Abbey placed her supper of roast beef sandwiches on a tray and with a cup of coffee carried it into the living room. She sat on the couch, placing the food alongside. While eating a sandwich, she read her presentation for the next day. Happy, the folder slotted into her workbag and tired she made her way to bed.

***

Michael raced along the corridor after Abbey. As she made her way to the lecture room, she moved with confidence. When he caught up with her, she laughed at Jacobs's failure to launch a missile.

"You know he won't stop trying."

"I agree. Jacob believes in himself."

"I'm in here," said Abbey stopping at lecture room three.

"Number six for me," said Michael. "Are you around later?"

Abbey nodded. "Why?"

"Tyler thought the three of us could go for a drink."

"Tyler or you?"

He shrugged. "To be truthful me."

"Any reason."

"The future. Do we need Jacob?"

She stopped, tilted her head to one side and then delivered her answer. "Jacob set up the programme. Somewhere in, there will be his control steps. Leave it with me, and I'll get back to you. Must go."

He watched as she entered the lecture room and wished.

***

Abbey awoke from a disturbed nights sleep, rolled over and turned on her radio. From half- asleep to wide-awake took less than a second as the newsflash registered.

She tried to contact Jacob, but each time her calls diverted straight to his voice mail. Abbey shrugged when she discovered, the main door to the shop unlocked. Warily she entered. The hatch to the basement was open, and the clatter of fingers operating a keyboard eased her mind. She closed and bolted the main door. Tense, she reached the bottom of the stairs, digital algorithms raced across four screens. A flood of horror gushed through her. "Jacob, what the fuck are you doing?"

He gave a manic chuckle as he lifted his head. His eyes gleamed. "At this moment, I'm into a USAF Base, 450 nuclear missiles are mine to operate. They built these places in the sixties, and much of the equipment is original. Designed to be untouchable. Then one day a telephone engineer installed fibre optics. To make matters worse, the idiots installed the backup to a PC. You're familiar with the domino effect, well join that to a cyber cascade and you have World War Three."

Abbey tried to control her voice. "You're deranged. If your data falls into the wrong hands, a ton of shit will hit the fan, and I don't want to be under it."

He grinned as he looked at her. "I'm a genius. I can save the world from itself. I'm shaking the trees to discover what falls out."

"You're fucking mad."

Jacob snapped. "You're jealous."

She shook her head. "Jealous of a dickhead. Delete the program."

"He held up his hands as a signal of truce. It's a matter of pride. I use a Ministry of Defence server to direct my traffic, and everything is password protected."

"I can crack passwords in my sleep. What's so different about yours?"

He laughed. "I've hidden them where the sun doesn't shine." He savoured the moment.

She remained staring at him. "Be careful, search programmes advance each day. Tomorrow might be the day when the world finds you. Nothing is foolproof."

"I haven't told you the best bit."

She looked at him quizzically. "Tell me."

"I can stop those missiles from ever launching."

She stared at him, trying to make sense of his actions. "I'd sooner you did nothing. I'm out of here."

Fearful but not intimidated, she left. Somehow, she must inform the right people. They could stop this.

The day was bright, sunny, but cool, and she kept moving to keep warm. For no reason, she entered a park and found an empty seat by the lake. Her mind fought with itself. A mother and a small child dressed in pink played on the grass. The child staggered a few steps before falling on her well-padded bottom. Part of the game was to clap and squeal before she rolled over and got up again. She was black and cute. Her mother watched over her. The girl giggled and waved her arms, but her mother waited until she wobbled to her.

Abbey smiled; well aware, she needed these reminders. Burkes famous phrase came to mind. For evil to exist, it only takes good people to do nothing. With her catch-22 unanswered, she stood and left.

Today the slightest irritation made her want to vomit. She could not even fill up her Mini with petrol without the fumes making her wretch and heave. How could anything so natural feel so bad? It was worse than gastric flu, at least with the flu you knew it would soon end. This would go on for another seven months.

Abbey closed her eyes but could not relax; she needed an answer to her question. Jacob filled her head as she texted Mr Peters. "I need your advice."

She waited, changed into her pyjamas, made a coffee, turned on the television, flicked to the news channel and lay on the couch. The news reported that the Indian Army was investigating the unplanned launch of one of its missiles. The telephone rang, dragging her from a snooze. She reached over and lifted her mobile. "Mr Peters."

"How did you know it was me?"

"You have always used a telephone. My friends use mobiles."

"I'm a simple man, but you are no longer my responsibility."

"You said if I needed help to call you."

"I did, didn't I? How can I help?"

"An associate of mine has written a computer programme that has the potential to harm millions of people."

"Okay, but you should tell this to the police."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I don't suppose you noticed, but I've taken nothing from my account lately."

"I did but then why would I worry.."

"Ever heard of skimming?"

"It's theft."

"Well a few of us geeks have perfected a programme that skims bank accounts, and I'd prefer if the world didn't find out. One of my associates has conceived Armageddon, and I need to inform the right people."

"Can I ask? Are you high on drugs?"

"No."

"This friend of yours, does he keep copies of his programme? Can you get hold of them?"

"No, and I can't tell you. The passwords are inside his head."

"Couldn't you delete it or something?"

"If I had known, yes, but I didn't."

"Leave this with me. Give me time." The line went dead.

The wait was painful and endless, her hands shook, and her head ached. Her mobile rang, she let it ring again, scared to answer the call. Then she did, "Yes."

"It's Peters, there's a Commander William Halliwell on his way to your flat. I don't think he believed me when I told him your story."

If he doesn't, kiss your arse goodbye."

"Miss Abbey, you always had a way with words."

"I hope so." She turned her head as the rapping on the door broke her train of thought. "Must go, there's someone at the door."

"Abbey, just tell Halliwell the truth. He's a good man."

She ended the call, strolled to the door, peered through the spy hole and saw a strange man. "Who is it?"

"Halliwell, Scotland Yard."

"You'll have to wait." In minutes, Abbey, wearing an old brown dressing-gown eased open the door until the security chain tightened. "Can I see your ID?" She took the warrant card from his hand, gazed at the photo, and then back at him. "Metropolitan Police–Counter-Terrorism." She passed his card back, shut and removed the security chain and motioned for him to enter. Her hands shook as she closed and locked the door.

He was taller than she expected. The top of her head reached his shoulders. "My lawyer told me you were on your way, but I didn't expect the top brass."

The well-built, middle-aged man wore an immaculate pinstriped suit, white shirt but no tie. With the look of a man working unsociable hours, he slumped into the one armchair.

He stared at the pale-faced young woman in front of him. "Miss Lane, I'm a professional, and we need to talk. From what I know, I'm here to drag you out of the shit. Tell me what you told my old friend Gregory Peters."

She levelled her eyes at a man who possessed a harsh coldness in his gaze. "I'm not scared, I'm fucking petrified. Who knows what a mad man will do just because he can."

He leaned forward, his hands clasped in his lap. "Are you're wasting my time?"

She made no effort to disguise her annoyance. "What do you mean? I know he launched an ICBM from the east coast of India."

Halliwell grimaced as he shot forward in his chair. "Jesus fucking Christ. Give me his address." Abbey told him.

He pressed a key on his mobile. "Halliwell, encrypt this number and call me." He waited a few seconds and answered before it completed one beat of its ring tone. "Code-Gold." He gave the address. "I need an armed squad and total lockdown. We are not dealing with teenage terrorists, this man's an educated maniac. Silent mode to apply. Track my mobile, I'm on my way." He pointed. "You, come with me."

"Why?"

"Because I say so."

"Can I get dressed?"

His eyes lowered. "Sorry, wasn't thinking."

"Are you married?" She shouted as her bedroom door slammed shut.

From the floor, she grabbed her well-worn blue jeans with holes in the knees. Her wardrobe provided a thick Arran sweater and an expensive black leather jacket. A pair of Doc Martin black boots slid over her white socks.

As she opened the door, he grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the flat to the waiting car. "Get in and shut up." He told the uniformed driver the address. "If you burn rubber, I'll not complain. No siren. The clock's ticking, and I want to catch this idiot."

"Yes, in answer to your question. My wife is always on time when we go out. Your friend, does he have a name?" Halliwell asked casually.

Abbey laughed as the car sped around a corner and she gripped the back of the seat in front. "Jacob Spink."

Seated in the rear of the Range Rover she could hardly hear the power of the engine. They stopped at a set of traffic lights but the instant they changed to green, the unsmiling driver, brushed the accelerator and the car leapt forward.

***

"Stop," Abbey shouted.

"Do it," said Halliwell.

Before they had time to exit the car, two grey-painted personnel carriers stopped millimetres behind them. Clad in grey body armour, and carrying a machine pistol, one man jumped from the driver's cab to the pavement. As if he had plenty of time, he sauntered to the front of the car. "Inspector Madden, Sir. What are your orders?"

As his feet touched the pavement, Halliwell pointed at what appeared to be a derelict building. Its front, covered in colourful graffiti and steel shutters sealed both windows. Two street lamps in the vicinity flickered and buzzed. "That is your objective. Direct your team to lock down the entire area tighter than a duck's arse and the first man to make a sound will be directing traffic for life. My friend and I will try the simple approach."

The inspector's eyebrows arched. "And that is, Sir?"

Halliwell glanced at the building; his stomach rumbled, reminding him he had not eaten since breakfast. "The first rule of diplomacy. Talk in a whisper but carry a big stick." He pointed. "You, give me two Glock 17s." He shoved one behind his back and into his belt, the other into his trouser pocket. "Inspector, tell me when your men are in position."

In silence, the area buzzed with activity as armed officers took their positions.

For a few minutes, he stood and did what he did best. Unhurried, his eyes roamed the area; missing nothing as armed men dressed in grey uniforms took their positions.

He turned and spoke to Abbey. "Tell me everything about Spink."

She thought for a moment. "Jacob is from South Africa, twenty-five and weird. He has a white father and a black mother who separated a few years back. I understand he has a first in mathematics and is studying for his Masters in computer programming."

"How did you meet?"

"He offered to help a few of us with our assignments."

"Have you slept with him?"

"Is that important?"

"Everything is. I'm attempting to build a profile of a man I may have to kill. I don't want to, but sometimes I do not have a choice."

"No, I haven't. Now that you ask, I've never ever thought of him sexually. And before you dare ask the next question, I'm not a virgin, but I'm choosy with whom I have sex. He's a bit of a dick head."

Halliwell's face turned red, acknowledging a line he should not have crossed. His mobile rang, and he glanced at the screen. "Good evening, Gov."

"I'm told by a member of my junior staff that two PCs full of armed men and women, left the yard twenty minutes ago. Be polite and tell me why?"

"Sir, the rogue missile fired from the east coast of India. I have a lead on who overrode the safety protocols. It's a mathematics genius studying programming. He cracked the system."

"The Pentagon did it ages ago. Why do you think so many of North Korea's missiles failed? And I worry about what crap's on Facebook. Halliwell, you can consider this a mission briefing. Don't kill the bastard. We need to know how and why. A bullet in the leg usually stops them."

"There are always risks, Sir."

"That's why I never sleep well at night, Halliwell." The line went dead.

"We are ready, Sir," said the inspector.

"Right, young lady, time to move."

She shrugged. "Please don't shoot Jacob. He's an oddball but doesn't deserve to die."

Halliwell raised his eyebrows. "He has two choices; if he chooses the wrong one, I put a bullet right between his eyes. He looked at her. "You lead. The inspector and I will follow."

At the shop's entrance, Abbey used her mobile to contact Jacob. She listened as his voicemail activated. She tried again to no avail. With her fist, she pounded on the door.

***

Jacob, smoking a cigarette, listened to his phone ring and continued punching his keyboard. A pot of instant chicken noodles steamed on his desk. As was his way he pressed F12 on his keyboard and Abbey, along with two men, one wearing body armour appeared on his screen. "You bitch." He grinned from ear to ear as he pressed several keys in quick succession. At once, four screens displayed the same message.

***

Halliwell nodded to the inspector who signalled to one of his men. A few seconds later, a constable arrived carrying his Big Red Key.

"Open it," said Halliwell.

"Stand back, Sirs." The man moved forward, swung the Big Key, and struck the door once, splitting the wood around the lock and two bolts. On one hinge, it swung open.

Halliwell was an officer often misjudged by his team. As a thinker, he calculated every move. His adversary in this instance was not a terrorist. With his right hand, he drew his Glock and made sure the safety was on. They stood motionless, listening. He glanced at the inspector "You first." He pointed, "Abbey, stay outside."

Abbey stared hard at Halliwell. "There's a trap door behind the counter."

"Found it," said the inspector.

To be on the safe side, the inspector lifted the cover towards him. Once vertical, he shouted, "Jacob Spink, Armed Police. Do not make any sudden moves. Please climb the stairs with your hands behind your head." He waited for a reply.

Halliwell nodded to the inspector. "Inspector, two stun grenades. Jacob, this is your last chance,"

From his belt, the inspector pulled two grenades, removed the pins and dropped them through the opening.

They exploded as the trapdoor shut; the shockwave shuddered through the walls. Dust fell in a fine mist, clouding the room

The inspector coughed. "If anyone's down there, they're unconscious."

***

Cursing Abbey, Jacob switched on his battery-operated headlamp. The white beam lit a long, brick-built tunnel.

During the revamp, the builders removed and dumped every carpet in the skip. He saw the metal cover and gave it little thought. Later, curiosity got the better of him, and he explored the tunnel workings from end to end. When he found an exit, the secret stayed with him. The air smelt damp. Walking at a fast pace, he swept the beam from side to side. A thought bothered him; if he dropped his torch, he would be lost. Sweat dripped into his eyes as he gripped the chrome-plated shaft. Forty minutes later, the tunnel forked. Continuing left for a further three hundred metres, he stopped and climbed a metal ladder, its rungs set into the wall. On reaching the top, he eased the cover off its housing, clambered out and with his foot slid the cover back. Seething, he left the school playground and crossed a busy road. Hungry from his exertions, he entered MacDonalds. With a triple cheeseburger in his right hand, he seated himself in a far corner. While eating, he gave thought to his future. He wiped his hands on the paper serviette and left. In minutes, he made his way through the back doubles until, gazing in disbelief, he saw the armed police. Like a ghost, he withdrew into the shadows and waited. He checked his watch, time was against him, and he had a score to settle.

***

Halliwell grinned. "Inspector, rank has its privilege, and as you're wearing armour, you can go first."

"Thank you, sir" He lifted the trap door and roared. "Armed police, make no sudden moves." One-step at a time he descended. As his feet touched the floor, he sidled to the right and stopped when he struck a chair. His eyes scanned the empty room. "The bird's flown."

Haliwell rubbed his chin. "Abbey, where has he gone?"