He reached for his phone and accessed the internet. In an instant, he was connected to his bank. There had to be some mistake. The balance read zero.

His eleven million had vanished.

With much the same effect as thick fog on vision, depression blinded Jackson's ability to function. His F-meter roared into overdrive. He had no friends, no family, no funds and now no damn future. In one word, he was fucked, and angry as all hell. He opened the car window to hurl the offending phone from the car. No, first he was owed an explanation.

He pulled to the side of the road. He raised the phone to his ear.

"Mutual Savings and Investments," said the receptionist. "How may I assist you?" The young lady sounded bright and enthusiastic.

"I need to speak with the manager."

"Would that be Savings or Investment, sir?"

"There's eleven million dollars missing from my account." There was genuine desperation in the voice of Jackson.

"Do you have the account details, sir?"

He read off the note in his hand.

"One moment, sir," she replied.

Two minutes later, a young female voice responded.

"Mr. Lindsay, Carl Lindsay? My name is Paige Bryson. I have your details here in front of me. Three days ago, you wired a request for those funds to be deposited off-shore. I have the document right here in front of me. The Cayman Islands was your chosen destination. That transaction was actioned overnight."

"I did no such thing."

"Mr. Lindsay, I have your authority in front of me. It was password generated and documented. There's been no mistake on our part." In a response the caller would never see, the young woman smiled. Her signature sat at the bottom of the document.

"It's not possible..." the called disconnected. He opened the door and threw the phone into the bush.

Reality offered one escape.

Jackson took the first off-ramp and headed away from the city. Time was of no significance, nor was destination. Ninety minutes into his journey Jackson saw what he needed, a hardware store with its door open. He quickly made his purchase, a rubber hose. All he now required was a location. By midday, he'd driven through a small farming community. He'd not eaten but there was no hunger.

Farmland gently gave way to forestry. He saw a rough track heading off the road. He veered onto it and drove a half mile until the track became impassable. He alighted from the vehicle and attached the hose he'd just purchased to the exhaust. Then he used plastic shopping bags to seal up the back window smashed by the brick.

It was time. He'd die a Texan.

FIVE

To most people retirement comes as a reward for long and loyal service. In the case of Tyler Spellman, it hadn't been his choice. He hadn't retired, he'd been retired. He'd been dismissed on orders from above. No explanation. No expressions of gratitude for a job well done, and no farewell. Not even a face-to-face with the Director. And she had been a friend, or at least he believed that had been the case.

How wrong he'd been. She was just another Judas, intent on survival, her own. She distanced herself from him sending instead two fully-armed security guards. They carried a warrant of dismissal bearing his name and authorised with the seal of the Director, Meredith Paslow. Along with an instruction, he must vacate the building immediately. Tyler's anger surged.

He was being treated like a criminal, and convicted without a trial. With neither charges laid nor accusations voiced. Why wasn't he allowed the right of reply? What had he done?

Apart from issuing a non-negotiable order to leave, the security guards stood over him as silent as the Buckingham Palace Beefeater Guards.

Tyler's initial instinct was to argue. His colleagues would stand with him. A quick glance around the office negated that thought. His support base had vanished. The only other occupants were armed soldiers positioned at each door. Where was Ashe when he needed him?

Hostility raged within him. He'd given his all to Homeland, risked his life on countless occasions. He'd never once failed to obey an order, all in the service of his country. And how had they responded? They sacked him. And now they waited to escort him from the building. Like a common criminal.

For three weeks Tyler went to ground. He told no one of his intentions, or his whereabouts. Not even Jess. He needed time to think and to plan.

This was the second time Homeland had betrayed him. At least this time there'd been no termination order, at least not yet. Should that situation change, he'd be ready.

Where was Ashe? He tried the phone. There was no service. The link had been severed. Another action he attributed to the betrayer Paslow. She was one of the three people who possessed knowledge of this phone's existence. It had been established months earlier on culmination of the Aristotle investigation, as an emergency backup, one phone to Ashe, one to Meredith and the third to Tyler himself. The unthinkable entered his thoughts. Did this mean Ashe too was involved in the betrayal? Could anyone be trusted? Tyler attempted to rationalise, not an easy task when the brain is submerged in alcohol.

Ashe was more than friend. But then so too was the Director. Ashe had risked his life to save Tyler and Jess in the golf course shootout. He'd also experienced and survived betrayal. Time though had seen him vindicated, by Meredith. Nothing made sense. Tyler came up with a solution. He stopped thinking and increased his drinking.

Tyler remembered the night well. He was well on the way to drunk when the doorbell chimed. He was in no mood to socialise. Ready to kill more probably summed up his mood. He ignored the melodious ring. Over and over it rang. A recognisable voice then shattered the silence.

"Open the fuckin' door, brother." Tyler jumped to his feet. Some people couldn't be denied. In the absence of logic, Tyler wondered if the visitor was here as friend, or assassin? Intoxicated beyond fear, Tyler almost welcomed the relief death would bring.

"If they find out you've come here, you're dead. Go home Ashe."

"Partners don't desert in times of trouble, brother." He charged through the door. "Get me a beer. We need to talk."

"The talking's all done. I'm finished. They've made that abundantly clear."

"You're not quitting without a fight, are you?"

"Aren't you forgetting one little fact?" Tyler's voice was rising. Anger and alcohol were a dangerous mix, but at this moment he didn't care. "They white-anted me to cover their own asses, I was the patsy, the easy out."

"It's called Washington roulette. They load the gun and aim it at the nearest head."

"Are you attempting to justify their action? If that's your aim, you can fuck off now." Tyler was itching for a fight.

"Tyler, you know me better than that. I'll never defend betrayal, even when there is no alternative."

"What do you mean no alternative?"

"It was you or Homeland, Tyler. And that's why I'm here. Meredith wanted you to know the truth."

"Why couldn't she tell me herself?"

"Her every action is being monitored." Ashe answered. "As you know Washington is alive with Judases' who'll show you affection one day and knife you the next. That's precisely what happened with Calin Roberts. He was yesterday's hero but today's out-of-control madman. Meredith had two choices. Step down or dismiss Calin. She chose to step down. I talked her out of it."

Tyler was on his feet. It was starting to make sense.

Calin Roberts was a name he knew intimately. It was a role he'd often filled. Roberts was a name feared around Washington. Yet Calin didn't exist. He was a fictitious character created by a former Homeland Director. Calin was the operative assigned the impossible missions. In his last year with Homeland, Tyler operated exclusively as Calin Roberts.

"Homeland can survive without you, me or Calin. But without Meredith, it falls into the clutches of one of Parnell's deputies. And then it dies."

As unpalatable as it was, Tyler accepted the explanation. It was true. "Why then couldn't she tell me?"

"Her every action is being monitored."

"What triggered the attack on Calin?" Tyler asked.

"A Senator, who has since been linked to Aristotle and subsequently fled, we suspect to Greece, forwarded a document to a Senatorial Committee detailing the alleged and illegal apprehension of Aristotle. And the information was spot on which means there's still a leak at Homeland.

"While Meredith managed to have most of the information suppressed, there was sufficient detail tabled to set off a barrage of questions, questions that demanded answers, and answers that required credibility. But there could be no truth. Truth could well have triggered a major international incident." Tyler didn't want to hear this. It justified Meredith's decision.

"Meredith was left with no option. Someone had to take the fall."

"Why me?" Tyler demanded.

"Calin Roberts had been identified and you were the current face of Calin. And I guess it came down to the question of who did Homeland most need, you or Meredith?"

"Who made the final decision?"

"Does that matter?"

"To me it does."