country to keep tabs on al-Qaeda either. We do what we have to do.'
Matt turned to walk away. 'If Reid and Cooksley won't buy it, then neither will I. Your Irishman's out.'
'Then you're out as well, Matt,' replied Alison swiftly. 'This is my mission, don't forget that.'
Always level with the rest of the guys on the team, thought Matt. Whatever other rules you might have to break, that one must always be obeyed.
He looked across at Cooksley and Reid. They were sitting in a cafe just around the corner from his flat, finishing off some tea and sandwiches. Both men had travelled up from Hereford this morning, and although neither of them yet knew what the mission was, Matt could tell they were committed. They needed the money desperately. They would take whatever risks were necessary to get it.
'There's a problem,' he said simply.
'Already,' said Reid, fiddling with some Rizla papers. 'We haven't even started yet.'
Matt nodded. 'The woman running this is a Five officer called Alison,' he said. 'She wants us to bring along a guy called Ivan. He's a safecracker. The job is going to involve some explosives. That's his bit.'
'So,' said Cooksley. 'Sounds fair enough. Blowing a safe is a specialist job. None of us have training in it.'
'He's a Provo,' said Matt. 'Turned by Five, so he's a traitor as well.'
Around him, Matt could hear the clatter of plates and cups, the waitress shouting at the chef for more sandwiches. But on his table it was completely silent. Reid was holding his coffee halfway between the table and his mouth, but his hand had stopped moving. 'A Provo,' he said, lighting the cigarette he had just rolled, and taking a sharp intake of breath. 'I tell you what, Matt, I'll kill him, then we get on with the mission.'
'I don't like it, Matt,' Cooksley chipped in. 'A team has to have men who can trust each other.'
Matt shrugged. 'I've told her we don't want him,' he said. 'It's up to you guys. You don't want him, the mission's off.'
'Do the mission and then kill him,' said Reid, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. 'That's my plan.'
Reid and Cooksley sat quietly in the corner of the room. Matt recognised their expressions from a hundred different briefings when they'd all been in the Regiment together. Their faces said: What kind of crap are the Ruperts going to throw at us now?
'When do we hear about the dough, Matt?' said Cooksley, looking up from the sofa.
'When we're all together,' replied Matt firmly.
He went to answer the door. Ivan was standing outside. Matt showed him through to the sitting room, handing him a coffee. He checked his watch. Four minutes to three.
'Nice to meet you boys,' said Ivan, stepping into the room and nodding in the direction of Cooksley and Reid.
They looked back, nodded, but remained silent. Their expressions were suspicious, hostile. You didn't need to be an expert in body language, noticed Matt, to tell what was going on.
'How'd your game go?' said Matt.
'Won the game, but lost the rubber,' said Ivan. 'I play on the internet because that's where all the best games are now.' He took a sip of coffee. 'I'll teach you to play if you like. You have the look of a useful bridge player to me.'
'And what do they look like?' asked Matt.
'Two things about bridge,' said Ivan. 'You've got to count the cards, and you've got to judge the man. Counting, anyone can learn that. But judgement, you've either got it or you haven't. Nobody can teach you.'
Matt noticed Cooksley shaking his head in despair.
'Nobody can teach how to be a wanker, either,' said Reid.
'OK, drop it,' said Matt, anxious to calm everyone down. 'There'll be some hanging around on this job, there always is. Maybe we'll learn. We can make it a foursome. Very civilised.'
'There's nothing civilised about bridge,' said Ivan. 'People think it's just for little old ladies, but it's the roughest game there is.'
Matt walked back to the door to let Alison in. 'Everything OK?' he asked.
Alison walked past
Matt turned to walk away. 'If Reid and Cooksley won't buy it, then neither will I. Your Irishman's out.'
'Then you're out as well, Matt,' replied Alison swiftly. 'This is my mission, don't forget that.'
Always level with the rest of the guys on the team, thought Matt. Whatever other rules you might have to break, that one must always be obeyed.
He looked across at Cooksley and Reid. They were sitting in a cafe just around the corner from his flat, finishing off some tea and sandwiches. Both men had travelled up from Hereford this morning, and although neither of them yet knew what the mission was, Matt could tell they were committed. They needed the money desperately. They would take whatever risks were necessary to get it.
'There's a problem,' he said simply.
'Already,' said Reid, fiddling with some Rizla papers. 'We haven't even started yet.'
Matt nodded. 'The woman running this is a Five officer called Alison,' he said. 'She wants us to bring along a guy called Ivan. He's a safecracker. The job is going to involve some explosives. That's his bit.'
'So,' said Cooksley. 'Sounds fair enough. Blowing a safe is a specialist job. None of us have training in it.'
'He's a Provo,' said Matt. 'Turned by Five, so he's a traitor as well.'
Around him, Matt could hear the clatter of plates and cups, the waitress shouting at the chef for more sandwiches. But on his table it was completely silent. Reid was holding his coffee halfway between the table and his mouth, but his hand had stopped moving. 'A Provo,' he said, lighting the cigarette he had just rolled, and taking a sharp intake of breath. 'I tell you what, Matt, I'll kill him, then we get on with the mission.'
'I don't like it, Matt,' Cooksley chipped in. 'A team has to have men who can trust each other.'
Matt shrugged. 'I've told her we don't want him,' he said. 'It's up to you guys. You don't want him, the mission's off.'
'Do the mission and then kill him,' said Reid, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. 'That's my plan.'
Reid and Cooksley sat quietly in the corner of the room. Matt recognised their expressions from a hundred different briefings when they'd all been in the Regiment together. Their faces said: What kind of crap are the Ruperts going to throw at us now?
'When do we hear about the dough, Matt?' said Cooksley, looking up from the sofa.
'When we're all together,' replied Matt firmly.
He went to answer the door. Ivan was standing outside. Matt showed him through to the sitting room, handing him a coffee. He checked his watch. Four minutes to three.
'Nice to meet you boys,' said Ivan, stepping into the room and nodding in the direction of Cooksley and Reid.
They looked back, nodded, but remained silent. Their expressions were suspicious, hostile. You didn't need to be an expert in body language, noticed Matt, to tell what was going on.
'How'd your game go?' said Matt.
'Won the game, but lost the rubber,' said Ivan. 'I play on the internet because that's where all the best games are now.' He took a sip of coffee. 'I'll teach you to play if you like. You have the look of a useful bridge player to me.'
'And what do they look like?' asked Matt.
'Two things about bridge,' said Ivan. 'You've got to count the cards, and you've got to judge the man. Counting, anyone can learn that. But judgement, you've either got it or you haven't. Nobody can teach you.'
Matt noticed Cooksley shaking his head in despair.
'Nobody can teach how to be a wanker, either,' said Reid.
'OK, drop it,' said Matt, anxious to calm everyone down. 'There'll be some hanging around on this job, there always is. Maybe we'll learn. We can make it a foursome. Very civilised.'
'There's nothing civilised about bridge,' said Ivan. 'People think it's just for little old ladies, but it's the roughest game there is.'
Matt walked back to the door to let Alison in. 'Everything OK?' he asked.
Alison walked past
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