Tina gave him a password and watched as he tapped it in. His fingernails were bitten to the quick and there were nicotine stains on the first and second fingers of his right hand. He was a smoker, yet he'd turned down her offer of a cigarette when he'd first arrived at her flat. She wondered how much she should read into the nicotine stains and the bitten nails.
'Sure you don't want a cigarette?' she asked, offering her pack.
He shook his head, his eyes still on the screen.
'Gave up, six weeks ago.'
'Wish I could.'
'Anyone can. Just a matter of willpower.'
Tina blew smoke but was careful to keep it away from Hathaway.
'Is that when you started biting your nails?'
Hathaway flashed her a sideways look.
'Not much gets by you, does it, Tina?' He gestured at the screen.
'Right, this is you logged on. If there's a message for you, there'll be an envelope signal here. If you want to send me a message, you click here.' Hathaway clicked on a letter icon.
'Then it's just like any word processing or e-mail programme. When you've finished, click on 'send' and you're done. If you want to attach any photographs or documents, use the paper-clip icon here.'
'What sort of photographs?'
'Anything you think might be of use to us.'
'And am I supposed to be in contact with you every day?'
Hathaway ran his hand down his face and rubbed his chin.
'I'd advise against that. Once a week would be enough, but you want to avoid making it a routine. If you sit down at a computer every Saturday morning, it's going to be noticed. Vary it.'
'What if you need to get in touch with me? Say there's a problem and you need to warn me.'
'That's not going to happen. We're not going to be watching you, Tina. You will be one hundred per cent on your own. From time to time I might need to brief you on operations, perhaps point you in the direction of possible targets, but I won't be expecting instant results. Weekly contact will be fine.'
Tina stubbed out her cigarette.
'Will you be running other agents, Gregg?'
Hathaway's face hardened.
'Why do you ask?'
'Because you're going to a lot of trouble over little old me,' she said with a smile. She nodded at the laptop.
'The website, you, Latham. I can't believe this is all being done just for my benefit.'
Hathaway nodded slowly, a slight frown on his face as if assessing what she'd said.
'Suppose I was having this conversation with someone else. You wouldn't want me to tell them about you, would you?'
'That sort of answers my question, doesn't it?'
Hathaway smiled thinly and folded his arms.
'There's nothing I can say. Other than lying to you outright, and I'm not prepared to do that.'
'And are they all being sent against Tango One?'
'That I can't tell you, Tina.'
'But suppose one of your people gets close to Donovan and I see them. If I send you details of what they were doing, doesn't that put them in the spotlight?'
'All your reports will come through me and I won't pass on anything that would put another operative in danger.' He smiled again.
'Assuming that there are other operatives.'
Tina walked over and sat on the arm of the sofa.
'The reports I send. What will you do with them?'
'I'll go through them and pass on whatever intelligence there is to the appropriate authorities.'
'But isn't there a danger that it could be traced back to me?'
'I'll make sure that doesn't happen,' he said.
'When you do file, by all means highlight anything you think might be linked to you, but frankly it's the big players I'm interested in. Donovan and the like. I'm not going to risk blowing your cover for anything less.'
'Blowing my cover!'
Hathaway closed his eyes and put his hand to his temple as if he had a headache.
'That came out wrong,' he said. He opened his eyes again.
'What I mean is that the important thing is that you stay in place. That is my primary concern, keeping you undercover as long as possible. The only reason I'd want to pull you out is if it meant putting Donovan behind bars.'
Tina stared at Hathaway. She knew next to nothing about the man who was about to become her handler, who would have her life in his hands.
'You realise that you can't ever tell anyone what you're doing?' said Hathaway.
'No matter how much you want to. No matter how much you think you can trust the person. There'll be times when you'll want to talk to someone. To confide.'
'I don't think so.'
'What about your family?'
'I haven't seen them for six years. Don't want to see them again. Ever.'
'Friends?'
'Not the sort I'd confide in. About anything.'
'It's going to be lonely, Tina.'
'I'm used to being on my own.'
'And how do you feel about betraying people who might well become your friends? Your only friends?'
Cliff Warren took a long pull on his bottle of Sol while he considered Hathaway's question. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
'Thing is, they won't really be friends, will they? They'll be criminals and I'll be a cop.'
'Easy to say now, Cliff, but you might feel differently three years down the line.'
'If they're criminals, they deserve to go down. Are you playing devil's advocate, is that what's going on here?'
'I just want you to face the reality of your situation, that's all.'
Warren pursed his lips and tapped his bottle against his knee.
'I know what I'm letting myself in for.' He leaned back in his chair, looked at the ceiling and sighed mournfully.
'Funny how things work out, in nit
'In what way?'
'By rights I should be square bashing at Hendon. Left, right, left, right, back straight, amis out. And instead I'm gearing up to hit the streets as a drug dealer.' He lowered his chin and looked over at Hathaway.
'That's a point, where do I get my cash from?'
'I'll be supplying funds. At least in the early stages. And drugs.'
At first Warren thought he'd misheard, then the implications of what Hathaway had said sank in and he sat upright.
'Say what? You'll be giving me drugs?'
'You'll be operating as a dealer. You can't be out there selling caster sugar.'
'The police are going to be giving me heroin?'
Hathaway winced.
'I was thinking cannabis,' he said.
'Just to get you started. You ever taken drugs, Cliff?'
Warren shook his head.
'Never. Saw what they did to my folks.' Warren's mother had died of a heroin overdose when he was twelve.
