Angie deliberated long and hard. It would be easy to travel to Spain, tell Davy the score, and run. Unfortunately, that would make Davy a fugitive. There had to be an alternative. Harry had yet to contact her; there was no one else she could trust. Why she thought of Janice Porter, she had no idea. The woman knew a lot about Davy, and maybe with her connections, she could suggest something.

At dawn the following morning, Angie drove to Southampton. The card Janice had given her a few weeks before in her purse; her only hope, it would not be a wasted journey. Luck favours the brave and, by chance, the traffic gridlocked on approaching the middle of Southampton. Frustrated, she glanced left and right and saw the Southampton Gazette offices. She wasted a further fifteen minutes locating a car park. After a brisk walk, she entered the building. She prayed Janice would be there. At the reception, they asked her to take a seat and wait while they contacted Janice.

"Hi, Angie. I didn't expect to see you again. Anyway, I thought it might be better if we went and had lunch, rather than talk in my office. There's a little cafe close to the marina. The food's good, and as it's a warm day, we can sit outside."

Angie smiled. "Sounds great."

It took five minutes to stroll to the waterfront. The lunchtime rush had yet to begin, and the outside tables were empty. They sat overlooking the marina; the sounds of wire rigging rattling against aluminium masts, together with the lapping of the waves against a pebbled shore, produced a peaceful ambience.

They ordered two coffees and a selection of sandwiches. Janice opened the conversation. "You've travelled a long way. Why?"

Angie remained silent as the young female server placed their order on the table. When no one could overhear, she said. "I needed someone to share a confidence."

"And why would you want that?"

She hesitated. "I'm a Chief Inspector of Police. My work depends on the priority at the time. You could say we undertake the jobs no one else wants. It's undercover work, and you will not find my name on any police files."

Janice smiled. "I guessed as much. Where does Davy fit into the system?"

She described Davy's way of life from the moment he arrived at the Centre to the present. She explained every detail, no matter how small, knowing that she was breaking the Official Secrets Act.

Janice listened intently. "A difficult situation, and you can't hide the fact you love him?"

Blushing, she acknowledged. "Only another woman would notice."

"Are you sure the system promised him a clean bill of health when this was over?"

Angie sighed. "Well, in our line of work, it happens a lot. It's the adage: poacher turned gamekeeper. You'd be amazed who's worked with us. They could be living next door, and you'd never know. The system gives them a new identity and financial help, and after that, it's up to them. Davy is an unauthorised asset and, therefore, doesn't exist. When it's all over, there won't be many vultures fighting for what's left."

"This boss of yours is a right bastard, isn't he?"

"He's a strange animal. A control freak. The circus ringmaster."

Time was getting on, and the cafe was busy. Janice asked the inevitable question: "So, what do you want?"

"Can you help me get him out?"

Janice frowned. "Harman-Smith has already made my life difficult. How long have we got before the shit hits the fan?"

Angie shrugged. "I don't know. Nevertheless, Davy should be contacting me soon. There's something else: Harman-Smith is planning to close this operation down. He believes it's gone as far as it can."

"So we have your man in between ETA, the drugs cartel and the law. I need to talk to people. Maybe they can help, but no promises. Give me your phone number, and I'll contact you when I have some news."

Angie left Janice sitting at the table, drinking coffee.

***

With William having returned to Marbella, Davy had a job to do. He had already noted down the names of the Spanish end of the operation.

Today he ate breakfast in his room while making a few mental notes. Memories flooded back, and he determined that he wanted things changed if he had to go to sea in a wreck. So as not to forget anything, he wrote a list: life rafts, life jackets; working radio; get the engines checked. Having survived a Bay of Biscay storm, he didn't want a repeat performance. As he gazed out of the window, the sun started to colour the sea. Three fishing boats were leaving the harbour, no doubt their crews hoping for a decent catch. He watched as their bows dipped on, meeting the Atlantic swell. There was also activity at the fish dock where vessels unloaded their catch.

He picked at his breakfast, drank a cup of coffee, grabbed his jacket and left the hotel. His walk to the harbour took fifteen minutes. Standing on the jetty, he stared at the wreck. He started speaking aloud. "Where the hell do I start? Wherever you look, it's a mess." One thing was sure; it would take hard work to make it right.

Wandering to the end of the harbour wall, he smelt the salt-laden air, and the calm wind refreshed his mind. Whoever said it was right: once the sea enters your veins, it never leaves. It was almost nine, and the sun had little warmth. Small boats moored in the harbour rocked on a gentle sea. A battered dredger was moving slowly along, disgorging tons of silt into its hold. An angler freed his line, attached some bait and cast his hook back into the sea.

Tony Gonzalez arrived, parking his silver Mercedes well away from any passing dockside traffic. He saw Davy and walked across. "Good morning, Senor Davy. Why do you look worried?"

He stared at this cold, distant man, standing there in his immaculate suit and smiled. "Would you go to sea in that?" He pointed at the rust-streaked hulk in front of them.

"Ah, Señor Davy. I do not go to sea. I am here to help. You tell me what you want, and I will arrange."

"Okay. Well, go and arrange labourers to rid this thing of the debris. When you've finished, I want two life rafts fitted, one forward and one aft, plus enough life jackets for the whole crew. I want the crew's quarters disinfected and scrubbed clean and new mattresses supplied for each bunk. You can also get me three pairs of overalls; I'm not ruining the few good clothes I have, working on that scrap heap. Most importantly, I want an English-speaking engineer to check the engine room. Tomorrow I'll have more, much more, for you to arrange."

"But of course, Senior. You're the boss. No problem."

As Tony drove away, Davy remained on the jetty. He laughed at his thoughts. Looking at his watch, he was aware Angie would want to know what was going on. There did not appear to be any telephone booths nearby. He wandered around the harbour, eventually leaving it by a small gate. He imagined that Vigo must be a beautiful town in summer, except now the flowerbeds were empty and an air of neglect along the seafront. Intent on his thoughts, he almost walked past a bank of telephones. To his surprise, they appeared to be in good order. Lifting the receiver on the nearest one, he heard the dialling tone. Rummaging in his pockets, he removed a pile of Euros and began punching in the number for Angie's mobile. She answered straight away.

"Where are you?" she asked.

He could tell from the tone that she was not her usual cheerful self.

"I'm in Vigo, northern Spain. They're going for my idea in a big way, but there's a problem. I've got to travel on the boat with the merchandise. Kent's buggered off back to Marbella and left me to run the show. Get Harman-Smith to have him followed or something. At the moment, it would be my word against his, and I don't want to be around when the problems start."

"Don't worry; I'll talk to Harry."

"Thanks, I need some hope. If I can, I'll phone you every day and tell you what's happening. Don't be overly concerned if I miss a day."

"Be careful. I want you back in one piece. Remember, we have a life to look forward to."

"I can't remember who said it, but I'll be back, ready to sweep you off your feet."

She laughed. "I'll be waiting."

He glanced at his watch. "Look, Angie, I'd better go before someone wonders where I am. Take care. Love you. Bye."

Walking back to the harbour, he could not help but see many fishing boats rotting at their berths. It did not seem right, but he remembered the demise of Hull, Grimsby and Aberdeen fishing ports, where at one time, you could walk from one side of the fish dock to the other and never see the water. When he returned to Allende, a gang of men were working like demons, removing rubbish from everywhere. He stood and watched the slow transformation from a floating rubbish skip to a fishing boat. Two large containers on the jetty were almost overflowing. Tony would have to order more before the day ended.

Tony arrived in his car, and Davy went across and asked how he got men to work so hard.

"These men have been out of work for over a year. I made them an offer they could not refuse, tax-free naturally. Señor, I told you, I can arrange anything."

"What about the crew's quarters? Will these men be cleaning those?"

"All in good time, my friend. I must go and find the engineer you want. See you later." He smiled as he drove away, leaving Davy standing on the jetty.

Late in the afternoon, the decks were clear, and Allende became a ship. As Davy walked back to his hotel, he was content that he had made progress.

The aroma of a familiar perfume filled his nostrils as he opened the door to his room. Standing by the window, with a full champagne glass in her hand, was Isabel Alfonin. Turning to face him, she smiled seductively. "I thought you might like some company. Being on your own must be sexually frustrating."

This woman excited him. Having finished her champagne, she placed the glass on a side table. She moved in such a seductive way sex with her would be desirable and exciting. He reacted, her perfume tantalised. Her delicate touch and curvaceous body was everything a man could ever want. Effortlessly she manoeuvred him towards the bed; reaching its edge, they tumbled onto its firm surface. Almost pinning him down, she smothered his lips with hers. She rolled off and onto her back, unbuttoning her blouse.

He lay there. "I wondered when you'd make your move."

She sat up, her open blouse revealing two pert breasts. Sliding her feet to the floor, she leaned over Davy, placing a hand on either side of his body. "I knew the first time I saw you. I wanted you inside me."

He peered straight into Medusa's eyes and firmly but gently pushed her away. Without showing any emotion, he lied, "There's no spark, and if there was, I do not want you."

Astonishment flashed in her eyes. "Every man wants me. You're the same as me. We both know that sex is power."

He got off the bed, aware that this was possibly her first-ever rejection. "In a different world, you'd be right, but this time you've got the wrong man at the wrong time. I would like you to leave."

"Fuck you. You have ruined what could have been a beautiful evening. You'd have enjoyed what was on offer. It could have been satisfying for both of us." She got up, buttoned her blouse, grabbed her coat and, without another word left, slamming the door as she did so.

Regrettably, he was aware that this woman would never accept no for an answer. He knew his rebuff would have astounded her. He sensed she held power with the Association. Now, he would have to watch his back.

***

Ronald Harman-Smith had been destroying every file that contained any mention of David Jones. Stopping, he picked up the receiver of his telephone and held it for a few moments, pressed a button and roared, "Tell Harry to get in here. Right now." Harry arrived three minutes later.

"You rang, sir,"

"Yes, I did. I'm closing the Jones operation, so you can start implementing the protection process?"

"Really? You're a devious old bastard, seeing as he's in the thick of it. Are we going to pull him out?"

Harman-Smith smiled. "Angie phoned and told me Kent has returned to his villa in Marbella. I want a man watching him around the clock. We can't let him escape this time."

Harry asked again, "What about our man. You can't simply dump him?"

"He can look after himself, and if by chance he should have an untimely death in the line of duty, I don't give a shit. He's done his job. Don't shed any tears over the likes of him. Life will continue as it always does. As it stands, if Angie pokes her nose in, you tell her his safety is top of your list."

Harry nodded. "So you are going to honour your agreement?"

Harman-Smith took a deep breath. "Harry, the problem with you is you care about people. You don't have the balls to make decisions that mean something. You're too soft. That's why I'm the boss, and you work for me."

The last thing Harry wanted was to be part of his boss's underhand activities. He felt hurt and humiliated, but the picture was clear and Harman- Smith was right. He did care. What he could do was to tell Angie the truth.