Tomorrow's ghost

'You mean ... there's no opening ceremony?'

'Correct. No opening - no ceremony. No VIPs - no big bangs. No O'Leary. Operation aborted, and that makes two for you in one day. If I didn't know better I'd think you were jinxed, Fitzgibbon.'

He'd been listening in to her dialogue with Butler, Frances realised. But then Cable had said as much with his parting words. So the powers above were evidently breaking in Paul early to the control of the latest surveillance technology. There were to be no psychological RPV hang-ups allowed to develop in him.

'But ... you know better?' At the last moment she converted the opening words of an angry jibe into a respectful question. Of course, he habitually cloaked his true feelings under flippancy and irreverent chatter about his superiors. But this time it was a thermal covering for anger, and the temptation to throw We're not expecting anything to happen in the library at him was outweighed by her curiosity about that anger.

'Oh, I do - yes.' He glanced at his watch.

'Tell me.' It was no good turning on the charm, he'd never fall for that from her. But just the faintest suggestion of professional admiration might serve. 'Tell me, Paul.'

He looked down at her. Quite deliberately she rubbed the end of her nose with a muddy finger.

He grinned at her. 'Now you've got mud on your nose ... Hell! I guess you're owed it, at that.'

'Oh...' She removed the mud with her handkerchief. 'Yes?'

'Well, I told you he didn't like things - '

'Colonel Butler?'

'Fighting Jack, so-called - yes. Only it seems I made a mistake about his methods of fighting.'

'What methods?'

'That's right ... He hated the whole operation, but he didn't turn it over to anyone else

- '

'So you said on the way up.' She nodded.. 'A matter of duty.'

'So I had the wrong answer.'

It was anger which was making him talk. Being wrong didn't sit well with his ambition. All she needed to do was to keep him burning.

'And what is the right answer?'

'Huh! The right answer ... is that he had to stay in charge of it so he could screw it up at the one time when nobody could stop him - when it was actually in progress.'

If he was right that was shrewd thinking on Butler's part, thought Frances. An operation like this was like an old bombing mission in World War Two: up to the moment of take-off the pilot could always be replaced, but not when he was half-way to the target.

Only it also entailed the same risk too: he had to come home with his bombs wasted or still on board, and with an explanation.

'All he needed was an opportunity. And you gave it to him with your briefcase.

Princess - 'The Princess and the Wicked Briefcase', by Jack Butler. The ultimate fairy story!'

'But -'

'He had this chopper on stand-by at Driffield, and nobody even knew about it! He was just waiting for one thing to go wrong - that's all he wanted, just one deviation.'

Behavioural deviation? Even now, after everything that had happened to her, she couldn't trust herself to echo the jargon out loud.

'The briefcase -?'

'The Library was a designated safe area.' Suddenly the shape of his mouth changed, both corners drawn down. ''If a designated safe area isn't safe, Mitchell, then the basic assumptions of this operation are equally unsafe. And that changes our parameters.''

Parameters? One thing was for sure: Colonel Butler knew how to fight technology with its own jargon.

'What does that mean?' She watched him consult the time on his wrist. 'Or what did it mean?'

''I don't mind risking Fitzgibbon, that's what she's paid for - ' That's you dealt with, Frances. 'But a Minister of the Crown is entitled to adequate protection' - it meant he didn't even phone London. He aborted on his own authority, that's what it meant.'

Frances found herself on Colonel Butler's side. Or at least partially so: he had done her the compliment of treating her like anyone else, uncomfortable though the treatment had been. She owed him something for that.

'Well, it wasn't a safe area, Paul.' And I've got the wet feet, ruined tights, muddy suit and damaged self-respect to prove it, she thought miserably.

In the distance the ducks quacked their agreement.

'It wasn't?' For a second he looked through her. Then he focused on her. 'You know, you were never in any danger. Princess. He just let you sweat to prove a point.'

'He - what? '

'That's right. Just to prove a point. You were his grandstand play.'