A song in the morning

* * *

There was a light on in the hall of Sam Perry's house. The rest of the house was darkened.

Erik and Piet listened a long time at the back door before they were certain the house was empty. The major had told them there was no dog, he was sure of that from when he'd called. No alarm box on the outside walls.

They taped adhesive paper over the glass panel of the kitchen door, broke it, were able to reach inside and turn the key. It was better going in the back, always gave one a head start if the householder returned to the front door and could be heard messing for the key. The major had said they should take their time, so long as they weren't disturbed. It was a great bonus that they hadn't had to wait until the small hours to break in, hadn't had to wait until the householders were in bed and asleep.

Erik and Piet were experienced burglars. They'd seen the real thing frequently enough when they were young policemen, before their transfers to security.

They knew what they were looking for.

Three streets away, Major Swart dozed in his car, head back, snoring.

The friend of the late Jimmy Sandham stopped his car at the barrier across the entrance to Downing Street. He showed his identification. He was waved forward to park.

Inside the hushed, well-lit hallway, he asked to see his Director General. i