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The traffic at that time of night is very sparse.
    We’ll actually pass it, so I’ll show you.” She did, pulling to a halt on the other side of the road. There was a yellow painted van parked outside the shop, with a sign that said CLEANSING DEPARTMENT. Two men stood beside it with Arabic features and yellow oilskins, not surprising because of the rain, and then a third man in a yellow oilskin appeared,

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    pushing a yellow painted wheelie bin, spades and brushes falling out of it. They exchanged words, and the van drove away.
    “Now that’s strange,” Molly said.
    “What is?”
    “That third man was Abu. He’s supposed to be on shift today.”
    “Maybe he works a second job,” Greta said, but she didn’t believe that for a moment. “I’ll call Roper,” she said.
    She did, and he returned her call fifteen minutes later. “You’re getting nervous, ladies. They’ve got half a dozen vans traveling the area and checking drains. It’s a monthly exercise.”
    “All right,” Greta said. “We’ll see you soon, then. What about breakfast?”
    “Taken care of. Tony’s Café round the corner in Arch Street. Takeaway delivery. Congealed scrambled egg, bacon, toast long since past its best.
    I’d like to take someone on to cook, but I haven’t the authority. I also lack the genius that allows General Charles Ferguson, DSO, Military Cross, to select middle-aged women with rosy cheeks to run a successful canteen, like Mrs. Grant did. Unfortunately, she’s gone to a better place, or wasn’t that her funeral I went to three weeks ago?”
    “You’re mad, Roper,” Greta said.
    “I have been ever since I met you, dear girl. It’s a privilege to serve you. Until then . . .”
    Greta was laughing hugely. “He’s such a fool.”
    “All bluff,” Molly said.
    “Oh, yes, there’s no hope. All those lives he saved and what was his return? A burned face and severed spine. Shrapnel still in five places. A wife who dumped him. It’s true. Dillon told me when we were drinking too much one night. Apparently, she simply couldn’t cope.”
    “She was young, weak and vulnerable. It happens. To have done what he has is proof that Major Roper is a remarkable man. Don’t think that beneath the surface, there must be a man who is cursed by his suffering. He is a survivor.”

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J A C K H I G G I N S
    “Tell me about it. You’re a nice lady with a good heart. I, on the other hand, served in Chechnya, Afghanistan and Iraq. I still haven’t discovered what that means about me. When I have, I’ll let you know.”
    “I’m so sorry,” Molly said.
    “Don’t be. In a strange way, I rather enjoyed it. I wonder what that makes me?” and she turned into the safe house and waited for the gate.
    T H E B R E A K F A S T F R O M T O N Y ’ S was delivered to Sergeant Doyle in a vacuum-packed carrying box, and he allowed Molly to join her husband in his cell. The others made do with the committee table in the conference room. After they were all done, Roper asked the Rashids to join them in the conference room.
    “We’ll finish our coffee in a civilized way and then I’ll fill you all in,”
    he said. “I’m expecting a couple of people who are essential if we’re ever going to get off the ground.”
    A moment later, the doorbell sounded and Sergeant Doyle returned with two fit-looking men in leather bomber jackets. The RAF mustaches said it all. Greetings were exchanged and Roper made the introductions.
    “Squadron Leader Lacey, AFC, and Flight Lieutenant Parry, AFC.
    They’ll be flying the Gulfstream. They specialize in operations for our outfit.”
    “Anything and everything,” Lacey said.
    Dillon, who had a flask of Bushmills in his pocket, took it out, unscrewed the cap and toasted them. “There’s just one small correction. It seems that our two distinguished pilots have not one but two Air Force Crosses apiece.”
    They both looked at him dumbfounded.
    “Harry always