he were royalty. He was definitely the private-club type and did not look as if he frequented alehouses such as this one. Sumners on the other hand had his hands in his coat pockets, chin against his chest, feet apart and on the ground and brow furrowed in deep thought. He stared at nothing but in the same direction as his companion. The half full glasses on the table in front of them both contained ice and a slice of lemon.
It was not unusual for spymasters to meet in a public place for a pre-briefing, especially in the evening, before moving on to a secure place to conduct a more thorough brief. Stratton checked his watch. It was exactly seven.
He walked over to the table. Sumners spotted him just before he arrived and got to his feet.
‘Ahh, Stratton,’ Sumners said, offering his hand. His smile was thin and as cold as always. Stratton shook his hand, which was also cold despite being in his pocket. ‘This is my department chief,’ he said.
The man produced his own version of a smiling mask and offered his hand without getting to his feet.
‘Stratton,’ he said.‘Heard a bit about you. Glad you could come along. Can I get you a drink?’
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Stratton said, and took a seat at the table. Sumners moved around to form a triangle.
‘How was your journey up from Poole?’ the unnamed man asked cordially.Talking to people much lower than him was a part of his profession and he oozed confidence. Stratton wondered what the man was doing here. He doubted Sumners needed him to give his brief. It was just possible he happened to be in the bar for another reason and since he was Sumners’ boss, Sumners had joined him. Stratton wondered which type of MI officer he was: either one of the brilliant ones snapped up from a top university to be groomed for the higher echelons, or titled and just doing his stint in MI, which was a very traditional pastime for some families. If he was the latter there was a chance he was an idiot. Some things didn’t change in jolly old England and fools could still find their way into the inner circles of power simply because of their birth or connections. Judging by the cut of his suit and his expensive watch, he was independently wealthy. That was not at all unusual. No one joined MI6 for the money. The pay scale was about equal to the regular army. In Stratton’s case, because his parent unit was Special Forces, he was paid far higher than any MI5 or MI6 operative. He probably earned more than Sumners, who was not independently wealthy and obviously did the job purely for the love of it.
‘Do you go to Lulworth Cove much?’ the MI officer asked. ‘Delightful part of the country.’
‘Nice place to dive,’ Stratton said.
‘Clams,’ the man said. ‘Very good clams.’
‘One of the reasons we like to dive there.’
‘Very sensible.’
The conversation paused there and a silence hung between them. It was for Sumners’ boss to lead the talking and so Stratton and Sumners sat quietly, waiting for him to continue.The man leaned forward to pick up his glass and took a sip. He inspected the contents for a second then put it back on the table. Stratton wasn’t sure if he caught a faint look of disapproval.
‘Are you superstitious, Stratton?’ the man eventually asked.
‘Superstitious?’ Stratton echoed. He expected the man to get on with the operation pre-brief but it sounded as if he was still making idle chit-chat. ‘You mean walking under ladders and breaking mirrors?’
‘That sort of thing,’ the man said.
‘No.’
‘What about the supernatural?’ the man asked.
Stratton glanced at Sumners wondering where this line of questioning was leading but his old boss was firmly in the back seat and keeping quiet, staring straight ahead deep in his own thoughts as if he were not part of the conversation.
‘You mean ghosts?’ Stratton asked.
‘If you like. How do you feel about ghosts? Do you believe they exist?’
‘It’s like the question of life on another planet. I don’t give it much thought.’
‘But you’re not opposed to the idea. Things like ghosts. You don’t believe it’s all a load of rubbish?’
Stratton was tempted to ask what this was about but decided to play the man’s game. These types weren’t known for wasting much time on idle talk, especially with the likes of Stratton, a mere field operative. The questions had to have something to do with