I stroked her cheek wordlessly, then ran my fingers through her hair as she carried on.

"You were right... you were right. I wanted to be the one, I wanted to do it all myself... I wanted it so badly, it just got out of control. Once it started I couldn't go anywhere for help, I had to go it alone." She squeezed me hard and carried on sobbing.

"What am I going to do. Nick?

Or maybe you don't care?"

It was pointless asking me. I was still trying to get over my own guilt.

f.u.c.king h.e.l.l, I'd got so far down the line that I'd switched the freezer on. How could I have done that to her? Maybe I didn't have moral boundaries like normal people. Was I always going to be the freak without emotion?

She was still in remorse overload; it was as if she was talking to herself.

"I could have done something about it in the beginning, but no, I wanted to be the one to get the credit. I'm so sorry, so sorry. Oohhh, s.h.i.t, what have I done, Nick?"

She squeezed her arms around me even more, desperately wanting support.

I put my arms around her and she sobbed her heart out. I wanted to give her the comfort she needed, but just didn't have the tools. I'd never really needed them.

"I don't know what to do, Sarah," I whispered.

"Just hold me. Nick, just hold me."

I hugged her tighter. I felt strangely good about what I was doing. We stood there for minutes, rocking gently in each other's arms, her sobs slowly subsiding. I doubted there were any more tears left for her to cry.

She wiped her face on my shirt. I tried to lift her chin, but she resisted.

"I'm sorry, Nick. I'm just so sorry..." She moved away from me and wiped her face with her palms, the sniffles starting to slow down in frequency as she regained some of her composure.

"Sarah, where are they going to make the hit?"

She looked up, breathless.

"The White House, tomorrow."

"How? How will they do it?" I needed to know for when I called London.

It would be my justification for returning with her alive. She was in the s.h.i.t, I understood that, but so would I be if I helped her and hadn't prepared my tuppence worth for the inquiry that was bound to follow.

She sniffed loudly.

"There's a photo call on the White House lawn with Clinton, Arafat and Netanyahu. They'll give a press conference, then there'll be a ceremony with white doves and songs for peace, kids singing, all that sort of nonsense for the cameras. I don't know any more. The two that were arriving yesterday from Washington had all the details. The team works in just the same way as we do: no details until the last minute.

All we knew was that we were already accredited to enter the White House as news crew."

"So that's why the old guy had a suit?"

She nodded.

"We were going to be part of Monica Beach. Oh, s.h.i.t, Nick, how did I ever think I could do this on my own?"

Monica Beach was what the media called the area of the White House that TV crews gave their reports from, because ever since the Lewinsky affair, it had been even more crowded than Santa Monica beach.

My first reaction was that it sounded more like something out of a B movie than a real plan.

"It wouldn't work; they'd never get out of there."

The tears started again.

"Nick, these people don't care. Survival isn't an issue. Look who they have for their inspiration. Bin Laden's devoted his life to driving the Russians out of Afghanistan, and is now doing the same to drive the Americans from Saudi. He both finances and inspires them. Pakistani, Palestinian, even Americans. Dying is not an issue with these people, you know that."

I found myself nodding.

"If you can't attack your enemy, you attack the friend of your enemy. And what better way to show the world that even the mighty U.S.A. can't protect anyone from Allah's vengeance, even in its own backyard." As I spoke, I realized what a f.u.c.king idiot I'd been, just keeping my head down, concentrating on the job, trying not to think about where all this was heading.

"s.h.i.t, Sarah, explain to me in detail, the kids singing and white doves bit."

I could see her scrolling through her memory for the information; she took a breath and wiped her nose as she gathered her thoughts.

"After a press conference, there's going to be a ceremony involving about two hundred kids. They'll present a peace quilt made from patches sewn in the U.S." Israel and Palestine to the three leaders on the White House lawn, in front of the North Portico. The kids will sing songs of peace and white doves will be released as Netanyahu, Arafat and Clinton hold the blanket for the cameras."

Now I knew what had been troubling me. My heart started pounding and I thought I was going to vomit. I sounded surprisingly calm for someone whose mind was working at warp speed.

"My friend's kids are going to be there ..."

There was a look of horror on her face.

"Oh, s.h.i.t. Nick, one of the options was a bombing. It wasn't their first choice, but now, who knows?

Without the a.s.sault weapons, it will be the easiest way." She started to cry again.

I grabbed her and forced her to look me in the face. Her eyes were puffed up, her cheeks wet and red.

"Sarah, I've got to make a call."

She started to beg.

"Please don't, Nick. Calling won't solve it. Your friend's children might be saved, but the others will still die."

I put my hand up to her mouth. I understood what she was saying. I couldn't call Josh anyway: he would only get back just in time for the final rehearsal. Did I give a f.u.c.k about the other kids? Yes, of course I did, just not as much as I did about Josh's.

"I have to call someone to get his number, that's all."

I strode back to the bank of phones, got the phone card out and dialed.

Miss Grenfell-Brodie answered. I said, "h.e.l.lo, it's Nick Stone again. I'm very sorry to bother you, but would it be possible to talk to Kelly? I'll phone back in fifteen minutes if that's all right."

She was obviously getting used to this. I could almost hear her sigh.

"Yes, of course, but please try not to do this too much, Mr. Stone. It disrupts her routine. Phone calls can be arranged through this office at a more convenient time for everyone concerned."

"Thank you for telling me, I wasn't aware of that. It won't happen again, I promise. Could you ask her to bring her address book with her?"

"Yes, of course. She will be brushing her teeth. She's just had breakfast.

I will fetch her."

"Thank you." I put the phone down. I did know about booking calls.

But then again, f.u.c.k 'em. Who was paying the bills?

Sarah arched an eyebrow.

"Who is Kelly?"

"Never mind."

We stood there waiting. I could see that she was dying to say something more, but she knew me well enough to know I wasn't in the mood to answer.

As I stood by the phones, more and more anxious about being seen, I realized that I no longer had to be. I could call Kelly from the mobile. We walked back toward the apartment in silence, Sarah still with her arm around my waist.

As I closed the door behind us, she went to wash her face. I put the kettle on. I thought about what Sarah had said. I didn't normally remember the deaths I'd seen, but I could see the body of Kelly's little sister as clearly as if she'd been slaughtered yesterday. Whatever happened, Josh's kids weren't going to go the same way. But should I tell him, and risk him doing his job and telling the Secret Service? I would in his shoes, but did it even matter? Would the ceremony go on if he did? Yes, of course it would. But what about the source? Would it affect the timing of the hit?

As the kettle did its stuff I bent down to pull the deep-freeze plug from its socket, then stopped myself. Things had changed, but pulling it would show her that she'd been right about me. I decided to leave it where it was.

I walked around the breakfast bar toward the sofa. What the tuck was I going to do about this situation? My first reaction was to tell Josh and get him not to tell a soul, but that wasn't going to work. Even if, like me, he didn't give a s.h.i.t about the bra.s.s in the White House, he would about the kids. Then he'd be smack in the middle of the same predicament as me.

Some of them must be his friends' kids, and then friends of his friends.

Soon every f.u.c.ker would know the score.

Sarah came from the bedroom, her eyes still red, even after her wash up She saw the steam rising from the kettle and walked past me to make the brews. I checked my watch.

A different female voice answered this time.

"Oh, yes, she's on her way, she should be here any moment."

"Thank you." I cradled the phone in my shoulder, expecting a wait, but almost at once got "Hi! Why are you calling me again, what's up?"

At first I thought I should try not to sound as if I was talking to a child, then I decided not to bother.

"Nothing, just checking you've cleaned your teeth." It got a laugh out of her.

"Have you got your address book with you?"

"Sure have."

"All right then, I'm after Josh's number, because I'm going to the airport in a minute. Guess what? I'm going to Washington and maybe I'll get to see him."

"Cool."

"I know, but I need the phone number and I've left it at home."

"Oh, OK." I could hear the pages flicking in her Spice Girls address book. At the bottom of each page was a multiple-choice profile and a s.p.a.ce to insert the "cool factor" of the person the page was about. I'd felt quite proud to see that she'd circled "funny and weird" as my description, and given me a OF of 8 out of 10. But that had all crashed before my eyes as I turned to the next page and saw her grandparents circled as "kind and gentle" and given a OF of 10. Perhaps I'd have to start tucking her pullovers into her jeans all the time if I wanted to up my cred.

She reeled off the number and I scratched it on the piece of phone book, then tapped it into the phone as we talked.

"Nick, why are you going to America?"

"I'm going with a friend. Her name is Sarah."

I looked over at her. She was staring quizzically, trying to work it out. I was sure she knew it was a child. Those things are hard to hide.

I said, "My friend Sarah is going to do some work in Washington and I'm going with her. Hey, would you like to speak to her?"

"OK." There was a slight reluctance in her voice. Maybe she sensed that things were about to get complicated. I didn't want to tell her they already were. Sarah came to the settee with two full coffee mugs.

I pa.s.sed over the phone and said, "Sarah, this is Kelly. Kelly wants to say h.e.l.lo."

She fixed her eyes on me as she spoke.

"h.e.l.lo?" There was a gap, then, "Yes, that's right. Sarah."

I kept looking at her and hoped this was the right thing to do. It might come in handy, later. Sarah was still talking.

"Yes, I'm going to Washington.

What do I do? I'm a lawyer. Yes, I'm just going over to work, just for a few days, and Nick is coming with me." She was obviously getting the third degree.

"Oh, yes, a long time, but I hadn't seen him for years. Yes, OK, I'll pa.s.s him back. Nice to talk to you, Kelly, goodbye."

"Will you still call me next week?"

"I promise. Don't worry, this isn't instead of next week's phone call. I'll see you soon, no worries." I was just about to carry out our normal routine at the end of a call, but checked myself. This one was different. s.h.i.t, this could be the last time I spoke to her.

"Hey, Kelly."

"What?"

"I love you."

She sounded slightly quizzed at me saying it first, but very happy nonetheless.

"I love you, too!"

"Bye bye." I slowly took the phone away from my ear and switched it off, not too sure how I felt about letting it all hang out.

"How old is she?"