FicWad

In a grotty late night café in central London, Stacey stared at her own blurry reflection in the plastic counter-top. It was only thirty minutes into the seven hour shift that would take her into the not-so-early hours of the morning. She was trying to resist checking her watch for the third time.

A sudden cold breeze jolted her back to reality and she looked up as a tall man entered. Scowling as he looked around him, Stacey thought he might turn around and walk straight out again. He seemed to be considering it but, looking out at the heavily falling rain; he appeared to change his mind and instead sat down on a dirty orange plastic chair in the furthest corner.

Stacey raised her eyebrows in happy surprise realising that the guy wasn't the usual calibre of customer she was becoming depressingly used to. She stood up straight and poked her head through the door that led to the squalid back room.

'Carly. Oi Carly!' she hissed at her colleague who was sitting crossed legged on a table, enjoying the peace and quiet before the rush of the theatre and night club chuck out times. 'Get your arse out here. We've got a customer.'

'Can't you deal wiv it?' came the whiney reply. 'I'm watchin' Big Bruva,'.

'Bugger off, I'm not doing your job for you! Anyway,' Stacey gave her friend a small smile, 'I don't recon you're gonna mind this one too much!'

Carly raised an eyebrow and jumped down from the table. 'What's the score?'

'I would rate him a nine or ten.'

'That good?' Carly marvelled, impressed.

She manoeuvred past Stacey and looked across the room at their only customer who was intently studying some sort of device.

'Ohhh, nice,' she whispered without taking her eyes off him.

She took a quick glance at herself in the reflection of the window, smoothed back her hair and pulled her v-neck top down a bit to show off her cleavage.

Stacey patted her on the shoulder. 'Go get 'im tiger!' she laughed.

OooooO

Owen McIntire ran down a dirty side street of London's Soho district. He kept glancing behind him and his expression was one of terror. In the hammering rain he could no longer see his pursuer and, turning a corner, he briefly harboured the hope that he had finally lost him. Or them. It was so difficult to tell as they all looked the same, black suits and sunglasses, even at 11 o'clock at night. All he knew is that they had been on his trail for days.

His counterpart had called him the previous week, sounding panicked and desperate. He had begged Owen to take him in, to protect him from people who were 'trying to get him'. Owen's heart had turned to stone, knowing that his worst fears had been confirmed.

'Stay with me? STAY with me?!' he had shouted his own fears making him angry. 'You shouldn't even be phoning me you stupid bastard!'

He had quickly terminated the call and, holding the phone in one shaking hand, had contemplated his next move.

He knew he had to get out of his home town; it was too small, too obvious, too easy to search. He could try and find somewhere in the countryside, nice and remote or, or he could go to London - hide in the crowds. He had hesitated for a few more moments, his body frozen as his mind whirred feverishly.

Finally Owen had made his decision; he had gathered together every piece of paperwork in his tiny converted flat and had burnt everything in the small Victorian fireplace. Grabbing a few possessions and snatching up a small carryall he had shoved everything roughly inside. He had closed the door quietly behind him and, as he walked further down the street towards the nearest train station, he had stopped briefly. Pulling his phone out of his pocket he had dropped it on the floor and had stepped on it heavily; nodding, satisfied, when the screen had splintered. Lifting the lid off one of his neighbour's bins he had thrown the phone away.

Since that day Owen had lain low. He had found an empty building on the outskirts of central London, somewhere he had never even visited before now. He used only the cash in his pocket, hastily withdrawn at the cash point on the station platform. He hadn't contacted anyone - not even his girlfriend. But still they had found him.

The previous day he had been returning 'home' with a few groceries and that's when he'd seen them. Two guys dressed in their black suits and dark glasses, like extras from that alien film. Owen hadn't stuck around for them to spot him instead jumping on the next bus heading to the West End.

OooooO

Roland smiled faintly watching as McIntire staggered to a halt at the end of the street, hesitating briefly as he tried to guess which was the best way to go.

The pursuit had been in active progress for over an hour so far it was going almost exactly to plan. The seemingly random configuration of roads and the multitude of tiny alleyways that made up the centre of London had proved difficult but the target didn't appear to be familiar with the streets and, with detailed maps and a ten-strong team of professionals, they had managed to gain the advantage and maintain it. McIntire didn't know it but, as he zigzagged wildly from street to street, he was heading exactly where they wanted him to go.

Roland surveyed the street, making sure his next directions would be accurate. It was clearly a fruit and vegetable market during the day and the rotting leftovers collected against the curb of the road and in the doorways of some cheap-looking shops. At the end of the street he could see the garish lights of the types of establishments that were still open at this hour, shops selling porn, sex toys and women. The rain soaked street glowed with the bright colours of the neon lights, turning the tarmac into a river of pinks and reds.

'He's just exited left at the end of Berwick Street Market, he's heading back onto Wardour,' he barked into his communicator. 'Jackson, have you picked him up?' he waited a few seconds for a reply.'Jac-'

'Got him sir. He's still heading - hold on, another right turn into...' there was the sound of running, 'he's onto Shaftsbury heading North-West towards Piccad - Damn it!'

'What? Tell me what's going on?'

There was more swearing and Jackson's voice could be heard shouting for people to get out of his way. When he came back on the line he sounded flustered.

'A play must've just finished. There're people everywhere... I can't see him.'

Without bothering to respond, Roland switched to the next frequency. 'Murdoch, keep an eye out, McIntire should be heading your way.'

'I see him,' Murdoch said quietly, 'what are my orders?'

'Just follow him covertly for the moment and keep us posted. Mr Kaiba wants to make the final move himself.'

'Understood.'

Murdoch detached himself from the shadows of the side alley, and joined the crowds of the busy London street. Shivering slightly from the cold, he shucked off his black jacket, removed his glasses and blended himself with the milling theatre goers. All night the ten-strong team had been herding McIntire, intimidating him with their matching appearance, letting him know that there was no way out. Murdoch saw the exhaustion on the man's face, and knew that the end of the pursuit was in sight.

OooooO

His eyes darting from side to side like a trapped animal, Owen began to slow his pace. He ducked into a darkened shop doorway and looked out onto the street, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He watched the happy people casually wondering towards the nearest tube, his intense gaze picking out anyone wearing black.

A man hurried past him carrying his jacket over his arm, he was smiling and calling out a woman's name as he made his way through the surrounding throng, apparently trying to catch up with someone. Owen had already turned back to the oncoming crowd when Murdoch glanced back at him.