“Relax,” he replied. “It’s nothing like that. Come, let’s fetch you a cup of coffee.”

“Am I going to be able to use the loo?”

“Yes of course, didn’t you see the loo when you came in?”

“The other door,” the unnamed woman replied pointing to the entrance.

“By the way, this is Melony Howe. She will meet you here every morning at nine. She works the night shift from 1:00 a.m. to nine with another officer.”

“I have to stay here until one in the morning? I’m not leaving this flat in the middle of the night.” Her voice came out louder than she had hoped.

“Whoa, sweetheart,” Liam replied sarcastically. “You have to calm down. You leave at five. Office hours. Now, come, I’m getting you a coffee. That’ll make you feel better, won’t it?” He got behind her and pushed her into the small kitchen attached to the room. The only thing on the worktop was a coffee pot, a box of white sugar, and a used spoon.

“Don’t be condescending. You could’ve told me what to expect last night. You didn’t have to pull this stunt.”

Liam reached into a cupboard and took a foam cup from the stack. “Just milk, right?” She nodded and placed her bag on the worktop. He handed her a carton from the fridge and she poured it in.

“What am I doing here?”

“I need your help.”

“Oh no you don’t.”

“It’s only surveillance. You don’t have to go undercover or even leave the flat. Simple watching, listening, and reporting. You can even work on your other cases while you’re here.”

Sophia took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. “How old is this?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only arrived twenty minutes ago.”

She dumped the contents of her cup down the sink and opened cupboards until she found the things necessary to make more coffee. “How long is this assignment? Days that will turn into weeks that will eventually turn into months? Am I unwittingly going to have to shoot Melony—”

“Melony.”

“To shoot Melony in a few months after I form a close bond with her? I’m not trained for surveillance any more than I was trained for undercover. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for.”

“We’re short staffed at the moment. You’re not the only analyst out of the office and in the field.” He led her to a whiteboard beside her desk that contained photos of men and women taped to it. He pointed to a picture on the far right of the board. “Listen, this is important. The man here is Mychajlo Placko, head of a Ukrainian crime family. He’s shipping guns into the UK. That we know.”

He moved his hand to the far left of the board, past a photo of a man and another of a woman, following an arrow leading to a white page with a large question mark. “This is our target, and as of now, he—or she—remains anonymous. We have tried to trace the money trail with no success.” Moving right, he jabbed at the face of the woman. “She, in between the unknown and Placko, is Elaine Smith—probably not her real name—and she is the woman who gives the money from unknown man to one of Placko’s men—a man known as Miles.” He tapped the man’s photo to the right. “Elaine lives in a house across the street, number 412. We can follow the money trail but we have no idea who’s buying the guns and how the unknown man receives the guns. After handing over the money, Elaine talks to no one.”

“How does Elaine get the money to give Miles?”

“It’s all done electronically.”

“Well, perhaps she sends a message electronically or communicates to someone when she leaves the house to go to the shops.”

“That may be the case but we haven’t found anything to lead us to the guns. We have a person on her whether she’s in or out, so eventually we’ll figure it out but for now, it’s watching and analyzing. We’ve placed bugs and cameras throughout her flat so we can watch all her movements. It’s only a matter of time before we see how she relays the information to her boss. The interactions take place about every two weeks and it’s been about a week and a half since the last so we need to be on our toes. Knowing who this man is, is vital in keeping Britain safe.”

As Liam gave her a file with specific instructions, there was another knock at the door. Melony walked to the entranceway and returned with a thin, redheaded woman.

“Crystal,” Sophia signed in British Sign Language. “You’re assigned here too?”

Crystal Priestly, Sophia’s aide, came to work for MI5 after being arrested for hacking into HOLMES for information on her missing nephew; she was immediately recruited to the unit. Sophia learned sign language just to communicate with her.

“Sorry I’m late. I was told to be here at nine. By Liam.” She placed the sign for the letter L on her forehead, Liam’s nickname. “Those are our desks and computers. What are we doing here?”

“I’ll explain soon. Coffee?” Sophia led Crystal to the kitchen where she poured them cups of new coffee.

Liam walked into the kitchen and said, “I need to leave, Evans, but you have your instructions.”

“Liam, you’re leaving?” Sophia grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”

“I have other cases to handle. Don’t worry, all you have to do is watch. I want to know who that man is. How does Smith contact him? If you have any questions, ring me.”

Her shoulders sank and she let go of his arm. Sophia nodded and Liam made his way to the door. He may often drive her mad but she didn’t want him to abandon her, not on the first day. There was some comfort in his company.

“I really wish you wouldn’t.”

His eyes studied her and she felt her face turn red.

“But, if you do,” she continued, “I want you to take my car. Had I known what kind of place you were going to drag me to, I wouldn’t have brought my Mercedes.”

“Fine.” He held out his hand for the keys and when obtained, pivoted on his feet and left the room.

Chapter Six

Theo thrust his hands in his pockets and turned in the direction of his partner’s 1982 Cortina. He couldn’t see the car but he could hear it. Sputter, sputter, bang and then silence—Dorland Jackson’s classic entrance. Finally, Theo caught sight of Dorland running down the street toward him, licking his fingers and patting down his hair. If his car was loud, his clothes were even louder. Today he sported white trousers and coat, a black dress shirt and green tie. And, to add insult to injury, his pointed white shoes.

“God, Dorland, all the spectators will believe we’re filming an Ashes to Ashes episode. Listen, the studio rang and they want their costumes back.”

“Very funny, sir. I’ll have you know, I saved up for two months to buy them from a vendor in Camden Town who then proceeded to double the price. I had the nerve to leave and had walked past three shops before he chased me down. These shoes are worth a lot.”

“I can imagine the poor alligator thought so as well. Why are you late?”

“Bloody traffic,” Dorland explained. He pulled up his skinny tie. “Did you know a lorry flipped on the A40?”

Theo nodded.

“What do we have, sir?”

Theo didn’t answer. He just led his partner to the body that lay there, decomposing in its own muck and indignity.

Dorland peered over the fence. “I don’t understand. How did he die? Is that his blood? I guess it would have to be, wouldn’t it. Does he only have one leg? Did that happen this morning? Did someone cut off his leg?”

“I don’t know, stop asking questions. We should just wait for the pathologist. Where is the man?” Theo was becoming impatient.

Dr. Alfred Waynton, home office pathologist, finally arrived ten minutes later. Although late, he meandered his way to the body, stopping at the SOCO van to don coveralls, but the largest size wasn’t large enough. While he did manage to zip up the front, he could only walk like a penguin.

“Uncle Al,” Dorland exclaimed. “We finally get a chance to work together.” He looked for a way to get to his relation on the other side of the gate, but realized that he would have to go around through the driveway and off he went. When they finally met and hugged, Dorland almost disappeared somewhere between the folds of the man.