The Secret

The computer experts, Dr Elaine Fiddes and Dr Louis Henderson, smiled in the self-deprecating way that academics did when being interviewed by the media about their latest discovery. He half-expected one of them to say, ‘Of course, more work needs to be done.’

‘We’ve still got a bit to do,’ said Henderson.

‘Mmm,’ agreed Fiddes. ‘We’ve identified several messages with the criteria you specified and we’ve traced their paths but what we haven’t managed to do is to decipher the contents as yet but we definitely think it possible with suitable techniques. Another day perhaps.’

‘Maybe two,’ cautioned Henderson, making Steven wonder unkindly what their daily rate was.

‘They’ve uncovered more than one reference to something called, “the discovery”,’ Macmillan interjected.

‘Sounds promising,’ said Steven. ‘In fact, it sounds exactly what we’re looking for.’

Macmillan smiled. ‘These good people are now going to take a break before continuing into the evening. Jean has arranged for food to be brought in. Their families have been very understanding.’

‘We’re all very grateful to you,’ said Steven. ‘This really is important.’

Jean Roberts, who had also stayed behind to organise the ordering and delivery of take-away food for the experts, announced that the food had arrived. Macmillan thanked her and ushered Fiddes and Henderson out of his office and into Jean’s care with more thanks. He closed the door. ‘Now, about this helicopter charter business?’

Steven explained about the request from Scott Jamieson and all that had transpired from his flight to Yorkshire. ‘In effect, we have a successful completion to Scott’s investigation. We know exactly who’s been behind the ME attacks all along — although we’re not sure why — and MI5 remains in our debt as long as we care to keep our mouths shut about their involvement. I also suggested to Ricksen that Khan be blown away on sight.’

‘Not sure that’s a term HMG would be too keen on,’ said Macmillan.

‘Eliminated with extreme prejudice if you prefer, sir — with the appropriate paperwork in place, of course... duly signed by a Defence minister, the Bishop of London and Coco the Clown.’

‘Don’t push it, Dunbar. Do you realise how much a helicopter costs per hour?’

Steven smiled and so did Macmillan after a moment. ‘Bloody well done,’ he said. ‘Look I’m going to stay on here until the computer people call it a night so why don’t you go home? I’ll call if they come up with anything.’

‘Thanks,’ said Steven. ‘That’s good of you.’

‘Not entirely altruistic,’ said Macmillan. ‘Lady Macmillan is having her pals round to play bridge this evening. I’m better off here. I might knock over the cauldron.’

Steven set off home to Marlborough Court. It had been a long day and the noise of helicopter rotor blades still seemed to be beating somewhere inside his head. His plan was to run a hot bath, take a drink through with him and settle back in the suds before calling Tally on the mobile. He’d have to keep his other mobile — the Sci-Med Blackberry — beside him in case of any developments at the Home Office but, with a bit of luck, he might have a decent soak and time to unwind after a day that had seen him sprint from the heart of London to the Yorkshire Moors and back again. The only thing militating against this at the moment was the fact that he was being followed.

It had started as a suspicion — a casual sideways glance when crossing a road had picked up a male figure about thirty metres behind, nothing that warranted a second thought until the same figure registered in the same position at the next crossing. This time it did merit a second thought and a third and a fourth. All thoughts of a relaxing evening vanished in an instant to be replaced by nerve tingling awareness.

He quickened his pace for the next two hundred metres and then, as he spotted a litter bin up ahead, he pulled out a tissue from his pocket and pretended to blow his nose. As he reached the bin, he paused and turned slightly to drop the tissue inside — just enough to confirm that his tail was still about thirty metres back. He had quickened his pace too.

Khan couldn’t afford to kill him: he needed him alive to have any hope of getting his hands on the key that meant so much. Apart from that, the streets were too busy to pull a gun out and hope to remain unnoticed. He too was inhibited: opening fire on a busy London street was not an option. He decided to force the issue. He changed his route and turned down a lane leading to the river. The lane was home to the premises of a van hire company whose vans he knew would be parked on both sides of the lane as their yard was too small to house their entire fleet — something that the neighbouring businesses continually complained about but tonight, this was exactly what Steven was counting on. Khan wouldn’t realise it but he was no longer the hunter; he’d just become the hunted.