Stratton and Rowena walked into the cavernous arrivals hall where the operative stopped as if weighed down by indecision.
Rowena gave him his space. They had hardly talked throughout the journey back and had not exchanged a single word about the operation. It was not so much because the subject would be thoroughly hashed-out over the coming days, more a case of unwinding and returning to earth after such a psychologically and physically depleting experience. But there was something else. It was unfinished. There were unanswered questions and the more Stratton thought about them, the more uneasy he had grown.
As Rowena watched him she became concerned for him. She suspected there was a lot more to the plot than she knew and she wanted to help somehow, though she didn’t know how. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.
Stratton felt unsure about confiding in her. He looked at her bruised face and into her tired eyes and decided that she was more of a partner to him in this business than anyone else had been. She had been a reluctant member of Jason’s team, had been betrayed by him and Binning and had shown great courage and fortitude when most needed. ‘One thing has been bothering me since I’ve had time to think about all that’s happened. But I’m not sure how to go about solving it.’
Rowena stepped closer to him, curious to know, hoping she could help.
‘I don’t believe that Jason and Binning accomplished all they did on their own.’
‘They didn’t. They had the help of powerful Russian officials and wealthy businessmen.’
‘I mean they must’ve had serious assistance from heavy players on our side too. Getting onto the platform, for instance. And Jason going to Russia with me. He said he didn’t believe in luck, that everything he did was meticulously planned. Yet he had no control over some of the most important leaps in the series of events.’
‘That would mean someone pretty high up?’
‘Someone with direct influence on the operation. There’s only one person it could be.’ Stratton walked over to a public phone.
He picked up the receiver and dialled a number. It was the SBS HQ operator’s freephone number. ‘This is John Stratton. Put me through to Mike Manning.’
Stratton looked at Rowena as she came up to him, her hands in the pockets of the cheap coat with its matted synthetic fur-lined collar.
‘Mike? Stratton. No time right now. I need something. It’s important. I want to know where Jervis is. Sumners’ll tell you if you make it sound operationally important. I’ll wait for your call back . . . You have the number? Roger that.’
Stratton put the phone down.
‘What are you going to do?’ Rowena asked again.
‘I’m going to find Jervis and ask him.’
‘Just like that?’
He shrugged. ‘Unless you have another suggestion?’
‘You have a very direct style, don’t you?’
‘I need answers. All I can think of is to ask the person who I think has them.’
A man walked over to the phone kiosk and reached for the receiver. Stratton put his hand on it. ‘There’s another one over there,’ he said.
‘I’d like to use this one,’ the man said. He was bigger than Stratton and looked as though he could handle himself.
‘Are you deaf?’ Rowena asked him from behind. ‘Go and use that phone over there before I put your head through it.’
The man looked at the pair of them, taking in their bruised complexions. But it was their stone-cold, unblinking eyes that gave him pause for thought. ‘Okay,’ he said, stepping back and turning away.
The phone rang and Stratton quickly picked it up. ‘Yes . . . Thanks. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He put the phone back down and looked at Rowena. ‘He’s in the City, having dinner.’
‘Can I come with you?’
Stratton considered the request. ‘Why not?’ He put his hand in his pocket and took out the money that the embassy aide had given him. ‘Let’s grab a cab.’
They headed across the hall and into the cold night air.
The taxi pulled to a halt in St James’s Place, just up the road from The Mall. Stratton and Rowena climbed out. The well-lit street was empty of life. They walked along a short cul-de-sac and up the flight of steps to the entrance of Duke’s Hotel.
The compact, well-appointed lobby had an empty reception desk in one corner. Stratton heard laughter nearby and walked through a narrow opening that offered a choice of directions to either the cocktail bar or several rooms.
Voices came from the bar. Stratton moved to the door and eased it open. It was a small, tastefully furnished, cramped room with a handful of little tables and a small yet grand bar. The bartender wore a white jacket and a bow tie. Two tables had been pushed together by a window with its curtains drawn. Seated around them were the bar’s only customers. Stratton recognised all four of the men.
Rowena moved to his side. ‘You see a lion’s den, you just walk right into it.’
Sumners was the first to see Stratton, his weasel-like, self-preserving and unsmiling eyes staring at him. The others caught on to their colleague’s distraction. Nevins, Jackson and Jervis all looked round to see who it was. Jackson appeared to be the only one surprised to see the two of them.
‘Ah. The adventurers return,’ Jervis said. ‘Come on in and join us. ’Ave a glass of claret. I think you’ve earned one.’ Jervis always lost control of his fake posh accent after a few drinks, his true South London mongrel quality shining through.
Stratton stood in front of the group.
Rowena eyed Nevins as he pulled on a cigarette. ‘Do you mind if I have of those? Russian cigarettes give me heartburn.’
‘Help yourself, my dear,’ Nevins said, offering her a packet as well as his lighter. ‘We’ve classified the bar as a private room for the evening.’
She lit one up and sat down at the next table.
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,’ Jervis said. ‘You must’ve just stepped off the plane.’ Jervis noted Stratton’s dark expression and the way he looked at him. ‘Something on your mind, old boy?’
Stratton wasn’t sure where to start, despite having thought it through while in the taxi. ‘A couple of things.’
‘Why don’t I tell you what they are, and you tell me if I’m right?’ Jervis offered.
Stratton was always wary of Jervis. He was one of those completely unapproachable individuals, habitually deceptive and secluded. It was the strategy of his rank and position but also embedded in his character. Stratton could not imagine him having a single close friend and wondered if he had a wife and children. There was no evidence to suggest that he could possibly get close to anyone. And Stratton could not see Jervis sharing a single idea with anyone unless he expected to get something in return.
Stratton nodded.
‘Why did I let Jason and his mob continue to the platform when I could have ordered the helicopter to land? That’s one, isn’t it?’
Stratton nodded again.
‘And why did I let ’im go to Russia with you when he was as bent as Binning?’
‘You knew?’ Stratton asked, unsure whether to believe him or not.
‘Not exactly,’ Jervis admitted. ‘That’s why we ’ad to flush ’im. To tell you the truth, I quite liked the idea of MI16 having an operational licence. You thick bastards are all right when it comes to breakin’ down walls with your ’eads. But those boys ’ad brains as well as muscle . . . Problem is, they also ’ad too much ambition.’
‘You risked the decoder.’
‘Everything we do’s a risk, laddie. You should know that much by now. It’s all about values and exchanges. The tile was not the complete item and I was confident we’d get Binning. It had to be the real thing or they would’ve rumbled the game. That’s where Jackson came in.’