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NEW BREED OF HERO’.
    â€˜Well, isn’t that something?’ Pete said and held the magazine at arm’s length.
    The picture had been taken just before the mission to the stricken nuclear power station. The journalist had not been allowed on Tintara, but the team had convened at the Beverly Hilton in Los Angeles, not too far from the site of their first mission together when they had rescued Senator Kyle Foreman in the bombed-out shell of the California Conference Center. Immediately after that first mission it was decided that E-Force would not behave like caped crusaders and try to hide their identities. Indeed, it was already too late for that. Their hi-tech equipment was concealed from photographers or anyone with a camcorder thanks to Camoflin, a special paint used to scramble any image taken. But the members of E-Force had all been seen by the public, their pictures taken, their identities known.
    Going public had been a major decision and it had repercussions. The original plan for the team was that they would each return to their normal lives after the initial three-month training period the year before. But they had quickly realised this would be impossible. For a start, they were needed far more often than they had originally believed. Hardly a week went by when they were not called out. And second, having their faces splashed all over the media immediately after the LA rescue mission meant that even if they had wanted to, they could hardly go back to their ‘normal’ daily lives.
    One or two of the team had secretly wondered whether this had been E-Force founder Mark Harrison’s intention all along. In the beginning, he had hand-picked the team based on their extraordinary abilities and adaptability, but he had also chosen people who were not in long-term relationships and whose lives or careers had stalled in some way. Each of them had been bitten by the E-Force bug, and none of them could have contemplated opting out.
    â€˜Do you think they’ve caught my best side?’ Josh asked, pointing at the magazine.
    â€˜Do you have a best side?’ The voice was Steph’s. She had just come through the door and they all turned to watch her approach. ‘Just came to remind you, Josh. We leave in ten minutes.’
    â€˜Leave?’ Pete asked. ‘Where you going?’
    â€˜The rolling hills of Semja Alexandry,’ Josh said.
    â€˜Polar Base?’
    â€˜Yep. Ten-day training course.’
    â€˜Nice! Just the two of you?’
    â€˜Yeah! Wonderful, isn’t it?’ Steph said, rolling her eyes.
    Tom laughed. ‘Come on! It’ll be cosy.’
    Josh looked from Tom to Steph and back again. ‘And I thought you two were my friends,’ he said.
    â€˜I am,’ Steph replied. ‘But I’m not sure I will be after next week.’

8
Sydney, a week later
    An alarm ... fantastically loud and growing louder. It filled his head, crashing through his skull. He was wading through water, trying to reach the source of the sound, but he was being pulled back, dragged down. He was suffocating.
    Harry Flanders broke through to consciousness, but it still took him a few moments to realise the bedside phone was ringing. He scrambled to reach it, missed and knocked a glass of water to the floor. Cursing, he pulled himself up as far as his screaming headache would allow and grasped the receiver. ‘Flanders,’ he croaked.
    â€˜Morning, Harry.’ There was a slight delay – long distance.
    For a second, Harry could not recognise the voice of his producer of eight years, Natasha Young, the woman who kept his BBC3 program, The Buzz, on track week after week back in London. Last night had been a doozy. He had stayed in the hotel bar until they kicked him out at 3 am. Even after that he had emptied half the minibar in his room. The last thing he could remember was sitting at the desk and composing yet another weepy letter to Jane. Jane, his ex-wife