Janice and Chief Superintendent Ian Holt always enjoyed lunching together. She had yet to broach the issue of Davy Jones and timed her moment over coffee. "Ian, what do you know about the witness protection programme?"

The question startled him. "That's an Americanism; we have something similar. There's not much to tell. For the most part, we help those who help us. The authorisation for such help begins with a recommendation from a senior officer. Why do you ask?"

She was uncertain where to begin. "Do you remember a bank robbery involving three sailors, and I found one of the men?"

Ian nodded.

"Good God, Ian. You must. The information was on those floppy discs I gave you. Janice told Ian everything, omitting nothing. David Jenkins, now calling himself Davy Jones, is one of the missing men. Now he's working for Ronald Harman-Smith as an undercover agent. They promised him a clean slate and a new start if he co-operated." What are your thoughts?"

Shaking his head, he said, "It's beyond my pay grade, but I can talk to a few people. I can't promise anything, and from what you've told me, most will say the agency doesn't exist." He paused. "Are you staying in town tonight?"

"Yes, at the Hyde Park Hilton. I'll be there until tomorrow morning. You can contact me on my mobile. I've promised myself some retail therapy."

"Rather you than me, I hate shopping."

They left the restaurant, and he gave her a lift to the hotel. She kissed him on the cheek and vanished into the crowd waiting at reception.

Ian had a lot to consider. What Janice told him was a time bomb primed and ready.

***

Harry contacted Angie and informed her Harman-Smith was shutting down David's operation. The news did not surprise her. She was aware he used people and exploited the art of brinkmanship to perfection. He was also a bastard of the first order. She knew without a doubt that if Harry promised to do his best on Davy's new identity, she could trust him.

Angie waited for Davy to call. He telephoned late in the evening. Although always happy to hear from him, she was between the devil and the deep blue sea. Whatever she did or didn't do, he was in trouble. She remained cheerful as they chatted about their future and other silly things. After an hour, he said goodbye. Unhappy, she replaced the receiver and lay back on the bed, but sleep was the last thing on her mind.

***

Ian Holt planned to meet with the Assistant Commissioner at ten that morning. While in his office, he thought long and hard about the Jones saga. He was and always had been a stickler for doing the right thing. He had a few years left before he could retire, and, with a bit of luck, he would make Commander. His career had been by the book, and some man he didn't even know had changed everything. If the media found out about any of this, they would have a field day. He could see the headline: "Human Rights Disregarded by Government Agency". The prime minister and the home secretary would go mental.

This whole fiasco was higher than simple politics. To make matters worse, awkward questions in Parliament would not go down well. As soon as the word was out, drug barons would run for cover. The phone on his desk rang. He listened for a few seconds. "On my way, sir."

***

Assistant Commissioner Paul Adams, responsible for specialist operations, shook his head with disbelief. When Ian finished, he placed his head in his hands and said, "It's a bloody mess. The truth is those police officers are human beings, a fact not appreciated by the public they serve. Government-sanctioned crime is not acceptable! The politicians control most things and are the first to scream blue murder, but we'll have to clean up this mess. This damned Porter woman has uncovered far too much. To make matters worse, Harman-Smith has cocked up."

He considered the Harman-Smith problem and decided it could wait. The first thing on the agenda would be to sort out Jones and close the leak before half the government drowned. He sat back in his chair and pondered the difficulties for a few minutes before concluding. "You and I both know undercover officers are commonplace. The operation you've described exists because we need it. The public will never understand that nothing's what it appears to be. The security on this mess must be watertight. No more leaks or the shit hits the fan, big time. Can you contact this Porter woman?"

"I know she's in town today, shopping. Why do you ask?"

Paul was thinking on his feet. "We need to get those caught up in this case together. I'll arrange a meeting for tomorrow morning, at eight. Whatever it takes, get that dammed woman and her husband here. Make sure anyone else who knows anything of this operation has a boot up their bum and ordered here. Get it done, Ian. I'll talk with Commander Harman-Smith."

Ian left Paul to find the answers.

***

Davy was working in the engine room when an accented voice shouted his name. He shifted until he was under an open hatch. A middle-aged grey-haired man stared into the engine room.

"Are you Señor Davy?"

"I am. Who's asking?"

"I am José. You ask for an engineer. What do you want me to do?"

Davy climbed the ladder to the upper deck. "I'm pleased to meet you." He could not help but notice the firm grip when they shook hands. "We have work to do, my friend." Placing his right arm around José's shoulder, he began. "In less than a week, I have to go to sea in this, and I need to know if it's possible."

José's eyes sparkled. "I will tell you what is wrong when I study the engine room, and after, I will have an answer to your question." His keen eyes roamed across the now tidy but rusty deck. "I see an old ship ready to die, but perhaps we can perform a miracle and make it live a little longer."

Tony Gonzalez sat in his car on the quay, wearing an impeccable hand-made beige suit with a pale blue shirt. Beside him sat Isabel Alfonin.

While caressing the inside of his leg, she said, "I have seen enough. Drive on. I have other important things to do today."

***

Paul Adams' PA had arranged the meeting room. Tea, coffee, and water were available, but the surface of the large oval table was bare. Paul, his uniform immaculate, arrived ten minutes early and sat at the head of the table, waiting. He smiled, introduced himself, and pointed to a chair as each person entered the room. There was no order or rank; he considered it unnecessary.

Commander Ronald Harman-Smith, and Harry, arrived last. Smith went across to speak to Paul, who told him to be quiet and grab a chair.

Paul remained seated when he opened the meeting. "You will see there is no paper, and you will make no notes. Some of you know that during May 1996, the Met initiated 'Operation Crackdown'. I say without any hesitation, this agency has been successful. The whole premise evolved around the adage, Set a thief to catch a thief. Commander Harman-Smith had a free hand to run his operation. Unfortunately, we," he announced, looking at Harman-Smith, "have a problem! David Jones or Jenkins, or whoever he is, seems to be a rogue animal. From what I know, unless we do something, his activities will be the feature article in Private Eye. It ends here and now. The difficulty is how we achieve this without letting the whole world know. I'm open to suggestions."

Harman-Smith jumped up and said, "This is my responsibility, and I'll deal with it. Why are these people here?" He waved his hand in the air. "Let me do my job."

Paul glared at him. "You're right, Ronald, and I blame you for this mess. Shut up and listen. I want answers, not objections. Disregarding the look of contempt from Harman-Smith, he turned towards Angie. "Chief Inspector Symes, what's your young man up to at this precise moment?"

"Well," said Angie. "I understand the cartel Davy has uncovered is about to transport a large amount of pure heroin into the UK. They intend to sail a Spanish fishing boat into UK territorial waters within the next two weeks. All foreign fishing vessels are subject to boarding by a fishery protection officer. Not having the correct licences, the Royal Navy will escort the vessel into the nearest harbour. Most of these have minimal security, if any. The crew will unload the heroin when the buyer arrives. The second the skipper pays the fine, the vessel will sail and return to Spain."

Paul commented, "A simple and effective plan, utilising our own Navy to give them cover. I presume your partner had some input to this strategy? Still, now we know we can protect our interests."

"Why don't we stop this vessel before it becomes a problem?" said Adrian. He turned to Paul, eyes dark. "We arrest the crew and let your man escape? The Royal Navy arrests drug smugglers off the US coastline."

"An interesting suggestion. I assume you'd like to be there?"

Adrian laughed. "If only, but I'm not sure that the Met can organise the Royal Navy."

With a twinkle in his eye, Paul answered, "I can't, but I know a man who can."

Without warning, the door opened, and the Commissioner walked in. Paul rose to his feet; a slight movement of the Commissioner's right hand waived all formalities. In a quiet voice, to communicate the gravity of the situation, he asked, "Paul. Have you come to a decision?"

"I have, sir, but I would prefer an hour's grace so that I can complete some specifics."

"Have it ready in detail for me by one this afternoon." The Commissioner did not wait for an answer but turned on his heels and left the room.

Paul got to his feet, picked up his glass of water and walked around the table. There was an air of anger in his actions. He stopped, took a sip and looked out of the window. In its reflection, he could see everyone had turned their heads towards him. He returned to his chair in silence.

He decided to bring the meeting to a close. "We've discussed the pros and cons of this affair long enough. Commander Harman-Smith and your deputy, Harry Falkus, my office."

Harman-Smith and Harry, both unhappy, left the room. "Chief Superintendent Ian Holt will be my voice in this matter and will be, if required, in touch with you. Thank you for coming." Rising from his chair, he left.

Janice turned to Ian. "What do you think will happen now?"

Ian pulled his chair close to the table. "I would say your man will get what he wants." He knew for sure Paul would be taking steps to cancel any information relating to David Jones. "Janice, write one word about this, and the world will deny any knowledge it ever happened. Everyone, except you, is subject to the Official Secrets Act. Now, as the man said, go home and wait; I'm sure it won't be long before you have your answer." He turned towards Angie. "Please wait behind after the others leave; we have a matter of importance to discuss."

Ian stopped Janice and Adrian before they left. "I'll be in touch and let you know what's happening."

"You know where to find us. I agree, Ian, there are times for waiting, and this is one of them," she answered. "At least, it should end in an amicable conclusion. Thanks for your help. We'll talk later."

Ian shut the door and seated himself next to Angie. "What are we going to do with you? The trouble is, we're not in the game anymore. Your boyfriend is a grandmaster at chess. It would seem we have lost control, and I don't think Commander Harman-Smith is a happy man." He sighed. "I have a way out which the Assistant Commissioner thinks you should agree. Of course, you're aware that by involving others outside the system, you compromised the force."

She nodded. "I realised that, but I'm not sorry. What do they want me to do, sir?"

Ian lowered his eyes. "Retirement on medical grounds along with a full pension. You can refuse their offer and take this to the top. If I were you, I'd cut my losses and run for the hills."

She had expected it. "What about Davy? Are they going to pull him out?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Well, you heard what the Assistant Commissioner said. How they're going to do it, I don't know. Let's wait and see."

"One more question," she insisted. "When will my retirement be effective?"

"If you accept, it's immediate, and I'll take your warrant card now. Once I have it, you're free to do as you please. With regards to your boyfriend, I'll keep you informed."

From her breast pocket, she removed her warrant card.

Ian took it, placing it on the table. "Thank you. Whether you believe it or not, I didn't like doing that."

She placed her hand on his. "You weren't given a choice. Well, if there's nothing else, I'll go home and think about my next career."

Angie left Ian sitting at the table. When she left the building, she did not look back.

In front of Paul Adams, Harry Falkus, and a subdued Harman-Smith listened. "Ronald. I'm in no mood to waste my time, so if you've anything to say. Speak up or shut up."

Harman-Smith said nothing.

"How do you think I could explain this total cock-up to the PM. My pension would be on the line, and you know darn well what would happen. You fucked up. I don't want any excuses, but are you clear on what you must do, Commander?"

"Yes, sir."

"The Commissioner will be watching this operation, so no more fuck-ups."

"Be assured, sir, it will be a smooth operation."

"It had bloody better be, or you'll be making my tea until your retirement. When this is over, we'll talk again. Now, go."

With that, Harman-Smith and Harry left. "Come on, Harry, we have work to do, and time's running out."

Big Ben struck one. Paul checked his watch and wondered if any more shocks were waiting to drop into his lap. Lunchtime, he thought, and I still have to finalise this plan for the Commissioner to approve.

***

By the end of the day, Davy and José managed to start the main engine. José muttered in Spanish non-stop and shook his head. He grinned like a Cheshire cat when the huge diesel thundered into life with a rumbling roar. Clouds of thick black smoke, pungent diesel exhaust and rust burst from the funnel. The detritus covered everything in sight. "The engine, it will do, Señor Davy, but," shrugging his shoulders, "the rest, tomorrow, we will see."

Davy agreed.

When he walked back to the hotel, passers-by stared at him. With no water on board, washing was out of the question.

Once again, a familiar perfume invaded his senses as he opened the door to his room. A naked Isabel Alfonin lay on the bed.

"You don't give up, do you?"

She raised her head, flaunting her breasts for his scrutiny. He admitted to himself, she was one hell of a woman, and the sexuality within him began to stir.

"I know what I want, and I want you inside me."

"Out of interest, how did you get the key to my room?"

She grinned. "When you own the hotel, you have the key to every room."

"And what else do you own?"

Confident, she replied, "I own you. You're working for me, and you will make me millions."

I work for William."

She lay back on the pillow, stretching her arms above her head. "The old man is my frontman., He is a pawn for others to see. My empire covers Europe and beyond."

Davy whistled. "A woman like you could tempt the Pope to sin, and you're responsible for this whole operation. If it's true, I find it hard to believe."

For a moment, she seemed angry and raised her voice. "Believe it. Fuck with me, and you are dead."

Her mood changed, and, smiling, she walked across the room towards him. The white bikini line on her tanned hips swayed with each step. "But first, we shower together. I love doing it in the shower with warm water cascading over us. It's so sensual. After and I do mean a long time after, we can order dinner and enjoy each other's company."

Grabbing her hands, he said, "Isabel, about a thousand years ago, when I was young and foolish, you'd have been right. I'm sure you're a tigress in the sack, and I would have loved taming you. Now, I'm in a relationship where love and trust mean everything. I can't, and I won't destroy it."

Disbelief filled her eyes. "I wouldn't have thought you were the faithful type. Come to think of it, William did tell me you refused the services of a young lady. Like me, she wanted nothing else but to please you. Let's do it, and I promise not to tell your girlfriend."

"You didn't hear one word I said. The answer is no and will always be no. Get dressed and clear off."

She moved away from him, grabbing a tissue and wiping oil from her hands. She dressed, but the absence of a bra and panties was plain.

"You're not the shy, retiring type," said Davy with a grin.

"As a film star once said, anytime, anyplace, and anywhere." Her sarcasm was cutting. "I will go, but if you change your mind, my phone number's written on the pad beside the bed." She walked across and kissed him on both cheeks. "I hope we can be more than friends, and you never know what the future may bring." Laughing, she left.

He watched her go before he closed and locked the door. He did not know whether she intended to boast or felt he was a trusted accomplice. Isabel Alfonin had become his ticket to a new life. Whatever she was, she had no sense of right or wrong, no moral code and oozed sexual wickedness.

Davy yawned, weary from having to undertake hard manual work. Stretching his arms high in the air, he decided a good hot shower would soothe his aching body. Strolling into the bathroom, he placed his filthy overalls in a laundry bag. Inside the shower cubicle, the hot water had a stimulating effect. The thought of showering with Isobel Alfonin made him shudder. He was only human, and it had taken a lot of willpower to refuse.

After dinner, he contacted Angie. His opening words were, "I'm lying on my bed, thinking of you."

Angie played the game.

***

Paul Adams sat at his desk, reading his notes, thankful the Commissioner agreed with his plan. He had ordered Harman-Smith to close down the Jones operation. After the fishing vessel left the harbour, he was to apprehend every member of the drugs cartel. On entering British territorial waters, the Royal Navy would arrest the Spanish boat. The Spanish authorities knew about the ETA group operating in Vigo. He studied the plan again: what could go wrong? If everyone completed their task per their instructions. The door would close on this fiasco forever. Satisfied, he picked up the pile of papers from his desk. These he tapped on the table to align the edges, and without faltering, shredded them.

***

Adrian Viper returned home, leaving his wife to return to Southampton. While seated in his office, the telephone rang.

"Commander Viper, this is Captain Christopher Welland. I need to speak to you on a matter of some urgency. Can you talk ?"

Adrian, surprised a senior Captain had contacted him, answered, "Yes, sir."

"How soon could Blackbird be at sea?"

"That depends on how fast I can put a crew together. With luck, within two days. What's the rush, sir?"

"Can't tell you over the phone. I'll brief you when you're ready to sail. Move as fast as you can, Adrian. There's a ton of political pressure behind this one."

Adrian's mind returned to the meeting and Paul Adams' words: "I know a man who can." It had to be; there could be no other possible reason to take HMS Blackbird to sea.

"I'll be on my way north by about six tonight, sir."

"Good-man; knew I could rely on you." The connection ended.

Adrian removed his crew list from his desk drawer and started contacting his officers. Once completed, he pressed the auto-dial and waited. "Hi love – I've had a call from Rosyth. They want me up there and at sea in two days. There's only one reason, as far as I can see, and that's your Mr Jones."

"Okay – I'll see you when I see you. Give me a call and let me know what's happening if you can. Otherwise, be careful and come home in one piece."

"No problem – see you soon. Love you. Bye."

Adrian's business manager, Brian, had arrived back from Greece only a few days before. Familiar with his boss disappearing for lengthy intervals to play sailors, he shrugged. "I suppose you'd like a lift to the station?"

"You're a star, Brian. Give me half an hour, and I'll have packed. On the way to the station, we can talk about what's happening with the business."

Adrian arrived at York Station to catch the six p.m. train to Aberdeen, which stopped at Inverkeithing, the nearest station to Rosyth Dockyard.

Four hours later, he was on board HMS Blackbird and unpacking. Charlie, the ship-keeper, had already completed many of the routines necessary. And it always appeared remarkable that in twenty-four hours, everything would change.