Yes, he needed a vacation. They’d told him that. He needed a complete break; everybody did, everybody connected with Argos. They had ordered him to take a break. So he had chosen to come to London, despite their protests about leaving Europe well alone. London was a city he could happily get lost in, and wander through all day from district to district. He liked almost everything about it, including the things the Londoners themselves seemed to loathe, such as the subway system. So, having waited for his baggage, he headed downwards, beneath the ground, far away from the sunlight and the sky, and bought a ticket to Green Park station, from where it would be only a short walk to his hotel. The other people who got into his compartment of the Tube train were travellers like himself, hauling too much baggage behind them. He himself was travelling light by comparison. You could always buy what you hadn’t brought, especially with the thick wallet of travellers’ cheques they had given him.

‘Look on it as a bonus,’ they had said. A bonus for what? he was tempted to ask. But he had never questioned anything in his life … until now. Now, his head was full of unanswered questions and fears. He again examined his fellow passengers, and saw that they looked every bit as nervous as he felt. First-timers in London, he supposed, and wary of every step.

Maybe at last he could stop looking over his shoulder. Maybe he could stop worrying about what he had seen, what they seemed to know he had seen. And had paid him to forget about, paid him by way of a holiday, a swanky hotel, a plastic wallet full of paper money. Maybe they’d leave him alone. And maybe when he stopped worrying, he’d stop thinking about it too.

Maybe, but he doubted it.

Still, he had to make it look like a holiday. He would visit a few of the sights, do a little shopping. All the time waiting for his new controller to make contact. He had asked for one, and they had agreed to his request, though reluctantly. But he had negotiated from a position of strength. He had information after all, didn’t he? He had something to tell. If only he knew what it was …

13

The morning was bright, despite Martin Hepton’s mood. He awakened to his clock radio, just in time to catch a studio debate between someone from the Pentagon and the Minister for Defence turning into a full-scale shouting match. The radio presenter sounded genuinely alarmed as accusations were hurled across the table. Lack of co-operation, distinct misunderstanding of the mood of the European Community, defenders not terrorists, never asked to be here in the first place. Et cetera.