Firewall by Andy McNab

your acceptance of, and commitment to, that fact." She added pointedly, "Would you have difficulties with that, Mr. Stone?"
    "My employers might. I need "
    She held up her hand. "You have seen the cocoon in which Kelly has placed herself. There is no formula that guarantees breaking through when someone is out of reach. But whatever the cause is, a form of loving has to be there in the solution. What Kelly needs is a prince on a white horse to come and free her from the dragon. It is my view that she's decided not to come out until you are an integral part of her life again. I'm sorry to burden you with this responsibility, Mr.
    Stone, but Kelly is my patient, and it's her best interests that I must have at heart. For that reason, I didn't want her to see you today; I don't want her to build up hopes only to have them dashed. Please go away and think about it, but believe me, the sooner you are able to commit, the sooner Kelly's condition will start to improve. Until then, any sort of cure is on hold."
    I reached into my backpack and pulled out the framed photographs. It was the only thing I could think of. "I brought these for her. They're pictures of her family. Maybe they'll be some help."
    The doctor took them from me, still waiting for an answer. When she saw she wasn't going to get one not today, anyway she nodded quietly to herself and ushered me gently, but firmly, toward the door. "I'll be seeing her this afternoon. I'll telephone you later; I have the number. And now, I believe, you have an appointment with the people downstairs?"
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    10
    I was feeling pretty depressed as I headed east along the northern side of the Thames, toward the city center. Not just for Kelly, but for me.
    I forced myself to admit it: I hated the responsibility. And yet I had those promises to Kevin to live up to.
    I had enough problems looking after myself, without doctors telling me what I should be doing for other people. Being in charge of others in the field was fine. Having a man down in a contact was straightforward compared to this. You just got in there, dragged him out of the shit and plugged up his holes. Sometimes he lived, sometimes not. It was something I didn't have to think about. The man down always knew that someone would be coming for him; it helped him stay alive. But this was different. Kelly was my man down, but it wasn't just a question of plugging up holes; she didn't know whether help was on the way or not.
    Nor did I. I knew there was one thing I could do: make money to pay for her treatment. I'd be there for her, but later. Right now, I needed to keep busy and produce money. It had always been "later" for Kelly, whether it was a phone call or a birthday treat, but that was going to change. It had to.
    Working my way through the traffic, I eventually got onto the approach road to Vauxhall Bridge. As I crossed to the southern side, I looked up at Vauxhall Cross, home of SIS. A beige-and-black pyramid with the top cut off, flanked by large towers on either side, it needed just a few swirls of neon to look totally at home in Las Vegas.
    Directly opposite Vauxhall Cross, over the road and about one hundred yards away, was an elevated section of railway that led off to Waterloo Station. Most of the arches beneath had been converted into shops or warehouses. Passing the SIS building, I negotiated the five-way intersection and bumped the sidewalk, parking by two arches which had been knocked through to make a massive motorcycle shop-the one I'd bought my Ducati from. I wasn't going in today; it was just an easy place to park. Checking my saddle was secure so that no one could steal my Universal Self-Loading Pistol, I put my helmet in the backpack, crossed a couple of feeder roads and took the metal footbridge over the intersection, eventually entering the building via a single metal door that funneled me toward reception.
    The interior of the Firm looked much the same as any hightech office block: clean, sleek, and with an