Book XII: Part One

 

 

 

Even the experienced thugs sent to apprehend Zoe and Tom seemed momentarily stunned by the speed, ferocity - and finality - of what had taken place before their eyes. It was not only Zoe who remained as if riveted to the spot in the seconds that followed the car's terrifying  plunge over the edge taking with it two of the assailants - and the driver of the vehicle itself.

Oddly enough, it was Zoe who reacted first, jarred into action by that voice in her head whispering over and over again: 'Andreas! Nothing else matters now...Think only of Andreas. Make it count...! Make it count...!'

From the back of her jeans, hidden by her all-weather Gore-Tex jacket, she pulled out the handgun Tom had given her back at the cottage. Assuming a stance, she held it with both hands locked as she had been taught, feet set apart, trying to make herself fall instinctively into the correct position, willing her hands to stop shaking. 'I can do this!' she urged herself. 'I can do this!'

"Stop! Don't move! This gun is loaded and the safety's off...I will shoot if you try anything on!" she shouted, tamping down the shrill edge in her voice, sniffing back the tears that threatened.

The two men reacted instantaneously to her command, doing the opposite of what she asked, although raising their hands in mock surrender while moving forwards and outwards at the same time, creating a distance between them, ready to circle and attack if she made a mistake.

"Your hands are shaking, love. You couldn't hit a ten-foot target square...Hand it over, darlin'. Your bloke's dead. What do you plan to do now? Kill us and free your son? How you planning on doing that? You don't even know where he is...One chance, baby. Give us the data and we might just play nice..."

Zoe didn't answer. Instead she fired at the speaker, clipping his arm, causing little damage but enough to act as a warning. He swore. She stepped forward. "In case you think that was a lucky hit; I meant to wing you. Next one is between the eyes. I'm warning you both.  I was Nick's Costello's girl. Do I really need to spell that out? One more step and I take out one of you. The other, I save for later..."

The men exchanged glances before backing away. "Okay, you made your point, love!" the other man answered. "What do you want from us?"

She took a deep breath and let the sudden burst of oxygen waft through her, steadying her nerve, steeling herself. Tom had told her not to let anything distract her from what she must do. It was the least she could do for him now not to let his sacrifice go to waste.

"I want you to listen to me. Then I will co-operate. Do I have your word?"

They both smirked.

"Well, do I have your attention, anyway?" she added wryly.

They both nodded.

"I have what you people want. But if I give it to you, my usefulness is over. My son will no longer be leverage. I know what that means. The information was on a memory stick with Tom in the car. That no longer exists. But I made a copy and e-mailed it to an address for which only I now have the password. Until I am with my son, I will withhold that password. If you kill me, you will never get it. If you kill my son, I would die rather than give it to you, no matter what you do to me. Do you understand me?"

"We don't have the authority to bring you to your son," the second man countered. 

She guessed he was the one in charge. "What's your name?" Zoe demanded.

He smiled coldly. "Call me Dave."

"Okay, Dave. And I'll call your little sidekick Chas. It's like this. Go call your boss. Like good little toadies. I didn't for one minute think you could make decisions for yourselves anyway...Explain my proposition to the lady in charge - and make it good. If she says no, you're dead anyway...I've had a bad day, boys. Someone's going to pay for it..."

Dave said nothing. 'Chas', however, broke in. "How do we know you really have the information?"

"You don't. But as you plan to kill us anyway, what difference does it make?"

Dave spoke up. "Buys you a bit of time, love. You're hoping your little spook buddies come good."

"Tom and I just committed an act of treason. I'm finished either way."

"Catching us would do wonders for your case with the Service though, sweetheart..."

"Cut the crap. Do you have a choice?"  Zoe grinned, suddenly feeling lighter and free of anxiety. If the fear of death is gone, then what is there left to fear? They couldn't harm her. Andreas and she were dead anyway. There was only a slim chance of success in this, too small to be taken as anything more than a wild card. Once she accepted that, the risks seemed immaterial. She began to understand Nick's reckless bravery. Her father had always told her that to be courageous, one had to be afraid first. For most of his adult life, Nick had never much cared if he lived or died. It was a very powerful tool against those who threatened harm, she now understood. "Call in. Get permission. Then I'll hand over the gun."

"Taking a big chance yourself, sweetheart..."

"My name is Zoe. I am a mother. I won't allow my son to die alone. Is that small kindness so much to ask? And, MI5 won't be far off. They'll stop me if they can. Shoot me on sight, I would think, if necessary...so time's running out for us all...Can you afford to hang around thinking about it?"

Her blunt statement seemed to cut through their smug resistance. Dave opened his jacket slowly and extracted his cell phone with measured care. Her aim had obviously impressed him enough that he was no longer underestimating her.  He made a call, briefly explained what had happened and then listened to the reply before snapping the phone shut.

"They say yes. But she's not happy. You'll pay for this..."

Zoe laughed. "There's something worse than death waiting for me, is there?"

It was their turn to smile. "Oh yes...much worse..."

They advanced. She turned the gun handle outwards and handed it over. In moments, she was seized and twisted at an awkward angle so that her face was pressed against the rock wall of the cliff face rising up at the side of the road. She was searched for further weapons; only her cell phone was found. It was taken from her. They checked and saw that a recent mail with an attachment had been sent. It appeared to confirm her story so far.

"They could break this password," Chas observed.

"No, they couldn't. A cleverer man than all of you set it up..." Zoe retorted.

Dave pressed his body against hers, wrapping his large hand round her throat as he ran his hand beneath her jumper and cupped her breast. "He's gone now, love. Now it's just me and you. Oh, we are going to have such fun later...or maybe now? I wonder how long you'll really hold out before you spill everything...? They always do, you know? No one ever keeps silent in the end..."

"Do it! Waste time. Lose everything..." Zoe gasped, taunting him. It was enough to make him let her go and push her towards the waiting vehicle. Zoe shook herself down and faced him up. "I'm not scared of you. There's nothing in the world than can touch me now. You have no idea what I can take...!"

The two men shrugged. They'd heard it all before. The fun would come later. Securing her hands with cuffs, they tossed her roughly into the back seat. 'Chas' complained about his arm but drove anyway, while Dave sat in the back with her, a gun drawn. No one spoke further.

It was a relatively short drive, no more than ten minutes, to an open field where a helicopter was waiting, its blades already whirring. They were in the air moments later and then winging over the Firth. Zoe wondered how long the journey would take and then realised she had no idea where they were going. But at least one hurdle had been passed. They had not found the tracker. Pearce and his boys would presume it was still on Tom. Surveillance would know where she was all the time.

But if she thought that she was settling in for a long journey, she was wrong. After less than fifteen minutes, they were landing again, this time on a remote airfield. She guessed it was one of those commercial strips used mostly for flights out to off-shore oil rigs. Bundled down from the chopper she was hurried across the tarmac towards a small private jet, already revving up, its steps open. As she was thrust upwards a waiting goon dragged her back, running a manual scanner over her body. The tracker bleeped. In moments they had located it and ripped it from beneath her collar.

"Break her cell as well. They could also track her through the live signal...!" he insisted. 

The last avenue was closed to her. As the small plane taxied for take off, Zoe huddled into her seat, her face pressed against the tiny window. Tiny darts of rain splattered across the surface. A cross wind sheared, making take-off tricky and unpleasant. Normally it would have disturbed her. Today, she seemed incapable of feeling. She was numb. It was going to fail. After all Tom had done, it had been for nothing.

 Maybe she and Andreas were already as good as dead.

 

*

 

It had been a long day already and it was still only early afternoon. They had not left their terminals in hours. Zoe Reynolds' eyes were buzzing and burning from the glare of the monitor, her back was aching, her ankles swollen - and she was desperately in need of a visit to the ladies after the gallons of coffee she had been steadily consuming to keep herself alert.

Excusing herself, she took a short trip to the restrooms, ran cold water over her face, tried not to let the creep of guilt and fear for her future take a grip, and headed back to work. Sitting down again, she logged on, using her password. The screen opened up, blank other than one line.

 

 

It made no sense. Andreas Costello? 

"Malcolm? Who sent me this message?"

Malcolm Wynn-Jones, Head of Electronic Intelligence, called up her display on his own screen, his brow knitted as he hit various keys searching for its source. "This is impossible..." he gasped almost to himself. "Impossible but wonderfully simple..."

"Malcolm? English, please?"

He glanced up, wearing his usual weary tolerance for the fools amongst whom he had to work. "No source of origin. No IP. No apparent way this could happen. It's like something you see in a cheap horror film...ghostly writing appearing across a window..."

"What are you talking about? Is this some kind of trick, then? Mass hallucination? Haunting? Because I can see it and so can you..."

He scoffed. "Of course not. Everything has an explanation. I just don't happen to know yet what it is. But you are right. It is a form of trick, in the sense that it has the appearance of magic when all it is in reality is electronic sleight of hand. I suspect it is something to do with algorithms interfacing across a random field..."

"I don't understand you. What does the message mean?"

He shrugged. "No idea. Is this the boy we're looking for?"

"Yes, Nick Costello's son. Zoe Thorne is his mother... this says he's in London..."

"Then, we better not waste time dithering about. It needs checking. Wait...I'm getting something from Harry..."

Malcolm listened, his lips pursed. His face froze into a rigid mask before he relayed the details of the recent bizarre message to Harry. 

"What is it?" Zoe insisted. "What did Harry say?"

"Tom. He's dead. They've got the girl..." Malcolm's monotone gave the impression of cold-bloodedness but it was nothing of the sort. For the moment he would do his job; mourning and grief were for later in private. It was the kind of man he was. Zoe's own face paled but her instinctive training kicked in. They were both veterans of too many such moments. She glanced up at Ruth who had also heard the transmission; the other woman was less successful at putting on a mask. Her lips were trembling and her pallor disturbing. She had been inordinately fond of her taciturn boss.

Zoe forced her mind back. "Did he give her the tracker...? Before he...he might have..." She could not bring herself to say the word 'died' but managed to convey her meaning. Malcolm tried to call up its frequency on his monitor. He shook his head.

"No longer transmitting..."

"Their cell phones?"

He tried them both. 

"Dead."

"Christ! Malcolm! Did Harry give any information?  How did Tom die?" Zoe broke in. Ruth shuddered.

He shrugged. "Don't know. Later. We deal with that later. Harry says check this address but he thinks it could be a trap. Typical Tessa tactic. Booby trap - take a team out...create maximum confusion to cover her real location..."

"So we do nothing? Let this woman and her son die? Plus she may have the information on her...Tom could have transferred it to her..."

"She must have done or she'd be dead as well....Wait... I've got the house..." Malcolm spoke on conference, linking London to the men in Scotland. " Unfashionable end of Kilburn. Old property. Flatland. Victorian properties converted into rabbit warrens. Bed sits, bed and breakfast, student accommodation... Favourite haunts of some of our old IRA guys...Tessa will know the place well. She's used it for drops before..."

"So it could be...?"

"...A trap?"  Harry Pearce's crisp tones came clearly through the speakers. "Yes, of course it could...! Use your head, Zoe! Send in a team but keep them at a safe distance. Long range monitoring. A helicopter - but stand it off. No one within a few hundred yards until we've swept the area...Get GCHQ to check if we have a satellite available..."

"Yes, sir. Already done...Team on their way..." Ruth spoke briefly to field support and set up the watchers, channelling her horror into activity rather than allowing herself to think on what had just happened.

Zoe unplugged her earpiece.

"Harry, I'm going in with them...!"

"Oh no, you're not...You're too valuable to be blown up in one of Tessa's little revenge attacks..." Harry ordered.

"I'm going in, Harry. Whatever you say. For Tom. He didn't die so that we could abandon that woman and child. He's just a little boy! Such an adorable little boy! I can't let him die without doing something! There's a small chance it's not a trap. I'm prepared to take that risk, sir.  Maybe Tom got this message through to us somehow... Surveillance would take too long. The child does not have the time. I'll take my chances..."

"I could order your arrest, Reynolds...I cannot condone the possible loss of a valuable Intelligence officer on such a sortie..." he reminded her.

"But you won't arrest me, will you?" she answered. There was a silence on the line.

"Body armour and weaponed up to the back teeth... Open line contact throughout...If I say out, you pull out...or I swear to God, you'll wish you had been blown to smithereens...But from now on, you are on your own. No one else to advance beyond the perimeter cordon..."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir...!"

 

*

 

Terry left his car a few streets away from the address and slipped through a back alley to approach unseen. The other two men supplied by Dino's company, took alternative routes, all advancing on the property from different angles. As he turned the corner into a side street, he saw a black limousine parked just ahead from him, dark windows obscuring the occupants, a highly conspicuous vehicle in this rundown inner city area. He ducked back quickly, waited a moment and then stole a glance. There was no activity. He hadn't been observed. On the other hand, they might have observed him and could be approaching from behind. Withdrawing back down the alley and onto the busier main road, he entered a café, bought a mineral water and sat near the window, out of sight of the street, surveying the scene. Pulling out his cell, he called Dino.

"Run me a number plate..." He read out the series of letters and digits.

"Coded."

Terry swore. "You can do better than that..."

"I certainly can. But miracles take a second longer...Wait ...!"

"Coded...so police and Services-only access? This registered to some VIP? Someone who doesn't want to be recognised by paparazzi...? What kind of coded?"

"...More like terrorists, gangs and assorted criminals who might see him as a target. Guess who's the proud owner of this fine automobile? Our old Red friend, Litvinov..."

"You are joking, mate!"

"I would never use the word 'Red' lightly, pal..." Dino retorted smugly. "How does Rusky factor into all this?"

"No fucking idea. Get me his cell number..."

"Already did, amigo..." Dino read out the number. "Keep me posted..."

"You bet..."

Out on the street again Terry began to stride back to his watching place. Litvinov? What the fuck was going on? His phone rang twice before Litvinov answered.

"Thorne?"

"Why are you here? Do you know you look about as obvious as a nun on a nudist beach in that high end limo?"

"I'm not in it. I'm behind you about half a block. The car was a decoy. I left one of my men in it..."

Terry spun round to see the familiar brisk upright stride of the Russian catching up on him. Litvinov looked like he meant business. "So, you got the jump on me, hey? Don't get too cocky. Now, mind telling me what the fuck you're doing here?"

By then Litvinov was in speaking distance. Terry watched him snap shut his phone. "Same as you, no doubt? Something to do with your daughter's safety. I received a very strange email about an hour ago...I have no idea who sent it. Obviously not you, no...?"

Terry grinned. "No. You did not spring to my mind as first choice to play knight errant, mate. If you never laid eyes on my girl again it would be too soon for me."

Sergei shrugged.  "Then who sent it?"

Terry didn't answer immediately. "If I told you my theory you'd be off like a fucking shot. And much as I hate to admit it, I need back up. I've got two people on the other side of the road, approaching from the rear. You got guys with you? How good are they? I do not want some of your Russian trigger-happy bears taking even the remotest chance with the lives of my daughter and grandson..."

Sergei gave him a baleful stare. "I know how it works. Remember, I have been there, too.  I have two men. They're good. Ex- KGB. So, this is about her child? What has happened to him?"

"You don't know anything?" Terry asked.

Sergei shook his head.

"Why did you come then?"

"The message said she needed me. It was all I needed to hear."

The straightforward honesty in the man's reply made more impact on Terry than a million smart replies. Sergei Litvinov was there because a woman needed him. Not just any woman. But one he had every reason to hate. Yet, obviously the reverse was true. The man was eaten up with his need for her. Annie had been right all along.

Terry almost smiled amidst all the awful events of the day. Suddenly he felt more positive about the outcome than he had since it had all begun. There seemed to be something prophetic going on. "So, if Costello seems to think you're okay, I better go with his judgement..."

"I beg your pardon?" Sergei asked curtly.

"It doesn't matter. I'm talking crap. We don't have much time. Let's go to work, hey? Andreas was snatched this morning from a theme park outside of Paris. The kidnappers want some information they believe Zoe has. They'll kill Andreas if they don't get it. They'll kill him anyway. Our only hope is the one-in-ten billion chance we've been thrown that this bizarre contact we've both had may just be a real lead... Now, about your men..."

"Zoe? Where is she?" Sergei insisted.

Terry shook his head. "I have no idea. She's not answering her cell. I held off calling her until I had something to say. I think maybe they have her. I pray they don't. But..."

Sergei looked up towards the sky, his face rigid but his eyes clear and deep. Even Terry could see the pain there. Litvinov may have left it too late. His pride had kept them apart and now this had happened. "You okay?"

Litvinov's head snapped back; the steel was back. His eyes glinted coldly. "Why wouldn't I be? What do you want me to do?"

Terry sighed. "Be my leg man. I also need your men with the couple I have to run interference but I don't trust them up close. Andreas and Zoe are too important. Plus, I'd be a fool to imagine I could do now what I could do twenty years ago. If this goes down to the wire, I need a younger man willing to throw himself before a bullet for them. You got the balls?"

Sergei's face relaxed slightly. There was a glimmer of a smile on his lips. "Harder than yours, my friend. Pure Ural rock..."

"She worth dying for?"

"Don't insult me. Tell me what you want me to do..."

 

*

 

A stray memory from long ago crossed her mind of when she had been a small girl, living in New York with her mother and brother, and they had been snatched by hostile elements, bent on revenge against her father. She had been near paralysed with fear; even now her recall was vague and haphazard. After the event both the children had seen a child psychologist. Zoe had blocked most of the incident from her mind and had never really been able to remember many details where Liam had talked of it incessantly. Later she had understood that was something to do with the fact that where she had been passive throughout the ordeal, in shock, Liam had taken positive action. In layman's terms, he had faced his fear and dealt with it, subsequently being responsible for saving their lives. He had sustained a bad break to his arm. The two factors, both emotional and physical, seemed to have largely protected him from post-traumatic stress whereas she had suffered nightmares and feelings of guilt off and on for some time after.

It made her wonder how Andreas would deal with brutal treatment and fear. Liam had been older and more aware; Andreas was just a tiny child in comparison. Yet, he was a singular boy in his reactions. There was the reckless courage of his father and the resourceful intelligent bravery of his grandfather in him. She had seen the way his mind could work. The unusually determined logic he had shown over his unhappiness at school and over Tom's appearance had made an impression on her. Losing Jake had revealed a cruel streak in him that she had never seen before. Young as he was, he had proved that he was able to think things out in his own little way.

Zoe was unsure whether this was a good or a bad thing. There was a chance he would be uncooperative with the men who had snatched him, difficult, even incite his captors to violence. But there was also the possibility that he would understand more than they realised - or at least keep his head. It seemed insane to be trying to assess the ability to cope with fear and danger in one so young. Were even much older children ever really able to grasp mortality? Hadn't that been the trigger behind Liam's daring as opposed to her abject fear at that past time? All Liam had seen was that his mother and sister were threatened and his father was not around. He had assumed the male role without any sense that at eight years old he was too young to challenge armed killers.

Yet, he had used his own youth against them. Was it possible Andreas could outsmart them in some way, too? She berated herself for even thinking it. Andreas had never known harsh treatment. He trusted adults too much.

Forcing her mind away from her son, she tried to consider her own predicament. What could she do? Was there any possible bargaining chip left to her? Her mind drifted to Tom. She knew she was still in shock, not quite able to comprehend that she would never see him again. The human brain can only take so much at one time. While her sense told her he was gone, her emotions were incapable of understanding what that meant. One moment they had been lovers, the next she had faced his betrayal and abuse of her, only to see a total reversal moments later when he had helped her escape. What did she think of him now? It was all too confusing. He had loved her enough to take his own life to try and gain her a small advantage in a hopeless situation. But he had also intended to hand her over all along, even threatening to use the information he was carrying to save his own skin. Or had he? Zoe suspected that had been a lie. Tom had been planning to sacrifice himself from the moment they had left the cottage - his claims to the document had been nothing more than a means of keeping her angry with him, focusing her away from  her own churned up emotions so that when the time came she would be strong.

She had told him she had never known him at all. She had been right. The real Tom Quinn had been a tortured and heroic man who had tried to find a way to do his duty while keeping her safe.  He had loved her - and she had loved him. In the end, he had died never knowing quite how much he had meant to her, gone before she had the chance to stop punishing him and let him know that she had understood his actions after all. How could she not have understood the predicament in which he had found himself? Tom had been right. Her own actions towards Sergei Litvinov alone should have made her forgive him. Instead she had turned her own guilt against Tom. The saddest thing of all was that he had actively encouraged her to do so; he had willingly accepted death without the comfort of her love merely so that she would stay strong in the aftermath.

She wished she could cry for Tom. But she couldn't. Perhaps one day she would be able to. If fate allowed her one day, that was. 

Closing her eyes, she wondered where all the people she loved most were now. Her mother and father had to be caught up in this nightmare, for Andreas had been with them when he was taken. With a lurch she sat up. Why had her father not contacted her when it happened? Had something happened to them?

These people wouldn't have given a damn. How else would they have been able to take Andreas from a man like her father if they hadn't use force? She dared not even let herself imagine what that might mean. What if her parents were both already dead?

No! Don't! Never let your mind weave its negative thoughts at a time like this! Until she was told otherwise, she would presume they were fine. It would serve no one at all for her to sink into a trough of despond. All it would cause was for her to give into melancholy, to lose all hope. Her father was alive somewhere. Her mother was safe. He would be doing everything he could to get Andreas back. She had to believe that.

Liam. Imagine if he was left alone?

No! Don't! Liam is fine. Everyone is fine. Somehow we will work this all out. The little voice inside her began to talk to her again, calming her down. There's nothing to be gained from imagining the worst. Sometimes, the worst doesn't happen...

 

*

 

Sergei Litvinov was again quietly impressed by the measured and efficient calm with which Terry Thorne set about establishing surveillance on 35 Hillaire Terrace. In Tecala, he had attributed Thorne's focussed and cool leadership to a degree of professional distance unsettled only in those moments when he had been forced to watch his daughter dally with a dangerous young man and allow him a measure of sexual liberty. Yet, even then the man had not baulked or shown any real sign of weakness.

Today, he was learning even more about Thorne. There was an undercurrent of anger and frustration that he could read, a sense of time ticking away with no real confirmation of the safety of his grandson and the whereabouts of his daughter; Terry Thorne had to be fearing the worst. But despite that, he was not prepared to act recklessly, going through the motions step by step, apparently with no sense of urgency or desire to rush into a panicky attempt at an extraction before all their strategies were in play.

He deployed Sergei's men as watchers to the rear of the property, to keep them informed of any activity in that area and under instructions to apprehend anyone they deemed suspicious and who might be used to extract information or even as bargaining power. The personnel supplied by Dino had expertise in this type of retrieval action and had arrived with specialised and highly sophisticated listening equipment. They also had access to information about local residents drawn from a variety of sources that intrigued Sergei but that he knew would not be disclosed to him. With this intelligence, one of the men, Gerald, claimed to be the boyfriend of a young art student who had a first floor bedsit overlooking the street directly opposite number 35. The downstairs resident who let him go up wasn't in the least bothered if the story was true or not - for a crisp fifty pound note, he would have done a whole lot more. The other man donned workman's overalls and sauntered down the street, tool case in hand, entering the neighbouring property; the owner-occupier, a twenty-nine year old trader with a city investment company was fortunately absent, probably at work. This allowed Dino's man to insert a scope through the upstairs shared wall to set up a live feed. Terry and Sergei entered the property across the road via the back yard, through the door opened by Baxter, the only name this man offered.

The wait began. The street they looked out onto was typical suburban London: three-story Edwardian terraced housing, each  property with a lofty attic and deep cellar; residences that were relics of a by-gone age of elegance, once the preserve of the middle classes with their servants and upper middle-class pretensions, now converted into apartments and bedsits; a maze of transitory and anonymous living.

"What are we waiting for?" Sergei wondered aloud. "Either the child is there or he isn't. Stage an assault and find out, no?"

Terry shook his head. "It may be a trap. We don't know exactly what these people want. You don't stage an elaborate kidnap attempt on foreign soil merely to kill a child in the first few hours. I suppose they have contacted Zoe. But she hasn't contacted me, which is strange. That would be her first move, believe me. I know my daughter. She would come to me first. The fact that she hasn't suggests she is unable to make contact. Thus sense tells us she has been taken as well and is either being brought here or held somewhere else until she -or someone else - gives them what they want."

"Someone else?" Sergei asked.

Terry shrugged. "I have no idea what this is about. While I may have a few speculations, they are only based on what I know. There may be a great deal I don't know. Until then, we can't presume this is solely about Zoe."

"But why wait? If we can release the boy then they cannot force Zoe..."

"No, they can just kill her straight off. You want that? They need to know that they are in the clear and every thing's going to plan. That will help to keep them from being too trigger-happy. Anything that panics them could mean they act rashly - and it places Zoe and Andreas in more danger. We watch and we observe. If we think the situation inside is deteriorating, then we move and save at least one of them. But that time has not yet arrived. Mate, let me be very frank here.  They will kill them as soon as their usefulness to them is up. We just make sure their usefulness is extended until we get some idea of where we all stand..."

Sergei nodded before walking off to stand facing the wall, deep in thought. Terry left him alone, aware that he needed time to gather himself. It was never easy when you had emotional investment in a case. Yet he did not doubt Litvinov would come good. He had seen the man's capabilities before.

"Coffee?"

Sergei spun round; Terry was offering a flask. These men seemed to think of everything. He took it with a curt nod and poured out two cups. They sat before a blank monitor, sipping the hot brew morosely, waiting for the man across the road - Gerald - to hook up to some internal images.

"You seeing her again?" Terry ventured after awhile.

Sergei shook his head. "Not since..." he pouted dismissively. "...except briefly across a restaurant one lunchtime last month.."

"Yeah, you mentioned that in Paris...the day we met you with the ballerina...?"

"Ah, so...! Elena..." he shrugged, then smiled wryly. "...Something for the holidays, you know...?" he added coolly.

"You really don't give a shit, do you?" Terry observed bluntly.

Sergei gave him an impassive stare. "About what?"

"Women. They're just something else a man like you can buy...along with a stable of racehorses, sports' teams, vintage cars, expensive homes, designer clothes, fast yachts..."

"Something like that," Sergei answered. "Almost everything has a price if you can afford it."

"Almost?" Terry repeated. "Name me something that hasn't."

"A girl called Zoe Thorne..." Sergei's stare did not leave Terry's face. "The only thing I cannot have...the only thing I really desire..." 

Terry considered his comment thoughtfully. "There's your mistake, mate. She's not looking to be desired. She's not a rare collectable who's driving a hard bargain. She's a free and independent woman. She's looking to be loved. Desire and love. Those two things are not the same."

Sergei rubbed at his chin and sighed; for once he looked tired, older than his normal virile style. "English is not my language. These are just the words I am forced to use to try and explain. Words and emotions are very different things, too. Don't hang a man because his meaning is lost in translation. I am here. Does that not tell you all you need to know?"

"She's seeing another man. She was with him over New Year." Terry did not spare Litvinov's feelings.

"I know. You already told me. So, she needed something for the holidays, too? Who gives a fuck? Where is he now, huh?"

The monitor flickered into life, removing the need for an answer to that rhetoric question. At the same time a tinny voice broke through. "I'm in. Thermal imaging tells me there are four up on the first floor, two on the ground... looks like one of those on the upper floor is a kid from the size. He's not moving, possibly sleeping..."

"Same room as the other three?" Terry asked.

"Yeah...same room...okay...let's see if we can get a picture...this is the master bedroom..." A grainy black and white image opened up, unsteady as 'Gerald' manipulated the device to scan the room and pick up the main features. At first all they had was a tired old floral wallpaper accompanied by the blurry buzz of subdued voices; a few tweaks, the volume increased, and the picture settled down. Four men sitting round a table, playing cards.

 

"Kid's moving..."

"Leave him be. He'll be groggy..."

"Can't stand crying. Give him another dose. Less trouble asleep."

"Not safe. He's already had maximum..."

"So? You scared it'll kill him? Christ, how long's he got anyway? You going soft, or something?"

"The whole fucking point is keeping him as bait. If anything happens to him before she gives the say so, you'll be the next one with a bullet in the head, you fucking moron..."

 

Terry began to write on a pad by his hand.  'Female. Not on site.'

 

"...Who are you?"

"Shut up!"

"Where's Gil? Where's my Mum?"

"I told you to shut up, kid. Just lie there and keep your bloody mouth shut!"

"Bloody's a bad word..."

"Then don't say it."

"You did..."

 

Terry added a second line: 'Gil O'Brien. Not upstairs. Downstairs? Unlikely...'

They saw a movement from a small settee at the side of the room; Andreas had pulled himself up and was sitting there staring about him, confused, rubbing at his eyes. Terry held his breath. Andreas had not shown any apparent fear to wake up in strange surroundings. Possibly he was still not fully awake - or he was reacting with belligerence rather than emotional collapse as one might expect from a child. He thought of Liam long ago, facing up vicious killers because they threatened his mother - but he had been an older boy, able to appreciate the danger. Andreas was only four. He couldn't possibly think ahead or plan. But he was Nick Costello's boy. Who could ever really be sure how he would respond, especially when he was almost too small to grasp the concept of mortality. What Andreas did next could leave the situation on a knife edge. It would be better if he started to cry. Or would it? These men were tense and ready to explode. A screaming child might test their patience. On the other hand an awkward and lippy one might enrage them even more.

"The boy is very brave..." Sergei observed.

"He's four. That's not bravery. It's innocence. Jesus Christ, Andreas! Shut up for once..." Terry muttered.

 

"...I want to go home. I want Terry and Nannie. I don't like you...!"

One man jumped up and strode over to the couch; Andreas wriggled back against the wall, his knees drawn up to his body. "You're beginning to get on my nerves. Open your mouth once more and I'll give you a backhander. If you want to see your Mum again, you better do as you're told..."

"You can't tell me what to do. You're not my Dad..."

"You haven't got a Dad, mate. He got out long ago. Can't say I blame him... Little bastard like you..."

 

Terry winced at the brutal comment, praying that Andreas would not understand its implications. He glanced over at Sergei whose face showed his anger. 

"These men are animals...!" he muttered. 

But before either man could speak further, their eyes were drawn back to the screen. Andreas did not answer his captor's comment, instead lashing out with both legs and kicking him fully in the groin. Terry closed his eyes, muttering under his breath. Sergei winced. One could only imagine what was going to happen now.

The man staggered back cursing profanely. "You fucking little cunt...!" He launched himself towards Andreas, his hand raised. Andreas rolled into a ball, expecting a retaliation that never came because another man intervened, caught his colleague's raised hand and dragged him backwards, away from the child.

"Leave it! Don't touch him! Get this kid out of here, Pete! Lock him in the bathroom...." The third man grabbed Andreas by his hand and hauled him out of the room, kicking and protesting. He was rough - but not unduly so - as he bundled the child out. The door closed behind them but the distant sound of Andreas' shouting could still be heard until he was obviously thrown into the nearby bathroom and a key turned in the lock. The man returned and tossed the key onto the table. "He's making a racket. Someone will hear..."

"Like who? Naughty kid locked in the bathroom? Who around here gives a fuck? He can cool his heels in there. He won't be able to keep that up for long..."

 

"Is this good or bad?" Sergei asked.

Terry ran his hands down his face. "Better than it was. Andreas is out of the way so can't taunt them to breaking point,  but more than that it puts space between them if we have to storm the building. He can't be used as a shield if he's not with them. This could be an important development...as long as Andreas doesn't do anything stupid..."

"Stupid?"

"Like try and climb out of the damn window. I don't know. Andreas is a total loose cannon. Mostly he's a good kid, obedient, intelligent, easy...but he has a side to him that can be very unpredictable. You had to know his father. Nick Costello was a one off. I've never known anyone quite like him. Most dangerous man I ever met. Probably the bravest, too, although that might be more the result of the man not having a single nerve in his body...Nick was a very volatile personality; it was impossible to second guess him. At times, I've observed something of that more unstable side in his son..."

Sergei frowned. "How did you allow your daughter to get mixed up with such a man?"

Terry laughed. "You obviously don't have a daughter, mate. I didn't allow it. She did. What the fuck can a father do? Lock her up? Get real. In time, I accepted it. Christ, the guy loved her! I've also never seen anyone change so fundamentally as Nick Costello, all for the sake of a woman. I sure as hell didn't. You obviously neither. She loved him and he loved her and they had a child. There are worse things that can happen to your daughter in life than that..."

"Yes...and we're potentially looking at one of them today, no...?" Sergei pointed out. "This is a consequence of that man's life just as what happened to my son was in some way linked..."

"Linked?"

The Russian hunched his shoulders. "Your daughter had something to prove. Something that is connected to this Costello somehow. Everything Zoe did was about him; this much I know. Maybe it still is."

"Meaning?"

"She's looking for him. Or a man like him. And from what you say, no such man exists..."

Terry flashed him a subtle look. "Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that, Sergei, me old mate..."

"...Mr. Thorne? We've got company...Girl entering front gate..."

It was Baxter, the third man with them in the front room, who had been keeping an eye on the street. Terry jumped up and took a quick look. 

"Gerald...pull her in...!" 

Moments later, they observed as Gerald emerged from the adjacent house calling over to the girl. She stopped and answered him; he walked over and waved a document in her face. As she turned to look at it, he moved, hand over her mouth, dragging her back. He was quick and within moments the woman was being bundled towards the house next door.

"Come on...we need to check this one out..." Terry ordered, selecting a hand gun from their cache and tucking it out of sight. "You carrying?"

Sergei nodded. "One girl? Don't you think that is excessive....paranoia?"

"She won't be alone. Advance guard. Decoy. Whatever."

"I don't understand...who had sent her?"

"Could be MI5. They were always on Zoe's case...and their agenda is not the same as ours. To put it bluntly, they'll not regard a child's life high priority if the alternative is top secret material getting into the wrong hands..."

"Top secret? What do you know?" Sergei asked.

"Later. Move...now!"

 

*

 

Even as she struggled against the man who overpowered her, Zoe Reynolds was lucid enough to appreciate that her assailant was a professional and that, whilst he was incapacitating her, he was not unduly hurting her. For all her martial arts experience, she could not do a thing to defend herself. Either she had been spotted by the enemy or someone else was watching the property. As resistance was futile, she gave up fighting, letting him escort her next door, ready to exploit anything she learnt - or any moment of weakness he showed - to escape or further her investigation.

Inside the house, he threw her into a chair in the kitchen. "What the hell is this about? I'll scream. Someone will hear...!" she protested.

The man grinned. "Cut it out. If you were an innocent bystander you'd have tried that on in the street, love. You're a player. I just don't know which team you're playing for...yet...."

"You're crazy! I have no idea what you're talking about...!" 

He ignored her, emptying out the contents of her handbag. sifting through with an obvious professional eye, scrutinising the ID card that described her as a saleswoman for a power company, homing in on her cell phone, opening it up and removing the card.

"Door-to-door canvasser with state-of-the-art listening equipment? I don't think so, baby..." He pulled her from the chair, threw her face first against the table, spread her legs and searched her intimately, finding the tracker and disposing of it. Then he ran a scanner over her, muttering into his earpiece: "She's clean, boss..."

The door to the kitchen opened and in walked Terry Thorne followed by Sergei Litvinov. Miss Reynolds recognised them both immediately, working hard to keep that knowledge from her face. What were these two doing together? Had this been some elaborate sting all along, just as Harry feared?

"Sit down, please. I apologise for the rough-handling.." Terry said, indicating a chair at the kitchen table. Zoe Reynolds faced him up but he merely stared back at her; she appeared intimidated enough to do as he said. "Who are you? And no bullshit, please. We don't have the time..." he continued calmly.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm with Powergen. We're visiting homes in this area to offer them a better deal if they transfer their gas and electricity bills to us..."

Terry thumped the table. "Enough! You're either one of the merry band inside that house or you're British intelligence. Either way, you're trying my patience.  The lives of my daughter and grandson are at risk and I assure you I'll stop at nothing to protect them. What do you know?"

She looked from one to the other, assessing them. Terry Thorne was telling the truth.

"I can't discuss this with you."

"So you're MI5. What led you here?"

She shook her head.

"Where is my daughter?"

Again she refused to reply. Sergei stared at her wondering how long Thorne would allow her to keep this up. He suspected not long. He wasn't fooled by the man's courteous and soft-spoken demeanour.

Terry stepped back and made a call on his cell. "Red, you still farting about looking for our man?"

Dino swore back. "Not a single lead. Seems to have vanished into thin air. I was even suspecting he was dead..."

"Spare me the thesis. Have you located him or not?" Terry snapped.

Dino winced. "Chill, hey? As a matter of fact I have. But only just. British Intelligence took him in on Christmas Day. And that is all I can give you. Trail is so cold it's probably a ski-run by now. But one thing's for sure, Cuthbert's not your man..."

"I beg to differ." Terry turned, observing the young woman who was staring down at the floor, clearly trying to pick up anything of use from his conversation. She was a pro alright. "...Jeremy Cuthbert is the mastermind...even if someone else is leading the charge today... All we need is to establish a connection between Cuthbert and O'Brien...find it..."

He had her. The moment the names Cuthbert and O'Brien had been mentioned, Zoe Reynolds glanced up, realised her mistake but was unable to hide the recognition that passed across her face. "...Thanks, anyway...keep on digging, mate..."

Terry closed the phone purposefully and strode forward to sit down across the table from her. For a long moment he considered her, his hand over his mouth. The room was silent; the woman looked uneasy. He knew she was beginning to run out of prevarication.

"Where's your team?"

"What team?"

Terry blew out air slowly. "One more incorrect answer, and I will start on you. Do you know who I am? My name is Terrence Thorne and, as you seem to know all there is to know about my daughter - and then some, I doubt my background is off your radar either. I was SAS in the Province back in the day when the 'interrogation' manuals were written. Abu Ghraib ? We invented that shit, love. Except we knew what we were doing with it...and everybody talked, baby..."

Zoe Reynolds blinked a few times. "Look, you know I can't say much. It's not that I wouldn't co-operate if I could, Mr. Thorne. But you have to understand you're involved in something over your head.  Nor do you have any authority to be running around with a private task force. However, I realise that you are privy to some of what we know, that you have the skills and contacts to do this properly - and that you have a considerable stake in play. I'll tell you as much as I can..." she began hesitantly.

"That's more like it. You have five minutes to convince me that your presence here is not part of the problem..." Terry replied, giving her very little quarter. 

All the while, Sergei rested back on the wall opposite, his ice-blue eyes searing into her. She found it hard to look at him. His intensity was more frightening than Terry Thorne's professional ruthlessness.

Swallowing hard, she made an attempt. "My name is Catherine Harmison. I know Zoe and I know Andreas. I was temping as an auditor for her at Siphos before Christmas ...."

Terry nodded to the third man who immediately made a call to check on her story. "Go on..."

"I dated a man there who worked for Miss Thorne. His name was Gil O'Brien..."

Terry shook his head in disbelief. "British Intelligence had you undercover in her company? Did you know then about O'Brien?"

She fidgeted nervously with her bracelet. "We knew he was Australian CID. That was why I initially made advances to him...To see what he was there for...but we didn't know he was playing both sides.."

"Three angles of a triangle, you mean! ACID didn't know you had someone in? Christ! I thought you were all working together on this. Aren't you supposed to be in this fight together? Oh pardon me, for being naive...! Let me get this straight then...you go in to watch Zoe and keep an eye on what your Australian counterparts might have uncovered - and manage to miss the bloody fact that O'Brien is actually working for the worst renegade in the west...? Well done, spooks..."

Zoe was undeterred. "He's played you and Farrow right since Tecala, Mr. Thorne...So you have no reason to feel complacent..."

Terry reacted swiftly to her jibe. "I don't have the intelligence capabilities of the British government, honey. Nor was I looking in the direction of the paranoid, as you do regularly...So, pretending to be a sweet little auditor, you sleep with gorgeous Gil, rifling his drawers for secrets,  while all the time he is playing you for information? O'Brien's an electronics whiz kid. He must have had you and your spy pals under surveillance all along. Everything you did he would have known about...You led him straight to the pot at the end of the rainbow and all they had to do was sit back and listen. Fucking brilliant, I have to admit! I never imagined that smart-arsed little bastard was capable of that. Ever considered offering him a job? Looks like you could use a man of his calibre at the Grid..." Terry added sardonically.

"We didn't expect him to go for the child. That changed everything," Zoe Reynolds defended her position.

"Why not? Why did you not allow for that? Do you expect men like Jeremy Cuthbert got where they did by drawing the line at brutality to children? I'm sure you already know what happened to this man's nephew when he crossed friends of Mr. Cuthbert's..." Terry indicated Sergei Litvinov.

The blush that stole across her pale cheeks answered for her. "We know how ruthless Cuthbert is. Your daughter had one of our senior officers on her all the time...We thought that was sufficient..."

Suddenly the pieces fell in place. Terry muttered a profanity under his breath. "The new top-secret boyfriend? He was MI5 as well? Jesus Christ! "

Zoe nodded. 

"..Out of the kindness of your little hearts, you hooked her up with your best man to offer protection from Cuthbert? I don't think so. Your man was there, sweetheart, because you were after the same bloody thing as Cuthbert himself. Nick Costello's insurance policy. Am I getting warm?"

Zoe Reynolds shrugged. 

He took it as agreement and continued. "Did you find it?"

"Yes."

"Where's your man now?"

Zoe stared straight at Terry. "Dead. He died earlier today, protecting your daughter. Which is why I'm here. I want to make sure his death had a purpose. He was the finest man I ever knew..." her voice trailed away, the catch in it revealing her grief.

"What happened?" Terry asked softly. 

"I don't know. Just that he's dead and she's with the people who did it. I believe she's alive. That's all I know..."

"You came here without backup?" Terry asked astutely.

"I came here for Tom. They wouldn't sanction it. The tip off was unverifiable so they wouldn't trust it wasn't a trap. There is a team but they've been pulled back behind a perimeter."

"What the fuck were you planning to do alone, Miss Harmison?"

She hunched her shoulders. "Talk my way in. My people would have been listening. If I got confirmation that the boy was there, they would have sent the team in..."

"Or shot you on sight," Terry interrupted. "You're a very brave woman, particularly as I know you, of all people, are aware of what these people will do. Well, you've got backup now. Work with us..."

"I can't do that. You know that, Mr. Thorne..."

"Not even for Tom...?" Terry reminded her.

Zoe Reynolds sat up straight, thinking of his words. She made up her mind. "Okay. They can't argue with me if they withdrew their support. What can I do?"

Sergei Litvinov moved forward. "What do you know of Zoe's whereabouts? When did you last hear of her?"

Zoe Reynolds looked up at him. "Why are you here?"

Sergei retorted. "That is none of your business. I asked you a question. Please, answer it!"

She didn't argue with him. It would obviously be a futile exercise with a man used to getting his own way. "Scotland. She was in Scotland with Tom when they caught up with them. As far as we know, they took her a few hours ago...I think she has a copy of the information, or is claiming to have it, at least. Tom made the copy and helped her get it out when he found out her son had been kidnapped. He threw everything away for her - and then he died. She is in love with him, you know?" Reynolds regarded Sergei with cool detachment, already working out his probable motivation in this.

"...Sir? Activity...van stopping..."

They all turned to the screen. The camera in the room opposite transmitted a view of the street. Two men were jumping out, scanning the street and then they opened the back doors. Seconds later, a young woman, hands bound behind her back, was dragged forward.  As they approached the front door the woman turned outwards to look into the street, vainly seeking help; it was Zoe Thorne. Her captor saw her movement, grabbed her roughly and thrust her head first against the wall. Without hands to break her fall, she could not stop herself from hitting the rough red brickwork. The watchers winced as she contacted; when she stumbled back to her feet, a trickle of blood was running down her face from her hairline.

The door was already open; the three people disappeared inside. Silence fell over the room.

It was broken by Terry. "We're in luck. This was a hell of a lot more than I expected. Both of them in the same place? But we don't have long. If she doesn't hand them what they want in the next few minutes, they're both dead..."

"...and if she does, they will also kill them both in seconds..." Zoe Reynolds added.

Terry picked up the shoulder bag the woman had been carrying, replacing all its contents, and reconnecting the pieces of her phone. "Go knock on the door and sell some gas. It will give us enough cover to make our move. Get your boys going and I'll have mine in place...this is the best chance we're gonna have. Call your boss...now...!"

 

*  

 

They half-dragged, half-pushed Zoe Thorne up the stairs into the house with no ceremony and no explanation. Passing through the hallway, she glanced along the corridor and saw two armed men in what she presumed was a kitchen. It was important keep her wits about her and notice every significant detail while they believed she was paralysed with fear and would underestimate her capabilities to respond. Who knew when an unexpected opportunity might present itself? There would be very little time to act when it came down to it. She had been planning all the way down. If they were going to kill her, she would take one of them at least with her. Anger made her strong. Tom had told her to channel it. She intended to do so.

The property was typical of London flatland, livable but only just: peeling wallpaper of a design that went out of fashion twenty years ago on the stairway, the unmistakable smell of mildew permeating  and a desolate feel to it of the place having known better days. It was the kind of property students rent and think it freedom. A few years' on, it just seems depressing.

She was ushered into a room to the left of the stairs that looked out towards the back, across an overgrown garden space cluttered with broken furniture and other debris. Beyond that was an alleyway and the equally abandoned backyards of the houses on the next street. It was grey and cold out today. The house was heated. She noted that and felt a little better in some odd way. Andreas would not have been kept in the cold.

"The password?"

Zoe turned to face the man who had addressed her. "Where's my son?" She didn't know him. Gil O'Brien was nowhere in sight. All these men were anonymous strangers, of a type that seemed almost cloned. She would be hard pressed to tell one from the other if asked later.

"Business first." He was sitting in front of a laptop which he swivelled to face her. "Input the password."

"Not until I see my son."

"You are not the one calling the tune here, darlin'..."

"I think I am, sunshine. No son, no password. That simple enough for you to understand? Go check with your boss. I realise you're just the hired thugs..."

The man hit her across the face. She staggered back, stumbling over a chair. Sergei tensed his fist; Terry merely closed his eyes for an instant. There could be more brutality than that to witness before this was over.

Yet, despite the violent response, the man - obviously the leader of this team - nodded to one of the others. "Get the kid..."

"Take these handcuffs off. Don't let him see me like this!" Zoe begged. They glanced up without even offering a reply. "At least wipe the blood off my face! He's only a little boy. If he gets scared he'll be more difficult to deal with..." she reasoned.

Terry muttered, 'Good girl...' Sergei looked over. He elaborated. "She's engaging their sympathy on any level she can, testing out who is a weaker link, less comfortable with visiting violence on a helpless woman and child. If someone obliges and offers her even a modicum of support, she is beginning to build a relationship that will make it harder for him to hurt her if ordered to. It's a long shot but it's intelligent behaviour that might bear fruit, especially if she has the time to work on any one of them - but it also tells us of her current mindset. She's thinking clearly, not panicking, planning ahead. When we make the assault, at least we can presume she'll be ready to act."

"She's a very resourceful woman," Sergei observed. "We have seen her in action before..."

Terry nodded. "...With just one very major difference. Her son is at stake. Where he's concerned, she's like any other mother. She'll fight like a she-bear to save him but she won't risk him either. That limits her possible courses of action. We've got to be ready..."

He spoke into his mouthpiece, calling his own team and Sergei's men to stand by. The order to move would be given at any minute. Then he addressed Zoe Reynolds. "Get your team in place. Make sure they know who our guys are. We'll be approaching from the rear through the kitchen and our aim is the men downstairs and securing the front door. I want the assault team on the roof to come through the window and roof space. It's their specialty...."

"What are we supposed to be doing?" Zoe Reynolds asked.

"You cause a disruption by ringing on the doorbell and engaging some of the downstairs people long enough to give us a window...I am staying down here. I can't move fast enough and would be a liability. I'll manage it all from here. Litvinov, your job is to get to her - and Andreas if he is with her - and get them out of the line of fire. Nothing else. No heroics, no revenge taking, no shoot outs. That is the preserve of the professionals. But you have a gun and if necessary you use it to defend them. Do you understand?"

Sergei indicated his assent with a curt nod of his head. Zoe Reynolds seemed impressed. Terry turned to her with the shadow of a smile on his face. "You approve?"

"Very much. You're no renegade, Mr. Thorne. The most important part of something like this is correct use of resources..."

"Why, thank you for your vote of confidence, love. I was only doing this when your mother was still in primary school..." But his voice was warmer than earlier and she merely grinned at his reply. "As soon as Andreas appears, the countdown begins. They could act immediately. So we have to be ready..."

Zoe nodded and contacted Harry, the Grid and the team at the perimeter. On her recommendation, Harry sanctioned the operation. All that remained was to give the word. They waited on the return of the man with Andreas.

But he came back alone. "He's gone, boss."

"Gone?"

"GONE?" Zoe screamed. "Where is my son? What have you done with him...?" She threw herself forward, kicking out in anger at the man who had entered. 

Terry shouted one word. "GO!"

Reynolds, already in place at the front door, slipped through the gap between the two terraced houses, ringing on the bell.  It opened almost immediately. She held out her ID card and smiled sweetly. "Hi. Jo Smith, Powergen...Interested in saving an average of two hundred pounds a year on your power bills? We're offering a much lower rate than our competitors and a thirty pound incentive payment if you transfer your current power bills to..."

It was at that moment that the crash of the window upstairs being broken by the feet of armed assault officer swinging from the roof above interrupted her sales pitch. Moments later the thud of a jackhammer breaking down the back door followed. The man in the kitchen was downed instantly. Zoe Reynolds kicked out at the man she was talking to, bustling him into the hallway where he was immediately knocked to the ground and secured by the ground entry team. Zoe and Sergei were already on the stairs. Upstairs the sound of gunfire could be heard.

Terry watched the scene of the attack on the room. Zoe had taken cover the moment the man had hit the window, scrabbling back out of sight. A crackly voice broke in. "Sir? The child is still in the bathroom. I can see his thermal image. I think he's hiding. A wardrobe, maybe?"

"Reynolds?" Terry spoke tersely. "Bathroom. The boy is there. Hiding...get to him..."

Sergei was at the top of the landing; Zoe had crawled out of the door but was trying to stand. He threw himself on her body and covered her as Reynolds located the bathroom and crept past.

"Get off me!" Zoe screamed. She struggled, kicking and bucking as he attempted to hold her still. "I have to get to my son...I have to get to my son...!"

Sergei lay over her, holding her down. She raised her elbow sharply and contacted with his solar plexus, jabbing back hard. He muttered a guttural Russian imprecation - but still held on as the barrage of gunfire sent high impact bullets ricocheting through cheap plasterboard partitioned walls, showering them in debris.

"Sergei?" Zoe gasped. "Sergei? Is it you?"

He grunted back.

"Let me see you!"

"You promise to stay down?" he asked her.

"I promise," she answered meekly this time. He relaxed his iron grip and she turned in his arms. Another round of explosive gunfire made him throw down his head again. This time she did not fight.

"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed.

"Trying to save your damn life..." he answered.

"They've done something to Andreas...they don't know where he is! Help me find him...!"

"No. Not until the shooting stops. My job is to keep you safe. Then we can find your son. What good would you be to him dead?"

The battle within the bedrooms seemed to have come to an end.  Men were moving above, talking to each other; it seemed the worst was over. 

"Let her go, Litvinov. That's one feel too many..." Terry cracked as he reached the top of the stairs. One of the commandos acknowledged his arrival; Zoe Reynolds emerged, her gun still in her hand.

"The boy's nowhere to be seen. There's no place he could have hidden in the bathroom. The only space is a high cupboard, probably just access to piping, but there's no way he could have got up there - and there's no response..."

"Daddy!" Zoe screeched, pushing her way from under Sergei's body. "Daddy...where's Andreas? What have they done to my son?"

Terry reached for her and held her close. "Hush, baby. Calm down. He'll be fine. We'll find him for you, princess. But you have to stay calm now. Sergei...keep an eye on her...!"

"But Daddy! I don't understand! How did everyone know we were here!" she cried out.

"Not now. Later we talk. Andreas is the priority." He called down the stairs. "Bring him up. All the rest are dead...Keep her out...this will not be pleasant...'" he murmured to Sergei, releasing his daughter to the care of the other man.

Zoe looked from one to the other, recognising the woman . "Catherine? So you're here as well, are you?  You people don't give a bloody damn so you ? Look what your meddling has caused!  Do you know that Tom's dead! My son is missing?  Was all this worth it?" she screamed.

Catherine Harmison -  Zoe Reynolds - gave her an impassive stare in return, brushing past to join the men in the inner room. "Go with Mr. Litvinov. This is wasting time. Get a hold of yourself...!"

"What is going on in there?" Zoe asked as the man from downstairs was dragged up. He looked like he'd received a beating but was still conscious.  Her father refrained from giving her any further information, merely leaving the room with a curt command to Sergei to take her downstairs and outside.

The other woman, however, stopped. "We're going to find out where they've taken your son.  He's the only one left alive so we will do what it takes to make him talk. Quickly. And it will involve extreme measures. I doubt you have the stomach for what this business really demands of its operatives. We don't just play at being Lara Croft..."

The door was slammed in her face.

"Did you hear what that bitch said!" Zoe exclaimed. A hand on her arm restrained her.

"Leave it! We go down. Do what you are told," Sergei ordered her tersely.

Zoe shook his hand away. "They said he was in the bathroom. I insist on checking...I want to make sure he's not been hurt..." Sergei relented. She had the right to know he was definitely not there.

Inside the small room, they both looked around. Just as Reynolds had indicated, there was no possible place to hide. The only compartment was high up on the wall above the heating bar, an ancient cupboard with no possible access other than by a step ladder or stool. There was no such piece of furniture in the room.

He shrugged. "He is not here."

"But he was here..." she said, picking up a little blue wool bobble hat lying on the floor beneath the sink. "Andreas! Andreas! Can you hear me? It's Mummy," she cried out in frustration.

And to their astonishment they heard a muffled voice reply: "Mummy! I'm up here...!" The doors above them were pushed open from the inside; Andreas' little face popped out, laughing. "Boo!" he said. "I was hiding so the horrible men couldn't find me. They were nasty, Mum. I kicked one in the willy and he was so mad...Mummy, why did they catch me?"

It took both Sergei and Zoe moments to register that not only was Andreas concealed there but that he also appeared safe and totally unharmed. Even more, he did not seem to have been in the least worried by the experience. Sergei thought of the trauma Nikolai had suffered and found Andreas' breezy confidence had to believe, unless the child was in deep denial.

"ANDREAS!" Zoe suddenly found her voice. 

Terry ran in from next door, assessing the situation in an instant. "Get me something to stand on!' he shouted to someone behind him. In moments a chair was found; he placed it against the wall and stood up, reaching his arms to his grandson.

"Terry! I didn't get lost. Gil catched me. I can't remember but I think he catched me..." Andreas began. "I'm sorry I got lost. I kicked the man in the willy and he was going to hit me but they put me in here instead..."

"Just hold me, tiger...nice and gently...we'll have you out of there...no one's angry with you, bubba...it wasn't your fault. You've been a brave boy..." Coaxing him gently, he got him from the high ledge and lifted him into his arms, clutching him to him, his own heart beating fast with relief. The child seemed uninjured, even to be enjoying himself. He could not even begin to work this out at the moment but wasn't sure he cared. Andreas was alive and safe. What else mattered?

But how the hell had he got up there alone?

Stepping down heavily, he handed Andreas over to the grateful arms of his mother, who clutched him tight to her breast, tears of happiness and relief coursing  down her face.

"Mummy, you've got blood all over your face. Did you fall off your stilestos again?" Andreas asked absurdly. 

Zoe sobbed and laughed at the same time. "I'm okay. Not hurt. Not really. As long as you are okay...Andreas, Oh my God, Andreas...I thought...I love you so much, my baby...I can't believe you're safe...I thought they would hurt you..."

The child grinned, clinging to her neck. "It was like an adventure. He said it was like hide and seek. I had to be really quiet and lie down even if I heard bullets shooting. And I mustn't say a word until I heard Mummy calling me...it's yukky and dirty up there and it was really dark but it was okay, 'cause he was with me and he told me some funny stories and I nearly laughed..."

"Andreas, what are you talking about?" Zoe pulled away, frowning, her son's rambling finally making an impact on her brain. "Who told you to hide up there? Who hid up there with you? It's only a small cupboard...there's no room for anyone else..."

Andreas merely laughed at her knowingly. "He came back to see me, Mum. From heaven. You said he couldn't but he did..!"

Terry paused, his face stunned as the child's comment began to assume a different meaning.

Zoe looked bewildered. "Who? Andreas, what are you talking about? Who came from heaven?"

He paused and grinned at them obviously savouring his knowledge, which for once was greater than the adults around him. "My Dad, of course...My Daddy Nick....."

 

 

To Part Two

The featured song: Fragile by Sting.

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