Andy McNab - Avenger

The closest man smiled politely. 'Hello, sir. Can we see your passport and boarding card, please?'

Fergus's passport was in the name of Frank Wilson. The name made no difference: the Special Branch men knew exactly who they were dealing with.

Fergus handed over the passport and boarding card, going along with what he knew was an inevitable process.

The man looked at the passport as he and his colleague escorted Fergus away from the crowds by the security gates. It was a standard practice: move the suspect away from any public areas.

'Just routine, sir,' said the second man as they led Fergus along a corridor and into an office.

It was a small room, the only furniture a desk and a couple of upright chairs. There was hardly enough space for the two Special Branch men, Fergus and the two burly uniformed Metropolitan Police officers, both complete with body armour and MP5 sub-machine guns. One of these was pointing directly at Fergus's head.

Fergus knew the drill. Without even bothering to attempt to protest, he slowly placed his rucksack on the floor, turned round, extended both his arms behind him and waited for the handcuffs to snap into place.

Danny was close to the back of the plane, and as the huge Boeing 747 lumbered down the runway, lifted its nose and began its steady climb into the sky, he thought of the last time he had been inside an aircraft.

The two flights could hardly have been more different. This time he was sitting at one end of the central section and was one of several hundred passengers. And even in economy class there was relative comfort and adequate legroom.

On the previous occasion he had been squeezed into the back of a single-engine Cessna alongside his grandfather as they returned to England after six months on the run in Spain.

The tiny plane had collected them, in the dead of night, from an improvised LS deep in the Andalusian countryside, and the highly skilled pilot had used NVGs to negotiate his way through the darkness and onto the ground. They took off knowing only that they were flying into the unknown, as the final struggle to clear Fergus of the accusations laid against him began.

Danny almost smiled as the 747's four huge engines roared and the Jumbo climbed up through the clouds. There was one similarity between the two flights: he was once again flying into the unknown.

But Danny's smile hid the sense of unease he was feeling. Not about the mission – he was feeling good about that, glad that he was part of a crucially important operation of worldwide significance.

He knew that many of his fellow passengers would be thinking about the teenage suicide bombers. Some would be anxious – Danny had noticed the elderly woman next to him give him a long, questioning look as they fastened their seat belts. He had been expecting that sort of reaction; people were bound to be unnerved by the sight of a teenager travelling alone. But Deveraux and his grandfather had briefed him well, and Danny had eased the woman's fears with a smile and a few well-chosen words about the long flight ahead.

He had also dealt skilfully with the extra-long questioning and the bag and body search he had been subjected to when going through security to the departure lounge at Heathrow.

Danny glanced across to his right and saw the newspaper headline:

Little did the passenger reading the newspaper know that someone at the forefront of that hunt was sitting just a few seats away.

And despite his grandfather's fears over Deveraux, Danny felt excited about whatever lay ahead. But there was a nagging worry: Elena.

After their short conversation at the end of Deveraux's briefing the previous afternoon, Danny had seen no more of Elena until this morning. She had stayed in her room all evening, not even bothering to come down for dinner.

She had reappeared at breakfast but had been quiet and withdrawn, even when Fergus had said his farewells.

And then, just as they were about to say their own awkward goodbyes, Elena had done something that seemed to surprise them both. She had kissed Danny; fleetingly brushing her lips against his before whispering, 'Goodbye, Danny.'

Before a stunned Danny could even reply, she was gone, apparently not wanting to prolong the parting any more than was absolutely necessary. Danny didn't like the word 'goodbye' when it came from Elena. He was used to 'see ya' or 'later', or even 'bye', but 'goodbye' was weird. Too… final.

They travelled separately to Heathrow – Deveraux had insisted on that, just in case Black Star, or an associate, was watching out for Elena on this side of the Atlantic. It was unlikely, but Deveraux was taking no chances.

As Danny unbuckled his seat belt and made himself more comfortable, he was thinking about the way things had been not quite right between him and Elena over the past few weeks. There was a strange distance between them that had never been there before. He told himself that it was his fault. He had been so wrapped up in the mission that he had neglected Elena's feelings at the time when she needed him most. And he felt bad about it. And worried. And guilty.

Elena was sitting in a window seat, a little closer to the front of the plane. Next to her was a huge middle-aged American woman, who had started to chat even before her more than ample backside hit the seat.

By the time the engines had begun their starting whine, Elena knew that her travelling companion was called Mavis Bachelor and that she was married to Henry – whom 'just everyone called Hal' – and that Hal was in the meat-packing business.

'You look a little scared, honey,' said Mavis as they picked up speed. 'There really is no problem with flying. You have more to worry about when you cross the road.'

But Elena wasn't worried about the flight. That was the least of her worries.

Marcie Deveraux was at the front of the plane, in first class. The businessman sitting next to her had done no more than nod a polite 'Hello' as he took his seat. She had nodded back in the same way, relieved that he obviously had no intention of passing the flying hours attempting to make meaningful, interesting conversation.

He was already working at his laptop as Deveraux sat looking at the menu for the first of the meals they would be served during the eight-hour flight.

Her eyes flicked over the menu and she allowed herself a slight smile as she considered what Fergus Watts might have to look forward to for his next meal. By now he would be in a cell and would have realized that she had arranged for him to be lifted at the airport.

He would remain in a cell until Deveraux returned at the end of the mission. And then, along with Danny and Elena, he would be eliminated.

Deveraux had never intended Fergus to be part of the final phase of the operation, and the fact that it was overseas had made it easier for her. His participation in phase one had been essential: Danny and Elena would never have agreed to being involved, had Fergus been jettisoned at that stage. And he had been more than useful in their training – Deveraux silently acknowledged that she wouldn't have been able to move them on so quickly or efficiently.

But now he was unnecessary; his presence in New York would have been a liability and there would undoubtedly have been problems when it came to making decisions that might put Danny or Elena in danger.

There would still be problems when Deveraux had to explain to the teenagers why Fergus was not with them in New York.

But she would cope with that. She had it all worked out.

Herman Ramirez was weary; the past few months had been exhausting with the intercontinental flights and the subsequent jet lag. But Herman never complained and this time it would be easier. This time the Angel was flying to them.