A flapping sound. He looked through the window in time to see the pheasant bowl in over the snow-coated hedge. Stratton quietly opened the back door and threw out some bread. The bird see-sawed over to the crust and took a peck at it just as Stratton’s phone rang. The pheasant took flight.
Stratton sighed as he looked at the phone. ‘Some things are just not meant to be,’ he muttered and put it to his ear. ‘This is Stratton on his day off. How can I help?’
‘It’s Mike.’
‘Morning, Mike,’ the operative said. The kettle boiled and clicked off.
‘I need you to come in.’
Stratton sensed the urgency in his voice. ‘Is this an unplug-your-crockpot-and-come-in call?’
‘No. You can leave it plugged in this time.’
‘It’s not urgent, then?’
‘We need to have a conversation. But not over the phone.’
Stratton poured boiling water into a mug. ‘Okay. I’ll see you in a bit.’
The phone went dead. Stratton dumped his tea bag in the bin, added some milk to the mug and took a sip, wondering what it could be about.
When Mike saw Stratton in the doorway of his office an hour later his expression matched his earlier tone. ‘Come in and close the door.’
The sergeant major took a moment to decide how to introduce the subject. He would have been utterly direct with just about anyone else. But Stratton was not only an old friend, he was a thoroughbred in the business and although not a prima donna he demanded a level of respect. ‘The op in Sevastopol . . . when you dumped the recorder, did you see if it self-destructed?’
‘Is that a joke?’ Stratton asked. He already had an idea where the conversation was going.
‘The Russians found it, apparently. The self-destruct device didn’t work.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Stratton said. ‘Anything else?’ He went cold. It was obvious the blame-shifting had begun.
‘Yes,’ Mike answered. This would be even more difficult. ‘The memory card was blank.’
Stratton stared at the man. All the effort and his own near-death experience had been for nothing. London must be going mental.
‘The boffins at MI16 are saying that the device was in perfect working condition when you received it and that it failed to record or self-destruct because you didn’t turn it on properly.’
Stratton’s hackles rose and he leaned forward, his dark green eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t give a monkey’s backside what those pricks say. My post-operational report gives specific details of every step I took. I turned it on. I armed it. I used it. I removed the memory card.’
‘No one’s suggesting that you’re lying.’
‘No. Just that I’m a wanker.’
‘Come on, John.’
‘Then why am I here?’
‘Your report does reveal that you didn’t follow every step precisely.’
‘How’s that?’
‘You didn’t check to see if the device had remained armed after you removed the card.’
‘What?’
‘I said—’
‘I heard what you said. I want to know where it’s coming from.’
‘The recorder’s instructions clearly state that when the card—’
‘Those instructions were written by someone who’s never done anything except sit behind a bloody desk. If it needed double-checking in the middle of a scrap it shouldn’t have been used in the field.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Mike said, holding up his hands. ‘Don’t have a go at me. I just want you to know what’s being said, that’s all.’
‘By those tossers in Sixteen?’
‘No. Not just by them . . . Perhaps someone is trying to discredit us.’
Stratton sat back, his mood still simmering.
‘Everything’s becoming specialised these days. There seems to be a new unit springing up for every type of task. Look how the surveillance roles have changed. Us and the lads in Hereford used to do it all outside London. Now that’s been compartmentalised and we hardly get a look-in. SRR does it all. Maybe we’re getting squeezed out of other specialised roles.’
‘Mike, I don’t give a toss. But I do when I’m blamed for screwing up when I didn’t . . . What has London said?’
‘Nothing yet. Calm before the storm, probably. The Russians probably think we completed the mission since they found the recorder without the memory card. I don’t know if that makes it easier to go back in again or not.’
‘I’m not doing that.’
‘I think that’s the point. They won’t ask again.’
Stratton felt psychologically wounded. He would have liked them to ask him to go back in again, which would have proved their confidence in him. He would have refused happily.
‘There’s something else that’s going to piss you off, I’m afraid. You’re to spend a day at MI16.’
Stratton eyed him, his look asking the obvious question.
‘Let’s call it a bit of cross-training.’
‘They’re teaching me or I’m teaching them?’
‘They’re going to talk to you about the kit.’
‘They’re training me?’
‘It’s politics.’
‘It’s an admission of guilt.’
‘It’s a compromise.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Perhaps you’re going to help start up their operations side.’
‘That’s another joke, right?’
‘It was when I said it. Now I’m not sure if it is.’
Stratton shook his head, displeased with the whole subject.
‘We can’t halt progress. Spend a day or two up there. Charm them. Don’t let them wind you up. And don’t fill any of ’em in.’
Stratton had a sudden thought. ‘Tell me something. Be honest. Do people think I’m losing my touch?’
Mike averted his eyes, as if Stratton had hit on something.
Stratton read it like a poster on the wall. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘No. But I do wonder if you might be getting complacent. It’s not so much that you’ve lost your edge as that the edge has lost you.’
Stratton could not deny that Mike might have a point. It would explain his feelings of late. It wasn’t boredom, as he sometimes thought. But whatever it was, complacency could well be a symptom.
Mike leaned forward and softened his voice to hammer the point home. ‘You’ve done more of these kinds of ops than anyone. You’ve flown too close to the sun too many times, my friend. Maybe it’s time to be honest with yourself. I’ll believe you if you tell me you’re fine. But just take a while to think about it. You know better than anyone. Compare yourself, your enthusiasm now, with your glory days. And don’t let laid-back and blasé become confused with experienced. We both know the difference.’
Stratton considered this. He didn’t believe he was so far gone as to risk screwing up an operation. But his cynicism had increased over the years. And this wasn’t the first time accusations like these had been levelled at him. Either way he couldn’t bully his way out of it. If people thought he was losing it they had to change their own minds. He would not be able to do it for them. Even Mike obviously had his doubts, and he knew Stratton better than most. Stratton reckoned he had two choices. He could throw his teddies out of his pram and get all upset about it or he could toe the line. Perhaps he needed a new perspective on things. He didn’t think that visiting those twats in Sixteen would help any.Yet something positive could come out of it. He might even be able to prove the recorder was faulty and not him. And London might look favourably on him for going up there. Better than moping around in Poole.
‘When do you want me to go?’ Stratton asked.
Mike wondered if it was an admission of some kind or if Stratton was just playing the game. ‘You plugged in that crockpot of yours?’