"Alpha Seven, he's going to cross the canal on foot. We need cover on the south side of the canal. We're going to lose him."
The transceiver crackled.
"Affirmative, Alpha Seven."
The two men hurried down the alley. It branched left and right.
"This way," said the detective. The driver rushed after him.
The alley led to the canal towpath. A metal footbridge ran across the canal, barely twenty feet above the surface of the water. Donovan and the girl were already dashing down the steps on the far side. A car was waiting at the side of the road, its engine running.
The detective grabbed the driver's arm and pulled them back. There was nothing they could do on foot and there was no point in showing themselves.
"Tango One is getting into a blue saloon. Possibly a Vauxhall. Registration number unknown. We've lost him. Repeat, we have lost Tango One."
"What do you mean "we", Alpha Seven?" crackled the transceiver.
"What's going on, Den?" asked Tina as the blue saloon accelerated away from the curb.
Donovan flashed her a smile.
"Gatecrashers," said Donovan.
"Can't be too careful." He leaned forward and patted Kim Fletcher on the shoulder.
"Nice one, Kim," he said.
"Did you get the other thing?"
Fletcher popped open the glove compartment and handed Donovan a video cassette.
"He said something about the early worm catching the bird."
Donovan stroked the matt black video cassette.
"What is it?" asked Tina.
"The entertainment," said Donovan. He patted her on the leg.
"Come on, Louise, cheer up. You're behaving like a right wet blanket."
Tina forced herself to smile.
"That's better," said Donovan.
He and Tina sat in silence as Fletcher drove through the morning traffic. He kept checking his mirrors and twice did a series of left turns to make sure that he wasn't being followed, then he drove east towards Docklands.
Tina stared out of the window with unseeing eyes, wondering where Donovan was taking her. And why. Did he know who she was? Or did he just suspect and wanted to interrogate her, to find out for sure? And if he was just suspicious, could she lie her way out of it? Or was she better just to confess all, tell him that she was a police officer? No one murdered a police officer in cold blood, not even Tango One.
Now that Fletcher had shaken off any tail, Tina knew that she was on her own. There would be no last-minute rescue, no cavalry charge over the hill. No one knew where she was or the trouble she was in. Why had no one answered the phone? Where was Hathaway? He'd promised her that there would always be someone at the end of the line. It was her get-out-of-jail-free card. Her lifeline. And the one time she'd needed it, it had failed her.
Fletcher indicated he was turning right. He used a small remote control unit to open a set of metal gates and then the car bobbed down into an underground car park. They parked close to an elevator. A balding man with a curved scar above his left ear and a black leather jacket was waiting by the elevator door.
Donovan hugged the man.
"Everything okay, Charlie?"
The man nodded. Donovan introduced him to Tina.
"Charlie Macfadyen," he said.
"One of the best."
"Pleased to meet you," said Tina.
"Everybody here?" Donovan asked Macfadyen.
"Just waiting for the guest of honour," said Macfadyen. He punched the elevator button and the door rattled open. The three men stepped to the side to allow Tina to walk in first. She felt her legs trembling but she kept her head up and her lips pressed tightly together. She walked into the lift and then turned to face them, feeling like a condemned prisoner about to be taken before the firing squad.
Macfadyen pressed the button for the top floor. The penthouse. The door rattled shut. Donovan hummed to himself as the lift rode upwards.
Macfadyen winked at Tina.
"All right, love?" he asked.
"Not scared of heights, are you?"
Tina shook her head. No, it wasn't heights that she was scared of.
The lift doors opened into a large airy hallway. At one end of the hallway was a window with a panoramic view of the Thames. Another man was waiting outside the door to the penthouse suite. He pushed the door open and grinned at Donovan.
"Okay, Den?"
"Perfect, Ricky," said Donovan.
"I don't think you've met my date, have you? Louise, this is Ricky. Ricky Jordan."
Jordan stuck out his hand and Tina shook. Jordan grinned at her with amused eyes. They were toying with her, Tina knew. They were all toying with her like cats torturing an injured mouse.
"In you go, Louise," said Macfadyen.
Tina walked into the apartment. It was a large loft-style space with exposed brickwork and girders, and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on to the river. Three men were standing by the window, looking out and talking in hushed voices. They turned to look at her, their faces hard and unsmiling.
Tina looked to her right. Two men were tied to chairs, strips of insulation tape across their mouths. One of the men was black, the other white. Next to the two men was a third chair. Donovan gestured at it.
"Take a seat, Louise."
"I'm okay, thanks," she said.
Donovan's eyes hardened and he pointed at the chair.
"What's this about, Den?" she asked.
"You know what this about," he said.
"Now sit down or I'll have the boys tie you down."
Fletcher closed the door and stood with his back to it, his arms folded across his barrel-like chest.
Tina sat down. She looked across at the two bound and gagged men. The black man was staring straight ahead, his back rigid, his jaw tight. The white man was looking around as if trying to find a way out. His face was bathed in sweat and the tape across his mouth moved in and out in time with his breathing.
Donovan stood in front of the white man. He held out a sheet of paper. Tina looked across but couldn't see what it was.
"James Robert Fullerton," said Donovan. He dropped the sheet of paper on to Fullerton's lap, then stepped across to stand in front of the black man.
"Clifford Warren." Donovan held the sheet of paper a few inches in front of Warren's face. Tina could make out a crest on top of the sheet. The crest of the Metropolitan Police. Donovan placed the sheet of paper on Warren's lap.
He held out a third sheet in front of Tina. Her heart sank as she recognised it. It was her application to join the Met.
"Den .. ." she said, but Donovan put a finger against her lips.
"Don't speak," he said.
"Don't spoil the moment. If you say anything, I'll have them gag you, okay?"
Tina nodded.
"Good girl," he said.
"Christina Louise Leigh." He held out the sheet. Tina took it but didn't look at it.
Donovan took a few steps back, then slowly began to clap. He clapped for several seconds, a sarcastic smile on his face.
"I want to applaud the three of you," he said.
"You fooled me. You absolutely fooled me. I wouldn't have made any one of you as a narc, but then you're like no other narcs, are you? You're not in any undercover unit with the Met or NCIS and your handler was a spook."
He smiled at the look of confusion on their faces.
"Didn't you know, Gregg Hathaway's a spook? MI6. You were being run by the Secret Intelligence Service."
"No, that's not right," protested Tina, but Donovan silenced her with a cold look.
"I've been trying to work out over the last twelve hours why you fooled me. Why I didn't spot you. I guess it's because you're none of you playing a part, are you? You are what you are. Even down to using your real names." He turned to look at Ricky Jordan.
"I mean, what undercover agent uses their own name, right?" Ricky nodded at Donovan. Donovan looked at Mac-fad yen who also nodded in agreement.