Free of the White Building at last, Jake gratefully sipped a strong double-irish coffee and tried not to worry about the girl he had left behind. He was sure she would be alright. As far as the Dragon knew, she had promptly escorted him off the premises, via the mind-warping complexities of the accounts department. Yes, she would be alright.

He thumbed through an tattered little notepad, the kind policemen had used in the days before they could talk to each other without speaking. Warned about storing sensitive information on his netbook, and against using technology at all, he explained that the job required a thorough knowledge of current fads. His one concession to this modern craze for keeping one's entire life on a tiny, stealable and easily-left-on-a-train gadget, was a telephone number scribbled in the middle of a complicated doodle, hidden amongst long-redundant takeaways and taxis.

Five rings.

'Yeah?' A girl's voice. Playful. A touch aggressive.

'I am calling from the newspaper,' Jake said. 'There are rumours of a conspiracy.'

'No con piracy here.' the girl said. Her voice had dulled, as if reciting a mantra.

'Today,' replied Jake. 'Tomorrow, we shall see.' It was stupid, he knew. Something he and the old man had thrown together one night. Surprising his handwriting was still legible, he had been so drunk.

'Hold please.' A click, then another voice. Male.

'Jake? Long time!'

'Glad you're still there,' Jake said. 'Wasn't sure this would work. Thought you lot might have forgotten how to use these things.'

'Still here.' A pause. 'Listening.'

'Look, I heard about Davey. I'm sorry. He was a great man.'

'Yes.' The pause again. 'Secure line?'

'Of course.' Jake chose his words carefully. You had to with these kind of people. One false move and they would hang up, the phone number would change, and then you'd be forced to find them the other way. He shuddered. 'I have someone who needs to meet you,' he said.

'Dangerous.'

'Trust me, this is one person you really want to meet.'

'Why?'

'She could be our way in.'

'Sure? Hunters on radar now. Could be a trap.'

That was probably the most words Jake had heard him put together. 'It isn't,' he said. 'I swear on my wife's precious soul.'

There was a pause, during which Jake heard muffled anger and monosyllabic replies. The line cleared. The man on the other end of the phone sighed.

'Kay,' he said.'Public, neutral.'

'Right then. Shall I - ?'

'We'll call you.'

The phone clicked. Hummed.

Jake looked at the handset. He was shaking.