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recruits were few in number; there could never be legions of young people committed enough to walk willingly to their deaths. But further recruits were being cultivated and were almost ready for the final order. They waited in many countries of the world. In Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Pakistan and Israel among others. And, of course, they waited in the USA But for the USA, Black Star was grooming one very special Angel of Death.

6
    Elena was in the hotel garden, having just finished one of her regular sessions with psychiatrist Dr Ruth Jacobson.
    She didn't mind the sessions, and she knew precisely why she and the doctor were having these regular 'little chats'. Marcie Deveraux couldn't afford for her to crack up. One impulsive response to a provocative comment and Elena could easily give the game away and ruin the entire operation.
    And once out on the ground, if they ever got that far, it would be even more difficult as Elena would be beyond direct control.
    So she was being closely monitored.
    Elena liked Dr Jacobson. In some ways she reminded her of Jane Brooker, the woman who ran Foxcroft residential home with her husband Dave. Jane loved a good old chat over a cup of tea, especially with some of the older girls.
    Jane was straight and honest, and Elena instinctively knew that Dr Jacobson was too. Unlike Deveraux. Elena would never trust Deveraux.
    During the session Elena had spoken a lot about how she missed her dad. He had disappeared again just when she thought they were, at last, beginning to understand each other and forge a proper relationship.
    'The trouble is,' she said to Dr Jacobson, 'even if he is trying to contact me now, there's no way he can find me. They made up this story for the people at Foxcroft and social services. So Dad wouldn't know how to reach me.' Her usually bright face suddenly became hard and distant. 'But knowing Dad, he's probably not given me a single thought since he walked out again.'
    The session wound up and Elena went out into the garden to think through everything they had spoken about. She was sitting on a bench, watching a gang of sparrows noisily fighting over some breadcrumbs thrown onto the grass by the hotel chef, when Danny emerged from the side door and came strolling over.
    He smiled. 'All right?'
    Elena raised her eyebrows. 'Not really.'
    Danny sat on the bench. 'Why? Has the fruit doctor been giving you a hard time?'
    'It's nothing to do with Dr Jacobson,' said Elena coldly as the battle for the breadcrumbs ended and the sparrows flew away. She turned to look at Danny. 'It's you!'
    'Me? What have I done?'
    'D'you know what day it was yesterday?'
    'Yeah . . . Wednesday.'
    Elena sighed and shook her head. 'It was my birthday. Thanks for remembering.'
    Danny's eyes widened. 'Was it?'
    'You didn't forget last year. But then you weren't totally obsessed by all this stuff, like you are now.'
    'I'm really sorry, Elena.'
    'I didn't get one card. Not one! I never expected anyone else to think of it, but I thought you'd remember.'
    'I'll go and get you a present. Today.'
    'I don't want a stupid present. Not now – it's too late.'
    They sat in silence for a moment, Elena still angry and Danny considering what she had said about him being obsessed by the mission. 'Look, once this is over we'll go back to how it was. I'll get a job, you'll do your A-levels, and then—'
    'It'll never be over, Danny,' said Elena angrily. 'Not for you. You love it, you know you do. I see it every time your granddad sets us one of his tests. You want to be as good as him. You want to be him.'
    It was true, he realized that. And it wasn't just this mission; the whole clandestine world of the Secret Service was fascinating and exciting. He felt part of it, as though he belonged. For years he had dreamed of a career as an army officer. But this was something else. Something more. Something in which he felt there was scope to be not just a team player, but also an individual.
    And however much Danny