As these thoughts chased each other in circles around Will's head, he heard Laura's voice chiming in his mind, as clearly as if she were standing there with him.
Be sure, Will, it said. Do what you have to do, but be sure of everything before you act.
Will blinked. In an instant, the confusion that had shrouded him since the previous night disappeared, like mist burned away by the sun. His mind was suddenly clear. The way forward was obvious.
He tucked into his food, suddenly content in the knowledge that he knew what he was going to do. Content in the knowledge that he had a plan.
All he had to do was put it into action.
Lowther Pankhurst looked up from his desk to see Don Priestley storm through the door.
'It's customary to knock, Don,' he said, mildly.
'It's customary not to fuck up, Lowther,' the American practically shouted, his voice loaded with sarcasm.
The call had come in several hours ago. Two of the SAS team dead, Latifa Ahmed missing and no word from Will Jackson. The surrounding area was being searched, but they were presuming that he had been taken hostage or was dead — there was no other reason for the radio silence from him. Since hearing the news, Pankhurst's day had got progressively worse and having the usually calm Don Priestley yelling at him wasn't making it any better.
'Don't you British get it? Don't you understand what this guy is capable of?'
'I think we have a pretty good idea what he's capable of, Don. 'He handed the fuming CIA boss a sheaf of A4 photographs. 'Your boys trained him pretty well.' The pictures showed the scene of devastation at the country house, along with gruesome, bloody close-ups of the dead men. The room resembled a battlefield. Priestley examined them for a moment before looking back at Pankhurst.
'Two bodies,' the American noted. 'What about your third guy?'
'Missing,' Pankhurst replied.
It was a strange thing, but as he spoke Pankhurst couldn't help but notice a flicker of edginess pass over Priestley's face, as though what he had just said was not what he wanted to hear. 'Missing?'
'We haven't found a body yet, but Will Jackson hasn't made contact. He's either dead or taken hostage.'
Priestley nodded his head, slowly. 'Of course,' he said. 'Of course. Look, Lowther, I apologise for just now—'
'No apology required, Don,' Pankhurst replied, politely, though he could sense that there was a hint of wariness in his own voice. 'It's a stressful situation for all of us. The Prime Minister has been informed and he's called a meeting of COBRA.We're working on the assumption that when Faisal Ahmed finds out what we did to his sister it will only spur him on. The city's on high alert. We might not be able to prevent what's coming, but perhaps we can limit the casualties.'
Priestley's eyes narrowed slightly. 'You'll let me know if you find Jackson's body, Lowther?'
Pankhurst looked at his CIA counterpart. There was no doubt about it. Priestley was edgy.
'Of course I will, Don,' he replied. 'Of course I will.'
Will bought a change of clothes in a nearby department store, then took a tube to North London. He knew where he was going, but he had to trust to chance that she would be in. There was no one else he felt he could trust and right now he needed help more than anything else. He found he could navigate to the terraced house almost on autopilot, and at 10 a.m. he was ringing the buzzer for the upstairs flat.
No answer. 'Shit,' he muttered under his breath, and continued walking down the street.
Every hour, on the hour, he tried the doorbell. No luck. 'She'll be at work,' a neighbour told him at midday. Will nodded gruffly, put his head down and walked away.
Come nightfall, he took up position at the corner of the street. It was just after eight o'clock that a black cab pulled up in front of the door. Will waited for the familiar figure to pay the driver and let herself into the flat before he approached again and rang the bell.
'Hello?'
Kate's voice sounded confused over the intercom, as though she was not used to receiving visitors at this time of night.
'It's me. Will.'
A pause. And then, almost kitten-like, 'Hello, Will.' The door buzzed and he pushed it open. He saw Kate waiting at the top of the stairs. 'You're an international man of mystery,' she giggled as he approached and Will wondered if she'd had a couple of drinks. 'I thought you'd swanned out of my life, never to return.'
'I'm full of surprises,' he replied. Now that he was standing in front of her, he could smell alcohol on her breath. She wasn't too far gone, just mellow. She needed her wits about her if she was going to do what he intended to ask her, so that meant waiting till morning.
'Aren't you though?' She stepped aside to let him in. 'Glass of wine?'
'Thanks,' Will said. He watched as her attractive figure sashayed into the kitchen where she filled him a large glass of chilled white, then handed it to him with a look that would have been mysterious if Will hadn't seen it before. In this new world of uncertainties one thing at least was clear: he wouldn't be sleeping alone tonight. He took a sip and closed his eyes as he felt the alcohol hit his chest, then spread its relaxing tendrils through his body. For one night, at least, no one knew where he was; he could do nothing until the morning; he could try and forget about it all. He finished his glass of wine quickly and it was swiftly replenished by Kate, but he never got a chance to finish it. Only two gulps in, she was pulling him meaningfully towards her and pressing her lips against his. Will offered no resistance.
It was a serious kind of kiss and when it was over he pushed her gently on to the sofa. She fell elegantly and looked up at him with a seductive smile. 'You know what?' she breathed. 'You've really made my evening.'
'Mine too,' Will replied, feeling the almost unbearable stresses of the last few days slip momentarily away. 'Mine too.'
They made love into the small hours and after that Will slept soundly. He awoke with the daylight to find Kate sitting up, a sheet wrapped around her. She was staring intently at him, her dark hair falling appealingly over the side of her face. Will smiled up at her.
'Where've you been?' she asked.
'Here and there,' he replied, evasively.
'You're not going to tell me.'
'I can't. There's lots of reasons why.'
'OK,' she said. 'If you won't tell me that, then tell me why you left the SAS.'
Will blinked. 'How did you—?'
'I'm a journalist, Will. It's what I do.'
'And do you do background research on all your one-night stands?'
'I'm not cheap,' Kate said suddenly, earnestly. 'I don't normally—'
Before she could finish, Will had raised his hand and gently put his forefinger against her lips. 'I know,' he said.
Kate nodded and Will had the impression she was glad to have got that off her chest. 'Why have you come back?' she asked, quietly.
'To see you.'
'You're a charmer, Will. But what's the real reason?'
Will took a deep breath. She was sharp. 'I need you to do something for me.'
Kate looked at him archly. 'I did quite a lot of things for you last night.'
He smiled. 'This is a bit different. I want you to make a phone call. I'd make it myself, but the people I need to get in touch with would recognise my voice and I can't let that happen.'
She looked at him seriously. 'Why not? Who am I phoning?'
'His name is Donald Priestley. He works for the CIA in London.'
Kate narrowed her eyes. 'Is this a wind-up, Will?'
He shook his head. 'No. It's not a wind-up. It's deadly serious. I'm trying to find out if Priestley's been doing—' He searched for the words. 'Something wrong,' he concluded, a bit inadequately. 'If he finds out I suspect anything about it, I'm a dead man walking.'