"Have you ever done it?" he asked.
"Gone undercover?"
Hathaway nodded.
"Several times, but never long term. A few months at most."
"What's it like?"
"It means living a lie. It means developing a second personality that has to become more real than your own. Everything you say and do has to be filtered through the person you're pretending to be. It means never being able to relax, never being able to let your guard down."
"That's what I thought."
"But you'll be in a slightly different position. When I was working undercover, I was pretending to be a villain. You'll be the real thing."
Cliff Warren stood up and walked through to his kitchen.
"Do you want a beer?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Thanks," said Hathaway.
Warren opened his fridge door and took out two bottles of Sol. They clinked bottles and Warren sat down again.
"What happens if I get arrested?" he asked.
"It's up to you, but once you've revealed to anybody that you're undercover, you're of no further use."
"But if I get pulled in on drugs charges, I could be facing a long prison sentence."
Hathaway nodded.
"You could indeed." He drank from the bottle but his eyes never left Warren's face.
"So what do I do?"
"You could go through the system and serve your time. If that's what you were prepared to do. It would do wonders for your cover, Cliff."
Warren sat stunned as the ramifications of what Hathaway was proposing sank in.
"You'd expect me to serve time?"
"It'd be your call, Cliff. No one would force you. At any point you can ask to be pulled out." Hathaway reached over to his jacket and took out a brown leather wallet. From it he removed a pristine white business card which he handed to Warren. Printed in the middle was a single London telephone number.
"You can call this number at any time of the day and night. You'll either speak to me direct, or you'll speak to someone who will immediately transfer you to me, no matter where in the world I am. No matter what trouble you're in, we'll have you out of it within minutes."
Warren ran the card between his fingers.
"It's a get-out-of-jail-free card," he said quietly.
"Sort of," said Hathaway, 'but it can only be used once. The moment you reveal you're undercover, it's over. There's no having a quiet word with the investigating officers, no smoothing things over behind closed doors. You're either in or you're out." He pointed at the card.
"Memorise the number. Then destroy the card."
He turned around the laptop so that Warren could see the screen.
"The same goes for what I'm going to show you on the computer. You're going to have to memo rise the procedures and passwords. You must never write anything down."
Tina watched as Hathaway tapped away at the keyboard.
"So I'll be e-mailing you reports, is that it?" she asked.
"It's the safest way," he said.
"No meeting that can be watched, no phone conversations that can be tapped. You just find yourself an internet cafe and Robert's your mother's brother."
"My mother didn't have a brother, but I get your drift." She pointed at the laptop, a grey Toshiba.
"Do I get to use this?"
Hathaway shook his head.
"Absolutely not," he said.
"Under no circumstances must you ever use your own machine. Everything you do will be stored somewhere on your hard disc. Someone who knows what they're doing will be able to find it. I'll use this to show you what to do, but once you're up and running you should use public machines. There are internet cafes all over the place these days."
He sat back from the laptop. On screen was a web page and he tapped it with his forefinger.
"This is Safe Web," he said.
"It's a state-of-the-art privacy site. You can use it to move around the web without being traced. No one knows who you are or what you're doing. That goes for sites you visit or any e-mail you send or receive. It's so secure that the CIA use it."
"Okay," said Tina hesitantly, 'but does that mean you think someone will be watching me?"
"If you get close to Donovan, or to any of his associates, there'll be all sorts of agencies crawling over you, Tina. The Drugs Squad, Customs and Excise, Europol, the DEA, law enforcement agencies right across the world will put you under the microscope. And every one of them will have the capacity to open your mail, listen in on your phone calls and intercept your e-mail. If any one of them were to discover that you were an undercover agent, your life would be on the line."
"Even though they're the good guys?"
"Someone at Donovan's level can't operate without help from the inside."
"Bent cops?"
"Bent cops, bent DEA agents, bent politicians," said Hathaway.
"There is so much money involved in the drugs trade that they can buy almost anyone. Everyone has their price, Tina. And Donovan has the money to meet it."
Tina tilted her head on one side.
"What about you, Gregg? What's your price?"
Hathaway flashed her a tight smile.
"I prefer to be on the side of law and order."
"White hat and sheriffs badge?"
"I don't do this for the money, Tina."
"You're on some sort of crusade, are you?"
"My motivation isn't the issue." He turned the laptop towards her.
"Once you've logged on to Safe Web, type in this URL." His fingers played across the keyboard. The new web page loaded then the screen turned pale blue.
She looked at the graphics and wording on the screen. It appeared to be an online store selling toiletries. There was a "Feedback' section where e-mails could be sent to the company.
"That's where I send my stuff?" she asked.
"That's it. But first you have to log on. For that you'll need a password. Something you'll never forget so that you won't have to write it down. It can be a number, or a word. Anything up to eight characters."
Tina gave him a password and watched as he tapped it in. His fingernails were bitten to the quick and there were nicotine stains on the first and second fingers of his right hand. He was a smoker, yet he'd turned down her offer of a cigarette when he'd first arrived at her flat. She wondered how much she should read into the nicotine stains and the bitten nails.
"Sure you don't want a cigarette?" she asked, offering her pack.
He shook his head, his eyes still on the screen.
"Gave up, six weeks ago."
"Wish I could."
"Anyone can. Just a matter of willpower."
Tina blew smoke but was careful to keep it away from Hathaway.
"Is that when you started biting your nails?"
Hathaway flashed her a sideways look.
"Not much gets by you, does it, Tina?" He gestured at the screen.
"Right, this is you logged on. If there's a message for you, there'll be an envelope signal here. If you want to send me a message, you click here." Hathaway clicked on a letter icon.
"Then it's just like any word processing or e-mail programme. When you've finished, click on "send" and you're done. If you want to attach any photographs or documents, use the paper-clip icon here."
"What sort of photographs?"
"Anything you think might be of use to us."
"And am I supposed to be in contact with you every day?"
Hathaway ran his hand down his face and rubbed his chin.
"I'd advise against that. Once a week would be enough, but you want to avoid making it a routine. If you sit down at a computer every Saturday morning, it's going to be noticed. Vary it."
"What if you need to get in touch with me? Say there's a problem and you need to warn me."
"That's not going to happen. We're not going to be watching you, Tina. You will be one hundred per cent on your own. From time to time I might need to brief you on operations, perhaps point you in the direction of possible targets, but I won't be expecting instant results. Weekly contact will be fine."