It was her. Jack was certain of it. He’d kept in touch with the locals on the Gold Coast and they had never recovered a body from the Porsche crash. They were convinced the driver hadn’t survived, but Jack had never accepted it. Until there was a body, nothing was certain.

Keeping his head down, Jack left. He’d recognised her, but it appeared she hadn’t remembered him. Or perhaps he looked just like every other South Asian man to her. Either way, he made it down the stairs and back to the car without a bullet in his back. Once behind the wheel, he sat for a moment, to prove he wasn’t rushing. When he’d judged sufficient time had passed, he started the car and pulled away.

Once again, he toured the streets in the general vicinity before heading back to the carpark where the others waited. Harry jogged over to meet him when he pulled into a park a little distant from the rest of them.

“Wow, not even a scratch.” Harry gave him a thumbs up.

“I can drive a car without crashing it,” Jack groused as he got out and handed over the keys.

“Statistics say otherwise, boss.” He counted them off on his fingers. “The car through the front of the Office HQ. A hot-pink Ferrari on the GC. The Humvee in Singapore.”

“Not my fault,” Jack insisted. “That one was all you, McGill. You’re the one who parked it there.”

“Au contraire, you’re the one who made big boom and bye-bye Humvee. And let’s not forget this morning’s little fender bender at the airport.”

“What? That thing? Both cars were drivable afterward. It doesn’t count.”

“It does, because that one you actually did on purpose.” Harry shook his head as they started back toward their 4WD. “Intent makes it much worse.”

“So, when they find your body, whether or not I intended to strangle you would mean the difference between murder and manslaughter, right?”

“Exactly!” Harry gave him a big, goofy grin.

Jack ignored it, but when it didn’t go away, he had to ask, “What’s with this?” He gestured at Harry’s stupid expression.

“You’d really strangle me?” He sounded positively hopeful.

“It’s getting more and more likely,” Jack muttered.

“I knew it! You do care about me. Strangling is a very intimate act, usually done in crimes of passion.”

“You’ve discovered my deepest secret,” Jack deadpanned. “I want you, Harry McGill. So bad.”

“Yeah, you do.” Harry laughed.

Jack knew he wasn’t the easiest person to work with. He was stubborn and could be a bit moody and tended to take the path less travelled in search of an answer. If he didn’t keep getting results, he was sure he’d have been quietly retired from the Office by now. But he did keep getting results, so he wasn’t retired, and now he was working with Harry.

“Wait up a moment.” Jack stopped them before they got too close to the others.

Turning serious, Harry asked, “What is it?”

Five months they’d been working together. Most of it closeted away in a tiny operations room in HQ, monitoring perhaps the most boring person on their watchlist ever. Jack wasn’t a “people person” and generally found those who described themselves as such weren’t either, but Harry had proven the exception to the rule. An admission Jack had grudgingly come to about a month into his relationship with the Kiwi. Something he’d also come to appreciate about him, as well. Which Jack hadn’t ever said to him.

Likewise, Jack knew he’d dragged his feet on having the talk with Ethan. His excuses were getting thin—it had been too hectic at the end of their trip to the Gold Coast; he’d been too sick last time; he’d been waiting to see why Ethan had been acting so weird last night. And if this ISO situation wasn’t cleared up tonight, he would probably miss another chance to tell Ethan just how he felt. Jack was here, freezing his nipples off and Ethan was in Sydney, maybe. That was, if he hadn’t hightailed it out of the country after delivering his little message. Even if he was still in Australia, or even Sydney, Jack had every reason to think there was a bomb in the building across the road. A building he was planning to go back into very shortly. He shouldn’t let this chance slip by him, either.

“Listen,” he began, his voice low. “Um, I just wanted to say thanks.”

Harry’s expression turned wary. “Thanks for what?”

“For, uh, being a good second. I mean, a good partner. You’re a good field asset and I really appreciate all the effort you put into the job.”

Expression unchanged, Harry eyed him for a moment, then said, “You’re serious.”

Jack knew this had the potential to blow up in his face, so he just grunted and resumed walking. After a moment, Harry caught up to him.

“Thank you, Jack.” His tone was serious. “That means a lot. I like working with you, too.” A couple of seconds of silence, then, “When you’re not trying to blow me up.”

Resigned to the resumption of the status quo, Jack headed for their 4WD. “Where are our AFP friends?”

Harry nodded towards one of the black SUVs. “Conferencing with home base, I believe. The lieutenant isn’t your greatest fan and I’m pretty sure she told me I should go home and get a job there.” He scowled in her direction.

These were just some of the hurdles encountered when working for a covert, international agency.

“Let’s keep playing nice for now,” Jack said, then asked Alderton, “You got the footage?”

“Final filter has just finished,” she said from her tiny window on the screen.

The images from Jack’s implant weren’t crash hot in real time. Taken directly from Jack’s right eye and optic nerve, the raw footage was mostly un-viewable and had to go through a few filters to make it appear “correct.” Which was why, while the Office preferred to keep Jack’s enhancement quiet, those who worked with him had to be told. It was a pain having a forty-five-second delay on getting a clear picture, but the benefit of not having to rely on an external camera that could be found in a physical search outweighed it.

“There’s nothing vital until the last couple of minutes,” Jack said. “I need a screenshot of a particular person.”

“Who are we looking for?” Alderton sped up the playback.

“One of the fake DSOs, just as I’m leaving. That one.” He pointed out as the screen showed the woman at the door. “Female, about five nine, sixty to sixty-five kilos. She’s the assassin I encountered on the Gold Coast a couple of months back. Designated as Porsche on the JSL Auxiliary.”

Ethan, who’d sat steady at number seven for years on the John Smith List, had dropped back in recent times. He was currently at position nine, thanks to no attributed kills in over a year. It didn’t mean Ethan had been a saint during that time, just that he’d mixed up his MO enough they couldn’t call a kill his with enough confidence, not even the Liechtenstein duchess. Jack was certain, but no one else was.

The auxiliary to the list were the names of potential assassins, those who hadn’t yet had any kills confirmed. Jack had entered Porsche into it himself, when he hadn’t been able to match the woman to any current listing.

“That’s her,” Jack said as the footage got to her opening the door for him. “Screenshot it and send it to the boss.”

“On it,” Alderton muttered.

“She didn’t recognise you?” Harry asked Jack quietly.

“Doesn’t appear to, but don’t take it as gospel. I’m going to talk to the boss. Hopefully this will convince them it’s real.”

“Good luck,” Harry said.

Leaning against the front of the Patrol, Jack called McIntosh.

“Jack, interesting footage. The Big Boss is reviewing it now. Anything to add?” McIntosh didn’t waste time when lives were at risk.

His director didn’t need him to point out all the small irregularities he’d seen on his recce. They were more than capable of picking up on the mistakes in the DSO uniforms and the clearly distressed nature of the admin assistant.

“Just the screen shot Queen sent, ma’am. It’s the assassin from the GC incident. Porsche, on the JSL Auxiliary.”

There was a small pause as McIntosh presumably studied the image. “Are you certain?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Hmm. Okay, give me a moment.”

Before Jack could protest, he was put on hold. Christ, he hated being put on hold while using his implant. Hold music was torture enough when it wasn’t being piped directly into his head. Thankfully, it didn’t last long.

“Jack, the Big Boss has given the full go-ahead,” McIntosh said. “You can call in the AFP backup and we’re going to scramble an RRF from Duntroon. Give them thirty minutes to reach you. Queen will have CCTV access within ten minutes. You have command until the army gets there, then you’ll advise the CO.”

Jack ground his teeth. While he appreciated the added punch of a rapid reaction force from Duntroon, he didn’t want to give up control to the army. This was Jack and Harry’s job. They’d done the hard yards for it and they deserved to run this op.

“I’d rather keep control.”

“I wouldn’t expect any different,” she replied wryly. “If only you had an ace up your sleeve.”

Jack’s jaw dropped. When Harry had registered their codes for this op, Jack had grumbled about the ignominy of having his actual name as his code, but within minutes had added a fourth code to the op—Ace. Leaving the attribution open, Jack had given himself some room to manoeuvre if required. In his head, he knew who his Ace was, and with her last words, McIntosh had pretty much said she did as well.

Sometimes, Jack worried about how much his superiors knew about what happened behind his closed doors. Other times he could ignore the nagging concern. It was, after all, why he’d made his devil’s agreement with Tan.

“Yes, ma’am,” he repeated, just as dryly. “I’ll get straight on it.”

“Good luck, Jack.” And she was gone.

Sighing, Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d been planning on calling his “ace-up-the-sleeve” regardless, but at least now, with vague permission given, he wouldn’t have to beg for forgiveness. Hopefully.

He opened the filing cabinet and, as he released his anger, called Ethan.

“Jack,” Ethan murmured, when he picked up. “This is a surprise.”

The dry British accent didn’t help Jack’s already strained patience. “Is it?” He thought the words with all the sarcasm he could.

“Well, I had hoped to hear from you, but was far from certain. I trust you got my note.”

“Of course I bloody well got your note. Jesus, you still can’t just be straightforward with me, can you?”

“Just as you were straightforward with me when you declared I wasn’t allowed to interfere in your work ever again,” Ethan returned, mildly.

Jack internalised a grimace. “Yes, just like that. Exactly like that, but you could have just told me. That information blew this entire thing wide open. How long were you sitting on it?”

There was an extended pause, and when he answered, Ethan’s tone was serious. “Not long at all. When I realised what it would mean for your job, I came here immediately to make sure you got it.” Another pause, then softer, “I hadn’t meant to return to Australia for some time.”

That admission kicked Jack in the guts. “Why?” God, he hated sounding so needy but he had to know.

“That is perhaps a conversation for a more settled time, Jack. I can only assume you’re in Canberra right now.”

At least Ethan warned him about the sudden topic change. That was progress, of a sort. And Jack could understand it. Now wasn’t the time to hash out why Ethan hadn’t wanted to see him again so soon.

“Yeah, across the road from the ISO. We’ve just been given the official go-ahead. I found something to convince the Big Boss this is a real threat.” He took a deep breath, even though he wasn’t speaking aloud. “Which is why I called you. I think you should be here for this.” At first, he wondered if Ethan would tease him about how it was Jack who’d said he couldn’t ever get involved in his work, and he was ready to defend his backflip.

Instead, all Ethan said was, “How soon would you like me there?”

It took about ten seconds to realise it wasn’t a sarcastic dig at Jack’s change of mind. Five seconds after that he dissected the actual words and groaned.

“You’re here, aren’t you,” he hissed aloud. “You’re in fucking Canberra.”

Ethan was totally unrepentant. “I left Sydney this morning, after you went to work. I’ve been here since lunchtime.”

Crap. The moment he found the note he should have known this was inevitable. So much for being straightforward and expecting Ethan to play along.

“Please just tell me you’re not in the museum.” Jack got enough control back to keep quiet. Of course, if Ethan was that close, what was to stop him from actually being one of the black-clad AFP personnel? It was a disturbing enough thought Jack stepped away from the 4WD to check on the team.

“No. I’m about ten minutes away. I wanted to keep my distance, in case things didn’t go according to plan and I needed to change my tactics.”

“Yeah.” Jack wasn’t really listening.

The AFP team wasn’t hiding anymore. Not even a little bit. They were advancing on Jack’s 4WD in a fast but precise pattern, moving in flowing waves, three lots of three. Rifles up, ready, pointed right at Jack.