He heard someone outside on deck and pulled back behind the door and out of sight. His immediate question was if he should capture them as they stepped into the corridor or let them pass. If he was going to take this boat, dealing with the crew one at a time was the perfect solution and a gift from God if he could have them all that way. He decided not to pass on this opportunity, especially since the target would have his back to him. He would shove the barrel into the back of the man’s head and take him somewhere where he could secure him. Hank gripped the weapon tightly, clenched his jaw, determined and ready to be ruthless. But whoever it was continued along the deck past the open door. Hank released the chest full of air he had been holding and relaxed his grip on his weapon to let the blood flow back into his fingers.

He stepped out from behind the door and looked outside once again, this time poking his head out enough to look left and right. There was no sign of life. Up to a few metres out from the side of the boat the water was bathed in light. Beyond that it was black. He could just about make out the far bank, a dark line a good hundred feet or so away. There were clusters of lights up and down the river but none directly opposite other than in the far distance, perhaps a mile or so away.

He stepped back into the corridor and walked along it to the opposite end to explore the other side of the boat. The door was not fully closed and there was a gap large enough for him to see through. The edge of the quay was a couple of feet higher than the rails and there was a gap of a few feet between it and the boat. Hank would have to climb on to the rail and scramble on to the quay, which didn’t present a problem other than he would be in full view of the deck above and the bridge.The quay itself looked quite open, the nearest building at least thirty yards away. There wasn’t a soul in sight. If a lookout wanted to take a shot at him as he ran they would have a fair amount of time to do so. Where he headed to depended on the country he was in.The Med or Atlantic, Seamus had said. Hank suddenly thought of that poor bastard and where he was right now. No doubt at the bottom of one of those seas.

He gleaned nothing about the country from the few silhouettes of buildings he could see. There was a sign on the warehouse or factory opposite but not enough light for him to make out the letters. His confidence in being able to escape increased yet again and he therefore decided to stick with the plan and recce the rest of the boat. It was time to check the deck above and then perhaps get a look into the bridge.

He moved back to the centre of the corridor, where the central staircase ran up another two flights, and made his way up to the next deck. He peeped through the open doorway into the corridor and counted four internal doors, cabins most likely, and noted the heavy doors either end of the corridor that led to the outside were closed.

He decided to ignore that deck for the time being, moved back into the stairwell, and cautiously climbed the last flight of stairs until the bridge door came into view. There was no glass in it as he had hoped but he could hear men’s voices. It sounded as if they were speaking English but he couldn’t be sure. Only for a second did he think about rushing in on them, but since he did not know the layout of the bridge or the number of people in it, it was not the wisest idea. Even if he survived unscathed, a gunfight would bring others and things might then come unstuck. The risk was more than he was prepared to take. This was about survival first and being a hero second. He had every intention of going home to his wife and children in one piece. Taking the boat was a bonus, not an essential. But so far, the option was still open. While he had the advantage and the freedom he would continue to test its feasibility.

He went back down to the corridor and stepped inside. He ignored the four cabin doors and headed to the heavy metal door at the port-side end. He released his weapon to hang by its strap and carefully unclipped the six dogs that surrounded the door and then gave it a little shove with his shoulder to open it an inch. He paused to listen. There was nothing unusual. He opened the door enough to step through and shut it behind him, turning one of the dogs to hold it closed.

The water shimmered below as he stood on a platform with stairs running down to the main deck and up to the bridge wing, a larger platform outside the bridge.

Hank focused his attention above and climbed the steps, high enough to be able to see the bridge over the lip of the bridge wing. The bridge itself was surrounded on three sides by plate glass from the ceiling down to rail level. It was slightly darker inside than it was outside making it difficult to see. Hank took another step up and could then make out three men and possibly a fourth on the far side.

‘Don’t fall off there, Pat,’ came a man’s voice from below. Hank almost did exactly that as he fumbled to turn and level his gun. When he looked below a man, wearing a red work jacket and blue bobble hat, was heading casually along the deck to the bows. He had obviously mistaken Hank for the young Irishman, the owner of the coat. Hank quickly climbed back down the steps and into the corridor. This was becoming risky, he warned himself.The more he moved about the greater the chance of bumping into someone, and the longer he took increased the odds on someone becoming curious about the whereabouts of the two men he whacked.The ship-takeover was becoming less of an option. If he sneaked off right away all signs indicated he could manage it without anyone noticing.

Bob, on the roof of the corn exchange, shared his space on the ledge with an M squadron sniper and another operative holding a directional microphone aimed at the bridge. They had a good view of the top of the boat and the starboard side and Bob confirmed or added to Spinks’s commentary when appropriate.The combined observers and listeners updated every movement on board so the assault teams could establish routines, habits and most importantly pinpoint the whereabouts of each crewman, information that would be useful when they got the ‘go’.

In the makeshift ops room behind the corn exchange Captain Singen and the team leaders pored over blueprints and plans of the boat that had been faxed from London. Everyone was dressed and ready to go at a second’s notice. Over their Kevlar assault suits they wore biological warfare suits, a one-piece outfit made of absorbent material and a neutralising agent. It had a hood designed to fit completely over the head and snugly around a gasmask.The suit generally made things more cumbersome but no one complained or considered going in without one. Each man was aware what could be on board and what the consequences might be if it were released. The possibility that the bio might even be thrown at one of them had been considered and so each man carried a decontamination spray as well as a bag of absorbent powder. There was nothing more they could do to prepare themselves.

Most of the men sat back and waited, keeping movement to a minimum to avoid overheating. Their faces were already wet with perspiration just sitting still. Not that they cared much at present. Each was thinking of his own role in the upcoming assault. They had been told that there was a very high chance they would be going in hot. That was as good as it got in this job. When the signal was given it would be a simultaneous multi-pronged attack. Snipers would take aim as three teams sprinted from the shadows of the corn exchange. When the teams were halfway to the target the snipers would take out anyone in view using the silenced, high-velocity 22.250 rifles, more ideal for this scenario than the Barking Dogs. It had been decided not to use incendiaries, percussion devices or entry charges for fear the bio, should it be in a glass container or similar, might not take kindly to the shockwaves. All weapons were suppressed, meaning they were virtually silent but for the metallic clatter of the breach mechanism as it shunted back and forth like a piston, picking up and firing bullets. Speed and stealth were the watchwords. The most difficult order to interpret was that if a target was even suspected of holding the bottle he was not to be shot unless he was an absolute threat to life.

‘Red from aft to stern-port side,’ came Spinks’s voice over each man’s earpiece.

Lieutenant Stewart flexed his back and stretched his arms to test the movement in his extra large bio-suit. He was the biggest operative on the assault although everyone looked like a giant in the outfits. He looked over at Jasper, who was quietly staring into space, chewing his tobacco. Pete was the other side of the room studying a copy of the ship’s blueprints. The three Americans had been divided up into the three teams. They would have preferred to stay together as a single team but that had been overridden. Since they had not trained with the rest of the men the variation in two standard procedures was considered a danger in such a confined space. They could live with that though and had not argued. It was after all the wisest choice and at least they were going in.

Captain Singen checked his watch. In this situation he would not have the power to give a ‘go’ under any circumstances, even if Hank were dragged on deck and hung by his neck from the cargo winch. The priority was the virus and the decision to charge on board, guns blazing, to capture it was going to have to come from on high. That might happen in the next second or days from now.

Because of her strange attitude he had suspected she was looking for a way to tell him it was over between them; that would have upset him even though he knew it was over anyway. But when he asked her if everything was okay she smiled and apologised for being so distant and explained that she had family matters on her mind and her silence had nothing to do with him. That only made him wonder if he should announce the end of the relationship himself, but that would only lead to questions and explanations he was not in the mood to create. What bothered him most was how she would think of him when she eventually learned he had been the IRA mole. He wanted to find a way of saying goodbye that would contain some sort of hidden message, something she would understand the meaning of later. It would take something special to convince Aggy he had not been her sworn enemy. But as proud as he was of his gift for the gab he couldn’t find the words in the twenty minutes they had been walking.

He followed her up the stairs and when they arrived at his front door she stood back from it.

‘Well, then,’ she said. It was a clear message that this was to be their parting point and that she was not coming inside. Once again Bill was hurt by the rejection even though it saved him doing the same to her.

‘I understand,’ he said, lying, curious as to why she did not want to come in. He began to wonder why she had come to see him in the first place.

‘I don’t think you do,’ she said, stepping closer and putting her arms around his neck. She had already decided she would remain affectionate towards him, not because of any urge to but it was the least suspicious thing she could do. She was compensating for her inability to act natural with him earlier, worried that he might be wondering why she had come over. But her task was complete. It didn’t really matter after she left. She had given Stratton his twenty minutes.This would be all over soon anyway, and Bill would be arrested.

Bill held her tightly, wanting her terribly, knowing this was the last time he would hold her.

‘I suppose I’ll see you over the water,’ she said.

‘Yes . . . Maybe we can hop down to the Golden Harp next Friday. That band last week was good, wasn’t it?’

‘They were,’ she said.

‘Remember you have that op Tarquin coming up next week. I hear they’re going to let you plan that one. Your first op.’

‘Seriously,’ she said. ‘The weapons cache in Omagh?’

‘Team leader. I heard the CO give it the nod himself,’ Bill said with a wink. Deep down, behind the smile, he was suddenly missing his job in Ireland too. It had become so much more fun since he started seeing Aggy. ‘You’ll be running the detachments before you know it,’ he said.

She smiled with difficulty. His comment only served to fuel bitterness towards him. Not just because of his deceit but every op Bill had anything to do with or could conceivably know about would be cancelled. And anyway, her career was over, even after this little job. She had always wanted to run her own op. Now, just as that was about to happen, it was all over.

He moved a strand of hair off her brow, an excuse to touch her and look at her face, her eyes, her perfect lips. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he said.

She was going to have to kiss him goodbye, and on the lips, deeply, her tongue inside his mouth, the way they had last said goodbye. She would rather not. He did not repulse her. On the contrary, she still found him attractive, liked him even. It was a strange place to be. He gently put his lips on hers and held her tightly. Their mouths opened and their tongues explored inside each other’s. He suddenly grabbed her more tightly and held her close to him, as if afraid she would escape.

Then the moment was over and he had to let her go. He released her and she stepped back, her hands on his arms for a moment, and then they were gone, like the string of a balloon ascending out of reach.

‘See you,’ she said as she turned and went to the top of the stairs.

‘Melissa?’ he said. She looked back at him. ‘There’s something I want you to know. There are many reasons why I’m not going to do what they want me to do tonight, but the most important one is you.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, genuinely curious.

‘You will. I can’t explain more than that . . . I regret a lot in my life. Some things you get into and can’t get out of.’

She knew what that was supposed to mean but she didn’t know how to respond.

‘I love you very much. That’s never been a lie,’ he said.

She felt suddenly very sad for him, more than she did for herself. She knew how much he loved life and that it was over for him, but only then did it dawn on her how horrific it was going to be for him. He would be in jail for the best part of his life if not all of it. And he would be alone, as spies were kept, so that they could not pass on information that might still be useful to an enemy. She found herself moving into his arms once more and holding him. Poor Bill.

He was surprised by her sudden move and could feel her tremble ever so slightly. She had been different all evening, and now this, as if there was something wrong between them, as if she was saying goodbye also. And then it all fell into place. She knew. Of course she knew.That was the only explanation. She had come to see him to get him away from his apartment. That’s why she was acting so strangely. He held her shoulders and gently moved her back to look into her eyes.

Bill opened his mouth to say something just as the grey door to the roof opened and Brennan stepped out holding a gun.

‘I can’t stand any more of this focken tripe,’ he said.‘You’ll have me in focken tears if you go on any longer, so you will.’

Aggy and Bill snapped their heads in his direction and froze at the sight of the gun.

‘Open the door to your apartment, Billy,’ he said. ‘Nice and easy. And you, you focken bitch. I’ll blow your focken brains out if you so much as twitch in a way I don’t fancy.’

Aggy slowly released Bill. If the Irish accent wasn’t enough to warn her who this man might be, everything else about him demanded respect. ‘That’s a handy route you’ve got there, Bill, from one building to the other across the roof,’ Brennan said with a grin. ‘The door, Billy boy.’

Bill took his key from his pocket and opened it.

‘Now. Both of you put your hands on your head, link your fingers together, and walk inside.’

Aggy and Bill obeyed and entered the apartment. Brennan pushed her forward into Bill’s back, shut the door, and stayed by it, keeping a good couple of yards between him and the two of them.

‘First things first,’ Brennan said. ‘Are you armed, Billy?’

Bill shook his head.

‘Take your jacket off anyway and toss it over here.’

Bill did as he was told. Brennan felt the pockets and dropped the coat. ‘Raise your arms and do me a little twirl,’ he said.

Bill raised his arms and slowly turned so that Brennan could see he was unarmed. ‘Raise your trouser legs.’

Bill bent down and pulled up his trouser legs, one after the other.

‘Fine,’ Brennan said. ‘Keep your hands on your head . . . Now you, little missy. Come ’ere.’

She walked over to him with her hands on her head. ‘Turn around and face Billy,’ he said like a schoolteacher. She obeyed. ‘That’s a good girl. Now let’s see what weapons you have on you.’

He shoved the barrel of his gun into her neck with one hand while the other moved round to her front and started to frisk her all over, slowly. ‘Nice tits,’ he said as he squeezed them gently, one after the other. He felt all around her waist. ‘Got a crotch piece by any chance?’

She shook her head.

‘Mind if I feel anyway? I like to be invited.’ He moved his hands down to the front of her trousers. Aggy tensed. He found her zip and pulled it down. As he slid his hand inside Aggy looked away from Bill, not wanting to see him watching. Brennan slipped his hand under the elastic of her panties. Her every instinct was crying out to react, to lash out, but she kept control. He pushed slowly down and as he reached the top of her vagina she was almost unable to contain the pressure to spin on him and tear his face off. Then, as if he sensed it, Brennan jammed the gun into her neck, reminding her it was there. It was enough to make her take hold of herself. There was no point in committing suicide just because this scumbag was feeling her up, and the lessons she had learned in the past year about Brennan’s type were enough to leave little doubt he would pull the trigger.

Bill tried to keep his eyes on Aggy’s, even though she would not look at him, but he couldn’t help glancing down at Brennan’s hand violating her. Brennan’s eyes were on Bill’s, a dark smirk on his face, as if inviting him to make a move. Brennan was slightly taller than Aggy and had to drop his shoulders to push down further until his fingers went between her legs.

Aggy was suddenly aware that there was no sign of any emotional change in Brennan, no indication that he was actually turned on by what he was doing. She jerked as he slipped his fingers inside her, the gun jamming tighter into her neck at the same time. It might have pushed her over the top had she sensed any arousal in him, but there was none. He was trying to terrorise her and Bill. That was a different kind of challenge in a way. It was intimidation, not rape. The selection course had in some way prepared her for this challenge, conceptually. Brennan was playing with her mind. She could handle that, as long as he didn’t go any further.

‘I can see why you like this one, Billy. She’s tight as an arse,’ he said. He pulled out his hand and licked his fingers. ‘Tastes good too,’ he grinned. Planting his hand on her back he pushed her harshly towards Bill. She caught herself on a chair and arrogantly straightened to face him while she did up her jeans.

‘I think I must’ve heard all your conversation out there, the best parts of it anyway . . . Well, well, well. My luck is changing. A focken Pink, and a girly one at that. I’ll be famous now for sure . . . So, Bill.You said you weren’t going to do what you were told to do tonight. Is that right?’

Bill had made up his mind. He had accepted the price of such a decision, though he had hoped it might be a while longer before they collected. Surprisingly, he had no qualms about remaining committed to his decision, admittedly made easier with Aggy beside him. ‘Apart from being a huge mistake politically, it’s wrong,’ he said.

‘And you came to that decision all by your lonesome, did you?’

‘You must see it. It doesn’t make sense, killing thousands of people. Omagh was a mistake. This is a thousand times worse.’

Aggy didn’t know what he meant.

‘Omagh was a success, say what you like,’ Brennan said. ‘There’s nothing we could do wrong now. Every pain we inflict on the Brits, we push them closer to giving us what we want. They can’t say no. We’ve beaten them and they know it. The peace treaty’s a load of bollocks. We even give them crap weapons we wouldn’t use any more as part of the decommissioning deal while we get new ones in the back door. They know it but still say thank you and have a nice office in Parliament if you want to, why don’t you. They’re ready to give us it all, Billy boy. This will speed them along a wee bit . . . Christ, I’m even beginning to sound like I’m runnin’ for focken election meself now.’

Aggy was trying to piece together what she knew about this attack they were referring to. Stratton had talked about destroying something, obviously a bomb of some kind. Bill was supposed to put it where it would be hugely destructive to human life and had changed his mind. That’s what Bill was referring to when he said he was not going to do it. Besides all that there was something familiar about this thug. Aggy had seen him before, or perhaps it was a photograph. She couldn’t place it.

‘I only heard about you a couple of days ago,’ Brennan said to Bill. ‘I never knew we had a mole in Brit intelligence. And MI5 too. I’m told you’ve done some great work for the cause.’

Bill glanced at Aggy. She hadn’t flinched. It confirmed that she knew.

‘So, what do you think?’ Brennan asked Aggy. ‘Pretty smart of us.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about or what’s going on,’ she said. She might as well take that tack. She had nothing more to lose.This arsehole was itching to kill her anyway.

Brennan chuckled. ‘Not that it matters. The most important thing is that you’re here, that’s the main thing, and him being in love with you and all that soppy stuff.You see, I’m going to need a bit of incentive here for Bill to do his little job. I figured the threat of a bullet in the back of his head might do it, but then again it might not. He might just tell me to go fock meself. But since he’s declared his undying love for you it makes it all so much more simple for me . . . Billy, if you don’t do the job, I’m going to kill her, then you. What about that then? Is that incentive enough?’

Bill stared at him, his mind racing, searching for a plan, anything.

‘Tell you what,’ Brennan went on. ‘If you say no, I’ll kill you, then I’ll rape her, since I’ve already got a taste for her, if you know what I mean, then I’ll kill her. Does that sound any better?’

Bill’s only choice was to comply and move the game along. An opportunity might present itself. It had to. There wasn’t one here.

‘Tell you the truth,’ Bill said, with a subtle smile on his face.‘I was only on the fence about not doing it.Threatening my life alone would be enough to convince me the job’s a great idea.’

Brennan grinned. ‘I was told you were a smart one. Just don’t get too smart,’ he said, his grin fading. ‘There’s a reason they sent me to look after such an important prize. I’ll get the job done if I have to do it myself. You’ll both be dead if it comes to that . . . So, where is it?’

Bill didn’t move. Brennan levelled the gun. ‘If you tell me you don’t have it I’ll focken shoot you right here and now.’ It was not an idle threat.

‘In that cupboard,’ Bill said.

‘Go get it then. What am I, your focken servant?’

Bill went to the sideboard opened it, and reached in among the blankets. When he pulled out his hand, it held the large vial of rose-coloured liquid. Brennan was fascinated.

‘Amazing how one tiny bottle could kill so many people,’ Brennan said. ‘I’m humbled by whoever invented it.’

Aggy realised this was no explosive. And Bill held it with such care and respect.There were a limited number of explanations.

‘Where’s the case?’ Brennan asked.

‘There,’ said Bill.

Brennan saw it on the floor, recognising the hatbox beside it. He lifted up the case, placed it on the table and opened it. ‘Put it inside,’ he said.

Bill placed it carefully into the space cut out of the sponge.

‘Shut it,’ Brennan said. Bill closed the lid and fastened the two clips. Brennan picked up Bill’s jacket and tossed it at him. ‘Put it on.’

Bill pulled on the jacket.

‘Now. We’re going for a walk, then a little ride, all three of us. I want you to remember this. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter where that stuff ends up broken in this city. It’s going to end up somewhere. Personally, I’d take it down to the nearest busy pub and just pour the stuff into someone’s pint and that’ll be the start of it. But the powers that be, God bless ’em, want to make their point, and so we’re going to Millbank. If at any time I think you two are intending to fock with me I’ll not hesitate to blow both your focken heads off and pop down the pub with the stuff meself. The result’ll be the same in the end. In fact I’d like the excuse to do that.’

Brennan studied them both, looking for any sign of a challenge. Both appeared to have understood, although the girl looked at him coldly. ‘You,’ he said to Aggy. ‘Pick up the case.’

She’d heard enough by now to know that the liquid was a seriously toxic poison or chemical. Stratton obviously knew. She could understand why he never told her. It would have dominated her thoughts. She would obey everything this mad bastard told her to do. Stratton was out there somewhere and he would have a plan. She wondered what it was.

He went through his plan again, which was, as he liked to put it in simple military terms, straightforward until it got complicated. Whenever Aggy eventually came out he would allow her to walk away without alerting her to his presence. It didn’t matter where she went or ended up, she was out of the game, her job done. If there was surveillance to be done she would be of no use because the target knew her. If Stratton could he would tell her to go home. Since she had no mobile phone hopefully she would come to that conclusion herself.

He had boiled his options down to essentially two. If Bill came out with the briefcase, Stratton would move in and take care of that situation by himself. If Bill wasn’t carrying the case then Stratton needed some fresh faces to carry on with the task. Sumners should have called him by now with news of his back-up and also the answers to some of his ‘what if’ scenarios. If Bill didn’t have the bio it could mean several things: he’d left it in his apartment for some reason; someone else now had it or was going to collect it; he was going to pick it up from somewhere; or he was baiting any would-be followers away from RIRA’s real intentions. This is where it could be made to look more complicated than it was if cool minds didn’t prevail. It was Stratton’s MO to keep scenarios simple, even when there was a plethora of possible options. Most operations fell apart at this phase, trying to figure out what the opposition might do and prepare for every possible eventuality. That’s why so many ended in a gun battle, and why so many were ultimately designed to end in an ambush, which was just a gun battle on the ambusher’s terms.

When all else failed Stratton’s overriding consideration was governed by ‘the price plan’, the value of the operation, or in more plain language, who or what could be sacrificed to succeed. This one wasn’t difficult to value since the cost could be the population of London and a lot more. Basically, every bastard involved, on both sides, was expendable.

The door to the apartment building opened and Stratton watched Bill, Aggy and, to his surprise, another man walk out; the man with the limp who had appeared behind Aggy and Bill when they went for their walk. They passed him on the other side of the street. Aggy was in the middle and it looked like she was carrying the briefcase. The light was too poor to make out any other details.

And that, Stratton said to himself, was what they called Murphy’s Law. Had he come up with a scenario such as this it would’ve been way down on the list. It highlighted another important philosophy, which was ‘be flexible’.This was going to require a combination of both options.The bio was there, almost certainly, but Stratton couldn’t risk taking it alone. Not yet anyhow. He didn’t know who this third person was and there was still the possibility it was all a piece of bait. He felt the electronic initiator in his pocket. All he needed to do was remove the safety lock, push the arming switch, hit the red button, and boom. But two things were very wrong with that choice. One was that the explosion would kill Aggy. He was capable of sacrificing an operative if that was within the price plan but only if there was absolutely no choice. And this was, after all, Aggy. To date, he had never lost an operative on one of his own planned ops, except Hank of course, but hopefully that wasn’t over yet. The second and far greater consideration was that it still had not been confirmed if exploding the briefcase would kill the virus. If Sumners gave him the all-clear it would then just be a matter of getting Aggy away from it. He would happily extinguish Lawton, which would suit everyone perfectly, and this character with the limp, whoever he was.

Stratton put the initiator away, got to his feet, climbed over the squat wall and headed along the street, keeping a good distance from the three figures but not letting them out of his sight. They were heading for Wandsworth Road only a couple hundred yards away. He would have to close up as they approached it or risk losing them in the busy street. He wondered if they had a car.This could all get very desperate very quickly. Where the hell was Sumners?

Stratton took out his phone and hit a memory dial as he walked. It rang.

‘Ops here,’ said the operations officer.

‘Stratton. Give me Sumners.’

‘He’s not here, Stratton.’

‘Where the hell is he?’ Stratton asked, unable to control his annoyance, which was unusual for him. It was a warning that the pressure was building. Secure phone lines were probably ringing all over the country by now. The PM was no doubt already pacing his office or on his way to a safe location out of the city. And Stratton was holding this whole thing together.Where were his operatives? They should have been arriving in their droves. Stratton wondered if Sumners hadn’t screwed up. The fine line between need to know and telling everyone was sometimes a difficult one to call. Stratton was glad he didn’t have to make those decisions. On an op like this Stratton should have just about every force available at his disposal, including stealth helicopters, a link into London’s video surveillance camera system, which literally covered the entire city and all the highways and motorways leading in and out of it, and cohorts of operatives tripping over each other. Instead he was alone. It was ridiculous.

‘I think he’s gone to the loo,’ the ops officer said.

‘Tell him the bio is foxtrot, that I have no idea where the fuck it’s headed, and if I don’t some get backup in the next two minutes I’m going to blow it to hell because I’ll have no fucking choice.’

‘I understand,’ the ops officer said calmly. ‘I’ll go and find him.’

Stratton killed the call and pocketed the phone. You do that, he said to himself. This was bullshit. The operation was at the most crucial stage and the wheels were about to fall off it.

Aggy, Bill and Brennan reached Wandsworth Road and turned left on to it. Stratton speeded up then slowed as he reached the junction. He was hoping there would be a shop or something he could use to get a reflection off, but there was nothing. He peeked around the corner and darted back like an amateur. They had been right there, all three, yards away, climbing aboard a crowded double-decker bus, and Aggy still had the briefcase. Stratton’s mind raced. He couldn’t get on board, Bill would see him. He was going to lose them. He felt the initiator in his pocket. Blowing them up along with a bus full of people was well within the price plan, but there was still another option he could play. There was always another option. It was all about figuring it out in time.

He watched them move along the bus and Bill lead upstairs. The stranger with the limp paused to look behind him and out of the window. It was a warning to Stratton that the man was experienced and aware. By the stark lights of the bus Stratton got a look at his face. He knew him. A photograph perhaps? The man headed upstairs. Then the limp brought it all together.

‘Brennan,’ Stratton muttered to himself. A few weeks after the failed operation to snatch Spinks, Special Branch had come up with the identities of the players in the crashed van. Three had died; one shot through the chest and the other two killed by the impact of the crash. The one that got away, even though he had been shot through the thigh, was Brennan.

Stratton watched as they headed towards the front of the upper deck and the bus started to pull out into traffic.

He stepped out from his corner and watched it crawl away into traffic. Number 77A. He touched his jacket under his left arm, feeling his gun beneath, and moved to the street, scanning cars, looking for a candidate. A single occupant was wisest. The hard part about hijacking a car was finding a driver who didn’t look like they would put up a heroic fight or crash the car at the first opportunity. Women were not always an obvious choice. Stratton preferred to go for someone who actually looked hard. Chances were they weren’t. And if they were, then they might appreciate the consequences more graphically if the person doing the threatening looked serious enough. He saw a gum-chewing, tattooed skinhead in an old RS2000 that looked in good condition. This was his man.

The car had slowed in the traffic as a direct result of the bus pulling out. Stratton opened the passenger door, pulled his gun out of his shoulder holster under his coat, and climbed in beside the skinhead, who was about to say something until he saw the weapon. Before he closed the door Stratton thought he heard his name being called. ‘Stop the car a sec,’ Stratton asked the skinhead calmly, who obeyed instantly.

‘Stratton?’ came the voice again. Stratton looked back along the pavement to see a chubby man in his early thirties in grubby clothes walking briskly towards him. There was something familiar about him.

‘Wilks,’ the man said as he approached the car.‘We worked togever couple years ago in Birmin’am.’ Wilks saw the gun in Stratton’s hand, ignored it and looked in at the skinhead. ‘Awright?’ he asked the skinhead, assuming he was an acquaintance of Stratton’s. The skinhead nodded quickly, wide-eyed.

Stratton remembered Wilks. ‘A4?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. We got a message to ’ang aroun’ Wandsworth and Queenstown Road. Said you’d be abart.’

‘You got a car?’ Stratton asked quickly.

‘Yeah. Over ‘ere.’

Stratton put his gun away. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said to the skinhead and climbed out and shut the door.

‘That bus,’ Stratton said to Wilks, indicating the only one in the street. ‘Our target’s upstairs.’

Wilks was a pro and instantly switched up gears.‘This way,’ he said and they hurried towards his car. ‘I was on me way ’a Brighton wiv me missus and two nippers when they called me. Did she kick up a stink or what? Gave me merry ’ell.’

At the wheel of Wilks’s car was a young black guy wearing a grin that turned out to be a permanent feature. Stratton climbed in the front and Wilks the back. ‘Chaz, Stratton,’ Wilks said by way of quick introduction. ‘’At bus, me old mate,’ he pointed.

Chaz also picked up on the urgency, started the car and bullied his way into traffic with practised ease.

‘Seventy-seven A?’ Chaz said in a Scouse accent. ‘Goes to Vauxhall, across the bridge,Tate Gallery, Parliament Square. Can’t remember where it goes then. Victoria or Trafalgar. One of them.’

Stratton thought about that a moment. ‘Do you know what this is about?’ he asked them.

‘Not a clue,’ Wilks said. ‘All we know is there’s a right flap on, everyone’s at abaat ten thousand feet, an’ ’at whatever it is is real ’eavy.’

‘You armed?’ Stratton asked.

‘Yeah,’ said Wilks. Chaz nodded.

‘On the bus is a woman and two men. One’s a RIRA hitter. Extreme. Undoubtedly armed. Give him one sniff you’re not Kosher and he’ll take you out. The other’s MI5, but he’s a spy for RIRA. The woman’s one of us and she’s a hostage . . . ’

‘Fuckin’ ’ell,’ said Wilks, seriously impressed. ‘It don’t get much ’eavier ’en ’at.’

‘They’re carrying a biological weapon that could wipe out London,’ Stratton added.

Chaz gave him a quick glance. Wilks was temporarily speechless.

Stratton’s phone vibrated. He put it to his ear. ‘Yes.’ It was Sumners. ‘I’m with two but I need at least four more cars,’ Stratton said. ‘Two snipers would be useful.’

‘Three teams should be with you in twenty minutes,’ Sumners said. ‘I’ll have two police snipers RV with the team commander asap.’

Too much too late, Stratton thought. ‘Target’s on a bus that goes through Parliament Square.That’s Lawton, a RIRA hitter named Brennan and Aggy from South det. She’s a hostage. I used her to get Lawton out of the apartment for my recce and then Brennan entered the plot.’

‘I see. And the bio?’ Sumners asked. He didn’t need to know any more at this stage. The only time you lived in the past on an op was at the debriefing when it was all over. The bio was the only thing of importance, where it was and where it was headed towards. Sumners would ask about Aggy’s part in all this later.

‘They’re carrying the briefcase. I’m certain the bio’s in it,’ Stratton said.

‘We should soon know if it’s on the boat or not,’ Sumners said. ‘They’ll be hitting it any time now.’

‘What about the explosives?’ Stratton asked.

‘The boffins have been in touch with the Yanks and they’re still calculating. It’s not something anyone wants to take a guess at. For God’s sake, Stratton, don’t even think of blowing it until I let you know for sure. And one last thing. Lawton must not live through this. That’s from the top. Understand?’

‘Don’t I always?’ Stratton said and shut down the phone.

‘Twenty minutes to Parliament?’ Stratton asked Chaz.

‘Twenty, twenty-five,’ Chaz replied.

‘We need to get the advantage back,’ Stratton said, thinking out loud mostly. Right now they were just waiting for an opportunity. He had to create one.‘We have to get everyone off the bus,’ he announced.

The other two didn’t quite understand.

‘The bio’s in a briefcase,’ he explained. ‘So’s a chunk of explosive.’

‘They’ve got a bomb as well?’ asked Chaz.

‘The bomb’s mine.’

Wilks was trying to keep up with Stratton but finding it hard. ‘We gotta get everyone off the bus wivout the targets knowin’,’ he said.

‘Right.’

‘’Ow we gonna do that?’ Chaz asked.

‘We take it over,’ Stratton said.‘They’re upstairs.We should be able to clear the bottom at least.’

‘And then you’re gonna blow the fuckin’ thing up?’ Chaz asked, a bit shocked at the thought.

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. First let’s catch us a bus.’ He looked to Chaz for a physical response. ‘That means we’ve gotta get in front of it, find a bus stop, and flag it down as normal.’

‘Right o,’ Chaz said as he dropped down a gear and simply powered out into the oncoming lane and floored it.

Wilks gripped the back of both front seats.

Cars braked, screeched and swerved to avoid them as Chaz overtook one at a time, cutting back into gaps just long enough to let an oncoming vehicle pass then pushing out again and hammering forward.

As the bus drove under a railway bridge Chaz moved out to overtake it. Its windows strobed past, the passengers bathed in orange light. The bus driver swerved towards the curb and blasted his horn in frustration as he swung back out into his lane. The road opened up ahead of the bus and was clear enough for Chaz to accelerate to over ninety.

‘Nine Elms Lane,’ he shouted. Stratton and Wilks were busy concentrating on his driving and looking out for a bus stop.

They approached the broad intersection that led into Vauxhall.

‘Bus stop just before the bridge!’ Wilks shouted and pointed.

‘Got it,’ Chaz said. ‘I know where to put the car.’

He drove directly across the intersection, over the pavement the other side, down a grass verge, and on to a piece of waste ground close to the river. He braked hard and before the vehicle had come to a complete stop the doors were open and they were all clambering out.

Stratton led the run back up the grass verge in time to see the bus heading for the intersection. Chaz arrived at the top of the verge and Stratton quickly faced him, his back to the bus. As Wilks arrived out of breath he saw the bus and was about to bound off ahead of it.

‘Wait,’ shouted Stratton, grabbing Wilks’s jacket. ‘Wait for it to pass.’ He didn’t want the front upper deck to see them running. But that meant they were going to have to sprint as soon as it went by. Wilks was aware of that and, being far too overweight, was already dreading it. He was not given time to think about it. As the bus passed Stratton was off with Chaz alongside him.

The bus came to a halt at the stop to let a handful of people on and off. It was still a good hundred yards away and it was touch and go as to whether they would make it. Chaz turned on the afterburners and moved ahead of Stratton. The driver punched out a ticket and counted out the change for the last new passenger. Stratton ran as hard as he could, suddenly filled with the fear he had miscalculated the distance and how long it would take to cover it. The passenger took his ticket and started to head down the aisle. The doors gushed with air as they started to close and the bus crept forward. Chaz reached out and flung his arm into the closing gap. The driver saw a hand come through to grab the inside of the door and quickly braked. He gave Chaz a stern look and shook his head as he opened the doors.

Chaz stepped aboard, regaining his breath and Stratton climbed on behind him.

‘One . . . more,’ Stratton said to the driver, standing in the doorway so it couldn’t be closed.

Wilks staggered up and virtually fell into the bus. Chaz helped him inside and the driver closed the door.

‘Is it that important?’ the driver asked Chaz, shaking his head as he pulled away and on to the bridge.

Stratton went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up and then around the lower deck to get an idea of numbers. Chaz and Wilks joined him. The bus looked about a third full, with seven people in the lower deck.

‘You clear upstairs,’ Stratton said to Chaz. ‘They’re near the front.The girl’s pretty, short hair. If the older guy eyeballs you, you quit and get off. You take no chances.’

Chaz nodded and made his way upstairs.

‘Let’s get everyone off,’ he said to Wilks. ‘Not all at once. And don’t let anyone on.’

‘Not a problem,’ Wilks said.

Stratton went back to the front of the bus and reached into his breast pocket. The driver glanced at him and indicated a sign that instructed passengers not to hang around the driver and not to talk to him. ‘Go and find a seat, please, sir.’

Stratton held open a small leather wallet in front of the driver’s face. It was a very official-looking photo identification of Stratton with the words ‘Ministry of Defence’ embossed boldly across it.

‘Can you read that?’ Stratton asked.

The driver frowned, glanced at it long enough to read it, then nodded. Stratton flipped down the picture to reveal a sparkling metal badge with an ornate white enamel face that had the Royal Crest finely crafted on it along with the inscription, ‘MI5’.

‘And that?’ Stratton said.

The driver nodded again, a little slower, his frown disappearing.

‘And this?’ Stratton said as he pulled his jacket aside to reveal his pistol in its shoulder holster. The driver’s final nod was enhanced by a facial expression that was most convincing.

‘What’s your name?’ Stratton said, hiding his weapon.

‘Burrows. Robert Burrows.’

‘They call you Bob?’

‘I prefer Robert.’

‘Listen carefully, Robert. On board your bus, upstairs, are some very dangerous criminals. What we need to do is get everyone off without them knowing. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ the driver said, nodding, a little nervous, but in control.

‘I need your help, Robert,’ Stratton continued. ‘I want you to stop at the next bus stop and get out of your seat. I will drive. You will then help my colleague behind me. Don’t tell anyone the real reason they have to get off or they’ll panic. Understood?’

The driver nodded and swallowed heavily. ‘I understand,’ he said.

Stratton looked into the distance as they came over the hump of the bridge. ‘You’re going to stop at that bus stop, right?’

The driver nodded.

‘Act natural. Take it easy . . . The people on this bus are in your care, Robert. This is your ship.’

That was exactly what the driver needed to hear. This was his ship and he was the captain, and the passengers were his responsibility.They made movies of this kind of stuff and it was happening to him for real.

‘Nice and easy,’ Stratton said as they pulled to a stop.‘Don’t open the front doors.’ Two people were waiting to get on. The driver left the doors closed and climbed out of his seat. Stratton noticed the driver’s jacket on a hook behind the seat. He removed his leather jacket, dumped it behind the seat, and pulled on the jacket that had ample room around the front if a little short in the sleeves. He sat in the driver’s seat and looked at the mirror that reflected the images caught by the convex mirror upstairs. Brennan, Aggy and Lawton were all there at the front. He studied the controls. ‘Middle doors?’ he asked and the driver indicated the lever. Stratton activated it and the doors opened. ‘Remember, no one on, Robert.’

‘I understand,’ the driver said. He waved at the two people waiting to get on and indicated they could not. Meanwhile, Wilks went to the three young women nearest the middle door, showed them his badge, and asked them to get off. Surprisingly, they did so without making a fuss. Movies and current events had made the average person far more cooperative in such situations these days. The driver went over to an elderly couple and decided the best way to deal with them was to explain that the bus was stopping where it was because of engine problems and another one was right behind. The old couple got off quite quickly. He repeated the same story to a couple behind who had overheard and they obediently followed.

Stratton checked the rear-view mirror, saw Wilks give a thumbs-up, shut the door then slipped it into drive and slowly accelerated away, leaving the people who had been ushered off as well as those who had been waiting in the street somewhat bemused.

Chaz turned around and faced two middle-aged couples in the two seats behind him. He showed them his badge, told them in a low voice he was with the London special security services, and asked them to quietly and calmly get up and go downstairs. They looked at each other, wondering if this was some kind of a joke. He repeated his command, making sure they could see his picture clearly on the MoD identity badge, and further explained he was a form of police officer and that they were quietly to go downstairs where a colleague would explain the situation to them. They were eventually convinced enough to get up and go to the stairs. Chaz kept an eye on Brennan, who remained looking forward.

As the four passengers reached the lower deck they started talking and asking what was going on. Wilks gave them a quick shhh, put his finger to his lips, and reinforced the command with a flash of his badge. They obeyed this new stranger.

Stratton was anxious for the next bus stop. He wanted everyone off as soon as possible. He took the right turn off the bridge and drove along the riverbank. The road curved slowly to the left and then a stop came into view. As he started to slow, the driver came alongside him.

‘This is the wrong stop,’ the driver said clandestinely.

‘You mean none of those people waiting at the stop will want this bus?’ Stratton asked.

‘That’s right.We don’t stop ’ere. Ours is around the corner a bit further.’

‘Perfect.’ Stratton brought the bus to a stop alongside the bus stop and hit the lever that opened the middle doors with a gush. Wilks ushered the people off. Stratton closed the doors and moved the bus on its way.

Chaz suddenly started to feel the pressure. It dawned on him that he had never been in such a dangerous position in his life. He was used to following foreign diplomats mostly, Russians, East Europeans, Middle Easterners. He’d worked against the IRA loads of times but never like this, never close to a killer who was prepared to waste him if he made a mistake. Chaz looked at the young man with eyes so intense it was if he was trying to burn the message into him. He made another, more severe jerk with his head towards the stairs.The young man’s girlfriend was suddenly aware of her boyfriend’s distraction and looked past him to see Chaz holding his badge. Chaz thought about showing them his gun, but changed his mind for fear it might scare them into a negative reaction.

The girl was more switched on than her boyfriend and took a look at the people in front of her, evaluating why the black guy was being so secretive and cautious. As if Brennan had sensed something he turned and looked at her, into her eyes. It was as if she saw something in him that scared her. Brennan looked ahead again. She nudged her boyfriend to get up. He was resistant. She nudged him again, harder. Chaz put his fingers to his lips, the young man gave in, and they got up.

Brennan looked back just as Chaz was getting up to leave. Chaz caught his eyes, just long enough to see the beast in them, then followed the couple down the stairs. Brennan looked ahead again, but this time niggled by something. He looked back to see the upper deck was empty.

On the lower deck the couple had joined the last of the passengers herded together at the centre doors as Stratton slowed the bus to a stop at a set of traffic lights. He decided to go for it and opened the doors.

‘Everyone off,’ Chaz said quietly, keeping an eye up the stairs. ‘You too,’ he said to the driver.

‘But this is my ship, I mean my bus,’ the driver said.

‘You’ve done your job, mate. You’ve got to get off now, please.’

The driver glanced over at Stratton in his seat, accepted it was all very much bigger than he was, and stepped down off the bus. Stratton shut the doors and as the traffic lights turned green he drove on through the junction.

Wilks and Chaz glanced at each other, at Stratton, and upstairs. Now what?

Wilks took a seat on the bench behind Stratton, nearer the stairs, while Chaz made his way to the back and sat down.

Stratton pushed on along the riverbank taking it as slowly as he could without alerting suspicion, every few seconds flashing a look at the upper-deck mirror. Parliament was a mile or so further on; he needed to drag the journey out as long as he could. There had been no call from Sumners yet, no support team, no plan. It was beginning to look as if everything was going to be down to him. With Brennan, it could get messy. He wondered if the bus could be the best place to end it. He could stop the bus, walk upstairs, and take his chances on shooting Brennan before he could react, and then Lawton. If the virus was somehow released they would have to stay on the bus. It could be sealed off where it was by the biohazard teams and they would take it from there. Not the best end to the day Stratton could imagine, but it might have to do. Then came a loud ding that made Stratton flinch. It took a split second for him to realise it was the stop request bell.

Stratton looked at the upper-deck mirror to see the backs of Brennan, Lawton and Aggy on their feet. He looked at the mirror showing the lower-deck interior, at Chaz and Wilks who were looking up at the sound of footsteps above moving to the top of the stairs.

Stratton saw a bus stop up ahead and started to slow. The footsteps clomped down the stairs. Lambeth Bridge was several hundred yards away, still a fair distance from Parliament Square.Then it hit Stratton like a slap. Of course. MI5 headquarters. A perfect place to put the virus, and Lawton the perfect person to deliver it there.

Aggy was first to step from the stairwell on to the lower deck, followed by Lawton carrying the briefcase, then Brennan who kept an arm’s length from the other two in case he needed to draw his weapon.

As Chaz saw Brennan he felt a sudden flush of anxiety. Brennan had looked at him upstairs. If he saw him again he might become suspicious.

Aggy looked around the bus, which was now almost empty and saw the chubby bloke who was looking directly at her. There was something in his eyes. He seemed tense. She took a look at the other guy seated at the back and felt her senses tingle ever so slightly.Were they who she thought they were? She looked towards the front of the bus, at the driver, and her reaction was almost visible but she held it in check. He wasn’t looking at her, she couldn’t see his face, but she’d know that head and straggly hair anywhere. His presence was like an emergency chute after the main one had failed as she plummeted to earth. He was here and suddenly there was hope. She had to be alert now. Whatever his move was going to be she had to be ready. She hoped she could figure it out seconds before and be of help, or, if not, avoid being a liability.

He brought the bus to a halt at the stop and opened the doors. One way or another it was going to be party time very soon.

Aggy stepped off the bus beside him. He felt her look at him but could not return it. He wanted to let her know he was ready to do something, but how?

‘Go on,’ he said. They walked across the pavement and angled towards the large building on the corner. Brennan’s eyes were forward, but his senses were all aimed to his rear.

Bill looked up at the front of MI5 headquarters. Ahead were the steps that led up to the main doors through which he could see the lobby and the perspex tube turnstiles, hollow pillars that a person stepped into and waited for the sensors to permit them inside.

‘What do we do now?’ asked Wilks.

‘When we get off, spread out. Wait for me to start.’

Stratton’s phone stopped vibrating for a moment then started again. He ignored it as he watched Brennan, counting the seconds, calculating when to make his move.

‘Go on,’ he said in a raised voice as he pushed Aggy forward to follow Lawton up the steps. He glanced over his shoulder long enough to catch sight of figures moving from the bus. Now was the time.

Brennan pulled his gun from his coat as he surged up the steps to overtake Lawton and Aggy to put them between him and the men.

‘Freeze,’ Stratton shouted, aiming his gun.

Bill froze just before the top. Aggy stopped beside him. Brennan grabbed Aggy and spun her around to face Stratton, with his gun at her head.

‘One more step,’ Brennan shouted, ‘and I’ll blow her focken head off!’

‘And I’ll blow your head off, Brennan, as I should’ve done on the border.’

Brennan focused on Stratton. He cast his mind back, replaying the events of that day. He could see the chopper, the man inside it leaning out of the cab holding a rifle aimed at him. ‘Pink,’ he muttered, gritting his teeth with utter hatred, his leg throbbing from the short sprint. It was a standoff, and not the first time he’d been in such a situation. Four years earlier in Cork, after robbing a building society, a plain-clothes cop happened to be on the street outside and drew his weapon. Brennan grabbed a woman who was in front of him and put his gun to her head. After a brief exchange of words he took the initiative and shot through the woman’s head, sprinkling the cop’s face in blood and giving Brennan the precious split second he needed to shoot him too. But this was not going to be as easy. The Pink was too far away, and anyway, the man was no street cop. He was a killer like Brennan, that was obvious just by his manner. The eyes told the rest. There was going to have to be another way out of this situation.

‘If you were gonna give her up, you’d have done it by now,’ he shouted.

‘You can take things only so far,’ Stratton replied. ‘But time’s run out. It ends here.’

‘There’s always enough time for negotiation,’ Brennan said.

‘There’s always time for that,’ Stratton agreed. ‘Her life for yours.’

But both men knew they were simply playing for time and an opportunity to take the other out. Both were the key to winning or losing this fight.

‘Well, I tell you what, Pink. I trust you about as far as I could throw that bus.’

Aggy stared at Stratton, his gun levelled at her in one hand, the other hand down beside his body. It moved, ever so slightly and her eyes flicked to it. He was holding it for her to see what was in it. The initiator. She knew immediately what it signified. That’s what Stratton was doing in Bill’s apartment. He couldn’t find the virus; Bill had hidden it. So Stratton mined the briefcase. He was warning her to get clear. This was his move, his plan. There was only one problem. Brennan would shoot her through the head if she so much as twitched.

Brennan was like a rock, hands steady, his glare determined, his mind spinning like a fruit machine trying to work out his options. ‘Lawton,’ he growled. ‘Put the case down on the floor by my foot.’

Lawton didn’t move.

‘I said put it down, Billy boy.’

Bill still didn’t move.

‘You’ve got five seconds, then I shoot the bitch, and you, and probably get a chance to hammer that case before those bastards get me. It’s your call.’ He shoved the barrel of the gun hard into Aggy’s head. ‘On the ground, now!’

Bill turned and held up the case towards Stratton. ‘Shoot her and I throw him the case,’ Bill shouted.

Brennan’s finger froze on the trigger. He had pushed Lawton to the brink and now he was prepared to sacrifice himself and the girl.

Chaz watched all of this as if from the front seats at a bullfight. He was a part of it and yet he wasn’t. All the cards were being dealt in front of him but he had none to play himself. His gun was up on aim but he would only fire when the maniac or Stratton starting shooting. It all had to end here one way or another but he couldn’t start it. His phone suddenly chirped in his pocket. The ‘Ode to Joy’ was his ring tone, a merry melody for such a moment. No one else appeared to notice. He ignored it himself, but it kept on ringing and was almost becoming an embarrassment. Wilks was a few yards away with his gun levelled. Chaz carefully slid the phone from his pocket and put it to his ear.

Bill Lawton was looking into the abyss. It was all he could do. ‘I swear, the second you shoot, I’ll toss the case to him,’ he said to Brennan. He had gone past the point of no return, his choice clear. This was the only chance he had to save Aggy and the virus, small though it was. It was up to Brennan now. He knew Stratton needed just one slender window of opportunity and he’d take it. Stratton was obviously trying to save Aggy too otherwise he would have wasted them all by now, even if that meant getting to Brennan through Aggy. Bill was surprised. He didn’t think Stratton had this much heart. Perhaps Aggy had been wrong about him. Perhaps he did feel something for her.

Brennan knew his options had run out. Bill had turned completely and played his final card. ‘You fool,’ he said. ‘She’s the only thing keeping the both of us alive.’

‘This is the last time I ask. If you don’t let her go, I’ll toss the case to him anyway.’

‘Then she’s dead for sure and so are you,’ Brennan said with finality.

Lawton slowly moved into a position that suggested he was going to throw it.

‘Put the case down and I’ll let her walk.’ Brennan said. Lawton held himself in check. Was there still a chance? ‘Let her go first,’ he said.

‘Lower the case to the ground then,’ Brennan bartered. Lawton took a moment to decide and then lowered the case but without releasing the handle.

Chaz’s eyes moved to Stratton’s hand by his side as he listened to the voice on his phone and he seemed to understand the worst. ‘Stratton,’ he called out. ‘Stratton. I’ve got a message for you.’

‘Not a good time,’ Stratton said, his gun rock steady and aimed at Brennan’s head or what he could see of it behind Aggy’s.

‘It’s someone called Sumners,’ Chaz persisted trying to keep his voice low. ‘It’s important.That thing you asked him about. He said it won’t work.’

Stratton instantly knew he was referring to the explosive device. His only ace had just been taken from him and his options were suddenly boiled away to one. It had come down to shooting Brennan at the first opportunity even if it meant losing Aggy.

‘Go, Aggy,’ Bill said.

‘Let go of the case first,’ Brennan said. He didn’t trust the spy. Not that it mattered. The key was taking out the bastard Pink at the bottom of the steps and to do that he needed one fraction of a second.

Aggy realised it was all down to her now. She was the key to Lawton’s next move and Stratton’s too. She was going to have to move and give Stratton the shot he needed. She felt suddenly weak as if her legs could no longer support her weight. She wanted to run but she was frozen to the spot. Everything felt as if it had slowed to a crawl. And that’s what it would be like if she ran. She would be too slow. Brennan only needed to move his finger half an inch and she needed to move her whole body ten times as far in the same instant. Her mouth trembled and she closed her eyes. She was going to do it.

But it was Bill who made the first move. ‘Brennan,’ he said. ‘Here.’ And he tossed the briefcase at him. Brennan saw it coming out of the corner of his eye. Aggy ducked and spun, her arms flailing, the split second distraction enough to move her head from the barrel of Brennan’s gun. But Brennan was already traversing the weapon, his subconscious focused on the virus.

Brennan fired a shot into Lawton then dropped a little to engage Stratton. But he was no match for the man who had far more battle experience, and many more kills. Stratton fired two quick shots into Brennan’s body and a third at his head as Brennan fired at him, missing by inches. The head-shot took the side of Brennan’s head off exposing his brain.

Lawton dropped back on to the steps, his chest on fire, his legs unable to support him. Brennan dropped to his knees. There in front of him, in the haze, was the briefcase. The pain in his entire body was excruciating but the throbbing in his head was unbearable. His throat was filling with blood and he could no longer breathe. The pain started to subside and he began to feel euphoric as his brain starved of oxygen. As he fell forward on to the case Brennan pulled the trigger of his gun. The Super ‘X’ explosion was thunderous sending a shockwave through everyone and tossing them like standing corn in a blast of wind.

Father Kinsella lifted the thin leather strap of the binoculars over his head and tidily wound it around the centre hinge. He watched a moment longer then tiredly walked away towards the south side of the river. As he walked he took a mobile phone from his pocket and pushed in a series of numbers. He held it to his ear and listened to it ring. It continued to ring and ring. He looked at the face of the phone to check the number, cancelled it, then tried again.