The silence in the hotel room was palpable, with two combatants each circling the other, arguments chambered like ammunition in their minds.

"It looks like we both have the same problem alright." He said, finally, sinking back onto the bed.

"You do understand my position, don't you? She could be killed, and what of her child?"

"Child? What child?" He jammed his hands onto his hips and stood, legs apart, in front of her.

He hadn't noticed! She cursed herself again. She revealed the rest of her story about how she recruited Ava initially and that Grant had given her the opening.

"Grant told you she had a kid?" He turned away. "So much for cards on the table."

"I'm sorry . . . I was afraid for the child."

"Afraid, what, that I'd swoop in and snatch her up?"

"I don't know, Morrisey. What would you think in this situation?"

He wagged his head. "You're sure this courier could have information that might expose her to Felix."

"I don't know! It's what she told me. All I do know is I want - need - to get that dossier." She sighed. "By the way, thank you for not burning me."

He grunted. "This has a lot more to it than we both know, I'm sure of it."

She leaned back, elbows on the dresser, her eyes locked on his. "Any bright ideas?"

His laugh was derisive. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe she recruited you, to protect her and her kid, and this whole courier business is a crock?" The words hurt, and he saw that clearly, feeling a flash of regret. Her anger peaked and he saw the welling of tears in her eyes.

"Then why is he here?" She replied through clenched teeth before fleeing into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Morrisey stood outside trying to carefully walk back his accusation, getting more frustrated by the minute by her silence. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. Come on back out, please, and we'll talk this all through, figure something out. I didn't mean that as an accusation."

The door opened and she stood leaning on the frame, her eyes still damp.

"You're going to solve this for us, are you." Her jaw was set.

"Uhm . . ."

There was a buzzing sound, and she pushed past him to her purse, taking out her phone. "Mallory." A second later, the phone was off and a gun appeared in her other hand.

"What the--?"

"The camera went dark!" She dashed past him to the hotel door and out into the hall, racing down to the courier's room.

"Gone, and so is the briefcase," she snapped, as Morrisey skidded to halt behind her. A flurry of phone calls followed, curses emphasizing new orders, and Mallory maintained a stoic face as she listened.

"Was that Percy?"

"At his most belligerent." She looked up at the ceiling, seeing the fog of black paint where the camera lens was hidden. "Damn!"

Her phone went off again, and she listened, her face hardening with the news. She shut it off and started down the hall.

"Wait a sec." He jogged after her. "Where the hell are you going?"

"The lift. Apparently, our recorder picked up all the sounds, and the techs have deduced it was an assassination. They also heard the squeaky wheel of a cart."

The lift arrived and they got in, jabbing the lobby button. She looked at her gun, realizing she had no place to conceal it, and as the doors slid open, he snatched it away and stuffed in the back of his pants.

"You can't--"

"I already did. Which way?"

"They think he had a laundry cart, so the service hall."

Quick-stepping through the lobby, drew curious interest from several guests, and the desk manager, who copied their actions in pursuit. At the end of the hall they found the cart, and inside, Vyacheslav, with a neat, bleeding hole in his forehead.

"Excuse me! What is the meaning of this? This area is off limits to- oh, good heavens!" The desk manager skidded to a halt beside the cart, his face losing colour. Mallory steered him away as he doubled over, coughing wetly.

"We need a forensic team here to go over the cart and Vyacheslav's clothes."

"You think this professional would leave prints?" Mallory moved away from the retching manager.

"Protocol." He grunted, nodding at the manager.

She gave a wry laugh and dialled her phone. "Percy Carstairs, please. Percy? We need a face-to face." She held out her hand for her gun.

                                                   ♟♟♟♟♟

Fifteen minutes later, they were ushered into Percy's sanctum. He sat rigidly behind his executive desk, his look one of annoyed consternation. The monitors had reported on how the camera had been sabotaged, and all the recorders had was the sound of the door knock, an apparent shot, and a lot of scuffling.

Mallory delivered her version of what she and Morrisey had done, and then asked if he had anything he'd like to add. Morrisey gave her a look, and said, "No." There was a moment of theatre performance as Percy picked up his tea cup, and sipped slowly, eyes fixed on the foreign agent.

"All units have been activated to prevent our assailant from leaving the city. We do have a shot of our man from a hotel lobby camera. Facial recognition reveals one Luka Stepanov as the villain.

"Crap!"

"Did I detect disagreement, Agent Morrisey?" The tea cup made a soft clink on the saucer.

"No . . . it's just that I know- or I mean I'm familiar with Stepanov - with his file." He thought back to the man he'd seen in the lobby.

"Indeed. Any treasure we might share?"

"I'm sure your people have the same as we do."

Morrisey watched, as Percy poured another cup of tea from a metal pot. Mallory stayed silent, but out of the corner of his eye, he could detect the discomfort in her body language.

"Would you like to say anything else, Percy?" She asked, sighing.

The first name usage paused the tea sipping ritual, and the cup was replaced while Percy's plump lips were dabbed. He threw a perfunctory glance at Mallory then directed his gaze, unblinking, at Morrisey.

"You have, with the blessings of your Director, Grant Duggan, been seconded into our service."

"Can I know why?" He shot a glance at Mallory.

"Orders, old boy. That's all you need to know."

"And I take those orders from you now."

"Good chap. Knew you'd see the picture. Nothing punitive, mind. We wish this assassin business to be resolved quickly. Agent West will be lead." His smile was unctuous.

                                                      ♟♟♟♟♟

Luka had left the hotel, walking with the evening crowd, satisfied the job was clean. Now he was just another office worker on his way home for the night - or so he thought. From a doorway across the street, a man took out his phone and made an urgent call. Luka saw him, and regarded a sudden, noticeable police presence which altered his original plan.

He stepped onto the road and hailed a taxi.

A car braked hard to a halt in front of the man on the phone, and sped off as soon as he was inside, too late to follow the taxi carrying Luka. The driver pulled down his flag and picked up the mic, contacting dispatch with his destination; another unexpected obstacle. He hadn't anticipated that, and as several options played through his head, he saw still more police on foot, and more of their loud, blue and yellow cars.

The cab pulled up by the tube station and Luka asked to be driven around the corner. He stepped out and went to the driver's window.

"How much?"

"Two quid should see it, squire."

His smile died as the silenced gun knocked his head back. Luka quickly opened the door, pushed the cabbie across the seat and took his place.

                                                    ♟♟♟♟♟

Mallory drove them back from Percy's to the hotel, running through her mind how to proceed. The dossier is in the wind, and she now she really was babysitting Morrisey - not a welcome situation.

"I guess I have to call you boss now." He said, without convincing humour.

"And I can say, hey you." She turned and gave him a side eye. "I have a special bottle of single malt I was saving for an occasion. Seems the situation we're in is just that. Interested?"

"Are you inviting me to your room - again, Ms West . . . boss?"

"We need to talk about what to do next, and the sooner the faster." She steered into the hotel garage, parked and got out of the car.

Morrisey found himself trotting after her as she headed for the lift. Apparently being the boss meant no questions. He showed a rueful grin.

France

Ivan Vokov sat in the living room of his dacha reading the reports from his sources, frowning and refilling his vodka glass. The moon left a wavering trail across the rippling water of the lake at the foot of his property. He drank again from his fresh drink, frowning toward the phone on the table beside him. Where was Luka? The news had been stifled by a D notice, which led him to believe things had not gone smoothly.

When the phone finally did ring, he took another swallow from his glass before answering.

"Yes?"

"It's me."

"What happened?"

"I had to disable some very sophisticated monitoring equipment. It left no time for a smooth escape."

"Do you have it?"

"Yes."

"Where are you now?"

"Am in a homeless hostel."

Ivan listened to his man's location and cursed under his breath. "That will not do. Police make regular sweeps through those. We need better, safer location until I can meet. Can you get hold of map?"

"They have them here."

"Seven o'clock tomorrow morning, the Pitshanger Park. A cafe, Win to Win. I'll be walking my dog. Were you seen?"

"Not to worry about."

"Good. Morning then." He hung up.

Night pushed through the windows of his living room, and a full moon drew a jagged trail across the lake. The roar of a boat motor drew his attention, and he watched the silhouette cut through the moon's path, scattering shards of light across the surface. He could not risk a meeting right now with a manhunt on. The dossier would have to be moved somewhere safe.

He cursed again. So close. The imagery on the water seeped into his mind, and a smile formed across his face as he realized a solution, while not perfect, would spoil Vladim's ploy, as well as putting him in a very awkward situation with Felix. Ivan moved quickly to make flight arrangements to England.

"Come , Gorky, we take another trip."