Traitor by Duncan Falconer Read Free Book Online

and took a peck at it just as Stratton’s phone rang. The pheasant took flight.
    Stratton sighed as he looked at the phone. ‘Some things are just not meant to be,’ he muttered and put it to his ear. ‘This is Stratton on his day off. How can I help?’
    ‘It’s Mike.’
    ‘Morning, Mike,’ the operative said. The kettle boiled and clicked off.
    ‘I need you to come in.’
    Stratton sensed the urgency in his voice. ‘Is this an unplug-your-crockpot-and-come-in call?’
    ‘No. You can leave it plugged in this time.’
    ‘It’s not urgent, then?’
    ‘We need to have a conversation. But not over the phone.’
    Stratton poured boiling water into a mug. ‘Okay. I’ll see you in a bit.’
    The phone went dead. Stratton dumped his tea bag in the bin, added some milk to the mug and took a sip, wondering what it could be about.
     
    When Mike saw Stratton in the doorway of his office an hour later his expression matched his earlier tone. ‘Come in and close the door.’
    The sergeant major took a moment to decide how to introduce the subject. He would have been utterly direct with just about anyone else. But Stratton was not only an old friend, he was a thoroughbred in the business and although not a prima donna he demanded a level of respect. ‘The op in Sevastopol . . . when you dumped the recorder, did you see if it self-destructed?’
    ‘Is that a joke?’ Stratton asked. He already had an idea where the conversation was going.
    ‘The Russians found it, apparently. The self-destruct device didn’t work.’
    ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Stratton said. ‘Anything else?’ He went cold. It was obvious the blame-shifting had begun.
    ‘Yes,’ Mike answered. This would be even more difficult. ‘The memory card was blank.’
    Stratton stared at the man. All the effort and his own near-death experience had been for nothing. London must be going mental.
    ‘The boffins at MI16 are saying that the device was in perfect working condition when you received it and that it failed to record or self-destruct because you didn’t turn it on properly.’
    Stratton’s hackles rose and he leaned forward, his dark green eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t give a monkey’s backside what those pricks say. My post-operational report gives specific details of every step I took. I turned it on. I armed it. I used it. I removed the memory card.’
    ‘No one’s suggesting that you’re lying.’
    ‘No. Just that I’m a wanker.’
    ‘Come on, John.’
    ‘Then why am I here?’
    ‘Your report does reveal that you didn’t follow every step precisely.’
    ‘How’s that?’
    ‘You didn’t check to see if the device had remained armed after you removed the card.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I said—’
    ‘I heard what you said. I want to know where it’s coming from.’
    ‘The recorder’s instructions clearly state that when the card—’
    ‘Those instructions were written by someone who’s never done anything except sit behind a bloody desk. If it needed double-checking in the middle of a scrap it shouldn’t have been used in the field.’
    ‘Okay, okay,’ Mike said, holding up his hands. ‘Don’t have a go at me. I just want you to know what’s being said, that’s all.’
    ‘By those tossers in Sixteen?’
    ‘No. Not just by them . . . Perhaps someone is trying to discredit us.’
    Stratton sat back, his mood still simmering.
    ‘Everything’s becoming specialised these days. There seems to be a new unit springing up for every type of task. Look how the surveillance roles have changed. Us and the lads in Hereford used to do it all outside London. Now that’s been compartmentalised and we hardly get a look-in. SRR does it all. Maybe we’re getting squeezed out of other specialised roles.’
    ‘Mike, I don’t give a toss. But I do when I’m blamed for screwing up when I didn’t . . . What has London said?’
    ‘Nothing yet. Calm before the storm, probably. The Russians probably think we completed the mission