I sat in my cell, back against the cold wall staring at the grey ceiling. Nothing in the tiny box of a room inspired the imagination and I was bored out of my mind. I didn't have a watch to see how long I had been in this dark hole but it felt like an eternity.
Every so often I heard footsteps passing my cell but none of them ever stopped. I'd just started counting the number of bricks on the wall when someone stopped outside my door. There was a jangle of keys and the cell door opened. The policeman I'd had my run in with earlier was standing in the doorframe.
He had changed out of his uniform and was now in a non-descript pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He put his finger to his lips and motioned for me to go with him. I didn't think twice before leaving my cell and following him down the hall.
'Where's my-' His hand went over my mouth before I could finish my sentence. He looked up and down the corridor to check no-one was there before pulling me into an alcove.
'You can't ask questions now,' he whispered. 'I'm not who you think I am but you have to trust me, I'm on your side.'
'Can you at least tell me your name?' I whispered, finally getting that he wasn't meant to have let me out of my cell.
'I'm Pete, that's all you need to know at the moment. I'll tell you more when we're somewhere safe but right now we need to get out of here.' He checked the corridor then, when things were clear, he took me by the hand and pulled me along behind him.
Getting out of the police station wasn't too bad. Pete knew all the nooks, crannies and obscure passage ways we could use to get out. But even when we were back out on the street he wouldn't relax and continued to drag me along behind him.
'Where are we going?' I yelled over the noise of London traffic.
'I can't tell you. Not yet.' He led me through London's streets so quickly I didn't have time to remember where we had been. Eventually we reached a street full of houses and Pete stopped to knock on one of the doors. Two short raps then four long ones. The door opened to reveal a big guy, possibly Russian or Eastern European.
'Ah Mr King, you are back.'
'This one's OK Sven, she's one of us.' Pete said as the Russian held the door open for us.
A thought clicked in my head. Pete King. Peter King. I had managed to find my way to the HQ of one of the most active terrorist groups in Britain. Pete King was the leader of the O.A.R.I.