Honour Among Thieves

received convulsive shock therapy. Hannah thought he was probably in his early twenties. She glanced down at his feet to see that he was wearing heavy-duty army boots. Although he was a little overweight, she suspected from his movements that he was quite fit. His friend stood a few paces away, leaning against the railing by the door. 'So what do you say to my mate's suggestion of a quick strip?' he asked, removing a flick-knife from his pocket. 'Get lost,' Hannah replied evenly. 'Oh, a member of the upper classes, eh?' he said, offering the same vacant grin. 'Fancy a gang bang, do we?' 'Fancy a thick lip, do you?' she countered. 'Don't get clever with me, lady,' he said as the train pulled in to Piccadilly Circus. His friend stood in the doorway so that anyone who might have considered entering the end carriage thought better of it. Never seek attention, never cause a scene: the accepted rule if you work for any branch of the secret service, especially when you're stationed abroad. Only break the rules in extreme circumstances. 'My friend Marv fancies you. Did you know that, Sloane?' Hannah smiled at him as she began planning the route she would have to take out of the carriage once the train pulled in to the next station. 'Quite like you myself,' he said. 'But I prefer black birds. It's their big bums, you know. They turn me on.' 'Then you'll like your friend,' said Hannah, regretting her words the moment she had said them. Never provoke. She heard the click as a long thin blade shot out and flashed in the brightly lit carriage. 'Now there are two ways we can go about this, Sloane - quietly or noisily. It's your choice. But if you don't feel like co-operating, I might have to make a few etchings in that pretty face of yours.' The youth by the door began laughing. Hannah rose and faced her tormentor. She paused before slowly undoing the top button of her jeans. 'She's all yours, Marv,' said the young man as he turned to face his friend. He never saw the foot fly through the air as Hannah swivelled 180 degrees. The knife went flying out of his hand and shot across the floor to the far end of the carriage. A flat arm came down across his neck and he slumped to the ground in a heap, looking like a sack of potatoes. She stepped over his body and headed towards Marv. 'No, no, miss. Not me. Owen's always been the troublemaker. I wouldn't have done nothin', not me, nothin'.' 'Take off your jeans, Marvin.' 'What?' She straightened the fingers of her right hand. 'Anything you say, miss.' Marvin quickly undid his zip and pulled off his jeans to reveal a grubby pair of navy Y-fronts and a tattoo on his thigh that read 'Mum'. 'I do hope your mother doesn't have to see you like that too often, Marvin,' Hannah said as she picked up his jeans. 'Now the pants.' 'What?' 'You heard me, Marvin.' Marvin slowly pulled off his Y-fronts. 'How disappointing,' said Hannah as the train pulled in to Leicester Square. As the doors squelched closed behind her Hannah thought she heard, 'You filthy bitch, I'll. . .' As she walked down the passage to the Northern line, Hannah couldn't find a litter bin in which to dispose of Marvin's grubby clothing. They had all been removed some time before after a sudden outbreak of IRA bombs in the London Underground. She had to carry the jeans and pants all the way to Chalk Farm, where she finally deposited them in a skip on the corner of Adelaide Road, then strolled quietly back home. As she opened the front door, a cheery voice called from the kitchen, 'Lunch is on the table, my dear.' Mrs Rubin walked through to join Hannah and declared, 'I've had the most fascinating morning. You wouldn't believe what happened to me at Sainsbury's.' 'What will it be, honey?' asked a waitress who wore a red skirt and a black apron and held a pad in her hand. 'Just black coffee, please,' said T. Hamilton McKenzie. 'Coming right up,' she said cheerfully. He was about to check the time when he was reminded once again that his watch was on the wrist of a young man who was now probably miles away. McKenzie looked up at the clock above the counter. Eight fifty-six. He began to check everyone as they came through the door. A tall, well-dressed man was the first to walk in, and as he scanned the room McKenzie became quite hopeful and willed him to look in his direction. But the man walked towards the counter and took a seat on a stool, with his back to the restaurant. The waitress returned and poured the nervous doctor a steaming