“There are times when you frighten me, and times when you don’t,” Books mocked as he disengaged his hand and put his arm around her waist. Before she knew it, she felt a cold hand under her clothing. He playfully pinched her flesh and pulled her towards him to prevent retaliation.

“Ouch!” she cried, and leaned in to him, feeling his warmth and muscular strength. “There’ll be trouble,” she promised.

“You and whose army?” he replied.

“Just me. I don’t need an army. Just you wait and see.” She looked up at him and ran the tip of her tongue suggestively across her slightly parted lips.

“Home now?” he asked, hopefully.

“Oh no. I haven’t stood in this queue for nearly half an hour just to walk away now. I want to see this film. It’s the premiere and I’m not leaving now. Patience grasshopper.”

Officially they were on leave. Not that it meant much, as they were always available when necessary. They had certainly earned a break after the “Stones in my Jar” drama. Emily’s body was recovering well from her encounter with fire and ice. She was not in pain any more, but wasn’t keen on going through such extremes again. Her burns and grafts were healing nicely and the evidence of her various other physical injuries had almost gone. The psychological damage was another matter, though. She needed all the help she could get as she continued her recovery. Above all, she needed her lovely man. He was hers and God help anybody who interfered with that.

They realised they had allowed a space to develop in front of them and people were looking. Sheepishly they closed the gap quickly in case anybody tried to fill it. There were only about twenty people in front of them now.

Books began to rummage around in his pocket, feeling for loose change, and, just at that moment, Emily’s mobile phone buzzed. She jumped at the sound. She rarely received text messages that were marked with exclamation marks. It was uncharacteristic of her father to adorn messages with such paraphernalia, being much more prone to understatement, but when she read the text and saw that it told her over a hundred people were going to die in two hours she understood the need. She held the mobile up towards Books and indicated with her eyes that he should look at it.

Books’ face was immediately stern. He returned the phone to Emily. She made the call.

“Details?” she asked. No time or need for beating around the bush.

“Go on,” she instructed.

“Sorry, Emily, this is bad. We’re needed. It seems there’s an outfit planning an attack of some description. They’ve promised an update in fifteen minutes. I need you and Books now.”

They had been in the queue for three-quarters of an hour and were reluctant to leave, but the urgency in Frank’s voice convinced them.

“We can be with you in twenty minutes,” Emily said.

“Not good enough,” her father replied. “You see that Jaguar across the road, sitting on the double yellow line? Jump in. The driver is waiting.”

Emily and Books swung their heads in unison, as if in an Olympic synchronised swimming competition. They looked at each other and dashed across the road, bringing a taxi to a screeching halt amid a volley of cockney abuse. They heard a crunch as something failed to avoid contact with the taxi.

Just as they both hit the leather rear seats, Emily’s phoned buzzed into life again.

“That wasn’t fifteen minutes,” Emily observed.

“I know,” her father replied. “It seems they have an elastic sense of time.”

“So what is it?” Emily was in work mode now.

“An attack of some kind. The voice was vague and wouldn’t give anything more about what type of attack. Could be IED, chemical, shooting, a vehicle. Anything. But they were sure the victims would number a hundred at least. Oh, it also turns out they have a mole in the security services, which is why we’re being used. They won’t know of our existence. They’ll think they’re dealing with our security services.” Frank paused to allow the import of his information sink in.

“Is it up and running?” Emily asked.

“Yes,” her father replied. “Hence the time limit.”

“Anything else?” Emily needed more details.

“He’s called Quarim. He’s their mouthpiece. He said they were heading back now, and the attack would be at four this afternoon.” Frank said.

“And we’ve no idea about location?” Emily asked.

“No,” said her father.

“You said they were heading back now,” Emily grabbed at the only information she’d been given.

“Yes. We put a trace on the mobile, so we know where they were when the call was made. But he may not have been anywhere near where the attack will be. But, it’s a start. Also, we think Quarim was in a BMW. Somebody swore at him from another car because he was driving and using his mobile at the same time and then reported the number plate to the locals. He said there were two of them in the car. Thank God for the great British public, eh? We’ve got everybody available looking for it now.”

Emily listened intently. She caught her reflection in shop windows as they sped by. It was like the early cinema with its images flickering so rapidly that they merged into a continuous film. She waved at herself and saw the strobe effect.

Books was on his own phone by now and listening hard. Their driver half turned to announce that a white BMW had been stopped and surrounded. He didn’t know where. It could be London or anywhere in the UK.

“No shooting,” Emily shouted at her mobile. “I don’t want either of them killed. They need to meet Books.”