The Operative

by Falconer, Duncan

  Stratton placed his pack on the floor and went to the living-room windows that flanked the room’s corner. The city was brightly lit and there was a view of the beach and the Santa Monica pier that had a large Ferris wheel on it set among funfair buildings decked in coloured lights. The cliffs melted away a short distance past the pier and the brightly lit Ocean Avenue continued south, separated from the beach by what appeared to be a row of expensive hotels. The view east, which could not be described as spectacu -lar, was of the city itself, stretching as far as the eye could see.

  Stratton went into the bedroom which was basic but adequate, as was the bathroom. It would do fine but he was already looking forward to leaving and going home.

  He suddenly felt tired and checked his watch. It was almost four in the morning back home but experi ence had taught him to stay awake until at least past ten p.m. local time to help adjust to the time difference. The plan for the rest of the day was to find a cash machine, get some more dollars, then grab a bite to eat. He would follow that with a walk around the neighbour-hood to familiarise himself with it. The following day all his efforts would be focused on Josh and what he would have to do to get the boy back to England.

  Stratton’s thoughts drifted back to poor Sally and his heart was suddenly filled with sadness. The only family in the entire world that he had been close to – and it had been shredded in the space of a couple of weeks. Getting Sally’s body back to the UK was another issue that he would have to deal with. He suddenly felt overwhelmed. Although he’d planned a variety of special forces operations around the world during the past decade or more he’d never had to do anything like this. Its smooth running would depend on the cooperation of the authorities, though he had no doubts that the bureaucratic obstacles would be a pain. Kidnapping Josh and getting out of the country undercover would have been easier and more in line with his expertise. But that would mean leaving Sally’s body here and it was out of the question for a number of other reasons too.

  Stratton went to the apartment’s entrance and stepped out into the corridor. He closed the door behind him and walked to the fire escape. The stairs led down to a door that opened from the inside only and led out onto Ocean Avenue, which was busy with pedestrian and vehicle traffic. He walked north to the corner and turned along Santa Monica Boulevard. It was lined with shops and restaurants and was bustling with the sort of night-time activity that one would expect in a popular tourist town.

  7

  At nine a.m. the following day Stratton walked through the gate of the child-protection centre and along the path to the front doors. A black armed security guard wearing a crisply ironed shirt, slacks, a large badge on his chest and a baseball cap sat beside the entrance on a white plastic deckchair.

  ‘Mornin’, sir,’ he said as Stratton passed him.

  ‘Hi,’ Stratton replied as he pushed in through the doors.

  Two little Hispanic children sprinted past Stratton, causing him to pull up sharply as the door closed behind him.

  ‘Come on, you two,’ a woman in a nurse’s uniform said as she hurried into the lobby and shooed the kids into a corner where she took hold of their hands. ‘No playing in the corridors,’ she said good-naturedly. ‘Back we go to the playroom.’ And with that she led them away.

  Stratton crossed the narrow lobby to a reception desk and watched the nurse take the children along a corridor and in through a doorway.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked the lady at reception. It was Dorothy from the night before and she grinned on recognising Stratton. ‘Oh, it’s you. Did you have a nice time last night?’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ Stratton said, aware that Dorothy was still under the impression that he had some kind of relationship with the social worker. ‘Is Vicky in?’

  ‘Yes. I think she’s busy – but then, hell, she’s always busy. I’ll give her a call,’ Dorothy said, reaching for the phone.

  ‘I’m actually here to see a young boy who came in last night. Josh Penton.’

  ‘You have a kid in here?’ Dorothy asked, looking surprised.

  ‘I’m a friend of the family. I stopped by to see him.’

  ‘And Vicky knows all about this, right?’

  ‘She knows I’m coming to see him this morning.’

  ‘Em … Okay, I guess,’ Dorothy said looking a little confused. ‘Maybe I should give her a ring.’

  ‘I’m only here to say hello. Is he in the playroom?’ Stratton asked, indicating down the corridor.

  ‘Nice try, Mister … Stratton, is it?’ Vicky was standing in the doorway of an office near the entrance.

  Dorothy looked even more confused. ‘I thought—’

  ‘It’s okay, Dorothy. Would you come into my office, please?’ Vicky asked Stratton coolly.

  He walked past her into the office. Vicky went to her desk, leaving the door open. Stratton waited for the ticking-off that he was expecting but there was no sign of anger in her expression. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  ‘I’m sorry about what happened to Josh’s mother. I didn’t find out until I got in this morning … I understand your concern for Josh and I’m here to help in every possible way, but can I ask you to please respect the way we do things around here. There’s a reason why they call this place a child-protection centre and why we have an armed guard at the entrance. Many of the children in here have been forcibly removed from their families, some of them for quite horrific reasons. It’s not unheard of for some of those families to ignore the court’s decisions and try and kidnap the children. Two weeks ago a woman came in here with a gun to get her daughter back, a little girl who for the past year she’d kept locked in a cupboard without any hygiene facilities and with barely enough food to live on. That,’ Vicky said, pointing at the wall behind her where a neat hole was ringed by a marker, ‘was where she fired her gun when I told her she couldn’t have her daughter. Then, mercifully, she was overpowered by the guard … This place is all about the children and not their families or guardians. Do you understand, Mister Stratton?’ Her statement sounded as much an appeal as a lecture.

  ‘I understand,’ Stratton said, genuinely humbled.

  ‘Where’s Josh’s father?’

  ‘He died a week ago.’

  ‘Oh,’ Vicky said, lowering her head as if receiving bad news about a friend. She was used to dealing with cases where children had been exposed to dreadful experiences but even after so many years she was still unable to put the painful details to one side quickly enough.

  Vicky took a form from a drawer and placed it on the desk in front of Stratton. ‘Would you fill in this questionnaire, please? The first section is about Josh and the second section is for you. Fill it in as accur ately as possible. Any details found to be deliberately incorrect will negate any chances you have of gaining custody of the child.’

  ‘Miss Whitaker – a word, please,’ a man’s voice interrupted rudely behind Stratton.

  Stratton looked around to see a skinny, balding, bespectacled man in the doorway. He was clutching several files.

  ‘I’ll be one minute, Mister Myers.’

  ‘I need to speak to you right away,’ Myers insisted.

  ‘I said I’d be a minute – if you don’t mind, Mister Myers,’ she said firmly.

  Myers frowned, stepped back into the lobby and started neurotically flicking through a file.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Vicky said to Stratton as she headed for the door. ‘Some people just don’t know the meaning of manners.’

  Stratton took a pen off the desk and started filling in the form. It took several minutes to complete the pages that requested detailed information – he had to get several of the numbers and addresses from the small Filofax he carried in his breast pocket. When he had finished the form he left it on the desk and stood in the doorway to see Vicky still in conversation with Myers who looked as though he was telling her off about something. He seemed like an irritating little man and when he walked away Vicky folded her arms and looked at the floor in
agitated thought for a moment.

  Stratton walked over to her, deciding that he would be nothing short of cooperative and friendly, especially since the young woman appeared to get flack from all directions. Her kindness and compassion for her wards were apparent and he reckoned that she could be a useful ally if he got on the right side of her. ‘He your boss?’ he asked.

  She looked up at him. ‘Head administrator – thinks he owns the centre. Technically he’s my superior but I run the childcare. He holds the purse strings but in fairness to him I have to admit that job requires a certain level of coldness. As he’s always pointing out, if I ran this place it’d be bankrupt in a month.’

  ‘Miss Vicky, Miss Vicky,’ a small boy called out as he headed towards her, holding a model helicopter.

  ‘George. You’re not supposed to be out here,’ she said without a hint of scolding.

  ‘I know,’ George said. ‘But my helicopter’s not working and Mister Myers said he didn’t have time to handle someone else’s goddamned case load and—’

  ‘Okay,’ Vicky interrupted. ‘Go back to the playroom and I’ll come by later and see if we can fix it.’

  George’s expression fell with immediate unhappiness at all the rejection he seemed to be receiving. ‘Okay,’ he said, kicking the floor and turning to go.

  ‘Can I take a look at it?’ Stratton offered.

  George stopped and looked up at him suspiciously.

  ‘Do you know what kind of helicopter it is?’ Stratton asked.

  ‘It’s a Hip M1-8,’ George said. ‘It says so there,’ he said, showing Stratton the bottom of it. ‘Soldiers can get in the back that opens,’ he explained as he demonstrated the unusual rear-entry doors that were hinged like crab claws.

  ‘Do you know where it’s from?’ Stratton asked, crouching so his head was at the same level as the boy’s.

  ‘It’s American.’

  ‘Nope. It’s Russian.’

  ‘Russian?’ George asked, surprised. ‘How’d you know that?’

  ‘Because I can fly one.’

  ‘You can fly one of those?’ George exclaimed, immeasurably impressed. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Well, I’m not really a pilot and I wouldn’t like to try taking it off and landing it by myself, but I can do all this kind of stuff,’ Stratton said, holding George’s hand around the helicopter and banking it left and right and then into a dive, adding sound effects where appropriate.

  ‘Wow,’ George repeated as his imagination took over.

  ‘Let’s see what’s wrong with it,’ Stratton said, holding out his hand.

  George gave him the helicopter. ‘The rotors are supposed to turn,’ he said. ‘I got new batteries for it but it still don’t work.’

  Stratton opened the battery housing and inspected the termin -als. They were dirty. He reached around his back and produced a small folding tool-set from its pouch, selected a small blade, and scraped the terminals carefully. He replaced the batteries, closed the housing, and turned a switch on. A light immediately flickered on the tail and the main rotor started to turn. He handed the model back to George who took it gratefully.

  ‘Thanks, mister,’ he said. Then he turned on his heel and flew the helicopter, complete with sound effects, back along the corridor and in through a set of double doors.

  Stratton stood up, smiling as he watched George go.

  Vicky had watched him throughout and when he looked at her she realised that she was staring at him and looked away. ‘You completed the form?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s on your desk.’

  She nodded. ‘What happens now is I submit it to administration and then Mister Myers will decide if you can see Josh.’

  Stratton put his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor in disappointment, biting his lip. ‘Okay,’ he said.

  ‘However,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘I’m going to break the rules and let you see him now.’

  Stratton looked up at her.

  ‘A reward for fixing George’s helicopter. I’m a soft touch, Mister Stratton, but don’t push it.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Follow me,’ she said, leading off down the corridor past Dorothy behind her desk. The receptionist gave him a wink.

  Stratton followed Vicky to the double doors which she pushed open. They went inside.

  At least two dozen young children were spread around the large room. Some were seated around a staff member who was reading a book to them while others were drawing or just playing with the numerous toys that covered the floor. Every wall was plastered with some kind of childish drawing or painting.

  Stratton spotted Josh immediately. The boy was sitting by himself across the room, his head down. He looked dejected.

  ‘He’s been like that since he got here,’ Vicky said. ‘It’s too early to try and get him involved in any activi ties. We don’t leave him alone for too long at a time – he’s had a very traumatic experience. He’ll visit a child therapist this afternoon who’ll decide how best to care for him.’

  Stratton left her, walked across the room to the boy and crouched down beside him. ‘Josh?’

  Josh looked up, sprang to his feet and dived into Stratton’s arms. In one of his hands was the little carved camel.

  Vicky was touched by the reunion and watched as Josh kept an iron grip on Stratton, nuzzling into his godfather’s neck.

  A nurse stepped into the room behind Vicky and saw Stratton with Josh. ‘That his father? Poor kid.’

  ‘Let him stay as long as he wants,’ Vicky said. ‘If Myers asks about him send him to me.’

  Vicky left the room.

  An hour later Stratton appeared in her office doorway. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  She looked up at him and smiled.

  ‘What now?’ Stratton asked.

  Vicky’s smile faded. ‘There are several scenarios,’ she said, sounding as if some of them were not going to be welcome to Stratton. ‘I should warn you that these things can take time. Because of the number of children we get rolling into these centres we like to get them placed outside as soon as possible.’

  ‘You talking about a foster home?’

  ‘That’s the general routine here. It may take a while to get you cleared as a legal guardian. They’re going to have to check your records back in England, make sure you are who you say you are, and that you have no criminal record. I don’t know how long the bureaucratic snail takes in the UK but if it’s anything like ours … I’m being straight with you because I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I can only promise you that I will expedite my side of things but I don’t have much to do with the administrative process. Josh has grandparents,’ said Vicky, glancing at his form.

  ‘I talked to them this morning. They’re getting on a bit. The old girl would find the trip hard. I told them I’d take care of things. They trust me. When can I see Josh again?’

  ‘I get the feeling I can trust you too. Can I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ll work something out … Do you have a number I can call?’

  Stratton took out his phone, hit a key and placed it in front of her. She scribbled the number down on a pad.

  ‘That a UK number?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Maybe you should check in with me. Our budget doesn’t stretch to international calls.’ She handed him a card. ‘Call me tomorrow.’

  Stratton nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  Vicky was suddenly filled with sympathy for him. He was in a strange town, knowing no one and uncertain how long he was going to have to go through all this. A little boy he clearly loved was in terrible emotional pain and Stratton was unable to help the child as soon as he’d like. But her heart was already pretty much filled with the woes of so many other children: she warned herself that there was little room there for a grown-up who could look after himself.

  Stratton walked away. A second later Vicky heard the front door close. She looked through a gap in the window blinds and watched as he walked out
through the gate and away down the street. Then she sat back for a moment, dismissed him from her thoughts, and got back to her pile of work.

  8

  Twenty minutes after Stratton arrived at the Santa Monica Police Department, Sergeant Draper elected to grace him with his presence. The policeman was wearing the same suit as he had the day before.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Draper asked, his tone uncaring.

  ‘Fine,’ Stratton replied, remaining polite despite his annoyance with the man. On the drive over he had considered calling his boss back in Poole to see what could be done at that end to move things along. But he doubted that such a move would be effective at this early stage. The British Consulate in LA would be worth a visit and he could probably engineer a useful introduction there by using his contacts in military intelligence. That would be his next move, he decided, as soon as he had gathered a little more information to provide a baseline of knowledge to work from.

  ‘You shoulda called me, like I said, before you came down here. You’d’ve saved yourself a trip. I don’t have any more to tell you than I did yesterday.’

  ‘You don’t have a single thread of information?’ Stratton asked, unable to hide completely the contempt that he was beginning to feel for the man.

  ‘Like I said, it was gang-bangers. They ain’t exactly gonna hand themselves over. We have people who work the streets but it’s gonna take time for word to get back to us. We may eventually get a name we can start on, a witness if we’re lucky. People in that neighbour-hood are always wanting to make deals with us for one thing or another.’

  ‘That’s it? That’s how you work?’

  ‘That’s how it works, pal,’ Draper said, not liking Stratton’s tone.

  Stratton couldn’t guess at the number of unsolved crimes in LA but he imagined it must be high. ‘Can you tell me where it happened, at least?’

  ‘Venice. In back of Gold’s Gym. That area is getting cleaned up, big money moving to the beach, but there’s still a lot of lowlifes there. Hey, twenty years ago even we wouldn’t go in there at night. Sorry, pal. Check in before you come down, okay? Save us both a hassle.’