level. This was an extremely sensitive operation with many potential repercussions if it went wrong. He decided to keep his mouth shut and wait for the rest of the briefing.
Jason came over to Stratton, wearing that same supercilious smile he’d worn when they’d first met. It was as if he had been cleansed of the past and everything was the same between them. ‘Good to see you again, Stratton. You all healed up?’
Stratton remained sitting and looked up at the man. ‘I’m fine,’ he replied dryly.
Jason leaned down and spoke softly. ‘You don’t look pleased to see me.’ He stood upright and said, as if for the room’s benefit, ‘Hopefully this won’t be as vigorous as our last adventure. ’
The man was talking like he’d been doing it for years and that they were old operational buddies.
‘This is the SBS CO,’ Sumners said.
Jason took the CO’s hand and shook it. ‘Good to meet you. I’ve been looking forward to visiting Poole for such a long time and to meet the people who play with the toys I make.’
Stratton cringed. Any positive feelings he’d developed about the man after his actions on the platform withered.
‘Have they sorted you out a room in the mess?’ the CO asked.
‘Yes, thanks. Very comfortable.’
‘Good. Right, then. Shall we get on with the detailed briefing? You both have an early start tomorrow and we’ve got a lot to cover.’
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Sumners said. He took a black woollen overcoat off the back of a chair and pulled it on. ‘Don’t be offended if I don’t wish you luck, Jason.’ He wrapped a scarf around his neck. ‘I never do. Don’t believe in it . . . which is something of a surprise after witnessing Stratton’s activities all these years.’
Jason made a poor effort of trying not to smirk, as if he was in the know.
Sumners nodded farewell to the CO and ops officer and headed for the curtains. Mike escorted him out.
The CO leaned close to Stratton. ‘You have my sympathy,’ he whispered. The comment had a calming effect, no doubt its intention.
‘Gentlemen,’ announced the operations officer. ‘If you would like to be seated, we will proceed.’
Jason sat beside Stratton and took a notebook from a pocket.
The ops officer saw him scribble a couple of lines on a page. ‘You can take notes of the briefing, Mr Mansfield, but nothing leaves this room.’
‘I fully understand, Captain,’ Jason said, with barely a glance at the officer. ‘I have a photographic memory. All I need do is write down the relevant data and then I can immediately dispense with it.’
Stratton glanced round at Mike who had returned in time to hear the comment. The sergeant major grinned broadly at his friend, knowing how painful this was for him. He pointed to Jason and gave the thumbs-up, mouthing the comment ‘Top man.’ He then pointed to Stratton and mimicked a wanking motion.
Stratton faced the front. He felt inclined to agree with his old friend concerning the latter gesture.
14
Stratton sat in the train, looking out of its window as it clattered through a vast countryside, the view an endless portrait of winter, black leafless trees and hedges the only contrast to a frozen white backdrop. Long icicles, pointing at steep angles towards the back of the train, had formed along the outside edge of the glass. The flat and featureless land stretched to the horizon, punctuated occasionally by small rustic villages on one side or the other, some like cosy straw hamlets while others were more modern, concrete and drab. Passing through one small town, Stratton saw a man standing in the road with a goat on a leash. The man watched the train. He looked cold and hungry. It all seemed so isolated and vacant. So many miles of empty and seemingly untouched land.
He had been staring outside for hours and his eyes began to ache. He looked back inside the carriage. It was the image of uncomfortable sparseness, communist-inspired, as if nothing had changed since the fall of the Wall a couple of decades earlier. Short, stubby icicles hung from the centre of the ceiling along the length of the long carriage. A handful of people occupied the pewlike bench seats, each of them silent and unsmiling. A man snored intermittently in the row beyond Stratton’s, an empty vodka bottle in his hands, although he could hardly be heard above the clatter of the wheels. He had joined the train at Moscow with a full litre