lowered the case so that it rested flat on the table’s surface again.
He raised the lid to reveal, as he’d suspected, an explosives specialist’s travel pack, similar to the SBS type he had used at Josh’s birthday party. It was filled with a variety of miniature detonators, along with fuses, cortex, tools and plastic explosives. Seaton knew that Stratton would prefer the indirect method: explosives allowed an assassin to distance himself from the target whereas using a gun required a direct line of sight.
Stratton closed the case and took his mug to the window where he looked out across the city. One thing that niggled at him was his promise to try and resolve the situation by peaceful means first. That might require a level of exposure which, if things did not go well, might make the task of concealing his part in the administration of any other type of justice more difficult.
Stratton’s thoughts drifted to Josh and he suddenly felt uneasy. But after deciding to take things one step at a time and abort if at any stage he felt the risk was too high, he felt a little better. There was nothing to be gained by ending up in a US jail for the rest of his life – or worse – simply to avenge Sally. Jack would not expect that of him. But if the Albanians were otherwise going to get away with Sally’s death and Stratton could make them pay and – of course – get away with it, that would indeed be sweet and just. By close of play the following day he would know.
11
Josh was kneeling on the floor in a corner of the child-protection centre playroom, reaching expectantly into a plastic shopping bag. Stratton was beside him. Josh pulled out a Game Boy, then a model fighter aircraft. Although he was pleased with the presents there was only a hint of his usual excitement as he unwrapped them.
‘Thanks, Stratton,’ he said softly.
George was watching with envy from across the room. Even though he wanted to move closer to get a better look at the new toys he held himself back.
Stratton reached into the bag, removed a gift, and looked over at the other boy. ‘This is for you, George.’
George’s eyes lit up. He stumbled as he pushed off from a standing start to run the short distance across the room before braking hard on the shiny linoleum floor. He took the package and examined the contents inside the transparent container to find an assortment of small plastic soldiers in various fighting positions. ‘Wow! Targets!’ he exclaimed, pulling open the wrapping as he knelt down and poured them onto the floor.
Josh’s interest was aroused. He shuffled closer to George and placed the fighter aircraft beside the soldiers. ‘This is their air force,’ he explained. The two boys immediately began sorting out the men and discussing how they could best be utilised in a battle that would also include George’s helicopter.
Stratton stood up, smiling. He suddenly sensed that someone was looking at him. It was Vicky Whitaker, standing in the doorway and wearing a smile of her own.
‘You got a minute?’ she asked quietly, as if not to disturb the boys.
‘I’ll see you later,’ Stratton said to Josh, ruffling his hair.
Josh immediately stopped playing and got to his feet. ‘When?’ he asked, somewhat demandingly.
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Can’t you come back later today?’
‘I don’t know.’
Josh looked down in disappointment.
‘Maybe Miss Whitaker will let me take you out for a meal,’ Stratton said.
George was the first to look at Stratton, his eyes wide with hope.
‘And George too, of course.’
Both boys then looked at Miss Whitaker as if she was their mother.
‘Can we, Vicky – I mean, Miss Whitaker?’ George pleaded.
Her smile disappeared and she folded her arms across her chest, giving the boys a disapproving look.
Stratton shrugged innocently, looking as hopeful as the youngsters.
‘That’s a very big maybe,’ she said. ‘And by that I mean probably not.’
‘Maybe means yes,’ George almost whispered to Josh and Stratton with an air of experience. ‘Vicky’s a real softy.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ Vicky warned.
Stratton winked at the boys. ‘Let me see what I can do,’ he said quietly to them before walking towards Vicky Whitaker. She gave him a stern look as he walked past her and left the room.
She followed him into the corridor, closing the door behind her. ‘You shouldn’t get their hopes up like that,’ she said in a matronly manner.
‘Hope is just about all those boys have while they’re in here.’
‘
Stratton humbly took another ticking-off. ‘You’re right, as usual. I’m sorry.’
And, as usual, Vicky was completely disarmed by his sincerity. She wondered what it was about this man of whom she knew so little that made her feel she could depend on him. He was without doubt unusual – and also mysterious, it seemed. ‘Josh has quite an imagination,’ she said, heading down the corridor.
‘Don’t all kids?’ Stratton asked, falling in alongside her.
‘He talks about you all the time.’
Stratton thought he could see what was coming. ‘Now that you mention it, though, he does have quite an overactive imagination when it comes to playing soldiers.’
‘He says you’re a secret soldier and a spy for the British Government.’
‘That’s the last top secret I tell him,’ Stratton said, feigning flippancy.
‘On your form, under employer, you put British MoD. What’s that?’
‘Ministry of Defence.’
‘So you
‘Yes.’
‘Are you a soldier?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fifteen years, you put on the form.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Why does he call you a “secret” soldier?’
‘Well, it’s kind of a game we play. Whenever I visited his mum and dad after being away he would ask where I’d been and I’d tell him some tall story. It became something of a tradition between us.’
‘So you’re not really who he thinks you are.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I mean in terms of work – you don’t do the job that he thinks you do.’
‘Is that important?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Is this a trust thing?’ Stratton asked, a touch of cynicism in his voice.
Vicky sighed, annoyed with herself. ‘I’m sorry. I need to lighten up a little. That was a poor attempt to stick my nose into your personal life – it’s nothing personal.’
‘I understand.’
‘I hope you do. We’ve had some apparently very nice people arrive here to take responsibility for children, people who’ve turned out to be not so nice after all.’
‘You don’t need to explain. What do you want to know?’
‘Well … nothing, really,’ Vicky said, unsure where she was going with the questioning. ‘Being military could be useful as far as securing guardianship is concerned. There’ll be no missing years on your records, for instance, and plenty of people to vouch for you.’
