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You’re Playing With Fire

Late May 2021

Christian, the Police Commissioner, The Mayor of London and the Home Secretary stood to gain everything.

Christian’s latest operation would see the strain of LSD that he’d developed, already being flushed into the streets of London, sent overseas to infiltrate the European drug market. The real source of his income and power. His labs, researching the same strain, diligently served up documented research and progress reports to regulators and the press. A breakthrough in harnessing its capabilities was simply a smoke screen only his inner circle could see through.

But when the doors of Khonsu and his apartment in Chelsea were firmly closed, his mask of pleasantries and warm smiles would be wrenched off and dumped to the floor with his shoes every evening.

In those dark hours away from the lenses of the press and government sycophants was a ruthless and ambitious head of a sophisticated network of drug trafficking and crime. The true Christian Hollingsworth. Khonsu was a green room of powerful and well-connected men who could further his legitimate and criminal interests. The need for confidentiality of its members provided a ring of steel around his operations. Watertight. Bulletproof. No leaks. As the agreement, signed by Khonsu patrons warned, any leak of members or conversations within those walls would result in public shame, ruin, and financial penalties. It was perfect. He knew how to allow a strain of a controlled substance into the public domain with no repercussions. London was his laboratory, as he had so proudly reminded Drew.

Police reports of those found in possession would miraculously pass over his desk through connections within The Met. He had no interest in the crime; that was incidental to him. He was interested, however, in how the drug performed. Unsuspecting users were his guinea pigs. Hallucination, behavioural changes and his most fascinating area of research: mind control. Hollingsworth Medical Solutions was quite simply a front to pacify the prying eyes of the BMC, HMRA and enthusiastic police detectives. There was nothing to see. On the face of it, he was just a passionate medical entrepreneur attempting to save the world.

LSD had long associations with government and warfare throughout the twentieth century. Attempts made by the CIA to weaponise LSD in the 1960s ran dry. Christian had ambitions to pick up where they left off. His ambition knew no bounds. He’d stop at nothing and destroy anyone attempting to derail his greed.

Developing a relationship with those who walked the halls of Westminster and commanded the police force of the biggest city in Britain allowed his criminal activities to go unbothered. In return, Christian had begun, a few years prior, to reward compliance in government and the police force. Even being afforded the ability to clean money from drug sales on the streets of London through an associate at a renowned financial institution: Plutus PLC.

If the latest operation was executed correctly, not only would it make those involved even more wealthy, but it would also make them even more powerful. Galvanising their positions at the very top of society to allow the grotesque underworld they were facilitating to grow.

The Mayor would secure another term by actively keeping the streets clean. The Police Commissioner would win praise for clamping down on criminal enterprise and further cement his position as the leading force in the Metropolitan Police to bring about justice. The Home Secretary would secure contracts for Hollingsworth Medical Solutions to weaponise UK intelligence services and armed forces, securing another term in power. When the Commissioner required it and the time would come, Christian would take his pick of lower-level organised crime members and sacrifice them to provide legitimate arrests.

The meeting secured the plan for a transfer of stock of the new strain of LSD into Europe via shipping channels from London’s docklands to a port in the south of France, and European connections would distribute to crime networks from there.

Compliance from the Mayor of London, the Commissioner and the Home Secretary would allow the operation to be executed without disruption; each would be handsomely rewarded for their deliberately blind eyes, along with his associates in Europe.

The date was set. 30th June. The Commissioner would announce twenty-eight days prior the launch of Operation Oak Tree. Knowing full well he would close the investigation upon the twenty-eighth-day review, concluding it had been a success. Public applause would be diverted to the arrests made from Christian’s serving up of unsuspecting dealers and pushers lower in his food chain, while the shipment would be reaching the shores of the south of France.

Another associate planted within Plutus would ensure a secure transfer of funds to each account of those involved in the operation to move the drugs out of London upon the twenty-eighth day via a staged cyber attack. The funds would simply look like a malicious extortion of Plutus’ funds without a trace.

The Commissioner, Commander Tim Drake, would make his statement, launching Operation Oak Tree on 2nd June. Deliberately blindsiding his organised crime commander, Tabitha Penhaligon. A thorn in his side for years and a favourite for his job.

The associate who handled the cleaning of drug money proceeds so far was also tasked with selecting a fall guy. To provide the operation with a central figure who, on paper, orchestrated the entire plan. Christian would “have some fun and get a little creative” while pulling the fall guy from his life and having him held until required.

The associate knew everything about Jamie Arden-Archer. His husband. Their lives. He’d known the Archers for years. Even pet names. “JJ, I like that,” Christian grinned one evening over a phone call planning Jamie’s soon-to-be removal from everything he held dear.

“Make it painful. I’ve got an old score to settle with the Archers. Do your worst.” The associate chillingly instructed Christian on one of their many phone calls in the weeks before.

Jamie would be installed at his apartment on the day the shipment would leave London, and Operation Oak Tree would close, on 30th June. Laced with incriminating evidence, he’d lose Dean, his family, friends, and career. The staged cyber attack would ruin Dean’s career. Christian and his inner circle would continue to go about their lives. Free to continue their criminal operations as if nothing had happened. They got richer. More powerful. And no blame or culpability would be found at their doors. Decimating Dean and Jamie’s life and, in turn, the Archers, was the ultimate revenge for Christian’s associate. And an incidental price Christian was willing to allow his fall guy to pay.

“It’s a perfect selection. I must commend your resourcefulness and creativity.” Christian chuckled on another of their calls. The magnitude of what they were about to bring to fruition was worth nothing more. Smashing a life to smithereens. “The fact he’s a minor celebrity who orbits the fashion and entertainment worlds, a casual drug user and rubbing shoulders with the rich, the powerful and well-connected, it’s not a stretch and completely believable. And that husband. Undoing the perfect marriage will be entertaining. Let’s take these beautiful people down a notch or two.”

Both voices gave out a satisfied grunt, and the call ended.

1st June 2021

JAMIE: Fine.

Since returning to London, Jamie was trying with all his strength not to appear too happy that they had come back to the city. Like an abstinence, he was finally able to break. He threw himself into the partying of his single years; many a night upon their return would turn into early morning crashes through the front door. Dean loved him too much to voice his concern just yet. The truth was that it didn’t seem to affect Jamie’s performance. At home or work.

The Arden Agency was growing its client base and its payroll. No matter what time he eventually emerged from the bars or parties of the city, he was suited and out the door or at his desk for eight each morning. Dean was incredulous at his stamina. At home, when he was home, Jamie was attentive and adorable as always. But Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that this wave would crest soon. He braced himself.

Things began to turn bad.

The text came as Jamie asked Dean to meet him at a magazine launch he was fronting the cover story for as part of a reimagining of ‘The Bright Young Things’, a term coined in the twenties to label the pleasure-seeking young people of the time. Jamie was joined by other models, actors, and media personalities under forty to feature.

Dean was tired from an ambitious day at the office and just wanted to roll home and be quiet. Hugo was gunning for cost savings in Dean’s division. Dean stood his ground. Hugo wasn’t a fan of men with balls as big or bigger than his. Dean was showing how big his were. Remaining justifiably defiant. Jamie’s thirst for his old life was as Dean eventually feared, becoming a drink that Jamie couldn’t just sip from time to time but gulp and neck every chance he got.

Dean didn’t reply. No reason to fight.

Jamie shoved his phone in his jacket pocket and looked into the mirror in the bathroom of the bar at the launch. “Got a line?” He held his gaze as he put out his hand to Felipe. A Brazilian model who was known for his Seventies-inspired aesthetic. Thick curly hair to his shoulders. Large brown eyes. Olive skin and always in a shirt that seemed to be permanently draped open past his chest, revealing a flash of chest hair and a slim but defined chest. He wore layer upon layer of leather and beaded necklaces. And always in Cuban heel boots and flares. Jamie adored him. Thought he was fun, sexy, and carefree. In another life, he may have gone there, but he would never betray Dean. He didn’t see any harm in the occasional flirt; it didn’t mean anything to him. Dean was his centre and always would be. Like two friends with confusing edges. They’d usually be draped on each other at parties, sharing cigarettes and whispering acerbic quips to each other. They’d been photographed together, and rumours swelled in the online gossip press. Dean laughed. “He’s just a friend, babe. He’s not my Big Boy. No one else ever will be.” Jamie would reassure him. Dean didn’t need the validation as he had done in the past about Hugo. Hugo seemed a different breed. He could and would take what he wanted given the chance. He still didn’t fully trust him around Jamie. But something about Felipe meant he just couldn’t take him seriously. The bad boy girls fawn over in high school only to find out he’s crap in bed with no ambition. He knew Jamie loved their life; he just liked to kick against it from time to time. But even then, those kicks could hurt. Eventually they became too much to tolerate.

“You sure?” Felipe reached into his tight jean pocket and produced a baggie and a rolled-up twenty. Clicking them between his index and forefinger with a grin.

“Why not? I’m back in the city. Let’s have some fun.” Jamie inhaled along the bathroom counter, flipped his head back and gasped before looking back in the mirror. “Wow. That’s good. I shouldn’t say it, but I miss this stuff sometimes.”

Felipe came to wrap his arm around Jamie’s shoulder. “Then have your fun. But don’t do it to prove anything to anyone. You know we missed you in the city these past few months.” He placed a palm on Jamie’s cheek and pulled him to a kiss on the other.

“I missed you guys. We had such a laugh, didn’t we?”

“We did. Don’t forget Dean. What a guy. He should have come.”

“I know. It’s not his scene. I do love him, but I miss my old life too. I didn’t feel like I had an identity out in the suburbs.”

“Compromise, JJ. Compromise. We’re all still chasing it. You have it. Don’t fuck it up at the finish line.”

“I’m not fucking it up?” Jamie was taken aback by Felipe’s warning. Of all the people he expected to hear this from, Felipe wasn’t one of them.

“I know you don’t want to, but keep up this stuff, and you could. You don’t need to chase a high. You’re living one.” With that, Felipe kissed his forehead.

Jamie smiled softly and caught a familiar face in the mirror.

“I better….” Felipe saw the tension and removed himself, walking straight past Harry.

“What are you doing?” Harry moved into the room slightly. Cautious, like Jamie was radioactive.

Jamie blatantly took another line in front of him, sniffed sharply and turned. “He’s a friend, Harry. I’ve known him for a while. Met doing all this stuff. Problem?” Jamie gestured to the bar behind them.

Harry went to him and grabbed his wrists. “That might be so, but why are you doing this shit again?” Harry was in his face. Snarling.

“I can do what I want. Why can’t everyone give me some fucking space? It’s like I’ve finally been put back in my box in Marlow. You’re all happy that I’m out of the way. Wrapped in cotton wool. Not causing mischief. Mischief is part of me. I’m Trouble, remember?” He giggled to himself rolling his eyes, then straightened. “No one needs to worry about or fix Jamie anymore because he’s wrapped up in beige blankets inside his beige fucking house.”

“You’re playing with fire. This is a slippery slope for you. And you know it. None of us use anymore.” Harry gripped his wrists a little tighter.

“So what? Dean doesn’t like something, so the world has to change? I am successful; I am married to a wonderful man. There is nothing wrong with my life. So what if I enjoy this now and then?”

“You’re such a beautiful person, but this stuff makes you ugly. Makes you stubborn. It makes you everything you hate about other people.”

Jamie pulled his arms out of Harry’s grip. “Harry I’m thirty-five now. I’m not some wild kid you have to keep an eye on. So do me the courtesy of backing the fuck off.” Jamie barged past him and went out to the bar.

Harry hung his head in defeat. Jamie wasn’t in that box anymore. Pandora’s box broke open when they returned to London, and he was sure that pandemonium would follow. He couldn’t badger Jamie into stopping using drugs. He wasn’t an addict, but Jamie also didn’t know when to stop. He wasn’t trying to make things difficult; he wanted to stop him from damaging what he had.

He walked back out into the bar and saw Jamie dancing with Felipe and other models and left.

Jamie looked on as Harry went out the doors into a waiting Mercedes. He was angry; he knew Harry meant well, and he loved him. He just felt suffocated and was done with everyone’s opinions on what he should and should not be doing.

JAMIE: FUCK HARRY. TELL HIM TO KEEP HIS NOSE OUT OF MY BUSINESS AND OUT OF OUR MARRIAGE.

“Jesus Christ. What now?” Dean moaned to himself. He called it a night. The apartment was in darkness, and he went to bed by ten that evening. He’d spoken with Harry and assured him that he wasn’t bothered by Felipe or the coke and to give Jamie some space to do what he was doing. Berating him would just make things worse.

Jamie was stubborn, so Harry would have to wait.

Jamie crept into the apartment at twelve. Dean jumped up and clicked his bedside lamp on.

“Evening.” Jamie came around the door. Dean couldn’t help it. He firmed immediately. Jamie wouldn’t listen to anything anyone was saying during those days, but he would feel it through Dean’s actions. Know that Dean wanted him regardless of his choices.

Dean jumped out of bed, pulled his shorts off and pushed Jamie against the wall. “Dean. Oh my god. What’s got into you?” Dean said nothing. He kissed him hard. Dragging his stubble over his chin. The pain made Jamie wince and pull at Dean’s hair. “Fuck, Big Boy.”

Dean dropped to Jamie’s crotch and pulled him free. Taking him greedily in his mouth while Jamie grabbed his hair even more and tugged at the ebony waves like reins on a stallion. Fingernails digging into the wall. He came, and Dean didn’t let go. Burying himself in him. Taking every drop.

Jamie grinned and kissed him as he rose. Satisfied with the surprise ambush on his return. Dean flipped him against the wall. “I’m not done.” He pulled Jamie’s legs free from his trousers, pulling his right leg up and sank into him.

“Yes. Keep going. You’re going to make me cum again. Keep going. Dean!” Jamie demanded through gritted teeth. Slapping the wall. Dean’s solid body hitting him from behind made his knees liquid.

Dean finished deep inside. Hands gripping Jamie’s arms. He slipped away, smacking his behind and breathing heavily. Jamie leaned against the wall and bit his thumbnail, grinning again. “Fuck, babe, what was that? Miss me?”

Dean rolled back into bed as if nothing had just transpired. “I was just reminding you of what you have at home. I’ll make you dinner. Make a life with you. Make you cum. And make sure you’re happy and safe. Your happiness is the core of who I am. I wanted to remind you.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never questioned any of that. I’m happy. With us, at work, there’s nothing I’m not happy with. Harry just needs to understand he’s not my minder. I’m not some fucking addict he needs to fix. It happens from time to time. I don’t bring it home and don’t expect you to join in. What’s the issue?”

“The issue is I don’t know if you truly are happy anymore. I’m not ever going to tell you what to do; I just always want you to be safe and get home. You come alive when you’re at those parties, the old you; lately, I feel like you’re almost resenting me for our move. Do you think I’m making you change? That I’m boring you?”

Jamie slipped in next to him and held his shoulder. Dean stared out across the room away from him. “Of course not.”

“So why does it feel that way?”

“I can’t answer that for you. All you have is my word.” Jamie turned and drifted off. No kiss. Just silence.

Dean wiped his face on the pillow and whispered, “Goodnight.”

Nothing.

It was the first time Jamie hadn’t apologised for the childish tone in his messages. Jamie being happy back in the city meant he seemed to be ignorant of his behaviour around others. Dean mulled over how this shift in Jamie’s attitude was starting to strain their relationship. He stared for another five minutes. Jamie was in some kind of funk about everything. Despite his reassurance. It sounded empty to Dean. He wasn’t lying because he was a liar, but it seemed he was skating close to the truth and scarpering when he got too close. It wasn’t a question of trust for Dean, but just a question: Has London replaced me? Have you had your fill of love and marriage, and now you want to go back to who you were before we met? He quickly came to understand that trust wasn’t a prerequisite for happiness. He gripped the pillow and braced himself for more questions. More changing behaviour.

2nd June 2021

“For too long organised crime has gripped our great city in its fists. Polluting our streets, homes and venues with a new strain of LSD. A party drug synonymous with peace is causing anything but in London. We’ve been developing lines of enquiry to flush out the sources of this strain, and on behalf of the Metropolitan Police Force, I promise the citizens of London and beyond that we will not stop to bring down the gangs responsible. Operation Oak Tree will bring an end to organised drug crime and allow our city to be a safer place for all.” Commander Drake’s defiant stare filled the screen of the BBC Breakfast live stream.

“What the fuck is this? No one has even been briefed on this at all. This is a deliberate attempt to make me look incompetent. Fucking arsehole.” Tabitha Penhaligon threw her pen at the laptop streaming The Commissioner’s press conference on BBC Breakfast News. Tabitha, a career officer of fifty with thirty years of service under her belt, was a sure bet to take Drake’s position upon his retirement. Their working relationship was famously tempestuous. She saw him as a pushover, only focused on PR and image. She was all about crime and getting in the trenches, hands dirty, blood on her face, and knuckles broken for the case to be closed. She was a warrior. He was a little pathetic prince wrapped in his ivory tower. Her problem was he was the face of The Met. The leader, who it appeared made all her hard work happen. Within The Met HQ at Scotland Yard, officers knew who to fear. And it wasn’t him.

“Or something else? He’s finally been put under pressure to crack down on the leads you’ve been providing him for months but didn’t act on. He’s saving face.” DCI Terry Bates attempted to reassure her. At sixty, Bates was the longest-serving black DCI The Met had on its payroll and would retire at the end of the month. They’d worked some of the force’s toughest cases together. Bates recruited Tabitha into the force. Mentoring her until she was ready to scale even higher. They still worked as they had years before Tabitha’s promotion to Organised Crime Commander. Running everything by each other. Everything.

“Whatever it is. We’ll play the game. You have less than a month left until retirement, so we won’t cause a stir. I’ll do that after you leave.” She winked at him. Something deep inside knotted in her stomach despite the bravado on the surface. The abruptness in the announcement of this so-called operation was unprecedented. She began to wonder why.

Across London. There was further animosity in another workplace.

“Dean, there will always be ways that deviant bastards can outsmart even the most proficient of security defences. You know that. You shouldn’t be that naive. Plutus isn’t just a pet project for you to demonstrate how robust your division is. We have to make money. More of it. The financial world is still shaking after COVID-19. Investors are nervous. Spending more and more in your area will make them more so. We have to report every overhead in the shareholder statement. Each quarter, each end of the year. I don’t have to tell you this.”

“I hear you. But we’re under three per cent of turnover on spend, the recommendation and market standard, and expectation, might I add, for IT investment. We’re just over two. Hugo, we reported a turnover of nineteen billion for last year alone, with COVID-19 thrown in. We’re up against the big three as we wanted, Black Rock, L&G, and Vanguard. We’ll take one of them by this time next year. I can’t run leaner than I am. There’s little need to either. I can’t get on board with your thought process on this.” Dean played with his wedding ring under the desk with his thumb. He wouldn’t let Hugo sniff blood. “We can’t just look at this from a shareholder perspective. We’re answerable to the ICO and FCA; what about our employees? Would you take the wrap if we were fined for breaches? Leaks? Attacks? Just so we can give more money to people who already have too much?” Dean leaned back and wiped his lip. Stopping more words from coming out that he’d regret.

“Here’s an idea. I'll steer the ship, and you just dance to my tune. We continue to operate on last year’s cost benchmarks. End of discussion.”

“I'll say it is.” Dean flipped his tie flat and got up. As he went to the door, Hugo spoke again. He stopped.

“Shop aside. How's my boy? My firecracker?” Dean didn't need to look back; he knew there was a smirk slashed across Hugo’s face.

His jaw clenched. “My husband is fine, thanks.” He clasped the door and moved out into the foyer. He reached his office and slumped into his chair. He was at the top of his game. His career velocity was rapidly putting him in direct conflict with Hugo himself. He’d fought for further investment; the business had been commended in the city and globally because of its focus on security in recent years. While others hadn’t. This was all Dean’s doing. But Plutus was not the dominant investment force that Hugo wanted it to be just yet. He wanted to be out in front of the big three, not trailing behind. This was his responsibility, but in recent weeks he pushed the blame on everyone else but himself. Dean realised that his tempestuous friendship with Hugo thrived while his neck was squashed under Hugo’s brogue, but now he was sat directly across the table from him, the friendship was fracturing even more.

Things remained frosty and curt between them throughout June. Jamie’s cooling toward Dean, prioritising going out over spending time with him for anything apart from bed or stalling conversations over a few dinners, was weighing heavy. His two sources of pride, his career and his marriage, were all of a sudden turning on him.

“I feel like I'm slipping,” Dean said delicately taking cover one night with a whisky. His career and his marriage were kicking his arse over the preceding few weeks, and there was only one person he could turn to, despite the earlier fallout between Jamie and his best friend.

“I feel for you. I wasn't trying to stick my oar in. I was just trying to help. I know from our last massive fight that I needed to just walk away before it got ugly and things were said with no meaning. I just wish I, we, could understand what he's trying to distract himself from. Like he feels he shouldn't have what he has. It’s weird; to anyone else he looks selfish, but to us, I hope you'd agree, we know it's not that. And work? You’re all big stallions kicking each other in the stables. I think you might have to just get used to it, I’m afraid. It’s called being damn fucking good at what you do.” He smiled reassuringly.

“You’re right, mate. I know you mean well. I should step up more and attend these things for him, but it’s just not something I can handle. He’ll sit up and listen to me talk about work all night long, but I can’t do that for him? I’m a selfish prick at times. Helps – he’s got my dick in his mouth when we do talk about my work from time to time, I suppose.” Dean giggled like a teen. Harry waved the idea of his two friends in an intimate moment away as quickly as he could. “Seriously though, our wedding was all I could cope with, and that was just for him. I’m getting anxious over him slipping away from me, but I’m not doing anything about it.”

JAMIE: I bumped into that guy from your work. Richie? A mutual friend at this party I’m at. Isn’t London nuts? I know you’ve said he’s an arsehole, but he’s genuinely a sweet guy. Love you.

“Christ. Now he’s out with Richie.” Dean clasped his hand to his head.

Harry reached out and rubbed his shoulder. “Leave him to it. You trust him, right?”

“Of course.”

“Leave him be. He’s a big boy now, too. Patience, beautiful friend. He’s going through some stuff. He’ll shout when he’s made a mess. He knows you love him too much to not go clean it up. Maybe after rolling your eyes. You’ll be ok, sport.” Harry laughed. Dean’s endless worry over Jamie was achingly sweet.

They clinked their glasses. “To Trouble. The little shit.” They fell back laughing on the sofa.

Harry’s phone buzzed, and he smiled at the message.

“Dipping your wick, hey? I know that smile.” Dean punched his shoulder.

“More serious than that, but mind if I keep it quiet for now? You know me. My past. It's the first time I’ve felt I can open up to someone in so long.” Harry rubbed his phone with his thumb.

“Wow. Ok, H. Talk to me, though. I want to know.”

“Will do. Will do.”

Mid-June

The rest of June was increasingly fraught. Jamie was in. Then he was out. His hangovers were getting worse. He never let it meddle with work, but the apartment had turned into a battleground. Remarks and clap-backs were being shot from all corners. Dean, setting up camp either in bed or on the sofa. Jamie storming past him. Dean refused to acknowledge the budding friendship between Jamie and his irritating new office manager. It was just yet another fly in the already polluted ointment. Dean just took it silently. He worshipped Jamie. Even when he was hell to be around. He’d cling, white-knuckled, and take it until this weird phase he was in was over. No matter how long or brief.

Across London. Operation Oak Tree was stalling.

Tabitha Penhalligon, along with Terry Bates, continued exploring futile leads. Beginning to question the validity of each new one that seemed all too easily planted in front of them. “There’s an ulterior motive here. I know it. He wants rid of me. He knows I hold him to account while everyone else lets him do the bare fucking minimum around here. The blindsiding of the operation, these bullshit leads? All designed to undermine me. It’s not corruption in a conventional sense, but it’s pretty fucking close.”

“Well, if all this is just a vanity project and he’s gatekeeping valuable resources to look better publicly, let him carry on. Just toe the line where required.” He paused. Trying not to grin. Tabitha in a fighting mood was brilliant to watch. Her eyes darting back and forth. Always thinking. “What?” He laughed.

“What you said then. Project. That’s it. Something feels off about all of this. It’s hollow. There’s not really anything happening.”

“There’s always going to be doubt, Tabs. But this is where your training comes in. I backed the right horse all those years ago with you. Knew you’d go to the top. And here you are. I couldn’t do it. But you can look after yourself. I’m retiring a week today. I’d like a quiet week of plodding along to whatever that narcissistic prick wants of us. Keep your head down just for now. I trained you well, but don’t overthink this too much. You don’t know what shit he might be getting from The Mayor.”

“I just don’t feel comfortable. And are you defending him slightly? I… What does Joey want? Joey! Come in! We’ll park this for now.”

Terry still answered while grinning at his once protégé and now boss. “Never.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. Sir.” Joey nodded as he arrived at Tabitha’s desk.

“Joey. What have you got for us?” Tabitha craned her neck to him.

“Sorry Ma’am, this is slightly personal, and I don’t want to waste your time, but I don’t know if perhaps this is pertinent to the operation.”

“Go ahead.” Tabitha gripped her pen. Bracing.

“Thank you. Uh, my partner, Rio, that’s not his real name, and I’d prefer not to disclose that at this time. He has been acting increasingly paranoid these past few weeks. I know I should separate my work from my personal life, but I can’t help but feel something is off.” Joey shifted on his feet. Relieved he had let out his worry.

Tabitha frowned slightly and then warmed. Joey Baker was a DS in her department. Only twenty-five but a brilliant officer. A good rapport with the community. He’d go far. A handsome but baby-faced officer who no one could be too short with. “You’re right, Joey. A few things I know you’d know to check out as a police officer or not: Family. Finances. Work. As a partner first. Police officer, second.”

Joey jumped in, which was not appropriate, but Tabitha could sense his nerves, so she let it go. “That’s just the thing. His work. He’s working as some kind of marketing assistant for a club. He used to work for that Jamie Arden a couple of years before.” Joey pulled out his pocketbook to check his notes. “I found it odd because I know you’ve said there’s been some interest in the goings-on over there. It’s that, uh…” He scanned his page. “Khonsu Club? Isn’t that Hollingsworth’s?”

Tabitha glanced at Terry and back up to Joey. “Ok, Joey I want you to first and foremost allow Rio to speak about what he wants. You can’t pressure him. You’re right, there is interest. From certain among us, at least.” Tabitha had had run-ins with Commander Drake over her hypothesis about Christian Hollingsworth in heated meetings over the years. Each time met with deaf ears and inertia on his part. “What you do get, record and bring back to us. You contact only myself and DCI Bates on our phones, no radio or force devices. Strictly between these four walls. Dismissed.” Joey nodded sharply and left.

“Well, how the fuck about that? It’s only circumstantial and possibly redundant intel, but something is going on. We have an employee of Hollingsworth getting frantic; is this a randomly created operation? And the bullshit leads we’re being fed that take us away from Hollingsworth. They’re too easy. Either dead ends or feel completely planted. The test will be, if this Rio lad goes to ground in the coming week, we may have reason to explore our own variation on this operation. I’m not having Drake get near this.”

“Fighting talk, Tabby Cat. My training paid off. You were always my best pupil. Look at you now. Head of Organised Crime and gunning for The Commissioner.” Terry laughed. He adored watching her work. Making pulp of grown men for their incompetence or swooping in to clean up operations that had run into the long grass. Tabby Cat was a completely ironic name he had for her. She hated it but only allowed him to cross the line.

“Shut up, Gramps. You’re retiring next week, as you said. Any more backchat and I’ll have you on desk duty until then.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

She threw a pen at him, and they both laughed.

Later that day, Drew was in despair at what he'd let himself get into. He could sense a shift again in Christian. He was becoming more distant, as if distracted by something that was occupying his mind. Consuming him. He daren’t question. He’d been whittled down to complete dependence on everything from Christian. He felt partly responsible. He’d knowingly let this monstrous individual gradually crawl his arms around him and finally cut him off from everything. Stevie had reached out over and over, but he was terrified he’d poison anyone he spoke to without Christian’s knowledge, that he’d somehow leave a fingerprint for Christian to find, for him to remove innocent people and scrub them from life should he see them as an inconvenience or threat to his ambitions.

He realised his impossible situation on a solitary run through the streets of Chelsea. The only time Christian allowed him to be alone. Christian had eyes planted all over the city so he was never truly alone. Although Drew was running physically, he knew he was completely trapped. He pulled out his old personal phone from his waistband running strap and clasped the railings. He screamed. Kicked. Kicked. And kicked before collapsing on the railings and letting his useless anger fly out of his eyes. He cried for Lee. He cried for Stevie. He cried for the simple life he had before Christian. Before he was greedy and turned a blind eye to what Christian was capable of. He looked at the screen. Further missed calls from Stevie and one last exacerbated message:

STEVIE: We haven’t spoken in months. I’m worried about you. I miss you. Why won’t you let me back into your life?

She was the only true friend he had in the city. The one he turned to. The one who was a constant. But he couldn’t risk anything happening to her, so he shoved his feelings deep inside and replied.

DREW: I’m sorry. I can’t. Forgive me.

He went to the camera roll and looked over a photo he’d saved in the depths of an album. Lee and him on Christmas morning. In bed. All those years ago. Drew was looking at him. Knowing he wanted to say he loved him then.

He switched the phone off.

With that, he pressed the handset against his forehead and cried silently before hurling it into the Thames. The phone disappeared into the depths along with the last strand of his life as he knew it.

Sunday, 25th June

On the evening of 25th June, Dean reached his limit. Jamie was checking himself in the mirror for another night with Richie. Dean couldn’t remember the last time Jamie spoke of Lars, Gabby or Trix. That thought hurt him too. He walked behind him and spun him around. Kissing him hard. Holding his neck.

“What was that for?” Jamie turned back around to straighten his jacket. Almost dismissive.

“Nothing. I guess. Nothing. That’s what it is right now. There is nothing. I don’t know how to make you happy now we’re back here. It’s like you don’t need me.”

“Dean, I. I just missed the city. I’m ok as long as you’re here. I’m just trying to figure out stuff in my head. It’s not us; it’s all me. Things are too good. Let me work on believing that it’s what I deserve.”

“So I stay here and just get the parts of you that are hungover? Drunk? High? Stinking of booze and chemicals? Sounds like you’re making excuses. While everyone else gets the other parts of you that I miss? Jamie, we haven’t had a conversation about anything in weeks. I miss you. Work is insane, and I need your support. I want to give you mine, not that I’ve had a chance to offer it.” Dean looked down and shrugged. If he looked Jamie in the eye, he thought he might scream and watch him shatter.

Jamie turned and pecked him on the cheek. “We’re ok. I’m complicated. I told you that eleven years ago. You said you’d take on all parts of me. Here they are. Don’t wait up.” He pecked his cheek again and left for the evening.

Dean leaned back on the sofa and wrung his hands on the leather. Biting his lip, for the first time since he could remember, he didn’t recognise Trouble. This coolness. An arrogant confidence. He was beginning to feel that Jamie absolutely didn't need him anymore. He was hurting and asking for a moment, but Jamie flicked him away like a bothersome wasp. He loved him. But he couldn’t be just Jamie’s housekeeper. He knew he was worth more than that. He’d hold on. But the wait was going to be tough, irritating, and frustrating. All Jamie had to do was flash his sexy smile, and Dean would forget everything. But he hadn't even seen that in weeks.

“Richie, babe!” Jamie grabbed him into a hug.

“How are you?” Richie smiled.

“Uh, ok. Yeah.” Jamie checked his phone. The guilt washed over him. Dean’s sweet words stopped him in his tracks.

DEAN: I love you. I just want to be noticed. Have a great evening. Don’t be out too late. You have work in the morning. Your BB.

JAMIE: I’m sorry. I’ve been awful these past few weeks. I got here, and immediately I wanted to come home. You’re too perfect for me. You want me to be happy but want to share in it sometimes too. I won’t be late. Stay up so we can make up. Love you. T.

Dean collapsed on the bed and giggled. Relief. That was marriage. That was them. Even when they were veering off course, they knew to stand strong against the winds they whirled around each other until things began to settle. It was warm that night, and a breeze caught Dean’s cheek like a kiss. His eyes closed.

That was the last time he’d hear from Trouble.

“My god. These drinks are strong, babe. I won’t be out late. I have some serious grovelling to do at home.” Jamie began to sway. After years of partying in the capital, ingesting all manner of things, he knew when he was reaching the horizon of what he was comfortable with and something didn’t feel right. Every hard surface around him became soft. Voices became faint, like they were in another room.

“Just your usual.” Richie giggled. It was forced. He knew what he’d done.

“Just going to use the bathroom.” Jamie got up and walked slowly to the men’s room.

As predicted, the LSD, a very small dose that Richie ran through Jamie’s glass as he gave it to him, was enough to make him slightly disoriented. Deep down Richie felt awful, but the money Christian promised was too important, too life-changing for him to pass up, and he was way in over his head with people who terrified him. He'd have to see his two tasks through. This was the first.

He swallowed the guilt like a ball of bile and grabbed Jamie’s phone. Slipping a metal disc behind the cover. A device he’d been developing to scramble phone GPS. Jamie would be alone.

“Wow. I need to head out. I’ll catch you soon. Thanks, babe.” Jamie kissed Richie on the cheek.

“Speak soon. Take care.” He watched Jamie walk out through the bar and begin to wobble and stumble.

He pulled out a burner.

R: Mark at exit. Move in. I’m done.

Jamie approached the doors and out into the night. The cool air hit him like a hammer and made him have to lean immediately against the wall. He was hot. Then cold. Seeing swirls of cloudy colour. His limbs were like lead, but his joints were light. Anchored but weak.

A hand caught his elbow. “Hello, JJ. Good to see you again. You don’t look good. Let me get you home.”

Jamie’s world went to darkness.

Monday, 26th June 2021 - Day 1 Missing

“Sally? Hi. I, uh, it’s Dean. Jamie, uh, shit. Jamie didn’t come home last night. I don’t know where he is. Can you handle work? Cancel, push back. Whatever. Say he’s ill or something. Can you get hold of his talent manager too? I don’t know what he had on this week with media. I’m so sorry to dump all this on you…”

“Oh Christ, Dean. Absolutely. Leave it to me. I’ll keep an eye out on socials for anything and let you know straight away. Take care of yourself. We’ll be fine. Check with his best friends. Lars, Gabby, Trix. Perhaps they know something.” Sally did her best not to let her own worry over Jamie spill over the phone.

“Thanks. But strictly between us. I don’t want to alert family and friends just yet.” Dean gripped the phone.

Dean had been pacing since he woke at five-thirty. His breathing was rapidly getting quicker, and his head was feeling light. Jamie hadn’t stayed out like this since they began living together. He knew he couldn’t jump straight to calling the police, but checking Jamie’s phone, he couldn’t find his location. The app had stopped tracking him entirely. The last known location was the bar with Richie.

Dean grabbed his phone and called him. “Richie, what state was he in last night? He hasn’t come home. Didn’t you follow him to his taxi or Uber? Why wouldn’t you?”

Richie’s coolness was almost oppressive. “That’s odd. He said he was coming home to you. He was adamant about it. No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Dean, look. With all due respect, Jamie’s ten years older than me. He’s bigger than me. It’s not my responsibility to make sure he gets home. Can I do anything at work today for you?”

Richie had an irritatingly valid point. “Just inform my heads I’ll be unavailable today.” He hung up and sat down. Rigid with nerves.

“Shit,” Richie whispered to himself. His conscience clawed at him with long gnarly nails. He shrugged it off and went back to his laptop.

Jamie came to in a room. Dark. No furniture. Almost clinical. High ceilings with a gaping hole where a fireplace would have once stood. All details were scrubbed. It smelt clean. His head was foggy. Not a hangover. Something else. He was in a bed of clean linen with a white sheet covering him. He didn’t recognise the place and thought immediately of keeping quiet. He looked at his left arm. Attached to something. He followed the tube up to a bag above him hanging on a drip stand. His heart fluttered until he saw the label. Parental Nutrition. He knew this was simply nutrients. Nothing toxic. But why? He ran his tongue over the inside of his lip. Something clean and sweet. He imagined this must be what chloroform must taste like. It may explain how he ended up here. His nerves spiked. He stiffened all over in the bed. I’m in danger. He thought and swallowed.

A door opened. A new figure came in. He didn’t recognise him. He was frozen and didn’t respond to the morning greeting.

That’s when the voices started. The awful words he would begin to believe.

Later that morning.

“Sorry, mate. We don’t cover that side of the building with cameras.” The cleaner at the bar from the night before said indifferently. Despite the gravity of what Dean was asking.

He scrunched his eyes closed. “Ok. Uh, thanks for nothing, I guess.” Dean hung up and sat back. His body was vibrating with nerves. What ifs? Worst cases. Jamie could be absent-minded, but this was completely out of the ordinary. He began to let his mind swirl with awful thoughts: his phone location was no longer available. He’s been assaulted. Raped. Drugged. Taken maybe? But by who and why? The last thought seemed utterly absurd.

Jamie remained mute. He didn’t let his terror betray him. He didn’t think he could control what might fly out of his mouth and make his situation more precarious. The man moved toward him with a tumbler of liquid. “You’ll drink this, and then we will talk. Let’s expand your mind. Rid you of what you don’t need.”

Jamie grimaced and grunted, holding his lips shut. “Don’t fight me. There is no point. You may as well comply, or there will be consequences.” The new voice warned. Low. Sinister. A glass rim pressed against his lips.

Jamie snapped his head from side to side. His body fitting with terror as two fingers clasped his nose tightly, his mouth burst open, and down the liquid went. He gasped as whatever it was coursed through him. Swelling in every recess of his body. He was immediately hot. Clammy. But a strange calmness cloaked him. His mind split into two. Part of him was screaming for help. Screaming that this was wrong. The other part was alert, present and willing to listen.

“You’re going to be very useful to us, JJ. You don’t need that life. You don’t need him.”

The words continued to pollute Jamie. The part of his mind that listened took them as gospel. The part of him that was gagged and quiet wanted to argue back but couldn’t.

Tuesday, 27th June 2021 – Day 2 Missing

Dean had slept in broken bursts. His body just shut down for brief periods throughout the early hours of Tuesday morning. His phone throbbed on the bedside table. He jumped up.

He hit play on the voice clip.

Dean. Dean. Dean. I'm ok. Do you miss me? Dean. Dean. Dean.

He stared at the message. It was him, but it wasn’t. Haunting. Like a ghostly song. Dean wept. He couldn’t understand why Jamie was being so cruel or, worse, why someone was being so cruel to Jamie.

He tried to call, but there was a whirring in his ear. Like the number was out of use. The noise pierced his head. He squinted his eyes shut and smacked his hand to his forehead. He had to act.

He decided.

He had to call the police. He informed the operator of Jamie’s last known location with Richie. He was questioned over Jamie’s habits and behaviour. “If he has been known to engage in drug use, this may be a binge or trip gone bad. Not that I’m dismissing your concerns, but we have to be realistic. I’ve logged it for you. And we’ll contact you with any developments.” Dean hung up. Suffocated by the indifference in the operator's voice. He knew he’d have to start telling family and friends.

Jamie’s parents were frantic but knew Dean would do everything he could to establish Jamie’s whereabouts. “I’ve let you down, Martha. We were in a bad place before this. I’ll be honest. But I’m sick with nerves. I’ll rip this city apart for him. For you. I love you both.” Martha was teary and had Dean promise he’d let them know what they could do. If anything at all.

Ali was supportive. “We’ll find him. You’ve done nothing wrong, Dean. You have to make sure that doesn’t cloud your thoughts. Clear them. You need a strong head to support the police, and I’m right there with you.”

Dean cried after the call. The kindness from everyone was too much.

Hugo was cold. He even went as far as to almost accuse Dean of causing this. “Maybe if you embraced his character? He’s so much fun. I know you tried to clip his wings. Anyway, don’t come in. I’m placing you on leave until this is sorted. I can’t have you making any crazy decisions while this is going on. But find him.” Hugo hung up. He didn’t ask how Dean was coping. All Jamie. Dean fell further into despair. Perhaps this is what Hugo wanted all along. His mind kept pushing him to think he might have something to do with it. But he battled to look away. No one could be that grotesque. He hoped.

Lars, Trix and Gabby were dumbfounded. Their friendships had drifted since they’d returned to the city, but they’d known each other for nearly two decades. That love didn’t disappear. “Bro, I’m so sorry. He’s a fucking idiot at times, but he wouldn’t do anything this stupid on purpose.” Lars attempted to appease him over the phone but immediately regretted it.

“You think something more sinister might have happened? Lars? Really?” Dean’s voice shook. Lars could tell he hadn’t slept in the last two days.

“I just don’t want us to not acknowledge that it’s a possibility. What have the police said? That clip is strange. He can get like that when he uses, going a little childish and giggly. You know that.”

“I know. It used to be funny in a way. Not now. They’ve said nothing. He’s in their system and being processed, whatever the fuck that means.”

“Usually forty-eight hours, as long as this is abnormal behaviour, then usually an electronic tripwire alerts the closest force to act. But Dean? This could be a while. Police forces are a fucking nightmare of resource issues and bullshit admin. We need to start thinking for ourselves. If we go down the absurd route of his being taken. I…” Lars broke off. The gravity of what he was saying caught up with him. He pictured Jamie sitting across from him in his office when he’d just started out years ago. The image was too much, and he snapped his head down to his desk.

“Lars? What were you going to say?” Dean sniffed. Lars could tell he’d been crying probably for as long as he hadn’t slept for. He wanted to hug him.

“Sorry. Uh, well, there’s usually a motive behind this. Jamie hasn’t fallen in with the wrong crowd as far as we know, so anyone who would have decided to take him off-grid would have had a reason. Usually boils down to money, love or revenge.”

“We have money. We love each other, and I don’t know where he is, so that’s left us with revenge. For fucking what? We try our best not to piss people off.” Dean let a little laugh escape. It felt absurdly good for a few seconds. Before the nerves washed over him again.

“Exactly. You have what so many want but can’t have. Revenge seems too far out, but if it was, I don’t understand. Maybe that’s where we need to cast our minds wider. Maybe this isn’t solely related to you and Jamie. Family. Colleagues. Who knows? Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Keep your phone on you at all times, and I’ll do what I can. Trix and Gabby send their love too. I’ll update them. You can’t be on the phone with people all the time. Look after yourself. We’ll get through this.”

“Love you, baby bro.” They hung up.

Lars fired off a message.

LARS: He’s a fucking mess. This is awful. What do we do now? Am I seeing you? Would appreciate a shoulder to lean on.

What began as a Grindr hook-up turned into a perfect first date and quickly blossomed into a relationship. They couldn’t announce it. Not now. Their worlds weren’t ready. And with Jamie missing, it would have been awful to add this bombshell to the damage already being caused. They both hoped it wouldn’t cause damage, but they’d have to wait.

Word got back to Lee through Henry. He was devastated. He couldn’t believe that this could happen and they were not speaking. He had to do something. He texted Dean, but there was no response. He knew he’d possibly broken his trust beyond repair. He did love them both dearly. He’d do what he could to show it.

He knew of a police officer. A good man. A long-standing DCI whom he’d met through various cases over the years.

Terry had the message and immediately got to work. “Tabs, got a minute? Things just took a turn, and I think it’s best we keep this development between ourselves.” Terry closed the door to Tabitha’s office.

“Sure. Anything to move this along.”

“I’m on good terms with Lee Archer QC. We’ve liaised on a few cases over the years. You know him too.”

“Of course. Best in the business.”

“He’s just messaged me. His brother-in-law, that Jamie Arden-Archer? He’s missing. Reported to Missing Persons, but that could take ages. If we voice this in the briefings, we could alert suspicion.”

“Ok. Rio mentioned him. This could be a link. Tenuous but still a link. We have little to go on, but I think we should do the following: Gain some details from the husband. Strictly just you. Record everything on your phone via notes and recordings. We’ll ask for anything else from Joey, but if Rio has gone to ground, we know we’re in trouble.”

Later that day Joey reported to Tabitha. “He threatened to run away when I asked him for more information. I’ve tried, Ma’am, but I can’t get anything further from him other than a few details. He ended it with me. I think he’s hiding something or scared.” Joey attempted to stand proud, but his shoulders were buckling. He went on. “He said a couple of things that I don’t know why; they seemed so odd, but he must have said it for a reason. Like he wanted the information to be passed on. He said, Look for paintings? And two ports? June 30th.” He gave the location of two ports in the docklands on a notepage from his pocketbook and slid it across Tabitha’s desk. She swallowed hard. Why two? Blatantly, one would be a decoy. Had to be. But if Drake led them to the dud port, that could be confirmation of him being involved somehow in whatever connected these recent turns of events, Rio’s recent intel and now Jamie Arden-Archer's disappearance together.

Tabitha immediately thought: Gone to ground. Trouble. “I’m sorry to hear that, Joey. I really am. But my worst fears are rapidly coming true. I’m going to call you back in later. Keep your phone on you. Desk duty today. Strictly between us. And Joey?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Be kind to yourself. Breakups are awful. I’m here if you need me, and thank you for the information. That must have been difficult.”

He nodded and hurried out.

Tabitha frowned but noted the information in her pocketbook and made a dash to Commander Drake’s office. Time to massage the ego.

“Sir?” She knocked lightly.

“Tabitha. Come in. How are those leads coming along?”

“Stalling. Dead ends.” She huffed. She knew he knew they were redundant from his smirk. Arrests were too easy to make. Intel from CHIS handlers was running dry. Distraction and deflection. She wouldn’t let him know she was on to him.

“A little like a scab; pick at them, and then everything will eventually seep out. I have a briefing in a few minutes with the team.”

“I wasn’t aware.”

“You’ve had the other leads, so I thought I’d support.”

“Thank you so much for your ongoing leadership on this one, Sir. A little more complex than I anticipated.”

“You’ll learn.” He said smugly.

She wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily. She saw it. An abstract oil painting. Not the dusty old works that had been hanging there for years. This was new. Bespoke. Completely different from everything else in the entire building. Made for him, she was sure of it. She stopped and touched his arm as he made to leave. “Oh, what a beautiful painting, Sir.”

He frowned but grinned. Her hand on him felt like she was becoming increasingly subservient. He enjoyed it.

“Thanks. Shall we?”

The briefing took place. Drake informed the team of officers of the intel he had received. Completely fabricated. It had been established that a shipment of the strain of LSD circulating the streets of London would be shipped out on 30th June. The port location provided matched one of those provided by Joey.

“Shit.” Tabitha sat back and flipped her pen between her fingers when she got back to her office. She turned on the laptop. The BBC news feed was running again. This time The Mayor of London, Ali Baqri, was being interviewed about Operation Oak Tree. Tabitha had no time for him, so she kept the stream on mute, but something behind him made her begin to cool all over. A painting, hanging on the wall. Not dissimilar to what she saw in Drake’s office. “Surely not.” She rubbed her chin. The same style of painting appeared behind The Home Secretary when the stream cut to Steven Brian MP. Her heart raced.

“Tabs, got a minute?” Terry was at the door.

“Uh, yeah. Come in.” She stared at The Home Secretary on the screen.

“I’ve spoken with Dean Arden-Archer. Jamie’s husband. He’s not given me much else to go on, but one thing that did strike me is that if he’s missing, he seems too obvious to be taken randomly. He’s relatively well-known in fashion and media within the city. His social media presence and the rest. Why would someone remove him from his life without any actual motive? Dean mentioned his assistant is already having to put out fires on his social media feeds and work with his talent manager to put out a statement if this continues much longer. There's been a couple of voice notes sent from

Jamie’s phone. He sounds under the influence of something or someone. Triangulation isn't getting us a location, though. Something is scrambling GPS.”

Tabitha had heard enough. “Ever tried to bring down a crime ring that may or may not involve heads of police and possibly government? With maybe three officers to do the whole fucking thing?”

“What? I said, quiet week.”

“Well, it just got busy. Sit.” Tabitha leaned back. The weight of what was unfolding was pushing down on her shoulders. “I think if we take your hypothesis, overlay it with some connection with Hollingsworth, that gives us a potential location, that club, but we can’t ambush; getting a warrant will alert suspicion. But lives could be at stake, so we can get around that if the awful need arises. I don’t see a connection between Arden and Hollingsworth alone; the two seem far too removed from each other. He’s also not young. I checked over the missing persons' entry. YOB 1985. He’s thirty-six in October. Abductions, unless for a specific reason, usually involve much younger victims. Another point to add to this not being a random malicious act. But that means we have to think about money, relationships or revenge-driven motivations. But who?”

“Dean couldn’t offer much else either. He’s a mess, understandably. I’ve asked him to call my phone with any developments he may come across.”

“You think if Jamie is missing and there is a connection to the operation, he’s been taken to act as a fall guy?”

“Now we’re cooking with gas. And we could also be chasing another lead that isn’t hot. But we have to attempt. We’ve got a duty of care to Arden as officers any way we look at it now. These two ports. I’m going to devise a plan. How fast is your service vehicle?” Tabitha stood.

“Fast.” Terry grinned.

“Good. Your last day may not be so quiet. Give me an hour. I have to make a call to the IPCC to drum up a team for that other port and hope any corruption hasn’t reached them yet. Keep an eye on Joey.”

“Ma’am.” He nodded and left.

Wednesday, 28th June - Day Three Missing

The voice continued to poison Jamie’s mind. The LSD acting as forceps, pulling his mind open to allow it to be filled with toxic words and ideas. None were true of how Jamie felt. The real him continued to scream deep down inside.

“You don't love him anymore. You want to be free. You can't guarantee his safety. You want your old life back.” The voice spoke slowly. As if delivering words that Jamie needed to hear from an old friend.

Across London.

“Stupid question, but how are you?” Harry pulled Dean in tightly.

“H, I don't know. I'm numb. I'm terrified of what's going to happen or what has happened to him. We hit a shitty patch before he disappeared. I just want to tell him everything is ok and I'll never let him down again. Christ H, what if something awful has happened to him? Or worse? Is he alive? I don't know if I can carry on without him.” Dean buried his head in the sofa. Still smelling of Jamie. His mix of vetiver and exotic spices soaked into the leather. Dean rubbed his nose against the fabric.

“I can't offer you anything other than to tell you I'm here for you. For you both. He might be a brat at times, but he's our brat.”

“He is. H, please tell me you think he's ok. I won't know if you believe it yourself, but I need to hear it from someone else. I'm the reason this happened. My selfish hang-ups about not being present in what he enjoys. I'm such a bastard.”

“Steady on. That's my best mate you're ripping to shreds there. Ok, you need to work on things. What marriage doesn't need some maintenance? And I’m not lying when I say he’ll be ok. Too many people care about him for him not to be. And I know you. You’ll turn this city upside down to find him if you have to.”

Thursday, 29th June - Day Four Missing

Dean was curled up in their bed that evening. Another day of going back through calls to people he knew would give him nothing further. Pacing. Crying. Punching inanimate objects to offload pain or feel more pain. Feeling like a failure. The apartment was cold. Dean had entered some odd trance in the last day. He was mute. He didn’t want to see anyone. He’d walked, driven, run, and got the tube all over London ever since Jamie had disappeared in an attempt to find him or a clue as to where he was. The odd voice notes ended, and he wished he’d never had them. They were teasers. Dean was drowning in the thought that Jamie was in danger. They’d fought the last few weeks since returning, but when he couldn’t get to him, he wanted to find him. Take whatever he was going through and put himself in Jamie’s place. Jamie was too kind and too complicated. He didn’t deserve anything but love. His attitude was self-defence, not arrogance. Dean wept.

He left the apartment windows open. The balcony doors open. The door off the latch, hoping his just drift back into their home. “Jamie I’m sorry. Just come back to me. I’m here. I’ll wait for you. I’ll kill anyone who’s hurt you. I miss you.” He whispered to himself. He squeezed one of Jamie’s t-shirts in his chest. Reciting the lines until some form of sleep would come, if only briefly.

The door to the apartment closed. Dean bolted upright and walked slowly into the hall.

Jamie stood at the door and smiled. Stretched his arms out as if he’d just woken. The him, the real him, deep inside was screaming as if from behind a soundproof window. Watching this horror unfold. The Jamie in the apartment, infected with these horrible and untrue words, was ready to tell Dean they were over.

Dean came around the corner and froze. “Jai, Jamie?” He cried and went to him. Jamie put out a hand, and his smile continued. Haunting, like Jamie was in a TV screen. Not seeing him at all.

“Stop. We don’t need to hug anymore. I’ve come to tell you I’m leaving.” Jamie began to walk around the living room. He looked awful. He had a bandage on his arm. He looked skinny already. His face was dull with sores on his lips. His hair was dry and wiry. He was barefoot. He ran his hand along the fireplace.

“What? What do you mean? Jamie, stop and look at me.” Dean went to him again, but Jamie turned and grabbed his chin.

“So beautiful. I loved this face. But not anymore. I wish I had time for you to give me that dick one last time. We had such a deep connection.” Dean couldn’t help but feel himself harden slightly. He’d been deprived of Jamie for weeks. Reduced to desperate fumbles in the middle of the night and nothing more before he disappeared. “But from now on you’ll leave me alone. I’m going. I have people. People who are waiting for me. I don’t love you anymore, and our marriage is over.” Jamie spoke with a flatness. As if he were delivering a piece of information so mundane that it almost bored him.

Dean stumbled and fell to the floor. He grabbed Jamie’s foot. He smelt of a clinical cleanness. Chemicals. His clothes weren’t his. A huge white shirt and shorts. This wasn’t Jamie. This was a ghost. It was terrifying. His eyes were almost black from how large his pupils had become.

“I don’t believe you. You can’t stop loving me. We were going to talk when you went off the other night. What’s got into you? Talk to me. For fuck’s sake, this isn’t you.” The anger built, and he got up. Jamie made for the door, but Dean slammed it shut and slammed his back against it. “I won’t have this. You have to talk to me. I’m your fucking husband.” Dean’s face was glossy with tears and spittle.

Jamie threw his head back and laughed hysterically and shoved him back. “No.” He said with a grin.

Dean came back, but Jamie raised his hand and slapped it across Dean’s face. The engagement ring dug into his cheek. He yelped and fell. “We’re over. I don’t need you anymore. I don’t need to be tamed and controlled. Have these back.” He pulled the rings off and dropped them on the floor. “Don’t come looking for me. Don’t talk to the police. I can’t guarantee your safety if you do.”

Dean scrambled to his knees, blood dripping from his cheek. Jamie disappeared, and in seconds, two men in black balaclavas barged in, kicking Dean to the ground. “I’d listen to him, mate. He’s dangerous now.” One last blow to the back of his head from a meaty fist, and Dean fell back, his head smacking the floor, and he went unconscious.

“You’re almost done, JJ.” The voice spoke. Christian knew the LSD he’d administrated earlier to pollute Jamie's mind with everything he’d just told Dean was wearing off. As Jamie floated back into the waiting Mercedes Sprinter van, he looked at his hand. The sight of his rings gone must have brought consciousness to him briefly. His eyebrows frowned. “Have this to sleep. That’s enough for today.” More liquid passed Jamie’s lips. He didn’t fight anymore. He was a vessel. The world went dark again.

That night, in the depths of Chelsea, something made Christian cocky. He had a swagger. A permanent grin. “Bend over the chair. Pull down your shorts. I need my fill.” He grabbed Drew’s chin and pinched it. Drew huffed silently and got up. He’d gone past defying him. He simply complied and gripped the back of the chair. He was thankful Christian couldn’t see his face. Teeth biting his lip. Not from pleasure but from disgust. His eyes scrunched shut not from wanting more but wanting it to stop. His mind wandered again to Lee. Those beautiful plains of hands. They had gripped, supported, and teased. Christian’s pinched, dug and squirmed in his skin. Christian came with a final shudder and came to his ear. Even his breath made Drew nauseous. “You’ll stay at the club tonight. You and that useless little shit, Rio. You’ll administer a dose to our mark. Keep him until we remove him in the morning.”

Drew froze. A hand struck the back of his head. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Drew stayed, hung over the chair as Christian walked away. Knowing he was now actively involved in whatever Christian was attempting. He didn’t know who or what, but he knew he was about to find out.

Rio was dropped at the club by one of Khonsu’s limousines, and a tall, solid man in black, head to toe, grunted and pushed him through the door into a room with a desk. A captain's desk. Dark mahogany with a green leather insert. A further set of matching chairs and a table filled the room. Presumably for meetings. Rio gulped. He’d often wondered what happened here. He’d gathered his tentative information from a lower level disgruntled dealer a few weeks before. Terrifyingly, he knew this dealer had met his end recently. Their communication abruptly stopped a couple of weeks before. He assumed the worst.

Drew was sitting at the table. They looked at each other like two schoolboys about to receive the cane.

Christian emerged. “Just through there is our mark. I’m giving you full details of our operation. Breathe a word, well, there’s no two ways about it; I’ll have you both removed. I have people who can make your deaths look like tragic accidents. My creativity got us here, so believe me. You administer this dose at ten PM. This keeps his mind malleable. We’ll need him to believe everything I’ve been pumping his brain with these past few days. He’s performing very well. I’ll return with my associate in the morning. There’s water and food through there for you. He gets nothing.”

Drew went in first and clocked the blonde man lying on the bed linked up to an IV. Out of it. He swallowed the gasp as he realised who he was.

Rio looked everywhere but at Jamie in the bed.

“Follow my orders, and nothing will happen to either of you. Dare to interfere, and I can guarantee you won’t see tomorrow.” He closed the door behind him.

They both stared at each other until they heard Christian and other voices disappear into cars moving away.

Rio gasped first. Before he could say anything, Drew snapped a glare at him and cut his palm across his face to signal not to say anything.

They remained silent. Rio sniffled at the sight of Jamie lying in front of him.

10:00 PM approached, and Drew thought quickly. Way back in care, his odious key worker refused him his sleeping pills. He had just turned eighteen and was transitioning into life as an adult. The key worker removed his sleeping pills after finding he’d been prescribed them, denouncing them as a gateway to darker drugs. Drew designed a way of stashing a hoard. Creating a hole in the tongue of his trainers and wedging a supply in there when the need arose.

He still did that to the present day.

He looked up at the ceiling and dropped to one knee. Seemingly tying his shoelaces but thumbing out a pill.

He rose and hovered over Jamie with the dose Christian had provided in a glass in one hand. He made it look like a struggle, so he had to be close to Jamie’s head, concealing himself from the cameras he knew were watching. He stuffed the pill in Jamie’s mouth and held his nose as he grimaced. He followed quickly with the dose. Only he deliberately missed his mouth and poured it around his pillow.

To anyone watching, Drew looked as if he’d successfully administered the dose following a tussle, but he’d disposed of it.

He rose. Nodded at Rio, and they went back to waiting.

He knew Jamie would wake with more clarity in the morning when Christian returned. What happened next, he was still trying to figure out.

Friday, 30th June – Day Five Missing

Dean – 5:45 AM

Dean came too. His head throbbing. His stomach ached with the kicks and punches he’d been pelted with in the late hours of the night before.

Jamie’s warning stopped him from reaching for his phone to call DCI Bates. He didn’t care about himself, but his first fear was what it could mean for Jamie. As he continued to come around, the throbbing continued. He wasn’t disoriented but confused. It was coming from the bedroom. Forgetting his injuries for a moment, he went to get up, and his stomach screamed. He yelped and collapsed. He pulled himself to the bedroom on all fours and could hear the dull buzz again. Incessant. Urgent.

He paused for a moment and then realised what it was. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The timing. It couldn’t be that this was happening. This was connected. It had to be. He reached for the safe and, with just enough energy, spun the dial to its click, and the door popped open. The burner fell to the floor.

“Dean? I really hate myself for doing this right now, but we did promise….”

“Kill It.” He gasped.

Harry: 6:00 AM

Harry woke with his mind racing with crazy ideas. Usually how he would begin a new film or TV project. Only this morning he wasn't in his apartment, so his ideas pen and pad were not with him. He bolted up.

He thought of the club. Dean said Bates had mentioned a possible revenge motive. People who can conduct criminal activities in plain sight just because of who they mix with. He thought of Lee and Drew’s connection. A secret he kept all this time. His observations at the club. Seeing Rio working there. He remembered him from

when he’d interned for Jamie. Another figure who he recognised but couldn't name played on his mind. Knowing The Commissioner, The Mayor and The Home Secretary held court behind that door. It was a perfect movie but terrifying in reality. He had to do something, but it would mean exposing his membership to do so.

“Babe? I know where Jamie is! I think. We need to go now! I have to tell you something on the way. I have to come clean.”

They ran to the car and tried Dean again and again on his phone, but he kept ringing and ringing. They couldn’t wait to hear from him, knowing where Jamie was. They needed to move.

Harry didn’t have Lee’s contact details, contact between club members kept everyone on their guard to avoid leaks. Now would have been the perfect time to have that Rolodex he’d joked about when bumping into Lee at the club.

Dean: 6:15 AM

Dean messaged Dex to work on the source of the attack. He knew as a member of the leadership team, the protocol would be for the entire team and the board to meet at the Canada Square office if something like this transpired. If he moved quickly, he could intercept the meeting and expose Hugo. This must have been all his doing. His mind raced. Remove Jamie; make him look incompetent through the attack and not able to protect his husband. The thoughts inflated him with anger and determination. He wasn’t about to have his life’s course be decided by a complete narcissist. He had nothing left to lose. Crashing the meeting may be his last shot at answers. His cheek screamed from the rings cutting him the night before. In all his fury something stopped him from getting up. It could have been Jamie’s words last night. Maybe Jamie was done. He didn’t want to believe it. Jamie was capable of a lot, but he’d never hurt Dean with such words. The Jamie he knew and loved more than anyone wouldn’t even think them. The strike across his face was a heat of the moment, nothing more. He clung to the belief.

He still held the wedding and engagement rings in his hand. Tight. He needed a sign that Jamie was still in that body, in that mind somewhere. That this was some cruel game. Someone manipulating him for their own gain. As he finally heaved himself up, a petal fell. He frowned. Looked up and saw the hem of his wedding jacket. The petal he made sure to keep in the pocket all these years after George gave it to him on their wedding day before Jamie walked the aisle. He looked it over. It was almost a caramel brown. Worn but still beautiful and full of the most precious memories. He wrenched himself up. Placing the petal back in the breast pocket of his suit. “I’m coming for you, Trouble.” He pushed the words out. Never more sure of anything. Life without him was miserable. Made no sense. The thought of Jamie alone without him to tell him everything would be okay made him want to rip the city apart. Destroy it. Raise it. To find him and take him away from it all.

He threw on his old gym shorts. Strapped his weight belt on for extra support and a hoody Jamie would always wear of his when he was sick, pulled a cap on over his head and hailed a cab outside the apartment. Notting Hill looked beautiful that Friday morning. He was in hell.

LEE: 6:45 AM

“What brings you in here? You’ve not been in this room in years.” Mark was at the door of the office of the Holland Park Archer home. Audrey demanded Lee, Henry, Em and the boys all stay together with her and Mark to support Dean in whatever transpired.

“Couldn’t sleep. How could I? He’s out there somewhere, Pa. Dean too. Thinking I have such little respect for them. It’s the opposite. I’m in awe of them.”

“We don’t know what’s happened yet. And what do you mean?”

Lee was not about to divulge his recent relationship history and add another headline to the family's already growing list. “It doesn’t matter.” Lee deliberately lost himself in looking at the walls to distance himself from what he was about to blurt out and drowned out his father when a photo on the wall nearly struck him to the floor. “Pa. Shut up a minute. Who the hell is that?”

“Ah. From years ago, when I assembled my team, when I took over from your grandfather. I can’t even say his name. Your mother banned it years ago. A top accountant who I should have pressed charges against. Embezzled from the company about thirty years ago. I felt sorry for him. He had a brilliant mind and little else. Plucked him from university up in Manchester. Thought I’d give him the start in life he deserved. Turns out greed comes from within. Regardless of what walk of life you come from. He’s likely made a new life for himself somewhere. I hope he’s learnt. I doubt it. He was defiant right up until his dismissal. That picture stays there as a reminder that maybe I can be too kind.” Mark looked on at the photo. It finally clicked where he’d seen him before. Not just in the club but in Jamie and Dean’s lives over the years.

“Maybe.” Lee’s eyes went wide and his heart raced.

“Pardon?” Mark asked.

“I have to go.” Lee bounced out of the room, slamming the front door.

“Lee! Wait! We need to be here for Christ’s sake, Lee!” Mark called after him. The next, he heard Lee’s 911 fire up at the kerb and thunder down the road.

“Leave him. Maybe he’s about to finish what you should have back then.” Audrey whispered from the door.

Lee couldn’t be completely sure, but he knew he had to act. His brother-in-law needed help. From anyone who could get it to him. His behaviour in recent years meant he had to prove himself. If he was sitting on knowledge. He had to use it.

Those men at the club. He’d seen The Commissioner, The Mayor, and The Home Secretary at Khonsu. He knew of Operation Oak Tree. He knew from his dealings with police procedures that today would be the twenty-eight-day review. Case closed or remaining open should further developments come in. Perfect timing for a corrupt police officer. He could be letting his imagination run wild, but he feared that he wasn’t. As a barrister, he’d seen and heard it all. Even the most ridiculous and malicious was possible.

JAMIE: 7:15 AM

A large boom was heard from beyond the meeting room Christian was waiting in. Sounding as if it was coming from the gates to the court yard to the front of the property. He dispatched his two men to check out the issue while he waited. “Check it out and report back. Nothing will disturb me this morning.”

As Drew and Rio manoeuvred Jamie from the makeshift bedroom into the meeting room for Christian, Drew confessed something. “I didn’t give him the dose. What happens next? I don’t know, but we have to get him out.” Drew grabbed at Rio’s arm as they carried Jamie out to Christian.

Rio went wide-eyed but nodded subtly and gulped.

“Today’s your day, JJ. Everything has led up to this.” Christian leaned over him while Jamie came to in a chair in front of him in his office. Behind that door. Rio and Drew stood like soldiers on either side. Drew bit his lip. Swallowing anger. Swallowing sheer terror.

Jamie began to focus and scream. “What, where the fuck am I? What the hell!”

“What did you do?! He shouldn’t be like this!” As Christian began to process why Jamie wasn’t as expected, his eyes shot to the desk. Every burner he’d used for the operation lit up and buzzed all at once. “Something’s gone wrong. Was it, was it one of you two?!”

Christian’s fury boiled over. “Why won't you shut up!” Christian swung his leg and buried it in Jamie’s stomach. Another blow from his foot to his back. Another to his chest. Then his stomach again. Christian fell on top of him and hammered his face. Pink, then bloody. Jamie screamed but was so weak he couldn't fight.

Drew couldn't watch anymore. “Christian, stop!” He was ignored. He jumped and grabbed Christian by the shoulders and wrenched him off.

“So he grows a backbone now. You're fucking pathetic. Do you know absolutely no one would notice if you were scrubbed from this life?” Christian pulled out his gun and cocked it right at Drew in there struggle. Grinning. His hands were bloody clumps.

The door from the main club flung open. “I wouldn't say that!” Christian was barged onto the floor. Jamie was scooped up and taken out another door into a foyer. Groaning with pain. Christian shot his gun, but Drew jumped into the firing line, and the bullet pierced his torso. He crashed on top of Christian, his head smacking the wall. “Get him the fuck out of here!” Drew screamed.

“Not so fast.” Another voice. Another shot was fired. Rio intercepted the shot this time and tackled the shooter to the floor. Holding him as he squirmed.

DCI BATES: 7:30 AM

In forty years on the force, he’d never had to do it. But he was alone. No backup. But he heard the gunshots. “Motherfucker.” He whispered as he pressed the status zero alert on his radio. The distress signal would alert all officers present with Tabitha. They’d agreed Bates would monitor the club alone initially to minimise suspicion, in his unmarked service vehicle. He knew the distress call was not part of their plan but needs must. His first commitment as an officer was the preservation of life. Come what may. He grabbed his bulletproof vest and his police cap and went to get out when he saw a fire door slam open on the side of the building. “You fucking stupid bastard.” He laughed incredulously and slammed his foot to the floor. He screeched to a halt in front of the door.

“Go! Go! Go!” Jamie was a mess of blood and was flopped onto the back seat of the BMW tourer.

“How the fuck did you manage that?” Terry snapped his head back and floored the accelerator, flicking on the sirens. Quiet Marylebone cafe patrons gave out a collective jolt of shock as the car raced through its High Street. Blue lights dancing off boutique windows.

“I rock climb. Spotted an open window and a drainpipe. I may get a ticket for speeding and illegal parking.” The smallest chuckle escaped through exhausted breaths. “My car is totalled. Crashed it deliberately into the front gates to divert attention away where I could. Take care of it, Terry. I just kept running with him hoping to find a way out.”

“That was your car racing down the road?! Shall do! Let’s get this ball rolling and nail these bastards!” Terry gripped the wheel tighter.

Jamie came to on the back seat briefly. His head rolled loosely. Smeared in blood. He saw the face. He couldn’t muster anything else. “Lee.” He smiled weakly, and his eyes closed.

“Don’t you dare defy me now. I need to get you back to my brother. I owe you both a huge apology. I love you, Jamie. I’m sorry.” Lee grabbed Jamie around the neck and hugged him tightly. Jamie lay limp in his arms. He cried. He roared into Jamie’s neck. At himself. At the awful people who could have removed this beautiful thing from this world. At the thought of Dean losing his reason for being. At what would become of Drew. Drew gave his blessing in a way while they were in there: to save Jamie over him. He had to save his family. The look, Drew understood. His heart shattered over and over at the look in Drew’s petrified big brown eyes as the shot fired from that man pierced his torso. Lee scrunched his bloody fists and hoped Drew would come out of this alive. Would he ever get to speak to him about how he truly feels ever again? Jamie’s receding pulse sobered his thoughts for a moment.

“This is DCI Bates. Badge number 9046. I need a clear path to St Thomas Hospital. Flag all traffic signals to red immediately. Victim removed from Khonsu Club, Marylebone. Two suspected GSWs are still at the location. Suspects related to Operation Oak Tree are present. ARVs, AFOs, CSI and medics are required at the scene to secure it. No option but to leave the scene due to the victim's state.”

“Roger that.” The operator on the radio replied.

Sirens and a wall of white, green and blue thundered past them in the direction of the club. “Go get them, guys!” Terry punched the wheel. “How's he holding up? We’ll be there as soon as we can. Team on standby.”

“He’s breathing faintly but out of it. Jamie, come on, boy!” Lee grabbed Jamie’s face gently and shook him. He felt a buzz in his rear pocket. He pulled it out. That brief moment Drew’s eyes met him before Christian fired a shot into him; he must have shoved the burner phone in his back pocket as he demanded that Lee “get him the fuck out of here! ‘Burner, Drew, one of the injured, must have slipped it into my pocket before being shot.” He had to say injured; he couldn’t let his heart think of the alternative.

“Answer it, put it on speaker but stay silent and pass me the phone.” Terry held out his hand.

Lee held the phone out, and Bates hit record on his phone and placed the burner next to his on the front passenger seat.

“What’s happened? Everything is falling apart. A distress signal has gone out from my DCI. The shipment should have left and the transfer complete, along with Arden being installed at his address.”

Bates hung up the call. “You’re finished, arsehole.” He snapped at himself.

“What was that? Isn’t that?” Lee recognised Commissioner Drake’s voice.

“Former Police Commissioner making a confession, although he doesn’t know it yet. You keep that to yourself, Archer.”

Lee nodded and stroked Jamie’s hair. What he just heard made his blood run cold.

Bates forwarded the recording to Tabitha and called her.

“Bates, thank god! Sit rep?”

“Sorry, Tabby Cat. I had to. Things were getting too spicy back there. Arden extracted. Bad way. On the way to medical. Officers ordered to secure the scene. You should see some of your guys requested to attend. Authorise immediately. Your port is a decoy. Two GSWs; further victims are still inside Khonsu. Is Drake still with you? Listen to the recording, and you know the rest. Have IPCC officers move in on shipment at Port B immediately.”

Tabitha grinned with her back turned to the other officers and an increasingly impatient-looking Drake. “Happy retirement, buddy.” She whispered.

“Fuck that. I’m charging you overtime to get this wrapped up.” He teased.

“Fuck you.” She laughed quietly and hung up. Conscious of the growing confusion around her at Port A. They agreed to give the ports generic names in case of intel being intercepted during their investigation.

DEAN: 7:45 AM

Dean opened the door of the Hackney cab before the driver could stop. “Keep the change.” He threw a twenty at the driver and ran for the Plutus revolving door.

The receptionist and guard tried to halt Dean. “Mr Arden-Archer! You can’t be here today!” The guard grabbed at his hoody, but he hurdled the turnstile and ran for the stairs. The guard clambering to chase him. Shoes screeching in the marble lobby.

He knew the meeting would be in the main conference room on floor eight. He lunged flight after flight. His stomach screaming. His face burning. He wiped blood from the cut the ring made. Weeping again down his cheek.

“Dex?” He reached the door and held the burner to his ear. “Are you sure? So Hugo isn’t involved as far as you’re concerned?”

Dean pushed the conference door open without looking up.

“Dean! Dean! You can’t be here!” Hugo went to get up; Dean marched to him and pushed him back in his chair.

“You stay right there.” It may not have been Hugo, but he was done with pleasantries. Something connected Plutus to all this. And Hugo had battled to undermine him and his division. This is what could and did happen due to his not taking Dean’s points seriously in recent weeks, regardless. He knew he’d find a way of blaming him; thankfully, Dex and he had the foresight to act.

He moved along the row past board members. He tried not to look Helen Goldsmith in the eye; the granddaughter of Plutus’ founder narrowed hers on him and pursed her lips. Dean moved stood just behind a member of the team. “Dexter, repeat what you just told me. You’re on speaker.” Dean switched the phone to speaker. “Sorry to interrupt your meeting, but this needs to be heard, and Hugo, this is exactly why cutting investment in my division is not an option.” Dean jabbed the now nonnegotiable point into Hugo’s ego. In front of everyone responsible for keeping him at the helm.

Hugo loosened his tie but remained silent. Mouth slightly agape. He could feel the board’s and Helen’s eyes on him all of a sudden.

“Ok. The software we have developed has allowed us to successfully intercept the attack and kill it, but also narrow in on the entry point. Is Richie Gould there?” Dex’s voice filled the room.

“Yes, he is. Thanks, Dex.” Dean hung up and grinned. He was running on empty.

Richie’s eyes darted around the room, and he sprang to his feet to make for the door, but Dean chased and tackled him to the ground. His rage built up and exploded. His fist landing on Richie’s nose. “I know you, Hugo, or someone has taken my husband. I’m being set up. You fucking parasites.” Dean slumped back and cried. Hugo went to comfort him, but Dean roared. “Get the fuck away from me.”

“Dean I have no idea what you mean, but I want to help.” Hugo pleaded.

“Now you want to help? Get fucked. We’ve only managed to scupper whatever the fuck is going on here because of a prototype Dex and I built last year. You’re asleep at the wheel, Hugo. Fucking wake up!” Dean grabbed his stomach. A board member was checking Richie’s nose begrudgingly.

All this time he’d neglected his own phone. It buzzed again and again. He pulled it out. Terry Bates was calling. Dean swallowed and leaned against the conference room glass wall. “Terry? Tell me my boy is ok. I can’t take any more.” Dean slumped against the glass and squeezed his eyes shut. He saw Jamie smiling at him. Hoping he'd see that face again.

“We’ve got him. He’s alive. We’re headed to a medical facility to have him looked at. He's in a bad way. Thank your brother. Lee got him out. I need you to be at a safe address for the time being while we neutralise all suspects. I’ll contact you separately about that. We believe the main perpetrators are at a location in Marylebone. Where we got Jamie from. I’ll leave Lee to fill you in. Dean? We’ve thus far identified a Christian Hollingsworth and another gentleman. Dean?” The signal scrambled and ended the call.

Dean collapsed and cried uncontrollably. Cried with relief. Cried for feeling he'd still failed his husband. Cried at his brother’s selflessness that he never thought possible.

Richie scrambled to his feet. Brushing off his suit. Dean clocked him. A dull buzz came from Richie’s blazer pocket.

“You fucking cunt!” Dean launched again and pulled him to the floor. Board members flew to try and stop him, but Dean was a loose cannon of muscle. Flicking them off like crumbs as he crashed back into him.

He pulled out the burner and saw the name on the screen. Gordon Hewitt. Dean answered. “You’re fucking finished, and you better hope the police get to you before I do. That’s a promise. I will rip you apart. Limb from fucking limb. Until there is nothing fucking left of you. Just dust, you fucking monster.”

He threw the burner at Richie’s face. And stood. Staggering. Heaving in breath. “Dean? Come with me. Let’s get you a seat. Some water and somewhere quiet.” Helen gently took Dean’s arm. He followed. Breathing heavily. She didn't acknowledge Richie squirming on the floor. Hugo looked at them both, helplessly. He knew his days were numbered.

Officers attended the office within the hour. Hugo and two other board members locked Richie in the conference room to stop him from fleeing. He was arrested and taken away.

Commander Penhaligon: 7:45 AM

“Joey? Fancy a career-defining moment? When I give the nod. You cuff.” She grabbed his shoulder.

“Commander Timothy Drake.” She began walking slowly. Calling his name from afar to ensure every officer around them was looking. “I’m arresting you on suspicion of intent to supply a controlled substance, false imprisonment, money laundering and malfeasance in public office…” As Tabitha continued, Drake’s face fell. He would have been hours away from the rest of his life as he had planned. Joey’s hand went to his back and flipped him against the police van. The click and pull of the cuffs echoed over the silent officers looking on, completely stunned.

“Take him away. Dry cell. All clothing and belongings bagged as evidence.” Tabitha spat.

Drake swung around to her. “You'll be directing traffic before the end of the week. I know everyone in power.” Little did he know, but the same rights were being read to the very people he was counting on.

Tabitha simply smiled at him and moved out of his and Joey’s way.

DEAN: 8:00 AM

“Dean.” Helen’s delicate hand rested on his arm. He flinched at the touch. Making her jump.

“Oh, Mrs Goldsmith. I’m sorry.” He leant forward and cried.

“There. Dean, you saved our business. I’m grateful beyond words for your tenacity. What dedication despite your troubles. But forget that. Your husband is away from harm by the sounds of it. He’ll need you. He needs you strong. Go along with the police and get to him when you can. I might be small and old, but I can handle this lot. You’re on compassionate indefinite leave. I’ll call you personally at the end of the month.”

“That’s very kind of you. Sorry to make such a scene. And, uh, look after Dexter. That's all I ask.”

“Of course. Think nothing of it. That’s the most exciting this place has gotten in years.”

Dean had a further call with Bates to confirm Jamie was stable. But he agreed painfully to join his family at the Archer home while further arrests and OCG members were neutralised. Dean was told this may take a few days, and a police protection order had been placed on him in the interim.

Due to the severity of those involved, Dean was told that he would be held incommunicado outside of Bates and Penhaligon while the investigation was ongoing. Bates promised he'd confirm when this requirement could be removed. They could not open lines of communication just yet, and Jamie would need to be sedated while the substances in his body wore off and he didn’t enter shock or withdrawal. It would be another wait. He hoped in his now peaceful mind Jamie knew he was being held back from him, involuntarily. Bates reasoned that due to those involved, there needed to be intervention by MI5, MI6 and GCHQ. With these institutions placed in the very sentences Bate’s uttered to justify his compliance with the police, Dean had no option but to go along and grit his teeth.

Dean arrived at his parent's home via police car after having his injuries checked over by a paramedic attending to Richie. He was cautioned with assault, but Bates reassured him it would go no further given the circumstances. “I’d have probably done a lot worse,” he joked, and Dean let out a chuckle. He walked through the door. Audrey grabbed him and wept tears of relief. His father too. A little sheepish about what had transpired with Gordon. “You didn’t know, Dad. Please don’t think this is on you. I love you, and so does Jamie. I just need to speak to Lee. Alone.” Bates had informed Dean of Gordon Hewitt’s history with Mark in their call. Dean rang Jamie’s parents and his in the police car on his way to Holland Park. Only briefly. He couldn’t stomach long conversations. There was only one that needed to be had.

They agreed and pointed to the drawing room through smeared faces.

Dean entered and closed the door.

Lee got up, having been dropped at the property via police car an hour before after being checked over by a medic and asking for updates on Drew, but there were none as it stood. He was at the same facility as Jamie and another man he didn’t know the name of but knew was at the club too. He’d have a painful wait as well. He would use his legal expertise to secure access to Drew when he was conscious. If that time came.

The brothers looked at each other. Battered and bruised but with a renewed appreciation and need for each other’s presence in their lives. There were no words. There weren’t any big or complex enough to articulate what they’d experienced that morning.

The hug was solid. The tears were many. Jamie had brought them back together. They both hoped silently in their embrace that he’d get to and want to see it for himself.

Operation Oak Tree was extended under the guidance of the Assistant Chief Constable, the caretaker of the Met for the weeks ahead, along with the IPCC, with Tabitha acting as SIO. The London Assembly installed the Deputy Mayor in Ali Baqri’s place following his arrest. The Home Secretary, Steven Brian MP’s arrest triggered an immediate by-election, losing the governing party a seat and arguably its credibility in government. A week later a vote of no confidence was called by the opposing parties. A general election was called soon after.

Jamie’s abduction triggered the fall of the most complex drug trafficking operation in British history and opened a national security and corruption inquiry like none ever seen before.

Big Boy and Trouble didn’t know how much they’d both clung to each other, even in attempts to blow them apart in the depths of hell. Nothing actually could break them.

They were about to be reunited.

Authors Note: Well this is the big one! So sorry for the delay. Had a few things to deal with personally and this chapter needed the time to do it justice. We have one more chapter left in part two. Thank you for sticking with me. Your support is wonderful.