‘No. Any fallout?’ Stratton asked.
Sumners sat back and exhaled deeply as he thought the summary through. Talking operations was his favourite pastime and he could do it with anyone, even Stratton. ‘The Russians have been put under immense pressure from Downing Street to reveal the whereabouts of their sabotage hides in Britain. Washington has been doing the same regarding the hides in the US. The Russians have unsurprisingly refused to give the locations but then came back with a promise to remove the dangerous contents, a damned stupid suggestion that has created an enormous furore. How on earth they expected anyone to agree that they be allowed to transport nuclear and biological weapons across sovereign states without the assistance or even knowledge of the home government, I don’t know. Anyway, that’s where we’re at at the moment, but Russia is in an untenable position and will have to concede something, and soon. Interestingly, Israel has also brought some pressure to bear on the subject. Question is, how did they know about the nuclear device?’ Sumners stared at Stratton, watching for his response to the last comment, which was the subject of his greater interest.
Stratton glanced over his shoulder at Sumners, giving nothing away. ‘Smart cookies, those Israelis,’ he said. Stratton had handed over the plutonium to Chalmers who met him at the trauma unit of Jerusalem’s Ein Karem Hadassah hospital on his arrival, leaving no real evidence among the debris that followed the explosion in the old city. It was possible their forensic experts could have put something together that might have suggested it was a nuclear device, but without the plutonium it was a tough one to prove. Stratton had no guilt about bartering Abed’s safety with a clue about the seriousness of the event the young Palestinian had helped avoid. It was only fair. Besides, he could not see what harm there was in Israel supporting the removal of Russian nuclear bombs from secret arsenals around the world. Sumners would no doubt have a good reason against it, but Stratton did not care to hear it.
‘What happened to Abed?’ Stratton asked, steering the conversation away from the nuclear device.
It made Sumners even more suspicious that Stratton had something to do with the Israeli interference. If he could find out how, he could close the door on Stratton in an instant, but short of the man admitting it himself, it was unlikely Sumners could prove such a thing. Manachem Raz sure as hell would not be of any help. Sumners decided to table it for now but he would never forget.
‘We brought the Palestinian back here where he co-operated in a detailed debrief of the tanker operation. Because of that, and the assistance he gave you in locating Zhilev, he was placed in a protection programme. He’s currently living in Glasgow under a new name and working as a bartender with class-one restrictions.’
A class-one restriction meant Abed could not change accommodation or employment without permission, or travel more than twenty-five miles from his address. Reading between the lines, Stratton assumed they were not finished with Abed yet and that he was still employable. Stratton got the feeling, during their short time together, that Abed wanted to be free from it all. The young man had a long way to go before that would be the case, if he ever made it at all. But it was out of Stratton’s hands. He could do nothing more for the man and he put him out of his thoughts.
‘Good . . . Well,’ Stratton said, bringing his visit to a close as he stepped from the window to the door. ‘I’m gonna head out. I lost most of the cash advance. Don’t know if it was in the blast, the hospital, or the hotel.’
‘Under the circumstances I’m sure it will be overlooked, ’ Sumners said. He was being deliberately charitable in case Stratton should make the leap he hoped was coming.
Stratton nodded and opened the door. ‘See ya,’ he said as he started to head out, but it was not enough for Sumners. He wanted to know what Stratton wanted to do about his MI career.
‘Stratton?’
Stratton stopped in the open doorway and looked back at Sumners.
Sumners decided to push it. He did not have the patience, nor did he want to spend any time wondering. One way or the other. ‘What about your ID?’ he asked, jutting his chin at the MI6 badge on his desk, Stratton’s picture looking up at him.
It was obvious to Stratton Sumners wanted him to quit the game. It was oozing from the man. The truth was Stratton still did not know. He could not make his mind up, or, more to the truth, find the strength to walk away from something he knew deep down was not the ideal life for him. For the past year or so, it had all been about him waiting for the phone to ring, wondering if they wanted him back, if he was still good enough. Now it was the reverse. Sumners could no longer ignore him. Stratton was, for the time being at least, top of the pile. He had saved Jerusalem, and, perhaps more importantly, averted what could have been a catastrophic conflict between East and West. Sumners no longer had the power to remove him from the agent list.
Stratton stared at the ID. Quitting at this level was permanent. No one walked in and out of MI6 of their own volition. If you volunteered to say goodbye it was pretty much written in stone. Stratton could feel Sumners willing him to close the door and walk away without a word, which, finally, was perhaps why he did not.
Stratton walked over to the desk, picked up the ID and put it in his pocket. ‘Thanks,’ he said, rubbing salt into Sumners’ anxiety, the thanks a suggestion that Sumners had invited Stratton to pick it up. Sumners could only stare at him.
Stratton walked out the door, closed it behind him and headed down the corridor towards the elevators. He could quit next week, but for now he was staying in the game.
The Hostage
DUNCAN FALCONER
When an undercover operation monitoring the Real IRA goes horrifically wrong, British Intelligence turn to the one man who can get their agent out: Stratton, SBS operative with a lethal reputation. It’s a dangerous race against time: if the Real IRA get to the Republic before Stratton gets to the Real IRA, his colleague is as good as dead.
But the battle in the Northern Ireland borders is just the beginning. For there can only be one way the Real IRA knew about the British agent: someone within MI5 is tipping them off. Then the surveillance mission in Paris to identify the mole ends in disaster: Hank Munro, US Navy SEAL on secondment, is captured.
Munro’s wife Kathryn is distraught, and turns to priest Father Kinsella for support. Kinsella, though, is not the holy man he seems, and Kathryn becomes an unwitting part of a deadly Real IRA plan, a terror attack the likes of which London has never seen . . .
First Into Action
DUNCAN FALCONER
They are the most elite and mysterious special forces unit in the world - but they are not the SAS.
The Special Boat Service is a small, clandestine and highly professional unit whose team-based ethos and exemplary combat record has created an intense rivalry with the SAS. At the age of nineteen, Duncan Falconer was the youngest man in recent years to join the unit and rose quickly to become one of its most skilled undercover operatives.
Through his own extraordinary experiences, Falconer recalls his leading role in SBS operations in Northern Ireland, the Falklands and the Gulf. He recounts the missions that have contributed to the unit’s astounding success in the fight against terrorism and drug-smuggling, and charts the long-standing power struggle between the SBS and the SAS.
A fascinating insight into the secret world of the special forces, First Into Action is the Bravo Two Zero for the SBS.
The Hijack Page 38