Three years have passed since young Josie Fortune tried to make some decisions that would have a bearing on the rest of her life. We first met her in Book One as a young, attractive and entirely convincing male to female transsexual.

Josie had to deal with the painful and awkward transition from being Joseph, while fending off corrupt politicians determined to murder her, earnest young men eager to bed her, and best friends who fell in love with her.

In seeking her own destiny she struggled to find what she needed to do rather than what others would have her do. We pick up the tale as she graduates from University and selects a rather unusual career path, ready to deal with whatever the world throws at her...

 

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Tanya has a new website where she will display her latest works first and then to BigCloset TopShelf a few weeks later is here at Tanya Allan's Tales .
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The Legal Stuff: Changed Fortune © 2009, 2010 Tanya Allan
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
 
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
 
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
 
Please enjoy.
Tanya
 
 

 
 
 
Chapter Four
 
 
I thought he’d been joking, but yet again found out he wasn’t. We drove through the dawn back to London in his Jaguar.

As soon as we got onto the main road, I felt sleepy, but I had one thing I wanted to talk to him about.

“I’ve thought about a name, and as I’ve been Jo Fuller for the last few weeks, it’s sort of stuck,” I said.

“Fine, are you keeping Josie or do you want to become Joannah?”

“Josie, if that’s okay?”

“It’s up to you. You could be Rumplestiltskin if you wanted to.”

“No, Josie Fuller will do me.”

“Ah, best we change the Fuller, as we don’t want people to twig you were at Hereford.”

“Oh, what do you suggest?” I asked.

“How about Fullerton?”

“Fine, I don’t mind.”

He smiled and nodded, saying no more about it.

I confess to not being great company, falling asleep about three miles from the camp, and only waking up when he pulled into his car space in the underground car park in Whitehall.

“Feel better?” he asked, as we walked into the basement lift.

“Not much. I think I could sleep for a week.”

“Well, you can do just that as from tomorrow, but I’ve got you today so intend on getting you settled in.”

“Oh?”

“I run a special task force comprising of intelligence wallahs, soldiers and other specialists, like policemen and even immigration officers. My task is to deal with those things that fall outside the remit of the law enforcement agencies and fall short of the criteria for direct military intervention.”

“You mean the SAS?”

“Precisely. You see, MI5 the Security Service exists in a domestic capacity to gather intelligence and operate against those parties that threaten our national security, either through foreign intervention, terrorism or even against our parliamentary democracy in the political arena. MI6, or if you prefer, the Secret Intelligence Service do a similar thing, only they work away from home, so to speak, sometimes in a rather more proactive manner. My unit, which is called the Special Operations Unit, by the way, has no such parameters. We work alongside other the departments, or separate from them if the circumstances demand. Sometime we work with foreign agencies, as long as we are there to protect our national interests or our subjects. I am permitted to vary both the criteria for entry and the training programme. So, I’m afraid your recent experience was my fault. I like to think that everyone I select and train has the necessary qualities at the outset, so I provide or develop the necessary skills before letting them loose.

“All my people are hand picked for specific skills or reasons, so that if another department or agency is compromised or neutralised, we are able to slide into the driving seat and take over. I report directly to the Prime Minister for reasons of national security, thereby avoiding certain Whitehall corridors of power.

“You mentioned specific skills or reasons, what are mine?”

He smiled as the lift halted and the doors opened. He got out so I followed.

“You, my dear girl, are here because you have many qualities I like. One, you are a graduate criminologist, and I happen to need someone who has some form of training in that field, if for no other reason other than to say I’ve got one. Two, you are incredibly bright and decisive, and lastly, you are one of those people I believe I can trust to do what you’re told without a fuss. In short, you are one of those rare creatures, a team worker who can go it alone, and one that will do the right thing, or die trying. Oh, and you’re a woman, and I’ve been meaning to take on an attractive woman for a long time.”

I was stunned, for I didn’t recognise the person about whom he was talking. However, I had little time to dwell on it, as he opened an office door and entered. I had no choice but to follow.

The room was completely different to what I was expecting. It was large, square and in semi-darkness, with a huge wall of computer monitors or TVs along one side. There were desks arranged in a semi circle all facing towards that wall, each with computers and hi-tech communications consoles. Raised along the opposite wall from the TVs was a long desk, behind which seven chairs and seven computer terminals sat. Although with a capacity for perhaps twenty people, there were only four that I could see. Two were on the raised area and two were on the lower desks, all were working in the subdued lighting, with their own smaller, bright desk lamps, so took no notice of us.

Humphrey walked over to the raised area and sat at the central console. The man at the desk to his right looked up, nodded and continued his conversation on his wireless head-set style telephone. While talking, I saw him glance at me and look me up and down. He was a good looking man in his early thirties, with short hair and a ready smile. I’d been around soldiers enough recently to recognise one even out of uniform, I felt self-conscious under his gaze, so looked away and at the others in the room.

All were men. The other one on the raised area was at the end. He appeared to be in his fifties with grey, thinning hair and wearing a crumpled suit. The jacket was over the back of his chair and I could see perspiration under both arms, as it made his light blue shirt darker. I was quite surprised, for the air conditioning was on, keeping the room to an even temperature, but on the cool side. It was a warm August day outside, so I found it quite pleasant. As I looked at him, he turned towards me and smiled. His face was round and slightly florid, giving me the impression he was out of shape, which was another surprise, until I recalled Humphrey telling me that he had selected different people for different reasons.

Of the two remaining men, I could only see their backs as they worked on their computers. Both seemed younger, more my age, both wore suits, while one was Afro/Caribbean and the other was white. The man beside Humphrey came off the phone.

“Hello sir, so this is my new recruit?”

“Harry, meet Josie Fullerton. Josie, this is your section leader, Harry Pearce, so he’ll be taking a first hand interest in your continued training and development. You’re now on his section so I’ll leave you with him to get sorted out. Harry, don’t keep her too long, as she’s only finished Hereford this morning and needs a bit of TLC.”

“Right sir, will do.”

Humphrey handed Harry my file, the front of which was already amended to ‘Josie Fullerton’, which I noted was typed, so he was anticipating my agreeing to the change of name. He then got up and left, leaving me with four strange men in a strange room.

“How was Hereford?” Harry asked.

“Most of it was okay, but the last bit was pure shit!” I said, making him laugh.

“So, it hasn’t changed?”

“I don’t suppose it has.”

“I did it about ten years ago, but as a soldier.”

“Are you still a soldier?” I asked.

“I suppose so, as it’s on my pay slip. Actually, I’m a major, on attachment, but we don’t use ranks here. Mike there is a computer specialist, we nabbed him from IBM and what he doesn’t know about computers isn’t worth knowing.

Mike was the older man who’d smiled at me. He waved at me again and gave me another smile as he realised he was being talked about.

“Down on the floor are Steve Kitchener and Janus Spencer. Steve is another soldier, from the Royal Engineers. His speciality is explosives and anything that goes bang. Janus is a telecom genius and at the moment is looking at upgrading our microwave systems.”

“I feel a bit inadequate. So much specialist knowledge,” I said.

“Well, they’re all here for the field agents. So make full use of them.”

“Field agents?”

He looked at me strangely.

“You do know why you’re here, don’t you?”

I smiled and shook my head. “Not as such.”

“The old bugger, he keeps doing this. Okay, welcome to the unit, Jo, and congratulations, I think, for you’re now one of our field agents.”

“Field agent? What the hell is that?”

“Well, each section has ten to twelve people. We try to have experts on hand for advice and technical support, so there will usually be anything between three to five experts and always five or more field agents. We’ve twelve in this section, the other two specialists are a doctor and an intelligence bod.”

“I thought this was all intelligence work,” I said.

“You’re right to a point, as intelligence is what we work with, but we’re also doers, in that we put the intelligence to good use. For example, if we receive information about something that’s going to happen, we have some choices. Do we pass it on to another department, like MI5, as they may be better placed to deal with it? Do we let it happen? Do we ensure it happens? Do we stop it, or do we change it? Depending what the thing is and depending on what our position is in relation to it, depends on how we play it.”

“So who makes the decisions?”

“For relatively routine stuff, I do, or the section leader on duty. If it’s more serious it goes to the assistant director on call, otherwise to the boss and to the PM. However, sometimes, the field agent on the spot may have to make the decision, as there may be neither the time nor the opportunity to make contact with us here at control.”

“And I’m a field agent?” I asked, with some trepidation.

“Yes, well, not quite. You’ve some more training first, and then you’ll fly a desk here for a few weeks until I’m satisfied you’re safe to go out. For a while you’ll work with another agent, just until you find your feet, and then you’ll be on your own. There may be some little job that we’ll have to use you for before that, but you’ll be given full back up.”

“Why me?”

“You’re the first girl we’ve had on the section.”

I felt this was strange, as women seemed to be in most jobs across the career spectrum. My face must have reflected my surprise, for he laughed.

“Don’t get too concerned, we’ve only been operational for ten months, so the boss has been seeking the right ones. You just happen to be our first,” he said.

“How many sections are there and are there any women on them?”

“There are six sections, and three have at least two women, and all the others bar one have one. Some of the specialists are women, as our doctor is, for a start. But as far as field agents are concerned, you are our only one to date.”

“Why ten months?”

“I’m not sure. I think the PM found the existing system of departments unwieldy but so entrenched that change was only likely to weaken our effectiveness in difficult times. The obvious answer was to create a small but highly versatile unit that could be used alongside or apart from the other departments, with free reign to work here or abroad. The boss thought it up and so was made Director General for his sins.”

“When I was interviewed, he wasn’t on the board,” I pointed out. This surprised Harry.

“He wasn’t there at all?” he asked.

“Well, I spent an hour or so with him before the interview, but that was ever so informal.”

He smiled. “There you are then; you had two interviews, and must have done well enough on the first to get to the second. Still, that’s in the past, you’re here now, and we have a lot to do.”

“You said I had more training, in what exactly?” I asked.

“Lots of things. Our specialists will teach you what they can about their field, mainly so you know what they can do, but also so they don’t have to do everything and you will be able understand a fair bit yourself. You see, if you’re handling explosives, it’s an advantage to know more than the basics, so when he tells you to look for a certain wire going into a certain place, you know where he’s coming from. Likewise, if you’re trying to save someone’s life after a shooting, it will help you if you know your basic physiology and anatomy, so when the doctor tells you to do something to a certain artery or vein, you know what she’s talking about and don’t have to ask silly questions.

“Then you’ll spend some time with our SIO, that’s Section Intelligence Officer. These guys are brilliant, as they sift through the current intelligence on a daily basis, trying to identify crucial clues as to what’s happening or going to happen. They know how and where to look to foretell the future, we call them our witch doctors. We want you to have a good grasp of their role and some of their skills. When you’re out there, maybe in a foreign country, maybe in a hostile environment, it’s essential that you can read your surroundings and the people. Intelligence is only as good as the source, but if you don’t understand what you’re looking at, it’s next to useless.”

“When do I start?” I asked, feeling quite keen to do so at once.

“You heard the boss. You’ve got a week’s leave, if you want it, so we’ll start a week from today.”

I almost said I’d forgo my leave, but suddenly the weariness of the last few weeks hit me, so I smiled and told him that would be fine. Harry then handed me over to Mike who arranged for my ID card to be made and logged me into the computer system.

“It seems I get you all to myself first,” Mike said with a chuckle.

“Oh?”

“When you get back, next week, you’re to spend a week with me. How much do you know about computers?” he asked.

When I told him, he rubbed his hands together with some enthusiasm.

“Thank God for that. I’m so fed up with Luddites who think they’re only good for watching porn or writing emails. You and I will get on famously, and we never need go outside.”

I wasn’t sure that sounded that much fun, but it would be nice not heaving my aching body over a ten foot wall carrying loads of rocks. I met the HR officer, who showed me where the female lockers were, gave me a key to mine and issued me with my own stationary and HP laptop. I noted that she had me as Josephine Fullerton on all her records. I was amazed, but accepted it all in my stride. She then asked me where I was living.

“Um, I was with my parents in Oxford,” I replied.

“Oh, that won’t do. You’ll have to find a place near here, at least for now,” she said.

“What, like rent or buy?” I asked, feeling very naíve.

“Most people buy eventually, but renting is fine. We’ve a few small studio flats available for new staff, but there’s a restriction of six months on them. They’re rather pokey, so most people tend to stay for as long as it takes until they find somewhere bigger. Do you want one of them until you find somewhere else?”

Dumbly I agreed, and she rooted around in a box for some keys. She handed me a set of keys attached to a card with an address thereon.

“It’s a new place, just off the embankment. Good views and not much noise,” she said.

“How much is it?” I asked.

“Oh, don’t be silly, these are free, just until you get yourself sorted. They really are very small, but it’ll help you save for your own place.”

“Are they furnished, or what?”

“Basic furnishings only. You’ll need your own linen and crockery. You were at uni, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“In halls?”

“The first year, yes.”

“So you know,” she said with a smile.

I then reported back to Harry who smiled and told me to go home.

“Oh, and Jo, Glock or Sig?” he asked, as if he was asking whether I wanted a tea or a coffee.

“Glock, please,” I said, smiling at the surreal nature of the question.

“Right-ho, I’ll ensure there’s one ready for you when you get back. Have a good rest, you’ll need it.”
 
 
I rested the first day and a half, having gone back to Oxford. I slept for almost sixteen hours and then ate a larger meal than my mother had ever seen me eat. My father was ambivalent towards my name change, accepting that MISS FOTUNE was perhaps not ideal, but equally, understanding about my desire to break with my past. Then I bribed my father to help me move all my university stuff out of the attic, which had taken him three days to get up there, and then drive it into London to my new flat.

She hadn’t lied about the size of the place. It was a very small, one bedroom studio flat in a modern block overlooking the Thames. It was on the top floor, but there was a lift that worked and a parking space in the car park below. I bought my father lunch at the Lord Nelson pub just round the corner and then retreated alone to my new pad as he drove back to Oxford.

Having spent the afternoon distributing my personal effects around the flat, I ventured forth to find a small corner shop in which I bought a few essentials. Then I returned to the flat, sat on my sofa, ate a fish-finger sandwich, watched my TV and promptly fell asleep.

I was far more tired than I’d realised. I thought about starting work early, but found myself sleeping for more than twelve hours a night and even once up having very little energy. I’d also lost a stone in weight, so had a very lazy week sleeping and eating. After the first three days, I became more adventurous, and headed up to the West End to look around. I’d never lived in London, so apart from the occasional trip near Christmas with the family, I hadn’t really visited the capital at all. The problem with living in a large city is that one tends not to bother going to another one. Oxford was no where near as big as London, but it had everything I’d wanted while growing up, and besides, I’d never been here as a woman.

The first thing that struck me was the amount of people, and then it was the diversity of those people. All the main shopping streets were crammed with people, yet hardly any were speaking English, and those that were had North American or other accents. Even the street sellers were all foreign, and that included the three card tricksters and other con men. There was a constant groan of traffic, interspersed with rumbles of larger vehicles and dreadful squealing of maladjusted brakes on the red busses.

I found my way to Oxford Street and did a little shopping for some clothes, stopping mid-morning at one of the thousands of coffee shops that now graced our streets.

Having been served by a Pole and a Ukrainian, I sat and drank my coffee wondering where all the British had gone. Not only were most of the customers foreign, but so were the staff. I finished my coffee and wandered to Hamleys, the giant Toy shop, the one place I recalled from my childhood.

It hadn’t changed much, so I enjoyed wandering round the four stories, lost in a world of reminiscence and nostalgia. The last time we’d come here was when Jess and I were about nine or so. I remembered Jess making a bee-line for the dolls, while I made for the games. I’d wanted to look at dolls too, but knew it wasn’t expected or approved of.

This time I didn’t have to do anything other than what I wanted to, so spent some time looking at the amazing variety of dolls that they stocked. I was examining a particularly realistic baby-type doll that seemed to wee, poo and vomit, as long as you fed it the right formula. I thought you could take realism a tad too far.

“My God, Josie?” said an uncertain voice.

I looked up in some surprise to see Paul standing there. Next to him was a slightly plump, but nevertheless attractive woman, trying unsuccessfully to control two very excited children — a boy and a girl.

“Hello Paul,” I said, quietly and without enormous enthusiasm. I wasn’t sure how to feel.

“Jeez, girl, you’ve changed!” he said, kissing my cheek.

So had he, for a start, he now sported a full beard and moustache, which tickled when he kissed me.

“I should hope so,” I said, smiling for the first time. “So have you. You’ve put on some weight, for starters.”

He patted his middle and grinned at me, turning round to look for the woman.

“Honey, come here a moment. There’s someone you have to meet,” he said, and my heart sank, as I wondered what he’d told her about me.

“Josie, this is Marianne, now my wife. Honey, this is Josie Fortune, a good friend from way back.”

I noted he didn’t refer to me as anything else.

“Actually, it’s Fullerton now, Josie Fullerton,” I said.

Paul started and stared at my left ring finger and then looked confused, but his wife wasn’t listening.

“Robert, put that down and don’t hit your sister again!” Marianne said, before shaking my hand.

“Hi, I don’t often meet old friends of Paul’s, as we don’t leave Jersey that often these days, but I promised the kids we’d have a week in London,” she said, watching both children and not me.

“You’re looking very fit,” he said, regarding my figure. It was a warm day, so I wore a simple summer dress with short sleeves.

“I’ve just had a, ah, a very strenuous time away,” I said, trying to find the right words to describe SAS training.

“It looks good on you. You’ve cut your hair, I like it shorter,” he observed.

“I’ve changed a lot in my life.”

“Did you go to university?”

“Yes, eventually. I got a two-one at Portsmouth.”

“Not Oxford?”

“No, I had to make a break. How about you, still writing?”

“Occasionally, but I’m spending more and more time working in the hotel.”

“How did you manage to get away, it’s only just September?” I asked.

“We’ve a good assistant manager who looks after the place. Most of the children are back at school within the next few days, so we took the opportunity to come over and show the kids London before they have to start a new term.”

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Daisy is seven and Bobby is nine,” said Marianne. “Have you any?”

I smiled and shook my head. “Not yet,” I replied looking at Paul, who smiled back.

“So, what are you up to?” he asked.

“I work in an office just off Whitehall.”

“Oh, doing what?”

“I can’t tell you. If I did, I’d have to kill you,” I said, smiling sweetly.

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You always had a good sense of humour. Seriously, what are doing?”

“I’m an assassin for MI5.”

“Another secretary, right?”

“Something like that,” I replied, giving in.

“Do you live in London?” she asked.

“Just down by the Embankment.”

“Wow, you’ve really made the break. Have you anyone special?” Paul asked.

“Not at the moment, but I’m not complaining.”

“We ought to go, the kids are getting stroppy,” Marianne said to Paul.

“Okay, look, Josie, don’t be a stranger, if you’re ever in Jersey, come and see us, okay?” he said.

“If I’m in Jersey, I’ll make a point of it,” I said.

As I watched the little family walk away, I felt pleased for him and a little sad at my loss. He’d found what he’d always wanted, while I was still searching, not really knowing what I wanted. It also convinced me that the road I was on was right for me at the moment.

I left Hamleys without buying anything. I’d grown up at last!
 
 
Chapter Five
 
 
“Are you doing anything for Christmas, Josie?” Harry asked.

We were in the control room late one December evening. Over the past few months, I’d completed all my specialist attachments, and enjoyed them all. I found the specialists a weird bunch, but each was a mine of information on their specialism. Mike was a really funny guy, but slightly bonkers. He was a bachelor, and I doubted he’d ever get married, as his computers were his life. I learned a heck of a lot from him, despite thinking I already knew a lot. I was a non starter compared to Mike.

The doctor was called June Simons, having gone through the army medical scholarship and then served in all the odd parts of the world, dealing with everything from bombings to measles. She was potty about scuba diving and would often disappear with her doctor husband for romantic weeks below the Indian Ocean or similar exotic climes.

By the end of October, Harry issued me with my gun and paired me up with Malcolm Palmer, an experienced field agent. We took some routine jobs, mainly liaising with the police on some Middle Eastern intelligence. Usually it meant we had to chase down snippets and little pieces of information and try to give them some basis in fact and truth. After 9/11 and the London Bombings, it seems the world was becoming faintly neurotic and saw terrorists in every shadow. Often people would report their neighbours as being terrorists if they had darker complexions and any form of anti-social habits, such as playing loud music or farting after dark!

Malcolm was a quiet, slightly dour man from the West Country, divorced and over thirty with two children that he seldom saw, as his ex-wife moved to the Isle of Mann with her new husband. He’d joined the service from the army five years ago, and rarely attempted any irrelevant conversation. This suited me as he genuinely wanted to help develop less experienced agents. He was helpful and very patient, but he had very high standards, and I rarely knew what he was thinking. He seldom praised, but would suck air through his teeth when he felt I wasn’t performing as he would have liked.

He was the one who told me about the no sex rule at work.

“Are you involved?” he asked one day, out of the blue.

“Sorry?” I asked, blankly.

“Do you have someone?”

For a moment I thought he was offering, but he didn’t seem to be.

“No, not at the moment. Why?”

“Just make sure you avoid the love thing with someone at work. There’s a rule against it. If you do, you and the other will be out on your arses as quick as look at you.”

“Why?”

“If you’re shagging someone you’re working with, the boss reckons your objectivity will be screwed up and you may make the wrong decision if you’re personally involved.”

“Really? Well, I suppose that may be true. What do you think?”

He shrugged. “It’s a rule, so I obey it. If there’s a good enough reason for the boss to think that way, then that’s good enough for me. Besides, we never had a girl on the team before, so it wasn’t a problem.”

That was the end of that conversation, but it gave me food for thought, not that I found any of my colleagues that interesting, apart from the one who was clearly unavailable, my direct boss — Harry.

Malcolm and I had some success with a four Al Qaeda wannabes, who’d made a crude bomb making factory in south London, but literally wet themselves when the SO19 Police Firearms unit raided them with us along as advisors. It was my first time out in the real world, and I was over conscious of carrying my gun on a holster on my belt in the small of my back, where it was hidden by my jacket.

I enjoyed returning to the special, high security Custody Suite at Paddington Green Police Station. Special Branch officers were responsible for interviewing the suspects, but we sat in as observers. Malcolm sat in on the first two and left me to sit in on the other two. I was amused by the police officers’ attitude towards me. I was frequently asked who I was, so displayed my ID on a chain around my neck. The problem was, no one knew what it was, so I repeatedly had to explain that I was with the Security Intelligence Services.

The Special Branch Detective Inspector and Detective Sergeant were very professional and I studied their interview techniques with interest. I sat behind them, so I was able to watch the suspect and his lawyer, who sat opposite the interviewing officers. I had to introduce myself for the police tape, so I simply said I was Agent 560987 attached to the Home Office. The lawyer raised his eyebrows, but as his client was under arrest for acts of terrorism, he knew that someone from the Security and Intelligence Services would be presence. I think my gender and appearance startled him. The Special Branch Officers only gave their warrant numbers also, as acts of terrorism changed the rules slightly.

Malcolm was the lead agent, so I always deferred to him, simply watching and learning in everything we did. Mostly we followed up on information about people or organisations. This meant several hours of research on the computer and then going to the local police to see what they had on the subject. Only then did we approach the informant, if available, to finally start surveillance on the subject to see if further action was warranted.

It was exciting at the start, but as most of the jobs ended up to be nothing, I began to get bored and fed up. This caused Malcolm to tell me off.

“You’re working for the country,” he said. “Not for your own enjoyment. Just be grateful that these jobs a squared off without going red (active). When you get a red job, you have to move so fast your head spins, and you rarely know what the fuck is going on until it’s over! That’s when instinct and training take over, so, learn to make the most of the dull jobs, because they’re what pay the bills. The red jobs are what can end it all.”

Suitably chastised, I determined to try to do as he suggested, even though it was quite hard.

When Harry asked about Christmas, I’d just been given my freedom to operate alone, but Harry had me flying a desk for a while, just so I could see what he did and how the systems worked from his perspective. I understood from the others that this was common practice, so made the most of it.

We operated a twelve hour shift system, seven o’clock to seven o’clock, two days followed by two nights followed by four days off. That was the theory, but once a field agent took on a job, the hours went out the window until it was completed. There were three sections running this system — on reserve, as we called it, with three sections operating out there on specific operations (SO). Every four months, we changed round, so we got four months away from being stuck in the control, so dealt with those jobs that were more involved, protracted, complicated and time consuming.

It was a good system, as those on reserve took on the latest jobs, but were able to defer many to either other departments or to the SO Sections if the jobs couldn’t be dealt with then and there. Being late December, things were relatively quiet, so I’d been doing a crossword in the Daily Telegraph when Harry had asked the question. We were on the day shift and it was around five in the afternoon, so rush hour was under way outside.

“My parents are flying out to the states to visit my sister and her family. She had twins two years ago, and so Mum and Dad want to see them. That left me at home so I volunteered to work,” I replied to Harry’s question. “How about you, I’ll bet your kids will want you to be there?”

“Yup, and I hope I will. It’ll be my first Christmas with the family for three years, so I’m looking forward to it.”

“Gosh, that sounds rough. Can you take time off just before or after instead?”

“Sometimes, but I have to admit, this job puts a strain on any relationship at times. Thankfully Linda was an army wife for a couple of years, so understands my problems. It’s still hard,” he said.

I found Harry a very attractive man. Not just in looks, which were super, but in temperament, attitude and personality. He was calm, patient, intelligent, understanding and funny, so I liked a lot more than perhaps I should. Malcolm wouldn’t approve of some of my thoughts, which I had to keep well hidden.

Our personal lives were the major casualty of this work. Police officers and soldiers could understand it, but for me it was a new experience. If I met someone at a party, for example, I had to think carefully about whether I could afford to take any further steps with them, so I ended up backing off every time.

Then there was the added complication of being a transsexual. I know I didn’t look any different, but it was always there. I wanted to be a normal girl, but lurking just beneath the surface was my past. Sometimes I’d cry about it in sheer frustration.

“Linda has taken the boys up to her parents for the week end, so do you feel like a drink after work, just until the traffic quietens down?”

Harry lived down the M4 near Reading, so hated getting stuck in traffic. He tended to get in by six in the morning and rarely left here until eight in the evening.

“If you like,” I said, trying not to sound too eager.

The last couple of hours dragged, but in the end we walked down the road together to a small Italian restaurant/wine bar just off the main road.

There was an office Christmas party in full swing in the large back room, so we sat in the less hectic front area. It was big enough to be anonymous, but small enough to be intimate. We put our coats on the spare seat at the table.

“What would you like?” he asked.

“This may sound odd, but I’d kill for a long cold pint of lager. It’s so dry making in the control room, so I always need a long cold drink when I get home.”

They didn’t have any draft lager, so we both settled for some Italian bottled beer that was rather too expensive for what it was.

“Do you fancy eating here?” he asked.

“I’m going back to sausages or fish fingers, so if you want. But I’ll pay my way,” I said.

“Nonsense, this is on me. I’ve been meaning to get you alone, in any case.”

“Oh? That sounds ominous,” I said.

He smiled and waved at the waiter for some menus.

“Nothing like that. I just felt I ought to get to know you a little better. You’ve been here for five months and yet we’ve hardly had a chance to talk.”

“Oh,” I said, as there wasn’t much else I could say.

“How do you feel you’re getting on?”

“Fine. I enjoyed my time with each of the specialists. Malcolm is a bit dull, but I can’t fault him on what we did. I learned a lot from him. I’d like to get some experience working on my own, though. I think we’re very different.”

“There’s no doubt that you’re different. He’s a good bloke, very dependable, even if, as you say, he’s a little dull. But then he wasn’t recruited for his sparking personality.”

“You’d be the best person to know how I’m getting on, for I’m sure you’ve talked about me to everyone?”

He smiled again, looking at the menu.

“I have, you’re right, and they’re all impressed with how you’re developing.”

“But?” I said.

“No buts, you’re doing well. I have one concern, though, and it has nothing to do with your performance.”

“Oh?”

“Your private life, do you have one?”

He had me there. For the last few months, I came to work, returned to my flat, slept and went back to work again, every day.

“Not really,” I admitted.

“How come? An attractive girl like you.”

“What do you know of me?” I asked.

“Not a lot, just what’s in your file.”

After ordering our meal, including a bottle of house wine, I looked Harry in the eyes and told him my story.

When I’d finished, he shook his head and smiled.

“Wow, what can I say?”

I shrugged, feeling drained. I hated revealing myself like this, but sometimes it just had to be done.

“That took some guts,” he said.

“What, telling you?”

“That, and everything else. I’d never have guessed, not in a million years. You didn’t have to tell me, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes I did. They say that knowledge is power, so it gives you some power, and me the protection of your knowledge. I know I look okay, but…”

“No, Josie, you don’t look okay,” he said, interrupting me. “You look stunning. If I wasn’t married, I’d….” his voice trailed off, and I found he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Does the boss know?” he asked after a strained silence. I was strangely pleased that he’d noticed me.

“Oh yes.”

“Wow!” he repeated.

“So you see why my private life is less than enthusiastic.”

“But you did have a boy friend, once. Right?”

“I’ve had several, and no, I’m not a virgin, but I’ve no one at the moment.”

“Do you have many friends in London?” he asked.,

“Not really.”

“It can be a lonely place, without friends.”

“I suppose so, but I’m very good at being on my own. I’ve found that people tend to let you down.”

He smiled again. “I know what you mean. Still, you should get out more.”

“I know, I do a bit, every now and again, but there’s always my past. It makes me hold back and I can’t seem to help it.”

“I can understand that. I suppose you’ve more to fear than most, so it must be hard for you. But, as someone once said, there’s nought to fear but fear itself.”

I smiled, but delayed response until the waiter had delivered our first course.

“Sometime the fear is justified. I’ve experienced rather too many rejections, even though each time they said it wasn’t my past, it was connected. For example, my first boyfriend was considerably older, and with problems of his own. All he wanted was to be a dad and to be part of a family. I couldn’t provide that, so we parted. I met him recently and he’s now got what he wanted. The strange thing is, I couldn’t see what I saw in him before, but then I’ve changed a lot.

“What about you; when did you meet your wife?” I asked to change the subject.

We talked about everything other than work and my past. It was a reasonable meal in good company, and I felt more relaxed than I had in a long time. It was helped considerably by the alcohol, but that didn’t help me and my feelings for Harry, which I found were getting stronger.

He was just so understanding and gentle. I sighed. Why were such things so bloody complicated?

“I take it you’d rather keep this under your hat, at work, I mean?” he said, after paying the bill.

“What? The fact we had dinner or my past?” I asked with a smile.

He smiled back.

“You know very well.”

“It’s not something I want broadcast,” I admitted. “It’s bad enough taking the bloody pills every day, so all I really want is to be accepted for being me, and the now me, not the then me.”

We left the restaurant much later than I expected, walking slowly back towards the office. I dearly wanted him to ask to come back to my flat, but knew that he wouldn’t and if he did, I’d have to refuse.

He didn’t and kissed me on the cheek instead.

“Goodnight, Josie, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, leaving me alone once more.
 
 
Chapter Six
 
March 2007
 
I lay on the damp ground, feeling the moisture slowly seep through my clothing, but I wasn’t able to move. I watched the building below without taking my eyes from the binoculars. I’d learned that if you were watching someone, they always moved the moment you looked away or scratched your bum. I scratched my bum without breaking my gaze. This was all my fault, as I’d picked up on the small piece of information that led to me being here on this damp morning.

It had started with one information docket that was sent through to us from an informant. This wasn’t the usual, ‘My neighbour must be a terrorist because he looked at me in a funny way,’ dockets. It came from a company manager who suspected one of his employees was stealing chemicals from the company but felt the reason wasn’t for money but in order to manufacture explosives. He’d thought about telling the police, but having had an unpleasant experience with the local Traffic Police, he decided to call us. There was a problem, apparently, with the senior management of the company, as the suspect was related to one of the co-owners.

I went to see him.

The company was based in High Wycombe in Buckinghamshire, a town I’d often driven past, but never been to, so I quite enjoyed the drive out there. I wasn’t desperately enamoured with the place, but that was only first impressions.

I found the company on a small industrial estate on the outskirts, called Cressex. I’d called ahead and arranged to meet the informant at TGI Friday, the American Style Diner up the road, as the suspect still worked for the company.

I parked my Mini in the car park and entered the diner. As I wasn’t there for a meal, I went up into the bar. There were a few men who appeared to be on their own, but none looked expectantly, as if they were waiting for me. They looked at me, but in other ways. I was dressed for the part, as a smart city executive in a neat skirt and jacket with court shoes. I approached the bar and ordered a J2O, and then sat and waited for my appointment.

I didn’t have to wait long, for a rather flustered young man entered looking extremely furtive and comically suspicious. I suppose when a member of the security service tell you to meet them in a given place, you start to believe you’re James Bond.

He looked round the bar, saw me and looked even more furtive. I couldn’t take this, so I got up and went over to him.

John Appleby? I’m Jo, we spoke on the phone. Grab a drink and come and sit down.”

He bought a half pint of beer and joined me at the bar, perched on bar stools.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” I said. “It’s often best to get the preliminary questions sorted out away from the place of business. But, please relax, you’ll find this much easier if you just treat this like an ordinary business meeting.”

“Um do you have an ID or something?” he asked.

I showed him my ID card.

He smiled tentatively, but still looked very nervous. I called him a young man, but I guessed he was older than me by a couple of years, so he must have been about twenty six or seven, but he had probably joined the company straight from school and worked his way up through the office rank structure. He was the despatch manager for the company, which wasn’t the most complicated job, but he also dealt with shortfalls and complaints if deliveries weren’t as per orders.

“Just go through the problem, from the beginning,” I said.

The company was a distribution warehouse for the chemical industry. They bought chemicals from the manufacturers for onward distribution to all manner of companies, such as industrial cleaners, medical facilities and factories. Such were the regulations pertaining to the handling of such chemicals that a company had to be licensed, as was theirs.

One driver, Ahmed Khan, a second generation Wycombe lad of Pakistani parents, had got the job of driving one of the smaller vans on local runs only as he was a nephew or cousin of one of the company directors. John found the lad personable enough for the first few months, but recently he’d turned moody and aggressively antagonistic to anyone who wasn’t a Muslim. This happened after he returned from a supposedly extended holiday in Pakistan.

“Then the complaints started. A bottle here, a bottle there, never very much, and never anything dangerous or valuable. We were easily able to make up the orders and put it down to clerical error or breakage. Many customers break a bottle and then claim it was broken in transit or never arrived. We make allowances for this in our costings, so can afford a bottle adrift here and there.

“After the bombings in London, and 9/11, I started to worry about Ahmed, so spoke with his uncle. He assured me he’d speak to the man and it would all be sorted. It was fine for a while, and Ahmed was always courteous, but I always felt uneasy about him. The complaints stopped and I thought it was sorted, but then they started again, in slightly greater quantities. So I had to tell someone.”

“Why not the police?” I asked.

“I tried, but there’s this one copper I, well, I had an altercation with outside the night club in town.”
I’d already checked with the Thames Valley Police and their Local Intelligence Unit. The incident he referred to occurred on a Friday evening a few weeks previously. It was after midnight, and an inebriated John was ejected from the club by an enthusiastic bouncer after he’d groped a girl who’d been dancing. Her boyfriend had reacted in a highly unfriendly manner, and they were both chucked out. The fight continued outside, which resulted in the police being called by the CCTV operator, so both men were arrested. The traffic officer who arrested John wasn’t impressed when John, in his drunken state, attempted to swing a punch at him as he was being bundled into a police van. As a result, any conversation he attempted later about his concerns fell onto deaf or unappreciative ears.

“Besides, what can they do? They’re more bothered by untaxed cars and pykies than terrorists,” John said, slightly bitterly, I noted.

“What’s Ahmed doing at the moment?” I asked.

“He’s still delivering, but I put another lad with him, so he’s less likely to nick stuff.”

“Did you bring me the information, as I’d asked?”

He passed over a single photocopy of the man’s employment sheet, so it included name, address, date of birth, National Insurance number and tax details. Then he passed over an inventory of all the missing chemicals. I folded both and placed them in my bag.

“Thanks, that’s fine. You can leave this with me. If you get anything you think is useful, then call me on the number I gave you, day or night. If I’m not around, it’ll go to a secure voicemail. Just forget anything happened, oh, and make sure you document all missing items. If this goes to court, which it may, you need to ensure you’ve done everything you should have done. I’d advise you to notify your management by memo that items have been reported missing and let them conduct whatever internal investigation they want. It’s my guess, that if the items are relatively inexpensive and not dangerous, they’ll let it go. But you need to document everything properly, okay?”

“I suppose so. What will you do?” he asked.

“That’s my concern. You just go back, do your job and pretend this meeting never happened. I’ll give you an update as and when I can, so don’t worry, as doing nothing is not an option for me.”

"Can I ask a question?” he said.

“Of course.”

He looked round the bar, so I knew it was going to be a silly one.

“Do you carry a gun?”

I was right.

“Why, does that make any difference?” I asked.

“No, but, I just wondered. Sorry, I was out of line.”

“Yes, you were. But, yes, sometimes I do,” I said, standing up. “Goodbye John.”

I then walked out, leaving him staring after me.

Back in London, I met Harry and told him what I had. He had one of the specialists come in and take a look at the chemical list. That’s when the red flag was placed on the job. My first!

“These chemicals are innocuous and relatively harmless by themselves, but the quantity and varieties lead me to one conclusion. Whoever took these has chosen well, as together they will made a nasty bomb. Not something big enough to destroy a building, but something that could take out an aircraft, or certainly derail a train,” the specialist said.

Harry made a decision.

“Right, Jo, you’re lead agent on this one. I want you to get everything about this man, his relatives, associates and complete life history. Where did he go to in Pakistan? Who did he meet there? Why did he extend his holiday? Which mosque does he attend? Who are the clerics he listens to? What tapes or CDs are in his room or car? I want this man’s complete profile on the wall as soon as possible. I’m giving you Malcolm and Jamie as back up and to assist in any research. If necessary, get MI6 to get a man in Pakistan to get us the information we need, okay?” he asked.

I was stunned but excited.

“Go, get on with it,” he said.

“Yes boss,” I replied, grinning.

The next few days were full of fevered activity, as we liaised with other departments, agencies and the police to get as much information as possible on our suspect, or X-ray as he was to become.

He held a UK passport, so immigration authorities had little on him. One of our people, of Pakistani descent, called at the address posing as a representative from an opinion poll company, and was able to obtain masses of information about the family and friends from Ahmed’s sister who thought she was in with a chance of winning a car. She also told our man all about Ahmed’s trip to Pakistan, although interesting actually didn’t help us a great deal, as it was bare of any real details.

However, she did drop one piece of information which was helpful.

“He’s really taken on the faith since his trip,” she told him.

“The Muslim faith?”

“Yes, he wasn’t interested before, but I think he found it good to go back to our roots. He met someone at the local mosque who was able to help him find his faith again.”

“You wouldn’t know who? As I’m interested in reading any new material by clerics.”

“He brought back some books, I’ll see if they’re in his room,” she said, leaving the room for a moment. While alone, our man placed a small device inside their telephone, just in case Ahmed used it.

"There’s a couple, here,” she said on her return, handing over a couple of tatty tracts.

The author was billed as being Ali Mahommed Mehmet. He made a note and gave them back, changing the subject to household goods, so distracting her. He was thorough, so by keeping her for another fifteen minutes talking about cleaning products, she was totally convinced at his legitimacy.

Mehmet wasn’t known to us, but on checking with the US counterparts, we learned that they didn’t list him as a top drawer, Pakistani cleric, but was known for making outrageous and inflammatory remarks about America and the West in general. They were interested that we were asking, as his name had popped up several times during certain interrogations of suspected Al Qaeda terrorists. They suspected he was somewhere on a chain that led to a training camp in Pakistan.
I felt we were getting warm, so did Harry when I brought him up to date.

“Okay, I don’t want our section bogged down in all the early surveillance, so we’ll use a specialist team until we know what we’ve got,” he told me.

This meant a team from one of the police surveillance units, depending upon whose area the major players resided. This was the normal practice, so if there was a problem that required early intervention, then the police would act, using, in this case, the alleged theft of chemicals as a reason, and not advertising the terrorist links at an early stage.

I contacted the Thames Valley Police, eventually getting through to someone at command level, who was less than enthusiastic until I told him that our department would meet the bulk of the costs.

Now, all we could do was wait.
 
 
The surveillance lasted for three weeks. In which time, Ahmed managed to give us six of his associates, all local young men of no known criminal activity from ordinary families Checks were made and they all had one thing in common, tracts from the cleric, Ali Mahommed Mehmet. Two of them we were able to eliminate from any conspiracy, by virtue of the fact they were away from the High Wycombe area. One was working in London and the other was at college in Reading. The others, however, were all involved with Ahmed, so we knew that we might have at least five all together.

Also, Ahmed had taken a short term lease on a small warehouse on a rural industrial estate near Chipping Norton in Oxfordshire. There didn’t appear to be any link with other groups, so it was the consensus that they were working in isolation and not part of a larger conspiracy. My surveillance of the unit, usually in the cold and damp, placed all five in and around the unit, and this activity had increased recently, so Harry made the decision to go in with the police.

I contacted John the informant, who told me that Ahmed had been acting very tense and withdrawn of late. It was another factor in the decision to go. Ahmed had taken a week off work, so if anything was going to happen, it seemed likely that it was to be imminent.

“This is your job, Josie, so you attend the police station and conduct the briefing. Let the police undertake the entry, as they’re the ones trained to do this, but ensure that they’re well aware that there may be explosives on the premises, as well as firearms,” Harry told me.

It was feeling rather nervous when I arrived at Chipping Norton. I parked my Mini and entered the station, showing my ID to the officer on the desk. I was shown into a large briefing room where there were more police officers than I’d seen on one room in my life. There was a Special Branch DI waiting for me. His name was Gordon Wallace and we’d been in touch by phone daily for the last week. I’d also had a meeting with the Support Group Inspector who was leading the Police Firearms teams.

“Hi Josie, all set?” Gordon said.

"Yup, you?”

“Certainly. The local Superintendent wants a word. His name is Bartlett and he’s a bit of old fashioned,” he said.

As he finished speaking the uniformed Superintendent came over and looked me up and down.

“Sir, this is the officer from Special Ops,” Gordon said, by way of introduction.

“You’re the agent in charge?” he asked, almost disbelieving.
“Josie Fullerton,” I said, holding my hand out.

He shook it, but I think he was taken aback over my age and appearance.

“You’re conducting the briefing?” he asked.

“Just the intelligence details, as I’ve spoken to the support group Inspector, and he’ll brief your chaps on the approach and entry. I’ll go in when the building is secure. I want to stress that once the Army give the all clear, we must attempt to secure as much evidence as possible, so I won’t get in the way,” I told him.

He seemed reassured, even smiling a little.

“You seem very young to be doing this,” he said.

I just looked at him. “I’ve been doing this a while, and this isn’t my first raid.” I said, rather too primly.

“I’m sorry, it’s just I didn’t expect someone like, um, well someone as young, um, looking,” he said, digging himself a deeper hole.

“That’s to my advantage, as no one expects me to do what I do,” I said, relaxing a little.

“That’s certainly true, well, let’s get on, time to do it,” he said, standing up and calling for quiet.

“Okay ladies and gents, let’s have a bit of hush. We’re here to conduct a raid on a business premises as a result of a lengthy investigation by the security services. Miss Fullerton is an officer from the Security Service, and she will be giving you a bit of background as agent in charge. Miss Fullerton,” he said, looking at me.
I smiled and stood up.

“Thanks, Superintendent. Right, here’s what we know……”

Once I’d given them the basic background, including all details of the suspects, with photographs, I passed over to the Support Group Inspector. He briefed his people on the approach, the breach, and then the search to contact and the arrest.

“Miss Fullerton has told us that there is likely to be explosives on the premises. From what we understand, these have been manufactured from different chemicals on site, and so aren’t military or industrial explosives. There is a possibility that one or more of the suspects will be armed, so we go in expecting the worst. They aren’t expecting us, but the helicopter will be in support with thermal imaging, so if there are hotspots we’ll get a heads-up.

“The building is one of six on a small industrial estate. They are laid out with three to the right and three to the left as we enter. Our target is the last on the right. Fortunately it’s a fair distance from any main roads or habitation, which is probably why they selected it. Two of the units are vacant at this time, one of them being the centre one, next to the target.

“Team one; you go in through the main door. We won’t fuck about with the roller shutters; just go through the smaller door. Team Two, follow behind in support and open the rollers, so the army can get their vehicle as close as possible. Team three, take the perimeter. I want riflemen on the roof of the adjoining buildings covering each window and door, and I want each team to have their evidence gatherer with the camera in prominent position. To our knowledge, there is one rear fire door, which we won’t use for access, but will cover in case they attempt to decamp.

“The dogs will go in with the second team. Keep the explosives dog back until we need it. If any of the suspects twitch and look as if they’re about to go for a gun or dead man switch, just take the head shot. I don’t want anyone to die today, but if it’s a choice between them and us, it’s them every time, okay?”

There were nods and grunts from the officers. They all looked quite grim, and the apprehension in the air was tangible.

“Look,” I said, “I’ve done several of these recently, and all you need to know is that once the suspects are restrained and under control, then just get the hell out, taking them with you and preserving the scene for the explosives team from the army. It’s vital that we get as much forensic evidence as possible, but not at the risk of being blown away.”

Standing at the back of the room were two of the Amy bomb Disposal team, having just arrived, parking their big van next to my mini. It was good to see them, as they were highly skilled and experienced in all these I.E.D.s that terrorists were building these days. I’d passed over all the details of the chemicals and quantities involved, so they knew roughly what to expect. On my last meeting, the WO2, Andy Granger had been surprised at the amount of chemical involved.

“It’s either one bloody big bomb that will need a fair sized vehicle to get it into place, or several smaller ones, each capable of a fair amount of damage,” he told me.

The Inspector went through some more details, and then it was time to go.

The adrenaline was coursing through me as the first police team approached the target building. Using plain 4x4 vehicles, the dark figures in their body armour, helmets and MP5s were in place very quickly. In a practised and deceptively easy movement, the front door was breached and several pairs of armed officers entered.

I heard them shouting, “Armed police, armed police, don’t move, don’t move, don’t move!”

Then I heard, “Office clear!”

“Main area Clear, three X-rays arrested!”

“Upper rooms clear, two X-rays arrested!”

I was entering the front door as the last came over my earpiece.

Each of the suspects was in handcuffs and being controlled by an officer, none were able to communicate with their friends. They looked shocked and dazed, but mainly they looked like terrified kids caught smoking joints behind the bike sheds. In the main area of the unit was a series of six large plastic barrels, each holding around twenty litres of liquid. On the top of each were a small electronic timer, some batteries and wires leading into the container.

The army bomb disposal team arrived. Andy Granger took one look and told us all to evacuate the building.

“Put the cordon at least five hundred metres away!” he said.

I noticed a laptop on one of the work benches. I was already wearing latex gloves, so told the officer taking the photographs to take a photo of it in situ, and then make a note that I was taking it.

Once I got outside, the police were already evacuating the other buildings, having removed the suspects by van to different police stations in the first instance.
I waited for the building to be made safe, standing by the forward command vehicle, the Firearms Inspector’s Land Rover Discovery. It didn’t take long. Andy walked over to us.

“That is some serious shit. Any ideas where they were going to plant them?” he asked.

“None, hopefully the details are in here or lying about in there somewhere,” I said, holding up the laptop. Gordon had already left, to set up the interviews of the suspects. Two Home Office forensic officers arrived, along with the police scenes of crime officer.

“Hi Josie, ready for us?” Mike Holmes, one of the H.O.F.O.s, asked.

“It’s all yours, good luck.”

I then left him talking to the army. I took my body armour off and relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief. I suddenly felt drained, but knew that the work wasn’t over yet.

On my way back to Oxford, as that’s where the main suspects had been taken, I called Harry on my hands free.

“Done, Harry. All X-rays taken and IEDs intact. Oh, and I’ve seized a laptop from the building,” I said.

”I know, well done.”

“Thanks.”

“What do you want me to do now?”

“Leave the SB to conduct the interviews, as they’re experts at that. Just liaise with them and then get that laptop back for Mike to take a look at. Was there any paperwork at the site?” he asked.

“Not that I could see, but then I didn’t hang about, as the army were anxious to get us a long way from the building. Mike Holmes is in there now, so if there’s anything there, he’ll secure it.”

“Great, can you brief the police on what to give the press?”

“I’ve already spoken to the Superintendent Bartlett, but I’m sure the Chief Constable will want in on the act.”

“Right, I’ll see you back at the office in a few hours. Job well done Jo, you’ve done well.”

Thanks, but think what might have happened had I not,” I said.

“That’s the same across the board. They just have to be lucky once, while we have to be lucky all the time!”
 
 

*          *          *
 
End of Part 2
 
 
To Be Continued...