Harry considers his next words carefully: "I don't want to lean on you, Bob, but I need more than your word for that. Seeing as how it's for you and the delectable Dominique—give her my regards—I think we can bend the rules far enough to fit, but I shall need to put a ward on the trigger guard."

"A—How?" That's new to me.

"It's a new technique the eggheads in Q-Projects have come up with: they take a drop of your blood and key the trigger guard so that the only finger that'll fit through it is yours. Of course," his voice drops confidingly, "that doesn't stop the bad guys from chopping your finger off and using it to work the trigger; but they've got to take the gun and the finger off you before they can shoot you with it. Let's just say, it's more about stopping pistols from going walkies in public than about stopping your lady wife from offing you in a fit of jealous passion."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, I can live with that."

He brightens: "Also, we can make it invisible, and silent."

"Wha—hey! You mean you've got real concealed carry?"

He winks at me.

"Okay, I would like that, too. Um. As long as it's not invisible to me, also. And, um, the holster. An invisible gun in a visible holster would be kind of inconvenient . . ."

"It'll be invisible to anyone who doesn't have a warrant card, my son, or your money back."

"Will you match my life insurance, if it isn't and some bright spark sets an SO19 team on me?" (One of the reasons I am reluctant to carry a handgun in public is that the London Metropolitan Police have a zero-tolerance approach to anyone else carrying guns, and while their specialist firearms teams don't officially have a shoot-to-kill policy, you try finding a Brazilian plumber who does call-out work during a bomb scare these days.)

"I think we can back that, yes." Harry sounds amused. "Is that your lot?"

"It'll do." A new ward for myself, a Hand of Glory if I need to make a quick strategic withdrawal, and a gun to keep at home that I can carry in public if I absolutely have to: What more could an extremely worried spook ask for? Ah, I know. "Do you have any alarms?" I ask.

"I thought you was dead-set on home defense the DIY way." Harry looks momentarily scornful, then thoughtful: "Things ain't that bad yet, are they?"

"Could be." I shove my hands deep in my pockets and do my best to look gloomy. "Could be."