A degree of pessimism settled upon them. Sure, they had survived another day but they'd made no real progress. Once more they had escaped the prying eyes of Washington, but they remained on the run. Reality painted a grim picture. Once again they were stranded without transport and around one hundred miles from the destination they needed to be, Washington. Darkness had fallen, it remained their one ally. They needed someplace to stay.

"Perhaps we should split up?" suggested Meredith. "That would give us two chances of getting to Washington."

"Director, getting to Washington's not the problem; the difficulty we face is finding someone to listen to us once we get there. We're seen as the enemy," Tyler replied. "Our only real chance is locating the person who contacted your father. Have you any idea who that might have been? Did you run a search on his computer?"

"There was nothing there," she replied.

"Do you have any friends in the media?"

"No. In the interest of maintaining credibility and a degree of anonymity I shied away from public comment, I left that to Walter and the PR people."

"Any enemies then," asked Kenni. "Maybe critic's is a better term?"

"Plenty of them," she replied. "There was one reporter with the Post, can't think of his name but he rarely allowed a week to pass without an attack on either the Department or me. Sometimes the comments were personal, sometimes they were petty but more often they were amazingly accurate. The obvious became apparent. The reporter had a source, someone who enjoyed access to my correspondence and my office. I suspected Delta but found no proof. Then his column ceased and he disappeared off the journalistic landscape."

"Can you recall his name?" continued Kenni.

"I'm not even sure it is a he, the writer used the psuedonym, 'From The Inside.'"

"Do you remember the specifics of any of the articles?" Kenni observed closely. Meredith's composure exploded into anger.

"The day before my father died the reporter let fly with a really vindictive tirade. It was as if he knew my father was dying." Her voice was raised. Like lava rushing from a volcano her words erupted from her mouth in fiery rage. "He wrote about my father's shame in having to witness his own daughter authorising attacks on innocents abroad all in the name of establishing her own platform for power. Then a series of rhetorical questions were posed. What threat did a tiny village in Iran pose to the USA? What facts had been established prior to validating such an attack? Was the action discussed with the President? Were the Military leaders in the Pentagon consulted? Or was it just a malicious and unwarranted attack launched by a woman with Presidential ambition?

"He concluded the article with these words. And I believe my quote is accurate. 'Integrity in the Paslow family will die with the father. My only hope is that Martin has no knowledge of his daughter's recent behaviour as I fear such knowledge could well bring about a premature end to his own life. I further hope Martin has an armed guard at his bedside, he may well need it.'" Tears were now in evidence.

"We need to find him," said Kenni. "He's probably our last chance of establishing a link to who's behind all of this."

"And we need to find him before anyone else does," added Arthur.

"Kenni's right, Director," said Tyler. "And I speak from experience. Sometimes your enemies are your greatest allies." Meredith's glare suggested confusion. Tyler continued. "Allow me to explain, Director.

"At this moment public opinion sees you as a killer, Arthur and I are being portrayed as rogue agents and Kenni is a crooked cop. Denials count for nothing. As do the facts. Every TV story and newspaper article tells the same story, we are the bad guys. We need to change that image. So how do we do that? We have no access to media, but this reporter does."

"Are you suggesting we enlist the aid of the journalist?" asked Meredith.

"Director, our options are non-existent. We can surrender and plead our innocence or we can fight to prove our case. In our present situation the truth is worthless; the programmed lies contain more credibility. We need a voice."

"Why not go to a more reputable source, maybe someone like Sixty Minutes?"

"Do you really think a program like Sixty Minutes would stake their reputation on us? They might agree to talk when it's all over."

"Tell me Tyler, how do you propose to win over the reporter?"

"I'll offer him the one prize he most wants."

"And what's that?"

"The head of Meredith Paslow."

"Why doesn't that fill me with confidence?"

"Director, at this moment I'm not all that strong on confidence either," said Tyler. "In fact if we're really honest, we have to accept our chances of survival are beyond our capability, we'd be better off trying to strike a deal."

"No way," said Arthur. "I'll die before I deal with the devil."

"I'm with you, Arthur," agreed Tyler. "I wasn't for a minute proposing we do that, I was just emphasising the hopelessness of our situation. Death with torture is our best outcome. You know me, I'll never surrender."

"You guys really know how to relieve a girl's fears," said Jess with a smile. "And here I was dreaming of a shopping visit to Harrod's"

"On behalf of Tyler, I'll promise you that treat," said Arthur.

"Deal." Tyler offered his hand to Jess.

"Sorry to put a dampener of the party," said Kenni. "But can we get out of here, I get the feeling we're being watched. Besides which I'm damn near exhausted. I don't know how much longer I can go on."

"Can we use your father's cabin again, Director?" asked Tyler.

"It's a long walk."



The Toyota Camry was parked in the street outside an apartment block. It was an older model around ten years old, a thief's dream, no alarm, no steering wheel locking device and unbelievably unlocked. More importantly, an I-phone sat on the passenger's seat. They had located transport and communication.

In less than an hour they walked through the door of the lakeside cottage. Ten minutes later and four of the five were sleeping. Tyler had drawn the first security watch. He sat at the computer and searched the files. He found a series of names, some he knew, some he didn't. He listed the unfamiliar names on a pad. After an hour he had seven names to investigate. Now he turned his attention to google.

The first four names yielded nothing of value; there were numerous mentions on google but nothing of significance. The fifth name excited immediately, one word, journalist, stood out. Meredith's suspicion regarding the writer's sex had been confirmed. From The Inside now had a name, Sarah Randolph.

He reached for the car owner's phone. He checked the time on the computer, 11.48 pm. He called the Post. Sarah Randolph wasn't available, that didn't surprise. A request for her phone number was denied. Tyler then asked to be connected to the Editor on duty.

"In regards to what?" the receptionist demanded. Was it attitude or management direction? Tyler hoped it was the latter.

"The biggest story of the year."

"I'll need more detail."

"I have information on the whereabouts of Meredith Paslow. If you don't put me to Miss Randolph immediately I'll take what I have to CNN."

"Connecting you."

"David Lloyd." The editor's response was slow. And impatient in tone, he was a man in a hurry.

"Mr. Lloyd, my name is Calin Roberts. I'm travelling with Meredith Paslow." Tyler knew he now had the attention of the night editor. "The Director would like to arrange a private meeting with Sarah Randolph. This is a one-off offer. I need to talk to Miss Randolph now."

"I'll get her on the line."

"Sir, you misunderstand, I'll either talk to her direct or not at all. The choice is yours, give me her number." There was hesitation. "You've got three seconds. One. Two...." He provided the number.

"Sarah Randolph." It was obvious, sleep had been disturbed.

"Would you like to meet with Director Paslow?"

"Where and when?" The drowsiness had been replaced by total awareness.

"I'll pick you up nine o'clock tomorrow morning outside the US Court on 4th Street between Constitution Ave and C Street. And one word of warning Sarah, don't try any trick. If I see any form of surveillance, and I will see it, the meeting's off." Calin paused.

"My name is Calin Roberts, I take it you're aware of my reputation and of the allegations surrounding me. Like those aimed at the Director, they are all fabrications. These lies form a conspiracy unlike anything this country has seen before." Another pause. She asked no questions.

"And allow me to offer one further piece of advice. Get out of your apartment now and don't tell anyone where you're going. The people I'm referring to employ assassination to ensure their secret remains intact."

"How did you identify me?"

"Your name was on Martin Paslow's computer. There were no details, just your name so I googled it and discovered you were a journalist. I then put two and two together. Time is running out, Sarah. I need your answer."

"Can I trust you?"

"Sarah, if I wanted you harmed, I'd not be making this call. You would already be dead. Advising your target is not a practice used in my profession. So, what's it to be?"

"I'll be there."

"Make sure there are people around you. Wear slacks and carry a laptop."