Sally gave Jack a little smack on the arm. ‘Go on,’ she said to Stratton. ‘Get down to the garden. I’ll talk to you later. And take that rabble with yer.’
Stratton headed through the kitchen to a set of double doors that led out on to a balcony overlooking a large back garden surrounded by leylandii. A barbecue was smoking away in a corner where some two dozen adults stood chatting, drinks in their hands, and a dozen children. Stratton picked out Josh. The boy was wearing a set of oversized military- camouflage clothes and leading several of the children in an attack against an enemy position with his plastic M16 assault rifle.
Stratton made his way down a flight of steps to the bottom where a man turning chicken legs on the barbecue saw him. ‘Stratton,’ he called out.
‘Seaton,’ Stratton replied. ‘Long time no see.’
‘Fallujah,’ Seaton reminded him, his accent south-east-coast American. ‘What happened to you? You left right after.’
‘Our job was only to lift Maqari for you guys. Interrogations bore me,’ Stratton said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Well,’ Seaton said, lowering his voice and looking to make sure that no one was within earshot. ‘The job you just came back off – you were working for us. Great footage, by the way. Sorry it wasn’t more exciting for you.’
‘That’s how it goes sometimes.’
‘I’ll make it up to you soon,’ Seaton said.
‘How soon?’
‘Pretty soon, I think.’ Seaton winked.
Stratton didn’t know Seaton very well. He was aware that the man was in CIA operations in the Middle East but was not a field operative like Stratton.
‘I have a present to deliver,’ Stratton said, holding up the gift.
‘We’ll catch up later.’
Stratton headed across the garden, wondering what kind of operation it would be that Seaton had hinted would be ‘pretty soon’. But his thoughts were quickly interrupted. Most of the men greeted him as he passed and when Josh saw him he stopped in mid-battle and sprinted over at full speed.
‘Stratton!’ he shouted as he dived into his god father’s arms. ‘When’d you get back?’
‘This morning.’
‘Where’d you go? Are you allowed to tell?’
‘Only you, Josh.’
Josh looked around at his mates who had come over to join them. ‘Sorry, guys. Stratton can only tell me.’
The others looked downhearted as Josh pulled Stratton away from them. Stratton crouched so that his and Josh’s heads were close together.
The other kids looked on jealously as Josh nodded while Stratton talked. Then the boy’s eyes lit up and he looked at Stratton in disbelief. ‘True?’ he asked. ‘Bloody ’ellfire,’ he exclaimed, a bit of his mother’s northern accent sneaking into his despite the fact that he spent only a few weeks of each year with his grand -parents in Manchester.
‘Promise not to tell anyone,’ Stratton asked.
‘On pain of death,’ Josh said with immense sincerity. Stratton gave him the present and stood up as Jack joined them.
‘Thanks, Stratton,’ Josh said as he crouched to open the gift, quickly surrounded by his mates.
‘What crap did you spin him this time?’ Jack said into Stratton’s ear.
‘I took over a battle from a dying Afghan warlord and led a thousand of his men on a cavalry charge against a band of rogue Taliban insurgents coming over the border from Pakistan.’
‘Christ. He probably thinks his dad’s a complete loser while his godfather goes around winning every war single-handed.’
‘Yup,’ Stratton agreed.
Josh stood up holding the contents of his package. In one hand he held a pakol, a traditional Afghani mujahedin hat, brown and shaped like a large pie, and in the other a Russian Army belt with a black buckle from the Second Armoured Division, a relic of Russia’s Afghan war.
‘What are they?’ Josh asked.
‘The hat’s from a certain Afghan warlord,’ he said, winking. ‘And the belt’s from a Russian soldier he killed in hand-to-hand combat.’
‘Wow!’ Josh exclaimed while his father rolled his eyes and shook his head.
‘Right. We’ve got a new game,’ Josh said, facing his troops with great seriousness. ‘I’m an Afghan warlord and you’re all my men. And we’re going to do a cavalry charge.’ Josh put the hat on, winked at Stratton and then ran away, followed by his obedient soldiers.
Jack sighed as he watched Josh race off. ‘If I told him you were his real dad he’d just shrug and say, “Okay, see ya, let’s go home, Stratton.” ’
‘Stratton?’ a voice called out from behind.
Stratton turned to see Bracken, Smiv and Smudge walking towards him. Smudge was a lanky SBS operative with an unusually large nose not unlike the keel of a yacht, and in his hand was a small green plastic briefcase.
‘I think I’ve got you this time,’ Smudge said.
‘Got me?’
‘Party trick,’ Smudge said, holding up the green briefcase. ‘I brought the fat.’
‘Here?’ Stratton exclaimed. ‘You must be joking.’
‘Joke I do not … Over here,’ Smudge said, heading across the garden.
‘No,’ Stratton said.
‘Just take a look,’ Smudge urged. ‘Come on – I’ve got some money to win back.’
‘Go on, Stratton,’ Bracken said. ‘At least take a look. It’s a good one.’
Stratton looked at Jack who simply shrugged, evidently in on whatever was going on.
Stratton reluctantly followed the group to the far corner of the garden where a small table stood all on its own. In the centre was a small tower of glass made of an empty champagne bottle and a slender champagne flute balanced upright on top of it.
They all stared at it in silence, the others glancing between Stratton and the table as if he knew what this was all about.
‘I don’t get it,’ Stratton finally said.
‘You’ve got to get the glass inside the bottle,’ Smudge revealed.
‘What?’ Stratton asked, unsure whether he had heard correctly.
‘The champagne glass inside the bottle … May I remind you that you were the one who said that the use of explosives was not brutality but a delicate science and that with the right formula and chemistry anything could be achieved.’
‘I never said that.’
‘Something like that,’ Smudge insisted.
‘The universe was started with a big bang,’ Bracken commented. The others ignored him.
‘All you have to do is get the glass into the bottle,’ Smudge repeated. ‘And there has to be a recognisable amount of the bottle left.’
‘The glass inside the bottle,’ Stratton said, unable to stop himself from calculating a solution.
‘One hit only,’ Smudge added, sensing that Stratton might already have a plan.
Stratton looked around at the garden, estimating the dangers. But Smudge was ahead of him.
‘Everyone goes into the house,’ Smudge said. ‘Won’t be more than like a large banger going off.’
Stratton looked at Jack who shrugged his indifference. Then he peered closely at the bottle and flute again. ‘The glass inside the bottle,’ he said.
‘’E ’as a plan, methinks,’ Bracken said, grinning, the comment denting Smudge’s confidence.
‘You can’t touch any of the glass other than with fat,’ Smudge said. ‘One explosion, and the flute has to end up inside the bottle … You owe me a chance to get my money back.’
‘For what?’ Stratton asked.
‘That Sunni cleric in Mosul – what was ’is name?’
‘Mohamed Sah,’ Jack offered.
‘That’s ’im. You had to blow his car off the street and onto the roof of his house.’
‘He did that,’ Jack said.