Michael Cohen's dream was to protect and serve as a police officer.... That job didn't satisfy him, until one day,
when people without names came to visit. He wanted to make a difference, but he didn't expect it to make a difference to him, too...

It was a strange sensation I felt as I began to dress in a police uniform for the first time since my erstwhile involvement with Mi6 had begun. Of course, it had barely been more than a month in all reality, but to me, it felt symbolic: It represented the completion of a circle in a way: I had changed so much, in the short time that had passed, but at the core of me I knew my beliefs and morals held fast. I was still the same person that had joined the police force six years before, and as I looked down at my tights covered legs and adjusted the skirt for the fourth time, my head was clear; I still felt like a police officer.

I had to admit that the image starting back at me in the mirror was pleasing. I felt an overpowering sense of calm as I looked upon my reflection. The female constable’s uniform that Harry had stolen without embarrassment from the stores fitted me like a glove. The young woman that wore it had changed so much since her sudden and violent birth. I had grown familiar with my shape, my contours, and my hair… the young woman was me, and I was finally proud of what I saw. No more than at that moment wearing the uniform of the Metropolitan Police Force. The white blouse and cravat, with fitted black skirt and low chunky heels were certainly very different to my old uniform, but they were also the same in a manner: It was still the uniform people put on to protect and serve, and in a roundabout manner, I was doing just that.

With a sigh of acceptance for what was to come, I picked up the rucksack I had left on the bed, and slipped on a short grey jacket: for all intents and purposes, I was just another officer going to work.

Our operation’s main objectives were simple, and the plan was to be kept as basic as possible. I would meet Harry once I had successfully entered New Scotland Yard, and we would make our way to the basement where the Specialist Stores and firearms teams were located to acquire what we needed.

Daniel felt bad being left out of the game, but it was nothing he could involve himself in. The job required people familiar with the corridors of the building and practices of the Metropolitan police force. To his chagrin, Daniel was to be waiting to extract us afterwards.

The walk from the hotel to the tube was a short one. And before long, I found myself once more amongst the thousands of commuters that packed London’s underground during the morning rush to work. As we travelled meter by meter closer to New Scotland Yard’s St James street stop, I felt my nerves slowly building. It was such an excellently simple plan, but despite my confidence, stage fright was beginning to grasp me in its twisted claws; they way it always had before the first steps undercover on the job. By habit, I retrieved my trusty Ipod from its still somewhat strange location in my handbag, to distract myself from the unwanted thoughts and allowed my mind to drift into the beat.

The arrival of the train at St James Street station signalled my departure from the coach. Climbing the escalator, I ascended to street level. By now, I was one of a handful of officers I could identify around myself making our way towards the building: We had timed our incursion for the morning shift changeover at 8am. The increased number of personnel would mask the presence of an unknown, and increase the chances of success. Walking the familiar steps, I walked the short distance from the steps of St James Street, to the front entrance of New Scotland Yard.

Entering the foyer of the building was as familiar as it had been for the previous years. Nothing had changed in the weeks I had been absent; I even recognised a few faces. My uniform under the jacket and the manner with which I entered the building, born of long repeated shifts and familiarity proved successful, and I swept past the front security desk without even showing my non existent warrant card. I turned off the music in my ears, but left the earplugs in place: People were less likely to make conversation with someone who presumably would not hear them.

Breaking away from the masses heading for the lifts, I made my way to the entrance to the ground floor offices and the service facilities beyond. Nonchalantly, I walked over to the door, and proceeded to enter the pass code into the lock. My first attempt failing, I re-entered the code, presuming that my nerves had made me hit a wrong key. The second red light however, started my heart hammering; surely Harry would have known if the codes had changed? Wiping my damp palm on my skirt, I once again tried to enter the code as I remembered it. A third red light flashed brightly, blinking angrily at me. A Mixture of dread and acceptance flooded me as I turned to walk away from the mission and perhaps attempt it again after securing another access route when I bumped into a young male officer that had been waiting behind me.

“Trouble love?” he grinned warmly, reaching past my startled body and entering the code. “They changed it yesterday apparently; it’s been stopping people all night,” he added conversationally with a shrug. Before opening the door and biding me enter. As we walked through, he gave me a quizzical looking over, “Don’t mean to sound cheesy or anything, but where abouts do you work? I’ve not seen you around before.” He asked in a feigned casual tone. “Sorry, you must get that a lot.” he chuckled sheepishly.

“Actually no.” I smiled back sweetly as I slipped the headphones out of my ears to appear more attentive, realising that this man may well be my ticket through any further barriers or Identification checks. “Yes, I am new, I’m working out of the firearms office,” I added, knowing for certain this man was not on the staff. “I’m just a secretary really.”

“Cool.” My companion said relaxing. “My name’s James… James Mayweather, I’m working with traffic.”

“Jenny Sheldon.” I replied offering my hand. “Thanks for talking to me.” I grinned nervously, “It’s rather scary to be honest; my old station was much smaller and I know nobody.” I admitted sheepishly with a gentle shrug of my shoulders. I was playing with this young officer, I knew it, but it was building a closer rapport, and decreasing the chances of suspicion. It was strange to consider how my application of undercover behaviour had changed... Gone was the by the book but somewhat mediocre Officer, and into his place had stepped a very cold, calculating and decisive woman: I was going to succeed, that much I knew. The stage fright was gone now… I was in mid performance.

“Thank you again James.” I smiled sweetly, “This is where I have to go I think.” I added nodding towards the basement staircase. “I guess I’ll see you around?” I offered tentatively with a smile, waiting for the inevitable response.

“Ok cool,” James said quickly, his smile fading slightly as he dug his hands into his uniform pockets. “Bye then I guess… Unless you fancy meeting up for a coffee later perhaps?” he asked cautiously, seeming almost like a young boy. “I mean, I could give you the low down on the place.” He grinned quickly with more self assurance.

Smiling inwardly, I gave him my number and told him to text me before leaving rapidly to make contact with Harry. This officer could prove his usefulness once more by offering me a safe way to exit the building if I needed to break and run… I could suffer coffee for that.

Slipping down the empty stairwell, I removed my jacket and stowed it in the bag I had over my shoulder. Checking my appearance in a darkened window, I pushed open the doorway to the basement level of the building.

More open plan than the other floors, the basement level of New Scotland Yard housed the equipment and departments that used more sensitive material in their policework. The different departments and stores were rooms built off a large open plan main floor and garage area. Slipping behind one of the unmarked surveillance vans, I waited by the fire point that Harry and I had agreed on as a meeting point.

“You took your sweet time.” Harry muttered from a shadowed corner to my left. I let my breath out quickly. “You scared the hell out of me Harry!” I scolded. “Ready?”

Harry nodded grimly. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but we need to be careful… My ass is on the line here…” he hissed frowning. “And you… Jesus, the guys in Belmarsh would love you mate.” He added with a dirty grin.

I elbowed Harry sharply in the ribs as I walked past him and made my way out from behind the surveillance van and strode purposefully towards the Special Equipment Stores room.

The room itself wasn’t quite as unassuming as the name suggested. Special Stores was more of a small warehouse. Several lines of steel shelving and lockers filled the majority of the space, with a long flat countertop just inside the door separating the rest of us mortals from the special breed of Met employee known as the store-man. Typically a reclusive and socially dysfunctional individual, they lived a mole-like existence in the bowels of Police headquarters the country over.

“What’s your plan here, uh, Sharon?” Harry hissed from beside me. “You can’t just walk in and take them.”

I shook my head as I reached out for the door handle and turned to look at Harry. “Of course not,” I said slowly rolling my eyes. “I’m going to ask them first.”

I opened the door and walked coolly into the Stores unit, cutting off any response from Harry and walked across to the desk where an aging sergeant was seated, occasionally typing slowly on a computer keyboard as he peered into the screen.

“Morning.” I smiled cheerfully. “Need to get some things for the Specialist Firearms Command.”

“Certainly, Constable.” The man replied dryly looking up. “Do you have the forms?”

I shook my head a few times and pursed my lips. “You know what that lot are like, “Go get this, go do that, go…. Anywhere… They said I can fill in a claim form to the department down here and get it authenticated afterwards? It’s just we need it pretty sharpish… it’s a short notice operation.”

The man frowned, “You’re with CO-19 upstairs?” He asked raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t know they had many women on the teams.”

I plucked my uniform blouse and smiled weakly. “Im not, I’m admin staff, sort of new.” I admitted sheepishly, looking down at my shoes. “I’ve fucked up haven’t I?” I added with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry to waste your time.” I added, before turning and walking towards the door.

“Oh it’s alright love, look, what’s your name?” the older man smiled leaning forward on the counter top. “Jenny I mumbled, sniffing and averting my eyes, “Sorry!” I blurted wide eyed, “sorry, I mean WPC Sheldon sir.”

The older Sergeant smiled warmly and chuckled. “No need to stand on ceremony down here girl; nobody but the relics down here.”

I slumped against the wall and dabbed the underside of my eye as if by reflex to protect my makeup from tears, “I’m sorry sir, I just wanted to make a good impression on my first day.”

The old sergeant smiled sadly. “I didn’t mean to upset you dear,” he replied soothingly. “I’m an old Officer in a new world, things change, so they put me where I don’t have to deal with it,” he shrugged. “I do however, remember my first day, so come here and tell me what you need, and I wont get you in trouble.” The man smiled. With a smile and relieved thank you, I left the Special Equipment stores carrying two small flight cases containing all the surveillance material on my list: The expression on Harry’s face was priceless.

Folding my uniform neatly, I slid the items of clothing inside the backpack I had brought with me and lifted the handheld mirror out of the front pocket before beginning to apply makeup. Harry had disappeared to stash the two cases of surveillance equipment in his patrol car, and I was currently standing in just my underwear in a small cold toilet stall in the basement of New Scotland Yard.

The second stage of my plan was the more risky element. It would require us to bluff our way past the armourers in the secure Central Operations Armoury and take the weaponry we required; not a mean feat by any standard.

Packing away my makeup materials, I slid the pair of loose but fitted jeans up my legs and rolled a tight white tee shirt over my head. Running my hands through my relatively short hair, I slipped my jacket on again, and slid a highly edited Warrant card onto my belt. A whole different woman looked back at me in the toilet mirror: Attractive, yet casual and relaxed. Just the image I needed to portray during the next phase of the plan; the most important stage.

Slipping out of the toilet, I smiled plaintively at Harry, who by this point had changed into his own version of ‘on duty’ civilian clothing, and was leaning against the far wall of the corridor, his leg propped up behind him.

“You ready?” he asked flashing me an equally nervous glance.

I nodded, “Let’s go.”