‘Are you sure it was Lockland who actually arrested him?’

‘She did, sir. Check the recording.’

‘I think we should destroy that recording. In the interests of everyone’s credibility.’

‘Agreed, sir. So – this drink then . . .’

He sighed. ‘Bollocks.’

‘Ah. Do I detect a St Mary’s expletive?’

He looked down at himself. ‘I should get cleaned up.’

‘I was hoping you would, sir. Shall we say in twenty minutes, in the bar?’

‘What can I get you?’

She pondered. ‘Something expensive. And with an umbrella, I think.’

There were three recreational facilities at TPHQ. The first, designated the ‘Pig’s Bar’, was for those who, for whatever reason, couldn’t be bothered to make the effort. For those returning from a mission covered in blood and mud and who lacked the strength or inclination to shower and change – this was the place. Or for those fresh (or otherwise) from the gym. The dress code was very informal. Only nightwear was discouraged – Commander Hay had made her displeasure known to those who drank in their pyjamas – but almost anything else was acceptable.

The second bar, located on the second floor, enjoyed a view out over the Thames and was for those who were neat, clean and not actually bleeding.

A third bar, on the top floor, although democratically open to all, was usually frequented only by very senior officers, it being felt the organisation as a whole benefitted from them being up there out of harm’s way while everyone else got on with doing real things in the real world.

Major Ellis had tactfully chosen the second floor. There were fewer fights and the view was better.

They settled themselves and North sipped her drink. Ellis couldn’t help noting she was one of the few people able to drink from a glass containing a paper umbrella without blinding herself.

‘You’ve been with us for a couple of years now, Officer North. How are you finding it?’

‘Good, thank you.’

‘I’m still not completely sure what made you leave St Mary’s in the first place.’

‘Well, I wanted to run the place, but I could see that was never going to happen. Then when I came here to give evidence against those illegals who forced Max and me to jump to 1st-century Jerusalem, I rather liked what you were doing here.’

‘So you thought you’d run this place instead?’

‘Well, not immediately, of course. I estimate it will take between ten and twelve years.’

He blinked. ‘I was joking.’

‘I wasn’t.’

In another part of the building, things weren’t going as well. Parrish had disappeared, presumably in search of his blonde from Logistics. Lockland had been detained by North, so Farrell heaved his gear over his shoulder and set off for his cubicle.

He was diverted along the way.