Harman-Smith sipped his coffee and studied the screen in front of him. Bombs had exploded in many of the country's major airports. Air traffic was at a standstill. Incoming flights diverted to alternative airports that had space to take them. It was chaos; whoever was responsible had achieved their objective. TV and radio stations broadcast warnings for travellers to stay away from airports. MI5 anti-terrorism squads were in rapid response mode. Intelligence Officers scrutinised every morsel of information whilst hit squads would be searching houses across the country. The hunt for known suspects would be in full swing. With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned off the monitor. Thankfully bombers were not his problem.

Davy drove to Ghashide's new house in fashionable Islington. The meeting was to be far different from what he had planned.

When Davy arrived, Ghashide was waiting at the main door. Together they strolled into the large Victorian living room, and both glanced out of the window. Outside, in the park opposite, children were at play.

He turned to Ghashide. "We have a problem."

"What you mean is, you have a problem, and I need to know what you're going to do about it.

"I can't say because I don't bloody know. Whatever I do, it'll have to be fast. Airport security will be going mental, and we have men in the field. Some are on their way home."

Ghashide held up a restraining hand and smiled. "You aren't too bright sometimes. You'll need to watch your back, though; remember they work for you. Those men are expendable. What's important is that the merchandise keeps arriving. Without it, our business will suffer. My boss, your boss, would not be too happy if we were to stop solely because airport security was tighter."

"Everything seems to be happening at once," Davy commented, "and I don't like it. There must be another way."

Ghashide was getting annoyed. "For God's sake, let's wait and see. You're creating problems. Look, mugs carry the packages, and our people are in the background. We allowed for some losses, and with luck, that should be trivial. If anything, the police are searching for explosives left in waste paper bins. Go home, take Angie out or something and stop worrying."

Davy wasn't happy; however, he agreed there was nothing he could do.

On leaving, he knew his continued existence within the Association depended on his next move. With little hope, he decided to drive to Heathrow and see the situation for himself. At four miles from the airport, the roads had reached gridlock: nothing moved. He sat, listening to the radio. Police turned everyone back. He returned to his flat and waited for Angie. The more he thought about it, the more he felt the time had come to talk with Harman-Smith. Maybe he could come up with an answer.

He sat down on the sofa, relaxed, yawned, and fell asleep. Confused, he became lost in a maze of chaos. Faceless beings pointed to a path. Ghashide appeared from nowhere and shouted, "Follow me," and then Angie was stood by his side and grabbed his hand. Ghashide screamed, "you'll never get out. Follow me."

In a panic, he awoke, rolled over and fell onto the floor. With the arm of the sofa to steady him, he stood, gathered his thoughts, strolled to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on his face. When he returned to the lounge, Angie had arrived. 

"What's the matter?" she asked, kicking her shoes off and sitting down.

He explained. "Everything, the whole set-up is ready to go tits up. It's time we had a chat with Harman-Smith, and close this chapter once and for all."

Angie jumped up from her chair. "Good idea." She reached for the telephone and dialled a number. "I'm calling him."

"Hi, it's Angie. We have a problem. A meeting is in order. What do you think?"

She listened and held her hand over the mouthpiece. Speaking in a whisper, she said, "He'll meet us wherever we want but needs time to arrange a few things."

Davy nodded. "Okay, we might as well meet here, tomorrow, any time. You'd better give him my address."

Angie passed on the message, "He'll be here sometime tomorrow afternoon."

Harman-Smith wondered: maybe the time had come to close this operation down. He had enough information to fill the courts for months; unfortunately, the head of the drugs operation remained elusive. He had a name, except the Spanish authorities continued to ignore his pleas for assistance. If he could pin something illegal on him, they could put him away for a few years. Whether it was Spanish or, a British jail did not matter. He pushed a button on his intercom. "Harry, will you come to my office now?"

Harry arrived a few minutes later. "How's Jimmy getting along?"

"He's doing all right. It was a good idea of yours to recruit him. He can now shadow a suspect pretty good."

"Angie called. She wants a meeting. I'm thinking of ending the David Jones operation. We start by terminating his employment, and if we can charge him with a crime that will put him away for a long time, so much the better. No one will miss him."