I pushed the last piece of bacon around my plate. We sat at the counter of a downtown diner just two blocks from the offices of HH&F. I was reminded of something Grandad was always saying to me – ‘Knowledge is Power, France is Bacon’.

I could well believe the first part; I could see how information was key. But bacon? Surely if France was any comestible it would be some sort of liquefied cheese, either that or a baguette. There was so much I could learn from Isaiah – a lifetime’s experience I needed to rediscover. Would I ever get the chance again?

Gwen also seemed to have a lot on her mind. She was quiet and lost in her thoughts for most of our meal. The only time she showed any emotion was when a news report flashed up on the TV behind the counter. A blue-helmeted, flak-jacketed reporter was embedded with the Welsh forces that had just retaken Puerto Madryn. He explained its significance as a major logistics hub helping supply the Expeditionary Force and the rebels they fought alongside. Argentine government sources were making no mention of what CNN and S4C were claiming as a significant Welsh victory. Gwen seemed troubled by the news. She looked away as a silent tear rolled down one perfect cheek. I badly wanted to cheer her up.

‘So where are you taking me next? Not that I’m not enjoying this random world tour. I’m looking forward to wearing the t-shirt with the list of gigs down the back.’

My companion sniffed and composed herself. ‘The handover is arranged for the client’s head office in Virginia. Don’t worry, it’s not part of the Confederacy, it falls inside the Sovereign District of Columbia – all that’s left of the Federal USA.’

‘Gee, will I get to meet the President?’

Distracted as she was, Gwen didn’t seem to think it an unreasonable request. ‘I’m sure they’ll wheel him out if you ask them. It’s not like he’s got much else to keep him busy these days.’ She didn’t appear to be joking. The joint’s proprietor took away our empty plates. Now it was my turn to look sad.

‘So how long do we have left together? I’m going to miss you.’

Gwen signalled for the tab. ‘The Consortium needs to wait for several stakeholders to arrive. There’ll be delegations flying in from Moscow and Beijing – not the types of hombres you’d want to keep waiting. It’s a fragile coalition. We can get a commercial flight up to Dulles. It will take a few days.’

I supposed it was better than nothing, but I still had nagging doubts about my future. ‘And when I’m with these guys I’ll be safe? No more ambushes and random hit squads?’

Gwen seemed mesmerised by the dregs of her coffee, a moment too long in answering. ‘There’ll be no more random hit squads.’

I let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank Christ for that. I’ll be glad when all this fuss is over and I can get back to normal.’ Subtly I reached out for her hand across the counter. She pulled hers back, but then leaned in closer.

‘Kev, don’t look around, but there’s a guy sitting near the door who’s been following us.’

It took all my considerable self-control not to check him out. I tried hard to sound nonchalant. ‘Yeah, I was wondering if you’d noticed him too.’

Gwen toyed with a sprinkling of salt atop the counter. ‘He’s been with us since we left Finch’s office. He’s just a tail keeping tabs on us – no threat, other than to my professional pride.’

I tutted. ‘That Finch was a bit of a slime-bag. I didn’t think he was going to let us leave.’

Gwen smiled and her tone remained neutral. ‘I wasn’t about to give him any choice. No one backs me into a corner and lives to tell the tale. So you know about the others?’

‘What others?’

Gwen looked taken aback. ‘That little old lady along the counter with the dog. Puddles is likely a cyborg relaying real-time video back to Finch’s office. And the kid who just came in for coffee to go – he was speaking into a radio mic hidden up his sleeve – bloody amateur.’

‘Oh, yeah, I spotted them too.’

‘The point is Kev, I’m good –’

‘You don’t need to convince me of that.’

‘– but there’s no way I can keep you safe indefinitely. We can’t run forever. There are powerful forces… interested in you. You have a unique set of experiences. These guys can make or break nations – even worlds. The stakes are very high.’

Why did I get the feeling she was trying to justify herself? ‘What experiences?’

She looked away, if not a thousand-yard stare then at least halfway there. ‘You should expect a thorough debriefing when my employers get hold of you. Very thorough. Too many factions want a piece of you.’

I could only nod by this stage. If I was honest I didn’t have a clue what was going on. Gwen was looking very sad.

‘And I don’t just mean the Consortium, or the other lot who want you dead. There are other players in this game. It’s like multi-faction tag team three-dimensional chess, played by touch in a dark room, and someone’s just ripped out the light switch.’

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

I realised I’d stopped breathing again. ‘Who is it who wants me dead?’

Gwen sighed. ‘My best guess is the Gorsedd – everyone’s favourite sheet-wearing, sickle-waving ultra-nationalists. Then of course there’s the Jones Corporation –’

‘What, my own relatives! Uncle Genghis would never –’ but of course, before the words passed my lips, I knew that he would – most likely with bells on, and a raucous celebration.

‘So you do see,’ Gwen continued, her moist eyes big and brown, ‘the best thing for you is to be handed over to the Consortium. You do see that, don’t you?’

What a mess this whole thing was turning into. After all she’d done for me, the least I could do was put her mind at rest. I forced a smile. ‘Sure, I understand. It’s for the best. I’ll be safe with the Consortium. Protective custody and all that.’

Gwen didn’t seem convinced. If I’m honest, neither was I. Our sombre mood was broken by the tinkling of the diner’s entry bell. The place went deathly still. A familiar voice cut across the silence.

‘Ah, Miss Sevastopol. Stand aside please, we can take things from here.’

It was Finch, and he was not alone. The two gorillas from the lobby stood behind him, filling the doorway like a pair of black-clad monoliths – 2001 but with more existential menace. Next to them the tail we’d spotted earlier had risen too, one hand resting inside his jacket.

Gwen turned on her stool, moving with the careful precision of a cat under pressure. ‘We’ve been through this, Finch. He stays with me until handover.’

The old lady with the dog had taken up a flanking position. A small whirring satellite dish unfolded out of the top of the animal’s head. One of its eyes was flashing red.

The lawyer broke into an oily grin. ‘I’ve been in touch with our employers. They’ve instructed me to take charge. You will be fully paid.’

‘This isn’t about the money.’

Finch’s grin slithered into a sneer. ‘It’s always about the money, for the likes of you. Don’t worry – he’ll be safe with us.’

I sensed Gwen go tense by my side. Her muscles seemed to quiver; it was like standing next to a human tuning fork. She let out a long, measured breath, then whispered so only I could hear.

‘Kev, do you trust me?’

‘Yes.’ My voice seemed to have gone up several octaves.

‘Tidy. Then follow my lead.’

I didn’t like where this was going. Meanwhile Finch seemed too relaxed, teetering on the verge of slapdash. ‘There’s no need for this to get unpleasant. We’re all professionals here. If we’re smart we can all leave this place smelling of roses rather than splattered in shit.’

An all-too-familiar click sent my stomach reeling, then I felt the cold barrel of Gwen’s gun thrust against my ear.

‘We don’t want to mess this up – the merchandise I mean.’ Dismayed, I realised she was talking about my head.

Finch’s eyes went wide; it looked like he might faint. Suddenly everyone had a gun. The little old lady’s was the biggest of the lot – it looked like it might be for shooting elephants, or maybe tanks. I felt naked, like I was in a dream, sat at my school desk missing several vital pieces of uniform. When I got up everyone would point and laugh, either that or open fire. It was a Mexican stand-off with no Mexicans. Maybe the little old lady’s dog was a chihuahua.

Even at a distance I could see Finch was perspiring. He licked his rubbery lips. ‘Let’s all be cool here.’

Now it was Gwen who sounded relaxed. ‘Yes, let’s be cool.’ She moved to place herself behind me, her human meat-shield. ‘I’m not being funny, like – but we’re leaving now, and you’re going to let us go.’

She edged us backwards, as Finch made strangled gurgling noises. Gwen continued. ‘Unless, that is, you want to explain to your bosses why all their precious data is smeared around this diner’s walls. Have you ever tried scraping brains off a ceiling fan? I have and it’s not easy.’

Finch’s complexion, not the best to begin with, was currently cycling through some interesting shades. Gwen gripped my arm and edged us towards a gap in the counter. The proprietor had long since departed. We slid behind the bar. I felt I should help play my part in the show.

‘SHE’S MAD ENOUGH TO DO IT! You don’t know what she’s like – the perverted things she’s made me do!’ Gwen accidentally kneed me in the hamstring, quite hard.

Finch and his goons inched cautiously into the establishment. ‘Oh we know what she’s capable of, all right. We’ve closely studied her file. But she must know she can’t get away with this. Who’s paying you off, girl? You double-cross us at your peril.’

Gwen backed us towards the doorway to the kitchens, careful to keep me between herself and our foes. Behind us I glimpsed a narrow passageway leading to a jungle of galvanised pots and pans. In the cavernous barrel of her gun I could hear a sound like the distant ocean, calling me to deep sweet oblivion. It disturbed me how good Gwen was at this charade. She spoke with calm assurance.

‘I don’t expect you to understand, Finch, but some things surpass narrow self-interest. I can’t let this happen again.’

He opened his mouth as if to reply, but we never got that far. His eyes darted behind us, distracted for an instant. In one smooth motion Gwen dropped behind the counter and pivoted, pulling me down with her in its lee. The coffee delivery boy with the sleeve mic had blindsided us and snuck in through the kitchen. His shotgun was raised and at the ready but Gwen was much too quick. Her weapon roared and the poor sod danced a lead-fuelled fandango, his limbs thrashing against the passage walls.

Instinctively Finch’s accomplices opened fire. The counter behind us exploded in a haze of wood and glass, fragments ricocheting this way and that. Thankfully enough metalwork had been built into it to deflect the fusillade. Gwen released me and crawled away, scampering crab-like down the length of the bar. ‘Stay put!’ was all the instruction I was given. I reached for her, but she was gone.

Even above the din Finch bellowed with rage. ‘CEASE FIRE YOU IDIOTS! If we kill him we’re all dead!’

Here was a sentiment I could relate to. I lay dazed for a second, shards of glass and splintered wood covering me in a glittering scree. Moments later a huge hand dragged me up from the floor, then none too gently over the counter. Soon I stood quivering amongst Finch’s motley team of desperados – the five of them forming a wary cordon around me.

The lawyer’s eyes bulged with fear, spittle flying from his lips. ‘Where did the mad bitch go!’

I don’t know what came over me – I’m not always so good under pressure. Trembling, I pointed back towards the kitchen, where the unfortunate coffee enthusiast was busy being dead. All five cast their gaze down the passageway, its air still clouded with lingering smoke. The cyborg dog growled, its satellite dish whirled. If I’m honest I wet my pants.

As I’d suspected, this was all the distraction Gwen needed. Five shots rang out in quick succession, the reports echoing off the walls like thunderclaps. None of the targets had time to turn round, let alone return fire. Five bodies thudded to the ground around me, the sole bowling pin left standing. I might have screamed a bit, but I couldn’t hear it for the ringing in my ears. I think the dog got away, but I’m not sure.

Gwen scanned the scene of destruction from her position at the end of the bar, calmly reloading her gun. Pleased with her handiwork she strode up to me and put a hand on my trembling shoulder, until I stopped shaking. Reaching into her pocket she produced a handful of banknotes, which she slapped down on what remained of the counter. I’m not sure if it included a tip. Next she took me by the hand. ‘Come on, kiddo – time we blew this joint.’