The phone rang. Sumners snatched it up. ‘Sumners here.’

He listened for a second then put his cup down quickly and signalled the others. ‘That’s good enough for right now,’ Sumners said into the phone then hit the hold button. ‘Get in the air,’ he said to Tanner, then depressed the hold button again and put the phone back to his ear. ‘Names, names! For God’s sake, man!’ he said as he grabbed a pen and started scribbling. ‘Glory Bird, Wind Dream, Alpha Star. Why three so close together? . . . What?’ he exclaimed. ‘Which was the first? . . . Alpha Star. When for God’s sake? . . . This morning! Before first light! What’s the type and tonnage?’ He scribbled it all down, then put the phone back in its cradle and addressed the others. ‘The Dutch Coastguard monitored three ships heading out from Den Helder.’

‘That’s Dutch Navy ground, isn’t it?’ said Tanner.

‘Yes, and you could hide a bloody supertanker in those waterways. The Alpha Star is the best possible to start with because she’s got no cargo registered and left before last light. She was last sighted heading due west.’

‘Why’s this info taken this long to get to us?’ asked Singen.

‘The report’s been lying on some idiot’s in-tray all bloody day. She could be on our east coast by now,’ Sumner said as he stuck a pencil on the map and drew a line due west across from Den Helder. ‘Twenty-eight thousand tons. What kind of draught would that be?’

‘Two, three metres maybe. Depends what kind of boat it is,’ Stratton said.

‘Hull to Ipswich,’ Sumners said, marking the map.

‘Big area to cover,’ Tanner added.

‘Your teams should head for somewhere central to start with.’

‘What’s exactly due west?’ asked Stratton following a line.

‘North Norfolk. Great Yarmouth to Hull.’

‘Split the difference,’ Sumners said. ‘Head for Lynn. You can go either way from there. We’ve got a Nimrod somewhere in that area. Get going. Hopefully I’ll have something for you before you’re halfway.’

Singen and Stratton headed for the door and were gone.

‘Or it’s a boat load of Afghans,’ Tanner said.

‘That would be a good one to tell the local authorities,’ said Sumner. ‘Time to bring them into the game, I think.’ He dialled a number. ‘Sumners here. Time to alert the port authorities . . . All of them from Cornwall to Edinburgh. Start with Ipswich to Hull.’

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ Singen said to the pilot via his headset.

The loadmaster started bringing up the ramp.

‘Wait up!’ Stratton shouted. ‘Where are the Yanks?’

‘Are those them?’ asked the loadmaster, pointing towards three men emerging from the trees, running as fast as they could under their heavy kitbags.

‘Yeah, that’s them,’ Stratton said.

As the men bounded up the ramp the loadmaster continued closing the back.

Stewart dropped his kit bag on to the floor and slumped into the seat beside Stratton almost completely out of breath. ‘Wouldn’t be trying to leave without us, would you?’ he asked.

‘Don’t you read the newspapers? We can’t do anything without our American cousins these days,’ Stratton shouted above the noise of the engines.

Jasper and Pete dropped into a couple of seats, both sucking in air as the helicopter screamed and shuddered and slowly raised its awesome weight off the ground.

‘Where we to?’ Stewart asked, removing the tie he had put on for his meal in the mess.

‘Norfolk mean anything to you other than in Virginia?’

‘Nope.’

‘Well maybe it will by the time this day is over,’ Stratton said.

Stewart nodded and was quickly lost in thought. On the surface the American was blasé, cool, laid back, which was his style and he wore it well. But deep down he had concerns he’d been unable to shake since the briefing. He’d pushed to the front of this operation, got his boss to bully the Brits into allowing him and his two chiefs to take a point responsibility on the assault, since it was the Brits’ fault Hank had been kidnapped. That the Brits had allowed them to take part was actually a compliment. They wouldn’t have done so a few years back, but his unit had since reached standards the Brits considered high enough to play with them, the arrogant bastards. But now it was suddenly real.

He’d gained a lot of experience over the years - perhaps more in the last four than most SEAL officers had in the thirty or so since the end of Vietnam - but nowhere near that of these guys.They were still way ahead of every Special Forces unit in the world when it came to small team, waterborne assault ops, the undisputed champs, with a dozen successful operations to their name over the last decade. Shit, they were still the only people in history to have captured and sank a ship after landing on it from the air - and that was twenty years ago.

They were a tough act to join but the past five or six years had been good to the SEALs. They had gained a lot of experience around the world and had no major cock-ups to be embarrassed about. He knew he was up to this job. He’d had the training and enough combat experience to know he was confident and reliable in a firefight. But assaults of this kind were not ordinary. Boarding a boat occupied by armed terrorists with the view to capturing it and rescuing a hostage without losing any of the team required pure surgery. Stewart and his team were amongst the most qualified in the SEALs to mount a ship assault - having led most of the rehearsals over the past year, boarding a dozen different types from small merchants to super tankers - but no one in the training or ops team had ever done one for real apart from a couple of drug boats, which didn’t really count. The Brit operators surrounding him in the helicopter knew that. They would all be wondering if these Yanks could cut it. There was more at stake here than just Hank and the virus. By pushing his guys to the frontline Stewart had made a statement: that they were as good as the best. Stewart was one of the finest officers the SEALS had, an ‘A’ student, smart, fit and had never screwed up in his career. But he knew that record was not just down to ability. Luck had played its part. This business was often like that of a trapeze artist’s; sometimes you had to leap blind, trust in fate as well as your teammates, and hope the bar was where it should be when you reached for it. He’d been lucky. He just hoped it would stay with him for this one.

‘What’s your sensitive equipment?’ Stratton shouted into Stewart’s ear, snapping him out of his reverie.

‘What?’

‘The sensitive equipment you’re carrying. What is it?’

‘Nothing too sensitive really,’ Stewart admitted.‘I was pissing on your tree a little.’ He reached for his bag, unzipped it and took out three small black plastic hexagonal shapes, each half the size of a cigarette packet, and also a small electronic device. He handed one of the hexagons to Stratton. ‘I was gonna give ’em to you guys anyway. It’s our new super explosive remote-door charge. The initiator’s good up to a hundred metres line of sight, fifty in a built-up area.’

‘I’ve heard of this stuff. Is it as good as they say?’

‘Don’t know what you’ve heard, but it’s good. Faster burn rate than C4 or PE, higher temperature, lighter; down side is it’s harder to shape, which is why it comes in pre-moulds, otherwise great . . . Take ’em,’ he said, handing Stratton the other two and the detonator. ‘I’ve gotta bunch of ’em.’

Stratton nodded a thanks, then studied the devices. Super ‘X’, a nice addition to anyone’s arsenal.

As the ticket inspector disappeared through the connecting door Brennan had a quick check on Kathryn and then sat back and looked out of the window, hardly interested in the view, but it was better than staring at the back of the seat in front.

Brennan had mixed feelings about this sudden and unexpected field promotion. On the one hand he felt relief since he had feared he had lost favour with the War Council after the failure of his last operation, having not heard from them since the debriefing a week later. It was possible he was reading too much into it; perhaps there wasn’t a lot of work about - there had been long dry spells before - plus his buggered leg was likely another reason the phone hadn’t rang. Not that his leg was that bad. He had a bit of a limp and he might not be able to run as fast, but then he never ran anywhere anyway. Everyone knew it was not his style. Sprinting on a job showed bad planning in his books. If pursued, his MO was usually to fight, which was why he insisted on being well armed.

On the other hand, his new level of responsibility suggested that his role within the organisation had significantly altered and he wasn’t sure he liked the implication. He was nominally a gun for hire, not truly an official member of RIRA.

O’Farroll’s call had come out of the blue. Brennan’s role was to be one of considerable importance in the most bold and destructive operation RIRA had planned to date. In fact it was greater than anything the Provisional IRA and IRA had planned in their own histories.

The initial offer was a routine abduction and execution of a tout, Seamus. But after he arrived on the boat in Holland Brennan was told exactly what it was Seamus had acquired and that it was on board. He was shocked, although he didn’t show it. O’Farroll gave him the responsibility of escorting the weapon to its final destination. Brennan liked his mercenary status but being brought closer into the fold made it more difficult to discuss his financial compensation for operations. Next thing they would be expecting him to work for the cause rather than for the money. O’Farroll, the head of the War Council, had told Brennan he would be well looked after for his services but there had been no time to talk about money. Everyone had been so tense, what with the virus on board as well as the American, and uncharacteristically Brennan had agreed to take part in the operation before the financial side had been discussed. He had to figure out a tactful way of reminding the War Council that his position as a hired specialist was unchanged.

One would expect such a key assignment to be given to a senior officer. Asking Brennan to do it suggested it was highly dangerous, but it also meant the War Council trusted him greatly and regarded him more highly than he thought, and truthfully, more than he wanted. Then again, it was also possible that they were short of clean manpower, not that Brennan was exactly pristine, but that was better than clean and green.The only new and untarnished members of RIRA who were not on Special Branch’s suspect list were youngsters with no experience.

He had questioned the wisdom of having the American’s wife courier the virus into London. She did not know what was in the box, but she was not trained in awareness and reaction techniques and she would not take evasive action if the need occurred. O’Farroll’s reasoning was that there was something still to be gained if she was for some unexpected reason discovered. If, for instance, a RIRA member were busted carrying the virus it would go badly in all directions. But if she was discovered there was some positive publicity mileage to be had as the wife of the kidnapped American.

None of that mattered now anyway. She was on the train to the rendezvous and Brennan was her tail. He was curious about the character she was to hand the box over to. O’Farroll had revealed she was to be met by one of their people in Brit military intelligence. Brennan hadn’t known they had anyone that deep, although he’d heard the rumours about the famous mole. He’d always thought these to be nothing more than wild propaganda, but it seemed they were true after all.

Brennan decided to kill some time by calculating the value of the operation and how much money he should ask for. The deeper he got involved, the more he figured he was worth. There was a limit, of course. It would all depend on how it finished. That was surely going to be interesting no matter what.

Captain Singen tapped his shoulder and snapped him out of his thoughts.

‘It’s King’s Lynn,’ Singen said, wearing his communications headset and shouting close to Stratton’s ear over the noise of the engines and the wind. ‘The Alpha Star is a very good possible.’

‘Is she alongside?’

‘Been in port about two hours,’ Singen said. ‘Your lot from the NI detachment have already been diverted to Lynn. They’ll be there before us.They’ve been told to put it under immediate surveillance. We’re landing at Sandringham House. They’re laying on transport for us. The old girl isn’t home but she’s given us the okay.’

Stratton gave him the thumbs-up, dug his mobile phone out of his pocket, put in the earpiece and hit a memory code. Covering his ear he could just about hear the phone ringing.

Singen squatted to unzip a bag revealing dozens of neatly folded maps. He thumbed along them, occasionally lifting one partly out to check it before moving on to the next. He found what he was looking for and pulled out two of them. The first was an Ordnance Survey of King’s Lynn and the surrounding area. He found Lynn and then Sandringham a few miles to the north, then his eyes lost focus for a moment as his mind conjured up images of previous ship assaults.

This would be his fourth. The first had been an Iraqi merchantman during the Gulf War when he was a brand new, straight out of the box, operative, one month after he’d joined the SBS.The op had been quite basic since there had been no opposition but it was a fine introduction to the art. The second ship was a drug runner heading into UK waters from Africa.There were five armed couriers on board that one, but the teams had hit the boat so swiftly and quietly the two on the bridge didn’t know about it until the lads came crashing through, and the other three were asleep in their bunks. Not a shot was fired. The most notable point of that op was the strong smell of shit and urine immediately after the couriers were held at gunpoint. It was not unusual: the experience of a team of highly aggressive, swift and powerful men dressed from head to toe in heavy black fireproof material, armed to the teeth, with chest harnesses bristling with all kinds of weaponry and sophisticated devices was enough to make anyone crap themselves.

The most memorable assault was the last one he’d done, off the Colombian coast. There had been eleven armed, mostly South American, drug couriers on that one. The two men on deck, wide awake at one in the morning, had spotted the teams in their assault craft before they had actually reached the side of the ship. The couriers were either high on their own merchandise, or they were more frightened of what their bosses would do to them if they did not put up a fight, because they went immediately on the offensive with their selection of sub-machine-guns and assault rifles. Singen’s team bagged three but unfortunately, because he was in the tail pair and his team were the back-up assault wave, he did not personally have the opportunity of a hit himself. Six couriers were killed and four seriously wounded within three minutes, which was as long as it took to secure the boat once on board. The only injury among the teams was a creased arm from a ricochet. That had been a good day’s work.

But this boat was going to be tactically different. It was static alongside, which meant the first phase would be as if for a building. In theory it should be much easier, and normally Singen’s concerns would be only along the lines of the overall success of the operation since, being an officer, he would never take point on the assault and so his chances of taking a hit were similar to those for him getting a kill. But this bio thing was a different story. This was a first for everyone. They were going into the record books once again, but he wondered how it would read this time. It had to be treated like any other ship assault and they would just have to hope to God luck was on their side when it came to the bio itself.

He tapped Stratton on the shoulder and handed him the other map.

The phone rang. He looked at it. Had it not been for Kinsella’s sudden and unannounced arrival he would have bet his life the caller was Aggy. There was no longer any joy or sudden expectation at the sound of its chirp. He wanted to let it ring but he could not. It might be Kinsella. If it was Aggy he would explain that they could not meet. He couldn’t tell her that meant never again, which was why he had delayed making the call himself.

He picked up the phone.

‘Get something to write with,’ Father Kinsella instructed. It had been too much to hope his prayers had been answered, that Kinsella had been struck by a bus. Bill found a pen and scribbled on the phone pad to check it worked. ‘Okay,’ he said.

‘You’ve got an hour to get to King’s Cross railway station, platform 9, and meet the train from King’s Lynn. Have you got that?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re going to meet someone off the train. A woman. She will meet you outside the platform building. She’s a pretty woman, dark hair, well dressed, thirty years old. She’ll be carrying a hatbox. You will walk up to her and ask her if the Hoste Arms was crowded. Say it back to me.’

‘I’ve got it,’ Bill said tiredly.

‘I’m sure you have, Bill me lad. Say it back to me anyway and keep an old man happy.’

‘Was the Hoste Arms crowded?’ Bill said, tiredly.

‘You’ll then take the hatbox and escort her away. Now this is what I want you to tell her once you’re clear of the station. She’s to go directly to Heathrow airport, terminal four. In the arrivals terminal there is a meeting place designated by a sign that says just that. She’s to wait there and she will be met and given her next instructions. Is that all clear?’

‘Yes.’

‘As for you, Bill.You’ll go back home to your apartment and you will open the box and carefully place the contents into the briefcase I left with you. The glass container will fit neatly into the space in the sponge mould. I’m sure I don’t need to emphasise the word carefully, do I, lad?’

‘No,’ Bill said. There was a flutter in the pit of his stomach as the unthinkable began to take shape.

‘At around seven p.m., when it’s good and dark,’ Father Kinsella continued, ‘you will make your way to Millbank and MI5 headquarters.’

Bill’s jaw dropped visibly as he heard the destination of the virus. ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ he said.

‘Do I sound like I’m in a jocular mood?’

‘But MI5—’

‘Listen to me,’ Father Kinsella growled. ‘You will enter the building with the briefcase. The detectors will not trip as I explained. Make sure you don’t carry anything metallic on your person.The rest, Bill, is up to you, as we discussed. As long as you crush the vial.’ Father Kinsella let those last words hang as he listened to Bill’s breathing. ‘Make sure you have your passport with you and nothing else,’ he went on. ‘You’ll be going into the building as you are. When you’re done you will go to Heathrow airport, terminal four arrivals and wait in the designated meeting area. Is that clear?’

‘Yes . . . Where am I headed?’ Bill asked.

‘Now you know better than to ask questions like that, Bill. Everything will be taken care of. I’m not going to wish you good luck because you’re not going to need any. Now get going.’

And with that final command the phone went dead.

Bill pushed the receiver pedals down, took a moment to collect his thoughts, and then dialled a number.

The phone lying beside her gave off an electronic ring and she picked it up. ‘Hello,’ she said.

All she could hear was a loud static hiss and rumble, then Stratton’s voice echoed in the background. ‘Aggy?’ he said. ‘Aggy, it’s Stratton.’

‘Yes,’ she said, sitting up.

‘You’re on your way to King’s Lynn railway station. King’s Lynn. You got that?’

‘King’s Lynn,’ she said.

‘I’ll meet you there, at the station,’ he shouted. She realised he was in a helicopter.

‘I’m leaving now,’ she said as she stood up and took her leather jacket off the back of her dresser chair.

‘Soon as you can,’ he said. ‘And Aggy?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing you.’

‘Me too,’ she replied, without even thinking about it.The phone went dead.

It was odd how those few words had made her feel so good. She never expected to hear them from him. She dropped the phone on to the bed and pulled on her jacket.

As she opened her bedroom door to leave, the phone rang again. The first person she thought of was Bill. She hadn’t called him and was about to leave having completely forgotten to. But then it might be Stratton again. She picked it up.

‘Hello,’ Bill Lawton said.

‘Hi. I was just about to call you,’ she said, screwing up her eyes and hating herself for being such a lying coward.

‘Melissa. I’ve got to go somewhere,’ he said. ‘Would you believe my boss just flew into town. Remember I’d told him I’d come back to London because my mother was sick? He called and wants to see me, to go to dinner if I’ve got the time. I could hardly say no. I’m sorry.’

‘That’s okay,’ she said, relieved. She wouldn’t tell him she couldn’t make it either.

‘I’ve got to run,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’

‘I might be out later,’ she said quickly in case he did call or come around to the house. ‘I’ll probably go and see some old friends.’ At least that wasn’t a lie.

‘Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘Don’t forget I’m heading back to the obvious early tomorrow,’ she reminded him.

‘Oh, right. How could I forget that? I’ll call you when I can then.’

‘Okay. Bye.’ She was about to put down the phone when he called out her name quickly.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Melissa . . . I just want you to know . . . well, I want you to know that I’ve gone and fallen in love with you.’

Aggy couldn’t say anything, but she wished he hadn’t said it.

‘I don’t care if that scares you. Strangely enough it didn’t scare me to say it . . . I’ve gotta go. Have a great night.’

The phone went dead in her hand. She tossed it on to the bed.This was not the time to think about it. Fortunately she had enough to distract her for now. She had to get to King’s Lynn.

She double-checked she had money and ID. Then suddenly something occurred to her: what if Bill was on the same operation? There was something odd about the way he had cancelled the evening, something in his voice, what he had said.

She closed her bedroom door and walked down the stairs. There was no point coming up with a new excuse for her mother. She’d let her continue to think she was out with Bill for the evening, and if the op went on for days she would have to wing it. Life was not this complicated a few weeks ago.