was no longer on the assignment-standby list. Stratton was the one aspect of Sumners’ rehabilitation that he had no control over. He could only pray the man did not recover or lost interest in the job. But that was obviously too much to hope and his sudden presence proved it, for here he was, standing in front of him in his office, his hands in the pockets of his grubby, old leather jacket and looking at him in his usual expressionless, cold manner as if nothing had happened between them. The only positive thing that Sumners could think of regarding the visit was that Stratton had come to quit.
‘How are you feeling?’ Sumners asked, chirpier at the thought that this might well be a farewell visit. It was also possible it was a subtle move by Stratton to announce his fitness, declaring himself ready to return to work, and wanting Sumners to ask him to pick up the ID and await a call. Sumners put that thought aside because it did not give him any pleasure to contemplate.
‘I’m fine. Feeling better than ever. First good rest I’ve had in years.’
Sumners groaned inwardly as Stratton began to sound very much like someone who was looking forward to returning to work. ‘You spoken to anyone else?’ he asked.
‘Chalmers, outside,’ Stratton said, as he went to the window and looked down on to the river. ‘He was surprisingly chatty. I still think he’s a walking computer but he sounded quite human just now.’
Sumners wasn’t sure about Stratton’s mood. He sounded chipper enough all right, but that really meant nothing. ‘You had a post-op report?’ he asked, knowing Stratton had not. Stratton was entitled to a closing summary of the operation but Sumners’ only reason for offering it was a personal interest in one major aspect of it.
‘No. Any fallout?’ Stratton asked.
Sumners sat back and exhaled deeply as he thought the summary through. Talking operations was his favourite pastime and he could do it with anyone, even Stratton. ‘The Russians have been put under immense pressure from Downing Street to reveal the whereabouts of their sabotage hides in Britain. Washington has been doing the same regarding the hides in the US. The Russians have unsurprisingly refused to give the locations but then came back with a promise to remove the dangerous contents, a damned stupid suggestion that has created an enormous furore. How on earth they expected anyone to agree that they be allowed to transport nuclear and biological weapons across sovereign states without the assistance or even knowledge of the home government, I don’t know. Anyway, that’s where we’re at at the moment, but Russia is in an untenable position and will have to concede something, and soon. Interestingly, Israel has also brought some pressure to bear on the subject. Question is, how did they know about the nuclear device?’ Sumners stared at Stratton, watching for his response to the last comment, which was the subject of his greater interest.
Stratton glanced over his shoulder at Sumners, giving nothing away. ‘Smart cookies, those Israelis,’ he said. Stratton had handed over the plutonium to Chalmers who met him at the trauma unit of Jerusalem’s Ein Karem Hadassah hospital on his arrival, leaving no real evidence among the debris that followed the explosion in the old city. It was possible their forensic experts could have put something together that might have suggested it was a nuclear device, but without the plutonium it was a tough one to prove. Stratton had no guilt about bartering Abed’s safety with a clue about the seriousness of the event the young Palestinian had helped avoid. It was only fair. Besides, he could not see what harm there was in Israel supporting the removal of Russian nuclear bombs from secret arsenals around the world. Sumners would no doubt have a good reason against it, but Stratton did not care to hear it.
‘What happened to Abed?’ Stratton asked, steering the conversation away from the nuclear device.
It made Sumners even more suspicious that Stratton had something to do with the Israeli interference. If he could find out how, he could close the door on Stratton in an instant, but short of the man admitting it himself, it was unlikely Sumners could prove such a thing. Manachem Raz sure as hell would not be of any help. Sumners decided to table it for now but he would never forget.
‘We brought the Palestinian back here where he co-operated in a detailed debrief of the tanker operation. Because of that, and the assistance he gave you in locating Zhilev, he was placed in a protection programme. He’s currently living in Glasgow under a new name and working as a bartender with class-one restrictions.’
A class-one restriction meant Abed could not change accommodation or employment without permission, or travel more than twenty-five miles from his address. Reading between the lines, Stratton assumed they were not finished with Abed yet and that he was still employable. Stratton got the feeling, during their short time together, that Abed wanted to be free from it all. The young man had a long way to go before that would be the case, if he ever made it at all. But it was out of Stratton’s hands. He could do nothing more for the man and he put him out of his thoughts.
‘Good . . . Well,’ Stratton said, bringing his visit to a close as he stepped from the window to the door. ‘I’m gonna head out. I lost most of the cash advance. Don’t know if it was in the blast, the hospital, or the hotel.’
‘Under the circumstances I’m sure it will be overlooked, ’ Sumners said. He was being deliberately charitable in case Stratton should make the leap he hoped was coming.
Stratton nodded and opened the door. ‘See ya,’ he said as he started to head out, but it was not enough for Sumners. He wanted to know what Stratton wanted to do about his MI career.
‘Stratton?’
Stratton stopped in the open doorway and looked back at Sumners.
Sumners decided to push it. He did not have the patience, nor did he want to spend any time wondering. One way or the other. ‘What about your ID?’ he asked, jutting his chin at the MI6 badge on his desk, Stratton’s picture looking up at him.
It was obvious to Stratton Sumners wanted him to quit the game. It was oozing from the man. The truth was Stratton still did not know. He could not make his mind up, or, more to the truth, find the strength to walk away from something he knew deep down was not the ideal life for him. For the past year or so, it had all been about him waiting for the phone to ring, wondering if they wanted him back, if he was still good enough. Now it was the reverse. Sumners could no longer ignore him. Stratton was, for the time being at least, top of the pile. He had saved Jerusalem, and, perhaps more importantly, averted what could have been a catastrophic conflict between East and West. Sumners no longer had the power to remove him from the agent list.
Stratton stared at the ID. Quitting at this level was permanent. No one walked in and out of MI6 of their own volition. If you volunteered to say goodbye it was pretty much written in stone. Stratton could feel Sumners willing him to close the door and walk away without a word, which, finally, was perhaps why he did not.
Stratton walked over to the desk, picked up the ID and put it in his pocket. ‘Thanks,’ he said, rubbing salt into Sumners’ anxiety, the thanks a suggestion that Sumners had invited Stratton to pick it up. Sumners could only stare at him.
Stratton walked out the door, closed it behind him and headed down the corridor towards the elevators. He could quit next week, but for now he was staying in the game.
