around sharply and returned to his seat.
Stratton pulled himself back into the carriage and closed the door, immediately shutting out the howling, freezing wind and the noisier clattering of metal wheels on rails.
He walked back along the carriage, eyeing the young man who was now sitting tightly against the end of the bench and looking intently out of the window. He looked like he was trying to make himself invisible.
Stratton ignored him. Several people gave the operative sober glances this time, as if they knew that something had just happened. There was no judgement in their expressions - or anything, in fact, other than simple curiosity.
Jason seemed to be lost in another daydream and barely acknowledged Stratton’s return. Stratton checked his watch. They had been travelling for just over five hours. A couple more to go. He put his head back and closed his eyes.
It was the smell of woodsmoke that brought Stratton out of his chilly slumber. The couple with the children had lit a fire in a bucket and were huddled around it. The carriage had filled with smoke but no one appeared to have complained. At least smoke meant warmth.
He checked his watch again. The train had stopped several times at small village stations far off the beaten track and had occasionally slowed to a crawl. The seven-hour journey had turned into a ten-hour slog and Stratton was feeling hungry now as well as cold. He dug a survival bar out of a pocket and took a bite out of it. His thoughts quickly shifted to the task. But he reminded himself once again that it wasn’t worth thinking about. The information he needed to progress any planning was waiting for him on the ground. Stratton had long since learned to compartmentalise such things in order to take as much advantage as possible of any down time. Rest when you can for you don’t know when your next chance will come.
The train reached their destination eventually. Both men got to their feet. They each carried small backpacks containing washing gear, a change of clothes and nothing else. They kept their passports, money and return air tickets in their pockets. Stratton pulled the collar of his thick coat tight around his neck, shoved a woollen hat onto his head, rolling down the sides to cover his ears, and stepped down the carriage steps after Jason onto the snow- covered gravel. No platform. Just a couple of low brick buildings one side of the track, smoke issuing from a chimney, the only evidence of life. No one to greet the train or get aboard it. A family climbed out of the next carriage and after gathering their things huddled together and headed back along the track. The rest was tundra.
Mansfield had already set off at a brisk pace along the single road that cut the station in two: north led across the railway track into a barren steppe and south to a wooded wilderness. Jason was heading towards the trees.
Stratton marched a few metres behind, wondering when Jason was going to give up this ‘We’re not really together’ act. The road’s surface appeared to be tarmac beneath a crust of compressed snow and didn’t look as if it saw much vehicular traffic. When they reached the wood it turned out to be a thick, impenetrable army of pines.
Jason left the road, turning along a footpath that traced the edge of the trees. He was following the navigational instructions to the letter, having memorised every detail from maps and satellite photographs. The rest of the journey was just as uncomplicated. At the end of the track they would come to another road where their contact should be waiting for them - the man who had taken the surveillance photographs of Binning. From there they would go to a safe house on the edge of Plesetsky and get the latest information on Binning’s movements. Then it would be a case of planning his abduction. Apparently the contact would provide all they would need, including a pistol. He wouldn’t get involved in anything violently physical, although he was willing to drive for them.
Once Binning had been abducted they would secure him in the safe house that reportedly had a suitable basement in which to conduct a noisy interrogation. Jason and Stratton were to play the good cop, bad cop routine - Stratton would naturally be the thug. Jason was more than confident that Binning would tell him everything. He would appeal to Binning’s guilt, which he’d assured everyone the man would have in abundance, despite what he had done. Then, depending on what Binning revealed, they would come up with a plan to destroy the tile since they did not actually need the device itself - after all, MI16 had built it - the aim being to deny the technology to the other side. Ideally they would want it back but that would be impossible if it was in the mine laboratory - which was more than likely. It was the reason why Binning had to be terminated. Without him the Russians would take a lot longer, years perhaps, to figure out the other components.
Executing Binning was not going to be done in the old-fashioned way with a bullet to the head or a knotted rope around the scientist’s neck. Stratton had been given a shirt with a strip of material sewn into the collar. All he needed to do was dissolve it in liquid, such as a cup of coffee. Seconds after drinking it, Binning would be dead. He would be none the wiser when his time came. The poison apparently paralysed the respiratory system in seconds.
A few metres along the track, Jason slowed to allow Stratton to catch up. He had obviously decided they could now be together since they were out of sight of anyone travelling along the road. He grinned by way of a greeting as Stratton approached and they carried along together.
‘I love this kind of dry cold, don’t you?’ Jason said.
Stratton didn’t know how to answer him. It was a simple enough question. But coming from Jason, and the way the man asked it as if he was an old sweat in the job and they were pals, it was irritating. Stratton forced a smile by way of an answer. There was no point in letting the man wind him up.
‘We make a good pair, don’t you think? Brains and brawn. That wasn’t intended to be rude or typecasting,’ he added. ‘But, well, you are a bit of a thug. I mean that in the nicest possible way.’
Stratton wondered if there was any way he could convince Jason of the need to go back to their being separated - for tactical reasons, of course.
‘Seriously, though, don’t you think there could be a future in both our organisations combining in this way, for certain operations? Between us we do cover all the bases.’
Something new was beginning to bug Stratton about Jason, and even more so since they’d climbed off the train. He seemed generally pleased and at ease with life. There was a chirpiness to his step and his mood. An odd attitude to have for a novice at the operational game like him. What was more, a subordinate of his had turned traitor at the expense of Jason’s work and reputation and kidnapped his girlfriend, one of his staff, who was now a prisoner of a Russian crime syndicate. Stratton would have expected Jason to be upset or angry, at least nervous about the upcoming operation. He probably had no real idea of how dangerous what they were about to attempt was. Perhaps he truly was superior and able to detach himself fully from such issues. Maybe he was the new breed, his organisation the future. Stratton wasn’t convinced. ‘How do you feel about this operation?’ he asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well. We’re going to waste your mate, hopefully find out what has become of your girlfriend, who could be dead, and if we get caught in the process we may never see the light of day again.’
‘To be honest, I’ve not come to terms with the killing bit,’ Jason said. ‘Perhaps I’m in denial about that part. If it was me who had to do it, I’m not sure that I could. The man was a friend.’
‘You saying that if something happens to me you won’t see the plan through?’
‘When you put it that way, I believe I would. But until that moment comes . . . it’s hard to visualise . . . hard to think about. So I won’t, if you don’t mind.’
‘I suppose the penalty of death just for stealing something is a bit over the top.’
Jason glanced at Stratton, suspicious that the operative might be trying to corner him. ‘If we could get him back home I would rather do that. I’m only being honest. But if that’s impossible, getting rid of him seems like our only option. As for Rowena, I can’t think about her. I have to put her out of my thoughts. That may sound callous but to help her I must remain clear-headed. And if something bad has happened, well, I’d rather wait. Until I know for certain. As for the dangers . . . I suppose this is where ignorance comes in handy.’
‘You have an imagination, though.’
Jason smiled. ‘I’m with the great John Stratton. What’s there to worry about?’
Stratton had the feeling that the man was avoiding the question.
A mile later the wood spilled across their path and the track carried straight on through it. As a precaution Stratton stopped to look back the way they had come in case anyone had followed them. Jason caught on to what he was doing and stood quietly until Stratton was satisfied. They continued along the track and ten minutes later
