The Mist Series Box Set

By Nagwa Malik

Espionage is usually a dull job: nowadays it isn’t about looking for information as much as it is verifying information already known: gathering evidence that helps sift between fabrication and truth. Nowadays intelligence and counterintelligence does more verifications than actual obtaining of unknown information: everyone already knows what is going on, the problem is there is too much information, and the truth gets hidden behind layers and layers of misinformation and disinformation and well scripted edited versions of information...the work, then, becomes all about going through all those layers to find the simple, unadulterated truth in order to be able to do something concrete about it, or in order to take well-informed steps. Global warfare has never ended, just changed: it is more a war of smoke and daggers than ever: manipulating masses with fabricated news and information and achieving your goal of invasion of countries that are not obliging Uncle Sam and his allies, the latest of which was the “war on terror” charade, that took decades of failed attempts to finally achieve. But the rest of the world doesn’t live in the cocoon the Western countries have enclosed their people in: the rest of the world knows what is going on. The problem is to remove all that smokescreen so that the real truth gets exposed and the attempt at global manipulation and blackmail is foiled.
And herein comes Tanya, our exquisite Knight, whose specialty is knowing the truth behind all the BS, and accessing it in a way no one else can. The war is old, the manipulation even older: Tanya will have to dig into the past, and travel all over the world in order to break the mirrors and smother the smoke and she will have to rely on Burke, her old friend, now a potential threat and enemy in the world of espionage ̶ will they manage to pull it off together? Will it cost them their friendship? Will it cost them their lives?
Find out in the complete series Stage One and Stage Two.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nagwa Malik
• Release date: Jun 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005243814

Nagwa Malik

Nagwa has been telling stories for as long as she remembers. At bedtime, the two sisters would have a tradition of making up or adding to the adventures of the ladybird series “Peter and Jane”, which then led to creating and telling original stories. It was only natural, perhaps, that she would graduate into writing stories later on.Nagwa Malik, born in Gumel, Nigeria and having spent her childhood between the UK and Nigeria, shifted to Pakistan her home country, still a young child where she is now a Language and Communication Skills Instructor, working mainly with professionals. Before that she used to teach French and Script-writing at reputed Schools and Universities. She is a double Masters' degree holder (French and Script-writing respectively) having obtained the second Master’s degree from City University, London with honours. Her Master’s in French was obtained from the University of the Punjab in which she passed as a position holder aged 20.Nagwa has been writing since she was 11 and published her first novel at the age of 15 which was a success. She has written a total of 40 plus novels but has been focused-until now- on her studies and later her career as a writer/producer and teacher putting her publications on hold. Apart from that she has written articles for Newspapers like The News International.Now that the sober account of her has been done with, a little bit about the person: Nagwa considers life to be lived as a traveller and is an ambivert who loves nature, animals, travelling, languages (she has a flair for grasping new languages very quickly) and, last but not least, her solitude. When she is not writing, she rejuvenates herself by watching her favourite K, J, C and Thai dramas...Korean being her favourite as they were what "brought back the spark" in her life, especially creative.To read her interview on Express Tribune please check this ink:http://tribune.com.pk/story/622538/opportune-storytelling-of-fact-fiction-and-fable/Also on mercedesfox:https://mercedesfoxbooks.com/meet-author-nagwa-malik/And;http://bernetahaynes.com/1/post/2016/03/author-interview-nagwa-malik.htmlhttp://mybookplace.net/nagwa-malik/https://thisiswriting.com/author-interviews-nagwa-malik-and-the-mist/Paperbacks can be ordered from Amazon, Createspace and Barnes and Noble.

Book preview

THE MIST Series Box Set

By Nagwa Malik

The Mist Series Box Set political spy thriller First printing 2021 USA

Copyright © 2021 by Nagwa Malik

ISBN 9781005243814

Smashwords Edition

The Mist Stage One written by Nagwa Malik: © 2010

The Mist Stage Two written: © 2015

Edited by Fatima Hasan

Cover art by NM

Cover design: images adapted and remixed from original Lime.adeel, Viki Loves Monuments 2014

CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Syed Bilal Javaid, CC BY-SA 4.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Published by

NZ ENT.32 Westwood Colony

Commercial area, Thokar, Raiwind Rd.

Lahore, Pakistan

This book is available

in print at most online retailers

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

The characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance whatsoever is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Prologue

The Mist Stage One

The Mist Stage Two

Book One

Book Two

Other books by Nagwa Malik

About Nagwa Malik

Connect with Nagwa

The ex-director of the ISI has formed a covert operation of extreme secrecy that no one knows of its existence. It is known as ‘The White Mist’ or simply ‘The Mist.’

I would like my readers to know that although all information in this book are facts and based on facts, it is essentially a work of fiction, including the naming of such an organisation as THE MIST. It being a work of fiction, I have taken the liberty to use my artistic license to change little aspects of the information, such as certain names and the placement or time of the given facts. I hope you will sit back and just enjoy the whole story as a source of entertainment.

THE MIST

Stage One: The Prelude/ the cumulative effect

By Nagwa Malik

LONDON– residential area near Hyde Park/Pakistan Embassy

Lights bobbed up and down and still cars seemed to rush by in a blur in the dark night, with semi-lit streets, as Tanya ran for her life on the road. Running did not stop her from noting the doors up the stairs, the black grills adorning the very short walls with the garbage cans sitting on the footpaths, their rancid smells wafting through the air, assaulting her overwrought senses. On the opposite side, to her right was the iron grill, bordering the big park. She sped on, past the cars, still on the road. Suddenly she shifted to cross the road, running by the border of the park. She did not look behind, but heard the footsteps and calculated their speed as opposed to hers. The footsteps were faint, but resuming volume. She made a mad dash to the immediate right, staying with the park’s lining, until she reached a bus stop. She quickly noted the chart which showed the buses, their routes. Scanning it hurriedly, she ignored the chart as the first bus came. She skipped into the queue and neatly stumbled into the bus.

Footsteps hurried and closed in. The owner of the black boots was also clad in black. His face could not be seen until he walked directly under the light. His hair was dark, his skin light. He was European, maybe English. His eyes were light. He seemed lean, but his neck was rather thick like an ex-athlete’s.

Tanya dropped off as the bus stopped and began to cross the road. She made her way towards the footpath and walked briskly towards the street going straight in. There was another rather small park curving in with the street. She followed it, then crossed to the left side of the street. She kept on to the sidewalk although there was no real need. This was not a traffic lane. She finally reached the Pakistan Embassy. The guard there was having a fag. Normally there would be none, but due to recent events a guard was given the night shift only a few days ago. Seeing her, he quickly dropped his cigarette and looked at her, his eyes wide in surprise.

‘Let me in.’

‘Look here, miss, I don’t know—’

‘Look here, don’t you try that British accent with me. Mai aik Pakistani hoon aur mujhay abhi aur issi waqt andar jana hai. Yeh mera card.’

She shoved her card at his face. He first glared at her, but her shoving did the trick and he moved his head back instinctively to save himself then saw the card.

‘Maafi chahta hoon. Really. Aap please andar jaain.’

‘Tala khol do.’

He opened it quickly and moved to let her in.

‘Madam?’

Inside, she turned to face him. He pleaded and begged forgiveness.

‘Mujhay please maaf kar dijyay. Mujhay pata nahin tha. I swear.’

‘I know. Now close the door and quick.’

He complied and started to light another cigarette, his hand shaking. It wasn’t more than ten minutes later that the same man could be seen coming. He walked up the steps to the Embassy door when the guard placed a hand on his chest.

‘Hey, what you think you doing mate? This is the Pakistan Embassy. And it’s closed.’

‘Let me in.’

The guard smiled at him, puffing out smoke at his face.

‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me first time, mate. Closed,’ he repeated slowly and clearly, as if talking to the mentally retarded. ‘The embassy is closed. If you try to enter in you are aware of the number of laws you’ll be breaking? Now go. Come tomorrow. I’m sure you can wait till 9:00am? Yeah?’

The man tried to push him, but the guard quickly held his wrist tightly, mid-air.

‘No mate. Don’t try it. The police will be coming in three minutes.’ The guard made to check his watch, worn on the left hand.

The man glared at him. He calculated the risks, as he watched the guard stare at him nonchalantly. What were the odds the guard wasn’t telling the truth? But then the woman had gone inside, he was sure of that and it maybe that she would call somebody, even if not the police. He jerked his arm off the guard’s, and then, giving one last glare, he turned slowly round, down the steps and walked away. He looked up at the windows, which were as dark as sin. Nothing. He did not note Tanya standing there, watching him go. She sighed and left the window to sit down. The embassy was empty, but the ambassador had given her the use of his office, anytime. He knew he had to anyway.

Watching him leave, the guard took another puff, scoffing.

‘These goray bandars! No education.’

Tanya sniffed around the office delicately, then more noticeably as she checked around, underneath the table, by the chair. She opened the draws. She looked behind the shelves, and removed some of the books, placing them back. She looked at the wooden table that was covered on the surface by a green blaze sheet, glued down just short of the edges. She sat down on the chair and closed her eyes.

‘Concentrate,’ she thought to herself. ‘Concentrate and find out the smell, the source of the smell.’

She leaned back on to the big leather chair and inhaled deeply. In her mind she could see the whole office, as if in air view, and then her view concentrated on to the desk. She opened her eyes as if from a bad dream and jumped up from the chair. She took a push knife from her pocket, and pried the green blaze off the table. It came off with some difficulty but once it gave way around the edge, she pulled it further up from the corner. The table was hollow on the inside. How could this be? Then she noticed the green cloth carefully and saw that it was recently gummed. She noticed that the hollow compartment was small and wondered how was it that no one realised it? Of course! The ambassador was out of the country, on an important meeting. She had barely seconds to register the whole scenario. Sitting in the compartment was a chemical bomb. A small warfare device sitting there, so quiet, releasing the gas. A low hiss began to sound. She quickly jumped to the window, crashing the glass as she went through.

BOOM!

The guard was startled as he shook with the little tremor that rocked the earth around him as if a minor earthquake had taken place. The deafening sound, though, stunned him. He dashed off the stairs running for his life, when he suddenly stood still at the bottom, on the road, and looked up at the window. Flames were shooting from within the ambassador’s office. He noticed the broken window, the shards of glass on the street, but when he looked down, he saw no one. Where was the body that crashed through? Where was the lady? He dialled the emergency number, and then dialled the secretary’s home number from his cell.

‘Hello, sir, aik bomb blast huwa hai. Ji. Ambassador Sahib kay office may. Yes, sir, I called the police.’

Tanya was at the corner, looking at the guard make the phone calls. She breathed inwardly and then slunk through the shadows, keeping to the sidewalk all the while.

*

It wasn’t long before she reached her apartment. She closed the door behind her and moved silently, slowly, taking in the scent of the atmosphere. She sensed that it was safe, that nobody had been here yet. So, her place of abode was still unknown. That English man of a European descent was definitely going to report to his boss, and soon more would come once they figured out who she was. They, she knew, were black ops, working for the CIA or perhaps the NSA. Either way, she had to be careful. Removing her coat, she went to the bathroom. Soon the shower could be heard beating down hard. A short while later she returned to the kitchen-cum-dining room dressed in a casual shalwar kameez, a towel rolled up on her head, and opened her laptop which sat on the table. She put aside the mobile she was holding next to the laptop. Waiting for it to load, she set the electric kettle in its cradle, refilled, after throwing away the stale water and rinsing it.

She went back to her table and clicked the short cut to the net, and a webpage opened. She typed in the required password, and then wrote a short line, in code. She pressed the submit button and waited as the page automatically closed down. Tanya got up and walked to the counter, took a mug from the wooden cup stand and opened the cabinet above her. She brought out the instant coffee jar. She proceeded to make coffee when her cell phone beeped. She put in the teaspoonful of coffee into her cup, and the sugar, leaving the spoon inside the cup. She then went to the table to see the message. It had a picture of the man who was pursuing her and confirmation of his name, DOB, residence and that he was black ops, NSA. She deleted the message as the water boiled and the click of the kettle shut it off. She looked up, determination written all over her face.

The next day, the police were removing the cordon off the embassy. The repairmen were working on the window, and the charred furniture was being carried out in a police van. The guard wasn’t there. He would not be seen for weeks to come. He was in fact part of the intelligence recruited by the FIA, and was now due back to give in his report. He was lower down in the food chain but knew his work well. His work here was done. Most probably another guard was likely to replace him. The matter had to be hushed now, thus the police removing the cordon off the crime scene. Now the investigations would begin in earnest.

It was night, and the Englishman was once again trailing Tanya. Tanya did not seem aware of it, as she walked casually through the closing shops and the neon signs starting to blaze with the opening pubs. She was clad in jeans, a light high-neck jersey and a long black coat. She walked through Oxford Circus, walked past the PhysioFit gym of Westminster University into Regent Street, turned right, past Piccadilly Circus and into the street that lead to China Town. Keeping a distance, the NSA agent followed her. He was wearing a black hoodie. He was sure he had his opportunity to grab. He wondered why she took such a long way to China Town. She could have gone straight from Piccadilly Circus, or turned from Soho. They were right in the middle of China Town. The NSA agent was still at the farther end of the lane when suddenly, at the other end of the lane she stopped as if to remove or fix her shoe. First she brought up her leg a little, touching her shoe then she stooped, as if tugging at something. He picked up pace, scanning the area. There were people, but very few. Most were oriental, mainly Chinese, and they seemed to be inside the restaurants that remained open at this hour. He checked the time. It was 8:00pm.

Tanya stood still, waiting, then looked to her right. She ducked in front of the restaurant hanging meat on its display window and a pig’s head with dressing and an apple in its mouth. She viewed its silent claims of enticement as suspect. She moved away from the window and stood still by the concrete pillar of the building. She counted under her breath. The NSA agent rushed, looking to where she might have gone. He had his back to her, and began to move, his expression that of anger and disappointment; an expression that did not seem to stay on his face for long. In fact, as soon as his expression formed, it changed to one of extreme surprise when a crack sounded as he gagged and fell over with a slight thud. Tanya stepped out of the shadows from behind him. She swiftly crouched to check the pulse on his broken neck, and then moved on first casually, then rapidly, not turning back once. She took the short cut to Tottenham Court Road’s underground exit, opposite McDonald’s just where Oxford Street ended, and hurried into the underground. Taking the central line, she stood by the door as it shut, amidst the crowd.

She was now back inside her flat and sent an encrypted text.

Somewhere in Islamabad, in a rather torn down, old building that really needed massive renovation, an older man with white hair and a moustache sitting in an office inside, which was mind-bogglingly well set, and well-equipped, filled with book shelves and papers all over, read the text. Somewhere else, in this same building, in a much smaller and dingy office, cramped with files, books and papers, a large table making the room seem smaller, somebody stamped on an open file, upon which was written ‘Mission White Mist, Blackwater’. In the other file was the picture of the European agent. A stamp went down on his picture, marking terminated.

Somewhere else, in London, in a well-furnished three bedroom flat in canary wharf, a man was sitting with reading glasses on, reading a newspaper. He was rather good looking, with a straight nose, and hair combed back, just reaching the nape of his neck. He looked like a banker, or an economic analyst. His girlfriend walked up to him, setting down breakfast. He looked up and smiled at her. Then his mobile beeped an incoming message. He picked up the mobile phone, watched his girlfriend walk into the kitchen and opened the text. A picture of Tanya, her name and residence. He deleted it and put the phone down.

In Fort Meade, Maryland, USA, the headquarters of NSA, Dave Watson looked at his associate and then asked him, ‘Are you sure?’

His associate, Terry Lewis, nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

Dave looked down at nowhere in particular as he tried to control the rage that was contorting his face.

‘I want her. Dead! You understand?’

‘Yes, sir. We’ve already put our asset on to her.’

‘And who’s giving her all these instructions? Find out. Now!’

‘I’ll find that out, sir. But all our data points to her as being of Pakistani origin.’

‘Contact the ISI. They will find her and pick her up for us if all fails. Put them as plan B. Have Commander Shafiq over on the phone.’

‘Right, sir.’

Dave looked at his associate hurrying out, and leaned back on his chair, his military bearing forbidding him to relax as he made to tighten his tie even more.

Tanya hooked her laptop up to its charger, switching it on from its sleep mode. She set the large coffee mug by her side as she scrolled down the page until she found the link at the end of the page. Upon opening it she found information on the Eastern Brotherhood. It was an organisation that worked endlessly on securing relationships between the east and the west. Its efforts had redoubled after the 9/11 attack. It had a list of people killed in that event, and she found many of them to be Muslims of Arab and Asian region. Her cell phone beeped. She shut down the page and looked at her cell. It read: The Botanical gardens, 11am.

The next morning, at 11:00am sharp Tanya was sitting in one of the sections, on the bench apparently engrossed in a book. The security personnel didn’t go unnoticed, dressed in a smart black suit, white shirt and black tie–but nothing to do with her, she was sure. She turned a page, and continued to read, just as she had noticed a man walk towards her without seeming to do so. He was a tall, lean man, with the perfect skin of white and pink which told her he must be Arab. He was clean shaven and his hair seemed uncombed as it stood on ends, tousled. His grey suit was not very expensive, but not cheap either, and his open coat and open shirt collar told anyone he was a careless dresser. A writer perhaps? Or a journalist? He carried a green bag, made of cloth. He seemed as if he was just lounging towards this part of the garden, and then suddenly, as he reached her side, flopped beside her. He got out a rather big sandwich from his bag wrapped in cellophane and unwrapped it, taking a rather big bite out of it. He chewed, taking his time, while he sought for something in his bag. It was a laptop bag in shape, made of a green coarse-looking cloth. He fished out a small bottle of Ribena and opened the lid, breaking the seal.

Tanya kept on reading. He took another bite, and laid down his bottle next to her. Suddenly he shifted and said,

‘Pardon me. I hope you don’t mind?’

She turned to look at him. He smiled and gestured at the bottle he’d placed. She smiled reservedly as she shook her head and turned to her book.

‘I say, I hope I am not disturbing you?’

‘I’m not sure now.’

She looked at him with half a scowl.

‘I do have rather a habit of that, don’t I?’

‘And how am I supposed to know?’

He put his hand towards her. ‘Ahmad.’

She nodded at him, still looking at him severely. He put his hand away, and smiled at her.

‘I say, I really don’t want to be a bother.’

‘Don’t you?’

He seemed embarrassed. He cleared his throat, and then opened his mouth. He cleared his throat again and then suddenly asked her, looking very sheepish, ‘Would you like to take a walk with me? I may not interest you now, but I’m not very good with words, not while sitting you can say. I am rather a restless soul. And these tropical plants exhaling all that humidity is rather uncomfortable for me, as a setting you know.’

She smiled at him. ‘Why did you come here then?’

‘Because I thought I saw a rare beauty, a certain flower, you know. Coming closer seemed a must then.’

She looked at him rather suspiciously but laughed outright.

‘I wouldn’t mind walking with you.’

He sighed as he got up, wrapped his sandwich, half eaten, back into its cellophane and put it inside his bag. He clasped the bottle and began to walk, as she stood up beside him, holding her book. They strolled towards the path in the centre, until they reached a place where they could go stand near the trees, where there was really no one around. But they walked there slowly, strolling.

‘I’m sorry for all the rubbish I poured out.’

‘That’s okay. You’re not very good with words, I understand.’

‘Can I give you my card, then? You wouldn’t mind if I asked you to look me up sometime?’ and he gave her his card. But it was a plastic card, which she put immediately into her book, where it stuck, due to the little sticky tape it had behind it.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Tell me a little more about yourself.’

They began walking again.

‘There isn’t much, I’m afraid. I work as a columnist in a magazine–not very known–usually picked up by the Arabic speaking population in London. Tells mostly of the details surrounding the Arab world, the economy, investments, properties for sale or rent, marriage columns, etc. etc. You know. The simple magazine that helps you keep in touch with your country, but not much really.’

‘I see. And it has a wide circulation?’

‘I’d like to say it does, but it really doesn’t. It’s actually rather limited. The younger generation has no use for it. They are British by all standards. It’s the older ones, the ones who came to this country as immigrants or workers, those who know more about their own countries that are interested in purchasing the magazine.’

‘And you feel it is too small a venture to be important?’

‘Nothing is important and everything is, depending on which side you’re standing on. It also depends on what or who you are propagating.’

‘That’s true.’

They both seemed to be engrossed in their talk, but as they walked, they were aware of every detail that passed them or they passed. They were aware of the three new entrants, and had already dismissed them. They were aware of the gardeners working. They were aware of the children on the other side of the section, not quite visible, but the sound of their voices betrayed their location.

‘It’s sad,’ he said suddenly.

She looked at him. ‘Sad? Why?’

‘Too many conspiracy theories. Too much red tape, too many security measures in the name of security but in fact defiling it. Everything is a lie and nothing is the truth. And people who really don’t want a part in it are drowned to their necks in it, simply because their names begin with Muhammad, or because they have a different colour. Is it a more radical way of infusing racism?’

‘I don’t know, Ahmed. I really don’t know.’

‘They have produced enough doubt to cause fear, even amongst ourselves.’

‘And you have doubts?’

‘No. Yes. I don’t know. Should I?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you?’

‘No.’

Ahmed looked at her curiously.

She stared back at him defiantly. ‘Belief. We have been taught to have blind faith in God, yes?’

He nodded, still curious.

‘Then why not follow it all the way through? Doubting His people will be doubting Him.’

‘But can a big lie such as this survive? For so long?’

‘Of course it can. Lies always survive long enough to enmesh themselves into your being, until you can no longer decipher the truth from a lie. That’s the real test of a believer.’

‘You make me feel so small, and yet you have just raised within me this great hope that everything will be okay.’

‘All’s well that ends well. Even if the many prices you have to pay do not make you believe so.’

‘I agree. Lord!’ he looked at his watch and exclaimed realistically.

She stopped and looked at him, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

‘I must get back to my office. I have a deadline. A small rather useless piece on property prices going up in Abu Dhabi right now. More like an advertisement, than a column.’

She smiled.

‘Lovely meeting you. Hope we meet again.’

‘I have your card,’ she shook her book lightly.

He smiled, mouthed a good bye and left hurriedly.

Tanya scanned for any person or thing that did not fit in. Nothing. She was safe for now. She made a call to someone.

‘Hello, Burke? Yeah how long will it take?’

Burke, around 5’10’’, fair, an American, worked in a property letting agency. He looked at his file and closed it as he turned to give his full attention to the phone.

‘Uh, well, you said you had a week.’

‘Well, I don’t. I have less than 24 hours.’

‘All right!’ he raised his brows cynically. ‘Not the same vicinity, I gather.’

‘You gather right. Hey, whatever you do, do it fast. I’m running out of time.’

‘Well then you gotta be more precise here. How much time?’

‘Two hours.’

‘Two hours?’

She cocked a brow as she said into her phone, ‘Yeah!’

‘Jesus, woman, what you take me for?’

‘Are you saying you’re not good enough?’

‘Don’t challenge me.’

‘What if I do?’

She smiled smugly, knowing he would take it up.

‘Yeah, well how about this. I got you a studio flat in Morden.’

‘Too far.’

‘Right next to the station.’

‘Too far. Northern line southbound sucks. Better get me something good, man.’

‘Christ! I do ever wish so much that I never knew you.’

‘Hey, so do I, but let’s face it, we’re rather stuck with each other.’

‘If your father wasn’t a friend of my father’s—’

‘If your father hadn’t threatened to screw you were you not to take care of moi, you’d happily drop me like a hot coal.’

‘I’d drop you, yes. I’d never know you!’

‘Come on, Burke, this is our childhood you messing with.’

‘I wish I could,’ he sniffed. ‘And voila! I just found you your own private heaven. You cannot say no to this. And even if you did, I don’t care, you’re going there.’

‘It depends. And you’re wasting my precious time.’

‘This is bang in the middle of the London hub, and yet tucked away. You like Kensington?’

‘I guess.’

‘You’ll like Shepherd’s Bush even better. It’s right at the back of Westfield for God’s sake.’

‘I’ll see it first.’

‘You’ll take it,’ he brooked no argument. ‘I’m calling as of now, and will arrange the security and all.’

‘You know I don’t pay security.’

‘I didn’t say you were going to pay it, you idiot. I said I was gonna settle it.’

‘I love you.’

He smirked, ‘Yeah!’ and put down the phone, grimacing at it. Then he proceeded to dial the number of the landlord and secure the flat.

Tanya walked rapidly towards the nearest station and went down to catch the first train she could board. She did not have time to walk to her place. Upon reaching her flat she began immediately. She brought out her suitcase and rammed her clothes, books and shoes into it, and brought out a smaller trolley throwing in the rest of her things, like toiletries. Within ten minutes the house was empty except for the furniture. There were no cups, no salt and pepper holders in the kitchen, no sugar pot, nothing. Just the microwave, the crockery set and the bare cup stand. The bathroom seemed sterile as if nobody had ever used it. She then wore a pair of gloves and set about wiping all finger prints. In another ten minutes the whole place was wiped clean of any print whatsoever. Still with her gloves on, she stood by the door, having one last look at her flat, and then shut it firmly.

*

She was in a car, with Burke. He was driving it. He looked back at the seat filled with three large plastic bags.

‘You wiped your place clean, what?’

‘Yes, I did. I can’t afford to buy things again and again. And disposal takes more time, actually.’

He stared at her and smiled, ‘It sure does.’

‘Shut up!’

‘What?’ then on a more serious note he looked at her and asked, ‘Tan, you all right?’

‘Of course I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘I don’t know. You tell me?’

She looked at him for a long time. Then she shook her head and laughed. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

‘Tan, you do know if you need me I’m there for you.’

She looked at him steadily, conflicting emotions passing her face until finally she pulled her gaze away from him. He had looked at her just once. He was concentrating on the road.

‘I know, Burke. And I appreciate it.’

‘Shit! I hate London traffic.’

‘Could’ve taken the train,’ she pointed out.

‘And carry all that load? You know, for an intellectual you sure do come up with the most stupid comments I’ve ever heard.’

‘I could say the same for you. A distinction holder in politics and logistics (never knew they taught that as a subject). And what did you do? Ditch your offer at the university and your dad’s hopes of seeing you enter the Government, and choose to settle in this country as what? A property agent.’

‘Hey, I told you fed’s not my cup of tea. I’m not my father.’

He sat grimly, staring at the traffic jam. Suddenly the cars began to move and he changed gears.

‘Yes! All right. We movin’ at last.’

He made a turn and then looked at her again. ‘Say, why did you not return to the US when you left Pakistan? Didn’t you like Pakistan, by the way? It must be hard, living there what with all the extremists and all.’

‘Actually Pakistan is quite the opposite, I must confess. It’s really very modern and in fact my point of frustration is they’ve not got any real knowledge of Islam. And the extremists? Well, they don’t exist.’

‘You kidding me, right?’

‘No. I’m serious. Nobody listens to them. And if there are groups that justify their agenda as revival of Islam it’s not, because they have no clue about religion and it’s all political, exploiting religion. On the whole, life there is more luxurious. That’s the word I’d use.’

‘Then why leave it? And why settle here of all places. It’s been what? Three years?’

‘Why did you leave America? I mean you could have settled in another city, Houston, or even Seattle—why here? This is like a bloody village compared to where you come from.’

‘And you,’ he smiled. ‘I don’t know. But I asked you first.’

‘Destiny.’

‘Destiny?’

‘Yeah. You know me, big on destiny. And the mentality there is most aggravating. The guys!’

He laughed. Then, ‘You know I’m surprised you weren’t tracked down and locked up as an extremist. You still say your prayers, huh?’

‘I’m not an extremist simply because I follow my religion faithfully. What’s wrong with having principles in life?’

‘What is?’ he agreed. ‘Just kidding, hun.’

‘Yeah. Wouldn’t be surprised if you came up to me and arrested me for praying five times a day and refusing to drink alcohol.’

He frowned at what she said. He changed gears again. Then he asked, ‘You really think that of me?’

‘Should I?’

Both seemed lost in their worlds, thinking, eyeing each other rather suspiciously.

‘That is why I wouldn’t go to the CI. So that I don’t have to arrest you.’

They both laughed, the tension broke. When he winked, it was as if they shared a secret. Theirs was an odd friendship in that even though they never saw much of each other, what with her shifting countries, still every time they met it was as if they were never far away from each other, as if they were always there, together. Nothing seemed to change them with each other. Soon he slowed down, as he made to park the car by the side of the street.

‘Here we are. Finally.’

‘Yup, finally.’

‘Was beginning to get bored with you.’

‘Too long,’ she said understandingly.

He smiled at her as he led her up the short steps, and then pressed on the bell push. A lady opened the door, letting them in.

Upstairs the studio flat was lovely. Tanya fell in love with this simply furnished flat, full of light, with a glass door that slid open to a balcony. The balcony had flower pots with little pink, yellow and purple flowers. But she knew she would not nest here anymore than she did in the last apartment. Her job didn’t allow her to nest. She was used to staying with the bare minimum anyway, practising what her religion preached: not to accumulate too much. To stay within means. To live simply. To others it would be radical fundamentalism. To her it was practical. And anyway, wasn’t this what all religions preached? She looked stealthily at her friend Burke as she wondered if he also really thought of her as an extremist. He knew her since they were in school. They were always friends, even though they went to different colleges and universities. She turned to him, as she saw him grin at her.

‘You like it. I know you like it.’

‘I like it.’

‘You love it!’

‘I love it,’ she smiled at him and then gave him a quick hug. ‘Thank you.’

‘Well don’t be too comfortable.’

She shot a look at him.

He didn’t seem to notice. ‘You do have a problem with staying in one place too long. I tell you that will be the day, when you actually resort to stay in one place.’

She laughed and shrugged. ‘I know. What can I say?’

Her old flat was sitting silent, when suddenly the door opened slowly. A foot stepped in, followed by the other, until the whole man entered. He was the banker. He looked around silently, closing the door behind him. He saw the kitchen, bare except for the crockery in the cabinets. He checked the bathroom. It was completely empty. The house smelled fresh, but the windows were closed. Emptiness gaped back at him. He walked back to the door, silently, and out. He was angry. He looked at his watch as he rushed down, making sure nobody saw him. There was nobody on the stairs. Once outside, he breathed easily. He looked to his right and left subtly, then began walking, crossing the street.

As he walked on he got out his mobile and dialled a number. A lady picked it up.

‘Yes, hi, I would like to know if you have any flats left to rent out. Yes. Okay. Today? Oh, then it’s my lucky day. Didn’t you find it strange, though, her leaving suddenly? Oh, left the country, eh? I see, I see. Yes, these foreigners. No, no, thankfully I’m British!’

A short while later Dave looked up to find Terry come up with an anxious look on his face.

‘Don’t tell me we lost her again.’

Terry looked at him, then down, then at him again. ‘Uh, we did.’

‘Damn it! What the fuck do you guys think you’re doing? Obviously she’s not just anybody; she is somebody to be playing about with our agents. She killed him, too?’

‘No, no sir. He confirmed that she left her flat just three hours ago. And her flat was wiped clean of all fingerprints.’

‘Completely?’

‘Completely, sir.’

‘Get Shafiq on the line and ask him to take over. Tell asset to sleep for now.’

‘Right, sir.’ he turned back hesitantly, to make a suggestion. ‘Sir?’

‘What?’

‘Why don’t we put her up on the grid? That way we can have the combined help of the authorities.’

‘We cannot, Terry, not until we affix her position. Who she really is, who she’s working for. Until then keep her off the grid.’

‘Right, sir.’

Back in London Tanya just finished laying out the things, making her flat look like home, when her cell phone rang. She pressed the answer key and put it to her ear.

‘Hello? Yes, sir. Can’t there be a way to keep them off me, sir? You know I work alone. No, sir.’

‘Listen,’ said the ponderous voice of her chief, Awan, the old man with the white hair. ‘You need to be kept off the radar completely. And you need protection. That’s final. I’ll have no argument on the matter. He will not interfere with your job. But for God’s sake keep it low for now.’

‘What about the NSA agent?’

‘Taken care of. Am holding Shafiq back, too. He’ll make up some story to satisfy time stays on our hands.’

‘Right sir.’

She took out the card after setting the phone down on her bed as she too sat on the bed, in front of her laptop. She looked at the plastic card. She peeled the tape off and saw a small chip. This she put into a reader that she plugged into her laptop. It opened up a list of names, along with details; their family trees, current locations, jobs both front and otherwise, taxes paid and unpaid, and account numbers. Most of them were Muslims. She moved on to the next page, looking carefully at the second list of names. They were Americans, British, Russians and Germans. She recognised some of the names. They were administration of Intel networks, heads of criminal families, officers of security departments and Parliamentarians. She memorised everything just by seeing them once. She had an eidetic memory. Closing her eyes, she saw the pages in her mind; as she scrolled them she saw the names and their details appear, just as she had done with her eyes open. She opened her eyes again and scrolled further down. There was no other page.

Burke drummed his fingers on his table. His boss walked in.

‘Good work, I see you found two clients places today. Commission’s yours.’

Burke smiled, then picked his mobile and looked at the text he’d received again. He frowned at it.

‘Everything okay, Burke?’

Burke broke off from his thoughts and looked up at his boss.

‘Ah, no. Nothing at all, John. Just–I wonder, could I have a break now?’

‘Sure. I’m sure you earned it. Go ahead.’

‘Thanks.’

He grabbed his coat and walked out rapidly, John staring after him.

Walking down the footpath, Burke made a call to someone.

‘Hi, yeah it’s me. What can you tell me about the Pakistan Taliban? As of now. Who remains and where and why. I need latest reports.’ He put his phone away into his pocket as he strode over to the nearest phone booth. Once inside, he closed the door behind him and picked up the phone, inserting a coin, and began to dial. He waited for the phone to be answered. Finally someone picked up.

‘Yes, it’s me. I need to speak to Alex. Now.’

He waited another minute before Alex came on the line.

‘Hey, Burke. Having a fine time there in London, I see.’

‘Listen Alex, I cannot move from my post here. You know that.’

‘Who’s moving you?’

‘You mean you don’t know? Don’t bull with me, I—’

‘Hey, calm down kid! And watch it! Nobody’s moved you. Who’s moved you?’

‘You didn’t send me the text?’

‘What text? Listen Johnny; tell me precisely what happened, who sent it and what it said.’

‘It’s coded from your system. And it says move to Rome.’

‘Rome? Why would I want you moved to Rome? And who the harry heck hacked my system? That’s not possible. You stay put and I’ll check it out. Give me five minutes.’

Burke waited in the booth. After five minutes his cell phone rang. Staying in the booth, he answered it.

‘The bastard! It was NSA.’

‘NSA? But why? What have they got to do with us?’

‘They would like to, that’s for sure. Anyway, I’ve told them to never try that on my men again, not bypassing me like that or they’ll regret it—big time.’

‘Alex, Alex, what is going on?’

‘It’s the girl.’

‘What girl?’

‘You were seen with a girl a few hours ago today. You were driving somewhere with her, and although they couldn’t follow you, you just happened to cross one of their agents on the way, when the traffic was stuck apparently. Anyway, it’s her.’

‘Her, what’s anything got to do with her?’

‘Everything, apparently. They’re investigating her as a potential threat to security.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Yeah, well you know how it is, someone gets picked on the grid and all attention goes to him. She also happened to have killed one of their men.’

‘Impossible. I know her. I’ve known her since we were kids. She has nothing to do with anything.’

‘Not what our Intel says, or theirs. She’s a suspect. Most likely belongs to one of those extremist groups. Or the Taliban. Not sure. They’re trying to figure it out, thus the investigation. You being with her made them think it was best to get you out of the scene.’

‘So am I?’

‘What? Hell no! I told them to keep their noses to themselves, that you were there on a very important investigation.’

‘Uh huh,’ he suddenly felt his breathing restricted.

‘You stay put. And I’d suggest you drop that girl.’

Burke said nothing.

‘You hear me, Burke? That girl is a Pakistani, and unidentifiable at that. Plus she’s killed an NSA agent. I wouldn’t be too close to her at this moment.’

‘Bye, Alex. Gotta go.’

Alex shook his head and raised his hands, mouthing to heaven, ‘Why?’

Burke came slowly out of the booth and walked even more slowly back towards his office. He hit a lady passing in the opposite direction who glared at him. He immediately apologised and walked on a bit faster, but slowed down again. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. How could any of it be true? Tanya? They must be mistaken. Were they really serious?

‘I bet they just followed her on the net displaying religious views, and decided to put her on the suspect list, like every other Muslim. I bet!’ he thought as he banged his fist on his palm. ‘But she isn’t every other Muslim. What are these guys doing? Have they gone so blind that they can’t distinguish between a real culprit and innocent freedom of expression?’

He kept on thinking, Alex’s words repeating themselves over and over again, in order, overlapping and finally his last sentence. She’s killed an NSA agent. Impossible! They were mistaken. Terribly. He had to make sure now that this mistake was not repeated. But the CI had never been wrong. And, in order to reconfirm NSA, Alex had run over her too. He said her identification did not come up. That was only possible if she were in with the government of any country or—he swallowed hard—a terrorist. He had to make sure. But how? Asking wouldn’t help. He needed to find out for himself.

Terry walked into Dave’s office. Dave looked up.

‘Sir, we got some more on her.’

‘Finally. Got who she’s working for?’

‘Uh, not yet, no. Her name is Tanya Aziz. She was born in Morocco. Shifted to America aged 4, stayed there till college, when she travelled to Europe for her graduation, then returned to the US for university.’

‘All this travelling, was it alone?’

‘No, sir. She was born to a diplomat. Seems he moved quite a bit, and of course his family with him. Shifted to Pakistan after his retirement, and she stayed there for about three years before she left for the UK, this time alone. She took up a job as a teacher in Westminster University. Teaches Islamic Law and the Modern World.’

‘Ah huh? Islamic Law. Stayed in Pakistan three years?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Find out some more on her, then we decide whether to put her on the grid, personally I’d love for us to haul her skinny ass ourselves, see what we find out from her directly.’

‘Sir.’

Terry walked out again, this time his walk was brisk and confident.

It was evening now and the clouds grew heavier. Burke made a call on his cell phone.

‘Yeah, I want all information the NSA has found till date on the girl I was seen with yesterday. Yes. Well, then find out how. Isn’t that what you excel at?’

He put the phone away and walked towards the underground. He looked up at the grey sky in disgust. He missed the sun, and the heat of his hometown. He missed the bright hues of orange, pink, and blue in the skyline. Here everything was wet and grey and dreary. He hated it, and the cold. It was always cold. It seeped into your bones. He ducked into the underground.

Burke came out the shepherd’s Bush station and looked up at the sky. He hoped it wasn’t going to rain. He could never take up the habit of carrying an umbrella. It never rained when he did anyway. He made a call.

‘Hi.’

Tanya smiled curiously as she greeted Burke back. ‘Hey. How come you called?’

‘Shouldn’t I have?’

‘Just, you don’t usually call.’

‘Yeah, I know. But I suddenly thought why don’t we call each other so often? I should give you more time.’

‘Your father been at you?’

He laughed. ‘No. Haven’t talked to him in a week, come to think of it. You?’

‘H’m. Same here. Oh no. I just talked to him two days ago. How can I forget?’

‘Too many things on your mind.’

‘Yes, that’s it.’

‘So, where are you?’

‘Is that why you called? I am at home. Where else can I be.’

‘Really? Alone?’

‘What? Why, you want to come over?’

‘No, no. Just asking.’

‘Though why you’d be outside in this depressing weather beats me. It’s so dark and dreary. And it always rains when you don’t have an umbrella, which is like always. Take out an umbrella and not a drop! God, I yearn for the sunshine and the fresh lush green—’

He chortled.

‘What happened to you?’

‘No. Nothing. I was thinking the same thing.’

It was dark now. Evenings didn’t seem to last minutes here. He coughed, ‘Just wanted to see you’d settled in all right.’

‘Thank you. You’re growing up to be quite a gentleman. I’m settling in nicely, thank you.’

‘Good. Eh, talk to you later then.’

‘Sure. Bye.’

‘Yeah. Bye.’

He slid his phone into his coat pocket and walked on, towards the back of Westfield shopping centre, where her house was. Once he was there, he positioned himself where he could see her through the kitchen window, while he hid behind one of the cars parked on the side of the street. He took out his night vision lens and looked through it, zooming its lens until he could watch her flat. He managed to see into it, but could not see her. Then she finally came up into the kitchen. She put the electric kettle on, opened the top cabinet from where she brought out the coffee jar and proceeded to prepare herself a cup of coffee.

He monitored her movements for a second, then put the lens down. What was he doing? Spying on his own friend? But if anything, the CI had taught him there were no friends. No one was your friend when it came to protecting your country, and your career. Besides he had to make sure. He was a sleeper for a long time, until he got posted to London. He was part of their special intelligence unit that did not come under any red tape. They did not exist, to put it plainly. To anyone within the CI they were regular agents, pencil pushers, working in some faraway small office. His phone vibrated. He picked it up. It was on silent, vibration.

‘Yeah. What have you got? Tanya Aziz, eh?’

‘Yes,’ said the person on the other side. ‘She’s daughter to a diplomat, retired now. Was born in Morocco, shifted to America, stayed some years till college. Went to Europe, then to back to the US, and then to Pakistan. Lived there three years, and then went to the UK.’

‘H’m. Where she teaches religion, or Islamic Law to be exact.’

‘How did you know?’

‘Been doing some investigation on my own.’

‘Of course. You were seen with her, weren’t you?’

‘Yes. And tell Alex I will be seen with her more often now, until I get to the bottom of this.’

‘Alex told you not to—’

‘Just tell Alex what I told you, okay?’ Burke interrupted him.

His colleague sighed.

Alex turned round to face the bearer of the news.

‘He’s as stubborn as a mule, that one. Just like his father!’

Tanya was walking down the track at Westminster University. The groups of students passing her by or standing on the grass nearby, as she walked on, all conversed, huddled, either about their exams, or about their tendencies towards politics, some discussed the latest pubs, the clubs, many students argued hotly their views on religions, atheism, freedom of speech, restriction of Islam as a religion, countered by some Muslim students pointing out restrictions of Catholics’, and Judaism, relating to history. Tanya heard every single conversation she passed by, and retained each student’s voice and words. Joining the university helped her pick on the tendencies of the students, towards terrorism or otherwise. After all, teenagers who went around knifing people were also terrorists in her book. She noted down the names of the students discussing religion, which was easy as she knew them. They were her students. But one of them, the one talking hotly against Islam was not her student. This was a rather short chubby girl, with blond hair turned into twists in the front and held back with colourful little clips that looked almost ghetto in the daylight. Her bangs, deliberately messy, settled on her temples. She made a mental and pictorial note of the girl. She raised her arm as if to see the time on her wristwatch, and took a picture of the girl, turning its face in her direction. It was her profile, but it was good enough. Tanya pressed the little knob on the side of the watch and then turned her arm back inwards, as if managing to see the time at that angle at last. She hurried on.

At home, Tanya was sending the photograph she’d taken to her headquarters.

At the headquarters in Islamabad, Awan was visited by a young man, with glasses and a maroon tie over his white shirt.

‘Sir, she sent in the photo. We’re sorting it through our data.’

‘How much time will it take?’

‘Well, we’re checking it through our data which will take a few minutes but if it’s not found there, then we’ll have to check with other countries and that will take hours since most of them have to scan in their data manually.’

‘That’s okay. Up until a few months ago we had to manually scan ours too. We don’t have to now, not here at least.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Hassan, did she send in the list too?’

‘Yes, sir. I put it on your desk yesterday.’

‘Okay, I’ll see it now.’

‘It’s the blue file, sir.’

Awan nodded and Hassan left.

When Burke returned after two nights, he made sure Tanya wasn’t home. He was careful not to be seen, or so he thought, as he scrutinised her flat from his previous hiding spot. The lights were out. He made sure once more that she wasn’t there, then hurried towards the door. He picked the lock and pushed the door open. He went up to her flat and opened the door carefully, with his gloved hand holding it before he let it open wider. He slipped in, closing the door behind him. Silently, methodically, he began to check her flat. He checked her bedroom, and through her clothes in the cupboard. He noticed her suitcase still had most of her clothes packed. She was living out of her suitcase one could guess. And why, he thought to himself. Silently he put everything back the way they were. He opened the drawers by the table. They held nothing but her under clothes. He was embarrassed to go through them; they were his friend’s for God’s sake. Then he steeled himself, picked through them to see if there was nothing else hidden. Nothing.

He opened her computer. It was on sleep, and asked for a password. He brought out a device, linked it to the computer and let it search and feed the password. It took three minutes which was a long time. He grunted, swearing softly. Finally, it found the password, and the laptop was on.

He checked the files. Nothing. He tried to scan all the files, but there was nothing whatsoever. All innocent work on her research for students, lectures etc. Nothing else.

He checked the history of her net browsing. He came up with a Google search on the eastern brotherhood, the Nazis and the current Afghan Taliban. That was again not enough to incriminate her. As a lecturer in religious studies she may link them. As a normal innocent citizen she may check on them. Everybody did nowadays, these were hot topics. People made movies on them for chrissakes! He closed the laptop. It was on sleep mode and he left it that way. He moved over, tracing his hand over the frame of the bed, the dressing table. Outside, he traced over the mantelpiece, the sofa, the chairs—Nothing, he checked the books on the small shelf. Nothing. There was nothing that could concretely incriminate her. That made him break into a sweat. Once the NSA got their fingers on someone, anyone, they did not stop till they grabbed that person and pressurised them to oblivion and shatter them to pulp. They would make sure that even if innocent, the person was charged and proved guilty. They wouldn’t stop till the person ended up a wasteland, a nothing.

He walked out of the flat, giving it one last look to see everything was in place. Outside, he did not notice anything peculiar, until he took a round circling the area and came back to his standing position, hiding in the shadows. He noticed something move. He picked out his lens and rotated it till it was fully zoomed. He looked through it and saw nothing, until he strained against the car parked on the main street, opposite the flat. There was someone there. Whoever it was saw him, for he ducked. After that, no matter how long he looked, he couldn’t see anything. He stopped and then looked at intervals. Still nothing. Who was it checking out Tanya’s flat? Worse, it seemed he was keeping surveillance it like Burke did. Was it the NSA? He became worried again. But the person did not return.

Hassan came into Awan’s office.

‘Sir, somebody’s been keeping surveillance Tanya’s flat.’

‘The new one?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘God, can these people never leave anyone alone. Can’t even work on a clandestine operation without others butting in. Who is it this time?’

‘He wasn’t sure, sir. Except that he seemed American.’

‘Of course he’s American!’ Awan stood up and banged his fist on the table. ‘These fools! Morons! Hampering everyone’s investigation. Everyone’s.’

Hassan stood silently letting the chief lash out.

‘Wait till we’re sure who it is then I’ll ask the Americans to back off. Strictly. Or face the consequences. We are not the ISI Goddammit. We do not answer to them, or anybody. They’re not the only ones allowed to have their own black ops and fuck with the world. We need to see our priorities too; our country comes first for us too.’

Hassan nodded and left, Awan still muttering.

‘Apes! They really must be descendants of the ape family. Darwin was right there!’

Awan tried to cool himself down; walking up to the water filter, he got himself some cold water and drank it all in one gulp. He didn’t feel better.

Tanya walked into her apartment and stood still as she closed the door. Something wasn’t right. She went through everything meticulously, but everything seemed in order. Still, she knew someone had been here.

Burke was outside when she’d returned. He saw her moving slowly around her flat. He saw her walk slowly towards the kitchen, as if looking for something. He noticed how she moved her hand over the counter, the cabinets, slowly. He wondered what she was doing when it suddenly dawned on him. Lord, she’d felt someone had come into her flat. What if she again rang him up for an apartment change? Was this why she changed her previous apartment? Did someone check it? He made a mental note to find out if anyone had been in her previous flat.

It was the next morning when on his way to the office, Burke made a call to the landlady of Tanya’s previous flat.

‘Hello. It’s me, Burke. Yes, yes. How are you? It’s a fine day, today. Finally some sun. Wonder if it will last.’ He laughed and then agreed some more, then he asked the question, ‘I was wondering did anyone come to see you for the flat? I mean now that it is unoccupied. Oh. Really? No, I didn’t send him. Was he trying to get it done privately? Didn’t you tell him you dealt through us? Oh, I see. He never came again did he? You said he had come before? No. Right. I’ll come over and see the flat in an hour? Sure.’

An hour later he was there. He looked around the flat as he chattered with the landlady. He was sure he could get her a new tenant. The previous one had left it really clean. Too clean, he thought to himself. Except for something he’d noticed. A flower fell off the vase sitting on the mantelpiece. He was sure it was not fallen when Tanya left it. She seemed to have cleaned this place superbly, so why let the fallen flower lay? No. Someone was here. After she left. That was why she left. Because she’d anticipated it. Once more he was thinking like the CI agent, and not like Burke. Burke Shaw, who knew Tanya as a person, a friend. He knew her habits. She was a methodical person, even as a child. That didn’t mean she was a terrorist. But his instincts never lied. He was trained to read the signs, even the unreadable ones. Someone was here, of that there was no doubt. He picked up the flower, grinned at the landlady, and put it back in place. She smiled back.

‘I’ll look into it. I’ll put the advertisement today as clearly this place does not need retouching at all.’

‘Oh,’ she exclaimed delightedly.

Burke got a call