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sensitive with a high degree of risk.’ Bradshaw paused as if his mind was recalling a personal memory and then he refocused and said, ‘I know what happened in Tenerife, I know what you did. I also know that you took care of our friend from the FO [ FO: Foreign Office ]. It was work that’s difficult to ignore.’
    Flattery has never worked on me but Bradshaw didn’t know that. We had stopped walking. ‘I’ve already got a job,’ I said.
    ‘Yes, I know. This would be something extra. Think of it as a freelance project. The pay is the same as before.’
    ‘Can the people I’m working with know about it?’
    ‘Um, it may be best not to involve them. As I said, it is rather sensitive, and not strictly within their jurisdiction. I would advise against it. I won’t be telling them and they won’t hear it from VX either.’
    ‘Can you give me the details before I decide?’
    ‘All I can tell you now is it’s a single target, male, currently located in central London.’
    I didn’t respond and Bradshaw waited. His patience didn’t last long and he said, ‘Well, will you take it?’
    Before my mind had made a decision I found my mouth opening and I heard my voice, as if it were distant or belonged to someone else, speak the words, ‘Okay I’ll take the assignment.’
    I thought Bradshaw was going to smile but his pink cheeks remained still and flat. From an inside jacket pocket he took a tiny computer memory stick and pressed it into my palm.
    ‘It contains all the details. The access code is marzipan555 . Make sure you delete everything after you’re finished. I’m having your equipment sent to you today in the post. It was good seeing you again.’ Then he turned and walked away. I watched him step carefully across a frosty stretch of pavement while his hand disappeared inside his jacket pocket.

 
     
    4
     
    SUNDAY, 09:10—09:15
     
    STEPHEN BRADSHAW
     
    Stephen Bradshaw, Military Intelligence (seconded), Head of Special Operations [ST Division] lit a cigarette with his Dunhill lighter and hunched over in his coat.
    He dragged hard on the filter tip and then studied the gold lighter in his hand. It was old now with that worn cared for appearance like a vintage car. His wife had bought it for him as a birthday gift in the first few years of their marriage. He turned the lighter over and looked at the inscription. He couldn’t read it without his glasses. It didn’t matter because he knew what it said: All my love, Susan x. He put the lighter away in his outside jacket pocket and dragged once more on the cigarette.
    Seeing him again was unexpectedly pleasant. In his position, Stephen Bradshaw met many men from the Special Forces. Few if any were good company. This one, however, was different. Despite Tenerife, Bradshaw couldn’t stop himself from liking the man. What did Churchill say? I like a man who grins when he fights. Bradshaw knew what Churchill meant. Susan wouldn’t understand. His wife rarely understood him and even less so in recent years. It would be easy to blame his work but he knew there was more to it than that. Susan had fallen out of love with her husband. Unfortunately, for Stephen Bradshaw he remained very much in love with his wife. He took another drag. The cigarette tasted old like stale bread. He threw it down and it rolled away across the pavement and dropped into the gutter. A stream of easy smoke gave away its position.
    Bradshaw walked on, head down and shoulders hunched. The pavement was icy so he stepped carefully. He didn’t want to slip and fall. The conversation replayed in his head. It had gone as expected. He had prepared in case greater persuasion was needed. The task was simpler without it. For a second, a shard of doubt stabbed but then resolve toughened like a suit of armour . He held the feeling inside and it twisted like a dying man swinging on the gallows. Reservations were for the weak, he thought.
    Bradshaw stopped walking. The taste in his mouth had