to step down on to the tarmac.
The captain climbed out and straightened his uniform, his task at an end but hoping to be of further use if possible.
‘Thanks, Captain,’ Stratton said, as he led Gabriel up the ramp.The captain came to attention and threw up a smart salute, holding it until the two men were aboard.
The loadmaster, in full green air suit, stood at the top of the ramp, his hand hovering over a button in a box mounted on the bulkhead, and as Stratton and Gabriel stepped into the cabin, he said something into his headset while at the same time pushing the button. A high-pitched whine filled the back of the plane as the end of the ramp began to rise off the tarmac, while at the same time an opposing section of roof, hinged beneath the tail, lowered to meet the end of the ramp and close off the Greek captain and his soldiers from any further view inside the mysterious aircraft.
The engines gradually increased power but the pilot kept the brakes applied and the plane still, an indication the runway was short and that they wanted to catapult the craft off its blocks. The two sections of ramp met and locked into place, fitting seamlessly to seal off the tail section, and much of the engine noise was immediately muffled.
There were several rows of aircraft seats halfway along the cabin, and at the front, against the bulkhead that sealed off the cockpit, was a desk with three swivel seats fitted around it, all occupied. On the desk were several communication systems and three flat-screen monitors.
Gabriel was invited by a crewman to sit in the regular seats while Stratton headed to the front where he recognised two of the men: Sumners was sat on one side of the table, and on the other, talking into a phone, was Sumners’ boss, the man from the Grenadier pub. In the middle seat was a young, nerdy assistant in an inexpensive black suit. The type was familiar enough, recruited young, usually straight out of university, because of either their family connections or their brilliance, and put to work in an administrative capacity to learn the ropes. This youngster was obviously one of the smart ones since his cheap suit suggested he did not come from wealth.
Stratton’s first introduction to MI6 many years ago, and where he first met Sumners, was during an operational training session. He had been sent to the secret Military Intelligence training school in Portsmouth to teach a batch of young MI6 agents, all quite brilliant academically, most of them able to speak several languages, how to climb the side of a three-storey building using a caving ladder. It seemed basic stuff but it had to be technically sound so as to be adaptable to a variety of structures and conditions. Stratton discovered two of them were later selected for an espionage job in Eastern Europe from which one never returned, rumoured to have been killed in action. Stratton found the differences between Special Forces operatives and these types interesting. MI6 operatives’ idea of light conversation was quantum physics, and sometimes for fun they would discuss topics in Latin or a mixture of several different languages at once. But practical things, such as instantly recognising the difference between a pull and tension-release booby trap, or how to quickly turn a semi-automatic pistol into a fully automatic machine gun, appeared to be beyond most of them.
‘Take a seat, please,’ the loadmaster said to Stratton in a perfunctory manner, as he headed into the cockpit.
Stratton dropped into one of the hammock seats against the bulkhead behind Sumners who appeared to be deliberately ignoring him as he scrolled through data on a computer monitor.
The engines screamed in a chorus of painfully high-pitched tones and the aircraft vibrated so strongly it seemed the rivets holding the skin together might pop. The brakes were suddenly released, and the bulky craft lunged forward and lumbered down the runway, quickly building in speed. Had it been carrying its full capacity it would have needed a far longer runway or a set of rocket boosters to achieve take-off velocity. Being relatively empty, a few hundred yards later the nose tilted up as the pilot eased back on the stick, the wings bit into the air and the craft rose gracefully off the tarmac. The ground dropped away as the wheels retracted and within seconds there was nothing below but sea and the island was a