Traitor (38 page)

Stratton was quick to follow through on her effort, deciding that his best strategy was to get hold of the man in order to counter his superior martial-arts skills. But it was never going to be easy. As Stratton dived at him, Jason blocked the move and delivered a vicious kick. Yet Stratton was nothing if not determined and after absorbing several blows he countered a punch and slammed a fist into Jason’s face.

Binning let out a scream each time one of them stepped on his fingers. His grip began to weaken, his legs swinging beneath him in a desperate effort to find a purchase.

Rowena knelt on the floor, looking down through the grille. She saw the green mist in the darkness of the shaft rising silently towards them. The sight was enough to bring her fully out of her daze and on to her feet.

Jason and Stratton had drawn apart briefly but were ready to go at it once more.

‘It’s coming,’ Rowena said.

All thought of conflict paused as they realised they might not have the time to worry about anything else.

The mist reached Binning’s feet and he screamed insanely as he felt his flesh bubbling. The pain was intense and his grip weakened.

The gas reached above his knees and Binning trembled violently, his face a pathetic mask as he stared up at them. His fingers suddenly lost their hold on the grille and he screamed for less than a second before he disappeared.

Stratton looked up through the grille of the lift’s ceiling to see light coming from the square opening at the top of the shaft. Their exit.

Rowena kept her stare fixed on the gas, trying to calculate if they would make it.

Then the lift jerked to a stop.

As one they ripped open the cage as the gas came up through the floor and then they were running for their lives down a broad whitewashed corridor. At the end of it a huge steel security door had begun to close slowly, to seal the exit, to shut out the daylight.

Jason grabbed at Stratton to pull him back. Stratton lashed out and struck him. Jason staggered back a little with the blow but managed to clip one of Stratton’s feet with an aimed kick and trip him up. The operative went sprawling but as he fell he reached out a hand and grabbed Jason’s ankle.

It was Mansfield’s turn to go sprawling on the floor and as Stratton got to his feet and sprinted on he planted a powerful kick into the scientist’s lower back to keep him down a second longer.

Rowena ran through the ever-decreasing gap as the massive hydraulic arm pushed relentlessly to close the heavy door.

Jason got up quickly and, fleeter than Stratton, was soon right behind him. But Stratton was first into the gap and flung himself through it. With Rowena’s help he sprang free. As Jason pushed his way through behind him, Stratton turned and grabbed the man by the throat, holding him firmly in the closing gap.

Jason grasped Stratton’s hand in a desperate effort to force himself free but the operative held him fast.

‘Not this time, Jason,’ Stratton said, his arm and body shaking with concentrated effort.

The door closed on one of Jason’s feet. He screamed as it broke the bones inside his boot. The hydraulics struggled to seal the door completely but eventually the closing process ground to a halt. The security door was almost closed but not quite.

Stratton released Jason and stepped back.

The scientist fought to get free but it was useless. He was caught like an animal in a trap.

After a herculean effort Jason suddenly stopped, realising it was in vain. He would never release himself in time.

‘Never underestimate luck,’ Stratton said as he stepped back.

Jason looked at the pair of them as the green gas slithered around his ankles.

Rowena looked on in horror as Jason’s feet began to bubble.

The gas seeped out along the length of the door seal and Jason Mansfield started to shudder. As it enveloped him, Stratton and Rowena turned and ran. Jason’s pitiful scream became a choking gurgle as his flesh melted and the gas reached out across the ground.

They sprinted through the unmanned main gate and along the road that cut across barren moorland.

As they ran they heard footsteps behind them. Stratton looked back over his shoulder to see his young Russian guard gaining on them. The youngster was swift of foot and went pounding past the couple with hardly a glance at them.

Stratton and Rowena did not pause or let up their speed until they reached a highway.

Stratton stopped briefly to check the wind direction. ‘This way,’ he said and they broke into a brisk jog.

‘What do we do now?’ Rowena asked as she ran alongside him, their breath steaming in the chilly air.

‘Get to Moscow and our embassy.’

A truck appeared, coming along the highway from behind them, and Stratton practically threw himself in front of it in order to get it to stop. The driver pulled the vehicle to a halt and they scrambled into the cab. Moments later it moved off.

‘
Spasibo
,’ Stratton said to the driver, who gave them the once-over but otherwise seemed only a little annoyed with his hijackers.

Rowena regained her breath, huddled against the operative on the passenger seat. She looked back through the window to see if the gas was following. There was no sign of it. She stared ahead again and sighed.

‘You okay?’ Stratton asked.

She had to think about it for a moment. ‘I’ve only met you twice and both times I’ve quite literally had to scramble for my life.’

‘How do you think I feel? I have to live with me.’

Rowena lost the fight with herself to stop smiling.

Attracting looks of curiosity from a couple of Customs officers, Stratton and Rowena walked out of the baggage hall at Heathrow Airport. Neither of them had any luggage. They were dressed in cheap clothes that had been bought from a Moscow store near the British Embassy by a young aide who lacked taste and a memory for size. They were clean, pale and bore the marks of their brutal fight to escape the mine, with cuts and bruises on their knuckles and faces.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ one of the officials said, moving in front of Stratton to block his path.

The other officer moved to where he could stop Rowena if she decided to run. He looked her up and down suspiciously.

‘Where have you travelled from?’ the official asked Stratton.

Stratton exhaled tiredly and took a small plastic wallet from a pocket, opened it and showed it to the official. Inside was a small, ornate, circular, gold-inlaid enamel royal coat of arms.

The official looked at it, then back at Stratton as if he did not understand its meaning.

Stratton flipped up the badge on its neat leather hinge to reveal an inscription that read: ‘MI6: The bearer of this badge will receive all assistance on request from British Crown authorities in the course of their duty on behalf of Her Majesty the Queen.’ The badge had been given to Stratton by the British ambassador in Moscow on instructions from London as he was leaving.

The Customs official reached for the wallet.

‘No need to touch,’ Stratton said. ‘Just read it.’

The official frowned a little but studied the badge. He had seen photographs of it although he had never seen one in real life before. He also remembered that he was to obey the inscription without question. ‘Is there anything I can do for you, sir?’ he asked.

Stratton shook his head.

The Customs official nodded, bid his colleague step back and moved away himself to allow the couple through.

Stratton and Rowena walked into the cavernous arrivals hall where the operative stopped as if weighed down by indecision.

Rowena gave him his space. They had hardly talked throughout the journey back and had not exchanged a single word about the operation. It was not so much because the subject would be thoroughly hashed-out over the coming days, more a case of unwinding and returning to earth after such a psychologically and physically depleting experience. But there was something else. It was unfinished. There were unanswered questions and the more Stratton thought about them, the more uneasy he had grown.

As Rowena watched him she became concerned for him. She suspected there was a lot more to the plot than she knew and she wanted to help somehow, though she didn’t know how. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

Stratton felt unsure about confiding in her. He looked at her bruised face and into her tired eyes and decided that she was more of a partner to him in this business than anyone else had been. She had been a reluctant member of Jason’s team, had been betrayed by him and Binning and had shown great courage and fortitude when most needed. ‘One thing has been bothering me since I’ve had time to think about all that’s happened. But I’m not sure how to go about solving it.’

Rowena stepped closer to him, curious to know, hoping she could help.

‘I don’t believe that Jason and Binning accomplished all they did on their own.’

‘They didn’t. They had the help of powerful Russian officials and wealthy businessmen.’

‘I mean they must’ve had serious assistance from heavy players on our side too. Getting onto the platform, for instance. And Jason going to Russia with me. He said he didn’t believe in luck, that everything he did was meticulously planned. Yet he had no control over some of the most important leaps in the series of events.’

‘That would mean someone pretty high up?’

‘Someone with direct influence on the operation. There’s only one person it could be.’ Stratton walked over to a public phone.

He picked up the receiver and dialled a number. It was the SBS HQ operator’s freephone number. ‘This is John Stratton. Put me through to Mike Manning.’

Stratton looked at Rowena as she came up to him, her hands in the pockets of the cheap coat with its matted synthetic fur-lined collar.

‘Mike? Stratton. No time right now. I need something. It’s important. I want to know where Jervis is. Sumners’ll tell you if you make it sound operationally important. I’ll wait for your call back . . . You have the number? Roger that.’

Stratton put the phone down.

‘What are you going to do?’ Rowena asked again.

‘I’m going to find Jervis and ask him.’

‘Just like that?’

He shrugged. ‘Unless you have another suggestion?’

‘You have a very direct style, don’t you?’

‘I need answers. All I can think of is to ask the person who I think has them.’

A man walked over to the phone kiosk and reached for the receiver. Stratton put his hand on it. ‘There’s another one over there,’ he said.

‘I’d like to use this one,’ the man said. He was bigger than Stratton and looked as though he could handle himself.

‘Are you deaf?’ Rowena asked him from behind. ‘Go and use that phone over there before I put your head through it.’

The man looked at the pair of them, taking in their bruised complexions. But it was their stone-cold, unblinking eyes that gave him pause for thought. ‘Okay,’ he said, stepping back and turning away.

The phone rang and Stratton quickly picked it up. ‘Yes . . . Thanks. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

He put the phone back down and looked at Rowena. ‘He’s in the City, having dinner.’

‘Can I come with you?’

Stratton considered the request. ‘Why not?’ He put his hand in his pocket and took out the money that the embassy aide had given him. ‘Let’s grab a cab.’

They headed across the hall and into the cold night air.

 

The taxi pulled to a halt in St James’s Place, just up the road from The Mall. Stratton and Rowena climbed out. The well-lit street was empty of life. They walked along a short cul-de-sac and up the flight of steps to the entrance of Duke’s Hotel.

The compact, well-appointed lobby had an empty reception desk in one corner. Stratton heard laughter nearby and walked through a narrow opening that offered a choice of directions to either the cocktail bar or several rooms.

Voices came from the bar. Stratton moved to the door and eased it open. It was a small, tastefully furnished, cramped room with a handful of little tables and a small yet grand bar. The bartender wore a white jacket and a bow tie. Two tables had been pushed together by a window with its curtains drawn. Seated around them were the bar’s only customers. Stratton recognised all four of the men.

Rowena moved to his side. ‘You see a lion’s den, you just walk right into it.’

Sumners was the first to see Stratton, his weasel-like, self-preserving and unsmiling eyes staring at him. The others caught on to their colleague’s distraction. Nevins, Jackson and Jervis all looked round to see who it was. Jackson appeared to be the only one surprised to see the two of them.

‘Ah. The adventurers return,’ Jervis said. ‘Come on in and join us. ’Ave a glass of claret. I think you’ve earned one.’ Jervis always lost control of his fake posh accent after a few drinks, his true South London mongrel quality shining through.

Stratton stood in front of the group.

Rowena eyed Nevins as he pulled on a cigarette. ‘Do you mind if I have of those? Russian cigarettes give me heartburn.’

‘Help yourself, my dear,’ Nevins said, offering her a packet as well as his lighter. ‘We’ve classified the bar as a private room for the evening.’

She lit one up and sat down at the next table.

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,’ Jervis said. ‘You must’ve just stepped off the plane.’ Jervis noted Stratton’s dark expression and the way he looked at him. ‘Something on your mind, old boy?’

Stratton wasn’t sure where to start, despite having thought it through while in the taxi. ‘A couple of things.’

‘Why don’t I tell you what they are, and you tell me if I’m right?’ Jervis offered.

Stratton was always wary of Jervis. He was one of those completely unapproachable individuals, habitually deceptive and secluded. It was the strategy of his rank and position but also embedded in his character. Stratton could not imagine him having a single close friend and wondered if he had a wife and children. There was no evidence to suggest that he could possibly get close to anyone. And Stratton could not see Jervis sharing a single idea with anyone unless he expected to get something in return.