'Watch it.' They slammed the door and gunned up and lifted off with the first of the neon lights falling away below. Norton was still untalkative; he sat puffing his cheeks out, trying to get rid of the tension. He'd been with the Bureau nearly as long as I had and he knew the signs. This wasn't a mission they wanted me for: someone had blown a fuse and the whole network had gone out of whack. It had happened twice before, during my time: once when Fraser had been pulling a Polish intelligence colonel across the frontier at Szczecin and the checkpoint had shut down on them, and once when they'd hauled me out of Tokyo to look for some nerve gas some bloody fool had dropped all over the Sahara. Whatever they wanted me for this time it was no go. London was coming up, a haze of light from horizon to horizon under the late January fog. Norton was rubbing his hands together, though it wasn't cold in the cabin; I felt sorry for him, with all that adrenalin sloshing about before we'd even started. 'Never mind,' I said above the beat of the rotors, 'it's probably some bloody fool in Signals getting his homework wrong.' 'Oh shit,' he said and swung to face me, and I realized he'd been startled out of his thoughts by the sound of my voice. I began wondering if he knew something that I didn't: something about the panic going on. 'Where are you putting us down?' I asked the pilot. 'Battersea Heliport. All right?' 'It's your toy.' We were lowering now, with the city lights swarming to meet us. 'You from the Yard, are you, sir?' 'That's right.' We never mind what they think we are. A signal was coming through and the navigator leaned towards me, the glow of the instrument panel on his face. 'They want to know if our people can take your jag to Sloane Street for you. They're off their beat already.' 'Can you do that?' 'Easy.' He talked into the headset and signalled out. 'Well,' I asked him, 'did you arrange it?' 'Yes, sir.' He could have told me. Nerves. There was a bump and we keeled-even under slowing rotors while Norton hit his seat-belt open and went down first and stood on the landing pad waiting to help me if I slipped on the rungs, bloody little nursemaid, they'd given him instructions to Bo-Peep me all the way home. 'Much obliged!' he called through the doorway, and pulled his collar up against the icy draught. We jogged across to the door of the building as the rotors sped up and sent a gust of exhaust gas against our backs. They'd got their liaison worked out: there was a squad car waiting at the kerb when we went out through the front. Norton showed his card and they snapped the rear door open and got the flashers going the moment we turned out into the traffic stream, using the siren once or twice to get us some headway. Norton still didn't talk and by this time I didn't want him to. We tumbled out of the car across the slush of a recent thaw and slipped through the narrow doorway halfway down Whitehall and hit the lift button and waited, not looking at each other. Dirty water seeped from our shoes under the bleak security lights as I thought of Helena and wondered if I'd ever see her again. Tilson met us as we got out of the lift. 'My dear fellow,' he said, and held out his warm dry hand. 'Long time no see.' 'Two weeks. That's not long.' Norton had gone quietly rushing off along the corridor: I suppose he'd been told to report somewhere the moment we got in. 'I know what you mean,' Tilson said with a slow blink. He was trying hard to look amiable and comforting, since it was his role in life; but tonight he couldn't manage it; he just looked frightened to death, right at the back of his eyes. 'What about a spot of tea?' 'What the hell are you talking about?' 'We've got a few minutes, you see.' He guided me gently along the corridor as far as the Caff. 'We're not quite set up for you yet.' 'Look, Tilson, just give me a clue, will you?'