Until recently, the man had worked for MI6. The woman had been an undercover agent for the CIA. Now, they worked for SWARM.Neither of them looked particularly remarkable, or memorable, which was exactly what they intended. Nobody around them in the crowded, echoing hall of the Underground station thought they were anything other than a couple of ordinary business people. They rode the long escalator down into the depths of the station. The gentle clanking of the machinery beneath them reverberated off the curved ceiling above. The dusty, oily smell of the place made the woman wrinkle her nose.They marched along with the crowd. The man checked his watch: just after 8.27 a.m. They’d be late if they didn’t get a move on.While everyone else hurried ahead, lost in their own thoughts or in the music thrumming through their earphones, the man and the woman turned a sharp left into a narrow, dimly lit passageway. Nobody took any notice of their sudden detour.They halted at a door marked “Staff Toilet – Out of Order”.
