A big thanks to everyone who had the patience to stay with this and review. I didn't intend for it to take so long to post. Till the next time SD.

Malcolm looked up as he heard Harry make his way across the Grid. He quickly slipped off the headset he was wearing and rose to his feet.

"Harry, there's something I think you ought to hear,"

"Not now," Harry told him smartly, as he strode towards the door.

"But this is important," Malcolm protested.

"Then tell Adam all about it," Harry shot back as he reached the exit.

"But Adam's..." Malcolm was about to point out that Adam wasn't on the Grid, when he spotted him coming in through the doors.

"I'm going out," Harry addressed Adam, the moment the younger man was on the Grid. "Malcolm's got news for you. See if you can't manage to get O'Dowd back in custody before I ring in."

Adam had no chance to reply as Harry moved straight on through the security doors, without stopping to wait. Adam shook his head and then turned his attention to Malcolm.

"Malcolm, what have you got for me?"

"Listening to the police traffic. There's a report coming in of an incident in the vicinity of the Cantallo Estate. Not something that I'd usually consider to be of interest, but for the fact that someone reported a Shogun and a Peugeot being involved in something of a race in the area."

"A black Shogun by any chance?" Adam enquired as he moved round to take a look at the screen in front of Malcolm.

Malcolm nodded. "A little too close to pass of as coincidental."

"Get on the phone to CO19. See if you can't persuade them that it would be in their best interests to be in the area. If it does turn out to be local kids, then they're about to get the biggest, short, sharp, shock of their young lives!"

"I'm on it."

Moving away from Malcolm's desk, Adam sought out Ruth. He was somewhat surprised to see that she wasn't at her desk, fingers frantically tapping away at the keyboard in the way that she usually was. He frowned and glanced around the Grid, trying to work out where she might be.

Moments later he spotted her making her way across the floor; a file clutched in one hand.

"Something interesting?" he enquired, watching as Ruth attempted to hide the file beneath a pile of others on her desk.

"It's nothing," she told him hurriedly, as she turned her attention to the unread messages in her inbox.

Adam watched her for a little while before shrugging his shoulders and returning his attention to Malcolm. There were times when he had the feeling that there were things going on on the Grid that he didn't fully understand.

"I was in a meeting in a house on Coniston Road." O'Dowd's voice cut through the cold silence in the air again.

Ros narrowed her eyes and crouched down; the fingers of her left hand gripping the peeling paintwork as she readjusted her balance; eyes staring ahead, scanning the shadows for the slightest movement.

"Are you listening?"

"Are you still talking?"

"The bombing...it wasn't me. Not that day at least." There was pain in O'Dowd's voice and Ros heard him shuffle around on the ground behind her, trying to find a more comfortable position.

"The people you work for set me up," he told her bitterly.

"And yet none of this comes up at your trial," Ros hissed back, wishing that O'Dowd would shut up and let her concentrate on what was going on outside. "Pardon me, if I don't start weeping tears of unbridled compassion!"

O'Dowd let out a short bark of a laugh. "What do you think would have happened to me if I stood there in court and claimed that I was with MI-5 officers at the time of the bombing? The people I worked for would have taken my family apart piece by piece. The security services were very good at covering their tracks. The only people that would have believed the story would have been the people I was working for ... and I wasn't about to commit suicide."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Ros wanted to know, finally turning round to face him, her face half hidden by the lengthening shadows. "It's not as though I'm going to offer you absolution."

"I've had to live with this knowledge for over twenty years. It's not dying with me, whatever your bosses may want."

A sound from outside drew Ros' attention back to the window and she was immediately back on full alert. She caught sight of a movement on the periphery of her vision. It was gone before she could identify it, but there was every reason to suspect that it was the shooter closing in on their position.

"We've got to move," she hissed beneath her breath.

"But the sniper..."

"I'm not just going to sit here and invite death in," Ros snapped back.

"How the hell did he find us anyway?"

"That question has been bothering me for some time," Ros admitted. "He found the safe house without a problem, and then the Shogun tracked us here... again seemingly with no trouble."

"You're assuming it's the same man."

Ros shot O'Dowd a black look. "I never assume anything. It's just more than a little unlikely that the two events are unconnected." She let out a short laugh. "I wonder..."

"What?" O'Dowd eyed her nervously.

"When you left prison, what were you given?"

"What?"

Ros sighed impatiently. "Did they hand you back anything… Jewellery, clothing ... anything?"

O'Dowd's attention drifted to the watch on his left wrist. Ros followed his gaze.

"Take it off," she snapped.

O'Dowd winced as he moved. "Aren't you getting a little paranoid?"

Ros chose to ignore him.

"Take it off and slide it over here."

Wordlessly, O'Dowd followed her instructions. Ros picked up the heavy silver-chained watch and turned it over in her palm – looking for signs that the back had been tampered with. Even in the fading light she could make out the faint scratches where someone had removed the back.

She placed her handgun down on the floor, and fished into her pocket for her pen knife. Selecting one of the thinnest blades, she slipped it behind the casing, and prised the back of the watch apart.

"Well this explains a lot," she remarked coldly, removing a small transmitter and placing it down on the floor.

"What the …" O'Dowd tailed off as he realised the implications.

"Who did you see at the prison before leaving?" Ros demanded to know.

"They set me up," O'Dowd breathed. "Even now, they won't let me go." He glanced up and saw the neutral expression on Ros' face. "The people you work for must have sanctioned this. For all you know it could be one of your colleagues out there trying to kill me."

"Now who's being paranoid?"

Ros turned away from him, not wanting him to see the expression on her face. He was right, and she knew he was.

"This book that you're writing," she asked finally. "What's it actually about?"

O'Dowd let out a short laugh; one that was followed almost immediately by a gasp of pain. "I was wondering when you'd get round to thinking about that."

"Who is it that you're actually going to affect with your words?"

The smile on O'Dowd's face became a grimace. "Oh there are people out there I can hurt; I know that much." He shifted painfully on the floor. "Got a visit a few months ago; some guy telling me that I could make a little money for myself."

"And does this mysterious Fairy Godmother have a name?" Ros asked icily. "Or did he simply appear to you in a dream!"

"Oh he was real enough," O'Dowd assured her. "Set me up with Burrows, and made sure that I had the time to write everything down."

Ros considered O'Dowd's words for a few moments. "This mystery man; I take it that he took the manuscript out of the prison for you?"

O'Dowd nodded. "Took everything to Burrows. Burrows has everything."

Ros chewed her lip thoughtfully. With a sniper on the doorstep waiting to silence O'Dowd, it was even money that there was someone after Burrows. They wouldn't be an amateur either; it was becoming more and more apparent that this was a highly professional operation. It was even possible that she had ridden the lift at Thames House with the person who at this very moment was waiting to splatter her brains across the walls. She swore beneath her breath; what the hell had Harry got them involved in!

Oliver Mace raised his head from his work as he heard the commotion in the adjoining room.

Moments later the doors were thrown open and, Oliver found that he wasn't remotely surprised to see Harry Pearce marching into his office.

"This is an unexpected pleasure," he announced calmly, indicating to his secretary that he could leave them alone. "Please... Harry... take a seat... Andrew, some tea for myself and Mr Pearce,"

Harry ignored the offer of a seat and crossed swiftly to where Mace was standing. He grabbed hold of the man's lapels and pushed him back across the room; forcing him up against the bookcase at the back of the office.

"Sir..." the secretary began nervously; not sure what to make of the situation.

"You heard Mr Mace," Harry snarled, his face only inches away from Mace's. "He wants some tea." He paused and waited to hear movement from behind. "I suggest you get to it right away."

The secretary dithered in the doorway for a few moments before making his excuses and backing away, closing the doors quietly behind him.

"You're not exactly surrounding yourself with lions," Harry told him with a smile.

Mace made an effort to loosen the grip that was on his jacket, but Harry only pushed him harder against the bookcase.

"Whatever this is," Mace began, trying to keep the quaver from his voice. "I'm sure we'd be better off discussing it like gentleman."

"Gentlemen," Harry spat the word in Mace's face. "I'm surprised that you still know the meaning of the word."

"And I'm surprised that you think that you can come in here like John Wayne and still expect to get everything your own way." Mace stared down at Harry's hands. "Now, do you mind..."

Reluctantly, Harry released the hold he had on Mace's jacket and stepped back.

Mace made a show of pulling the jacket straight before indicating that Harry should take a seat.

"To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"Martin O'Dowd."

Mace pulled a face and stared down at his perfectly manicured nails. "There are more pleasant things to discuss," he began, but Harry cut him off.

"I know where O'Dowd was on the morning of the bombings," he announced quietly.

"That's hardly ground-breaking news. Anyone who read the police report knows O'Dowd's movements on that day."

"I wasn't referring to police reports," Harry replied coldly. "A certain file has brought to my attention. A certain file whose contents make it impossible for Martin O'Dowd to be the man who planted those bombs."

Harry noted the way that Mace shifted position on his chair.

"And you trust this source?" Mace wanted to know.

"With my life."

Mace shook his head. "Whatever happened to the Harry Pearce who trusted nothing but his own opinions?"

"He grew up. Now Oliver, I'm prepared to bury this information where it can never be found, but I want you to understand that if you ever try and use my people again in something like this, I will see to it that you are called to account."

"And what makes you think that any of this has anything to do with me?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Your little comments; your cryptic little hints. You're in this Oliver, right up to your neck. And don't insult my intelligence by denying it; I've seen the transcript of the meeting Oliver. I know you were there. Former associates of O'Dowd were probably quaking in their ivory towers when they heard of his release, but they're not the ones who've been taking pot shots at my officers... are they Oliver! They weren't the only ones who had something to lose if O'Dowd decided to publish and be damned!"

Mace's eyes widened at the comment, but he remained silent.

"It's been my officers with him Oliver. I shouldn't like to think that their lives have at any point been put at risk because someone decided that they had the right to play God."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Cut the little boy lost act, no-one is buying it; least of all me. You're involved in this, and the sooner you start levelling with me, the sooner that I will be out of here."

"No-one is going to grieve over the death of a mass murderer Harry. Rather than standing here and flinging mud around where you know it won't stick; I'd advise you to thank me for trying to protect your officers' lives and leave it there."

"I don't know whose tune you're dancing to Oliver, but it stops here."

The expression on Mace's face hardened. "If O'Dowd was allowed to publish Harry, I doubt even you could imagine the carnage that would follow. This is not some minor back-bencher we're talking about Harry; this goes higher...this goes ...."

Harry held up a hand. "I don't want to know exactly where it's going. I don't want to wake up in the morning to find a gun pressed to my head, because someone's decided that it's better to silence me than rely on my word. I'd rather continue with the bliss of ignorance, than become a part of this."

"But you're already a part of this," Mace countered. He paused as Harry's phone began to ring.

Glaring at Mace with undisguised contempt, Harry reached into his jacket for his phone. "This better be important," he growled into the handset.

After a few moments, he tersely ended the call, and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

"Well, well, well. Things just got a little more interesting," he told Mace. "CO19 have been called out to the Cantallo Estate, responding to an incident involving a certain black Shogun. If sources are correct; it's the very same black Shogun that has been tracking O'Dowd. I believe that's what's known as checkmate!"

Ros closed her eyes and let out a long breath. Across the room she could hear the laboured breathing of O'Dowd. His condition had deteriorated in the last hour, and Ros knew that without medical help, the man was likely to bleed out within the hour.

She opened her eyes and reached for her handgun. There were only twelve rounds left. She passed the gun from one hand to the other, trying to decide on the best course of action. She had to make a move out of the room if O'Dowd was to stand any chance of staying alive. It was a course of action that would place her in the firing line of the sniper. A sniper who had a laser sight, and probably thermal imaging equipment as well. The bastard was just playing with her now; waiting until she made her move before picking her off.

Keeping the gun in her right hand, she turned to the window; raising herself back up into a crouching position. She peered out through the narrow gap at the edge of the grille, trying to keep away from the hole that the sniper's round had made.

Down below the estate was now shrouded in shadows. There was nothing down there, nothing at all. She tensed as the sound of a car engine broke the silence. Moments later, a blue strobing light lit up the walls of the lower floors. Ros watched in disbelief as a police car made its way onto the roadway between the two tall tower blocks. Behind it was an unmarked blue van. Ros knew exactly what it would contain. She allowed herself a small smile. There was a chance after all... assuming that CO19 didn't just place themselves directly in the firing line.

She watched as the vehicles came to a halt; the blue lights still strobing on the walls of the courtyard below. Ros waited for the doors of the vehicles to open and the armed officers to emerge, but there was no further movement. The engines were switched off and the lights extinguished.

Ros felt her heart sink as she realised what was going on. The officers were there, but someone had got to them first. They weren't going to do anything but wait.

Adam paced across the office, his hands clasped behind his head.

"Alpha leader, alpha leader. Do you see the target?"

There was nothing but static on the other end of the line.

"Alpha leader you have the green light to shoot. Acknowledge."

Adam starred at the speaker on the table, willing a voice to respond to his order.

"Malcolm?"

"The signal is good Adam; there's no reason why he can't hear you."

"Alpha leader," Adam growled. "State your location."

He swore loudly as there was no reply.

"What the hell are they playing at?" he demanded to know.

Malcolm switched between programs on his monitor, and called up the CCTV camera network from the estate. Most of the cameras were out of action, having been vandalised by the locals, but there were still one or two that projected fuzzy images of the rundown estate onto the screen at the far end of the room.

"Next one," Adam instructed as the first image showed him nothing but the sight of an empty walkway.

Malcolm obligingly moved the search on. He stopped as the next image brought up a shot of the parked police vehicles.

"What are they doing?" Adam demanded to know, as he made his way closer to the screen.

Malcolm narrowed his eyes and tried to determine detail in the image. "It looks as though they're still in the vehicles," he announced, using a pointer to indicate the back seat of the lead car.

Adam swore again, and leaned forward towards the communication equipment on the table. "There is an MI-5 officer with O'Dowd. You will damn well get out of your vehicles and do your job."

Adam stared at the image on the screen. There was no sign of any movement. Swearing loudly, Adam snatched up the phone on the desk and dialled Harry.

Harry glared at the small handset as once again it intruded into the conversation. There were times when he was less than convinced that they were an entirely beneficial development. He punched the answer button and brought the phone up to his ear.

"What is it?" he demanded to know.

The expression on his face darkened as he heard the news that Adam had to report. Without warning he broke the connection and rose to his feet.

Mace read the body language of his colleague and sat back in his chair, as if in some way it would protect him from what was coming.

"Just what the hell is going on?"

Mace shrugged his shoulders. "You're going to have to be a little more specific than that," he replied, managing to keep his tone even.

"Seems your 'friend' has contacts everywhere," Harry snarled. "CO19 are refusing to respond to the orders that have been given to them."

Mace plastered a smile upon his face. "This is not of my doing Harry. I can't help you."

"Oliver... Call off the dogs...O'Dowd will not publish, and whoever's sordid little secret it is that you're keeping will remain off of the front pages of the red tops." He scanned Mace's face looking for some sign that his words were having the desired effect. "Come on Oliver you are running out of time. My officer comes out of this with anything more than a chipped fingernail and I will personally circulate the story that you were responsible for setting up the meeting with O'Dowd." He tilted his head slightly. "You know that I'd do it Oliver ... don't you!"

"You can't blackmail me Harry..." Mace insisted.

"Well someone obviously can ... and has," Harry countered. "I don't care what they've told you they'll do - trust me; it's nothing to what I'll do. I know where the bodies are buried Oliver."

"O'Dowd's life is not worth this effort Harry. The sooner he is silenced, the sooner that stability can be re-established. Where there's life, there's threat. We need to snuff out that threat Harry." He took in the look on Harry's face. "If it ever comes to light that members of the security services were complicit in the deaths of three school children, there will be no chance of any of us retaining our posts. This won't just shake the tree Harry; this will bring down the whole orchard."

Mace waited for some sort of reply from Harry, but none was forthcoming.

"If I make this call; then it could be the end of a lot more things than just your pension."

"Make the call," Harry told him flatly.

Mace paused for a moment as though caught in two minds. Then suddenly he reached for his mobile and selected a number.

"End it," he spoke the words quietly into the phone.

A single shot rang out. The echo reverberated around the crumbling estate block – a sharp crack that disturbed the silence and ushered the birds out of the trees and into the darkening sky.

"I hope you know what you've just done," Mace told Harry calmly as he placed the phone down on the polished surface of the mahogany table, and leant back into the worn leather of his chair. "A single shot from a marksman can do so much more than end one life. You'd better be sure that your officer was worth the price."

Not bothering to respond, Harry turned smartly and made his way across the office; yanking open the doors and striding out.

Mace watched him go; a small smile spreading across his face.

Ros sat back on her heels and stared mutely at man now sprawled on the floor in front of her. The shot had been taken with pin-point accuracy; the back wall of the room splattered with blood and brain matter as the bullet forced its way through O'Dowd and buried itself in the wall beyond.

Ros felt unnaturally calm and still; slightly removed from the world. Aware of what was going on around her, but not feeling a part of it.

There was the sound of heavy booted feet on the stairwell; muffled shouts as the CO19 officers cleared the rooms – growing louder as they neared the flat she was in.

She sat on her heels and waited for them.

The piercing beam of a torch blinded her vision, and moments later she could make out a male voice barking orders; she guessed that the words were aimed in her direction, but she didn't have the wherewithal to respond.

The words were repeated, and then her vision was blocked as dark shapes crowded around her. She felt hands roughly grabbing her arms; prising the handgun from her grip as they pulled her none too gently to her feet before pushing her against the damp, peeling wall of the flat. She made no protest as the treatment continued; hands searching for other weapons or means of identification, before she was spun round again and the bright beam of the torch shone directly into her eyes.

"It seems we owe you an apology," the words filtered through into her brain. "Looks as though you've done us all a favour." She struggled to understand what the man was talking about.

"She's not the shooter," another of the officers reported, holding up Ros' handgun. "Barrel of the gun is cold."

There was a pause, and the attitude of the officer seemed to switch again as he realised that she'd actually been trying to keep O'Dowd alive.

The light was lowered from her eyes, and the officer raised his radio.

"Situation is under control sir. One fatality, one baby-sitter. No sign of the shooter."

The second officer placed Ros' handgun onto the floor, and shot her a disgusted look. "What were you looking to do; secure a bonus from your bosses?"

Satisfied that they'd done all they needed, the black-clothed officers filed out of the room, leaving Ros standing alone with O'Dowd's body.

"Pearce knows."

The voice was hard, and Mace flinched at the tone.

"He's not going to cause us any problems," he assured the man on the other end of the line. "He's yet to realise that O'Dowd is dead. He has however seen transcripts of the Coniston Road meeting. The file in question must be on its way back to the registry soon. I'll see to it that it is intercepted and removed from the system. I'll also keep a close eye on the individual who signed it out. I appreciate that this information needs to be smothered… whatever the cost."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Mace began to feel a little nervous.

"This leaves things a little messy Oliver. I wanted there to be no loose ends."

"Everything will be squared away," Mace was quick with the assurance. "Harry Pearce will have no way of finding out who the sniper was. All of his officers made it out of the affair with their lives intact."

"And the sniper?"

"Anonymity is guaranteed."

"I think someone needs to have a quiet word with Mr Pearce. Make sure that he understands the gravity of the situation."

Mace carefully chose his next words. "I don't think that that's the wisest thing to do. He's going to be angry when he realises how O'Dowd died. He left here thinking that O'Dowd was about to be taken into custody."

"Then it's up to you to explain the situation to him."

Mace opened his mouth to reply, but was left listening to the dial tone as the caller disconnected.

The blue lights of the emergency vehicles strobed against the side of the buildings and illuminated the features of the men who were standing around it. All were clothed in black; their chatter low and quick as they wound down after the operation. Some were smoking; quick fingers bringing the warming cigarettes to their mouths.

Ros scanned the group in front of her, searching for one particular face.

"Where the hell were you?" Ros pushed her way through the crowd of men and homed in on the black-uniformed marksman.

The man turned to face her; the smile on his face vanishing as he caught sight of her.

"Where the hell were you?" she repeated her question as she closed the distance. "We were out there and you did nothing. You sat there and waited for someone to take a shot."

"I might have hit you," the man offered by way of an explanation.

"They have us believe that you can hit peas off a fork at a hundred paces, so don't piss me about."

"You cared about O'Dowd?"

"Well I wasn't looking to see his brains splattered all over the walls of the room I was in," Ros snapped. "If you'd taken out the sniper then that wouldn't have happened." She looked around. "What did you do; give him an escort away from the place and pay for his plane ticket out of the country?"

"Send me the bill for your dry cleaning if it makes you feel any better!" the officer told her coldly, before looking her up and down. "From the looks of things you're going to have to wash that man right out of your hair!"

Ignoring the sniggers from the other officers he was with, Ros pushed past and headed away from the group. She had no idea where she was going; she just knew that she needed to be somewhere else. She walked out of the area illuminated by the strobing blue lights and into the darkness beyond.

Harry placed the report down on his desk. He was well aware that his superiors would rather that he didn't commit so many reports to hard copy, but there was something reassuring about the feel of paper between his fingers, a sense of permanence that information scrolling across a screen just seemed to lack. He raised his eyes and glanced across at Ros, who was sat across from him, one ankle crossed neatly over the other, a thinly disguised look of boredom on her features.

"And this is everything that happened?"

There was an unmistakable edge to Harry's voice.

"Everything that I remembered. I may have missed out a whinge or two from O'Dowd."

Harry frowned. "O'Dowd said nothing more?"

Ros arched an eyebrow. "You were expecting him to give me his life story?"

"I was expecting something a little more than what you've given me here." Harry pushed the file back towards Ros, the distain plain in his tone.

"That's all I remember," Ros told him bluntly. "People were trying to kill me, so I may have been giving less than my full attention to O'Dowd."

Harry studied her, looking for any sign that she was keeping something back.

"But as far as you are aware...this is everything?"

Ros nodded. "If you were hoping for some last minute eulogising, then I'm sorry to disappoint you. He wasn't in a sharing mood."

Harry couldn't put his finger on exactly why he didn't believe her. There was nothing tangible to hang the suspicion on, but it was there all the same, the feeling at the back of his mind that she was lying; keeping something back for herself. He let out a slow breath; she was an adult. She was more than capable of taking care of herself. If she wanted to play things this way, then it was up to her. He just had to trust that she understood the importance of knowing when to play the cards that you were holding and when to keep that information close to your chest.

He gestured towards the door. "As long as you're sure that's everything, you should get yourself home. It's been a long few days."

Ros nodded in acknowledgement, and pushed the chair away from the table before rising to her feet.

She made it to the door, before Harry spoke again.

"Be careful Ros," he warned her. "There are vultures out there; they'll take you out in a heartbeat if they think you pose a threat."

"Harry I told you..."

He raised a hand to silence her protest. "I know what you told me Ros; now just listen to what I've told you. Tread carefully ... very very carefully."

Harry turned up the collar of his coat, and made his way quickly along the rain-soaked pavement towards the arranged rendezvous. Oliver Mace had rung him, and demanded that they meet. Harry was convinced that Mace had arranged the meeting in public because he was afraid of what might happen to him if the two were to meet in private.

Harry frowned as the downpour seemed to grow heavier. Ahead he spotted the large black umbrella that Mace was sporting. Harry's frown became a scowl; trust Mace to bring an umbrella.

"I hope you're not going to stand there and expect me to condone what was little more than a state ordered execution," Harry remarked as he drew alongside Mace and leant upon the railings that lined the embankment.

Oliver Mace smiled thinly. "It was nothing of the sort."

"Then what would you call it?" Harry demanded to know as he watched the last of the tourist boats make their way along the Thames.

"I think it would help all of us if you were to look at this with a little sense of perspective... If O'Dowd had been allowed to go public with his outrageous claims, who knows where it would have ended?"

Harry let out a long breath. "People would have been called to account and the blame placed squarely on the shoulders of those who were responsible."

Mace smiled. "Come now Harry, you've been in the service long enough to know that that would never have happened! Our world is little more than a series of checks and balances. This was one little matter that needed to be kept quiet."

"Since when was the taking of a man's life a 'little matter'?"

"The information he had could have toppled the Government Harry; and whatever you may think of the individuals involved; now is not the time to throw the country into such a political upheaval."

"We were played," Harry replied angrily. "From the start we were set up. O'Dowd was dumped in our laps and we sat there waiting to be shot at!"

"Now we're getting to the real heart of it," Oliver smiled. "This isn't about O'Dowd; this is about your pride."

"And your pet sniper. Where is he now? Sunning himself on some tropical beach at the tax payers expense?"

"Careful Harry," Mace warned. "It is possible to push things too far."

"Really!"

"Really. There was a fatality in the crash that occurred in the underground car park on the Cantallo estate. The matter is not presently being investigated, but if forensic officers were to be instructed to examine the vehicle, and the body of the deceased... just who's gun do you imagine ballistics would identify as the one responsible for firing the fatal rounds?"

Harry met Mace's gaze.

"That request is only a phone call away Harry. If you want to keep your officer on the street and out of prison, I suggest that you comply with my request."

"Request!" Harry spat the word out.

"It is a request," Mace replied calmly. "Your officer is receiving the same courtesy that we are presently extending to the man you seem to wish to see swinging from a gibbet at the nearest crossroads. If you wish for one to be punished ... well, we can't be seen to play favourites now, can we?"

Harry muttered something beneath his breath, before pushing away from the railing.

"Going somewhere?"

Harry looked around in disgust. "There are days when I feel as though I'm getting lost in the muck and the grime of this business. Today is one of those days. I'm going; I'm going somewhere where I can at least try and forget about this ...this job that we do."

Mace tilted his head to one side. "You're sounding tired Harry. Surely you're not looking to head to the knackers yard just yet."

Harry smiled a humourless smile. "I'll see you there first Oliver."

He turned and walked away; leaving Mace staring after him.

Jo put one foot in front of the other, and concentrated fully on getting to the door without needing to lean against the wall for support. Every step was accompanied by a dull throb from her ribs. Her doctor had advised her to remain in the hospital for the night, but she was keen to be on her way. There was nothing like sleeping at home; and home was somewhere that she wanted to be more than anything.

It had been frustrating to follow the news reports on O'Dowd; knowing that most of what they were reporting was going to be inaccurate. She couldn't explain the pang of loss she felt upon hearing that O'Dowd was dead. The news channels were implying that there should be some sort of national rejoicing, but all Jo felt was a sense of loss. She knew that it would be pointless to try and explain things to Adam or Harry, and so she resolved to bury the feelings she had, and concentrate on getting fit enough to be back at work.

She finally reached the door and pulled it open. Across the hallway Zaf was leaning up against the wall, his coat draped over one arm. Upon seeing her, his eyes lit up and he pushed himself upright.

"I'm here to escort you home," he told her warmly.

"There's no need," she told him, trying to disguise her delight upon seeing someone there.

"I'm not much of a cook," he warned her. "But I can order the meanest takeaway this side of the river."

With a smile, she took the arm that was offered, and the pair of them made their way slowly towards the exit.

The images from the television screen flickered across Ruth's face. The main news headline immediately caught her attention and she reached out for the remote, ignoring the mew of protest from Fidget as she tipped him from her lap, and raised the volume to listen to the news report.

She shook her head slowly as she realised the spin that was being placed on the story. She wondered briefly just how far the suppression of the truth would extend; would anyone else ever realise what had really happened.

At her side the screen on her mobile lit up, and moments later the phone began to ring. She was tempted to ignore it as she realised that the number was withheld. Withheld numbers meant work and that was something that she wasn't certain that she still had the energy for.

Her hand hesitated for a moment, before reaching out and collecting the phone from the cushion next to her.

"What is it?" she asked gruffly. It was one thing to answer the phone; there was no rule that said she had to be polite.

"And a good evening to you too!"

"Harry!" Ruth sat up straight and heard the thud of paws on the carpet as Fidget was unceremoniously deposited onto the floor by her sudden movement.

"I was thinking…" the voice on the other end of the phone said hesitantly. "I don't know about you, but it's been a long and difficult day, and I could do with a drink."

Ruth glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed heavily. Tempted though she was by the offer, the hour was late and she wasn't sure that she was really in the mood for facing a crowd of strangers in a pub somewhere.

"I was thinking…" Harry broke the silence, "And I hope that you won't think it an imposition. I was thinking that …" his voice tailed off as though uncertain of continuing.

"Where are you?" Ruth took a deep breath and rubbed at her eyes with her free hand.

There was a long pause before the answer finally came.

"Outside."

Ruth glanced towards the windows. "But it's pouring down out there."

"Believe me; I'm well aware of that fact at this present moment in time."

Ruth deliberated for a second before rising to her feet and heading out of the room, Fidget hot on her heels.

Without bothering to switch on the light, she headed down the hallway, her bare feet cold on the tiled floor. Undoing the locks, she opened the front door and regarded Harry as he struggled to remain dry beneath the small porch; a bottle of whisky clutched in his right hand, his mobile phone still held in his left.

"I guess you'd better come in," she told him, stepping back and opening the door wider.

Fidget took one look at the new arrival and darted back towards the living room in search of warmth.

Harry passed the bottle to Ruth and silently stepped over the threshold.

The flames licked hungrily at the paper, the edges curling with the heat - blackening before finally falling away, lost in the heart of the fire.

The man stood away from the flames, dipping his hands into his jacket pocket and pulling out a slender blue memory stick. He regarded the small item for a moment before casting it into the centre of the fire, certain that the casing would melt and the contents of the device would be destroyed within seconds.

If another copy of O'Dowd's manuscript was ever unearthed, then he would go through the same process again. There were certain things that were above the cost of a single human life. Waterhouse publishing had been compensated and left in no doubt that publishing anything from O'Dowd would be inadvisable.

The security services acted in the best interests of the country; it just wasn't always in the best interests of the country to know exactly what the security services were up to. As long as the status quo was maintained, it mattered little how it was achieved; the ends would always - in his reading of the situation - justify the means.

Oliver Mace rubbed his hands together and warmed them by the heat of the fire that he had created.