White waited for the prison warder to retreat from earshot before he spoke. "This is a letter detailing the termination of your contract with T14, please read it very carefully."
Peterson's eyes ran down the page like greyhounds out of a trap.
"This is a dishonourable discharge," he said when he'd finished.
"Yes, it is," said White, smiling thinly. "You will remain subject to the Official Secrets Act and T14's own code of conduct until your dying day. You will say, publish, upload, divulge, talk in your sleep not one word about anything you've done, seen or heard over the last ten years, including Libby Stevens."
"You mean..."
"Yes, all charges are dropped, you will not be tried for murder. If you sign that letter you will be released tomorrow and your pension reinstated. I do not want to ever see or hear from or of you again. You will not come near headquarters or any of my agents, is that understood?"
Peterson nodded pathetically.
"But, this letter. I won't be able to get another job."
"You're sixty and independently wealthy, you don't need one."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Go home and spend time with your wife and children," said White. He paused to enjoy the look of misery and defeat on his ex-deputies' face, then turned away.
The following day Peterson left prison and made his way home.
Half way there he stopped the taxi and got out.
He booked into a cheap hotel and installed himself in the bar. He rather thought he might stay there and drink until he couldn't remember where he lived.