Red Station by Adrian Magson Page A

orders. Now he was here, he couldn’t see beyond the bleak surrounds of these four walls and the grubby little cowpat of a town outside.
    Even Jean seemed too far away to be more than a vague memory.
    He leaned back, depressed, suddenly too tired to care, and fell asleep dreaming about the young couple in the Land Rover and a tall gunman with dreadlocks and a pole belching fire.

TWELVE
    M ace was in his office by the time Harry got in, feeling worn out from a restless night’s sleep. He tapped on the glass door and walked in, and was surprised to smell alcohol in the air. A half-full glass of amber liquid sat in the centre of the Station Chief’s desk.
    â€˜Come in,’ said Mace, his words heavily precise. ‘Set yourself down and pull up a coffee.’ He waved vaguely in the direction of a filter machine in the corner.
    Harry decided against it. The rim of the glass bowl looked toxic.
    â€˜Your digs all right?’ Mace asked.
    â€˜Magnificent. I’ll soon have it looking just like home.’ Harry didn’t bother pretending; he was sure the last thing Mace was concerned with was the well-being of his staff.
    â€˜Good. Good.’ Mace ignored the sarcasm and sat back in his chair, nursing his glass.
    â€˜Is there something you want me to do?’ Harry hoped this wasn’t chancing providence. He felt washed out, his eyes gritty, and wanted nothing more than to get through the day, have a decent meal and get to bed – preferably alone, although he’d have felt a lot happier if Jean was here.
    â€˜Not really. Thought it was about time I let you in on all the gossip.’
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    â€˜Well, let’s say you’re not unique, all right?’ Mace held up a finger. ‘Take young Ferris. MI5 computer bod. Something of a wiz, recruited from university and put to work for the greater good minding other people’s business. Trouble is, he got bored ferreting about in websites and computers belonging to terrorists, trouble-makers and general malcontents, and began using his skills closer to home; people in the government, people in power. One or two of ’em in the security services.’
    â€˜Christ.’
    â€˜Yeah. He’d have hacked Him too if he could have found His website. He wasn’t all that clever, though. He talked about what he’d done after hours. Silly boy. Should have known he’d get dobbed in by some back-stabber with ambition. Lots of that in this business.’
    â€˜What happened?’ Harry was surprised Ferris wasn’t languishing in a cell somewhere. Hacking any computer was an offence; taking on the security services at their own game was tantamount to suicide.
    â€˜He got tabbed. That’s a fancy name for having your legs taken from under you and sent out here, which is what happened to you. Your file gets tabbed, you’re due for a nasty surprise.’ He showed his teeth in another grin. ‘The people he took a sneaky look at didn’t want him loose on the labour market, so they decided to put him somewhere where they could keep an eye on him. Lucky for him.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜He might have been propping up a patio in SW16, otherwise. They sent him here instead. Some might say there’s not much difference.’
    â€˜Why are you telling me this?’ Harry felt uncomfortable hearing about the transgressions of his colleagues. He had second thoughts about the coffee and poured a cup. Even loaded with sugar it tasted like sump oil.
    â€˜Why not? Clean sheets makes for untroubled sleep, so my dear old mother used to say. Course, they wouldn’t agree back at HQ, but that’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?’
    â€˜If you say so.’
    â€˜I do. Where was I? Oh, yes: Clare Jardine. Nice girl, but don’t get on her bad side. She comes from Six, along with all sorts of vile habits. She doesn’t do fluffy.’
    â€˜Six?’ Harry