"Liam?"

Terry spoke to his son from onboard the small Jetstream as they reached cruising speed. Annie was lying back covered with a blanket, listlessly staring out of the window.

"Dad?" Liam scrabbled for his phone, jumping to a sit. "What's up?"

"You with Nina?"

"No, just chilling with Jake. Kay took Nina out for the afternoon..."

"I need for you to do something urgently. Mum and I are en route to London. I want you to meet us at London City and then take her home with you. It's not good news, I'm afraid. Andreas has been kidnapped..." Annie made a choking sound at his words.

"What?"

"You heard. Look, Liam, I'm not going into details here. We'll fill you in when we get down. Can you be there? I have to know Mum is taken care of...Low profile. Leave Jake at home and wear one of your disguises. We do not want any attention drawn to us..."

Liam asked no further questions, accepting his father's remarks implicitly. But one thought struck him. "How's Zoe? She must be out of her mind...Dad, what's this all about? Something to do with Nick?"

Terry sighed. "Yeah. In a roundabout way. I believe so. She's not with us, Liam. I don't know where she is. With some new boyfriend, I think. But I imagine she'll shortly be getting the call from whoever's got him. This has to be aimed at her. We have to be there for her...which is why..."

"...Yeah. I'm cool. I'm leaving now. Just tell me the gate and I'll pick you up. Want me to arrange a fast car for you?"

"Already done. Thanks anyway. Liam...Thank you. You have no idea..."

"You don't have to say anything, Dad. This is family. This is Andreas. Nothing else matters..."

Liam closed up his phone, his head in his hands, trying to take in the enormity of what he had just heard. Even if he didn't know much about what was going on, he had read the tension in his father's voice, understood the underlying meanings in his words. This was a very bad situation; his mother needed looking after because this time, maybe his Dad couldn't make things right. Liam could not even begin to imagine the fall out that could be imminent in all their lives.

"You okay?" Jake sat up, realising it had to be bad news and reached a hand out to Liam. Liam moved away, standing up and pulling a sweater on.

"Got to go out. Dad needs me. I'll explain later..."

"Zoe okay? You mentioned something to do with Nick. Liam, don't shut me out! I care about her too..."

Liam shot him a penetrating gaze. "You and my sister are finished. You owe her nothing. We'll talk later, okay? Tell Kay something. Anything. And be here for Nina, right?" He stormed out of the room without adding anything further. Jake threw himself back down, staring at the ceiling. Why was Liam so angry? The reference to Jake's former relationship with his sister had seemed to anger him greatly. Or had something really bad happened? The passing mention of Costello did not give him much hope. Whenever that bastard's name cropped up, it usually meant danger for Zoe.

Jake sighed. Was he always going to be shut out from the real heart of this family? 

The chamber was a large vault, hollowed out from what seemed to be solid rock. The walls were dank; the place was cold and the air stale. No one had opened the hatch for years. Yet, despite the dust and the stench of age and damp, the electrics worked fine. A fan was beginning to waft the still air; some heating source was firing up to add warmth. Bright lighting illuminated every corner.

But none of that made more than a distant impression on Zoe. She was far too stunned by what she could see to think beyond the visual image. "Christ! What is this place?"

Tom leaned back against the wall keeping his distance, his eyes never leaving her face. "Been here for years, I would think. They used to do a roaring trade in illicit whisky distilleries around here. My guess is some former owner built it to hide away his booze from the custom and excise officers...smugglers..."

His voice tailed away as Zoe shot him a caustic look. It didn't matter what he had to say; she no longer wished to hear it.

Stepping cautiously forward, Zoe wandered about, staring into the cases. The room was walled with vitrines, floor-to-ceiling, lit by concealed lighting. Inside, neatly arranged on special casings, was weaponry of every imaginable type: hand guns, rifles, high performance automatics, blades, knives, explosives, canisters, grenades - plus boxes and boxes of ammunition. There were also drawers and cupboards full of electronic devices, detonators, surveillance equipment. Much of what was there she could not even identify, except that she knew it was connected to Nick's former career. A safe had been opened; it contained stacks of currency in many denominations; there was even a pile of gold bars.

"It's an entire arsenal!" Zoe gasped.

Harry Pearce nodded. "Must have been state of the art when he was last here. Even now it's pretty advanced stuff. It seems Costello couldn't quite turn his back on the day job..."

"He'd finished with all that!"

"Then why keep this?" Pearce asked bluntly. "Costello could never truly be finished with it all.  He was fooling himself if he thought so. This was his secret stash just in case it all blew up in his face. And a man as pragmatic as Nicholas Costello must have known that one day it would..."

Zoe didn't answer. What was there to say? She had never been naïve. There had been a similar collection in their Australian property; her father had arranged for it to be dismantled and taken away sometime in those weeks after Nick's death when she had hardly been able to raise her head, never mind give it much consideration. Wandering on through, she noticed a computer terminal on a desk against the wall. Some operative had logged on and was uploading all the data contained, probably transmitting to head office. There wasn't much point in her protesting. The contents of the hard drive were of no use or interest to her and, no doubt, it belonged in the preserve of the intelligence services. Objection would have been futile anyway. These people had the authority to seize anything they deemed fit.

"Take it all away. I don't want it near me or my son. I guess you were right after all. This cottage was some kind of key to it all. Had I known this vault was here, I would have got rid of it, you know? Had you asked me, instead of setting me up, I would even have willingly co-operated. Violence took my Nick away. He lived by the sword and he died by it. I hated it all... It was always something I abhorred..."

"Then why did you start dabbling in the shady world of Jeremy Cuthbert if you felt that way about such things...?" Pearce asked her directly.

Zoe hunched her shoulders dismissively. "You probably won't believe me when I say I was just trying to make up for the things Nick had done. I wanted to do some good. I know, I was a fool! I know that now. All I did was mess up other lives... But you can't hang me for being a fool. Although I'm sure you'll damn well try..." Zoe sank down onto a chair, her head in her hands.

One of the men leafing through the desk drawers pulled out a CD. It was a copy of the Beatles 'White' Album. He turned it over, went to set it down, and then on an afterthought, inserted it into his disc drive.

"Jesus Christ!"

They all looked up, Pearce and Tom lunging for the monitor. For long moments, they scanned files in silence.

"Bloody hell! He didn't even try and hide it!" One of the men gasped.

"Oh, but he did," Tom muttered. "In plain sight. First rule of espionage..."

Harry nodded and turned around to address Zoe. Tom busied himself with copying the disc and transmitting the data. Moments later it had gone, now being downloaded at the Grid. Once head office had acknowledged, Tom broke the disc into fragments, which were then placed into sealed bags. No chances were being taken with the information.

"Copies?" Tom asked the search team.

"No sign, sir. Probably encoded on the hard drive, though. We'll get it off if it is..."

"Just a thought, boys. Check his album collection upstairs as well. He might have left copies in there. Costello was mad enough to do something as obvious as that..."

The man nodded and took himself off. One by one, the room emptied.

Zoe had been listening to the exchange. "So, you found it then? Got what you came for, lads?"

Harry Pearce sat down by her. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this material is? Names of countless agents, many still undercover in hostile locations, so many lives that could have been lost if this fell into the wrong hands...!"

"I never said I wouldn't co-operate! I didn't know it was here! Of course, you must take it and destroy it! I'm sorry. I do appreciate the importance of this. Just get rid of it all - and then get out of my life. As quickly as you can. Or am I under arrest now? Do you hold me responsible for this, too?" she asked.

Pearce shook his head. "Of course not. We're not monsters, you know! We're just doing a very important job that has to be done for the security of all. And may I add, it is not always to our taste. But it must be done. I do, however, apologise for how you have been used in all this. We had to be sure..."

Zoe broke in, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of heroic status. "Someone should give you a knighthood...Tom as well...Arise, Sir Thomas Quinn...the intelligence officer who specialises in ...what do you call it? Oh yes, honey traps. Terribly dangerous work, Tom...there's always the chance you might catch something really nasty. What a hero...!"

Harry Pearce extended his hand to raise her to her feet, not rising to her bait. Tom said nothing. His face was a mask that might have been indifference, fortitude or even despair. It depended what side of the fence you were on. "Perhaps you should wait upstairs now, Miss Thorne? There's nothing else to be gained for you by remaining down here..."

Zoe shook his hand off and made her own way up, suddenly feeling so weary that to drag her legs up the steep stairway took all of her strength, requiring her almost to pull herself up by the rails.

Back once again in the tiny lounge, now dwarfed by the presence of the men, she did as she was told, meekly slumping into an armchair, staring bleakly at the wall, at images of the man whose privacy was being ripped apart, whose sanctuary was being violated. She did not even hear the shrill call of the cell phone.

But the others did. 

"That yours?" Danny Hunter asked her.

Zoe jumped back, disturbed from the reverie in which she had chosen to hide. "What?"

"The phone..." he picked it up and handed it to her, first inserting a small USB device.  The three senior men put listening devices into their ears. "...Answer it...!"

What was this about? She hesitated. Harry Pearce broke in: "We are not the only people on your trail. The other party would kill you for what we have found. Answer the bloody phone and stall them as long as you can. For your own safety. Then we can put out a trace and pick them up..."

She snatched the phone with a petulant shake of her head and answered. "Who is this?"

"Your worst nightmare, Miss Thorne..."

The voice sounded inhuman, metallic and robotic. "Voice scrambler..." Danny whispered.

"What the hell do you want? How did you get my number?"

She heard a tinny laugh. "I know everything about you, including the fact that Tom Quinn has been screwing you both literally and metaphorically. That Harry Pearce and his little band of men are at this very moment downloading very sensitive and highly confidential documents...Miss Thorne, you need to listen to me very carefully - and do exactly what I say..."

"What do you want?"

"I want the information. Within the hour..."

"I haven't got it! They downloaded it and broke the disc. There's no way MI5 will hand this material over to anyone..."

"Then Andreas dies. Your choice..."

For a moment it was as if the air in the room was sucked out; a chilly silence settled on them all. 

"What did you say?" Finally Zoe stuttered out.

"We have your son. Lifted from Disneyland, Paris a few hours ago...Am I getting through?"

Zoe said nothing, staring into some abyss deep within in her own head, her eyes blank and unseeing.

"Zoe! Proof of life!" She heard the words as if they came from some place far away. Then she felt the hand on her arm. Danny Hunter was repeating his words. "Proof of life, ask for it. They have to provide it..."

She swallowed and found herself parroting the phrase. "Proof of life..."

Her phone bleeped. There before her was an image of her son, apparently asleep. There was a TV screen in the background. CNN News. The date and time were logged on the rolling bar. The picture had been taken moments ago.

From somewhere inside herself, she found the words. "He could be dead already...That proves nothing..."

There was a pause and another picture arrived. It showed a male hand stretched out, holding a mirror to her son's lips. It was misted over. He was breathing.

"Alive. For now. But not for long if we don't get the document."

"I don't have it!" Zoe exclaimed. 

"Get it." The call was abruptly ended.

Her hand fell away. "You have to give me a copy. They will kill my son!" She pleaded with Harry Pearce; his face was inexpressive. 

"It won't guarantee his safety. They would take the intelligence and kill him anyway. And there is no possible way I could sanction this material entering into the private domain..."

"He is just a little boy! This is monstrous! That little child is my son! How can you leave him to die! He is innocent!" Zoe screamed, realisation dawning on her, desperation mounting. They would not cooperate.

"We are not leaving him to die. I said the information would not guarantee his safety. Our people are already tracing the source of the call. One moment..." His own phone had rung.

"Malcolm? What do you have?"

Pearce listened, frowning, before closing his cell sharply. "Re-routed through a complex series of channels. Guess who would be most au fait with how to make life difficult for us? Malcolm says he might be able to narrow down to a general area but we need more to get a specific location...Zoe, they will call again. When they do, you must keep them talking, offer them anything...the only chance your son has is if we find where they are holding him. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"If he dies, you will be responsible..." was all she could say in response.

"If you don't let us run this our way, he has no chance," Harry stated bluntly.

Zoe turned towards Tom. "Look what you have done to me! Remember this moment, Tom Quinn...the moment when you finally lost your humanity...What kind of crazy fucked up world do you people belong to?"

"Nick Costello began this. Not us. These people took your son. Not us. We are not the enemy..." Tom replied.

She laughed coldly. When she spoke, her voice was dull, all hope gone. "You led them here. You made this happen. It was bad enough to break my heart...but to make my son the victim? You might as well pick up one of those guns and end my life right here and now. Because he is all I have. Without him, I'm dead anyway..."

It was not lost on Tom that she already referred to her son as dead. 

Harry and Danny took a step forward, ready to reason with her, try to reach her. The other men were back in the vault working, one kneeling at the CD rack painstakingly going through each CD, checking it on his laptop. It gave Tom the window he had been waiting for.

With his back facing the door, he drew the guns he had already secreted in his belt down in the vault. "Zoe...over here!"

She glanced up - and immediately realised his intent. He grabbed her and thrust her behind him, the gun drawn and pointed at his own colleagues. 

"You know how to use this?" He passed her a hand gun. She nodded, flipping off the safety catch with an expertise that surprised the others. Her father had made sure she could use a gun; Nick had advanced her technique. "Keep it on them..."

"Tom...this is insane...what the hell do you think you are doing?" Harry Pearce stepped forward.

Tom spun round, his finger paused over the trigger. "Shut up, Harry. I'm desperate. And I will kill if I have to. Remember, I shot you once before..." Zoe looked over in amazement. "Long story. Maybe I'll tell you one day...If we ever get the chance..."

"You haven't got the intel, Tom! If you try something now, you risk the child's life..." Danny broke in, trying to defuse this before it was too late.

"I have the intel." Tom held up a small pen drive. "I made a copy. Just in case...Get into the vault...!"

He indicated that the three men should climb back down.

"Tom, I implore you to see sense! This is madness! You will destroy your life in one act of lunacy...! You cannot save this child! You cannot have this woman...!"

Tom merely laughed coolly. "My life was over the day I signed the Official Secrets' Act and joined this pit of paranoia we call Military Intelligence. Intelligence? Now that's an oxymoron if ever I heard one...Zoe, get the car keys. Back out. And pick up your phone..." He turned back to Harry and the others. "Down the fucking stairs! I do not have the time to play games with you..."

Grudgingly Harry, Danny and the other man descended. Tom flipped the hatch and locked it, dragging over a heavy sideboard to weight it down.

"How will they get out?" Zoe asked.

"They've got phones. Another team will be here in an hour or two...Who the fuck cares? They catch up with me, I'm finished anyway..." Grabbing her hand, he ran for the door.

She let him drag her along, her confused brain still trying to compute all that had happened in the space of less than half an hour. There was only one thought that she could hold onto. If Tom had the dossier, she had some leverage, however small, for her son. Everything else had no meaning. She didn't care what Tom Quinn had done to her. If he could save Andreas, then she would do whatever he asked.

Revenge could wait until later.

Sergei Litvinov had spent the morning in his elegant, spacious office meeting with his bankers. They came to him, not the other way round. Business completed, he stood to dismiss them, polite as ever, but unemotional. This had been routine and he was not about to extend to them anything more than the courtesy that was strictly necessary. They made enough money out of him. They had been given a light in-house lunch. What more did he owe them? As they withdrew, he checked his schedule while members of his staff cleared away the plates and cups. He had an hour before his next appointment, time to catch up on some mails.

Standing before his desk, he booted up his computer, scanning the sleek screen for what was most urgent in the long list of unopened mails. He sighed. Something was wrong with him today. For once, he couldn't be bothered with it all. It was not like him. Personal feelings rarely disturbed his iron and rigid concentration.  But today, he was restless, full of a latent energy that was churning through his body. He needed physical release. Perhaps a woman? It was too early in the day to send out for some discreet escort service. He wasn't sure that was the answer, anyway. A long workout until his body was past the point of pain would probably be of more use.

His attention was taken by the view of London from outside his window. It was still only afternoon, but already the light was fading; the street lamps far below had already been switched on. An unlikely thought struck him of cancelling his next appointment, going home to where little Nikolai was waiting with his nanny. For once he wanted to do something for no other reason than because it pleased him. He had an inexplicably strong urge to be back with his boy, to hold him in his arms, to inhale his sweet smell of innocence and savour the child's total and unconditional love.

Sergei was lonely. For once, he could recognise it in himself. Loneliness was not a state of mind that usually affected him. All his life he had been alone of his own choosing. He could have married a hundred times if companionship had been what he cared for. But every relationship he had ever had very soon had him running for escape.  The ballerina had lasted until two days after Christmas before her cool beauty had begun to bore him. She lay beneath him docile and obliging in bed as if opening her legs was doing him the favour.  These self-aware, spoiled beauties were all the same: able only to love one thing - themselves. Passion was an alien concept to them. They couldn't afford it. It might just add a wrinkle. They had one commodity - their perfection - and it was a weapon to be used against every man they met. Elena Sokolyeva had wanted to secure one of the world's richest men. She had no further energy to expend on anything as simple as loving him as well.

But then, how could he blame her? Elena had never meant anything more to him than a beautiful plaything, someone to have on his arm, decked out in finery he had chosen for her and willing to bring something approaching warmth to his cold and empty nights.

For the thousandth time, he wondered where Zoe was right now. Still in France with her parents? He struggled again with another irrational urge, this time to pick up his phone and call her number. It was madness, but the sound of her voice would have been worth the embarrassment he would have felt at wearing his need so openly. He normally eschewed any sign of fragility - but that woman brought him to his knees. Time might be passing but it was not making any difference to how he felt about her - very much the contrary. Every other woman paled in comparison to her in every way imaginable. Zoe was so vital, so full of emotional and intellectual vigour, sensuous and sensual, witty and clever, blessed with an unusual bewitching beauty that defied description. Once you had looked into her eyes, all other women seemed shallow, their loveliness a predictable decoration, without any soul...

His reverie was disturbed by the metallic bleep of a new email message. He glanced across at the screen idly, expecting the usual.

No name.

No name?

Junk mail on his high level filter? 

Sergei looked closer, his finger hovering over delete but something stopping him, making him think twice. What was this?

On a whim, completely against his usual caution, he opened the mail.

35, Hillaire Terrace, Kilburn. Flat 3a. Hurry. Get the Glock out of the safe, Sergei, me old mate. This time it's Zoe who needs you...

Sergei sat down sharply on his leather armchair, staring at the bizarre and unexplained message. He should refer it to his technical staff, report it as some form of intrusive junk mail that was cleverly aping information stored in his inbox?

But who would even guess he had a Glock in his safe? Sergei crossed the room, pulling back the mirror behind which his safe was located, contemplating the display thoughtfully. Should he open it to check?

Suddenly the key pad bleeped as a code was input. In horror, he watched as a long sequence of numbers was engaged - and accepted. The door clicked. He tried the handle and found it opened. Cursing profanely under his breath, he ran a hand down his face. Was he losing his wits? This was impossible. It could not be. The safe had opened itself? What was happening?

His right hand reached out to close around the leather sheath in which he kept his hand gun. Withdrawing it, he eased the gun out, his fingers closing around the cool metal, giving him an inexplicable sense of comfort. He hesitated. Then he pulled off his tie and suit jacket and strapped on the holster, pulling a black roll-necked sweater over his shirt before kicking off his shoes and ripping off his trousers, throwing them onto a nearby chair. From the walk-in wardrobe closet he kept at all his offices around the world, he selected a pair of jeans, a leather jacket and some brown sturdy boots. Closing the safe and replacing the mirror, he checked his appearance. His face seemed even more gaunt and chiselled than ever, a pallor settling over his usually lightly bronzed skin. He raised his chin and stared at himself.

"Vui udeetye sdelatye teperye, Sergei?" What indeed was he to do now? Act upon this insane message, follow a wild goose chase that might very well be a trap? Take a step into the unknown, put his trust in some impossible trickery? There were still many people who would love to end his life. This could be some clever set up to lure him to a lonely place and hand himself over to an executioner.

But who knew from his world knew about Zoe? Or the gun in his safe? And what if she really did need him and he let her down, simply because he was too spoiled and protected in the rarefied air of his bulletproof world to take a chance?

Striding for the door, he called up two of his bodyguards, ordering a car, telling them to tool up. They did not question his order. Litvinov would not make such a request lightly. They might carry weapons as a matter of course in Russia, but here in England their boss was much more circumspect about his image. If they were armed, it was always discreet.

"Where to, sir?" one muttered in his guttural Russian. 

"Some place called Kilburn. I presume it is here in London. Hillaire Terrace. Find it. Quickly..."

Tom hit the road at speed, watching the rear view mirror. "Be ready. They're going to call any minute. When they do, we'll have a very short time to get this right..." Tom told her curtly, his concentration on the road. He avoided looking at her.

"Get this right? What the hell does that mean? You couldn't get it any wronger if you tried..."

He sighed heavily, finally turning to look at her. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I tried to avoid this..."

"I am not interested in your feeble excuses. If you think that whatever you do, even if you manage to save my son, I will ever let you near either of us again..."

"I'm not expecting forgiveness. Or anything from you. This is no longer about you and me. It's about your son..."

"You and me? There is no you and me!" she exclaimed.

He gave her a searching stare before answering. "There never was a you and me, Zoe. That was only ever in your mind..."

It was the first time she knew for sure he was lying. Something in his voice gave him away. He had loved her. He still did. She had never really doubted that. This was not about love. It was about loyalties. "Don't try and pretend you give a damn about my son..."

"I do give a damn about your son! I also give a damn about all the innocent people in this world whose lives are threatened by those who would destroy them...Christ, Zoe, I never in my wildest dreams expected your son to be at risk! What do you think we are? What do you think I am? I was just trying to save a lot of people who daily put their lives on the line for us all...you got caught in the cross fire. My name was on that bloody list, you know? My name, my address, my bank accounts...There were hundreds of people listed, every one among them with a family and people who care about them..."

"Everyone, except you, you mean?' she snapped back.

"Low blow, Zoe. Not worthy even of you," he replied, without apparently taking his eyes off the winding road that took them along the water's edge.

"I hate you!"

"Hold that thought. Anger makes you strong. At this moment in time, I don't give a damn if you hate me. I just want you to promise me that you will do what I say when the time comes..."

"I can still feel you inside me. How could you have made love to me knowing this was about to break?" she burst out brutally, refusing to let him have any quarter.

He turned to look at her, his eyes - the real windows to his soul - hollow with pain "How could I not?" 

Her phone bleeped. He raised his chin as if to shake away the moment of weakness and nodded for her to answer it, mouthing: 'Speakerphone...'

"...I have it. I have the information you want...please, don't hurt my son...!" Zoe shouted to the caller.

"That's more like it," the strange metallic voice replied. This time, Zoe listened more carefully. It was a woman. She was sure of that. The timbre was too high to be a male voice. "So your boyfriend decided love conquers all, did he? How touching. Lucky for you, too. You're travelling south along the firth approaching Balnabruach. There's a fork in the road ahead, just past a caravan park. Take the right, following the edge of the water.  We'll intercept about five miles along..."

"What about my son...?"

"When we have the document, he will be released..."

"Released? Where will you release him? You can't just let him roam the streets...he's only four!"

"I don't think you're in a position to make demands of me, Miss Thorne...Just do what you're told!" The line was cut. Zoe hit the dashboard in temper, angry tears running down her cheeks.

"The cold bitch! Who the hell is she?"

Tom did not answer, his lips pursed. The last thing she needed to know was that the woman who was now calling the tune had several different agenda. The information was one thing. Her own warped vendetta against Terrence Thorne was quite another. Tessa Phillips did not intend to let the little boy live; his life was the punishment meted out to Zoe's father for the loss of her own child long ago, something for which she evidently held him responsible. How had they allowed a woman so far over the edge to work in the high-stress world of intelligence and never found out her dislocation until now?

But he said nothing, instead bringing the car to a stop, leaving the engine running while he reached for her handbag, pressing his finger to his lips to warn her to say nothing more. Emptying out the purse, he sifted through for any possible hidden devices. It took him only moments to home in on the gold face compact; it was an obvious location. Women never go out without a mirror. He opened the elegant oval shell, used a key to prize out the powder compartment - and there he found it. Flipping out the tiny bug, he tossed it through the car window - and then moved off again.

"They've been listening in since Edinburgh. They knew everything we were saying all the time..."

Zoe was stunned. "You knew all along?"

"Our room was searched on New Year's Eve while we were out. I suspected a listening device then. Possibly a camera..."

"That's why you wouldn't...!" Zoe began, her mouth dropping open in shock as she began to understand that all along Tom had been aware of the events taking place behind her back. Every moment they had been together he had been playing a game of lovers whilst planning his next moves. It seemed a betrayal that was almost beyond belief. Her fantasy of love shattered into millions of jagged shards, each one delivering its own fatal blow. She looked at Tom and wondered why she had ever loved him. All she could see now was a cold and unforgiving man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. She had never known the real Tom Quinn in the slightest.

"You knew? All along you knew people were following us? Then why the fuck didn't you tell me? You could have found the bloody thing so easily with my co-operation...!" Her voice trailed away and then she worked it out. "You didn't want me to find out, did you? You were still unsure if I was really telling the truth or not.  So you let them follow us all the way home. You really did hand me over, didn't you? You fucking bastard!"

He blinked as her words cut into him. She alone had the power to wound him. "They were after you anyway. Whether we had told you or not, it would have made no difference. They were not going to drop this until they got what they wanted. This way we drew them out. We knew they were following so it allowed us to steer where we led them..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He closed down, giving her no answer to her question, merely changing the subject. "In a few minutes, they'll be on us, Zoe.  What I'm going to say now will be hard for you to hear but you have to face it. If you don't, your son is dead anyway. Zoe, I promise you I intend to do everything in my power to get Andreas back to you safe. But we only have one possible way of working this. The moment you give them the information, they will kill you - and then they will kill Andreas. You will no longer be of any use to them as leverage and, in fact, will be dangerous if left alive.  Your only chance at this juncture is using the dossier as a carrot to give us time to get a trace on his whereabouts...and then we can pull you both out before they have time to ..."

Zoe shook her head. "I dare not bargain with them! I can't hold out on them..."

"You have to! Zoe, listen to me. They don't give a damn about either of you. They daren't leave either of you alive. You know too much..."

"What does Andreas know?"

Tom paused before answering. "Andreas will have recognised Gil O'Brien.  I should imagine he was behind the kidnap. He's been working for Cuthbert for a while now..."

"What? My Gil? He's in this too? How long have you known this? You knew and never told me?"

"Catherine Harmison. She's MI5...one of my team..."

"Oh Christ! You even infiltrated my company? You shit! Catherine? I let her take Andreas all over the place...I trusted her! Did you know she was sleeping with Gil...? Can you trust her?"

Tom shrugged. "I trust her. She didn't know what his real game was until too late..."

"He played you all? That little prick O'Brien played everyone? Even Jamie? Even my Dad? The entire MI5? Bloody hell...!"

It was enough to silence Zoe. The whole construct of her world seemed to be tumbling down around her ears. Was anyone for real? 

 Tom took his chance. She was compliant enough now to accept any suggestion. "Take out your phone. Upload the data from the USB. Send it as an email attachment to this address: go.to.zo@gmail.com. The password is CXXXVIII..."

"138 in Roman numerals? What does that mean?"

He laughed sadly. "Sonnet 138. Remember? 'When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies...'" His voice trailed off. She thought she heard the husky note of tears.

Zoe looked across, continuing the poem from where his words had faltered. "... 'Therefore I lie with her, and she with me. And in our faults by lies we flattered be...' The spies' sonnet? How fitting..."

To that he merely hunched his shoulders, unwilling to chance a further reference to his treachery and her past. "...Do it. Upload now!" He held out the tiny portable drive; she took it and did as she was told. "Now delete the data..."

Once the task was completed, he held out his left hand. "The pen drive?"

She held onto it for a moment before passing it back. "What will you do with it? Destroy it?"

He shook his head. "If it worked for Costello, maybe it can work for me. It has now become my insurance policy..."

"What? I thought you were determined to save all your agents from being discovered! You mean, you're going to use it as a bargaining chip for your own safety?  You're no better than Cuthbert...You are all bloody mercenaries..."

"...I've just committed treason, Zoe. My career and freedom are now in the balance. If they take me, I will get a life sentence. Twenty five years' maximum security. Imagine what they'll do to an MI5 officer in there? I will not go to prison, Zoe. I won't use this unless I have to, but..."

"You hypocrite!"  

"It doesn't much matter what you say about me now. Just do what I tell you and I'll soon be out of your life for good. When they stop us, tell them where the document is. Insist you are taken to Andreas. Only then will you give them the password to retrieve the document...They may hurt you, Zoe, to try to make you hand it over. You will have to hold out..."

"But what if they refuse? What if they won't deal with me?"

"Then they kill you. Which is what they would do if you gave it to them anyway. So how much choice do you really have?"

"They'll search you and find the USB..."

"I don't think so. I won't be there when they pick you up..."

"You're going to leave me to them?" she gasped in horror. Even as much as she now despised him, he was her protector. She was unsure if she could do this if he was not by her side.

"This is my last chance to get out. Harry and the others will have alerted a search team already to pick me up. But it will also work for you, too. If I have the information, they'll waste time trying to get it from me. Zoe, we're stalling for time here. All that this is about is stalling for time. The only chance to save your son is to keep him alive until we can find him. Take this..." He took a small disc no bigger than a pin head from the inside of his collar. "It's a location transmitter. Secure it under the lapel of your jacket. They'll take you to Andreas and lead us to you. Zoe, this is what we do. We will know where you are all the time. It's the best chance we have..."

Reluctantly, she did as he told her, fixing the adhesive dot out of sight and smoothing down her collar. "So how does this work? What will they do?"

"They'll bar our way, block the road somehow. You get out of the car when they tell us to. I'll create a diversion. As soon as I do - the moment I move - you take out that gun and use the damn thing if you have to - but tell them you will only give them the information once you are reunited with your son. They'll have to call in to whoever's controlling this, because these are only the foot soldiers, but most likely the boss will agree. Then go with them...and pray we get to you both in time..."

"What will you do? How will you create a diversion?" she asked, still unclear how he could possibly make this happen. Why wouldn't they just shoot and kill them on sight to steal the information?

"That's not your problem. But when I do, you act. Whatever happens, you ignore it and concentrate on doing what I have told you. Zoe...it's really important that you keep your head and don't let emotional weakness distract you..."

"I'm not weak. You think you've got to me? You haven't got to me. I don't give a damn about you!  I can deal with this..."

"Good. Hold that thought...Anger...it makes you strong..."

Tom sank into silence.  The road was skirting the water again, climbing up along the hillside as they left the lower ground of the little harbour town. Zoe could see the distant sea at the lower end of the firth; it seemed unremittingly bleak and hopeless. How could they hope to find a little lost boy in a world so hostile and evil? Her mind struggled against a pressing desire just to give up and let it all happen. The idea of oblivion suddenly seemed very inviting.

She forced herself out of her melancholy, pushing away the panic that was rising. What would her father, or Nick - Tom, even - do at times like this? They would not give up. If you were alive, there was still a chance. Zoe stole a glance at Tom, wondering what was passing through his mind at a time like this. He was probably planning his getaway. She tried not to think about what he had done. Yet, she couldn't deny in some ways he was right. For now, only Andreas mattered. Tom Quinn might be a shit, a cold-hearted manipulative soul-less bastard. He may have taken her body and played with her heart - but he wasn't worth a single tear.

He saw her head turn and looked across to meet her eyes. "Zoe...I never lied to you. You must know that. I never lied, not about what mattered. I know I was conducting an undercover investigation into your life - but I had no choice. My people intended to use you to lead them to this information. If not me, they would have selected someone else to work you over. And at least if I was by your side through it all I could be there to make sure you were safe...I could protect you from the worst..."

"This is safe? This is not the worst? Jesus Christ!" she retorted angrily, rejecting any attempt by him to placate her.

"It wasn't meant to be like this...! This was not what we expected to happen...!"

"...I've heard enough of this lame crap...It won't make any difference. I'll never forgive you for what you have done to me...For what you have done to my son!"

"Like Litvinov never forgave you, you mean?" Tom shot back. "You're lucky he didn't have you and your son shot one dark night for your part in his nephew's kidnap. Funnily enough, I just thought that maybe you of all people might understand my predicament. Sometimes things run away with us. I wanted to stop it so many times...but I was caught in an impossible dilemma..."

"How dare you try and excuse your guilt by throwing Sergei Litvinov in my face! You know nothing about what happened...You know nothing about Sergei and me..."

Tom laughed wryly. "I know. Even now no one really knows what that little operation was all about. And you wonder why no one trusts you? I wasn't the only one keeping secrets, was I? You kidnapped Litvinov's son. Then you helped get him back for some reason. It makes no sense. Unless it was some insane attempt to win his forgiveness? Because you regretted what you had done? Sounds familiar?"

"Don't even try to compare what happened to me to this...!"

"No, I wouldn't dream of it! I was trying to save lives. My part in this was actually driven by altruism and a sense of duty - and all those other tired old virtues you seem to disdain. Christ only knows what your motives with Litvinov were! A mother yourself, and you hand a little boy over to drug cartels? What the fuck had Litvinov ever done to you to deserve that?"

But his question was never answered. In a squeal of brakes, the road ahead was suddenly blocked by a large four-wheeled drive. Behind them another car, a black van, pulled over to straddle the middle line, preventing them from backing away.

Tom reacted instantaneously. "Remember what I said, Zoe! As soon as I move, you point your gun at the men in the van and do your thing. Nothing else matters. Do not let anything that happens take your eye off the ball. Promise me! Promise me!"

His voice was soft but insistent, his eyes burning. She wasn't sure she quite understood. Two men got out of the car ahead and approached with guns drawn, waving them to indicate the two should get out. Zoe's nerve suddenly failed her. She turned to look at Tom.

"I'm afraid...!"

"You can do this. You can do anything you want. You are strong and beautiful, resourceful and brave. I've never met a woman like you. Zoe, I love you more than I ever knew it was possible to love. I know you can't believe me right now. Maybe you never will. All I can do for you is this. Make it count, Zoe! Just make it count and it will have been worth it! Without you...there would be nothing for me anyway...He was right, you know? Costello was right. And so were you. You told me that true love meant loving someone even if what they did was wrong...Please, try and remember how it might have been for us. In another world where we were free...Get out...get out of the car slowly...Goodbye, Zoe...make it count, eh?" He stretched out his hand towards her instinctively, the last touch.

His words affected her despite herself. What he had said about Sergei was right. She had done worse than this to an innocent man, much worse. Tom had done his duty as he saw it, despite his own emotional involvement. Some might say his sacrifice had been heroic.

It seemed to her, however, that something jarred in what he said, as if she was missing the real point of his words. She found herself reaching out a hand to take his and for a moment they held on. And looked into each other's eyes, searching for a explanation for the madness that had to lie there somewhere if only they could both find it. But she knew that this was not the time for sentimentality. She had to follow his instructions. She had to let him go.

Andreas above all.

Opening the door, holding up her arms in surrender, she stepped from the car.  The approaching men relaxed momentarily, turning to the driver's door as if expecting any moment that Tom would do the same. And in that fraction of a second, Tom took his opportunity. He jammed his foot down on the accelerator and the car leaped away from her in a deafening roar of engine and gears, wheels spinning and road grit swirling.

The events of the next few moments happened too quickly almost for her brain to take in. There was a hail of gunfire as the car shot forward, a loud impact as body hit metal. Then nothing but an eerie stillness, accompanied by a soundtrack of wind and wave as the vehicle appeared to hover over the edge - before disappearing from view in a clanging cacophony of metallic protest.  Almost immediately after came the shuddering brutal violence of the car hitting the rocks below, breaking up and plunging into the water. Then silence. It had taken all of a few seconds, but time seemed to have stopped still. One moment, a car and three men - the next, all gone.

The car had hit the two approaching men and knocked them over the cliff side as it too had plunged over with them.

The transfer at the airport had been speedy. Terry had wasted no time on ceremony handing Annie over to his son. A quick kiss, a hand stroked through her hair and a promise to make it right - and he was running for the waiting car while Liam whisked his mother off in another.

"Where to, Mr. Thorne?" The driver asked. There were two men in the car, both arranged by Dino, contract professionals he used regularly.

"I wish I knew..." Terry muttered. The plane had landed almost two hours ago. This was London. Andreas could be anywhere. His phone rang. A call from the number that had supplied the helicopter information. He stared at the display for a second and then answered.

"Who the fuck is this...?"

"Calm down. Andy's location - 35 Hillaire Terrace, Kilburn. Copy? And I'd do a bit of deep breathing, mate. At your age, you have to think about your heart..."

"Christ...!" Terry muttered as the line went dead. He pressed redial. The number was not in service. "Jesus Christ...!"

He hit the water and was dragged down, the icy water ripping away his breath, freezing his body into a sluggish torpor, his heavy clothes further weighting him down. He couldn't quite remember where he was, or what he was doing, as cold hit his brain and water poured into his lungs. He didn't know he had taken a few bullets from the hail of gunfire, one in his thigh, another in his left shoulder; at the time, he had felt nothing. He was unaware that his right arm was broken in two places, preventing his feeble strokes from making any headway. He did not feel the open wound on his head, blood staunched by the icy water but a concussion imminent. He did not even know he was drowning. It was probably a comfort.

All he could see was her face somewhere in front of him, distant and fading as if viewed from behind a thin veil. Her hand was reaching out to hold his. He struggled to grasp the soft white fingers, struggled against an urge to close his eyes and simply slip away. But first, he had to touch her, one last time. One last time to make her understand. One last time to reach out and hold her hand. One last time to find strength in her as his own ebbed away... 'Forgive me...I'm so sorry...I love you...I always will...'

Cold, cold water surrounds me now
And all I've got is your hand
Lord, can you hear me now?
Lord, can you hear me now?
Lord, can you hear me now?
Or am I lost?

Love one's daughter
Allow me that
And I can't let go of your hand
Lord, can you hear me now?
Lord, can you hear me now?
Lord, can you hear me now?
Or am I lost?

[chanting] Cold, cold water surrounds me now
And all I've got is your hand
Lord, can you hear me now?
Lord, can you hear me now?
Lord, can you hear me now?
Or am I lost?