"It's cold. How long have you been waiting?" asked Davy.

Angie shivered. "Not sure, maybe half an hour."

He shrugged. "We need to talk. Coffee or something stronger?"

"Coffee, please."

He unlocked the door and led her into the lounge. "I could have been out for the night. Why didn't you call first?"

She sat on the settee and glanced at her watch. "Because you would have said no."

"Coffee. black with sugar, right." Angie nodded.

He strolled to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two steaming coffees.

He handed her a cup before making himself comfortable in the one armchair. Davy took a sip and smiled. "Why are you here? The last time you were in my flat, I was the biggest shit going. If you need company, buy a dog."

"As the world's biggest bastard, you must have a first-class degree in pissing people off? For fucks sake, face reality. It's tough out there, and our job is to clear the shit off the streets. The best we can do is keep going or give up trying."

"Face reality! People who do that are those too stupid to duck when the shit hits the fan. My life is and has been a mess for a long time.

Angie hesitated and then thought, in for a penny. "You are a strange person. When I was drunk, you could have taken advantage, but you didn't. Why not? Most men I know would have fucked me if for no other reason to say they have. That tells me a lot. You appear to care and have feelings. Do you know I was jealous of that woman in Spain?"

He leaned towards her. "Angie, since we first met, I've dreamt of us being together. You're an attractive woman, but the thought of loving you terrifies me. I don't have a life, and when Smith decides I'm a surplus commodity, he'll dump me like a sack of dog shit. Go and marry an accountant, have two kids and a dog."

Angie let out a humourless laugh. "What happened to that someone wanting to be normal? Together, we can make it happen. You can't put your life in reverse, but you can change direction. Let me help. If you don't want me, I'll walk out of your life, and you'll never see me again."

He smiled at her strength. "Tell me what you've told Smith?"

"I've told him what is necessary. Trust me. You need me. On your own, you have a snowball's chance in hell."

"You care. Why?"

As she glared at Davy, her shoulders sagged. There are moments when you drop your guard, and I see another person. I believe you are one of the good guys who took the wrong fork in a rather long road."

Davy made eye contact. "Why me." Should he tell her the truth? There was one way to find out.

He told her everything. Angie listened and stifled a yawn

Angie's eyes opened wide when he stopped speaking. "Davy, as I said, you are a good man, a survivor, and to be honest, I've never met anyone like you." She yawned. "What time is it?"

"Half two. I'd better get going. Will you phone for a black cab?"

His mind raced as the emotions he experienced came and went. "It's your decision, but you can sleep n the settee. I've spare sheets and blankets."

She chuckled. "Okay, if that's the best offer I'm going to get tonight."

"Never mix business with pleasure," said Davy as he left the room.

Thirty seconds later, he returned with the duvet from his bed and a couple of pillows. "I'm off to the bathroom."

When he returned, she was asleep. With care, he covered her with the duvet. For a few moments, he stared at her; she was one hell of a woman. Tired, he left and went to bed. The following day he awoke late. What was the right thing to do? Could they make it? Did they have a future? So many questions.

In the bathroom, he towelled himself dry and combed his hair. With the towel wrapped around his body, he strolled unthinking into his lounge. Angie was still there.

"I woke ages ago, but I thought it better to let you sleep. Want breakfast?"

He stared at her and was aware of a kind of contentment. The fact was he liked her being around. "Tell me, Angie, in simple terms. Where the hell do we go from here?"

She grabbed his hands and sat close to him on the settee. "Last night, you laid your life bare for me to decide on my next move. I work for the Agency, and you may ask how I got involved with such an outfit. Six years ago, I was a sergeant in the Met. The world was my oyster. I passed my exams for Inspector, and my career hit the fast lane."

"Right or wrong, I had an affair with a married man who convinced me he was going to leave his wife and marry me. One thing led to another, and I found myself pregnant. When I told him, he got an immediate transfer to another station, told the world it wasn't his child and that I was an easy lay. I initiated a formal complaint and hit a brick wall. My promotion went on hold, and my future became non-existent. I lost the baby, and when Harman-Smith visited me, he thought the Met had acted like a bunch of morons. He offered me a promotion to Inspector and a better life out of the normal run of things. I couldn't refuse, and he knew it. I became an acting Chief Inspector when I took this job. We're on the same side."

He stood. "Compared to me, you're a saint. My life doesn't fit into yours. We're from different sides of the track."

She stood and hugged him. "No, we're not. How about we take each day as it comes?"

"I can live with one day at a time."

Angie held his hand, and pulled him into the bedroom and shoved him onto the unmade bed.

"Make love to me."

He bent his head and kissed her on the lips. She surrendered to his touch. With little effort, her clothes fell to the floor. He did not rush; he pushed her to the edge and held her there at the brink until...

As Angie lay in his arms, she pondered, whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.

***

Ghashide followed the other passengers and walked across the tarmac into the terminal building. He stood uncomplaining in line as the immigration officer checked each passport. As he left the building, William's car was waiting. The driver accelerated the moment he closed the door. They drove in silence along the coast road through Estepona and onto the outskirts of Marbella. The car wound its way out of the urban sprawl and began to climb into the hills where the wealthy lived; here, they secreted themselves in large, expensive villas.

They stopped in front of two ornate black wrought-iron gates that opened and closed automatically. William's magnificent villa overlooked Marbella. Bougainvillaea of every hue filled the large garden, tumbling over dry stonewalls in a rainbow of colours. Around the pool was a lush green lawn, a rich man's privilege in the Mediterranean. On exiting the air-conditioned car, the heat of the day hit Ghashide. He climbed the granite steps to the main entrance where his boss was waiting.

"Ghashide, my friend. How was the flight?"

"The flight was boring but acceptable. It's wonderful to be here, and the weather's more agreeable than in England."

"Come in and rest. I need to discuss a few matters of importance. You're aware I don't trust the telephone. These days anyone might be listening."

He followed, entering the large lounge. Inside, the environmental controls worked perfectly. William Kent, a powerful-looking man; six foot two, with a total body weight of eighteen stone, moved lightly on his tiny feet. With thinning grey hair, deep brown eyes, his sixty-five years were beginning to show. They entered the main reception room, a vast, airy space with a panoramic view of the coast. Colourful rugs lay scattered across the mosaic-tiled floor. A heavy-looking, sixteenth-century oak table surrounded by eight matching chairs filled the centre of the room. Almost out of place, a copy of a painting by Constable hung over the ornamental fireplace. William and Ghashide sat in leather armchairs overlooking the garden.

William rang the little gold bell on a side table twice. Franco, his minder, arrived carrying a tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He placed it on the table and left. William picked up the bottle, filled the glasses with rich red wine, and handed one to Ghashide.

"It's made in a local monastery."

Ghashide smelt the blood-red liquid before he took a mouthful. "It is good. How did you come by it?"

"I buy their entire production and keep it in my cellar."

After taking another sip of his wine, Ghashide said, "You didn't ask me here to taste your wine. Is there a problem?"

"Don't look so worried. What you and I say under this roof is confidential. I note your earnings increased more than forecast." His voice radiated power and confidence."

"I have a new man working for me, and he came up with an idea."

William smiled and sipped at his wine. "Are you going to tell me, or do I guess?"

"Of course not. I was going to tell you when it became more successful." He went on to describe Davy's operation and how it worked.

"This could work worldwide, but it needs expanding. The more men out there shifting the merchandise, the greater the reward. Can we trust this man of yours?"

Ghashide smiled. "Our police contacts gave me a detailed resume of his past. He's a petty thief with a brain who ended up in Peterhead Prison for robbery with assault. I trust him."

William stroked his chin. "Your word is good enough. Okay, you have enough work running the clubs and the collection agency. Give this man Davy Jones the delivery and transporting business. Keep a close eye on him and if there are problems, dispose of him. If it goes well, we can discuss his future. Time for lunch. I know a quaint little bar in the hills."

The bar was old and small, with stunning views over the surrounding countryside. They lunched well, consuming mouth-watering meat barbequed on a wood fire, complemented by glasses of red wine. They refused dessert in favour of fresh coffee.

Slightly before six that evening, Ghashide glanced out of the aircraft's window and saw the concrete mass of the Gibraltar rain catchments slipping away beneath the wing.

***

Janice Porter examined her notes; she had a name, a photograph, a location and needed to talk to Harman-Smith.

The sun shone, and she found the drive to the Research Centre pleasant. She contacted her reporter friends in an attempt to piece together her jigsaw.

She found the turn-off as described by Jimmy and drove up the lane to the closed gates.

A young RAF corporal came out of his hut and remained on the other side of the gate. Janice lowered her window and shouted, "Can I make an appointment to talk to Mr Harman-Smith."

Bemused, the corporal shouted, "Wait. I'll contact my sergeant."

She left her car, walked to the gate and waited.

When the corporal returned, he said, "We don't have a Mr Harman-Smith here."

"Please, can I talk to whoever's in charge?"

He went back into his hut and returned a few minutes later. "The sergeant says you need to make an appointment to see the officer in charge, and he's not here."

She remained calm. "Could I please have the name and telephone number of the officer in charge?"

Again, he left her standing at the gate, this time returning with a piece of paper with a name and telephone number scrawled on it. She read it: Wing Commander Dennis Innes, DFC OBE. Reversing the car along the lane required caution. Once on the main road, she parked and punched the number given into her mobile. A few seconds later, a woman answered, "RAF Brize Norton, can I help you?"

"Yes, please. Is it possible to speak to Wing Commander Innes? I'm writing an article on aircraft accidents."

"One moment, please. Trying to connect you."

Another subordinate answered and stated that the Commander was out.

"Could I speak with someone?" she asked.

The monotone voice at the other end was abrupt: "I told you the Commander is out." The line went dead.

"That's called the run-around," she muttered. "It's time to see if Mr Harman-Smith goes home at night."

Time dragged, and no vehicle containing Mr Harman-Smith came or went.

***

From inside his base, Harman- Smith watched Janice depart. Somehow, he knew he had not seen the last of this interfering woman.