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Description
Chapter One

   Hidden amongst a crowd of flushed businessmen and women carrying crying infants, Rodney East sat on a bench in a train station outside Liverpool. Everywhere around him people were hurrying about trying to catch their next train or running after children who had decided that there was something far more interesting over there than waiting with mummy. Rodney East was not a worried looking businessman nor was he a distraught parent. He was waiting for the train. However, he was more looking for the person on the train.
   He reached into his tan jacket and produced the file he had to present to the man he was waiting for. He scanned over the documents on the inside. This was relating to the trouble he'd been having at work the past month. Five dead bodies had turned up in the space of four weeks and Rodney was in charge of investigating the goings on. He had searched every member of his department and found nothing. There was the assumption that the killer didn't work there but how were they meant to get in to the building in the first place. No, the killer was definitely another agent, hopefully not Russian. Imagine the nightmare trying to explain to Control there was a Russian agent killing off high-ranking members of MI6.
   Rodney could hear in the distance the familiar chugging of a train as it trundled along the tracks. He slipped the file back into his jacket and stood up, his height frightening a nearby child. Rodney strode to the edge of the platform, his cold blue eyes scanning everywhere for signs of being watched. Considering the current situation he had begun to suspect people were being spied upon and seeing as this was a dreadfully important meeting he couldn't afford to let the enemy gain information on it.
   As the train pulled up to the platform and the smoke billowed around everyone, Rodney placed his hand inside his other pocket and grabbed a hold of his gun in case anyone tried to jump him while he was here. Once the smoke was gone and Rodney was safe in the knowledge he was still alive, he let go of his grip on the gun and flashed his ticket at the conductor. He boarded the carriage and looked up and down the train. He knew his target would be in first class so he headed left towards the first class carriages. As he walked down the aisle he kept glancing around to try and spot his target.
   As he neared the end of the carriage he glimpsed a man with short ginger hair. His face was long and gaunt and his eyes were a pale blue colour. He wore a black three-piece suit with a white shirt and a scarlet tie and was sat reading The Sunday Times. Rodney smiled and opened up the glass sliding door to the cabin. He sat himself down on the plush, embroidered seat and sank into his favourite seating position. He produced a pipe and a pouch of tobacco from his pocket and began stuffing pinches of brown powder into the chamber of the pipe. He looked at the man across.
   "I don't suppose you have any matches on you?" he asked. He was from Oxford and his accent was no denying that fact. "It looks as if I've run out."
   Without looking at him the man across replied. "I'm sorry, Rodney," he said. "I gave up smoking." He folded the newspaper up and placed it down beside him. He looked at East.
   "How the hell did you know it was me?" asked Rodney as he took out a box of matches from his pocket.
   The man smiled. "I saw you fidget around with something in your pockets at the station. You're very hard to miss, Rodney."
   Rodney smiled and placed the pipe into his mouth. He struck the match and placed the flame over the top of the top of the tobacco. He began puffing and soon he waved the match out and took the pipe out of his mouth.
   "How have you been, Gordon?" he asked.
   Gordon's face became expressionless. "What do you want from me, Rodney?" he asked his voice cold and stern. "You haven't tried to contact me in seven years and then suddenly you turn up out of the blue on the exact train that I happen to be on. You could've chosen any number of empty carriages yet you chose mine. Why?"
   The train began to move again. Rodney sighed. "Have you heard about all these murders at MI6?" Gordon nodded. "Well we've come to the conclusion that it's probably a Russian agent at the heart of it. Well, none of us will admit it but we all know that we let a Russian slip past our defences and now he's running around putting holes in people. We can't find anyone who may even be close to the commie bastards and so I've decided to try and call you back in."
   Gordon shook his head. "I left remember? I don't work for the Circus anymore. I'm not there plaything. I've retired so you and Harris and Collins and Norton and even Control himself can go and piss off. I'm gone. Control doesn't own me anymore."
   Rodney sighed. "We're at a dead end, Gordon. Everyone's given up hope and people are getting worried. You do know that Harris and Norton are dead? Collins has gone AWOL and nobody knows what's happened to Control. He hasn't been seen since this whole fiasco began. You're the last person we can think of. If anyone can find the killer it's you. And you know that."
   "Not anymore, Rodney," Gordon said. "All Control ever did to me was exploit me. I never wanted to go to Yugoslavia or Denmark but Control tricked me into going. And look where that got me, two assassination attempts and a bombing. I'm sorry, Rodney, but I couldn't give a damn about the next person that gets plugged, even if it's you."
   Rodney lit another match and lit the tobacco in the pipe again. The smoke came out of his mouth in small curls that floated to the ceiling or out the tiny gap in the window.
   "I understand why you don't want to come back," Rodney sighed. "I get that but we need a mind like yours. We're fighting a lost battle in a losing war. If you don't come along then whoever this agent is, is going to blow apart MI6 and the Russians are going to storm England. And you'll be the one that will be held responsible."
   Gordon shrugged and picked up his newspaper. Rodney closed his eyes and produced a series of photos from his pocket. The pictures were of strange symbols written on pieces of paper. They were peculiar, with seemingly random curves and lines. "We also found these at the crime scenes." He threw the pictures in front of Gordon. Gordon picked them up and stared at them.
   "What are they?" he asked.
   Rodney shrugged. "None of us know. We've scanned them through any codes or secret symbols and they've come up blank. The guys at Bletchley are still at work and the ancient languages team have come up with nothing. We think they're trying to send a message to Control or someone at the top. Nobody knows what they mean and we thought you might be able to point us in the right direction."
   Gordon shook his head again and tossed the photos back to Rodney. He buried his head in his hands.
   "Rodney," Gordon said. "I'm devastated to hear that Harris and Norton and probably Collins have died. I really want the killer to be found but if I go back Control will rope me in to doing some other mission and I'll be back where I was seven years ago. I'm not going back to the Circus, Rodney. I'm sorry."
   Gordon picked up his newspaper and unfolded it in front of him. His eyes darted between lines yet they were filled with sorrow. He had been only catching rumours from people he knew. He had met Harris only a few days beforehand. He was in good shape. And then he was killed. Gordon couldn't escape that feeling of guilt in his stomach. Rodney looked back up at him.
   "Stalingrad changed you didn't it?"
   Gordon stopped and threw down the newspaper. "How do you know?" he asked.
   "One of my boys, Kevin Halifax, was over there with you and Bill Ford. He came back completely changed. He didn't do anything for weeks afterwards. He kept muttering to himself as well. John Nightingale told me that he kept telling them about the wolves. There were wolves with red eyes he was saying. He was muttering all this crap to himself. We sent him off to China then to try and do a bit of trading, get his mind off Russia and whatnot.
   "When he came back he was saying that when he was tracking down his informant he crossed the border into Russia. He met a load of KGB agents there. He told me he couldn't take it. He fainted on the spot and had to be airlifted back to China before being flown back to London. He was going crazy on the plane. He said there were bombs going off all around him. He nearly caused the pilot to crash the damn thing.
   "When he got back he took some time off. He came back fine but we can't send him too far abroad or he'll go wild. I'm still afraid for him. And I know that you're the same. You never even came back. You just sent a letter of resignation to Control and that was that. Gordon, things have changed. We're not sending people into the firing line. We're not taking uneducated guesses about the location of missiles or the movements of other agents. Vernon Tully has all that sorted now. He's made sure nothing goes through without concrete evidence. He's borrowing from his mates over in the FBI. The bastard even brought in a few of their men for some work a few months back.
   "Gordon, there's never going to be another Stalingrad or another Budapest. We're different now. Come back. Please. Control hasn't been seen for weeks and people are starting to lose faith in us. Do you know that eleven people resigned this week? All because the killer is still within the building and we've nobody who can find him. Please, Gordon, come back for this. I can put in a word to Control when he resurfaces to leave you out of the organisation. I can even tell Control you're not involved and you can work on it in secret. Anything, Gordon, we're at our wits end."
   The train stopped and Gordon picked up his things and left Rodney to his own devices. Rodney called out to him as he left.
   "You know where you can find me, Gordon," he said.
   Gordon walked through the train to the exit whereupon he stepped onto the platform and straight for a taxi. He pulled open the door and told the driver to drive to his house in Hackney. The taxi pulled away as the train departed for its next stop. Gordon didn't know whether Rodney had gotten off the train or not. All he knew was that the Circus was in danger and he didn't want to be involved.

Description
Chapter One

   Hidden amongst a crowd of flushed businessmen and women carrying crying infants, Rodney East sat on a bench in a train station outside Liverpool. Everywhere around him people were hurrying about trying to catch their next train or running after children who had decided that there was something far more interesting over there than waiting with mummy. Rodney East was not a worried looking businessman nor was he a distraught parent. He was waiting for the train. However, he was more looking for the person on the train.
   He reached into his tan jacket and produced the file he had to present to the man he was waiting for. He scanned over the documents on the inside. This was relating to the trouble he'd been having at work the past month. Five dead bodies had turned up in the space of four weeks and Rodney was in charge of investigating the goings on. He had searched every member of his department and found nothing. There was the assumption that the killer didn't work there but how were they meant to get in to the building in the first place. No, the killer was definitely another agent, hopefully not Russian. Imagine the nightmare trying to explain to Control there was a Russian agent killing off high-ranking members of MI6.
   Rodney could hear in the distance the familiar chugging of a train as it trundled along the tracks. He slipped the file back into his jacket and stood up, his height frightening a nearby child. Rodney strode to the edge of the platform, his cold blue eyes scanning everywhere for signs of being watched. Considering the current situation he had begun to suspect people were being spied upon and seeing as this was a dreadfully important meeting he couldn't afford to let the enemy gain information on it.
   As the train pulled up to the platform and the smoke billowed around everyone, Rodney placed his hand inside his other pocket and grabbed a hold of his gun in case anyone tried to jump him while he was here. Once the smoke was gone and Rodney was safe in the knowledge he was still alive, he let go of his grip on the gun and flashed his ticket at the conductor. He boarded the carriage and looked up and down the train. He knew his target would be in first class so he headed left towards the first class carriages. As he walked down the aisle he kept glancing around to try and spot his target.
   As he neared the end of the carriage he glimpsed a man with short ginger hair. His face was long and gaunt and his eyes were a pale blue colour. He wore a black three-piece suit with a white shirt and a scarlet tie and was sat reading The Sunday Times. Rodney smiled and opened up the glass sliding door to the cabin. He sat himself down on the plush, embroidered seat and sank into his favourite seating position. He produced a pipe and a pouch of tobacco from his pocket and began stuffing pinches of brown powder into the chamber of the pipe. He looked at the man across.
   "I don't suppose you have any matches on you?" he asked. He was from Oxford and his accent was no denying that fact. "It looks as if I've run out."
   Without looking at him the man across replied. "I'm sorry, Rodney," he said. "I gave up smoking." He folded the newspaper up and placed it down beside him. He looked at East.
   "How the hell did you know it was me?" asked Rodney as he took out a box of matches from his pocket.
   The man smiled. "I saw you fidget around with something in your pockets at the station. You're very hard to miss, Rodney."
   Rodney smiled and placed the pipe into his mouth. He struck the match and placed the flame over the top of the top of the tobacco. He began puffing and soon he waved the match out and took the pipe out of his mouth.
   "How have you been, Gordon?" he asked.
   Gordon's face became expressionless. "What do you want from me, Rodney?" he asked his voice cold and stern. "You haven't tried to contact me in seven years and then suddenly you turn up out of the blue on the exact train that I happen to be on. You could've chosen any number of empty carriages yet you chose mine. Why?"
   The train began to move again. Rodney sighed. "Have you heard about all these murders at MI6?" Gordon nodded. "Well we've come to the conclusion that it's probably a Russian agent at the heart of it. Well, none of us will admit it but we all know that we let a Russian slip past our defences and now he's running around putting holes in people. We can't find anyone who may even be close to the commie bastards and so I've decided to try and call you back in."
   Gordon shook his head. "I left remember? I don't work for the Circus anymore. I'm not there plaything. I've retired so you and Harris and Collins and Norton and even Control himself can go and piss off. I'm gone. Control doesn't own me anymore."
   Rodney sighed. "We're at a dead end, Gordon. Everyone's given up hope and people are getting worried. You do know that Harris and Norton are dead? Collins has gone AWOL and nobody knows what's happened to Control. He hasn't been seen since this whole fiasco began. You're the last person we can think of. If anyone can find the killer it's you. And you know that."
   "Not anymore, Rodney," Gordon said. "All Control ever did to me was exploit me. I never wanted to go to Yugoslavia or Denmark but Control tricked me into going. And look where that got me, two assassination attempts and a bombing. I'm sorry, Rodney, but I couldn't give a damn about the next person that gets plugged, even if it's you."
   Rodney lit another match and lit the tobacco in the pipe again. The smoke came out of his mouth in small curls that floated to the ceiling or out the tiny gap in the window.
   "I understand why you don't want to come back," Rodney sighed. "I get that but we need a mind like yours. We're fighting a lost battle in a losing war. If you don't come along then whoever this agent is, is going to blow apart MI6 and the Russians are going to storm England. And you'll be the one that will be held responsible."
   Gordon shrugged and picked up his newspaper. Rodney closed his eyes and produced a series of photos from his pocket. The pictures were of strange symbols written on pieces of paper. They were peculiar, with seemingly random curves and lines. "We also found these at the crime scenes." He threw the pictures in front of Gordon. Gordon picked them up and stared at them.
   "What are they?" he asked.
   Rodney shrugged. "None of us know. We've scanned them through any codes or secret symbols and they've come up blank. The guys at Bletchley are still at work and the ancient languages team have come up with nothing. We think they're trying to send a message to Control or someone at the top. Nobody knows what they mean and we thought you might be able to point us in the right direction."
   Gordon shook his head again and tossed the photos back to Rodney. He buried his head in his hands.
   "Rodney," Gordon said. "I'm devastated to hear that Harris and Norton and probably Collins have died. I really want the killer to be found but if I go back Control will rope me in to doing some other mission and I'll be back where I was seven years ago. I'm not going back to the Circus, Rodney. I'm sorry."
   Gordon picked up his newspaper and unfolded it in front of him. His eyes darted between lines yet they were filled with sorrow. He had been only catching rumours from people he knew. He had met Harris only a few days beforehand. He was in good shape. And then he was killed. Gordon couldn't escape that feeling of guilt in his stomach. Rodney looked back up at him.
   "Stalingrad changed you didn't it?"
   Gordon stopped and threw down the newspaper. "How do you know?" he asked.
   "One of my boys, Kevin Halifax, was over there with you and Bill Ford. He came back completely changed. He didn't do anything for weeks afterwards. He kept muttering to himself as well. John Nightingale told me that he kept telling them about the wolves. There were wolves with red eyes he was saying. He was muttering all this crap to himself. We sent him off to China then to try and do a bit of trading, get his mind off Russia and whatnot.
   "When he came back he was saying that when he was tracking down his informant he crossed the border into Russia. He met a load of KGB agents there. He told me he couldn't take it. He fainted on the spot and had to be airlifted back to China before being flown back to London. He was going crazy on the plane. He said there were bombs going off all around him. He nearly caused the pilot to crash the damn thing.
   "When he got back he took some time off. He came back fine but we can't send him too far abroad or he'll go wild. I'm still afraid for him. And I know that you're the same. You never even came back. You just sent a letter of resignation to Control and that was that. Gordon, things have changed. We're not sending people into the firing line. We're not taking uneducated guesses about the location of missiles or the movements of other agents. Vernon Tully has all that sorted now. He's made sure nothing goes through without concrete evidence. He's borrowing from his mates over in the FBI. The bastard even brought in a few of their men for some work a few months back.
   "Gordon, there's never going to be another Stalingrad or another Budapest. We're different now. Come back. Please. Control hasn't been seen for weeks and people are starting to lose faith in us. Do you know that eleven people resigned this week? All because the killer is still within the building and we've nobody who can find him. Please, Gordon, come back for this. I can put in a word to Control when he resurfaces to leave you out of the organisation. I can even tell Control you're not involved and you can work on it in secret. Anything, Gordon, we're at our wits end."
   The train stopped and Gordon picked up his things and left Rodney to his own devices. Rodney called out to him as he left.
   "You know where you can find me, Gordon," he said.
   Gordon walked through the train to the exit whereupon he stepped onto the platform and straight for a taxi. He pulled open the door and told the driver to drive to his house in Hackney. The taxi pulled away as the train departed for its next stop. Gordon didn't know whether Rodney had gotten off the train or not. All he knew was that the Circus was in danger and he didn't want to be involved.