Book X: Part Two

 

 

Surrogate maternity did not suit Abigail quite as much as she had imagined. Not that she didn't think little Nina a cute kid, not at all, but  more that she didn't find in herself much desire to interrelate with this child of Liam's. The baby was ten months old, couldn't really do much - and took far too much of her man's attention.

Liam was totally besotted with his little girl and, despite the presence of the nanny, he still seemed to insist on attending on her night and day: meals, bath time, nappy changing and endless walks in the park. If that were not enough, every other hour she was awake he lay around on the lounge floor entertaining her. He did not seem to find the quiet days of baby-minding tedious in the least.

Abigail had put her foot down about night times, however, refusing to let him place the baby's cot in their room. Grudgingly Liam had accepted that Kay could supervise the night watch, but even so, the least little whimper from the kid and he was off. Kay did not seem at all bothered that the young man wandered into her bedroom at all hours of the night - dressed in very little other than a hastily donned pair of shorts - and helped her settle his daughter; fussing about gamely changing her while a drink of milk was prepared.

Yet, honesty had never been Abigail's problem, for all her other faults. Even now, she suspected that she was failing to bond with the little girl, Liam's flesh and blood, mostly because the child was also the offspring of the 'other' woman, Fliss Henderson, whose spectre seemed to hang about in the corners of every room the child inhabited. Liam might insist that the relationship with Nina's mother was dead in the water, but Abigail was cautious. The child alone was a powerful link that could never be broken. They'd been together five years, known each other even longer. No one knew better than she did herself how deep such familiar bonds could burrow in one's heart.

Her attitude to children in the main might be lacklustre but had the baby been hers, it would have been different. She knew that instinctively. Keeping her distance from the winsome Nina Rose was another way of hardening her heart against the biological impulses she was denying herself even as she knew that the real 'other' woman' in Liam's life was probably not Fliss at all, but this little baby girl who grated so badly on her nerves. Furthermore, she was not entirely convinced of her power over Liam these days. In their youth, he had been the adoring lapdog; now there was a wild recklessness in him that she was not sure she could corral. The connection he had with Jake also no longer seemed quite so much of a turn on. When her so-called boyfriend was not cooing over his baby girl, he was on the phone to his long distance mate.

Then the last straw walked in - Jake arrived from California. He had decided to spend New Year in London.

 It seemed churlish of Abigail not to ask him to stay with Liam and the rest at her place; they were mutual friends and it was the holiday season. Yet this would reduce her time with her man even further, although the presence of Kay would curb some of their usual activities. Liam had an oddly puritanical side to him where respecting other people's comfort zones were concerned - especially when it came to older women for whom he had an affection. There was a very unusual tenderness in him towards mother figures, probably because he missed his own mother constantly. Annie Thorne was yet another rival for the boy's attention. Mother and son were always chatting long distance, especially now he had so much to say about Nina.

Jake took to the little girl like a duck to water. While Abigail lay flicking through magazines on the couch, the two young men crawled about the floor with the tiny girl, behaving like two complete idiots, talking in silly voices, acting the fool, rolling about - all to make a little baby smile. And smile Nina did. Her delighted chuckling and baby talk reverberated in every room, a mocking reminder to Abigail that even here in her house, she was the one out in the cold.

It was time to get out before she went nuts.

 

"...Liam? I'm thinking of going to Saint Lucia for a couple of days. A friend is having a house party over New Year. That okay with you?"

Liam was in the kitchen spooning slop into the child's mouth.

"Barbados? Sounds great. Go for it. Can we stay here or should we take a suite somewhere?" He did not appear unduly bothered to be left behind.

"So, you're not interested in coming? We could bring the kid. And the nanny. It would be nice for the baby to get out in the sun..."

"Can't. She's on Fliss' passport. I can't travel out of the country with her."

Abigail rolled her eyes. "How convenient, the bitch has it all covered, eh?"

Liam glanced up, eyeing her coolly. "Don't call her that in front of Nins! Fliss is her mother! And it wasn't done for any ulterior motive. We just never got round to it. I'll ask her to apply for an individual passport. In the New Year. Anyway, I don't want to mess her about with a lot of travelling and strange faces."

The child couldn't even understand yet the mother still had to be respected. He defended Fliss straight away, using 'we' automatically as thought they were still an item. How easy it would be for him to slip back into partner-dom. His reaction spoke volumes to her.

Abigail looked across at the other young man, reading the newspaper, apparently oblivious - but she doubted that he was. "Jake? You gonna come with me?"

He flashed a look over at Liam before replying in a tone that seemed casual, but she suspected was anything but. "I'm still recovering from the LA flight. Rain check, huh?"

She tutted. "I better start packing then. No need for you boys to move out. You've more or less taken over the asylum anyway..." She slouched off to her own room and began throwing clothes into cases. Liam came in shortly afterwards, standing at the doorway watching her; his T-shirt was stained with globs of baby food. It did not improve her mood.

"You mad with me?"

Abigail carried on folding and packing, a job usually done by her assistant - but the activity was giving her something to do with her hands other than strangling Liam.

"Of course not."

"Look, I'm sorry about not coming with you, but this time with Nina is special. It's going to be ages before we can be together again once the tour starts..."

She looked up sharply. "Who do you mean? We? Me and you? You and Nina? Or is it more a case of you and your boyfriend..."

Liam's face changed instantaneously from open and friendly to seriously un-amused. There was a steeliness in his expression that was intimidating. She looked away.

"Don't talk such crap! You know I meant Nina and me. I've waited for this for months. It isn't about 'you not being important to me' so stop playing the victim here and try and think of someone else but yourself for a change. And as for Jake, he's just a mate, whatever happened back then.... Guys need their mates." He seemed to regret his brusque retort, stepping forward, picking up a pair of jeans and folding them neatly. "You need a hand with anything?"

"No!"

Her terse reply irritated him. He hadn't done anything wrong. He threw down the jeans. No woman was going to make him the bad guy again. "Suit yourself. I'll take you to the airport later. Let me know when you're ready..."

"....Liam... I..."Abigail began, unsure exactly what she wanted to say. "Liam...Please...I just meant..."

But he stopped her dead, sensing she was about to inaugurate a scene he had no intention of experiencing. "I said you were important to me. You have your place in my life, Abby, but don't push it, okay? A guy needs his mates as well, right? Abby, let's not get things out of perspective, huh? You were the one who said back then 'Just one day at a time, Liam'. You were the one who said: 'No forever afters', remember? Don't you make this hard for me now! Don't you try demanding things from me that were never in the deal in the first place! I was kinda liking things the way they were...Sleeping dogs lie, huh?"

Her desire was to tell him in no uncertain terms how far from all right she felt at the moment and how her dismissive words of a few weeks ago were no longer representative of how she was beginning to feel. She needed so much more than this from Liam, and the pretence of a cool hip 'open' relationship was beginning to be a hard mask to maintain. But this was not the time for declarations or arguments with him. If she wanted to win Liam's heart, then she would have to play her cards very carefully indeed. And making him choose between his daughter and his girlfriend at the moment would rebound very badly on her. Nina was always going to win that one hands down.

Abigail held her tongue. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so they say. Perhaps a few weeks without sex might make him view her in a different light?

No sex? What was she thinking? Jake was around...

 

*

 

They had spent virtually the entire twenty four hours since they had arrived in the suite, mostly in the bed, although the opulent bathroom had seen plenty of action, too. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Tom Quinn had been out of contact with the outside world or, more specifically, the Grid. He had switched off his cell phone at Heathrow before boarding the plane - and never turned it on again.

Not that it strictly kept him out of touch completely. His office would know where he was from the flight manifest; tracking him to The Scotsman would have been simple. There was also a location chip in his phone that they could activate even when it was off, a security procedure to help guarantee the safety of operatives that now seemed more like a sordid intrusion of his rights. Yet it still gave him a sense of satisfaction to be breaking the rules even in a small way - and making them work for it.

Even if he was also taking an extreme chance in not following protocols. There was a very strong chance that MI5 were not the only interested parties monitoring their progress. Cuthbert would not have been working alone. How difficult would it be for his people to get a fix on their position? The insidious lure of the opulent suite had created a cocoon but he could no longer afford to ignore the existence of a world increasingly closing in. Contemplating a night out on the town, celebrating Hogmanay with thousands of other revellers, reality was invading his fantasy existence. They were totally exposed and potentially at risk.

Early evening, December 31st saw them preparing to make their first foray outside. Tom was lying naked on the bed, freshly shaved and showered; Zoe was getting ready for the evening. She would be an age yet; he had only to don an evening suit.  At her insistence they were dressing up for the occasion.

"Are you going to drag your carcass out of that bed, Tom Quinn? I'm nearly done. Come on, lazy bones..."

He continued staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"Ground control to Major Tom?" She laughed gaily over her shoulder from the dressing table. Her hair was swept up in an elegant roll. It made her look more sophisticated, a different kind of beauty. Sometimes her loveliness intimidated him, he thought. Who was he to imagine he could make a life with a woman like this? He managed a half smile in reply.

Raising himself up, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, walking over to the windows where the night time winter city lay spread out before him, lights twinkling everywhere, fireworks already showering the dark sky, the premature ejaculate of seasonal good cheer. He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully then walked back into the middle of the room, surveying their surroundings thoughtfully. "I could never give you this."

Zoe put down her brush and turned around. She was wearing a robe provided by the suite, white and virginal, the first time she had covered her body from him since they had moved in. Somehow it made her even more alluring, the perfect flesh wrapped up for him alone.  "What are you on about? You don't have to give me this! I can pay for this sort of stuff myself. I'm an independent woman, Tom. Don't start all the boring old male crap..."

"Crap or not, it's how any man feels. Christ, I'm living off another man's fortune! One I couldn't bloody stand either..."

She pulled her lips disapprovingly. He didn't know whether it was his objection or his confession that had annoyed her most. 

"You're not living on his money! It's my money. I earned it. I earned it when I was with him - and in all the years when I wasn't. Tom, I'm a wealthy woman. You have to accept that. I need a lot of things from you - a whole lot of things. But money just doesn't happen to be one of them. At least you know I'm not after your wallet, mate..." she added a little tersely; the comment wasn't meant as an attempt at levity. "What do you mean anyway about 'not being able to stand him'? Did you know Nick? When did you meet him?" There was a note of challenge in her voice.

Tom gave her an impenetrable look; he had said more than he'd intended. Instead of answering, he began dressing, turning his back to slip on shorts. 

She shrugged. Two could play at that game. So he was jealous of Nick, was he? How strange to be bitter about a man who had been dead five years! Yet, in an odd way, she was comforted by his reaction. It revealed a seam of vulnerability with which she could empathise. If he didn't regard Nick as someone crucially important in her life, that would have been an even more noticeable cause for concern.

How had he known Nick, though? She added the finishing touches to her make up pensively, watching him through the mirror's reflection as he methodically put on his clothes with his insouciant attention to detail that was so typically male.

He caught her eye and smiled over a little shyly. "Sorry. Not sure where that came from. Maybe I need to get some fresh air. Camp fever?" 

She came over and put her hands on his shoulders. "Tom...it's okay! It would be a pretty weird relationship if we didn't have a few good old fights, not to mention minor differences of opinion. That's what keeps the sex so good..." she gently cupped his groin, now swathed in fine wool pants - and squeezed softly. He caught her hand, raised it to his lips - and kissed her fingertips.

"I love you, Zoe. So much. I want to be all things for you. I want to give you everything. It's just how men are..."

"It's okay. I know. He was just the same. All strong men are. The truth is, Tom, I can live anywhere, anyhow. So can Andreas. As long as we have a man like you to take care of us."  When it came down to it, Zoe knew better than most that you run with life if it gives you even half of a chance. And take what it offers in full when it is offered. The chance will not come again.

Tom sighed, holding her face in his hands. "I met him. Nick Costello. I can't tell you how. Or when or why. It was government business. The usual top secret crap. I still have to keep some things secret because they are not my secrets, Zoe. Do you understand that? But I can tell you one thing. He didn't like me and I didn't like him."

That made Zoe smile. It was so Tom. It was so Nick. Was that what these two men had in common? That they were both true to themselves regardless? 

"Did he do a good job...? Did you...?" she countered.

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "Yes. I suppose it would have been regarded as good. Both my part in it and his. Successful anyway. We saved the world again..." he added wryly.

"Then you didn't have to like him. Or he you. You were two guys on the different sides of a fence, brought together for a common goal. But you worked together and got the job done. Nick would have made sure you didn't like him, anyway. That was how he protected himself. By never, ever making any bonds with anyone...By shutting off all possible links. Just in case he was ever in danger of caring..."

He gave her words some consideration before replying provocatively: "What about you then? What about Andreas? Wouldn't you call them bonds? Didn't he care for you more than anything in the world? How to explain that...? " Tom murmured, stroking her cheek tenderly with his thumb.

She swallowed hard - but didn't shirk the answer. "He's dead because of the bonds he made. Because of me and Andreas.  You got to allow that he was right thus far, huh?"

Tom grimaced. Zoe didn't mince her words. Is that what happened when a man in his world dared to believe a real life might be open to him? Did it immediately open the door to your enemies? Were they what made you fragile?

If that was the case, then he himself was heading for one almighty fall, perhaps bringing Zoe and her son down with him. It was a sobering thought, one that crept beneath his skin and left a bitter chill seeping into his bones, despite the warmth of the room and the flush of heat that her nearness brought.

Hauled from his dream-like state, it was as if he woke up in shock, the shreds of the fantasy still clinging but the harsh light of real life glaring. He had a job to do. His eyes had been closed too long.

"This is a pointless conversation," he muttered, pulling away from her. 

She laughed lightly, not about to let his moodiness affect her evening.  Back at the dresser, she began to fasten on her earrings. He looked in the mirror on the wall disconsolately, fixing his bow tie.

"By the way, if Andreas and I are going to come and live with you, Mr. I Did It My Way, we probably need to know the address. Where do you live anyway?" she teased over, her eyes gleaming, deciding to restore their previous high spirits with some light-hearted banter - and maybe get some more information from him into the bargain.

He glanced over, feigning nonchalance - but told her the truth. "West Ken. Albany Avenue. Number Thirty Four." 

She gave it some thought. "Hmmmm... West Ken, hey?  Not a bad address there, Thomas. Flat?"

"House. Three storey Victorian terrace. With garden..." he added, smiling wryly himself now.

"Garden? Bloody hell, that's a bit suburban for a Spook, isn't it? And I thought you were always pleading poverty."

He shrugged. "My Mum gave it to me when I graduated. Some old spinster aunt had left it to her. It was like a bloody old Victorian mausoleum..."

"So your Mum isn't quite such an old bag then, hey? I'll bet it's worth a bomb now..."

"Yeah, it's worth a fair bit. I've had a lot of work done. Renovated throughout. Whole works. It's a pretty decent place..."

Somehow living in a neat updated Victorian terraced house in an upwardly mobile area didn't seem to match the image she had of Tom the loner. Zoe walked over, tweaking his bow into place, brushing down his jacket, and straightening his lapels fussily. Those things women do.  "That'll do," she announced, referring to his appearance - maybe.

"So, this lovely suburban residence of yours...what was her name?"

"Huh?" Tom asked, her reasoning escaping him. 

"The woman with whom you shared it. Come on, Tom! There has to be a girl for a guy like you to put so much effort into a home. Else you would have sold it and bought a loft apartment..."

Tom groaned in annoyance, pocketing his wallet and phone, slipping the key card into his inside pocket. "You're in the wrong business, sweetheart. I could do with your intuition in my department," he observed as he held out her coat.

Together they strolled down the corridor towards the elevator. "Well? Her name- or I start on your fingernails..."

He hit the elevator button. "I don't want to talk about her."

"I told you there was a woman...!" Zoe grinned in delight.

"Ellie. Her name was Ellie. Right? Are you satisfied?" 

They entered and pressed for the lobby. "Did you love her?"

Tom stared at her as the lift descended. "Of course I bloody loved her! What the hell kind of inane question is that?"

A stupid one, Zoe was fully aware. But it had sure elicited a reaction out of Tom.

As they crossed the foyer towards the dining room, Zoe tucked her arm through his. He looked down at her. She nuzzled closer.

"Tell me about Ellie. You know all about Nick..."

"No. And actually I don't. Know about Costello. Nor would I ever wish to."

She ignored his barb. "I bet you've never talked about her to anyone."

"...And I bet you'd be right. Christ, Zoe, why would I ever want to? And why do women always want to hear about the past? It's over. She left me. End of story."

"Why?" 

They were seated at the table in the fine dining restaurant. It was a Gala dinner night, horrendously expensive, but Tom was  far past caring, or being able to quantify, what they were spending in terms he could compute. "What do you mean: 'Why'? Why on earth would I suddenly want to talk about it, years later? Is that what you mean," he added with sarcasm.

"No. That is not what I mean. Nor is it why you won't talk about it. You won't talk about Ellie because you're a man. And you'll keep all the pain hidden inside you, festering for the rest of your life if someone doesn't open the floodgates and let it out. Tom, it still hurts. That's obvious. Talk about it. Tell me. Why did she leave you?"

"I'm not talking about it, remember?" he answered doggedly but his refusal already sounded weak and futile. 

"So, did she leave you for someone else then? Is that why it hurts so much?"

Tom sighed, putting down the menu sharply. "No, she did not leave me for another man! She left me because of my career. She could not accept it or the potential risks to her and her daughter that came with it..."

"Daughter? You had a child together?" Zoe exclaimed.

He shook his head. "I said her daughter. Mollie. She's been married years before when she was very young. They'd had a little girl but he walked out even before Maisie was born. So Maisie never really had any other father but me. She treated me like her dad. She felt like my daughter. I loved that child so much...!" He spoke with that same wistful sadness that she had noticed when he spoke of his parents. Had it been losing the child more than her mother that had left the greatest scar?

"Ellie just upped and left one day? Is that how it happened? Do you ever see them?"

"It wasn't that simple. There were a lot of arguments. She left and came back a few times. But when she finally made her mind up, there was no shaking her. I never really saw either again. She went to her mother's. I called round and begged her to let me in. A least to let me say goodbye to Maisie and try to explain why I couldn't be around anymore. Ellie's mother said she wouldn't see me. I made a big scene. It was very embarrassing. I was lucky they didn't call the police...Finally Ellie came out.  She said I was never to come near them again or she would get a court order on me. Imagine that? Like I was some kind of bloody criminal for simply doing a job that had to be done? Christ! I had taken on one case too many, she said. Put my job before her and her child...It was complicated. She had some justification. There had been danger..."

His voiced trailed off and Zoe detected a great deal of detail left out. Something very bad had happened, which still bothered him profoundly. She wondered how he reconciled the cost to his private life that his career required. Did it not make him bitter?

"... I told you I didn't want to talk about it! It will just ruin the evening..." Tom closed down in his matter-of-fact style that was nothing of the kind. When he did that, it was always a key moment. She had learnt that much about this enigmatic man. There was deep sadness in him, caused by so many unresolved issues he had simply thrust down and refused to analyse. It explained so much. The irony of it all!  One woman denies a man her love because of the danger of his lifestyle while another would have put up with anything just for one more hour... How different we are. Of all men, Tom had needed more than most what this woman and her child gave him. And that was why he had lost it all so cruelly.

"She was a fool. She didn't deserve you," Zoe announced, reaching for his hand, cradling it between hers.

But Tom didn't appear convinced. "No, I was the fool. I should have walked away back then, made the one gesture for her and Maisie that she could have believed in.  But there always seemed to be something more pressing I had to attend to... Something more important than coming home to them..."

It was a familiar story, one her mother would have recognised. Aunt Penny, too. Tom had made the same mistakes as her own father. Some women can see beyond it; some never will. "I'll make it up to you, Tom. I'll never walk away. I promise."

He smiled but looked away. "That's what they all say. However when it comes to the test, it's a bloody different story..."

There was more to it all than he had so far divulged. Zoe doubted that Ellie had been the only one to let him down. When he would tell her about the one who had finally broken his trust?

Or was that going to be her? Premonition tugged uneasily. Was there more to everything about him than she realised? An unsettling feeling of the ground sliding away beneath her feet momentarily took away her composure. Tom pulled his hand away gently, returning his attention to the menu. She breathed deeply to mask her sudden unease. "Come on, let's order. I'm hungry..."

It was time to leave it alone. She had upset him. She had upset herself. The night was too special for such melancholy topics. There would be years ahead for such discussions. Perhaps.

 

*

 

The pompous charms of the sedate Gala dinner soon waned on them. Out on the streets of Edinburgh, the real fun was beginning to start as thousands poured into the centre preparing to brave the falling temperatures to gathered around Princes Street to 'Auld Lang Syne' in one communal out-letting of oddly innocent hope for a new year. It was a bizarre ritual that carried strong overtones of some pagan past still clinging to their Presbyterian souls. But with that dislocation between dour and reckless that the Scots have past-mastered, as long as the alcohol flowed freely, the celebration was uncompromising. An elegant dinner in an overly ostentatious restaurant attended by the more worthy burghers of the city paled in comparison.

Wrapped in outerwear, Tom took Zoe's hand; they ran down the steps of the hotel, joining the already-heaving crowds making their way in good spirits up to the castle walls. Tom instinctively scanned their proximity, but knew it was futile. If someone wanted to observe them unseen - or move in on them, God forbid - this was the ideal setting. Every instinct he possessed screamed out to get her off the streets, back to the hermetically-sealed security of their suite, to watch the firework display at a safe, silent distance. But to do so would require an explanation he would never give her.

Slipping his arm around her, drawing her close to him, he decided to take the chance. There was another way of looking at it. Drawing out any potential enemies might be better than passively leading them wherever they wanted to go. There had to be people from his department somewhere around, observing them, too.

And this was exactly how he would have played it had he really been undercover. Hell, he really was undercover. Calculated risks to people's safety have to be made when in the field.

They rarely, however, include someone you love. That was rather the point of the isolated existence they were advised to keep, where lovers had to be vetted and were preferred incestuously from within the department itself.

"It's crazy out here!" Zoe's laughter brought him back to the scene before them. Despite the obvious drunkenness, the crowd was largely good natured, the policing subtle and amicable. Those deemed too inebriated to be allowed to stay out were being gently cajoled to return home with friends, or sat down at the police vans to be given cups of steaming black coffee and a little bit of paternal advice. The rest were just in high spirits.

There was a ban on bottles and glass on the street, but most took no notice, flouting the law openly. Police were tolerant, only confiscated that which they could not be expected to ignore. It was Hogmanay, after all. That was always the exception to the rule. Many wiser folk had decanted their booze into plastic Coca Cola bottles that were by now being passed around from hand to hand. Hygiene was a low priority - if good will was in abundance.

Zoe shook her head when offered warm bubbly from a plastic drinking bottle, replete with straw. Tom raised his eyebrow. "They'll bloody drink anything. Imagine the hangovers?"

She grinned. "Imagine the increase in herpes and colds!"

To that, he simply snorted his amusement. "Come on, we must have something to toast the New Year..." Dragging on her hand, he pulled her to a street corner where a van was parked, its back door open. A little bit of black-market trade was going on, lookouts ready to drive off if police showed. Tom bought a bottle of overpriced sparkling Chardonnay masquerading as champagne - but at least it was cold - and the night temperature would assure it remained so.

Tucking it beneath one arm, he linked her with the other and led her out back the way they had come. "Where to now?" she asked curiously.

"We need some stomach lining..." he replied obliquely.

At a mobile van selling hot drinks, pies and sandwiches, he stopped and bought a few small plastic wrapped rectangles of cheddar cheese, meant for use with cream crackers, an odd little refinement in this pie and chips establishment. Breaking open a packet, he halved the cheese.

"We just ate!" she protested.

"Poached fish and sorbet? Not good enough. We need fat to line our stomachs against the onslaught of alcohol. Little trick of the trade. Chew on some hard fat cheese just before you start drinking and it helps absorb the toxins..."

"Good God! Secret agent man! Is that how James Bond manages to keep his wits about him when playing poker and throwing vodka martinis down his neck?" she giggled as she accepted the rather hard tasteless fare, sniffed it suspiciously, but downed it anyway. "It's stale!"

"Doesn't matter. It's still fat..."

From there they made their way up Calton Hill, eventually finding a low wall to sit on with a good vantage over the city and across to the towering edifice of Edinburgh castle high above. Tom deftly popped the cork on the bottle, losing nothing of the wine in the process; they sat sipping from the bottle, watching the world go by.

Suddenly a frisson of anticipation ran through the vast crowd. A spotlight had appeared high on the battlements, and across the air came the distant strains of a Highland lament. They looked up to see a lone piper playing his salute to the dying year. The watchers fell silent, a mutual respect broken only occasionally by a rowdy voice wishing the onlookers a good year -or cursing the old. Zoe looked up at Tom. He raised the bottle and took a drink - handing it to her to do the same.

"It was a strange year..." she observed thoughtfully. "A year of transition. But one day, I think we'll look back and realise we are living the most important part of our lives...right now..."

Tom didn't reply. The crowd took up the countdown as the hands of the clock moved inexorably to the future. Ten...nine...eight...seven...the cannon on the castle fired across the valley. A new year had begun.

 

*

 

Gil O'Brien had taken his place in a doorway across from the hallowed portals of The Scotsman as early as seven o'clock that evening. His sources had told him that the couple were still ensconced in the suite but had a booking for dinner at eight. Just before the hour, he left his shadowy watching place, threw his black coat over his arm, and sauntered into the hotel, his elegant tuxedo drawing no attention on such a night. A commissionaire on the door directed him to the restaurant, presuming he was a guest for dinner; he nodded, walked that way and then doubled back to the bar on the other side of the foyer.

He didn't have to wait there long before he saw his targets crossing the large hallway, deep in conversation and apparently oblivious to the world. Despite his evident absorption in his beautiful companion, O'Brien did not fool himself that Tom Quinn had not observed his surroundings. Men like this senior MI5 officer were never entirely off their game; even the slightest inconsistency would register somewhere in his brain. So, O'Brien stayed well hidden, watching until the pair had disappeared into the restaurant. Then he moved.

Security was high these days in luxury hotels around the world, access to anything but the common areas restricted to key card holders. Even guests could not visit floors on which they are not registered. All that seemed to achieve, however, was an annoyance for friends and families roomed on different levels, and a hindrance to petty crime. A simple electronic reader, palm-sized, with the fascia of a Blackberry, was all it took for Gil to ride up to the designated floor - and open the door to the hotel suite.

Gil O'Brien entered the private world of Tom Quinn and Zoe Costello, fully well aware that there would not be anything of significance for him to find. He wasn't there to learn anything or take anything anyway.

There was much to indicate the characters of its two occupants. A neatly ordered carry-on lay open on the top of a low cupboard, a few items of male attire hanging in a nearby wardrobe. Other than the razor and second toothbrush in the bathroom, there were no other signs of male occupancy. The suite, however, was festooned with female clutter. Clothes were strung over backs of chairs, piled on the top of a chest-of-drawers, lay discarded on the floor. Makeup was scattered on the dressing table, a jewellery case was open and spilled. The bathroom floor was covered in wet towels and a bathrobe; the vanity full of lotions and creams. Gil glanced at his watch. Housekeeping was due in about fifteen minutes. He would hate to have that particular job, cleaning up after spoiled women like Zoe Costello, accustomed to having people pick and carry for them.

It took only seconds to decide where to leave the tracker. Quinn would notice immediately if anything of his was touched. It would be much harder, however, for him to assess his companion's messy clutter, especially after it had been rearranged by a room maid - and Zoe would never even give it a second thought. Selecting a shell-like gold compact, he carefully prised out the inner tub containing the face powder, attached the tiny device to the base, and then replaced the refill, wiping the object to remove finger marks. It would never be noticeable.

Quinn probably had an electronic scanner on his phone, but that appeared still to be switched off. Even if he decided to give the room a run-through after being out, it was unlikely that this particular baby would be picked up on the frequency he had set it. British intelligence was still way behind the Americans in terms of state-of-the-art listening technology, even if superior in the actual process of intelligence gathering. He had ripped this unit off the CIA.

Job done, he looked around once more, forcing himself not to reveal his presence by something as simple as picking up some of her flimsy discarded underwear for a cheap thrill. It was tempting. The crumpled bedding screamed sex; the intimate perfume of spent fluids was heavy in the air. That and the adrenalin-boost of what he was doing aroused him, momentarily giving him a hard-on, an image of wanking off over a pair of her knickers passing across his mind.

Not that he would, of course. It was enough to have the thought, to save it for later.

As he waited for the elevator, he smiled at the young Bulgarian girl wheeling her laden trolley down to turn over the bed for the occupants of the suite. She had a rather more onerous job awaiting her. He gave her a sympathetic smile as he passed by.

 

*

 

Zoe Reynolds was working New Year's Eve. You either got one or the other. After Christmas with Gil, she was paying for it now. Not that she was complaining. New Year was a time that usually left her feeling depressed, one celebration too far. And then there was the maudlin whole business of examining where one's life was as yet another year rolled over. Working through that particular moment of truth was actually rather a godsend.

She glanced up at Danny; he was flicking through images on a computer screen. It was a busy night at the Grid, most of the team in on Harry's special request. They were monitoring one of their own. He might just have gone rogue. That was always a very sensitive matter.

Neither Zoe Reynolds nor Danny Hunter believed Tom was about to do something stupid. Even after experiencing his crisis of confidence two years' previously, when Christine Dale had stuck in the knife- and Herman Joyce had twisted, they were not inclined to believe he was about to throw caution to the winds  again and act against his brief this time. Tom might be in love with Ms. Costello, but that was only more likely to keep him focussed. The best way of helping her was to get to the bottom of the mess. He knew that as well as they did.

But there was no arguing with the fact that Tom had purposely kept them in the dark, turned off his phone and had made no attempt to call in his progress for almost two days. That was entirely against procedure. It was also naïve of him. He had to know it would only intensify surveillance.

Or was that the point? Tom had written most of the procedural protocols they used. He knew every last detail of their ability to track their officers. Was he, in fact, leading them into a situation where they would put more agents in the field, simply because he suspected there were others after this information as well? But then, why did he not ask for assistance? On face value, Danny and Zoe had to admit, he still looked negligent - if not downright culpable.

Her mind drifted to Gil. She had absolutely no idea where she stood with him. Zoe Reynolds had no illusions about men in general, and the beguiling Gil O'Brien most of all. He was all talk, a chancer, a love rat, whatever you wanted to call him. But he was also a bloody good lay, totally drop dead gorgeous - and a damn good night out. She needed a bit of what he was dishing out. Frankly, she needed a lot of what he was giving out. But she wasn't holding out any hopes for a rosy future. Nor was she about to declare his existence to the department. Something told her he was bound to be border line criminal at best - and probably way over. Those guys who left promising CID or intelligence careers to make more money in the 'real' world, rarely worried about stepping over the line. It was something to do with their familiarity with bending those same rules in their previous careers, in other words, a total lack of respect for hierarchy and law. Which was rather bizarre from those who not so long ago were the upholders of it.

"Do we know the bloke?" Danny suddenly asked. "Where have I seen him before?"

Zoe glanced casually across - and her heart missed a beat. "Oh, Christ! Where's this?"

"Lobby of The Scotsman. Stills from the live feed...about half an hour ago..."

"Fuck! Oh, God, no...Jesus...!" Zoe ran through the series of images. There was no denying who it was.

"You know him?" Danny asked.

She nodded. "Gil."

"The boyfriend!" Danny muttered darkly. "Yeah...O'Brien... that's where I've seen him. He was with Costello and Farrow in Tecala...Bloody hell, what's he in Edinburgh for? Do you think she's on to Tom? Is he Zoe Costello's bodyguard?"

Zoe Reynolds put her hands over her eyes, trying to think, to work out a scenario that would not make her the scapegoat for this. It was possible that Zoe Costello had been running Tom Quinn and was simply playing the role of 'tragic heroine hopelessly in love with handsome intelligent officer' with a bravura performance. She had fooled Litvinov, why not Tom? This woman might be a mistress of deception. That had always been a possibility, even if over time they had all but discarded the opinion that she was implicated in dirty business, other than as an innocent participant. But maybe they had been wrong? What if she was a hell of a lot smarter than they gave her credit?

But try as she might, Zoe Reynolds knew the simple answer was more likely to be that O'Brien had been playing her all along. He was a mole in Syphos. Spying on Zoe; now spying on them. But for whom?

"We've got to take this to Harry. Now...!" Danny urged. "Tom's at risk."

"I know! I know! Christ...but this could be my career!" she exclaimed.

Danny nodded wryly. "Yeah, it could. I told you to get him cleared, Zoe! I didn't like the look of him from Day One. Too close to source.  But your career's the least of our problems right now. Tom's life could be on the line. Cuthbert may be in our cells, but his guys are still in play. Got to be. The question is, however, who's running the show now? And exactly where is Tessa Phillips...?"

They took it to Harry Pearce. He listened impassively to Zoe's halting explanation, asking several personal and highly embarrassing questions about the nature of the relationship she had been enjoying with the handsome Australian Siphos employee. "You were undercover, Miss Reynolds. Any relationship you embarked upon should only have been for the sake of maintaining your legend, which, may I point out, you did so well that this rookie from the kangaroo CID could see right through? If you were genuinely involved with a man so close to the setup, then you should have declared it as a conflict of interest - and pulled out, as you well know. Because of your selfish naiveté, you have jeopardised not only the safety of a colleague but also the success of an expensive operation that has been in play for months..."

"How did O'Brien know she was MI5?" Danny broke in, vainly trying to deflect Pearce's attention away from Zoe's mistakes.

His superior flashed him a look. "He was a bloody double agent from the start, of course! No doubt he was working for Cuthbert as early as Ms. Costello's adventure in Tecala. If he was watching her from the start, then he was watching Tom from the moment they made contact. It wouldn't have taken long for him to follow through and work you out..."

"In other words, he would have been on to Zoe anyway..." Danny reasoned.

"He's a bloody electronics expert, you damn fool! While Reynolds here was lying basking in the afterglow, he was probably searching her emails, tapping her phone and up to God knows what other kind of listening and tracking bollocks! She gave him an ideal opportunity and he grabbed it..."

"...With the greatest respect, sir, he could have done that anyway. And it was we who gave him the ideal opportunity. The department never checked him out carefully enough. I am not the only one here to blame..." Zoe broke in.

"Don't you damn well try and bargain your way out of this, Miss Reynolds! For the time being, I shall say no more about it. My priority for now is Tom Quinn. Get out of here, back to your live feed- and make sure you don't let Quinn out of your bloody sight until this is over. And get me Adam Carter...! And a plane on standby!"

Zoe blushed a dark shade of vermilion and rushed out. 

Danny turned to go but lingered, thoughtfully. 

"If there's something you want to say, Hunter, then spit it out! But if all you're going to do is defend her, then don't even bother..."

"I know we buggered up, sir. But this has got to have Tessa Phillips' name on it. She was working for Cuthbert. O'Brien was working for Cuthbert. She does a deal and hands up her boss. We let her leave to save the department a shed-load of awkward legal crap. But where is she now? I think she was lying to Tom. She shopped Cuthbert and took over the operation. Now she's running O'Brien. And Christ knows what she got from us first..."

Harry sat down heavily, his hand resting on his brow. "Do you think I don't damn well know that? If this goes belly up, there will be more scalps than Zoe Reynolds' hanging on the DG's wall...."

Danny repressed an irrational urge to giggle. Harry Pearce's shiny pate looked like it had already received its punishment. His boss glared at him, daring him to make that particular comment.

"Should we warn Tom, sir?"

Harry shook his head. "Not necessary. Tom knows. He already warned me that Phillips would still be in the game. He never trusted a word she said. And he was right. Just as he always is. It's a bloody good job your superior has his eye on the ball, isn't it? He'll be watching out, expecting something of the kind. But we have to make sure he has the right backup. Quinn's smart, but Phillips is a past master at intrigue. She'll have everything thought out. We have to be on his back every minute..."

"Tessa?"

"I put men on her when we released her. She shook them in precisely two hours. Since then not a trace..."

"So you knew?"

Harry shrugged. "You could say it was always a strong possibility. I've been waiting for some confirmation...now we have it."

"Maybe it was lucky Zoe knew O'Brien, then. Sooner rather than later, hey?" Danny suggested. Pearce had been playing with Tom's safety all along. Zoe Reynolds relationship may even have assisted.

The phone on the desk rang, its shrill beep breaking into the tense atmosphere adding an even sharper note of tension to the adrenalin pumping through them all. But it saved Danny from receiving the sharp end of Pearce's temper at his scarcely concealed criticism.

It was Carter, recently arrived back from his short break in the US. "Sir?"

"London City airport, as quick as you like. Quinn's in trouble. Edinburgh. I'll fill you in on the way..."

Slamming the phone down, Pearce called Danny back as he retreated to the relative safety of the outer office. "Get kitted up. I want you with us..."

"Zoe?"

"She can run control from here. I don't want her in the field. Can't rely on her emotionally at the moment..."

"She's no liability, sir. She won't let O'Brien get away with this..."

Harry laughed coldly. "I didn't imagine she would. What I don't need in the midst of all this is a trigger-happy officer on a vendetta. Better to keep her on ice back here. She's more use with Ruth anyway. Plus, she's got a career to resurrect..."

 

* 

 

They left the party not long after midnight, the freezing temperatures driving them back to the comfort of their hotel, not to mention the early start they were planning in the morning. All he knew was that they had a long drive before them and daylight hours were limited.

Grateful for the warm lobby of The Scotsman as well as its serene calm after the noisy frenzy of the streets, they quickly sought refuge in the suite. Tom looked about him, trying to detect signs of entry, but it was hard to be sure. The rooms had undergone a major domestic attack since they had left; most areas had been touched by housekeeping.

Zoe disappeared into the bathroom; Tom took out his phone and switched on, activating the electronic sweep, waiting for the telltale bleep that suggested bugs or cameras in the vicinity but only seeing the winking icon of his message box, no doubt overflowing. He flicked through the list, saw Danny Hunter's name- and opened:

 

 

He cursed quietly under his breath. O'Brien. Zoe Reynolds' new squeeze? Christ, the bastard could have been listening in on every conversation they had had for weeks! O'Brien. Electronics whiz kid. He scoped the room again. There was something here, had to be. He knew it. But wherever it was, it would be so well hidden he would have to tear apart the room to find it. And exactly how did he explain that to Zoe?

At that moment she came out of the bathroom, slipping off her dress, obviously ready to play. He crossed the room, caught her in his arms and kissed her, before she could say anything. Then he dimmed the light switch on the wall behind him.

"Thought you liked to look," she giggled huskily, putting on her baby girl voice. 

"I'm tired. Let's call it a night, okay?" He walked off into the bathroom, closing the door.

She knocked. "What's the matter? What did I do?"

"Nothing. I told you, I'm tired.  Go to bed. I'll be in shortly."

When he returned, she was lying between the sheets, watching him with an expression that suggested an argument was imminent. Good. She'd turn her back and go to sleep. And Tessa Phillips would have to find her kicks some other way.

Tom pulled back the bedding and slipped beneath the sheets, modestly wearing his shorts, relieved to find that Zoe was dressed in a negligee. He reached over to switch off the bedside light, settling down on his back, his arm above his head. "Night."

She rolled onto her side. "I must have done something, Tom! What the hell has made you go so moody all of a sudden?"

"I'm not moody. I'm sleepy. I want to go to sleep. Something wrong with that?"

"Nope. Fine. See you in the morning..." she turned, gave him her back and pulled the sheets up around her shoulders. She was angry. Just had he had hoped.

He resisted the urge to touch the smooth soft satin curve of her shoulder blade, drop his head to smell her heady fragrance, pull her against his body. Staring instead at the ceiling, he concentrated on focus to keep his head clear, get some sleep and be sharper and more on his game tomorrow.

Because now it was game on.

 

*

 

Little babies don't stay up to see in the New Year. Young men invariably do. On a whim, Jake and Liam decided at the last minute to go and find some fun in London on the last night of 2007, hardly a difficult task to accomplish.

They called in at a few high profile bars, picked up a number of hangers on, a few winsome female companions and then finally showed up at the current club to be seen at as the final hour of the last day ticked away. Queues of thwarted merrymakers were snaking around the block; many there just to observe the arrival of the lucky VIPs who did not require membership and could jump straight ahead of the crowd.

Liam and Jake caused a flurry, as much because they were an unexpected twosome; few seemed aware they were even friends. Both were in high spirits after a few hours of steady drinking, stopped to sign autographs and chat amiably to the star-spotters, before being steered into the club and up to one of the VIP rooms on the second floor. There, drink and food were free. The management earned more from cultivating the image of a celebrity haunt than they spent in free champagne, oysters and cocaine for the pampered guests.

An area of wide sofas and low tables was found for them. Champagne and wine was on ice, bottles of liquor were set down and a bowl of the white stuff placed discreetly in the centre.  Jake and Liam settled down, popped a few bottles, told a waitress to remove the coke - and lay about, girls on either side, watching the action. Leaning back, surveying what was going on, Liam glanced up to a mezzanine floor overlooked the lounge.

His eyes met those of Fliss, staring back at him in horror. What was the chance they would pick the same club to celebrate? Pretty high, given the small, incestuous world of London celebrity.

For a split second Liam's face stiffened before he managed to control his natural reaction - and he smiled lazily up at her, raising his glass in a mock salute. Then he looked to either side, indicating the women - and rolled his eyes in a puerile display of one-upmanship. Fliss winced and averted her face, but he knew that the image was still imprinted before her eyes. Her night was ruined, for sure. His felt like it had just got better.

"Fancy a dance, love?" he asked the blonde on his left. She nodded eagerly. He dragged on her hand leading her to the private dance floor, where he grabbed her lewdly and they gyrated together to the music. Fliss would be watching. He hoped she damn well choked on it.

Even the music seemed to reflect his tarnished victory. He cackled into the other woman's ear as he recognised it. "Back to Black, hey? How about a better idea? Back to your flat...? You like boys, baby? How about two at a time...?

 

 

To Book XI

The featured song: Back to Black by Amy Winehouse.

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