Annie sat back sipping at her glass of wine, savouring more than the excellent vintage. It was Christmas Eve, family and friends were gathered and it seemed that life could not get much better, except, of course, if only her daughter might find love and her son mend his broken relationship. She strongly felt the lack of her tiny granddaughter on such an occasion.

She glanced over to where her husband was sitting, intent on the conversation, his usual expression of deep concentration softened by the fond smile that threatened to break out across his face. At that moment he looked over and their eyes met. They could both read the other's thought process, mostly because it was an identical one. Life was complete on nights like this.

Andreas was perched on his mother's knee, thumb in his mouth, sleepy after another active and exciting day, giddy with excitement at the arrival of his uncle Liam, who had only joined them after dinner, and overwrought with anticipation at the impending visit of Santa Claus. He curled up, his head on Zoe's breast while she stroked back his hair with tender hands, whispering private secrets to him from time to time that brought a sleepy grin to his lips. It would not be long before her grandson was fast asleep, even if he was struggling hard against his tiredness.

Liam was holding forth, animated by jetlag and wired by a couple of glasses of red wine; he was regaling them with a few hilarious tales of Hollywood excess. Abigail, his companion, was sitting besides him on the couch, her long slender legs thrown over his knees, adding a pithy comment here and there, laughing along with him. The couple looked and sounded good together; in truth they always had. Annie liked Abby; the girl knew all the family members well. It felt like another daughter, not a visitor, had joined them for the festive season. Terry was very fond of his son's former girlfriend, his natural eye for beautiful and intelligent women stimulated as was his respect for Liam's wise choice in taking up again with such a partner. Terry had loved Fliss, bitterly regretting the mistakes that had driven the two of them apart. There were not many women he would have easily accepted as a replacement - but Abby was different. Tonight it was as though the clock had been turned back to an earlier, easy time when Liam and Zoe had still been teenagers living still under the family roof with the tragedies of recent years well in the future.

Dino offered something witty but crude as a response to Liam's banter - and the room burst into laughter. Melanie thumped his arm. Maddy rolled her eyes. Terry refilled glasses before lifting a now-sleeping Andreas into his arms, muttering to his daughter that he would take his grandson to bed for her; she could stay down with the others. Zoe smiled her thanks up at her father, and yet Annie observed a far-off expression in her eyes. Although they had all fun together since Zoe and Andreas had arrived, Annie could not shake off a sense that her daughter was remote from them in some way, inside her own head, but maintaining a pleasant and friendly exterior which was just failing to convince.

At that moment, her daughter stood up, making for the door, muttering an explanation that no one could quite catch. Her mother observed her go - and then made her own excuses, following her out, curious to know why the young woman had left the gathering at that moment. Perhaps she intended to settle Andreas with her father on such a special night. Or perhaps not.

Annie found her daughter in the study, slumped into her father's worn leather chair, talking on her cell phone, her legs hanging over the side in a manner more reminiscent of her earlier teenage self than the sophisticated woman she had now become. This alone alerted Annie even before she observed her daughter's animated expression. The serene calm of before had disappeared to be replaced by a giggling girl, twisting a strand of hair in her fingers, blushing at whatever was being said to her, teasing back in her reply.

It had to be a man on the other end of the line, Annie thought with a scarce concealed smile. Why the cloak and dagger behaviour? Annie and Zoe had talked at length the past few days, catching up during long country walks or whilst cooking together in the rustic kitchen. The subject of her social life had been raised, only to receive scathing laughter in reply. This present telephone conversation gave the lie to all that. Why hadn't she mentioned there was someone? Annie wondered if Sergei might still in touch after all. Zoe might be reluctant to admit that if he had resurfaced in her life. Whoever it was, Annie was delighted. In many ways it was no surprise to her that Zoe kept her own counsel. Her daughter, like her father, was not inclined to confessions.That was more the domain of her emotional and mercurial son.

Annie left Zoe to her phone call, taking herself to the kitchen to brew coffee and open some more wine. A memory of a Christmas long ago flashed across her mind, bringing an involuntary smile to her face. She saw the image of another young woman stumbling through the obligatory family festive period on remote control, wishing the days away, her mind far off with a man she had only just begun to know. It had, of course, been the early days of her courtship with Terry. While she had been an unwilling spectre at her family feast, he had been confined to his sterile apartment alone for the holidays. Her own mother had been annoyed with her back then for treating the family as if the whole occasion was a tedious bore. Annie shook her head, recalling the self-obsession of youth. Yet, she was not inclined to blame her daughter tonight either. It was the way the world turned. Without grand passion at the expense of all else, how could love ever really be forged? Zoe needed such a man. If she had found him, then Annie would gladly hand her over into his care. Please God, she had found one as good as her father, if that were possible - but she doubted it. There had only ever been one born, as far as his wife was concerned.

Zoe closed up her phone and dropped her head back, eyes closed, still far away with Tom. He had been at his desk at the Grid, the duty officer over the holiday. It had been quiet there, he had said, just a skeleton staff in; he had been wiling time away catching up on paperwork and researching backed up files. Her call had been a joy to him, a warm smile softening his voice as he had relaxed back and they had talked, fond intimacy immediate between them. Each time they touched base now, it was as if their relationship took great strides forward. Tonight they had immediately fallen into an easy camaraderie deepened by their sexual longing and loneliness.

That last night together in London, Tom had been exhausted, drifting to sleep in her arms almost as soon as they had settled down, as quickly as her son had done earlier in the evening. Zoe, however, had lain awake some time, almost forcing herself not to sleep, preferring to keep a vigil over him, to savour this short time when she had him to herself alone. Life had taught her many hard lessons, not the least that moments like this must never be taken for granted. There was something profoundly moving in his complete faith in her, revealed naked in sleep, all his usual armour stripped away, that was more intimate by far to her than his sexuality. It was easy to make love to a partner - and share little else but bodily fluids. This was real trust.

Zoe stroked his hair, tracing his features with her index finger, drawing along his prominent nose, fondling the scar that nicked his upper lip, wondering at its provenance. His stubble was rough against the soft skin of her hand. Tom murmured, disturbed but not woken by her touch, nestling closer into her warmth, his words incomprehensible, known only to his dreams. A warm glow of happiness and love flooded through her. She sent a silent prayer to some ill-defined God to keep him safe, and help them find a way. In the dead of that cold silent night, stark clarity had illuminated all the gloomy corners of her consciousness. She loved this complex, enigmatic man. He made her happy. Whatever stood against them in the days and months ahead, she was now ready for the challenge.

They had woken in the early morning well before six. Tom had to leave for work and to be long away before Andreas stirred. Neither wanted another confrontation with the small child at this point. They lay for a while in the intense dark, their warm cocoon a microcosm of what they had found together amidst the stormy turbulence of the world outside. Tom spoke of getting up, but neither made a move to do so, eking out the final moments as long as they could.

Zoe rolled against him, feeling his involuntary erection flopping against her thigh. He did not comment yet rubbed instinctively. It was a pleasant feeling, as comforting as body heat and soft naked flesh but he did not appear to be making any sexual overture. She was almost reminded of her son's pleasure in his mother's body, seeking out the pillow of her breasts, the familiar scent of woman. Andreas' fingers sometimes reached to play with himself at moments like that, the haven of comfort as much as sex.

But Tom was still a man. They were on the brink of parting, leaving him to a solitary few weeks when all about him were celebrating. She was menstruating. It was a frustrating situation. They had discussed sex the night before - but he had refused her offer to go through with it anyway. His response then had made her smile. "That's what you do when the first flush is gone. Just have it regardless. When it doesn't matter anymore. It still matters now. You don't really want to do it tonight,  I know that. I don't want it to be anything but perfect for you. It isn't important to me anyway. Sex is just sex. It's you I want. Not your body. Well, that too, of course; I'm only human, but you know what I mean? No pathetic messy fumblings on a bath towel tonight. Let's keep the mystery a while longer, hey?"

Even so, she had circled his hardness, making him moan softly, cover her hand and try to move her away. "It's okay. It'll pass. I'll turn the water on cold..." he murmured into her ear. She pushed his hand away and returned hers, squeezing tight, jerking steadily. Tom continued to protest, increasingly ineffectually. It felt too good; he was struggling against need over principle. So very like Tom.

"I want to. Please..."

"Not fair. I can't give you pleasure...This is not right..." She didn't even argue, instead burrowing under the covers, burying her face against the wiry hair below, inhaling his pungent male scent. She felt him loosen, his thighs sag apart, his hips beginning to thrust upwards instinctively. Her lips slipped over his thick girth, her tongue swirled over his veiny satin surface. Tom shivered, his hands gripping her hair, trying to ease her away. "No...please...I'll come...I can't help it...I'll come..."

She let his penis flop from her mouth, throwing off the sheets to look up at him. He needed to watch, he needed to give in. "I want to taste you. I don't want sex, Tom. I just want to know what you taste like. It's important. We won't really know each other until we've shared intimate tastes...the earthy and ripe side of ourselves, not the airbrushed grooming we use to hide our true natures..." Once Sergei had made such an observation to her. He had been right, even if on that day her behaviour had been driven by very different motives than tonight. That time she had been too ashamed even to look her lover in the face. This moment with Tom was entirely different.

"I can't ask you to do this...it's so one-sided, so tawdry..."

"You never been blown?" Zoe teased, trying to relax him out of his resistance. Tom was such a minefield of unpredictable responses.

"Bloody hell!" he replied obliquely. 

"Was that a no?"

"Of course I have....But not by a woman like you..."

"You use prostitutes for personal services, then..?" She put him on the spot; he squirmed at her bluntness.

"Escorts. Yeah, sometimes. Mostly casual pick ups, though. It's sordid, I know...just using women...I can't use you, Zoe...I won't use you..." Even men like Tom compartmentalised, it would seem.

She chuckled. "I can't imagine you'd have to pay for it, you big handsome stud...Tom, this has nothing to do with furtive acts of meaningless sex. This is me, loving you because I can't think of anything I'd rather do before you leave me. I want to go with your taste on my lips. So I never forget, even when we're apart..."

He stopped protesting. She returned to pleasuring him, steeling herself for that moment when she brought him off and he would shudder uncontrollably, spattering her in his essence. She always swallowed - but invariably gagged. Semen was not something she particularly enjoyed but nor did it offend her either. It was just something you did when you loved a man. Oddly enough it was also something you did when you didn't...

Back in the present, Zoe suddenly felt another presence in the room, opening her eyes and sitting up, glad for the protection of the lowlights, as if her erotic reverie might have been illuminated by harsher electricity.

"Wondered where you'd gone. You okay?"

It was Abigail, her shawl wrapped closely about her shoulders. This room was cold after leaving the warm fug of the lounge. 

"Come in, sit down! I was just making a private call so I came in here. It's totally great to see you again. We need a girly chat..." Zoe covered her moment of confusion easily enough. It was true, she had always liked Abigail and it was good to have her back. Her closeness to Liam was already apparent and that pleased Zoe, too. Liam needed some loving after his nightmarish past few months.

"God, yes! It's been years. I was just reminding Liam that I knew you before him! We were mates first, remember?" It was true. Zoe had known Abigail from Three Day Eventing; she had later introduced the younger girl to her brother at a tennis meet.

"Thanks for having me for the holidays. I hope I'm not intruding on a family thing but it's super to be part of a proper Christmas. I've always loved your Mum and Dad, too - they're such cool, hip parents. Mine are on a cruise in the Caribbean. They wanted me to join them in Nassau. Imagine, me and five hundred geriatrics?" Abigail laughed brightly. "I've always had the hots for your Dad, you know? He's still totally fuckable. No wonder your Mum looks so good at her age. Great skin. I bet she swallows...they say spunk's great for your complexion..." Abigail chuckled at her own crudity.

Zoe shuddered. "Please...! Not that particular visual. I'll never look at Mum's face again now without thinking of her lips wrapped round my dad's todger...thanks muchly...! However, you're probably right. Those two are still obsessed with each other. Which is kind of wonderful, I know. If I could find half of what they have, I'd be happy..."

"...You're not wrong, as Liam would say. I mean it, though. It's a privilege to spend a holiday with a grounded family like yours. It makes me almost believe it might be possible to have what the stories tell you is possible."

"I'm glad you two met up again. He's had a bad time. It's so good to see him this happy and relaxed again..." 

Abigail perched on the end of the desk. "He's just an amazing guy. So talented. So alive. It's weird how it all comes back to me now. I don't know how I let him go. Was I crazy? I've never really been as happy with anyone else..."

Zoe observed the beautiful woman dispassionately. Abigail was beyond lovely, almost unreal in her perfection. It was easy to forget that such people who became icons for their external gifts, were no different from everyone else inside. Maybe they were even more vulnerable than most. It had to be hard to find love for oneself with so many other distractions in the way. "We were kids. What did we know? A couple of years on and we've all learned a few lessons. You two got something serious going on?"

Abigail shrugged. "I'm not sure exactly what serious means in our context. This is not going to mean marriage and babies, for sure. Neither of us is ready for that. But God knows, this is not just fucking about either. Although we do plenty of that. Liam's got to be the most highly sexed guy I know..."

Zoe held up her hands. "Spare me. I'm his sister, the one woman his charms don't work for." They both giggled.

Abigail seemed to seize her chance. "His girlfriend, Fliss Henderson. He doesn't really talk about her but he's still raw. You think they could get back together?"

Zoe was surprised at the question. It almost gave the lie to her earlier assertion that they were fairly casual. Abigail was clearly thinking ahead. "I don't know. Fliss and Liam were great together. Don't underestimate that relationship. She's hurt him really badly but Fliss is a fantastic person. Also there's Nina. Fatherhood is very important to Liam. He has to be missing his little girl."

"He is. All the time. He's spending the New Year with her, you know? Fliss and her new bloke are taking a break somewhere and leaving the baby with him..."

"He'll be back home in London with Nina?"

"Not at home. He's not allowed in his own house, of course. You know how it is. He's bringing Nina over to my place, which is hilarious as my apartment has to be the most child-unfriendly home in the world."

"You'll be helping him with Nina?" Zoe asked, curious to put to the test her theory that even if Abigail said the opposite, she suspected that the woman was far more into her brother than she would admit.

Abigail shrugged. "Maybe. If  I'm around for New Year.  I'm useless with babies anyway. But if I'm there, I'll going to give it a go. High time I learnt anyway..."

"Well, you never know. Stranger things have happened. And Liam has to be firing pretty lethal bullets...he leaks testosterone..." Zoe added with a grin.

"Christ! Don't even think it. Chanel would drop me like a live snake...Babies?" Abigail shuddered. Zoe smiled.

"You'd be surprised. That's what I felt like when Nick kept obsessing about being a father. Then along came Andreas. Now I wonder what on earth I would do without him!"

Abigail's face softened. "Andreas is a darling - such a gorgeous child! So cute and handsome! So smart! A real little man already.  If I could guarantee one like that, you never know..."

Zoe put out her hand and rested it on the other woman's arm. "Look at the father. That's all you need to know. Imagine LeeLee's son? You love a guy, then his baby's the only one you want..." She used her childhood name for Liam, one he didn't much care for. With Abigail it seemed natural to fall into the language of earlier times. She knew his family nickname well.

"Liam told me about Andreas' father. I don't know what to say, Zoe. It's a terrible story. I kept thinking of you when you were younger. The perfect girl, the one everyone else wanted to be: beautiful, highly intelligent, gifted, serious-minded....you seemed like you would have a text book life...if we only knew, huh?"

Zoe nodded. If we only knew. Thank God we didn't. "I had great times with Nick. The best times.  I'm thankful for what we had. There's no point dwelling on what we were denied. Nick gave me Andreas. Everything comes with its chance for redemption, in its own bizarre way. If I've learned anything in life, I've learned that."

"Liam really looked up to your Nick. He speaks of him with a hero worship that isn't like Liam at all...You know how he is?"

Zoe nodded. "I guess he was like an older brother to him. Not the usual sort of older brother, though. The black sheep of the family as a role model? You can imagine how Liam got a kick out of styling himself on someone like that..." Zoe smiled, stood up and looked around the room. There were a few pictures of Nick scattered about. She passed one over to Abigail. Her father had taken it once of the two of them on the beach in Sydney, a moody black and white shot that made the most of Nick's dark, haunted beauty. Abigail studied it closely.

"Christ, he was something else! He would have made a great model. The camera loves him..."

"He loved the camera. Nick was such a show off," Zoe laughed, stroking the face on the photograph absently. "Yeah, he was a fine looking man. But he was much more than that. Much, much more..."

"I can't imagine loving someone for so many years...carrying the flame...after all this time..."

"Liam? How many years is that? " Zoe grinned.

"Liam isn't dead," Abigail said with her usual direct style. "You've kept the faith all these years. Nick must have been some kind of guy..."

"...he was. Don't canonise me, Abby. I haven't been faithful all these years. There have been other men."

"Jesus, I wasn't talking about sex! Sex isn't love. Sex is just what you do. For recreation," Abby added. "You ever been in love since?"

Zoe didn't answer right away. She glanced down at the picture of Nick and paused, long enough for Abigail to read her acutely.

"So who is he? Must be something good if he's replaced the Nickster..." Zoe couldn't help but admire her friend. Abigail said what she thought. She did what she liked. It was unlikely she had any attacks of self-doubt or guilt afterwards. It must be pretty easy in her head. "Is it the Russian guy? Liam was telling me about him..."

Zoe groaned. "Did he leave nothing out? What the hell do you do to him in bed? No, not the Russian. I met someone after him."

"Serious?" Abigail rolled her eyes and licked her lips.

Zoe felt herself blush. "I don't know. Too early to say. But...he's important to me. Special..." Again she glanced down at the picture of Nick and felt the familiar old churning of guilt, as if she were letting him down in some way.

"Zoe, go for it. Have a wild time. Whatever happens. You deserve it. And you know something? Your Nick would agree. If he loved you like you've loved him, then all he would want for you now is to be happy. We only get one chance at life, girl. Who knows better than you? I better go back to Liam. He'll be wondering where I am..." She jumped off the desk and strode towards the door.

"Abby? Can I ask you a favour? Don't say anything to Liam about what I told you. Or if you do, ask him to keep it to himself. I need some space before I go public..."

"I won't say a word. I promise. I can keep secrets. But can I ask you a favour? I met Jake in California. He's a really sweet man. Call him. I think he'd like to talk..."

Zoe's face closed in, scepticism narrowing her eyes. "I doubt it. He must hate me..."

"He doesn't. He understands. Jake's a very centred guy. However much it hurt him when you walked out, he's realistic. If you didn't love him enough then this was the right time to finish it. But he's very fond of you and Andreas and would love to hear everything's all right..."

Zoe swallowed hard, giving it some thought. Jake had a right to hear from Andreas - but would it knock her son's progress back again to hear from Jake? "You seem to know a lot about Jake. Is he seeing anyone?" Somehow it seemed important to her to know he'd moved on and was happy again.

It was Abigail's turn to avoid the direct answer. "In a manner of speaking. I think there's someone who's important to him - but, it's a bit complicated. I'd rather not say...It's not my place, you know?"

Zoe nodded her understanding despite the sudden annoyance she felt. She had been Jake's companion for several months. Abigail hardly knew him. The other girl's cagey response made her feel unjustifiably proprietary about her former boyfriend.

"Hey, I was only making conversation. No worries, Abby. But while we're talking about what's your business and what's not...I'd really appreciate it if you didn't mention to anyone that I was seeing someone in London. When I'm ready, I'd like to tell my family myself."

Abigail raised her eyebrows at the cutting edge in Zoe's voice. "You got it, darling. No pillow talk from Abby. Which reminds me, Liam was looking for you. He's going to strum on his guitar a bit before turning in. Then we simply have to go to bed...we need to get some sleep although I bet Liam will be randy...he's always randy..." Her comment was meant to annoy. Abigail was not going to let Zoe Thorne intimidate her. Those days were well over. She had almost been tempted to tell her the truth about her old friend Jake and his new 'girl'. However, she wasn't quite that vindictive. "You coming, Zoe...?"

Tom drove the silent, almost deserted, motorway with his sound system turned up. There were few times in a year when one could find this particular stretch of highway so devoid of traffic. Except for past midnight on Christmas Eve. Few people were driving anywhere, haulage traffic was non-existent, even taxis seemed thin on the ground. There were times on his icy journey that he felt like the last man out and about as everyone else retreated into the warmth of the festive hearth. Lights of towns twinkled in the valleys and hills that flanked the empty motorway. But he stared ahead into the pitchy distance, his right hand drumming on the wheel in time to the beat, trying to clear his mind of extraneous detail.

It was immaterial if most people were tucked up with their families. In his world this had to be the best time to strike, the most vulnerable day of the year, when almost the whole country took its eye off the ball. Even crime rates fell on Christmas Eve. But terrorism was a very different threat. The radio played a dreary medley of favourite Christmas hits. 'Do they know it's Christmas time at all...?' Don't they get it? The rest of the non-Christian world doesn't even bloody care. It's just an ordinary day. Business as usual. The ethnocentricity of western society astounded him, so fixed in its own world view, unable to comprehend that its tawdry pop culture might have less attraction to those disenfranchised groups outside than they imagined. Sometimes, Tom wondered if his country deserved to be plunged in to darkness just to wake it from its self-satisfied shallowness. The greatest travesty of all to him seemed to be ignorance in a society which had no excuse for lack of knowledge, a civilisation willingly handing itself over to Dark Age.

Flipping the channel on the radio, he found something less irritating to drone on in the background and pressed his foot down even more firmly on the gas. So what if some eager beaver police patrol stopped him? His ID would soon put the wind up them. It might even be worth the fun.

But no stray police were on his route that night. The further south he drove, the more fog rolled in from the heath, especially the closer he came to the coast. Weather conditions had conspired with the date to make this night a perfect opportunity to mask activity that ought to have been picked up long before it even neared these shores.  Their intelligence, provided interestingly enough by Mossad - another agency unaffected by the festive paralysis of the west - indicated a major consignment of drugs would be offloaded on the south coast sometime this evening. The government was not interested - for now - in its disposition. All Tom had to do was tag it with a tracking device. Then they could sit back and wait until the exchange was made. This was the bait not the prize, the payment for weaponry and explosive devices that had only one possible source: The Ministry of Defence itself. Someone inside was involved in the complex triangular trade that put terrorists, drug cartels and gangs in the same bed. If the truth were known, Tom shuddered at the prospect of such unholy alliances. How could they ever hope to do more than stick a bandage over such a wound if they were at war on every side?

Hitting Portsmouth in the early hours, Tom drove east out of the city along Hayling Bay. They had been given the location of a commercial dock. He walked the last mile, hugging the high perimeter wall, looking about him uncomfortable in the absolute silence, his footfalls ringing loud in his ears, even if somewhat deadened by the clinging fog. His hand reached for comfort into the holster he wore over his body armour beneath his waterproof jacket, closing around the grip. He decided against withdrawing it as being unnecessarily over-dramatic in the circumstances. There were to be no heroics or gunfights; the purpose of the engagement was one of non-interference or the exchange would never take place. They could not afford to foul this one up.

He was not alone. There was a rendezvous ahead with a team who had been in place since the late afternoon and another officer who was to approach from the other direction, probably some junior who pulled the short straw, bringing with him the electronic tracker. Tom's presence there was observatory, a senior representative to oversee the placing of the tracker and liaise subsequently with the technical staff back at base, which was why the appearance of Adam Carter, stepping out of the shadows of a gateway ahead, caught him by surprise. His hand instinctively reached again for the gun, startled by the unexpected approach; Carter's amused expression stopping him. His colleague was wearing a battered old army surplus combat jacket and a ludicrously striped scarf, yet somehow he was able to carry off the bohemian style.

"Spooked?" Carter enjoyed his own dubious joke. 

Tom frowned. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Thought you might need some back up."

"There's a team on the ground. I think I can manage," Tom responded. Carter fell in next to him; they continued down the road in silence, Tom's annoyance at Carter's apparent interference not requiring further verbalisation.

"It wasn't about you. I just had to get out. I'm sorry if you think I'm on your patch..."

"Get out? I thought you were on leave. For Christ's sake, your son deserves you one day of the bloody year, surely? Especially this year?"

Carter did not answer, striding on almost as if he had not heard. Then he stopped and turned back. "Not that it's any of your business but his grandparents took him to Florida for the holidays. They're meeting up with Fiona's brother who lives in The States with his family. Everyone's meeting up in Orlando..."

"Everyone but you, it seems..." Tom muttered with little grace.

"Can you see me in Disneyland? The bloody spectre at the Mickey Mouse feast? Jesus Christ!" Adam retorted.

Tom hunched his shoulders. "What does it matter if I can see you there or not? Oliver probably could have. I thought parents did things like that for their kids, not for themselves. Or is your grief somehow more important than his?"

Tom did not hold back his disapproval, unsure why it annoyed him as much as it did. Carter was not fit for service in his opinion until he stopped using his career to stem the bleeding from the gaping wounds in his personal life. There was also a sense of resentment in the mix somewhere; Carter and his wife had played at being married super-spies in some macabre parody of an adventure movie. Had they got off on the adrenalin of watching each other walk the thin line so many times? He had never quite understood how Carter could sit back and use his beautiful wife as bait in undercover work. It had seemed to Tom to be sordid and cavalier; he himself had never been able to imagine having a family and risking it for anything.

Adam merely smiled to himself, dismissing Quinn's criticism. "His grandparents thought it might be better if I wasn't around. Oliver lives with them; I'm just a weekend father. Apparently my presence has a negative effect on my son, according to them. I remind him of his mother..."

"One would imagine that was a good thing," Tom interrupted. "Surely it isn't wise to suppress his need to grieve? Doesn't he need to talk about his mother, even if it makes him sad?" Tom thought about Zoe who spoke of Nick as if he was still part of their lives, even five years on. They still celebrated his birthday as a family occasion. That seemed to him a healthier way of presenting tragic death to a child.

"You think? I no longer know what to do for the best. It works both ways, you know? I look at Oliver- and all I see is Fiona. I hardly know what to say to him. We used to be such pals. Now it's like we're strangers. I don't think I'm very good for him. So I chickened out..." It was quite an admission of failure but did more to endear Carter to Quinn than had he defended his corner. There was something familiarly real about the dilemma. For the first time, Tom identified with the man. Maybe they weren't so far apart after all.

As if Carter recognised an imminent male bonding moment, he changed the subject. They were still skirting the outer wall but nearing the service gate where they intended to enter; their man inside working as yard security had been instructed to leave it unlocked. He put out a hand and stopped Quinn. "You and Zoe Thorne. You need to do some serious thinking. I think there's something we're not seeing..."

Tom shrugged his hand away. "Running interference on one of my cases at a time is more than enough, Carter. Just leave that one alone, huh?"

Adam grinned. "I wasn't commenting on the fact you've fallen for her. Who wouldn't? Virile man at the height of his powers meets beautiful, highly intelligent, fragile woman? You fancied her from the first time you met. That was obvious. Had I been running the department, I would never have let you near her again...Pearce buggered that one up good and proper. He obviously thinks your dick's as limp as the average public school boy. But I'm not running the section. You're in love with her, Tommy boy. And who'd blame you? She made an impression on me in only a few minutes..."

Just then a lone man appeared out of the darkness, slid an arm round Carter's neck and a knife held close to the artery. "You better be who I think you are...ID...Slowly..." he grunted. Tom withdrew his credentials and held them up.

"He's with me..." The assailant released Carter who rubbed at his neck, smirking. "Good work, man. Didn't see that coming...we took our eye off the ball, Tom..." Tom nodded his rueful agreement. The other man stepped back, saluting smartly, falling into military protocol with the government officers who were senior to him in this operation. However, he still managed to convey his satisfaction at catching them apparently on the hop. The Regiment had its pride and disliked taking orders from civilians, particularly the Oxbridge 'dickheads' from Five. It was already score one to the SAS boys; no one might have appeared to be keeping points, but they always were.

"Captain Frome. Adrian. The men are in place, have been since afternoon. It's been quiet since then, not much sign of life, until a few minutes ago. I think they're on the move... This way, sir..."

The two men followed crouching down and following the line of the warehouses flanking the lading bays. Tom handed Adam a tin of black face paint; they both smeared it liberally; Adam donned a black beanie to hide his blond hair. 

They came to a stop at an ideal vantage point, taking up positions behind a series of empty storage containers. Carter produced a small slim flask of coffee and passed it round while Tom climbed up and surveyed the activity on the jetty through night sight goggles provided by one of the team who was already in place. A small 20-ft dry cargo container vessel moored in a docking bay, appearing deserted for the holidays, was now showing signs of life. A few lights flickered and dark shapes could be observed moving about the deck. It was unlikely to be a long wait.

Tom shinned down the side of the container and joined the other men, accepting a sip of the scalding hot coffee, a welcome warmth against the biting cold of the icy wind blowing in off the sea. They huddled together waiting for the arrival of the expected transport. At first they sat in silence but soon broke into low conversation again. It was Tom unusually who set it off, something Adam had referred to earlier still playing on his mind.

"You said there's something we're not seeing...what did you mean by that? Why do I need to do some serious thinking...?" 

Carter thought awhile before answering. "I'm not in the thick if it. It's just my observation from the outside. They're all caught up with the woman as if she's the key to something. You don't agree. You think she's innocent of any real culpability, has no idea of what Costello might have been compiling, despite the fact she keeps some pretty strange company. And travels around the world on fake passports, kidnapping the children of Russian billionaires..." He gave Tom a searching stare; Carter was not about to forget the recent aberrant behaviour that had initially brought Zoe to their attention.

Tom opened his mouth to defend her; Carter raised his hand to indicate he hadn't finished yet. 

"Hear me out before you start...I happen to agree with you on the basis of my meeting with her. Either she's a bloody good liar - or totally straight up. My gut instinct believes the latter - although maybe we're just more susceptible than we think to a beautiful face. However, let's step back and look at this from a different angle. Forget her suspicious behaviour. Take a different line. She was working with Jeremy Cuthbert. No one knows quite why - unless she's confided in you between the sheets...?"

Tom glowered even in the darkness; he didn't like that comment. Carter grinned. "So, you haven't got anything out of her?"

"I haven't asked. I didn't want her to get suspicious."

"There's nothing like a strong foundation of trust to cement a relationship, eh?" Carter quipped back as Tom bridled again, cursing under his breath. "Don't get so sensitive, mate. It was a joke, okay? But that's the point I'm trying to make. If she is innocent, then the question shouldn't be why she was working for Cuthbert - but what made him approach her in the first place. Okay, she's a smart girl with an unusual position as head of a global security company...but she has never been in the business herself. Why did that old bastard seek her out and offer her contracts for him? It's not like she couldn't have checked him out. Farrow has to know who he is..."

Tom had been listening, staring straight ahead, deep in thought. What Carter had said already made sense. "Good point. There are many other women he could have used who would have been less likely to make errors. And she did make mistakes, all along the line, starting with meeting with Cuthbert in an airport whilst travelling on a false passport. He would know someone would flag that. Her attempts to cover her travel route were also amateurish. She had planned that herself - why didn't Cuthbert show her how to do it properly?"

Carter nodded. "Exactly. What if Cuthbert approached her for another reason entirely under the guise of working with her?  He uses her for his own ends, sure enough, but knowing full well that she would get herself targeted..."

"But why? What use risking his operation?" Tom asked but the question already sounded rhetorical; ideas were forming. 

"He wanted her caught."

"Litvinov could have had her killed...What use would that have been?"

Carter scoffed. "He knew she'd play Litvinov all right. As far as that was concerned, he was onto a winner. You couldn't catch that smooth bastard with the usual honey trap. It was the fact Thorne wasn't a pro that shafted the Russian...She was as classy as the woman she was purporting to be. Cuthbert wasn't worried about her failing in that regard...so what was he after?"

They pondered it for awhile. "Unless..." Tom began. "...Unless he wanted her to make enough mistakes to make her vulnerable. Attract intelligence surveillance. Make her dependent on him? Make us suspicious of her? But why? What was he really after?"

"Same thing as we are? Cuthbert's got his ears and eyes everywhere...Who says he didn't already know about Costello's insurance policy? He tries to work out where it might be. Can't get close. She lives with tight security in Australia; Farrow is her constant shadow. He doesn't have our resources. He's clever. He susses out she's lonely and bored. Appeals to her sense of misguided altruism...and her need for adrenalin after years playing Mum and tending Costello's flame...He knew she'd jump at the chance - and then he's got her. She gets noticed, the usual measures kick in..."

"...and he sits back and let's us do the work for him, hmm? The fucking low life bastard...But, it's pretty far-fetched, Adam..."

"Yeah, but it's a possibility, surely? I said you'd have to do some serious thinking. I haven't worked it out. I just thought it was worth pointing out that there might be an avenue we haven't explored..."

"Why the interest? You've clearly given this some thought already..."

"...You're going to fuck your life up again over this woman...I just thought that maybe if we can find another angle, maybe you can ride in like the white fucking knight and turn this around...Quinn, it's all shite. If you love her, nothing else matters. Fuck this up with her and you'll regret it your whole damn life..."

Tom cursed under his breath. "...Well, it's very kind of you to be so concerned... Jesus, Carter, listen to yourself! You need to sort your own head out, not mine..."

"...You're a fucking cold bastard, Quinn..." he retorted. 

The warning beep of a lorry reversing broke through the silence of the night; they both hit the ground and crawled forward to watch as the main gate was opened. The vehicle entered the compound towards the cargo ship. They were on. Everything else would have to be put on hold until the consignment was tagged and the second phase of the surveillance underway.

Carter rose to make his way to the lorry to secure the tracking device, under cover of the loading and with the team as back up in case anything went amiss; if they lost the lead to the weapons stash, they would at least have made a major drug bust under the noses of the Port authority and the Hampshire Police. That had to be one compensation.

Quinn grabbed his arm. "Give me the device. I'll set it. You just get the fuck out of here - and be on the first plane out to the States. Wesley can't afford to lose you...I'll do this...Hand it over...it's my case anyway..."

For a moment Carter seemed about to resist but then thought better of it, shrugging nonchalantly. He dug out the small electronic unit from deep in his pockets. "Activate the sequence here and then..."

"I know how to use the damn thing..." Tom replied impatiently. "One thing, Adam..."

"Changed your mind?" Carter challenged, his provocative cool returning.

Tom smiled. "No. I just wanted to say thank you. You could be right about it all. Maybe we have missed the real thread here. I appreciate it... I'm not very good with apologies. Too bloody arrogant to admit I may have been wrong about someone. Maybe we should stop treating each other like rivals? Who knows we might even get to like each other..."

"...Steady on, mate...I wouldn't go that far. I'm not your rival, Tom. Never was. You're the one the money's on. My face will never fit. You've got it all: right background, perfect pedigree, all the smarts, proper accent....not to mention your Daddy...He has to be help win the establishment vote. The old geezers at Whitehall are grooming you for the very top, boyo. I'm better in the field, though. Always will be. I don't have your problem with ethics, you see...But there is one thing about this I really can't understand..."

"...And what would that be?" Tom asked, already eager to make a move, turning the device over in his hands and beginning to input the preliminary sequence.

"...How the fuck did you get a girl like that anyway? I didn't think you had a chance. Must be true what they say about you and the ladies, then. Can't see it myself, though. Whatever you've got, it isn't bloody obvious from where I'm standing..." Adam grinned.

Tom stopped, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "It's my wit, intelligence, good looks and upper-middle class charm...gets them every time..." he paused for effect briefly before continuing. "...Not to mention my extremely large penis, of course..."

"You lying swine...!"

"...Well, then it must be my personality after all..." 

The two men sniggered; Carter slapped Tom on the back, propelling him forward. Tom crept across the darkened forecourt towards the vehicle, keeping to the shadows, dropping to the ground as he neared the one guard posted on his side of the lorry. He waited while one of the back up team tossed a log of wood to distract the guard's attention for a moment, and then took his chance to crawl under the wheels, set the tracker deftly - and roll away. Carter watched long enough to see that the manoeuvre had gone smoothly before disappearing himself into the shadows and pulling back.

He had a plane to catch.

Back in the lounge, Terry refilled glasses while Annie handed out demitasse cups of espresso. Liam was strumming chords, talking softly to Maddy who was perched at his feet. She had still not shaken off her girlish crush on him. When Zoe and Abigail threaded their way back through the crowd and took their seats, Annie told him to play something. He carried on strumming awhile thinking, Maddy throwing out suggestions of her favourites. Liam looked up at Abigail who seemed to know what was in his mind and mouthed her choice: 'You Give Me Something.'.

"This is something I've been tinkering with recently..." He didn't say anything more, closing his eyes as he played the opening bars before singing in his sweetest huskiest tone that made Maddy weak-kneed and drooling. Abigail listened with a serene expression on her face, giving nothing away.

 The lyrics were very personal. Annie presumed he had written them recently for Abigail. Her son was on the brink of love again, hovering on the edge, unsure about risking it everything a second time. It gave her a mixture of emotions, both pleasure and regret. He seemed to be singing a death knell to his former love for Fliss. That  was immeasurably sad. Yet if he had to move on, then to find love again was what any mother would wish for her child.

She slipped onto the arm of Terry's chair.  He pulled her onto his lap, placing a soft kiss on the nape of her neck. Lying back against him, she let her son entertain them all...

You want to stay with me in the morning 
You only hold me when I sleep, 
I was meant to tread the water 
Now I've gotten in too deep, 
For every piece of me that wants you 
Another piece backs away. 

'Cause you give me something 
That makes me scared, alright, 
This could be nothing 
But I'm willing to give it a try, 
Please give me something
'Cause someday I might know my heart. 

Zoe felt her colour rise as her brother's prophetic words spoke directly of the state of her own mind. She might reason that he meant himself, probably describing his current hesitation embarking on love again, but his lyrics were uncannily apt for her own life, too. She looked over at Liam, felt the old familiar flush of affection for him, and hoped that things worked out the way he wished this time. Then she sent a little prayer up of her own. Her feelings for Tom scared her, just as the song said.  That was entirely right and proper. She needed to feel scared. That's how you knew you were living, taking chances, moving out of your own comfort zone and grabbing what life was offering you. It was long overdue.

You already waited up for hours 
Just to spend a little time alone with me, 
And I can say I've never bought you flowers 
I can't work out what they mean, 
I never thought that I'd love someone, 
That was someone else's dream... 

'Cause you give me something 
That makes me scared, alright, 
This could be nothing 
But I'm willing to give it a try, 
Please give me something, 
'Cause someday I might call you from my heart, 
But it might me a second too late, 
And the words I could never say 
Gonna come out anyway. 

'Cause you give me something 
That makes me scared, alright, 
This could be nothing 
But I'm willing to give it a try, 
Please give me something 
'Cause someday I might know my heart...

Liam sang the final words and took a first look at his audience, the affectionate smiles of warm approval preceding the inevitable outburst of applause and praise. It was always good to win the crowd, even if he knew he was misleading them with this song. They all thought he had written it with Abigail in mind.  The problem was, his muse was in fact an entirely different person....