The cold never seemed to get any easier. It bit deep below skin and muscle to gnaw at bone.

Kinchloe thought he'd never get used to the cold.

They had been waiting almost an hour, crouched among the undergrowth, moving only when cramp threatened, and then only enough to stretch their stiffening limbs. Their contact was late.

Kinch's companion had been grumbling under his breath for some time: "...ruddy weather...ruddy Underground...I'm too old for this ruddy lark..."

"Newkirk," hissed Kinch, when it got past bearing, "shut up!"

Silence.

"We'll give them another ten minutes," Kinch whispered.

Newkirk shook his head. "They ain't coming, Kinch. If they was coming, they'd be here by now."

"Ten minutes," repeated Kinch.

Almost on the word, they heard the signal. "Not before time," muttered Newkirk, and whistled the response.

Three dark-dressed figures came forward. Two of them were known to Newkirk at least; Kinch didn't get out so often. The third was unknown, slighter in build than the farm lads of the Underground.

"This the package, Hansi?" said Newkirk, nodding towards the stranger.

"Ja, your visitor. Tell Papa Bear to let us know when you need return transport. You should go quickly. There are patrols." Well, that explained the delay.

Hansi and his companion slipped away into the night, and Kinchloe waved the visitor forward. "Come on, we don't have much time. Keep as quiet as you can."

The stranger nodded, and followed Newkirk, Kinch bringing up the rear.

The tunnel entrance was a good distance away. Twice, the group had to take cover, keeping their heads down, holding their breath, as a patrol loomed into view. The stranger had not yet spoken, but Kinch could feel trembling in the slender form crouched against his shoulder. Too nervous - maybe just cold, he thought. Looks young, and not strong either.

They reached the tunnel entrance in the old stump, and after checking carefully all round, Newkirk went first, "There's a ladder," Kinch whispered. "Once we're down, we're safe. Go on."

The visitor nodded again - did he never speak? - and followed Newkirk. Kinch took a last look around before taking his turn.

Down in the tunnel he took a deep breath. Newkirk was leaning against the wall, gazing at the visitor with a startled expression.

"Blimey...!" he said under his breath.

The stranger glanced at him then at Kinch, with wide-set green-grey eyes in a boyish square face, and said, "Thank you," in a soft, low-pitched voice.

"They might have told us," said Colonel Hogan, regarding the stranger with a bemused, quizzical expression.

She met the look square on. "It was a late decision. The original agent was unavailable. They hoped a more suitable substitute might be found, but when that failed, rather than cancel they sent me."

She was naturally softly-spoken, with a slow, cultured diction. Not pretty; too square in the jaw, mouth too wide, eyebrows unusually heavy. Her dark hair, straight and thick, had been cut short in a masculine style. She was tall for a woman, and quite wiry, and might easily pass for a young man.

Hogan shrugged. "Colonel Hogan, senior POW, in command of the operation. This is Staff Sergeant Kinchloe; Corporal Newkirk."

She had a firm, strong handshake. "Stella Grey." She glanced at Newkirk and Kinch as if in doubt; then she took off the dark coat she was wearing, laying it neatly aside, and slipped a hand up inside her pullover. All three men looked startled, but a second later she drew out a large manila envelope. "This is the information. I'm afraid it's a little unclear. You'll need me to talk you through it."

"Later," said Hogan. "After you've rested."

"I'm not tired. Just hungry."

Hogan nodded to his men. "Kinch, tell LeBeau to get a meal ready for the lady. Newkirk, have we anything for Miss Grey to change into? I'm afraid you'll have to sleep down here," he added, turning to her, "but you might prefer the barracks for meals. Roll call is in twenty minutes, after that it'll be safe."

He gave her his best seductive smile, and was quite put out when she didn't respond to it. But she looked tired, in spite of her disclaimer, so that might account for it.

Kinch had gone on the word. "Will do, sir," said Newkirk, giving her a wink, which elicited a flash of warmth, and the hint of a smile. Hogan felt even more peeved. That East End charm was occasionally hard to beat.

He sighed, and followed Kinch up the ladder to the barracks.

"This way, ma'am," said Newkirk, in his best shop assistant manner, his accent broadening as it sometimes did. "Now, if ma'am would like to take a look at this season's style, we've got this in air-force blue, or in green, much favoured in the States, I believe, ma'am."

The smile deepened; it was really quite engaging, he thought. Then the glow faded a little. There's something not right here, he thought.

"P'raps ma'am would like to try it on?" he suggested.

"Stella," she said.

"Peter. Nice to be on friendly terms."

She smiled again, giving him a bright-eyed glance.

"You remind me of my brother," she said.

Oh, ruddy hell, that's me done! thought Newkirk.