The sun was casting long morning shadows across the tidy park where nannies strolled with prams, and a few seniors basked in the warmth, with large coffees. Ivan sauntered slowly along the macadam path, his dog straining at the leash to inspect every flower and tuft of grass.

Pausing to let the dog post a canine letter and scuff up the ground, he glanced around thinking it had been but a short while ago he learned of the plot against him, and how here he was, about to turn the tables. He spotted the man at a small table next to a wire wastebasket.

Tugging the dog, Ivan went to the open air counter and ordered a coffee which he carried to an adjacent table, and sat. Right away the dog snuffled at the man's feet and in return received a two-handed scruffle of its neck fur. Ivan waited a beat then commanded the dog to sit.

"Not a problem, he seems a nice fella."

"He needs manners." Ivan opened his newspaper and turned to the crossword.

The man palmed the small wad of paper he retrieved from under the dog collar and turned his attention to his coffee. After a few minutes he stood, tossing the paper cup into the wastebasket, offered a parting salutation to the dog, and strolled off.

Ivan smiled grimly. Luka had found a messenger to take the meeting. Smart. He always had been, and had provided good service in the past. He would have liked to have seen him once more. Pity.

France

Entering the penthouse lounge and walking directly to Felix, the man leaned down and whispered in his ear. From her place among the cushions on the large, sectional divan, Ava watched, tensing as Felix's face darkened. When the man left, she moved to his side, an arm on his shoulder intending comfort.

"Are you alright, Feely, you look troubled?"

"There has been a setback that requires my close attention. You can go and do whatever you wish for the rest of the evening, I'll be occupied."

"If I can help . . ."

"I suggested you go, Ava."

"Of course." She pecked his cheek, gathered her purse and left the lounge.

Felix went to a small wall cabinet, unlocked it and took out the phone with the dedicated line. He hit the coded number and waited, his breathing strained.

"Yes?"

«Доставка была скомпрометирована, ваши люди потерпели неудачу».

"English please, Comrade Kubavich. I find it easier to detect imposters."

"To repeat, your people failed, and the delivery was compromised."

"We have the report and measures are being taken. You will have your item, Comrade, do not worry."

"I am not the one to be worrying, Comrade."

"Threats won't improve the situation - or our relationship, Kubavich."

"I remind you, Vladim, you approached me with this accusation, in exchange for my providing a certain service."

"As I stated, it is being managed and you will get your delivery."

"Since you broached this matter, which has forced inconvenient changes in my operations, I had better get it. It will be in your best personal interest, Vladim."

Felix disconnected, and replaced the phone in the cupboard, locking it with a vicious twist of the key. He frowned, staring out at the night, options and scenarios playing out in his thoughts.

Outside the door, Ava moved with silent steps, down to her room.

♟♟♟♟♟

Vladim cursed up and down his office, kicking furniture and swiping papers from his desk in a rage. His courier was dead. The dossier stolen and identification of the shooter failed. He stopped, hands flat against the wall and head hanging down. Who? Who was this mystery assassin?

He knew the British were on site, watching the courier, not killing him. Who then? Who else knew about the dossier . . . could Ivan have found out somehow? He cried out in frustration, kicking the base of the wall until his foot hurt.

Vladim knew, unless he found the dossier, he would be a target for a very angry Felix Kubavich.

England

The message Luka received from the park meeting was a surprise. He had expected some out of the way accommodation, isolated, where he could deliver the briefcase without concern. Instead, he had been sent to occupy a room in the Hammerfield, an up market, tourist destination. He checked in under the name of a fictitious company that had been in the message, and made himself comfortable in a grand room with unexpected amenities.

In Luka's business, this was rarely considered. He felt the job he had done, and the material he had acquired must be of the highest importance. He came out of the welcome shower, a necessary treat from the previous activities and his night in the hostel. The man he had paid to meet Ivan was now replacing him in the grungy blanket in a dark corner of the building, his purpose served.

The waiting telephone message advised him that there was an envelope for him at reception. He went downstairs and picked it up, then went outside to find a public phone. A coded response was given when he connected, and he hung up, returning to the hotel.

He would be getting further instructions with breakfast.

♟♟♟♟♟

Unexpectedly, but not without an amused appreciation, Morrisey had been sequestered with Mallory, in her room, as his had been cancelled upon secondment to SIS. It seemed Percy was also parsimonious. Even sleeping on the sofa had been acceptable to him; it opened more insights into his current superior.

"Sleep well?" Mallory drifted from the bathroom in the hotel supplied bathrobe, loosely tied.

"Well enough, I suppose. Is this to be a permanent arrangement, or will we be taking turns on the bed?"

She smiled, annoyingly, and sat on the bed, opening her phone. "West here," she said, then listened, her eyes travelling to Morrisey. "That's confirmed with Percy? Right." She ended the call and curled back on the bed.

"Who was that?"

"An anonymous message was picked up by ops last night from a phone box outside the Hammerfield Hotel. It was Russian code, and the team have decrypted it. A man was dispatched, and the hotel confirmed from a photograph, that Luka is indeed a guest there."

"No way."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"Your people just happened to pick up an anonymous message about a guy the whole country is hunting for?"

She got up, moving quickly. The robe came off, and she pulled a blouse from her dresser drawer and slipped it on. He stared at her unabashed behaviour.

"Move it, Morrisey, we have to get there and check in today."

"Check in?" He stood slowly, mindless of his own sparse covering while he gaped at her, dressing. "Have you forgotten why I'm here?"

She zipped her skirt and tugged it into place. "No, and as your boss now, I'll be sure to see that doesn't happen."

"Mallory--"

"For God's sake, have you never seen a woman dress before? I thought you were an adult . . . boxers, Morrisey?"

The next few minutes were filled with frantic questions, snapped answers and orders, which provoked more arguments while all the time they hurried through everything to get moving. The car ride through the city to the hotel was as hectic as their debate, which continued right up to the front portico of the Hammerfield. The manager was braced in his office about the official secrets act, and Mallory directed him to provide a room on the same floor as their quarry. Staff was not to be informed and all communication with the subject was to be recorded.

"You can be a real bully, did you know that?" Morrisey complained as they were shown to their room, two down from their quarry.

"And you can be a right wanker." She tossed her purse on the bed and got on her phone. "West. We're on site. The subject is in his room and we will be monitoring as directed."

"Will your people be doing the room service?" He asked, trying for calmer waters.

"No, we couldn't get anyone on the kitchen staff in time."

"Okay, so how, out of the millions of phone calls taking place did your people single out that one call?"

"A tip, if you must know."

"A tip. Mallory, this is - something is not kosher here. There's something else going on."

"Look, all I know right now is, two doors away is the briefcase holding the information that could burn my asset. We agreed that what we both want is that nobody else know what we're doing. Are you changing your mind?"

Morrisey looked skyward and flapped his hands. "My mind hasn't changed. I know what my orders are."

"In spite of what it could mean to a mother and her child . . . and me?"

"Don't you find all this strange? Aren't you worried that we, you and me," he jabbed his chest, "might be being set up?"

"My first concern is that briefcase," she said calmly, "at any cost."

"Why don't you just knock on his door and ask him for it?" His sarcasm was followed with a curse.

The following moments were silent; a repeat of their unvoiced arguments, as a variety of expressions were exchanged. Finally, Mallory spoke up, continuing in a scholastic manner.

"We initially determined that the courier was carrying a case that is a staple of the Russian courier arsenal - the contents self-destruct if not opened properly."

"Surprise, surprise."

She ignored his remark. "The briefcase must be retrieved and the contents examined."

The realization kicked in that he wouldn't be winning any battles, and under the circumstances being obstinate was a bad choice, he held up his hands in surrender and sat down. "Fine. Okay. No more debate. I'll go along with that, but if they aren't what you think, and you won't be in jeopardy, it goes to Felix."

"Do I have your word, Morrisey, because so far promises from your side haven't been especially reliable?"

"I'll let that pass, assuming you weren't referring to me personally." His look was one of disappointment. "You have my word, Agent West."

The designation wasn't lost, and she flushed slightly. "Very well. The manager said his breakfast will be sent up at 9:30, so we had better get thinking. We have now until then to figure out an intercept."

"Short of mugging the waiter, what do you suggest?"

"That's it! A swap."

"Huh?"

"Brilliant, Morrisey. I can get some kip now without worry."

"Huh?"