He was not a man to disobey orders and it was understood that he was never to leave the city without giving MI6A an address and phone number. In point of fact, Blade was supposed to be on twenty-four-hour call. Lord L knew little of MI6A and cared less. He knew J had been in MI6 before being assigned to Project DX security and, he supposed, that meant that Blade was still some sort of secret agent, and still bound by the agency's rules.

Lord L slammed the phone down. Where in bloody damnation was the lad!

J would know, of course, but then he couldn't very well ask J. The man was dead set against Blade making another trip through the computer. The trouble with J was that he had a bloody father complex.

J did know where Richard Blade was. When he had left Lord L, he took a taxi directly to his own office in Copra House, off Threadneedle Street near Bart Lane, where he was now sitting, reading the report on Blade. For the past month he had had a tail on him.

The first signs of spring had come to London and several of the tall arched windows were open in J's office. A lemony sun drenched the grimy city and there was a subtle difference in the sounds and smells. J paid no attention to it as he pored over the report. He wondered if Blade knew he was being followed? Probably. Blade had been a top operative back before Project DX and he would not have forgotten much. He knew he was being tailed and made no attempt to lose the shadow. He was probably laughing. He just didn't give a damn.

J went to a window and stood staring down into Lothbury. There was a vendor with a mass of yellow crocuses for sale. J flicked the sheaf of paper against his teeth. Blade knew he was being followed, of course, but he must wonder why. Yet he had made no effort to check with J, not even a phone call.

J dialed the number of Blade's flat and listened for five minutes. Same old story-not home… or not answering. He hadn't seen Blade in nearly a fortnight. Blade was avoiding him, but why?