The Sweeney II

A Message From The Author.

Just a reminder. My Sweeney series is set in the world of the 1970s British television programme and I try to remain faithful to the time and those characters in my portrayal.

Although it contains aspects of sexual liaisons, these are not erotic stories.

I hope fans of the show enjoy my additions, but I don't want anyone looking for my usual fairly explicit works to be misled or disappointed.

Thanks

Paula

The Sweeney II

Lipstick and Conspiracy

ONE

The street was a mix of greasy-spoon cafes and vibrant fashion shops, with trendy youngsters filling the pavements. Empty spaces between the buildings testified to Goering's land-clearance efforts nearly forty years earlier, but there were fewer each day as enterprising businesses tried to gentrify the area. Behind hoardings and corrugated fencing, new-builds were springing up with colourful new shop fronts defying the economic gloom of inflation and high interest rates.

At the far end of the street, costermonger stalls vied for their trade of fresh fruit and veg just as they'd done for centuries.

This was Jack Regan's manor. It was where he scuttled through the gutter seeking out the scum of society to bring law and order to streets even the Victorians had failed to tame.

Static crackled as he clicked the radio.

"Any sign George?"

He glanced at the Labour isn't working poster recently plastered to some hoarding as he awaited a reply. It showed a long snaking line of unemployed outside a dole office. It was just another illustration of the deprivation behind the crime he fought tooth and nail to keep in check.

Detective Sergeant George Carter's voice came back to him from the far end of the road where he stood in a tobacconist's doorway.

"Nothing guv."

"What about you Tom?"

"Not a peep."

Tom Daniels had taken up station deep amongst the stalls, surrounded by calls of two-and-six a pound, and housewives filling leatherette shopping bags to haul home on the bus. He pulled his jacket collar up against the chill air.

A fresh face caught his attention and he raised the radio again with a fresh enthusiasm.

"Spicers Record Shop, Guv.

He's heading your way."

Regan leaned forward, alert.

"Now we're talking."

He felt that rush of adrenaline. It was what made him feel alive. That moment he'd be one step closer to nabbing a villain.

"Wait 'ere Bill." He instructed his driver.

Regan climbed out of the car and with his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his anorak, he slipped into the crowd, his eyes firmly fixed on the prey. He couldn't see them but he knew George Carter and DS Tom Daniels were converging on his position. If he timed it just right, they'd all close in on Pervy Pete in unison.

He could see him ahead, oblivious to his hunters. A little fellow who could do with a few less egg and chip fry-ups. He had a spring in his step that betrayed the jolly figure he was. Except when he was having his collar felt.

Regan quickened his pace, closing the gap between them until he was in touching distance. He could see Carter now, in amongst the crowds ahead coming towards them. Pete saw him as well, slowing his step. Regan reached up and felt that collar, literally, pulling him to a halt.

"Mr Regan."

The man's eyes darted about in panic.

"Hello, Pete. You still flashing your todger around the school gates?"

He glanced at his wristwatch.

"It's only three. You've got time to have a chat before trying to pick up school girls in their short skirts."

"What do you want Mr Regan? I ain't done nothin'. My parole officer can vouch for me."

Tom and Carter had closed around them cutting off Pervy Pete's escape routes.

"You 'ave if I say you have."

He lifted the vinyl album Pete was carrying.

"What you got here?

Boney M? The kids like it do they? Thought Chuck Berry's My Ding-A-Ling would be more your thing."

"That was years ago. It's the disco era now."

"Really? I prefer something a bit more jazzy myself. Or what about Go For Your Gun by the Isley Brothers? That's topical."

"Eh?"

"Come on, Pete. Tell me about a trade in shooters. Who's selling? Who's buying?"

"What trade? I don't mess with guns. You know that."

"But you know people who do, Pete."

Pervy Pete looked around judging his chances of escape. Regan slammed him against the wall to emphasise that he was going nowhere.

Someone in the crowd who was observant decided to intervene.

"Oi. Leave him alone."

Carter dealt with it, stepping toward the middle-aged man with his warrant card raised.

"Police.

Piss off."

Regan continues his friendly chat.

"I heard guns were being brought into the city and I wanna know who's buying."

"Mr Regan. Honest. I don't know who's telling you that, but I ain't heard nothing. On my mother's life."

Jack Regan knew how to read people. It was instinctive. The flicker in the eyes, the bead of sweat on the brow. The tiny twitches of the mouth. When someone lied, it showed. And much to his frustration, Pete was scared, but he wasn't lying. He eased his grip before letting go.

"You 'ear anything. Even a whisper, you call me. Got it?"

"Yes, Mr Regan. Scouts honour."

The three coppers took a step back to open an exit route.

"Get out of here. And stay away from the school."

"Thanks Mr Regan. Thanks."

Pervy Pete scurried off into the crowds as fast as his little legs could carry him as Regan turned away with Carter and Daniels.

"That's the third squealer we've strong-armed today. Not a peep."

"Perhaps the intel is wrong," Tom suggested.

"It came from Honest John. He's never given false information before." Carter clarified.

"Guns being shipped into London, he said." Regan was questioning his instinct.

"Could be someone else's manor." Carter offered.

"We've come up empty-handed with our usual informants."

Regan was getting bored with the runaround and was keen to get on with something more concrete.

"Keep your ears to the ground. Anything this big, there'll be whispers sooner or later.

"Come on George. You're with me."

"What do you want me to do, guv?" Tom asked.

"Go make sure Pervy Pete is safely home before the school bell."

Bill was waiting patiently in the bronze Consul.

"Where to, guv?"

"Drive around. Let's see who else is out and about.

Got a smoke, George? I'm out."

Carter huffed.

"Bleeding 'ell."

He obliged just the same, popping one between his own lips before struggling with a lighter that steadfastly refused to work.

Regan pressed the car cigarette lighter in and calmly lit his as soon as it popped.

"You should get a new one, George. Flint's nearly gone in that."

Carter shook the thing and tried again, this time a momentary flame that just caught the edge of his cig before giving up the ghost. It was enough. A few deep draws and he had nicotine.

Regan had clocked the old Jag pulling up by the off-licence ahead. Nothing suspicious in itself except for the three blokes inside wearing coats far heavier than the weather warranted. They were taking their time to get out. He sensed something was off about them almost immediately.

"Pull over. Discreetly."

Bill responded instantly with a smooth manoeuvre into a parking space at the kerb.

"George."

He nodded toward the Jaguar that now sat several car lengths behind on the other side of the road. The men had gotten out and were hovering, looking up and down the road. One held a large carryall. It had no weight. Empty.

"What da ya reckon?"

"I reckon I'm going home with a few bruises tonight."

When they went for the door, it was sudden and menacing. And the wooden clubs appearing from under the coats were unmistakable.

"I think we're on.

Bill. Call for backup."

Regan was out of the car and across the road, darting between cars. Carter followed. The door sign had been flicked to close.

"Oi, can't you fucking read?"

A big bruiser of a man glared at them from the counter as the over-door bell rang out.

Two others were filling the carryall with cigarettes while the fourth held a club over the shopkeeper.

"Open the till old man."

"I think you should put the clubs down," Regan said calmly.

"What's it to you?"

Now his demeanour changed.

"Coz we're the Sweeney. And you're nicked my son."

"Old Bill."

The bruiser launched himself with the cry of a warrior. Carter blocked his progress with a powerful, upward-rising punch to the chin.

Then all hell broke loose with Regan taking the one making a run with the hold-all. That club swung over his head, and a jab into the liver from below the man's ribs had him crumpling.

"Get 'em, George."

Carter was back with the big bruiser taking a pounding, before delivering rapid body punches into the man's stomach.

Someone had Regan from behind. He kicked at shins with his heel and elbowed a flabby beer belly. The grip loosened. Spinning he swung for the man's chin to send him sprawling.

"You're nicked, sunny Jim." He said nursing a sore fist.

Sirens filled the street outside and Uniform piled through the doorway bringing the confrontation to a rapid close.

Regan was breathing heavily as he mopped his brow.

"You should get that looked at George."

Carter looked none too pleased as he nursed a cut above the right eye.

"That's not gonna look good at Judith's."

"Perhaps she'll play doctors and nurses."

Chief Inspector Haskins offered Regan a scotch.

"Nice job at the Off Licence, Jack. Caught red-handed. A jury won't have a problem convicting them."

Regan swallowed back a mouthful of the whisky enjoying the woody caramel flavour and the bite of a warming aftertaste.

"What about the other thing? This talk of guns?" Haskins asked.

"Nothing. Not a whisper, Chief."

"Perhaps your snitch is mistaken."

"Honest John's never let me down before. There's got to be something in it."

"Well, if there is, you need to uncover it. Guns are more and more of a problem on the streets. Over half the big gangs are using them. And it's not just sawn-offs. They're getting sophisticated stuff nowadays. We can't afford more coming in."

He took a seat behind his big desk and sat back.

"Stay on it, and keep me abreast of your progress."

Regan picked his anorak up from the chair as he went back through his office. The team was thinning out with evening coming on and only one typewriter was clanking away in the corner. Even the cigarette haze was making a retreat.

Cater was shuffling paperwork.

"Pub?" He asked.

"Not tonight guv. I'm on a promise."

"Not that posh bird again? The MPs missus?"

"Judith. Yeah. Ol'man's in Europe again."

"My bleedin' taxes are paying for you to get your end away, you know that don't you."

"Only beneficial thing I've ever had from the government."

Regan grunted.

"Come on, I'll drop you off at home so you can ponce yourself up."

Carter tested the pain levels of his bruised eye.

"Good job she likes a bit of rough. That geezer got me a right good'un."

TWO

"The government has won a narrow victory in the confidence motion with three hundred votes to two hundred and ninety.

A triumphant Mr Callaghan said the government would drop its plans to sanction private..."

Regan twisted the dial looking for something a little more to his liking as soon as he stepped from the bath. A quick shave and slap of aftershave, and he'd get off to the boozer. Who knows. Might get lucky. His bed had been cold for a few months since WPC Judy White. They'd called it a day when she'd been selected for transfer to CID and training for detective work.

Since the Equal Pay and Sex Discrimination Acts the powers that be were keen to promote women officers. No longer confined to Criminal Records, looking after lost children, and making cups of tea in public liaison roles, they were merging with the men more each passing day. Perhaps when George moved up, his next sergeant would be a bird.

Regan still wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea. What use was a bird in a fight? But the world was changing and even an old dinosaur like him could see there was no point in standing in the way.

Throwing on some fresh clothes and his anorak, he made his way to his local.

"Evening Mr Regan. What'll it be?"

He glanced over the array of poisons on offer. Whitbread, Watney's, the golden ambers of Skoll and Foster's for the ponce's who couldn't down a proper pint. Behind the barmaid was the really good stuff. Upturned spirits lined up like ten green bottles hanging on the wall. Maybe later.

"A pint of your best please, Annie."

He turned and leaned on the bar to scan the pub for talent as the aroma of cigarettes and alcohol invaded his nostrils with the familiar stench of his favourite escape from reality.

It was difficult to switch off. Even as his eyes hunted out birds who were up for a bit of fun, he couldn't help but be distracted by the sleight of hand under a table as drugs were passed over. Nothing serious. Just a bit of blow for personal use. Not enough for Regan to waste his time.

He lit up and took a moment to enjoy the hit.

In another corner, a known villain was eyeing him carefully. There was a young girl hardly old enough to be served chatting to a long-haired Jesus type. He couldn't place her, but knew he'd crossed paths with her before. Not a prozzi. Perhaps her dad was a blagger.

"There ya go. That's thirty-two pence, Jack."

He hunted in his pocket for the right change.

"Cheers."

The pint was welcome. Refreshing after a day of exhaust fumes and city grime in his throat. He drew again and added to the smoky haze lying at head height across the bar.

Annie slid a Watney's decorated tin ashtray toward him.

"Drinking alone tonight?"

He stared at her tits. Lifted and pushed up to look much bigger than they actually were.

"George is on a promise.

So it's just me and you, luv."

"Ha. But I'm working."

"Not all night you're not. What time you knocking off?"

"Closing time. My ol' man's picking me up. Sorry, Jack."

He watched as she turned away to serve another punter. It wasn't only her tits that looked good. Her ol' man had picked well when he'd pulled Annie. She was nearing forty but still had it. Warm, natural colours, highly glossed lips and large eyes made her face youthful. And the body... wow. Just wow. But not a player beyond a few suggestive remarks. Pity.

Regan went back to his drink with a silent curse that his luck on the love front fell short of his sergeants.

He downed the pint in one go deciding a drunken stupor would be the best he'd get tonight.

"Another when you're ready."

He pushed his empty glass across the bar.

"The tills gonna be ringing tonight." She said, pulling another.

"I can see it in your face."

Across town Carter was in a different world. He was the Milk Tray man arriving at the grand house he'd never afford as Mrs Hargreaves bit of rough. Flowers in one hand and chocolates in the other.

Judith Hargreaves had become a regular thing. About once a month her husband travelled to Europe on Common Market business for several nights and she'd call him up. Without fail, Carter would go running like a little puppy.

"Drink?"

"Don't mind if I do."

A bar in the living room was something that only existed on TV, aside from in Judith's palatial home. Normal people were lucky if they owned a Schreiber sideboard in teak veneer with a drop-down drinks cupboard with a bottle of Babycham for Christmas.

"Scotch?"

Judith stood behind the wooden panelled bar and poured a drink while he admired her youthful figure front and back where it reflected in the mirrored panels behind her. The ice clattered against the glass as she dropped the cubes.

"Sir Malcolm on his travels again, then. Where to this time?"

It was a fine whiskey. Single malt.

"Brussels. He spends so much time over there these days."

She was at his side again, kissing his neck with soft featherlike brushes of her lips as she lifted his long hair.

"But that's no bad thing is it?"

"Not for me it's not."

"Good. It's so much more fun when you come around."

He took another mouthful of his drink and put the glass on the bar so he could kiss her back. A long sensuous kiss with his hands exploring her slender body.

Judith was equally as excited, pressing and squirming against him as her heat rose. He flinched as her hand glided over bruised ribs.

"Oh, George. Have you been fighting again?"

"Occupational hazard."

"You poor thing. I'll have to kiss it all better. Where does it hurt?"

Carter grinned like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

"All over."

"Mmm.

You'd best come upstairs and take down my particulars, officer."

Carter let her take his hand, leading him up to her large bed. It came with silk sheets, and even more silken thighs. Heaven.

"I think a full strip search is in order."

"Oh. Officer. Does that mean you're going to probe me internally?"

Carter let out an appreciative whistle as she removed her blouse with a wide grin on her face.

Most of the birds he'd shagged since his wife had died had been slag's and prosies. Judith was quality, and she banged as well as any of those cheap tarts.

Regan leaned on the bar as the pub began to spin around him.

"One too many." He muttered seeing Annie checking him out.

"Time to go home, Jack.

Want me to call you a cab?"

"Nah. I'll walk."

He emptied the last of his beer deciding a little more wasn't going to make that much difference to the hangover he had booked for the morning.

Christ, she looked good.

"You know. I think you're prob... prob... yeah. Going."

He waved his hand dismissively.

"I'll call you a taxi if you like?"

Regan turned to see who had spoken. It was a voice far too posh for this pub. He took a double take, unsure if his eyes were deceiving him.

"Blimey. I have had a skinful. I'm bleedin' seeing things."

Different hair and make-up. No posh frocks. Instead, wide-legged denim dungarees dyed crimson to match her hair. All very colourful in a pub where most wore blue jeans and drab orange or brown tops. But underneath it all, she was unmistakable.

"Lucinda beedin' Bell?"

She smiled. It was surprisingly warm and friendly given his instinct was to reach for cuffs.

"Got me."

He reached out to grab her, stumbling.

"You're under arrest."

She caught him and helped him back onto the bar stool.

"I need your help."

Regan guffawed.

"You must be bleedin' joking. I'm taking you straight back to that comfy little cell you absconded from."

"What if I told you I know who has the guns you're looking for?"

Regan hesitated, his head clearing a tiny passage through the fog of alcohol.

"What do you know about that?"

"I'll call a cab and you can sober up. Then you can decide if we have a deal."

"Deal. What deal? I 'aven't agreed to anythink."

She was still beautiful even with the red hair she now sported. Just a little blurry.

"How did you find me?"

"Everyone knows you, Jack. I asked around."

"What do you want?"

She stepped forward and lifted his arm over her shoulder.

"Come on old man. Let's get you home then we can talk about it."

"Oi. Less of the old."

Regan groaned as his head continued to spin. Emptying his stomach down the toilet had alleviated the worst of his drunkenness, but only served to make him more aware of the price he was paying.

"My head." He groaned heading back into his living room where Lucinda was looking around with disdain.

"You actually live here?"

He collapsed into his chair and held his head.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's a bit... drab."

Suddenly she was shoving a black coffee into his hands and he realised he'd fallen asleep.

"Here. Drink this."

He took it gratefully as he tried to make sense of her presence.

"Why are you here? Why me?"

"Because despite everything, you're about the only copper I've met who isn't bent. And much as it pains me, I need someone I can trust."

"You can trust me to lock you up and throw away the key."

She shrugged.

"If that's what it has to be. But I'm trusting you to do the right thing first."

None of this made sense to him. He sipped on the mug of coffee hoping for miracles so he could think straight.

"What right thing? What do you want from me?"

"To find Felicity. She's missing."

"Perhaps she's discovered the benefits of having a bit of meat inside her and run off."

"She didn't run off. She was taken."

Regan straightened up, a little more alert.

"Taken?"

"Kidnapped, abducted. Call it what you want. And they're after me."

"Who's after you?"

His head spun again and he groaned. Lucinda sighed, deciding this was the wrong time to have the conversation they needed to have.

"Why don't you get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

Regan couldn't argue with that. He was in no fit state to take all this in.

"You can have the bed."

"No thanks. God knows what's on your sheets. When did you last change them?"

"Suit yourself. There's a fresh blanket in the airing cupboard."

"Mind if I have a bath first? Three days on the street, I don't smell much better than your bedroom."

Regan was stumbling for that bedroom. He didn't care what she did so long as he could be left in peace to sleep his head off.

"Whatever. I'm going for a kip."

THREE

The bell was incessant.

"Alright. Alright. Keep your hair on."

Regan clambered out of bed and snatched up his dressing gown to answer the doorbell. His head hurt.

"What time do you call this?" He shouted angrily.

"Mid-morning is what most people call it. That'll be Sergeant Carter at the door."

Regan froze as the previous night came flooding back. Then as Lucinda's eyes dropped, he pulled the open robe around himself with some urgency. The bell was still ringing.

With his mind in a state of flux, he opened the front door as he swept up the morning paper from the mat.

"Guv."

Carter pushed past and started toward the front room.

"I've been standing here a good ten minutes. How many did you have last night? Must've been a skin full to..."

Regan ran his fingers through his curls and took a breath as he saw what was coming.

"Gordon bleeding Bennet."

Lucinda was sitting at the small table dressed in one of Jack's shirts and nothing else. Carter gawped as she crossed her long legs only narrowly missing giving him a show. She drew on her cigarette.

"I made you a coffee Sergeant Carter. You'll have to add your own sugar if you take it.

Sorry. It's just the instant stuff. Jack lacks sophistication."

It took a moment. Like a dinosaur kicked in the tail, it took seconds for the signals to reach his brain.

"What the bleeding 'ell is she doing 'ere?"

"Helping us with our enquiries George." He said slipping onto a chair.

"And why's she naked?"

Lucinda gave her best cute smile.

"Really George. Didn't they teach you the birds and the bees at school?"

Regan rolled his eyes at her making a bad situation worse. Carter was lost for words.

"She isn't naked, George."

He took another look.

"Well, not entirely. And no I didn't."

He pulled a chair out and sat down.

"Too right he didn't." Lucinda clarified.

"Have you seen his bed? It's like some ancestral pre-Homo sapiens throwback has made a nest in there."

Carter gawped at her a moment longer before turning on his guv'nor again.

"I'll ask a second time. What's she doing 'ere?"

Regan slammed his fist down on the table, spilling his coffee.

"Alright. Enough.

I don't know. I can't remember that much of it."

"Of what?"

Lucinda rolled her eyes and took charge.

"Sit down George and let an adult fill you both in with the full story."

Carter obeyed, dismayed at his own compliance. Lucinda lit another cigarette and tossed the packet toward the sergeant.

"Thanks."

"They're Jacks."

Regan lifted his head.

"Eh? That's my last packet."

Lucinda ignored him.

"It's like this. After we checked out of your little hotel for wayward souls..."

"Holloway, we call it," Carter muttered.

"... We went up north. Lots of southerners heading that way right now for the cheaper housing. Northampton to be exact. New identities. New MO."

"So you're still thieving?" Regan noted.

"Not gonna lie, Jack.

Anyway. We did a few cleaning jobs. Big houses. Posh furniture. Decent coffee. That sort of thing. We'd case the joints and pop back out of hours to fund our lifestyle. Stayed in some of them for months, even after we'd robbed the places. No one suspected us."

Carter was getting impatient.

"Is this going somewhere?"

"Just listen George," Regan said with frustration before Lucinda carried on.

"One of the houses we worked in is owned by this retired army general. A right Captain Mainwaring type who held regular meets with his old soldier buddies in what he called the War Room.

We weren't really interested in old fuddy-duddies reliving the Blitz, but we snooped just in case there was something interesting in there. And there was. They had plans of Westminster and confidential itineraries of top government ministers' movements. And, this is the bit you'll be interested in, lists of weapons. Lots of weapons."

"What kind of weapons?"

"I don't know. Guns are guns to me. But a hundred grand was paid out to some dodgy fake company to supply army rifles and other stuff that sounded dangerous.

I heard you were looking for missing guns..."

"Yeah. Sawn-off shotguns to be used in armed robberies. Not to storm the beaches in France again." Carter protested.

"We don't know that. The word on the street was that guns were being shipped. We don't know what guns or why."

Carter was aghast.

"Come on guv. She's heard we've been asking questions and blown it up out of all proportion to get our attention. She's writing a fantasy to reel you in."

As far as Regan was concerned, she had. Whatever Lucinda might be, he was sensing truth in her story.

"And what's this got to do with your girlfriend disappearing?" He asked.

"We got caught. Of course we hightailed it out of there and packed our bags the same night. Came back to London on the first train the next morning. Someone must have followed us because when I went out to buy food Felicity was snatched from our bedsit. The place had been done over when I got back, like there had been a struggle.

Someone jumped me while I was there. I only just got away. I've been sleeping on the streets since. And I haven't heard from Fliss in three days. I'm worried. And I'm scared. Do you really think I'd come here if I wasn't?"

Regan swallowed more of the coffee and lit up a cigarette.

"Okay. We'll ask around. See if one of our snitches has seen or heard anything."

"I'll come with you."

"No you won't. You'll stay here, out of sight. It's more than my job's worth if someone sees you."

"Guv?

Aren't we going to arrest her?"

"Not yet."

George was kicking off as they went outside to where Bill was waiting in the car.

"Just listen will you. What if she's telling the truth? And what if someone is holding her girlfriend? Or worse?

Whatever we want her for, doesn't make what she's telling us any less of a crime."

"She's a villain," George said simplifying the situation.

"But not one who deserves to turn up floating in the river."

Carter couldn't argue with that. There were plenty of nasty people he wouldn't mind fishing out of the river, but Felicity Ward and Lucinda Bell weren't amongst them.

"Doesn't it strike you as all a little too convenient? She turns up here with a story that just happens to pique your interest?"

"Why would she turn up here at all if she didn't need help? If the Felicity bird is in trouble, villain or not, it's our job to protect her."

"Okay. So say she has been abducted. It was up in Northamptonshire. That's not our jurisdiction."

"The kidnapping was down here. And if there's guns involved that are being shipped onto our patch, it's very much our jurisdiction."

"And again, I'll just say, convenient."

"Why would she make a story up like that? And how would she know about the guns?"

"To reel you in.

She lived around here long enough to know the snitches we know. She hears we're asking about shooters so she fabricated a story to get you interested."

"To what end?"

Carter couldn't answer that.

"There's something big going down, George. I can smell it."

"You're going to get me drummed out of the force guv."

"Get in the car, George. And shut it."

The day was another round of squeezing their snitches. Only this time they had different questions.

Honest John was their last stop. A used car lot on waste ground with a mobile caravan for an office. It was old stuff mostly. Hillmans and Austins made up the bulk of his offerings. And one fine-looking Granada Ghia in glossy black.

"Only twenty thou on the clock. Red Velour upholstery. It's just like your new panda car.

He indicated to the silver Granada that had replaced the Consul.

"Eight hundred to you, Mr Regan."

"Leave it out. You seen the fuel consumption on these things? The Met can afford them. I can't."

"How about a tidy Austin eleven-hundred?"

"We're not here to buy a car."

"You never are.

Look. I've told you all I know about the guns.

"What about kidnappings?"

The middle-aged man looked genuinely surprised.

"Kidnappings? You're 'aving a laugh. This ain't Knightsbridge. Who's worth holding to ransom around here?"

"Alright then. An abduction. A bird. A pretty one. Perhaps a gangland rivalry?"

Honest John shrugged.

"No. Nothing like that."

"Anything else odd going down?" Carter asked.

"Any mention of an army general?"

That seemed to inject a spark of life. He looked thoughtful.

"Funny you should say that. I was asked about army surplus trucks. Not my field. But thought it a bit strange. And he wanted six."

"Who?"

Regan suddenly felt like the investigation had legs again.

"Some geezer. He was a military type. Not a general, but I saw enough of his kind in Korea to know a career officer when I see one. They still look the same even in civvies."

"He give a name?"

"Not that I remember. Seen him before though. Hangs around that snazzy new bar on Victoria Street. The one with the posh birds serving. All long legs and tits.

Always, him, and a few fellas that look like they take orders. They're in there a lot."

"Doesn't sound like your sort of place," Carter interjected.

"Like I said. Long legs and tits. Be rude not to look. At my time of life, it's all I get to do."

"Tell me about it," Regan muttered.

He had heard enough.

"Alright. Thanks, John. I'll be in touch."

"I can do hire purchase on the Austin if you like?" Honest John shouted after them.

"Twelve per cent. That's a bargain rate."

Regan ignored him, instead glancing at his watch.

"Let's take a drive by that bar. It's about opening time."

It wasn't your regular pub. It was all tables and comfy chairs while birds in hot pants and tight low tops brought beverages to the punters. Regan hated it.

"Posh place for Nancy boys." He said running his eyes down a menu of fancy wines and cocktails.

Carter was too distracted by watching the girls flaunting their stuff.

"Be a bit of a waste on poofters when the waitresses are employed based on the weight of their upper stories. Blimey. No one here is under a double D."

"Tell you what else is double, George. The prices."

"What can I get you two gentlemen?"

He was already half standing as the Madeline Smith look-alike blocked his way with a cheery smile. He looked into her cleavage.

"No thanks, luv. I've seen enough.

Come on George."

Carter followed with a last look over the bewildered girl.

"Guv. Did you see that?"

"Didn't have much choice. She nearly suffocated me with those things."

He looked back at the venue. It was colourful and stood out on a road full of newsagents and grocery shops. A high street bank held the ground next door, proudly portraying its Victorian facade while seventies decadence took up residence right on its doorstep.

"No soldier types around at the moment. Get Tom and Matt to set up surveillance. Let's see who's in and out of this posh gaff."

He started walking back to the car.

"And tell them to keep their eyes on the punters, not the waitresses."

Regan looked around at his flat in bemusement.

"What happened?"

"I tidied. That's what happened."

Nothing was where it was supposed to be. Even his armchair had been subtly moved. The tops were clearer. Paperwork tidied away.

"How am I supposed to find things?"

Lucinda opened a drawer.

"Police work. In here."

She closed it and opened the one below.

"In here are all your bills. You really should try paying them. The electricity is a red final reminder."

"Sod them. Not so long ago they couldn't keep the lights on. And now they're talking about the same this winter."

"You still have to pay."

"That's a bit rich coming from a tea leaf."

She ignored that.

"I've changed your bed and cleaned the bathroom as well. If I'm taken sick in the night, remember to tell the hospital it might be a new strain of cholera."

He nodded his thanks begrudgingly. There were more important things to address than the electricity bill though.

"Put a coat on."

"Oh, Jack. Are you taking me somewhere posh?"

"I want to see the gaff where Felicity was taken."

"Okay. But I don't have a coat."

"Wear one of mine. I'm sure you've checked out the wardrobe already."

She smiled.

"I have. It needs an update. Some of those shirts have been out of fashion since decimalisation."

She did go and find something though. His leather jacket that even two sizes two big managed to hand in her with a fashionable elegance.

Lucinda was nervous as they approached the sixties-built maisonette. It was one of several thrown up on cleared land behind the usual rows of Victorian terraces.

"It's up here." She said leading to a set of covered steps at the side of the building.

Regan followed, climbing the covered steps to the top apartment. Some kids were hovering around in school uniform smoking and riding their racer bikes while watching them. Lucinda opened the door and let him go in first.

"This is how you found it?" He asked looking around at the scattered furniture. There was an upturned chair and spilt tea or coffee dried on the Marley tiles.

"Exactly. I haven't touched a thing."

Regan moved on carefully, checking out the bathroom before coming to the bedroom. The bed was unmade and the skimpiest of nightdresses was hung over the metal-framed bedstead. It wasn't that which caught his eye though.

"Girls gotta play," Lucinda said with a devilish grin.

Regan's eyes hovered over the harness for a moment as his mind wandered at the sight of the flesh-coloured rubber attachment.

"Who gives and who receives?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

He pulled himself away from what he imagined was a room full of debauchery and focused on the crime scene in the main room. There wasn't much beyond what Lucinda had already told him. There had been a struggle.

"No blood. No evidence of physical harm." He said.

"No notes found?"

"No. Nothing.

I wasn't here long. Someone was in the bedroom when I got here. I saw this, then he came at me."

"Describe him."

"I didn't see that much. I wasn't running for the door."

He waited while she thought about it.

"White. Six foot. Athletic. Short hair for someone in his late twenties."

"Army cut?"

"Yeah. I suppose so."

"Anything taken."

"Yeah. My girlfriend."

"I meant, money, things of value."

"No. Nothing that I can see."

She went to the sideboard and opened a drawer. He watched as she lifted a bundle of notes out.

"Fifty pounds. Still here."

She pushed it into a pocket.

"I'll need this to buy some fresh clothes."

Regan had seen enough.

"Nothing here. But it does confirm you two were the targets."

"Can't you check for fingerprints or something?"

"You make that difficult. Besides, they sound like professionals so all the boys from SOCO will find is prints from two wanted felons that will be difficult for me to explain."

Lucinda looked uncustomarily solemn.

"You... you do think she's still alive, don't you?"

He also did something he wouldn't have thought likely. He held her.

"Yes. I do.

We'll find her. I promise."

Never make promises. That was the first rule of policing. So many had fallen foul of that one, promising loved ones they'd find kidnap victims. Promising parents their child's killer would see justice. He hoped it wasn't a promise he couldn't keep.

FOUR

"First photo's guv."

Regan swung his jacket onto his arms at the close of another day sifting through records and taking phone calls from people who thought they'd seen something revealing.

"Ma'am. That's an air rifle. Not a Kalashnikov." He'd told one particularly frustrating caller.

"The Russians aren't going to invade using school children armed with pop guns."

He took the envelope as it was held out for him.

"Cheers.

I'll take 'em home and have a butcher's. See if I know anyone."

He took a glance anyway, flicking through them, his eyes settling on the second-to-last photo with a steely glare.

"If anyone sees George, tell him to pop round my gaff on the way home."

He slipped the pictures back in the envelope and headed off.

Lucinda was waiting when he got in. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, Regan still wasn't sure.

"Just in time."

"For what?"

"Dinner."

"Dinner?" He was incredulous at the scene before him.

It was surreal. The thieving tart with the posh act he had worked hard to take off the streets not so long ago was standing in his kitchen smiling at him as if he was the dutiful husband returning home from a hard day at the factory.

"I went to the grocers because frankly, your cupboards are bare. Do you live on beans and toast?"

"I'm rarely at home... You did what? I told you to lay low. Not jaunt around the neighbourhood in full view of every Bobby on the beat."

She was finding cutlery, completely unconcerned at his dismay.

"Relax. No one saw me. I'm good at blending in."

He looked at that arse as she bent to lift a tray from the oven. Rounded, with a slender waist. Then as she stood, the perfect face with big eyes. It was almost impossible for anyone not to notice Lucinda. And since when was bright red hair a disguise? If anything, it drew attention even more.

"Proper fresh vegetables." She said proudly.

"And chops.

Sorry, I found some cash in a drawer. I hope you don't mind. I'm a bit short."

"Short? You had fifty nicker."

"I need that for clothes. Or do you want me naked?"

He glanced around, avoiding her teasing pose to show off her legs.

"Nothing 'ere worth nicking?"

That smirk again. A year ago, so defiant and superior. Now just a little more cute.

"What do you think?"

"No. Spose not. Not on a policeman's bunce."

He sat down accepting that she did make a good roast. If he was going to be hauled over the coals for aiding and abetting a fugitive, he might as well do it on a full stomach.

Carter arrived around an hour later, staring at Lucinda clearing the plates and dishes away.

"Put your eyes away, George."

"It's proper happy families 'ere innit guv." His irritation showed.

"You'll be on Mr and Mrs with Derek Batey next."

Regan rubbed his full belly.

"Should have come round earlier. We'd have adopted you.

Now sit down. Both of you."

He reached down to the side of the chair to retrieve the envelope of photos he'd been quietly keeping out of the way.

"Got these as I was leaving the station."

"Blimey. That was quick."

"I got Tom to drop the film over as soon as these people arrived. Rich did a job on the processing. Cost me a bottle of scotch."

Regan began spreading them out on the table.

"Recognise anyone?"

Lucinda looked carefully as he placed each one down.

"Who's that? I've seen him before. At the house.

Wait. I do know him. We did his home."

Regan had already clocked the guy in his initial look-through. He knew who he was and he was staring straight at Carter.

"By Jove, George. Is that one of your posh friends?"

Carter looked at the surveillance photos seeing the figure Lucinda was pointing to. There were several photos of the same man, with the last one giving a clear view of his face.

"Sir Malcolm.

Judith said he was in Brussels. What's he doing 'ere?"

"He's an MP. Lying through his teeth comes naturally. Now either he's mixed up in all this or he's doing the dirty on his missus. Given she's not exactly Pippy Longstocking innocent, I can't not feel sympathy for him if that's the case. But it doesn't look like it to me. There's him. Some other guys. And no birds. So unless he's a poofter..."

"You know him?" Lucinda asked.

"George knows his missus. Rather too well."

Lucinda grinned as her eyes settled on Carter.

"You sly old devil. And there was me thinking you were a shy boy."

Carter blushed.

"Leave it out.

And so what if he's in London? I don't see any guns or kidnapped tarts in these photos. Just some posh gits having a drink. Perhaps they're discussing next year's Rates rise."

"That's the council, not parliament. And why would he lie to his missus? Lying's her domain."

"Jealous much?"

"I don't know. I haven't tasted Mrs Hargreaves's hot food. Don't 'spose you have either. Not the steak she cooks anyway."

Regan rearranged the photos in order before spelling it out.

"Six men going into the bar, sitting by a window with one round of drinks. Some serious-looking chit-chat, then they all leave to go separate ways. No flirting with the very well-endowed waitresses. No snacks and nibbles.

That's not social. That's a meet."

He looked at Lucinda again.

"Any other familiar faces?"

She shook her head.

"No.

But look at them." She carried on.

"They all look the same. Like little soldiers. You can see it in the way they hold themselves. Upright, confident."

"You should have joined the Met."

"And be one of your plonks. No thanks."

"It's a changing world. Plonks are top of CID's recruitment list now. Me and George are the dinosaurs."

Carter interjected.

"Never mind your sexy banter. What does this tell us? Nothing as far as I can see."

Regan gathered the photos up.

"It tells us Sir Malcolm Hargreaves is a person of interest."

He settled his attention on the poor sergeant.

"Not at home is he? So how about you pop round to Judith's and see what you can pump her for. I'm sure if you put in some effort you can squeeze something more than a few grunts and gasps out of that posh mouth.

Tie 'er up. She likes that sort of thing doesn't she?"

Lucinda sniggered remembering that she was the one who had done just that while robbing their house."

"At least she's not a wanted criminal."

"Her ol' man might be, soon. And so might she be, depending on what she knows."

"So you want me to spy on my bird?" He asked incredulously.

He glared at Lucinda.

"Why couldn't you have just done your time?"

She poked her tongue out at him.

"Tell the truth, George. Would you have visited? Whereas, this way, I'm here looking up old friends."

"Back so soon?" Judith looked surprised but not disappointed.

Carter held her as soon as the door had closed. She smelt wonderful.

"You said he wasn't back till tomorrow and I don't have to be up in the morning."

Her hand brushed over his groin.

"Yes, you do. And tonight."

"Blimey. You're insatiable."

"You're the one on my doorstep at eleven thirty at night."

"Christ, is it that late?"

"I was ready for bed. I still am, but not for sleep now."

Carter felt like he was betraying her. He did the deed with that in his mind, leaving Judith to straddle him and do all the work. She sensed it.

"What's wrong?" She asked as her moment subsided.

She remained sitting over him as he stared at her tits reflecting on how lovely they were.

"George?"

She fell to the side to lie on her back. She was out of breath. George less so.

"Nothing," he lied.

She sat up and passed him an ashtray as he reached for his cigarettes. He propped it on his lower chest and lit up while Judith ran the back of her hand up and down his bicep.

"Don't lie to me. Something is bothering you."

He drew on the cigarette, glancing at her bare tits again before flicking the ash away. He wondered if he'd ever kiss and suck those gorgeous nipples again after this.

Fuck you Lucinda bleedin' Bell.

"Sir Malcolm isn't in Brussels," Carter said matter-of-factly.

"He came up on surveillance for a case I'm working on."

Judith's face creased with confusion and a little irritation.

"What case?"

"Serious stuff. Guns."

She started to look annoyed.

"Well... why wouldn't he be where he said? Or perhaps his itinerary has changed. It happens. And if it's ministerial business, he wouldn't necessarily tell me.

Does it matter? So long as he isn't here."

"It might."

Her eyes narrowed and she tensed.

"Are you investigating me, George Carter?"

Carter squirmed. He wished he was dressed.

"Not you."

"So my husband?"

Judith climbed out of the bed giving him a delightful view of that perfect arse and slender back before it vanished beneath her dressing gown.

"Am I part of your investigation? Is this how you do things in the flying squad? Screw the wifey to get the dirt on the husband?"

Carter extinguished his cigarette.

"No. It's not like that. It's..."

"Well, that's how it feels. Detective Sergeant.

Whatever we might be doing here, Malcolm is still my husband."

She was angering. He reached for his trousers as she went on.

"What did you think? Fit him up for something so you can move in full time? This is just a bit of fun. My bit of rough on the side. Don't get ideas above your station, sergeant."

She snatched up her cigarettes and lit one before standing with her back to him to stare out of the window.

"Judith.

It's not like that."

He put his hands on her shoulders and tried to turn her toward him. She was having none of it. She stood resolutely facing the window as she drew viciously on the cigarette.

"Perhaps you shouldn't come here again. We'll call it a day as of now."

"Judith." He pleaded.

"Fuck off, George."

He finished dressing in silence.

"I'll be off then."

She was still at the window. Carter accepted the inevitable and picked up his jacket.

"Wait."

He hesitated at the door. Judith still wouldn't look at him but she did speak.

"He's been different recently. More secretive. He spends a lot of time conversing with someone he calls the general. And I heard talk of an arms deal. I assumed it was something for the MOD."

"The general?

You got a name?"

She turned around, her face fixed to show no emotion.

"That's all I know. We don't talk about his work much.

Now. You've got what you came for. Goodbye Sergeant Carter."

He closed the door behind him for the last time and looked up at the sky. It was about to rain again. Dark clouds drifted overhead, the angry greys visible even in the dark. It kinda reflected Judith's mood. And now his own.

FIVE

A very pissed-off George Carter was on his guv'nors doorstep at the same time as the milkman the next morning.

"Thanks a bunch," he said shoving the pint bottle into Regan's hands.

"The tits have had that. Tough."

Regan looked at the foil top, pecked open by the birds to get at the cream.

Carter pushed past and went through to the living room where Lucinda was still lying under a blanket on the sofa.

"Talking of tits."

"Didn't go so well then." A still bleary-eyed Regan asked.

He was glancing at the headlines in the morning paper. Fresh strikes looming at the Ford plant.

"As a matter of fact, no. She thinks I'm doing her to get information."

"And did you?"

Carter glared, not even noticing Lucinda's naked body as she sat up and swung the blanket onto her shoulders before wrapping away her charms.

"Did you find anything out?" Regan clarified his meaning.

Carter was fuming and he wanted a target. His boss was as good as any.

"You're a real work of art you are."

Regan let him have his moment.

"Judith was the one good thing in my life since Alison, and you've gone and ruined it. And for what? To help a bloody bird who should be in jail. Not cooking dinner and doing your washing."

Lucinda stood stoically with her arms holding the blanket to cover herself. She knew she was the cause of this. She also knew that Felicity was still missing and her only hope of finding her lay with these two officers. She waited while they did their stare-off.

Carter flinched first.

"Sir Malcolm has been talking with someone he refers to as the general about an arms deal. My guess is, despite the army having more generals than brigades, it's the same man you were working for. And the arms deal isn't to supply the Boys Brigade with Cap Guns."

Lucinda felt a rush of excitement. She didn't show it, but she was happy that something linked her need to theirs at last.

"Time we had a chat with this general." Regan snarled.

"And you think this intel is solid?" Haskins queried.

"Yes sir. I do."

Regan had spent the last ten minutes concocting an elaborate ruse to justify General Featherstone's interrogation.

"Very well. I trust your instincts, Jack. I'll make arrangements with the Northamptonshire Constabulary for you and George to pay a visit."

"Thank you, sir."

"How did you come by this information? I thought all your snitches had come up empty-handed.

"They did. Then Honest John mentioned the bar and I put it under surveillance."

"Hmm. Good work. Stay on it.

"Thank you, sir."

"Oh, and Jack."

"Sir?"

"Tread lightly. We're all on the same side, so don't go making waves on someone else's patch."

"Of course sir. You know me."

Back in the office, he waved for Carter to join him.

"We're off to the country George. Get a car round front. My house first."

"Are we taking Bill?"

"No. We need to keep this close. Get a Pool car. You can drive."

Regan had changed into his best blue suit by the time Carter had collected his stuff and returned to the flat. He kept pulling the cuffs down.

"I'm sure the dry cleaners have shrunk it."

"Did they wash your brain at the same time?" Carter retorted.

Lucinda didn't care about his suit.

"What about me? Am I just supposed to wait around here?"

"No. You're coming with us where I can keep an eye on you."

"Guv?"

"She might be able to help."

"Help? She's dragging us deeper and deeper into the shit. And all to help her girlfriend."

"Focus on the guns. That's our primary investigation. Felicity just happens to be a victim we're duty-bound to assist. And a potential witness."

Carter rolled his eyes.

"This is on you guv. Don't expect me to cover for you when this all blows up in our faces."

"Shut it, George.

Car now. Both of you."

The grime of congested city streets faded to be replaced with open fields either side of the motorway. Regan watched what he knew slide away to be replaced with an alien landscape.

Carter drove the Rover P6 at a leisurely pace for its big eight-cylinder engine. Two hours travel at most. If they were lucky they could wrap this up in a day and get home before tea time tomorrow.

"The countryside George. Not all it's cracked up to be, : is it?"

Carter breathed in and wrinkled his nose.

"Smells of shit. And they say we're the ones who need cleaner air."

"Muck spreading. It's growing season. They spray slurry on the fields to make the crops grow." Lucinda informed him as she leaned forward to rest her arms on the backrest of his seat.

"Really. I prefer the smell of leaded petrol and coal fires, thanks."

"Without it, you'd have no bacon and eggs on your fry-up."

Carter was no more impressed.

"Doesn't sound very hygienic. You can keep Old MacDonald. I'll stick to getting my grub from Tesco or the Co-op on the corner."

"You think they grow the peas inside the tin?"

"Well no, obviously not. But at least they're washed first."

"You two. Townies. People who have never seen a cow."

"I've seen plenty of cows. Slept with a few as well." Regan responded.

Carter laughed for the first time since finding out about Sir Malcolm.

"All true. You should see his last bird."

Carter didn't need telling. He was already seeking their booking in the middle of town before Regan even spoke.

"We're dropping you off at a hotel."

"I should be with you." Lucinda protested.

"No you shouldn't. We're going to the local Nick, where people will want to lock you up. And then to see a man who knows you and might have similar ideas if he's behind Felicity's disappearance."

Carter laughed.

"Two good reasons to take her with us if you ask me."

"No one did ask you," Regan growled.

Lucinda was still pushing.

"I can look around. He has a cellar. He might have Fliss held there."

"I said no. Let us do our jobs, or I'll put you in a cell myself."

It went against the grain to drop a wanted criminal at the small hotel and watch her walk away, but Regan was confident she'd be there when they returned. So was Carter. He was just less happy about it.

"You know how this has to end don't you?"

Regan lit a smoke and drew heavily on it.

"It hasn't ended yet."

"And when it does?"

"When it does, I'll nick the pair of them myself."

The Rover glided to a halt outside the country station house. It could have been an old farmhouse except for the police blue coloured door and the distinctive Dixon of Dock Green lamp over it. Police was etched in white against a blue background between them. And next to the door was the constabulary badge.

Inside the walls were painted cream, contrasting with the oak reception and doors beyond.

The Chief Constable had an office at the rear with a good view over the gardens. They could see it through an adjoining window.

"Ideal for being in charge," Regan mused.

"Something to look at while the real coppers do all the work. Haskins would love it."

Chief Constable Welland finally opened the door and ushered them in.

"Not often we get a visit from the Met.

What do us country bumpkins owe this pleasure to?"

"Alexander Featherstone," Regan stated.

"The General?"

"You know him?"

"Everyone does. The General is a pillar of the community. He's a member of the Rotary Club."

"Nevertheless, we'd like a word with him."

"And what word would that be Inspector?"

"I'm sorry sir. I'm not at liberty to divulge that."

"Hmm.

Neither was your superior."

"This is just a courtesy visit. Letting you know we're around. We can do the rest by ourselves, sir."

"Oh, not on your own you're not. I don't want any accusations of harassment being levelled at this department. That's the sort of thing you can leave at the Met.

No. You'll take a liaison officer with you."

"Sir. That isn't necessary..."

"Yes it is."

He reached for the intercom.

"Send her in please."

Her? Great. The propensity for over-promoted plonks had reached the sticks.

"This is Detective Inspector Moria Graham."

"You're kidding."

It wasn't so much what was missing from between her legs as the way she was dressed that riled him. Heels and a navy blue suit with big gold buttons. Worse, it was a pant suit. He'd never seen anything look so ridiculous.

"You got a problem with that Inspector Regan?

We're a modern force up here. We promote the best minds to catch criminals, not whoever has the most stubble on their chin, or throws the hardest punch."

Regan wasn't done griping.

"I don't need a bloody babysitter."

"Inspector. You might be a big cheese down in London. Up here, you're a guest. And you're not running around waving your guns on my turf. So you'll have Inspector Graham with you at all times.

And talking of guns. You can hand those in at the desk before you leave this station. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes. Sir." Regan spat.

"God knows what your Chief is thinking. We're police. Not cowboys."

"Some of us are," Regan muttered as he took another disparaging look at his chaperone.

"Desk?" Carter reminded him as they left.

"Not on your Nelly. Keep walking."

DI Graham didn't seem to notice in her keenness to impress.

"I have a car." She said.

"Do the doors fall off when you bib the horn like other clown cars?"

"No sir.

I'll drive you straight to General Featherstone's. He's been advised we're coming."

"Has he now."

Regan would have preferred to have arrived unannounced. But then he had something else to annoy him. He stared at the little bronze Vauxhall Viva.

"Are you sure that's a car?" Carter laughed.

"We'll take ours," Regan grunted as he lit a cigarette.

"I'd rather you didn't smoke while I'm in the car," Graham said disparagingly.

"I'd rather you weren't in the car. So that's two of us who are disappointed."

It took most of the journey for Graham to notice Regan's weapon under his jacket. When she did, she wasn't happy.

"Why have you still got your guns? You were supposed to hand them in."

"Must have slipped my mind."

"We're turning back."

Regan rolled his eyes.

"Come on darling. We're five minutes away. It won't hurt to get the interview out of the way. Just pretend you didn't know."

"Don't call me darling. It's Inspector. The same rank as you. And I'm asking you to turn back."

She turned on Carter, deciding he was an easier target.

Sergeant. I outrank you. Stop this car now."

Carter reached for the radio and turned it on to blast the car with Elton John's Rocket Man.

"Sorry. Can't hear you."

Another sharp bend and a grand country house came into view. It was standing in open grounds with farmland stretching out around it as if it were the country manor of some Regency lord.

Carter drove up the gravel lane and parked right outside the door by an old green LandRover. Somewhere from the back, two large-sounding dogs barked an announcement of their arrival.

Regan was looking it over as they exited the car.

"Work hard George, and one day you'll be able to afford a garden shed out back of a place like this."

"Alright for some."

"Imagine his tax bill. Dennis Healey will have taken enough to fund our department for several years out of this geezer. Or pay off the IMF."

He glanced back at the DI.

"You coming in? Or you just gonna practice your catwalk pose?"

Graham finally stepped out of the Rover. She straightened her ugly pantsuit jacket.

"Well. Since we're here. But I shall be taking this further."

"You do that."

Regan pressed the doorbell. It echoed through the house.

"Blimey. Is that Big Ben?" George asked.

The huge door swung open effortlessly and a dark-suited middle-aged man looked over the Warrant card Regan held up.

"You're expected, sir.

Follow me and I'll take you through to the Drawing Room."

Regan pulled a face as the man turned away. A butler. Who had a butler in nineteen seventy-eight?

The house was enormous and filled with antique furniture. It felt as if they were stepping back in time to the days of Empire. They took it all in as the servant guided them through to a room at the back of the house.

Carter particularly noted the artwork decorating the walls. Each was a depiction of some famous battle. A general who liked to take his work home with him.

"Some members of the local police constabulary to see you, sir."

General Featherstone was exactly what he'd expected. A pompous man in his sixties who dressed like a country squire.

"I thought I knew most of the local force by sight. I don't recognise you... Inspector is it?"

"DI Jack Regan.

This is DS George Carter and Maggie Thatcher over there is DI... something Graham."

"Moria, I know. Fine officer."

Regan looked her over again, still in shock at her dress sense. Fine wasn't a word he'd use for someone who dressed in that affront to fashion sense.

"I'm sure.

We're from the Met, sir. We'd like to ask a few questions about a case we're working on."

"The Met eh. Must be something important.

By all means. Ask away.

But would you like a drink first? A scotch perhaps? Or I can have Arnold rummage up some tea?"

Regan shook his head.

"No. Thank you.

I'll just get to the point. Guns.

Do you know anything about guns being moved into London?"

"Good grief man. Why would I? I'm not Ronnie Kray."

"Nevertheless, it's been suggested you might have some connection to the men involved. Ex-servicemen."

"No idea what you're talking about."

Carter visibly flinched when he asked if he knew Sir Malcom.

"The MP? Only from the Times. Never met the chap."

Carter turned from looking at a photo of some army group in what looked like Africa."

"Did you see much action when you served?"

The General perked up at the interest in his career.

"Plenty. I was on the beaches in Normandy. Then the Korean campaign, and a stint against the Mau Mau. That's where that photo was taken. Kenya. That's me, second from the left. I had hair then.

That was in the days when we knew who our enemies were and the army hadn't been cut to the bone. Now we cower at home while places like Rhodesia fight for their very survival. We should be out there, putting down the insurgents."

"Oh come on. Uprisings and wars that have nothing to do with us? People don't want wars in far away places. They'd rather politicians concentrated on problems at home."

The General tensed.

"Politicians? It's their fault we have problems. The country is going to the dogs. Forty years ago we owned a quarter of the world. Twenty years ago we couldn't even fight a few Arabs over a canal because the Americans didn't give us permission. Now we have to go cap in hand to the IMF for loans. What have we become?

No more I say. No more."

Regan rolled his eyes.

"I deal with villains. Blaggers. The sort that knock off banks. Those in parliament are above my pay grade."

"Shame. Most of them should be arrested toot sweet. Damn fine institution being undermined by spivs and damn socialist charlatans. No time for them."

"Not a fan of Sunny Jim then."

"Certainly not. The man can't even decide whether or not to call an election."

Regan turned to his other reason for being here.

"One last thing. Did you happen to employ two housekeepers? Young bird... girls? Very attractive. One had red hair."

"Yes. I did. Why you so interested in them?"

Felicity Ward. She's missing."

"Who?"

"You know her as Sarah Carter."

Carter flinched at hearing his own name being used by a cheeky tea leaf.

"Really. Her and the other one. What's her name? Mandy Regan. Pair of crooks. Found them snooping around my private offices. Long gone now."

"And you've no idea where?"

"Not the foggiest. And frankly I don't care."

Outside, Carter let out a long whistle.

"You 'ere that? Bit touchy about politicians isn't he?"

"Look at his house. Probably got the hump with his taxes. Dennis wasn't kind to his sort."

"Even so. He went right off on one."

"Sir Malcolm didn't get the same reaction. Wonder why that is?"

Carter smarted, taking it as a personal dig. He still hadn't got over ruining his relationship with Judith.

Graham was curious about another thing.

"Why do two alleged thieves have the same names as you?"

"Their idea of a joke," Regan growled as he quickened his pace toward the car.

The hotel room was empty.

"Where the bleeding 'ell is she?"

"Probably done a runner. She's got your nose well and truly on the scent and doesn't need to hang about any more."

Carter was happy if she had gone. The longer Lucinda Bell was around, the more chance he'd be consigned to patrol duty.

"Look. Can we just go home?

There's nothing more to be had here. We should be concentrating on the trucks Honest John said about. Can't be hard to track down six army vehicles."

"Matt and Tom are on that. No. We're hanging around for a bit. Soon as that over-promoted plonk Graham gets bored we'll have a snoop around on our own."

"Nice set of hooters on her though."

Regan snarled.

"Can't you keep it under control for a few hours?"

"Alright for you. You've probably been poking that Lucinda. Who have I got? You ruined that one for me, didn't you?"

"Out of your league George. Did you a favour in the long run."

"Jealous much?"

The click of the door had them both looking up.

"Where have you been? Don't you understand lie low?"

"Relax Jack. I've been doing a bit of snooping of my own."

Lucinda had been busy.

"The general has meetings in the Nova Club near that new shopping place, the Grosvenor Centre.

It's a strip joint and disco. Pretty upmarket, but they have a venue room where all sorts of things go on out of sight."

"And you didn't feel the need to mention this club?"

She shrugged.

"The general was rightly your first priority. I didn't see the point in confusing matters."

Carter threw his arms up.

"Now she's bleedin' directing the operation. Shall I call Haskins and tell him to clear his desk?"

Lucinda wasn't done, but she was more coy about her next announcement.

"There's one other thing. I got a job there. They're a dancer short."

"You're supposed to be lying low. Not cavorting about on stage with your knickers off." Regan snapped.

"I'm not a known villain around here. I don't have to hide."

"You told me you weren't a stripper?"

"I'm not. But I'll be whatever I need to be if it finds Felicity."

"And that's another thing. What happened to being concerned that you'd disappear like Felicity?"

"I still am. But I can't sit around doing nothing. Besides, you two look like you enjoy a good strip joint. You can come along and keep an eye on me."

"Anything else you haven't thought to mention?"

"No. That's everything.

Now if you two don't mind. I need to take a bath. My first routine is in a few hours.

Now off you shoo."

"Why? There's a door." Carter objected.

"Yes, I know Sergeant Carter. But my stuff is in here."

"Shy for a stripper aren't you?"

"Not if you're paying.

You're not."

Regan stood up.

"Come on George. You've seen it all before anyway. Let's go get a drink while Lady Muck decides what not to wear and tweaks her pointy bits for the punters."

SIX

To begin with, the club was fairly ordinary. Upmarket though. Not your typical strip joint. More a lounge with a live band playing old favourites while the punters chatted, drank and flirted with the few young women hanging around. Slutty types in short skirts and low tops attracted to older men and their money.

Lucinda had gone in slightly behind Regan and Carter, avoiding anyone making a connection between them. Regan bought a round of drinks and they leaned back on the bar to survey the venue.

The punters were generally middle-class people. Mostly men, but a few women as well. Wives or bits on the side. They were sitting around at tables as they might in any pub, chatting, smoking, and drinking. The sluts didn't waste time with those. They were sidling up to the single ones and the small groups.

"I reckon women turn when they get older," Carter observed.

"What you on about?"

"Look at 'em. There must be ten women out there. All them over forty and married, yet they're here to look at young birds with their knockers out. That ain't right."

"In a place like this, it's art innit, George. Makes it acceptable."

"It's still lezzers in my book."

Regan sank a significant portion of his beer before giving a satisfying gasp.

"Wouldn't mind two of 'em in my bed." He answered.

"Find Felicity Ward and I reckon that's on the cards."

"Leave it out. Those two?"

"They're gonna be grateful. That's all I'm saying."

They'd attracted some attention of their own. One of the tarts was making a beeline for them. A cuddly thing with wide hips and big tits pushed up until they spilt from her top.

"Fancy buying a girl a drink?"

"How old are you?" Carter asked with disdain.

"Old enough."

Regan looked her up and down. He saw a bird beginning her decline into prostitution. A career choice he had seen far too often. And the results.

"Beat it before I call your mummy."

The girl lost her smile, showing the nasty underside of the street.

"Homos." She muttered, moving on to find a more amenable wallet.

"Aye up.

Take a butcher's at them."

Regan followed where Carter's eyes were to find two men in their thirties walking purposefully into an area roped off. A sign read 'Private Function'.

"Army haircuts if ever I saw one," Regan muttered.

"What do reckon is going on in there?"

"Let's see who else turns up."

He emptied his glass and banged it on the bar.

"Your round I reckon."

Carter rolled his eyes before digging in his pocket for a note.

"You seen the prices in 'er. Forty-nine pee. That's daylight robbery."

The barman was there as soon as the colour of his money saw that daylight.

Regan wasn't listening. He'd seen another figure arriving.

"Stand by your beds. The chief honcho has just turned up."

Sure enough, the General was passing the Private Function sign. With the final notes of Ain't No Sunshine, the lights dipped almost in time with the General slipping through the door into the back room.

"Give 'em five and we'll go pay a visit," Regan said picking up his fresh pint.

"Forty-nine pence? Not wasting a drop."

The band slipped from the stage with their stint finished and the huge JBL speakers were taken over by recorded music. The Pink Panther theme filled the venue and the two officers turned their eyes to the parting curtains where spot lights danced before picking out five scantily clad young girls marching out in time with the jazzy beat. Bare breasts bounced enticingly with each heavy step. Lucinda was dead centre, her fake red hair making her instantly noticeable even amongst equally outstanding examples of the fairer sex.

"Maybe ten minutes." Regan amended.

By the time the first trumpet solo had closed, the girls were lined up toward the audience continuing their topless routine, Lucinda included.

"That's a bit of class," Carter said approvingly. Perhaps the general just likes some entertainment in his retirement."

Lucinda and the others turned. Gorgeous tight cheeks jiggled and Regan felt the jealousy returning. She might be a blagger, but she was a quality-looking blagger.

He checked his watch.

"They've had long enough to get comfortable. Shall we go and see?"

He took one last glance at the very luscious Lucinda and stood up.

"Oi. No admittance."

A bouncer appeared from nowhere to block their path as soon as Carter lifted the rope barrier.

"Police. Out of the way."

"I don't care who you are."

Carter stepped forward, toe to toe.

"Obstructing an officer in the course of his duty. You wanna go down the station and discuss it in a quiet interview room?"

"Big man are you? What about without the badge?"

"Big enough to take you."

The man saw the belief in the sergeant's eyes and how he stood. Like a boxer. He questioned his confidence just enough that he stepped aside when Regan shoved him.

It was a conference room. Low lights, a long table, and a projector with a screen at the far end of the table with an image of what looked like a building plan.

"What's this then? A meeting of Spectre? Which one of you is Blofeld?" Regan asked setting his eyes on a very stern-looking general.

"Who are you?" Someone asked.

"This is a private meeting."

"Flying Squad.

Now what would distinguished gentlemen such as yourselves have to discuss in private when there's a show to watch outside?"

He glanced at the screen as someone flicked it off at the plug socket with an urgency that betrayed their secrecy.

"Gentlemen. This is Detective Inspector Regan of the Metropolitan Police." The general sounded sinister.

"Little off your beat aren't you?"

"And you're not exactly Roger Moore, are you. So what's going on here?"

Carter was picking out slides from the projector, holding them up to the light.

"I reckon they're planning a sightseeing trip."

He started tossing the slides into the table, one by one.

"Houses of Parliament.

Buckingham Palace.

Chelsea Barracks."

The General stood up, visibly angry as Carter studied another, more confusing one.

"What's this? A building site? Where's this then? Looks like a big project."

"Young man. We are all military men. Why would we not have an interest in our country?"

"Why would you be involved in shipping guns?" Regan asked.

"Guns and Government buildings? Just what is your interest in the country?"

"And here's one of the Prime Minister himself," Carter said holding another slide.

Regan narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, dear. You are naughty boys aren't you?"

He sensed the tension rising in the room and altered his stance just a little. He expected trouble.

"Inspector."

The new voice was loud, sharp and authoritative. The Chief Constable occupied the doorway in full uniform. At his side was the dutiful DI Moira Graham, dressed in another ridiculous outfit.

"Get out.

And get out of my County. I never want to see your Manchurian face here again. And take your obedient cockney constable with you."

Regan felt his hackles rising.

"Sir. I have reason to believe..."

"I don't care what you believe. Get out. And be assured I will be making a formal complaint about this abhorrent behaviour to your superior."

"Sir. These men are planning..."

"Don't be subordinate. Get out."

Regan growled but accepted he wasn't going to convince anyone.

"This isn't over." He spat retreating toward the exit and the bar.

As Carter walked past he looked the Chief in the eye.

"It's Detective Sergeant. Not Constable."

"Not by tomorrow morning it won't be. You'll be on traffic duty in Piccadilly Square, or wherever it is you crawled up from."

"Well, that's that," Carter said dejectedly as soon as they were out of earshot.

"What you heard in there was the sound of my career going up the spout. And Haskins is going to have your guts for garters.

Why did I let you get me mixed up in this?"

Regan lit up and waited for the nicotine hit.

"Why is the Chief Constable so keen to protect them? He didn't come from nowhere. He was part of it."

"Part of what though?"

"Something big, George. I feel it in my bones."

"We've got nothing guv."

"She has."

Regan was distracted by a particularly buxom black girl with Afro hair currently gyrating across the stage. Her assets bounced like a pair of space hoppers to the sound of Boney M and Brown Girl In The Ring.

"Bleeding 'ell.

Lucinda is gonna be jealous."

Carter's eyes were moving elsewhere.

"Ere we go. Farrah Fawcett-Wannabe is back."

"You two need to make yourselves scarce. Like, back to London."

Regan looked her up and down. This time it was a weird striped royal blue blazer and skirt suit coupled with a purple blouse.

"What have you come as today? Andy bleendin' Pandy?"

"Insulting my taste isn't going to help make you friends, Mr Regan."

"I don't need friends like you."

He stubbed his cigarette into the bar ashtray with evident anger.

"Come on George. Let's go and do some real policing."

"Wait. What do you think was going on there?"

Regan sensed the first hint that she might actually be a detective.

"Why don't you earn your rank and ask questions of the right people instead of sticking your head up the Chief Constable's arse."

"Luckily I've had better luck." Lucinda grinned after hearing about their misfortune.

"Gosport Farm."

"What about it? Smells like the rest of the countryside does it?"

"Oh, Jack. You really don't like green things do you? But how about green trucks? Army trucks to be precise."

"What about them?"

"I got talking to this pensioner guy. Bit pissed and a bit handsy. Actually, a lot of both. But it's amazing what old men will tell a young girl with her tits out in return for a feel-up."

Regan felt a pang of jealousy, and a little need to be protective. He reminded himself exactly who and what Lucinda was.

"Go on."

"He's a driver. Ex-army. Says he's been moving heavy boxes around for some extra readies. Big wooden military crates, he says. And they're all stored in a big barn at the farm."

"Does he know what's in them?"

"Not exactly. But he said he and some other guys are being paid by the General to drive the trucks down to London tomorrow."

"Guv. No."

Carter was getting defensive again.

"We're in enough trouble as it is."

"And what's the best way to get out of trouble George? Evidence."

"So we're going to go and take a look?" Lucinda asked hopefully.

"We, doesn't include you."

"But it might be where they're holding Fliss."

She was almost at the hotel room door.

"It's half twelve. We're not going anywhere in the dark. First thing in the morning. Get some shut-eye."

Lucinda looked as if she was going to complain but saw the logic.

"Okay. But first thing."

"There's another small problem we haven't considered," Carter said.

The three of them looked at the two beds.

"Chair looks comfy, George."

Carter rolled his eyes.

"What? You two not sharing?"

Lucinda gave him a disparaging look.

"I got my tits out on stage earlier. What I most definitely don't do is screw with an audience.

And I'm a lady, so I get a bed. You two can share if you like."

"Bleeding 'ell."

Carter dragged a bedspread from the nearest bed.

"Don't blame me if I fall asleep while reading someone their rights tomorrow."

Lucinda was first in bed. Carter's only bright spot was a glimpse of her bare arse as she pulled her jeans down before hopping under the covers. It was a double victory because Jack had missed it.

"I coulda been snuggled up to Judith." He grumbled.

"But you two ruined that for me."

"Leave it out, George."

"Sweet dreams," Lucinda added sarcastically as she tugged the light pull.

Carter huffed and tried to snuggle with the cover tucked up around his neck.

SEVEN

"We've got a tail guv. The Vauxhall Viva two cars behind."

Regan had already got his eye on it in the wing mirror he'd angled for himself before setting off.

"I know. It's PC Plonk. Chief plonk amongst a station of plonkers.

Reckon you can lose her?"

Carter rose to the challenge, waking the big V engine from its slumber to deliver a surge of power. They stretched out a lead over the little Vauxhall with ease, until the winding lane made it harder for the local Inspector to keep eyes on them. That was when Carter made his move.

"Hold on."

He tore the wheel left and with a squeal of radial tyres, the body rolled as they turned. The advanced suspension engineering of the Rover kept them attached to the road and they made the sharp bend before the Viva came into view. When DI Graham passed the turning, the three-and-a-half-litre Rover was well along and around another curve in the road.

Lucida was up and alert, hanging from the bulky head restraint to poke her head into the front.

"Keep going. I know this road.

The bus into town comes down here."

"And where's the farm?" Carter asked.

Lucinda stared silently out across the fields before a sudden jab of the finger.

"There."

Carter saw the dilapidated sign at the last second and stamped on the brakes. Regan was thrown forward as the heavy car came to a sudden halt.

"Back it up," Regan said looking up the lane..

The gearbox whined as they went backwards to stop at the open farm gate.

"Gosport Farm." He read the sign.

"This is the place."

He swung the door open and stood on the sill to look out over the hedge and across the fields.

"See anything guv?"

"Cabbages, I think. Hard to tell, they might be more of the chief inspector's local lot. Same IQ."

He swung back into his seat and slammed the door.

"There's some barns about a quarter of a mile along the track. Back us up so we can make a quick getaway if we have to.

Slowly."

Carter selected reverse and started the careful manoeuvre through the field. Regan watched for signs of movement but it was still.

"Close enough."

Regan was out of the car, scanning for any sign of life. Nothing.

"Looks quiet." He said as Carter joined him.

"Perhaps they're having a lay in."

He glanced at his watch.

"It's only just after seven."

Regan leaned on the roof and stuck his head in the open door to Lucinda.

"Stay in the car."

"No. I'm coming."

Regan rolled his eyes.

"Lucinda. These are dangerous people."

"Then three sets of eyes are better than two."

He could see she was determined.

"Okay. Stay down and do as I say."

"Yes, boss."

Regan growled.

"I am. Don't forget it."

He turned back to face the barns

"Let's get closer."

He took his gun out and started forward, crouched low. They moved fast with Lucinda sandwiched between them, running until the first barn afforded them some cover.

"No one about," Carter observed confidently.

Regan was feeling the same as he reached for the slide latch securing the barn. The door creaked as it opened. Dry, ancient wood and rusted hinges. Inside, four Bedford trucks with tarpaulins and two Land Rovers, all of them in British Army green, were standing silently as if waiting for the next war. These were nineteen-fifties surplus vehicles, but all no doubt fully maintained.

"Jackpot."

There was also a camping stove, old tin pots and deckchairs as if someone had been playing watchman over the trucks.

"Someone's made themselves at home."

Carter was surveying recent additions to the decorations. Pages torn from Mayfair or Penthouse.

"Hey Lucinda. You pose for pictures like these. Reckon you're in here?"

"If you're that keen on wanking over me, George, I'll buy you a year's subscription to the next publication I strip for. How's that?"

'Blimey guv. Your Lucinda is getting a bit hot under the collar."

"She's not my bloody Lucinda. She's an informant under my protection.

Both of you would do well to remember that little detail."

Regan was reaching up to the vehicles, pulling the tarpaulin back. He'd never seen gun crates before, not in real life. Shooters on the streets came wrapped in oily rags, stuffed in holdalls. But he instinctively knew these were packing more than a few shotguns.

"What you reckon all this is about?"

"I don't think it's the local amateur dramatic society putting on their version of Wild Geese," Carter replied.

"I don't like it. We should get out of here and call for backup."

Regan found a crowbar and levered the nearest crate. As the nails popped, the lid sprang away, clattering onto the truck floor.

He stared inside.

"Bloody hell. Not shotguns."

"Er... guv."

Regan hardly heard him.

"Take a butcher's at this George."

"Guv."

The more urgent tone made him look around. He saw them. Three men dressed in army uniforms heading toward the barn.

"This way."

Regan scooted toward the crumbling rear of the barn where he could see daylight. Carter and Lucinda were right behind him. The ship-lap wood was rotten from years of weathering and wouldn't take much to break away.

"George. Give me a hand."

Together, they pushed away the weakest panels, hoping not to make too much noise.

"Lucinda. You first."

He guided her down to crawl through the small gap, distracted by her shapely arse as he scrambled after her. Crater was right behind him as the main doors were pulled wide open. Regan could hear them talking as they crouched with their backs to the barn siding.

"We can take them? We've got the element of surprise here." He whispered.

"Are you bleedin' joking? They're armed."

"So are we."

Regan took out his service revolver and checked it.

Carter rolled his eyes.

"Bleeding 'ell."

"Lucida. Stay clear."

She looked white.

"Yeah. I can definitely do that."

"Come on George. Let's make a collar."

He scrambled to his feet and moved around to the front with his DS following. The doors were pulled shut. They took up a stance slightly to the side of the doors. Regan to the left, Carter on the right, guns raised and held with both hands.

Regan took a deep breath and called out.

"Police. Throw your guns out."

The worst he'd expected was a shotgun blast through the door. That was a normal hazard. Instead what came at them was a hail of rapid gunfire that tore the wooden barn door to shreds.

Regan dived sideways, taking a stunned Lucinda down with him. Carter was running with his head down. More shots tore up the weed-strewn gravel. These were from a different direction. Two more soldiers.

"Bloody 'ell. They've got machine guns." Carter screamed as he swerved to find cover behind a dilapidated tractor.

Regan grabbed him by the collar, pulling him to the ground as fresh shots arrived from several more soldiers sprinting to surround them.

Carter peeked over the tractor wheel looking between the tyre and mudguard.

"There's at least three more of them and they're coming this way.

Blimey.

Move."

Carter was running like mad, Regan following, grasping Lucinda's hand as he did so. Behind him, the tractor was engulfed in flames as several tons of farm equipment momentarily lifted from the ground.

A wave of heat came with the thunder, knocking them to the ground.

"What the hell was that?"

"A bloody rocket launcher."

"Still want to arrest them?" Carter snapped.

"Get your warrant card out, guv. I'm sure they'll be impressed."

Another peek, far more than three.

"There's a small army out there.

I'm getting definite Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid vibes here, guv."

Regan had realised the mistake and was intent on escape before they were encircled.

We're in the open. Move."

He saw George and Lucinda's mistake.

"Not the car."

He darted right, toward the crops as the others changed direction to follow. Good decision as a few seconds later the Rover went the same way as the tractor. They felt the searing heat on their backs as a fresh pressure wave added fresh impetus to their charge.

They dived to the dry, dusty ground amid the crop and stayed low. Regan would be forever grateful the rain in London hadn't made it this far north. More rapid gunfire whizzed through the air over their heads.

"Gordon Bennet," Carter muttered as he pressed his face against the mud. Regan had his arm over Lucinda as she cowered next to him.

"Stay down." He said.

He could hear shouted commands and the sound of massive lorry engines firing to life. Disciplined and with purpose, these men weren't to be deflected. They were on the move and two police officers lying in the dirt amongst the cabbage crop didn't even concern them.

"They're leaving." He said rising slowly to his knees.

Lucinda held on to him, urging him to stay down. He saw her eyes and noted how touching her concern was. Genuine.

Carter was still griping.

"Good. Bloody let them. If I'd wanted to fight World War Three, I'd have signed up. At least I could have called in an air strike."

"They're just blaggers, George. Blaggers playing at soldiers."

"Blaggers with bloody great machine guns and artillery. You seen our car?"

He could now he was up. It was a blazing shell with a column of black smoke rising into the heavens. Acrid and slightly metallic-smelling even at a distance.

Lucinda felt safer and lifted herself to see, but she still held tightly to Regan's arm.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you into this."

Regan stared in disbelief as the trucks trundled out one by one. A small army heading south toward the heart of the country.

"I think we just got ourselves involved in a small war."

Carter clambered out of the hollow he'd been hiding in to stand next to him. His policeman instincts were returning.

"What do we do now?"

"Find out where they're going."

"How? We don't have a car anymore."

"Yes, we do. Mary Poppins is here."

He pointed at the approaching bronze coloured shape.

"Inspector Graham has seen the smoke signals."

The little car came to a stop as they ran toward it.

"What have you done?" She asked with incredulity as she climbed out of the car to stare at two burning wrecks.

"Us?" Regan was aghast at Graham's question.

"Look around luv. You think George did this with his trusty Ronson?

Now either be a proper copper or get out of my way. I've got bad guys to catch."

"I'm calling it in."

Carter snatched the radio as she reached for it. He'd already taken the driver's seat before she could stop him.

"Not till we've ascertained where they're going."

"Ascertained? That's a big word for you George."

He tipped the passenger seat forward so Lucinda could clamber in.

"Who's she?" Graham demanded.

"She's helping us with our enquiries. Now get in or you're walking."

Graham did as she was told, still protesting as she found herself relegated to the back seat of her own car.

"Shut it.

After them George."

"In this? You must be bleedin' joking. It'd be quicker to run."

"Just put your bleedin' foot down."

"I am, guv.

It's a thirteen hundred and there's four of us weighing down."

"You shouldn't even be in pursuit." Graham protested.

"If a crime has been committed we should radio it in for instructions."

Regan was in no mood for procedures.

"If you don't shut it, you'll get out and push."

"She has a point. Why are we pursuing them? You saw their firepower."

"That big word George. Ascertain. We need to know where they're going and why."

He leaned forward as the back of a green truck came into view in the distance as they came over the brow of a hill.

"What do you reckon, guv?"

Regan glanced around to get his bearings. He missed his manor where every pub, corner shop and prossie plying her trade was an instant map in his head.

"They're heading south, avoiding the motorway." Graham offered.

"London?"

"Bletchley."

"Bletchley?"

"Milton Keynes to be precise. The Prime Minister is visiting the new shopping centre construction site today.

I did what you said Inspector Regan. I asked questions."

"Good girl. You might make a detective yet."

"If you're right about this being some kind of attempted coup or assassination then that's where they're headed."

"How do you know this?"

"A Prime Minister's visit is a big logistical event. Crowd control, traffic diversions, security. Officers from Stations all over the area have been drafted in."

That made sense. Regan rummaged in the glove box.

"You not got an A to Z in this rust bucket?"

"Under the seat."

He reached down and his fingers found a map. He unfolded it quickly and scanned the road layout ahead.

"Trucks move slowly."

"So does this thing," Carter complained, wishing they had the Granada to hand.

"I 'ad one of these till last year. Did me a favour when you got the doors nearly torn off during that McQueen business."

Regan was too engrossed to remember that case.

"Left up ahead. We can't catch them, but maybe we can get ahead using the motorway."

The turning was on him. Carter didn't have time for the discussion to play out. He just had to hope Jack was right. He took the turn.

"There's a farm at the bottom of this lane. We can cut through it. Then it's an A road to the junction."

Jack twisted in the seat to look at the disgruntled Graham.

"You got a gun Inspector?"

"No. Of course not.

This might be a backward wilderness to the Met, but it isn't the Wild West."

"Anyone tell the villains that?"

EIGHT

Milton Keynes was a crisscross of roads and one giant building site. To make matters worse, not every road was complete and didn't always have a through route.

Jack was still studying the map and looking for road signs as they hurtled into the new town. It was difficult. New buildings were springing up so fast, maps couldn't keep up. Even one that was less than two years old missed fresh linking roads, some of which were only temporary for construction traffic adding confusion.

"Keep going. It's past... what is that?"

He twisted the map trying to see better.

"Fisherman?"

"Fishermead." Graham corrected him.

"It's a housing estate."

"Bleeding'ell. It all looks the same."

"Got it, guv."

Carter kept the little Austin at flank speed as they hit another roundabout, the car swaying as they cut the curve to go straight on.

Freshly planted trees and shrubs lined the road on a band of raised earth behind which modern housing could be seen, then they were onto scarred earth, cleared for fresh buildings and wide roads. Holes for drainage and other services tore across the earth as if soil had been scooped away by a giant hand.

Graham was getting twitchy again as she saw police vehicles ahead and a makeshift parking area for the public.

"We should radio this in.

Without official sanction, this is illegal."

"It's an immediate risk to life," Regan responded, refusing to be distracted.

"Park up George."

The construction site was massive. Steel beams reaching skyward as another monument to consumerism was birthed. They made their way toward it, following a path marked out with tape. There were enough uniforms around to police a small city. No army uniforms, and no sign of the trucks.

"They could be anywhere," Carter said stating the obvious.

"The Prime Minister is due at four PM." Graham offered.

Lucinda followed behind, wary of more guns pointing her way at any moment.

"Wouldn't you just use a sniper?" Carter asked.

"Six trucks and a couple of Land Rovers is more like a military assault. What do you suppose they're trying to achieve?"

Regan had given that some thought.

"Capture rather than kill?" He suggested.

"Disrupt the government. Make the PM look weak so someone else can step in."

"You're thinking Sir Malcolm?"

"Why not.

Imagine that George. You'll see Mrs Hargreaves on the News at Ten knowing you banged our new Prime Minister's missus while he was busy with his greasy pole."

"If it weren't for you two, I'd still be banging her. Thanks for the reminder."

Lucinda gave him an apologetic smile.

"Alright for you." He griped.

"When all this is over, you'll have Felicity to bang. What'll I have?"

Regan had decided to make his presence known.

"Wait here."

He headed into the throng of officers ahead waving his warrant card, his eyes searching out anyone who looked like they might have some knowledge.

"Who's in charge here?"

Another suit. Great. The upper echelons of the police force were more about politics than about catching scum. All photo ops and not rocking the boat. So much so that the higher they climbed, the less reason they were prepared to accept. This one proved to be no different.

"You're out of your patch DI Regan."

He was getting angrier by the minute.

"I'm telling you there's an active threat."

"So you say.

There are hundreds of officers here. Officers who are supposed to be here. We'll deal with any issues that might arise. Now why don't you go find a strip club to stake out. That's what the Flying Squad does best, isn't it? Between collecting bribes."

That riled him. Some of his contemporaries were less than white, but he had never taken a bung to look the other way. He resented anyone who insinuated otherwise. That however, wasn't a road to go down with this ponce today.

"Bleeding 'ell. You're not listening. These men are professionals. Military-trained and heavily armed. What are your PC plods going to do against that when it kicks off?"

"That's all very inventive. But you have no evidence."

"Evidence?

Are you blind as well as stupid?

A bloody police Rover is sitting in a field not thirty miles from here that some scumbag blew up with a rocket launcher. What more evidence do you want?"

"Less of the insolence. I'll be taking this up with your DCI."

"You can take it up with Jesus Christ almighty for all I sodding care."

"That's enough. The Flying Squad doesn't impress me. As far as I'm concerned you're just a spectator here. So get yourself back behind the police line and let professional officers do their job or you'll be the one I have arrested."

"Sod it."

Regan stormed away.

"Don't come crying for help when the shit hits the fan."

"They're not listening." He growled when he got back to the others.

"So what are we going to do now?"

Regan thought quickly.

"Felicity. Go with Nancy Drew and stop the cavalcade any way you can."

"What are you going to do?"

Carter rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I wish you hadn't asked that."

Regan's face set with determination.

"Give the general his next war."

The trucks approached from the south in convoy. The sight of uniforms, cracked orders, and official-looking paperwork got them waved through the police cordon. Regan and Carter watched from behind a police line as they separated into two columns. Three trucks headed by a Land Rover headed toward the staged area where a podium had been set up for the Prime Minister's speech. Television cameras and the press were crowded in front of it so that the towering steel framework of the shopping centre offered an impressive vision of the future rising from the ground.

The second group was moving to secure an exit route along a service track for heavy construction vehicles.

"Bleeding 'ell guv. I hope you've got a plan."

"Not really George. Let's get closer to that lot over by the podium. That's where Captain Mainwaring will be.

"Who are you? What's your connection to all this?" Graham asked Lucinda as they headed along the most likely route for the PM's small cavalcade to approach.

"Just someone who has a vested interest," Lucinda responded unhelpfully.

The new city had fallen away to countryside. Trees and farmland lining the main road linked the emerging new town to its nearby motorway connection.

"An informant?" She pressed.

"Little more than that. Sorry. You'll have to ask Jack."

Graham cursed Regan. She wished his was a name she'd never heard.

"There."

Lucinda pointed.

Graham saw it. Two police outriders on Triumph motorcycles. White cowlings and helmets elevated them from the background at a distance. Following behind was a distinctive big black Rover P5 everyone recognised as a ministerial car from news footage. Behind that, several car lengths back, a police Austin Princess carried security. They were on the other side of the road, spread out to control the traffic around them.

"Oh hell. Here goes my career.

Hang on."

Graham kept the car steady as the motorcycles passed. Then she made her move. A sharp right turn straight across the path of the heavy Rover. Lucinda heard the screech of tyres.

"Jesus Christ."

She cringed, almost climbing into Graham's lap as the heavy car threatened to come through the side of the little Viva. The big chrome grill filled her vision like a row of vicious teeth. She saw it wobble as it came to a halt, and then the faces of shocked occupants. Was that really the Prime Minister in the back?

Graham was moving.

"Stay down. Keep your hands where they can see them. They'll be armed." She snapped sharply.

She pushed the door wide and stepped out with her arms up, holding her ID aloft.

"Police." She shouted.

"Don't shoot."

Lucinda could hardly keep up. The Rover was hurtling backwards to protect its important occupant. Cars were forced aside causing mayhem on the road. Horns blared as the police motorcycles waved people onto the verges to create room.

The Austin from the rear was going nowhere. It moved to block the little Viva with its doors swinging open. Armed, plain-clothed protection officers piled out to surround the offending vehicle.

She saw Graham thrown to the ground and heard the growl of the motorcycles returning. Everything was happening fast. Lucinda stayed laid across the seats as loaded weapons pointed from both sides.

"Out. Hands raised."

She moved slowly, shaking with the same fear she'd had that night Jack Regan and George Carter had faced her and Felicity in the house they'd been trying to rob. Real, loaded guns and raging adrenaline. Not a healthy combination.

Regan used his warrant card to intimidate junior uniformed officers out of their way. Ahead, they could see the General in full combat gear, flanked by two armed squaddies as they played a similar subterfuge to be near the podium.

There was another face there he recognised.

"Sir Malcolm. He's giving legitimacy to this charade." He muttered.

"There's two more taking up position at the rear." Carter pointed out.

"Blimey George. They're gonna snatch him mid-speech in front of the press."

Carter looked around pinpointing several more soldiers further out amongst the construction equipment.

"Reckon they'll create a distraction, guv."

Regan's mind was following the same path.

"What were you saying about a sniper? A failed assassination attempt sounds like the perfect excuse. A sniper takes a shot that misses. In the confusion, they move in to protect the PM. Who's gonna question that?

The police will just wave them through while they run around like headless chickens."

Regan started looking for vantage points in what was little more than a long concrete foundation. A giant platform with hundreds of steel girders reaching up into the sky. Aside from the rudimentary shopping centre floor and a temporary approach road, it was open ground. Heaps of shifted earth and open drains. One thing jumped out at him.

"Pound to a penny, it's the crane.

Go take a look."

Carter stared up at the open-framed mast.

"You seen how high that thing is?"

"What's the matter, George? Scared of heights."

"Bleeding 'ell."

Carter slipped away through the crowd toward his target.

Regan turned his attention back to the general. Sir Malcolm was still with him, checking his watch. No PM yet. He hoped it was a sign that the girls had been successful.

Carter reached the crane. A ladder rose through the centre of the mast. A simple hop over a safety gate and he was at the bottom.

"Not so high." He said to himself with little conviction.

He started climbing, confident that anyone at the top wouldn't be able to see him. He did have to be quiet though.

"Bleedin' ell."

Looking down was a mistake. He felt queasy and gripped the rungs just that little bit tighter.

Regan was noting a distinct discomfort amongst his two targets. Sir Malcolm was asking a police officer for his radio as General Featherstone tapped his watch and barked at the hapless police officer. Any moment now, the penny would drop. How would he react then?

That was when the general saw him.

"That man. There. Apprehend him."

His voice bellowed like a sergeant-major putting raw recruits through their paces. It carried authority that no one was going to ignore and Regan suddenly became the hunted.

He darted away as two armed soldiers rushed in his direction. To his disdain, a uniformed hero jumped in his way. He barrelled through him just as machine-gun fire chaffed the ground behind him.

He saw an oblong hole in the floor surrounded by a low barrier and he leapt over it to take cover.

In the background, the screams of a panicking public drowned the shouts of police officers trying to work out who was who in the mayhem. Others were organising a hasty evacuation with more shouts.

Fresh fire spat chunks of concrete as he poked his head up. He was back in the mud instantly.

Carter was nearing the top. Below him, the drop looked dizzying. He wiped sweat from his brow and took his gun out. Three more rungs and he was at the hatch. He took a breath to settle his nerves and lifted it carefully, the muzzle of his revolver going ahead of him.

He saw the legs of a soldier. He raised the hatch a little more and wedged himself to hold the gun with both hands. The report would send him tumbling if he fired without a secure footing.

The man was crouched with a rifle pointing down into the crowds, waiting for his target to arrive. Carter acted.

"Police. Drop it."

He threw the hatch fully back and raised himself to have a clear shot as the man turned sharply, bringing his rifle to bear. Carter felt the adrenaline rush as he let loose a shot. It went wide.

In the confined space of the cabin, the barrel came within a hair's breadth of Carter's face and he snatched instinctively, swerving it away as a steely-eyed soldier fired. The report rang in his ears and he felt the heat in the metal. It was the emphasis he needed to force his legs up the final rungs. The rifle came free, dropping through the open hole to clatter down the mast.

Carter had the advantage, finding his position ever more secure as the soldier dragged him up into the cabin. He landed a right hook on the man's face with the revolver adding extra impact. He fell sideways and Carter had the gun on him before he could recover.

"You're nicked."

Regan had managed to get two shots off before he was pinned down again. More soldiers were surrounding his position in the giant hole that would one day be a planter for exotic trees in the new shopping complex.

All he could hear were confused shouts and sharp orders. He stayed down pressed against the concrete sides and held his gun at the ready for anyone who showed from above.

The next lot were more of a concern. People he couldn't shoot at. His heart raced.

"Armed police.

Throw the gun out and stand with your hands raised."

"I am the bloody police," Regan shouted back. Jack Regan. Flying Squad. Check it out."

No one was listening. He fumbled for his warrant card. Armed officers appeared, weapons raised aggressively.

"You're surrounded.

Throw the weapon down."

"Flying Squad." He shouted again."

"Throw the weapon down. You're under arrest."

"You're pointing your guns at the wrong man you bloody idiots. Arrest the soldiers. The ones with the bigger shooters."

"Throw the weapon down or we will shoot."

He put his gun down and threw his warrant card out as his anger spilt over.

"Read it you bloody Nancy boy morons."

Someone helped him out of what he'd thought looked too much like a dug grave as the tension eased.

"Get that out of my face."

He swiped a uniformed officer's gun aside as someone senior and very angry-looking stormed toward him. DCI Metcalfe again.

"You're out of your patch Detective Inspector."

"Oh what? You think I should bleedin' wait for the PM to be kidnapped on my manor?"

"There are channels."

"Stuff your bleedin' channels. I acted on an immediate threat. Now arrest those scumbags before they get away."

"They're British soldiers."

"They're fake. They're here to kidnap the Prime Minister."

"The PM isn't here. He's cancelled."

"He's cancelled because two of my people stopped him."

"We know all about them. DI Moira Graham and some woman who won't give her name. They're in custody where you should be."

"In custody? You're bleedin' joking You should be giving them a bloody medal. They've probably saved your career.

Now what are you doing about Colonel Blimp and his toy soldiers? While you're standing about 'ere discussing the weather, they're packing up to move out."

"They're returning to barracks."

Regan was exasperated.

"Are you terminally thick? Check their orders with someone who isn't turned on by a man in a uniform."

At long last, the insufferable DCI Metcalfe responded with something approaching action. He ordered his men to disarm the General's men and take them into custody.

"We'll sort this out at the station."

The reaction was predictable. Weapons came back up, police and army in a standoff with Jack Regan standing in the middle.

"Get out of my way." The General shouted authoritatively.

"Not unless you show me written orders from the ministry," Metcalfe demanded.

Regan had had enough of the standoff. He took a swing at Featherstone. It landed perfectly and broke his high almighty pose. He stepped over him and stuck his Smith and Wesson right in his face as just about every weapon around him clicked and clattered with a sudden readdress of their target.

Regan hauled the man to his feet.

"Come 'ere you slag. As no one else 'ere as got the guts, I'll do it myself. You're nicked.

The only marching you'll be doing from now on is up and down the exercise yard in the Scrubs."

The general proved to be quite sprightly, sidestepping Regan's attempt to get a better hold on him. He ran back as his men circled them, weapons raised.

Regan held his gun square on the General's head.

"Back off." He screamed.

Ten soldiers had taken up positions around him. Armed police rushed to surround them as Carter appeared waving his ID, shouting.

"You open fire on armed police and you'll be dead. Or at best, serving thirty years.

You wanna do that for some failed officer? Stand down."

Surprisingly, the adrenaline-fuelled aggression eased down a notch.

"Bloody 'ell, George. You should have joined the army."

NINE

Regan couldn't be doing with the drive back to the hotel so he had booked a bed and breakfast near the station he'd had to extradite Lucinda and a somewhat outraged DI from. After some choice words thrown his way, Graham had gone back to retrieve her car from the pound.

Lucinda took a bath as soon as they had checked in while he collapsed in a chair to recover with the help of a bottle of whiskey.

"They had me banged up. I thought that was it." Lucinda said sitting on the floor by his legs when she was done.

"Good job, refusing to give your name. Otherwise I wouldn't have gotten you out. A complaint about my non-cooperation on that point will be on my DCI's desk by the morning, but I can live with that."

"What happened at the shopping centre?"

"I nearly got bleedin' killed. That's what happened."

"Oh. Poor you."

Lucinda was touching him all over, planting gentle kisses on his hands as she held them.

"Thought you were into birds."

She smiled.

"I am. But I've told you. I'm not exclusive."

Regan took hold of her wrists fully intending to stop her. He couldn't. A moment later he was pushing her to the rug on the floor, pulling that dressing gown open to reveal the charms that she'd so readily displayed on stage the previous night.

Lucinda responded with a rabid hunger, kissing him, touching him, wrapping her legs around him as she opened herself to his animalistic urge. It was her hands that tugged at his belt. Her hands that pushed his trousers aside.

"Uhhh."

It came fast and furious, the two of them dealing with a sexual tension that had been building since their earliest encounter.

"Oh yes." Lucinda cried out as that tension was released in a wave of ecstasy that washed through her like an ocean wave.

Regan was chipper as he dressed early the next morning. He could see Lucinda in the mirror, lying in the bed watching him as he wrapped his tie around his collar. So beautiful. He almost succumbed to an urge to pinch himself to check it wasn't a dream.

She'd been amazing. That first rapid screw on the rug had been followed by a more lengthy session in the comfort of the bed. He knew it was a one-night-only thing. But it would be one he'd remember.

"Stay here. I'm going into the station to question Featherstone now everyone else will have finished picking over his bones. I still have a promise to keep."

"Felicity?" She asked hopefully.

"I told you I'd find her. Until I have, this isn't over."

Lucinda rolled on the bed, dragging the covers from herself to reveal her bare arse. Regan sighed as he felt fresh stirrings. She lifted her head, to reveal the most perfect set of tits hanging from her raised chest. His eyes lingered on the mirror, watching the reflection. Firm, smooth, they pointed downward with deeply coloured nipples. She waved her feet in the air

"Do you think she's still alive?"

He settled the knot and turned to find his jacket.

"Yes. I do.

They were careful not to kill anyone. The whole plan was to be non-lethal. At least till we messed things up a little."

"Felicity is a nobody to them. Why would they care about her?"

"They wanted a clean take. A forced resignation the public wouldn't know about. Bodies complicate that sort of thing.

No. If they'd wanted Felicity dead, they'd have done it in your flat. A suicide attempt, or robbery gone wrong. And a body hasn't turned up. So yeah. I think she's still alive. I know she is. I feel it in my bones."

He turned to look at her directly.

"Our jumped-up toe rag of a Napoleon will know where she's being held."

Lucinda nodded slowly, absorbing his faith to bolster her hope.

"Jack.

Please bring her back safe. She means everything to me."

He looked over that sweet body again, lamenting that he had only borrowed it, for one grateful night he'd never repeat. It had been a thank you for something he still had to deliver.

"I know."

Regan arrived in the Northamptonshire station like a whirlwind with Carter at his side. He let loose his fire at the desk sergeant.

"I want to see General Featherstone. I've a few questions I want answers to."

"Sir. I'll need to get authorisation for that from the higher-ups."

"Sod your authorisation. He's my collar."

He slammed the service flap back and barged past the officer with Carter acting as a buffer.

"No you don't." He threatened as they came nose to nose.

DI Graham appeared as if on cue.

"Regan."

"Which cell is the scum bag in?"

"I'm not sure this is appropriate."

She ran after him as he headed toward the cells with purpose. Her heels clicked on the tiled floor as she tried to keep up. Carter followed, equally ready to stop her interfering, bird or no bird.

"Can't you just stay in London? Your case is closed."

"He was my collar."

"He's our suspect."

Carter stepped to block her as she rushed to stop his DI from reaching the door to the cells. Regan tutted.

"There's nothing suspect about it. He's scum. And he still has something I still want."

"Felicity Ward?"

He stopped at the mention of that name. She turned to steel as she tried to see him past Carter's bulk blocking her way.

"Ask questions, you said. I did. I looked up Lucinda Bell. I know who she is. And who her... friend is. She's not been around, so where is she?"

"That's what I intend to find out."

"You think he has her?"

"Yes.

Now which cell? Get the bloody door open."

Carter watched her as she waged a war in her head. Finally, she relented and nodded to the following sergeant to let Regan have his wish.

He hurried on along the corridor to the holding cell with Regan, Graham and Carter following.

"No violence," Graham warned.

"He's still entitled to fair treatment."

Regan was straight in, heading towards the General as he sat up. He looked older, smaller, just like any other common criminal. His authority had waned with his arrest, stripped away with most of his pompous uniform.

Regan lunged, gripping the older man by his lapels, dragging him from his seat.

"Where's Felicity Ward?" He spat.

"In a cell where the thieving bitch belongs."

"Eh?"

"Ask Pepper Anderson over there who else she's got locked up in her cells."

Regan shoved the General back to the cell bed and glared at Graham. She shook her head.

"I don't know anything about this. I don't even know who this Felicity Ward is other than what the files say."

"Right. Let's check the rest of your nick."

Carter was ahead of him, slamming back the Judas Windows on each of the remaining cells until...

"Gordon Bennett."

The two of them stared through the viewing slot on the cell door.

"She was here all this time," Carter exclaimed.

Felicity Ward looked dejected, sitting quietly on the single metal-framed bed at the far end of the sparse eight-by-twelve cell. She hadn't even looked up.

"I didn't know," Graham said.

"She's not in the register."

"Get this door open," Regan growled.

Graham stepped forward with the keys. As the lock rattled, the young girl finally looked up. Seeing the two men who had put her away previously didn't inspire the kind of warm welcome her rescue should have expected.

"You two.

I have rights."

"Shut it and come with me."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Where are you taking her?" Graham interjected with more strength.

"Whatever's gone on here, she's a wanted criminal?"

"Yes. And she's in my custody now. Your job is figuring out why your station held her without due process.

"George. Escort the prisoner please."

"Cuffs?"

"No. She's gonna want to go where I'm taking her."

"Where's that?" Felicity asked again.

"Where your love bird is."

"Lucinda?"

"What's going on here?"

Regan turned to find Chief Constable Welland blocking their exit. He was in no mood for him.

"Oh look. Another corrupt bastard crawls out from the rotten woodwork of Pogles Wood. Is everyone up here bent? Mind you. Kidnap is a step up from the usual scrumping that goes on in the sticks isn't it?"

"DI Graham. Put that suspect back in her cell."

"Sir. She hasn't been correctly..."

"She's a wanted criminal."

Regan had had enough.

"Did you read her, her rights? Did you charge her? Did she get her phone call? Has a solicitor been called?"

He jabbed his finger into the man's chest at each point.

"It's wrongful imprisonment. And you're responsible, Tinker-bell. Your shiny buttons aren't going to protect you when this nick is torn apart by A-Ten. And oh yes, I'm going to be there all the way watching you sink back into the gutter where you belong."

The Chief Constable spat back.

"Aiding and abetting an absconded villain. You'll be going down right alongside me."

"Don't count your chickens."

"She's inside where she belongs." He snapped.

Regan felt the adrenaline rush. It was the same call to action he felt when faced with armed blaggers taking a wage van or a jeweller's in the high street.

"You're going to spend longer in there than she ever will. Sir.

You're nicked as well."

Welland visibly laughed.

"On what charge? Don't be a fool man. I'm a Chief Constable. You're a scummy little DI from out of town. Just because you're hero of the day for protecting a bloody socialist government doesn't make you God."

"Aiding and abetting the kidnapping of a government official. Subverting a democratically elected government. Wrongful imprisonment. And generally being a pompous toe rag. That's just for starters."

He pushed the chief Constable hard, sending him staggering back into Felicity's cell.

"You should be in the bloody Tower."

He slammed the door.

"They still hang traitors you know. But even that would be too good for you."

He turned on the stunned DI Graham.

"Arrest him."

"Sir?"

"You 'eard me. Be a real copper and arrest him." He shouted.

DI Graham went through the motions.

"You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so but what you say may be put into writing and given in evidence."

"Open this door."

"If there's one thing I hate, it's bent coppers."

"I'll have your badge for this, Regan. I'll have Operation Countryman tear you apart."

"Shut it."

He was in no mood. Besides, he had a promise to keep. He took Felicity by the arm, his fingers gripping her bicep firmly.

"With me."

He dragged the confused girl along with him.

"Am I under arrest or not?"

"Beats me."

Carter was the only one who answered.

"So. What now?" Lucinda asked as she toyed with her glass.

Regan looked at the two of them across the pub table. They held hands, not caring who saw. The love between them was palpable. A union nothing would break. He could see that.

"I have to rearrest you for absconding. It'll be in my report that you were a great help during the investigation. Might even get some time knocked off your sentence. But you won't get away scot-free."

"Or... You could look the other way. Just for a minute."

Regan turned his attention to Carter who was looking a lot less comfortable with the prospect of the next few minutes.

"George. There's no rush. I think you should get another round of drinks in. And fetch me a fresh packet of ciggies out of the machine."

"On it guv."

As his sergeant moved away, keen not to be involved in what he saw going down, Regan turned back to Lucinda and Felicity.

"It takes a while to process you at the station. Might want to visit the ladies before we go."

He fixed her with a stare.

"While George is at the bar. Busy."

Lucinda held his eyes, unblinking.

"Thank you, Jack."

Lucinda and Felicity shuffled along the seat to stand up.

"Just be a few minutes."

The smile was warm, lingering before she started away. Regan watched her arse swaying one last time.

Carter was a while at the busy bar. Then the cigarette machine needed a few encouraging thumps to release its grip on twenty Player's Number 6. By the time he got back, Regan was alone, smoking one of the cigs he'd pilfered from Carter's unattended packet while looking as if he'd let something valuable and personally important slip through his fingers.

"Don't suppose there's any point in looking around. They'll be long gone by now." He said putting the glasses on the table.

"Long gone, George.

Sorry. My mistake."

Carter settled himself in the chair and sipped his beer.

"Nah. Couldn't be helped. They're a slippery pair."

He picked up his cigs, momentarily counting them before glancing back at his guv'nor suspiciously.

"Ere. Did you bang that Lucinda bird or not? You were alone a few times. You must have taken the opportunity?"

"She's a lesbo."

"Not entirely. She did those blokes in the big houses to case the joints. So come on. Did you have a go on 'er or not? I would have."

"Leave it out, George."

He took another deep satisfying drag on his cigarette and let the smoke twist and tumble upwards as he exhaled slowly.

TEN

DCI Frank Haskins was in fine fettle. A crazy situation had played out without his direct knowledge, but his department had come up smelling of roses. It was a glory he was happy to bask in.

"You'll get a commendation for this Jack. And you George. Excellent work."

Haskins handed them both a glass of whiskey and raised his.

"Bottoms up."

"Thank you, sir."

"The Prime Minister has already relayed his immense thanks. You've done the country a great service. And the department."

"Didn't see anything about it on the news." Carter pointed out.

"You won't. The Security Services have dropped a D notice on it."

"You're bleedin' joking?" Regan was incensed.

"An attempted coup, and it's being brushed under the carpet?"

"This is Great Britain, Jack. The mother of parliaments. Wouldn't do to have talk of revolution spoiling our international image would it.

Sorry. But none of this will see the light of day for at least thirty years."

"Great. I'll be able to read about it in the Sunday Supplement in my care home."

"What about Sir Malcolm? He was up to his armpits in it."

Carter was feeling sorry for Judith, and for himself. Sir Malcolm was the reason for that and he wanted him to pay.

"I understand he is writing his resignation letter to the PM as we speak. Something to do with personal problems."

"So he's getting off Scot free?"

"I wouldn't see it entirely like that. But there will be no public acknowledgement of his participation and no trial."

Carter muttered his annoyance under his breath.

Haskins placed his glass back on the drinks cabinet as his thoughts turned to the one outstanding issue.

"Now. What about Lucinda Bell and Felicity Ward? Where might they be?"

"They gave us the slip, sir," Regan said.

Haskins wasn't convinced.

"George?"

"Dunno sir. Got clean away while we were dealing with... other things."

"Hmm.

That's a shame. But we can't have everything. And we should recognise that they helped stop a major national threat."

"Absolutely sir."

Regan finished his drink taking comfort from the fact that Haskins didn't seem intent on pursuing that particular blot on his copybook.

"No directing traffic George. How's that for a result?" He asked as they went back into the busy office.

"After climbing that bleedin' crane, I was ready to request it."

"Guv. There's a message for you." Matt called over.

"Some bird. Said she had something for you. You on a promise?"

"No such luck."

Regan had found the note. A rendezvous point and a time. He glanced up at the clock. Not thirty minutes away.

"Just a snout."

He lifted his anorak from the back of his chair.

"Guv?" Carter asked.

"You stay here George. It's nothing. Won't be long."

He went alone, taking his own car. It was drizzling as he walked down to the canal. Some school kids were hanging around, smoking under a tree. They eyed him suspiciously as he walked past. Truants weren't his concern.

He reached the canal path. A grubby, unkempt lane that followed the waterway. It was littered with fag packets and other detritus.

He saw Lucinda and Felicity waiting for him. They were taking no chances, standing on the other side with the waterway acting as an effective barrier should his police instincts kick in.

Regan glanced along the bank in either direction. One crossing. A small bridge at least two hundred yards to his right. Even if he had wanted to arrest them, they would be gone long before he could make it across to them.

Lucinda pulled the hood of her coat down.

"Hello, Jack."

"I see you've changed your hair again." He called back.

Lucinda ran her hand through the short strands.

"Dark suits me better. And the androgynous look is so in vogue.

"I like it," Felicity said snuggling up to her arm.

She'd changed her look as well. Less feminine. Baggy jeans with a high waist, platforms, and a man's check shirt peeked from under the leather jacket she wore. Her hair was darker, more brown with blonde highlights. Still pretty in a dyke sort of way, Regan decided.

"So what you going to do now?"

Lucinda smiled at the question.

"Don't know to be honest. Lots and lots of depraved sex first. After that..." She considered her answer.

"Something new."

"You know you're still wanted fugitives."

"As much as I enjoy a good pair of handcuffs, I'm not keen on ones that end with me being incarcerated. And yes. I know you're duty-bound to arrest me if we cross paths again.

So I suppose. It's au revoir."

Regan kicked dirt.

"Until we meet again. And yes. I will arrest you."

He looked around as he pondered what he would do if faced with that choice. He couldn't honestly say.

"But not today.

Try going straight then I won't need to look for you."

Lucinda put her arm around Felicity.

"I've tried straight. Not keen on it, in any sense of the word. Though you did have a certain charm."

And quite a bit of stamina for a bloke who smokes two packs a day and drinks scotch in place of water."

Again that smile. So seductive and enchanting. It was no wonder she could fool people into trusting her so easily.

"Thank you, Jack. I've got what I wanted. And I'll be eternally grateful for that, even if we are on opposing sides of the game. But don't feel bad. I really do think you're the only decent filth I've ever met. And George.

I just wanted to tell you that before we go."

"Promise me one thing. No guns."

Lucinda smiled.

"I admit that was a mistake. But you know they were never loaded."

"People don't know that. Won't stop 'em shooting you. And I wouldn't want that."

"No guns," Felicity confirmed for them.

"And we never steal from people who can't afford to lose something. We're not heartless. You know that."

Regan did. It was one of those awkward realities that made policing difficult.

He actually felt sad as he took a slow walk back toward his car with the rain beginning to fall heavier. Two villains were still on the run, but that was a small price to pay for saving democracy. Two villains he didn't feel bad about not apprehending. They were a blot on his copybook he was happy to carry.