Red Station by Adrian Magson Page B

was surprised. ‘I thought this was strictly a Five set-up.’
    â€˜It started out that way. Then Vauxhall Cross asked to join the party in case they needed to export one or two of their own clandestine miscreants.’
    â€˜I’m surprised they have enough to warrant it.’
    â€˜You kidding? With over five thousand employees between ’em, it’d be a bloody miracle not to have some lame ducks. You any idea how many Fivers and Sixers get quietly canned every year?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜About two dozen at the last estimate, although they’re mostly minor. Some end up behind bars, others get the order of the boot and a rap over the head with the Official Secrets Act.’ He broke off and took a sip of his drink. ‘Then there’s the ones they can’t afford to kick off the end of the plank. Which is where this place comes in.’
    â€˜Go on.’
    â€˜Take young Clare, for instance. Passed all the courses with flying colours, didn’t put a foot wrong in the assessments and practical tests and left everyone else on her intake streets behind. She was only in Six for a year before she got spotted and chucked in at the deep end. Too deep, as it happened.’
    Harry stirred his coffee and tried to match the woman he’d met with the kind of officers MI6 trained and ran. He’d got to know a few but they’d mostly been men.
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    â€˜You know what a honey trap is?’ Mace’s voice was low.
    â€˜I know the theory.’
    â€˜Right. It needs two willing parties. Well, one willing, the other as gullible as buggery. The trapper and the trappee. Jardine got badly stung.’
    â€˜She was the target?’ It made him wonder why – and what she knew of value.
    â€˜Knew you’d think that.’ Mace shook his head. ‘Our Clare was the honey pot.’
    â€˜Oh.’ Harry revised his opinion. She clearly had hidden depths.
    â€˜Trouble was, she got too close, too friendly.’ Mace shrugged. ‘Big no-no, that. Scale ten on the rectum-quivering chart. She should have made her excuses and pulled out, as the old-time News of the World journos used to say. But she didn’t. She stayed and tried to work the situation . . . and got burned. Turned out the target was setting her up, not the other way round.’
    â€˜So why is she here?’
    â€˜Like I said, she’s good. And hard-nosed. Don’t let the fact that she’s a woman fool you. She got snitty with her controller when he hauled her in, and threatened to tell what she knew. Seems in between the door and the target’s boudoir, she stumbled on some sensitive information. Nobody’s saying what, but it was enough to get her tabbed and sent her out here to lose her memory.’
    â€˜Is it working?’
    â€˜It’s fading.’
    â€˜And Fitzgerald?’
    â€˜He’s just unlucky. Ex-para, one of Five’s heavies for a few years – the kind used to lift someone off the street when they needed it. Then his wife ran off with the milkman, turned his kids against him and he lost the plot. Smacked a colleague who said the wrong thing. They were going to pay him off but he asked for a hard posting instead. This was it. Should have known better, being ex-army. Never volunteer for nothing.’
    Harry looked at him and said, ‘What about you?’
    Mace’s face remained blank. ‘You don’t have clearance for that information, son.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘Anything else you want to know?
    â€˜Yes. What you said about the Russians coming; is that what all the local military activity is about?’
    Mace eyed him for a few moments, then grunted. ‘They didn’t let you in on much before sending you out here, did they? Christ, what a bunch.’ He finished his drink and pushed the glass away. ‘Right, quick briefing. Thirty miles south of here is the