"No..." one of the agents breathed. "It cannot be. I saw you killed! You're supposed to be dead!"
"Legends never die," the other door to the place opened to admit the figure of the Green Man, gun in hand. "Or perhaps your supposedly infallible chief never told you that he'd only left Sparrowhawk for dead - did you never check for a pulse?"
"N...no..." the man rose. Sudenly he hade for the door. But the Green Man was too quick for him. The gunshot echoed about the room, as a fine mist of blood rose from the head of the agent. He fell to the ground dead.
The girl in leather joined in the fight, knocking out one of the goons with a pile-driving left to the jaw. Another fell to a high-kick. Together, the Green Man and Sparrowhawk cleared the room in a matter of minutes. Senseless and dead men littered the little room that had until recently been filled with plotters. Removing a Mobile 'phone from one of them, the Green Man dialled a number from memory.
"Hello," he spoke into it. "I know this is British counter-espionage. Do not ask me how I know. Go to a tavern by the bridge at Aberystwyth. You will find there dangerous agents of an enemy power. Why do I do this?" He laughed grimly. "I do this because I seek justice."
And, with that, he turned off the 'phone again, before striding out of the buildings into a town that was slowly waking up, unconscious of the world-shattering events that were taking place in it.
Just as it had been that day long ago, when Sparrowhawk had faced the forces of evil by the Tabernacle. Alone.