She frowned. 'Although what the hell he was doing there in the first place I've no idea. Was there, like, a parade or something?'

He shrugged. 'Not that I know.'

'Oh. So what was he doing jumping in the river?'

'Rescuing you. Clearly.'

'... oh.'

Chapter Three.

He gave his name as Will.

She seemed satisfied with that, didn't ask for his surname or his rank. In fact, the only thing she did ask for was a telephone. A telephone! As if that was a privilege offered to anyone.

Happily, easily, she gave her name and address, even her date of birth. Eve Carpenter, from Mitcham.

'Mitcham?' he echoed. A smoking pile of rubble, like everything else south of the river.

'Yes, I know.' She made a face. 'Not exactly my choice. Look, is there a phone I can use? I really ought to call the TV company or something.'

'A phone,' Harker said, and she looked annoyed.

'Yes, a phone. A telephone. You know?' She mimed it with her hands.

'We, uh, there isn't one,' he said, and she stared at him incredulously.

'What do you mean, there isn't one?'

'Well, there is, but not for civilians.'

Eve looked astonished. 'Is that, like, some sort of military rule or something?'

Harker nodded. 'Yep. Military.' A telephone. For a civilian. 'What did you say you do?' he asked.

'Temp.' She shrugged. 'Office work, mostly. Filling in. Other people's lives.'

'Right. You ever, er, filled in for a switchboard operator?'

'No. Mostly it's filing, typing, that sort of thing. I can do audio typing now though,' she added, as though it was a minor achievement she wasn't particularly proud of.

'Audio?'

'You know, typing at dictation speed?' She made movements with her fingers, like playing a piano. 'I can pretty much type what someone's saying, as they say it.'

He was impressed. He'd seen the typewriters the clerks used, and they were big, heavy behemoths. 'Don't the keys get stuck?'

She gave him an odd look. 'Er, no.' Then comprehension dawned. 'Wait, you mean like on a typewriter? Hah, I used to have one when I was little, actually it was my mum's, from like the 1960s or something. Nightmare. Used to have to stab at the keys, they got jammed together ... man, I was glad when we got a computer.'

A computer.

It was possible, just about, that she really was innocent, that she'd been brought up in Flanders or something, where Harker was a little hazy on the details ordinary households had telephones and even computers.

However, she had a damn good English accent for someone born in Flanders.

'You had your own computer?'

'Yeah. Little eighties thing, only used it for playing games and writing essays. One of those nasty dot-matrix printers, used to drive my teachers batty.' She smiled, her face softening.

'Where was this?'

'Just outside Reading.'

Barely forty miles from where they were now.

'Where are you from?' she asked. 'You sound northern.'

'Leicester,' he said absently. She really had her own computer? Nah, she was messing with him.

Maybe all this was a joke. She'd just read about these things in books, or maybe she'd visited abroad or something. Yes: she came from a rich family who took her on holidays to the Continent; maybe rich enough to have their own telephone?

No. Who had their own telephone? In a house? Even Saskia's parents hadn't had that.

'You ever go to the Continent?' he asked.

Her brows rose. 'Er, yeah,' she said. 'Not like it's a long way away, huh?'

Not geographically.

'Where? I've never been.'

She looked amazed. 'What, never? Anywhere in Europe? Not even on ... like a day trip or something? Family holiday? Camping in France?'

Was she mad? Camping the army would never set up camp in France. A tiny little army like this, against all the electronics and bombs of the French Empire? Hah!

'No,' he managed.

'Wow. That's ... seriously, Will, that's weird. You have left the country, haven't you? I mean, you've been outside these shores?'

'Went to Ireland on manoeuvres once,' he said. They'd struck some deal for training with the Irish army a few years ago. Of course, now the Irish wouldn't touch them with a bargepole.

She was looking at him like he'd just said something very strange. 'I can't believe you've never been abroad.'

'I told you, I went to Ireland once.'

'Yes, but that's hardly abroad. You don't even need a passport.' Eve shook her head.

'Well, why would I? Got everything you'd want right here.'

She didn't miss his sarcasm. 'Sure. Land of milk and honey, this is.'

Harker lit up a new cigarette. 'So where have you been then, Miss World Traveller?'

She shrugged. 'Well, Europe for starters. We did a capital cities tour before I' She broke off, then finished resignedly, 'before I left the band.'

'Band?'

Eve's eyes shifted, as if she was embarrassed. 'I used to be a musician. A singer.'

Since when did singers get to tour the Continent? 'Where did you go?' asked Harker, fascinated.

'Paris, Madrid, Rome, Vienna, Berlin, Copenhagen, Stockholm.' She ticked them off on her fingers. 'Someone tried to talk us into doing Reykjavik but seven cities in seven days is damn well enough when you're seventeen.'

Harker frowned. 'Copenhagen?'

'Yeah. Denmark.'

He shook his head. 'Odense is the capital of Denmark.'

Now Eve frowned. 'No, it's not.'

'Yes, it is. And Berlin how did you get into East Germany?'

She just laughed. 'Dodged the machine-guns and climbed over the wall.'

Harker stared.

'We flew. Like normal people. It's not 1987 any more.'

Harker opened his mouth. Then he closed it again.

Maybe she wasn't a spy. Maybe she'd just hit her head.

Telephones, computers, and Continental travel.

Yeah. Hit her head really hard.

Reveille sounded, apparently five minutes after Harker had closed his eyes, forcing him out of bed. His quarters faced away from the courtyard, and yet the bugle still sounded as if it were being played right outside his window.

Thank goodness that infant doc had put Eve to sleep last night so Harker could go back to his own bed. He'd spent many a night in military hospitals, and every one of them had been hideous. Even worse when the person in the next bed kept talking rubbish.

He sent a yawning Tallulah off to the tax office. Probably he could have found someone else to do it, but Tallulah, like her sister, had that upper-class knack of getting what she wanted very, very quickly, and Harker needed to know whether Eve existed.

A body could hide from the law, from the army and maybe even from God, but Harker knew no one could hide from the taxman.

He wasn't remotely concerned about waking up the good people of His Majesty's Revenue and Customs. Firstly, because he doubted they were good people, and secondly, because he doubted they slept.

Tallulah had only just returned when Harker was summoned from his breakfast to Wheeler's office. Promotion? he wondered, climbing the stairs. Special, exciting mission? Pay rise? Or another bollocking over Crazy Eve?

'How's our alien?' Wheeler greeted Harker as he saluted.

Crazy Eve it was, then. 'Haven't seen her yet this morning, sir,' Harker said, giving the clock a pointed glance which was ignored by Wheeler. 'Although I think her worst injury was a sprained ankle, so I can't imagine she's dropped dead overnight.'

The General gave a crisp nod. 'What have you found out from her?'

Harker sighed. 'Either she's a very bad spy, or a very, very good one. Or she's mad. I'm not sure.'

Wheeler raised her eyebrows, and Harker told her what Tallulah had discovered. 'There's no record of anyone with her name, date and place of birth at HMRC. She says she was born and raised here, but we can't find her. The other thing is that she says she lives in Mitcham.'

'No Man's Land,' Wheeler said. 'Perhaps she's been away.'

'Well, she does seem to have travelled a lot, sir. All over Europe. I wondered if she was from a very wealthy family.'

'Then I'm sure you would have socialised with her,' Wheeler said. 'You were, after all, married to the daughter of one of our wealthiest families.'

Harker scowled. 'You want me to ask Saskia if she knows her?'

'I want you to find out what she was doing flying over the Tower last night,' Wheeler said. 'Try as I might, Harker, I am having trouble finding an innocent explanation for that.'

'Me too, sir,' Harker said, which was a shame, because he rather liked Eve. Even if she was mad. Or a spy.

'You have until the end of today to find one, Major,' Wheeler said, picking up a sheaf of paper and directing her attention to it. 'Otherwise, she may reside in St James's.'

'Sir,' Harker protested. 'A day?'

'We do not have time to waste on proving innocence, Major,' Wheeler said. 'We are at war, in case you hadn't noticed.'

Harker ground his teeth. 'Yes, sir.'

'The Coalitionists' Wheeler took off her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose. 'I'm sending out troops this afternoon to clear No Man's Land again,' she said. 'Closing the theatres, too. Doubling the patrols on the Bridge. We've suffered too many losses recently, and the Coalitionists are getting closer.'

'How much closer?' Harker said, alarmed.

'Peterborough, Oxford, and most worryingly, Southend. We're still counting the casualties. They know where we are, Harker. These were organised attacks.'

Stunned by how close the enemy had come, Harker only nodded.

'Find out who this girl is. Unless you can prove to me, conclusively, that she is innocent, I want her in St James's by tonight.' Wheeler put her spectacles back on. 'That is all, Major.'

Harker saluted, Wheeler ignored him, and he left.

Southend! That was close, and more frighteningly, it was coastal. If they took the coast if they let the French in the whole army might as well disarm now.