Tango One by Stephen Leather Read Free Book Online Page A

was cool and dry and she could feel how strong it was, how easily it could crush the life out of her if it should ever coil itself around her. The punter had got all excited at the sight of Tina caressing the snake and had offered her money for some really weird stuff, stuff that Tina didn't like to think about, and she'd rushed out of the house without the twenty pounds he'd promised. Tina shivered at the memory and groped for her cigarettes.
    Assistant Commissioner Latham paced up and down in front of the window.
    “I'm still not convinced that we're doing the right thing here,” he said.
    Gregg Hathaway unhooked the clock from the wall and placed it on the table.
    “Morally, you mean?” Hathaway was wearing a dark brown leather jacket, blue jeans and scuffed brown Timberland boots. He had a slight limp, favouring his left leg when he walked.
    Latham gave Hathaway a cold look.
    “I was referring to their training and handling,” he said.
    Hathaway shrugged carelessly.
    “It's not really my place to query operational decisions,” he said.
    “I leave that up to my masters.” He was a short man, thought Latham: even if he didn't have the limp, he wouldn't have been allowed to join the Met. He was well below the Met's height requirements, even though they'd been drastically lowered so as not to exclude Asians. The intelligence services clearly had different criteria when it came to recruiting, and there was no doubting Hathaway's intelligence.
    “They applied to join the police, not MI6,” said Latham.
    Hathaway went back to the wall and pulled out a length of wire that had been connected to the small camera in the centre of the clock. The wire led through the wall and up into the ceiling to the video monitor on the floor above, from where Hathaway had watched all three interviews. Latham had been upstairs to check that there was no video recording equipment. Under no circumstances was there to be any record of what had gone on in the office, either on tape or on paper. Officially, the three interviews hadn't taken place. Latham's diary would show that he was in a private meeting with the Commissioner.
    “I suppose you do get a different sort of applicant than we do at Six,” said Hathaway, coiling up the wire and placing it on top of the clock.
    “They've been trying to widen the intake, but it's still mainly Oxbridge graduates that get in. Wouldn't get the likes of Cliff Warren applying. Fullerton maybe.”
    “I suppose so. How do you think they'll do?”
    Hathaway ran a hand through his thinning sandy hair.
    “You can never tell. Not until they go undercover. Fullerton's a bit cocky, but that's no bad thing. Warren's probably the most stable of the three, but he's not been put under pressure yet. The girl's interesting.”
    “Interesting?”
    “She worked hard to get away from the life she had. Now we're going to send her back. I'm not sure how she'll cope with that. I was surprised that she agreed.”
    “I'm not sure that she had much choice.” Latham looked at his watch. His driver was already waiting in the car park downstairs and there was no reason for the Assistant Commissioner still to be in the office. No reason other than the fact that he still had misgivings about what he was doing.
    Hathaway put the clock and the wire into an aluminum briefcase and snapped shut the lid.
    “Right, that's me, then.” He swung the briefcase off the table.
    “Take care of them,” said Latham.
    “I haven't lost an agent yet,” said Hathaway.
    “I mean it,” said Latham.
    “I know they're not my responsibility, but that doesn't mean I'm washing my hands of them.”
    Hathaway looked as if he might say something, but then he nodded curtly and limped out of the room.
    Latham turned and looked out of the window. He had a nagging feeling that he'd done something wrong, that in some way he'd betrayed the three individuals who'd been brought to see him. He'd lied to them, there was no doubt about that, but had he