Jay's face grimaced with concern for the two people sitting on her sofa. "You can stay here for as long as you like-. Mind you," she chuckled, "you'll have to make yourselves scarce every so often to prevent any embarrassment. Of course, I'll give you plenty of warning."

Davy was not listening; his mind was checking that there was no way anyone could trail them. He gave the flat owner one thousand pounds in cash. Ghashide controlled the taxi firm they used, but one problem remained in his car. It needed to be lost. For the moment, it would stay where it was, in the underground car park. "Damn that Porter woman," he muttered. "If it weren't for her, my life would be a lot easier."

When he looked up, Jay was staring at him." Sorry. Give us a couple of days, and we'll be out of here. Where? God knows."

"I said you're welcome to stay here for as long as you want. Food may be a problem as I usually eat out. I take it as read that you'll be using one bedroom? If not, you'll have to decide who sleeps on the couch."

"Thanks, Jay," said Angie. "I may have the answer to our housing problem, but for the moment, it's late, and I need sleep. Can we talk in the morning? After what we've been through today, an early night wouldn't go amiss. Come on, Davy, we'll fix it tomorrow."

"Goodnight, you two. Sleep well. I'm going to have a nightcap and watch TV for a while. If it's too noisy, shout."

Angie sat on the edge of the large ornate bed that filled half of the room. "Is this where she entertains her clients?"

Davy smiled. "Right now, I couldn't care less. By the way, what did you mean by you might have the answer? "

"I have an idea that'll get us out of here. The only person who needs to know is Harman-Smith." She smiled. "Anyway, it's time you met my mum and dad. They're nice people and won't be bothered how long we stay. It'll be nice to sleep in my bed for a change."

"I don't think we should get them involved. The people we're dealing with enjoy killing."

"Do you have a better idea?"

He frowned. "All right, we stay with them until we find somewhere else. I'll have a word with Ghashide; he has contacts. First things first, I need to get rid of my car the yellow peril: it's a bit eye-catching, to say the least." He stretched both arms and gave a cavernous yawn. "Come on, let's get some sleep. Tomorrow's another day. For the moment, we're out of harm's way."

Angie went to the bathroom. Davy lay in the giant bed and stared at the mirrored ceiling, smiling.  Angie returned a few minutes later and slid in alongside him and snuggled close.

The following day, Davy asked Jay if she knew of anyone who would be interested in buying his car with no questions asked.

"You want it lost?"

"Out of the country would be ideal, and I'll need another set of wheels."

Jay laughed. "Okay, I'll see what I can do. Unfortunately, these people don't pay top dollar."

All that day, Davy contacted his operatives and ensured his operation continued. The last thing he needed was more problems.

Angie telephoned Harman-Smith from a public call box and gave him a complete account of Janice's visit. "Oh, and by the way, I'll be staying with my parents for a couple of weeks. You know the number."

Harman-Smith groaned. "Don't worry about that Porter woman. I've dealt with her. She won't be bothering you anymore. Make sure you keep me up to date as to what Jones is doing." The line went dead.

She accepted what he said without comment. However, she now knew he did know Janice Porter. Without a doubt, Harman-Smith had stabbed Davy in the back. Had he outlived his usefulness? Harman-Smith did not follow the rules, and that made him dangerous. The implications were not worth thinking about. From now on, they would have to be more than careful.

Shortly after Angie returned, Jay arrived with good news. A client of her Agency had agreed to take Davy's car for a reasonable price and provide him with another.

"Great. Thanks, Jay. What did you get for it?"

"Forty-thousand and a second-hand Range Rover. It's dark blue and great to drive. It's not old; the leather seats are in good condition. It'll be ideal for you two. The car belongs to me; I thought you would rather remain undercover for a while. The less your name appears anywhere, the better. I've insured it in my name, fully comp, any driver. Okay?"

He whistled with admiration. "Good thinking. You hold onto my money. I've got a feeling I'll need it."

***

At ten the following morning, they left Jay's. In the pouring rain, Davy drove through the city, and they were soon approaching Croydon. Despite a few traffic hot spots, they were going along East Grinstead High Street in just over the hour.

The rain stopped, and the sun tried to break through the clouds.

Angie pointed ahead. "Turn left at the next junction, and when you can see a small unmarked crossroad, the house is on the right. You can park in the drive, but it might be prudent to go round the back."

The house was a large H-shaped detached bungalow, set in its grounds and away from prying eyes.

"It's a joint effort," said Angie. "My father bought the land, and, between us, we had it built. The right side is my living area, and the left is Mum and Dad's."

"Where are they?"

"Oh, they'll be at work. We have the whole day to ourselves."

He followed her into the central lounge and felt the cosiness. The furniture was not new. The wooden table and chairs had taken on a different colour by years of polishing. Photographs covered the walls along with several classic prints.

They unpacked in Angie's room, which was one hundred percent feminine. The curtains, the bedspread and the carpet were complementary shades of pink and cream.

Davy sat on the bed and asked, "What will your parents say about us sleeping together?"

"They know about you. I've told mum and dad you work for the Agency. They won't ask awkward questions."

The rest of the day vanished as they wandered around the local countryside. The weather was kind, no rain, cold and bracing, with a clear blue sky. They ate lunch in a small pub, enjoying each other's company.

On arriving back at the bungalow, Angie entered first. Bert and Doris Symes were pleased to see their daughter. The couple, possibly in their late fifties, were small framed and barely five feet tall but had sharp eyes set in their pleasant faces.

Davy stood back, realising he had no family to miss him. For a few moments, it hurt like hell.

Bert moved and grabbed his hand. "Hi, Davy. You must be special: you're the first boyfriend she's brought here since that other bastard dumped her."

Angie shouted, "Dad, he knows. Leave it. The past is the past."

"Sorry, love. Forgot."

Doris looked at Davy and her daughter. "Bert, get Davy a drink, and I'll have a small sherry."

Bert obliged.

For Davy, a pleasant evening ensued. Angie had been right: her parents didn't ask questions. When tired and happy, they went to bed. The antique brass clock on the mantelshelf struck midnight.

***

At midday, the A23 to Brixton was not entirely gridlocked. Davy decided they would drive back to London every other day to check on things. The instant he switched on his mobile, it rang. He pressed the hands-free button to hear a foul-tempered Ghashide.

"Where the hell are you? I telephoned your flat this morning, and the police answered."

"Look, I didn't have a lot of choice. Everything's fine now, and we're on our way to you right now. See you in about thirty minutes."

The line went dead.

He shook his head. "So the bitch did shop me. I thought she might be bluffing. Thank God we fled when we did. Angie, contact Harman-Smith and tell him what's happened. He can sort it out."

The journey became a nightmare as the city traffic remained bumper to bumper. Traffic lights were red at every junction. Over an hour later, they stopped close to Ghashide's Islington home.

Ghashide opened the door and waited with arms folded as they walked up the steps. "About fucking time." He slammed the door shut. As they followed him into the lounge, he asked, "What the hell's happening?" For the first time since they had met, he appeared shaken.

Ghashide's tone was abrupt. " Why were the police at your flat?"

"It's not a problem. We moved out two days ago. I've dealt with it."

"What do you mean nothing to worry about? We're on the verge of carrying out an operation with a profit of fifty million and all you can say is don't worry. For God's sake, can't you see the obvious? The last thing we want is the police looking over our shoulders."

Swearing under his breath, Davy gave a fleeting smile. "Look, it's done and dusted. I got the word from a friend in the Met they were coming. We left nothing to chance. It's over. Forget it."

"So, where are you living now?"

"It's better, for the moment, you don't know. You can always contact me on the mobile. After all, we still have a business to run." Unperturbed, he continued. "You can be certain that nothing remained in my flat, which will incriminate anyone. All my phone calls were from my mobile. We don't have a problem."

They shook hands. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you sooner, but I had to move fast."

"Quite so. This time, luck was on your side."

Angie and Davy were moving towards the door when Ghashide said, "You did okay."

***

Davy and Angie ate lunch with Jay. Angie now found her to be a fascinating and genuine person. Their friendship had grown slowly and surely. Angie never understood why men used escort agencies and asked as much.

Jay laughed. "It's easy: my staff provide an exclusive one-to-one service. When it's over, there're no commitments. Let's face it, we pay people to cook and clean, so why not pay for an evening's pleasure? I even have a few male escorts; you'd be surprised how many women want a good-looking man to take them to dinner. After an enjoyable meal, they can get up to all sorts of mischief they'd never dream of with their husbands. The price varies from two-hundred pounds an hour to two-thousand pounds for the night."

"Really." Angie looked across at Davy, "And I've been doing it for nothing!" She had never condoned one-night stands and could not understand how any man or woman could be intimate without feelings towards each other.

The evening over, they went their separate ways, with Davy and Angie returning to East Grinstead.

***

Ghashide thought long and hard about what the police might have on Davy. He was convinced that he had missed something. It might be prudent to have him eliminated; it would solve any difficulties and leave no loose ends. For once, he hesitated and decided to talk to his boss.

After speaking with William, Ghashide immediately called Davy. "We need to meet."

"What's the problem?"

"Be at my place at ten tomorrow." Ghashide rang off.

When Davy replaced the receiver, Angie asked, "What's the matter?"

"He wouldn't say. He wants to see me." He followed her into the kitchen.

She took his arm. "What's so important it can't wait?"

"I haven't a clue, and at the moment, I don't care."

Angie changed the subject. "Mum's prepared a lovely dinner. Will you open a bottle of wine?"

Bert sat in the lounge reading a newspaper, keeping well out of the way and not saying a word.

Davy struggled with the cork in an Australian Merlot, being careful not to spill a drop. Doris had to move him when she opened the oven door. The rich aroma of roast beef and all the other ingredients filled the kitchen.

***

Davy arrived at Ghashide's house. The journey had taken nearly two hours. Fortunately, he'd left early enough to take account of the traffic.

Ghashide was in a generous mood and greeted him warmly. "My apologies for being a bit uptight yesterday; I get nervous when the police show an interest in my protégé."

Davy sat in one of the many chairs. "So, what happens now? And don't feed me shit, spit it out. You didn't drag me all the way here to apologise; it's not your style."

"We have a problem, but the solution is simple."

"Explain."

"Listen. Your recent brush with the police was unfortunate. William agreed with me that your talents might be useful in Spain."

"What about business? Who's going to run it? Can Angie come with me?"

"No, she can't, and the operation here is no longer your problem. You're in the big league now; William has estimated your share of this venture could be in the region of a couple of million. Don't knock it."

He forced a grin. "When does he want me out there?"

"Your flight's on Saturday from Gatwick. You'll collect your ticket at the check-in desk and, as before, a car will be waiting at Gibraltar. William's arranged a dinner party for Sunday. I wish it were me, but this is your show."

The drive back to East Grinstead was uneventful. For the first time in his life, he had found someone special. He was betwixt and between, with nowhere to hide. The system placed him in the front line with no retreat. Harman-Smith would be pleased; his only concern was Angie.

***

Charging past his secretary and the waiting Harry, Harman-Smith shouted harshly, "Harry, get in here, now." He roared again for two coffees, not bothering to ask Harry if he wanted one or not. He sat down behind his desk and pointed to a chair. "Take a pew."

The rattle of cups in saucers, and the noise of a percolator operating, implied the coffee was on its way.

"Harry, we have a small problem. William Kent was spotted by the Spanish police a few days ago talking to a member of ETA. With their typical incompetence, they lost sight of him. For the moment, they're holding back, hoping to scrape together more information. I've advised the minister concerned we're on the verge of breaking the biggest drugs syndicate in Europe wide open. You know what he's like: he didn't want to know and simply shrugged his shoulders. I need your advice. We can move now – God knows we have enough information – or wait and possibly lose Kent."

The door opened, and his secretary brought in the coffee, placing one carefully on the desk and handing the other to Harry.

Harry sipped at his. "Look, boss, Jones is deep in the centre of all this. Before we make any move, shouldn't we pull him out?"

Harman-Smith's patronising smile told its own story. "No. He stays to the end. If he becomes a casualty of war, so be it; he saves a lot of damned paperwork. We've let him get away with murder, literally. Anyway, you answered my question: we'll push this to its ultimate end. Shit floats, and you never know what may rise to the surface. Oh, by the way, keep this little chat between the two of us."

Harry had finished his coffee. "Even so," he said. "It's difficult to ignore the fact that if the Spanish compromise Kent, he'll disappear faster than a rat up a drainpipe. He's the man we want."

"Okay, Harry, from now on, it's your show. Only keep me informed as and when we make our move."

"All right," said Harry. "You're the boss." The meeting was over. He got up and left.

Harman-Smith grinned at his subtle manoeuvre. Whoever said you can't have it both ways? He knew that Harry enjoyed that unique talent of being able to fall headfirst in the shit and come out smelling of roses.