‘When did you start wearing perfume?’
‘Today.’
‘Why today?’ As soon as he said it he wondered if she had worn it for him.
‘I put it on before you called. I wouldn’t have had I known I was working.’
She felt guilty at hiding the truth from him. She’d already lied to one man today - her lover. She didn’t want to lie to the one she hoped one day to be in love with. ‘I had a date tonight.’
Stratton found himself feeling disappointed to hear the perfume was for someone else.
‘A guy?’ he asked, then realising his
‘Yes, a man,’ she said. ‘And no offence taken.’ She was used to it. She’d hoped at least Stratton might have understood why she played down her looks in NI, but it seemed he wasn’t as all-knowing as she thought.
‘When this is over I’ll arrange for you to have a few days off,’ he said. Her private life was none of his business and he shouldn’t have shown interest. She was with someone else and that was for the best. But a part of him saw her as his. These feelings grown men often had for women were so bloody irritatingly childish.
Aggy felt she was starting to figure Stratton out, well, an aspect of him at least. She was certain he liked her but suspected that, as far as women were concerned, he needed a wide open door with a big welcome sign above it before he could walk through it. Strange for such a tough guy. She should come clean and tell him how she felt.
‘Stratton,’ she said, and then suddenly realised he was not the only one who needed some encouragement. Perhaps this was a mistake.
‘What?’
‘Um . . . Nothing.’
Stratton was curious about her relationship but at the same time annoyed at himself for being so. For someone who didn’t want a relationship he was sure acting like someone who did. Whatever, he had to know.
‘This a serious relationship?’ he asked.
‘No. Not really.’What the hell, she decided. She was going to get this out into the open here and now. ‘You know him,’ she said.
Stratton looked at her. ‘One of the det guys?’ he asked.
‘No, well, kind of . . . Bill Lawton.’
‘The LO?’ He was so surprised he almost turned in his seat.
She didn’t think he would be quite so shocked. ‘It just happened . . . We met on a flight to London.’
‘How long ago was that?’ Stratton asked, wondering if it was while he was in the det.
‘Three weeks.’
Stratton was relieved in some small way. He didn’t know much about Lawton. He was MI5, pure int and Stratton was SF. Their paths crossed only when Lawton came to the det to hand over intelligence. He never rated Lawton as a particularly good liaison officer. An LO’s job was to bring in information pertinent to the detachment’s needs, create operations, provide key pieces to puzzles. But it wasn’t just a case of going around and plucking the information off desks. At this level of the game, quality int was closely guarded and not given up easily, even to those on the same side who needed it most. Information was often bartered and exchanged. Special Branch officers and those who ran intelligence cells had to be coaxed, unless they offered it first, which meant a favour or an exchange. A good LO had to have certain qualities. He needed to be charming as well as manipulative, be able to party hard, especially with Irish Special Branch officers, but not forget his objective. Lawton just never seemed to come up with the top-quality intelligence that the det needed. Occasionally he plucked a cherry, but not often enough. And he had yet to come up with the big one, which was every LO’s dream, but apparently not his.
‘He bought me the perfume,’ Aggy said.
‘It’s nice,’ Stratton said. ‘Can I suggest you don’t put so much on?’
Bastard, she thought. ‘It’s supposed to be very good. The best they had on the flight.’
‘I didn’t know they sold perfume on the flight between Aldergrove and London,’ he said, wishing he wasn’t having this conversation any more.
‘They don’t.’
‘You went on holiday together then?’ he asked, deciding he was going to drop the subject. He was beginning to sound jealous even to himself.
She rolled her eyes, but was nonetheless encouraged by his jealousy. ‘No. He’d been to Europe for the night.’
A tiny ding went off in his head, not quite suspicion, but the natural machinery inside an intelligence operative’s brain moved a single cog. ‘When was that?’
‘Three weekends ago.’
Another clog clunked forward, this time with a little more resonance. Stratton would have been interested in anyone who had been to Europe three weekends ago.An MI5 operative got his attention.
‘He told you he’d flown to Europe?’
‘No. But I told you he’d bought the perfume on a flight.’
‘How do you know?’
Because it was written on the back of the bottle. British Airways.’
‘How do you know it was Europe?’
‘Because it wasn’t duty free.’
‘What day was that?’
She could sense the change in him. He’d gone from matter-of-fact mild irritation to a more intense curiosity. ‘What day was what?’
‘What day did he fly to Europe?’
‘Well. We flew to London from Aldergrove on the Friday morning. He said he wanted to take me to dinner that night but couldn’t. We met Saturday evening and he gave me the perfume.’
‘The twenty-third?’
‘Yes.’
The day Hank was lifted in Paris. Stratton’s mind was reeling.
‘I know he’s not a man’s man,’ she went on, ‘but he’s a lot of fun. You don’t like him very much, do you?’
Stratton’s earpiece suddenly buzzed to life. It was Singen. He touched a button on the radio in his pocket.
‘Send,’ he said.
‘We’re moving the snipers into position.’
‘Roger that,’ Stratton said and opened the car door.
‘What is it?’ Aggy asked.
‘The snipers are moving up . . . I’ll just be a minute.’
‘Stratton?’ she said as he started to climb out. ‘I don’t know what Hank looks like. Might be useful.’
‘In my bag. There’s an ops file. Be careful rummaging around in it.’
As he climbed out she leaned over the seat and opened the bag. Inside were several guns, magazines, boxes of ammunition and things that looked like explosives, which she did not want to touch. ‘And they talk about women’s handbags,’ she muttered as she found the file and pulled it out.
Stratton had got out of the car to put his thoughts in order. Lawton knew everything about the Spinks operation a week before it took place. It would also explain why the Paris op went tits up. The team was rumbled by Henri at the meeting place not because they had cocked up the surveillance but because the mole was watching the cafe. The mole telephoned the cafe and told Henri the meeting was cancelled because he saw something that alarmed him, an operative. Stratton was near the cafe. It was Stratton the mole recognised. If they could put Lawton in Paris the morning of the 23rd he was their man.
He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket, hit a memory button, and held it to his ear. A few seconds later it was picked up the other end. ‘Sumners here,’ the voice said.
‘It’s Stratton. Do you know a Bill Lawton?’
‘Bill Lawton,’ Sumners repeated. ‘Can’t say I do.’
‘He’s an NI detachment LO, South det, also MI5. It is possible he was in Paris on the twenty-third.’
