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As I think back the case had been disturbingly strange from the start.
I didn't even remember when I had been commissioned last.
Or when was the last time I had a dream.
Hello.
Hello.
I didn't hear you come in.
I didn't want to disturb you.
Can I help you?
You are a detective?
What is it you want?
As the bus passed through Tavistock Square,
Hussain detonated the bomb in his backpack.
Below ground, subterranean London was a world of smoke and fear,
twisted metal and bone fragments
a world of darkness, despair and death.
It's just a pulp novel to pass the time.
I read about bombs...
Do you think so?
...about names...
I want you to find him.
Find who?
...precise numbers...
Mike Longshott
The guy who writes this stuff?
Yes.
...things that could never happen in my world.
I thought my only job was to find a writer
who writes about bombs and assassinations,
about a secret war without soldiers.
You don't like girls?
Where's a good place to get a drink around here?
From where I'm standing everywhere is a good place for a drink.
I have to find Papadopoulos.
I haven't seen him.
Did you ever go back with him to his place?
I don't know where he lives.
Longshott, Longshott...
I wish I'd never heard the name.
Who writes the books?
Sells like hot cakes.
Better than ***, even.
I thought what I am reading doesn't affect my world.
I was wrong.
Yes, I read the books. A lot of *** in them.
Why you not give up? You have good life, before.
If you get stuck try looking out for Madame Se...
"BUT WHERE?"
Who is this Mike Longshott?
And who are you,
Osama bin Laden?
Who is the man who writes the books?
You shouldn't be here...
None of us should.