Six Months After the CIA Incident - London, England Detective Inspector Charlotte Hayes of Scotland Yard's Murder Investigation Team was having a very strange day. It had started normally enough—a body found in a Mayfair hotel room, single gunshot wound to the head, no signs of forced entry. Professional hit, clearly. The victim was Dmitri Volkov, a Russian oligarch with ties to organized crime and, according to Interpol, suspected involvement in human trafficking. Not exactly an innocent victim, but murder was murder, and Hayes was good at her job. The hotel's CCTV had been professionally disabled, but they'd caught one clear image from a camera across the street: a man entering the hotel three hours before the estimated time of death. Tall, fit, looked to be in his thirties, wearing a dark coat. They'd run the image through facial recognition and gotten a hit: Perseus Jackson, American citizen, currently registered at a boutique hotel in Kensington. He'd entered the UK four days ago on a tourist visa. Hayes and her partner, Detective Sergeant Michael Chen (no relation to the CIA analyst), had gone to bring him in for questioning. Standard procedure. The man had been in the vicinity of a murder, they needed to eliminate him as a suspect or gather evidence if he was involved.  They'd found Perseus having breakfast at a café near his hotel, reading a newspaper. He'd looked up when they approached, and Hayes had seen something in his eyes—not fear, not surprise, just a kind of weary recognition, like he'd been through this before. "Perseus Jackson?" Hayes had asked, showing her warrant card. "That's me." "I'm Detective Inspector Hayes, this is Detective Sergeant Chen. We'd like to ask you some questions about your whereabouts yesterday evening." "Of course. Happy to help." He'd folded his newspaper, paid for his breakfast, and come with them voluntarily. No resistance, no lawyer demands, nothing. Just calm cooperation. That should have been Hayes's first clue that something was off. Now they were at New Scotland Yard, in Interview Room 3, and Perseus Jackson was sitting across from her looking perfectly relaxed. She'd done hundreds of interviews, and she could usually tell within the first five minutes whether someone was guilty or innocent, nervous or confident, hiding something or genuinely confused. Perseus Jackson was none of those things. He was just... present. Like he was waiting for something. "Mr. Jackson," Hayes began, starting the recording. "Can you tell me where you were yesterday evening between seven and eleven PM?" "I was in my hotel room, reading." "Can anyone verify that?" "No. I was alone." "The hotel doesn't have CCTV in the hallways?" "I'm sure it does. You're welcome to check it." Hayes made a note. They would check it, obviously, but something about his tone suggested they wouldn't find what they were looking for. "Mr. Jackson, are you familiar with a man named Dmitri Volkov?" "Can't say that I am." "He was found dead in his hotel room in Mayfair yesterday evening. Single gunshot wound to the head. Professional execution." Perseus didn't react. Most innocent people would show surprise, maybe concern. Guilty people would either overreact or try to appear calm. Perseus just nodded slightly, as if she'd told him it might rain later. "And you think I'm involved because...?" "Because you were seen entering the building where he was killed, approximately three hours before his death." "CCTV?" "Yes." "Facial recognition match?" "Yes."  Perseus leaned back in his chair. "Detective Inspector Hayes, I'm going to save us both a lot of time. You're not going to be able to charge me with this murder. Not because I didn't do it—I'm not confirming or denying anything—but because within the next hour or so, someone from MI6 is going to walk through that door and tell you to release me." Hayes blinked. "Excuse me?" "You've run my name through your systems, right? Checked with Interpol, probably flagged it with your intelligence services as a matter of routine?" "Standard procedure for foreign nationals involved in major crimes, yes." "Then the call is already happening. Someone at MI6 has seen my name pop up in your investigation, and right now they're having a very frantic conversation with someone very senior. That person is calling someone even more senior. Within about thirty minutes, you're going to get a call from your superintendent telling you to stop this interview." Hayes exchanged a glance with Chen, who looked as confused as she felt. "Mr. Jackson, are you saying you're some kind of intelligence asset?" "I'm saying that arresting me, or even holding me for questioning, tends to cause diplomatic incidents that neither of us wants to deal with. I'm trying to make this easy for you." "If you're concerned about diplomatic incidents, maybe you shouldn't murder people in London hotels," Chen said, speaking for the first time. Perseus smiled slightly. "If I murdered people in London hotels—hypothetically speaking— it would only be people who probably deserved it. But that's neither here nor there." Hayes felt a headache building behind her eyes. "Mr. Jackson, are you refusing to cooperate with this investigation?" "Not at all. I'm here, aren't I? I came voluntarily. I'm answering your questions. I'm just telling you how this is going to play out so you're not surprised when it happens." As if on cue, there was a knock on the interview room door. Hayes felt her stomach sink. It had been less than twenty minutes, not the hour Perseus had predicted, which somehow made it worse. A young constable stuck his head in. "Ma'am, Superintendent Marlow needs to see you. Says it's urgent." Hayes stood, pausing the recording. "Watch him," she told Chen, then stepped out into the hallway. Superintendent Marlow was waiting outside his office, and he looked like he'd aged ten years in the last five minutes. "Hayes, we need to talk. Now." They went into his office, and he closed the door. "Tell me you haven't formally arrested Perseus Jackson." "No, sir. He's just here for questioning. He came voluntarily, hasn't asked for a lawyer—" "Thank Christ. Release him. Now." Hayes stared at her superior officer. "Sir, he's a suspect in a murder investigation. We have CCTV evidence placing him—"  "I don't care if you have video of him pulling the trigger. Release him. Immediately." "Sir, with all respect, I need an explanation." Marlow sat down heavily in his chair. "I just got off the phone with the Commissioner. Who had just gotten off the phone with the Home Secretary. Who had just gotten off the phone with the Prime Minister. Who had just gotten off the phone with the American Secretary of Defense." Hayes felt like she was falling down a rabbit hole. "The Prime Minister? For a murder investigation?" "Perseus Jackson is not a normal suspect. He's... Christ, I don't even know how to explain this. He's protected at the highest levels of government. Multiple governments. Ours, the Americans, probably others. I don't know the details because I don't have clearance for the details. What I do know is that if we hold him, it will cause an international incident that could damage UK-US intelligence sharing for years." "He murdered someone in our jurisdiction—" "We don't know that. We have circumstantial evidence. And even if we did know it, even if we had a full confession, we still couldn't touch him. Those are the orders from the very top." Marlow rubbed his face. "Look, Charlotte, I know this is frustrating. I know it goes against everything we believe in about justice and the rule of law. But this is above our heads. Way, way above our heads." "So we just let him go? Let a murderer walk free?" "If it helps, the victim was Dmitri Volkov. I looked him up. The man was a monster. Human trafficking, arms dealing, probably responsible for dozens of deaths. If someone did kill him, they did the world a favor." "That's not how justice works," Hayes said, but she could hear the defeat in her own voice. "I know. But sometimes justice takes a backseat to national security. This is one of those times." Marlow stood up. "Release him. Be polite about it. Apologize for the inconvenience. And then forget this ever happened."

Twenty Minutes Later Hayes returned to the interview room, where Perseus was still sitting calmly and Chen was looking increasingly confused. She sat down, restarted the recording, and said the words that felt like ashes in her mouth: "Mr. Jackson, thank you for your cooperation. We have no further questions at this time. You're free to go." Perseus nodded, as if this was exactly what he'd expected. "Thank you, Detective Inspector. I appreciate your professionalism." He stood, and Hayes found herself standing too. "Mr. Jackson, before you go... did you kill Dmitri Volkov?" Perseus looked at her for a long moment. There was something in his eyes—not guilt, exactly, but acknowledgment. "Detective, you seem like a good person who cares about  doing the right thing. So I'm going to tell you something off the record, while that recording device is conveniently malfunctioning." Hayes glanced at the recorder. The red light was still on, still recording. She looked back at Perseus, and he smiled slightly, meaningfully. She understood. Whatever he was about to say, she could choose not to hear it officially. "Dmitri Volkov was trafficking children. Dozens of them. Your people knew about it but couldn't prove it, couldn't get enough evidence to prosecute. He was protected by diplomatic connections and corrupt officials. Those children would have continued to suffer, and more would have been taken. Sometimes, when the system can't deliver justice, someone has to." "Vigilante justice isn't justice," Hayes said, but her voice lacked conviction. "No, it's not. It's messy and imperfect and morally complicated. But those children are going to go home to their families now. The trafficking network Volkov ran is going to collapse without him. Isn't that worth something?" Hayes didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Perseus walked to the door, then paused. "For what it's worth, Detective, I'm sorry you got caught up in this. You were just doing your job. That's admirable. Don't let today make you cynical about the work you do. Most of the time, the system works. Sometimes it doesn't, and when it doesn't, people like me handle the exceptions. But we're the anomaly, not the rule." Then he was gone, leaving Hayes and Chen standing in the interview room. Chen was the first to speak. "What the hell just happened?" "I have no idea," Hayes said. She looked at the recorder, still running. She reached over and stopped it, then—after a moment's hesitation—deleted the last five minutes of audio. "And neither do you."

That Evening - 10 Downing Street Prime Minister Victoria Hammond was in her study, nursing a gin and tonic and trying to ignore the headache that had been building all day. Her private secretary knocked and entered. "The Director-General of MI6 is here, Prime Minister." "Send him in." Sir Jonathan Price entered, looking as composed as always despite having had to deal with this crisis all afternoon. "Prime Minister." "Jonathan. Sit. Drink?" "Please." She poured him a scotch and handed it over. "Tell me this isn't going to become a regular occurrence." "I wish I could, Prime Minister. But Perseus Jackson travels extensively, and he seems to have a habit of... dealing with problems wherever he finds them."  "Problems that end up dead in hotel rooms." "Problems that probably deserved to end up dead in hotel rooms, if we're being honest." Price took a sip of his drink. "Volkov was a cancer. We've been trying to build a case against him for three years. Jackson solved that problem in an evening." "And now Scotland Yard thinks we're covering up a murder. Which we are." "We're protecting a strategic asset. There's a difference." Hammond sighed. "I suppose. The Americans were very insistent when I spoke with Secretary Smith. He made it quite clear that Perseus Jackson is off-limits." "It's more than that, Prime Minister. The Americans have something called the Echelon Protocol. If any law enforcement or intelligence organization arrests Jackson, they deploy a special operations team to extract him. Immediately. With extreme prejudice." Hammond set down her drink. "Are you telling me that if Scotland Yard had arrested him, the Americans would have sent commandos into London?" "Yes, Prime Minister. That's exactly what I'm telling you. We've been briefed on the protocol by the CIA. It's automatic—once he activates it, there's no calling it off. The team deploys, extracts him, and anyone directly involved in his detention faces severe consequences." "What kind of consequences?" "The kind that involves armed Americans operating on British soil without permission. The CIA had an incident six months ago. Three agents tried to arrest him in New York. The extraction team stormed CIA headquarters at Langley. It was a massive internal scandal. Director Webb was nearly fired." Hammond felt a chill. "And we were thirty minutes away from the same thing happening here." "Closer than that, actually. The moment Jackson's name appeared in Scotland Yard's system, it triggered automatic alerts at MI6. We immediately contacted the Americans to confirm, and they confirmed the Echelon Protocol was active—or would be, if Jackson chose to activate it. Apparently, he didn't this time." "Why not?" Price smiled slightly. "According to the Americans, Jackson sometimes shows mercy to smaller agencies. He told the CIA that he didn't call Echelon because Scotland Yard is 'too small to warrant that kind of response.' His words." Hammond didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted. "So we should be grateful that a four-hundred-year-old assassin decided we weren't important enough to trigger an international incident?" "I'm certainly grateful we don't have to explain to Parliament why American special forces assaulted New Scotland Yard." "Small mercies." Hammond finished her gin. "What do we do going forward?" "The Americans are implementing a database flagging system. Perseus Jackson's name and known aliases will be flagged in all intelligence and law enforcement databases with a  clear warning: Do Not Detain - Contact Director. They're sharing this system with Five Eyes partners. We should have it operational within sixty days." "And if an officer ignores the flag?" "Then they face prosecution. The Americans are taking this very seriously now. They can't afford to keep having these incidents." "Neither can we." Hammond stood and walked to the window, looking out at the London evening. "Jonathan, answer me honestly. Is Perseus Jackson a threat to British interests?" "No, Prime Minister. If anything, he's been an asset. He's provided intelligence on several occasions, assisted with operations in the Middle East and Balkans, and his targets— when he has them—are generally people the world is better off without." "So we have a vigilante who happens to be on our side." "More or less." "And we just have to accept that sometimes he's going to kill people in London hotels, and we're going to do nothing about it." "Unless you want to risk an international incident with our closest ally, yes." Hammond was quiet for a long moment. "Make sure the Commissioner briefs the Met properly. I don't want another detective stumbling into this situation. And coordinate with the Americans on their flagging system. If we're going to turn a blind eye to extrajudicial killings, the least we can do is make sure our people know to stay out of the way." "Yes, Prime Minister." "And Jonathan? Next time Perseus Jackson decides to vacation in London, perhaps MI6 could give us a heads up? So we can politely suggest he take his... problem-solving skills... elsewhere?" Price smiled. "I'll see what I can do, Prime Minister." After he left, Hammond poured herself another gin. She thought about Perseus Jackson, about the children he'd allegedly saved, about the rule of law she'd sworn to uphold, and about the messy reality of a world where sometimes the system failed and people like Jackson filled the gaps. She didn't like it. But she understood it. And as Prime Minister, sometimes understanding was the best she could do. She raised her glass in a silent toast to Detective Inspector Hayes, who'd just learned one of the hardest lessons in law enforcement: sometimes, justice isn't black and white. Sometimes it's just different shades of grey. And sometimes, you had to let the monster walk away—because the alternative was worse.

Meanwhile - Perseus's Hotel in Kensington Perseus sat on his hotel room balcony, flipping his ancient coin and watching the London sunset. His phone rang. He recognized the number—DNI Cartwright. "Yeah?"  "You didn't activate Echelon," Cartwright said without preamble. "Scotland Yard? They were just doing their job. Didn't seem fair to ruin their lives over it." "Fair? Perseus, the protocol exists for a reason. To protect you." "I know. But those detectives were good people. Smart, professional, just trying to solve a murder. Which, to be fair, I did commit." There was a long silence on the other end. "We're not having this conversation." "Of course not. But hypothetically, if I did commit said murder, it would be because Volkov was trafficking children, and your legal systems were failing to stop him." "Hypothetically, that would still be a violation of British law and international norms." "Hypothetically, those children are going home to their families now. Hypothetically, I can live with being a law-breaker if it means they're safe." Cartwright sighed. "The Prime Minister is not happy." "The Prime Minister should be relieved I didn't trigger an international incident. I'm trying to make things easier for everyone, James." "By killing people in allied countries?" "By only killing people who deserve it, and by not activating Echelon every time some well- meaning cop tries to do their job. You're welcome, by the way." Another silence. "The flagging system will be operational soon. This should stop happening." "Good. I'm tired of explaining myself to detectives. They never believe me when I tell them how it's going to play out." "Did you tell the Scotland Yard detective?" "I did. She didn't believe me. But she was professional about it. Good cop. The system needs more like her." "She probably thinks her entire career was just undermined by political interference." "It was. But sometimes that happens. She'll move on, solve other cases, put other bad guys away. The system works most of the time. I'm just here for when it doesn't." "That's not your job, Perseus." "No, it's my calling. There's a difference." Cartwright didn't respond to that. "Anything else, James?" "Try to stay out of trouble. Please. My job is complicated enough without having to manage international incidents caused by a four-hundred-year-old vigilante." "I make no promises. But I'll try to keep the body count in friendly countries to a minimum." "That's not reassuring." "It's the best you're getting. Have a good evening, James." Perseus hung up and went back to watching the sunset. Tomorrow he'd leave London, head somewhere else. There was always another monster to deal with, another wrong to right, another failure of justice to correct. It was exhausting, being immortal. But someone had to do it.