that."

"I understood you both got on well together."

Matt half sighed.

"Yeah, we do actually. He's a good man. Come to think of it, why haven't you called him here as well?"

"It is you we wished to speak with. The purpose of today is to bring you up to speed."

"You make it sound as though I'm signed up. Don't forget, Catherine, I only came for a meeting and to listen to what you have to say?"

"Of course," she said after a brief pause.

The door opened to reveal a strikingly tall woman armed with two plates of sandwiches.

"Thank you, Francine," said Catherine.

He watched the long fingers of her big hands gently rest each plate on the small, circular table in front of him and then leave as quickly as she had appeared.

"Who is she?" asked Matt.

"Francine watches the place for me when I am not here."

"And when you are here?"

"She performs a variety of tasks; maid, cleaner and so on."

Instinctively he reached for one of the rectangular shaped morsels and plunged it into his mouth. Though he had no idea of the substance between the slices the fare was surprisingly tasty.

"What is this?"

"Food, and much needed it appears."

Her comment brought his assault on the second sandwich to an abrupt halt, feeling embarrassed by the obvious need to feed his hunger.

"You do not have to stop," she smiled.

"I do," he replied in sudden realisation. "These weren't just for me were they?"

"Francine can always make more."

He demolished the remainder and sank back in the chair to sip at the coffee as the sound of a vehicle pulled up outside. She leaned to peer out of the window and then smiled.

"Good," she said. "We are shortly to begin."

The knock at the door preceded the reappearance of Francine, closely followed by two others. A heavy set man drew his attention, the thick grey beard complementing the similarly coloured full bodied thatch on his head while the big and round grey tinted spectacles almost camouflaged his face. Perhaps the guy had bought the glasses to try and draw the focus away from his puffy oval-shaped face. If he had, the ruse hadn't worked. The woman looked a good deal younger, around Catherine's age he surmised. Middle Eastern origin, by the tone of her skin colouring she looked sharp and alert despite the untidy ensemble of rich material masquerading as clothes. She was an interesting mix.

"Matt," said Catherine, "Say hello to Marius Kronk, Head of Microbiology Research, and Ameera Khan from electronic security."

The man's handshake, firm and business like, contrasted with the indifferent touch of the woman. Matt offered up his armchair to her.

"I'm fine," she said.

"Please, I insist."

She shook her head without speaking and Matt viewed her refusal as an inauspicious start to proceedings. Unperturbed, he elected to retain his welcoming smile.

"Ameera, doesn't that mean princess in Muslim?" he asked.

"Yes."

The new arrivals located themselves on to two hard backed wooden chairs, brought into the room by Francine. For the first time he noticed the discreet weapon bulge in the small of her back, underneath the knitted top. Francine was clearly more than a maid to the host.

"I must apologise for the uncomfortable surrounds," said Catherine. "I had not planned to use the cottage."

Insincere smiles accompanied the attempt to relieve the uncertain beginning. Matt tried to break the ice.

"At least we won't have to shout to hear each other."

The man called Marius appeared to warm to Matt's quip while the woman's lips barely moved.

"The merest whisper is not beyond detection these days," she said.

He glanced awkwardly at Catherine.

"Perhaps we should communicate by hand signal alone then," he said with a smile.

The muscles in the woman's face tensed and the glare in her eyes hardened with contempt. He thought about leaving there and then.

"There is a situation, one which you are uniquely placed to help, if you are willing to become involved," said Catherine quickly.

"I thought you just wanted me to listen."

"Of course," she said. "However it is possible, once you have heard the detail of this particular circumstance, you may wish to become more deeply involved."

Already he didn't like the sound of this and Grace's words of caution sprang to mind. Nevertheless, he was here whether he liked it or not.

"I'm listening," he said.

Marius took up the story.

"You are aware of the Milieu virus?"

"Yes. It's the artificially manufactured weapon you've developed to murder half the world population."

He noticed Ameera roll her eyes around in their sockets, a sign of open disgust.

"I told you this was not going to work," she said.

"Patience, Ameera," said Catherine.

She nodded towards the man for him to continue.

"To give the virus its full scientific...."

Matt held up his hand to stop Marius in his tracks.

"No science," he said. "Stick to Neanderthal English, I can understand that better."

The man returned a forced, patient smile, the one which all academics seemed to reserve for the proletariat.

"This virus begins its lethal assault on humans by attaching itself to the pulmonary system and from there invades the rest of the body at frightening speed. It is a remarkable piece of genetic engineering we have managed to construct in both its simplicity and..."

Matt quickly raised his hand again in an effort to halt the triumphant flow.

"Please," he said. "I'm a commoner."

The bespectacled man nodded, less than enamoured with the interruption. He studiously held Matt's steady gaze for several moments.

"Death is within less than thirty six hours of infection," said Marius. "While heavy concentrations of alcohol have been shown to slow its advance through the system it provides no more than a temporary delay."

"That's about as much as I need to know about it for now," replied Matt.

"He's not going to take this seriously," said the aggressive woman called Ameera.

Matt looked across and caught her eye. The interesting person he thought he had met was fast becoming an irritant. He chose his response carefully.

"I'm only here to listen," he said.

"Then listen," she snapped back.

The fierce stare confirmed her hostility and he paused to think what he could have done to offend her.

"I don't suppose you have a long distance cousin by the name of Marcia do you."

Catherine slapped her hands together before the expected acid riposte could be delivered.

"Please continue," she said to Marius.

"The genesis of the Milieu virus meant there was a need to develop a successful counter measure," he said. "Usual protocol dictates this is achieved by further adaptation of the original strain. This offshoot, adaptation, has been given the codename The Milieu Derivative."

"Innovation, don't you love how the scientific community comes up with these new names."

The patient smile returned.

"The revision does indeed effectively combat the Milieu virus. However tests have revealed side effects. In women the revised serum mutates to replicate a condition similar to what is known as Polycystic Ovary Syndrome."

"I thought we'd agreed to leave the science out."

"Infertility," replied Marius, with mounting impatience.

"You've lost me completely."

"Women are unable to produce ova, men develop zero sperm motility."

"What's that, motility?" he asked.

"Weak swimmers," said Catherine with a wry smile. "I have sometimes heard it described as firing blanks."

Thinking back to her earlier questioning had him growing increasingly suspicious. Perhaps Grace was right. Catherine did have something far more sinister in mind.

"Sounds to me like you've developed the perfect weapon to do your bidding," he said. "Instead of murdering people you can control population numbers by restricting growth for a few years just by using the antidote."

"The matter is not as straightforward as it may sound," said Catherine.

"Not more bloody science."

"The infertility is permanent," said Marius.

"Even better," he said. "With that virus you can wipe out the criminal classes once and for all. I don't have any issues with that part of your grotesque plan. And it's certainly more humane than your original intention."

Worryingly, Catherine's eyes narrowed.

"There is a minor complication," she said. "We may have to inoculate the entire planet."

"What the hell for?"

"The man is a fool," said Ameera. "Why have you brought him into this, Catherine?"

The awful truth dawned. One by one he glanced at each of the faces in turn, all wearing the cold expression of a judge about to pass sentence.

"Jesus Christ! Please tell me you're not going to say what I think you're going to say."

"At last," said Ameera. "Some semblance of intelligence has finally appeared."

"Yeah, but I'm not the idiot who lost the most dangerous virus known to mankind. So what does that make you?"

"Not precisely lost," replied Catherine quickly. "Quantities of the virus are missing."

His eyes widened with incredulity.

"How much?" he asked.

"We are unsure."

He jumped up from the chair and headed straight towards the window, his mind swirling with numbing shock at the potential deadly consequences. The fingers of both hands ran through his head of fine light hair in a forlorn attempt to purge the overwhelming feeling of disbelief from his mind.

"You can see how important it is to quickly locate and recover the missing inventory," said Catherine.

"Now it's an inventory," he said, shaking his head. "Why you people haven't got it in you to speak plain English I'll never understand."

He stood in deep and quiet contemplation, attention drawn to the innumerable fruit trees dotted throughout the long rear garden. One in particular stood out, leaning heavily as it was towards the side, as though trying to escape the tight confines of the fenced area. How could they have possibly allowed this to happen? And why bring him into their confidence?

"The missing inventory appears to have found its way into the hands of others," said Ameera.

"I don't even want to ask."

"A group of activists," she said.

"You mean terrorists. How the hell did they get their hands on the stuff?"

"We are investigating."

"You don't know in other words," he said.

Gloriously unchecked adrenalin surged through his body like a stampede of wild horses as incredulity sank in. This was the worst of all scenarios placing humanity on the edge, at the very brink, of Armageddon. The word incompetent sprang to mind.

"Is there a ransom?" he asked.

"The demand is for one hundred billion, pounds sterling. Clearly, this is not possible," said Catherine.

"Then negotiate them down to what you can afford."

"We had thought the same idea, though this approach is not without difficulty," said Catherine.

"Another minor complication?" he said.

"It requires bringing someone new into our confidence."

"You must have thousands of people to choose from."

"Those in possession are insiders, operatives employed and trained by our own intelligence communities," said Ameera. "Normal protocols do not apply as all our agents are known to this group and would be regarded as hostile. Better, therefore, to approach someone who is unconnected to the intelligence world yet familiar with our project; someone who has a grasp on the circumstances and can hit the ground running."

"Oh no," he said immediately.

"You are uniquely placed," said Catherine.

"No, no and no," he said to the static faces.

"We're running out of options," said Catherine. "And you must realise what is at stake."

"This is what happens when people try to play at being God. I mean what is it with people that they just can't leave things alone?"

"Without proper management civilisation would implode," said Ameera. "The pace of scientific development is unable to match the speed with which the planet's natural resources are being consumed. Population control has to be implemented to balance the equation."

"And this is proper management, misplacing unknown quantities of the deadliest virus known to man?"

"What is done is done," said Catherine. "The issue now is to initiate a dialogue to recover the missing inventory."

Grace had been right from the off. Catherine had this in mind all the time, and was several steps ahead of him.

"You can't believe for one minute I would help you. Not only am I against what you're planning to do, two years ago you were hunting me down like an animal."

Catherine glanced at her female colleague and nodded.

"There is an added factor," said Ameera.

"Added factor or not there's absolutely nothing you could say which could make me change my mind. It's your mess, you can sort it. There are worse things in life than permanent infertility."

A moment's pause and he moved towards the door, firmly gripping the handle.

"Rosa Cain is part of the group," said Ameera.

Chapter Six

Dilemma

Rooted to the spot he relaxed his grip on the handle and spun round. Hitting him over the head with a giant sledgehammer couldn't have had any less of an impact. Confusion replaced ordered thought as he struggled to accept the news, refused to accept the news.

"I don't believe you."

"I wish it was untrue," said Catherine. "But she has indeed elected to join the ranks of her old team, Vega One. It is they who possess the missing inventory."

"Will was a member of Vega One."

"Yes."

"Then ask him."

"And risk him joining them? Tillman had them honed into a highly skilled, professional unit, renowned for their unique camaraderie."

"John Tillman?"

"Yes, he was their leader."

"Tell me this is a sick joke," he said. "You're asking me to negotiate with a group of professional assassins whose leader I just happened to kill not so long ago. This wouldn't be a dialogue, more the perfect opportunity for revenge."

"It was self defence was it not?"

"Somehow I don't see them happily accepting my version of events."

"You can be very persuasive."

"I could also be very dead, very soon."

Catherine trained her impassionate stare on his face, a look he had long come to associate with the Austrian. The muscles in her face remained fixed, immoveable.

"So you are not discounting the concept?"

Matt shook his head in frustration for allowing the debate to get this far. He was all ready to walk out the door until they mentioned her name.

"Why hasn't Will said anything of this to me?"

"He does not know it is them. Helen Nash was on her way to talk to him when she was intercepted."

"Intercepted by whom?"

Catherine's blank stare suggested she didn't know.

"Are you telling me there's another player in this macabre game of yours?"

"None we are aware of."

"None you are aware of?" he said. "What kind of answer is that supposed to be?"

Marius re-entered the conversation.

"Your reluctance is understandable but, if left unchecked, the situation could become dire with consequences no-one dare to contemplate. Our species is at risk if these people get careless or make a wrong move. It is imperative they are approached by someone they believe they can trust and that person is you, because of your past relationship with Cain. Resent us all you will but in the context of the situation it means nothing and you must put this to one side."

The last thing he expected to hear from them was a reasoned argument that made sense, almost a plea.

Matt turned and looked onto the garden. A gentle breeze had arisen, evidenced by the lightly moving leaves on the oddly shaped tree. Much as he wanted to snarl in rage at the way they'd manoeuvred him into this situation he couldn't ignore the dilemma. Matt could feel the rope being pulled, the noose tightening. He couldn't simply walk away. Not because of these people, but because it was Rosa.

"Crap," he said.

"Are we to assume this colourful phrase to be your way of signifying your agreement?" said Ameera.

He desperately wanted to turn, reach out, and give her a damn good slapping. He knew he couldn't.

"The woman is a mother now," he said. "How could she let herself get drawn into this?"

"Unfortunately not," said Catherine. "Rosa's body was unable to complete a full semester. I shall spare you the detail other than to say an old wound she had sustained, a gunshot injury, left her unable to successfully bear children. I fear this is what has disturbed Rosa's mind and led her to make the decision to join this group."

An unreal situation became ever more surreal. Tillman's team had chased both he and Rosa around the globe in the not-too-distant past. She had deserted her colleagues and, for reasons he never fully understood, crossed the divide to help Matt in his initial struggle against the very people in this room. Now, in a peculiar and bizarre twist of fate, his enemies had sought him out to play gamekeeper to Rosa's poacher. You couldn't make it up.

Matt shook his head.

"I already have a life. One I want to get back to sooner rather than later."

"Then a prompt start would help," said Catherine.

"I can't go up against Rosa," he said.

"All we seek is the inventory," said Ameera.

"They're hardly likely to just hand it over to me."

"We seek no retribution so, with good fortune, physical conflict will be unnecessary."

"Yeah, and the sun will shine for all eternity."

The ongoing silence seemed to last forever, broken by a sound announcing the arrival of another vehicle.

"Our final guest is here," said Catherine.

Matt wondered who had arrived. Maybe it was someone from higher up within Catherine's secret consortium, one of the real powers of their clandestine organisation as he sensed a degree of apprehension amongst the others.

Moments later Francine pushed open the wooden door and a blonde haired man appeared in the threshold. Matt thought he recognised him from somewhere but couldn't place a name to the gaunt face. Unshaven and with bleary red eyes the man looked troubled, as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Catherine rose and pecked to each of the man's cheeks, touching at his right arm with a slender hand.

"It is good to see you," she said. "Let me introduce you to the others. This is Ameera Khan and here, Marius Kronk."

The three exchanged insipid handshakes.

"Ameera and Marius unfortunately were just about to leave us," said Catherine.

They were as surprised as Matt at the announcement but quickly gathered their belongings to allow the tall Francine to usher them from the room.

"We will talk later," said Catherine as they departed.

She turned her attention back to the remaining men.

"Let us sit," she said. "And I shall advise you as to what has been discussed so far."

Matt took one of the hard backed chairs. The other guy looked as though he needed some comfort.

"Stefan, this is Matt, Matt Durham"

The new arrival's worried eyes darted aside, widening at the introduction of the name, and Matt remembered where he had seen this man before. The groom at Rosa's wedding.

"What is he doing here?" asked Stefan.

The room fell into an uneasy silence. They had never been formally introduced, Matt's only previous sighting being through a camera lens. While he knew he wasn't the easiest of guys in the world to get along with this constant hostility was getting beyond a joke. Catherine broke the silence.

"I have asked Matt to consider helping us locate Rosa."

"I do not want his help."

"That's okay, I haven't agreed to anything yet,"

"Stefan, please," said Catherine. "Put your worry to one side for the moment and let me explain."

A trembling hand tried to brush loosely hanging hair away from his forehead. The man was on edge, confidence shredded by recent events.

"I have taken all possible measures, left no stone unturned, in the search for Rosa," said Catherine.

"Every possible measure?" he spat. "And yet you involve this man?"

"Rosa has rejected all attempts at communication. This is why I have asked Matt to help. I believe Rosa will listen to him, and that he will be able to persuade her to return."

"How can I trust him to do the right thing?"

The naked animosity intrigued Matt.

"Why shouldn't you trust me?"

Another failed attempt to sweep away his dishevelled hair highlighted Stefan's inability to control his trembling hand. Lips shivering with fear he looked Matt in the eye and this time held his gaze.

"When a wife talks with affection of another man you can be sure it is not because they shared the same tram ride to work every morning."

Tears filled the eyes of the distraught, pathetic wreck. If Matt could ever be certain of one thing in life, it was that this man lived for his wife. From what little information he had Matt understood him to be a confident and somewhat arrogant professional consultant to the great and the good. Strange what human emotion can do to a person, he thought, gazing at the now sorry frame of this almost broken man. He glanced awkwardly towards Catherine.

"Matt is undecided," she said. "He must weigh up the risks and the needs and wishes of his loved ones in Canada."

The blonde haired man fixed a tearful stare on Matt's face.

"You have a family of your own?"

"I have a partner."

The stare intensified. Matt couldn't be sure what thoughts occupied Stefan's mind other than they appeared vague and erratic, judging by the variety of twitching muscles dotted around his face.

"I understood you were in love with Rosa, that you slept with her and were lovers."

Matt unconsciously blinked but managed to hold the man's pitiful stare.

"Why would you think that?"

"Rumour, in the village," he replied.

"Then I would suggest that's all it is, rumour. Rosa and I were thrown together at a time of crisis, some years ago, and a bond formed between us because of it. But it is a bond of friendship and nothing more."

A pained expression surfaced, criss-crossing repeatedly over the man's face. His head dropped into the cover of his hands and the shoulders began to shake.

"I am a fool, such a lost and stupid fool," he mumbled repeatedly.

Matt noticed Catherine's left eyebrow arch sharply in what appeared open disdain.

"Stefan," she said softly. "You must think of what is best for Rosa."

Stefan lifted his head and tried to hold Matt's steady gaze with pleading eyes.

"I'm sorry, so very sorry," he said.

Matt could have made an effort to offer reassurance to the trembling wretch by signalling his intent to get involved in the search for Rosa Cain. He chose no such path.

"No need to apologise."

Fighting back the tears was an obvious struggle for this once proud man. Somehow he managed to keep it together, long enough to utter his next phrase.

"I know I have no right to ask after what I have said. But will you help to find Rosa?"

Matt decided this man to be a decent sort of guy. Anyone so blindingly devoted to Rosa had to have the odd redeeming feature. He glanced at Catherine's impassive face, knowing she had planned to play this card from the outset.

"The car is due to return soon. Perhaps you should leave us to negotiate further, Stefan," she said. "See if we can reach an agreement."

"Yes, yes of course," he replied.

Stefan stumbled rather than walked to where Francine awaited, ready to show him outside. He hesitated then turned sharply, mouth prepared to speak again. Francine gripped at his forearm and tugged him towards her, unceremoniously showing him the door. Matt waited until he was out of sight before returning his attention to Catherine.

"You cunning, conniving..."

"Six o' clock," she said, interrupting his flow. "It is time for the evening meal."

Chapter Seven

Small Hands, Tiny Feet

Although hungrier than imagined he could do no more than pick at the deliciously tasting meal. Conversation between them was virtually non-existent throughout, though Catherine appeared to exhibit little objection to his continued muteness. Eventually, he had to ask.

"Was it because of me, the amateurish attempt at surgery?" he asked.

"Rosa's infertility?" she replied.

"Yes."

"No. If anything her medical team espoused the view your prompt action probably saved her life."

He nodded and picked again at the food on the plate.

"The meal is not to your taste?"

"The meal is fine. I'm not hungry, that's all."

He could feel her eyes watching him intently.

"It is a difficult decision," she said.

He looked darkly into her eyes.

"I should be with them not going up against them."

"Except you agreed to stop interfering with our project," she said. "And in return Gratia was granted her freedom was she not?"

"There was nothing in the agreement about me helping you to implement your plan."

"Think of it merely as an exercise in helping to maintain the status quo."

Matt returned to silently prodding the food on the plate, conscious of her steady gaze on his face.

"Do you now regret making the agreement, keeping Gratia out of prison?"

The fork prodded and nudged the finely chopped carrot a few millimetres around the edge of the plate to nowhere in particular.

"I can't go up against Rosa," he said.

"Of course not, and neither do we want you to. We seek a peaceful settlement and you are our best option."

"Options, that's all people are to you, Catherine."

"I do not believe so."

"So what exactly is it you do believe in then?"

She placed her knife and fork neatly upon the surface of the blue patterned place mat.

"I believe the planet is in great jeopardy, that the human race is far closer to the precipice than most people appreciate. And that the major cause for our ills is overpopulation."

"There is no properly researched or scientifically agreed limit to the ideal population equilibrium."

"You do not need a scientist to know millions are starving and an even greater number live in abject poverty. As our species increase in number, grow in size and live longer, the problem multiplies exponentially to the point we are unable to cope. This point is close, very close, and that is why we must take remedial action and actively reduce our numbers."

The argument wasn't lost on him.

"And you have the perfect weapon," he said. "A serum which allows you to slow and manage the growth of mankind and which also permits the adoption of a selective approach to the process. The criminal element is your priority target group is it not?"

"Except we now have the other problem," she said.

He thought for a moment.

"Do these people know of the antidote?"

"We believe so, but not of its side effects."

"It makes no sense, if they believe you have an antidote."

"Who knows their real objective," she replied. "It is clear to both sides the financial demand could not be met. Perhaps it is the power, the ability to hold the world to ransom which motivates them."

Francine appeared to clear the dishes, unable to conceal the frown exhibiting her disappointment at Matt's barely touched meal. He smiled weakly in return as she gathered the plates and left. Matt refilled the glasses with the bottle of red, aware of Catherine's sense of urgency.

"I'm not the right man for this job," he said. "You said it yourself. They are a trained team of professional operatives while I'm no more than a gifted amateur who got lucky and had the good fortune to have Rosa Cain on his side at the time. I'm no super secret agent, just a bloke from out in the sticks of north east England who stumbled into something which was way over his head and came out the other end as Matt Durham. My real name is Michael Daniels."

"And as Michael Daniels you were an army reservist sent to do a tour in Afghanistan."

"Three months."

"While on patrol you came under fire."

"Thanks for reminding me."

"The officers were wounded, unable to give instruction, and you took command and led your team to safety."

"I saw an opening, that's all."

"An opening no-one else could see."

"The others would have worked it out once they'd got their heads together."

"But they didn't. They looked for someone to take a lead, to follow, and they followed you."

"There wasn't time to think..."

"Tell me, why would a brash and arrogant, self-obsessed man by the name of Michael Daniels refuse a commendation for leading his team out of danger?"

"There's no glory in war, no pride in killing a thirteen year old Afghan boy with a rifle. Don't paint me as someone I'm not. And how the hell do you know all this stuff about me anyhow?"

"I know," she said. "Perhaps Michael Daniels is not the man you really are. Maybe the truth is that it is the man in Afghanistan who is the real you. I believe Matt Durham is the man closer to the person inside. He is resourceful, courageous and calm under extreme pressure."

"Spin it as much as you want. I'm not the right guy."

"We have the right man," she said.

"Ameera and Marius don't share your confidence. You can see it in their eyes."

"It is always difficult for employees to accept contractors."

"You make it sound as though you're running an everyday business."

"Whilst the industry may be a little unique the issues over staffing remain much the same."

He sipped at the full bodied red, doing his best to avoid her constant gaze.

"You should use Will. At least he would know what he was doing."

The edgings of a smile appeared on her lips.

"No, I have the right man," she repeated. "And Will is no longer in our employ, hasn't been for some months."

"What?" he said. "I didn't think people were allowed to resign from your line of work."

"We are not the complete monsters you believe us to be. Will is a good man who has served our cause well. He will be discreet throughout retirement."

"How can you be so sure?"

She smiled again.

"Did he tell you he had resigned?"

"No."

"Then I need say no more."

He took a moment to digest the news.

"What made him do it?" he asked.

"Will has come to appreciate his life on the island. He has found a woman he wishes to settle with, likes the environment he lives in and the job he does... and he likes you."

Francine appeared with dessert, offering him a hard scowl-like glare as she placed the small glass bowl in front of Matt and then filled it with fruit salad.

"Thank you, Francine," said Catherine.

He noticed the discreet eye contact between the two women as he watched her leave.

"You must eat all of that."

"Why?" he asked.

"Francine does not take kindly to personal insults."

"I haven't said anything."

"No, but neither did you eat the first course. Francine is a little sensitive about her cooking."

"Really?" he said, and she nodded.

He responded by making short work of the collection of finely diced fruit, to Catherine's amusement. Eventually, he plucked up the courage to ask her the direct question.

"So who is watching me now?"

"It is not Will," she responded with a half smile.

"I can figure that out for myself. But who did you replace him with?"

He could see in her eyes her mind was working to frame the response carefully.

"Will has persuaded me you no longer present a threat to our organisation, or intentions. He was no longer needed."

Her reply lacked conviction, and she knew it. Before he could formulate his own response she changed the subject.

"You should forgive Stefan for his earlier comments. He is a little stressed."

"Something of an understatement, wouldn't you say?"

She nodded.

"Does he know all about your dirty little secret?"

This time she shook her head.

"So his attendance here today was purely as the joker, the emotional blackmail card?"

She smiled.

"Has it worked?"

"Not really," he said.

"It was always a long shot. I'd hoped his mental condition would stir the sympathetic side of your character. It is clear he remains very much in love with Rosa."

He blinked unintentionally.

"So why has she done it, joined the others?"

Catherine appeared oddly reluctant to answer.

"And another thing," he said. "Isn't Rosa living under the misapprehension I'm dead? How will that play if I manage to catch up with her?"

"The perfect opportunity for you to show her you are alive and well. One more reason for you to accept the challenge I would have thought."

The unexpected sounds of a baby's cries startled him from deliberation. Catherine rose quickly and departed the room at speed, appearing moments later with something cradled in her arms. She proceeded to lower herself gently into one of the soft leather chairs, unbuttoning her blouse before unclipping the front of her bra. The lips of the infant avidly searched for and then smothered the erect nipple to suckle energetically for food.

"Is that yours?"

"She is mine. I have had the good fortune to be blessed with a second opportunity to be a good and proper mother."

"But... how?"

His reaction caused her to laugh.

"You must be aware of the human reproductive process by now, Matt."

"Yes, but..."

"Unplanned, but no less welcome," she said.

He stared, transfixed, as the child energetically went about its business; its little hands kneading into her mother's bosom. Matt had never witnessed breastfeeding in the raw before and was entranced.

"Isn't breastfeeding supposed to shrivel them up?"

Catherine laughed aloud.

"It is clearly obvious to your naked eye this is the case."

"Touché," he said.

"How old is she?"

"Her name is Ilsa. She will shortly be three months old."

"And the father?" he asked.

"A man," she said.

"That much I guessed. But where is he?"

"He is with someone else."

"Does he know, about Ilsa?"

"Her father has no feeling towards children."

"Then how could you let it happen?"

"I told you. It was unplanned, though no less welcome for she has filled my life with joy."

"You certainly know to pick them, Catherine, bearing the children of men who aren't in the slightest part interested."

"Ilsa has one devoted parent. That is enough. Every child should have at least one parent."

Try as he may Matt couldn't drag his eyes away, little mouth drawing with all its strength against the nipple.

"She does have her father's eyes and, it would appear, his temperament," said Catherine

"Are you going to tell him?"

"I have not arrived at a firm decision. Timing, and the right occasion, is everything in these matters," she said.

"Talking about fathers what ever happened to Eva-Maria's dad, James Kimber? When that reporter did his story on the original conspirators he named Kimber. All the other names in the original files might be dead but he's still very much alive."

"Jimmy has too much money and influence to be troubled by such conjecture."

He continued to be enthralled by the unfolding scene.

"You have them for life, you know."

"I would not have it any other way," she instantly replied with motherly pride. "There is a special bond between parent and child. It is unique, hard to describe. They are the source of so much joy, and worry as they get older. Yet, without them, I believe a person's life is forever unfulfilled."

Matt thought back to the first time Catherine had shown love towards a child, the night in Brussels when he returned her first daughter, Eva-Maria, back into her care.

"Catherine?" spoke Francine's voice through the half opened door.

"It is alright. I have her."

What struck Matt most about the occasion was the sheer joy he could see in Catherine's eyes. He couldn't imagine being as close to one of the things never mind having it draw fluid from your body.

"I suppose its all part of the female psyche, broodiness and the desire to give birth," he said.

"Oh, there is far more to it."

"Such as what?" he asked.

"A woman does not search to have any child, but a child by the man she chooses."

"You reckon?"

She started to laugh.

"What other reason would a woman have to punish her body so brutally? Not for the process of giving birth, but for the love she holds for the man she has chosen."

"So what's your excuse, for Ilsa?"

"There is the odd exception, though I believe Ilsa's father to have special qualities."

He dwelt on her words for a while.

"I can't help thinking your view of motherhood is a little too simplistic."

"I have some firsthand experience," she said with a gentle smile. "Certainly I am better qualified to judge the emotions of women than you."

"Love, eh?" he said after a pause.

"For a clever man you reveal a remarkable inability to see the glaringly obvious, what is right before your eyes."

A furrow erupted on his forehead to accompany the half laugh and slight sigh.

"I have said something amusing."

"No, you've just repeated the exact words Gratia said to me before I left Victoria."

"You mean Grace."

"No," he said after another short pause. "She will always be Gratia to me."

Catherine dropped into silence, appearing to concentrate on the task in hand. Not that there was anything Matt could see she needed to do other than hold the child to her bosom.

"Your attachment to her is strong," she said.

"I should leave you to it," he replied.

"No, don't get up. You will disturb Ilsa."

He looked at the tiny bundle, ending its task.

"What is it you find to be so compelling? You have seen my breast before," she said with barely contained amusement.

He realised he'd been staring.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, glancing away.

Her amusement broke out into a gentle laugh.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, nodding towards Ilsa.

"No."

"How long do you have to do it for?"

"I don't have to do it at all. I choose so."

The noise of a ringing phone broke the subsequent silence. Catherine rose and stepped towards him. Without warning she deposited her daughter into his lap and grinned.

"I need to take the call," she said.

"What are you expecting me to do?"

"Not to drop her."

His jaw gaped open at the sudden responsibility.

"Don't worry, she will not bite. Not unless I tell her too."

Matt, eyes magnified in horror, found himself unable to mutter any kind of response. He remained mute as she stepped away to pick up the phone and then stride out of the room to talk. He blinked several times to try and get his mind to think rationally. A small hand rested on his chest, a tiny foot on his abdomen, and the little head covered in blonde hair tucked against his shoulder. His immediate reaction was to consider leaping from the seat. Fear prevented him from moving. He remained speechless as the infant pressed its fingers into his neck, and then slowly moved up towards his chin. The touch of her hand against his skin felt soft, almost weightless, an incredible sensation.

"Crap," he whispered.

The head moved again and his eyes widened in amazement at the gentle motion. He looked down at the tightly clasped eyes and her light breath brushed his cheek, dozing in perfect contentment.

"She has taken to you," said Catherine, quietly re-entering the room.

He made to move, in an effort to return her daughter to the bosom of its mother.

"Stay," smiled Catherine. "She is content being next to you. Enjoy the moment."

"This is enjoyment?"

"Methinks thou protests too much," she said.

The Austrian woman laughed at the strained expression of panic on his face.

"It is Ilsa's way of letting you know you will make a good father someday."

The child snuggled closer to his chest. For some reason this relaxed him. Whilst he couldn't liken it to real enjoyment, there was something about this strange situation which felt... different.

"Why did you pick the name Ilsa?"

"Its meaning, God's promise," she replied.

"Since when have you been in any way religious?"

She smiled.

"The moment I became aware I had conceived. Someone had looked upon me kindly."

"The father, during conception I suspect," he quipped.

He felt her eyes studiously observing him.

"Was it them?" he asked.

"Yes. They would like your answer."

He decided to go for broke.

"There will be a price, non negotiable," he said.

"Speak."

Matt told her of his request. She listened intently, her eyes and facial muscles unmoved by his demand.

"They will not agree to this until the mission is complete."

"No agreement, no mission."

Her eyes narrowed.

"There is insufficient time to organise such a thing."

"Then make the time."

He could tell her mind to be in deep contemplation, the glazed expression in her eyes giving it away.

"How can we be sure you will do it?"

"It's Rosa," he replied. "Of course I'll do it, you already knew I would."

Her eyes told him this was true.

"And I need something else."

"Such as what?" she asked.

"Two doses of the antidote. One for me and one for Rosa, in case anything goes wrong."

"You can have one."

"One?" he questioned.

"We cannot risk the antidote falling into the wrong hands. It will be hard enough to secure the release of one dose."

He soon worked out what she meant.

"You're under some pressure?"

"It goes with the role. Should they agree I can confirm to them you will operate to my instruction?"

"Yes," he said after a slight pause.

"I will make the call."

Catherine reached to retrieve the phone and disappeared from the room. Her movement disturbed the tiny frame and Ilsa's eyes opened to stare innocently up. He expected her to burst into sorrowful tears at the sight of his face. Instead she tightened the grip of her small hand on his shirt and spread a little foot over his waist

"Well, what do you think, Ilsa?" he said. "Have I just made the biggest mistake of my life?"

She kept her gaze on him for a short while and then closed her eyes to settle back into sleep.

"Guess I'll have to work that out for myself then," he said.

Within a few minutes Catherine returned. She approached the chair and gently lifted the little bundle into her arms.

"You have managed to survive," she said. "Clearly not quite the ordeal you expected."

And it hadn't been. Not much of an ordeal at all.

"What did they say?"

"The objective is to locate and return the inventory in full by whatever means necessary."

"Sounds carefully worded."

"It is the language they use."

"And what about Rosa?" he asked.

"She must be returned unharmed."

"That's not part of their plan though, is it?"

"I feel responsible. It was I who introduced her to Stefan. Do you accept the terms?"

Matt recalled her apparent look of contempt towards the man during his brief visit and found this additional request odd to say the least. He took a deep breath and nodded.

Chapter Eight

A Thousand Times

He wondered if she had come to meet him. Exiting passport control his anxious eyes scanned the sea of faces waiting to greet the new arrivals. The slim-fitting white lace strapless top caught his eye and then he saw the long raven hair covering her bare shoulders. Matt had once remarked the top made her look particularly stunning and he took this as a positive sign to her current demeanour.

"Hi," he said, on reaching her.

"Hi."

Why the processes of speech deserted him beyond this initial exchange was a mystery.

"You got out quickly," she said.

"First class," he replied with a shrug.

She tried to smile. He couldn't.

"You look fantastic," he said.

Her Guinness eyes threatened a warm welcome, which was more than he could manage.

"The things you will say to get people to meet you."

"It's worked once before."

"And now twice," she said

At last, he felt his facial muscles relaxing into a smile.

"So we're good?" he asked.

"We're good."

He dropped the case to the floor and wrapped her in his arms, his relief palpable to anybody bothered to observe the reunion.

"We must never argue like that again," she whispered into his ear.

"Don't worry. I'll know better in future."

She laughed gently.

"Maybe on one or two issues," she said.

"Okay."

"But you must always give in at the end."

"Okay," he said.

Neither wanted to relax their grip and they stood quietly for some time. Eventually, he looked at his watch.

"I've brought you a peace offering," he said. "It's back in there."

She moved her head back and looked him in the eye.

"You were that worried?"

"Briefly," he said.

He clasped her hand tightly and led her deeper into the airport, through a seemingly circuitous and intricate route to a room fronted by a thick wooden door marked private. Matt nodded politely at the security guard positioned there.

"Have you robbed a bank?"

"Better than that I hope," he said. "You go first. I'll join you in a minute or two."

"What are you up to?"

"Don't argue," he said with a warm smile. "Go and see."

The guard rapped his knuckles at the window and the door opened. Matt nudged her forward.

She stepped inside to see two figures stood quietly, looking out of the window to observe the frantic activity of the runway workers readying the next set of planes for take-off. The small rotund-figured woman pressed herself tightly against the taller man keeping a firm grip of his hand, as if seeking shelter from a storm. The elderly man's stance was a little more crouched, a little more stooped from how she remembered, but it was him all the same.

"Papa?" she said.

The pair turned, eyes instantly brightened by her entrance into the room.

"Gratia, is it you? Is it really you?" said the man with the greying, thinning hair.

She skipped towards the waiting arms of the couple, the tears already in full flow.

"Gratia, Gratia my liebchen. I thought we would never see you again," the man cried.

The intensity of the group hug showed no sign of abating. All three wept like lost children rescued from a dark forest. What struck Matt most was the manner Gratia comforted both with equal measure; the distinction between blood relative and stepparent finally banished into the stratosphere. To describe the scene as heart warming would have been an injustice and he recalled Catherine's earlier words, about the unique bond between parent and child. He was beginning to understand what this meant. The phrase, lump in the throat, also began to resonate with him. He thought better of interrupting the highly charged emotional occasion and stepped away from the room, in part to allow the group enjoy their rediscovery, but mostly to provide him with the opportunity to take a few deep breaths and recover his own poise.

Matt waited awhile and then quietly slipped into the room to deliver the final surprise. Martha had sensed his presence and looked up.

"Matthew, is it you? You are alive?"

The old man heard her and relaxed the grip on his daughter to look up. Martha abandoned them to scuttle towards him and he opened his arms for the expectant embrace, only to be met with a small fist rapping at his upper arm.

"What were you thinking of? Why have you not told us you were alive," she shouted. "What kind of son would do this to his own mother?"

His initial reaction was to wince at the part playful punch to his arm. Then he circled her frame and squeezed her tight.

"I keep telling you, we are not related."

"Be quiet and give your adopted mother a hug."

He hadn't held her long when he felt the tears begin and she trembled against his body.

"Why did you not say, why? Am I so unpleasant a woman that you must hide away from me?"

"No," he said, gently caressing her hair. "We've wanted to tell you both for so long but it's just never been possible until now. It's a long story."

He felt a light tap on his shoulder, followed by Gerhardt's big hand being thrust into his.

"How are you my boy?"

After the brief man hug he came face to face with the elderly man's tearful daughter. The look in her eyes told him she had already worked out in her mind that he'd made a commitment in return.

"Thank you," she mouthed, and he smiled.

"Let's get you all home," he said.

The three walked ahead, arms intertwined, as Matt lugged the baggage trolley. He wondered on the thoughts occupying her mind, unable to detect the truth of her real emotions towards him. She well understood this unexpected reunion had come with a price tag. It had to have done. Nothing was said during the taxi journey, Martha providing little opportunity for any interruption to her buoyant and constant chattering. Gerhardt appeared more interested in maintaining a watchful gaze on the body language between the young couple. Matt supposed all fathers must do this when supplied with the knowledge a daughter has set up nest with another man. For her part Gratia clung to Matt's side throughout, the fingers of a hand knotted into one of his, a closeness she was at pains to exhibit to her father. And it felt good, it felt right, to have this woman by his side.

After the obligatory house and grounds tour the ladies retired to the kitchen so Martha could investigate every nook, cranny and appliance of her favourite room in any house. There was much laughter too as they set about preparing the evening meal. How their relationship had changed. The two men had taken up residence on the porch, each armed with a bottle of Canadian, soaking up the late afternoon sun.

"What do you make if it?" asked Matt, nodding towards the half empty bottle.

"I need to test a greater sample. One bottle could never be enough. Ask me later," Gerhardt said with a slight smile.

Matt understood something to be on the older man's mind.

"We're happy, Gerhardt. At least I think we are."

He nodded and sipped at the bottle.

"I used to love my first wife," he said dryly.

Matt chuckled at the wicked slice of humour. The old man hadn't lost his touch. Then he noticed Gerhardt hadn't joined in with his merriment. He had to ask.

"Do you not approve?"

"Of you?" said Gerhardt. "I couldn't wish for my daughter to find a better man. And you are already like a son to me and Martha."

"Then what bothers you old friend?"

The German hesitated.

"We were told you were dead, and that we could never see Gratia again."

"Well now you have, and you will continue to see Gratia whenever you desire."

The old man turned away and Matt noticed he was biting at his lip.

"Gerhardt, what is it?"

Several seconds passed before the old man felt comfortable enough to resume eye contact.

"I am sure there is humour to be viewed in the situation now but your mother and... I mean Martha, were devastated for months on end when we were told the news. And then we were bundled onto a plane, without explanation..."

It dawned on Matt the old man had been overwhelmed by the experience. He touched at Gerhardt's hand, a gesture he could never make to his own father. Gerhardt responded by gripping Matt's fingers.

"I do not know what it was you were both involved in or how you both got to this place. I only want to be sure she will be safe here, looked after..."

Gerhardt's eyes filled with moisture and he sniffled to hold the tears in place.

"You are not going to lose her again, Gerhardt. I'll make sure nothing bad will ever happen to her."

"Promise me, Matt."

"It goes without saying."

"No," he said. "I want you to look me straight in the eye and promise. Promise you will always stay together and keep her free from harm."

Matt smiled softly and tightened his grip around the old man's trembling hand.

"I promise," he said, looking directly back into the watery and pleading eyes.

He'd expected they would be up until the early hours of the morning celebrating the reunion. The alfresco supper started well enough, the young couple revealing how Catherine Vogel had used her political influence to secure Gratia's release from prison and spirit her discreetly out of Europe to the island. She described the terrifying ordeal of the attempted sexual assault which prompted her to resist with a kitchen knife. Gratia had not intended to commit murder, only sought the first available means of defence during the unequal struggle. Matt confirmed her version of events to reassure them she had been wrongly imprisoned. Due to the avid media interest in the story it had been necessary to construct the pretence that Gratia had been committed to permanent solitary confinement. This allowed her to be discreetly moved to Canada under a pseudonym and was now known as Grace Fox, the English equivalent of her true identity, Gratia Fuchs. Matt explained to the elderly pair he'd agreed to being reported as dead after surrendering some information as part of a deal he'd made with people to secure Gratia's release.

For their part, they both talked of the unbearable pressure placed on them by the intense media attention and speculation back in St Wolfgang. Catherine Vogel had once again weaved her political wand to minimise the impact, much to their relief and eternal gratitude. Fatigue, however, soon began to take its toll on the elderly duo with Gerhardt, in particular, finding it increasingly difficult to prevent large yawns escaping from his mouth. Matt reminded the pair they had several days to enjoy the hospitality of their hosts and the new surrounds they found themselves in.

"It is wonderful to see you both together," said Martha, "I knew you were a match from the start. Did I not say as much, Gerhardt?"

The old man's elbow slipped from the edge of the wooden table, startling him back into life.

"Gerhardt, what are you doing? Pay attention." demanded Martha.

Matt looked across the table and his partner returned his gaze, though he could see the smile was shrouding something behind those rich and deep Guinness eyes. Something was on her mind. He volunteered to clear the dishes while the guests were escorted to their accommodation upstairs.

By the time he entered their room Gratia was flossing. Matt quickly discarded his outer clothes and followed her into the bathroom, standing directly behind as she opened the door to the medicine cabinet to pluck out the rectangular silver tray covered with foil.

"When were you going to tell me?"

"I thought I'd let you enjoy the next few days then try and pick the right moment," he said.

"What do they want you to do?"

"Find a few people and persuade them to return something that doesn't belong to them."

"You, a negotiator?" she said.

"Stranger things have been known to happen."

He noticed her look at his reflection in the tall, wide mirror checking for signs of deception.

"It must be dangerous or they wouldn't have agreed to your demand to allow papa and Martha to come here."

"Not so much a demand, more a request."

She prised the tiny tablet from the silver foil and placed it on her tongue. One sip of water and it had disappeared.

"But it is dangerous?"

"Shouldn't be," he whispered, circling her slim waist with his arms to kiss at the nape of her neck, and she responded by allowing her head to drop and rest against his chest. Sensing encouragement he drew a finger up from her wrist to caress at the sensitive skin around the mid-arm crease, only to find his progress halted by a smothering hand.

"Not until you've told me everything," she said.

"What's there to say? I find these people, talk to them, and get the stuff back."

"And what is the stuff?"

"Just stuff," he said.

His other hand moved up her left arm and smoothed against the soft skin, swiftly held to ransom by her other hand.

"I said everything."

Undaunted he kissed again at the nape of her neck.

"Can't this wait?" he whispered.

"No."

"I've spent a long time on the plane thinking about this."

"Then a little longer will not hurt."

Feeling deflated, in more ways than one, he rushed out the next sentence.

"They've got hold of quantities of the Milieu virus."

"What!"

"There's nothing to worry about, I have the antidote to be on the safe side."

Her shoulder muscles tensed and he realised a complicated situation had suddenly become a whole lot trickier.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," he said.

"These people are terrorists!"

"No, there're just a band of do-gooders in over their heads needing some common sense talked into them."

The reflection of her studious face in the mirror revealed the confusion in her mind.

"It makes no sense," she said. "You fought against Vogel's people for over two years to try and reveal their conspiracy and now you have agreed to help them?"

"They're trying to prevent the virus from being released by these people."

"It is the plan of Vogel's people to do this."

"Was," he said. "It turns out the side effects of the antidote are almost as lethal as the virus itself."

"There is something more lethal than death?"

"Permanent infertility," he admitted. "People inoculated with the antidote, men and women, are all rendered infertile. The human species will shrivel and die if their hand is forced into using it."

"Which means if these do-gooders decide to infect you with the virus then you could end up infertile," she said.

"It won't come to that."

"How can you be sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Not good enough. I need to understand the reasons for your confidence. Why these people would not choose to infect you in order to defend themselves, or worse."

There was nothing else but to go for it.

"Rosa is with the group holding the virus."

"Rosa Cain?"

"Yes."

Fire erupted in her eyes, flames of fury searing out of the dark expression now covering her face.

"So now we are closer to the truth. And if I had not pressed you would have said nothing."

He remained silent in the hope the flames would quell. After a few nervy moments she gripped his hands and pulled them away from her waist then retired at speed into the sanctity of the bedroom. He strode in pursuit in time to see her disappear under the cover and advanced to sit by her side. Motionless silence followed, which he broke by touching at her covered shoulder.

"Get off me!"

"Listen..."

"I said get away from me."

His hand touched her shoulder and she reacted by turning over in an attempt to avoid eye contact. Matt wasn't about to let the matter rest, tugging at her shoulder, and she shook his hand away. Incensed, he straddled her body to pin her arms to each side of her head.

"Get off me!"

"No," he insisted. "Not until you've heard me out."

"I do not wish to hear your excuses."

"Well you're going to hear them, like it or not."

She made an attempt to break free and he pressed her wrists hard to the bed.

"Rosa is in trouble. After everything she has done for me, for us, the least I can do is try and get her out of it."

Her head moved to the side, averting her eyes.

"Gratia, listen to me..."

"Now I am Gratia again," she said, attempting another escape.

He pressed harder to halt her struggle, fearful he might have used an excess of physical force. The body underneath went rigid and her eyes spat defiance.

"You will always be Gratia Fuchs to me," he said softly.

Her body conceded the unequal fight and the fire dowsed, fled from her eyes at his soft words. Believing he had eased her irrational concern he spoke again.

"I will always have a bond with Rosa Cain, because of what happened before," he said. "You've known that from the first time we met. But it is a bond, and nothing more."

Her rich gaze flitted to every part of his face before settling upon his eyes.

"You could say those words to me a thousand times and I would never be convinced," she said.

Chapter Nine

Encouragement

Pounding rain thudding against the wafer thin roof opened his eyes earlier than he would have preferred after the early hours foray into the main office administration block. Downloading the reservation database from the central computer had been an absolute breeze. He recalled marvelling at the ease with which the electronic attachment he'd used had bypassed the security system within a split second, and then proceeded to copy all of the relevant records quicker still. The speed of the electronic theft had given him real cause to think. In this age of increasingly elaborate security software the exercise had shown him how vulnerable the everyday secrets of ordinary people actually were.

The rain continued to hammer away, now pelting into the side of the structure. He detested caravans, both the static and the mobile variety. They were anything but the quietest places on the planet. If he turned to the right he could hear the young couple next along, banging away as though they had been sponsored to go at it all night, while to the left the family dog barked constantly. Maybe the acute hearing of the hound was being constantly disturbed by the frenetic, energetic, sound of nearby passion.

Worse still he was in southern Scotland, not the North East of England as they had stated he would be, so was completely unfamiliar with the terrain. He rubbed his eyes and focussed on the gangly spider building a spacious web in the window frame. The damn things were so persistent, and omnipresent. Last night he had destroyed the existing web and put the resident arachnid out onto the grass. Surely this wasn't the same creature he had disturbed before. More likely it was a relative who had picked the same spot to weave its home, in a deliberate effort to irritate him.

A short shower in the risibly small cubicle preceded the home made scrambled egg and dry toast. He wondered if Scottish hens were fed differently to those at home as the eggs tasted differently here, rougher. With no filter coffee machine in situ he courageously decided to brave the instant stuff. Yet one more regret.

The site plan unfolded on the table as the laptop charged into life. This place was obscure. Invisible to the naked eye from the main coastal road it was accessible to land vehicles only by turning sharply, almost at right angles, onto a narrow lane descending the steep incline to a wide cove below. Once at the bottom the cove opened up to reveal a wide expanse of beach surrounded on three sides by tall, grassy hills. Mobile homes of all definitions littered the field of green between the sea and hills whilst newly built, superior furnished, wooden lodges occupied the man-made plateau above. They'd offered to rent one but he chose to live inconspicuously amongst the masses. Catherine insisted there had been a sighting of Rosa here, the edge of the world.

It was the sort of place a fugitive would probably seek out, unfortunately.

His irritable mood hadn't been helped by the non-arrival of the antidote he'd been promised and the weather only added to his misery. Matt searched for his position, the middle of a group of three units at the furthest right hand edge of the cove. Using the stolen information now showing on the screen he worked through the reservations. Names of the surrounding residents provided no obvious clues, so he widened the search. Nothing stood out to make him believe this was anything other than a dead end. Chances were that Rosa had long gone from the area. Good old-fashioned observation was the only thing left to prove he was right.

Matt sat on this rugged outcrop for most of the day observing anything and everything that moved through the binoculars. The phrase, ordinary life, was just about the best description he could muster for what he had seen during the preceding hours. As off the beaten track as this place was he concluded it wasn't Rosa's type of location to hole up due to the limited routes of escape. The single lane road could be too easily blocked and there were no moored boats with which to flee by sea in an emergency evacuation. If she had ever been here at any time, which he was beginning to seriously doubt, she was unlikely to be here now.

He peeled the lining to the tasty looking sandwich encased in the plastic holder, immediately screwing up his face at the disappointing outcome as he chomped into it. Cheese and tomato read the description, except he couldn't find any of the latter. Nevertheless, he soon demolished it with the fervour of a man who hadn't eaten for several hours. His ambling gaze took him away from the leisure park, further down the coast to the right and out to sea.

For several minutes he watched the old fashioned fishing boat, replete with wooden masts at either end, make its way through the placid coastal sea as it neared his vantage point. Curiosity caused him to raise the binoculars for a closer look. Melody Rose, read the name along the side. There were three figures, two male and a female, sharing some banter on deck. Inexplicably the boat's motor suddenly throttled back and the vessel began to drift inwards to a small and deserted cove, flanked by two stone built walls reaching out into the sea on either side. Not so deserted, he then decided, on shifting the line of sight of the binoculars.

A red painted house came into his view, windows blocked with similarly coloured shutters. There were two entrances at the front, from what he could see. A double, stable-like, door was also shuttered red. The one to the left, painted a brilliant white, stood in obvious contrast to everything else. Fixed to the upper floor was a rectangular shaped window jutting out from the wall, almost like a viewing platform. He increased lens magnification and thought he saw a figure moving away from what resembled a telescope. The adjacent white building perched slightly further from the shore had the air of a country cottage and was shuttered too.

The approaching boat dropped anchor and he watched as the three crewmen dropped a dinghy over the side. One by one they leapt into the rubber craft and made for the narrow beach where the red and white dwellings were located. Their athleticism intrigued him. Being gym fit was one thing. To exhibit the physical and mental confidence of these people suggested they were much more. There could be no doubt in his mind.

They were trained professionals.

As the group neared the white door it opened inwards and he tried to look inside, to no avail. At the last minute one of the men turned and looked over to the hillside Matt occupied, and he instinctively withdrew the binoculars from his eyes. The door took a moment or two to shut to, so he guessed they were looking at him from the inside, behaviour worthy of further investigation.

Matt turned his back on the cove as he rose, in case they were taking a closer look through the telescope. He packed everything away in the rucksack and started along the hilltop, glancing around for signs of a public footpath which might lead down to the cove. There was none.

Once out of sight he crouched and rummaged through his belongings to find the local map. There appeared to be a footpath a little further along which looked as though it would take him close, but to get there he would have to negotiate a tunnel through the rocks to make it to the other side. He could see no other possible routes.

He'd lost track of the time when he eventually arrived at the tunnel entrance. Peering inside he could see light at the other end, though not the artificial kind. Part of the journey would have to be made in darkness and this filled him with caution. His steps were light and wary, more so once the light behind had almost vanished. He stood still and listened to the sound of water dripping. Then he heard what sounded like a click, almost directly to his left. He stepped forward and heard the clicking sound for a second time. There was nothing else for it. He surrounded his eyes with the night vision goggles and searched the walls of the enclosure and located a camera, fixed to the roof of the tunnel. Somebody had been watching him all along.

Matt turned and exited. Plan B was needed. All he had to do was think of what it might be.

The watch read one in the morning. Matt checked the fixture of the rope was secure enough to hold his weight and started his descent down the impossibly steep embankment. Going down didn't bother him. The thought of trying to make a rapid escape back up in the pitch black of night, however, filled him with concern. Thank God for the goggles.

He arrived breathing slightly erratically with the rising fear of the unknown. There were no lights to be seen inside either of the buildings. Even with the shutters closed he would have expected to see some glimmer of artificial illumination. He looked to the beach. The dinghy remained in place, moored to the shore. Perhaps the residents had retired for the night. Then again... they could be waiting for him.

His approach was deft, silent. The shutters were locked tight, impossible to snap open without causing a disturbance for those inside. He remembered the odd window and made his way round. Damn, he thought, there had to be a minimum of seven feet between him and the wooden frame holding the window in place. He had to chance it.

The mechanism whirred as the pointed end slammed into the base. He waited for several seconds, listening for any sounds of movement. There was none. He pressed the button and the wire retracted, lifting him up to the frame. His hands searched the layered frame for something to grip and he levered himself up. Fumbling through the sack produced the necessary tool to cut a piece away, slip his hand through and open the window.

Seconds later and he was inside.

Room by room he searched the interior using the goggles, only to find the residence devoid of human life. One of the three bedrooms had been slept in, evidenced by the depression in the mattress and pillow. By the look of it, only one person had been using the sleeping quarters. He expected to find food and clothing. There was none, not even the merest scrap of paper to offer any kind of clue as to who these people were. He could be forgiven for thinking the place had been wiped clean, though this didn't explain why they'd left evidence of the bed being used. Was this the place Rosa had being holed up in, or just one of those freak coincidences of life? A search of the nearby white painted house also proved fruitless. They must have spotted him earlier, up on the hilltop, and fled. And he had no idea where they had gone.

The watch showed four as his tired body rounded the last of the mobile residences before his. The door lay partially open and he reasoned somebody had been, or still was, inside his temporary home. A beam of light shone and he could see a dark clad figure moving around, head covered in a balaclava, searching through his belongings. He neared the opening and paused. One person he concluded, easing the door further ajar. He waited until the slender figure emerged back into the main living space, and sprang inside.

The intruder reacted instantly, turning aside to fend off the assault. A foot threw itself at him and he parried the blow with an arm. Unbalanced, the figure toppled and he pounced with the agility of a big hunting cat. His legs circled the neck and he began to exert steady pressure.

"Matt," said the throaty voice. "That hurts."

"Rosa," he said, relaxing his grip.

She freed an arm and punched at his groin. Before he knew it she was atop him, a finger pointed to each of his eyes.

"How many times have I told you," she said. "Never give an enemy a chance because they won't give you one."

Her hand peeled away the balaclava, releasing her shoulder length blonde hair from captivity as clear thinking re-entered his head.

"Since when have we been enemies?"

She grinned, her blue eyes sparkling with life.

"I knew they hadn't killed you," she said. "The tunnel confirmed what I'd always believed, except I don't understand why you've come looking for me."

"I came because Stefan asked me to find you," he said.

She blinked at the mention of the name.

"And now you've found me, which means I'm going to have to relocate again."

Confusion returned. She could see it in his eyes and gave out one of her throaty laughs.

"For God's sake woman," he said. "What the hell for?"

The dialogue was promptly interrupted by the arrival of three other figures. He guessed they were from the boat.

"How did you find me?" she asked.

"Your picture was put on television a few days ago and someone phoned in with a sighting. Are you going to let me get up?"

"No."

His hand moved and he felt a gun barrel press up against his temple. He looked up and saw the face of a young woman of Indian descent holding the weapon.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"Berchtesgaden," she said.

He remembered. An SAS assault team raided the house he was in to try and take him out.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance," she said.

"Why?"

"Because of what you did to John Tillman," she said.

"If memory serves me right Tillman was trying to kill me."

"Lily, not the right time," said Rosa, bringing the exchange to a halt.

He returned his gaze to the impossibly beautiful blonde.

"What the hell is going on, Rosa?"

"You're in way over your head, Matt. Go home."

"I can't, not without you."

"You'll just have to tell him you've seen me and I'm fine."

"That's no bloody good to man or beast, is it?"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

He decided to take a chance.

"Stefan is worried sick about you."

Rosa looked into his eyes. A fleeting moment of thought crossed her mind and then she bent forward and kissed him passionately on the lips.

"What was that for?"

"Encouragement," she said.

"To do what?" he asked.

"Stop looking for me."

"And what do I get if I do?"

"Nothing," she said. "Because then you won't need any more encouragement."

"I seem to recall you saying something like that to me before."

Her throaty laugh re-appeared.

"And what happens if I keep looking?"

Her friendly smile abruptly vanished, to be replaced by a cold and emotionless expression.

"My God," he said. "You mean it too."

"You know the difference between you and me, Matt? You haven't got it in you to kill a friend."

He made sure to keep his eyes fixed on her blue, piercing eyes. She recognised his intent.

"Don't force my hand."

"I'm your friend, Rosa. I always will be."

The texture of her bright eyes softened. It was the glimmer of a reaction he'd hoped for, a possible opening. Then she recovered.

"Here endeth the lesson," she said softly.

A boot pressed his right arm to the floor and two rough hands pulled up the sleeve of his jumper. He noticed the initials JS tattooed on the fingers of one hand. A long syringe pointed menacingly to a vein. His instinct to resist ended the moment the barrel of the gun pressed harder to his head.

"Keep very still," said Rosa.

"What are you doing?"

"Buying some time," she said.

He watched the needle penetrate the skin.

"Is that the virus?"

Rosa cocked her head and grimaced.

"So Stefan didn't send you," she said. "Don't worry. This is something akin to Gamma Hydroxy Butyrate,"

"GHB is a date rape drug!"

The smile returned to her face.

"I'm not about to shag the pants off you while you're not in a position to appreciate it."

"It's not you who worries me," he said, peering up into Lily's face.

"You're not really Lily's type."

Already he could feel the substance beginning to cloud his thinking. The beautiful face started to fade, as though she was being spirited away on a cloud as consciousness drained from his body. Her voice, sounding more like a mumble, spoke again.

"Don't come after me again, Matt," she said. "Do you hear me?"

He tried to open his mouth aware he had become incapable of further speech. Her increasingly distant voice spoke for a final time.

"Did you get that?"

Somehow he managed to blink a response. And then his mind spiralled into darkness.

Chapter Ten

Holding Back

Matt felt sure his mind was playing tricks. He wanted to get up but couldn't summon the energy. An arm stretched out and his hand circled the foot of the table leg for leverage. He pulled then pulled again. Nothing happened. The bright LED illuminated clock on the oven read ten. Was it morning or night? He had no way of knowing. Incapable of any further thought he closed his eyes.

The oven clock read six fifteen. He could see daylight through the main window. Judging by the overcast conditions outside he assumed it was raining. Matt closed his eyes.

Three thirty, according to the led lighting on the oven clock. Though the room was dark and silent he could just make out the sounds of passion from the mobile home next door. Christ, they were still hard at it. Oh to be a teenager again. He blinked several times before closing his eyes.

A clap of thunder startled him to life. The accompanying bolt of lightning so bright and fierce he instinctively sat up and rested against the sofa. His head hurt, and he shut his eyes.

The sudden impact of falling to the carpet jarred him from his slumber. The oven clock showed nine fifteen. God, his head hurt. He crawled towards the washroom, tugged back the half moon door and dragged the dead weight of his body into the shower. His hand only just reached the tap and he managed to twist it once. Cold water burst down upon his head. At least he thought it was cold, difficult to be sure amidst the range of uncertain thoughts occupying his weary mind. Matt closed his eyes.

"Jesus!" he yelled, reaching up to turn off the tap. He could feel his limbs wanting to move and used them to discard the sodden clothes encasing his shivering frame. Climbing free of the soggy material he spotted the oven clock. Five minutes past eleven. He located the bath towel and wrapped it around his torso. The hair would just have to dry itself. A short trip to the bedroom and he was freshly clothed, armed with the thickest jumper he could lay his hands on. Almost half an hour passed before he started to feel body warmth returning. There was no time to lose. He fired up the laptop and inserted the attachment. An age seemed to pass by before the flashing light indicated the call was about to be answered and the screen began to take shape. The sleepy green eyes looked less than enthusiastic to hear from him.

"Matt? Where on earth have you been these last few days? You were meant to code in nearly three days ago. We were beginning to fear the worst."

Three days! No wonder he was feeling peckish.

"I've been busy," he said.

"Who is it?" he heard a voice say.

Catherine half turned and waved her hand vigorously at the head sleepily rising from the pillow. The youthful face twisted to a frown and then realised what the Austrian woman had been trying to signify and her head sank back onto the bed out of view.

"Have you found Rosa?" asked Catherine.

"Yes and no."

"Not quite the answer I was hoping for."

"I tracked her close to the original location, but she moved on without telling me."

"Why did you not call it in immediately?"

"I didn't anticipate she would leave unexpectedly. It took me by surprise."

Catherine's pensive face retreated into thought.

"You'd better come back here tomorrow so we can agree what to do next."

"Why don't we talk about it and agree now?"

"Matt, it is after midnight and I need to rest. I will also need to find some way to explain how you have allowed Rosa to slip out of the net and evade you."

"Perhaps if Francine went to her own bed," he quipped.

"Francine is unwell so it is up to me to change Ilsa's soiled nightdress," she snapped, and the screen went blank.

The sharpness in her tone had him thinking the couple had barely finished. Though somewhat surprised at the liaison, as there had to be a few years between them, another issue now occupied his mind. He couldn't help but be intrigued by her use of the word net, as it suggested Catherine already knew of Rosa's exact location before he'd been sent after her.

This journey mirrored the last time he was being taken to visit Catherine. The blacked out windows of the saloon were soon to be followed by being deposited in the rear of a windowless van. It was almost as though they were trying to conceal the location of their rendezvous from him. This time he had come prepared, equipped with pen and paper to try and detail the hidden route. He set his watch precisely to the hour, counted the sequence and the numbers of left and right turns, and tried to estimate speed between each one. As soon as the vehicle stopped he ended the stopwatch timing.

They were waiting inside.

"How could you let her go free?" was Ameera's opening salvo, before he'd sat down.

"A coffee would be good."

Francine's tall figure emerged from a dark corner of the room and poured out a mug. She offered an unnervingly warm smile as she placed it in front of him. The last time he was here her demeanour could best be described as indifferent.

"Tell us what happened," said Catherine.

He recounted the turn of events, how instinct had led him to an isolated property in a small nearby cove before returning to his temporary residence. Matt told of the encounter with Rosa and a collection of others which had led to him being injected with the tranquilliser, disabling him from being able to pursue the mysterious group.

"Well, I suppose you are not dead like the others," said Ameera.

"Others, what others?" he asked.

"Rosa and Matt have history," said Catherine, ignoring his question. "She likes and trusts him."

"Must be the only one," said Ameera.

Matt let the barb go unanswered, preoccupied instead by the strangely unfolding language. Something wasn't right, didn't add up.

"You never mentioned anything about others before. And why wasn't Rosa in the least surprised to see me?"

"Even if she does trust him it doesn't explain why they let him go free," said a thoughtful Ameera, again ignoring his repeated question.

Catherine, too, was engrossed in deep thought.

"Rosa is open to negotiation," she said. "You must resume the pursuit immediately."

"They will surely kill him next time," said Ameera.

"For once, I agree with Ameera. Rosa persuaded them to let me go once. There won't be a second time."

"I believe you are wrong," said Catherine, after further studious deliberation.

"What makes you say that?" asked Ameera.

"Contact has been made and Matt has survived. It is the first step in negotiation, leave a channel of communication open," said Catherine.

"If I get that close to them again it won't be open for much longer. Trust me. I know when I'm being warned off for my own wellbeing."

"This is a good thing. The remainder of the group will now ask questions, want to know more about you, and Rosa will be forced into revealing your past. Once they understand your background and struggle against us I expect they will come to regard you as a potential ally, perhaps even some sort of a kindred spirit."

"Up to the point they recall I killed Tillman, a particular issue with one of them, then what?"

"Death is their industry, their way of life. The matter will soon pass from their minds."

"Why is it I am not reassured by that assessment?"

"You should be. It is all fitting together as we'd hoped."

"Catherine is right. The plan is working." said Ameera.

The ensuing silence, eerie and unsettling, alerted him into thinking something was amiss. There was far, far more to this than met the eye.

"There are some issues we need to bring to your attention," said Marius.

"Here we go. Another set of complications revealed at the last minute. Jesus, do you people have a problem with being straight with everyone or is it just me?"

Marius leaned forward and offered a leather pouch stuffed with padding. Secreted within was a vial of clear liquid.

"One dose of the antidote," said Marius.

"I thought it was gaseous?"

"A refinement," said Marius, handing over a container with accompanying syringe. "Into the vein," he said, pointing to an arm. "If the serum is not within reach drink concentrated alcohol to slow its spread through the body. Also, the Milieu virus loses some of its potency when released five thousand feet above sea level."

"So if the absolute worst happens everyone should go live up in the mountains. At least Mother Nature would get her planet back from the plague of humanity so I suppose it's not all bad news."

Marius' irksome patient smile reappeared.

"The first indicators of infection are red blotches on the inner arm, usually no more than three or four, for reasons we are not quite sure of."

"How long before they appear?"

"Within a few hours of infection," said Marius.

"That would give me another day or so?"

"Perhaps, but work on the assumption of little more than twelve hours before incapacitation."

"Doesn't leave very much time for people to get to high ground," he said.

"No, so carry the antidote with you at all times."

"Anything else?" he asked.

"It is only one dose. You cannot share it."

"Can't see that I'd want to," he said.

The unsettling silence returned, tension heightened by the exchange of furtive glances between the three sets of eyes sat before him. They were holding something back, the air filled tension proved it.

"That just leaves me hoping your assessment is accurate," he said to Catherine. "You did say the budget was limitless and I could use whatever resources I needed?"

She nodded cautiously.

"I'd better get right on to it then," he said, standing up.

They hadn't anticipated his sudden burst of enthusiasm, if the widening of their eyes was anything to go by.

"Where will you start?" asked Catherine.

"I need to brush up on my sea fishing skills."

"Sea fishing?" said Ameera. "How does this relate?"

"Trying to find these people will be like trying to find a single sardine in the ocean," he said. "So I might as well get in a bit of practice."

He noticed Ameera's horrified and questioning look pass on to Catherine.

"Are you the taxi?" he asked of Francine.

Her eyes darted in her superior's direction.

"The van is waiting outside," said Catherine.

He shrugged and nodded.

"The trouble with strong, silent types," he said, "is that in the absence of conversation it narrows the sort of things you can do together."

He didn't have to stop and look to know Catherine was not in the least amused.

Chapter Eleven

Vega One

Matt manoeuvred his way around the armchair and deposited the mug on the place mat next to the laptop.

"Thanks," said Will.

"How are we doing?"

"Getting closer," said Will. "You wouldn't believe how many boats in this country are called Melody Rose."

"What if it's not there?"

"If it's a fishing vessel then it has to be on here, by law. What about this one?"

Matt leant forward to peer at the screen, trying to match the photograph to the picture in his mind.

"Looks familiar," he said.

"A coastal fishing boat," said Will. "They're often hired to angling enthusiasts these days, bygone days of a disappearing life etc. Can you remember the registration number?"

"No, just the name," said Matt.

His recognition of the craft prompted Will to initiate a series of deft hand movements, the screen skipping its way through a host of differing coloured images before coming to a sudden halt. The vessel was identified as being registered to the port of Felixstowe.

Will further manipulated the mouse and came up with a diary like entry showing a single, unnamed, booking for an entire three month block.

"All we need, a dead end," said Matt.

"Not necessarily."

His friend delved deeper into the company records, once he'd bypassed electronic security, and came up with details of a credit card transaction.

"That's interesting," said Will.

"What is?"

"The purchaser is one Maria Costa."

"And she is?"

"Tillman married a Spanish woman called Maria with a surname beginning with C."

Had to be no more than coincidence, he reasoned. What were the odds of Tillman's widow hiring a fishing vessel for a team of special operation renegades?

"How could we find out?"

Will identified the name of the card issuer, shut down all open screens, and then re-opened the connection. He attached a small fitting to the laptop and typed in the relevant name. The image of a brick wall appeared on screen.

"What are you up to?"

"Fishing," said Will.

A series of what could only be described as dents appeared at random on a number of the individual bricks, as if someone were throwing hard missiles or rocks against the wall.

"What's happening?"

"The programme is finding a route to breach the firewall and their other security measures."

"Of a bank?" said Matt.

"How else do you think the authorities investigate the financial records of individuals?"

"This is an international bank. I understood their security systems were supposed to be impregnable."

"Think again."

Matt watched in awed silence as the constant pinging against the imaginary bricks continued. He had to ask.

"Why is it showing as a brick wall being knocked down?"

"Passes the time, the boredom," said Will. "Sometimes it can take a long while to hack into a system. An old mate of mine, Toby Rowe, came up with this idea. He's a Pink Floyd fan."

Matt turned his attention back to the screen. One of the bricks had disappeared, soon followed by another.

"There you go..."

"Yeah, I get it. Another brick in the wall," said Matt.

One by one the red bricks started to shatter, disintegrate and gradually disappear from the screen, leaving bigger and bigger holes in their wake.

"So this is what cyber terrorism looks like?" said Matt.

"Yep, pretty dull isn't it? What were you expecting it to look like?"

"I don't know. Flashing lights maybe, certainly something a bit more elaborate than a simple game of ping pong against a red brick wall."

His unintended humour caused Will to laugh.

"Don't let it fool you. This is the new weapon, in many ways more powerful than the bomb. With just a few targeted clicks of a mouse you can destroy the comfortable lives of millions, possibly billions, of people. The masses would never be able to sleep at night if they knew the truth."

"You'd still have to be a computer genius to make it look so easy," said Matt.

"True. Fortunately, we had Toby. He's an absolute maestro at programming. That's why they recruited him, along with the others."

"They?" asked Matt.

"The Government," said Will. "If they didn't employ the likes of Toby and others like him you can put your house on it that someone else will. And Government doesn't want those sorts of skills working for the wrong kind of people."

"How would they even know what Toby could do?"

Will looked up and smiled.

"You don't need me to answer that."

Matt thought back to the very first time he had reviewed the Milieu files and uncovered the extraordinary depth of information held on individuals, garnered from all manner of data such as financial records, health, genealogy, e-mail transcripts, etc.

"I thought it was only the Milieu crowd who went to those lengths of intelligence."

"Where do you think they got most of it from?"

This was somewhat of an eye-opener, and a potentially frightening scenario.

"Big brother really does exist then?"

"Has done for years and years," said Will. "The only people free from observation are those off the radar, and those are the people regarded by Governments as the enemy. If the public services know nothing about you then you must be up to no good."

Matt decided to change tack.

"What made you sign up to the intelligence services?"

"Ha, ha, ha," laughed Will.

"I didn't think the question was that funny?"

"Nobody applies to be in intelligence. You get selected, approached. We all were; Toby, Johnno, Lily, Helen, me and Rosa. Once they find out you've got a particular skill they're all over you like a rash."

"Particular skill?" asked Matt.

"Toby Rowe is a hacker extraordinaire, can get into almost anything you put in front of him. Johnno's bag is weapons, large or small he can tell you precisely how each of them work, what they do, and name every part. Lily is logistics maestro. Whatever equipment was needed for a job she'd find a way of providing it. Helen was the scientist; physics, biology, chemistry and everything in between including a photographic memory."

"What about Rosa?"

"Tracker and contact queen. It doesn't matter where you hide Rosa will find you. And if you need an introduction to a target Rosa is your girl, though I guess it helps if you can flip both ways."

"You mean men and... women?"

"Yes. I always thought the fairer sex was her preference to be honest."

"Are we talking about the same person?"

"There's only one Rosa Cain. You sound surprised."

"I understood she had someone, a European guy running a multinational company."

"Ah, you're talking about the Tyrolean op, in Austria."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"All very hush, hush," said Will. "It didn't include the lads or Helen. Our friends from across the pond were involved."

"Good to know the special relationship goes deeper than with the politicians."

"Not them, the Canadians. It was so special Tillman never told us a thing about it. We had to rely on Lily to fill in some of the detail once it was all over."

"All sounds very intriguing."

"The multinational guy you're talking about was one of two designated targets. Rosa was allocated him while Tillman took the other, a woman. According to Lily the boss and Rosa had a bust up over the op, so bad it nearly blew their covers and ruined the op."

Images of an altercation formed in Matt's head. He'd never seen Rosa truly angry.

"That would have been quite something, Rosa and Tillman at each other's throats."

"Yeah, fireworks I reckon," agreed Will. "Strange thing was, everything changed afterwards. The atmosphere in the team was never the same and both were off their game for some time. Eventually, Tillman decided to split us up and we received orders to transfer to different units. Rosa quit on the spot, just turned and walked out, and the rest of us followed soon after."

"That's when you went to work for Catherine?"

"No, I drifted for a while. Didn't know what to do with myself and lost touch with the others. Tillman recommended me to Catherine. You know the rest."

"Did you... have to...?"

"On occasion," said Will.

"And Jenna...?"

"No," his friend said instantly. "That was never supposed to happen. It just did."

"I thought you people had all the emotion kicked out of you, that you were trained to be heartless."

Will shrugged his shoulders.

"We were operatives not assassins."

"Is Jenna the reason you quit?" asked Matt.

He noticed the look of surprise on his friend's face.

"Catherine told you?"

Matt nodded.

"Yes," admitted Will, eventually. "Jenna came at me out of the blue, all unexpected like."

"Why didn't you tell me you'd quit?"

His companion hesitated, and shrugged again.

"I reasoned if you knew you might not want me around. I like where my life is at the moment."

He found the admission disarming. Matt had liked Will from the start, a little odd given the man had been appointed to keep an eye on him.

"So what's your particular skill?"

"When I was young a friend and I needed some quick cash so we did a burglary. We stumbled upon a horde of cash, ideal at the time. It was only later we discovered it belonged to some very unpleasant people and they came looking for us. They managed to corner my friend and shattered his arms with a baseball bat before I got there."

"It sounds like there was more than one."

"Five of them," said Will. "I wasn't about to let them do the same with me, so..."

"You took them down?"

"No option. As it happened someone heard the commotion and called the police. They arrived as I'd finished and took me into custody."

"A born warrior," said Matt. "It's easy to see why they wanted to recruit you."

The two friends drifted into silence as they watched the bricks continue to be eroded from the screen.

"I'm surprised Catherine and her people let you keep hold of this program."

"They didn't. This is Toby's own make. He gave me it a few years back and as you can see it still works. It never hurts to have access to extra-curriculum resource."

The sound of thunder, as though a derelict building were in the midst of being demolished, took their eyes to the screen.

"We're in," said Will.

In moments he had secured the requisite information, and then used it to enter another Government agency website.

"Yeah, it's Tillman's wife," said Will. "It looks like she upped and left the UK after you made her a widow and is now living in a place called Olhos d'Agua in Portugal."

Matt examined the oval shaped face on the screen, long black tresses with matching eyebrows and a Mediterranean complexion. This didn't make sense.

"If you were told to recover something by whatever means necessary how would you interpret the instruction."

"Don't worry about the collateral."

"Kill everyone?"

"Effectively," said Will. "It ties up any loose ends."

Matt's concern was registered through his frown.

"What's Catherine got you into?" asked Will.

Matt toyed with the idea of coming clean, deciding instead to keep his own counsel for the time being. Bad enough he was going up against Will's old team, worse if this included his friend at a later stage.

"Do you mind sticking around, Will? I might need your help at some later point."

"I guess this means you'll be paying Tillman's widow a visit next."

"Yes, but how the hell do I get her to confide in me?"

"Easy enough," said Will. "Seduce her."

"You can't be serious?"

"The woman's been a widow for long enough so should be relatively easy."

"First of all, I'm the man who killed her husband. How sick would that be? And secondly, according to that file on screen, she has given birth to four children. I am not jumping into the sack with a roly-poly, frump of a woman."

His friend grinned at the latter remark and Matt could see the dubiousness of this last protestation.

"You know what I mean," he said awkwardly.

"I know you need rapid access to information and she's not going to give it up to you simply by asking."

"There's got to be a way," he mumbled.

After a few moments deliberation another question came to his mind.

"If you're not reporting back to Catherine on me anymore then who is?" asked Matt.

"Rest assured," said Will. "Whoever it is, they'll be close, to both of us."

Chapter Twelve

Olhos d'Agua

The cloudless blue sky almost blinded him as he stepped from the taxi. He raised a hand to shield his eyes and fumbled for the Rayburns, poking himself on the bridge of the nose as he attempted to cover his eyes from the burning sun. Mission complete, he turned his attention to the two storey white brick building that was to be his temporary home for the next week. The impressive looking villa formed one half of two adjoining properties, separated by a four foot wall to the home of Maria Costa. He still had no idea how he was going to manufacture a seemingly innocent introduction to his neighbour.

"Hello," said a woman's voice.

He turned and instinctively smiled at the long, oval shaped face of the turquoise bikini clad woman. He'd expected her to be a short dumpling of a woman. It turned out she was taller, and slimmer, hair trussed up with her face camouflaged by a pair of the biggest sunglasses he'd seen in his life.

"Are you on your own?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, mind coming to terms with this unexpected stroke of good fortune.

"It's a big villa for one person."

"Blind booking," he said.

"Blind booking, do people do that these days?"

"I did," he said with a smile.

A curious frown took centre stage on her face, or perhaps it was disbelief.

"They told me a family was coming."

"All I know is a cancellation came up apparently," he said. "Not that I'm in any way complaining given the price I had to pay."

He could see the lack of confidence to the explanation in her dark eyes, now revealed by the removal of the sunglasses.

"Are you the welcoming committee?"

His question broke her silence.

"No, I'm in the villa next door. They asked if I minded giving you the key on arrival. The company rep has succeeded in getting herself double booked."

"Seems over and above the call of duty," he said.

"I don't mind. When you're a single parent with four kids on the permanent go any kind of adult contact can be a bit of a blessing."

The reassertion she had four children, fatherless because of him, caused Matt to blink hard. Guilt gripped at his throat and he realised immediately he didn't want to deceive this woman, and certainly not in the way Will had suggested.

"Are you alright?"

He shook his head.

"My hearing hasn't fully recovered from the flight. Four children, they must be a handful?"

"I've taken to following St Anthony, the patron saint of lost causes."

Her humour brought a smile to his face.

"Seems to me you're already on your way to sainthood."

A bright smile relaxed her eyes. It was pleasant, warm and welcoming. Matt expected the woman to be in her forties. Her youthful face suggested otherwise. His attention focussed on the gold locket hanging around her neck.

"Do you want the key?" she asked, as the driver deposited the luggage by his feet.

"Yes, of course, sorry" he said. "I told you my head wasn't right yet."

The key fell into his hand and she withdrew her fingers smartly to avoid contact. According to the information in the file Will had accessed this woman lived a solitary existence since becoming a widow, with little human contact outside of her children. She'll be lonely, his friend had said, so winning her confidence will be easy. Matt wasn't as easily convinced. This woman had something about her.

"I'm Maria," she said.

"Matt."

She smiled into his eyes for a few seconds before turning to leave.

"If there's anything you need let me know."

"Thank you... for the keys and all."

Matt gripped the handle of the luggage and prepared to make his way when a high pitched voice screamed in panic from behind.

"Come quick, Tessa's at the bottom of the pool!"

He reacted instantly, forcibly pushing Maria aside to burst through the wooden gate. Within strides he had reached the rear of the property and saw the large, rectangular pool sitting in the middle of the paved area. He ran to the edge, ignoring the children's wails, and spotted a small figure at the bottom. Instinct prompted an involuntary dive.

The child felt weightless as he picked her up in his arms and swam to the surface where Maria's frantic hands pulled her from the water. Matt regained terra firma in time to see the tearful woman cradling her daughter, uncertain as to what to do next.

He didn't ask, just took charge, placing the small body on the ground so he could pinch her nose and prise open the little mouth. He exhaled deeply and took another breath to repeat the exercise. Her face looked pale and sallow. He rolled the child onto her side and rubbed fiercely between the shoulder blades before breathing in and releasing another invasion of warm air into her lungs. Onto her side again, only this time he punched at her back. Matt feared the worst. A quick glance to the side revealed a tearful Maria swamped by her remaining children, huddled tightly together in anticipated despair. No, he thought, I won't let this happen. Again he worked through the same routine, his attempt at resuscitation more desperate and the punch to her back harder.

She coughed, spewed, and then coughed again. He lifted her upper body gently from the ground and began to massage her back, whispering gentle words of encouragement in her right ear. She spewed again, and then a second and a third time, before the coughing increased in rapidity. Her body wrenched with the effort, and then stilled.

Slowly, he turned her round to face him and her little eyes blinked at the sunshine. He used the back of his hand to wipe the dribble from her chin and then smoothed away the tears that started to fall as consciousness returned. He smiled and kissed lightly at the little forehead.

"Hello," he said softly, to the puzzled face and frightened brown eyes.

Her confused gaze examined his face for a few seconds, though it seemed longer, when an unannounced olive coloured arm appeared to push in between and prise them apart. Maria squeezed the child tightly to her bosom, as though defending her from assault, and rose to carry Tessa inside followed by the three others of the brood. Matt stood and watched them disappear aware he was surplus to requirements. Something inside him felt good. Having been responsible for one death in this family he had surely saved another. Perhaps there was such a thing as redemption.

Matt stepped from the shower to hear two voices below the French window. He saw a hunched man carrying a case into the villa next door. The doctor had arrived. He withdrew from the window and picked out a pair of shorts and a paperback from the suitcase. Matt had selected the bedroom with the en-suite for his stay, the largest and situated above the outside pool. He liked space, and this choice provided both ample room to move around and a scenic view. Skipping down the stairs brought him into the enormous but somewhat sparsely furnished open plan living area. The bulky silver television sat atop a maple coloured cabinet, looking surprisingly outdated against the modern décor. Situated to the left of the three cushioned two-seater sofas were a dining table and six chairs. Maybe he'd use a different one for each night of the stay, if he could be bothered. The urge for coffee evaporated from his mind the moment he opened the glass doors leading to the patio. Suffocating heat poured inside the room so instead he turned right into the vast kitchen and took a cold drink from the American styled fridge. Diet cola or not he was intent on enjoying the refreshing feel of cold liquid down his throat.

Once outside he bypassed the two sets of small plastic tables and chairs and took up residence on one of the yellow sun-beds. He reckoned twenty minutes of exposure to the burning sun would be enough before needing to seek shelter under the sun umbrella. At the turning of the second page he reached down for the drink and took a sip. Ugh! The damn stuff tasted like hot water. He downed it quick, too quickly judging by the inadvertent burp which followed, and he slunk back into the frame as though this would somehow make him invisible to the people next door.

Matt lost track as he read. Though some distance from being regarded as a classic it was peppered with extraordinary detail of all manner of sex acts. He'd always considered the people who scribed these events on paper must be the same people who weren't getting any otherwise they wouldn't have the time to write about it. Even so it was strong stuff and he could feel his brow perspiring, though he preferred to put this down to the heat of the sun. A hand rapped against the waist high gate behind him.

"Come in," he called.

Maria appeared with a shy and somewhat apprehensive Tessa in tow, hiding behind her mother's legs.

"Hello Tessa, how are you feeling?"

Maria spoke in her native tongue, urging the little girl to be bold and approach him.

"Thank you, sir," said the little voice.

He smiled and asked for a kiss on the cheek. After a good deal of maternal encouragement she complied. Matt noticed Maria constantly peering over the wall to her side.

"Why don't you call them over?" he asked.

"No, no. We do not want to disturb you."

"You won't," he said. "Two pairs of eyes have got to be better than one. And anyway, didn't you say that any kind of adult contact is a blessing."

A half smile appeared on her lips.

"No, I... we couldn't impose..."

"There's no imposition. I've invited you. You might have to bring your own refreshments though."

The half smile returned.

"Please," he said. "You could do with a break and I would appreciate the company."

She looked nervous, cautious and hesitant. He held his open smile while her mind processed the generous offer. Then she lifted on her toes to peer over the wall.

"Children, come round to this side."

"Do we have to!" he heard them exclaim in unison.

"Bring the towels and sun cream. And remember Tessa's things also."

He could hear mumblings of discontent.

"Do as you are told."

The mutterings continued for a while as they gathered their belongings. Minutes later three more children stood silently before him.

"This is Andrew, the eldest," introduced Maria, pointing to the tallest of the siblings. "Sophie is Tessa's twin, and last but not least is Jonathan."

"I'm Matt," he said.

They continued to stand in silence and uncertainty, wary of this strange man who sought to befriend them. He thought of a way to break the stand-off.

"First one in gets a ride on my back later," he said.

The two boys needed no second urging, galloping to the side of the pool and throwing themselves into the water. The girl remained rooted to the spot.

"Why did you punch my sister so hard like that? She has a big bruise on her back."

He smiled.

"I apologise Sophie, and to you Tessa. I did not intend to hurt or be so rough."

Her mother urged them to join their brothers and they skipped hand in hand towards the shallow end of the pool. He watched as they slipped over the side.

"I don't know how you cope," he said.

"With great difficulty," said Maria.

"How old are they?"

"Andrew is twelve, Jonathan eight. The two girls are close to their sixth birthday."

The information caused him to wince inside. They would be toddlers when he killed their father. Remorse readied to attack his conscience as he watched her take residence of the adjoining sun bed.

"You are good with children. Do you have little ones of your own?"

He shook his head.

"No, I'm a bachelor."

"At your age?" she asked.

He burst into unintended laughter.

"Guess I haven't got the DNA of a fatherly, settling down type of guy. There's plenty of time."

"It soon passes."

Yes, it does, he realised.

"I haven't thanked you, for what you did earlier."

"No need to," he said. "I'm just pleased I was around at the time to help."

"Even so, I am grateful."

He turned his attention away from the playful group in the pool and smiled.

"I don't have much in but I can offer coffee, tea or a mildly cool soft drink."

"How will you eat tonight?"

"I'll wander into town a little later. I'm told the marina in Vilamoura is a nice place to eat."

She paused.

"Perhaps you would like to join us. It is the least I can offer for what you did today."

He thought for a moment.

"I have a better idea. Why don't you come to Vilamoura?"

"No, no. It is far too expensive to eat there."

"My treat," he said. "Think of it as an apology to Tessa for being so rough with her this morning."

"I must refuse. It is we that owe you."

"And this would be the best way to repay me, by joining me for dinner tonight."

He noticed a worried frown appear on her face.

"Why would you do such a thing?"

Why indeed, he thought.

"I'll bet you can't remember the last time you didn't have to prepare the evening meal. Don't worry. I'm outnumbered five to one so I hardly think it would be safe to change my mind at the last minute."

A smile replaced the frown.

"Why don't you give it some thought while I nip inside and get us a soft drink."

He left her to mull it over, returning shortly armed with two glasses of opaque liquid topped up with ice. She received his offering gratefully and sipped at the rim.

"Are you sure, about tonight?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he replied. "Would you prefer a table for six, seven, or a little later?"

"Six," she said. "They're constantly hungry."

"Okay, we'll set off around half five. Now, I'd better keep my promise about this piggyback ride in the pool."

He swigged at the drink, rose, and rounded to the deep end of the pool before diving in. A few strokes and he reached the foursome at the shallow end. There wasn't time to find his feet. They were on to him, in an instant, smothering him into submission as they pressed down and submerged his body under the water line.

Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea.

Chapter Thirteen

Temptation

Pretty in pink was the phrase in mind as he looked across the table. Maria had clearly made a conscious effort to spruce herself up despite the many difficulties she must have endured getting the rest of her brood ready. Matt recognised early she had not gone to these lengths for his benefit but for her own. The night represented an escape from motherhood, albeit for a short passage of time. This was an opportunity for her be a woman, for one night only.

Adult conversation proved somewhat limited throughout the hour long meal as he'd expected, the children requiring constant attention. This was particularly true of the twins who seemed to have taken to him. All in all, however, the children were remarkably polite and well-behaved; a true testament to her abilities as a mother. He had managed to peddle a half believable story about taking a career break to try and write a novel, a tale to which she listened politely despite the frequent interruptions. Matt admired her endless patience and resolve, knowing it was a job he wasn't up to. He accepted the return of the credit card from the waiter and turned to see her smiling at his red face.

"You will burn later tonight," she said.

"What's later got to do with it?"

She laughed.

"I did offer some sun cream."

"And I very foolishly refused," he quipped. "Let's take a walk around the marina."

The children rushed out of their seats towards the nearest shop and started to examine the tourist fare on display. They were boisterous and excitable though generally good natured. The adults paced steadily behind, along the paved walking area of the half moon bay.

"You have not asked about the father of my children."

"Not my place," he said.

She cocked her head to the side, intrigued by the apparent indifference, and offered him a look of curiosity.

"I cannot recall the last time I did this," she said. "Enjoyed a finely cooked restaurant meal and followed it with an after dinner stroll in the cool evening summer air. You have been very kind. Thank you."

"My pleasure," he said. "Oh, I've forgotten my manners. I do apologise."

Before she could respond he slipped his arm under hers and rested her hand on his forearm, thinking this would be a good move. She stopped, stepped away and glared at him. He raised his hands defensively.

"My mistake," he said. "I've overstepped the mark."

Her eyes filled with Iberian fire.

"What is it you are expecting in return for this so called kindness?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "It seemed the polite the thing to do."

He held his gaze, firm and true.

"Nothing," he repeated. "I just wanted you to relax and take a night off from parenthood. I did not expect, did not intend, and would not ask for anything remotely more than you enjoy these few hours of freedom."

Moisture doused the indignant flames he had inadvertently lit in her eyes, exposing her vulnerability. What made it worse was the knowledge that her emotional frailty was entirely due to him.

"Maria, I'm sorry," he said.

She bit her lip to hold back the tears.

"No. It is I who should apologise, for the overreaction," she managed to say.

Years of practice had enabled Maria to stifle the telltale signs of loneliness from the children. It was a skill she utilised to its full extent to recover her poise. Within a few seconds her expression had returned to normal, except he knew now that normality for Maria was suppressed heartache. Matt held up his hands, as though in apology, and tried to smile.

"I can take you home," he said.

"No," she replied, after a pause. "A peaceful stroll is what I wanted and this is what I shall enjoy. If you are prepared to escort me," she added, holding out her arm.

"Of course," he smiled.

They linked arms and turned to set off in leisurely pursuit of the four errant children several yards ahead. He thought to quicken their pace.

"No," she said, to prevent him. "You said this is my night, did you not?"

"Certainly did ma'am," he replied.

Ten arrived as they returned, more than enough time for Will to complete the task. After bidding good night he hurried to the mobile and used the speed dial to connect.

"What have you got?"

"Nothing," said Will.

"Nothing, you had hours!"

"I turned the whole place upside down, nothing. If she's got anything it must be on her."

"She wanders round in a bikini all day and wasn't wearing a good deal more for dinner. I think I would have noticed if it was on her."

"Well there's nothing in the villa. Did you manage to get a look in her purse?"

"She didn't have one."

"Time for plan B," said Will.

"Which is?"

"Seduction, you'll have to get in her pants."

"I am not seducing Tillman's wife. I killed her husband for Christ's sake."

"I know someone who'll do it."

"No."

"It's a straightforward in and out job, so to speak."

"No-one seduces Maria Tillman, Costa, or whatever she's called."

"You're going to have to think of something."

His friend was right. The trail had led them to Maria so she must have something to point him in the right direction.

"Let me think on it," he said.

"Don't take too long."

Page one eight seven. Two thirds complete. All this sex was starting to play on his mind. Maybe it was the European heat, or perhaps the excessive sunburn, generating the discomfort. His mind drifted back to earlier events, by the marina. Life had been, still was, pretty tough for Maria. It saddened him, her constant struggle to suppress unrelieved grief whilst trying to oversee the development of four young children. Some balancing act to pull off, he mused.

He recalled an early conversation with Will, about PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). Will explained how animals quickly rid themselves of the excess energy created by sudden and severe stressful situations, effectively surrendering their bodies to the natural biological process of discharge. Humans, however, tended to override this instinctual response with the rational part of their brain. They suppressed the energy surge, trapping it inside the body, the cause of PTSD. He wondered if Maria was in some small way a victim of this.

"How's the back?"

He glanced up at the separating wall and saw her smiling face looking down at him.

"Sore," he said.

"Don't you have any sun cream at all?"

"No," he admitted sheepishly.

"What is it with men and a lack of planning?"

"It was a last minute job," he protested.

She smiled in amusement.

"Why don't you pop over and I'll put some on for you."

"It's okay. You've got your hands full with the kids."

"They are settled for the night. One of the advantages of hot sun and a pool, it tires them out," she said. "And my one night of maternal freedom has still almost two hours to run."

He smiled and nodded. Tossing the paperback onto the white plastic table he vaulted the brick obstacle, instantly realising his folly when he crashed to all fours on the other side.

"Men lack common sense too," she said with a hearty laugh, disappearing inside.

He took position on one of the yellow sun beds by the pool and waited. Fortune had presented an ideal opportunity. She was lonely, vulnerable, in desperate need for companionship. So why did he feel uncomfortable? The absolute worst that could happen was that he might have to have sex with her on a couple of occasions to get the information he needed. And it wasn't as if the woman was unattractive. He sighed, knowing there was far more to this apprehension and uncertainty. He had slain her husband and deprived four young children of their father. Matt despised the situation he now found himself in and considered dreaming up an excuse to leave, a thought interrupted by the sound of a whisky tumbler being deposited on the paving stone next to him.

"Loosen your shirt," she said.

He hesitated.

"The quicker we get this cream on your back the better you will feel."

Reluctantly, he complied. He felt her small hands gently peel the linen garment from his angry red shoulders, and then ease the short sleeves down his arms. A fierce coldness caused him to shake and jump.

"Be still," she said.

"It hurts."

"It doesn't hurt. It is cream. The cold sensation will not last for very long."

Her hands began to slowly smooth the creamy substance into his skin. Relief was instant.

"You are badly burnt. What possessed you not to cover up during the day?"

"It's a man thing," he said.

"It is stupid, that's what it is. I may as well have had five little children to watch over today."

No sooner had the words escaped then the massage came to a sudden halt. He waited, and she resumed.

"You must think I am a terrible mother."

"No. Why would you say that?"

"Because of what happened this morning," she said.

"You haven't got eyes in the back of your head."

Her fingers pushed hard into his back.

"I was careless."

"You were a victim of circumstance."

"Even so, if you hadn't arrived when you did..."

"It happened because I arrived."

He thought he heard a sniffle and gingerly twisted his body round to face her. Tears ran openly from her sad eyes and he responded intuitively by raising his hand to softly wipe them away from her cheeks with his fingers.

"Maria, it was an accident and could easily have happened to any mother on the planet."

"She could have died."

"But she didn't. God's way," he whispered.

The weak smile on her face disappeared as quickly as it had arrived and she held her gaze. The opportune moment had arrived. This was it, if he wanted to take advantage of a sad and lonely woman. He hesitated. It was enough.

"I am almost finished," she said.

He turned away to feel another sharp burst of coldness splatter to his back. Her fingers resumed the delicate task, quietly easing the greasy substance into his damaged skin.

"What will your book be about?" she asked.

He hadn't considered she might ask him this.

"It's an environment thriller. I recently saw a documentary programme, warning about the perils of overpopulation and what could be done about it. It gave me an idea for a story of an ordinary guy who unwittingly receives details of a sinister master plan, to cull over half the world's population through the release of a deadly man-made virus. Standard fare I guess, man saves the world against overwhelming odds."

If he was expecting a reaction he didn't get one. The gentle manipulation of his skin continued at the same pace as before, without a noticeable break in speed or movement.

"And who would be responsible for conjuring up such an evil and wicked plan?" she asked.

"I haven't decided yet. I can't make up my mind whether the villains should be Government(s), or some secretive group of publicly paid officials acting together for what they believe is the greater good. What do you think, as a theme?"

"It is an interesting concept, totally unworkable of course."

"I wonder if it is," he said. "Think of it. As population growth continues unabated, the demands on natural resources multiply beyond the point of supply."

"So the solution is to murder everyone," he heard her say with amusement.

"Not everyone, only those who provide no useful purpose in life. The elderly, criminal classes and those consigned to a life of poverty."

"And you believe Governments would do such a thing?"

He shrugged.

"Maybe not," he said. "Sooner or later the world will have to face the problem though. Billions live in poverty already so the problem is already here."

"You sound like a disciple of your intended villains."

"Quite the contrary," he said. "I couldn't disagree more with any sort of approach of the like. It would make for a good storyline though."

Her fingers pushed a little harder into his skin, almost sensual in their application, and he was unable to prevent the purr of contentment escape from his lips.

"It feels good?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," he said.

His words prompted her to stop.

"It is warm enough this evening to keep your shirt off," she said. "Allow the cream to sink in."

The lingering moment had passed. Partly this brought disappointment from his burning flesh. Mostly he felt a huge sense of relief. It would be wrong to take advantage, to use, this woman. She stepped away to appear on the sun bed next to him, swinging her legs up and around to enable her to lay its full length. He copied the movement, without any of the grace, and lay quietly. Her silence steadily lengthened and he wondered what subject matter occupied her mind. Eventually, he could resist no longer and glanced across.

The stone coloured shorts contrasted with the olive tone of her bare-footed long legs. She had changed back to a purple bikini top, visible through the opened and loose-fitting silk blouse. Her hair had been loosened to fall down and rest to her shoulders, make-up left in place. One small sip at the tumbler and tension seemed to rise and evaporate from her muscles. This was her time, brief respite and temporary freedom from the role of being a single mother to four.

"I should leave you to it."

"No, please. I would like you to stay," she said. "Another presence is good, relaxing. We do not have to talk."

He sat patiently as she sipped twice more at the alcohol. It was surprisingly relaxing to spend some quiet time with this remarkable woman, by the side of a pool in the warm summer air. The minutes passed peacefully. He glanced across and noticed the glass tumbler resting on her tummy in danger of falling from her grip. Maria had fallen asleep. He stepped over and gently loosened the leaning glassware from her grasp, placing it on the plastic table aside before resuming his position on the sun bed. Minutes turned to hours as he gazed up into the night sky, looking for Sam and Genevieve. He wondered what she was doing right now.

"I have been rude," said Maria, out of the blue through half opened eyes.

"Resting would be a better description."

"You have sat there throughout, while I have slept?"

"You were right," he said. "It is pleasantly relaxing to have another presence nearby."

She ran her long fingers erratically through her dark mane, blinking frequently to refocus her eyes.

"I put your drink on the table," he said.

Her troubled gaze fixed on his face, leading him to think he'd somehow upset her.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why what?" he answered.

"Why are you being so kind to me?"

The question made him think.

"I hadn't considered it as a kindness, only a way of helping someone who needed help."

The ensuing yawn told him she was beyond deliberating the matter further.

"Go on," he said. "Get yourself to bed. I'll tidy up."

"I can't let you do that."

"Yes you can. I'm not obligated to see to four young mouths first thing in the morning."

Logical thought had still to return to her mind.

"I shall reward you tomorrow," she yawned carelessly, soon followed by an expression of shocked bemusement.

"It's okay," he said. "I won't hold you to it."

She didn't even attempt to answer, just wiggled her fingers in some sort of departing gesture and went inside.

Chapter Fourteen

Confession

The next few days sailed by, much too quickly. His job was to get in, extricate the information, and then get out. Instead he found himself trapped in a recurring dilemma. His admiration for Maria grew by the day. Her endless patience, care and willing self-sacrifice speared into the heart of his conscience. How could he betray this wonderful woman, after everything he'd done to drag her to her knees, wounded and bleeding from the suffering he'd imposed?

A would-be author had been his cover story so he made every effort to ensure she saw him tapping away at a laptop whilst hiding from the basking heat under an umbrella. He'd always believed he lacked the imagination to write a book yet the story began to take shape, though it helped he was writing from personal experience. At times his concentration became so intense he would lose track of time, broken by the four sets of legs suddenly appearing in front of him. One look into the pleading eyes and he surrendered to the demands for attention, allowing Maria to take full advantage of some serious sun time. The upside was that he didn't have to argue with the modern kitchen appliances, Maria considerately stirring up an extra plate for the evening family meal. And the fare provided was extraordinarily tasty.

"It's very good. I'm impressed," she said, on his return from inside after setting the dishwasher away.

He'd hoped she'd read his words, it was to be the basis of his introduction to tonight's topic of conversation.

"Early days," he said. "Since you put that doubt in my mind I question whether it could actually happen. I mean, is it truly believable a Government would take the decision to implement such a drastic measure, even if it had the capacity."

"The way the world is now, who knows?" she said.

He used the lull to gather his thoughts.

"I don't suppose you ever worked in Government circles."

"Me, no," she said. "Microbiology used to be my field."

"Really?" he said.

His surprise caused her to laugh.

"I was not always a mother."

"What field of science were you in?"

It took her a few moments to answer.

"Virology," she eventually said. "Particularly in relation to understanding various forms of cancer and the ongoing search for effective viral treatments," she added.

"Wow. Do you miss it?"

"I miss the challenge of working under pressure against the clock, the science. John would have been a better person for you to talk to, if it is the political dimension which interests you."

"John?"

"My late husband," she said. "He would stalk the corridors of power at the heart of Government. If there was one person who could have provided you with an authoritative insight on the subject it would have been him."

He smiled feebly.

"Sounded like he would have been ideal," he said. "Do you miss him?"

She tipped her head to the side while considering the question.

"How do you miss someone you hardly ever saw? John was married to his job, work being both his wife and mistress. On the few occasions he did have the time, or even bother, to come home...well, you can see the outcome."

His gaze travelled to the four young children, doing their best to keep each other entertained until given the instruction to resume their boisterous enjoyment of the pool.

"You have not had an easy life."

"All army wives become widows the day they wed. More so to those who have the drive and ability to climb up from the lower ranks," she said.

"Your husband was army? For a moment I thought you said he..."

"Career advancement," she said. "John started in the army and was selected to join an elite unit. From there it was a short hop to intelligence and counter terrorism. I did my best to persuade him otherwise but his mind was set immediately. My patriotic duty, he kept saying. How could a wife argue against the call of duty?"

"Do you regret..."

"The children, no," she said. "They are everything to me and could not imagine life without them. My gain has been John's loss."

"I meant getting married, to someone as committed to work as he obviously was. It must have placed considerable strain on the relationship," he said.

She thought long and hard about her answer.

"There were many years between John and I. It is the familiar tale of a young woman blinded by the magnificence of the masculine form at its peak. John was bold, confident and fearless. Everything I was not. My mother did try to warn me, that he was the type of man who could not be confined or be monogamous. But, like all besotted post teenagers released from the confines of higher education, my coloured vision of life was fixed. It did not take long to discover John's frailties. The gloss of marriage lasted for as long as it took him to tire of both me and of domesticity. By then I had been persuaded to adapt to a life of housekeep and to raise children. John was insistent we should have many young."

"Did he ever...?"

"Of course," she said, completing the sentence. "There was one in particular. Her scent would still be on him when he came home. It was almost as if, for this one, he wanted me to know of the woman's existence in his life. I naturally behaved as though I had not noticed."

"Why?"

Her shoulders raised in a subtle shrug.

"Life had been lonely and took its toll, confidence sapped by the years. And I had always believed, once he became too old for his job, that age would settle his restless spirit for our later years. It was not to be. After he died, I reverted to my maiden name and chose to return to my homeland."

"For some reason I thought you were Spanish."

"Portuguese," she corrected.

"At least you will have had your mother to help."

Another subtle shrug emerged.

"She has not forgotten my disobedience to her advice."

"I'm sorry."

"The children compensate. Perhaps it is why John wanted me to have them," she replied with a wistful smile.

"What happened to him?"

"He was killed while on duty abroad, by a terrorist."

"A terrorist?" said Matt.

"John told me some fool had hacked into and downloaded sensitive files and he had been charged with the responsibility for recovering the information. By the time he'd caught up with the hacker the files had been passed on to someone else leading John to believe a network was in place. He left soon after and I never saw him again"

"How can you be sure a terrorist killed him?"

"This is what they said when they came to tell me. A few days earlier John called to say he had located the person they were tracking and hoped it would soon be over. The next thing I knew they were knocking on my door."

"What was so important about this information?"

"I don't really know. John said there was a danger the new person in possession of the files could ruin everything if he managed to breach them."

"Do you know what he was talking about?"

"No. This was as much as he felt able to tell me."

Her fidgety gaze told him there was more. The trick now was to extract the rest without revealing his true purpose.

"What about you?" she asked unexpectedly, turning the nature of the conversation. "You said you have a partner?"

"Yes."

"And no children?" she asked.

"No."

He felt awkward.

"The book," he said. "I needed some space."

"She is very understanding."

"Yes, she is," he replied after a pause.

Maria turned her head and looked him in the eye.

"Do you love her?"

"Are we allowed into the pool now?" said a child's voice.

"Yes, but be careful. I do not want to suffer another repeat of what happened to Tessa."

The four youthful bodies charged into the water, like penned salmon released from captivity. Within moments two young faces popped up from the water's edge and peered at him.

"Will you come and play with us, Matt?"

Maria smiled.

"You are in demand."

"Seems like it," he said. "Do you mind if..."

"Mind?" she laughed. "I think you must have caught too much sun today to think I would object for an hour or two."

"An hour or two?" he said.

"You are young and energetic. Go play," she said, slipping the ridiculously large sunglasses over her eyes.

He watched her settle back on the sun bed, unable to conceal the impish grin.

"Matt, are you coming?" asked the two children in stereo.

She raised her head and the grin widened into a full smile.

"What are you waiting for? Go, go," said Maria.

The question mark fell into place at the same time the glass tumbler appeared to the side. She pulled up a chair to sit next to him and peered at the screen.

"That should be an exclamation."

His fingers lifted cautiously from the keyboard.

"Here, let me," she said.

He sat glued to the screen as she replaced the errant piece of grammar, feeling his muscles tighten.

Shouldn't you be typing, she tapped into the keyboard.

You're too close. It's distracting me, he typed in.

He sensed her head turn, a questioning look on her face as she closely examined his taut features. To return her steady gaze could lead him into dangerous territory he realised. But only one more day remained for him to secure the information he needed. His mind churned with uncertainty.

You have someone in your life, she typed in.

Yes, he replied instantly on the screen.

This is the reason why nothing will happen, so you should not allow yourself to be distracted.

I've never wanted anything to happen with you, he replied on the screen.

Her quizzical expression remained for a while, longer than he was comfortable with, and he'd hoped he hadn't upset Maria. Then it converted to an amused smile.

So you are saying I am unattractive now, she tapped in.

Quite the opposite, he responded after a lengthy, awkward pause.

What's your next line?

He paused.

I don't know. You've made me lose my train of thought, he typed in.

Both were now conscious of the possibilities.

Then I shall leave you alone to concentrate on your book, she entered.

Maria leaned forward, hesitated, and then planted a light kiss to his cheek.

"What was that for?"

"A thank you," she said.

"You don't have to thank me."

Her dark eyes narrowed, as if perplexed. Then her right hand skipped against the keys.

I did.

His hand folded over hers.

"Thank you," he said, glancing nervously into her eyes. "For the thank you kiss," he added.

I'm going now, she typed in.

Matt clumsily removed the hand and held his breath. This is wrong, he kept telling himself, on so many levels. There had to be another way of tracing Rosa. He attempted to enter words into his manuscript and got them wrong. She nudged several times at the backspace button and the text retreated to the last full stop. Instinctively he shut his eyes in the hope she would magically disappear. He heard a movement, suggesting she was about to leave and retire to the nearest sun bed. He re-opened his eyes and focussed on the screen, feeling paralysed with uncertainty, much like a rabbit caught in headlights. Her face was closer, too close. The touching of lips lasted longer than he expected. Her arms snaked around his neck and they kissed again, much more than a gentle coming together of lips on this occasion. He could taste the malt whisky in her mouth, smell her sweet scent. Competing emotions swirled around in his head, the rights and the wrongs of this illicit liaison, but there was no denying the physical urge.

Heartbeats rapidly accelerated at the increasing frenzy of their embrace... and then slowed as she unexpectedly lifted her head away to look into his eyes. He could see the passion and the doubt, all mixed together.

Maria reached behind her back and unfastened the clips of her bikini top. He eased the straps off her slender shoulders, and cupped the ample bosom in his hands. Lowering his head, his mouth surrounded the urgently erect nipples in turn and she groaned, pressing his head to her chest.

His arm stole behind her knees and he stood, immediately conscious the plastic chair remained wedged to his body. She laughed and pushed it away and he carried her to the closest sun bed. He laid her down, the irises of her eyes widened with excitement and expectancy as he knelt down beside her. Maria lifted her body to push down the bikini bottoms.

"No," he said. "Let me."

She tore at the buttons of his short sleeved linen shirt and he threw it uncompromisingly to the floor before joining her on the firm sun bed. Lips pressed hard together as their hands swept around the contours of their meshed bodies for minutes on end. Maria raised her arms above her head and he gorged once more on her ample bosom, the circular movements of his tongue causing her to shiver and shudder with unadulterated pleasure.

He slipped off the sun bed to allow his mouth to trail down the olive skin of her stomach, her hands reacting by gripping at his hair to urge him on. Fingers slipped lightly beneath the rim of her bikini briefs as he began the sensual unwrapping of her femininity. He could hear her breathing resort to short and heavy gasps in anticipation of what was to come.

And then he stopped.

Matt lifted his head from her trembling frame and sank back on to his rear.

"What is wrong?"

"I can't do this," he said.

"What do you mean you cannot do this?" she protested, sitting bolt upright to glare into his eyes.

He couldn't bring himself to look at her. Matt turned his gaze to the shimmering water of the pool, focussing the mind on restoring his breathing to its natural rhythm. He could sense her confusion.

"Why can't you do this?"

He shook his head.

"It would be the wrong thing to do," he said, now looking to the ground.

"There did not seem too much wrong a few moments ago. I do not understand your sudden change."

He knew he had to somehow find the courage to face down her anger and offer an explanation. The hurt of rejection in her eyes speared into his soul the moment he looked at her. She reacted by covering her modesty with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"This is wrong," he said. "It's my mistake. I've made a terrible error."

He didn't intend to use those exact words.

"So now I am an error?"

He'd made a bad situation worse. Maria jumped up from the sun bed and sped inside without a word. Instinct caused him to rise and follow. He caught up with her in the kitchen, head cradled in her hands. She made a distinct point of turning her back on seeing him. His sudden rejection of her long pent up, suppressed, desire must have felt to her like an abject humiliation.

"Maria..."

"My body is repulsive to you."

"No, quite the opposite," he said.

"The children?" she asked. "I never sought a commitment from you."

"No."

"Neither had you to be concerned with consequence, for I can no longer conceive."

"That's not the reason."

"Then what is the reason?"

"It would be wrong."

"You have already said that. Why is it wrong? Is it because you have a partner?"

"That as well," he said.

"As well as what?" she demanded to know.

He took a deep breath. It was time. Matt held her gaze and looked deep into Maria's eyes.

"I am the man who killed your husband," he said.

Chapter Fifteen

What's in a Name?

Her half naked body charged at him with the ferocious intent of a lioness seeking to bring down prey. Fists pounded against his unprotected chest and Matt made no attempt to shield or fend off the barrage of blows raining upon him. All the time their passion rose outside he had felt the needles of anguished guilt pricking ever mercilessly at his soul, growing in intensity as they neared consummation of the physical act. This was nowhere as bad. His lack of defence enraged Maria further and she sought to gouge her nails into his chest, recoiling in sudden horror once she'd noticed the innumerable scar tissue marks dotted on the front of his torso. He expected obscenities to follow. Much to his surprise, she turned and fled.

There was nothing more to say or do. He had confessed his guilt to this marvellous mother of four, further scarring an already tortured and lonely soul.

Matt stepped wearily outside, looking helplessly up to the sky for divine inspiration as he made his way to the dividing wall. The sound of a trigger being cocked filled the still night and rooted him to the spot. Matt always believed in first instinct and this told him to leap to safety.

"I know how to use this," she said. "John taught me."

Reluctant hands slipped to his side

"I've no doubt he did," he said.

"Turn around," she ordered. "I want to see the face of the man who killed my husband so I can watch him die."

For a fleeting moment he considered making a desperate break for freedom. Instead, he turned slowly and looked her in the eye.

"What kind of warped and twisted mind preys on the widow and children of a man he has killed?"

The rapier thrust arrowed into its target, taking the wind from his lungs and making him feel like he'd been lanced through the pit of his stomach. But at least she'd left the door slightly ajar, offered a glimmer of hope. Somehow, he had to find the words to try and defend the indefensible. He glanced briefly at the finger wrapped tightly around the trigger and did his best to remain calm. Maria motioned him away from the potential safety of the wall towards the pool and he stepped cautiously aside.

"John told me terrorists come in the most surprising forms these days."

"I'm not a terrorist."

"How else do you describe a man who kills government employees for a living?"

"Desperate," he said.

He watched her finger slide away from the trigger and then it slowly returned to position.

"I wanted to live. When faced with life threatening danger the only thing on a man's mind is to kill or be killed, nothing more, nothing less."

"And damn everything else, such as the consequences to his family."

"When a man is trying to snap your windpipe by wrapping an arm around your throat from behind the last thing on your mind is to ask if he has a family."

"You have no remorse at all, do you?"

"I'm not going to apologise for taking the life of the man responsible for the brutal murders of my friends and who was also trying to kill me."

He regretted the outburst the moment it left his lips, more so when he noticed her gun arm rise and straighten. He tried to think quickly.

"Maria..." he began.

"You are the worst kind of living being," she said. "How does a man get to be so evil?"

"Have you considered how you're going to explain away a dead man in your garden to the police?" he said. "You don't want to do this."

"I can think of nothing else I would rather do. In fact I have dreamt of this moment."

Matt shook his head.

"Be careful what you wish for, Maria."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Pulling the trigger is easy, simple. It's what happens later that's important. If you've never seen a dead person before it's likely you'll get nauseous, be sick, and your body will tremble for a short while. Once the physical reaction has worked its way through the system you'll hope that's the end of it. But it's only the start. Nights will fill with restless sleep, fuelled by unpleasant dreams you won't be able to remember the next morning. And they go on, night after night."

"Stop trying to twist your way out of this by playing games with my mind."

"It's no game, Maria. I should know. I killed a man once out of a sense of revenge. Anger had taken hold of my mind, rage of my heart. Nothing seemed more important than to kill this one, particular, man. After I'd taken his life I felt like I could rule the world, that I was immortal. But then the nights came. They still come. They are a constant reminder I'm now a lesser human being than I was before. As they will remind you if you pull that trigger."

He watched the movement of her eyes as she reflected on his comments. They flicked from side to side as she attempted to properly digest the sentiment expressed.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "Why did you even come here at all? Is it some macabre fascination with the path of despair you leave in your wake?"

"I'm trying to trace a friend and prevent her from doing something reckless and dangerous, to a lot of people. The path led me to you."

"Another terrorist," she spat.

"Rosa Cain is not a terrorist."

Her grip on the weapon loosened and then tightened.

"I have heard this name."

"She was one of your husband's team until she decided to leave and help me."

"Help you do what?"

"The book I am writing," he said. "It's not based on fiction but on fact. There are people who want to resolve the global overpopulation crisis by releasing a deadly virus to reduce the number of human beings on the planet, rid the world of those who can't defend themselves. They say it is necessary for the future of mankind."

"A preposterous tale," she said.

"Is it so preposterous?" he said. "You're a virologist. How hard would it be to stumble upon a lethal viral strain that kills instead of cures? How long has the world, Governments in particular, debated the best way to secure the future prosperity of mankind against a background of diminishing resources? What does history reveal about how civilisations react when faced with the prospect of impending doom, when they finally reach the precipice? Remember the Mayans, the Minoans? Those civilisations collapsed after environmental disaster and led them to implode, to turn on each other. Archaeological evidence suggests that the masses turned on their masters in both instances for failing to protect the people. So is it really beyond the bounds of impossibility that the current rulers of our global civilisation would seek to strike first, take measures to maintain order and secure their dominant position before it came under threat? I was given an electronic copy of the plan. They intended to release this virus with the sole intention of decimating the numbers of humans on the planet. Only those people deemed physically and intellectually gifted were to be provided with an antidote, the means to survive; the remainder were to be left to suffer and die."

He could see in the concentrated expression her mind was at work, trying to determine the plausibility of what seemed like an outrageous assertion. Perhaps her mind was visualising the scenario as he spoke. Then again, for all Matt knew, she may favour just such an aggressive approach to population control.

"How dare you," she hissed. "What a despicable man you are to try and suggest that my husband, a lifelong upholder of the law, could ever stoop so low and involve himself in such a hideous thing."

"The scars on my body," he said, quickly pointing. "The ones that made you recoil in horror and disgust when you saw them for the first time in the light. John Tillman's friends inflicted these to try and persuade me to surrender the files I'd been given. Or do you think I would deliberately disfigure my own body to deceive you?"

He took a deep breath and prayed inside he was managing to find a way through.

"And the true irony of it all," he added, "is that the secret community of conspirators now want to stop the virus being released because they've discovered their antidote doesn't work, at least not without catastrophic side effects."

Her head cocked to the side as she glanced temporarily away, albeit in the blink of an eye.

"You know something, don't you?" he said.

"I know you are a murderer. What I don't know is the true identity of the man who killed my husband."

"You know my name," he said. "It's Matt, Matt Durham."

Her eyes widened at the mention of the name and a deafening silence filled the still night air. After what felt like an eternity the safety catch clicked back into place and he saw her hand first drop to her side then toss the weapon aimlessly onto the cushioned sun bed. Matt decided this was no time to look a gift horse in the proverbial mouth. In one flowing move he turned, vaulted the wall and raced into the safety of his villa. Bent double with hands resting on knees and breathing erratically it occurred to him. How could the mention of his name mean anything to Maria?

Chapter Sixteen

Can't Stop the Rain

He showered long and disconsolately after the uncomfortable, sleepless night. The mission had failed and he'd come as close to facing death as he wanted. And there was something else. He felt ashamed, riddled with all manner of negative emotions over his treatment of Maria. How could he deceive her so cold and heartlessly? She had already given him the answer. Only a vile fiend could have behaved with such wickedness towards a vulnerable woman.

Within twenty minutes he'd readied for the long homeward journey. There was no time for breakfast if he hoped to make the flight time. A last sweep of his eyes confirmed he had left nothing behind and he bounded down the stairs and out of the main door to the taxi, expecting the boot lid to pop open. He remembered the keys and approached the adjoining villa to search the lower steps and surrounding vicinity hoping to spot a letter box. The door opened.

"You are leaving."

"Yes."

Maria towered above from the top step, hands clasped behind her back. The red-rimmed eyes suggested she had endured a sleepless night too.

"I thought you came for information?" she asked.

"I'll find another way."

The concealment of her hands made him nervous. Perhaps she had decided to shoot him after all.

"You will not say farewell to the children?"

"No," he said, watching his foot nervously rub along the dusty ground. "I wouldn't know what to say," he added, looking at her worn and tired face.

"Then what did you want?"

"The keys," he said, holding out his arm. "I was hoping you would look after them until the rep got here."

Her left hand opened and they dropped into her open palm.

"Cheers," he said.

He stepped towards the taxi. A cigarette stub flashed from the driver's seat and the engine rattled into life.

"Matt?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. For Tessa," she said.

Cheeks flushed red he mumbled a response.

"The least I could do."

"Matt?"

For a moment he considered pretending he hadn't heard.

"Yes."

"The information you need is inside the villa."

He stared up, mouth agape.

"I never told you what information I was looking for."

"It is inside nonetheless."

Her next sentence was spoken in her native tongue. The gear of the taxi engaged and it pulled rapidly away.

"What the hell did you say to him?"

"That he wasn't needed."

She turned sharply and disappeared, leaving the door open to encourage him to follow. Somewhat apprehensively he lifted the case and stepped cautiously through the door. He found her at the breakfast bar, sipping at a glass of freshly pressed orange juice. Unsure what to expect he stood quiet and motionless, waiting for the conversation to resume. Her steely gaze zeroed in on him through the bottom of the glass. He waited for her to finish, his impatience obvious. A pair of young arms grabbed at his waist.

"Are you going to play with us in the pool today, Matt," asked the young voice.

"Of course he will, Tessa," said a defiant Maria. "But first we must have breakfast."

He looked aghast at the child's mother. A few hours ago she was intent on ending his life, now she was behaving as though everything was normal, that nothing had happened between them.

"I thought you had information?"

"I do."

"So give it to me and I'll be on my way and leave you alone for good."

"The children want to be entertained. Looks like you are going to have to wait."

"Wait, for what?"

"Until the children have retired," she said.

"Retired?" he snapped. "They don't go to bed until after nine tonight?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"You have to be f...."

Maria's finger shot up to her lips.

"The children," she said.

Yesterday there existed something of an electric, edgy touch to their shared glances and conversational exchanges. Today there was none. Cold, icy stares had replaced the warm gazes, physical indifference to the tactile rapport. The four children, grouped around the table waiting for service, had to be able to notice the difference. Maria returned to the counter for the remaining two bowls of cereal.

"Are you playing me?" he asked.

"No. I have the information."

"Then why drag this out?"

"Penance," she said. "Did you really think I would pass up the opportunity to make you work for it?"

The day had positively dragged, testing his patience beyond the limits of sainthood. Matt couldn't believe how hours could pass this slowly. All the while he felt the watchful gaze of her eyes, concealed beneath a fresh pair of sunglasses even darker than those worn previously. It was almost as if she didn't want him to be able to see her eyes, make visual contact with her plotting mind. Night had fallen. A brown envelope dropped into his lap as she silently took position on the adjoining sun bed, her face twisted in uncertainty.

"The children have retired?"

"Yes."

Tipping the contents revealed a well read letter addressed to Maria from her late husband. Surely this couldn't be the sum of what he had waited the whole day for?

"Is this it?"

"Yes."

"You made me wait all day for a letter?"

"Read," she said, sipping at the tumbler.

Maria,

This letter will be forwarded over a year after you have received the news I have been killed in action. It has to be this way. For the first six months they will observe you 24/7. Over the next six months surveillance will be reduced to waking hours though all communication you make or receive during this time will continue to be intercepted. I dare not take any chances. Once they're satisfied there's been no contact they'll stop monitoring you.

It is vital you keep the package I gave you safe and never let it out of sight until a man called Matt Durham calls, though he is unlikely to introduce himself openly. Once he's revealed his true identity you must hand it over, to him and to nobody else. He doesn't know it but he is the only person I could trust with the package, because he is not part of our community. I've even kept my own people in the dark about the existence of this package as I'm uncertain how far our own organisation has been infiltrated. Durham will know what he has to do with it. He is a good man. He still feels, has a conscience. And I envy him.

I'm tantalisingly close to revealing the truth; naming those behind it all. Yet as I write the nauseous feeling something is about to go hideously wrong strengthens, like a repeating premonition if you like. I hope I'm off the mark, just being overcautious.

There is one thing I need to say. I know I have not treated you well, always putting duty to my country before all else. Despite this I want you to understand I could have asked for no better mother for my four children and, for me, this is the only important aspect of life.

Love, John.

Matt re-examined the interior of the buff envelope and found it devoid of content. A quick glance to his left revealed Maria sitting stonily silent, her gaze lost to the blackening sky. No doubt she was recalling in her mind every single word he had just been reading, picturing each piece of grammar to this solemn epitaph of what he now believed was a good man. He fought to suppress the impatient urge to get to the point and ask the obvious question.

"He loved you more than life itself."

"You think so?" she said dispassionately. "Monogamy might have been a better way for John to display his apparent, and well-hidden, affection."

"I don't understand. Why..."

"You can read. He could trust no-one else."

"But he was trying to kill me."

"You can be sure of this?"

"He got the jump on me, at the jetty on the Wolfgangsee, in Austria. He had his arm around my neck, throttling the life out of me. I thought I was going to die."

"Did you never consider why he did just not shoot you? John was a marksman."

"It was dark and there wasn't time to search along the ground for a gun..."

His mind galloped back to that night, vividly recalling the struggle for life like it was yesterday. Tillman had taken him by surprise, so much so he would have had more than enough time to reach for the nearest available weapon and shoot before Matt could react.

"He never said anything to suggest his intention was any more than to kill me," said Matt.

Her sigh was deep, filled with sadness.

"When he left us for Canada John wrote down on a piece of paper that he lived in constant fear of being overheard. I said he was being paranoiac. His written response was to say we were being listened to as we exchanged notes and that he had to be forever on his guard in what he said, to anyone. I took this to mean others constantly monitored his movements and communications."

"Then why didn't he tell me this instead of trying to kill me?"

"John had to play his part, to the end."

His account of events enabled Maria to string the pieces of the puzzle together. Matt had yet to catch up.

"John did not wish you dead, only try to stop the release of the information you had in your possession until he'd fully infiltrated and discovered all who were involved."

The truth finally dawned.

"Maria," he muttered despairingly. "I didn't know. I didn't realise..."

"No, you didn't."

Speech deserted him, mind ablaze with wildly conflicting emotions about this surreal situation.

"But it is John's letter, and only John's letter, which has kept you alive," she whispered.

Matt could feel his stomach churn.

"There are others," she added. "Those who understood yet were content to allow events to happen. They must share the responsibility."

"Except I am the one who pulled the trigger, and in your eyes that must make me guiltier than the rest," he said.

"I will never forgive what you have done to me, to this family."

His heart ached with remorse at what he had forced upon this woman. She had breathed fresh life into four beings and made no demands in return, only to be rewarded with loss, deceit and betrayal.

"You have one more task before I hand you the rest."

He watched in cautious silence as Maria rose from her sun bed and paced towards him. In what seemed like slow motion she slid slowly down alongside where he lay to stare into his eyes before unexpectedly kissing at his lips, gently at first and then with greater urgency. His senses took temporary flight, retreating inwards in an attempt to suppress any sign of a physical response. There was no warmth or passion to her frenetic touch, just an irrational desire to feel anything other than loneliness. Maria's frantic urgings halted on sensing his non-participation and she raised her hands to push him away, before rolling away and turning her back on him so as not to look at his face. Matt thought he heard the sound of a gentle sob but his natural instinct to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder deserted him, replaced instead by the empty words of cold practicality.

"This can't be what you want?"

"No, this is not what I want," she said softly. "Not what I want at all."

Maria stood abruptly.

"Where are you going?"

"To wash your scent from my body," she snapped.

The locket launched itself at his head, hitting him on the point of the chin, before dropping to the ground. Maria spun round and hissed her hate-filled contempt.

"What you need is inside. Take it. Take it and never show your face to me again."

He watched her sprint for the sanctum of the villa and saw her sobbing frame head directly for the drinks cabinet. As he listened to her noise through the open window he manipulated a clip and the locket sprung open. He lifted out the photograph of Tillman and his wife. Behind it lay what resembled something similar to a computer chip. So this is where she had concealed it; all this time. Keep it close, her husband had asked. And she had done just that, waiting patiently for Matt to appear out of the blue and enter her life. Maria had been grievously hurt by Tillman's indifferent treatment towards her and the children. How could she not be wounded? Yet still she resolved to do his bidding from beyond the grave. There could be no finer example of a woman's love for a man.

The chip rested in the palm of Matt's hand. There was a secret held on this piece of electronic wizardry, one which had his heart beating like crazy. It was that best-Christmas-ever feeling. The one where the nervous and excitable child ripped away the wrapping to unveil the present, the one you always wanted and you'd been angling for your parents to buy all year. The excitement he felt was palpable, unbearable. He couldn't wait to get started.

He noticed the photograph, discarded with dismissive haste onto the cooling ground. Two happy, smiling faces filled the space, dressed for their wedding day. Maria's smile shone like a beacon, since to be subsequently subdued by the darkness that would follow in her life. Matt gently picked up the shiny image and tucked it back into place, restoring the locket to its original composition. Though he had finally got what he was after it didn't feel right. He looked again at the locket and realised there was something he had to do first; something that was required, necessary.

A trembling hand lifted the tumbler to her mouth as he entered the villa. She heard the footsteps of his approach and turned sharply, struggling to place the tumbler neatly onto the marble worktop as she glared at his uninvited presence.

"I told you to get out of my life," she yelled.

He narrowed the gap and stood before the shaking frame. Her clenched fist jerked and swiped at his jaw, momentarily jarring him into senseless confusion. He recovered, and she threw up a second tightly clenched fist which he halted by catching her wrist. Her remaining arm followed suit but he caught that too by the wrist. And then the tears started to roll down her cheeks. There were no cries to the heavens, no wails out into the dark, just an endless stream of tears.

"I can't stop the rain falling on to my heart," she cried.

He pinned her arms around her back and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Resistance was minimal and brief.

"I'm sorry, Maria. I'm so, so sorry," he whispered softly into her ear.

Chapter Seventeen

Alliance

Almost five thirty according to the illuminated time showing on his watch. Nearly dawn and so far the contents of the chip had been a disappointment. Not so much an exposé but a diary of a tortured soul. Who would have believed a man like John Tillman, hardened and granite-jawed leader of a crack team of special operatives, would resort to maintaining a record of his innermost thoughts in a personal log. Matt expected intricate accounts of the man's secretive professional life, dangerous and covert missions undertaken in foreign climes on behalf of Her Majesty's Government and its allies. The reality couldn't have been further from the truth. Acres of text revealed the apparent disdain he felt towards people and his increasingly fractious state of mind at the state of the world in general and his life in particular. And it appeared to stem from events that occurred in Austria and the operation Will had mentioned before. Most striking of all, the log contained next to nothing about his domestic life, either of his children or Maria. Matt decided to return to the passages on Austria and review the entries Tillman had recorded. There had to be something in this part of the log that was relevant, something he had missed the first time.

Her gaze mesmerises me, her smile intoxicates. Every conversation is an intellectual challenge, her razor sharp wit demanding total concentration of the mind. With each astutely delivered thrust, parry, and counter thrust she searches into the farthest reaches of my mind and I find it totally compelling trying to keep pace with her sheer speed of thought, her intellectual dexterity. And then there are the nights. The hue and softness of her youthful skin, the antithesis of my own white and worn flesh, offers a degree of physical pleasure which I find irresistible. Every time she is close I find her both beguiling and bewitching in equal measure. She is unique, different, perfection. I long for the nights to arrive.

The words were almost poetic. Whoever this woman was had Tillman on the end of a rope which, whenever the whim took her fancy, could be shortened or lengthened to her heart's desire. This was the tipping point in Tillman's life. Events or a particular circumstance had brought this man into contact with a person who had changed his entire perception of life, brought questions of his own existence to the fore. This woman had succeeded in reducing a proud, courageous and fearless man to his knees. But who was she?

Matt flicked back to the information on Tillman's carefully constructed team. Vega One he'd named them, Vega after the name of the brightest star in the universe. Tillman expected they would outshine all others within the security community thereby reflecting his own perceived standing. The numeral he added because they were to be the first of a number of crack squads he expected to put together. The man certainly didn't lack confidence, enjoyed the smell of his own dung, making his collapse into a weak-kneed and besotted lover all the more surprising.

Six photographs flashed up on screen. Rosa's stunningly beautiful face drew his immediate attention. Will was right. She could walk into a room and make every head turn. The adjoining photo was Will himself and the one next to him that of Helen Nash. Underneath were the final three. The pictures of the two virtually identical men, so remarkably similar they could be twins, were next. In the final frame was Lily, face adorned with her usual uncompromising and unsmiling expression. Tillman had waxed lyrical in the log about their individual characteristics. Rosa Cain; blessed with the ever present smile and sunny disposition behind which she hid her true sentiment on life and people. He never could determine the real thoughts beyond the piercing blue eyes and was a direct contradiction to Lily's dour and forceful demeanour, surly to boot. Helen Nash, incessantly noisy and boisterous, couldn't keep anything to herself. Everyone knew exactly what was on Helen's mind at any given time. Of the men Johnno was the expansive one forever chasing the opposite sex. His doppelganger Toby Rowe, the hacker, could best be described as naturally reserved while Will, the last in line, was known to be studious and considered in everything he did and thought.

An odd mixture, this disparate group, Tillman had written in the log. Individually he couldn't see him spending much time with any of them yet, when together, they gelled into an outstanding collective with whom he would happily commit his time. Loyalty, to each other and him, was the consistently applied theme he used to explain their camaraderie; the glue which bound. Matt wondered, as he gazed upon Lily's photo, what caused the breakdown in this sturdy relationship.

"I believe it was her," said a voice from behind.

"Jesus," he yelled, leaping from the chair. "What the hell are you doing here, Maria?"

"I could not sleep and saw the light on when I got up to make coffee. You have been reading all night?"

Heart rhythm settling back to normal he resumed position and cast a studious eye over the intruder. Maria was in her daywear, a bikini, loosely covered by a three quarter patterned wrap he assumed she was using as a gown.

"How did you get in here?"

Her hand rose to reveal a set of keys.

"I have masters for all of the properties."

"You have more?"

"Seven in all," she answered. "They were bequeathed to me courtesy of my late husband's estate."

"How the hell did he manage to buy up so much property in Portugal on his salary?"

"I did not ask, just accepted the award as set out in his last will and testament."

"Then..."

"I use a letting company. They take more of the rentals than I would prefer but there is the issue of convenience."

"You're not short of money then?"

"The current economic climate leaves a lot to be desired and the income stream is an inadequate substitute for some of the finer things in life."

"Of course," he mumbled apologetically.

Feeling uneasy he returned to the screen to examine Lily's picture.

"What makes you think it was her?"

"She is the closest match to the description, the hue and youth of her skin."

"You've read the log?"

"Up to the point he described her," she said.

He nodded in understanding, keeping his eyes focussed on the screen to avoid eye contact.

"Is she Pakistani or Indian?"

"Indian descent," replied Matt, uneasily. "You should go back to bed and let me crack on."

The continuing silence added to his sense of unease. Bad enough for her to be standing there, worse that he could feel her eyes fixed on the back of his head.

"Your cup is empty. I shall make some fresh coffee."

"Maria, I'm okay. The children will be up soon. Go back to bed and get some rest. I'll tell you if I find anything. Not that it's very likely given what I've read so far."

"The log contains nothing about the people he was trying to infiltrate?"

"No, and there's only a couple of sections left."

"There must be something in there. Are you sure you haven't missed anything?"

"Certain," he said edgily.

"Perhaps you have sat too long without a break. Tiredness can sometimes cause..."

"I haven't missed anything."

He waited, back turned on her, in the hope she would get the message. It took a few moments for her to make the decision to leave and he heaved a sigh of relief. Seconds later he heard her moving around the kitchen and looked over to see Maria at the coffee machine. Not what he wanted.

"Two sets of eyes will be better than one that has grown tired through lack of rest," she said, returning with two mugs.

"Maria..."

Ignoring the objection she placed both mugs on the table and sat beside him. Fatigue had taken its toll of his patience and he readied the rebuke which would send her packing.

"I do not like this situation any more than you," she said. "But John asked you be given this material and so I must put my personal feelings aside."

The comment silenced his prepared censure. He wondered why she had adopted a conciliatory tone all of a sudden.

"Look, there might be other things in here you don't want to know about."

"Then I'll force myself to pretend it refers to someone other than my husband in much the same way I force myself to pretend, no matter how hard, that you are a decent human being."

The words red rag and bull sprang to mind.

"I do not want you constantly looking over my shoulder while I'm working through this," he snapped. "It's not going to work."

"I hardly think sitting and reviewing the log together could be construed as interference."

"Just because your husband left this for me it doesn't mean I have to do anything with it."

Maria baulked at the sincerity, eyes quickly moistening. It had to be a ruse to soften his mood.

"Do you not care for anyone else but yourself?" she said. "Perhaps this is why you are yet to marry. You can think of no-one else."

"This is not about me."

"John believed it was," she said. "However, I can see his assessment of you was quite wrong. You are a man without conscience or principle."

Rising abruptly she started for the door and he regretted his tone, cursing inwardly at the particular human trait of moral reflection. Maria had done nothing wrong said the voice in his head, other than raise his guilt to the surface. Matt leapt from his seat and caught her by the arm.

"Maria, stop."

"Take your hand off me!"

He held his grip.

"I told you to release me!"

This time he let go.

"You're right," he said. "I am tired, and two sets of eyes must be better than one. Let's work through it together."

Angrily silent she held her ground and glared stonily into his eyes. Matt held out his hand and motioned her forward.

"Please," he said. "I'm likely to miss something important if I keep doing this on my own."

After a few reluctant seconds she edged back to the seat and he joined her. He hesitated for a fleeting moment then dragged the cursor down the screen, towards the end of the log.

"These last two sections are marked appendices for some odd reason. This will be the first time I've looked at them."

The substance of the text resembled something more akin to an extract from a medical journal, full of scientific jargon and unpronounceable words. Even if his mind had been at its most receptive Matt wouldn't have been able to understand the messages it was trying to convey.

"This is interesting, truly fascinating," she said.

"I'm pleased you think so. It's all gobbledygook to me. I'll move on."

"Wait, scroll down a little further."

Maria's face lit up, eyes brightening with every sequence of words they took in.

"You understand this?"

"Fascinating," she said.

"You keep saying that."

"Hush and let me concentrate."

Matt fell back into the cushioned seat rubbing his weary eyes in a desperate attempt to massage some semblance of life into them. He sipped at the hot freshly made coffee and saw Maria to be entirely engrossed in the substance of the text.

"What do you make of it?"

"Hush I said."

Another couple of sips and still her eyes remained fixed to the screen. Feeling redundant Matt placed the mug back on the table and started to rise, only to feel her strong hand grab at his forearm.

"Wait there," she said.

"You don't need me."

"Wait!"

He slumped back, exhaling aloud to demonstrate growing impatience, a churlish mannerism Maria chose to ignore. The strength of her grip on his arm intensified.

"Wow!" she eventually said.

"Very scientific I'm sure. Are you going to let go now?"

The hold relaxed and she turned sharply to stare into his eyes, a hand running through her tousled hair.

"What have you seen?"

"It's an impact assessment."

"What are they measuring?"

She appeared not to have heard him, her second hand joining the first to ruffle through her hair.

"Maria, what does it say?"

"So it is true," she said. "These people have developed a virus as deadly as you had described. And it is a remarkable example of genetic engineering, a brutal beast of an infection yet simple in construction. It's so hard to believe. And the way it mutates and..."

"Maria, plain English please. It's me you're talking to not a science professor."

"This would decimate the planet," she said, gaze distant and glazed in shock at what she had read.

There was no telling how long the deep thoughts would engulf her thinking providing Matt with the opportunity to seize back his hardware. A flurry of hand movements and he had moved on to the next section. First to catch his attention was a series of numbers, 146.101.249.107, and it took him a few moments to understand the sequence. He typed in the numerals as laid out, waited for a few moments, and then the screen went blank.

"What has happened?" asked Maria.

"I'm not sure. I thought I'd entered an IP address and this is the result, a blank page."

He double checked the numbers and re-entered them into the laptop, with the same result.

"Perhaps it isn't an IP address," she said.

Matt drifted into deep concentration, unable to understand the anomaly. The numbers had to represent an IP address. So why hadn't this worked as it should? Another attempt resulted in the same annoying outcome. But if it wasn't an IP address then what did the numbers represent?

"You must finish what John had started," she said. "This is why he wanted you to have this information."

"I can't," he said. "I've already promised someone I would do only the job asked and then return home."

"I can help with the science."

"Maria, I can't. I made a promise."

A flutter of eyelids and then her gaze hardened.

"John wanted you to finish what he started. I now want you to complete his mission and will help in any way I am able. It is what you must do, the least you should do if your remorse is genuine."

The play on his conscience twisted at his gut like a knife.

"The job needs specialist expertise," he said.

"I can work on the science with the help of published scientific journals and access to the internet. I would also need a lot of free time."

"There are other resources needed, such as the ability to crack this code and I don't have the expertise."

"But you know someone who does?"

She wasn't going to let it go.

"And I'll also need to talk to someone."

"Use the phone."

"No. You're not the only person in the world who has been subjected to surveillance, and I don't want anyone listening in to my conversations."

"Then bring the people you need to talk to here."

"You wouldn't like it."

"Enjoyment is something I have learned to live without."

Chapter Eighteen

Questions

Sinking hands into a basin of piping hot water is never a good idea. He did it anyway.

"Jesus!"

"I told you to use the dishwasher."

"They're useless when fully loaded."

The cold tap burst into life and he let the water run over his throbbing fingers before drying them with the kitchen towel.

"Apart from the dishes why else did you draw my attention to get me over?"

"This was a bad idea."

"You said you needed to talk with these people, away from prying eyes and ears, did you not?"

"I do."

"Then it was right to bring them here."

The insipid smile he attempted to offer felt more like an unintended grimace.

"Pass me the first plate," she said.

He obliged and she wiped at the uneven surface.

"This has to be hard for you."

"Whatever needs to be done," she said.

He kept his gaze on the task at hand.

"Were the family really pissed when you cancelled on them at the last minute?"

"A little offhand," she said. "The new accommodation suits them better, however, closer to the beach."

"How many properties did you say you had?"

"Seven. John wanted to add more. I assume the intention was to supplement his retirement income."

"Where on earth did he find the money from?"

"I never asked how he paid for them."

The conversation lapsed into silence. Matt struggled to think of a fresh subject.

"She is beautiful."

"I like to think so. But I'm biased in all matters Grace."

"And clever," she said.

"She's a lot smarter than me," he admitted. "Then again, most other people are," he added, attempting humility.

"I did not envisage her to be..."

"A German," he said quickly.

"Yes, a German," she said.

He offered the next piece of wet crockery.

"Have you known her long?"

"Long enough," he answered.

"How did you meet?"

"By chance," he said. "I was visiting some old friends and she happened to be there."

"And your relationship started from there?"

"Yes and no," he said, after a moment's thought. "For me the physical attraction was instant, and then she smiled and I was gone. It never occurred to me she might feel the same way, have any interest in an ordinary guy like me."

"Ordinary?"

"I run a small tourism business in Canada. Gratia, as she was known then, worked as a high powered executive for a multinational company based in Germany; complete and utter opposite ends of the employment spectrum."

"As she was then?" questioned Maria.

"She was forced into leaving her job, changing her name and relocating, in order to escape who I thought were your late husband's friends. Her official identity today is Grace, Grace Fox, but I prefer Gratia. It suits her better."

"And she gave it all up for you?"

"Everything; lock, stock and barrel. I still can't believe it myself at times to be honest. I work as hard as I can to try and provide as much as I can but whatever I achieve will never compensate for the lifestyle she surrendered."

"It would be hard to lose such devotion."

The comment made him uncomfortable, awkward. The fingers of her hand brushed the edge of his as she reached for the next plate. The contact rooted him to the spot.

"I'm sorry," he said without thinking.

Her fingers loitered for what could have been no more than a split second, one heartbeat amongst thousands during any given day.

"Maria..."

"I will say nothing of your attempt at seduction."

He nodded, after a pause for thought. Maria's generosity should have provided him with some measure of reassurance. He still felt uneasy.

"You are satisfied you know all that you need to know about Gratia?"

Another curious question, he considered.

"Yes, why?" he asked.

The question failed to elicit a reply as Maria now appeared preoccupied, lost in thought.

"It can take many years to know another person, discover who they really are."

"I'm sure you're right," he said defensively.

The questioning unsettled him and he worried Maria might see this as an opportunity to get a little of her own back, exact some form of revenge.

"You're not going to...?"

"There are more important matters we must deal with, for the moment at least."

She popped the last of the crockery into the cupboard and they joined the others. Grace's warm smile did its best to disguise a recently furrowed brow and he guessed this was because she'd been watching the two of them talk, interested in the content of the conversation.

"My late husband worked with a woman called Gratia at one time," said Maria.

"The name is not too uncommon in Germany."

Maria smiled politely at the somewhat dismissive reply giving Matt cause for concern the two women would clash, though it seemed an innocent enough conversation piece.

"Perhaps you met him through your own work, possibly at one of the numerous European conferences he seemed to forever attend."

"The name Costa doesn't come to mind and I'm usually good with names."

"Costa is my family name," said Maria. "Tillman was my husband's name, John Tillman."

"No," replied Grace. "I don't recall the name, but then I used to meet a lot of people in my old job."

The Portuguese woman stretched her arm over to the nearby chest of drawers and plucked up a picture frame. She smiled at the encapsulated photo and offered it to Grace.

"This is him."

Jenna drew a chair up to her friend and the two women investigated the image, taking their time to examine the bold face beside that of their host.

"What did he do?" asked Jenna.

"John was a diplomat for the British Government though in what precise capacity I cannot be sure; something to do with the Official Secrets Act."

"No, I've never been introduced to a man by the name of John Tillman," said Grace, returning the photograph.

Maria replaced the item and then clapped her hands.

"Come children, it is time to retire," she said.

The brood responded to their mother's instruction without a murmur of discontent, waving goodnights to the recently arrived array of guests. Before departing Maria had one final question.

"I do like your perfume, Grace," she said. "Perhaps you could let me have the name before you leave Portugal."

The polite nod acknowledged the request and Maria smiled in return. They watched the family leave, Matt escorting them to the door.

"What lovely children," he heard Jenna remark.

Grace agreed, admitting to holding some admiration for the manner in which Maria handled her offspring.

"A master class in motherhood," said Matt.

"Somehow, I don't think you asked us all to come over here for a lesson in parenthood," said Grace. "What else is on your mind?"

He glanced at Will and his friend recognised the signal. Jenna, being the one member of the group oblivious to all that was going on, noticed the subtle exchange.

"What are you two up to?"

"Business planning," he quickly replied, smiling into the almond shaped eyes of her part oriental face. "Throwing a few days holiday into the bargain as well seemed like a good idea."

"Business, in Portugal?" she asked.

"Away from the eavesdropping ears of our competitors," chipped in Will. "It never does any harm to be careful."

"Sounds to me like paranoia," said Jenna.

"Why don't you go and see if Maria needs a hand, While Matt and I talk numbers."

"Yeah, like Maria needs our help."

"Surface calm," said Matt. "Looking after four kids every day has to take its toll. I'd bet she'd jump at the offer."

"Unpacking makes more sense," said Grace.

They waited for the ladies to disappear.

"What have you got?" asked Will.

"Tillman's personal, and very secret, log."

"Tillman kept a personal log! What's on it?"

"There isn't time to go into detail. They'll be back soon and I want to run one or two things past you, things you might be able to help with."

Matt retrieved the laptop from the coffee table and brought it out of hibernation. After showing the number sequence he typed them in to the computer.

"It's blank," said Will, puzzled.

"I know. I thought these numbers related to an IP address but clearly they're not because this is all I get."

"They might still be," said Will. "Could be that particular site is cloaked."

"Cloaked?"

"Disguised, camouflaged, hidden from view," said Will. "I could use some other words to describe ..."

"Yeah, yeah, I understand the word cloaked but I thought the point of having a website was to promote your wares not keep them hidden from view. Why would anyone want to do that?"

"Depends what you're trying to hide. There are all sorts of weird stuff out there."

"Is it easy to cloak a site, I mean can anyone do it?"

"Like you said, it wouldn't be normal."

"What about these, do you know what they are?"

His friend studied the random set of figures now up on the screen; 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 18, 19, 20, 21, *,*

"They look like some sort of access code."

"Okay, but access to what?"

"Probably to some sort of vault. I'm guessing the first line of numbers do indeed indicate an IP address and the next set are the access codes to gain entry."

"I guess we'll never know without uncloaking the web site first. Until that's done I'm going absolutely nowhere with this damn thing."

His friend started to laugh.

"Even if you did uncover the site you still need the values of the two quotients."

"Quotients?" said Matt.

"Unidentified figures, variables numbering between one and God knows what."

"What's the point of that?"

"To stop anyone cracking the code," Will replied. "Any average hacker worth his salt could come up with a program to uncloak a web site. Having an unknown or two on the end of access codes makes it virtually impossible for anybody to penetrate."

"What makes you think it's an access code anyway?"

"Eleven numbers. Tillman was born on the eleventh day of the eleventh month and used to encrypt all his personal files with the same number of entries. Everyone has their own little quirks."

"Why would Tillman only leave part of the information he wanted me to have rather than all of it?"

"What makes you think he left it for you?"

"There was an accompanying letter, addressed to Maria, asking her to hand it over to me when I turned up."

"Tillman left instruction she should give it to you?"

"I know. It surprised me as well."

"Why didn't he leave it for one of us?"

"According to the letter he didn't trust all of you."

"We were his team."

"I know, but something spooked him."

Matt allowed a brief silence to fall, giving his friend time to take stock.

"Does she know...?"

"Yes," said Matt.

"Christ!"

Another silence, more time to reflect.

"There's something not right about this, Will."

"You're telling me?"

"And these numbers are the key to unlocking the mystery. So how do I get in?"

"What about the text underneath?" Will asked. "Doesn't that give you the clue you need?"

"Have a look, see what you think."

Three in need of enlightenment follow a master into the light of dawn before retiring into the lunar light.

"Any ideas?" asked Matt.

The resultant silence told him there wasn't. Matt jumped up in frustration, almost toppling the chair. He paced to the half open French windows and looked up at the bright moon as his mind sought to make sense of the puzzle.

"There has to be a way," he muttered to himself.

"There might be."

"You've thought of something?"

"No," said his friend. "When I said virtually impossible to access I meant by the likes of you and me."

"So who could get access?"

"Toby Rowe is your man. He's a bloody electronic genius. If anyone can get into Tillman's vault it will be Toby."

"Shit!"

"What's up?"

"I've lost them, Rosa and the rest of your old team."

"You were looking for them?"

"They've got hold of some of the virus and Catherine wants me to get it back."

"What!"

"Ironic isn't it, me helping Catherine."

"I thought Maria had paid for the boat. Doesn't she know where they are?"

"She had a burglary a few months back and didn't notice the credit card was missing. And the address is out of date. Christ!"

The full-bodied black moth hovering outside the French doors almost became the victim of Matt's frustration.

"I could get in touch," said Will suddenly.

He tempered this news with a degree of caution. Tillman had written he could trust no-one.

"How?" he asked.

"There are ways to make contact."

Will's returning, immovable gaze offered no insight as to how contact would be achieved. Time ticked slowly by as Matt mulled over the options.

"Do it."

Will nodded.

"But once you've set up a meet you back away."

"They're my friends."

"I don't care. You back away, right?"

"I could help to..."

"No," said Matt sharply. "I don't want you involved."

Grace and Jenna reappeared to curtail the conversation and he smiled in an attempt to reduce the tense atmosphere.

"Jenna, when I invited you here," said Matt, grinning. "I forgot to mention it was a working holiday."

"Working, at what?"

"Childminding," he said. "Maria has got important work to do for me and needs a kindly individual with the patience of a saint to watch over the kids while she's working. As a trained paediatric nurse I thought you'd be ideal."

"You are not serious!"

Chapter Nineteen

Pillow Talk

His mind felt uneasy. She wasn't going to like what he had to say and he still couldn't think of the best way to approach the subject. Head sunk back into the palms of his cupped hands he looked up at the ceiling. The bathroom light clicked off and he felt the mattress depress to announce her arrival. Her slender arm slid across his chest, accompanied thereafter by a small head which now rested on his shoulder. They lay quietly for minutes on end, silent and content, locked in their individual thoughts.

"She is a little strange," said Grace.

"Who is?"

"Maria, that's who," she said.

"Why would you think that?"

"She kept staring at me throughout the night. Her eyes followed me everywhere."

"I don't think there's anything to worry about."

"She didn't do the same with Jenna."

"I didn't notice."

He could feel a difficult question coming.

"What were you both talking about, over the dishes?"

"Small talk," he said.

"Is that why you were both whispering?"

"We weren't whispering," he said.

"Well if you were not whispering then why could I not hear what you were saying?"

"Hah, so the real truth is you were watching her."

A little fist prodded into his bare ribs, bringing a broad grin to his face.

"You two are, or have been, up to no good."

"No, no. You have me far too well trained to even think about fooling around with anybody else. I wouldn't dare," he said lightly.

In one graceful movement she lifted her head on to the small hand propped by an elbow, her eyes examining the contours of his face.

"Who said anything about you fooling around? What exactly is going on between you two?"

He turned his head and looked up, into the questioning expression on her face.

"Trust me. My virtue is safe in Maria's hands."

"Oh yes, and what makes you so sure of that?"

"Because she despises me with a passion," he said.

"It didn't look that way to me."

Matt took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"I killed her husband."

The texture of her Guinness eyes darkened alerting him to the fact her legally trained mind was in overdrive, capable of dissecting any loose or careless comment with the precision of a surgeon's knife.

"The man pictured in the photograph?"

"Yes."

"When, how?"

"A few years ago when I first got dragged into this damned Milieu thing," he said. "He was chasing me and ..."

"Does she suspect you in any way?"

"I confessed."

Her eyes widened to accompany the involuntary sharp intake of breath. He noticed a perplexed look appear in her eyes, the skin of her forehead frowned in bewilderment if not complete shock.

"Have you taken complete leave of your senses? I would have tried to kill you."

"That was her reaction. She ran away when I admitted it and found one of her husband's guns. I was as good as dead if she'd pulled the trigger."

"So why didn't Maria shoot?" she asked, incredulous.

"I told her my name."

"Your name?" she said. "I don't understand, what has your name to do with this?"

"Her husband left something for me," he said, picking the microchip up off the bedside table and holding it up to her eyes. "He told her to keep it safe until a man by the name of Matt Durham called."

"I don't understand. You and her husband were enemies. Why would he leave this for you to find, and why would she keep it after all this time?"

He gazed, long and steady, into the dark, rich texture of her eyes.

"Because she loved him, still does, despite the fact he took her for granted."

"Even more reason to have pulled the trigger. What possessed you to tell her in the first place?"

He thought for a moment and then sighed.

"I couldn't handle it, the guilt. For the better part of a week I watched the way she looked after the children, displaying the patience of a saint no matter the demand. I know Maria gives the impression she copes but, underneath it all, she struggles. She suffers because of me, for something I did to her. Maria is right to despise me."

Her hand rose and affectionately brushed a stray hair from his brow, responding to the shade of guilt that had invaded his sad eyes.

"What else bothers you?"

He raised the plastic chip into the air once more.

"Tillman's accompanying letter," he said. "He wrote to suggest he was investigating the same thing I was. It seems I've killed the wrong man."

Grace sank back onto the bed and opened her arms to allow him to nestle into her, the circular motion of her hand to his temple soothing the inner torment. He waited for the next question to be posed. It never arrived.

"What's on your mind?"

"Why did you ask us to come here, Matt?"

"Must I have a reason?"

"There's always a reason. I know you. I know how your heart beats. It is to do with the piece of plastic."

"One day you'll cut yourself with that razor sharp mind," he said.

"I'm still waiting."

"It's the key which unlocks everything, gives us the chance to find out once and for all who is behind this Milieu thing. You must want to know what's on it."

"No."

"You're not serious?"

"History has taught you nothing. Either that or you have for some incredible reason chosen to ignore the warnings of the past. This Milieu conspiracy has almost taken your life on more than one occasion. Why disturb what we already enjoy for a piece of plastic? You should turn it over to Vogel and be done with it."

"What? You don't even like the woman."

"I don't. She is devious and deceitful. But surrendering it to her will prevent you from getting more deeply involved than necessary. You were tasked only to recover the missing virus and return Rosa. Have you not done it?"

"Yes... and no."

"What sort of answer is that?"

"The right one," he said. "I found her and she got away."

"Are you going to renew the search?"

"I have to. That's the contract."

"Then nothing has changed, the task remains the same. Locate her and the virus, then surrender the microchip and be finished with the matter once and for all."

His reluctance to respond told her he'd come to a different conclusion, and the atmosphere between them altered almost at once. He felt her body tense, the inner apprehension mount, as she readied for the next exchange.

"You shouldn't do this," she said eventually.

"It's not as simple as that."

"Why is it not that simple?" she asked.

"I told Maria I would end what her husband had started. It's the least I can do."

"I understand why you feel the need to make amends, and I sympathise with her plight, but you should not put yourself at risk for this woman."

"There should be little risk. And I made a promise."

"You made a promise to me also."

She was right, he had.

"I'm going to keep my promise to both of you. But this is about more than settling an old score. This is about second chances, the opportunity to finally get to the bottom of this conspiracy. Call it instinct or a sixth sense but something is telling me I have to do this. And I know I'll never be able to properly settle until I finally uncover the truth. This little bit of plastic is the key to answering everything."

"How do you know? Have you read what's on it?"

"That's the curious thing. It doesn't reveal anything about the conspirators directly. It does, however, point to a hidden place which I assume holds the information."

"So what is on the chip?"

"Acres of scientific papers about the virus, which Maria has volunteered to investigate as she's a trained virologist," he said. "Who knows, she might even come up with a workable antidote? Apart from that the rest of it is Tillman's personal log talking about the various people he'd met."

"Does he mention any names?"

"That's the other curious thing. He isn't specific about any individuals apart from one particular woman he appeared to be besotted with."

"Has Maria read her husband's log?"

"She read enough to be hurt by his apparent feelings for this woman."

A lull followed and he assumed she was trying to make sense of the information he'd provided.

"Now I am more convinced than ever. You should give it to Vogel," she said.

"I can't."

"Yes, yes you can."

Matt swore he could hear the noise of a running motor, the sound of her mind in top gear.

"Why didn't Vogel ask Will to find Rosa?"

"He has conflicting interests. The people Rosa is with are his old team, Vega One, and Catherine doesn't want to run the risk of him being tempted into siding with them and neither do I. It could ruin everything between him and Jenna. Do you want that?"

The exchange had stirred her penetrative mind and he understood more searching questions were on their way.

"You think after one of their number were murdered on the ferry that you can knock on their door and ask them to return the virus, just like that?"

"I should be able to talk Rosa round okay but the others might prove more of a challenge, particularly the one Tillman was sleeping with."

"What makes you say that?"

"He described the woman in his log, talked of the hue and youthfulness of her skin. It's the perfect description of Lily."

"Does Maria believe it is her also?"

"Yes. And talking Lily round will be difficult as she's the type who shoots first and asks questions later. It would have been useful to know the identity of Helen Nash's killer. That would be a real peace offering."

"You're talking as though you believe they would release the virus."

"No sane person on the entire planet would release it. Will's friends might be a little wayward in their thinking but they're not mad."

"Why do you say that?"

"If they believed there wasn't an effective antidote the threat to release it would be meaningless, as good as signing their own death warrants. If they thought an effective antidote was available then, again, the threat is meaningless as the antidote would be issued to those listed for survival which wouldn't include them."

"Then there is no real threat. Their situation is the same either way, with or without an effective antidote."

"Logical I guess," he said.

"So why would Vogel's people need to infiltrate this group at all?"

She had a point.

"Where are you going with this?" he asked, after a pause.

"Do you not think it is strange to be provided with this new information now, after all these years, and from a person you had previously regarded as an enemy?"

"I told you, I got it wrong about Tillman," he said.

"Is it coincidence to be directed to someone who happens to have a background in virology? A person who has chosen not to kill you for a crime committed against her family."

"You think I'm being played?"

"You should not dismiss the possibility."

He gazed intently into her sparkling, inquisitive eyes. This surely was a conspiracy theory too far.

"I seem to recall meeting someone by chance once before who agreed to make the resources of their company available to me, providing anything and everything I needed just when I needed it."

A wry smile appeared on her face.

"You hit lucky as I remember," she said.

"Perhaps I've got lucky again."

The smile evaporated into a look of concern and she placed a hand to his masculine chin.

"Think of it, Matt. We know how manipulative the people that Vogel works for can be. And they know your heart too. Guilt can be a powerful motivator to try to correct a mistake, but some will use this remorse as a means to secure their own agenda. I understand your desire to make amends to Maria but it is not possible to right every wrong in the world."

"You really don't like Catherine, do you?"

"She shows you the side of herself she wants you to see, and no more. Vogel is not as she presents herself to you. She uses and misuses people to get what she wants."

"Sounds like the sort of requisite skill any self respecting high flying business executive would need."

"I am serious," she countered. "Vogel does not value you the way she would have you think. Her interest lies purely in what you can do for her and cannot be trusted."

"Sounds a little harsh to..."

He felt her finger press against his lips.

"No more discussion about Catherine Vogel," she said.

"You raised the subject."

"And now we should drop it."

He'd never heard her criticise others before.

"So if Maria is working on the virus," she said, "why have you brought the rest of us here?"

"Jenna needs to keep the kids occupied while Maria works on it and I need someone to help me in the search for Rosa and with some computer programme stuff. Will seemed like the obvious choice."

"And I'm here because?"

"First and foremost I think we're still under surveillance back home so I wanted to make sure no-one else was listening in to this conversation. More importantly I wanted to explain the situation to you directly, face to face, so you'd understand and hopefully agree."

"It seems to me you had already decided what you were going to do before we arrived."

He made a point of catching her gaze and smiled, moving a hand to gently stroke at the long dark tresses falling around her shoulders.

"And I missed you, Gratia Fuchs," he said softly.

She blinked several times at the admission though chose to withhold a returning smile.

"My name is Grace, Grace Fox. And if you really meant what you have just said then you should leave Maria alone and surrender that piece of plastic to Vogel."

Not the answer he expected and it took him a few moments to recover.

"I've booked us both on a flight to London tomorrow," he said, breaking the silence.

"Why?"

"Maria needs reference materials and I thought you might enjoy a recreational visit."

"I might not wish to go to London," she said "It has been a long journey to get here, very tiring."

He grinned at the pretend objection.

"I thought Oxford Street shopping agreed with you, as did a night at the theatre."

"You think I can be bought by filthy lucre and the promise of gluttonous excess?"

"No, not bought. Maybe encouraged," he said.

"Where would we eat?"

"Anywhere you want."

"Then I guess I must reluctantly accept," she said. "What time is the flight?"

"We need to be at the airport for seven thirty."

They slipped back into silence. She rolled over and pulled the covers to her shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"Going to sleep," she answered. "We have an early start."

He realised she meant it. Dropping to his back he looked to the ceiling, feeling more than a little anxious at her curious lack of warmth.

"What is the real reason we are going to London since I've only just arrived?" she suddenly asked.

"Catherine has given me an unlimited budget and I want to use it," he said. "And you like London."

That and the belief he needed to put as much distance between her and Maria as possible.

Chapter Twenty

London Calling

Many years had passed since he'd last trashed plastic on such an exorbitant and carefree scale. Grace, despite her initial and half-hearted pleas to exercise some degree of caution, soon got caught up in the frenzy and succumbed to the avaricious temptation. The problem with agreeing to Catherine's offer of first class travel wherever he went was that it made it too easy to be lulled into a false sense of financial security, far too easy.

They had split up after checking in to the hotel. While he set about securing the vast quantities of reference materials from the list Grace reacquainted herself with the lifestyle she used to enjoy, beauty treatments and designer shopping. By the time he'd arrived at the Dorchester she had changed into a newly purchased outfit and chattered endlessly throughout the delicious and ridiculously expensive luncheon. Her enjoyment of the plush surroundings reminded him of what she had given up. At no time had she expressed regret at the decision but he had oft wondered how easily she could be tempted to return to that way of life if the chance ever arose again. In the back of his mind he hoped it never would. Selfish, he knew, but that's how he felt.

The meal over, he resumed the tiresome quest of locating the remaining materials and forwarded them on by courier whilst Grace kept her appointment with the in-house salon. Returning to the suite he was permitted only the merest of glimpses of her after showering and changing into the outfit she'd hired for him. Don't dare look at me, she'd demanded, hiding her head in her hands. Patience tested to the limit by the passage of time she finally emerged into the open.

A stunning vision in red appeared in front of him, a true masterpiece of female engineering. The dark hair commonly resting to her shoulders had been tied to reveal the exquisite bone structure that was uniquely hers, and the evening gown modelled on her slender frame looked as though it had been precisely cut to showcase the contours of her body and hers alone. This was one of those heart-stopping occasions when a man would gaze upon a heavenly figure and be entirely captivated. The old line 'you look a million dollars' came nowhere near to being a suitable description of the beauteous form swishing from side to side in search of his approval. And he did indeed approve.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"You'll have to take it back."

"Why?" she protested.

"We're meant to be going to watch a play not seduce the entire male audience into gaping at you instead."

"Is it that good?" she said with a smile.

"It's that good. You're that good."

A flurry of twirls threw her scent into the atmosphere, its sweet aroma threatening to lead him by the nose to kneel before her.

"You are the most beautiful woman on this planet."

It brought her flowing movement to an imperious halt. She turned and tried to fix a smile onto her face.

"There are others more beautiful."

"Not to me."

Her subsequent half smile suggested a defensive quality in the response, as though hiding something behind her eyes.

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"I really mean it," he said.

He watched her eyelids flicker in uncertainty, an action out of character and one she hadn't previously exhibited during their time together.

"I'd forgotten how sweet you can sometimes be," she said.

He held his gaze, in truth unable to direct it to any other part of the suite.

"Do you ever miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Your other life, as Chief Operating officer of Schafen and all the finery they forced you to endure."

"Why do you ask?"

"Do you?"

"We are not without some luxury."

"I know, but it hardly compares ..."

"We enjoy a good life at home."

"I'm not sure that answers my question.

"Well if you did not want to hear the answer then you should not have asked the question,"

"Now you're teasing."

"An old habit," she said with a subdued smile.

There was little point pressing her any further but he found the exchange disconcerting.

"Have you heard from Will?"

"Not yet."

"Do you still intend to investigate Tillman's log?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I thought we'd been through this and agreed."

"You went through it, I don't recall agreeing. If anything I believe I raised several objections. The truth of the matter is that you had already made the decision for us."

He screwed up his face in confusion.

"Is this what you've been thinking about all afternoon?"

"Mostly," she said. "I sense danger to you, to us."

"How can there be any danger? No-one knows I have the log except you, Will and Maria. So who's going to tell?"

Her piercing gaze highlighted the underlying concern that had played on her mind throughout the day. For all Matt knew she was right to make him think again. He shook his head.

"I have to."

"Why, why do you have to?"

"To get to the truth," he said.

"You may discover a truth you did not wish to find."

"It's a chance we'll have to take."

"A chance you will take, for both of us," she said.

The sharpness of the response surprised him, something of a recurring theme of late.

"This is something I have to do. Call it a second chance if you like, an opportunity to get it right this time, the only way I can put the demons from the past to rest."

He could see in her eyes she well understood the sentiment though her stance was no less worrying.

"Shall we go?" she said, after a pause.

He rose and opened the door for them to leave.

"I might call on papa and Martha while you are busy, if you do not mind? It is a short flight to Austria."

"I don't see why not," he said, trying to sound positive.

"Thanks."

"But only on condition I get to undress you slowly when we get back to the suite."

"I had more than that in mind," she said.

Her eyes exhibited little of their usual warmth. Whatever deep thoughts were preoccupying her mind they were not for sharing. He worried the trip brought home everything she had surrendered and now rued the sacrifice. Grace had been right to say she understood the beat of Matt's heart. But he knew hers too. Something wasn't right.

"Are you okay for walking, it's less than a half a mile to the theatre?" he asked.

"I have booked a taxi."

He ushered her through the door and felt a gentle vibration in his pocket. Grace was ahead of him as he read the incoming text; Trafalgar Square, noon. Quickly, he replaced the mobile before she turned to hold his arm.

"Why don't you catch the first flight then you'll have all day with them."

"Now you want rid of me all of a sudden," she answered with a gentle smile.

"No," he said. "I'd like to see them too. Why not stay for a few days and I'll catch up later in the week. That way we can spend time together and it's been a long while since I've visited St Wolfgang."

"Do you remember the last time we took a boat trip on the lake?"

"Yes. It was the first time you let me kiss you."

"I recall having little choice as you had me trapped against the wall of the inner cabin."

"How else was I going to pin you down?"

Her laughter echoed down the corridor and it pleased him. Maybe he had worried unnecessarily before, misinterpreting the tone and content of her words.

"I have missed you, Gratia Fuchs."

He felt her hand against his and their fingers intertwined bringing their bodies into contact, arm against arm.

"Matt..."

At last, he thought, she was going to tell him what was on her mind. The elevator doors opened and revealed a strikingly tall, immaculately dressed middle-aged couple. Grace entered and he followed to stand at her side. All four occupants stood quietly, no-one daring to speak. He'd always considered it odd how something as innocuous as an elevator could suck the art of conversation from people. What felt like an eternity drifted by as their silent carriage rolled effortlessly down to the foyer. He asked the question the moment they stepped out and were free.

"What were you going to say?"

"It will keep. Let us enjoy the night."

The warmth of her parting kiss at the airport mirrored that of the previous night, bringing him close to abandonment of the quest to uncover the truth. Why take an unnecessary risk? The thought didn't stay long in his head. He was little more than a hairsbreadth away from discovering who the people behind the conspiracy really were. He had to go on.

Five to twelve and the square heaved with frantic bodies from every direction, not one offering anything near to some sort of apology as they rudely jostled him aside when passing. This is how honey bees in a hive, or worker ants in a nest, behaved; each and every one scrambling over the next to go about their daily business. It brought home the primary reason he loathed city life, too many living things pressed into too small a space.

The watch read one minute before noon. How was he supposed to know or even spot who he had to meet.

The effect of the impact was immediate. Pain registered as the blow to the neck seeped into his consciousness, and his mind collapsed into darkness.

Chapter Twenty One

Welcoming Committee

Muffled was about the best word he could think of to describe the voices far into the background, distant and hidden from view, one in particular speaking with especial venom. Try as he may he couldn't get an image into his mind then realised his eyes had yet to open. He attempted to shift position and felt something cold and hard dig into his wrists, restraining his arms. Forcing his eyes open he peered through the gloom to measure how distant the voices were, unsuccessfully in those first moments of consciousness. Seconds later a number of human shapes came into view, as did the handcuffs tying him to the thin metal pipe.

"We know who sent him and why he's here so I don't see what there is to discuss," said a woman's voice.

"We should at least give him a chance," said a familiar woman's voice.

"What's the point?" said the first.

"Find out what he knows," said the second. "He might be able to tell us something about what they're planning to do, their next move."

"The guy is nothing more than a drone."

"I'm not sure about that," said a man's voice.

"I am. We're just wasting time. I say we kill him and be done with it."

There were no prizes for guessing whose voice advocated killing him. He heard the distinct sound of a handgun being checked for ammunition and panic brought a sense of urgency into his mind. His eyes examined the surrounds, some sort of basement. The pipe dropped from a roughly hewn hole in the roof and led to another hole in the concrete floor. There were no joins or breaks anywhere in view. He scanned the room. Whoever did this was smart. Not a single object lay anywhere around him within a three metre radius, offering no visible means of defence. He was at his captor's complete mercy. A shadow moved to the left, quickly followed by a second and a third. He closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall back into its original position. The distinct smell of weaponry filled the air and the sound of footsteps neared. Matt instinctively held his breath as a figure circled him. Silent and motionless, save for the rise and fall of breathing, his mind galloped. There had to be something he could do.

The shock was instant, violent, like an unexpected slap across the face with a wet fish, as the ice cold liquid thrashed against his head.

"Crap," he spluttered.

"I knew you were awake," spat the woman.

The pair of dark slacked legs stood too far away to wrestle to the ground. Shaking his head to clear the water from his eyes he looked up at the sneering face pointing the handgun to his unprotected head, her eyes aflame with hatred. He wished he'd killed her, the time he had her captive in Berchtesgaden. She approached and pressed the barrel to his temple, cold and hard and threatening.

"I should have guessed," he said. "Lalitha Shalini Singh. Your parents obviously weren't thinking straight when they thought up the name of their daughter. By the translation you're meant to be elegant and modest."

"How the fuck do you know my name?"

"I know a lot about you, Lily."

The sound of talking brought others to the fore, three more to be precise. The two men of matching build bore an uncanny and striking resemblance, armed apiece with heavy eyebrows and steely dark eyes. They could easily have been mistaken as brothers had he not known otherwise. The face of a blonde-haired woman came into focus.

"I thought I told you not to come after us."

"What can I say? I'm addicted to you, Rosa. Either that or the date rape drug you used on me last time."

She responded with one of her deep, throaty laughs which he would normally find disarming. The others failed to share in Rosa's amusement.

"Let's just kill him," said Lily.

"Wait," said a voice from behind.

"But he knows me. How does he know my name?" asked Lily of the hidden voice.

"I know about all of you," said Matt, settling his gaze on the angry woman.

"Lalitha Shalini Singh. Born in 1982 to illegal immigrants from Kashmir you ran away from home at the age of thirteen to avoid an arranged marriage. You've hated male authority ever since, which makes it all the more surprising you ended up working in a team with a man as its figurehead, one John Tillman."

"Fuck you, Durham."

"Is that true, Lily?" asked the tallest of the men, head covered by a mop of the blackest hair Matt had ever seen.

"Yes it is, Johnno," said Matt.

"What did you call me?"

"Johnno," he replied. "Your precise name is John Albert Secker though you prefer people not to know your middle name as it doesn't suit the youthful, athletic image you want to conjure with the fairer sex. Your professional reputation is as a consummate weapons expert, an image cultivated since your arrest at the tender age of eighteen years for the illegal possession of unlicensed firearms."

"They framed me. I found them."

"Yeah, it's amazing what you come across in a military arms depot," said Matt.

"Nice one Johnno," said the look-a-like, a shade smaller than Secker he now noticed.

"Mr Tobias Ian Rowe should have been jailed for hacking crimes against the state had he been old enough. His parents, lifelong Civil Servants, were so mortified they were more than happy for you to be sent to a state-run residential school in North Yorkshire, unaware it was a Government facility for errant children with a gift for all things computers."

"You made your point, Matt," said Rosa.

"Not really, I left the best two for last."

"How does he know all this?" shouted Lily.

"Tillman's log," said another man's voice, face hidden by the gloom. "For some unknown reason Tillman bequeathed his personal log to him, including our personal files. What I can't figure out is why."

"Makes you wonder doesn't it?" said Matt. "You may as well come out of the shadows, Will."

"That's it," shouted Lily, pressing the gun to his head.

"Hold it," said Will, emerging into view.

"We're wasting time," said Lily, her finger tightening on the trigger. "If you have a God, Durham, now's the time to pray," she sneered.

The time for boldness had arrived.

"If you were going to kill me you'd have done it in the car and thrown the body into a trench."

"Well that's where you're wrong. I'll kill you now."

He heard her cock the trigger.

"Don't you ever get tired of repeating yourself?" said Matt.

"Once you're dead I won't have to," she spat.

He stared intently, one by one, into the eyes of his captors. None of them seemed remotely interested in trying to stop her. Not even Rosa. He was on his own.

"It's pretty obvious, from the half-tucked in flap of my jacket pocket, that you've already done a body search and not found what you were looking for. So shooting me isn't likely to produce Tillman's log either."

It took an age before she reluctantly relaxed the trigger and he noticed her gaze shift to each of the others in turn.

"What makes you think we're remotely interested in the damn thing?" she said.

Hiding the inner sigh of relief coursing through his system he elected to try and reduce the tension.

"Life would be easier if you took these cuffs off."

He eyed their individual faces, impassive and indifferent to his restrained discomfort.

"There are five of you and only one of me," he said. "I can't really see me getting away, can you?"

Will nodded and Rosa released the restraints.

"A coffee would be good too."

"There's some upstairs," said Rosa.

He followed them to the rear of the large, dank space and was the second last to take the stone steps up to the next floor with Lily bringing up the rear, gun in hand.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, sipping at the cup of warm liquid.

"A while," said Rosa, placing his gold watch on the table in front of him.

He glanced at Will, leaning against a kitchen unit next to the ceramic oven top, and then gradually took in the room's dimensions. White panelled units filled the remaining length of the long grey tiled wall leading to a set of French windows, occupying half the width of the narrow end wall and which opened out onto a vast and recently mown lawn. He could see a mid-sized shed deposited to the back of the green carpet of grass, up against the wooden six foot fence.

"Not a hedgehog friendly garden," he said, motioning with his head towards the cedar painted panels.

"What have hedgehogs got to do with anything," said Lily.

"The fence comes right down to the soil, stops them from travelling between gardens in the search for food."

"Jesus Christ, a freaking environmental evangelist," she said, looking up to the high ceiling.

"They're on the decline," he insisted.

"We're not people friendly either," said Rosa. "So get to the point of why you're looking for us."

Matt speared his darkest look at her, causing her piercing blue eyes into a solitary blink before holding their station. She was unnervingly convincing. Toby approached and ran his hands down each side of Matt's body, using a curious object.

"What's that?"

"Bug detector," said Toby."If the blue lights up you're wired for sound, red tells me it's visual."

"And if I've got both?"

"They both do. Here," he said, handing it to Matt. "I've got plenty more."

"What are the numbers for?"

"Frequency, tells you the wavelength being used."

"Enough of this shit. We know why he's here. He's come for the virus," snapped Lily.

"That was my original intention," he said. "Things have moved on a little since then."

"He wants our help," said Will.

"And in return I'll help you."

"Hah!" said Lily. "Now I've heard it all. This amateur piece of shit thinks he can help us."

"Seems to me like you need a little bit of assistance from this amateur piece of shit," he said.

"You're not short of confidence, Durham. I'll give you that much," said Johnno.

"Okay, you've got our attention. So tell us, how exactly you are going to help us?" asked Rosa.

"By allowing me to return the virus to its original owners," he said.

"Yeah, real smart," hissed Lily. "He wants us to give back our only bargaining chip."

"You have nothing to bargain with. They're not going to pay a ransom demand because they know you daren't release it, not without an effective antidote."

"And they thought if they asked nicely we'd just give it back to them?"

"Yes, because now they don't want to release it into the atmosphere either," he said.

"What a crock of shit," said Lily.

"More than a little tenuous, Matt," said Will. "Trying to peddle the line that after all the investment they've suddenly found God."

"God has nothing to do with it. There is no antidote, at least not one that's effective."

"Yeah right," snapped Lily. "That's a bluff if ever I heard one."

"They thought they'd developed a secure vaccine but it turns out it isn't. The antidote cures by rendering all recipients permanently infertile, irrespective of gender. Release the virus and people without inoculation die within days whilst the remainder of civilisation peters out through an inability to conceive."

The statement had caught their attention, their exchange of furtive glances multiplying by the second.

"What evidence did they provide?" asked Toby.

"They asked me to come and talk to you?"

"What kind of evidence is that," said Johnno.

"Didn't you wonder why they hadn't sent a regiment of special operatives against you? Fear, that's why. Fear over likely events should the virus be accidentally released and the subsequent consequences."

"So we hang on to it," said Toby.

"To what end?"

"For as long as we've got the stuff they can neither move against us nor implement their plan."

"So you see either way we win and they lose. Explain that one away," snapped Lily.

"Only until they manage to develop an effective antidote," he said. "It might take weeks it might take years but they'll do it eventually and when they do you're all as good as dead. You'll have no defence whatsoever, no-one will."

Their return to contemplation allowed him to reassess the situation. Of the group only one, Lily, gave him real cause for concern. The others were no doubt wary, of his presence and the people he had apparently come to represent, but she was openly hostile. Matt put this down to what he read in the log about her relationship with Tillman and the knowledge Matt had killed him.

"We get the picture, Matt. Where are you taking us with this?" asked Will.

"You don't need the virus to stop them."

"What other way is there?" asked Rosa.

"Tillman's log gives you another option."

"Then give it to us," said Lily.

"I can't show it to any of you right now."

"Can't?" Rosa asked. "Why can't you?"

"For the same reason that's in all your minds," he said.

"Which is?"

"One of you is a traitor."

Chapter Twenty Two

Taking Control

A chorus of hostility erupted and Matt responded by slapping a hand to the table to quell the prospect for mutiny.

"Helen Nash didn't kill herself. She was murdered by a killer tipped off she was on her way to meet Will. Given the only people who had knowledge of her journey are here, the finger of suspicion automatically points to someone within this room and it sure isn't me."

"You have to be joking," said Rosa.

"I've never been more serious in my life. And it's clear none of you are surprised by the revelation. I've said nothing which hasn't been in the back of all your minds already. The only issue is which one of you it is."

He targeted a dark look towards Lily and her suspicious eyes darted nervously to the white ceiling before crossing her arms in spoilt child fashion after being told off by a parent. At last he had the upper hand now that he'd released the demon from the bottle. Had a pin dropped the sound would have echoed for miles such was the deafening silence. Nervous glances rapidly exchanged amongst the five, none wanting to openly speak about the apparent truth on all their minds. This was Matt's chance.

"We four were together, the whole time. So how could one of us have killed Helen?" chipped in Johnno.

"One of you could have got a message out."

"But we didn't," said Toby.

"It's the only logical explanation."

"You can't seriously believe one of us did it?" said Rosa.

Matt opted to remain silent.

"It's not true, it can't be" said Rosa. "We might have had our differences on occasion but it's the unwritten law, the team comes first. It's the way we were brought up."

"Perhaps not everyone signed up," said Matt.

He had to admit, it wasn't obvious which of them could be the culprit, each looking as confused and disbelieving as the next. Toby was the next to speak.

"I trust these guys with my life. We've backed each other from the start."

"Time for a rethink," said Matt.

"It must be Rosa. Tillman was never the same with you after the Austria op," Johnno said to her.

"Me?"

"Tillman's moll," he said, half apologetically.

"Totally the wrong freaking direction," she said, glancing at an uncomfortable looking Lily.

The male contingent missed the aside. As cautious glances flickered between them Matt slowly rose, feeling Lily's eyes burning into the back of his head.

"Coffee," he said quietly. "I need a top up."

He made his way to the percolator, deciding to stretch out the time needed to stir the cube into submission. A presence stole alongside and spoke quietly.

"Do you know who it is?" asked Rosa.

"No."

"You must have suspicions."

"I'm as much in the dark as you are."

"Even more reason not to come after me."

"I'm trying to keep you out of trouble," he said.

"I hardly think I need your help."

"You do this time. And what was all that crap about you not being people friendly?"

"Role play," she said. "I'm supposed to be one of this team not part of team Durham."

The motion of the spoon unconsciously accelerated in pace.

"Well stop it. You're making me nervous."

Her luscious lips edged into a smile.

"You're only nervous because you're standing so close to me."

The vigorous stirring came to a halt.

"Maybe," he said, with a half smile.

She gently rubbed her knuckles against his hand and took him by surprise. Despite the bond he had always believed they had shared such open and tactile affection had never featured before.

"One day you'll get lucky," she whispered.

"More chance of winning the lottery," he quipped.

Rosa released one of her infamous throaty laughs, causing his smile to broaden.

"What did Tillman say about me in his log?"

"That you were the biggest tease on the planet."

"Sounds about right," she said. "If you didn't jump into the sack with John Tillman then he assumed you must have had serious psychological issues."

"Perhaps he wasn't all he appeared to be. Lily seems to have been a firm supporter."

"He was exactly how he appeared, the blueprint for sexist pigs across the globe. Lily was a victim of her own naivety and made a mistake."

"You knew about the two of them?"

"I do but the boys don't. Lily is surprisingly gullible. I put her straight the night after it happened."

"It?" questioned Matt.

"Lily can be gullible but she's not stupid. You don't think she'd ever put herself in that position again."

His first thought was of the diary. Something didn't add up, unless Lily had deliberately withheld from Rosa details of her ongoing liaison with their team leader.

"Tillman seemed to think you all admired him, that you'd follow him anywhere."

"Yeah, in his dreams," she said. "Tillman wielded his power with an iron rod. His vision of utopia was for the ruling classes to be all male. Just because you're on the right side of the law doesn't mean you're a good person."

"Yet the team were all loyal to him."

"We were loyal to each other. When six people are thrown into the same shit hole with no means of escape you have to stick together. That's why we became such an effective team. Tillman's version of inspired leadership had very little to do with it."

"So why is Lily so hostile?"

"Lily is a creature of passion. Once someone has earned her trust they have secured her loyalty forever, irrespective of how they might subsequently treat her. You killed one of the team and there is no greater sin."

Matt tried to piece the conflicting snippets of information together into a formula that made some kind of sense. At one end of the scale Tillman spoke about his protégés in glowing and affectionate terms yet, according to Rosa, the affection was anything but reciprocated. This made the ongoing liaison between Lily and her boss all the more surprising.

"Tillman was a smooth operator in the field, I'll give him that," continued Rosa. "So bloody smooth he could charm the knickers off of the most devout nun on the planet, a different guy altogether. I reckon he must have treated his courtship as a field operation, it's the only way he could have persuaded someone to wed him. I pity the poor cow he did marry as he would have made her life a misery."

That much rang true from what Maria had revealed to him in Portugal. Matt made a mental note, his mind shifting focus on the matter at hand.

"I need you to back me up when we reconvene," he said.

He could feel her eyes looking questioningly at his face, intense yet apprehensive.

"And no arguments," he added.

"I have to argue," she said. "It's a given."

"Not this time."

Before she could utter an objection he returned to his seat and sat down, the others engaged in a barrage of differing opinions being heatedly tossed from one side of the room to the other. The fierce debate over what to do next had Lily fired up most, judging by her increasingly aggressive stance and posture. He raised an arm to bring them to order. Lily's was the last voice to quell.

"We need to talk," said Matt.

"About?" Johnno asked.

"About what we're going to do," he said.

"We?" shouted Lily.

"First, the virus has to go back."

"I've already told you..."

"No, Lily. Let him speak," chipped in Toby.

"He has no voice," she screamed.

She speared a vicious stare and he returned it with a cold smile, serving only to add further fuel to the rage building up inside her. There was no other option he realised. Lily was going to have to be dealt with, sorted out, if he was going to make any progress with the others. The entire group sensed he had prepared for this conflict, including Lily herself.

"One word and I'll shoot you here and now," she said.

"Tillman was remarkably descriptive in his log," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't need to tell you, Lily."

She blinked repeatedly, a sign of greater fragility than her aggressive demeanour suggested. Matt readied to deliver the coup de grace but she beat him too it.

"It was only once, and it was a mistake," she said, glancing awkwardly to Rosa.

"Lily?" said Toby.

"Kept that to yourself have you, Lily," said Matt. "Makes a person wonder what else you might be capable of hiding from the rest of the team."

"Shut up," she retorted.

Matt slowly shook his head.

"Enough!" she yelled, reaching for the hand gun resting on the work surface.

Toby reacted first, snatching the weapon from her angry grasp.

"Give it to me!"

"Let's hear what the man has to say," said Toby.

"I'm not listening to this amateur piece of shit. Now give me the fucking gun."

"I'm with bro," said Johnno. "Whatever happened between you and Tillman is in the past as far as I'm concerned. Right now we're going nowhere fast and if this guy has got a route out of this mess the least we can do is listen to what he has to say on the subject."

"Ditto," said Rosa.

The enraged face fixed on her voice.

"How are you going to cope when you get old and worn, Rosa?" she shouted. "How are you going to survive once your body starts to sag and your looks eventually desert you? Men won't throw themselves at your feet once old father time has caught up with you and men can see you for the ugly bitch you really are."

"You b..."

"Stop it!" shouted Will.

Matt stood in front of Rosa to halt the impending assault. The armour-piercing missiles loaded in Lily's eyes pointed in his direction. Matt had never witnessed hatred like this before and he found it unsettling. Somehow he managed to maintain his steady gaze as to avoid her eyes would display weakness and he needed to assert his authority.

"There's a reason why Tillman left his log to an amateur piece of shit like me," he said, focussing on Lily. "Never once did he believe any of you had the gumption to lead and you're showing me exactly why he came to that conclusion. You might be a team but you're a team going nowhere fast. And it's going to get you all killed."

The force of the sudden diatribe surprised them, the flinch of Lily's face confirming as much as her incendiary eyes lost their intensity. She opened her mouth in an attempt to spit out a vile expletive. It never came. She tried again, to no avail. It was as though her body had gone into automatic lock-down, her will to resist spent. In little less than a minute Matt had reduced her abrasive confidence to rubble. Lily's resistance was broken.

"Time to get down to business," he said.

Matt ignored the array of stunned expressions, intent on giving the impression he was a man in control. Wary eyes followed the movement of the mug to his lips, all bar those of Lily, who refused to look in his direction.

"Let's sit and get organised."

Will responded, soon followed by Rosa and then Toby and his doppelganger. He glanced to the figure of Lily, narrowing his eyes to confirm displeasure.

"Lily," he said, pointing to the vacant chair. "This involves you too."

Thoughts of disobedience crossed her mind but she sat with an over obvious air of reluctance. He waited for her to settle then waited a little longer until she finally raised her line of sight to look at him.

"What's your idea?" asked Rosa.

"Hang on to the virus and they'll come after you once they've developed an effective antidote. Give it back and they'll come after you to tie up the loose end. Which means your one and only prospect of survival is to strike back and get them first."

"How?" repeated Toby.

Matt leaned forward and clasped his hands together.

"We find out who exactly these people are and go public with the information, after we've thrown them off your scent."

"I repeat, how?" said Toby.

"Rosa and I return the virus."

"Why does it have to be me?"

"You helped me to recover the virus. They'll never believe I could have done it on my own," he replied. "They know we have history."

He didn't have time to stop.

"Between us we convince them the other three were killed during a shoot out."

"Three?" questioned Will.

"You're not supposed to be here," said Matt. "So let's keep it that way."

"Why isn't Will supposed to be here?"

"It's a long story. Suffice to say he's meant to be helping me find your location."

"This gets more complicated by the minute," said Toby.

"You know they'll check your story out," said Johnno.

"Yes, but it will give us the time we need to prepare."

"Prepare for what?" asked Toby.

"Use the information Tillman provided to infiltrate their operation. The log gives details of a cloaked web site floating on the web."

"You want to go in?" questioned Will.

"That's the key to it all. Toby, how easy is it to uncloak a web site?"

"Depends on their security protocols," he answered.

"We know they're sophisticated."

Toby's eyes brightened in an instant.

"I do like a challenge," he said.

"Does this mean you've worked out the key codes?" asked Will.

"Not yet."

"How do you intend to get through their security without the key codes?"

"Triceratops," said Toby.

"Triceratops, what's that?" asked Rosa.

"It's my very own SBS."

"Toby, speak English," complained Will.

"SBS, security breach system. I've only been able to use it on soft targets, banks and the like."

"Banks?" said Rosa.

"Where else do you think all the money we've been using has been coming from?"

"That's called theft, bro," said Johnno.

Toby shrugged nonchalantly.

"Only by some people, bro," he said.

"Yeah, like the law, bro," replied his friend.

"Tell them," said Matt.

"The concept came from Tillman. He wanted me to devise a programme which could infiltrate the intelligence networks of rogue states and organised terror to give us a bit of an edge in counter terrorism. Just as I put the finishing touches to it he pulled the plug."

"Why did you call it triceratops?" asked Will.

"Three pronged assault. The first two attack the flanks of the target concealing the third and more powerful central prong in the process."

He drew an explanatory diagram on the back of a shop receipt lying on the table, looking much like three horns on the head of the infamous dinosaur.

"If it's as good as I think you won't need any access codes to get in," said Toby. "The programme does all the work and the only way to defend against it is by locating and destroying each prong at source."

"Come on guys," said Lily somewhat unexpectedly. "This guy can't lead, he knows nothing about the kind of work we do. More likely he'll lead us into a trap."

He caught her eye and held the defiant stare, feeling oddly pleased her spirit remained intact. He responded by offering a friendly and reassuring smile in the hope this might encourage a degree of co-operation. The unexpected warmth appeared to confuse Lily, her expression alternating between one of spite and surprise.

"Don't misunderstand me. I have absolutely no desire to make this a permanent arrangement. As far as I'm concerned this is just a temporary fix until the task is done. After that I'm going back to my day job. But to make it happen I need the support of each and every one of you."

He kept his eye on Lily, turning her face towards the others in search of a sympathetic ear. As the seconds passed without comment she realised it wasn't going to happen and nodded in disconsolate agreement. Matt sought the same gesture from the others. Rosa was last to agree.

"We need to split into three teams. Will, you need to find two more secure locations," said Matt.

"Toby said it is a three pronged assault programme so why do I need to find only two other locations?"

"I've already identified mine."

"Where?" asked Rosa.

"Somewhere," he replied.

"Aren't you going to tell us?"

"Until we know for certain which one of you, if any, gave up Helen then it's better none of you know where it is. I've made lists of everything we need," said Matt. "Johnno, you're on weapons, Lily is on logistics. Toby and Johnno will make up the first team, Will and Lily the second."

"You haven't mentioned me," said Rosa.

"You're coming back with me, remember?" said Matt.

"No chance. I'm not leaving the team."

"You have to," he said.

"I said no and that's the end of it."

"For the plan to have any prospect of success they have to believe the job has been done and that means you have to return and carry on with normal living as if there's nothing else going on. It's the only way the rest of us will get a chance to hack into the digital vault before they realise what we are really up to."

"Then why aren't you going back to the island, if it's all supposed to be finished?"

"I'm going back to St Wolfgang afterwards to see Martha and Gerhardt. This would be regarded as normal behaviour and won't seem in the least out of place."

"I'm not leaving the team."

"Someone has to buy us the time and you're the obvious candidate," said Lily unexpectedly.

She flicked a barely visible glance to Matt, and he returned an open smile. Rosa seemed oblivious, mind preoccupied on coming up with a good reason to persuade the others to allow her to stay.

"Matt?" said Rosa.

"Rosa, it's important. You have to do this."

"He's right," said Will.

She shook her head in resignation. He expected her eyes to be filled with ire rather than the disappointment now visibly sitting there. Matt had always regarded Rosa as a street fighter by nature, but this version was nothing like that. She appeared subdued, tentative and meek. There was something he was missing to this curious game.

"We don't have much time," he said, looking at his watch.

"What are you talking about," asked Toby.

"I have to code in later today and there's something I need to know. How did you manage to get hold of the inventory originally?"

"Helen," said Toby. "She'd received the stuff through an old contact, along with some supporting information, and got hold of us one by one to get the old team together."

"Why Helen?" queried Matt.

"Your guess is as good as ours," said Johnno.

Matt felt the attention of the others on him but chose not to prolong the exchange.

"Are you all clear on what needs to be done?" he said.

Rosa stood from her chair and walked out of the French windows into the garden. Matt rose to follow.

"Is there anything else?" he asked.

"Yes," said Lily. "What's in all this for you? Why are you getting involved?"

"I made a promise to Maria Tillman."

The response caused her to give him a curious look.

"You mean guilt?"

"Absolution," he said. "Is there anything else?"

The group dispersed. Lily was the last to reach the door to the hall. She stopped and slowly turned to face him

"What is she like, Tillman's wife?"

"She is a dedicated mother to four young children. Tough to walk away from someone as devoted to your children as she is. I could never do it," he said.

Lily took a moment to reflect. He waited, unsure of the reaction he'd get in return. She nodded and left the room. Apprehension was the closest word to describe how he felt as he approached the lone and sullen figure sitting disconsolately on the garden swing seat. She moved across to make room for him to join her.

"I don't want to go back."

"It's the right plan. You and the virus, gives us the best shot of success."

She looked briefly to the sky.

"Why didn't you tell me you were still alive?"

"It was part of the deal I struck. Give up all the files and stay away from St Wolfgang in return for allowing Gratia to be set free. It seemed like the right thing to do, given you were told I was dead."

"I never believed it for a second."

"Really?" he said.

"When you're told word has been received someone has been reported dead you know it's untrue, otherwise they'd just say you'd been killed. We both understood why Catherine used that particular form of words when she came to see me that morning."

"Sometimes I wonder whose side she's really on."

"Does she know you've got Tillman's log?"

"No."

The conversation lulled as she thought on what to say to him next.

"Why did you get involved this time?"

"I didn't have any choice. The minute they told me you'd got yourself into this mess I knew I'd have to come and get you back out of it."

"I'm hardly a child."

"No, but you're my friend."

She smiled, wistful yet appreciative.

"What ridiculously exorbitant fee have you charged them for your services?"

"They had to let Gratia see her father again."

"Anybody else would have charged money."

"Yeah," he said, after a pause. "I suppose so."

"So Gratia's out of prison?" she asked.

"Yes. It almost didn't happen. Fortunately Catherine was there to step in."

"So where did she go?"

"She's with me, back on the island."

"With?" she asked.

"You know, with etc."

"I always said you liked her," she said, after a pause.

"Yes, I do," he said quietly.

They settled back into an uncomfortable silence, oblivious to the faces peering down from the open window above.

"You're determined to keep me out of this, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I can come back, if you give me a meeting point."

"They'll be watching. Better to stay away."

"But I want to be involved."

"You are, just not directly. And when all's said and done you know I'm right."

Rosa jumped up from her seat and paced the lawn, visibly agitated by something.

"Do you think it's me, that I'm the traitor?"

"No. After everything we've had to go through together, of course not. It could never be you."

He could feel her eyes staring in his direction, looking for any sign of evasion. There was none.

"So who do you think it is?"

"No idea," he said. "I hope it's none of them. They're all good people in their own way. Each one has their own history, complete with individual strengths and weaknesses. The more I read through Tillman's log the more I come to understand and appreciate them for the people they are; lost souls looking to belong, to something or to someone. It turns out they found their place in Vega One. This camaraderie thing is all a bit peculiar to me."

"Yeah, teamwork is somewhat of an alien concept to you isn't it? Makes me wonder how Gratia manages to put up with you."

The observation raised a smile. Rosa hadn't lost her touch for putting him in place.

"What's with all this bro stuff between Toby and Johnno?" he asked.

"They went to the States together on holiday a few years ago and came back with it. Been the same ever since. They're like two peas in a pod. There are times I have difficulty telling them apart these days."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"I think you're crazy to take this on. There are only five of you and lots of them. The team needs someone like me around to watch your backs."

"Not in this plan," he said. "This plan includes taking you back along with the virus."

He found the indignant huff more amusing than menacing but felt it necessary to issue a firm rebuff.

"I have to make decisions on what is best for the team and not for individuals."

"Christ, you're beginning to sound like Tillman."

A brief smile pursed his lips.

"Yeah, it's starting to worry me, too," he said, peering at his watch. "I've got to check in. Ask the others to bring down a bed sheet."

The laptop burst into life. Will approached him as the others worked to fix the sheet against the end wall, blanking out the French windows.

"I'm the obvious candidate," he said. "Given I was the one who used to work for Catherine."

"It's not you," said Matt.

"How can you be sure?"

"A few reasons," he said. "Firstly you're anxiety to locate the missing ferry passenger. And when we got Helen out of the water you were more upset than shocked. That was probably because you and Helen had a thing together for a short time. Don't worry. I won't mention it to Jenna."

"How did Tillman know?"

"He knew," he said, turning to address the others. "Right, switch on the light and back away while I check it out."

The cursor clicked to the webcam function and he checked the background to his face, motioning them away.

"Move back," he said. "I don't want them to be able to see a thing, not even a shadow, while I'm connected."

The group retreated and he inserted the device, expecting to have to wait. The response was instant.

"Matt?" he heard Catherine ask. "Where are you?"

"Doesn't matter," he said. "We're coming in."

"We?" she asked.

He motioned with a finger and Rosa stood alongside.

"Rosa?"

"Hello, Catherine."

"Where are the others?"

Matt slid a number of small boxed items across the table.

"They're no longer in the market for stolen goods."

"All of them?"

"There was a window of opportunity, a chance to recover the inventory cleanly."

"Can you provide confirmation?"

"Best I can do for now is give the name and registration of a fishing vessel though it's not likely to be reported missing for a few hours yet."

As usual her expression offered no clues as to her thoughts but he reasoned she was not entirely convinced.

"When can we meet?" she asked.

He understood this to mean soon.

"From here the safest route would be the overnight ferry to Amsterdam, docking at eight tomorrow morning. Have us met there and pick up the inventory. We'll need passage through border control."

"It will be done. Is there anything you need?"

"We'll be fine."

"Rosa?"

"No. Matt and I have a bit of catching up to do. I suspect that will keep me amused long enough."

"Until tomorrow then," said Catherine.

Chapter Twenty Three

Overboard

It took far longer than he wanted to identify his target amidst the strolling mass of people. Not that the clock was an issue, just a strain on his patience. He noticed tresses of long blonde hair trailing in the wind at the rail of the stern deck, courtesy of the stiff ocean breeze, and set off towards her. She spoke the moment he shuffled up alongside.

"Hiya,"

"Hi," he said.

Her gloved hand slipped round his arm and pulled him so close it felt like their bodies were surgically attached.

"It's so cold," she complained.

"We're not exactly in the Mediterranean."

"No," she said after a pause. "But it's still stunning."

He couldn't disagree. All around them lay ocean, further than the eyes could see. Unusually placid it was a beguiling sight, enchanting and hypnotic all at the same time. Rosa's subdued demeanour had lasted throughout the journey to port and since boarding. Perhaps the serenity of the calm ocean had helped to soothe her spirit.

"What's Catherine got planned for when we arrive?" asked Rosa.

"I never asked."

"That's unlike you. Normally you can't keep your nose out of anyone's business."

"I'm more concerned about getting you back to civilisation safe and sound."

The conversation stopped as quickly as it had started so he said the first thing that came to mind.

"I was sorry to hear about ..."

"One of those unfortunate experiences that life seems to throw at people on occasion," she said. "No big deal."

While he could understand her reticence to talk about the subject the need to say something meaningful wouldn't leave him. Sensing his desire to add to his earlier remark she leaned over and kissed at his lips.

"What was that for?"

"Shut up and enjoy the scenery."

He obediently looked out at the horizon, mind nonplussed as to what she might be thinking. It wasn't too long before she broke the silence.

"How's life with Gratia?"

"I thought you told me to shut up."

"I'm allowed to change my mind," she smiled. "So how is it, with Gratia?"

"Good," he said. "We've recently moved into a new house, on the west coast."

"You're beginning to settle down then?"

"I guess."

"Guess?"

More questions, about himself.

"You know," he said.

"No, I don't know."

"It feels right with her," he said. "Don't ask me to explain it because I wouldn't know where to start. It just sort of feels right, like we were meant to be together. Only..."

"Only what?" she asked.

"She seems a little unsettled of late."

"About what exactly?" she asked.

"Nonsense about planning the future," he said. "I thought we were happy enough as we were."

Rosa's throaty laugh burst out into the sea air, deafening his left ear.

"What's so funny?"

"You really don't understand women do you, Matt?"

Her face lit up in a bright smile to counter the childish look of confusion on his face, simultaneously tugging at his arm to urge him away from the railing.

"Let's walk."

They strolled along the deck, wrapped tightly together in protection against the stiffening breeze.

"She wants a commitment from you," said Rosa.

"We've bought a house together. How more committed can you get for Christ's sake?"

"She's not talking about possessions."

"Then what is she talking about?"

"You," she said.

"You've lost me."

"A clear statement from you of your own long term belief in the relationship," she said. "Some sort of spiritual gesture to show the world you are bound together."

"She wants me to go to church on a Sunday?"

"Only if it involves a wedding ceremony," she laughed.

"What!"

"Or children," she said. "Who knows what's in her mind until you sit down and talk to her properly."

"No, she would have said!"

"Just because she hasn't openly raised either subject it doesn't mean they haven't been on her mind."

"I know, but marriage, children?"

"The thought must have crossed your mind about one and the other, or both, at some time in the past."

"No."

"You've never given any thought to either?"

"No."

"What did you think was going to happen, you would both just grow old together?"

"Something of the sort," he said. "Nobody gets married these days and, as for kids, well..."

"What do you mean?"

"The bloody things are voracious, bottomless money pits, a constant drain on mind and soul."

"I think you'd make a good father."

"You're beginning to sound exactly like Catherine Vogel now."

"Catherine?"

"Yes. She introduced me to her new brat when I went to see her, put the bloody thing in my arms while she answered the telephone."

"Did she really?" said Rosa, seeming genuinely bemused by the episode.

"It was bloody frightening."

The conversation descended into silence as they continued the gentle stroll along the deck. Periods of silence with Rosa had never been uncomfortable.

"Does the idea of marriage or children alter the way you feel towards Gratia?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "I really don't know."

"Why do you think getting you to commit is so important to her at the moment?"

He shook his head as if he didn't know, forgetting about Rosa's unique ability to read his mind.

"She thinks I'm carrying a torch for someone from my past," he finally admitted.

"Who exactly?" she asked.

"Someone," was all he said.

They strolled some more, pacing along the polished deck at a uniform speed taking in the fresh air. The silence pleased him. Hopefully she'd run out of questions.

"Things haven't quite worked for me either," she said, out of the blue. "I've changed, Stefan's changed. We no longer see eye to eye on things, can't agree on anything."

"Since the miscarriage?" he asked.

"No, the abortion," she said.

He halted immediately.

"Abortion, what abortion?" he said. "Catherine told me you lost the child for medical reasons."

"Abortion is a medical procedure."

"That's not the way she described it."

"It's the way it was."

"But I thought you wanted a child."

"An accident," she said. "No-one but myself to blame, I got careless. I realised at a very early stage motherhood isn't for me, it's not in my make-up, so it was an easy decision to make. Unfortunately, Stefan didn't quite see things the same way I did."

"Didn't you talk about it, beforehand?"

"You mean the way you and Gratia tell each other what you want out of your relationship."

"Touché," he said.

Her smile was weak, sad even, but at least he now felt as if he had a better understanding of why she had decided to join the others. In her mind the relationship with Stefan was dead and she had nothing to return to so there wasn't anywhere else to go. It disturbed Matt she had seemed to give up so easily, too easily as far as he was concerned, not that it was any of his business. He questioned for how long she might stay on her return, or if she would stay at all.

"What a pair," he said, as they resumed the walk.

Her throaty laugh filled the surrounding air, causing the passers-by to turn their heads in curiosity.

"You'd have thought all the first class cabins would have had a double bed," she said.

He smiled.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"I was only making an observation."

"Humph," he said. "One of these days you're teasing will get you into trouble."

They continued to walk.

"Who said I was teasing?"

The next few paces went without comment.

"We've got the cabin I asked for," he eventually said.

There was little reaction, other than a gentle squeeze to his arm.

"I think I'll have the pasta for dinner," she said.

The last time he was on a cruise he could barely hear the hum of the ship's engines. He could on this one, the steady drone making it almost impossible to concentrate. Perhaps this is why the majority of the passengers referred to the vessel as a ferry. To describe the passage as a cruise had to bordering on a criminal offence. He slipped over to the next page as Rosa emerged from the bathroom, torso concealed in a white towel tightly wrapped around her frame. He knew that she knew his eyes had been drawn towards her except his attention was on the two letters seemingly welded together at the end of the gold chain. R and C, Rosa Cain he assumed. The fixture came as something of a surprise. Rosa had never been ostentatious. She disappeared behind the patterned screen separating the two beds from the lounge area and he heard her rubbing a towel vigorously against her head to dry the long blonde hair. He toyed with the thought of standing to look out of the wide cabin window and then remembered it wasn't clean enough on the other side to see anything. The cabins should have bloody balconies to escape to, he muttered inwardly as he turned the next page.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

"It's a book about teenage vampires."

"Where did you get it from?"

"Someone bought it for me."

"And you've been carrying it around?"

"It doesn't take up too much room and helps to pass away the travelling time."

"Any good?" she asked.

"Not really, but it was a present so it would be rude not to read the damn thing."

Her face popped out from behind the screen.

"What's it called?"

He held up the novel to show her the front cover and her face screwed up in unpleasant surprise.

"Best seller a couple of years back," she said. "They made a movie out of it and the studio made a fortune. The kids were queuing round the block to see it."

"Explains what's wrong with the world," he moaned.

She let out a laugh and retreated out of view. He listened to the sounds of her dressing for the evening meal and for a while lost focus on the book. With his imagination threatening to run riot he forced himself to continue reading, galloping far too quickly through the next few pages.

"Ready," she called.

"What, no make-up?"

"No time for that," she said. "I don't need make up to eat and I'm hungry."

Some things never changed about Rosa.

Coffee arrived and he suspended the small jug of cream above her cup.

"No thanks."

Mindless, irrelevant small talk had been the order of the night. The décor, the sheer ordinariness of the meal and the general attire of the surrounds and its passengers had been encompassed in the evening's conversation. Almost anything except what was important. But he could tell something was on her mind.

"I'm not going back," she said.

The rim of the cup dropped away from his lips as he fought to contain the startled look in his eyes. If she had meant it as a joke she wasn't laughing.

"What did you say?"

"I'm not going back," she said. "Once we've disembarked and the stuff has been verified I'm gone."

The certainty in her voice worried him, almost as much as the deliberate choice of location to break the sudden news.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"This way we'll avoid having a heated argument. You don't like to draw attention to yourself in public, and by the time you've left the table you will have calmed down."

"Rosa, we agreed."

"It's your plan, not mine."

Infuriation came nowhere close to describing his anger, but he knew he couldn't vent his feelings here as she had already worked out.

"Rosa..."

"End of," she said.

"It will ruin everything."

"No it won't."

He slumped back in exasperated silence, mood darkening with each passing second. If ever there was an occasion where a man had just cause to give a woman a good slapping, to knock some sense into her, this must surely have been it. He glared into her eyes.

"You understand why," she eventually said.

"No, I don't."

"Let's not play games, Matt."

"I'm not," he replied. "The man idolises you, worships the ground you walk on. After Catherine introduced us he was virtually on his knees begging me to help bring you back. So I don't understand, don't understand at all."

"It was an act."

"Give the guy a break for Christ's sake."

"I'm telling you, it was an act."

"And I'm telling you. The man was in pieces, shattered. If that was an act then it was pretty convincing."

The tension deepened.

"We all make mistakes," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Stefan. Marrying him was a big mistake, a rebound thing. I know that now."

"Such as that may be you still owe it to him to talk face to face, be honest with him."

"The words pot, kettle and black spring to mind."

Anger sharpened inside him.

"Stop trying to change the subject."

"Why are you here, Matt? Why have you decided to get involved? I mean, if life is so bloody wonderful and rosy back in Victoria."

She had a point. He'd begun to question his own motives since their chat on the deck. Not that this did anything to quell his rising antagonism. Who the hell was she to question him anyway? This was a time for calm he reasoned. The trouble was, his emotions failed to connect with his brain.

"You're mind has been too well trained to make that kind of mistake. It's more calculating than that," he said.

"Screw you, Matt Durham."

Now he'd done it. He closed his eyes and cursed inwardly for allowing her to get under his skin. Stay focused, he kept telling himself. Get the argument back on to your terms.

"Of all the character weaknesses you could possibly name, self-interest is the absolute last I would ever have attributed to Rosa Cain."

The expected barb didn't arrive. She glanced away, her gaze drifting off into the distance. By the time it settled back onto his face, cold and uninviting, he'd regained self control. He hadn't seen this one coming, not that she had offered any earlier clues. Reason was undoubtedly the best way forward. If only he had the time.

"You're going back if I have to drag you there."

"You're welcome to have a go," she said.

"For Christ's sake, Rosa..."

"Pray as hard as you like. I've decided I'm not going back so you might as well take me with you."

"If you don't return it will arouse suspicion, potentially putting everyone at risk; Toby, Will, Johnno and Lily. You surely can't want that."

Waiting for a reply was like waiting for a bus, you couldn't be quite sure when it would arrive. He turned his attention to the ceiling, hardly daring to breathe in case he lost his temper completely. He decided his best option was to have another go at trying to be reasonable.

"Whatever happened to the team comes first, all for one and one for all?"

"I'm not part of the team, am I?"

With those few words Rosa stood and left the dinner table at pace, leaving a bewildered Matt staring into thin air. His first instinct was to run after her and give her a good shaking. The feeling quickly passed once he'd got over the shock and he elected to wander into the main bar area instead. The noise of the live band thumped at his head but he was determined to have a drink, anything with alcohol. Tillman had written how Rosa was not easy to manage at times. Matt was beginning to appreciate the observation.

His mind whirled with anger and disbelief for some time, broken only by the arrival of a female presence occupying the adjoining stool.

"I notice you're on your own," said the woman's voice.

Young was his assessment, early twenties wearing next to nothing with close cropped dark hair and heavy application of mascara. Her bright inquisitive eyes left him in no doubt she was interested. Either that or she was working the day job. Or, in this case perhaps, night duty.

"No, I'm just drinking alone."

"My mistake," she said. "I thought you looked like a man in need of company."

"You're right," he said. "It was a mistake."

He downed the remainder of the alcohol and pushed the glass away, ready to leave. The barman noticed him move and sped over to suggest a refill.

"Please, let me get that," offered the woman. "It's the least I can do and I wouldn't want you to hold any hard feelings towards me."

"There's no danger of me feeling hard at all," he said, and stepped away.

His surreptitious entrance was met by the unwelcoming sight of darkness, the drawn curtains extinguishing any prospect of the outside moonlight somehow forcing its way into the cabin to light his way. One pace was as much as it took for his toes to make contact with the first piece of furniture. He stifled the curse, peering in the direction of the beds to check for any sign of movement. He might as well have been looking into a bottomless pit. Hands spread cautiously along the wall until he located the door handle to the bathroom.

Prising it open presented him with an opportunity to swing his body inside and switch on the light. He eased the door shut and set about readying for the night, the thought of waking her from slumber occupying his mind throughout the preparation. The toothbrush settled into the tumbler and he decided to sleep on it before attempting to tackle her again. The door eased ajar and he spotted the mound in the furthest bed, head covered by the sheet in all too obvious reference of her refusal to engage in the slightest conversation. He flicked the light switch and edged to the bed, dropping his clothes in a heap onto the floor before crawling in.

The noisy drone of the ship's engines aggravated his sense of frustration, Rosa's unreasonableness gnawing at his efforts to find sleep. He turned for the umpteenth time and decided to have it out with her once and for all.

"Rosa?"

He waited, counting to ten in his head.

"Rosa," he said again.

The word went unanswered. He listened for moments on end unable to discern any sound of movement or breathing from her direction.

"Have it your own way," he snapped, and covered up.

Hour after hour he followed the passage of time through the luminous hands on his watch. At the point he managed to drift off he was awoken with a start by loud rapping at the cabin door. He leapt from the bed and fumbled for the handle to pull the door open.

"What?"

The newly revealed face, youthful and vaguely familiar through his angry red eyes, smiled politely.

"I thought I told you I wasn't interested."

"The ship has docked. I am to escort you."

"Define exactly what you mean by escort so there's no room for misunderstanding."

It was then he noticed the mountainous black man stood behind her.

"This is my colleague, Jeremiah Stone, Jerry to his friends. Do you welcome everyone without clothes on?"

He looked down at his unguarded privacy.

"Some people are impressed."

"You've obviously never showered with Jerry."

Considered thought started to return to his senses.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Wait here," he said.

"It's a little late to play the modesty card."

"I said wait."

He retreated to the sanctum of the cabin, making a beeline for the mound in the other bed.

"Rosa, get up. It's time to get off."

She made no effort to stir.

"Rosa, stop behaving like a child and get up!"

Her refusal to answer shattered what remaining patience he had. Matt gripped at the covers and tore them away to unleash the prepared reprimand. The words got stuck in his throat. He stared blankly at the carefully positioned clothing wrapped around the pillow and his jaw dropped.

"Where is she?" asked the voice behind him.

Matt refused to believe his own eyes.

"Where is she?" repeated the voice.

"I thought I told you to wait outside."

"You left the door open."

"Well shut it on your way out."

"But where is she?"

"Where is who?"

"Your companion," she said.

"I don't seem to recall telling you I was with anyone."

"The manifest shows two people registered for this cabin and both boarded."

"Look, who the bloody hell are you exactly?"

"I told you. I'm your escort."

"You could be anybody."

"The Milieu Derivative," she replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"To me, nothing," she said. "I was instructed to use the phrase to make contact."

"Who asked you to make contact?"

"Catherine Vogel of course," she said.

He took a deep breath.

"What makes Catherine think I need an escort?"

"You clearly need help from someone or else you wouldn't have lost your companion."

"I have not lost anyone!"

"Then where is she?"

"I don't know," he eventually said. "She can't have gone too far. I'll start the search and you inform Catherine."

"You might wish to dress first," she said on leaving.

He ignored her. All he could think of was the pressing question of where Rosa could have gone.

"Crap!" he said.

Chapter Twenty Four

Inevitable

Another day, same old routine; plush, luxurious car followed by the discomfort of the back of a transit van. He filled in the time by reassessing the timings and distances of this part of the route and matched them against his original notes. They were almost a mirror reflection. Catherine hadn't stepped out to greet him this occasion. Shown into the usual room, Marius soon appeared.

"Is that the inventory?" he asked.

Matt nodded and pushed it forward across the table surface for him to examine.

"Excellent," said the grey-haired man.

"Where's Catherine?"

"In conference, she will join us shortly. I suggest you make yourself comfortable."

Coffee soon arrived, courtesy of the scarily tall Francine. He settled into a chair expecting a long wait. The door opened before he'd taken his first sip and a young woman sauntered into the room. He'd thought they'd left her behind at the dock. Clearly she had travelled separately, taken a different form of transport. She plucked a cup from the table, poured out a coffee and sat in the adjacent chair.

"You never did tell me your name," he said.

"Vera," she replied.

"Vera! You're either older than you look or just stepped out of a time warp."

Her expression betrayed no offence.

"You know what they say about sharp minds. Eventually they end up cutting their owners," she said.

"Aren't you a little young for this line of work?"

"I look young because you're getting older."

She was sharp. Underestimating others leads to dangerous complacency. Rosa had taught him that.

"Why didn't you introduce yourself earlier?"

"I arrived some time after you'd sailed, by helicopter."

"Helicopters easy to hire these days are they?"

"They are from Feltwell."

"Isn't that a military base, USAF support?"

"I'm seriously impressed."

"You have a tendency to collect odd snippets of vaguely interesting information as you get older."

If the warmth in her subsequent smile wasn't genuine she was a consummate actress.

"I thought military had to wear uniform. Or is the virtual non-dress you had on last night the current regulation for the armed services?"

Her left eyebrow rose sharply at the quip.

"You sound like my father."

"Ouch," he said. "And you sound like you enjoy putting older people in their place.

"I spent several years at university studying for a Masters degree in archaeology, so as you can see I'm quite used to handling relics."

The riposte broadened his smile.

"Is Vera your real name?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're too young to be blessed with the name Vera, despite your line of study."

"Then you've answered your own question."

He sipped at the rim and settled back as the door opened and Catherine appeared, looking first to Marius.

"It is all here."

Catherine nodded and stood over the others.

"Tell me," she demanded.

"Nothing," said Vera. "No sightings of her disembarking after docking and no-one had seen her leave beforehand. In fact, none of the passengers or crew appeared to have noticed her at any time throughout the cruise."

"What happened?" asked Catherine of Matt.

He shook his head.

"Leave us," she ordered to the rest.

Once the door closed she made a coffee and glided into the remaining comfortable chair without speaking. He waited until she was ready.

"I repeat, what happened?"

"She didn't want to come back."

"Did she say why?"

"Stefan," he said. "Her mind is made up."

Catherine glanced to the window.

"Why didn't you tell me about the abortion?"

Her eyes flickered with surprise before recovering their customary composure.

"It was not my place to say."

"Are you holding something back?"

She held his puzzled look with a steadfast gaze and then her lips widened to a casual smile.

"You could not expect me to be candid on such a sensitive issue," she replied.

As explanations go it was a reasonable stab but he couldn't help feeling there was more to it.

"You have made a good impression."

"On?"

"Those seeking the inventory's return," she said. "They are very pleased."

"So I'm done?"

"There remains the matter of Rosa."

"Oh no," he said. "That wasn't in their brief."

"It was in mine."

"I brought her to your front door, so to speak. I can't make her cross the threshold."

"Nevertheless, it was what you agreed with me."

She was beginning to sound obsessive, an unpleasant and unfamiliar character trait he wouldn't normally associate with someone like her.

"What did you tell them?"

"She is unaccounted for."

"And they're comfortable with that?"

"Yes."

"So the pressure's off."

Catherine glanced to the window giving the impression of being somewhat distracted. He was curious to think what she might have promised Stefan, and why satisfying this guy's needs would be so important to her.

"I have news," she said.

"News?" he said.

"A local vagrant was arrested in connection with the brutal murder of Matthias Schumann. He has been identified as being in the general vicinity at the time of the incident and his fingerprints were found at the crime scene. The authorities have identified this vagrant as the real culprit and he is to be charged with the offence of murder. This new information shows Gratia was wrongfully accused and the charges against her have been subsequently withdrawn."

"You're trying to tell me the local police have by chance and after all this time happened to come across a passing vagrant who, despite Gratia's confession, turns out to have been the real perpetrator all along?"

"Yes. I expected you would be pleased for Gratia now that the path has been cleared for her to resume her career as Chief Operating Officer of Schafen Industries."

His mind struggled to take in the news, news that could irrevocably change everything.

"What are you playing at?"

"Play?" she said. "I never play."

"Gratia doesn't want to return to Schafen."

"By chance I happened to be in St Wolfgang at the same time Gratia was there visiting her father so I brought her up to date on the happy news."

"You never go back to St Wolfgang."

"I did on this occasion. Such is fate."

He could feel imaginary walls closing in on him, choking the surrounding air from his lungs.

"Like I said, she doesn't want to go back. Why should she when we've just bought a house..."

"Gratia has agreed to return."

"Don't you dare try and manipulate us."

Her smile evaporated, the warmth disappearing from her eyes in an instant.

"Gratia has returned to her old life."

"You're lying."

"Perhaps you would like to hear it directly? I can arrange for Francine to set up a video link, if you wish?"

His anger boiled to the point where he almost couldn't be legally held responsible for his actions. Her impassive façade refused to yield to the fierce, visual interrogation from his eyes. He tried again but couldn't break through.

"Do you wish for the link to be established or not? The choice is yours."

He nodded, unable to speak for fear of losing control, and she left him with his rage. Minutes of angry pacing followed as he waited, his mind swirling with uncertainty and disbelief over what might follow. The door opened and Francine placed a laptop on the table. His eyes screamed fury. Get out they said. Once she'd departed he took a few deep, short breaths to regain some sort of equilibrium and pressed the live button. Her face appeared on screen.

"Hi," he said.

"Hello, Matt."

"Are you good?"

"I'm good."

The conversation stuttered to an untidy halt, the way it does when people have met for the first time and are unsure how to break through the initial uncertainty.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"I'm with Catherine in Northern France, not too far from St Wolfgang," he said. "And you?"

"Munich," she replied after a moment's hesitation.

"I thought the background was a little unfamiliar. What are you doing there?"

Her glance flickered to the pen cradled between her hands and returned to the screen. It was already clear to him how this was going to play out.

"I think you know why I'm here."

He kept telling himself to stay calm, speak to her with an even tone. Words scrambled around in his head but refused to form, wouldn't order into a meaningful sentence.

"I'd hoped this conversation would be easier," he heard her say. "The fact we are talking over this link suggests Catherine has spoken to you already."

"Catherine now is it? Whatever happened to the devious bitch Vogel who couldn't be trusted?"

Gratia nipped at her taut lips.

"This is something I must do."

"No it isn't. It's something you might have chosen to do but not something you must do."

"I have given the issue great thought..."

"The sum total of a few seconds if I'm to believe anything Catherine tells me."

"I have not made this decision lightly..."

"And you made it without talking to me?"

He heard a voice calling her name, drawing her away from the screen. Gratia turned to answer, face visibly relieved at the intervention. He should have used the time to adopt a more reasonable and conciliatory stance. Reason had long deserted him, however, but rather than erupt with rage he felt strangely and eerily numbed. Business concluded, she returned to the matter at hand.

"This is another chance for me," she said.

Gratia by all accounts appeared determined to do this, to the detriment of anything else. If timing is everything in life this had put Matt in a timeless limbo, taking the wind from his sails and leaving him becalmed on the open sea. Seemingly drained of the ability to speak she took the opportunity to fill the gap in the conversation.

"I had hoped you would be supportive," she said. "You are after all familiar with the concept of placing all else aside to grasp at a second opportunity."

Like a defibrillator to the heart the words made him jump, shocking him back to life. Only they hadn't just brought him alive, now he was aflame with incandescent rage.

"That's totally different."

"Not from where I'm sitting."

"You mean in your plush leather chair behind your plush wooden desk in your opulent office replete with bone china cups filled with the finest Indian tea. Yeah, I guess from there it would be easy to consider yourself as one of the masses."

The barb crossed the line. He knew it did. But he wasn't going to take it back.

"There is the added bonus of being closer to both papa and Martha," she said calmly. "Does the prospect of living so close to them not appeal to you?"

"It escapes your attention that there are very few openings for floatplane pilots in the centre of Europe."

"There will be other things you can do."

"Such as what?" he demanded.

"Does it matter? My salary will more than compensate until you find your feet."

"You want me to give up my world, sacrifice everything I've built up and worked to achieve..."

He regretted the words the moment they'd left his mouth, the instant he saw the pain inflicted on her face. The phrases digging holes and deep ground sprang to mind. She glanced at the desk surface and fiddled again with the expensive ink pen in her hands while she waited for him to reconsider his stance, apologise for the contemptuous remark. Matt understood their relationship was at stake. He had to make a choice.

"I can't be a house husband."

The subtle twirling of the ink pen in her hands stopped, too quickly for his liking.

"Then Vogel has won," she said.

Gratia had made her decision. The die was cast.

"It doesn't have to be like this."

"I have to get back to work," she said, after a pause.

"Just like that," he snapped.

"I am needed. Something requires my attention."

The connection terminated, and her face disappeared in the blink of an eye. She'd ended the conversation, probably their life together, with the flick of a switch. He stared at the empty screen, bewildered and feeling suddenly alone.

The door swung open and a shape walked to the window and turned, resting her back to the wall to get a good view of his pensive expression.

"Your conversation has ended?"

"I could kill you for this."

"You present upset is understandable. But you will recover in time."

"This wasn't what we agreed."

"On the contrary you asked we facilitate a family reunion in return for the inventory and we have duly complied. Gratia has chosen to take it a step further."

"Because you've manipulated the situation," he yelled.

"I shall repeat. Gratia chose this path, not I. All I did was to provide the option."

He snatched up the coffee pot and hurled it against the far wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces at the same time as roaring in unadulterated rage. The anger released he turned his stare on Catherine and brought fear to her eyes. For the first time he had frightened her.

"What the hell do you know?"

"Why are you so surprised?" she said. "Before Gratia had the misfortune to come across you the world was her oyster. By day she mingled with the international business barons of the world, by night with the rich and famous. She had respect, stature, access to the most highly prized designer goods on the planet. Gratia ate at the finest restaurants, filled her free time with evenings at the theatre, culture. How could you possibly hope to compete, fill the void in her life? You, a float plane pilot and part time assassin from the backwaters of Canada. It was always going to end this way, inevitable."

They say the truth hurts. And Matt hurt. All he could think to do was lash out.

"You could be right," he said. "I might be no more than you describe. But I might also be the man who brings down your kind from the stratosphere, the man who clutches at your ankles and brings you all crashing down to earth."

Catherine latched on to his ill-timed, careless remark, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"What have you found?"

He turned away and walked to the window.

"What have you found?" she repeated.

"I find you rep..."

The sound of an infant's cries interrupted the flow of his acid tone. Catherine gave him no time to pick up the thread, leaving to urgently attend the call. He shuffled uncomfortably around the room, waiting for her return, thoughts repeatedly evaluating the content of his exchange with Gratia. The door opened and Catherine reappeared, Ilsa cradled in her arms.

"The driver is waiting to take you," she said.

Making swiftly for the door he pointedly refused to answer or look in her direction. The handle turned.

"Matt?"

He stopped.

"If you interfere with our plans, do anything which might lead Ilsa to endure a life of anarchy, violence and shortage I swear on my daughter's life to use every tool at my disposal to hunt you down like a dog."

He blinked, considered responding, and then left.

Chapter Twenty Five

The Promise

Flames flickered gently, toiled, to touch at the boundaries of their prison. The aesthetic addition to the décor served no real purpose other than to make the place feel a little homelier than hilltop villas rarely were. He watched transfixed, mesmerised, by the darting figures of light behind the plastic canopy as the same issues travelled through his mind. Reflection had never been a strong point, too much thought served only to confuse the mind. He couldn't stop. Life had turned upside down on a simple truth and the inner turmoil it created had intensified to such a level he could no longer see a clear path ahead. Where there was once certainty now lived only energy sapping doubt, an uncomfortable kaleidoscope of unfamiliar emotions he wasn't used to dealing with. Should he re-approach Gratia? Would she be either interested or care? If he succeeded in this obsessive search for the truth then what would be its lasting impact? Would he have foiled an evil plan or cleared the path for the world to continue hurtling towards oblivion? Maybe Catherine is right to argue a human cull is necessary in order to preserve society and the future of mankind? She was certainly better placed than he. And where the hell was Rosa at the time he most needed a friend?

The gentle hum of the mobile alerted him to an incoming text. Are you in position and ready to go? Respond. The third time Will had sent the same message. Of course Matt was in position. He'd been sat here for hours. Answer the damn thing and tell him! No rush. There was too much to consider, too much at stake. It could wait a little longer.

Cold coffee slipped silently between his lips. Ghastly was too kind an adjective to describe the unpleasant sensation. He leaned back in the chair and stretched out his arms, trying to instil any kind of movement into his wearied limbs. Another stretch and his fingers came into unexpected contact with soft clothing. The barrel of a weapon pressed against the back of his head, and he froze.

The clothing edged from the tips of his fingers, moved out of reach. He heard movement and looked anxiously to the floor in the hope he could count the number of shadows thrown across the tiled surface. There were none so he tried to gently adjust position and the barrel pressed harder to confirm he was the proverbial sitting duck.

"You're losing your touch," said the woman's voice.

"Two questions," he said in relief. "How did you find me? And where the hell have you been?"

"Credit card," she replied. "You used it to rent this place, despite all the training I've given you. Talk about a complete waste of effort."

"There was nothing wrong with using the card. No-one is supposed to be trying to trace me."

"I was."

The pressure of the barrel eased from his head and she walked round to look down at his furrowed expression, eyes sparkling under the artificial light.

"And this is a waste of money. I thought you liked space, this place is tiny."

"It's a one bedroom villa."

"Really?" she said.

"Cut it out."

"You're starting to get boring too."

"I am not boring, I'm busy. Where the hell did you get to on the ship anyway?"

"Hid under the bed," she said. "The moment you turned your back and answered the door," she added.

"You're not serious?"

"Yeah, I figured it was the one place no-one would bother to look. A trick I learned from you; hide in the most obvious of places."

"I certainly didn't think to look under the bed."

"There you go then."

"How did you get off the boat without being detected?"

"I didn't. I took the return trip."

"And none of the crew said anything?"

"They don't get paid a lot."

He knew the smug and triumphant smile was just her way of lightening his mood.

"How did you come by this place anyway?"

"Someone I know needs the extra income," he said. "It's one of a number of properties."

"So you've got more friends than just me?"

"Surprisingly, yes," he said.

She spotted the laptop on the table and grinned.

"How long has it been running?"

"Not started yet."

"What's the delay?"

He shrugged, causing her eyes to narrow.

"Something's happened, hasn't it?"

"Nothing's happened," he said. "There didn't seem to be any need to rush into it."

"Something is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong. I was waiting for you."

"Liar," she said. "You had no idea I was coming."

Her expression converted to one of mystified and quizzical doubt, as if trying to read his mind.

"Come on then, get on with it," she said.

Being told what to do was like fluttering a red rag in front of his face, and Rosa knew it. But to refuse would prove to her she'd been right; something was wrong. He moved across the open plan space to the dining table, brought the laptop to life and then speed dialled the mobile from his pocket to send the messages. Go, it read.

"What happens now?"

"We wait six minutes," he said, sitting on the cushioned chair by the table.

Three green arrows lit up at the bottom of the screen, in front of the brick wall covering most of the 3D screen. The first of them flashed intermittingly, shone brightly, and then slowly moved towards the digitally generated obstacle before picking up pace.

"That's the start," he said.

Precisely three minutes passed and the second illuminated, duplicating the movement of the first. Another three minutes and the third started operating.

"Now what?" she asked.

"We wait some more."

"For how long?" she asked.

"As long as needed," he said. "It might take a few minutes, most likely hours. Bit by bit the first two will chip away at the firewall and the other security measures until they find a way in. Once inside they'll widen the breach for our drone, and the others will try and mask what it is doing."

"And then what?"

"If Toby's fitted the right amount of armour plating their systems won't detect the assault until it's too late and we've extracted all the information"

"And the extracted material comes directly to you."

"That's the plan," he said. "In theory neither of the other two drones have the capacity to download, a security feature to prevent sabotage. So if there is a traitor in the team they're well and truly screwed."

"Unless it's Toby," she said.

"I had some extra measures built in."

"You told me you were a technical dunderhead."

"I am. Fortunately there are scores of university students who aren't."

"That's very clever. You have come a long way."

"Yeah, all the way to this villa in the hills of Portugal with only you to keep me company."

She raised her eyes in mock offence and he smiled.

"What happens if their firewall picks up the drones?"

"It'll order the operating system to an immediate shutdown and the sentinels will automatically send out digital tracers to try and pinpoint the origin of the drones. If they successfully get a lock on whoever is at the other end needs to get out fast, very fast."

"Hence you're up in the hills," she said. "You'll be able to see them coming."

"Correct," he said.

She settled into the next available chair, edging it close and leaning forward to look at the screen.

"What's with the image of the wall?"

"Something to look at while we're waiting," he said. "A Toby thing," he added.

"Floyd, I should have guessed."

The next question arrived sooner than anticipated.

"Did you get the inventory back to Catherine?"

"Yup," he said.

"What did she say?"

Thoughts of avoiding an answer were quickly dispensed by a finger prodding into his arm.

"Tell me, I want to know," said Rosa.

"She waved her magic wand."

"Sounds very intriguing," she said.

"Not really. Catherine manipulated some of the pieces on her chessboard and found a way to get Gratia back into her old job."

"She used to be Chief Operating Officer at Schafen?"

"One and the same," he said.

"Schafen's headquarters are in Europe."

"Tell me about it."

"And you're okay with this?"

"It's her decision. I couldn't tell Gratia how to run her life any more than I could tell you how to run yours. It's not like the good old days when men made all the decisions," he said, with a barely visible smile.

Her eyes fixed on to the profile of his face, examining the taut muscles now on display.

"You've split up," she said.

"Looks like it."

"So that's why you've been sitting here like a lemon these last few hours. You're feeling sorry for yourself."

"I guess so," he confessed.

The knuckles of her left hand touched against the skin of his forearm and gently rubbed to and fro.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Crap happens," he replied with a shrug.

Her hand unfolded and rested on his arm.

"Did you try talking to Gratia?"

"Briefly," he said. "The conversation didn't get very far. I lost my temper."

The inquisitive eyes softened at the admission.

"I keep forgetting how normal you are."

"Normal?" he said. "I'm stuck up in the hills of Portugal trying to uncover the deadliest conspiracy the world has ever seen after helping my enemies recover their own weapon. And to cap it all my partner has decided to leave me, not for another man but for a freaking job."

He hadn't meant for his diatribe to be humorous. Somehow it was, evidenced by Rosa's bold and beautiful laughter. He felt better for her presence, for being here.

"The worst thing is Catherine's right. Gratia's way out of my league. Always was. I was kidding myself to think it could be any different."

"That's a little defeatist, coming from the Matt Durham I know and love so well."

"I also discovered the other side of Catherine. What was it she said as I left? If you do anything which might lead Ilsa to endure a life of misery, anarchy and shortage, I swear to use every tool at my disposal to hunt you down like a dog."

Her smile widened at his passable impersonation.

"Catherine isn't so fierce," said Rosa. "She worries about how the world will be when natural resources get tight. Once the shortages become an everyday occurrence the world will be a far more dangerous, violent place. She doesn't want the same thing happen to Ilsa that happened to her first daughter, Eva-Maria."

"I remember when she told me about the murder, in China. Up until then I thought nothing would ever shake her but she broke down completely."

"Catherine?"

"Yeah, parental responsibility thing," he said. "She takes it very seriously."

Rosa kept her counsel and a brief, uncomfortable silence followed.

"She might be right about this, too. What if we do succeed in bringing the conspiracy down and all we achieve is to allow the world to continue its merry way towards self destruction, unfettered by the voices of caution. What would I have really achieved for Ilsa and the rest of humanity then, and at what personal cost?" he said.

He looked into the palms of his hands and sighed.

"For all I know I could be the one who is totally wrong and it is they who are right. I don't know what I'm doing."

The fingers of her left hand slipped between those of his right and held firm.

"You're struggling with your conscience. It's what all the good men do, all the best ones."

He squeezed her hand, recognising how much of a friend she had been to him over these last few years, how close they had become.

"You're a good friend, Rosa, the best," he said. "I should have called on you sooner, after Brussels."

"I called on you."

"Call that a visit? No sooner had you landed you were looking for the next flight out. I've never seen anyone in such a hurry to leave."

"I thought you were with Jenna, settled. Having me turning up on the door and hanging around might have been awkward for you."

"I wasn't with Jenna."

"What was I supposed to think? She answered your door first thing in the morning dressed only in one of your shirts from what I could see."

"She stayed overnight, as a guest."

"I know that now."

"Well if you'd stayed and bothered to ask..."

Rosa half chuckled, half smiled, a mixture of the two, and he reacted by squeezing her hand again.

"When I did eventually get to Europe you were with Stefan so I guessed everything was okay with you."

The blink of her eyes happened so quick it was almost imperceptible to the eye. She looked down at their clasped hands, apparently consumed by thought.

"And now you have Gratia," she said.

"Not any more it appears."

"Are you going to talk to her again?"

"I don't know," he said. "When I think about it she's tried to talk to me a number of times and I never properly listened. No surprise she eventually took off. I keep getting it wrong with women, don't I?"

"Not with every woman," she said.

The half smile, half chuckle returned.

"You are going to try again though, aren't you?"

He relaxed his grip just as Rosa tightened hers, an action that drew his attention away from his melancholy and towards the blue eyes searching for a response.

"I made a promise," he said. "A promise to..."

"And you're supposed to keep promises," she said, shaking their intertwined hands

The deeper he looked into her understanding eyes the more he felt drawn.

"Rosa..."

"Yes..."

"The screen," he said. "The sentinels have sent out tracers and they're closing in on the others."

Chapter Twenty Six

Choice

Bright red lines had appeared on the screen, apparently locked on to the routes of first two green arrows, shadowing their run to the brick wall. They were catching up fast.

"How long have they been running?" Rosa asked.

"God knows but they're getting closer and closer to the others by the second."

Hardly any of the bricks remained, indicating the assault had almost completed its task, but the accelerating pace of the red lines rapidly closed on their prey.

"I have to warn them," he said.

"You might blow your location."

"No other option," he said.

His fingers sped around the board, punching maniacally at the keys. He hesitated, and then repeated the exercise.

"What's wrong?"

"Someone's blocking the abort code signal I'm trying to send. It won't release from the terminal. How the hell are they doing that?"

He snatched at the mobile and speed dialled.

"Johnno, you're blown. You have to get out," he yelled into the handheld machine.

"I can't see anything obviously wrong here," said the voice from the speaker. "We're good by the looks of it."

"You're not good. They're locked on and closing fast. Get out, now. Move for Christ's sake."

"Matt?" interrupted Toby. "The programme's clean from what I can see. Are you sure the problem isn't your end?"

"They've disabled the abort code, so they must have found a way in to your terminal. You've got to get out."

"But we're nearly there."

"And so are they. You've got to move, now!"

"If you say so," said the disappointed voice.

"Now," Matt repeated.

He waited for their confirmation, only to be startled by the familiar sound of small arms fire over the line, growing louder and increasingly frequent.

"Toby," he heard a voice shout. "Ten o'clock."

More gunshots rattled over the mobile, loud and rapid, followed by a sharp curse.

"I'm hit."

Who? Matt wondered.

"Clear exit one," he shouted at the phone.

"Blocked," he heard Toby say.

"Two, number two. Try number two."

"They're there as well, they're fucking everywhere. We're totally screwed. Johnno, to your left," shouted Toby.

Matt baulked at the loud bangs careering out of the mobile, as though someone had fired right up alongside it.

"Toby, fire in the hold," he heard Johnno shout.

Another loud bang, more a blast; like an explosion, close and deadly. Then, silence.

"No, no," said Matt.

Instinct took over and he speed dialled the second number. No answer, and he realised he'd dialled the first by mistake in panic. He tried again, answered immediately.

"Matt?"

"Lily, get out. They're on to you."

"It's all good here," she said.

"It's not. Toby and Johnno are down. You have to abort and get out. They're almost there."

A gunshot caught his ear.

"Lily, are you there?"

The sound of a handgun firing close to the mobile crackled over the waves.

"Lily, Will. Is anyone there? Lily, Will, say something."

He listened intently, praying for dear life they'd spotted the assailants in time. The sound of a fresh clip snapping urgently into a handgun filled his ears.

"Will, Lily. Are you there?"

All he could hear was an unnerving silence. Not even the sound of feet running from the scene. Then, two shots in rapid succession, followed by a third and a fourth. The response was immediate, the automatic release of a machine gun.

"Lily!"

Another silence, another burst of gunfire. What was going on? Had they got out? Were they on their way? He couldn't judge from the long silences. He heard a voice call out, female and familiar, but whose?

"Go," it said.

The temptation was to say something, so the familiar tone would speak again and provide recognition. He switched off.

"What have I done?" he said, crestfallen.

"Time to move," said Rosa.

"They were waiting for us, knew what we were trying to do. How could they have known? How did they know?"

"Matt, move your ass."

He stood, stunned and motionless, mind unable to respond to Rosa's urgency. How could they know? She understood his fixation.

"Has anyone touched your clothes?"

He shook his head.

"What else have you had with you, the whole time since you got off the boat?"

He nodded at the laptop. She flipped it over and there was the device.

"That's impossible," he said. "It was clean when I got off the boat. I checked."

"And since?" she asked.

Mind scrambling back in time he slowly began to recount his every move, and he remembered.

"Vera," he said. "What a bitch."

"Small girl, looks about fifteen?"

He nodded.

"Try Connie Baresi, CIA," said Rosa. "And you're right, she is a bitch. Now can we go?"

"Connie?" he said. "That's worse than Vera."

"Matt, zip it and move."

Leaning to close the laptop he noticed the stream of bars gliding across the screen. There was a decision to be made he realised.

"It's nearly done," he shouted.

"There isn't time, leave it."

"No, I'm not going without it."

"Matt!"

"I'm going to wait."

Download 98% complete flashed on screen and he rammed a USB into a socket in readiness. The blue bar of the line crept agonisingly across the screen, inched where they should have galloped, as the memory stick filled up.

"Matt, come on."

"Nearly there," he said.

"There's no more time."

"Okay," he yelled, irritably wrenching the USB from the socket.

"Look out!"

The flash hit his eyes before the thump of the deafening noise invaded the ears, pole-axing him into submission. He slumped to the floor and looked around anxiously to see Rosa crashing to the ground alongside him. The second of the stun grenades flattened what little senses remained and his body trembled with the impact, sight disappearing into a void as the sensation of blood trickling from an ear took over. The image of a hand, bloodied and seared, met his temporarily returning gaze. It sank to the floor, and he realised the hand was his. He was beyond movement as the back of his head hit the floor, finally sending him into oblivion.

Thick and billowing smoke clouded the dreamlike sequence, impairing his ability to focus. Hands were on his body, sliding to each side and searching the pockets. An outline of a wobbly human shape fixed into his mind. Man or woman he couldn't be sure save for the long mane of hair. He felt the sharp prick of a needle into the skin of his arm. The shape rose to its feet and he lost consciousness.

Pieces of gold lay in front of gradually opening eyes, shattered remnants of an expensive watch strewn across the floor. Head hurt, hearing muffled, everything was out of focus. Then the body pain came; aching, tired muscles accompanied by the raging fire coursing through his veins. This must be hell, the world of the devil. Arms stretched and hands gripped, at the solid leg of the wooden table. Inch by inch he could feel his body shuffling along the cold, white tiles. The still body of a woman lay close by.

"Rosa," he called, praying she'd suffered from no more than being unconscious.

Panic gave him the energy to lift to his knees. Something was wrong. Every part of his body felt out of sync, nothing moved in co-ordination the way a body was supposed to move. He crawled and eased the silent frame onto her back. Blood had run from her nostrils, eyes were closed, breathing virtually non-existent. What time was it? How long had they been like this?

He slid towards the watch and touched the wreckage. The hands had halted at just past ten. Light from the windows indicated the late afternoon sun was beginning to sink, several hours had passed. He edged back to Rosa. No visible injuries, no broken bones or bullet wounds he could see other than the bloodied nose. What should he do now? It was so hard to concentrate, focus, the mind... didn't want to work, didn't want to...

And then he saw the puncture wound, in the crease of her elbow, a needle mark. Blink, blink to focus and look along her forearm. There they were, in line astern, three red blotches. She'd been injected with the virus. They both had. They were going to die.

Fading heartbeat, he could feel it, inside. Need an instant kick, an adrenalin rush, a flush of life. Think, think. What could he do? Matt saw it, the cabinet, the one and obvious choice. He crawled, slid and shuffled, then pulled his body up to release the leaded décor door. Brown, he was looking for the colour brown. Found one. Drink, gulp then swallow; once, twice, and a third before collapsing back onto the ground. Still not right, not perfect. But better.

The rucksack neared and the cover flipped open. He rummaged, searched, and found it. Concentrate, just a little longer. One squirt and it was ready to inject. She lay still and silent by his side, unaware of his choice. One dose was all he had, nothing to spare. No gut wrenching turmoil had clouded his thoughts, affected the decision. There could only be one survivor. The choice was obvious, a no-brainer. He rubbed and tapped furiously at the arm to bring the vein to the surface. Pressure applied, the serum steadily advanced down the plastic tube and disappeared where it was meant to go.

No police, he prayed. Failure of the breathalyser test was a certainty, as sure as night follows day. Clumsy feet sort of moved, jerking the vehicle forward. Down the dusty road it catapulted, vision impeded only by the frequent swigs of the high percentage alcohol to keep his brain functioning. A junction approached. Were the lights red or green? Immaterial he decided and ploughed through the opening, oblivious, his mind lost to another world. Familiarity neared. How many cars had he hit along the way? He neither knew nor cared. Sanctuary arrived. Another quick swig to help him measure the turning circle and he was there, blaring horn and yelling through the open window. The door opened.

"What are you doing?"

She approached, anger written across her face.

"Back seat, Rosa, needs help."

"You're drunk!"

"God I hope so."

"Matt?"

"Virus, given her antidote; needs help now," he slurred.

"Let me help you."

"NO! Don't touch. No antidote left. Get her inside and call a doctor, no hospital. Tell no-one you have her."

Worried eyes failed to move, failed to respond.

"Do it, now," he slurred again.

"What about you?"

"Karma," he tried to say. "Please, help her."

The back door opened and he listened to the struggle, Rosa proving a good deal weightier than she looked. The call for assistance brought the two boys to the door to help with the unloading. Once they'd got Rosa inside he attempted to re-engage the clutch, succeeding only in charging into a road sign. Several curses later and he'd manoeuvred the vehicle onto the road. First gear slipped into place, forward motion followed, and his weary eyes sought out the whisky container to wrap a hand around it. Empty.

"Crap!"

Hand slipped away from the gear lever, foot off the pedal, and the engine stalled.

"Crap," he said, slumping against the steering wheel.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Image

Loud voices talked over, above and around him, like surround sound. Two, maybe three in total, he couldn't be sure. Then there was movement, someone holding his arm by the wrist. Smatterings of words and phrases, partial sentences, briefly filled his ears before disappearing into a whirlpool of fading memories. Constant heat, temperature shifts and fluids were some words he recognised. All too soon the talking had gone, and he was left in the pitch black prison of a vacuum. Day or night, he couldn't tell what hour of the day it was on the few occasions some kind of awareness returned to his mind. There was a sensation he did recall, the presence of a body against his, off and on, infrequent. Sometimes he felt surrounded by the softness of skin, warm and secure within the tender hold providing safety. He tried to rise once whilst being cocooned in this heat, and was sharply reminded to lay still and rest. He obeyed the instruction as though it had been spoken by a voice from heaven, an angel calling down from above, soothing his disturbed mind as the light touches gently stroked the aching pains coursing through his muscles. Or could all this be unreal and it was just his imagination deciding to play tricks with his mind?

At last, a ray of light appeared, brightening the gloom that had engulfed him for so long. Sounds of children playing nearby entered his head, the splashing and thrashing of water. Where was he? A shade of grey loomed overhead, hair with accompanying beard. Not Santa Claus, surely?

"You have returned from the dead," spoke a man.

He tried to locate the voice, turning his head ever so gently to the right, and recognised the face.

"Marius?"

"Don't be concerned," said a woman.

"Don't be concerned?" he said. "The man is set to become a mass murderer!"

"Hush," said Maria, softly stroking his brow. "Lie back and rest. I asked Marius to help."

"I'm telling you, he's one of them."

"I am a scientist, interested in the science, no more."

"He's lying."

"Marius and I are old friends. We worked closely together, on viral research. He was the one person I knew to call that could help you."

"Maria's intellect was a tremendous loss to the scientific community when she opted for motherhood. A glittering career lay ahead of her."

"What?"

"You had the good sense to select the one person in the world who could keep you alive until I arrived."

"What?" he said again.

The initial shock passed and reason began to return, as did the array of senses he thought had been lost. Determined to rise they helped him to sit up in the bed.

"My head hurts."

"Drink this," said Maria, gently holding his head as the glass tumbler touched against his lips.

"Jesus. Haven't I had enough alcohol?"

"It will help to flush out the system, rid your body of the poisons left by the antidote."

"What?"

"You keep saying that," said Maria.

He remembered.

"Antidote, that means I'm..."

"Would you rather be dead?"

Snatching the tumbler from her hand he lifted it to his mouth and the contents disappeared in a single swallow.

"Christ," he coughed. "How the hell am I going to explain this away?"

"It is an increasing phenomenon in the West, particularly amongst the male of the species," said Marius. "But at least there are no other side effects to your health."

"They'll kill you for helping me."

"Unlikely," said Marius.

"Why is it unlikely?"

"This conversation can wait for another time."

"What?"

"My only concern at the moment is to help you make a full recovery. All else can wait until this has been achieved. Then we will have all the time we need to investigate events in more detail."

"What?"

"Will you stop saying that," said Maria.

"Where's Rosa?"

"She has made a full recovery. Your prompt action saved her life. Her response to the antidote was swift."

"How swift?" he asked.

"Within a day or so," said Marius. "In your case however, recovery will be longer as the virus travelled further before I arrived. You will need to rest for many more days to come."

"So where is she?"

"She has things to do. She did not say where or how long she would be gone."

"Things to do?" he said. "I have to get up."

"No," they said in stereo. "You must rest."

"I don't have time."

"You must take time," said Marius. "The poison remains in your system so you must rest while the body fights to rid itself of the infection."

"For how long?" he asked.

"Your strength will gradually return but your body needs time to rebuild."

"I can't wait for that."

"You can and you must," said Maria. "There will be no debate on this matter. I will not hear of it."

Marius' kindly eyes smiled down in support of Maria's words, and to reassure him it was necessary. Matt took a deep breath and sighed.

"Now you are awake I can go," said Marius. "I have left instructions with Maria. You must promise to follow them."

He nodded reluctantly, sinking back against the bed as they retired from the room. He looked up at the white ceiling and then to the side where he glimpsed two pairs of bright eyes, peering from the edge of the bed.

"Are you better now, Matt?" asked a little voice.

"Yes, thank you Sophie. In another few days I will be able to get out of bed."

"Does that mean you can come down and play in the pool with us?" asked Tessa.

"Not today," said Maria, clapping her hands together as she reappeared through the doorway. "Go and join the boys and I will be down soon."

The little bodies scuttled out of the room and she joined him on the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like a bear with a sore head."

"It won't last," said Maria, touching at his brow. "You're fever is beginning to weaken."

"Thanks, I owe you."

"No thanks are needed. Faced with a choice of helping you or with finding an explanation for the appearance of a dead man's body outside my residence there was very little room for manoeuvre."

She helped him to sit up and packed a fresh pillow behind his back.

"Has anyone tried to contact me while I've been laid up here?"

"No. Did you have anyone in particular in mind?"

"No," he said wearily. "I just wondered."

"Is there someone you wish me to call?"

"No," he said after a pause. "No-one I can think of."

"What about Gratia?"

"Not at the moment."

The quizzical expression revealed her surprise. He looked down at the wildly disturbed bed sheets.

"What a mess."

Maria rose from the bed and walked to the door, turning briefly to offer a faint smile.

"You had to be kept warm," she said. "Rest and recover. It will be a long process."

The dipping sun remained pleasantly warm. Warm enough for him to sit outside. Less than a day and he could barely feel his strength returning, Maria having to help him to the balcony overlooking the pool. The same page wouldn't register, for the umpteenth time, concentration impossible. He wondered how swiftly the others had died, what was in their minds before finally perishing.

"What are you reading?"

Sliding onto the adjacent plastic chair the cover lifted to her eyes and she smiled.

"I didn't enjoy it," she said.

"Neither have I."

"But you read it anyway?"

"A gift," he said, dropping it to the ground.

"You have nearly finished. Don't let me stop you."

"I was hoping you'd interrupt me much earlier."

"You should have said."

"Didn't want to disturb you," he replied. "You've got your hands full with the children."

"Yes, but it will be bedtime soon."

He looked over and noticed her pensive face, an expression riddled with hesitancy, as though charged to break bad news to a patient. The one where the operation went according to plan, but...

"An unusual choice, using your only supply of the antidote on Rosa," she said.

"I owed her. She's saved my life more times than I care to think about. Besides, she has something to live for."

"And you don't?"

Some questions he was happy to answer. This one fell into the other category.

"Gratia has not called."

"She doesn't know I'm here."

A careless remark and one he instantly regretted, arousing her natural feminine instinct to want to know more.

"You've been here for several days and been unable to contact her. Does she not worry?"

"Gratia's rediscovered corporate life it appears, the perks and benefits of the high life. Doubtless she's busy."

"I'm sorry."

"I blame myself. The signs were there I just didn't take the time to read them. Karma," he said.

"That's the second time you've used that word."

"Really, when was the first?"

She shook her head and briefly smiled, the pensive mood soon resurfacing.

"I found something, a photograph, came across it when I was going through John's possessions," she said. "Would you like to see it?"

"Sure."

Maria returned within a few minutes, a standard sized piece of card loitering in her hands. He watched her fingers roll it around seemingly unable to release it from the safety of her ownership.

"Perhaps it would be better for you not to see it," she said.

"Is it important?"

Her lips twitched in nervous anxiety.

"I'm not sure."

"Why not let me take a peek and I'll tell you."

A wavering hand pushed the sunglasses on to the crown of her head.

"You might not enjoy what it reveals."

Whether intended or not, she had his undivided attention. Stretching out an arm he smiled fondly.

"Please," he said.

A few more twirls of the object followed before she leant over and surrendered it to him. He held an easy going smile to demonstrate his lack of concern, succeeding it with a long sip of the orange drink by his side.

"Thanks," he said.

The grinning face of Maria's husband occupied the centre of the photographic image, looking as if it had been taken at the top of a piste. His arms rested over the shoulders of two skiing companions. To his right was the figure of a man Matt recognised, the late Johannes Schafen, the Chief Operating Officer of Schafen Industries. To Tillman's left was a woman, Johannes' ultimate successor Gratia Fuchs.

"It is a surprise," said Maria.

All manner of words came to mind, every one unrepeatable with the children so near. Gratia smiled with the others at the camera, her arm wrapped firmly around the waist of John Tillman.

"It was her scent I recognised," said Maria. "The courage to search did not come easy."

She could have said anything. The words went in one ear and out the next without stopping to say hello. He felt numb and cold, bitter too. Realising he needed to be alone Maria left him to see to the children. He couldn't feel the cold drops of orange liquid spill onto his leg from the receptacle trembling in his hand. He couldn't feel anything.

Evening lay in the early grip of night, darkness bar the glare of artificial lights from the bedroom behind. The tumbler sat empty, unused for the better part of an hour, and his mouth felt like an arid wasteland inside.

"Matt, would you like a refill?"

Head moved before brain engaged. An automatic response to a question he hadn't heard. She soon reappeared with the essential items and reoccupied her favoured seat. The thought of conversation was beyond him.

"It hurts, when they lie," she said.

"Yes."

"Harder for you knowing Gratia is still alive."

"Sounds about right," he said.

"Was I wrong to show you the photograph?"

"No. I'm pleased you did."

A lull descended, thankfully undemanding. The images on the photograph refused to fade.

"I'll go," she said, starting to rise, and his hand shot across the narrow gap between them and held her arm.

"Stay," he said. "We can talk if you want to."

"As long as you are going to be okay," she said.

"I am young, strong and will recover. According to some people anyway," he said.

"And will you?"

"I don't know. I really don't know."

Deliberate sips at their drinks were conducted in tandem, like synchronised swimmers in an Olympic event. Then they settled back into silence, the quiet room of their lonely minds, windows shut and doors locked to deter the intrusions of the rest of the world.

"We used to sit on the porch at night huddled underneath a blanket looking at the stars, a routine I thought she enjoyed," he said unexpectedly.

"With John it was a warm log fire, after the children were put to bed. As time passed I wondered if it was only me, the more he stayed away."

"We're a strange breed, humans. Constantly talking yet never seeming able to communicate, grief stricken at the plight of others yet unable to rouse ourselves to do any more than take the easy option. Perhaps mankind deserves its fate."

She met his static gaze with an uneven smile, eyes dripped in caution, and he wondered what she was thinking. Thoughts of the like he couldn't begin to understand no doubt. A sudden cold shiver made him tremble unexpectedly and she reached to touch lightly at his arm, frowning at the contact. She stood, towering over him with an open hand.

"I can take the blood sample later," she said.

The hand hung, suspended in invitation. Common sense and decency dictated he politely decline, on the grounds of inappropriate and unreasonable behaviour on his part. That it would be entirely wrong for him to take advantage of a lonely woman.

"I really don't think I can."

"If we are to speed your rehabilitation then we must keep to Marius' instruction. That was all which was on offer," she said with a knowing smile.

Eyes slammed tightly shut, as if this would somehow block out the sense of self ridicule. It wasn't just his body that was having difficulty with co-ordination.

"I'm sorry. I thought..."

"You think too much," she said.

Driven by an apparent independent will, his hand slipped into hers and she led him into the bedroom, only for him to stop suddenly.

"What does this involve exactly?" he asked.

"The same as has happened for the last week."

Mind confused by the comment he followed obediently, led by the hand into the room he had believed his own. She released her hold as they entered and moved to one side of the bed, depositing her drink on the adjoining set of drawers. He felt eerily calm as the retaining clasp loosened and her top fell away, swiftly followed by the withdrawal of her remaining attire. He expected coyness at the unveiling of her physique, signs of timidity. There was none. She stood proud and bold in response to his obvious hesitancy. Perspiration eked from his brow as the shivering took hold and she knelt on the bed and shuffled over to his side, taking the glass from his hand and placing it to one side. The buttons popped open, one by one, and the shirt slipped from his shoulders. Her expert hands smoothed the shorts off his waist and down his legs. A sweep of her arm and the sheet peeled back, her hand tugging him urgently down.

"Come, there is not much time," she said.

The trembling escalated, perspiration converting to furious sweat, and he dropped to the bed.

"What's happening to me?"

"Hush," he heard her say. "Your body seeks to discharge the toxins trapped inside."

Energy seeped from the pores of his skin as she unfurled his body to wrap him in her arms and he fell gratefully into the womanly embrace.

"Has...this...happened... every night?"

"Hush," she said again. "Rest easy and try to sleep."

Groans escaped his mouth as the blood in his veins turned to lava. Muscles twitched independently of the processes of his mind and he felt as though the skin was being peeled from his body.

"What's...happening?"

"Be calm, try and be calm," she soothed.

Body at war with mind he would have screamed if he was able. All he could do was to shake violently and she tightened her hold to nurture him through the process.

"Maria... hold me... hold me."

"I have you," she said. "I have you."

He saw the darkness coming, but could do nothing to avoid its approach.

"Jesus... Jesus!"

Chapter Twenty Eight

Hot Rain

Steep canyon walls trembled in fright at the approaching mass of rushing water galloping behind the lonely, wounded steam engine. Boulders shivered then broke free of their restraints to somersault down the vertical walls onto the track, blocking the line ahead. The only route left was up. Fierce whistles of steam brought the angry juggernaut to a screeching halt and he leapt to the ground to begin the climb. Crumbling pieces of rock impeded his ascent, limited his struggle to rise above the onrushing tidal wave of destruction. Desperation drove him on, hands bleeding at the deep incisions caused by grappling with jagged rocks as he searched for grip. Another few inches of progress, one more step to safety, and then he saw his end approaching. A mountain of water bashed from one side of the dusty canyon to the other as it neared, frothing at the mouth. Increased toil drenched his body with sweat in the frantic dash for escape. He was rising, making sudden and swift progress when the first of the hands grabbed at his sodden clothes; one pair then two, followed by others, all attempting to hold and drag him back into the oncoming storm. Erratic breathing took its toll as he struggled. Now he was choking, slipping back, down...

"Hush, hush," he heard her say. "All is good. You are in a safe place tonight."

Arms tightened the suffocating hold to subdue his attempt at resistance as he fought against the superior strength. An unequal battle, one he didn't have the energy to combat.

"Hush," said the voice again. "No-one can harm you here, be still and rest."

Heartbeat slowly began to settle into rhythm and his mind returned to previous nights, recalling the detailed contours of the familiar shape. He remembered. Maria lay with him each and every night in the struggle to expel the poisons circulating throughout his system, held him in comfort as the storm raged and then cleansed his sweaty skin every morn.

"There, be still and rest," repeated the voice.

Held in her embrace he realised she had become encased in his sweat, and for the first time felt the damp texture of the bath towels underneath the mattress sheet.

"You'll be sending me a large laundry bill," he said.

"Sizeable."

"Has it been like this every night?"

"Similar, but it is getting better. How do you feel?"

"Cold, weak," he said.

Soft breath brushed the top of his head.

"Is it the same one, the dream?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Once more her breath caressed his scalp and her hand stroked the nape of his neck. His head pushed up against her soft breasts in appreciation of the comforting hold.

"How long will this last?"

"Days, perhaps weeks," she said. "Marius cannot be sure. The attacks will become more infrequent over time."

"Was it like this for Rosa?"

"She was fortunate. You injected her with the antidote in good time. It took several hours for Marius to arrive however and by then the virus had taken a hold of your body. We were not sure you would survive."

She adjusted her body to the uncertain movement of his limbs, ensuring he would continue to enjoy the soft but sticky pillow of her sweat drenched frame. He understood now why she had disrobed him.

"Thank you," he said.

Her lips, strong and reassuring, pecked his head.

"John suffered with bad dreams," she said. "He would awake suddenly in the night."

"I am not him."

"No but there are similarities, you both share some of the same characteristics."

"I am not John Tillman."

"No, you are not," she replied after a pause.

The subtle gliding of her fingertips over his neck halted, and then resumed.

"Is this why..."

"No."

"Then why..."

"Must we analyse my reasons?" she asked.

"No. I wanted to check you were okay with this."

"I feel good, very good," she whispered.

"If a little soggy,"

Gentle laughter brought them face to face.

"Did John ever tell you what was in his dreams?"

"No, not once," she said. "He would say everything was okay, to go back to sleep and not worry. A day or so later he would tell me he had lost one...so and so, one of his people. John would wound at the loss, cut deep, though could never bring himself to admit his true emotion."

He had fought Tillman as an enemy, killed him as one. Never once had he considered him as anything else, forgotten the man had been human.

"The strong and silent type eh?"

"In this respect you and John are alike. Erecting barriers to imprison your demons in the belief this displays inner strength when, in truth, all that you achieve is to allow your demons to ultimately imprison you."

He tempered his distaste at the likening to her late husband by trying to determine how much of the profound analysis actually related to him. Perhaps Maria had a point.

"I lost some people," he said. "Persuaded them to help me and then led them into a trap. Four died. Would have been five if I hadn't had the antidote, six without your help," he said. "I still hear them call to each other, looking for a way out as the net tightened on their positions."

Cheek muscles tensed to the imagined scenes, people he knew desperately searching to avoid oblivion.

"They were far away from my station, too far. I couldn't get there, couldn't help."

Head falling back into the open palms of his hands, he looked up at the ceiling from the pillow.

"You shouldn't have helped me," he said. "I didn't deserve to be helped."

A finger trailed the outline of his jaw and he looked into her eyes.

"The decision was not yours to make," she said quietly.

And fortunately, it hadn't been.

"What will you do next?"

"I don't know," he sighed.

"Did you succeed in getting the information?"

"No. They relieved me of it while I was incapacitated by the stun grenade. They took the laptop too. Without either of them I've got zilch, back to square one. Four people dead and I've nothing to show for it, nothing at all."

"You did the best you could."

"And it wasn't good enough."

"You must not punish yourself," she said. "It will not bring them back and no good can therefore come of it."

Maria meant well but there was no softening the blow in his tormented mind, no easing of the burden of guilt.

"In my dream I'm travelling through a steep canyon. The path ahead has been blocked by falling rocks and I'm being chased from behind by a monumental tidal wave. The only way out of it is to climb, but I keep losing my grip and falling back. Except these last few nights I'm not losing my grip I'm being pulled down, by the hands of people with unseen faces. I think it's them, the people that have helped me. The people I led to their deaths. It made little sense to me before, less so now."

"Perhaps you fear the past will not let go and this prevents you from addressing the future."

Impressive as the off the cuff assessment sounded he chose not to place too much store in its likely accuracy.

"I hadn't realised you'd studied psychology as well."

"I studied men," she quipped, stifling a yawn.

"You must have barely slept this past week or so."

"As a single mother it is not too uncommon in my line of work."

"Aren't you tired?"

"I am exhausted most days," she replied. "Not tonight for some reason, despite how it may look. I do not feel the urge to sleep."

"I hope St Anthony fully appreciates all this work you're doing in his name."

The subsequent smile revealed the laughter lines around her eyes, something he hadn't noticed before, underlining how strangely relaxed their relationship had become.

"This can't be healthy, lying swamped in sweat," he said. "Do you mind if I jump into the shower and freshen up."

"Jump if you can. I will change the bed."

Soap ran into an eye as he sought to address the difficult task of maintaining balance, blindly fumbling for the half empty shampoo bottle on the thin metal rack. The desperate search proved too much of an ordeal and he stretched an arm to each side of the tiled walls to steady his slow descent to the floor of the cubicle. Reduced to his knees he felt a blob of cold liquid hit the top of his head and then hands started to massage the greasy substance into his hair.

"Just as well I came," her voice said unexpectedly and he felt her presence nearby.

"Thanks."

He hadn't the energy to refuse her help even if he wanted to retain privacy. Not that it mattered. He'd virtually lived naked with her for God knows how long.

"Are you okay there?"

"Yeah, just about," he said.

The circular motion of her small hands rubbing at his scalp relaxed his mind to the point she could have continued forever and a day. The massaging action gathered pace and he could feel the erect nipples of her swaying bosom brushing against the skin of his back. Embers of desire flickered briefly into life before disappearing again as quickly as they had arrived. Matt sighed in the knowledge he wasn't remotely capable of maintaining erotic thought.

"Close your eyes," she said.

Streams of soapy water ran down every side of his head as she meticulously rinsed through the sodden strands of his hair to expel the foam.

"There, you are done."

Shaking water from his eyes he felt the shampoo bottle being pressed into his hand, and she eased him aside to drench her long dark tresses under the hot streams. Filling his palms with the gooey orange cream she clasped his hands together before he could reciprocate.

"I'll do it," she said. "Dry off and return to bed."

The bath towel around her torso when she finally appeared did little to conceal the statuesque figure underneath, though his admiration lay not in her feminine form but for the woman underneath the skin.

"How are you feeling?"

"Weak as a kitten," he replied. "It's depressing."

"Your strength will return, in time. You must be patient."

"I've been here long enough already."

"You wouldn't be here at all if Marius had had his way."

"What do you mean?"

"He wanted to take you away to one of their special places, for treatment."

"Then why didn't you let him?"

Her gaze retreated to the nightdress she'd retrieved from the drawer, falling open so she could check it for length.

"I don't know," she said, softly. "I'll sleep with the twins so you can rest undisturbed."

Unnerved by his ongoing silence her head turned to see he had folded back the cover on her side of the bed.

"No point disturbing the children," he said.

Another night, same old story, depressingly. Shorter this time though judging by the watch. An hour or more since it began, much less time than a week or so ago. He'd lost track of the days and time had become immaterial. It wasn't so much an open prison as a vacuum he found himself in. Too poorly to leave or do anything close to being described as constructive this period of his life felt like a downward spiral. The best he could do was to be patient and wait for physical improvement. But waiting was an art form he had never properly mastered. He thought about starting a conversation then noticed Maria remained asleep, her left arm and long leg swung protectively over his torso. He couldn't recall her ever being asleep in his presence. Every movement he made and she was there within a flash, ready to assist without impatience or complaint. Not this time.

He eased his sticky body from under her embrace and slid out onto the cold tiled floor, heading slowly on all fours to the shower cubicle. Using the handle as a lever to rise he stepped in and caught his trailing foot. One curse later and he was in a muddled heap.

"Are you okay? I didn't hear you rise. You should have said something."

"I'm fine, lost my balance, that's all."

"Let me help," she said, entering.

"I told you. I'm fine."

"You are not fine otherwise you would not have fallen."

Gentle hands descended on his arm and he shook them away before slumping onto his butt with his back against the wall.

"Don't fuss me, Maria. Just turn the bloody shower on and go back to bed."

She crouched to examine his angry face with confused and questioning eyes.

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. As you can see I've never been in such pristine physical condition."

Her answer came slowly.

"It will take time."

"That's what you said last week, and the week before that and the..."

"It will take time," she repeated. "Each episode is shorter than the one before and after each the body recovers quicker than the one before. You may not have noticed the difference but I have, and the results of the samples confirm it. Don't you feel the energy surges becoming ever more frequent?"

"No I bloody well don't," he snapped.

She stretched out and turned the handle, showering him with a powerful deluge of cold water quickly reverting to hot. Head bowed he sat with the demeanour of a spoiled, sullen infant refused permission to go out and play.

"A full recovery is the prognosis," she said. "With each day that passes your heart beats with renewed vigour, muscle definition increases and strength returns."

"You seem to have skilfully avoided the awkward subject of my infertility."

Shampoo squeezed into one hand ready to be applied and he withdrew his head from reach.

"I thought you were a man."

"I'm not a man. I'm an impostor, a fraud, a physical wreck of a human being. You must be blind not to see it. Go away and leave me alone."

The open palm of her other hand appeared and crashed to his jaw.

"Behave as a spoilt child and I shall wash you as one."

Shaken by the impact he ended resistance.

"If it is children you desire take mine," she said, massaging the oily substance into his hair.

A light, irreverent quip but it raised a smile all the same.

"I still don't understand why you're helping me."

"I need you fit, healthy and focussed if you are to complete John's mission."

"So the dream analysis was a page from the Maria Costa book of personal motivational techniques was it?"

"No," she said, with mild laughter. "I believe there was much to it which is accurate."

The gentle massage to his scalp continued, soothing the acid sting from his mood.

"Why did you give Rosa Cain your only antidote?"

"She's a friend."

"You would do this for any friend?"

"I owe Rosa my life, more times than I can count. Without her I'd have been dead a long time ago."

"Strange."

"What is strange?"

"She said much the same about you. That you had rescued her on many occasions before, against overwhelming odds and without hesitation."

"I was one life-saving attempt behind her."

Maria smiled at the humility of the response.

"She speaks well of you, in glowing terms. Rosa told me you are different from other men she has met."

"Rosa has a tendency to exaggerate."

The application of the shampoo seemed to be taking longer than normal. Perhaps even minutes had lost their value. The rinsing of the suds began. Deciding against shutting his eyes he glanced up to see her looking down at him and he suddenly realised they were face to face. She had always been careful to avoid this before. This woman had stood by him while others had ran away, was nursing him back to health against all logic and reason. Averting eye contact his line of sight dropped to her soft and round bosom, the nipples erect as though aroused by their proximity, the motion of her arms causing her breasts to sway from side to side. The movement stopped abruptly as the hands massaging his hair fell to the scar tissue of his torso and her fingers began to run gently along their length. The energy surge of which she spoke began to manifest itself as he looked up at her face and drew a gaze of seeming fascination.

"I have finished," she said.

Instinctively, his hand reached up to cup a breast and his thumb started to lightly caress the nipple. Her back arched and then straightened as his mouth circled the erect nipple, feeling her body tremble at the touch of his lips. She responded by slipping her hands to the back of his head to pull him towards her and force a breast against his mouth as the sharp urges of arousal gathered in pace.

Matt slipped a free hand underneath her left thigh, pressing lightly in the direction he wanted her to move. Her knee lifted raising the leg just enough to enable it to skim the flesh of his thighs so she could sit astride his outstretched legs, allowing him to gorge on each breast in turn. Maria moaned with barely contained excitement as his lips moved between the two and the increasing desperation to feel her touch surround him rose. Without warning her hands relaxed their hold on his head and her fingers intertwined with his hair and gripped tightly to pull his head back hard to the wet tiled wall. He recognised he'd overstepped the line.

"In your own words this is wrong," she gasped.

"Yes," he panted, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again"

She relaxed the hold on his hair and he looked up to avoid eye contact, shower water pelting his face like hot rain.

"It is not right."

"I know. I said I was sorry."

She remained astride while he continued to shake his head in apology, praying the visible sign of his arousal would come to recognise the error of its way and retreat. A second later he plucked up the courage to resume eye contact.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, to show he meant it.

He thanked the heavens she possessed the mature restraint all women seem to possess in matters of the flesh. He believed this even as she resumed the delicate touch to his scar tissue. Believed it right up to the point she nudged her frame a little further forward along his legs, then lowered her hips and took him in from the rain.

Chapter Twenty Nine

Reunions

Sunshine illuminated the bedroom, suggesting another bright and sunny day lay in store. The night had once more proved uneventful, no nightmare or physical assault on his body. He felt becalmed, marooned within this oasis of life, the soft touch of her breast pressing to his skin adding to the sense of serenity. You will never be completely free of it she told him, on the night he said he felt well enough to leave. Stay a little longer she said, better to be with someone who understands your condition and knows what to do should you suffer from an attack. There is no-one else. So he took the easy option, and stayed.

Circular and cold the object touched at the skin of his back between the shoulder blades, intent on disturbing his slumber. A muscle twitch failed to expel the intrusive presence and he moaned in irritation. Small in diameter the intruding object continued to annoy, more so at the increasing pressure being applied to his skin. He thought the children knew better. An image appeared in his head, bringing startling recognition to his semi conscious mind. This wasn't nuisance material from children who had risen too early from their beds. This was the barrel of a hand gun.

Eyes cautiously opening he saw the barrel slide into view, jerking repeatedly to tell him to get up. Hardly daring to take a breath he slid onto the cold floor tiles. A mental count to three and he looked up at the intruder.

"Will?"

Demanding silence with a finger to the mouth he pointed to the door and Matt hopped behind trying to frantically dress as they left. The questions arrived the moment they were onto the hall landing.

"How did you get into Maria's bedroom?"

"I should be the one asking you that question," said his friend. "There wasn't any other information we needed."

"It's a long story."

"Tillman's widow?"

"Like I said, it's a long story and not for discussion."

"Suit yourself. We need to go downstairs."

Struggling to get the zip of his pants to obey Matt pursued his energetic friend, convinced he could hear voices the nearer they arrived to the bottom of the stairs. He was right. They were coming from the direction of the outside patio.

"Who's that talking?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

Eventually winning the battle between man and cloth they stepped onto the sun drenched patio where he was greeted by three instantly recognisable faces.

"Now I know I'm dreaming."

Unexpected warm handshakes greeted his presence. They had every right to react differently. Instead they appeared to be genuinely pleased to see him Toby being the only one to sport a bandage, to his left arm.

"How the hell did you get out?"

"With extreme difficulty," said Toby. "Not helped by some burke giving away our location by shouting out our names down the phone every five seconds."

"I thought you'd all had it," said Matt, trying to ignore the earlier remark.

"We had help," said Will.

"Help from who?" asked Matt.

"Not sure. I heard a woman's voice tell us to go. It was only after we got free Lily told me it wasn't her."

"Come to think of it," said an intrigued Johnno. "I thought we got supporting fire from somewhere on our way out but didn't think much about it at the time."

"They found us through triceratops," said Toby. "That's what happens when you wander onto a university campus without saying. They're crawling with sleepers."

"Sleepers?" queried Matt.

"Security operatives placed to look out for unusual activity or spot emerging talent. Mostly they're fake students. That's where Triceratops was compromised."

"How did you know?" he asked, already aware of the probable answer. "Where is Rosa anyway?" he asked quickly to change the subject.

"Doing a pick up," said Will. "She'll be here soon."

"What you did for Rosa," said Johnno. "That takes real balls, Durham."

"Can't that woman keep a secret?"

"Not for long. It was Rosa who told us to come here."

"What the hell for?"

"Find out what we do next, boss," said Toby.

"There is no next. We had one shot and I blew it. Hang on a minute, what did you just call me?"

"You're the man with the plan," said Johnno.

"Yeah, a plan that nearly got everyone killed."

"You wouldn't be the first person in the world to be duped by the elf Connie," said Johnno.

"You've come across her before?"

"Johnno has," said Toby. "I had to untie him from the bed the last time they got together at a hotel. Take my word for it, it wasn't a pretty sight"

"She has the face of a child."

"And the mind of a centuries-old witch," said Johnno, as his attention was drawn away.

"Matt?"

"Give me a minute," he said to them, hearing the woman's voice at the patio door.

"Who are they?" she asked, sleepily scratching her hair.

"It's the rest of the team. They managed to get out!"

"I'll make some coffee."

He touched at her arm to stop her leaving.

"It's okay. We'll go and talk somewhere else."

"I'll make some coffee," she repeated.

He rejected the idea of a public debate, deciding to return to the others rather than follow her inside.

"Who's that?" asked Johnno.

"Mrs T," said Will.

Glances shifting to all directions told Matt what they were thinking.

"Now there's a thing," said Johnno.

"It's not for discussion," insisted Matt.

The array of shrugs didn't help ease his mood while they waited for the refreshments. Maria caught his eye without offering a facial clue to indicate what she was thinking.

"I'll see to the children," she said before leaving, closing the patio doors behind her.

"Right, back to the new plan," said Toby.

"What new plan?"

"If at first you don't succeed..." said Johnno.

Blinking furiously, he looked to each in turn.

"They know we got away," chipped in Will. "So they're going to come after us again. The only chance we've got is to hit them first."

"So, boss. What's the next step?" asked Toby.

"I am not your boss."

"Someone has to lead," said Johnno.

"Will's your man, the best qualified to take charge."

"It can't be one of us," said Johnno. "Never promote from within. It doesn't work."

"I am not a leader. Leaders are supposed to be smart not idiots who lead people straight into a trap. I'm the last person in the world you should follow."

"I'll follow you," said Lily.

Lily had been unusually quiet, taking in the exchange thus far without comment. Yet in one short statement she had left him speechless, lost for words.

"That's sorted then," said Johnno.

Looking to the sky for inspiration all he could manage was a deep and reflective sigh.

"It has to be you," said Will.

"I don't have triceratops anymore. They relieved me of it when I was lying stunned on the floor."

"They'll have dissected it by now," said Toby. "The option is well and truly shut. We need a back door key."

"What would a back door key look like?" asked Will.

"They come in all shapes and sizes."

"What about a single numerical sequence?" Will asked.

"Too easy. I'd use at least three."

"I've got three," said Matt.

"I thought you only had one?"

"I only showed you one."

Matt scrawled down the set of numbers he had shown Will previously, 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 18, 19, 20, 21, *, *.

"That's interesting," said Toby.

"What?"

The numbers are all below twenty six."

Pieces fell into place for Matt. He converted the numbers to words of the alphabet to come up with C, F, G, H, I, R, S, T, U, and then immediately replaced the asterisks with the letter A and showed them to the group. They looked puzzled by the apparent random lettering, bar Will who put it together and looked at Matt in amazement.

"You're kidding?" said Will.

Matt slipped the photograph from his pocket onto the table.

"That's John," said Lily. "And I recognise the second man in the picture."

"From the Austrian op," said Matt instantly. "His name was Johannes Schafen, the Chief Operating Officer of Schafen Industries."

"Who's the babe?" asked Johnno.

"Gratia Fuchs," said Will.

Within seconds the others had caught up. The first series of letters spelt out her name. Eleven letters, the same number as John Tillman.

"There's more than eleven letters to the other guy's name," said Will.

"Fifteen to be exact," said Matt. "But..."

The sound of a car braking firmly to a halt at the front of the villa interrupted the conversation.

"That'll be Rosa," said Will.

Sure enough her happy, beaming face appeared through the patio doors. A second person, hidden from view by the open front door, spoke to Maria.

"Hi guys," said Rosa. "I've brought..."

"No time, Rosa. You need to tell us, did Johannes Schafen have another Christian name?"

"Yes," she said, startled by the less than warm welcome. "His middle name was Jens."

He scribbled it onto the note. Jens Schafen, eleven letters.

"There are your keys, Toby. Substitute numbers for the letters of the alphabet and you have three keys."

The absence of a triumphal response made him glance up and look behind.

"Hello, Matt."

The voice speared into his soul leaving him feeling numb, a confused and volatile mixture of seething anger and relief. He'd thought about this moment without knowing how his mind would react until the occasion eventually arrived. The Guinness eyes lacked their usual lustre and try as he may he couldn't muster a smile.

"Let's talk," was the best he could utter.

Sensing the awkwardness the others abandoned the scene and he pointed to a chair, concealing the documents on the table with his arms.

"You look well," she said tentatively.

The ability to speak continued to desert him leaving Gratia to take the lead.

"Concentration has not been easy during these last few weeks, worrying about your condition and ..."

His arm lifted, revealing the photograph, eyes examining her face for a reaction. Her glance turned to a concentrated stare but she said nothing.

"You've never met John Tillman?"

"I met a man who introduced himself as Jason Taylor, a senior executive from an international company working out of Xiamen. His credentials were immaculate."

"You ski with everybody you meet once?"

"I never ski on a first date."

"So it was a date? This is why you asked me not to pursue the log, in case I found a connection to Tillman."

Her silence confirmed the observation and his mind went into overdrive, recalling the comments in Tillman's log. And then it came to him and he realised.

"I assumed he was writing about someone else. He wasn't. He was writing about you wasn't he?"

"Jason was charming, attentive ..."

"And you screwed him?"

Anxiety carved into her stony expression and she looked briefly away before returning her gaze to meet his hardened stare.

"We were close, for a short while."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I think it does."

Poise regained, her unyielding gaze matched the intensity of his venomous glare.

"And you didn't tell me this because?"

"It was a long time ago."

"Damn it, Gratia. This is Tillman we're talking about!"

"To me he was Jason Taylor."

He spun out of the chair, anger intensifying at the cold calculation behind her answers.

"Why should this trouble you?" she asked.

"You know why."

"No, I don't. I don't know why, Matt. Explain it to me. Why does this consume you with such anger?"

"You knew his real identity the moment Maria showed you the picture of him and his family, and you deliberately kept it from me."

"I saw no gain from revealing the past."

"How many more secrets are you hiding? Who else have you been involved with I should know about?"

And then it occurred to him.

"It was you. Going back to Schafen was how she paid you off, wasn't it? The fee you settled on for keeping tabs on the two of us, Will and me back on the island, and then reporting back to Catherine."

The truth was in her eyes, laid bare for all to see. She rose from the chair and cautiously approached, her hand touching gently at his forearm.

"Don't... touch me. Don't ever touch me," he said.

She withdrew her hand and stepped back, shaken by the viral response.

"Why did you even bother to come here?"

Her eyelids flickered involuntarily and his mind celebrated the depth of the wound inflicted. Gratia recovered, having seemingly arrived at a decision.

"I release you from your promise," she said.

"What promise?"

"The promise papa requested. He had no right to ask."

Matt understood. In a single statement Gratia had made it clear she had come in search of freedom. He stepped away, through the open patio door, and closed it behind. The group waited for him to speak.

"Lock and load," he said. "Either we're going down or they are."

Bodies sprang into motion, collecting their various pieces of equipment and darting around like angry hornets from a disturbed nest. The opening of the patio doors brought Gratia into the room at the same time the owner arrived at the bottom stair and he made a point of crossing over to Maria.

"Goodbye, Matt," she said with a tentative smile.

"Goodbye?"

"Your team awaits you."

"When it's over..."

"I will hear of it, on the news."

"Maria..."

"Go," she said. "They wait for you."

This was not the departure he envisaged, cold and distant. He started to retire as two small bodies reached the bottom stair and surrounded their mother's legs.

"Matt," said Tessa, "will you be coming back to play with us in the pool?"

An arrow to the heart had to be less painful. He returned and dropped to a knee, smiling at their unhappy faces. Maria would be better able to explain his departure.

"Promise me you will look after your mother," he said, brushing at their fringes with a gentle hand.

They nodded in tandem, bewildered faces framed in doubt and confusion.

"Now give me a hug to prove you mean it."

Falling into his embrace their little arms tightened around his neck as he kissed each in turn. Despite their infant years they understood he would never return. As hugs go, this was about as meaningful as it could ever get. Separation came at their mother's request and he rose, unsure as to whether he should repeat the show of affection with Maria.

"Go," she whispered, to halt him in his tracks.

The pause felt eternal, a dreamy chasm of timeless silence swirling around inside his head. The smile refused to form and he turned away, his glance catching Gratia's solitary form standing at the door. He made no attempt to acknowledge her presence. As far as he was concerned Gratia represented the past.

Chapter Thirty

Entry

The last embers of sunset slid inexorably beyond the horizon, the illumination dead, gone. Rows of orange edged peaks had been replaced by nothingness, a black canvas of eerie silence. The noise of mountain boots sinking into the layer of freshly laid snow alerted him to expect unwanted company.

"Still locked in strong and silent mode then?"

"Not now, Rosa."

"You're going to have to talk to us eventually about what's on the disc I gave you."

"Don't you know?"

She narrowed the gap to stand close, rubbing her gloved hands together to generate warmth.

"I haven't seen it. Gratia asked me to pass it on."

The mere mention of her name made him angry.

"Are you going to try again?"

"No."

"I thought you made a promise."

"Rosa!"

"Okay. But whatever was discussed doesn't stop you from joining the rest of us in the hot tub."

"I showered earlier."

She exhaled with impatience and frustration.

"What?"

"Like it or not you're team leader."

"So?"

"So show some leadership man. The world doesn't revolve around Matt Durham's personal woes."

With that she gave up and trudged back to the lodge. For the first time he felt the evening cold and shivered. Odd that a rise of just a few hundred feet up a mountain could propel a person from one season into another, autumn to winter, he considered. Weary steps brought him to the wood stair leading to the balcony where the others soaked and joked playfully in the tub. They were in pleasingly good spirits. Mounting the third of the four steps he shivered again and a bead of perspiration dripped from the hairline of his scalp. Wiping it from his brow he held the railing to maintain balance.

"Budge up all," said Johnno. "The man's finally decided to come in."

Leaden legs shuffled him along as perspiration intensified to the point of saturating his face in sweat. It had been so long since this last happened.

"Matt, are you feeling okay?" he heard a voice say. "Matt, what is wrong?"

"I'm... going to turn in for the night."

If there was a reply he didn't hear it. Gripping the door handle at the third attempt he stepped inside, hand rested against the wall to keep him steady. A handful of paces would get him to his room. Arms pressed to the walls of the narrow corridor he took the first step, then the second and third as beads of cold sweat leaked from his pores. The fourth proved the proverbial step too far and his knees buckled.

"Gotcha," said a voice from behind and two pairs of strong arms managed to keep him upright.

Vision fading he couldn't determine their identities as they lowered him onto the mattress where a sudden array of hands worked to unzip and unbutton the layers of clothes.

"I've told them you might need some attention," said a woman's voice.

He flopped from side to side as they continued to undress his body, devoid of the energy to resist. Unclothed, they sat him up.

"Sip this," said the voice.

He gulped from the glass, the warming effect of alcohol bringing a temporary relief from uncontrollable trembling and profuse sweating before his feverish mind succumbed once more to confusion.

"Maria?" he said. "It's still happening, still..."

"Easy, take it easy. Lie back and rest. We've got you," said the woman's voice as his mind galloped into the dark tunnel called oblivion.

Bubbles came to mind. Not the ones to be seen rising to the surface from deep water but the soapy ones you blow through a ring after dunking it into the plastic cup holding the artificial mixture. One particular liquid mass of uneven shape grew larger and larger and then... He sat bolt upright, eyes trying to focus, brain trying to engage. A wisp of blonde hair trailed over his arm and he blew to try and remove the errant strand, growing increasingly agitated at his inability to succeed. Then he remembered earlier events and realised its obstinate refusal to move was due to the hair being glued to his arm by cold and sticky sweat.

Oblivious to his surrounds he somehow managed to adorn his briefs and stumbled from the bed into the dark corridor. Using memory as a guide he found the hot tub and immersed himself in water, eyes closed and head resting against the edge to luxuriate in the warmth of the hot bubbles for minutes on end. Approaching steps disturbed the mood.

"Matt, are you okay?"

"Rough," he said.

"Try this."

A glass tumbler pressed into his right hand and he gulped at the alcohol to ease the parched sensation in his mouth. One more and he handed it back.

"What time is it?"

"Three," said Lily's voice.

Two bodies entered, positioned to either side, almost as if they wanted to provide an impenetrable protective coating. In its way he found this reassuring.

"I thought you two were supposed to be resting."

"We heard someone moving around," said Lily. "When we saw it was you it seemed like a good idea to get up and keep an eye out."

"I'm fine, really. No need for babysitters."

"Not a problem," said Johnno's voice. "It's the least we could do after you took the hit for Rosa."

Two splashes told him they had been joined by others and he opened his eyes to identify the newcomers, Will and Toby.

"Where's Rosa?"

"Crashed out in bed," said Will. "You're quite a handful to control when it hits you. We didn't know about the attacks, Rosa explained about Mrs T."

"I thought you were screwing her," said Johnno.

"Why doesn't that surprise me? Don't you ever think about anything else?"

"Life's too short."

If nothing else the man had a sense of humour. Matt rested his eyes and waited for the next question.

"What's it like, when it happens?" asked Lily.

"Like fire in the veins. As though someone had jabbed a giant syringe into your body and was sucking the life out. I'd hoped I'd seen the back of them. Clearly wishful thinking on my part," he said.

"How long will they go on for?"

"According to the guy who treated me it could take several months," he said with a shake of the head.

"How did you get involved in this from the start anyway?" asked Lily.

"A friend sent me an unmarked USB. I had no idea what was on it but soon found myself being chased by Tillman and flew to Canada under a false passport. Unknown to me Rosa was following and introduced herself in Toronto. I lost her for a while until she picked up my trail in Victoria. That's where I found out who she really was. By then she'd decided to help me uncover a conspiracy I later discovered to be called The Milieu Principle. We went on the run. Tillman caught us up in St Wolfgang, in Austria. Johannes Schafen was killed there and Rosa wounded. I thought she was dead and shot Tillman out of revenge."

Lily revealed a surprising lack of hostility.

"Once I got Rosa to safety I removed the bullet. While she was recovering I then went on to meet a politician in Brussels who I was told might help us."

"Catherine Vogel?" said Will.

"Yes. With her help I thought we'd succeeded in finishing the conspiracy only to find out later the people involved were still operating. I made one more attempt but the closest I got was to pass some files to an investigative reporter. He was swiftly charged and jailed with tax evasion so the story more or less died with him."

"I remember. Horton Priest wasn't it?" said Toby.

"The one and only," said Matt.

"He was murdered three months into his sentence by a fellow inmate as I recall," added Toby. "The prison authorities never identified the culprit."

"Now you know why."

"So who is behind the conspiracy?" asked Lily.

"Never found out," said Matt, glancing at Will.

"Something doesn't add up," said a thoughtful Toby. "If Tillman worked for these people and was trying to kill you then why leave his log for you to find?"

"There's a lot about this that doesn't add up. The only thing I know for certain is that nothing is what it seems."

"Rosa owes you big time," said Johnno.

"No, more the other way round. She's rescued me more times than I care to remember, taught me everything I know about how to survive and the way you people operate."

"She couldn't have taught you everything," said Lily. "Or you would have known."

"Known what?"

"Leave the dead behind," said Toby. "Two casualties, only one antidote and you regained consciousness first. The onus was on you to stay alive and move on."

"We're curious," said Lily. "Why did you do it, give Rosa your one and only dose of the antidote?"

"Yes, why did you do it?" asked a voice.

Attention turned to the blonde haired figure standing in her briefs at the open door.

"Speak of the devil. You coming in?" bellowed Johnno.

"After Matt's told us why," said Rosa.

A half shrug followed the shake of his head.

"It seemed like the right thing to do at the time," he said. "I wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the time."

"The right thing?" she asked.

He was going to have to say something.

"I thought I'd led four of you to your deaths. I wasn't about to let it happen to all five."

He found it impossible to judge what they were thinking, save the belief they appeared to have further warmed to him for some reason.

"Come on, Rosa. Jump in," said Johnno.

Matt shut his eyes at the point she reached behind to start undoing her bra, not daring to re-open them until he knew she had entered the tub.

"Rosa, what the hell do you think you're doing stripping off like that?"

Her mischievous grin and fluttering eyes prompted a tour of their expressionless faces and it suddenly dawned he must be the odd one out within the group, a scenario leaving him distinctly unsettled.

"Well," said Rosa, widening her mischievous grin. "Are you going to be part of this team or not?"

There was little point searching for support. All eyes were on him, daring him to make the necessary gesture to confirm allegiance.

"Crap," he said.

Briefs duly removed he swung them round above his head and catapulted them along the balcony to a chorus of hurrahs. He was at last beginning to understand the camaraderie of this peculiar ensemble. All for one and one for all came nowhere near. Their bond was unique, powerful and all consuming. If Tillman had succeeded in nothing else he had surely achieved something special with this motley group, blended together to form a unit like no other. This had been Tillman's legacy, the creation of a masterpiece in human construction. There was something about being with this entourage he found attractive, special, providing a sense of belonging he hadn't experienced before. Other than Johnno's humming of a vaguely familiar melody the group lapsed into a peaceful silence.

"Why this place?" asked Will to break the mood.

"The fifty yard uphill kill zone between us and the trees. I prepped this place before we made the first attempt, as a back-up venue."

"Where's the back door?" asked Johnno.

Matt pointed behind, to the towering incline of mountain rock immediately behind the lodge.

"It's up there," he said.

"Difficult climb under fire," said Johnno.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Their security protocols will be on high alert, waiting for our next attempt," said Toby. "The moment we uncloak the site tracers will be coming from every direction, and given the speed they found us with the last time it's likely they'll locate us in minutes."

"Fortunately we've got the back door key. With any luck we'll be able to sneak in unnoticed and exit before they realise what's going on."

"Sometimes opening a door is all that's needed to light up the site like a Christmas tree."

"Then we download what we can and get out."

"They're highly sophisticated. For all we know they've got units stationed all over the place ready to rock and roll at a minute's notice and could be at our door within an hour or even sooner," said Will.

"Lily can monitor the environment while we're busy. The moment she sees anything we move."

"What time do we start?" asked Lily.

"We start on the perimeter at dawn."

"It's nearly dawn now," said Rosa.

"Time to dress," said Johnno, his movement encouraging the others to begin rising.

Matt shut his eyes to avoid witnessing the pounds of naked athletic flesh emerging from the tub. Once the splashing had stopped he re-opened them to be met by a pair of inquisitive blue eyes.

"Why did you do it?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Give me the antidote."

He struggled to maintain contact, mindful of her uncanny knack of getting into his head.

"I've already said. I'm responsible for you all. You would have done the same."

He watched her head bob along the surface, submerged body shuffling up to position herself next to him.

"That's not how I was trained," she said quietly. "So why did you do it, really?"

The blue eyes brightened at his unease.

"I didn't want you to die."

Her eyes continued to search his face for the indisputable proof of his honesty.

"Why didn't you want me to die?"

"Because you would have haunted me," he said. "Life is tough enough without having your ghost whispering into my conscience forever and a day."

He couldn't be sure about the meaning in the movement of the muscles around her eyes, though the slight squint might suggest a smile was close to breaking free.

"And that's why," she said. "You're afraid of ghosts?"

"That's why," he said.

The smile in her eyes escaped and she kissed at his lips.

"It's me that should thank you," he said.

"What do you have to thank me for?"

"For looking after me, earlier tonight," he said.

"Thank Lily. She drew the short straw."

"Short straw?" he said.

"There is a way of getting all sweated up with men. That wasn't the one I had in mind."

"I assumed it was you."

She tossed back her head and laughed before dipping her shoulders in turn to draw up the straps of her bra.

"I thought you'd undressed like the others?"

"You've been watching far too much internet porn," she said with a grin

"Rosa!" he complained, as she rose from the tub and went inside the lodge.

He twisted his neck to watch her go and saw the eyes of the others looking out through the half open window.

"Very adult!" he shouted with a wide grin.

He poured the remainder of the pot into the mug and sipped at the rim while he looked out of the window. The gentle breeze nudged at the remaining leaf of the isolated plant which had somehow forced its head above the snow line, refusing to bow to the inevitable onset of autumn. Even here, life found a way to survive. Elbows rested on the breakfast bar he surveyed the four bodies huddled around the rectangular dining table close to the patio doors. Toby occupied the first chair, eyes drifting between two of the three screens lying astride the wooden surface, while Lily concentrated on the third. Behind the two seated figures Will and Johnno watched interestedly, offering the odd insight every now and again. He looked left and saw Rosa's frame draped along a leather sofa, one of two identical pieces of furniture facing each other, her fingers operating the remote control to try and improve the picture on the wall mounted television screen. He beckoned her over and they joined the others, waiting patiently for the laptop screens to properly form. Lily was first to speak.

"Perimeter's set."

Matt tapped Toby's shoulder for an update.

"You can see why potential hackers wouldn't be interested in the site. It's just a scenic picture."

The screen revealed a photographic image of the sun rising over a country field. Matt thought back to Tillman's log and the curious cryptic message about three following a master in search of enlightenment.

"Try the sun," said Matt.

Toby double clicked the cursor and a blank space appeared in the centre of the sun. The blank space resembled an empty box with three lines.

"Neat," said Toby.

Matt retrieved the paper in his pocket and examined the three lines of scribble.

G R A T I A F U CH S = 7, 18, 1, 20, 9, 1, 6, 21, 3, 8, 19.

J E N S S C H A F E N =10, 5, 14, 19, 19, 3, 8, 1, 6, 5, 14.

J O H N T I L L M A N = 10, 15, 8, 14, 20, 9, 12, 12, 13, 1, 14.

Instinct suggested what to do next.

"In that order," he said.

The three sets of numbers neatly filled the spaces and he felt his arm muscles tense. The screen sprang into urgent life and endless streams of code galloped past them as they were dragged into a black hole.

"Wow," said Toby.

"What does it mean?" asked Lily.

"Governments use technology of this complexity. Take a look at this..."

"We get the picture, Toby," said Rosa. "Bytes, rams and mega things; it means nothing to us."

"You're such a philistine, Rosa Cain. There's not an ounce of artistic appreciation anywhere in..."

The journey shuddered to an abrupt and sudden halt. Toby, with tongue poking through his lips, appeared to have stopped breathing as they waited to see what would happen. A flash preceded another mad dash through a maze of galloping code and then they stopped for a second time.

"We're in," he excitedly announced.

"Great, but where are we exactly?" asked Rosa.

Matt could understand her initial confusion. The image on the screen resembled a long dark tunnel, a beacon of daylight some considerable distance ahead.

"You were right," said Toby. "This is a back door."

"So what do we do next?" asked Lily.

"Explore," said Matt.

Swift operation of the mouse brought them closer to the light, nearer to the unknown. Toby's finger movement halted at the tunnel end and they strained their eyes to look into the illuminated area and saw something akin to a foyer, replete with half moon shaped reception desk some distance away under a high domed ceiling.

"What the hell is this, playstation?" said Johnno.

"Virtual," said Toby. "I remember chatting online with a pal in the USA about developing something similar. It looks like we got beaten to it."

"What are those two humanoid shapes?" asked Lily.

"Sentinels, guards to the uninitiated," said Toby. "Wow, is this cool or what?"

"Next thing we'll be picking up energy sacks and ammo belts to fend off aliens," said Rosa.

"Settle, people," said Matt. "We've got work to do."

"We don't even know which way to go."

"Forward," said Matt.

Emerging from the tunnel their presence took humanoid form, like the guarding sentinels, only theirs was in the shape of a sharply dressed man in suit and tie.

"I've always wanted my own Avatar," said Toby.

He edged them deeper into the massive chamber, stopping at the reception desk. A section of desk rose to grant access and they moved forward again. Passing through the opening they descended the stairs into a dimly lit space. Two further sentinels were stationed at either side.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Walk a little."

This brought them before the image of a circular shaped vault door complete with capstan wheel fitting. Immediately, an empty box appeared on the screen.

"Another password needed," said Toby. "It can't be the same as the ones we've already used."

"We're stuck," said Rosa. "We only had three and they've all been used."

Matt was stung into silence, unable to comprehend why they had reached a virtual brick wall. To have come so far and be held up now had to be plain unfair, unreasonable. He stood, motionless, unable to think.

"Any ideas?" said Johnno.

He had none.

"Now's the time to speak," said Toby. "The sentinels are on the move, heading towards us."

"How many digits?" he asked.

"The same number as before, eleven."

How could there be another password of eleven digits to get access? Matt didn't know of anyone else with that number of letters to their name.

"Boss, they're getting closer."

"Shut up, I'm thinking."

"Well think quickly," said Toby.

"He doesn't know. Get us out Toby," said Rosa.

"No," said Will. "This might be our only shot. There's no turning back now."

"But he doesn't know," snapped Rosa.

"Matt, think. There must be another name lurking in the back of your mind," encouraged an anxious Will.

"I'm thinking."

"There isn't time," said Rosa.

"Come on, Matt," said Lily. "You must know of someone else involved in this thing."

"He doesn't know," insisted Rosa.

"I'll get us back to the tunnel," said Toby.

"No," said Matt sharply. "Wait."

He snatched at the writing pad and scribbled furiously in panic, J A M E S K I M B E R. He converted the text into numbers, 10, 1, 13, 5, 19, 11, 9, 13, 2, 5, 18, and showed them to Toby.

"Try that."

"Who the hell is he?" asked Lily.

"Never mind, go," he said.

Toby's fingers hammered against the keyboard and they held their collective breath. The capstan wheel spun madly round and the vault door opened.

"Jesus, talk about cutting it fine," said Toby.

"Where are the sentinels?"

The screen spun one hundred and eighty degrees to reveal the two humanoid figures returning to position. Matt sighed and felt a congratulatory pat on his shoulder from a hugely relieved Will.

"Take us inside," said Matt.

They were confronted by pitch black, the screen so dark it was impossible to see what was in front of their eyes.

"Where the hell are we?" asked Johnno."

"You're the techno genius, Toby. What are we supposed to do now?" asked Matt.

"Lights would help," said Will.

Toby tapped lightly at the screen and the room illuminated, as though brightened by an invisible flick of a switch.

"I should have known," said Toby.

On three of the side walls of the limited room a vast array of silver shapes were now visible, each coded on the front with mixed numerical titles.

"This thing is huge. Where do we even begin to look from here?" asked Johnno.

Matt was busy trying to make sense of the control panel on the right of the screen. There were five dots, listed like bullet points on a presentation screen. Four were coloured red, the last a bright green with a short message alongside; Welcome James Kimber.

"The five dots," said Toby, noting Matt's interest. "They signify the designated users of the vault. Green means we're the only one logged in."

"I wonder who the others are," said Will.

"Won't know until they log in," replied Toby. "When they do they'll know we're in too."

"What are these for?" asked Matt, pointing to a horizontal line of coloured lights placed underneath.

"Worker ants I would think," said Toby. "They're the little people who keep it operational, everything from security to system maintenance. None of those would be allowed in here though. This is the top table."

Matt's attention turned to the security boxes.

"See if you can figure out how to download information," said Matt. "Lily, use your phone to take a photo of the first wall of security boxes. Once you've got the picture work with Will to decipher the numbers on the front into titles. Rosa and Johnno can do the same with the second."

"What are you going to do?" asked Rosa.

"Work on the last one while Toby explores the mechanics of this virtual world."

While the others set about their allotted tasks Matt turned his attention to the third wall, scanning the numbered boxes and quickly identified something of interest. 16, 5, 18, 19, 15, 14, 14, 5, 12 = personnel. His finger touched the screen and the box opened, revealing a pile of compressed files.

"How am I supposed to be able to read these papers?"

Toby touched the screen and drew a finger sideways to bring the first file into open view.

"Touch the screen and the page will automatically turn," said Toby. "Move your hand fast if you want to skip through."

"Isn't there an easier way of working through?"

Toby pointed to the search box and smiled patiently.

Matt typed in the word Vogel. Several seconds passed as the machine conducted its enquiry, signifying completion with the arrival of a compressed folder.

First into view was a short statement, no more than a few lines of text, authorising Vogel's involvement in the project. James Kimber was the signatory. Vogel's first daughter, Eva-Maria, had been conceived through her liaison with Kimber and the tie between them looked closer than he'd imagined. Maybe she had returned to the well to get Ilsa. According to this her date of activation was two years ago, signalling she hadn't been involved at the outset. There was no information on her role within the vast organisation, suggesting contact was kept to an absolute minimum.

"Matt," interrupted Toby. "They've built a failsafe into the system. There must be three simultaneous authorisations from the five designated users before a download can be initiated. I'm guessing it's a feature aimed at eliminating the potential for data corruption and/or theft. If there is a procedural breech the system locks down."

Not the news Matt wanted to hear. The plan had been to locate evidence of the conspiracy and go public, impossible without an ability to download. Having the back door key was not the straightforward solution he'd hoped for, every move revealing yet another obstacle.

"You have to find a way."

Toby nodded and returned to his research. Matt revisited the search button. He typed in the name Fuchs and tried to be patient. Two documents appeared on screen. The first related to Gratia's father, Gerhardt, and advised that surveillance had halted.

The second was a note, countersigned by Catherine herself, authorising the elderly couple's stay on Vancouver Island. There was nothing on Gratia. He typed in his name and drew a blank, which he found somewhat curious given the job he'd done for Catherine.

Then he moved on to the team; Will, Johnno, Toby and Lily. The records proved Will had been deactivated and there was nothing on the others. If one of them was a traitor then it wasn't showing up here.

"Matt, look at this box here," said Johnno. "It's marked Oversight."

The first part covered background and referred to events from some forty years ago.

"Kissinger? I've heard that name," said Toby.

"A political beast from the Nixon and Ford administrations during the late sixties and early seventies, revered by all and sundry within the US political classes," said Matt.

He manipulated the touch system to bring more of the relevant file into view and they crowded round.

"What does NSSM stand for?" asked Lily.

"National Security Study Memorandum," he replied. "This one is numbered 200 and it's about the possible effects on US foreign interests of rapid population growth in the developing world. Apparently they were concerned some of these nations would gain significant political leverage as their populations grew, such as Brazil in continental America and the likes of Nigeria in Africa. Higher birth rates meant larger numbers of young people with growing needs who would be more likely to challenge existing global power structures of the day than older generations. They forecast this kind of scenario would make it harder to get to essential mineral supplies in the future as the developing world increased their demands on the West in order to meet their own growing needs in return for access. The Americans concluded that future commercial exploration and exploitation of mineral supplies would only be viable if population growth in the third world was suppressed, thereby reducing economic demand from these countries."

"Suppress, how?" asked Lily.

"In this report they cite heavy investment in education and training on birth control as a possible means."

"And if that didn't work?"

"Biological warfare," he answered.

The subsequent hush demonstrated their grasp of the full implications.

"Genocide," said Lily.

"It's an effective way to stop people breeding. The other is through an enforced sterilisation programme."

"I thought you said The Milieu Principle is about reducing overall numbers of humans on the planet?" asked Lily.

"It was," said Matt. "But this looks like a far more targeted approach, with the end game being finance."

"Money," said Rosa.

"Yes. Take one forty-year-old US government policy, dust it down and privatise it, and hey presto you've got a blueprint for making more money."

"It explains Kimber's involvement," said Lily. "The family fortune was built on high value commodity trading according to this article on the web."

"That's where The Milieu Derivative fits in," said Johnno. "It's the perfect weapon to suppress and clear out indigenous populations from a geographical area to get unfettered access to deposits."

"Some might call it ethnic cleansing," said Toby.

"Which is the reason why no advanced society, either east or west, would associate politically with this kind of activity," said Matt. "Could you imagine the international condemnation and outrage if they got caught? We're dealing with a private enterprise and a very dangerous one at that."

"And yet," said Lily, eyes fixed to her screen. "It says here that despite the report's declassification in 1981 no successive US administration has formally revoked this policy since its adoption in the mid-seventies."

"Which means it's still current," said Toby.

"But forgotten," said Will. "If this were a US Government-backed approach then this site would be buried deep within the confines of their electronic security network, never to see the public light of day."

"I didn't know that," said Lily. "All NSSM reports have to be endorsed by the National Security Council before they can be accepted as official government policy, and the NSC just happens to be headed by the US President of the day and his designated Security Adviser."

"The original decision was made almost forty years ago, well before Kimber and his motley crew decided on this path. Nevertheless it suggests they might have a contact. Someone on the inside, within the State Department, feeding them with information," said Matt. "It's the only way a privately funded venture could get this organised without being detected."

"Why do you think it's a private venture?" asked Johnno.

"Because it's about money," said Matt. "The means, or in this case the lack of, to secure access to deposits which don't belong to you. If you don't have the cash to buy your way in it leaves the path open for people from richer nations."

"Such as China and Russia," said Toby.

"Yes, they're both buying up everything in sight. If you're a businessman without the means to compete and get a strong enough foothold fairly then the next logical step is to find an unfair way of getting your foot in the door."

"But this involves mass murder," said Lily.

"For personal profit," agreed Will. "So we have to find the evidence in here to put a stop to this."

"We're don't have the time," said Toby. "James Kimber is logging in to the system."

Chapter Thirty One

Home Truths

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. This set of indicators alerts the sentinels as to who is about to enter. Every single user has a unique code to light up their name when they're inside. It's the sentinel's job to monitor traffic and identify possible intruders."

"Why haven't they picked us up?"

"They haven't seen us as intruders. They will now the real Kimber is putting the key in the lock."

Matt shut down the open files.

"Get us out," said Matt.

"There isn't any time. He's walking in to the vault now, so to speak."

"What happens if we're discovered?" asked Lily.

"System lock-in," replied Toby. "They'll run a sweep and, no doubt, find the back door we used."

"We can't afford to lose access," said Matt.

"I'm open to suggestions."

"What if we crash this laptop, sever the connection?"

"Nope, won't work. It'll leave traces of code."

"What about a distraction, a disturbance of some kind?" Matt asked.

"This is a virtual world. None of the fixtures are real. It's not like we can start a fire or something."

"I thought you were a techno genius?" snapped Matt.

"Genius, yes, wizard no," said Toby. "I can't disappear into thin air."

"Anyone else," said Matt to the others. "Someone must have an idea."

The unhealthy silence offered little comfort.

"Come on, somebody," he yelled.

"Wait," said Toby. "He's stopped."

"What's he doing?"

Matt held his breath.

"Would you believe it, he's answering mail."

"Go," said Matt.

Toby hammered the numbers into the keyboard and the door opened. They sped up to the foyer and swept away from the reception desk, past the series of framed paintings on the walls he hadn't noticed on entry. Collectively they breathed heavily, surreal given the nature of this artificial environment, this virtual world.

"Where's the freaking door?" said Toby. "I can't see how to get back into the tunnel."

Matt pointed to the painting on the end wall.

"Head for that," he said.

The image came into view, a tall mountain illuminated by the lunar light in the dead of night. He touched at the moon and a dark opening appeared through which Toby's avatar darted inside.

"How did you know to do that?"

"Retiring into the lunar light," he said.

"What?"

"It doesn't matter. Shut down while we decide on what to do next."

First one in and it felt glorious. There was something uniquely soothing about immersing a body in hot bubbly water. Tense muscles relaxed and worries diminished amid the sensation of being basked in liquid heat. It couldn't last. One by one his companions filled the adjoining space quicker than he would have wished. It didn't take long for Johnno to start.

"What's the plan then, Matt?"

"Toby, what are the options?"

"A minimum of three users have to be online together and agree to it before anything is downloaded. It's the way they've designed the system and we aren't authorised to change it."

"That's not going to happen," said Rosa.

"Can we print off screen?" asked Matt.

"Possibly, but all you'll end up with is information printed on blank paper. Without some sort of letterhead it'll look little more than an elaborate hoax. As I see it we have to get people into the vault to see what's there."

"Then that's what we'll do."

"Sounds a little risky," said Rosa. "We don't know what's in there never mind being able to show people around. It'll take hours because there's so much stuff to read. Sooner or later they're bound to realise what we're up to."

"Can we jam the door open?" asked Will.

"Maybe," said Toby. "I can't say for how long. Depends what they throw at us."

"And they'll get a fix on our location," said Lily.

"They will," said Matt.

"And they'll send a small army after us."

"More than likely," he answered.

Matt allowed the temporary lull to go undisturbed as his colleagues thought it through.

"We don't know who's involved," said Rosa. "We could end up inviting the wrong people."

"We know about Kimber," said Will.

"Nobody else though."

"We know it's not the Chinese," chipped in Johnno.

They fell silent for a while. Matt felt all eyes settle on him, waiting for his lead. He reached behind and tugged the jacket closer, to retrieve the disc Rosa had given him.

"This might help clarify things."

He slipped out of the tub and they followed to the waiting laptop and he slipped the disc into the machine.

"What's this?" asked Lily.

"It's the CCTV footage from the ferry terminal on the day Helen boarded. Whoever killed her had to be on the boat."

The laptop whirred into action, the screen revealing black and white footage labelled with both the date and time.

"Have you watched it?" asked Lily.

"Yeah, nothing stood out."

A horde of vehicles trailed each other in an orderly queue to the loading ramp, the faces of drivers and their front seat passengers barely visible. They took their time, eyes focussed on the images on view.

"Anything, anyone?" asked Will.

The question was answered with a collective shaking of heads and their attention turned to the lengthy queues of foot passengers boarding. For some reason the camera had picked up mostly rear end views of the embarking mass, adding to an already difficult task.

"Shit!"

"What have you seen, Johnno?"

"Go back."

Toby rewound the image.

"There! It's the Baresi bitch," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"I'd know that walk anywhere."

"I thought you just met her once," said Lily.

"Once in the hotel," he said. "I met her another time in a motel outside of London. The bitch bit me."

"Dare I ask where...?"

"No."

"Gross!"

"You think that was bad," said Toby. "He made me stay in the hospital room while they stitched him."

"I seriously worry about you guys."

Will, as was his way, introduced a sobering tone.

"Baresi's CIA," he said.

"She's working for Catherine now," said Matt. "This could change things though."

"Not for me," said Johnno after a pause. "Baresi will be at the head of the pack coming after us and I want to be part of the welcoming committee."

"Right behind you, bro," said Toby.

Rosa blinked in agreement and Matt looked to Lily next.

"She's a bad loser. I say we get respect back for Johnno."

"No pressure then," said Will to complete the set.

"Until we re-enter you've got jobs to do. Lily, I want you to research Kimber including his contacts. I also want you to track his movements and his exact location before we go back in, which will be the early morning hours in his time zone."

"He might still be active then," said Toby.

"He'll be less likely to be logged in at five in the morning than during waking hours. Johnno, you're job is to strengthen the perimeter defences. Toby is going to spend the next few hours trying to find an effective way to jam the vault door and keep it open."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Will.

"We need the precise headings of every file in the vault so we can put them into order for showcasing."

"What about me?" Rosa asked.

"We've got something else to do," he said, using a towel to dry his skin.

"Such as what?" she asked, following suit.

"I'll tell you on the way."

Twenty minutes of energy sapping toil and their destination remained some distance away. Matt checked his watch again and muttered under his breath.

"I thought we'd be closer by now."

"Closer to where?" she asked.

He cursed, the sloping ground proving more troublesome than he'd remembered.

"Matt!"

Lost in thought he reached for an overhanging branch and lost his footing.

"Matt!"

"What!" he yelled irritably.

"I need to rest."

"Later," he said.

The sound of her rucksack violently hitting the ground caused him to turn.

"No. Not later, now."

"Christ, you must really be out of condition."

"Screw you," said Rosa.

She leaned against a boulder, out of breath and looking unusually tired.

"I'm not going another step until you tell me where we're going and why."

The indignant huff escaping his lips sounded more severe than he intended. He had to say something.

"The rear exit," he said.

"To the top of a freaking mountain?" she said.

"The equipment at the top needs some attention if we're going to successfully implement plan B."

"You could have said that from the start."

"Yeah, I guess," he said after a pause.

It brought a smile to her face. Rucksacks repositioned they resumed the ascent, Matt breathing in relief. Not questioning him further meant he could avoid relaying the full details of his plan, a plan he knew she wasn't going to accept easily. Fortunately this could now wait, until it was too late for her to do anything about it.

Upward progress had been painstakingly slow, Rosa stopping more often than he would have liked. This was something of a surprise to Matt as he'd always known her to be incredibly fit. On their arrival he motioned his breathless companion to the opening in the rock formation and they crawled one by one into the cavern-like space. At the far side rested a number of long and thin plastic encased packages, much like wrapped up tent poles, and a few other boxed items.

"Very cosy," she said. "What are those?"

"Hang gliders; they have to be put together."

Rosa soon worked out what he had in mind.

"You are not serious."

"Two miles along the shore is a lodge. Parked outside is a four by four. The keys are in the visor."

"You've thought of everything."

"I hope so."

"They might be expecting us to have another route out."

"Did you expect this?"

He took her silence to mean she hadn't.

"Most of their attention will be focussed on shutting down the vault anyway, to prevent too much information getting onto the web."

Rosa crouched to examine the stored materials.

"I see your maths hasn't improved. There's only five."

"Five is as many as you need."

"How do you make that out?"

"They'll find us and arrive in force. We should be able to hold them until dark then move up here, but someone will have to stay behind to give the others a chance."

"Who do you have in mind?"

His lack of response provided the answer. Rosa spun on her heels and glared into his eyes.

"No, Matt," she said sharply.

"I'm the obvious candidate."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"The pursuit will be fast and furious, the physical demand likely to trigger an attack like yesterday. The only decision the team could make would be to leave me behind and continue the escape."

"Bullshit."

"Not quite the considered response I'd hoped for."

"It's a load of macho bull. I'll make the ultimate sacrifice for the good of the team crap. What is it with men and your inherent capacity to do stupid things?"

"Sooner or later they'll have to leave me, in the open and exposed. I wouldn't be able to hold the pursuing pack for long without any cover. Far better I stay in the lodge and slow their advance from there to give the team the best prospect of a successful escape," he said.

"Then I'll take your place."

"It has to be me. You drilled it into my head often enough it's the weakest team member, the one with the lowest chance of survival, who is left behind. And who am I to disagree with accepted practice?"

"And if you suffer an attack while trying to provide us all with cover? What possible use would you be then to man or dog, Mister know it all?"

"The lodge is well stocked with alcohol."

"You're going to fight them off pissed? That's a piece of really smart thinking."

She rose to her feet and walked to the opening, propping her hand against a protruding rock while she looked down at the steep slope. It could only have been a matter of seconds but felt like minutes before she spoke again.

"You could talk to them, explain the situation. They'll be able to compensate, make the necessary adjustments to get you up here. They follow you. We all do."

"They won't be able to compensate for me."

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, turning to face him. "You've been off it since we arrived at the lodge. Got a death wish or something?"

"Of course not, it's the best plan for getting as many of the team to safety as possible."

Disbelief found its way to her angry face.

"What's going on in that head of yours? You've been lost in your own thoughts since we left Maria's. And why bring me here? Any one of us is more than capable of putting these things together."

"This is the most important job."

"Screw you, Matt Durham."

"That's twice you've said that to me recently."

"And it was meant both times. Tillman would have never done it this way."

"I'm not John Tillman"

Rosa left her position at the opening, swiftly approaching with eyes glowering. Whilst he'd anticipated the conversation would be difficult in the beginning he hadn't expected her clenched fist to cross his jaw. He spat out the resultant blood and returned a puzzled gaze, unsure at first how to respond to the unexpected violence.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Think you've thought of everything, don't you?"

"I think so."

"You realise if we succeed Catherine could end up being tried and sent to prison?"

"What can I say? It's a hard life. Catherine knew what she was getting in to."

"And Ilsa?" she said sharply. "What do you think is going to happen to her?"

"The authorities will probably look after her. Anyway, the file I read about Catherine doesn't seem to implicate her too strongly."

Her shoulders raised then dropped in tune with a deep sigh of seeming frustration.

"For a clever man you have a remarkable capacity..."

"For not seeing what is right in front of my eyes, yeah, I know. It's been said already."

Eye contact was met with a fierce, yet exasperated, glare.

"What?" he snapped.

"She's yours, Matt. Ilsa is your child."

Instinctively he averted his gaze to hide the numbing effect of the revelation. He felt as though the air had been sucked from his lungs, rendering him immobile.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Try engaging your brain for a change. Catherine emerges from the Chinese undergrowth after single-handed rescue by the one and only Matt Durham and, hey presto, almost nine months later she gives birth to a daughter. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to work out who the father is."

Realisation dawned and he looked out at the skies in search of salvation, cursing at the irony. Parenthood was a profession he'd studiously avoided giving consideration to until recently. The plague of infertility cast upon him represented no more than an irritant at the time, something to rise above. Now he'd discovered he'd fathered a child, with a woman not of his own choosing. And there would be no others.

"How could you let it happen?"

He was still trying to take it in.

"We were running for our lives, in China. After travelling downstream all night we found a small island in the middle of the river and decided to rest. While we were talking Catherine told me the story about Eva-Maria and got upset. I tried to comfort her."

"And a free screw is all part of the service of the Matt Durham rescue agency is it?"

"I wasn't thinking clearly," he snapped.

"What was there to think about? There you are, in the middle of nowhere, with a scantily clad woman gagging for sex. How could you possibly refuse?"

"It was nothing like that. She was upset, distraught."

"You took advantage of a vulnerable woman?"

"Catherine is hardly the vulnerable type."

"I won't let you use that as an excuse."

Salvation continued to elude him. Even the ground below his feet refused to open up and swallow him whole.

"Being chased is a permanent adrenalin rush. You can't let your guard down for a second. Then there was the intrusive, sapping heat and humidity. It makes for a heady cocktail I guess. One of those things," he said.

Rosa approached and stood in front of eyes.

"Except now you have a daughter."

He had a child. Christ, he had a daughter. Yet instead of rejoicing he felt numb.

"The plan goes ahead," he said.

"That's your answer? Nothing's changed. You have got some kind of death wish."

"I promised I'd end this and I will."

"Is that what this is all about, guilt? You think sacrificing your own life is going to suddenly make everything in Maria's world miraculously alright."

"I gave my word and I'm going to keep it."

"Then finish what Tillman started and you've kept it. No more no less."

A shake of the head was the best he could muster.

"And what about Gratia?" she asked.

"What about her?"

"I thought you made a promise?"

"I've been released from my promise. And I don't recall her rushing to my side when I was fighting for my life."

"Give me strength," she said. "The minute I told her what had happened she drove all night from Munich to be at your side. After a week of twenty four seven care I had to peel her off you."

"What? Maria didn't ..."

"Maria didn't what," she said.

"Nothing," he said. "It doesn't matter."

"Even after I dragged her away she called every day to see how you were getting on."

"I didn't hear the phone ring. And she could have asked to speak to me."

Rosa sighed in frustration.

"Maria told Gratia you insisted upon not speaking to her, that you wanted to be left alone," she said. "We used the next few weeks trying to find out what happened to the rest of the team while she set about getting hold of the CCTV footage for when you finally recovered."

History began to blur in his mind.

"I challenged her about working for Catherine and Gratia as good as admitted it."

"Gratia wasn't spying on you. All she agreed to do was tell Catherine if you didn't keep to your side of the bargain and stay out of Catherine's business. Gratia didn't want you to get involved again, given she ended up in prison and you nearly got yourself killed last time. I wouldn't blame anybody for taking that stance."

"And that's why she went back to Schafen I suppose?" he said sarcastically. "It was all for my benefit and had nothing to do with satisfying her own need for grandeur and material gain."

She raised her eyes to the roof in exasperation at his choice of words.

"Gratia went back because it was the only way she could think of getting the CCTV footage for you. The ferry operator also handles sea freight and Gratia worked it so that she could award them a ridiculously generous contract in return for the footage. She couldn't tell you the real reason for her return because you were with Catherine at the time."

He was beginning to feel a little foolish. Not for the first time in his life when mistakenly suspecting Gratia's motives in doing things he couldn't comprehend.

"That doesn't explain Tillman."

"What about Tillman?"

"She and he used to be lovers. Maria confirmed as much and Gratia refused to deny it."

Rosa's glare softened and the texture of her eyes relaxed in tone and definition.

"Gratia was introduced to a man called Jason Taylor, not John Tillman. I was there. She was his operational target and mine was Johannes. Our job was to get up close and personal to persuade them to sign up to a project Tillman was involved with. He didn't say what it was and it soon became obvious to me that bedding Gratia was more than part of the job as far as he was concerned. The man was obsessed but she cleverly kept him at arm's length throughout the op and that's why he raped Lily, in frustration."

"What?"

"I was out with Johannes on the night. Gratia had already excused herself from the evening through a prior engagement, visiting her father. Tillman asked Lily up to his room on the pretext of reviewing operational progress not realising he had another agenda. Flattered at first she didn't see any immediate danger and played along. The moment she tried to back out he forced himself on her. Lily told me the next day. She'd waited up all night for me coming back. I took it up with Tillman and we argued. The man had no remorse, none whatsoever. That's why I eventually quit. Tillman was a pig."

"Lily didn't challenge me when I raised it."

"She thought you were talking about the same thing. I put her straight when you weren't listening."

"You seem to do a lot of that, talking about me when I'm out of earshot."

"Well if you put your brain into gear before opening your mouth I wouldn't have to."

He'd gone beyond feeling foolish.

"Why didn't Gratia put me straight about Tillman herself? She had plenty of opportunity."

"Perhaps she thinks her private life before she met you is none of your business."

"Except this was Tillman we're talking about. Of course it was my business."

"Gratia doesn't seem to think so."

The wheels of considered thought finally started to turn.

"If Johannes was your target then that means..."

"I liked him, liked him a lot," she said.

"Then why make him think there was more to it, even after the Austrian op? The way you greeted him when we landed in Europe suggested ...."

"I knew he could help us."

"It was a ploy, a deception?"

"Like I said, I liked him. He was a good man."

"I wish I understood you, Rosa Cain," he sighed, after a few moments thought.

Rosa retreated to the other side.

"How did you get all this stuff up here?" she asked.

"There's a salt mining company close by who happen to have a helicopter."

"So that's where you and Will disappeared to for half the day yesterday. I'll bet you didn't crash out while you were shifting this stuff."

"Will did most of the work."

"Does he know there's only five here?"

"I didn't point it out."

"Why only five anyway?" she asked.

"I figured we'd have found out by now which of the team, if any, was working against us."

"And you haven't?"

"No. I don't think any of them are."

"So who intercepted Helen?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

Rosa began to unpick one of the packages.

"The least you could do is to show me how to put one of these things together. What's this?"

He crouched to examine the object framed in wire mesh.

"Lightweight motor," he said. "It's easy to fit."

Their hands brushed together as they worked.

"It should be me," she said. "I'm the better candidate to cover the retreat because ..."

"It has to be me. You know it does."

"No, it doesn't have to be you."

"Yes it does, and I've told you why. That and the fact you are all my responsibility. I nearly got everyone killed before. It won't happen this time, but I can't do it without your help. Will you do this for me, Rosa?"

"So now I have a choice?"

"No. I thought if I asked you nicely this time you wouldn't hit me again."

She was silent for a few moments.

"I expected more of a goodbye than just being given a crap job to do," she said, angrily tossing a piece of torn cardboard to the far end of the cave.

He raised a hand to her cheek and smoothed it against her flawless skin. The soft and gentle smile as he looked into her eyes filled with affection.

"This is the only way I can say goodbye," he said.

Her questioning blue eyes blinked and narrowed, and then widened in glorious technicolor.

"My God," she said.

"What now?"

"Matt Durham is finally in love."

For once easy conversation with Rosa felt beyond him and he could do no more than offer a shrug.

"The only question is who with?"

It should have been an easy question to answer. Somehow it didn't feel that way.

"We've been through a lot," he said. "And I've lost count of the number of times you've appeared out of the blue to save my sorry ass."

"Obviously a complete waste of effort," she said, looking away.

He recalled the evening in Toronto where they had dined and danced under a warm night sky, beneath the glittering stars. A fleeting moment in time, a magical encounter, one he would always remember. A warm night in Canada was how he described it to her once, much to Rosa's confusion.

"It makes sense for me to be rear gunner," he said.

"Only to you," she answered. "And I still don't see why it has to be me who stays up here."

"I told Stefan I'd get you home."

"Not another commitment?"

"No, not this time," he answered with a smile.

"That's a bit worrying then."

"How do you make that out?"

"You only succeed when you make it a promise."

Time seemed to come to a halt. Nothing stirred, not even the gently blowing breeze outside appeared able to break the spell. The lack of noise felt eerie, strange, and he wondered if this was a true description of a deathly silence. God knows, he'd soon find out.

"I appreciate the offer to get in the sack with me though. It was a nice touch."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. It's all I could think of to try and change your mind you stubborn, awkward excuse for a man."

The blue eyes reappeared, smiling but sad all at the same time. If there was ever going to be a moment to surrender to this impossibly beautiful woman with the heart moulded from pure gold then this was it. And God knows it had crossed his mind enough times.

"I've heard it said that some things are better left to the imagination, avoids the risk of disappointment," he said.

"I'd have soon told you."

Her blue gaze fixed in amusement on his face, his lack of movement betraying the thoughts now swirling around in his head. Rosa leaned forward and placed a hand to each of his cheeks.

"You don't have to do this you ridiculously heroic fool," she said.

Chapter Thirty Two

The Conversation

Life had shortened another five minutes since the last time he looked at the watch. Despite their air of normality he could sense their rising apprehension. It was the same for him. They were about to enter winner takes all territory. No consolation prizes for second place in this game. He revisited the same territory. There was still time to walk away, without reproach and without judgement. None accepted the opportunity. The die was cast.

Once over the mood in the camp had shifted irrevocably, but not in the way he'd anticipated. He viewed his standing within the group akin to uncertain leader to their reluctant followers. Except it wasn't like that, wasn't like that at all. He was a man among friends he realised, providing an inner glow he'd never experienced before and which had him feeling ten feet tall. Surprising he should place so much store on this unfamiliar concept of brother/sisterhood. He wondered what precious time he had left in the company of people he had grown so fond of in such a short passage of time.

"Ready when you are," said the voice to his left, shaking him back into the present.

"You're confident about this, Toby?"

"I've set this station up as a distribution hub. Whatever we view on screen will be automatically transmitted to every search engine on the globe. As soon as someone starts looking for something on the web they're going to find a copy of what we're seeing."

"That's going to piss off ninety percent of surfers," said Will. "They'll be expecting porn to appear on their screens."

"It's not the ninety percent we're interested in."

"Who are we interested in?" asked Lily.

"Web monitors," said Toby.

"Web monitors?" asked a bemused Johnno. "Who are they when they're at home?"

"Eavesdroppers," said Toby. "Just about every government on the planet uses them to see what they can pick up from the net. In America they have the CIA; in Russia it's the FSB for domestic and the SVR for foreign. China has an intelligence structure labelled MSS, etc. Even countries people wouldn't normally consider organisationally sophisticated such as Haiti have invested in some kind of electronic surveillance facility."

"Why has no-one told me this?" complained Johnno.

"You were too busy trying to make eye contact with the long-legged female presenter delivering the seminar."

"Is that what she was talking about?"

The humour lasted as long as it took for the next question to arrive.

"How do we defend the hub?" asked Will. "That's going to be the first thing they target."

"I've set up a network of ghost sites to try and camouflage the coordinates within the web. It should keep them busy for a while."

"But for how long?" Lily asked.

"Depends how good they are."

"Why am I not reassured?"

"Hey, leave my bro' alone. He knows what he's doing."

"For the first time in living memory," countered Lily.

"I do have feelings you know."

"That would be a first too."

"Alright people," said Matt. "Let's move it along, we're late enough as it is. Take us in, Toby."

They arrived at the mouth of the tunnel and moved smartly to the end whereupon Toby began to batter his fingers at the keyboard. A cursor-like symbol appeared and pointed to the first sentinel.

"What are you doing?"

"Can't keep the front door open for very long with these guys around," said Toby.

A rap at the enter button and the sentinel shuddered as though struck by a missile and then froze like a statue. Toby repeated the exercise and the second shape followed suit.

"How long will they be down?"

A slight shrug of the shoulders told them he didn't know as he sped them down to the lower chamber to similarly disarm the remaining, sinister figures.

"What have you got on Kimber?" asked Matt.

"Not a lot so far. I can't get a fix on his exact location at the moment but I know he's not at home. The guy's very careful about his movements."

Disappointed as he was by this news the option of stopping lay beyond them now. Matt typed in the final code and they entered the vault.

"Whoa," said Toby.

"What's wrong? Is Kimber logged in?"

"No. But his partners are," replied Toby, pointing to names on the screen. Elias Bruckmuller was first in line.

"Lily, see what you can find on the web," snapped Matt as he viewed the next. "Why is the name Judd Jessop familiar?"

"Brother of the US Vice President," said Will. "Both made their fortunes in oil, or rather their grandfather did. Rumour had it they were responsible for putting together the war chest which got the President into the oval office."

"I remember that," said Toby. "Everyone expected Charlie Jessop to declare and they were surprised when he stood aside to give Keller a free run."

"Bruckmuller's interests are in mining, exploration, that sort of stuff, as are Jessop's," said Lily, glued to her screen.

"Explains why they're involved," said Johnno. "They're running out of places to dig holes in the ground."

"It's called investment, bro," replied Toby, dryly.

Matt, alone, appeared unaffected by the humour.

"Something's not right," he said.

"Why do you say that?" asked Will.

"There's a piece missing."

"What piece?"

"We've got three names now all highly successful, mega-rich businessmen. Except one of them is the brother of the US Vice President. Why would Judd Jessop risk the reputation of his own brother?"

"Some people go to any lengths for profit. That's why they go into business in the first place."

"I know, but if he gets caught it's not just the end for him but his brother too. The scandal would force Charlie Jessop out of politics for good. He'd be unelectable."

"Perhaps Judd isn't expecting to get caught."

"He might be greedy but he's not stupid. Nobody goes into this sort of venture without some safeguards and a great deal of trust in your partners. So there has to be something else in play which gives him added insurance."

The observation had barely escaped his mouth when words appeared on the screen.

EB: Have you fixed the problem?

"What the hell is that?"

"Shit," said Toby. "Bruckmuller thinks James Kimber is logged in. What do we do now?"

"Answer him," said Matt.

"We don't know what he's talking about."

"There's only one way to find out."

Matt leant to the keyboard as he turned to Lily. "There has to be something on the web, some information that connects these guys together."

Having given the instruction he typed in the word soon.

The response was immediate.

EB: Why is it taking so long?

Some adjustments have been necessary.

EB: Damn it, Jimmy. That's what you said before.

"Talk about a slice of luck," said Toby. "The man thinks he really is talking to Kimber."

"Except we've pissed him off big time," said Matt.

These things are never precise, he answered.

EB: I said using Vogel would prove to be a mistake and she's done nothing to change my mind about her since. The woman isn't up to the job.

JJ: I agree. Bad enough one got away, to let the entire crew go free is nothing short of incompetence.

"That's Jessop," said Toby. "Who are they talking about?"

"Us," he replied.

EB: You've let sentiment cloud your judgement because of your history with this woman. When Scurrelli had the man on his knees at the interrogation you should have ended it there and then instead of agreeing to her request for leniency. He's the type of guy that was never going to let it go and now she has him running free.

"Hank Scurrelli was CIA royalty," said Johnno. "The guy reminded me of Dracula and was just as vicious to boot. I pity the poor sod subjected to that evil bastard's interrogation."

"They're talking about Matt," said Will.

He felt the incredulous eyes of the others turn and settle on him, much to his discomfort.

"You were tortured by Scurrelli?" asked Lily. "How long did it take him to break you?"

"He didn't," said Will.

"How do you know?"

"Long story," interrupted Matt. "And one we don't have time for right now."

The pieces of the puzzle were ever so slowly beginning to fall into place. Words and events he hadn't understood were now starting to make sense.

"What are you going to say?" asked Lily.

At first he wasn't entirely sure. Then he decided to gamble and hammered at the keyboard.

She believed he could be useful at some point, and she was right. Without him we would never have been able to recover the missing inventory.

JJ: But at what cost?

Don't worry. The guy can't hurt us. He doesn't know what the true stakes are, typed in Matt.

EB: Then why has he gone invisible? People go to ground for a reason. We need him in the open.

JJ: Use the Fuchs woman. Put her under duress and he'll soon react.

No, he typed without thinking.

EB: No? That's a little protective of you, Jimmy. Is there something you're not telling us?

Matt cursed at his own impatience and sought to recover the situation.

Threaten her and he'll react. Better any contact he makes is committed without pressure. That way he'll be more open and we can listen in.

EB: Vogel has her under surveillance then?

24/7, he typed.

"Is that true?" Will asked.

Matt shrugged to indicate he didn't know.

"By the time they find out we'll have done the job and it'll be too late for them to do anything about it. That's the theory anyway."

"Won't Gratia be in danger once they discover what you said is untrue?"

"The one good thing about Gratia returning to Schafen is that she can be kept out of this, distant from me and away from danger."

JJ: What if he doesn't make contact with her? What do we do then?

We keep looking, he typed. But we anticipate some sort of communication and when it happens we'll get a fix on him.

"I found another connection," chipped in Lily. "The three of them all served in Vietnam."

Matt considered for a moment or two.

"It explains the loyalty between these three but I'd still like to know who the other two users are. Keep looking. There has to be something else."

Lily returned dutifully to the task, unperturbed and without dissent. The change in her disposition towards Matt had been remarkable, one that warmed him inside.

EB: Okay, Jimmy. But I can't say I don't have concerns about the situation. Get the problem fixed. This guy's been a loose end for far too long.

Understood, he typed.

JJ: Where are you logged in from?

"I've found two references," said Lily. "Henry Kissinger is one the other is NSSM 200."

"Back to that?" questioned Matt

"Kissinger worked under the radar for Nixon before being formally appointed in 1973 and involved the fathers of these guys in the original study. The State department approached Jessop, Kimber and Bruckmuller seniors."

"Why consult business tycoons?"

"Their knowledge of mineral and natural resource deposits around the world, and the expertise to exploit them."

"This is beginning to make some kind of sense, even to me," said Johnno.

"It would be helpful to know who at the State department spoke to them originally. Chances are his or her offspring is one of the other two users."

"This is something of a turn up," said Lily, reading a fresh set of documents. "Someone in Keller's administration has been taking a close interest in the old policy recently."

"Old Jack wants to buy in and make a few bucks, too, does he?" said Johnno.

"Doubt it," said Matt. "When Horton Priest's investigative report on the original conspiracy appeared in the New York Times the credibility of governments around the world came under question. Keller won office on the back of the need for change, a fresh start, and his poll ratings reached the highest they've been for any US President."

Another message appeared on the screen.

JJ: Jimmy, are you going to answer the question? I thought you and your daughter were on an Alaskan cruise this week and would be out of reach?

"Find out about Kimber's family, quickly," Matt snapped to Lily.

She reduced the existing page and manipulated the cursor to throw up another web listing. Seconds later her eyes were glued to the screen.

"That's not good news," she said.

"What isn't?"

"James Kimber doesn't have any children. He's never been married."

Temporarily numbed, Matt's mind began to assimilate the bad news.

"They're suspicious," said Will. "That's a bear trap if ever I saw one."

JJ: Jimmy?

"Perhaps not," said Matt.

He tapped into the keyboard.

Eva-Maria says hello.

"What are you doing?" they said collectively.

JJ: I hope you're keeping an eye on how much of your money she's spending up there.

I've given her a limit, he answered.

JJ: I'll never understand how a guy like you ended up with a good kid like her.

Yeah, she's special, he typed in.

"Who in God's name is Eva-Maria?" asked Johnno.

"His daughter, the result of an early liaison with Catherine Vogel," said Matt. "Kimber wasn't named as the father."

"Catherine and Kimber!" said Will. "I had no idea she had an older daughter."

"Neither does Catherine. She believes Eva-Maria is dead, murdered in Marseille after a night out with friends. That's what she told me."

"You think she lied?"

"If she did it was very convincing."

"Wouldn't she have had to identify the body?"

"The one the police showed her was so battered the face was unrecognisable. They had to use DNA tests."

"Then why is she living with Kimber?"

"I've no idea," he said softly.

"Is this relevant" asked Lily.

"No, not relevant at all," he said

Despite the apparent dismissive nature of his answer Matt was troubled by the development. No sane parent would tell a deliberate lie about the death of a child, particularly one that had been murdered, so Catherine couldn't know Eva-Maria was alive and living with her father. More importantly, why had Eva-Maria duped her own mother?

"That leaves us with the big question of what the hell are we going to do," said Lily. "Judd's involvement compromises his brother Charlie and the Presidency itself. Releasing this on to an unsuspecting public will usher in a new cold war, only this time it'll be between the West and the rest of the world."

Lily was dead right. They faced a dilemma. Publish and be damned, say nothing and be equally as damned.

"Shut down the portal," said Matt.

"Are you sure?" asked Toby.

"Yes. We need to know who all the players are before we start broadcasting."

"Okay, but if we hang about examining every file in the vault while they're logged in suspicions will rise."

"Have you found a way to download yet?"

"It looks like we need an entry code into this space."

"What kind of entry code?"

"If I knew we'd be downloading already."

"So why aren't you working on it? I thought you were meant to be good at this!" he snapped.

His hand tapped unconsciously at Toby's shoulder, in way of apology for his over-aggression.

"Is there anything we can do to help?"

"No," said Toby. "The annoying thing is it will probably be dead simple, like the creator's name. Developing a cloaked impenetrable vault like this requires a certain level of genius and, like all master craftsmen, I'm guessing he or she couldn't help leaving their signature lying around to remind the lesser mortals whose work it is."

"Like a Van Gogh, Picasso," said Will.

Toby's nod confirmed the likening.

"You must know of someone clever enough to construct something like this? What about the person you were talking about before. The one you had the internet discussion with on the development of a virtual vault?"

"Went offline about six months ago," said Toby. "I figured she'd probably been arrested for hacking."

"You talked to a woman without telling me," said Johnno, in mock indignation.

"Not all internet forums are online dating agencies, bro."

The exchange caused Matt to consider.

"Why did you say she?" he asked.

"The username, Eastern Princess," said Toby.

JJ: So what are you doing in the vault, Jimmy?

Reviewing the security protocols, he typed. I want to make sure everything is working.

EB: Beginning to doubt your girl, Jimmy? I thought you said the system is impregnable.

She's the best. But sooner or later there's always a faster gun coming into town.

"Who are you talking about?" asked Will.

"I'm hoping one of them will tell us."

EB: She'll take some beating. The way she had the geeks at the NSA and Langley chasing her ass during the hacking crisis was pretty damned impressive.

JJ: Yeah, I've never seen so much panic. She put on a hell of a colourful show, in more ways than one.

EB: Be careful, Jimmy. Too many face-to-face meetings with her and you'll go colour blind.

JJ: Dress sense certainly isn't her strong point.

It was the opening Matt had hoped for.

"Where would the code go," he asked Toby.

"The white box at the bottom, why?"

"Full or first name," he asked.

"Authors think they're artistes."

Matt tapped six times into the keyboard, spelling out the name Ameera.

"Who is Ameera?" asked Lily.

"Ameera Khan, eastern princess. Someone introduced me to her recently."

"Catherine?" asked Will.

Matt nodded as Toby released a long sigh.

"Ameera Khan, so freaking obvious," he said.

"How long will the download take?" asked Matt.

"You mean do it now? They'll know immediately."

"The moment Kimber's feet touch dry land they'll know it's not him they're talking to which means we might never get back into the vault again. How long do we need?"

"It depends on the number and variety of counter measures they adopt."

"Counter measures?"

"I don't see them rolling over to let us tickle their tummy while we're stealing the contents of the vault."

"What would they do?"

"Try and jam the airwaves to disrupt the signal. And it's likely to take less than ten seconds to discover we've disabled the sentinels and send in reinforcements. I'd also send out tracers to try and locate our position."

"So how do we respond?"

"There are three specific tasks; the download, protecting the signal, and fending off the soon-to-be arriving sentinels. We can't do anything about the tracers."

"Okay, what do we do?"

"We'll use this machine for the download. Someone else needs to enter the vault through a different pc and take up position outside the door to bar access while one of you has to protect the connection to keep us online. As they shut down the individual networks, one by one, we'll probably have to keep transferring onto alternatives."

"Use them all?" said Will. "That means security cameras going offline. We'll be blind to assault."

"Fortunately we're off the beaten track. It'll take them a while to get here even if they do locate us," said Matt.

"Still a gamble," said Will.

Matt weighed up the odds, the chances of completion and a clean escape. He made the decision instantly.

"Will, you'll be on signal duty. Lily, find an observation post. Johnno, you're riding shotgun at the vault door."

He expected questions. There were none. Within the blink of an eye everything was in place.

"Start the download."

Chapter Thirty Three

Virtual Retreat

The electronic response was instant.

JJ: What the hell?

EB: Jimmy, what the hell are you doing?

Time stood still as he waited for the sudden realisation to hit them.

JJ: Eli, we've got a breach!

The screen went momentarily blank then quickly returned into view, the background coloured with a reddish tinge found in an old photographic development workshop accompanied by the deafening noise of an air raid alarm.

"Strap in boys," said Toby. "This is going to get rough."

"Ready, bro," snapped Johnno. "Bring it on."

"Just remember bro, there's no pause or reset button in this game. This is the real thing."

No sooner had the words escaped his mouth then faceless, human-like shapes appeared at the far end of the 3D picture on Johnno's screen. Matt spotted the connected mobile phone, Johnno's fingers pressing against the plus and minus buttons as though using a games console. Light streams leapt towards the onrushing mass, cutting them down in swathes.

"Is this cool or what?" yelled Johnno.

"No mistakes, bro. We can't afford mistakes."

Still the steady stream of electronic invaders fell, cut down by the ferocity of Johnno's unerring and magnetic accuracy. Matt switched his attention to the vault where the download bar crawled along with the urgency of a meandering snail.

"How much longer do you need?"

"Hard to tell," said Toby.

"Shit!" said Will, as the image of the files on screen began to waver and flicker.

"They're shutting down the networks. Scroll up the list. There's eight left. Pick the strongest signal," said Toby.

Will was ahead of him, re-establishing the connection to restore the image of the vault. The progress of the download bar barely moved.

"Why is it taking so long?" asked Matt.

"They're opening and shutting multiple files, trying to use up memory capacity. It slows down the system."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"I'll need to think about it."

"Then think, man."

Toby closed his eyes and his body stilled into a trance-like state as though he'd drifted into a deep slumber, increasing Matt's anxiety with each elapsing second the techno genius remained motionless. Another glance at Johnno's screen and he saw the approaching images continue to dissolve.

"This is unreal," said Matt. "Everything comes down to a computer game."

"Computer simulation," laughed Johnno "Welcome to the modern world, grandpa."

The vault screen shivered and flickered again, prompting Will to respond to the new assault on the networks.

"Seven left," he said. "How are we doing?"

The download bar hadn't moved, neither had Toby.

"Six," said Will. "It's not going to take them long."

Toby stirred into life and began to frantically hammer at the keyboard.

"I'm reducing your ammo sack, bro." he called. "It's the only way to free up some capacity for the download, so you're not allowed to miss."

"With you all the way, bro," was the reply.

The numbers of intruders increased in flow, and continued to fall, the mesmerising sight capturing Matt's attention as the story unfolded minute after minute. The download bar on Toby's screen picked up speed and accelerated. They were on the move. Touch wood, they'd soon be in the clear.

"Magazine's getting down, bro," shouted Johnno.

"Control and F3, bro," replied Toby. "You've got seven left before you're out."

"I'm on it."

In a flurry of hand movements the almost empty ammo sack had been replenished.

"Five," said Will.

"How long?" asked an increasingly animated Matt.

Toby hunched his shoulders.

"Four," said Will. "And one of them isn't exactly strong."

A sudden horde of grey humanoids burst towards the vault door making Johnno jump in his seat, the movements of his fingers becoming ever more frantic.

"Matt, I'm down on ammo and can't stop."

For a fleeting moment he couldn't recall the sequence, one deep breath and he punched in control and F3.

"Three," said Will.

"Toby?" said Matt.

"Nearly, nearly there."

How Johnno managed to maintain concentration against the onslaught Matt could only wonder. Still they surged into the enclosed confines of the vault reception area and still he shot them down. And then, abruptly, they stopped.

"Whoa," said Johnno. "Where have they gone? Are they giving up?"

Toby leant over. He noticed what looked like bright lights surrounding the main entrance.

"Why have they stopped?" asked Matt.

"They're massing, waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"Me," said Toby.

"As pretty as you are bro I'm usually first in line."

"This isn't your average system," said Toby. "It's designed to interpret users as living matter, converting their presence into physical entities."

"Hence the avatar?" said Matt.

"Yes. And that's where the information is going. So if they're unable to prevent the download the next best thing would be to stop it leaving the vault."

"How?" asked Matt.

"The lights are like acetylene torches, cutting through the wall to create a bigger opening and allow larger numbers of sentinels through the main door. They're banking on sheer weight of numbers to overpower Johnno and get to me."

"Could you handle it, Johnno?" asked Matt.

"No," he answered after a pause. "There'd be too many, even for me."

"If I can't get out the download is useless," said Toby.

"How long, before they're ready?"

The lights around the door suddenly disappeared.

"There's your answer," said Toby.

Matt cursed in frustration as a message appeared on screen.

EB: You've been real cute, Durham. But you're running out of signal strength and running out of time. If the server failure doesn't get you then the sentinels will. I could say it's been a pleasure, but...

"Download complete," sighed Toby.

"Last signal coming up," said Will.

"We're out of options," said Johnno.

There had to be something.

"Is there another way out?" he asked.

"Only if there's another set of codes you haven't told us about," said Toby.

His mind began to race with panic.

"More firepower," suggested Lily. "You need extra guns. Toby, your mobile's identical to Johnno's, connect them up and give it to Will. He can be your second gun."

"Could it work?" asked Matt.

Toby shrugged, more in surprise than uncertainty. Lily lost patience, snatching away Toby's phone to make the necessary connection and reveal a second virtual weapon on the screen.

"That's brilliant," said Matt, stunned by the simplicity of her innovation.

"I've capable of more than just scrounging."

He leaned over the keyboard and began to type.

You're making one hell of an assumption, Eli.

Matt noticed one of the two remaining set of initials burst into colour.

"That's Charlie Jessop," said Toby. "He is involved."

CJ: Gotcha!

"What kind of language is that for the Vice President of the USA to be using?" said Johnno.

Not yet you haven't, typed in Matt.

"Go," he said.

Will and Johnno stepped forward from the vault door to allow Toby to emerge. Immediately the hordes of sentinels surged forward en masse, a tidal wave of venomous ferocity. Toby slipped in behind the others and made for the exit, his retreat covered by the frantic efforts of his friends to keep the advancing tide at bay. With each virtual stride towards safety the enemy closed on their prey.

"Last signal is going down," yelled Lily.

"Matt, press control and F4 to jettison some ammo sacks," ordered Toby.

"But they need them to cover your escape."

"I need to get out. Which is more important?"

The question didn't need answering. Matt responded and the signal brightened.

"You've got three sacks between you. Is it enough?"

"It'll have to be," said Johnno.

"Where am I headed to?" asked an animated Toby.

"Just as before," said Matt. "Find the picture with the full moon."

"I can't see it."

"It's there."

"I can't see it!"

"It's there, Toby. Keep looking."

Beads of perspiration covered the younger man's brow as he searched for the exit.

"I felt an impact," said Toby. "Something's got me."

Will manoeuvred a hundred and eighty degrees to bring up the image of the fleeing shape.

"One of the original sentinels," said Will. "They must be back online."

A beam of light shot through the dark corridor and speared into the villain, loosening its hold. Will located the second and took it down, and then the image of his weapon on the screen pitched violently to the left.

"I'm hit!"

"Can you still operate?"

"Not freely."

He turned again, into the rapidly advancing hordes. They were nearer, much nearer. Johnno did his best to meet the onslaught but was unable to slow the relentless tide. Again the image of Will's weapon lurched to the side.

"I'm hit. I'm down!" he said.

"It's all on you, bro," said Toby.

"Not for much longer. Get out, bro."

"Have you found the image?" Matt asked urgently.

"I still can't see it."

Johnno rocked in his seat, as though he'd received a blow to the head.

"Shit, I'm going down fast, bro. Find the frigging exit!"

The horde swarmed all over Johnno's fallen virtual entity, almost to within touching distance of the fleeing Toby.

"The signal," said Lily. "It's weakening."

"Toby!" yelled Matt.

"I can't see it!"

Mouths agape, the two downed shooters watched in horror as the evil masses closed. Matt's eyes scanned the corridor's surrounds. It had to be here.

"There," he shouted, pointing the way.

Toby's avatar lunged towards freedom, the enemy close at heel.

"I can almost smell the bastards," said Johnno.

"Matt. I'm not going to make it."

"Yes you are Toby."

"They're closing too fast. I can't make it!"

He was in front of the image. Matt punched the sequence of keys, unable to breathe. The horde had arrived, right behind Toby, right next to him.

"Too late," groaned Toby.

Shafts of light appeared, speared out from the bottom of the screen into the horde, blowing the nearest away from their prey. Matt glanced aside and saw Lily feverishly manipulating her mobile in a desperate attempt to save the day.

"Get out, now," she yelled.

If he didn't know better, Matt would have sworn Toby's virtual entity shivered in fright at the order and leapt forward into the exit. As it did the screen went blank.

"Signal's gone," said Will.

Breathlessly they waited in silence, expecting something to happen, something to tell them whether they'd succeeded or failed. Nothing happened.

"Did we get out?" asked Matt.

"Can't be sure," answered Toby.

"There must be some way of checking."

"The whole machine has shut down."

"What does that mean?"

"I've no idea. Could be the signal went before we got out, could be we made it but the machine's bust."

"Start it up," said Matt.

Toby's finger hovered over the restart button, loitered for seconds on end in anguished anticipation of what they might discover. It dropped, pressed, and the laptop started to whir into life.

"Lily, bring security back on line," said Matt.

She obeyed, rapidly returning her attention to the screen the rest were focussed on. The screensaver powered into view, Toby's fingers lightly fluttering over the keyboard.

"Did we get it?" asked Matt.

Silence, deafening and ghostly, invaded the atmosphere like approaching death.

"Did we get it?"

The laptop hummed, searching its memory. One minute, then two, three passed quickly.

"We got it," said Toby.

The celebratory roar of success sang out from the lodge and echoed down the mountain. Anyone within fifty miles would surely have heard them jigging in delight.

"You were fantastic guys," he said. "Is this a freaking team or what? And as for you, Lily Carter, next time tell us you're going to save the day at the last minute. We were on the verge of suffering collective heart failure."

"Typical guys," she said, in mock disparagement. "When push comes to shove it needs a woman to save the day."

And she was right. Thankfully, Lily had rescued them at the end. Of all the broads in all the...

"Don't you just love it when a plan comes together," said an exuberant Johnno.

"We're a team, not the A team," said Matt.

"And we're a team with problems," said Lily, "We've got perimeter contact."

"Probably a nosey rabbit or some other form of wildlife," he replied, cautiously.

Lily spun the laptop full circle, the night vision images on screen clear for all to see.

"Since when has wildlife learned to stand on two feet and carry weapons?" she said.

Chapter Thirty Four

Chase

Lily reached for a switch and turned it on.

"What does that do?" asked Matt.

"Interferes with their thermal imaging gear," she said. "It's an IR diffuser, dissipates infra-red radiation. Smear some of this on your face and hands and put the suit on."

He caught the plastic tube and watched the others squeeze out the paste and liberally apply it to their skin.

"Anti-thermal cream," she said.

"Does it work?"

"It helps. Stop asking questions and put it on."

They sank to the floor and huddled around the laptops Toby had rescued from the table, eyes focussed on the images being relayed by the night vision cameras. Innumerable bodies stole silently through the wood and halted at the tree line.

"It hasn't taken them long," said Will.

"They knew it wasn't Kimber," said Matt. "They played us until they could get their people into position."

"For a private set up they move very quickly, too quickly for my liking," said Will. "If I didn't know any better I would have thought they were military units."

"Why have they stopped?"

"They recognise a potential kill zone when they see one. Give them a few minutes and they'll make adjustments. One thing is for certain, we're not getting down that way."

"Well, well," said Johnno. "Baresi's come out to play."

"Baresi?" asked Matt.

"There, just to the left."

Matt squinted, as if it would somehow improve his vision.

"Could be anybody," he said.

"That's Connie alright. I'd know that body anywhere."

"What's the exit strategy?" said Will, to kill the humour.

"We lay down a volley and give them something to think about then you'll leave in pairs, at two minute intervals. Lily and Will go first then Toby and Johnno. The route is steep and littered with boulders, providing plenty of cover, but no rock climbing. The run to the rocky outcrop, around fifty metres or so, is the only open space to negotiate and where they could get a clear shot. Once you've made it safely there I should be able to keep them busy long enough to give you a start. Make your way to the summit. Rosa's prepared everything for the next stage of the escape."

It wasn't hard to spot the flurry of mixed glances.

"You're expecting us to run off and leave you behind?" said Will.

"You only run off and leave someone if they don't know you're going."

"Or if you don't tell them you're staying."

"Well, now I've told you," he said after a pause.

An uncomfortable hush followed and he could feel their eyes staring pointedly in his direction.

"What about the alternatives?"

"There aren't any."

"You don't know until we discuss them?" said Johnno.

"I don't see there's anything to talk about."

"Then we'll stay and discuss it."

"No. This part of the job isn't in the job description you signed up for."

"Change the description," said Johnno.

"I've already had this argument with Rosa. Someone is going to have to provide cover during the escape ..."

"We can cover each other."

"And I'm the one least likely to survive the rapid climb because of my physical condition."

"We can compensate."

"The climb will be hard enough without being constantly fired upon."

"Matt..."

"Like I said, I've already had this conversation with Rosa. She lost the argument as will you. Someone has to hold them back and let the others get clear. I'm the prime candidate. Remember your training. In this situation the weakest stays behind and that's me. So let's not waste any more energy on disagreement and get to the job at hand."

"It's certain death," said Will. "And what am I supposed to tell Gratia? That I left you behind?"

He looked at the innumerable shapes emerging from the wood copse on the screen and realised the debate had to end.

"We're out of time," he said. "They're making their move. If you don't go now you'll never get out."

Despite the highly charged atmosphere there was no anger from the others, only apparent disappointment.

"Take charge of the download," said Matt to a reluctant Will. "You know what to do."

His friend nodded and started to slip into one of the skin tight synthetic stealth suits Lily had procured. A moment later Toby and Johnno copied. Lily didn't move.

"When we hit the rocky outcrop we'll lay down covering fire, give you a chance to get clear."

"No. You keep going. Once they overrun the lodge there'll be nothing to stop them, and there's too much at stake to let them catch up on you."

"But..."

"No, Lily. That's an order."

Her eyes blinked with disobedient intent prompting him to offer an instant rebuke.

"You will not endanger the others. Is that clear?"

She blinked again, mentally preparing for the forthcoming argument.

"It's clear," said Will. "Get ready, Lily."

Resignation appeared in her eyes and she looked briefly away before returning a steady, impassive gaze.

"Put your suit on," she said. "No point in making it any easier for them."

A half smile was the best he could muster. The feel of the odd material intrigued him.

"Is this Kevlar?"

"Similar."

"It's bullet proof then?"

"Resistant to a point," she said. "There's a difference."

Using his feet as levers he prised off the unlaced boots in turn, conscious she was still looking at him.

"Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance, back in Berchtesgaden?"

"I don't kill for the sake of it."

"Not even after I shot the woman who had helped you? It would have pissed me off."

"No."

"You killed the rest of the team."

"They didn't give me time to think about it."

"So you did think about it?"

"I needed a hostage and you were the only one left alive. I wouldn't read any more into it than that."

He said it as matter-of-factly as he could but could tell she remained unconvinced.

"Liar," she said. "I remember how you looked at me after you'd ripped the hood from my head; the internal rage, the thirst for revenge. You wanted to kill but something got into your mind and made you stop. What was it, why did you change your mind?"

He ignored the question and continued to dress into the suit she'd given him.

"You need to get ready."

Her constant stare told him she wasn't going to let it rest easily and annoyed him.

"Was it her, the woman Rosa brought with her to the house in Portugal to meet you? Gratia isn't it?"

"Much as I'd like to have a conversation with you about the true meaning of life this isn't really the best time or place to indulge ourselves."

Her gaze refused to leave his face, and he felt increasingly uncomfortable under this constant stare.

"She loves you."

"You reckon?"

"I've seen that look on a woman's face before. I know what it means."

"Appearances can be deceptive. She only came to give me the CCTV footage of the ferry terminal. No more, no less. End of story."

"I know what I saw, what she was thinking."

"You can read minds can you?"

"It's probably escaped your attention but I happen to be a woman too."

Matt intended to return her constant gaze with one of angry impatience but the cold edge had disappeared from her eyes and temporarily disarmed him. The preconceived notion that these people were nothing more than emotionless automatons had been eroded during the relatively short time he had spent with them, and he began to wonder if it were he who was the true automaton, the one who had stopped feeling.

"You men are an odd breed, blind to the really important things in life," she said.

"Lily, if you don't put that suit on right now, I swear I will put a bullet between your eyes. Now stop dragging this out and get into your gear."

Lily grabbed her suit and stood up.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled.

Splinters of wood showered past his line of sight where the bullet pierced the wooden wall. Then came the scream of pain and Lily collapsed to the floor clutching her right leg.

"Lily!" shouted Will.

They hurried to the stricken frame, blood haemorrhaging from a gaping wound just above the knee. Johnno was first to react, tearing away the damaged cloth so he could examine the extent of the injury. Lily's face contorted in violent agony as she gasped desperately for air.

"Fuck it hurts," she yelled.

They pressed her to the ground to suppress her flaying convulsions, stilling her body long enough for Will to jam the needle into her body. The morphine kicked in and Lily began to settle. Will removed the belt from his trousers and wrapped it around her upper thigh, tightening its hold to stem the blood flow. Matt heard the sound of a ripping packet and powder was poured over the scarred tissue, the 'magic dust' as it was affectionately known, designed to react to damaged skin in the same way a red hot poker would. Her injured flesh sizzled as the wound cauterised, causing Lily to reach out for Matt's hand and grip it with frightening force. Moments later and the worst of the pain had passed though she refused to release her grip on his hand. He leant over and brushed the hair from her forehead, wiped the perspiration from her brow. She tried to smile through the pain as he freed his hand.

"Give me a minute," he said.

Matt shuffled away to the rear of the room, motioning Will to follow.

"Artery," said Will. "Lily's not going anywhere."

"It would have been better if they'd killed her outright."

"They want her immobile not dead. You can't interrogate a corpse."

Matt's eyes widened with alarm.

"She's wounded for Christ's sake!"

"You can be sure this isn't an honourable war. Not where big bucks are involved."

Matt winced at the thought.

"It's okay. Lily knows the ground rules. They won't get anything from her. She'll see to that."

The final bullet he realised. Rosa had told him. You keep the last one for yourself.

"Why the hell did she stand up?" he cursed.

"You don't know? I thought Tillman's log would have said all you needed to know about Lily. She's the best guard dog a person could have. Once you've won her loyalty she puts it all on the line for you, everything."

"Nobody willingly sacrifices their own life," he said.

"You were going to?"

"That's different."

"I don't know what it is but there's something about you Matt. You have this uncanny knack of inspiring loyalty in people, making them want to help you despite the odds. It's a gift and you've got it. Why else would we have tagged along? I figured you'd worked that out for yourself."

He hadn't. He hadn't worked it out at all. The thought had never crossed his mind.

"You're confusing me with someone else. Don't make me out to be something I'm not."

"Don't say it to me," said Will, motioning with his head towards the three faces waiting for his instruction.

"Crap," he whispered.

Anxiety tightened its vicelike grip on the muscles in the pit of his stomach, threatening to force Matt to his knees. Will understood and placed a supportive hand on Matt's shoulder.

"What's first," asked Will.

Matt crawled to the pale face of his wounded comrade and gently grasped her hand.

"Looks like you need a change of plan," she said, wincing at a sudden shot of pain.

Matt turned to the others.

"Give our unwelcome guests an idea of what to expect if they get any closer."

The instruction obeyed he twisted back round.

"Tillman said you could be awkward."

"He wasn't wrong."

Matt glanced into her eyes before checking the wound. The magic dust hadn't worked as they'd hoped, blood continuing to seep through the rapidly applied bandage. He winced at the sight.

"It's an artery," she said. "I know that much."

He busied with checking the weapons at her side, first the rifle then the handgun. Both were loaded and he positioned fresh ammunition clips close at hand.

"Toby, you and Johnno get ready to go. After two minutes Will can join you."

"You're not staying. I don't want you here," she said.

"No, I'm not staying. But I'll be the last one to leave."

"Good."

He checked the wound once more.

"Don't leave it too late. Too much blood loss and you can fall unconscious."

"I won't."

The deep sigh he'd been holding back escaped.

"Why Lily?" he asked. "Of all the names on the planet you could have picked, why Lily?"

"The morning I woke up, after running away. I opened my eyes on the park bench and it was the first thing I saw, a lily on the pond."

"As simple as that?" he asked.

"As simple as that," she said.

"I expected a more imaginative response."

"No you didn't. I've watched you long enough to know when you're lying," she said.

He averted his gaze and gave the order to leave, feeling her eyes fixed attentively on his face. The edges of her lips broke into a smile.

"Lily," called a voice from the other end of the room.

She spotted Toby and Johnno, fists clenched, followed by a single nod of acknowledgement. She struggled to raise her hand from the floor and it saddened them. One more nod, and they were gone.

"I got some things wrong about you," he said.

"Ditto," she replied.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Get even instead."

He nodded in silent agreement. Her eyes shut for a fleeting second. On reopening she saw Will had joined them.

"Look after him," she whispered.

Gently, between them, they eased her stiffening body onto its side, into as comfortable a position as possible.

"That's as good as it will get," she said. "One more volley and you can both go."

Targets acquired they fired into the woods below, followed by a second round.

"Your turn, Will," said Matt, and his friend retired.

"Now you," said Lily.

"There's time yet."

"No there isn't," she said. "Get moving."

Matt paused, reluctant to move.

"Get out," she repeated. "I'm done being pleasant."

He touched her shoulder and moved away, about to exit when he heard her voice again.

"Hey, Durham," she called out. "You're not the bastard I first thought you were."

He did his best to smile. When it came it was weak, tainted with sadness and lacking conviction. She noted his distress and smiled back before silently nodding to indicate it was time for him to leave.

"Give them hell. Lily."

"Goes without saying," she said, easing her head round to take careful aim at a target.

Will had remained outside the door.

"Are you okay, Matt?"

"I'm fine," he lied, the words getting caught in his throat leaving him feeling choked of air.

"It's the right call," said his friend.

"It doesn't feel right."

They sprang up and ran to the rocky outcrop where Toby and Johnno waited, rifle butts pressed against shoulders, eyes searching the telescopic lens for any signs of movement. Matt took a final look back at the lodge.

"Let's go," he said.

In single file they sped up the incline; hearts pounding, muscles pumping, desperately sucking in mouthfuls of thin air to the accompanying sound of gunfire from below. With each crackle of weaponry Matt pictured the scene of Lily's unequal struggle. They used the increasingly frequent sounds of battle to spur them forward, galvanising their limbs into conquering the harsh terrain. Then the noises stopped and they stopped too, breathless and in fearful anticipation over what they knew was about to happen. Then; a single gunshot.

"They can't interrogate her now," said Will.

Each of them fell silent, locked in their individual thoughts until Johnno broke the sombre mood.

"Bye, Lily," he said.

Eyes strained to peer down the mountainside. Even with the night vision glasses it was hard to see anything other than the pitch black of night. Nothing appeared to be moving. Only the silence could be heard. Lily had gone and he felt the loss. Each of them did. They also knew the chase had begun.

He turned to lead them on, only to tumble to the ground as his legs buckled underneath. Hitting the cold surface he rolled onto his back and stared into the night sky.

No, he thought. Not here, not now.

Control of his body slipped away, despite the protestations of his mind. Conscious speech had deserted him and his vision switched off and on, as though someone were flicking a light in front of his eyes. The sweat oozed from every pore but had nowhere to go, trapped within the confines of the suit, and he began to shiver. At least there was no uncontrollable, violent shaking. A hand lifted his head and the rim of a bottle pressed against his lips. Alcohol poured down his throat and warmed the gullet, almost choking him in the process.

"Where did you get that from?" he heard Johnno ask.

"From the lodge, just in case," answered Will.

A second flow of cold liquid entered his mouth, the excess spilling from the sides of his mouth.

"Matt, can you hear me?" asked Will.

The ability to talk remained beyond his immediate control so he tried to answer by blinking. They didn't notice. He made another attempt. Surely they must see what he was doing this time.

"Is that the only way to communicate?" asked Will. "Blink once for yes."

He complied. His friend answered with a smile.

"He's not completely dead to the world."

"No, just a dead weight," said Johnno.

"What do we do?" asked Toby.

Leave me, his mind yelled. Will took a moment to assess the situation and Matt hoped he would take control and make the right decision.

"What's happening down there, Johnno?"

"Three squads of six," was the reply. "One is moving left, one to the right and one to the centre. Judging by their speed it's not going to take them long to get here."

"I reckon we're two thirds of the way there," said Will.

"Another hour at least though," said Toby. "And dawn will be breaking soon. Against this snowy landscape we'll stick out like sore thumbs. It'll be a turkey shoot."

"Fire some rounds down the mountain, Johnno. Give them something to think about."

The blowpipe sounds of a silencer-fitted weapon echoed down the mountain and throughout the valley below. Matt counted at least six, possibly seven rounds.

"Jesus they're motivated," said Johnno. "They've hardly broken sweat."

"The obvious thing is to leave him," said Will.

Matt blinked once.

"What if he recovers?" asked Toby.

"He will. It's just a question of when. Could be minutes, could be hours."

"How long do you think we've got bro?"

"Not hours."

"We could hang around for a bit," suggested Toby.

Matt blinked twice, then twice more.

"Just as well you don't have any say in this," said Will.

He blinked once.

"No you don't," said Toby. "Now be quiet and let us try and figure this out."

Matt produced a series of long, hard double blinks.

"Is he still trying to order us around?" said Johnno. "The guy is persistent I'll give him that."

The mouth opened. Still no words would emerge.

"We've got three options," said Will. "The first is do what we're trained to do and leave the weakest behind so the rest can get clear."

"We're not going to do that though, are we?" said Toby.

"No."

Matt's eyes blinked furiously.

"For God's sake," said Johnno. "Cover his freaking eyes. I'm tired of listening to him spout the same old crap over and over again."

"The next option is to make a stand. We've got three guns, plenty of ammo, and they are less than twenty."

"Did I mention there's another three squads behind the first three?" said Johnno.

"What is option three?" asked Toby.

"We take a turn in carrying him while the others provide covering fire. He might get some limited use of his body back on the way up. If not, we keep going until we reach the top. Rosa will have the next part of the escape sorted by the time we get there."

"Sounds like a plan," said Johnno.

"Okay, let's move."

Strong hands pulled at his arms and sat him up on a cold and miserably uncomfortable rock. He felt the rim of a bottle being pressed to his lips and he gulped hard to consume as much alcohol as he could.

"Leave... me," he managed to utter.

"What's he saying?" asked Johnno.

"Time to leave I think," answered Toby. "Don't worry, if they get too close we'll soon drop you."

The manhandling of his limp body began again in earnest. The same powerful sets of hands plucked him up from the ground and draped him over Toby's back.

"Christ, you need to lose weight."

Toby shuffled his body underneath to get comfortable and they roped the two together.

"Crazy... bastards," Matt managed to say.

"He's ungrateful, too," Johnno quipped.

They were the last words he could remember before finally slipping into unconsciousness.

Deep in the recesses of his mind he could feel movement, rough handling and of being dropped, picked up and carried. Forward movement was unsteady and dispiritingly slow. The swift progress they'd previously enjoyed was nothing like this, their current pace resembling little more than a crawl judging by the slow motion camera whirring in his mind, his discomfort not helped by the incessant sweating compounded by the tight fitting suit. He felt sure he'd heard cries of pain along the way but the movement was continuous at least. The tingling sensation of his nerve endings beginning to recover grew stronger as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Matt heard a man's voice speak for the first time in what seemed like an age as he slipped from a pair of shoulders and dropped to the ground.

"Where the hell is Rosa?"

The voice continued to curse, continued to ask the question as a thump announced the arrival of one of the others.

Lucidity broke through the swirling mists of confusion that had occupied his mind and he awoke amidst a barrage of deafening noise, recognising the familiar sounds of gunfire as bullets whooshed through the surrounding air. He had been placed on the snowy ground against a gentle incline though he was mercifully unable to feel the cold. On the opposite side of the hollow two figures crouched behind an imposing boulder, rising infrequently to fire into the night. He recognised them as Toby and Will, breathlessly sucking in air as though trying to recover from overexertion.

"Delta, go," shouted Toby.

Ear rested against the ground Matt heard the sound of rushing footsteps through the earth accompanied by bursts of gunfire above. A thump against the soil and Johnno arrived.

"How's it looking, bro?"

"Lost the left flank," gasped Johnno. "It's possible they've met an obstacle which has held them up. The centre's stalled as there's only two left standing but the right will be with us soon enough."

"What about the reserve units?" Will asked.

"Don't know. They wouldn't let me keep my head up for long enough to see."

"We have to assume they're closing," said Will, peering up to the peak.

"What are you looking for?" asked Toby.

"Rosa. Daylight's coming. I thought we might have had a signal from her by now. Where the hell is she?"

"That's twice you've asked that," said Toby. "And I didn't know the answer the first time."

"I reckon we've got a few more minutes before they pin us down completely," said Johnno.

"Then it's time the three of you got out of here," said Matt unexpectedly.

"Hey, Durham, back in the land of the living," said Toby.

"How are you feeling?" Will asked.

"Life's returning," he said.

"God, he's started talking again," said Johnno. "Get ready for the instructions."

"How much longer do you need?" Will asked.

"More time than you've got by the sound of it. Leave a hand gun and some spare clips and make your way."

"I told you, bloody instructions," said Johnno.

"We're nearly there, Matt," said Will.

"Not near enough."

"We can make it," chipped in Toby.

"You're all carrying injuries and close to exhaustion while I haven't got the physical strength to run uphill under my own steam and they're closing. Let's not lose sight of the objective which is to get the download away from here. Nothing else matters. If you stay and get overrun then everything we've done will be for nothing and Lily's death will have been a complete waste."

"Matt..."

"You know I'm right."

The three men exchanged knowing glances. Will sighed and pressed an automatic pistol into Matt's hand and placed three spare clips to the side.

"Have you got the energy to replace cartridges?"

"I'll find it. Now get going."

He eyed each in turn, saving Will to last as another round of shots whisked overhead. Toby produced a memory stick and rammed it into the laptop.

"I'll make a copy for Will to take with him," he said.

"There's no law saying it has to be Will who goes first," remarked Matt as the device filled up.

"Me and bro stick together in a fight," said Johnno. "We'll cover Will then follow him up."

Will nodded and accepted the object. Johnno rose and fired downhill. Toby shuffled along to his best mate and repeated the exercise. Matt touched at his friend's arm to catch his attention.

"Good luck," he said.

"What should I tell Gratia?" Will asked.

Matt thought for a moment and then shook his head.

"Nothing," he said.

Will's eyes queried the response but he didn't reply. Matt raised the handgun and checked the magazine. Full. Soon it would be over. Will gave him a final, parting glance.

"It's time," said Matt.

The movement behind Will caught Matt's eye. He counted half a dozen black-suited figures rushing towards them with weapons raised. Caught off guard the small band realised they were about to be overwhelmed.

Chapter Thirty Five

Rope

Without warning counter fire erupted from their left and, like ten pin skittles, the assailants tottered ungainly at the sudden impact and scattered apart before dropping to the ground. The impact of two, huge booted feet announced the arrival of a man mountain rapidly followed by a much smaller, slender figure. Matt recognised the duo instantly. Johnno reacted by pointing his gun at the smallest of the two new arrivals.

"Lower the weapon," said Baresi. "We're here to help, like we did when you were cornered in pairs."

"You expect us to believe that?" spat Johnno.

"Johnno, wait," instructed Matt.

"Wait, for what? This bitch murdered Helen."

"I didn't kill Nash."

"We've got the evidence, CCTV footage."

"No," said Matt. "The evidence we have is Baresi boarding the ferry, that's all."

"Same thing as far as I'm concerned," said Johnno. "Who else would have wanted to kill her?"

"It was my job to tail her."

"Then why wasn't your delicate little body floating in the sea as well?" asked Will.

"Someone jumped me. I spent the crossing unconscious on the floor of the ladies room."

"I don't freaking believe you!" said Johnno.

Tension rose as the two adversaries glared at each other, both refusing to give ground.

"I really don't give a shit as to whether you believe me or not," she said.

Matt noticed Johnno's finger edge closer to the trigger and feared the worst.

"Who do you think took out their left flank?" said Stone, urgently intervening. "There's a small window of opportunity. Let's use it."

Suspicious glances darted between the eyes of the three men and the newcomers before they settled on Matt. He didn't have to say anything. The next round of gunfire did all the talking for him.

"We're out of time," said Matt. "Get yourselves organised and go!" he yelled.

"Aren't you coming?" queried Baresi.

"Not yet."

"Matt has a temporary condition," said Will. "He's going to stay behind."

Without being asked Stone plucked Matt from the ground and threw the debilitated body over his shoulder as though picking up a rag doll. Someone strapped the laptop to his back and Will gave the order to move. Stone pounded his way up the terrain and Matt turned his head to see the others working as a unit. Two laid down fire while the remaining pair made for cover then reciprocated the courtesy. Over and over again the scene repeated itself, each conducted with immaculate timing and precision.

The big man barely broke sweat as he galloped away from the fight below, not sounding in the slightest bit breathless as they neared the cavern. Once at the opening he stooped inside to allow his passenger to slide from the muscular shoulders to the ground and Matt summoned the energy to push his body up against the side. The exercise proved easier than expected and he was grateful strength was returning.

"Thanks," he said, scanning the interior for life.

Rosa was nowhere in sight. They were joined by the next pair, Will and Baresi, collapsing on to their knees to gulp in mouthfuls of air. Matt could taste the tension and mistrust between them, despite the remarkable exhibition of teamwork he had witnessed.

"What the hell..." said Rosa, suddenly appearing.

"It's okay. They're friendly," said Matt.

"Friendly?"

"It's a long story. Where the hell have you been?"

"Up above, waiting for the cavalry," she said. "Our not so friendly neighbours have discovered the lodge and vehicle so I decided to call for back up."

"What back up?"

The engine noise of a light aircraft sounded in the distance, nearing their position.

"Right on cue," she said.

"How is a plane going to land on a mountain top?"

"Float plane, you idiot," she said. "There's a lake below if you haven't forgotten?"

"Who uses float planes in a landlocked country?"

"The region is littered with lakes of all shapes and sizes. A business opportunity for anyone with a degree of commercial nous if you ask me," she said, her eyes sparkling with life.

She halted his impending curt reaction by kneeling beside him and kissing him warmly on the lips.

"What the hell was that for?"

"You made it," she said. "I knew you would."

"And how did you know that, smart ass?"

"Morse code," she said. "I used the flashlight to send the team a message. Tell them what you were planning so they'd make their own plans and get you out."

Matt's head dropped back against the hard stone wall and he closed his eyes.

"Some people would be grateful," she said.

"Lily didn't make it."

The squint in her eyes reflected her disappointment. Rosa, being Rosa, soon recovered.

"There are seven of us now. Some of us will have to go in pairs. You can come with me."

"How do you make that out?"

"They've done their bit. It's my turn to take over and look after you."

"You think?"

"It always ends with me looking after you, rescuing you from the impossible. Haven't you figured that out by now?" she grinned.

"When you're both quite done," said Baresi. "There's still a lot more to do if we're going to get out of here."

"Can you move?" asked Rosa.

Matt used his arms against the hard rock to drag himself unsteadily to his feet. Searching for balance he heard a sharp cry pierce the rising breeze followed by Johnno's animated and despairing voice.

"Bro, bro," was the call.

Will darted outside to see what had happened. Seconds later he returned with Johnno, roughly dragging Toby's prone body into the cavern by his arms. Instinctively, Stone manned the entrance while the others helped to drag the limp frame further inside.

"Bro, bro, talk to me," pleaded Johnno.

"What happened?" asked Will.

"I'm not sure. We were making our way up on the last run and he fell over. He's hardly breathing."

Toby's pale and wan expression refused to respond to the frantic urgings of his fretful friend. Matt eyed the flattened path left by Toby's trail and saw the line of red.

"Turn him over," he said. "It's his back."

They gently rolled him onto his side and Baresi examined the wound. Coldly, she broke the news.

"Rear entry, just below the heart," she said. "Moving him will likely kill him."

"And if we don't move him?"

"He'll die anyway. It'll just take a little longer. We'll have to leave him"

"No!" shouted Johnno.

"I can't change the facts, Johnno. You know how it works from here. We go without him."

"I am not leaving Toby."

"You're friend can't help us now and we're not carrying dead weight. We leave him."

"You cold hearted, emotionless bitch!" shouted the angry young man.

Baresi met the woeful stare with an icy, dismissive disdain and Johnno reached for his weapon.

"Johnno, no!" shouted Matt. "We need every gun."

Hands wrapped around the butt of the semi-automatic the distraught Johnno considered his options.

"And we're going to need every gun much sooner than you think," said Stone. "They're closing fast."

The stand-off continued for what felt like an eternity until Matt broke the deadlock.

"Johnno," Matt said softly. "He's your bro. What do you want to do?"

Reality broke through the mists of despair. Decimated with grief Johnno shook his head from side to side having already made his decision.

"I'm not going," he said. "Leave some ammunition and I'll buy as much time as I can."

"Don't be an asshole," said Baresi. "The man's as good as dead already."

Toby moaned, signalling agreement with the unpalatable assessment. The moisture in Johnno's disbelieving eyes took form and tears started to roll.

"Toby's not dead yet," Johnno sniffled. "And as long as he breathes I'm staying with him."

The statement visibly shook Baresi.

"Johnno, see sense. You have to come with us," she said, face drawn in unsettled confusion by the unexpected display of emotion.

"I'm staying right here with Toby," he said. "I'm staying with my bro."

Baresi continued to look perplexed.

"The man's a virtual corpse," she said.

"You just don't get it, do you?" hissed Johnno.

"Get what?"

"Life is meaningless without my bro by my side."

Many phrases had been used describe it; bromance being one that sprang immediately to mind. Whatever the name Johnno laid it bare to see. Baresi thought she knew the man kneeling before her cradling the head of his best friend, the wandering philanderer who cared for nothing or no-one other than his own personal gratification. She didn't know him at all. Matt understood. He had understood from the start.

"Give him what he needs," said Matt.

"Aren't you going to talk him out of it?"

There were so many descriptive words he could use, harsh and unpleasant vitriol to demonstrate the level of distaste he held for this woman. But he needed her onside so he didn't use any of them.

"No," he said, finding the energy to brush her aside. "He's made his decision."

Johnno armed himself with rifle and handgun and took up position at the mouth of the cavern, partly concealed behind the protruding rock.

"Bring him to me."

They laid Toby gently alongside, head rested on the breast of his teary-eyed friend. Johnno's hand stroked at the cheek of the wounded man as he looked to Matt with an appreciative smile.

"Go," said Johnno.

Matt stirred the others into action. With the nod of his head they queued at the entrance. Another nod and Will scrambled away, followed by Stone and Baresi. A succession of bullets pelted against nearby boulders and Johnno returned fire. Matt nudged Rosa forward.

"I'll follow," she said.

"No. I'm okay to go."

Turning right, she scampered up the slope and slipped out of sight. Matt paused at the entrance, unsure of the right form of words to use.

"Bro," Toby managed to whisper through the pain. "Give him the numbers."

Johnno undid the stud of a wallet buckled to Toby's waist, reached inside and handed over the contents. Matt looked at the electronic chip with some confusion before realising it was the team's 'private' account.

"There's millions," said Johnno, "its source untraceable. Split it between the three of you."

Matt's mouth opened involuntarily but the words wouldn't come out.

"Respect, man," said Johnno. "And I'm speaking for both of us."

Matt darted out into the night and began to scramble up the slope, Johnno's tender words of affection to his doppelganger ringing in his ears. Get ready, bro, he had said boldly. This is going to get rough.

The dash to the top took no time. Matt felt incredibly strong, as though his body had been plugged into a power source. The others had donned their kit and were waiting in the lightening sky as dawn broke. He could see the float plane approaching, drifting steadily lower.

"There's our taxi," said Rosa.

"Where's mine?" he asked, looking around.

"You're coming with me," she said.

"I can do this on my own."

"Maybe," said Will. "But let's not take any chances to be on the safe side. We've got you this far and we sure aren't losing you now."

They sealed the laptop in a vacuumed bag and strapped it to Matt with Rosa attached to his back ready to manipulate the controls for the flight. The shooting behind intensified as they lined up. Baresi ran to the edge and disappeared, followed by Stone and Will.

"What are you waiting for?" asked Rosa.

"We should have gone separately. Then I would have been able to cover your descent."

"We'd already decided between us we weren't going to let you go alone."

"Decided?"

"We know you. This way eliminates the temptation to go back and help Johnno."

"He might have changed his mind."

"That's the difference between you and us. Once a plan is agreed we stick to it. It eliminates uncertainty."

"Like sending messages by flashlight?" he quipped.

"If you'd discussed the plan beforehand I wouldn't have had to send a message."

He took a deep sigh.

"I hate being a passenger."

"You are not going to whine, do you understand? Now quit stalling and get your ass into gear."

She threw back her head and laughed at the expletive that fell from his mouth as he lurched forward. They reached the edge and dropped away. After a rapid fall the engine kicked in and Rosa found the air current to lift skywards. With supreme skill she aimed them towards the far end of the lake, chasing the others some way ahead.

A little further along the plane patiently circled, waiting for their arrival.

"How the hell did you find a float plane, never mind a pilot anyway?" he called.

"I looked," she said.

He was about to speak again when the gunfire behind came to a sudden and abrupt halt. The temporary silence lasted for a split second and was then broken by a single gunshot followed by another. Matt shut his eyes tight and lowered his head in disappointment.

"Go faster," he said.

The first bullet whistled by their left side. A second followed, narrowly sailing over the top of the hang glider. Rosa banked right in an evasive manoeuvre. They lost height. She struggled to find the air current and continued to fall. Rosa swooped left and rediscovered the flow. Up she took them as another bullet passed underneath. He could see Will also shifting his flight pattern. The other two progressed untroubled. Matt looked left and saw figures carrying small arms weaponry running out of the lodge to the vehicle parked nearby where they crouched and took aim.

"Not good," he yelled.

They dived to avoid the missiles of death and then swung back to the right. She found the current again and lifted them above the tree line at the shore. More gunfire and he thought he heard a thump.

"What was that?"

She didn't respond. They dipped sharply and plummeted towards the water. Matt held his breath as Rosa struggled to regain control. They rose again. Ahead, Will banked to the right and then dropped like a stone.

"He's hit," yelled Matt.

"We can't stop," she called.

He watched on in horror as Will skimmed the surface, his feet running along the top of the lake. His only chance would be that he'd made enough distance from the shore before ditching. Eyes glued to the scene he saw Will fall into the water and then his head burst through the surface and begin to swim towards the plane. They sailed overhead. Matt looked forward and could see the others had covered the necessary yardage to the safety of the waiting machine. Rosa tugged at the cord and they began the descent, gliding serenely down to where the others clambered into the fuselage. The impact was sudden, harsh, and they dropped below the surface. Matt took a deep breath and unclipped the restraint, the vicious cold biting into him acting like an electric bolt shooting through his body and galvanising him into urgent activity. Rosa followed. Together they swam the few feet to the machine and powerful hands dragged them aboard.

"We have to get Will," he spluttered.

"No," shouted Baresi. "He's too far behind."

"We're not leaving without him."

He scrambled up to the cockpit, pushed his head inside and bellowed.

"Pilot, make for that man in the water."

The head of sheer black long hair spun round and a pair of cautious Guinness eyes looked him over.

"As the pilot that decision is mine to make and mine to make alone."

"Gratia, what the..."

"Put your seat belt on," she said.

He turned and glared at Rosa.

"Okay," she said. "So there aren't many float plane pilots in this neck of the woods."

The machine lurched forward unexpectedly causing him to lose balance.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I have made my decision," said the pilot.

The plane sprang forward, scuttling along the surface in short hops of uneven length.

"Get a grip," he said. "You're better than this."

"As good a pilot as I am, being shot at while trying to fly is an unfamiliar experience."

"I'll do it," he ordered.

"No you will not!"

The machine rose and he lost balance again, head hitting the window. Gratia took a wide arc, bending their flight path to increase the distance between them and the shooters on the shore.

"Now what?" he said.

"Rope," she replied. "Never leave without it."

He darted back into the fuselage and found the rope, tying one end firmly to a seat fitting.

"Steer as close as you can without stopping."

"I know what to do."

The plane ferried close to their target and he tossed the rope into his friend's grateful grasp.

"Go Gratia, full power along the surface just as you did before," he yelled.

They towed him the distance needed to be almost out of range and then drew in the soaking rope. Stone leant out of the door and dragged Will from the water where he collapsed in an untidy heap.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he said. "They hit the motor and nicked my shoulder."

Bullets peppered the fuselage as the gunfire resumed its deadly intent and they fell to the floor. Several missiles broke through the thin layer of material posing as walls and passed out the other side. The plane shot forward and rose sharply, spearing into the sky to flee the scene. Matt's first instinct was to hurry to the cockpit.

"Gratia?" he called.

"I am fine."

He noticed a spot of blood on her sleeve and crawled into the co-pilot's seat to examine the line of red liquid seeping from the graze to her forehead.

"I told you it is fine," she repeated.

"No, it's not fine. You're hurt. Medi-kit," he yelled into the main cabin.

"We need it for your friend," answered Stone.

"Give me what you're not using."

"It is what you would call a scratch."

"Lunacy is what I call it. What the hell were you thinking of, agreeing to something as dangerous as this?"

A slender hand offered the remnants of the medical bag. Matt snatched it from Baresi's grasp and happened to notice Rosa, strangely, taking root in one of the seats seemingly unconnected with events. Her face looked drawn and tired. He rummaged through the contents.

"Rosa said she needed my help," said Gratia. "It was the least I could do."

The fumbling stopped and he smiled wryly.

"Well she's very grateful," he said.

Moments later he found what he needed and tipped liquid from the bottle onto a piece of gauze.

"This will sting a little."

Her head recoiled at the pressing of the damp cloth and she grimaced, though refused to openly complain. Aware of what to expect she eased back to allow him to continue.

"You've been lucky," he said. "There shouldn't be much scar tissue visible once it's healed."

"Scar tissue?" she said.

"I wouldn't worry. It will only matter to those who don't look below the surface of the skin."

An angrier red stain caught his attention.

"Let me see your arm."

"What is wrong with my arm?"

"Don't you feel it?"

"I don't feel anything."

"Hmmm," he said.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're body is in shock."

"Are you trying to frighten me?"

"Keep your eyes on the flight path ahead and gently lean forward a touch."

He could see confusion in her frown, and the inclination to disobey, so he placed a hand to her shoulder and nudged her forward. Gently, he reached across and slid the uninjured arm out of the sleeve and then tried the same with the other. Her sharp intake of breath was swiftly followed by short, erratic gasps.

"Deep breaths, Gratia," he said. "Take deep breaths and talk to me, like we were having an everyday conversation."

"Talk ...about ...what?"

"Anything," he said. "How's work for example? Do you still manage the office by mobile and laptop?"

"They call it a tablet these days," she said.

Matt shook his head and grinned.

"I thought tablets were for sick people."

The scissors sliced through the fine cloth of the sleeve to open up access to the injury.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I'll buy you another one."

A wince of pain prevented the expected acerbic response, much to Matt's relief.

"And a new blouse, too," he said.

Matt stemmed the flow sufficiently to properly examine the wound and started to clean the infected area.

"That hurts," she said.

"Remember, everyday conversation. Don't watch me."

"Why, what do you intend to do?"

"Eyes straight," he said.

Out of sight he threaded the needle and pointed to it to the wound, poised to strike.

"You should have come clean about Tillman, when Maria showed you the photograph," he said.

"I knew him as Jason Taylor."

"Even so, you should have told me."

"It was none of your business," she said angrily. "I have never asked you for all the intricate details of your past..."

The needle pushed through the two flaps of skin he held tightly between his thumb and fingers. She screamed out a string of expletives he never would have believed were in her learned vocabulary. Two stitches sealed the wound, both met by the same uncompromising vernacular.

"Done," he said, tying the ends.

"That hurt!"

"Only for a while," he said with a smile.

He made to stroke her cheek and her instant response was to recoil, her eyes demanding he refrain from making another attempt. Perhaps Gratia had told the truth. She'd only come to help Rosa. He switched his gaze to the horizon, to the next lake in line.

"Matt, you're needed back here!" shouted Will.

For a moment he paused. Then decided it would be better to answer the call, anything to avoid the awkwardness of the situation. He turned to see Stone lifting Rosa from her seat.

"What happened?"

"Not sure," said Stone. "She made a weird noise and fell back in the seat, out cold."

"Put her on the floor."

Stone laid her gently down and withdrew his arms, seeing and feeling the sticky liquid dripping from his hand. It was blood, and there was a lot of it.

Chapter Thirty Six

Speak No More

"Oh no," said Matt.

Her lips barely moved as she groaned at the touch of the hard surface against her body.

"Rosa, can you hear me?"

Her blue eyes flickered into life, dulled by a sensation of pain caused by the wound.

"Why didn't you say something before?"

"You went to check on Gratia."

The big man produced a scalpel-like knife and readied to cut into the material encasing her body but lost his balance as the plane hit a pocket of air and jerked upward.

"We can't do it up here," said Matt. "Stumble again and you could cut into something else."

He darted back to the cockpit.

"Gratia, get to the surface," he yelled. "Rosa's hurt."

"No," said Baresi. "We can't afford to stop."

She flinched under the spotlight of his witheringly dark, vicious stare.

"One more word out of you and I swear I'll kill you where you stand," he hissed. "Gratia, do as I ask and get us down to the surface," he repeated.

Using compression he made a desperate attempt to stem the flow as they fell from the sky. Rosa closed her eyes.

"Stay with me," he said. "We need to be stationary before we can cut away the suit. Just stay with me."

The fall to earth lacked the urgency he would have liked, but he wasn't the pilot. Every second felt precious. With each tick of the clock Rosa weakened. The thump of the floats on water pumped the adrenalin through his veins. Soon they would come to rest, thank God.

"I'll keep the pressure on," he barked to the big American.

Stone's knife scythed through the suit with both speed and precision, carving away huge chunks of the material in and around the injury to allow Matt to examine the entry wound.

The bullet had entered the left side and travelled upward in a diagonal line, passing dangerously close to the heart judging by the trajectory. He searched for an exit wound but there was none to be found. Nor could he feel the presence of a missile underneath her skin, as had happened before, confirming his suspicion it had rested somewhere deep inside. For a moment he was unsure, the expression of mounting concern on his face all too evident. Her gaze drifted to the other faces around him, all strangely silent and subdued.

"That bad?" she whispered.

"I need a little time, that's all."

"You don't have any."

"Then we'll make the time."

"You know the routine."

"Screw the routine. We're not leaving until I've fixed you and that's the end of it."

He felt her hand rest on his leg.

"Not this time."

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do. I've fixed you before and I'll do it again."

"Matt," she whispered. "Think of the others."

Her words galvanised him into action, exerting greater pressure on the wound while his mind searched for some kind of inspiration. Limited knowledge or not he knew there had to be something he could do.

"First we need to stop the bleeding," he snapped.

She cried out at the pressure his hands exerted on the open wound. It was always going to hurt, he told himself, but there was no other choice.

"Matt, stop, please stop," she called. "You're hurting me. I don't want you to hurt me."

"This has to be done, Rosa."

"I don't want you to do that. Please, stop."

He ignored the pleas for mercy. This had to be done and he was going to do it.

"Matt, Matt!" she called.

"What!"

"You can't fix this. Not this time. Please, let me lie. Just let me lie."

He couldn't believe she would give up so easily. Not Rosa. A hand fell on to his shoulder.

"Let her lie," said Will. "It's what she wants."

"You can all quit if you want to but I'm not!" he yelled, shaking the hand away.

Gratia had joined them from the cockpit. He could feel her rich eyes watching him intently, her ears listening to his every word. She spoke gently.

"Matt," she said. "Think of Rosa."

"I am thinking of Rosa for God's sake!"

The mists of rage descended; fanned by thoughtful words he preferred to interpret as incendiary devices. They viewed the situation differently. And he despised them for it, despised their weakness. They might wish to concede so easily but he wasn't going to, and he was determined to let them know in no uncertain terms. Gratia grabbed at his blood-caked hands before he could speak and held them firmly.

"Stop," she said.

Again he threw off the thoughtful touch as though shaking an angry swarm from his body. Gratia's hands returned. This time she pushed him away, away from Rosa.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She pinned his shoulders back and stared into his eyes.

"Rosa has cancer, ovarian cancer. It's inoperable. She told me on the way to Maria's."

His eyes shot back to Rosa's beautiful face, her pallor fading with each passing second.

"I thought I was pregnant," she said. "It turned out to be something entirely different."

"Rosa, no..."

Her sad smile provided shattering confirmation. The news ate into his gut, preventing any rational thought formulating in his mind. Anaesthetic couldn't have been any more effective at confusing his thought processes. Time stood still. Then he spoke.

"There are specialists ..."

"Tried them, tried them all, everything," she said. "Looked promising at one time, but it didn't last."

He leapt to Rosa's side and started to re-exert pressure to the wound.

"There's always a miracle cure in the pipeline."

Her face twisted in agony, the cries from her mouth filling the cabin with pain.

"Matt, stop," shouted Gratia. "You're making her suffer more than she needs to."

Cautionary words that somehow found their target, took the venom from his mind. Matt released the pressure and fell onto his rear, head sinking onto blood-stained arms crossed over his knees. He felt Rosa's hand brush up and down his leg and looked over.

"Talk to me," she whispered.

"I can do this," he said. "A couple of minutes and I'll think of something. I know I will. You have to let me do this."

"That's my Matt, forever the optimist."

"I've fixed you before."

"I know when I'm beat."

"Rosa, you have to let me try."

Her resulting silence said everything. The sparkle in her eyes had gone and he made a weak attempt to clear his throat, to insist once more. She forced a smile.

"We should have had sex," she said.

He knew he was supposed to smile. Somehow the muscles in his face refused to comply. He whispered the reply.

"We should."

"There were plenty of opportunities."

"There were."

Rosa found the strength to grin mischievously.

"I think it would have been good"

"No," he said. "It would have been spectacular."

"Yeah, I think so, too."

"Just sex though."

She forced another smile.

"With you, it could never have been just sex."

Matt bit at his lip.

"Do you love me, Matt?"

He glanced towards Gratia, blankly staring at the unfolding scene, before returning his gaze to Rosa's ashen face.

"You already know the answer to that question."

"If I knew I wouldn't have asked."

Again he sank his teeth into the lower lip. She deserved an answer from him.

"It was Toronto," he said.

"What, what was Toronto?"

"The moment you first touched my heart, though I didn't realise at the time. We met at the restaurant by Lake Ontario and ate and danced under the stars on a summer's eve."

He could see her remembering.

"Ah, that's what the cryptic phrase means? 'A warm night in Canada' Now I get it. How sweet is that? I touched your heart. You really do love me."

He did. In a way he wasn't able to describe or explain. The bond was special, unique. And it was about to be broken.

"Just not the way you love her," she said.

There were so many things he wanted to say, explanations he wanted to give. Somehow he couldn't respond.

"It's okay," she said. "I approve."

His intended smile became a grimace.

"Matt?"

"Yes."

"I think this is better," she said. "Quicker. I couldn't face a long illness, drag it out. I'm right, aren't I?"

"I'm sure you are," he croaked. "Best not to talk any more though, save your strength."

She was finding it as hard to form words as he found it to keep the emotion in check.

"Hmm, strength," she said, barely whispering. "I can feel it slowly slipping away."

He turned his head away to hide the anguish.

"Matt?"

"Yes."

"I don't want to die," she said, a tear finally escaping from her eye.

"Rosa..."

He caught her hand as it slipped off his leg and peered out of the open door at the bright blue sky above through misted eyes, searching for a divine intervention that he knew would never come. Rosa, impossibly beautiful Rosa Cain, will speak to him no more. A shake of the head and his teary eyes settled on Gratia.

"We need to go," he whispered.

"Matt..." she said softly.

"Get us out of here."

They rose to the sky in silence, save for the drone of the single engine working overtime to lift them from the surface of the water. Finally, he felt able to release her hand.

"How are you doing?"

Matt shook his head, unable to answer, thanking God that at least Will, alone of the others, remained alive.

"I didn't know either," said his friend.

Still the words wouldn't come.

"Why don't you go and sit up front with Gratia?"

"No," he managed to say. "Not yet."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. The best he could do. Stone searched around and found a blanket. The woollen cover slipped over her still and lifeless form and her face disappeared from view. Despair tightened its grip, the urge to wail into the sky overpowering. Yet, still, the emotion choked inside. The fates had decreed there would be no release for him, only the constant pain of unbearable loss and guilt. Feelings he would be burdened with forever. Four had died because of his intransigent search for the truth.

"Oh Christ," he muttered.

The miles came and went, serene and uneventful, empty and meaningless. Baresi stirred from her seat, making discreet eye contact with her partner Stone as she entered the cockpit. The big American responded by moving into the nearest seat to the pilot's domain. Matt thought nothing of it until Gratia's voice grew loud and impatient. He approached to find out what had caused the angry exchange and Stone reacted by producing a previously concealed hand gun.

"Back off, Durham," he said.

A glimpse at his friend showed that he was also prepared to spring into action.

"I'm more than good enough to take you both before you make another move," said Stone. "So I recommend you both back off and sit down."

A confirmatory glance at Will and they did as instructed. Matt cursed himself for being taken off guard and allowing this to happen, more so when he saw Stone had unobtrusively secured ownership of the laptop.

"What's going on, Stone?"

"Sorry to disappoint you man, but this is where Connie and I get off."

Matt scanned the horizon, recognising familiar landmarks along the journey. They were some distance from the agreed drop-off point.

"The pilot flies the plane," said Matt.

"The pilot does exactly what the pilot is currently being told to do."

The angry exchange had reached boiling point.

"Then shoot!" barked Gratia. "But I'm not stopping until we get to ..."

"You don't understand," he heard Baresi say. "It's not you I'll shoot. It's them."

The message couldn't have been clearer. The subsequent expletive added to the list he had now come to associate with an angry Gratia. The plane dipped a wing and started to drop from the sky, preparing to land.

"We might not want you to get off here," said Matt, trying to remain calm.

The American offered a wry smile.

"There's the rub," said Stone. "The decision on where we get off is not in your hands. The objective has been met so you're no longer needed."

"You make it sound like we're hired hands."

"I prefer the word contractors."

"Contractors?" asked Matt.

"We needed to use independents," replied Stone. "In case anything had gone wrong."

"Independent from who?" asked Matt.

"The people who wanted this," said Stone, gently tapping the laptop.

"I don't recall agreeing to break into a digital vault and steal its contents for someone else."

"If we'd asked directly you'd have refused."

"You're damn right I would have refused."

The American seemed amused by the remark.

"We had to rely on your natural instinct to want to do the right thing, so we laid down a few breadcrumbs here and there for you to follow."

"Breadcrumbs?" snapped Matt.

"Nobody loses unknown quantities of the deadliest virus on the planet."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You lacked some of the requisite skills needed to get the job done. Selling you a line about recovering the inventory was purely a means of introduction, putting you in touch with the qualified team you were going to need."

"They never had the real thing?"

"A harmless placebo," said Stone.

"What if I'd refused to look for the inventory?"

"Once we told you Rosa Cain was involved your decision was foregone."

The American's words sounded alarmingly plausible, as though they'd planned this from the start.

"The path to Tillman's widow was a breadcrumb?"

"Sure was."

"Which means the log is a fake."

The American's huge, muscular shoulders rose and fell in an indifferent shrug.

"Served its purpose," answered Stone. "The log gave you the necessary information on the individual skills of the team and the means to figure out how to get into the vault."

Matt jumped to his feet and Stone pointed the barrel of the gun at Matt's chest.

"Back off," said the American. "Hell, Durham, we're not the bad guys."

"If you are the good guys then why is that weapon pointed at my chest?"

"We couldn't let you keep hold of this stuff. You're likely to do something stupid with it."

"You mean make it public?"

"There are ways of dealing with this kind of situation."

"Like covering everything up," said Matt. "You forget. I've had previous experience of how you people work."

"When people cross a certain line they know there's going to be consequences."

"You mean like early retirement?"

A wry grin crossed the American's face.

"There are all kinds of retirement."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"They'll clean it up."

"And who are they exactly?"

"That you don't need to know."

The temporary lull gave Matt the opportunity to digest this sudden rush of information. Could it be true? That he and the others had been no more than pawns throughout, pieces on someone else's chessboard, somebody else's power game. If so, he'd been played. Led by the nose and made to dance to a tune like a stringed puppet, manipulated. Manipulation, now there was a word. He knew someone adept at that. Now was not the time, however, to have a rush of blood to the head. The touch of fibre glass against water meant they had landed.

"So what happens now?"

"Like I said, we get off here and leave you."

"Alive?"

"That's the plan."

"After everything that's happened and with that gun in my face you expect me to believe you?"

"I really don't give a shit what you believe."

Matt had succeeded in loosening the ties of the cushion to the adjacent seat. In one sweeping movement he lifted and then tossed it into the face of the armed man. The resulting shot flew narrowly by as he hurtled forward and crashed his fist into Stone's jaw.

"Stand down," shouted Baresi from the cockpit. "Or I'll make her other arm bleed."

The threat stifled his attack and he froze. Stone recovered the fallen weapon and brought the butt to bear against Matt's jaw, drawing blood from the mouth.

"You're going to have to learn how to start trusting people, Durham. Ingratitude is a real unpleasant attribute you've got there," said Stone.

Dazed by the blow Matt spat out the excess blood and tried to focus his eyes. Normality returned as the craft ferried to shore and Stone threw open the door. Ahead, by the waterside, were a number of black, unmarked SUVs. One man stood in the open, communicating through a radio, and he noticed a second in the approaching dinghy.

"Stand away," said Baresi.

The two men retreated to the rear the moment they spotted Gratia being forcibly removed from the cockpit, gun jammed underneath her chin.

"We'll take the stick as well," said Baresi.

He held position, mind in turmoil, weighing up the options. A hand touched lightly at his forearm.

"This is not the time," said Will, tossing over the object.

Eyes narrowing he knew he was beaten, for now.

"You put as much as a bruise on her and I swear I'll hunt you both down."

Stone boarded first after emptying the cartridges from the remaining weapons into the lake.

"They'll be closing Durham so I wouldn't stick around too long. And in case you get the urge to follow you should know we've got surface to air."

Baresi followed her companion and the trio watched as the dinghy reached shore. Within moments they had entered one of the vehicles and the convoy had gone.

"We don't know who they're working for," said Will.

"No, but we know someone who does," said Matt. "Let's get out of here."

Matt knelt by Rosa's lifeless form and peeled the blanket away. She looked calm, serene, at peace. He stroked gently at her blonde hair and croaked a weak, emotional cough as he replaced the blanket. The noise of the single engine bursting into life signalled the plane's intent to surge forward and he moved into the cockpit, slumping into the adjoining seat to the pilot. For a while they sat quietly. He made to clear his throat and she spoke.

"Are you okay?"

His head moved from side to side, rising emotion stifling any response. He cleared his throat for a second time.

"I thought I could save her," he whispered. "I always have before, always believed I could. But... this time... I ..."

She held out a consoling hand. He grasped it and squeezed far harder than reasonable, though Gratia neither flinched nor complained. When he finally felt able to relax his hold she tightened hers.

"Jason Taylor once took me to Darmstadt, near Frankfurt, for the weekend. It was a USAF base until the Americans decommissioned it around 2008. The place is now a private airfield and home to an American flying club. It's where I fell in love for the first time in my life. Sadly for Jason Taylor, it was with flying."

Matt squeezed hard at the delicate hand in his grasp and she responded in kind.

"What are you going to do next?" she asked.

He'd decided this well before Stone and Baresi had made their exit.

"Will and I are going to hire a transit van when we make it to France," he said.

"France," said Will, his head making an appearance from the fuselage. "What's on your mind?"

"Retribution," said Matt.

Chapter Thirty Seven

Damned

Eyes glued to the watch the van pulled on to the road and he began to time. At the appointed check he banged at the side and they stopped.

"There should be a right turn," he shouted through.

"Got it," called his friend.

Matt returned to his watch.

"Ten minutes, maximum speed fifty," he said.

The van lurched forward and picked up pace, mechanical pieces rattling as only old and dusty vans can. He hoped he'd remembered right. At the next appointed time they turned left and sped down a narrow lane, passing a set of farm buildings set off the road on the right. Traffic was virtually non-existent as they continued on the chosen path, minute after minute, mile after mile. Will suddenly pressed the brake pedal to bring the vehicle to a halt.

"Dead end," he called.

"What?"

"We've run out of road."

Cursing, Matt leapt from the back and joined his friend up front. This wasn't right, didn't look or feel right.

"Maybe we've missed a turning."

It certainly looked like it. The poorly surfaced road had ended for no obvious reason. Nothing else for it, he thought, and jumped out of the cabin to clamber on to the roof.

"Anything look familiar?" Will asked.

There was nothing in sight, nothing at all. They retraced their steps, Matt double checking timings. When that didn't work they elected to start again from scratch. This time he decided to sit up front, closing his eyes to replicate his earlier experiences of the journey. With painstaking methodology they redoubled their efforts, seemingly to no avail, and Will returned to where they'd started. On the point of giving up Matt suddenly called out.

"Wait."

"What have you seen?"

"The dirt track, just after the next opening," said Matt.

"It is what it is, a dirt track."

Matt thought back. It was around this stage of the journey the van hit a particularly nasty pothole and threw him across the floor, on each previous occasion.

"Try it."

His friend steered the van into the opening. Within seconds they came upon a crater-size hole in the road.

"This is it. Keep going," said Matt.

Two stops before the journey's end Matt asked his friend to pull over and he clambered back on to the roof.

"See anything?"

"Oh yes."

"Nightfall will be here soon," said Will.

"Yeah," agreed Matt.

They scuttled under cover of the hedgerows, taking turns to dart unseen as they neared to the objective. Matt was first to arrive at the rear door and immediately began to pick at the lock. Within seconds access was granted. He felt a tap on his shoulder and saw his friend point to his eyes. Matt understood and donned the night vision glasses. There it was. The thin red beam straddled the entrance, three feet from the ground. One more tap and a hastily drawn picture of a small fuse type box was thrust in front of his eyes. He nodded and squeezed under the beam to locate the alarm, using wire clippers to disable the mechanism.

"The only reason you are still alive is because I have been given specific instructions not to kill you, but I shall if you make any sudden moves."

Francine towered over his hunched figure, weapon pointed to his temple.

"And the only reason you are not dead is because Matt is wearing his favourite jacket and doesn't want your brains splattered over it," whispered Will from behind. "So I suggest you don't make any sudden moves either."

She relaxed her hold on the gun and Will removed it from her grasp. He ushered her to sit down on the floor, away from the door leading to the cosy lounge, and nodded to indicate he would hold her there. Matt held up three fingers, as much time as he would need to get the job done. Killing people never took long. He eased the door ajar. Dimly lit by a side light the fire crackled at the acceptance of a fresh log but the room was empty. There were two other options, either a bedroom or the kitchen. He pushed at the half open door and smelt the aroma of a beef joint cooking in the oven. Three pans of vegetables simmered on the hob.

A sudden sound of movement came from behind. He spun, raised the weapon, aimed and then... saw the bundle cradled in her arms, its lips caressing the nipple of an exposed breast. Sub-consciously his grip eased.

"Where is Francine?"

"Occupied," he said.

"Will is with you?"

Matt strengthened his hold. Eyes fixed, betraying no fear, she moved defiantly towards the warm fire.

"You should put the weapon away before someone gets hurt. Ilsa, for example," she said.

His fingers tightened, relaxed, and then tightened again. This wasn't how he imagined.

"Put her to bed."

"Ilsa needs to be fed. Or would you prefer she cry with hunger while you continue to point that weapon at me?"

His grip briefly relaxed then tightened again.

"I want some answers."

She glanced toward him, eyes concealing her true thoughts behind an impenetrable mask of calm.

"Whatever it is will have to wait until Ilsa is finished."

Another glance, first at him then the weapon, but she said nothing further.

"You don't give a shit about anybody, do you? Everyone is just a tool to you, just another piece on a chessboard. How long do you think it will take for Ilsa to learn she has a snow queen for a mother?"

Her eyes shot him a fierce and challenging glare.

"You want to do this? Now, here, at this particular time I am feeding my daughter?"

"I hardly think she's listening."

Ilsa, hunger satisfied, released her hold. Catherine covered the exposed breast and lifted the child to her shoulder to pat the infant's back while whispering softly into her daughter's tiny ear.

"Why?" he demanded to know. "Why use us?"

She shot him another dark, uncompromising stare.

"You were independent," she finally said.

"So it's been said, but independent of who?" he asked.

"Charles Jessop."

"Why is that important?"

"Jessop is the architect of the Milieu Principle, the man who masterminded the whole project."

"That much is obvious from the files in the vault."

"The project was conceived as a means of protecting future generations from environmental disaster through the effective management of global population levels. However Jessop's true agenda was the removal of indigenous populations from mineral rich geographic areas thereby opening the door for he and his cohorts to access deposits in those countries, countries indisposed to the West. He planned to use an updated NSSM 200 as a pretext to implementing the plan."

"I don't see a difference. Both plans involve mass murder of innocent people no matter how you try and dress it up. There is nothing humanitarian about either approach."

"Managing global population growth is necessary if we are to secure the long term survival of our species and is an issue for every sovereign state. It bears no resemblance to an illegal land grab, colonisation under any other name, for the purpose of individual gain."

"If you say so," he said.

"I do say so."

"I don't see what the problem is. Keller is President, and in his first term. The Vice President role counts for nothing if there's someone else occupying the oval office. The VP role is notional at best, without substance. The real power lies with the President."

"You will recall both men ran for the party nomination."

"I know Jessop lost."

"The race was a close run, evenly matched affair. Keller was the new man on the block, the fresh hope carrying no previous baggage. Up against him was the political goliath, the man steeped in the establishment and who had cultivated strong and powerful alliances throughout the years. The race was meant to be a foregone conclusion until Keller established a minimal lead and found favour with the party hierarchy. The contest turned from one of professional rivalry into a bitter feud and intense personal struggle, playing straight into the hands of the sitting president. Something had to give. The deadlock was finally broken after a meeting between the two candidates and the party grandees. A deal was forced onto the two men. Jessop was made to stand down and accept the Vice President role. In return he received additional responsibilities and a degree of autonomy in how he managed the specific policy options. Denied a shot at the Presidency embittered Jessop. It prevented him from both fulfilling what he believed was his destiny and from implementing his secret plan. All he could hope for was to use an upgraded vice-presidency role to covertly prepare for his succession."

"The guy will be too old when Keller stands down."

"Everyone has skeletons in their cupboard. Jessop found Keller's. All that remained was timing to exact the ultimate revenge, having Keller ejected while in office."

"And you're trying to tell me the most powerful man in the world, had no idea what was going on?"

"Not until Jimmy told him."

"Kimber, why would he suddenly break cover? The man's in this up to his neck."

"Jimmy believes the same as I. Global population growth must be addressed if the world is to avoid an environmental disaster. It is a conviction we both share. Jimmy has no need to make more money."

"Touched as I am by the heart-warming story you haven't told me why you dragged me into this. Keller could have just fired Jessop."

"Lack of evidence," she answered. "Without proof of any wrongdoing there was no basis to terminate the appointment. There is an old phrase. Keep your friends close but..."

"Keep your enemies closer," said Matt. "It doesn't explain why Keller didn't use the CIA or other arm of government? He does have options."

"Keller is new to the political elite. Charles Jessop invested his entire life cultivating both public and political alliances. Keller wasn't sure who to trust."

"Why would he come to you?"

"Jimmy organised a discreet conversation. He told Keller I might know of someone who could help."

"And naturally you thought of me."

"My preference was to use Will. Our agreement was that you would be left alone in return for your silence."

That much was true. It was the basis of the agreement, the understanding they had reached; Gratia's freedom and his stay of execution in return for silence.

"Marius advised the President about you."

"Kronk?" said Matt in surprise.

"He was involved in the conference call, from his home in Atlanta."

"Next you'll be telling me none of this was your idea."

"Marius knows a lot about you. It was he who advised the President of your potential suitability and as it turned out he was correct. You proved to be the ideal candidate. Helen Nash was indeed on her way to recruit Will as I had planned but her death changed everything. They had been close at one time in their lives so the murder meant Will's emotional integrity had been compromised, leaving the door open for Marius to push your name forward."

"I thought you were Kronk's boss?"

"No."

Matt had come in search of the truth. Instead Catherine had provided him with more unanswered questions.

"You don't expect me to believe a man like Kimber would turn on his own people."

"Did you not wonder of the coincidence? That Jimmy so happened to be on a cruise up the Alaskan coast at the time you were breaking into the vault? The others wouldn't suspect him as he was incommunicado. And if the perpetrator of the theft is a known enemy then his hands would be clean, the perfect cover."

"So what does good old Jimmy get out of betraying friends and colleagues?"

"He has been promised amnesty."

"And you?"

"Nothing, other than the chance to prevent the profiteering of evil men," she said. "I got involved because I believed in a cause. And it wasn't to steal from others."

"Just murder people," he said.

She blinked twice.

"Think what you will."

"So it's true what they say about politicians, they'll jump into bed with anyone to get their way, irrespective of who gets hurt or killed in the process."

"I knew you would not understand."

"You're damned right I don't. People, good people, have died because of the games you people play!"

"People died. Nobody said they were good."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Toby Rowe and John Secker found life in the civilian world something of a struggle. Eventually they resorted to the illegal weapons trade. Secker used his knowledge and contacts to buy and sell ordnance to anyone who would deal. Rowe raised the money for the enterprise by using his gift for electronic theft, illegally procuring millions from banks. After years of petitioning, the UK police reluctantly re-opened an old murder enquiry on behalf of a widow. Fresh evidence, in the form of DNA sampling, revealed the killer of the husband to be none other than the man's own daughter. Lily didn't run from home to avoid an arranged marriage. She left because she murdered her own father. The judicial net was closing on all of them. The gunrunner, the thief and the murderess; this is how you define people to be good?"

"And what of Helen?" asked Will, pushing Francine into the room. "What was her supposed crime?"

"Gambling debts," said Catherine. "A host of unpleasant people were after her regarding outstanding debts. It was the reason Nash was selected. For her it was a means to raise cash to pay off the dubious characters vying for her attention."

"How did she know who to contact?"

"She received the goods through an intermediary, someone posing as a disaffected employee and able to provide contact details. Nash was easily persuaded, seeing the potential of this get-rich-quick plan, and contacted the others. Unfortunately for Nash one of her more unsavoury contacts appears to have caught up with her during the ferry crossing."

"Helen wasn't like that," insisted Will.

"Helen Nash was exactly like that," said Catherine with an icy tone. "They were renegades all and none will be missed by the world at large."

"We'll miss them," snapped Will, narrowing his eyes.

"And Rosa?" asked Matt. "What was her character flaw?"

The rapid blink, almost imperceptible to an untrained eye, suggested the question had struck a nerve. For the first time he noticed in her expression something other than the complete emotional control he normally associated with Catherine.

"Rosa wasn't supposed to be with you."

"But she was with us. And she died because of it."

The blink reappeared, the effort to suppress the involuntary action seemingly more difficult. Catherine made no attempt to debase Rosa's reputation in the same way she had done with the others leading Matt to his next question.

"Why was Rosa involved?"

"She was the unwitting lure, the means through which we could draw you into the operation."

"Unwitting?"

"We had not explained the complete strategy to her."

His subsequent gasp told its own story.

"Is no-one safe from your machinations, nobody you aren't prepared to use in order to meet an objective?"

"We all have to make sacrifices."

"From where I'm stood you've forfeited nothing, nothing at all. Good people lost their lives because of your incessant manipulation, including John Tillman!"

"You are a fool," she said imperiously. "John Tillman was an instant believer from the moment they approached him, happy to sell his soul in return for the promise of a privileged life for his children. He was no saint."

"What about the letter he sent his wife."

"Letter!" she said. "He was more likely to send a postcard to you than write to the woman he called the Spanish ball and chain shackled around his feet."

"Portuguese," said Matt.

"What?"

"Maria is Portuguese."

"Iberian," she replied. "They are much the same."

Again, things weren't quite adding up for Matt. Maria may well be Iberian but the Portuguese people regarded themselves as being distinctly different from their Spanish neighbours and were proud of it.

"You didn't need to hurt that woman with the log," said Matt, returning his attention to the issue.

"The log was necessary to guide you down the right path and had to be uncovered so it did not arouse your suspicion. Elements of it were true. Strange to think a man like Tillman would keep account of his sexual conquests."

Matt refused to rise to the bait.

"Where do Baresi and Stone fit in?"

"A watching brief," she said. "There to monitor events and provide support only if needed, such as your retreat from the lodge up the mountain."

"So where were they when Rosa and I were being injected with the virus?"

"We lost track of your movements after the driver dropped you off at the service station. You were supposed to go to the airport where our surveillance teams were waiting. We didn't pick up your trail again until Tillman's widow managed to get in touch with Marius."

Matt put the two sides of the equation together.

"You don't know who injected us, do you?"

"It is time to put Ilsa to bed," she said coldly.

He followed her into the nursery and watched as she gently lay Ilsa down. He had killed women before because he had to. This was different, different because he wanted to end her life, like nothing else on this planet. She may well be the mother of his only ever child but Rosa needed to be avenged, and that's why she had to die. The simple exercise of putting an infant to bed seemed to take an age. He watched as she bent over to caress the sheets into place around the little bundle. And that's when he saw it, hanging from around her neck. The pendant swung and rotated, magnetically so, urged on by Catherine's maternal movements.

She stood and turned, eyes refusing to reveal the fear he believed she had to be feeling inside. The pendant fell against her chest and she scooped it in her hand and tucked it into the blouse, drawing his attention once more to the golden object. He had to know. With his free hand he reached forward and tore the top buttons of the garment before she could react and held it in his palm.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded.

She removed it cautiously from his hand and it fell back into place.

"Why are you wearing a pendant with Rosa's initials?"

Her refusal to answer set his mind thinking as vulnerability took refuge in her eyes.

"RC, Rosa and Catherine," he said suddenly. "She was the one feeding you information."

The statement of fact seemed barely possible. She took her time to answer.

"Up until we could get you in place," said Catherine. "She was meant to stop then and you were supposed to return her."

"But not to Stefan."

"Never to him," said Catherine in contempt. "To him Rosa was no more than a trophy wife, a beautiful woman to drape over his arm so he could impress his colleagues and business contacts. I knew what he was like. I did not have to dig far to establish a true picture."

"The man was in pieces when I saw him."

"An act," she spat. "Once he had left us Stefan went on to an evening business function and returned home with an Italian brunette."

"Well why didn't you tell her?"

"Tell Rosa Cain what to do?"

He knew what she meant.

"She could be a little headstrong."

"I knew she had some doubt. That is why she went to see you, in Canada."

"Rosa didn't mention anything."

"No, she believed you had found your peace and did not wish to disturb your new found equilibrium."

He hadn't found peace at all. In fact he felt the opposite, in desperate need of a confidante who could understand the mental turmoil he couldn't shake from his mind.

"Jenna just happened to spend the night, as a guest, and Rosa thought something out of nothing."

"Rosa had a habit of jumping to conclusions. If you had spoken things might have been different."

"Rosa didn't need my approval, on anything."

"Yours was a unique relationship, because of what you had been through together."

"She could have talked to you."

"Rosa would not listen to me, insisting my judgement was clouded by personal emotion."

"And was it?"

"My views on Stefan were entirely rational."

"But not on the subject of Rosa?"

There was something she was hiding from him. Finally, he put it together.

"You were lovers, before she met him."

The mask of impenetrable control started to slip away from her face, revealing an unexpected torment.

"Eva-Maria..."

"Found it difficult to accept," said Matt. "Is that why she went to Marseille?"

"I didn't know where she had gone. Rosa and I separated, in the hope it would encourage Eva-Maria to return. A short time later I was contacted by the Marseille police, to advise they had discovered a badly beaten body which they believed to be her."

"A body they could only identify by DNA testing."

Matt reasoned Eva-Maria had contacted her biological father, James Kimber, and he'd arranged the deception.

"How could you possibly think to involve Rosa, knowing she was seriously ill?"

"The physical symptoms she was experiencing suggested pregnancy, an erroneous initial assessment. When the truth of her illness was revealed she returned but became increasingly restless. Her impatience grew and her temper shortened as the news of her condition worsened. I involved her as a way of providing respite from the mental strain. She jumped at the chance. Her orders were to persuade the others to involve Will and return. It soon became clear she intended to stay. I readily consented to your involvement after Nash's death, despite our agreement, in the hope I could use you as an intermediary to reason with her. I hadn't counted on ..."

The moisture forming in her eyes started to thicken.

"You were meant to bring her back," she whispered. "Rosa and the inventory, those were your instructions."

"Rosa didn't want to come back. I understand why."

"I was going to look after her, be at her side and help Rosa through it. Instead she decided to stay away, remain out of my reach with them. Spend her last days with you. And for that I damn you. I damn you to hell, Matt Durham."

Unconsciously his arm lowered and his thumb clicked the safety catch back into place.

"What do you need from me, for Ilsa?"

"Why would I need anything from you?"

"Rosa told me..."

"We had sex, once, to satisfy a basic and primal need. You are a man, not superman."

Fire returned to her eyes. He thought about pressing her on the issue. It no longer seemed important. He turned to leave.

"Where do you think you are going?"

"Anywhere but here," he said.

Matt made it to the threshold before she spoke again.

"I meant everything I said about Gratia. She is too good for you. If you thought of anyone other than yourself for a change then you should stay away, let her go free."

He paused to take in her words then walked away, leaving her alone with her daughter in the darkened room.

"What's going on?" asked Will as Matt reappeared

"She's out of bounds," he replied.

Matt strode to the desk, ripped a sheet from the open diary and scribbled a short note which he stuffed into Francine's hand.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

Catherine emerged looking tired and drawn. She lifted up the bottle of red and filled the two glasses.

"He left this for you," said Francine.

Catherine unfolded the note and read the message.

Eva-Maria is alive.

Matt slumped into the seat and sighed. The night hadn't gone as planned. He rubbed fiercely at his brow in the forlorn hope this would elicit some sort of much needed clarity and insight to his weary mind. The key turned to ignite the diesel engine and it rattled into life. First gear engaged and the van chugged on to the single lane carriageway. Will accelerated through the gears, waiting until they'd built up speed before choosing to speak.

"So what do you want to do next?"

"You need to go home," replied Matt. "After you've given Jenna the best night of her life you should set a date for the wedding and agree on the number of children you're going to have."

His friend smiled.

"What about you?"

Matt thought for a moment.

"I've got something to do and then people to see before I can return to the island."

Chapter Thirty Eight

Identity Crisis

The patio door opened to his touch enabling him to escape the fine, warm drizzle and enter the sanctuary of the dry and cool interior. She sensed the arrival of a presence, turning her head slightly to the side and then lifting her hands from the basin to dry her hands on the adjacent towel. He'd hoped for some kind of welcoming acknowledgement but was instead met by unexpectedly cold, dispassionate eyes.

"It is common practice for visitors to knock at the door when they wish to see me," she said. "That is what everyone else does."

"The back door seemed like a better idea, in case you were being watched."

Her nod agreed with the statement though the expression of detachment remained unerringly intact and he started to regret the decision to pay her a visit. The subsequent silence felt uncomfortable, nothing like the way he'd imagined. Not that in truth he knew what to properly expect except the voice in his head told him he had to come and so he came, for better or for worse.

"I was expecting you," she said.

"You were?"

"It is in your nature; to do what you believe is the 'decent' thing to do."

"Which is?"

"To make sure we are alright. Am I wrong?"

He shook his head.

"I see you have brought a rucksack. Were you expecting to stay here as well?"

"No," he said. "It's a present."

He unbuckled the straps and tipped the sack upside down on the coffee table. Thick bundles of notes, Euros of a variety of denominations, swamped the surface and then spilled on to the tiled floor.

"Courtesy of John's team," he said. "They wanted you to have some."

Her left eyebrow raised sharply in response to the masses of wealth he'd deposited in front of her though she exhibited no outward sign of pleasure.

"The English media are hailing John as a national hero, a hero who tragically lost his life while attempting to uncover the presence of a terrorist cell living in North America. They say the authorities there are now acting on the information he collected and that details will soon be made available to the public at large."

"Sounds about right," he said.

"John is to be posthumously decorated."

"Good," he replied, trying to sound convincing. "This will come in handy for a new frock for the ceremony."

At last she managed some kind of smile, one he returned with a similarly strained one of his own. She stepped towards the centre island placing her hands, palm down, against the cool marble surface.

"It appears those behind the Milieu conspiracy have found a way to evade justice," she said.

"In a fashion," he said. "What do you think the odds are for three of them to happen to be on the same charter plane that crashes into a desert?"

"You mean four?"

"No, Bruckmuller and the two Jessop brothers, Charlie and Judd?" he queried.

"A fourth body has been discovered, a man by the name of Kimber, James Kimber."

"I thought..."

The blink of her eyes cut him short.

"What did you think?"

"That there were only three. I need to pay more attention to news bulletins," he said dismissively.

Despite her disbelieving frown he decided against further elaboration. Though Kimber's inclusion on the doomed flight had come as something of a surprise it served little purpose to burden her with the background. Even so, he couldn't help but feel a little troubled by the news.

"So it looks like John's mission is about as complete as it's ever going to get," he said

She blinked without sentiment, a forced half smile adding to his unease about her demeanour. Common sense dictated now was the time to leave. He'd made the obligatory visit to check on her wellbeing and deposited enough funds to relieve any lingering financial concerns she might have. Yet the issue of her withholding Gratia's attempts at contact with him hung in his mind.

"Where are the children?"

"With my mother," she said.

"I thought..."

Her impassive stare dried the moisture in his throat leaving the remainder of the sentence hanging in the air, unspoken and incomplete.

"You are much in demand," she said.

He grinned.

"Not an everyday occurrence."

The weak attempt to smile came and went in the blink of an eye.

"A woman telephoned in search of you, a woman by the name of Catherine..."

"Vogel," said Matt.

"Yes. It appears she needs to talk to you urgently."

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth, that I had not seen you."

"Good. I'm in no hurry for that conversation."

"Marius is looking for you also," she said.

"Looking for me? I'd have thought he'd want to keep a very low profile, negotiate safe passage to an obscure rogue state to keep out of harm's way."

The remark was met by a peculiarly confident smile.

"Marius will not run."

"He'd rather hang around until the 'car accident' catches up with him. I think not."

"There is no reason for him to hide."

"Yeah, I'll bet that's what the Jessop boys, Bruckmuller and Kimber thought too."

The confident smile broadened its scope, which he found to be eerily disconcerting.

"If I were you I'd put some distance between you and old Marius, to be on the safe side."

"No need," she said. "Marius has been in the employ of the US state for over thirty years now."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

"He will look after me."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Marius works at a department within the Executive Office of the President, called the National Security and International Affairs Division of the OSTP. He heads up the division."

"OSTP, what's that?"

"The Office of Science and Technology Policy; Marius has the unique privilege of reporting directly to the US President, bypassing his own Director."

Instinct told him something was wrong, that it was time to leave after all. He made to move.

"When Marius requests an audience it is courtesy to accept the invitation."

"Well he's going to be disappointed."

She eased her left hand from the surface of the worktop and slid open a drawer. Initially the object she revealed with her right hand didn't register. Then he recognised the handgun her late husband trained her to use.

"Fold your arms in front of your chest so I can see them," she said coldly.

The unemotional tone of her voice troubled him more than the sincerity, and he spent the next passing seconds returning a blank and empty stare. The release of the safety catch acted as a reminder of his precarious situation. He carefully avoided making any sudden move as her index finger curled round the trigger.

"I respond better to being asked politely," he said, anxious to lighten the mood.

Not so very long ago he would have mentally prepared for danger before entering any property, except on this occasion it hadn't crossed his mind. Not once. He'd allowed himself to get too comfortable in these surrounds, lost his edge. It felt odd to have his life threatened by Maria after she'd invested so much of her time to keep him alive. He'd never seriously considered her capable of murder, given she had breathed new life into four children, and he remained unsure. Nevertheless he could do little more than obey, for the time being.

"You shouldn't have come here," she said.

"Why is your old mentor in such a desperate hurry to see me all of a sudden?"

"It is not sudden. And neither is he my old mentor."

"You're going to have to explain that to me."

"I have worked for Marius for years, still do."

"I thought you said John wanted you to stay at home, with the children?"

"Tillman's wife is Maria Cuellar, a Spaniard. She is fat and over forty and living in Barcelona. I am Portuguese and my family name has always been Costa."

Rooted to the spot his mind spun with confusion.

"Your name came up on the computer as ..."

"Carefully placed," she said.

"But ... the children ..."

"The twins are mine, consequence of an ill advised affair with a married man. The boys are their elder cousins."

He thought back. Neither of the boys called her mother he remembered. It just hadn't registered.

"Tessa nearly died ..."

"An unfortunate accident," she said, temporarily losing the control in her eyes. "That wasn't meant to happen."

Thought processes galloped in his head as he tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind.

"You knew it was me. You knew who I was the moment I set foot through your door."

"It was I who discovered you, or rather the DNA sample of subject number 60200106678. I happened to come across it during testing and reported it straight to Marius. As a reward he invited me to participate in the study."

"What study?"

"You were meant to be alone when Marius arrived to inject you with the virus. And we certainly didn't intend you to use the antidote on your friend. It presented us with an unwanted complication. By the time the recovery team had reached the location you had left, Rosa Cain along with you. Had you died we would have been unable to continue with the research on our theory. Fortunately you came here, which helped."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The beginnings of a superior smile began to manifest on her lips, filling him with dread.

"Marius left it up to me to judge the right time to draw the additional samples."

"What samples? I don't recall you taking anything other than blood from my veins."

"It wasn't your blood we needed. As we had forecast your motility began to exhibit signs of recovery. A few more days and we might have had the conclusive evidence we needed. But then you left, before we had finished."

The thought sickened, knotting the muscles in his stomach. He blinked repeatedly in an attempt to shut out the deception from his mind and then clenched his fists to try and restore some kind of mental equilibrium.

"And you said I was sick."

"I have been trained to be objective at all times, detached and not subjective. Every decision I make is calculated."

The triumphant smile grew a life of its own as he fought the nausea building inside, his mind silently screaming out in helpless denial and outrage.

"You said...and I thought ..."

"Every man thinks through his penis."

She'd played him right from the start. Every move, every word, had been meticulously delivered purely as a means to get them to the end point, to gather the scientific data required to enable them to produce an effective antidote. But there was role play, and then there was role play.

"I've had experience of a woman using her body to lie to me. You can tell yourself as many times as you like you did it for the science but it wasn't calculation on your mind at the time. I've learned to distinguish the difference."

Her finger eased from the trigger and smoothed against the metal as though stroking a pet, then resumed its position and tightened again.

"That would make you the first man in history to acquire such expertise," she said.

He looked first to the weapon and then to her face.

"I thought Marius wanted me alive."

"He does."

"So why the weapon?" he asked.

"We would prefer you not to leave and I thought this might encourage you to stay."

"And if I tried to leave?"

"Then Marius will have to work on a corpse, which would not be ideal."

Matt searched his mind for a route out and prepared to play his ace card.

"I thought Tessa's life was important to you," he said. "Or doesn't she count in your calculated world?"

Her grip eased and tightened.

"If it did I wouldn't be pointing this weapon at you."

For moments on end his mind vacillated between hope and despair. He noticed her grip on the weapon tighten and ease, then tighten again, as his increasingly desperate gaze drifted between the barrel of the gun and the uncertainty showing on her face. He took a step.

"I'd rather you didn't," she said.

"What would you do if you were me?"

"I told you not to come back," she said.

So something did count. He stepped to the side and turned his body ever so gently. Maria straightened her arm, aimed the weapon, and fired.

Chapter Thirty Nine

Out of Time

The word immaculate sprang to mind. Golden hair, perfectly edged, halted its enticing descent immediately on meeting the bottom of her shoulder blades and refused to budge from its stilled position. Every strand had to have been glued in place to the slim-fitting white blouse to behave so obediently. An unusual item of trivia to hold his attention but something to focus on, something to take his mind off...

"Your appointment, Mr Daniels," said the beauteous vision of administrative efficiency, taking a delicate step aside to permit him access through the opening.

He expected grandeur and wasn't disappointed; everything was as imagined and more. The cavernous space before him reeked of luxury. At the far side walls of sheer glass presented a panoramic view of the Munich skyline bathed in unusually warm sunshine for this time of year, as his feet sank further into the deep pile of the lightly patterned carpet. The absence of clutter magnified the presence and stature in the centre of the room of the elegantly sculptured piece of highly polished wood with accompanying leather-coated chair he assumed to be her work station. Unable to locate his audience he turned to face the glass walls through which he'd just entered.

"We can see out but they are unable to look in," said the voice from behind and he turned to face her pristinely dressed shape appearing from apparently out of nowhere, armed with an apprehensive smile.

He edged forward to get a better view of her hiding place, a cleverly concealed recess. Yet another large space, only this one housing a wide screen LED television atop a manicured wood sculpture posing as a cabinet. No more than three feet high its length reached to both sides of the recess, suggesting it had been purposely built for that one piece of space. She pressed the button on the remote control and the HD image disappeared, shortly followed by the large screen itself as the inbuilt motors lowered the electronic device into the cabinet. There was a recurring theme to this extraordinary place of work, class, sheer class.

"President Keller appears to be maximising the sympathy vote over the murders of his friends. I suspect he'll be a shoe-in for re-election when the time comes around no matter how low his ratings get over the next three years or so."

"I guess so."

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You're looking a bit pale and you're sweating."

"Bit of a chill," he said, though his words failed to placate the look of concern in her eyes.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded and tried to smile.

"I confess to being somewhat bewildered by the unusual method of your approach."

"How is your arm?" he asked.

"Well enough for you to give me a proper welcoming hug if you insist."

His approach brought a look of bright amusement to her face and he stopped.

"What's wrong?"

"Is the light in your pocket a sex toy or are you pleased to see me?" she said with a laugh.

Matt retrieved the object, the blue light glowing strongly, and his heart sank.

"There isn't much time," he said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your office is bugged. The blue light is audio, the red is for visual. The numbers here tell me the frequency being used by those listening in."

He held it forward and slowly turned in a circle, stopping the moment the light increased its glow. Matt walked to the desk and slid a hand under the rim, his fingers soon retreating back into view with the offending object.

"I don't understand ..."

"It's not over," he said quietly. "They're still searching for an effective remedy to the Milieu virus."

"How can they be? The conspirators are all dead. There is no conspiracy left."

"It's not over," he repeated. "There were five designated users of the vault. Four of them were on the very plane which the media are now reporting as being blown from the sky by a terrorist. The fifth is still running free."

"But the President is personally involved in the case. It's surely only a matter of time before they bring the last one to justice and reveal all to the world."

"The press conference you were watching is a repeat from yesterday. Did you hear Keller mention at any time anything about a conspiracy?"

"He said there was more to come."

"Not about the conspiracy. I'm guessing the more will be about the hunt for the bomber, the one who planted the device on the private jet carrying these four supposed beacons of American society. Keller wants two terms. How do you think it would look if he reveals his Vice President was involved in the conspiracy? He's trying to protect reputations, notably his own, hence the bombing of the plane which he'll pass off to the public as an attack against the American people so as to avoid the wrong kind of media speculation. That's how it works."

"Perhaps," she said. "But even if you are right it no longer has anything to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me, as long as the fifth man is out there."

"You're starting to scare me," she said.

Her expression, so full of hope and optimism a few short minutes ago, had converted to questioning disbelief.

"What does it have to do with you?"

"I've been to see Maria," he said.

"You went to Maria before you came here!"

Her dark eyes adopted their 'that's not funny' mode and he couldn't be sure what she would say next.

"I went to make sure she was okay."

"How many times have I said to you, we no longer live in an honourable world," she said.

"Honour never entered my head. It was a conscience thing, redemption or something."

"And?" she demanded.

He searched for the best way to break the news. In the end he decided to just go for it.

"While I was recovering at Maria's she took samples from me and sent them to a scientific laboratory. She explained it as being necessary to monitor progress. Except there was another reason why they wanted samples, one she didn't tell me about. They were also testing my body's recovery from the antidote and I apparently exhibited signs of effectively combating the side effects of the counter serum, or to put it another way..."

"You could be the antidote to the antidote," she said, as the realisation dawned.

"Yes. Or at least something in my body could be."

"And Maria was aware of this?"

"Yes, which explains why she kept saying I didn't want to talk to you when you rang. She is not all she seems. We were all fooled by her."

"But there is no need to continue ..."

"Unless..."

"Someone still intended to use the virus. But who would do such a thing?"

"The man responsible for developing the original strain is also the man who treated me at Maria's. He's trying to locate me as we speak. Maria told me."

"It could be a matter of duty of care, the professional ethics of his scientific discipline. Not everyone is conspiring against Matt Durham."

"Like I said, the fifth user remains free."

"You believe it is this man," she said.

"Yes, he's called Marius Kronk. I've actually met him on a few occasions but didn't connect the dots. He told me he was only involved for the science but I think it's the weapon he's more interested in."

"The virus and the antidote?" she said.

"Yes."

"He will be caught, like the others."

"The guy has direct access to President Keller which gives him a considerable power base. He's coming for me. I just don't know when or how he's going to make his move..."

The sound of an intercom bleeping on the desk interrupted the conversation.

"Yes, Edith," answered Gratia.

"The President of United States is addressing the country," said the responding voice.

Gratia resurrected the screen. Seated at his desk in the oval office the tall and elegant silver-haired man was already well into his address.

"Every arm of the nation's security apparatus is on the case and has been working 24/7 to locate the perpetrators of this vicious atrocity against our people and our democracy. I can report to you that, at great cost of additional lives, we have destroyed the nucleus of this terrorist cell responsible, taken the lives of those who would wage an unjust war against our great nation. Except one, the ringleader, now America's most wanted."

Matt knew what was coming and his heart sank.

"His background," continued the President, "is shrouded in mystery to authorities all around the world, but I can reveal to you he has Canadian citizenship, obtained through permanent residence having lived in the territory for over three years and passed the necessary tests. I have spoken at great length to the Canadian Prime Minister and she has offered the cooperation of her nation's intelligence service to hunt down this man. I give you my solemn promise he will have no hiding place and will be apprehended and brought to justice."

Matt could see Gratia holding her breath.

"The name all Americans, all decent hardworking people around the globe, should burn in their memories is the name of Matthew Arnold Durham, Matt Durham to his supposed friends and acquaintances..."

Gratia's frightened eyes darted towards his face in search of solace, some kind of words of encouragement. He had none to offer.

"The man's made his move," said Matt.

"You expected this," she said. "That's why you used your real name to make the appointment."

The absence of response confirmed it and she reacted by wrapping her arms around him. Matt groaned.

"There is something wrong with you."

"It's okay, it'll pass," he said, trying to sound convincing.

"What are we going to do?"

"You're not doing anything other than stay here and carry on like nothing has happened. It's me that has to run."

"No, Matt, no," she said.

"Yes. It's the only option available."

"No," she repeated. "I won't stay without you."

"The only chance I've got is to move fast, light and often and I can do that better if I'm on my own."

"No," she said for a third time.

The pressure of her body crushed up against him mounted as she tightened her hold. She didn't want to let go and neither did he, but time was growing short. Snapping up the remote to increase the volume he whispered.

"There isn't much time."

Four short words and he felt as though his heart was about to break in two.

"I love you Gratia Fuchs. Three words I should have said such a long time ago."

"Five," she said.

"What?"

"I love you Gratia Fuchs is five words not three. And you are right. You should have said it a long time ago."

"Timing," he said. "Not one of my strong points."

Cradling her gingerly in his arms she squeezed harder than he would have preferred and he groaned again.

"What's wrong?"

"I hurt myself trying to avoid something yesterday."

He tightened his hold slightly as a means of reassurance and she relaxed hers. The touch and feel of her soft and warm body, the sweet scent of her long raven hair, held him in their comforting grip once more. This was a safe place, a haven, for his weary mind and aching body. Rehearsal went out of the window as the carefully prepared words evaporated into the stratosphere to be replaced by the raw emotion tumbling free from his mouth.

"It was always you, only ever you," he said. "You know that, don't you?"

"Hush, we don't have to talk about it right now."

"We do," he said. "Rosa Cain somehow touched my heart in a way I can't describe, can't explain. But she never held it in the palms of her hands the way you do. No-one else could. When I heard you'd returned to Schafen I thought you had gone from my life forever and I was lost, didn't know what I was going to do with you no longer by my side. I should have said this a long time ago then you would never have had any reason to doubt me."

He relaxed his hold.

"No, don't let go of me."

"I have to."

"No, you don't. Turn yourself in and fight the accusations in court."

"If I'm caught they won't send me to a detention centre to await trial, it'll be a medical research facility where they can pick my body apart."

"More reason to surrender to the German police then you can fight the extradition process."

"Somehow I don't see the authorities here putting up much of a struggle. You heard what the President said. My terrorist cell took out the Vice President. No-one in this world is going to give me the time of day, either here or back in the land of the free in the good old US of A."

Her silence confirmed the harsh truth.

"I'll send you a message as and when. Promise me you'll look after yourself."

She nodded and they separated, fingers touching at each other's tips as they slowly drew apart. Leadenly he made his way to the door, strength sapping away at each step and he prayed she wouldn't notice the physical struggle.

"Wait!"

Fingers resting on the handle, energy seeping from every pore of his body as the nausea took a hold he struggled to find the mental strength to answer.

"I have to go," he finally managed to say.

"And I said wait God damn you."

The strong grip on his sleeve spun him round then threw him off balance and he fell against the immaculately cleaned glass before sliding down on his rear. The left side of his coat flapped open to reveal the source of his discomfort.

"You're bleeding!"

"It's okay. I'll attend to it once I'm out of the building."

"You won't get to the elevator never mind the street."

Gratia crouched to take a closer look.

"This is a bullet wound. How did it happen?"

"Like I said Maria wasn't all she seemed."

"You stupid, stupid, man," she said.

Using a hand to pin his weakening body against the glass wall she attempted to examine the injury with the other. Edith burst through the door.

"Gratia, there are a number of armed men coming up from the foyer to your office. Oh my God!" she shrieked on seeing the mass of red.

"It's too late," said Matt.

"They are not here yet. Edith, set off the fire alarm to cut the power to the elevators. And tell Jurgen to stop whatever he is doing and get in here."

"It won't delay them for very long," said Matt. "Listen to me, Gratia. There are some things I need to tell you before they get here."

Chapter Forty

Shoot the Pig

The door virtually burst from its hinges as a number of suited men, each with an arm crossed over their chests preparing to brandish shoulder weapons, brushed the protesting Edith aside and surveyed the vast space before them.

"Where is he?" demanded the leader of the pack.

Gratia peered up into his face with disdain and then looked across to the frightened face of her secretary.

"Edith, I thought you said there were no appointments left in the diary for this afternoon."

"Don't get smart lady," barked the deep voice. "Just tell us where he is."

Angered by her silence the man's aggression was about to become more sinister when the sudden arrival of a tall, elegant woman striding imperiously into the room interrupted them, followed by an older grey-haired man.

"This is somewhat unexpected," said Gratia. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"It is in your interests to co-operate," said the first of the new arrivals.

"Co-operate with whom exactly and on what?"

"You have seen the news."

"Actually, no," she said. "I was about to switch the screen on when these men forced themselves into my office."

"Don't lie," said the deep voice. "We've been listening and heard everything."

"Obstruction of the law is a serious criminal offence," said the woman. "Imprisonment is often the result."

Gratia turned to look out over the Munich skyline and took a deep sigh.

"He is gone."

"Impossible," barked the man. "Every exit is covered."

Gratia pointed to a white door in the recess opposite to the one holding the screen and cabinet.

"My personal elevator," she said.

Ordered by a sharp glance the nearest of the armed men strode across the floor and bent down.

"There's a blood trail," he said.

"You bitch," snapped the deep voice.

The crackle of a radio transmission filled the room and one of the armed men pressed it against his ear to listen intently to the message.

"Footage from their security room shows a man matching his build driving from the underground car park in her vehicle a few moments ago."

"Harbouring terrorists carries an even greater sentence," said the woman.

"I had little choice," answered Gratia.

The pack leader spat out hasty instructions resulting in the remainder of his team followed him from the room.

"What did he say to you?" asked the grey-haired man. "He whispered something before he left. Tell me what it was he said to you?"

Gratia glanced to the window. On returning her gaze she looked at each of the remaining intruders in turn, her eyes glazed and moist.

"He said he had found a place to die."

"Which place, where is it?"

Gratia swallowed hard before answering.

"All he would say is it is a place where you would never find his body."

"Maria!" yelled the man in frustration. "I told them to place men in and around her property. We have to find him before he goes to ground. He must not be allowed to disappear without trace."

The woman fixed a penetrating stare on Gratia, her green eyes quizzical and unconvinced. It was as if she were trying to see through the mask of disconsolation.

"Matt would never concede defeat so easily."

"On the contrary, should Matt succeed in concealing his body then he will have won," said Gratia.

The woman's eyes narrowed with intrigue.

"Why doesn't he want us to find his body?"

"Would you want your body prodded and sliced after you were dead?"

"What is she talking about, Marius?"

"You are Marius?" questioned Gratia.

"What is she talking about?"

"You clearly weren't paying attention, Catherine. All the while Matt was supposed to recovering at Maria's, secret tests were being conducted. It appears Matt's body might hold the key to the development of a new antidote, one without any side effects."

"Is this true?"

The longer the question hung in the air the darker her mood turned. The pack leader returned.

"We've got a positive ID. He's heading south."

"St Wolfgang," declared Catherine. "He is trying to reach St Wolfgang."

Once the armed man had hurried away Catherine returned her withering glare to Marius.

"We shall talk in the car."

"Matt said one other thing," said Gratia softly.

"Which was?"

"That he was grateful never to have been a parent. For any child known to be from his seed would be vulnerable, sought after such as he to become no more than a laboratory resource subject to a miserable life of experimentation. Prodded, sliced and dissected, all in the name of science."

"Why did he tell you this?" asked Catherine.

"You wanted to know what he said. And I told you."

Her glance caught the flicker of Catherine's eyes, unseen by her accomplice. Realising the unintended motion had been observed she strode from the room.

Gratia answered the bleep of the intercom in an instant.

"They are gone," said Edith. "The rental car requested is waiting below."

"Come and help," ordered Gratia, shooting from the chair to the television cabinet.

Edith arrived as Matt painfully slid from his hiding place and saw Gratia's finger pressed against her lips. Once he'd clambered free Edith also wrapped a supporting arm around his waist and they eased him towards the waiting elevator.

"Where's the stuff?" he asked, once the door had closed.

"In the vehicle," answered Edith.

"Did you manage to get everything?"

"Edith has no equal," said Gratia.

He nodded.

"Sorry about the mess," he said, noticing the smudge of his blood on Edith's pristine blouse.

"I have a spare in the closet behind my desk for just such an occasion," she answered with a smile.

"Jesus," he said with a sigh.

"What is it?"

"It's about time the men of this world allowed the women to do all the organising."

"Finally, he agrees," said Gratia, much to her assistant's amusement.

Edith pointed to the distant black 4x4 once the elevator door reopened. Replete with privacy windows, the vehicle had the stature of a top of the range model.

"They told me the keys have been placed in the sun visor," said Edith.

"Wait here," said Gratia. "I'll bring it over."

Matt sensed the young woman's body tense as they waited for the car to arrive and he put this down to the precariousness of their situation.

"Gratia thinks a lot of you," he said. "And I can see why. You'd be a huge asset to any employer."

She turned her head as though she had seen something interesting in the distance and he wondered which part of the compliment sounded offensive.

"Are you okay?"

"The vehicle is coming," she said, looking at her shoes.

"I think you're very talented, too."

She looked away again and then gazed at his face through misted, moistened eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Sorry, whatever for?"

The vehicle pulled up alongside and Edith gently removed her supportive hold as the rear passenger privacy window silently descended.

"Here's the deal. You get in and we let her out," said the familiar face of the diminutive CIA agent with the weapon pointed at her captive.

The equally silent descent of the front passenger window revealed Gratia's forlorn, defeated expression.

"Why?" he asked, turning to Edith.

"My father is in trouble and..."

"Vogel," said Matt. "She found out about the problem and offered to help."

"Yes."

"Hey, Durham, we're on a schedule. Get your ass in," said a second voice he recognised as Stone's.

"I'm guessing you're under orders not to injure me. So, much as I appreciate the offer, I have to politely decline."

"Okay," said Baresi. "We'll hurt her instead."

He glanced anxiously to Gratia then shot a dark stare at his would-be captor.

"I really am starting to dislike you."

"Don't, Matt. Don't get in."

With the answer already written on his face he opened the front passenger door.

"It's okay. They have to mend this body before they can do anything else to me."

"No," she pleaded.

His right arm stretched to her hand and gently tugged in encouragement.

"You were right. I should have turned myself in to the local police."

She fell into his embrace, circling her arms around him in a vice-like grip. Matt brushed at Gratia's hair and whispered as he softly kissed the top of her head and his hand discreetly slid down the luxurious fine material of the tailored jacket before hovering above the open flap of the side pocket.

"Very touching," said the female agent. "Put her down and get in."

"You'll hear from me soon," he said.

Jerking her head back she looked questioningly into his eyes and he smiled. Matt stumbled as he attempted the climb into the rear of the vehicle and Gratia noticed his hand press against the underside of the front seat.

"Quit stalling," barked Baresi.

"I'm trying goddamnit," he snapped.

Matt dragged himself into the seat and turned to offer another smile as the window rose and the handcuffs went on, imprisoning him within the departing 4x4. The two women watched it leave filled with their individual emotions. For one it was guilt. For the other it was intense concentration trying to figure out the coded message Matt had tried to relay.

"Gratia, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Never mind that, give me your mobile."

"Phone, why?"

"Just do it. There isn't much time."

Sunlight replaced the artificial light of the underground car park and he instinctively blinked.

"Why now, why not take me off the plane? Oh, of course," he said almost as quickly. "You needed me out of reach for a few days, so my movements couldn't be traced, couldn't be accounted for."

"Hey I'm impressed," said Stone. "You're finally starting to get a handle on this, Durham."

"And I guess this convoluted method means you can spirit me away from the public eye."

"Right again. You are getting better at this."

"Not much of a consolation," said Matt.

The big American bellowed and Matt glanced to his more studious partner. If she found the exchange in any way light-hearted she wasn't showing it.

"Isn't that the Isartor City Gate?" said Matt. "Did you know it was built in the fourteenth century and is the most historic of all the city gates in Munich?"

"Put a lid on it, Durham," said Baresi. "There's a long way to go and I don't want a running commentary about historical landmarks of Germany."

Matt looked for the road direction signs as they continued to make slow progress through the heavy traffic. Finally, he saw one.

"Now that's surprising, we're heading west along the A99 and I thought we'd be going the other way."

With the remark met by a stony silence he decided to try a different tack.

"Do you know why you're doing this?"

"We don't ask," said Stone. "It's a personal attribute you might want to take on board."

"Aren't you even a little curious?"

"No."

Silence returned, the vehicle weaving between lanes to try and increase their pace.

"Which one of you took out Helen Nash," asked Matt "It certainly wasn't a debt collector."

Not a murmur. The next signpost suggested Augsburg as a possible destination, Stuttgart beyond if they kept on the same path. And then where?

"Now the E52, I have to confess to being more than a little intrigued as to where we're going. If anything we're headed deeper into Germany. Strange, given you're trying to bundle me out of the country inconspicuously."

"Shut it, Durham," said Baresi.

He racked his brains for a possible destination. Wherever it was the exit had to be off the radar, somewhere secluded and discreet. Beyond Stuttgart, Karlsruhe, then up to Mannheim? If they kept going west the road could take them to France, or Luxembourg. No, it had to be in Germany. What was beyond Mannheim? Frankfurt came to mind.

"How do you expect to get me through border controls?" he said. "It's not as if I'm a complete unknown to the world now and someone is sure to spot me."

Stone's eyes glanced through the mirror and Matt saw the knowing grin. They weren't heading for a civilian airport that much was certain. And it would have to be reasonably close. To spend too long in the open, despite the clandestine nature of their journey, risked being discovered. While he kept this in the back of his mind he decided to have another go at filling in some of the gaps.

"You know it took me a while to work out why you needed a thief to do your dirty work," he said.

More silence. Unperturbed he pressed on.

"It was the fact three users had to agree before anything could be downloaded that swung it for me. Your boss couldn't get hands on the content unless the others agreed so he had to steal it. The question is why. I mean, he could have arranged for the others to be blown out of the sky anytime but it didn't happen. That's when the answer came to me. He wanted to go it alone, without giving himself away to the others. I'm right, aren't I?"

"If you don't shut your mouth Durham I'll damn well shut it for you," said Baresi.

Matt looked out of the window and returned to the pressing problem of their possible destination. Somewhere discreet, within a three hour radius of Munich to be on the safe side, where could it be?

"Darmstadt," he said. "The A99 followed by the E52 and the A8. It has to be Darmstadt."

"I said shut it, Durham."

"By coincidence someone told me about the place only the other day. There's a private airfield there that is also home to an American flying club, a legacy of the US Air Force base that used to be stationed there."

No sooner had he spoken then Stone's eyes widened.

"Lights, coming up behind us," he said. "And there are a lot of them."

She twisted around to look out of the rear window.

"Might not be for us," said Stone.

"Shit!" said Baresi.

"What?"

"He's been transmitting, giving them directions."

Stone's perplexed expression loomed into view through the rear view mirror.

"Impossible."

"Face the window, Durham, hands against the glass," spat Baresi.

"Remember, you have instructions not to hurt me," said Matt.

A goliath black fist thrashed to his wound and he reeled back at the impact.

"Jesus, I thought you said you were the good guys."

"We are. We do what we're told. Now, do as you're told you son of a bitch," demanded Stone.

Palms pressed to the glass, the barrel of a gun jammed to his head as Baresi's other hand patted his torso and then moved to his legs.

"Lean back," she hissed.

A hand slid into each of his front pockets and then the one at the rear of his trousers.

"Find anything?"

"No," she snapped.

"Looks like you might have got this one wrong, Connie," said Matt.

The cold butt of her weapon crashed against his head and he slumped sideways in a temporary daze.

"I won't tell you again."

Now she was into his shoes, checking both the heels and the lining before irritably discarding each in turn into the front passenger seat. She cursed with frustration.

"Where is it?"

"It could be I don't happen to be bugged," he managed to say, mind gradually recovering from the blow.

"Unbuckle your belt and lower the zip."

"Going through a bit of a drought, Connie?"

Humour, he concluded, was not one of her strong points as she probed and prodded, concluding with a tight squeeze of his testicles out of sheer spite.

"Satisfied?" said Matt, struggling to reassemble his attire after she'd given up the search.

"They're getting closer," said Stone.

Baresi's mind continued to work through the possibilities and the Eureka moment arrived sooner than he would have preferred. Her right hand urgently smoothed under the bottom of the front passenger seat, recoiling the instant she dislodged the electronic device.

"Yeah, it's us," she said.

"What do we do?"

"Tricky," said Matt. "I'm guessing you're not supposed to be here which is going to be a little difficult to explain to them never mind your own guys."

"You asshole, Durham," yelled Stone. "You've as good as signed your own death warrant."

"Germany is a democratic country. I'd get a fair hearing in this neck of the woods."

"Dream on. They're going to tear you apart. Some of the units on the mountain were German, so they're not coming to shake your hand."

"They still have to take me into custody which means I'll be out of your hands."

"Yeah, right," said Stone. "Except they have no reason to keep you alive," he added.

Baresi lowered her window and tossed out the device then reached into an inside pocket for her radio.

"We're blown," she said, "And they know Darmstadt is the evac point."

She responded to the request for their current position and the returning instructions were succinct.

"Next turning," she said to her partner.

"Evac two?" suggested Stone.

"Yes."

Matt peered over the driver's seat to see Stone punching in revised coordinates into the navigation system, too quickly to identify the new destination. Not that it mattered. He'd lost the means to communicate to the outside world. More in hope than expectation he craned his neck to look behind and could see nothing, not even the merest hint of a blue light flashing faintly in the distance. He turned back. The single carriageway road stretched out for miles with no other vehicle anywhere in sight. The grassy verge to either side preceded shallow ditches of mud, a consequence of recent heavy rainfall, and he noticed the absence of protective barriers.

"They're gone," said Stone.

"Nice try, Durham," said Baresi.

"I'm sure there are worse things that could happen to a man in life," said Matt. "Except..."

"Except what?" asked Baresi.

"Considering all the options I think I'd be better off taking my chances with them than you."

He launched a foot at her wrist to knock the weapon free and tried to crash his right shoulder into her chest. Her agility surprised him as she slid away from the back rest and he only managed to clip her shoulder. Baresi cursed as she brought her right hand against his neck in a chopping motion and then she stretched her hand down to try and retrieve the weapon from the floor well.

"What's happening?" said Stone urgently.

Matt pushed out his bound wrists in the shape of a cross to try and divert the barrel from pointing towards him. It worked to the extent of causing the missile to shoot away, straight into the back of Stone's massive neck. The struggling pair halted and gaped in horror at the blood now gushing from the open wound. And then the vehicle swerved before careering over the grass verge.

Consciousness came and went. He hazily remembered the vehicle spinning and rolling, each heavy thud signalling an impact with sodden earth in the nearby field. Strong hands took a hold of his legs and dragged his battered body through the broken window, side or rear he couldn't be sure. Stone's dead eyes passed by followed by Baresi's deathly stare, the ugly crook of her broken neck providing explanation of what had happened to her. So whose hands pulled him free from the wreckage? The intermittent flash of a dark blue light reflected against twisted metal offered a clue.

"Das ist Durham," said the first voice.

"Schießen sie das schwein," said a second.

It wasn't too uncommon for Gratia to slip into her native tongue from time to time back home, and he'd picked up more and more understanding of the language as time went by. The first phrase was straightforward, that is Durham. The second proved harder to translate in his semi-conscious state. And then it came to him.

Shoot the pig.

Chapter Forty One

Father's Note

Ten days in a hospital and he felt a little stronger. The medical staff had done what they had to but no more, not that he was complaining. Today was the day he was to be transferred to a secure facility. Whether it was prison or some other detention centre they were moving him to was irrelevant. It was going to be somewhere within the German system and that was good enough as far as he was concerned.

He'd spent the entire spell reflecting on life. Memories of those that had fallen saddened him. Their lives had been cut short on the whim of others, by unsavoury people with power at their fingertips. He remembered Rosa's last moments and this saddened him more. The only way he could think to raise his spirits was to dream of what could have been. He'd tried to imagine what kind of father he might have been. And who knows it might have happened if he hadn't taken Catherine's bait and did the responsible thing instead, sit down and have a proper discussion with Gratia. Her face appeared in his mind and sadness returned, the truth of Catherine's words forever ringing in his ears. If he and Gratia had the discussion today he knew exactly what he had to say to her, but it wasn't going to happen now.

The first full day of his incarceration in this new block and he found himself being ushered into a small, grey, windowless room completely lacking in furniture. He wondered why he'd been brought to this confined space seemingly in the heart of nowhere, to the bowels, to the very depths of this unforgiving building.

The first blow caught him at the back of the knees and his legs buckled at the impact. The second strike landed flush against his shoulders and he thumped to the cold, heartless floor, his mind desperately trying to rationalise exactly what and why this was happening.

"We will show you what happens to those who choose to kill German troops," he heard a voice say.

Another blow, then another, rained down in succession and he instinctively curled up into a ball in a desperate attempt to try and protect himself.

"Anywhere but his face and hands," said the same anger-filled voice. "Nothing must be visible to the eye."

And the beating continued.

Day Two;

Same time, same place. The first blow thumped into his right arm, just above the elbow, followed by a baton striking at his rear.

Day Three;

The first assault was to the pit of his stomach, doubling him in two, followed by a series of heavy blows to his upper thighs. He heard them say something about a statement...

Day Four;

He adopted the foetal position the moment they bundled him through the door...

Day Nine;

Make it stop. Please make it stop he silently pleaded, knowing there would be no respite...

Day Twelve;

If his body hurt he could no longer feel the pain...

This small, grey room differed from the one normally used for his mandatory daily exercise, as it was ascribed to the public at large. In truth the only ones breaking sweat were the prison guards, who seemed to take a particular callous glee from the daily physical punishment they mercilessly inflicted to every part of his anatomy bar the face and hands. This was to be the second day of the hearing against his extradition, his day to speak and refute the charges against him, but not a reason to expect any temporary respite. A physically weakened witness is one drained of the will to resist thereby almost guaranteeing a subdued defence. And God knows it was how he felt, weak and defenceless. Why was he bothering to resist anyway? The outcome was inevitable, as certain as night follows day. He had no evidence to substantiate his claims and their 'proof' of his alleged crime wasn't so much compelling as irrefutable, the video evidence alone damning in its apparent authenticity. The voice inside his head told him to fight, fight to the bitter end, resist them through whatever means possible. He owed as much to those who had lost their lives to this unequal struggle. But he was tired, so very tired.

"Sich setzen!" demanded the severe voice, telling him to sit down.

His mind failed to compute the instruction in enough time to prevent the hard cane crashing against the heavy bruising already on his back, bringing him to his knees and signaling his brain to register acute pain. He somehow dragged himself up from the floor to slump into the one of the wooden chairs by the desk he hadn't noticed before, chained wrists tightly clasped together as his captor closed the door.

"You have a visitor," spat the guard.

"I understood I couldn't have visitors."

"She is a lawyer."

"I thought you said no lawyer would ever represent me if they valued their career."

"There is always one fool. But you should remember, we will be listening to everything discussed. The consequences of mentioning your time here will be severe."

Matt understood the threat and nodded wearily as he heard the door open. Head bowed, he spotted the knee-length hem line of a skirt come into view.

"Leave us," said the woman's voice.

The door closed and she took the seat directly opposite.

"I don't want any help," he said, looking at the desk top.

"I have not spoken yet."

"You can't help me."

"I will be the judge of that."

"Listen," he said, trying to muster his angriest glare while in search of eye contact. "I've said I don't want any help from you or anyone else."

The face took him by surprise; so familiar yet incredibly, unbelievably, youthful.

"Catherine?" he said.

The eyes of the visitor baulked at the name.

"No, my name is Annabelle Strom," she said, extending her hand towards him.

He was still focussed on the face. Why did she not answer to her name, and how has her complexion retreated in years? It was a mystery. Then he realised. Her hair might have been dyed black, her eye colour concealed by tinted glasses, but he recognised the face.

"I didn't murder your father," he said.

The colour tone of her eyes hardened, a partial grimace taking control of the earlier smile.

"My father arranged for me to receive a letter, in the event he should suffer an unnatural death. I know exactly what you have done," she said.

Conscious of the eavesdropping he held his tongue so as not to give her away.

"My firm, Heldt and Partners, believe no matter how vile the alleged crime all defendants are entitled to professional assistance. I am here to help you present your appeal against extradition to the panel considering your case."

The company name meant nothing. Why would it when he studiously avoided any form of contact with people from this greedy profession.

"And you can do this in the next fifteen minutes, because that's when it's due to start."

She shifted her position in the uncomfortably hard wooden chair without appearing to take offence.

"I understand you have not spoken to legal representation prior to today. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And you have prepared a defence?"

"I made a statement."

"Yes, but it does not challenge the specific content of your opponent's application. Was it made available to you?"

"I glanced at it."

"Glanced, that is all? Why?"

Matt separated one of the press studs of his overalls and gently eased the material apart. She baulked in horror at the blackened mass.

"I see," she said. "So it is your intention to base the appeal on this tale of a conspiracy concocted by powerful industry figures in America to secure access to the mineral deposits of underdeveloped countries by the enforced suppression of their indigenous populations?"

"Yes."

"And you assert they plan to achieve this by the release of a killer virus for which only they have the cure. And that they would demand commercial access in return for the provision of an effective antidote?"

"Demand is a little strong," he said. "Provide assistance is the phrase I think they intend to use."

"Why would they implement such a monstrous measure? Do they enjoy mass murder?"

"Money, they're doing it for money. Those countries with the mineral deposits don't like America, and the Russians and Chinese in particular pay more."

"I see."

"Do you?"

"Yet you present no evidence to substantiate the story."

"I don't have any evidence. Not anymore."

"I see."

"You say that a lot."

He wasn't sure whether her eyes betrayed the beginnings of a smile or she was trying to conceal pity.

"And that's why you can't help me."

"Perhaps," she said.

"At least you haven't repeated yourself a third time."

"It would have been the fourth," she said, opening a file on the desk.

He looked at the heading, the statement of the defendant, Matt Durham.

"According to this document you provide four names but insist there is a fifth person."

"Yes. I believe he's an eminent scientist who also happens to be part of the current US administration."

"And all five people have been communicating inside a digital vault contained within a cloaked website."

"That about sums it up."

"I se... hmm," she said.

"That would have been the fourth time."

Her eyes brightened but failed to smile.

"Your story is quite unbelievable, likely to be laughed out of court."

She was right. He was going to look a fool, be ridiculed both in and out of court.

"For example, the first name you mention is one James Kimber, a world respected American businessman."

"Correct."

"The second is one of two brothers, Judd A Jessop?"

"Yes."

"Charles, recently the US Vice President, was the elder of the two and referred to by family as Chas."

"You're making it up," said Matt.

"It is true, Chas E Jessop."

"How would you know?" he asked, curiosity drawn by the odd line of enquiry.

"I know a lot of things."

She looked into his eyes and held her gaze and he guessed her smile was trying to tell him something.

"Finally, you name Elias Andrew Bruckmuller or Bruck as he was affectionately known."

"You are making this up."

"No. Elias A Bruck," she said with a smile.

"Where are you going with this?"

The smile evaporated and she pointed to another passage in his statement.

"Despite the secrecy surrounding this alleged digital vault you were, nonetheless, able to locate it on the web and steal inside to explore its contents all on your own."

"Yes."

"Without help?" she asked.

"No-one else was involved."

"And how did you manage to bypass the system security and penetrate the vault all on your own?"

"I had a back door key."

"Provided by whom?"

"An anonymous donor," he said.

"The story becomes ever more incredible."

"It was just me, alright? No-one else needs to get hurt. The story ends with me."

"Okay," she said slowly. "We shall not pursue this line of enquiry, though any kind of corroboration would surely be helpful."

"No!"

The sharpness of response appeared to surprise, judging by the way she leaned back in the chair, eyes widening in shock at the strength of his tone.

"Perhaps the only remaining way to substantiate your story is to show the panel the website in question, take them inside the digital vault."

"They'll have closed it by now, the back door. That's what I'd have done."

"How can you be sure?"

He couldn't, he realised.

"They'll have changed the passwords."

"Again, how could you be sure?"

"I'd need access to the internet," he said.

"You are allowed to present your case."

Another useful insight, he considered. She was leading him down a path.

"It would never work."

"You won't know until you try."

"I will end up making a fool of myself."

"Have you read through your statement?"

"Yeah," he said after a pause, somehow finding the energy to smile. "It is pretty ridiculous isn't it?"

"One can only imagine what the President, John Kennedy Keller, makes of it all," she said.

"You mean Jack, Jack Keller."

"Jack is his preferred handle. Allegedly his parents wanted to christen him after their political hero, JFK. Shows a bit of foresight wouldn't you say."

"The guy's nothing like his namesake."

"Quite so," she said softly.

He leaned back and looked her in the eye. Matt estimated it had been between three to four years since he'd last met her face to face. She had grown out of all recognition, carrying and conducting herself with an elegant maturity belying her youthful years. The frightened teenage child he had first met had long been consigned to the history books.

"I need you to sign this document."

She pushed a sheet of paper towards him and pointed to the line requiring his signature.

"What is this for?"

"To confirm we have met and discussed your case. Call it a note of declaration."

"Are you off your legal trolley?"

The wide mouth broadened to a smile.

"Declarations are important, more important than people might imagine. Please, sign."

Shaking his head in exasperation he duly obliged.

"So that's it then?"

"Yes. I feel you have everything you need now to present your case."

"I do?"

"Yes."

Rising from the chair she slipped her business card to him and turned to leave. The fancy blue writing on the white card reminded him of the West's propensity for waste.

"Let us hope the panel members are prepared to view this application from both sides," she said.

The comment encouraged him to turn the card over in his hand. On the other side rested some neatly inked handwriting and he peered at the one lined sentence

The fifth user killed my father. He is the key.

She left the room before he could ask anything further. The adrenalin coursing through his veins to counter the assault that never came started to recede. Two guards entered the room to escort him and he stood up ready to leave. The first blow hit behind the knees and he collapsed to the floor and adopted the foetal position...

Chapter Forty Two

Declaration

Struggling to stand he watched the three members of the panel enter and make their way from the door at the side of the large room towards their respective seats. Instantly, the media lights flashed. He would have likened the trio to three wise men had one not been a woman, the scowl on her face unmoved from yesterday. Of the three she was the one he expected had made up her mind long before proceedings had started. With each sentence of the American application relayed in court he had noticed her nod in apparent agreement. The man seated on the left was not much better, barely succeeding in concealing his tacit agreement as the evidence unfolded. Matt's sole hope rested on the chairman, a tall and sturdily built man who had asked searching questions of the US representative. But then again, maybe he had read too much into this. Perhaps this was just the grey-haired man's way of wanting to appear impartial. Irrespective, his fate would soon be sealed unless he came up with a miracle of biblical proportions. He knew concentration was going to be important, vital if he was to have any chance at all. The trouble was the latest beating had knocked it out of him.

"Mr Durham, we are waiting."

He'd lost focus already. Not so much an inauspicious start as a self inflicted wound.

"I'm sorry. Could you repeat for me please?"

The lead judge glanced impatiently up at the ceiling before deciding to consent.

"You are required to read through your statement," said the man again.

Matt attempted to examine the documents placed in front of him. Sizeable words he might have been able to determine. This text was miniscule.

"Mr Durham, can you begin to read?"

He shut his eyes tightly in the hope this might help him to focus. The instant he reopened them he knew all was lost.

"Mr Durham?"

"No, I can't," he said in resignation.

The lead judge leaned both left and right to speak quietly to his colleagues in turn while Matt glanced at the American lawyer on the opposite table, leaning back smiling in triumph at his two immediate assistants.

"But I can show you," said Matt

"You can show us?"

"Yes, if you will permit me, sir?"

"Objection," said the squat American. "We have not been provided with visual evidence."

"Please, sir," requested Matt. "I am in an unusual place, in unusual times. This is unfamiliar territory for me and I am not trained in the way of these proceedings."

"Very well," said the lead judge after a brief consultation with the other judges.

"Objection," complained his opponent. "This goes against all accepted procedure."

The female judge leaned to her side and whispered into the chairman's ear.

"We will permit the defendant to present his case."

"I need access to the internet and the ability to transmit to the large screen, if that is possible, sir," said Matt.

A glare from the lead judge sent the court staff scurrying to all directions. Matt took a deep breath. This was an opening, small it may be but a chance nonetheless.

"Objection," insisted the red-faced American.

The squat man returned reluctantly to his seat the moment the lead judge released another glare. Matt saw the American whisper into the ear of a colleague and the assistant began to rise from her seat.

"Sit down please," said the chairman.

"Objection," pleaded Matt's adversary.

"Overruled," roared the chairman.

The laptop arrived. Matt stood and concentrated hard as he tapped in the IP address and then followed the path previously taken with the team. They hadn't found the back door. Could it be possible? He tapped in the numbers, 10, 1, 13, 5, 20, 11, 9, 13, 2, 5, and finally 19, to spell out James Kimber's name. Matt held his breath and prayed.

Access Denied read the screen.

They had closed the door. He typed 10, 22, 4, 4, 1, 10, 5, 20, 20, 15, 16, the letters of the alphabet spelling out Judd A Jessop.

Access denied, read the message.

A glance to his left and he saw the squat American smiling contentedly. If these doors were shut to him then it was likely the others would also be closed. The fifth user is the key kept repeating in his mind, the fifth user.

"Mr Durham," said the lead judge. "Do you have anything to show to us?"

Think man, think, he kept telling himself. Marius Kronk. There were eleven letters to the name. He had to be the fifth user. Matt knew he couldn't afford to get this wrong. Fingers hovered above the keyboard and he closed his eyes. It had to be Marius Kronk. He pressed thirteen for M, the number one for A and then eighteen for R. The fifth user, the fifth user is the key said his brain over and over again. He punched delete and erased the numbers on the screen. Concentrate, he kept telling himself. Get the name right, get the sequence right. He began again; 10, 15, 8, 14, 11, 5, 14, 14, 5, 4, and finally the number 25. His index finger pointed to the enter button. Are you sure asked his brain, are you really sure this is the right name? He pressed lightly.

Welcome Jack Keller, read the message.

"Sir, I must strongly protest..."

No time to lose. The word, the single word Eva-Maria had used? Think man, think. He located the search box and tapped at the keyboard the moment it arrived in his head, Declaration. A letter appeared on screen.

Mr President. We have discussed your proposal and are all agreed it is unacceptable. There is no disagreement between us on the assessment that the economic rise of the Red Dragon presents a problem which needs to be addressed. However, we disagree on the means to tackle the problem. It is one thing to enter into a private venture aimed at securing access to these essential deposits, it is quite another to do so under cover of our national flag. Individual risk is an accepted practice in the world of commerce but to operate this venture as a State-run enterprise risks much, much more.

Matt couldn't believe what he was reading. Neither could the judges given their apparent fascination with the words up on screen. He read on.

Our great nation cannot be associated as the architects of a scheme to clear indigenous populations from their homelands for the purpose of commercial exploitation, and in this ever-decreasing global environment complete secrecy can never be totally assured. We already have Durham chasing our tails yet again. All it takes is for a crusader like him to break our cover and consequences will follow. The true legacy of your period in office will not be one of an administration who checked the rise of the Red Dragon but one which resulted in the isolation of our great nation from the international community. Derided by all, both friend and foe, this will plunge the world into a crisis from which it may not recover. You must step from this path or we must force you from it and if this entails we take measures to declare to the American people your intent and let them make judgement then so be it.

Matt skipped to the bottom of the page where he could see the names of the four signatories.

Charles E Jessop.

Judd A Jessop.

Elias Andrew Bruckmuller.

James Kimber.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "Jesus, Jesus Christ."

The adrenalin rush gone, events started to overpower Matt as his mind spun out of control to a whirl of mixed emotions. He felt consciousness slipping away, the face of his American opponent appearing in front of his eyes as he began to sway from side to side.

"I've got you," said the American, catching his fall.

Strong hands yanked at the press studs of his overalls to let air to his body and he heard the lawyer call out.

"Jesus, he's been beaten to within an inch of his life. Get a doctor in here now!"

Partial sight returned and he witnessed the look of abject horror on the face of his opponent, a memory that would stay with Matt forever.

"Durham, we didn't do this. Not our doing," insisted the American. "Where the hell is the doctor?"

Matt remembered cameras flashing, reporters fighting with each other to try and get a better shot of the full extent of the blackened torso. Then he saw Gratia, and his mind went blank.

Chapter Forty Three

One More Word

Hers was the first face he saw amidst the throng of reporters, the only face he wanted to see. Her gentle embrace, warm and welcoming, took full account of his aching frame. He wished the media would leave them alone. As though his thoughts had been magically read a large number of uniformed police hove into view and dispersed the intruding press. He held her for what seemed forever, eyes shut to block all else from his mind but her.

"At least the clothes are a reasonable fit," she said. "There is a car waiting outside."

The door to freedom swung open. At the other end of the corridor another door opened and he recognised the familiar face of a woman.

"Will, help Matt, please," said Gratia, attention drawn to a standing figure some distance away from them. "I will only be a moment."

Matt resisted Will's attempts to move him along.

"Wait," said Matt.

He'd been desperate to escape this place for so long but he couldn't help but watch as Gratia approached the woman with the infant cradled to her bosom.

"A beautiful child," said Gratia. "Ilsa isn't it?"

"Yes."

"She has Matt's eyes."

"His temperament also," replied the tall woman, eyebrow arched in surprise.

Gratia slipped a finger into the grasp of the little hand and smiled.

"He told you?" queried the woman.

"No."

The woman glanced towards Matt, watching them intently through anxious eyes, and she smiled.

"I assume it happened in China."

"Yes," admitted the woman.

"Does he know?"

"I denied it."

Gratia nodded as she withdrew her finger from the child's tiny grasp.

"As it happened I needn't have called on you."

"Why do you say that?"

"A different source came forward to help Matt."

"Why would you think it was not one of mine?"

"It was someone you have no contact with, someone who wanted to help Matt."

The eyebrow arched for a second time.

"I did enjoy our last meeting," said Catherine. "You should call again, when you are next in the area."

Gratia smiled kindly at the child and cooed affectionately before continuing.

"Tell me, Catherine," asked Gratia. "How does it feel to discover you have been used, manipulated by others?"

She hadn't expected an answer and wasn't surprised when it didn't arrive. Gratia turned to leave.

"Why him?" asked a seemingly bemused Catherine, face drawn in curiosity. "When there are so many others who could provide you with so much more? Why a float plane pilot and part time assassin from the backwaters of Canada?"

Gratia slowed her pace, took three more steps, and then spun suddenly on her heels.

"There is one other thing you should know," she said, face dressed with the pleasantest smile she could manage. "If you as much as speak to my man again I will claw the eyes from your sockets with my bare hands."

"What was that all about?" asked Matt.

"Babies are so cute."

They rode quietly to the airport, Matt doing his best to try and suppress the emotions bubbling under the surface.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Gratia.

"Kronk," he said after a pause.

"You shouldn't. Marius Kronk committed suicide a week ago. They found him hanging from a tree close to his home in Atlanta."

"He never struck me as the suicide type."

"Clearly he was," said Gratia.

"Jack Keller is only ten letters," said a confused Will.

"There are eleven in John Kennedy."

Suddenly he felt free of it at last. All that remained was to find the right moment to talk to her.

Chapter Forty Four

Moonlight Confession

The taxi turned left when it should have turned right.

"We're going the wrong way."

"No, we're not," said Gratia.

"This is the road to the harbour front."

"You've remembered then?"

"What are you up to?" he said warily.

"Me? This isn't my idea."

"What's not your idea?"

"You'll see soon enough."

Matt was unconcerned at the mystery. He was near home, close enough to his personal sanctuary to be able to relax. And there was something else. He couldn't describe it but felt as though there had been a sea change of mood in the air, a shift in atmosphere. Something happened, or was about to happen, which could only be new and positive. And then he saw it.

Welcome home Matt Durham.

"What the hell..."

"It appears the people of the island are not so indifferent towards you after all."

The door of the car opened and the band struck up...

He'd lost count of the number of times a local had shaken his hand, the number of alcoholic drinks pressed into his grasp at each bewildering turn.

"Hey, Durham," said a woman's voice. "It's good to have you back on the island."

"Officer Danbridge?"

"Marcie," she said.

For the first time she gave him a warm smile and reached forward to peck his cheek.

"Any nuisance callers, let Dan or I know and we'll come over and sort them out."

"Thanks, though I can't see it happening."

"It'll happen. Let us know and we'll put the squeeze on."

"She means it, Matt," added her colleague, offering a hand of friendship. "Try to avoid match nights though," he added, whispering into Matt's ear.

"Thanks Dan,"

"Don't expect me to be at your beck and call," said a fresh voice, launching into a full blown embrace.

"I wondered where you'd got to, Jenna."

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I need a very long holiday," said Matt.

"I agree," said Jenna. "Just don't go to Atlanta."

"Why?" he asked.

"Too much temptation," she said. "Will took me there for a long weekend recently but instead of getting the romantic treat I expected he ended up spending an entire night playing the tables. I went to bed and left him to it, but he won't do it again in a hurry I can tell you."

"Look," said Gratia suddenly. "The mayor has arrived. We had better go and say hello."

She dragged him by the sleeve and pushed him towards the waiting Mayor.

"Be nice," she said.

"Gratia ..." he protested.

Throughout the night Will evaded him. There was always tomorrow he kept telling himself, though in truth he already knew the answer to the question.

Moonlight had lit up the placid, almost lifeless, ocean bar the ripples of gentle waves meandering to shore. A mesmerising sight he had long forgotten. Gratia's comforting arms circled his waist from behind and he felt her head rest between his shoulder blades.

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired," he said.

"We could retire. You don't have to stay up."

"Not just yet. I want to watch the moonlight dancing on the waves for a while."

"Very poetic," she said softly. "You've missed this place, haven't you?"

"Yes."

They stood motionless for some time.

"I keep seeing their faces, the team. Rosa in particular," he said. "Was I wrong, to get involved?"

"If you're asking if it was wrong for you to risk everything we have here then the answer is an emphatic yes. But that is a personal perspective. If you're asking if it was wrong to try and uncover what you subsequently did then no, it was the right thing to do."

She sensed there was something else on his mind.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Munich, Schafen," he said.

"What about Munich?"

"I was wondering when you'd be going back."

"Go back, why?" she asked, circling his frame to look into his eyes.

"It's your natural environment, where you belong. I realise that now," he said. "I want you to go back."

"Why have you said this?"

"I want you to be where you'll be happiest, what is best for Gratia Fuchs."

Her rich eyes covered the contours of his serious face, and then she smiled.

"This is my environment, the place where I am happiest," she said. "I knew where I wanted to be from the moment you told me the ridiculous story about Sam and Genevieve. And I can think of no better place to raise a family."

"Gratia...don't, please," he said.

She answered him with the warmest of smiles, the richest of gazes.

"I have news," she said. "I am not as well organised as we both believed. And you were not infertile in London."

His body tensed and she saw the muscles tighten in his face. In anxious silence she felt his hold on her loosen and he stepped away. Without another word he turned and bolted to the lawn striding in massive leaps to the far end of the garden, up to the sea's edge where he knelt on one knee and remained motionless.

"Matt?" she said, approaching cautiously.

His shoulders rose and fell without answering.

"I'm sorry. I should have waited."

She saw his head shake.

"Are you okay?"

His head shook again.

"I mean yes," he said quickly.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"No," he said, shoulders continuing to rise and fall.

Gratia slowly stepped into his path and knelt down in front of him, seeing the tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Why does the man who cannot cry now weep before my eyes?" she said softly.

He peered to the left, then to the right, his body trembling with raw emotion.

"The news upsets you?"

"No," he said.

"Then what is it?" she whispered. "Tell me what is in your heart, what it is which distresses you so much."

At first the words wouldn't come.

"I thought I'd blown it," he said, tears falling from his eyes like rain from the clouds. "You, me, children...I thought I'd screwed it up."

She wrapped him in her arms, light and tender kisses to his bowed head doing their best to provide comfort from his inner tempest.

"It is fine, everything is fine now," she said softly into his ear. "You nearly blew it. But I'll make sure you won't get another chance to do it again."

Other books by this author;

The Milieu Principle

Mike Daniels cared little for close human relations. He cared less about the environment. Life was about to change.

An unmarked memory stick arrived in the post. He hadn't been expecting anything so paid the object little attention. Mike wasn't to know it held details of a plan to resolve global overpopulation by decimating human numbers on the planet. He soon discovers however that the owners of the memory stick want it back, and with no loose ends. Now he must run.

Using the false identity of Matt Durham he starts afresh in Canada. Here he learns about friendship, about the environment, and closes his mind to what brought him to this new place.

When he is found, Matt is confronted by a stark choice. Does he run again, or fight back against his enemies? In truth, he has only one option. Matt realises he must take on the overwhelming odds ranged against him. To do this he must cross the globe undetected, suffering loss and betrayal along the way. He would also have to learn how to kill.

He had to, because he wanted to live. And the lives of billions of other people depended upon his survival.

ISBN 978-0-9566944-0-9

Milieu Dawn

First there were the missing funds. Then a murderous attempt on a friend as a plane went missing in the sea. Next, it was the turn of the night intruders. What were the chances of such happenings being unconnected, or were they merely a series of unfortunate events?

Matt Durham was trying, unsuccessfully, to rebuild his life. He had returned to Victoria after the mysterious deaths of his friends, and now lived alone. The community treated him largely with suspicion and distrust, particularly as he had inherited the estate of one such friend. To many, this seemed to hold sinister undertones. So he couldn't be sure who, exactly, was behind the series of misfortunes that befell him.

His subsequent investigation would lead him down a path that would force Matt to confront his past once more. A past he was trying hard to forget. And as the layers of deceit are revealed, Matt determines he must put an end to the dark forces in play against him once and for all.

ISBN 978-0-9566944-1-6
