this fellow closely enough. I’m told it doesn’t have to be a perfect match. Just close.’
The Vice-President took the mugshots. ‘Who’s this guy?’
‘One of our chaps, I assume . . . Well,’ Sir Bartholomew said, before placing the empty envelope on the coffee table beside the photographs. ‘I’d better be off.’ He held out his hand.
Ogden shook it as he looked into the old man’s eyes. He smiled thinly as he watched the ambassador leave and then he looked down at the photographs.
The aide stepped into the doorway.
Ogden looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Cancel the meeting. Call the President’s office. I need to see him.’
Sumners was seated behind the desk in his small sterile office, reading a file on his computer monitor when there was a knock on his door. ‘Come in,’ he called out without looking up.
The door opened and John Stratton walked in. He was wearing a worn leather jacket and his hands were plunged deep in its cracked pockets. His hair was tousled and his face was covered in a dark stubble. His clear green eyes betrayed a cold contempt for the man in front of him.
Sumners looked up and his expression immediately darkened. The two men held each other’s gaze for a moment, Stratton winning the competition easily. ‘Would you mind shutting the door, please,’ Sumners said, going back to his monitor and hitting several keys.
Stratton casually pushed the door closed and looked around the room, his gaze resting on the single pleasant aspect of it: a small window with broad horizontal plastic shutters that partially concealed a splendid view of the Thames. The bottom of the window was too high for Sumners to see the river from where he sat. The half-closed shutters pulled down on one side at a careless angle suggested the civil servant was hardly interested.
The only wall decoration was a world map and a picture of the Queen. There were no family photographs on the desk. Stratton knew Sumners had a wife, or at least had had one a year ago. He was the selfish, callous, pompous type who didn’t bother with such trivial mementoes.
Sumners completed his typing and did his best to force a smile as he leaned back, determined to remain superior. ‘I see you’re still using the same tailor.’
Stratton studied the man he had grown to despise over the years, dismissing a curiosity he’d had before entering the room about whether Sumners had changed even remotely for the better since they’d last met. In Stratton’s early days as a member of the operations section he’d seen Sumners fairly regularly, as often as one would expect to see one’s SIS taskmaster in this business. That was about a dozen times a year in his case, which was more than most. But then, Stratton was used more than most in those days.
The last time he’d seen Sumners had been over a year ago during a mission neither man would ever forget. Sumners had been long overdue for a shot at the next rung up the ladder and his boss, unwisely in Stratton’s opinion, had bumped him up to operational commander. But things did not go well, to put it mildly, and within a few days he’d been relieved of his position. The significant rift that immediately developed between the two men was due to the fact that Stratton had played a pivotal role in that demotion. As far as Stratton was concerned Sumners had deserved it. He had been exposed as inadequate when the going got tough.
Only a handful of people outside the secret operation would have known the facts, though - a select few at the very top. Stratton was probably the only one who knew all Sumners’s shortcomings. Sumners was aware of that, too. He had been out of his depth and not only a threat to the operation’s success but also to Stratton’s survival, as well as that of others. Despite the mission’s positive conclusion Stratton had not been invited to take part in another SIS task since then. He suspected Sumners had had a lot to do with that.
Sumners had gone back to the job he’d done prior to that operation which involved selecting operatives for tasks. Stratton had not expected to hear from the SIS again. It was why he’d been surprised when he’d answered his phone that morning to hear Sumners dryly telling him to drop by the office. It did not necessarily mean that Stratton had been summoned for a task but he couldn’t think of any other reason why he would be invited to the SIS London HQ. If there
‘What’ve you been doing the past year?’ Sumners asked.
‘Usual stuff.’
‘I understand you’ve been confined to the training teams these days.’
The snide implication was that even the SBS had tired of Stratton. He was beginning to think that was true. The routine of the training slot had been gradually eroding his morale. His commanders in the SBS had clearly become unsure quite what to do with him after his last outing in the USA. Stratton had needed to lie low anyway but instead of sending him away on remote operations somewhere they’d stuck him where they’d thought he couldn’t do any harm. Initially Stratton had been relieved that he had not been kicked out of the service altogether. But within a few months he had begun to think that might have been the best choice. Ironically, the man who’d lifted his spirits out of the gutter that morning was the man least likely to. Sumners was one of the few people who knew there was nothing else Stratton would rather do than work for the SIS.
‘I take it that you’re fit?’
Stratton shrugged. ‘Usual.’
‘What about diving fit? I’m surprised you were medically cleared to dive after your chest wound.’
‘I guess they know what they’re doing.’
‘Are you medically fit? I can check.’
Arsehole, Stratton thought. Sumners looked as if he was waiting for an opportunity to explode and vent some of his pent-up anger. Stratton didn’t care. He even pondered on a comment or two he could make that might provide that trigger. He suddenly began to doubt this was a job offer after all. Sumners was looking far too smug. Perhaps the bastard had brought him in just to screw him about. ‘If it was essential to the job I don’t doubt you would have checked already.’
‘Don’t be impertinent,’ Sumners snapped, his face flushed with anger. ‘Remember this is a military structure and I am your superior - far and above, I may add, the rank of sergeant.’
‘Colour sergeant,’ Stratton corrected him.
Sumners stared at him while making an effort to calm himself. This wasn’t like the old days when he’d had more leverage with his young bucks. Things had changed, even in the last year. The mandarins were taking more of an interest in lower-level decisions than they had before. He could not overlook the fact that his own position had been damaged by that damned operation in Jerusalem. He blamed Stratton for much of it but deep down he knew that he, Sumners, had lost control. Still, he had expected more loyalty from the man. That was unforgivable. The trust had been broken. If he had his way Stratton would never work for the SIS again and certainly not under him.
But there was no denying that the man had carved himself a reputation, albeit a chequered one. He had fans in high places despite his many flaws. The only way forward for Sumners was to get himself another posting. New jobs were opening up all over the place. He needed to patch up the past, get a few feathers back in his cap, and then at the right moment apply for another position.This operation didn’t help any, though. It seemed to him to be doomed to failure. His plan was to distance himself from it as much as possible, do the minimum required to see it through and ensure that he made no operational contributions to it. When the investigation into its failure was conducted his name would appear purely in a lowly coordinating role. The good news was that it could end up being the final nail in Stratton’s coffin. A failure of such magnitude on the back of his American fiasco could be his ultimate undoing. Taking an even more brutal view, Stratton might not even survive it. That would probably suit everyone.
‘You’re under consideration for a task,’ Sumners said calmly, suddenly feeling more in control. ‘I don’t think you’re the ideal person, for a number of reasons. But we’re hellish busy at the moment with most of our people on the ground - our best are certainly unavailable.You’re not at the top of the pile any more, Stratton. As far as you’re concerned you’re lucky to be here at all.’
Sumners got to his feet, opened a drawer, removed a plastic card and held it out to Stratton. ‘Your key card. It’ll get you from the main entrance to this floor and the secure elevators only. Let’s go.’
Stratton took the pass and followed Sumners out of the room and down a corridor to a pair of elevators. Sumners placed a card into a slot, the doors opened and they stepped inside. Sumners pressed his hand against a glass panel. His fingerprints were scanned in a second but the doors remained open. ‘Everyone who steps into this
