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Harrison Forbes raised his right hand as though taking the oath in a court of law. ‘Here at Murich we do solemnly swear to report crap, all crap and nothing but crap!’ He shot Megan a pitying look. ‘Please.’
    ‘It’s your call,’ Megan replied. ‘But GNN UK isn’t exactly getting the headlines right now, is it?’
    The editor turned away for a moment, concealing his displeasure.
    ‘All right, you’re GNN cleared. That’ll get you into Thessalia but beyond the city you’re on your own. Who do you want for cameras?’
    ‘I’ve got that covered but I’ll need a second pass.’
    ‘Surely not for that damned Scotsman?’
    ‘The same,’ Megan replied. ‘Who’s running the UN liaison office in Mordania?’
    ‘Sir Thomas Wilkins, CBE, your friend from Kuwait. One of the old–boy network tied up with the Saudis during the first Gulf War.’
    ‘Good, it’ll be useful to have a someone on the inside.’
    ‘I take it that you don’t need a salary for this jaunt of yours?’
    ‘I have the number of an account in Oklahoma, United States. Send any payment there.’
    ‘Oklahoma,’ Forbes echoed, and then shook his head. ‘You’re keeping me in the dark. I didn’t like it before and I don’t like it now.’
    ‘It’s probably for the best.’
    ‘Still drinking, Megan?’
    It was an old journalist’s trick, an unexpected question thrown in on a whim to catch out an unsuspecting witness. Megan hesitated for just an instant too long.
    ‘Not at all.’
    Harrison’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t pursue the matter.
    ‘Once you’re in the country, I expect a call once every day at twenty–one hundred hours GMT, understood?’
    Megan felt a tightening in her gullet at the demand, but she nodded and turned for the office door, hesitating as she reached for the handle.
    ‘One more thing,’ she said, ‘make sure Martin Sigby understands that he answers to me . I don’t need him dragging his feet or throwing a hissy–fit if I go in–country and he can’t.’
    ‘He won’t like it,’ Harrison warned, ‘it’ll put sand up his arse if you try to steal his show.’
    ‘Like you said, he’s a company man, by the book,’ Megan said as she left the office. ‘Convince him.’
    ***

6
    Shere, Surrey
    The house was nestled beneath the rolling hills of Newland’s Corner, a quaint quarried–stone cottage that had been extended to cater for the family of five now living there. Megan Mitchell drove her Lotus Caterham Seven onto the gravel drive outside the cottage, parked beneath the shade of a large apple tree, and climbed out.
    The front door opened and out strode Callum McGregor, a broad smile on his angular face, a hammer in one meaty hand and a chisel in the other.
    ‘If you’ve just committed a grisly murder,’ Megan called, ‘you’ve been caught red–handed.’
    ‘Not guilty y’honour,’ Callum set his tools down and greeted Megan with a bear–hug that lifted her of the ground. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
    Callum released Megan, shook her hand vigorously and gestured for her to follow him. They walked inside and through to the living room, which Callum was extending into a conservatory at the back of the cottage. A beautiful garden spread away from the shell of the conservatory, centred around an elaborate rock–feature and surrounded by willow trees.
    ‘Aunty Meg!’

    A trio of voices rang out the moment Megan appeared in the lounge, and Callum’s three young daughters came bustling in from the back garden, all of them jostling with each other and competing for Megan’s attention. Vicky, Nina and Sam were all eight years old, triplets borne to Callum’s wife, Maria, who followed them in and greeted Megan with a smile.
    ‘Leave Meg alone girls, she only just got through the front door.’
    Maria pecked Megan on the cheek and gathered the three giggling girls together.
    ‘Haven’t seen you for a while,’ she said, a hint of concern in her expression.
    ‘I’ve been away,’ Megan said.