as an MI operative and I’m offering you an assignment. It’s as simple as that.’
The comment put Stratton off balance. He did not believe his name had remained in Sumners’ book, but then again he had telephoned him. ‘You haven’t called me in over a year,’ he said.
‘You were fatigued. It was quite obvious. You needed a break. I’m not entirely insensitive,’ he added.
Bullshit, Stratton thought. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help feeling pleased he had not been dumped entirely. It had done some damage to his ego and self-esteem when it became obvious MI no longer considered him worthy of them. He knew Sumners was telling a partial lie though. The truth was they had let him go at the time but kept him under scrutiny. That was standard procedure for all retired operatives purely from a security point of view - MI didn’t want to see any of its valuable intelligence finding its way into the marketplace. But in Stratton’s case they had also been assessing his fitness and he had obviously been cleared for operational work once more. But what kind of work was the question. Sumners knew why Stratton had burned out and that he would not go down that same road again. The man would have put all the pieces together and decided Stratton was ideal for this new task, whatever it was, despite the past. He had hinted at it with his comment about the job being one Stratton might approve of. Stratton wanted back in, there was no doubt about that, but not under the same old circumstances. He wondered if he should make that understood right now. If he did not it would eventually surface, and probably at a time inconvenient to the both of them. But would his demands scare Sumners away? Stratton would have to take the risk. If Sumners didn’t like it then that would be it and Stratton would certainly never hear from him again. Ultimately, Stratton’s sanity meant more to him than the work.
‘You know the kind of job I’m not going to do for you again,’ Stratton said.
‘And you know this employment can have no constraints from operatives,’ Sumners parried.
They remained silent for a moment. It was an obstacle both wanted to pass through without giving way. But the ball was clearly in Sumners’ court.
‘I need someone with maritime knowledge,’ he finally said. Sumners had decided to make the pass around the obstacle. ‘Frankly, I don’t know any more than that at the moment, other than it has to do with the tanker you recaptured.’
That immediately sparked Stratton’s interest. Whatever was behind that strike was international and major league. It had preyed on Stratton’s mind ever since, the brutality and arrogance of the assault, but he never expected to hear anything more about it.
‘Would you like the job, yes or no?’
‘Yes,’ Stratton said automatically.
‘I need you in London as soon as you can get here. Your boss is on his way back to Poole and you’re cleared to leave right away. You know the Grenadier?’
‘Yes,’ Stratton said. That suggested a lot to Stratton already. MI5 was north of the Thames close to Westminster and dealt with the country’s internal security. MI6 headquarters was the other side of the river and dealt with the rest of the world. The Grenadier pub was just a few streets from MI6 and frequented by its personnel.
‘Seven p.m. then.’
‘Fine.’
The phone went dead and Stratton returned it to its cradle.
He took a moment to take it all in. He was on the move again. Suddenly the SBS was once again a place he only hung out in while waiting for the phone to ring. It felt good. There was a new adventure to be had.
He opened his desk drawer, took out his passport and put it in his breast pocket. He looked around to see if there was anything else he needed. It was purely a reflexive action. He knew there was nothing. Everything he would need for whatever the job was, he’d get in London. And if there was anything the SBS had that he might need, it would be delivered to him.
Stratton realised Morgan was watching him as if he knew something was up that did not involve the Service. He had heard Stratton’s strange side of the conversation and seen him collect his passport. Add that to Stratton’s bizarre past of always disappearing and it was obvious he was going somewhere again.
‘The boss is on his way back,’ Stratton said. ‘I’m