sand. There were lights on cargo ships out to sea, anchored while they waited for space under the cranes.
Bentinick had said, at the start, ‘I don’t want stories about the beach and what it was like, no statistics on how many drowned and how many were shot by their officers for discipline breakdown. I don’t want anything about little boats ploughing up the Thames, then taking to the open sea either. Next week, or the week after, you’ll be back in your zone. Now, though, I’m taking you back.’
‘I quit.’
‘You did, which was, to me, a severe embarrassment. I lost bets in the mess that night – said you’d be in the canteen next morning for breakfast and coming to the briefing group. You always were an obstinate beggar, never really an army man. But you, Vagabond, were the best agent handler we knew. Better than any before and any since.’
‘I walked out on you.’
‘Indeed you did, a long time ago. Made your point, water under the bridge. Remember Jocelyn?’
‘Hard, brilliant, liaison with the Box.’
‘You were her shout this afternoon. The best, she said, and I didn’t argue. The Al Qaeda teams are sacrosanct and the Belfast crowd are running around in circles because there are new people to target and they don’t have the toughness that you—’
‘I quit.’
‘Don’t interrupt, Vagabond. We’re running a Joe, speaks nicely and pretty plausible. The downside for him is that I can snap my fingers and he goes to gaol for ten years or more. The upside is that as long as he works for me he stays on the outside. Trouble is, like so many of them after they’ve cleared the first few hurdles, he’s started to flex himself a bit and that breeds arrogance. Know what I mean, Vagabond?’
Bentinick had his arm locked into Danny Curnow’s. Twice a pair of men sped past on sail craft with headlights spearing the sand, and a lone runner jogged at the surf line. Sometimes they wandered closer to the sea and the water slopped against his trainers.
‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have told you not to bother.’
‘Vagabond, you should be down on bended knee thanking me for thinking of you.’
‘You can go back with an empty seat beside you. You remember what we did. With hindsight, what did we achieve?’
‘A poor argument, Vagabond. It was necessary, and we did it well. And, sometimes, like a wheel goes round, things have to be done again. I didn’t come here for the sake of my health. Can we go?’
The sea was in his nose, and old memories stirred. He remembered how it had been and the guilt caught at him. The dead cried out, and the wind ripped at his clothes. It would be a turbulent flight back.
Danny Curnow wrenched free of Matthew Bentinick’s grip on his arm and they went towards the dunes. He set a fierce pace. There had been no chance that he would refuse once he had heard the voice in the bistro, a siren calling.
Chapter 4
The house did not seem to have been painted, but there were new window frames: plastic. The front door had changed, too; it had been green and was now blue. The fire had been lit and peat smoke issued from the back chimney. The garden was the same, except that the few trees were taller and the shrubs thicker. The beds were not a wilderness and the grass had been mown but the cuttings not picked up – they lay in yellowed lines.
Danny Curnow used small but effective binoculars from the vantage-point. The young man, Sebastian, was wedged close to him.
On that morning in spring, there had been no foliage on the trees and the view was unrestricted to the front, back and left side of the house. He could see the barns but now they were part obstructed by conifers – perhaps planted fifteen years ago – and a pair of oak trees. He remembered the green tractor, thought it had been a Massey, but now it stood abandoned, and rusted. A jungle of nettles grew round and through it. His eyes raked over the magnified images: a child’s plastic pedal car,
Bentinick had said, at the start, ‘I don’t want stories about the beach and what it was like, no statistics on how many drowned and how many were shot by their officers for discipline breakdown. I don’t want anything about little boats ploughing up the Thames, then taking to the open sea either. Next week, or the week after, you’ll be back in your zone. Now, though, I’m taking you back.’
‘I quit.’
‘You did, which was, to me, a severe embarrassment. I lost bets in the mess that night – said you’d be in the canteen next morning for breakfast and coming to the briefing group. You always were an obstinate beggar, never really an army man. But you, Vagabond, were the best agent handler we knew. Better than any before and any since.’
‘I walked out on you.’
‘Indeed you did, a long time ago. Made your point, water under the bridge. Remember Jocelyn?’
‘Hard, brilliant, liaison with the Box.’
‘You were her shout this afternoon. The best, she said, and I didn’t argue. The Al Qaeda teams are sacrosanct and the Belfast crowd are running around in circles because there are new people to target and they don’t have the toughness that you—’
‘I quit.’
‘Don’t interrupt, Vagabond. We’re running a Joe, speaks nicely and pretty plausible. The downside for him is that I can snap my fingers and he goes to gaol for ten years or more. The upside is that as long as he works for me he stays on the outside. Trouble is, like so many of them after they’ve cleared the first few hurdles, he’s started to flex himself a bit and that breeds arrogance. Know what I mean, Vagabond?’
Bentinick had his arm locked into Danny Curnow’s. Twice a pair of men sped past on sail craft with headlights spearing the sand, and a lone runner jogged at the surf line. Sometimes they wandered closer to the sea and the water slopped against his trainers.
‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have told you not to bother.’
‘Vagabond, you should be down on bended knee thanking me for thinking of you.’
‘You can go back with an empty seat beside you. You remember what we did. With hindsight, what did we achieve?’
‘A poor argument, Vagabond. It was necessary, and we did it well. And, sometimes, like a wheel goes round, things have to be done again. I didn’t come here for the sake of my health. Can we go?’
The sea was in his nose, and old memories stirred. He remembered how it had been and the guilt caught at him. The dead cried out, and the wind ripped at his clothes. It would be a turbulent flight back.
Danny Curnow wrenched free of Matthew Bentinick’s grip on his arm and they went towards the dunes. He set a fierce pace. There had been no chance that he would refuse once he had heard the voice in the bistro, a siren calling.
Chapter 4
The house did not seem to have been painted, but there were new window frames: plastic. The front door had changed, too; it had been green and was now blue. The fire had been lit and peat smoke issued from the back chimney. The garden was the same, except that the few trees were taller and the shrubs thicker. The beds were not a wilderness and the grass had been mown but the cuttings not picked up – they lay in yellowed lines.
Danny Curnow used small but effective binoculars from the vantage-point. The young man, Sebastian, was wedged close to him.
On that morning in spring, there had been no foliage on the trees and the view was unrestricted to the front, back and left side of the house. He could see the barns but now they were part obstructed by conifers – perhaps planted fifteen years ago – and a pair of oak trees. He remembered the green tractor, thought it had been a Massey, but now it stood abandoned, and rusted. A jungle of nettles grew round and through it. His eyes raked over the magnified images: a child’s plastic pedal car,
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