Number Seven drove back to London as if pursued by hellfire. He kept his foot hard to the floor all the way. The screams of tortured tyres echoed up the skyscrapers. A handbrake turn into the underground car park beneath HQ.

In the corridors of the great, squat ziggurat of power people fled at his approach. As he passed the front desk he heard the receptionist dial up to the Boss's PA and say, 'Number Seven on his way up in Hulk mode.'

He'd heard the phrase before. It had never bothered him previously. Today he was in the mood to be bothered

He remembered asking Number Two what it meant as they lay together in a hotel bed in Paris. The memory was a hollow ache in his chest. She had given him a puzzled look and said, 'It's pop culture, isn't it? You know? The Hulk?' in her own thick Welsh accent. The accent she'd used for everything before SIS got hold of her and taught her to be all things to all men and at least 10% of women.

'You know I don't do pop culture,' he'd said.

'I've heard you say it; I just didn't believe it. I don't see how you can avoid it. It's like being a fish and saying you don't do water.'

'Just tell me about it.'

'It's a character, from comics. You do know what comics are?' she said.

'Of course I know comics. I just don't read them.'

'Or watch films or television, apparently. It's a bit like Jekyll and Hyde. You have heard of that story? Or is that too recent for you?'

'I'm aware of it,' he'd said and rolled his eyes at her.

'The Hulk started out as a doctor too. He got blasted with radiation and it did something to his body. Whenever he gets angry he turns into this huge green monster. The monster is called the Hulk.'

'So people think I'm a monster?'

'Not exactly. The thing about the Hulk is that he's unstoppable. The harder you hit him the angrier he gets and the angrier he gets the stronger he becomes. When you get really angry you seem bigger somehow and you have this look on your face like you'll tear the whole building apart to get at whoever or whatever pissed you off. If you ran into the entire Chinese army at that point I'd feel sorry for them. That's what they mean.'

But he'd known then that there was something she wasn't saying. People did find him monstrous when he was like this. Well, good. He felt monstrous.

Number Two had been an admirable human being in every possible way and now she was dead with her body full of poison and that beautiful face crushed. Dead by treachery and not even given the chance of a fair fight.

Number One had been a good man, a brave soldier and a compassionate friend. Someone had cut out his heart.

Number Three had been wise and funny and the strongest man he'd ever met and they tore out his eyes and fed his guts to carrion birds.

It was like some horrible backwards morality tale.

Number Six wasn't going anywhere soon and Number Five might never go anywhere again. Number Four was defending the wounded. That just left him and he was entirely comfortable being the sort of monster that wise men fear.

He didn't wait for the lift. The stairs barely slowed him. The guard on the door of the Boss's outer office took one look at his face and held the door open. The Boss's PA buzzed the inner office door open as he approached. She didn't even try to greet him.

As he entered the office the Boss stood up so fast that her chair shot backwards on its casters and hit the back wall. She opened her mouth to speak.

'No,' said Seven.

'What?' She looked off balance.

'Not today. I am not your fucking whipping boy today.'

She didn't take a step back but he could tell that she wanted to. Her left hand, hanging down by her side, was drawn into a tight fist with knuckles white.

'No. You're right. Not today. There's no time for it anyway.' The red light flashed on the desk. 'They're here. Sit over there and try to look professional.' She ran her fingers through her short cropped hair and smoothed out imaginary creases in her dress. She pulled the chair back to the desk, looked around the room and noticed Seven standing by the window.

'I thought I told you to sit.'

'And I thought I'd look more intimidating lurking here.'

She looked at the shadow he cast on the floor and his silhouette against the cool London sky.

'Yes.' That was about all the validation you'd get from her most days. She sat back down, took a deep breath and hit her own door buzzer.

In walked, well, not what he had been expecting.

There were two of them. Judging by body language the woman was in charge. She was not much taller than the Boss and slender but with wide hips. Her hair was pure white, and she wore it in a neat bob. Seven put her age towards the upper end of completely indeterminate. She wore a black coat dress over knee high black boots. Silver embroidery glinted at her collar and cuffs.

The man who followed her was large and heavy-set, and though he was bald he had a beard you could lose a small dog in. In the few steps it took to reach the seats he limped and leaned on a black walking stick. Seven stared at the stick. Definitely a sword cane but this wasn't the man that Three had described. This man wore a dark suit and an overcoat and either one would have made Seven's tailor weep that anyone would go out in public wearing such a thing.

They sat.

The Boss cleared her throat. 'Ah Cepha, good to see you. Will you take tea?'

That was a first. He'd never heard her offer someone tea before.

'Thank you but no.' The woman's voice was soft but it had that edge that a person gets after a few decades of giving orders. 'I will take a little of that Blacker Still Bruichladdich you have in the drinks cabinet though.' The man next to her coughed very slightly. 'And so will he. I expect you'll have some of that foul dishwater that passes for whiskey in the colonies.'

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The Boss nodded to Seven. He was, after all, standing right by the drinks cabinet. Passing a drink to Cepha gave him the opportunity to stand just a little too close to her. She looked up at him and smiled as if she found something about him absolutely hilarious and yet the smile didn't quite reach her greenish hazel eyes. They remained sad.

After giving the Boss her drink he remained standing to her left and slightly behind the line of the desk. The Boss might not want his help but she was getting it anyway.

Cepha sipped her drink without taking her eyes off the Boss. 'News of today’s incident reached us in the car on the way over. It proves the wisdom of your decision to call us in, but this remains your,' she paused and Seven could almost hear her mind cycling through the descriptors; cock up, cluster fuck, disaster? 'Operation. I only want to know what you need from us.'

'Our first priority is to secure the wounded,' said the Boss. That was unusually compassionate of her. No. He was being unfair. She'd always cared about the wounded if only because they cost so much to replace.

'A wise decision,' said Cepha. 'We can have a vehicle on the way to your medical facility the moment you give the word. We have enough space in St Thomas’ to secure them both. They'll have to be moved and secured separately, of course, but that shouldn't add too much time.'

'Separately?' said the Boss.

'Occam's Razor. It must have occurred to you that the simplest explanation for the grenade is that one of the 6 Blanks took it in with them,' said Cepha.

'My people are above reproach,' said the Boss. It wasn't the first time Seven had heard her say that but every other time had been in the face of some inter jurisdictional pissing match.

'Always assuming that they're still your people and that they're alone in their own heads,' said Cepha.

'If that's your thinking then aren't you afraid to be in a room with me?' said Seven.

Cepha turned her gaze on him and gave him the full force of her mournful eyes. 'Oh I have complete faith in you.' It sounded more like a curse than an endorsement.

She turned back to the Boss. 'Which one will we move first?'

'Move Number Six. Stabilising Number Five for transport will take time.'

Cepha nodded to the bearded man. He took out a mobile phone and began tapping away at it.

'And your second priority?' said Cepha.

'Protect Four and Seven,' said the Boss.

'I don't need protecting,' said Seven.

'I'm sure Number Two would have agreed with you,' said the Boss.

'I could make them absolutely safe,' said Cepha. 'I could have each of them placed in a pocket dimension. They'd be unreachable by any enemy, but I suspect that's not what you want.'

'No. If they can't be reached then we may never find out who's after them. We'd have to let them out eventually and we'd be no better off than we are now,' said the Boss.

Seven relaxed slightly but then realised that he was only relaxing because the Boss had chosen to use him as bait rather than to protect him. And she was saying it right in front of him because she was sure he'd be fine with it. And apparently he was.

'So you want bodyguards then? Exactly what kind of bodyguards?' said Cepha.

'I want your best people,' said the Boss. Seven winced. She must be really distracted not to realise how that would be received. He saw the bearded man, still tapping away at his phone, wince also.

'All my people are the best,' said Cepha and Seven could have sworn he felt the temperature drop. 'The only question is what kind of best. I have one who can ignite everything inside a 10 foot radius but I suspect she'd be a bit too conspicuous for you.'

Number Seven couldn't help himself. 'Hot stuff is she?' he said. The bearded man sniggered into his beard. The Boss glared at him but he could see from the very slight smile and a twitching of her eyebrows that she was trying not to laugh.

The bearded man cleared his throat and showed the screen of his phone to Cepha.

'Transport is dispatched. They'll be in place to pick up Number Six in 20 minutes,' she said.

The Boss buzzed the intercom. The voice of her PA came through the speaker, 'I'm already on it, Ma'am. The paperwork will be in place when they get there. I'll speak to the head of security myself.'

'Conspicuous won't do,' said the Boss. 'We need Four and Seven to investigate the deaths. Unless you can shed any light on the nature of the threat?'

That must have hurt. The Boss never liked to admit ignorance.

'Not yet. Send us their files. All of the files. If there's anything in there we have someone who will root it out. I'll also get a team to look over the forensics to see if we can spot how it was done but my instinct is that you'll have more luck looking for a motive than obsessing over the method.'

'Then your bodyguards will need to be generalists. And they'll have to look normal enough to pass for SIS or, better yet, civilians,' said the Boss.

'So Number Seven is about to acquire another lady friend. Don't worry, dear, you'll like her and you won't have to worry about taking care of her. She came to us from the SAS.'

'Details should be on your screen now,' said the bearded man. He had a far softer voice than Seven had been expecting.

The Boss looked at her computer screen. Her eyebrows shot up and a smile played round her lips as she scrolled through the file. 'She'll do,' she said at last.

Seven was sure that grin wasn't a good sign. This bodyguard was bound to be trouble for him if the Boss liked her.

'For Number Four I suggest Jude Justice. I believe you know him. He worked with Number Three so we can rely on his full commitment to the job. He should be convincing as Number Four's latest sugar daddy,' said Cepha.

'On your screen now,' said the bearded man.

'At least he'll be able to get her to safety when trouble starts,' said the Boss.

The bearded man cleared his throat again. 'I take it you've noticed the pattern,' he said in his soft, too high voice.

'Pattern?' said Seven.

'The murders are in numerical order,' said the bearded man.

'Surely that's accidental,' said the Boss. 'Number Two must have been luck and Number Three was a target of opportunity.' She didn't sound very sure.

'Without the dart in her back Two would have escaped,' said Seven. 'She was the fastest of us. And Six was much easier to target than Three. While Three was drawing all the attention by arguing with the head nurse Six was unattended and tied to his bed.'

'Did anything show up on the CCTV?' said Cepha.

'We don't have any footage. The CCTV stopped working shortly before Number three got out of bed. Something got into the electricity junction box. Something with feathers. It shorted out the wires for the cameras on that floor, and only that floor. It must have been one of the ravens,' said the Boss.

Seven felt a stab of mental discomfort. He had forgotten something. Something about ravens. Oh.

'Speaking of ravens,' he said, his voice calm and even as if he hadn't completely forgotten the thing until that moment, 'I have one in the boot of my car.'

The Boss and Cepha turned towards him. Each of them clearly wondering what the hell he was talking about.

'A raven?' said Cepha.

'One of the ones that was eating Number Three. It was too heavy to fly off afterwards so I have it in the boot of my car. Downstairs. In the underground car park.'

'Gideon?' said Cepha, looking at the bearded man.

He was already typing away on his phone. 'I'm working on it. You'd better phone it in to Evidence Collection,' he said without looking up.

She pulled out her own phone, swiped the screen, tapped twice and put it to her ear. 'Hi Cherry... yes it's me... Not it's not a leg pull... Check the caller ID you tart... Don't apologise just pay attention. I've got an emergency pick up in the basement car park of MI6. It's a raven in the boot of a car... No, with a small R... Gideon's sending you the details now. It's alive so get one of the druids to go with you and take a cage.'

She looked up at Seven, 'You should probably get down there now unless you want her to cut the boot lock off with a plasma cutter.'

'Surely it'll take a while to get here,' Seven looked out of the window at the snarl of cars on Vauxhall Bridge. 'The traffic is terrible.'

'She won't be coming by car. We have ways. It's only protocol that required me to drive over. Now that I'm in the building there's nothing to stop her from using them. She really is very impatient.'

Seven walked out of the office, hurried past the Boss’ secretary then ran for the car park as fast as his cracked ribs would let him.