He muttered something under his breath and moved on. As I threw the bolt I could hear the Baconian knocking at the next door to ours. Perhaps he’d have better luck down the corridor.

‘What is a LiteraTec doing here anyway, Next?’ asked Buckett as we returned to the kitchen.

‘I’m here,’ I answered slowly, ‘because I know what he looks like; I’m not permanent in the least. As soon as I’ve fingered his man, Tamworth will transfer me back again.’

I poured some yoghurty milk down the sink and rinsed out the container.

‘Might be a blessing.’

‘I don’t see it that way. What about you? How did you get in with Tamworth?’

‘I’m antiterrorist usually. SO-9. But Tamworth has trouble with recruitment. He took a cavalry sabre for me. I owe him.’

He dropped his eyes and fiddled with his tie for a moment. I peered cautiously into a cupboard for a dishcloth, discovered something nasty and then closed it quickly.

Buckett took out his wallet and showed me a picture of a dribbling infant that looked like every other dribbling infant I had ever seen.

‘I’m married now so Tamworth knows I can’t stay; one’s needs change, you know.’

‘Good-looking kid.’

‘Thank you.’ He put the picture away. ‘You married?’

‘Not for want of trying,’ I replied as I filled the kettle. Buckett nodded and brought out a copy of Fast Horse.

‘Do you ever flutter on the gee-gees? I’ve had an unusual tip on Malabar.’

‘I don’t. Sorry.’

Buckett nodded. His conversation had pretty much dried up.

I brought in some coffee a few minutes later. Snood and Buckett were discussing the outcome of the Cheltenham Gold Stakes Handicap.

‘So you know what he looks like, Miss Next?’ asked the ancient Snood without looking up from the binoculars.

‘He was a lecturer of mine when I was at college. He’s tricky to describe, though.’

‘Average build?’

‘When I last saw him.’

‘Tan?’

‘At least six-six.’

‘Black hair worn swept back and greying at the temples?’

Buckett and I looked at one another.

‘Yes—?’

‘I think he’s over there, Thursday.’

I jerked the headphone jack out.

‘—Acheron!!’ came Styx’s voice over the loudspeaker. ‘Dear brother, what a pleasant surprise!’

I looked through the binoculars and could see Acheron in the flat with Styx. He was dressed in a large grey duster jacket and was exactly how I remembered him from all those years ago. It didn’t seem as though he had aged even one day. I shivered involuntarily.

‘Shit,’ I muttered. Snood had already dialled the pager number to alert Tamworth.

‘Mosquitoes have stung the blue goat,’ he muttered down the phone. ‘Thank you. Can you repeat that back and send it twice?’

My heart beat faster. Acheron might not stay long and I was in a position for advancement beyond the LiteraTecs for good. Capturing Hades would be something no one could ever ignore.

‘I’m going over there,’ I said almost casually.

‘What?!’

‘You heard. Stay here and call SO-14 for armed back-up, silent approach. Tell them we have gone in and to surround the building. Suspect will be armed and highly dangerous. Got it?’

Snood smiled in the manner that I had so liked in his son and reached for the telephone. I turned to Buckett. ‘You with me?’

Buckett had turned a little pale. ‘I’m—ah—with you,’ he replied slightly shakily.

I flew out of the door, down the stairs and into the lobby.

‘Next—!’

It was Buckett. He had stopped and was visibly shaking.

‘What is it?’

‘I… I… can’t do this,’ he announced, loosening his tie and rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I have the kid—! You don’t know what he can do. I’m a betting man, Next. I love long odds. But we try and take him and we’re both dead. I beg you, wait for 80-14!’

‘He could be long gone by then. All we have to do is detain him.’

Buckett bit his lip, but the man was terrified. He shook his head and beat a hasty retreat without another word. It was unnerving to say the least. I thought of shouting after him but remembered the picture of the dribbling kid. I pulled out my automatic, pushed open the door to the street and walked slowly across the road to the building opposite. As I did so Tamworth drew up in his car. He didn’t look very happy.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘Pursuing the suspect.’

‘No you’re not. Where’s Buckett?’

‘On his way home.’

‘I don’t blame him. SO-14 on their way?’

I nodded. He paused, looked up at the dark building and then at me.

‘Shit. Okay, stay behind and stay sharp. Shoot first, then question. Below the eight—‘

‘—above the law. I remember.’

‘Good.’

Tamworth pulled out his gun and we stepped cautiously into the lobby of the converted warehouse. Styx’s flat was on the seventh floor. Surprise, hopefully, would be on our side.

I tried to focus on the striplight above me. I knew that something had happened but the night when Tamworth and I tackled Acheron Hades had, for the moment at least, been erased from my mind. I frowned, but only fractured images paraded themselves in my consciousness. I remembered shooting a little old lady three times and running down a fire escape. I had a dim recollection of blasting away at my own car and being shot in the arm. I looked at my arm and it was, indeed, tightly bound with a white bandage. Then I remembered being shot again—in the chest. I breathed in and out a couple of times and was relieved that no crackly rasp reached my ears. There was a nurse in the room who said a few words I couldn’t decipher and smiled. I thought it odd and then lapsed once again into grateful slumber.

The next time I awoke it was evening and the room seemed colder. I was alone in a single hospital ward with seven empty beds. Just outside the door I could see an armed police officer on guard duty, while inside a vast quantity of flowers and cards vied for space. As I lay in bed the memories of the evening returned and tumbled out of my subconscious. I resisted them as long as I could but it was like holding back a flood. Everything that had happened that night came back in an instant. And as I remembered, I wept.

Within a week I was strong enough to get out of bed. Paige and Boswell had both dropped by, and even my mother had made the trip up from Swindon to see me. She told me she had painted the bedroom mauve, much to Dad’s disappointment—and it was my fault for suggesting it. I didn’t think I’d bother trying to explain. I was glad of any sympathy, of course, but my mind was elsewhere: there had been a monumental fiasco and someone was going to be responsible; and as the sole survivor of that disastrous evening, I was the strongest and only candidate. A small office was procured in the hospital and into it came Tamworth’s old divisional commander, a man whom I had never met named Flanker, who seemed utterly devoid of humour and warmth. He brought with him a twin-cassette tape deck and several SO-1 senior operatives, who declined to give their names. I gave my testimony slowly and frankly, without emotion and as accurately as possible. Acheron’s strange powers had been hinted at before, but even so Flanker was having trouble believing it.

‘I’ve read Tamworth’s file on Hades and it makes pretty weird reading, Miss Next,’ he said. ‘Tamworth was a bit of a loose cannon. SO-5 was his and his alone; Hades was more of an obsession than a job. From our initial enquiries it seems that he has been flaunting basic SpecOps guidelines. Contrary to popular belief, we are accountable to Parliament, albeit on a very discreet basis.’