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Swan entered the large drawing room and spotted Stratton seated on the far side. Casually, he walked over and stood before him. ‘Any winners for you, John?’

Stratton lowered his newspaper, staring at his A Section predecessor. ‘You know me by now Alex, and how I like to study some form, before having a flutter on the gee-gees.’

Stratton studied Swan carefully. ‘It’s been a long time, Alex.’

Swan sat down in a chair opposite him. ‘Yes, it has John. How’s Barbara and the girls?’

‘Oh, they’re well. Victoria is doing her first year at Cambridge reading Japanese History, and Emily is in her last year at Millfield.’ Stratton placed his newspaper on the table. ‘So, what about you Alex? Have you settled down yet, or are you still playing the field with the ladies?’

‘I still have a few lady friends that I see from time to time. To be honest John, I’m quite busy with work at the moment.’

They were interrupted by a waiter who, in his immaculate uniform of white tunic and black trousers, addressed Swan.

‘May I get you something, sir?’

‘Yes, I’ll have a single malt Scotch please.’

‘Very good, sir.’ The waiter turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Stratton took a sip of his whisky.

‘So how are things at SID these days?’ Stratton asked in an almost sarcastic manner.

‘Things are good, John. I take it things at A Section are in similar shape?’

The waiter returned, carrying a silver tray and presented the glass of Scotch to Swan.

Stratton waited for the waiter to move away from earshot, then picked up his glass. ‘A Section is also good, Alex. In fact, we have just had a breakthrough in a case we are working on.’

‘That’s good to hear, John. So that’ll be another feather in your cap. So, what is this then? Another Soviet infiltrator wheedled out from our society?’

Stratton looked in Swan’s eyes with a quizzical stare. ‘I see that you still have your contacts, Alex.’

‘Well, you know how it is John, you never quite leave the service do you? This actually brings me to the point I wish to discuss with you. I refer to the Polish aircraft mechanic Kostowyz. I take it he’s down The Well?’

Stratton moved uncomfortably in his high backed chair. ‘Your information source is priceless, Alex. Yes, we have him. No confession as yet, but he will hang for the murder of James McGregor, who obviously rumbled him, and was silenced before he could raise the alarm.’

‘Is that so?’ Swan mocked his surprise as Stratton felt triumphant in front of him, displaying a gleeful smile.

Then Swan chose his moment. ‘I’m afraid you have the wrong man, John.’

Stratton almost choked in the middle of taking another sip of Scotch. ‘How say that Alex?’ Stratton enquired.

‘Let’s just say that I am well informed of this.’

‘I suppose that this has something to do with the little trip up north that you took with Arthur last week.’

‘Trip, John?’ Swan replied, pretending to look puzzled.

Stratton grinned, shuffling in his chair. ‘Put it this way then, most ironic how your signatures appeared in the visitor book of Brinton Aviation.’

Swan returned the smile. ‘Most ironic, indeed.’

Stratton leant forward and whispered angrily. ‘Don’t give me that, Alex! You and Arthur carried out a little undercover job didn’t you?’

‘I’m afraid our trip was all legit John. We were invited by a friend of mine.’

Stratton sank back in his chair again and took another sip of Scotch. ‘And who might this friend be then Alex?’

‘Howard Barnett, Brinton’s Chief Designer.’

Stratton looked disappointed. ‘I see. So, nothing to do with Air Commodore Sir Alistair Higgins, then? Thought that he may have returned that favour for you catching Miss Anya Katrishka with the overseas squadron deployment documents stuffed down her knickers.’

‘No, Sir Alistair has no part in this,’ lied Swan.

Stratton put his hands together. ‘Where exactly are you going with this Brinton fiasco Alex?’

Swan picked up his glass and took a sip. ‘Sorry John, I can’t tell you at the moment. I’m working privately on this on behalf of a client. This of course makes it all legally confidential. Even from the Security Services.’

Stratton suddenly became agitated and leaned forward, staring Swan in the eye. ‘I could go to the Director General with this you know, especially when someone is trying to sabotage the BR-101 project.’

Swan smiled teasingly. ‘Then I’m sure that Sir Donald would be most pleased to see you, John. In fact, you can also let him know about the ghost agents that you have managed to run under his nose for the last ten years, claiming their salaries and expenses.’

Stratton stood up abruptly and looking down at the SID man, whispered harshly. ‘How the blazes could you know that!’ Stratton sank back down into his chair to be sure that none of the other club members sitting in their chairs nearby noticed his sudden outburst.

‘Like I said John, the service never really left me.’

Stratton finished the rest of his Scotch, then slammed down the glass on the polished mahogany side table, staring venomously at Swan. ‘I guess this is what they call in chess, a King on King situation here.’

Swan smiled. ‘Seems so John, but do yourself a favour and release the Pole. He’s innocent, a pawn in the much bigger game so to speak.’

‘And what might this bigger game be then, Alex?’

‘I will bring you in on it, John. You have my word, but not just yet. I’m off up to Brinton’s after this meeting. I have my final cards and I now have to show my hand to my opponent.’

Stratton resigned himself. ‘Okay Alex, have it your way. But as soon as you’re ready, give me a call.’

Swan nodded. ‘I will John, I promise.’

Swan finished his Scotch and stood up. ‘I should have this wrapped up by tomorrow.’ He shook the hand of his A Section successor, then walked out the door of the drawing room and into the foyer. He saw the waiter walking in the opposite direction. ‘Put the Scotch on my tab will you, Lawrence.’

‘Of course, Mr Swan.’

Swan then walked out of the Brigand Club and into the early evening sunshine and waited on the pavement to hail a taxi. As he stood there, he noticed the same man waiting at the bus stop on the other side of the road, smoking a cigarette. Swan smiled to himself as he turned right thinking that it was time to have a little fun with his shadow. ‘Okay whoever you are, let’s see just how good you can be.’

Swan slowly walked up Northumberland Avenue, as if taking in the cool evening air, and his tail walked slowly fifty yards behind, on the other side of the road. When Swan arrived back in Trafalgar Square, he crossed the road, then continued straight, walking past St Martins-in the Field’s church. He then carried on along St Martin’s Lane. The pursuer followed at a pace behind. Swan then took a quick turn left into Cecil Court, a small passage that linked with Charing Cross Road, and stopped to browse at a shop window filled with a model railway layout. As he looked at the scaled representation of a typical English village complete with station and a spired church, his tail entered briskly into the passage.

Swan turned quickly and looked at him full in the face, as the figure stood on the spot, not expecting his mark to have stopped.

With an expression of shear embarrassment, the trench-coated gentleman abruptly turned and walked back out onto the main street.

Swan smiled and carried on to Charing Cross Road, walking in the direction of Cambridge Circus. He noticed that his tail was soon in pursuit again, walking several yards behind. Crossing the Circus, Swan then crossed over onto the other side of Charing Cross Road, opening one of the row of doors into the book emporium Foyles. He then made his way through the ground floor and stopped to view the store guide board at the foot of the staircase. He ascended the stairs to the next floor and sought out the World History section.