Prologue

Head low Keel slowly walked along the small path that crossed the graveyard. He knew he shouldn't have come here again. But somehow he had to; something deep inside him forced him to return. Knowing all this he had made up his mind. He wanted to draw a final line under the 'Exodus affair; draw a final line and get over Cat. It had taken him almost three weeks to come to terms with her death and with the constant lies he was telling his Curtis, whenever his partner asked him how they had found him and what had happened to Sarah Keating.

Catherine was buried only a few feet away from Shaugnessy. As he reached Shaugnessy's grave he was surprised to find a huge bunch of white roses and lilies on it. Just like the bunch Catherine had thrown into the open grave at Carl Rosen's funeral in Berlin. He stopped and looked around. There was no one in sight, so he walked on. Hoping that returning to her grave and saying all the things out aloud that had been cruising his mind would help him to forget, he stopped a decent distance from her grave. A bunch of red roses was lying on it. Irritated he once more looked around. In the far distance he saw an elderly woman, hovering over a grave but apart from her he was alone. He pulled himself together and swallowing the knot in his throat he left the path and approached Cat's grave, stopping at its top.

Turning and checking to see if there really was nobody within ears reach, he said, "Hello Cat ...God I feel ridiculous," he sighed. "Cat, I'm not sure if this makes any sense or not." Kneeling down next to the tombstone, he went on: " I came to say thank you. Thank you for everything; thank you for helping Sam ... and in a way helping me to come to terms with many things. Yeah, once again you saved Sam's life, Cat. I felt you ought to know that, know that he is alive and fine. Okay, I'll be honest. I know I can't fool you. He's still weak but the doctors say he's over the hill and everything will be okay. He's coming home tomorrow." Keel felt his throat tighten, getting up and sighing again, he continued, "Catherine, I haven't told him yet. He started to ask a lot of questions when he woke up; you know what Sam's like. However, I haven't told him - yet."

Suddenly a shy smile lit his face, as he tried to imagine her reaction, " I hope you agree; yeah you would. Wouldn't want to hurt him. " The smile vanished and after taking a deep breath, he continued, "I apologise for everything I said that night at the B&B... frankly, I wish we could have had more time. There's so much I ..."

"Mr Keel." A voice coming from behind shocked him and he broke off. Spinning round and with his eyes wide open he stared at Malone.

"Sir," Keel stuttered embarrassed, "What...how long...?"

Without a word, Malone put an arm around the young American's shoulder. A knowing and understanding smile on his face, batting his eyes, he said, "Time to move on."

"There is just so much I want to know about her," Keel murmured, suddenly feeling as uncertain as a little boy on his first day at school. The fact that Malone seemed to have heard everything he'd said, not to mention his boss' empathetic embrace, embarrassed and confused him. Wondering why Malone had come to her grave and whether he'd brought the bunch of roses, Keel followed him silently as he turned and walked out of the graveyard.

Ten minutes later they reached the car park. Malone stopped and turned to Keel.

"Mr Keel, I know it's not easy for you to lie to Mr Curtis, but I want you to go on with it. Don't tell him that Ms Robinson was Sarah Keating, until I order you to." Malone searched the American's face for a reaction, "You think you can do that?"

"If I have to," answered Chris in thin voice.

Malone cleared his throat and taking his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. "Think of it this way, Mr Keel," he mumbled, fiddling with his glasses. "You would respect her last will by doing as I ask. Before she died, she begged me not to tell Mr Curtis anything till the right time came."

Irritated Keel stared at Malone. The Tin Man really did have a heart, Chris thought. This was the second time in only three weeks that Malone had shown a glimpse of the caring man behind the poker face he usually wore. But what did Malone mean about the right time? How was he supposed to know when that was? When Curtis had completely recovered and was mentally firm enough to take the news, Chris decided, that would be the right time.

Malone's voice cut through his thoughts. "I assume you'll take Mr Curtis home from the hospital tomorrow?"

"Yes, I told him I'd pick him up," admitted Keel.

"Fine. Take the rest of the week off, Mr Keel," Malone continued in his usual calm businesslike tone. "I don't want to see you at the office before Monday morning."

Malone opened the door of the Land Rover, got in and started the engine, leaving a totally perplexed Keel behind.

Six months later

After delivering his report to Malone, Chris slowly walked along the hallway towards the locker rooms. He felt tired, physically and mentally. Replaying the incidents of the last couple of days in his mind, he immediately started thinking about his partner, as he had so often before. Yes, he thought, they'd both survived another year, a bit bruised and battered, a bit more mature in some aspects of life and a bit more disillusioned. Working with Curtis had become a nightmare though, since he had got back to work. At first, Keel had thought, it was just because his partner was still fretting over what had happened; that he was behaving uncharacteristically because he couldn't forget. But as the months went by, he noticed Curtis chancing his luck more and more for the worse.

They were barely talking to each other. Their usual cheerful and cheeky banter was down to a minimum. Curtis was cold and Keel felt uncomfortable with the situation. To him it seemed as if he had been transferred through space and time back to the beginning of their partnership. Curtis, who had mutated to a team player during their time together before the 'Exodus' affair, was flying solo again, leaving his friend and partner languishing behind, leaving him feeling frustrated or stupid and useless.

However hard he had tried to break through to the Sam Curtis he had known, he hadn't been successful. Even when the Ops pool had started spreading rumours about the Englishman within his ear's reach, saying that the Englishman had been broken, some of them even calling him a heartless bastard, he had always defended his partner. He knew a different side to Sam; he simply knew Curtis better than all the rest of them - despite maybe Backup.

Sure, he hadn't been honest either. He had lied to him about Sarah Keating, lied to his face, when Sam in one of his better moments, had told him that he was sure that he had heard Catherine talking to him, that he could have sworn he felt her kissing him. Keel wished he could have told Sam the truth then, but he couldn't. He had given his word to Malone. Although his heart was nearly breaking as he watched his partner pacing the lounge of his flat, his pale face clear evidence of sleepless nights and confusion, Keel wasn't going to break his promise.

Today they only survived on sheer luck. Absolutely everything had gone wrong, including only being missed by a bullet from his partner's gun by inches. Chris wasn't really looking forward to seeing Sam ever but for the sake of their friendship, he knew they had to sort the problem out.

Opening the door to the men's locker room, he found Curtis sitting on the bench in the middle between the closets. His head low and his hands hanging loose between his knees, Curtis looked miserable. Chris looked at him, noticing right away that he was breathing hard and short. Remembering the fight they'd had with their assailants and the vicious blows Sam had taken to the ribs before he'd nearly shot him, Chris pondered whether he should ask if he was okay. Or should he just head for the main topic - Sam had risking their lives for nothing and nearly killing them both?

Passing Curtis by and opening his locker, he kept his voice as neutral as possible as he finally asked, "What kind of stunt was that supposed to be today, Sam?"

"What's your problem?" Curtis snapped back without looking up.

"My problem?" Keel retorted angrily. "My problem? You could have killed us both out there today and you ask me if I have a problem?"

"I didn't kill us."

"God, Sam," Keel slammed the door of the locker shut, "you only missed me by inches."

"You're alive, aren't you? We were successful - that's all that counts," Curtis replied icily, looking up at Chris.

Trying to control his temper, Chris clenched his fists, as he held Sam's daring gaze. "That's all you have to say? Success justifies everything, right? All that counts is your job." Taking a deep breath he tried to reign in his temper and failed. "I have been such a fucking idiot to believe that we were friends and that you - like I wouldn't - wouldn't do anything that risks me," he burst out.

"Friends? Us?" Curtis got up, crossed his arms in front of his chest and focused his eyes at his partner's. Curtis eyes were as expressionless as the rest of his face. "I have never asked for your friendship -never asked for a partner."

"Fine", Keel shot back. "Carry on like today and you'll soon get rid of me. But it's much easier if you just go and ask Malone to split us."

"Good idea..." answered Sam dangerously calm. "I can't go on like this."

"Great. State the bleedin' obvious," Keel burst out. "Know what, Curtis? I'm sick of you. So why don't you just fuck off!"

Shock and pain flickering in his eyes, Curtis turned on his heels without a further word and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

Keel watched his partner leave. As the door clicked shut, he kicked against the closed door of his locker and cursed himself.

"You screwed up, Keel, you fucking idiot."

******

Harry Malone sat behind his desk reading the reports Keel and Curtis had produced for their last mission. Two identical reports, nothing unusual for his best team, but nevertheless something was wrong this time. He had watched them both carefully during the last months and it was more than obvious that there had been underlying difficulties, which were on the edge of becoming serious problems.

Malone had noticed all the efforts Mr. Keel had made to find a way to get access to his partner. Mr. Curtis' reaction to them had at first stunned him, but now they frightened him. He was getting more and more concerned and he knew he had to do something before it was too late.

A flickering note on his desktop telling him that he had received a new mail attracted his attention. Closing the file in front of him, he opened his outlook mailbox. He had to read the message twice, before it sunk in. Frowning, he picked up the receiver and dialled a number.

"Good afternoon," he said politely. "I need you to confirm a reservation for the Air France flight leaving Heathrow at 17.30 for Paris Charles de Gaulle." Taking off his glasses he added, "Yes - the name is Malone, Harry Malone."

*****

This definitely wasn't one of her lucky days, Backup decided. Grabbing a file and getting up, she glanced at her watch. Walking past Spencer's desk, she took his report from it, mumbling something over to him about hoping it didn't contain mistakes. Leaving the operations room in a hurry, her nose buried in Spencer's report, Backup bumped into Sam Curtis who was approaching the operations room from the other end.

"Oops, sorry," she said, a bright smile of embarrassment flashing over her lips.

But her smile died, as she saw the deep wrinkle on Sam's forehead and the ice in his eyes. She knew the look all too well. She had seen it on his face after Catherine's death - the one Sam knew about, she added silently. More than two years ago, she had been at his side at Catherine's first funeral, the one that hadn't actually been real as everyone but him now knew. That day she had seen her colleague as she hadn't seen him before; almost unable to stand upright, fighting back his tears. Back than she had taken his hand at the grave and later on in his apartment, she had taken him in her arms to comfort him. She hadn't known the woman whose death had caused so much grief.

Back than she remembered being helplessly in love with the gorgeous Sam Curtis, the somehow mysterious man with the sparkling green eyes. Sure, she'd had access to his personal files, but Sam still hadn't been an open book, which was probably why he had attracted her so much. After all these years of unrequited love and the endless list of meaningless, unintelligent blondes he taken out, her desire had faded into nothing more than liking; much more similar to the kind of love a sister feels for her big brother.

As they stood facing each other in the doorway, she locked her brown eyes firmly with Sam's. To her it seemed as if something deep inside him had broken into millions of pieces. Backup just couldn't understand why something he didn't know about could have had such an effect on him. Or was it all because the strong bond of friendship between Curtis and Keel was breaking down for some reason? Even she had noticed that they weren't getting along anymore.

"Never mind," Sam suddenly said, cutting through her thoughts. A smile flashed over his face, as he added, "It's always a pleasure to bump into you."

Batting her eyes and grimacing, she asked, "You're okay?"

"Sure," he answered, blowing a kiss to her cheek, turning on his heels and rushing away in the same direction he had come from. Confused Backup followed him with her eyes. She saw him walking fast down the hallway, entering the staircase and disappearing.

******

Half an hour later, Backup was back at her desk, writing her daily summary of events, when Malone addressed her, making her jump. Turning around to face him she wiped the surprise from her face. "Sir?"

Malone was standing behind her, his coat already on, a briefcase in his left hand. Laying the briefcase down on her desk to put on his leather gloves. "Tell Mr Keel and Curtis to take the rest of the weekend off and order them to be at my office Monday morning at eight," he said, factual as always.

"Is there anything that I should know?" she dared to ask.

"No, everything is in hand," Malone stated. "I will be away and unavailable for the rest of today and probably also the next two days." As she stared at him, eyes wide open he smiled mildly and retrieved his briefcase. "You have my mobile number in any case of emergency." Turning to leave, he added, "I trust you to do an excellent job as always, Ms Backus."

*****

After Sam had left the CI5 building in a hurry, he spent hours walking aimlessly through the streets of London. Here you are, he thought, standing in the remains of your glorious life. Sam Curtis, the working class kid, who had made his way to university at Edinburgh against all odds. The one who finished his studies with excellent diplomas, the one who survived everything - bullet wounds, drugs, getting beaten up and endless hours of sadistic interrogations. He had been willing to sacrifice his life for his country and he had never questioned his decisions; at least not before the Winfield case. Even now, six months later, he couldn't stand dark rooms, couldn't sleep without a light on and he shuddered at the thought of loud music or noise. Although he was pretending to be calm and controlled like always, he was feeling insecure like he'd never felt before in his life. Sometimes it had been hard to swallow the nagging panic. In those moments he played it cool, like he had done all the years he had worked solo for the MI6. He knew that meant he was ruthless and icy, taking every risk without wasting a thought on possible consequences. He knew his insecurity and the resulting ruthlessness endangered his colleagues and most of all, Chris. Brushing away the memory of the conversation he'd had with his partner in the locker room he told himself that he had to destroy their friendship. It was the only thing he could do for Chris, he reminded himself as he finally caught a taxi and asked the driver to take him home.

Opening the door to his flat twenty minutes later, he heard his answering machine clicking and then his own voice telling the one on the other end of the line that he was away. Ignoring it, he went to his kitchen, took a tumbler out of a kitchen cupboard and returned to his lounge. Putting the glass down on the coffee table and walking across the room to the small antique cupboard, he took off his coat and threw it to the ground. Backup's voice echoed through the room, as he opened the cupboard and took a bottle of whisky out. He didn't pay much attention to it at first, but then her voice sunk in.

"Malone wants you and Chris at his office Monday morning at eight. Sam? I know you're there - talk to me. Okay, if you don't want to talk to me, then at least listen to me. Chris has told me that he's planning to leave. What the hell's going on?"

Chris resigning? Reaching the sofa, he sat down and retrieving the tumbler he poured himself a glass of whisky, which he emptied in one swig. A second, a third and a fourth glass quickly followed the first one. Dismissing the plan of getting completely drunk, at least for a while, he put the tumbler down. Getting up and crossing the room, he stopped at the answering machine and pressed the replay button. Tina's voice followed him to his bedroom, repeating her message: "Chris is planning to leave."

Chris leaving CI5? When and if someone should resign, he thought, it should be him, not Chris. All of a sudden he knew what he had to do. Rushing back to his lounge and sitting down at his desk in the corner near the window, he opened his laptop and booted it. While waiting for the system to get through the inevitable checks, he got up again and fetched the bottle from the coffee table. Taking in some more of the golden brown single malt, he logged in to his email account. Adding Malone's address from his address book was one thing; writing down his decision another. It was harder than he had thought it would be to spell it:.

Resignation.

Another two glasses of whisky later, he had finished and he was satisfied with his mail. Swallowing, he pressed the 'send' button and seconds later he saw the words 'transmission successful' flicker on the screen. It's over, he thought bitterly. Shutting down the PC, Sam took the bottle of whisky with him and went to his bedroom. It's all over, the voice in his head repeated. His long suppressed fears and demons of the past had finally defeated him. The Sam Curtis everyone knew was officially dead.

*****

Evening darkness had settled as Malone left one of the arrival gates at Paris Charles de Gaulle airport. Glancing at his watch he impatiently walked through the waiting crowd. He was fifteen minutes too late for his announced and prearranged pick up. Hoping that his contact had waited for him, he rushed to the exit and left the airport building. Looking around, he found what he was searching for; a deep blue Peugeot 607. He approached the limousine and opening one of the doors at the back, he got in. The driver was clad in black, wearing a barrette and with their back turned towards him, Malone couldn't make out whether it was a man or a woman.

Clearing his throat, he calmly commanded: "Go."

Mutely the driver obeyed his order and turned the ignition on. The car joined the traffic.

One and a half hours later, the Peugeot 607 turned into a drive and came to a halt in front of a manor house in the outskirts of Paris.

Malone got out of the car. Going round he stopped in front of the driver's door. The door opened and a small seemingly androgyny figure swung itself out and straightened in front of Malone. He or she was smaller that he had thought. Slowly one of the figures hands reached out for the barrette and in one energetic yet elegant move it was removed, freeing long hair. His driver was a woman. Malone stared at her, trying hard to keep control and not to let the shock take over as he made out parts of her face in the darkness.

"Don't stare at me like that, Harry," a female voice said with a strong Northern French accent.

"You?" he voiced not able to hide his surprise and suspicion.

"Naturellement - moi." Laughing bitterly she walked past him, turning around after a couple of paces and adding in English, "Thank you for accepting my invitation."

"What's so important that you faked a priority A anti-terrorism conference?" Malone queried, following her to the door.

Unlocking the door and opening it, she ignored his question and instead said, "Follow me."

*******

The operations room was as quiet as Malone had expected it to be when he entered it late on Sunday evening. He had spent the previous forty-eight hours discussing what they could do to stop the terrorist organisation that was, according to his well-informed contact, planning another dreadful attack.

Going straight into his office he lowered his briefcase to the ground next to his desk, and took a seat. He couldn't get her out of his thoughts. She had asked for his help, but at the same time, she had rejected his offer to send out an undercover team. He didn't doubt her theories though. She knew a lot of people and more important, those people knew her and trusted her enough to 'accidentally' spill out secrets. On his way back to London, he'd had plenty of time to think her plan over.

She had told him that he should wait for her signal before he sent out the cavalry to help her. Her plan was simple but hazardous. Malone knew that it was an enormous risk that she was willing to take without hesitation and with the recklessness, iciness and thoughtfulness he once had admired. This time however, he wasn't sure if her decision was based on an evaluation of the facts or on sheer tiredness of life. Malone would never have suggested such an assignment to any of his agents, even though each of them might think him willing and able to do so. He knew what they were saying about him. Malone: the heart-and emotionless old goat. The Tin Man. He'd heard them murmur behind his back too often.

In fact he was anything but heartless. Each time one of his agents was hurt or went missing, a part of him wanted to show his true feelings. He always had and probably always would have to struggle for calmness and control in those moments. He couldn't afford to let them see his concerns and his own nervousness. He was the head of CI5; calmness under pressure was one of the things his position required. Rubbing his slightly stiff neck, his gaze fell on the reports of Curtis and Keel. Curtis and Keel: they once had been his best team. A team, which was now slowly breaking apart. Tossing away the reports in frustration, he booted his PC. He had promised her that he would delete her mail as soon as he got back. No one should know about their arrangement.

As he went to delete her mail, he was stunned to find an email from Curtis. Exhaling deeply, feeling that he knew what was written in it and didn't want to know, he opened the mail.

"Damn," Malone whispered and switched the PC off again. Getting up, leaving his office, he flipped his mobile open and dialled Keel's number. It didn't take too long before the young American sleepily answered his call.

*******

The ringing of his mobile woke Chris up. Opening his eyes he realised that he had fallen asleep in front of his television. The mobile rang again. Yawning Keel rose from the sofa. Where was the mobile he wondered, as he crossed the room straining for another ring to locate the source of it. Another ring; the kitchen. The mobile had to be in his kitchen. "Yeah," he grumbled, walking past the TV and switching it off. "Yeah. On the way."

Entering the kitchen, he saw his Motorola lying on the table between a box of Oreo cookies and the remains from Saturday's pizza.

Muttering he flipped it open and he mumbled, "Keel."

"Malone," he heard his boss' voice coming from the other end. "Meet me at Mr Curtis' as soon as possible."

"Has something hap ... Sir?" Irritated and suddenly completely awake, Chris stared at his mobile. The line was dead. What was that supposed to be about, he wondered. Malone had sounded confusingly angry. Why should he meet him at Sam's? A multitude of questions of swirling in his mind he crossed the lounge and headed for his bedroom. Five Minutes later he left his apartment.

******

Walking up the stairs to Curtis' apartment, Malone thought about what he would say to the young Englishman. He had never thought about Curtis handing in his resignation. Keel he could imagine, but Curtis, no. To him it had always seemed as if Curtis was only living for, and because of, his job. He had never heard him talk about a private life. Somehow, Malone thought, Curtis was like he himself had been when he was younger and he was sure the young Englishman had a great future within CI5 - if he survived. Keel on the other hand was emotional and needed the close contact with others. He needed his social life to keep him balanced. Malone knew sooner or later he would loose the American to a wife and family, but with Curtis it was different. At least he had believed that, before he had seen him change after Exodus. Malone knew he had to convince Curtis to stay with the organisation and Keel had to give him help him do that, whether he wanted to or not. Reaching the door, he pressed the bell. There was no reaction from within the flat. Knocking at the door, he said: "Mr. Curtis, open the door."

******

Curled up in a corner of his kitchen, Sam heard someone outside shouting his name.. He opened his eyes; darkness had settled around him. Black, he thought, how he hated this time of day. Pulling his knees up a little tighter to his chest, embracing them, he swallowed the knot in his throat. Again someone shouted his name, a second voice. Memories truck him like lightning; being huddled in the corner of a dark room, someone calling out for him. Than the incidents he had struggled so hard to forget - and couldn't - were replayed before his minds eye. Hands grabbing him fiercely, hitting him, the taste of blood, and the sound of cracking bones; pain, endless and unbearable.

His silent screams drowned the sound of the door being opened. Shock written over his face, eyes wide and unfocused he noticed the lights being turned on in the adjacent lounge. His stomach twisting, he silently pleaded, go away, go and leave me alone.

As Malone entered the flat, the young American following in his tracks, the heavy smell of alcohol hit him in the face. Turning the lights on, he looked around. Empty wine and whisky bottles were laying all over the place, clothes scattered over the sofa and floor. Next to the coffee table was a pile of photos. He stepped closer and bending down, he picked some up.

Turning round to Keel, he saw the American standing in the doorframe, eyes wide open, apparently unable to believe what he was seeing. Glancing at the pictures in his hands, Malone said calmly: "Open a window Mr. Keel."

Keel mutely obeyed and crossed the room.

Lowering the photos to the coffee table, Malone turned round again, asking, "Mr. Curtis?"

******

Malone, Sam realised as his boss' words registered vaguely in his mind. He didn't know if he should feel relieved or embarrassed. Maybe, he decided, if he didn't move and didn't answer, Malone would think he wasn't there and leave. Holding his breath and pressing his back closer to the wall as he heard footsteps coming closer, Sam closed his eyes. Please no, he couldn't on top of everything else handle the humiliation of Malone seeing him like this. The footsteps were light, almost bouncy. That wasn't Malone, Sam realised, swallowing. It was Chris. Not knowing what was the worst; why had they come here? Why couldn't they just leave him the hell alone?

******

"He's in here, sir." Chris said. Having a closer look at the miserable figure in the corner, he shuddered unwillingly. Back pressed to the wall, curled up to an infantile ball, dressed in nothing but shorts and a T-shirt, unshaved, his skin pale and eyes surrounded by dark shadows; Keel had never seen his partner like that before. Suddenly all his anger faded and concern took over.

"Sam?" Kneeling down in front of Sam and touching his partner's hand hesitantly, he repeated; "Sam ..."

Sam's eyes flew open and the look in them scared Chris. Although they were focused on his eyes to Chris it seemed as if he was staring right through him, as if Curtis hadn't realised that he was there. It was the same blank stare his partner had worn at the TGT warehouse before he'd finally passed out. The warehouse, Sam covered in his own blood and Cat, her kiss and than the image of her dead body on the floor; blinking, Keel fought the memories he had suppressed for the last half a year.

"Sam, look at me," Chris commanded gently. "We're gonna get through this together," he promised as Malone appeared behind his back.

"Mr. Keel, leave us alone for a moment," the older man asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Looking up at Malone, Chris stuttered, "But he ... he ..."

"I know Mr Keel, but not now," Malone replied almost softly. "Please wait in the lounge."

Reluctantly Chris rose to his feet and left the kitchen. Turning in the doorway he saw Malone kneeling down next to Sam and putting a hand on his shoulder, the touch making his partner shift slightly"It's okay, Mr Curtis," Malone said quietly.

Sam stirred and looked up at Malone. Blinking he tried to focus, before he angrily demanding, "What do you want?"

Malone smiled before he answered, amused. "You smell like a distillery." Laughing, Malone patted his shoulder, before he clamed down and quietly continued, "Life hasn't been kind to you lately, Mr Curtis. I know you are still looking for answers to some of your questions and I think perhaps it is time to give you some of them." Malone searched Sam for a reaction. As he saw the irritation in the younger man's eyes, he knew he was getting somewhere. (Query - are you writing this scene from Sam's point of view or Malone's?)

"Answers?" Sam said curiously, before he added frustratedly, "Did I have to resign before you'd tell me the truth?"

"Resignation?" Malone laughed again. "I've read your mail, yes. But I wouldn't be here, if I had taken you seriously. Let us be honest, Mr. Curtis. I considered your mail more a cry for help than for what it really was."

Suddenly feeling trapped, Curtis swallowed. Malone stretched his hand out, offering Curtis help to get up, saying parentally: "Come on young man, time for a shower."

"You said you'd answer my questions," Sam protested taking Malone's hand and rising unsteadily from the floor.

"Right," Malone replied, "Go ahead."

Curtis didn't hesitate. "The blonde woman, Sarah Keating... who was she? What happened to her?"

"She was Theresa Harding's and Carl Rosen's daughter," Malone answered calmly. "Patricia Rosen also known as Catherine Robinson."

It took a while before Malone's words sunk in. Catherine had been alive? She had been standing in front of him and he hadn't recognised her? He had attempted to kill her at Shaugnessy's. She had been at the warehouse, had really touched him, and kissed him. He hadn't dreamt it.

"Where is she?" he finally asked, his voice nearly breaking.

"She's dead, Mr Curtis," Malone answered. "She helped us to find you and Mr. Keel but unfortunately she died in the line of duty."

"No!" Sam cried out, swaying, Malone catching him in the moment he faltered.

*****

Keel was pacing the lounge impatiently, stopping every now and then, picking an empty bottle up and putting it on the coffee table. What was this all about? It was obvious that Sam had tried to drown himself in alcohol. Alcohol wasn't a remedy, Keel knew. He had tried drinking in the first few weeks after his wedding day, but every time the effect of the alcohol got less and life got worse. He hadn't thought of Sam as being the kind of person who started drinking to forget. But he'd learnt a lot of things about his partner since he'd met Cat and he was sure Curtis was like the proverbial calm sea - deep and mysterious. Cursing himself for having thrown away their friendship, for having lost his patience with his partner, he sat down on the sofa. Suddenly he heard Malone laugh cheerfully. Wondering what they were doing in the kitchen, he got up again and approached the door hoping perhaps he would be able to hear what they were saying. Suddenly he heard Sam shouting and rushing through the door, he saw Malone catching the seemingly lifeless body of his partner.

"What happened?"

"I told him the truth," Malone said quietly, his expression guarded. "Give me a hand, Mr Keel. We'll put him to bed."

Malone had told Sam the truth about Cat and her death, Keel concluded. On the one hand he felt relieved that the lies were finished with; on the other hand he feared Sam's reaction, if he found out that he had known the truth and hadn't told him.

"Keel?" Malone repeated crisply.

"Sorry," Keel stuttered and took Sam's legs.

******

A petite woman, wearing a nothing but a snowy white suit with a black lacy bra, entered the restaurant of the luxurious Montreux Palace hotel on the shore of Lake Geneva. Passing through the door she felt the scrutiny of the male guests and the jealous looks of the females in the restaurant. She scanned the room. At the far end she saw three Arabs sitting at a round table. They stopped their vivid conversation, as one of them spotted her. 'Her man' had seen her. Smiling to herself, she approached a table at next to the front window and sat down, turning her back to the three Arabs. Rummaging through her pockets she took out a silver box of cigarillos and some matches and laid them on the table. Shaking her head and demonstratively brushing away her sandy brown hair, she threw a sideways glance at the Arabs. The waiter appeared and after ordering a glass of Canard Duchêne, she opened the cigarillo box and took one out.

As she lit the match a tall but slightly overweight man took a seat opposite her. His skin was sun-tanned, his hair dark black and his deep brown eyes pierced through her. Flipping his Zippo open, he lit her cigarillo and introduced himself. "My name is Muhamed El Kadir."

Her expression guarded, she sucked at the cigarillo, not saying a word in reply until the waiter served the champagne.

"Merci," she said and half-smiled. Taking the glass of champagne, sipping at it and lowering it to the table again, she held the man's gaze. Exhaling blue smoke with a heavy sweet aroma, she finally addressed the man. " The Muhamed El Kadir?"

"You know me?" The man leant back in his seat, his voice betraying his intention not to look surprised.

"I've heard about you," she replied with an indulgent smile. She knew about the effect her smile normally had. She had used it too many times as a magical key to men's hearts. She had learned through time and experience, that most men thought with their crotches and Muhamed El Kadir was no exception to the rule. She knew he liked his women glamorous and mysterious.

Over the years she had learned to be everything a man wanted her to be, using her charms to her advantage. No matter how she hated it, how much she felt like a whore, using her looks and even sex to achieve her aims or simply lull her opponents into a sense of false security was part of her profession. A profession she had chosen out of free will and which had showed her places and things she sometimes desperately wanted to forget.

"Hope you only heard good things," the man stated, smiling brightly.

"Oh most certainly, " she replied, snipping the ash from the cigarillo and lowering it to the ashtray.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her knee. "Who are you and more importantly why is such a lovely lady all on her own?"

Got you, she thought. Her smile brightening, a brief glimpse of desire and lust flickering in her eyes, she took another swig of the champagne, before one of her hands ghosted along the inside of the man's tigh under the table.

"I came to play," she sighed theatrically, "and I knew I'd meet someone fascinating like you tonight."

Stroking the man's crotch lightly, leaning in, her pretty face suddenly froze, tightening her grip around his penis. She laughed ironically. "Don't touch what you can't afford." The man bit his lower lip as her fingernails pierced through the fabric of his trousers into his crotch. Shifting unpleasantly, he tried to free himself, but she tightened her grip. Crisply she added, "Take this as a warning from Cameron Mackenzie, Mr. El Kadir."

"You are Cameron Mackenzie?" The man's voice cracked as she finally let go off him and got up.

"In person," she stated tonelessly. "And I guess my price has just gone up." Bending over the table she whispered into his ear. "One million US Dollars per shot. If you're still interested, call this number."

She tucked a business card in the chest pocket of his jacket and left the restaurant, laughing. Leaving the hotel she glanced at her watch. She'd taken the first step, established contact and and all of this achieved less than six hours after she had met Harry Malone in Paris.

Somehow she felt the desperate need for fresh air. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, maybe the most dangerous she ever had played, but there was nothing left to loose. Her life had been senseless and boring till the day one of her old contacts had sung her the little tune of El Kadir and his private army: El Kadir, one of the wealthiest men and most vicious man in the middle East. She had tried several times to bring him down, but every time she had failed. The organisation had failed. This time, she would get him and bring him down. He was the last thing she had been working on for MI6 - nearly 5 years before. So much had happened since then, so much had changed, she thought. She had changed. She was more mature, much more determined and most of all she was independent and her life had become meaningless. She needed this mission; needed her own crusade against terrorism more than she wanted to admit.

*****

After they had put Sam to bed, Malone had ordered Keel to stay with his partner and as soon as Curtis woke up to give him her letters. Than Malone had left him alone. At first Chris stood at the window, willing the time to tick by and fretting over what would happen when Sam woke up. Then he had started tidying Sam's flat up, throwing the bottles away, washing the dishes and folding the scattered clothes up.

As he finished, his gaze fell on the spilled photo box next to the coffee table. Kneeling down on the floor, he started to pick the photos up: photos of Sam as young man, people he assumed to be mates or friends, a woman in her forties, with the same intense green eyes Sam had, framed by a teenaged girl and a boy. That must be his mother, Keel thought, putting the picture in the box with the others.Taking the last two pictures, the ones Malone had picked up he suddenly he felt guilty for for nosing around in Sam's things. But he couldn't help but look at those as well. They were pictures of Sam and Cat together.

Immediately he remembered how he had tried to imagine what they had looked like together, now he knew. In the photo he was holding they looked exactly like Teresa and he had on their wedding photo: a perfect couple. Feeling sad and somehow guilty, he closed the box. Getting up from the floor, he walked over to the bedroom door. Carefully and quietly, he opened it a little bit and peered round the corner. Sam was lying still on his back. Almost inaudibly sighing, he turned round again, not wanting to disturb his partner's sleep.

"I'm awake," he heard Sam say hesitantly, as he turned round to the door again. Chris saw that Sam had switched the bedside lamps on and was sitting on his bed.

"Did I wake you?" Chris asked.

"No, been awake for a while, thinking. Chris, you knew the truth, right?"

Sam's voice sounded calm and emotionless. Taking a step closer, Chris hoped to be able to see his face to find some reaction there. Sam had his guard up he quickly realised. He had learnt to read most of Curtis' expressions for what they really were; masks to hide behind. Sam's eyes were sad, tired and moist; the rest of his face was expressionless.

Not knowing how to reply, Chris simply nodded.

"Why ..." Sam cleared his throat and obviously changed his mind, asking, "What was she like? Have you met her? Did you talk to her?"

Chris swallowed. He was prepared for the 'why haven't you told me' but not for Sam asking him things about her. He knew he had to give him answers.

"Chris, please."

Going to the bedroom, sitting down on the bottom of the bed, Keel cleared his throat and began answering each and every of Sam's questions. It was going to be a long night. Hopefully it signalled the start of a happier day.

******

With the blinds of the window facing the operations room closed, Malone sat behind his desk, staring at the door. His expression unreadable, he waited to see what would happen as soon as it was eight o'clock. Would Curtis and Keel check in as ordered? And if they did - when they did he corrected out of nothing more than instinct - would they be a team or would there be two individuals facing him? Glancing at his watch he registered that it was nearly eight. Where were they?

Annoyed at his own impatience, he tried not to look at his watch again. Since the Exodus affair, he had partly lost his coolness. Curtis wasn't the only one suffering and somehow that hurt. If he was honest, he, Malone, the almighty head of CI5, had gone through his own private hell afterwards. He had been forced to face his past. Realising that he had given a code blue to someone, who could be his daughter had been hard. He had tried to find physical similarities; any sign to confirm if they were related but she looked like her mother. Theresa's letters had no evidence in them but Cat had unreservedly trusted him at the warehouse as none of his operatives ever had. Last but not least, the fact that his best team had split and Curtis being once more a step ahead of Keel and resigning first had left him doubting himself as he hadn't done for a long for a long time.

He'd experienced severe difficulties suppressing his thoughts and feelings during his time as the Head of CI5, had struggled not to show what he really was like inside: concerned and caring. Every day he had reminded himself that he was not expected to be the concerned or caring type. He was the head of CI5: the living embodiment of his precious first rule. Exodus had made it even harder. Then as he'd finally started to believe in his own words again, she had contacted him bringing it all back. Lost in his thoughts, the ringing of his phone nearly gave him a heart attack. Frowning, he pressed the loudspeaker button and a female voice with a strong French accent filled the room.

"Bonjour Harry, comment allez-vous?"

"Fine, thank you," he replied shortly.

The woman on the other end of the line laughed light-heartedly then inquired, "Safe line?"

"Of course."

"I haven't got much time. We'll have to do this quickly. Contact has been established." Once again the woman laughed. "Current salary 1 million Dollars per shot. Seems ruining the world is much more profitable than rescuing it! Maybe I should change sides!"

"Don't be cheeky," he automatically snapped. Sometimes she seemed to be a mixture of Keel and Curtis. Shaking his head at himself, he listened to her answer.

"'Kay, 'kay - got you. I'll meet the mission objective tomorrow and I have a gut feeling that I'll get the job." Laughing, she continued soothingly, "Don't worry, everything's under control."

"Details?" he demanded at the same time as there was a knock on his door.

"Nothing spec..." the woman started, but Malone's harsh 'come in' cut her off.

Malone saw Keel and Curtis stepping into his office in union, greeting him almost simultaneously: "Good morning, sir."

"Just a moment, gentleman," Malone excused himself, picking the receiver up and thereby silencing the loudspeaker system. "You were about to tell me...hm...hm...right. I agree. Goodbye."

Curtis and Keel exchanged fleeting looks, while they listened to their boss. Keel flashed a smile at Curtis, shrugging his shoulders.

Malone put the receiver down and leaning back in his chair, surveyed the two young men standing opposite him one by one. They both looked a bit tired but - and this was unmistakable and made him feel relieved - relaxed in each other's company.

"Well gentlemen, it has been an eventful weekend for all of us and I assume you used last night to redefine your partnership."

"Definitely, sir," Keel impulsively agreed.

"May I add something, sir?" Curtis hesitantly asked staring embarrassed at his feet.

"Yes Mr. Curtis?"

"Does this mean you won't accept my letter of resignation?"

His expression unreadable, Malone countered, "Which letter, Mr. Curtis?"

Curtis looked up, facing Malone, and then quietly stuttered, "Thank you. I don't know what made me."

"As for me, Mr. Curtis, this matter was never an issue. I expect you to view it in the same way." Getting up, walking around his desk, he added, "Now gentlemen, no matter how glad I am that you have found a way to communicate, I need you to demonstrate that my best team is back for good."

"What do you mean?" asked Keel, curiously.

"There is a CI5 induction course going on in Bournemouth and I want you two to attend it," Malone explained calmly, watching them both carefully, his expression guarded but curious to see their reactions.

"Induction? Damn Curtis, this is all you're fault!" retorted Keel dryly.

"Seems a fairly good idea to me, Curtis shot back, his green eyes sparkling cheekily. "Maybe someone will teach you to write a report on your own."

"Ha ha," murmured Keel and turning around to face Curtis next to him, he suddenly burst out into laughter.

Curtis smiled mildly, but to Malone it seemed as if the Englishman was struggling hard not to explode as well. This was exactly how he liked to see them work, how he wished to see him again.

Clearing his throat, Malone said, "Fine. Now gentlemen, pack your bags for a week at Bournemouth. But I want you to know that they are not expecting two hotshots down there. So your mission will be to go through the course, without letting anyone know who you are. Mr. Keel, Ms Backus will provide you with a train ticket. Mr Curtis, Mr. Spencer will drive you down."

Glancing at one another, both young men started to smile. Apparently, decided Malone, they thought he was joking or maybe they thought it was a game: nothing more than a week off playing Bond. But he himself would arrange for it to be hell. He needed to know if they functioned under extreme pressure and after his call with her, he knew he might not have all the time in the world to find out. Things were developing fast and they were beyond his control. He didn't like the thought, but he knew he had to trust her and had to trust in the bond between those two young men, his private 7th cavalry.

*********

Standing at the shore of Lake Geneva, Muhamed El Kadir waited for the woman he had met in the restaurant of his hotel the evening before. Although she had made a complete fool out of him, he was impressed and he couldn't forget her eyes. He didn't consider himself a fundamentalist, and he all but respected the Koran, despite the fact that he had found himself his own religion called power and money. But in his culture women were still considered inferior to men and he had never doubted this unwritten rule of patriarchy. However, he loved challenges. An emancipated, independent and strong woman always was a challenge. Cameron Mackenzie was very attractive and she had all the qualities needed to inspire him. He was determined to break her, to show her that she was weak and made for nothing else than ecstatic lust. Women, he thought, we are made for men to play with.

A female voice shook him from his thoughts. "Mr El Kadir."

El Kadir turned round. There she was, standing behind him. She was dressed in a pair of loose black trousers, a black cashmere roll-neck and a long black leather coat. Her sandy brown hair was tied back with precise neatness and it shimmered in the golden autumn sun. A pair of dark Chanel sunglasses hid her eyes. Thinking that she really was beautiful, he replied, "Ms Mackenzie."

Glancing at her watch, she stated, "Sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Don't worry. I'm pleased you came."

Taking off her sun glasses, she plastered a smile on her face and locked her eyes with his, "I take it you are still interested in my services?"

"Definitely, Ms Mackenzie," he replied neutrally. "Shall we go for a walk?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she agreed. Walking next to him, she started negotiations. "Let's get to business then. As I said previously, I charge a million per shot, not including meetings ahead of the job, travelling, adequate accommodation and possible extras."

Roughly calculating the expenses, he decided that she was worth the money, not only because of her qualities as an assassin, which his contacts had told him about, but also judging from her qualities as a woman.

"Sounds fair:"

"Fifty percent of the money is to be paid as a deposit, before we discuss details. The next twenty five percent when the project starts and the rest after I've done my job," she continued calmly.

El Kadir stopped and looked at her, "You expect me to pay you before I know if you will be able to fulfil your duty?"

Stopping as well, turning around, her face lacking any expression, she retorted crisply, "I'm no fool, Mr. El Kadir and I'm no play thing to be toyed with. Accept my rules of payment or let someone else do the dirty work for you."

The ice in her eyes showed him that she wasn't joking and parts of his body still bore painful reminders from the evening before. Frowning El Kadir nodded.

"Congratulations Mr El Kadir," she said quietly, handing him an envelope. "This envelope contains the numbers of three Swiss bank accounts. Please advise for 500,000 Dollars, divided in three parts, to be paid into these accounts."

El Kadir took the envelope. "And?"

"I'll find you as soon as I've received the money." Smiling brightly, putting her sunglasses back on, she bid him goodbye.

**********

One of the Land Rovers from the CI5 car pool stopped in front of the gate of a manor house in Bournemouth.

"Here we are," announced Spencer, waking Curtis, who had fallen asleep in the passenger seat half way to Bournemouth.

Batting his eyes, Curtis yawned and stretched his muscles. "We're where?"

"The CI5 manor, Milord," Spencer smiled at Curtis. "This is as far as I'm allowed to take you."

"Great," replied Curtis, already opening the door to get out. "That's what I call door to door service."

"Hey Sam, do you know why Malone's sending you and Chris here?"

"No idea. Maybe some sort of a test." Laughing and shrugging his shoulders, Sam took his bag out of the back seat and slamming the door shut, he added, "Whatever - Spence, you got any idea when Chris' train arrives?"

Grimacing Spencer answered, "Sorry but that's confidential."

Shaking his head theatrically, Curtis shouldered his bag and passed through the gate, leaving Spencer behind in the car. It didn't take long before he heard the typical sound of the CI5 pool's car engine pulling away.

Walking up the drive to the huge Victorian manor house that officially was known as the CI5 recruitment and induction centre - and unofficially was called the CI5 kindergarten - memories of the first time he had come here came back. Then he'd been straight out off MI6, or to be more precise, straight out of a rehabilitation centre. If he was honest, he hadn't had any other choice than to accept the challenge Malone had offered him back then.

He could still remember quite clearly the incidents which had ended with his arrival in Bournemouth five years ago. It had all begun as he and his colleague Richard returned to London from the Kosovo.

Richard had been the contact for a lot people, a charismatic person with plenty of experience and a good source of information. Unfortunately even Richard hadn't foreseen that during their mission in Kosovo they both would end up in severe trouble. Sighing, Curtis recalled the mission: the bruises, the scars and the bitter aftertaste it had left behind. When he'd been allowed to leave the hospital and return to MI6's headquarters, Richard's desk had been cleared.

They had banned Richard for something he hadn't done. To add to his feeling of bitterness, they'd made his life hell on earth just because he had spent time with the banned agent. He'd never heard of Richard again. At first he'd wondered what had happened to him, but then, for his own survival, he'd tried to forget him. One near suicidal mission for MI6 later followed by a long hospital stay and he had accepted Malone's offer to work in CI5 hesitantly but with more than a little relief.

Richard, Curtis remembered and shuddered inwardly. Last summer he suddenly had received a parcel. Opening it, he had found a copy of a book called The Big Breach and a note written by Richard. After he had read it, curiously, Curtis was more convinced then ever before that he'd made the right decision by joining Harry's army as he sometimes mockingly called CI5. More than once he had taken part in missions he had briefly regretted afterwards. Nevertheless, as long as Harry Malone ruled CI5, there was three things he was convinced would exist within the organisation: justice, loyalty and fairness. To him these were essential qualities; they were qualities that were not on MI6's daily agenda. Trickiness and betrayal were MI6's motto.

Now he was back in Bournemouth where his CI5 career had started, but he wasn't the same man anymore. Lost in his thoughts, he had almost reached the main door, when he heard someone humming the Yankee Doodle. Turning around he saw Keel was walking towards him, wearing his favourite black jeans and a short black coat. His sunglasses rested on his head and a bright smile with full dimples lit up his face. Curtis was more than tempted to comment, but he bit his tongue and simply smiled back. But his smile faded as the door in front of him suddenly opened and a man left the building. Remembering their orders, Curtis guarded his expression and greeted the man with a friendly smile, pushing past him with a polite, "Excuse me." Although he didn't turn round, he felt Keel's presence behind him and for the first time in a long time it felt good and right.

*******

Four hours and numerous signatures later, Keel walked along a corridor, searching for his room. He had lost Curtis during their odyssey through the paperwork and initial interrogations. Scarily, he thought, he couldn't remember the first orientating interrogations being that fierce when he had been here the first time. All those private questions, all these shrinks, he reflected, they were nerve-racking. He hoped Curtis had taken them in his usual calm way, which considering his partner's emotional ups and downs lately seemed unlikely. Although they had spent the whole night talking over the Exodus mission and Cat, he wasn't completely persuaded that his Sam Curtis, the man who had been his partner for more than two years, was back.

"Fourteen, fifteen... "Keel read the door numbers out loud.

"Congratulations on your mathematical skills," a female voice ironically stated.

Keel's head span round to see, who was talking and whether that someone was talking to him or someone else. His eyes settled on a tall woman standing in the doorway to one of the rooms. She was dressed in worn out jeans and a pinstriped blouse. Her shoulder long hair was copper-red and curly giving her a wild look.

Pointing at his chest, he queried, "You mean me?"

"See someone else round here?" she asked with a mock grin and a flicker in her emerald green eyes.

"Nope, not really." He approached her. "Hi, I'm Chris."

"Hi," she said. "But you're on the wrong floor. This is ladies only up here." Her smile brightened.

"Hm, sorry but this is floor 3b, isn't it?" Chris took a piece of paper out, looking at her, his dimples flashing.

"Right," she said and took the paper from him. Reading it, a wrinkle appeared on her forehead. Handing the paper back to Chris she murmured something he couldn't understand.

"There's some sort of problem?" he asked her politely.

Once again she murmured something that to him sounded suspiciously like, 'stupid bastards'. Keel was still standing in front of her, waiting for her reply as from the corner of his eye, he saw Curtis coming down the corridor.

Curtis stopped at the door next to the one she was standing in. Unlocking and opening it, he said, "Hi."

"Hi," replied Keel good-humouredly, turning to him to catch sight of his partner. "I'm Chris."

Lowering his bag to the ground, Curtis crossed the distance between them. His expression unreadable, he said coolly, "Sam."

If he hadn't known better, Chris would have thought he was back in Malone's office on his first day at Ops. Heartless but polite, Curtis the robot was back. Smiling because he knew it was nothing more than a disguise, Keel asked, "You've also been given a room on this floor?"

"Seems like it," Curtis answered, adding a partly curious, "Why?"

"Looks like this is the ladies wing."

Suddenly the redhead said angrily, "Forget it. There's no problem, okay? See you later." With that she turned and slammed the door shut behind her.

"What the hell was that?" whispered Sam, raising his eyebrows and gesturing at the closed door.

"Better ask who the hell was that," Chris replied quietly. "I'm in seventeen, in case you miss me, buddy," he added with a grin..

"You really have a thing for red heads lately," Sam shot back with a shy grin. "Remember, we're not supposed to hang around together. You know the orders."

"Sod orders," Keel snapped. Flashing his dimples, he asked, "You coming over to my room? Talk about how we're going to take this?"

"I'd like to have a shower first - and maybe 10 minutes catching up on my sleep," Sam said, disappearing into his room.

"'Kay," Keel agreed and entered his room, thinking that a shower and a catnap would be a brilliant idea. Glancing at his watch he quickly calculated how long he'd been awake and how long the interrogation and admin had taken; it was nearly five in the afternoon and they had arrived at noon. Locking the door behind him, he threw himself on the bed. It didn't take long before he dozed off.

The ringing of his mobile startled him. Sitting up, sighing, he flipped it open; "Keel...oh Sam... yes sweet and interesting for a change." Keel smiled, "What's up?" Glancing at his watch, he said, "Oh ... shit! Yeah, nearly -," he chuckled. "As per usual, Keel's always late. See you downstairs in ten minutes... oh and Sam, thanks for the wake up call."

*********

It was ten past seven as Sam left his room; they had to be downstairs in the conference room by a quarter past. He had tried to sleep but his mind had been too busy thinking. He knew why Malone had sent them here, why they were forced to play along. Chris had been right, when he'd stated that it was entirely his fault. He had to demonstrate to Malone that Cat was no longer an issue, that his time as a hostage during Exodus no longer affected him.

He was determined to do it. He had spent the previous two hours banning the memories and anxiety, which he still felt deep inside, to the furthest corner of his mind; the corner reserved for all the things he wanted desperately to forget and couldn't. He knew if one of the shrinks ever found out about it, they would advise Malone to sack him. He was determined not to let them find out, determined to reconstruct his mental walls.

He was already halfway towards the stairs, when he heard a door being shut behind him. Turning round he saw Chris. He shot him a smile and a warning look, before he turned round again and walked on. Chris caught up with him and silently they walked down the stairs next to each other. A few minutes later they stopped in front of the door of the conference room.

"After you," Chris said quietly, grinning at Sam. "Don't want to ruin my reputation by being in before you."

"Who am I to destroy your big entry?" Shaking his head, Curtis opened the door and walked in, his expression calm, his head held high. He closed the door behind him.

The room in front of him was packed with men and women. Most of them twenty-something's, he guessed, suddenly feeling old at thirty-two years of age. Silently, ignoring the curious looks of the others, he was crossing the room, heading for a chair at the far end, when a female voice shouted, "Hey, come over here."

Turning around, he saw the red-haired woman gesturing at an empty chair next to her. She was smiling brightly. Smiling back shyly Sam walked in her direction and took the seat next to her. "Thank you."

"My pleasure. You're Sam, right?" she replied, smiling. "Have you seen number 17?" she added, scanning the room.

"Who?" Sam raised his eyebrows, irritably.

"Think his name was Chris ... "

"Oh, nope, " Sam shrugged his shoulders. "By the way, I don't think we've been introduced."

Laughing she replied, "I'm Robin."

"Nice to mee ..." The sound of a door being opened stopped Sam.

He turned round, as did Robin and some of the others in the room. He didn't know what they were expecting but he was sure that it would be Chris. And he was right. Chris appeared wearing his innocence personified role expression, the one he always plastered on his face when he turned up at Ops late.

As Chris spotted Sam sitting next to the woman with the red hair he flashed his dimples in her direction. She was interesting and in a peculiar way he found her attractive. Her ruffled looking hair, the intense emerald eyes and her cute smile, somehow they'd caught him. He would try a move at her, he decided as she gestured at him to join her and Sam.

Sitting down, he asked lightly, "Your mood improved or are you still upset about me being your neighbour?"

"Improve..." she started to say until a man's voice, from the back of the room, cut her reply off.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to the CI5 induction course."

Chris and Sam threw irritated glances at each other, as they turned their attention to the speaker. They recognised the voice immediately: Malone.

Chris was surprised to see Malone at the podium. He couldn't remember their boss being at his induction, at least not on the first evening. Again he looked at Sam, behind the red head's back. Sam seemed totally relaxed, but somehow he must have felt Chris watching him, because he looked back. Chris saw Sam's eyebrows raise almost imperceptibly, knowing that the Englishman was trying to indicate to him that he too didn't have a clue why Harry Malone was making the opening speech. Shrugging his shoulders lightly and grinning, Keel faced Malone again and listened to him.

"My name is Malone, Harry Malone..." Chris had to bite back laughter. Malone sounded exactly like Sean Connery saying the popular line from his Bond movies. "... and I'm the commander in chief of CI5. You all are here because CI5 approached you to offer you the chance for an outstanding career. We know you are among the best, outstanding talents brought together from varied organisations and special branches. CI5 appreciates your experience but only the best will be honoured with a position in our organisation. The next weeks, ladies and gentleman, will show us who really is good enough to work with the best."

"Hear, hear," mumbled Keel smirking, as Malone shot him one of his stern looks in reply.

Looking in the direction of Curtis and Keel, observing them carefully, Malone continued, "I wish you luck, ladies and gentlemen, and I hope to see many of you again at the end of the first phase."

Ten minutes later the large group of aspirants were spilt into teams of four. Leaving the conference room, Sam silently thanked God that he and Chris were in the same team. After Malone's sudden appearance and his speech he was certain that the week wouldn't be the piece of cake he and Chris had thought it to be. Malone hadn't said those exact words but Sam knew his boss and he had learnt to interpret his words. His sixth sense told him that Malone was planning something wicked and he was sure it had been created exclusively to test him. Somehow this thought scared him and almost instantly he felt his shoulders stiffen. Knowing that he had to tell Chris about his theories, he stopped in the doorway and waited for his partner and Robin to catch up with him.

"Hey, as we're in one team, I think I should know your name," he heard Chris flirting with Robin as they came closer, walking next to each other.

"My name is Robin, most people call me Robbie," she replied, with a threat in her eyes. Chris stared at her for a second before he burst out in laughter. His laughter didn't go down well and frowning, she increased her speed.

As she finally reached Curtis, she said, "Sam would you mind accompanying me to my room?"

"Me?" Sam smiled shyly, playing the confused innocent.

"Yes you. Unlike Chris here, you seem to be a gentleman." She locked her emerald green eyes with Sam's and smiling indulgently, she added, "You're English, aren't you?"

Before Sam could answer, Chris broke in. "Hey come on, be fair Robbie. I apologize, 'kay?"

Sighing theatrically, she agreed and offered him her free arm, saying, "Are you as curious as I am to meet the fourth member of our team?"

"If it's a she, yep", retorted Chris.

"May I ask you something, Robin?" asked Sam neutrally, for no other reason than changing the topic.

"Fire away."

"Where did he approach you? Malone I mean." Curtis asked.

Suddenly Robin pulled herself together in front of them and straightening, she replied monotonously: "Lt. Commander Robin Williams, US Navy Intelligence."

Out of the blue a smirking Chris started humming, "Let me entertain you..."

Instead of giving in to the urge to add his share to their conversation, Curtis buried his hands in the pockets of his dark grey Boss jacket, seeing Robin ramming her elbow in Chris ribs.

"Ouch!" Chris coughed, playfully.

The woman laughed. It didn't take Sam and Chris long to join her. She was energetic and obviously had a good sense of humour. Sam started to like her and the light-hearted chit-chat they were having made him feel much better. Eyeing her closely as they walked up the stairs, he noticed the tiny, pale brown freckles on the bridge of her nose. Freckles, he thought, she had freckles like Cat had had. All of a sudden his previously good mood was gone. Would he ever be able to forget her, to forget that he had missed their second chance? Would he ever stop feeling guilty? She had saved his life twice; that was much more than he had ever been able to do for her.

*******

It was late as Malone drove back to London. He had seen Curtis and Keel sitting in the audience and he knew what at least one of his operatives had started thinking; he had seen it in Curtis' eyes. The young Englishman had become suspicious. And if he was honest, he had expected Curtis reaction. It showed him that the young Englishmen hadn't lost his efficiency and he was willing to take it as a good sign.

The ringing of his mobile startled him. Frowning Malone accepted the call.

"Hello Harry." A female voice echoed over the loudspeaker through the interior of his car. "You're on the road, eh?"

"Yes. Why are you calling? Where are you? Have you got any news?"

"Ho ho ho - lentement," the woman answered sarcastically. "Your famous rule no. 5!" she laughed. "Keep information flowing in at appropriate intervals. I'm currently at the airport waiting for my flight to Egypt. Still don't know in-depth details, but El Kadir apparently has the hots for me."

"Be careful, you hear me?" Malone said warningly.

"Of course. You know me." Once again her laughter filled the car. "I'm going to meet him in Taba. I might be unable to contact you for some time and I wanted you to know." Suddenly she fell silent.

Malone was tempted to ask her what was wrong, but as he made up his mind, she continued. "Is your cavalry ready to jump in if necessary?"

Knowing what she was really trying to express with her question, and at the same time wondering why she hadn't asked him before, he lied. "Ready as always."

There was a slight pause before she answered again. "Fine. 'Kay, I've got to go. Contact you again as soon as I know more."

*******

The roaring sound of a helicopter broke the heavenly silence of the early morning in the Sinai desert near Taba. David, an unshaved, lean man in his earlier thirties, opened his tent and went out. Swirled up sand was thrown at his face as he watched the helicopter land near to their camp. Covering his mouth with a piece of cloth and narrowing his eyes he approached the helicopter, he was curious to see who the last member of his team, whom his boss had announced two days earlier, was. All he knew was that he was waiting for a hit man called Mackenzie.

As the door of the helicopter was opened a small figure, wearing full combat gear and a base cap hopped out, leaning back in to retrieve a black nylon rucksack. The figure turned round to the pilot gesturing him to leave, before walking in his direction. David watched the figure coming closer, thinking that this could only be one of El Kadir's perverted jokes, as he realised that the figure was a woman. Stopping in from of him, throwing her rucksack to the ground, the woman straightened. A pair of stylish dark sunglasses hid her eyes, but to David it seemed as if she was judging him, eyeing him from head to toe.

"Are you David Farraq?" she asked icily after a while.

"Yes and you are?"

"The one you're waiting for," she answered, taking off her glasses and offering him an indulgent smile. "Just call me Mac."

Immediately David was caught by her sensational eyes, which were neither completely blue nor grey. He had never seen eyes like hers before in his life.

"Mac?" he queried.

"Cameron Mackenzie - don't dare to comment," she added, her smile fading and her eyes narrowing as she shot him an icy look. Picking up, her rucksack, she said in a more factual tone, "Show me my tent."

"First you show me that you are who you say," David ordered.

"A demonstration?" She raised her eyebrows, adding ironically, "Brilliant. What do you want me to do? Shoot a bug from the tail of a camel at 200 yards?"

"Follow me," David commanded, ignoring her ironical tone.

Shrugging her shoulders, she followed listlessly in his trail. After a while David turned round.

"See the top of the fence over there? There's a piece of wire hanging loose on it. Shoot it."

Narrowing her eyes, she saw the tiny wire against the rising sun. The sunlight blinded her; blinking, she put her sunglasses back on. A rotten piece of wire, she thought, judging the distance. Deciding that it wasn't an easy shot and holding her breath, she took her steel plated Walther out. Raise, aim, shoot, don't think, a tiny little voice in her brain started to whistle. Praying mutely she raised the gun, aimed and fired; one precise shot that cut the wire and sent it flying. Inaudibly exhaling, she secured the gun and shoved it to her holster.

Turning to David, she said; "Satisfied now?"

"Not satisfied, but mildly impressed," he frowned. "Follow me."

"Where's El Kadir?" the woman queried in a bored voice, following the young man in front of her to the tents.

"He's not here. But he'll be here tomorrow to discuss the details."

"Hmmm," she grumbled.

"Is this a problem for you?" Farraq asked, opening a tent in front of her.

Entering the tent, throwing her rucksack onto the camp bed, she retorted, "Oh not at all... I love heat and sand and getting bitten by insects at night. I wouldn't even think about spending the night at my cosy, air conditioned hotel room at Taba."

"Make yourself at home and when you're ready, come to the third tent to the left and I'll introduce you to the rest of the team."

"Team?" she inquired, raising her eyebrows. Then her eyes narrowed and with an expression made of granite she stated frostily, "I don't work in teams."

"This time you will," answered David Farraq angrily. He was getting extremely frustrated. What did El Kadir plan to do with her? Was she just another trophy or was she really here with them to do a job like he and his men were? He wasn't sure whether he liked her or not. She was beautiful, her eyes were a fascinating colour and her body was slim and well toned. He could understand if El Kadir had a crush on her. But she was a woman and killing was a man's job. He would teach her to work in a team, he thought, as he left her and entered the tent where two other men were sitting around a table.

An hour later he heard the typical sound of a chopper near by. Getting up and walking over to the entrance of the tent, where he and two of the other men were waiting for Cameron Mackenzie to show up, he was stopped as she appeared, blocking his exit from the tent. She was holding her rucksack in one of her hands. Head held high, she stopped in front of him and faced him.

"Tell El Kadir, that these are not the kind of games I play and tell him that if he has details to discuss, he can find me at the Taba Resort Hotel, room 234." Turning on her heels, she nodded to the other two men at the table. "Gentlemen." Than she walked off, leaving Farraq behind, open -mouthed and perplexed.

She had spend the last hour going through her options and the only possible way to ensure that El Kadir wouldn't lose interest in her was if she played it cool. Moreover she hated the thought of letting too many people recognise her face. The more she proved that she was independent, dominant and icy, the less he would try to control her. Most certainly, she assumed, El Kadir would want her - as a woman. But she wasn't willing to be seduced in front of his goons. Especially not in front of David Farraq. She didn't like him; she didn't trust him or El Kadir.

*********

Lying by the pool, flipping through a high gloss fashion magazine, Cameron Mackenzie lost herself in her thoughts. Two days, she had wasted two days waiting for El Kadir to show up at the luxurious resort hotel in Taba which she had chosen as her residence. Two days with nothing more to do than swimming, extended work outs in the hotel's gym, massages and cleaning her gun or having a couple of drinks and a flirt at the bar at night. As the days passed she was gradually getting more impatient and extremely tired of playing the snobbish European tourist.

She wondered whether she had ruined it. No, she decided, El Kadir would come. He had paid the deposit; had paid for her - at least she assumed that was how he saw it. Maybe, she thought, she'd call Malone. No, it was too risky to contact him now. She had the distinct feeling that her room was bugged and she had noticed that some of the waiters were observing her. She had to be careful and patient.

When she had nothing else to do, nothing to concentrate on, her mind wandered back to her last call with Harry Malone and the question she had asked him. Although she had sworn herself not to ask him, not even to toy with the idea of asking him, the question had been voiced before she realised it. She needed to know if they were fine and prepared, prepared for whatever would happen if they met again. She was willing to do everything to avoid a meeting, even if that meant that she had to risk her life. Absent-mindedly the fingertips of her right hand brushed over the pale rosé scar on her left upper arm as her mind wandered back six months.

While she was still thinking about the never-ending misery that she called her life, a bellboy approached her. Stopping by her chair, he said, "Miss Mackenzie, I've got a message for you."

Taking the envelope from the silver plateau, she thanked him. Sitting up, she opened the envelope and read the message. Her heart felt like screaming out in joy and victory, but she kept her expression guarded. She got up and wrapping her pareo around her hips shoved the message into her magazine and left the poolside. She had three hours to prepare for the meeting with El Kadir and she knew she had to look the best she possibly could.

*****

Lying on his back, Curtis stared sightlessly at the wooden ceiling, his mind on remote control as he recalled the last days. He was exhausted. Physical exhaustion was something he could handle, but what really terrified him was that he had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown two hours ago. Now back in his room, the door locked firmly, he tried to ignore his aching body and the confusion that was overwhelming his mind. Each muscle hurt and his ribs were bruised from blows he had taken during the last training fight with Robin Williams. Robin Williams, he sighed, was amazing, almost as amazing as Cat had been. Standing in front of her in the gym, her freckles had once more reminded him of Cat. He had been so distracted that he hadn't foreseen her next move. She had landed a hit on his already bruised ribs, knocking all the wind out of him and knocking him to the floor.

Until then, the first two days of the course hadn't been too bad. The first thing they had tried on him was the nice cop, bad cop game. Then they had tried to loosen his tongue with Natriumpenthatol but they weren't successful. He had learned his lessons during all the years in the field. Life itself had taught him how he could avoid spilling out secrets.

Today had been different however. After another restless night, they had brought him to a windowless room, handcuffed him to a chair and left him alone. After some minutes the light was turned off, leaving him in complete darkness. It had taken all his strength to cope with the darkness and all his acting skills to make sure they didn't notice his shakiness. As soon as he was free to leave the room, he had rushed out of the building. He needed fresh air, needed some time to calm down and reconstruct his barriers. Pretending to be calm and untouchable, he had gone to his last interrogation. Once again they left him handcuffed in a darkened room. He'd closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the image of a beautiful and peaceful summer day somewhere in the countryside, but it didn't help. The emotional pressure was rising exponentially deep inside him. In the end he had found himself pleading silently for Chris to be by his side, as his tormentors played out their last card: loudspeakers.

Dragging himself back to the present he rolled on his side. Taking a deep breath and pulling his knees up, he closed his eyes. He knew he had to pass Malone's test. He simply had too. If not for him, he thought, he had to pass it for Chris. He owed the American.

******

Chris stood in front of Sam's door; scanning the corridor before he finally knocked on it. It took a while before he heard someone moving behind the door and footsteps coming closer. Come on Sam, he thought nervously, open the door. As the door was opened reluctantly, he pushed his partner aside and entered the room, closing the door behind his back.

"Hey!" said Sam eyes wide open. "What's wrong?"

Chris watched Sam closely noticing right away that his partner looked tired. He had to admit that he felt tired as well. They'd both had a hard and extremely long day, which had started at five thirty in the morning with a fifteen mile run. After the run, they'd had forty-five minutes for a shower and breakfast, then there had followed endless hours of the so called 'interrogation techniques and practise' - a nail-biting game of cat and mouse, with the best interrogators he had ever experienced. Before and after the ten minutes they laughingly called lunch break, their timetable dictated physical workouts, followed by intense sessions with the CI5 psychologists and then more interrogations. If someone used the words interrogation or psychologist again near him within the next days or weeks, he swore he would kill them in cold blood.

Sometime after lunch he had lost sight of Sam. He had talked to Robin after his appointment with the psychologist and she had told him that she had seen the Englishman leaving the building hurriedly. Chris had wanted to go searching for him right after she had told him, but as he had tried to sneak out, he had ran into one of the interrogation officers. How he'd survived the interrogation session that had followed with a stony and icy attitude, which Sam would have been proud of he had no idea. Now he was standing in front of his partner and he didn't know what to say.

"Chris? Are you okay, mate?" Sam asked sounding a little concerned.

"Me? Eh, yeah. Tired but okay," Chris sighed and slumped down on his partner's bed. "What about you?"

Walking over to the window, staring outside, Sam replied ironically, "Brilliant. Never felt any better."

"Uh uh," grumbled Chris. "Wanna talk?"

"No." Although Sam was still pointing his back at him, to Chris it was more than obvious that Sam had his guard up again. His instinct was telling him that his partner desperately needed a change of location to be able to stand the mental pressure they were going through and suddenly inspired he said, "How about a trip to the local pub?"

Sam turned round, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth, but exhaustion was clearly written in his eyes. "You want me to climb over the walls and walk two miles for a lager?"

Curtis sneaked a sideways glance at the young American. He knew that Chris was concerned and that he was suggesting their 'little escape' because he cared for him. Suddenly realising that Chris would always be there when he felt down - just like he would always be there for Chris - he felt a little relieved. Even if he didn't trust himself, Chris obviously trusted him.

Jumping up from the bed Chris grinned, starting to sing, "I'm walking, yes indeed I'm walking ..."

Opening the door, Sam grimaced "Do me a favour, mate, stop singing. You're hurting my ears."

******

Checking her appearance in the wardrobe mirror one last time Cameron Mackenzie shook her head. "Dressed to kill, Mac?"

Correcting the position of her breasts in her burgundy coloured corsage until she was satisfied with her décolleté, she slung an organza scarf around her shoulders and grimaced at her picture in the mirror. Laughing bitterly, she added an afterthought. "Some day you will wake up and no longer know who the woman in the mirror is."

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and left her room. Five minutes later she stepped out of the lift. Crossing the lobby towards the reception, she scanned the place for El Kadir or one of his goons. As she reached the reception desk and handed her key to the clerk, she suddenly saw him. El Kadir was approaching her from the opposite end of the lobby, a bright smile on his face. Two men were following a short distance behind him. Bodyguards, she thought, too much muscle and presumably no brains - always the same. Lolling against the reception desk she waited, her face expressionless, her body relaxed.

"Miss Mackenzie, you look wonderful as always," El Kadir greeted her with a smug grin on his face.

She knew El Kadir would start the evening with a compliment, so she smiled gratefully. "Thank you very much Mr. El Kadir. You're too kind."

"I'm just saying aloud what every man in this room is thinking," he replied still grinning, as he offered her his arm.

Batting her eyes and wetting her lips casually before she granted him her most indulgent smile, she accepted his offer and took his arm.

"I've reserved us a table for a private dinner," he said as they crossed the lobby.

"Private?" she inquired still smiling. "You mean intimate," she corrected, her voice suddenly becoming a purr.

"You and me..." El Kadir said, obviously not affected.

"You and me and your bodyguards." The purr turned into frustration.

El Kadir's head span round and he peered at her. She locked her blue-grey eyes firmly with his. She read high expectations in his eyes and as he answered her, she knew she had read him right. "You don't want them to accompany us?"

"It's not exactly what I call intimate, when we've got two pairs of eyes watching us," she purred again. "And don't you think I can protect us sufficiently?"

"Oh, I'm very certain you can," he answered, his voice clear evidence to his rising testosterone level.

She knew she had to slow down. Don't push too hard, she warned herself. You only want to lull him into a sense of false security, want him to believe that he'll get what he wants.

As she smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling, El Kadir gestured at his bodyguards to wait outside, before they entered the empty restaurant. The lights were dimmed and only one of the tables was set. Silver plates, candles, crystal, he really wanted to seduce her, she realised. She had known he would try, but apparently he was much more organised than she had thought.

"I noticed you're an aficionado of the finer things. I hope my choice of food and wine will satisfy you," El Kadir stated as he offered her a seat. "A glass of Pol Roger to start with?"

"Why not," she answered and accepted the glass he was offering, "It seems you went to much trouble organising this special evening." She waited until he had sat down opposite her before she lifted her glass to her lips, whispering, "A votre santé."

El Kadir smiled. "Tell me Miss Mackenzie - Mac - what was it that made such a lovely woman chose such a dreadful profession."

"To cut a long story short: life." She laughed. "You don't chose a profession like mine. It's something that chooses you. It's completely out of your control, at least if you grow up how and where I did."

"Really?"

She had the distinct impression that El Kadir was testing her. She assumed he would have gathered information about her and she was sure she had left an incontrovertible trail of rumours and information with the right people. Her curriculum vitae had no weak links and she was sure no one would find out that it was faked. She had taken care of it personally. It was one of the many things that the two most important men in her life had taught her. All she had to do now was let him believe that his information was true.

"I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth, Mr El Kadir, if this is what you want to know and life on the streets is tough."

El Kadir bent forward and resting his elbows on the tabletop, he listened to her as she, apparently oblivious to his curiosity, trailed off. "There have been times in my life, when my body was my only asset. Men paid me and I was theirs. Then one day - guess I was sixteen or seventeen - I stabbed one of them, because I couldn't stand it anymore." Taking another sip at her champagne she suddenly started laughing. "You really believed my words, right?"

"You're not telling me the truth?" El Kadir's face was one of bewilderment. He really had believed in her tale. Her trick had worked; her whole expression and the sadness in her eyes had seemed so genuine to him.

"All you get for your money is a perfect hit," she answered factually, her tone almost businesslike. "I have never sold and I will never sell my body and soul. I only donate it."

"But you stabbed the man?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Him and many after him." Her expression froze for a second, as she again locked her eyes with El Kadir's.

The Arab held her gaze, even though he felt a shiver running through him, which lured him to look away. The woman's eyes were fascinating, but also somehow frightening. He couldn't put his finger on why, but something about Cameron Mackenzie scared him. When he first saw her at the restaurant in Montreux, before he knew who she was, he had found her breathtaking. Her looks, the way she walked, head held high and proud but at the same time her hips swinging softly as if on a catwalk; she had been eye-catching and gracious like a panther. Later on at her table, she had been gentle at first only to demonstrate to him her unpredictability some minutes later. Now she was doing exactly the same again, telling him a sad story of a miserable life only to foul him again seconds later.

"Let's talk business, Mr. El Kadir. I never mix business and pleasure - so the sooner we are through with the business the more we can enjoy the night." Smiling promisingly, she leant forward, the thought that she had just offered her body to him, making her shudder inwardly. Expressing it even more clearly she added, "I might be in the right mood for a donation tonight."

Cameron Mackenzie felt her stomach heaving by the thought of what she was intending to do; El Kadir was an appalling weasel. Telling herself that she had done it many times before in her career and sometimes for a less relevant reason, she persuaded herself to stay calm and endure it, albeit she still hoped there would be a way to avoid it.

"Fine," he agreed, taking an envelope out of his chest pocket.

Taking she envelope, opening it and pulling out some photos, she raised her eyebrows slightly. She recognised the man in the photos right away. Struggling for outer calmness, she buried her shock in the furthest corner of her soul. Without a word, she stashed the photos back into the envelope, feeling El Kadir giving her the once over.

"Where and when?" she queried neutrally, laying the envelope down on the tabletop next to her plate.

"Your choice," he answered still glaring at her.

"My choice?" she frowned. "What about your team?"

Smirking, El Kadir countered her question. "David has told me you don't want to work in a team and I'm convinced you are right. I have gathered information about you, as you might have guessed, and your records say you are best on your own."

El Kadir's words didn't convince her. Her six sense telling her that he was lying, she played along. Suddenly realising that there was just one chance for her to make sure that he, whatever might happen later, would at least for now trust her - as long as he got what he wanted in bed - plastered a self-satisfied smile on her face.

El Kadir watched the woman opposite him closely. She was damn irritating, he thought. One moment, she told him that she never mixed business and pleasure and in the next moment she was dipping her finger into the champagne and licking it before trailing her finger from her lips via her neck to her breasts. Her eyes were burning, her whole posture an invitation to him. As she watched her hands ghosted over her décolleté, circulating over her breast. She had breasts like he had seldom seen on a woman of her age before, he thought admiringly. Her lips were full and soft, seemingly made for caressing. Her grey-blue eyes pierced through him, their colour intermingled to an oceanic colour and sparkling with lust and need. The longer he watched her the more he felt his body responding, his own desire rising. He wanted to claim this remarkable woman, this elegant, slim body opposite him his own and he knew it was make or break time. Before he could phrase his desire, ha saw her getting up and walking around the table.

An indulgent smile on her lips, her hand brushing along his cheekbone she purred, "You're ready for a donation, Muhamed?"

********

Four days had passed without a note and then she had called, telling Malone that they had to meet. She wanted him to come to the Tower at three o'clock. Now he was impatiently pacing around the inner yard. Every now and than he checked his watch. It was five past three and still there was no sign of her. A group of tourists crossed the yard and suddenly he was caught in between them.

"Harry. Don't turn round," a female voice addressed him from behind as he made to get out of the way. "Walk with the group. I've got a shadow."

Feeling the physical presence of the woman behind him, Malone mutely he mixed with the tourists and followed them.

"Who's following you?" he quietly asked.

"A man, about 5'7'', black hair, oriental, in his thirties, black jeans and leather jacket," the woman explained. "I know the name of the target and I know when and where."

The head of CI5 stopped abruptly. Had she really just said that she already had the information she was after? As he stood there, Malone felt someone accidentally bumping into him, just a minute before he heard a woman saying in a plain Parisian accent, "Excusez moi, je suis desolée."

Turning round he discovered there was nobody behind him. Leaving the group he went back to his car, got in and left London, heading towards Bournemouth, thinking that it was time to bring his team back to the real world. Halfway there it had started raining. As the rain became heavier, Malone slowed down. He was still wondering why she had wanted to meet him at the Tower. All she had told him was that someone was apparently observing her moves. He had thought she would give him a name, provide him with a bit more than the obligatory "I know whom they want me to kill". The sudden ringing of his mobile shook him from his thoughts. Tipping on his earpiece, he said, "Malone."

"It's me. Sorry for the trouble I caused you at the Tower. Where are you going?" he heard the woman's familiar voice saying. Stunningly, she didn't use her French accent to start she conversation. His sixth sense telling him that something was wrong, he answered her truthfully. "On the way to Bournemouth. Where are you?"

"Also heading south. About two or three cars behind you." He heard the woman laughing, "Have a look in your rear view mirror. The silver BMW, see me? You really should be more cautious, Harry. This is the second time within six months that I've followed you, without you noticing."

"What about your shadow?" he asked to keep the conversation flowing.

"Took good care of him." Her formerly light-hearted laughter turned bitter. "I need to talk to you - face to face."

"Hmm," he answered doubtfully, frowning.

Her laughter and bitterness disappeared as she curiously inquired, "You said you're going to Bournemouth? Why?"

"Recruiting and induction," he replied, "and I need to pick up the cavalry."

The line went silent for a couple of minutes. Malone wished he could see her face, see how she had taken his last words. He was about to ask her if she was still with him, when she beat him to it. "Are they down there? Both of them?"

"Yes." He heard her mumbling something he couldn't understand in reply.

"Meet me at the yachting harbour tonight," she commanded crisply.

As he glanced in the rear view mirror to see if there really was a silver BMW following him, he heard her adding, "Go there before you alarm the cavalry. I need to talk to you first." Then the line went dead.

Malone felt a wrinkle appear between his eyebrows. He didn't like not knowing what was going on, not being in charge of things and most of all, receiving orders from civilians. She wasn't a civilian, he corrected, she was more or less a freelancer. He knew she was good at her job and if she dared to give him orders, she sure as hell had good reasons. Thinking about the woman he felt the frown deepening. In moments like this he wished there was a way to get her back into his organisation, but it was impossible at least as long as Curtis and Keel were still working for him. Sneaking a look out of the window, he saw a silver BMW changing lanes in breakneck manoeuvres, attempting to overtake him.