Adrian Magson - Execution

‘Don’t pretend to be so surprised.’ The newcomer steered him out into the flow of pedestrian traffic and across St Martin’s Lane, stepping through a line of plastic garbage bags at the kerb, one of them spilling a scattering of packaging into the gutter. ‘You knew I’d call on you one day. It’s the way things work in this business, remember? Favours made, always repaid. You had your favour, now it’s time to pay.’

Maine felt sick as he was led down a narrow alley alongside a gym. With no other pedestrians around, he felt horribly vulnerable. He stopped suddenly, ripping his arm free, fear giving him strength. But his legs wouldn’t let him run.

‘What do you want, Paulton? You must be crazy coming back here!’ He cast around desperately, his earlier pleasure now gone, a man searching for a way out of a bad situation. Unfortunately, he saw neither police nor security men, although on reflection, he knew deep down that neither would have been of any help to him.

‘Really? Why is that, Keith?’ Paulton feigned surprise. ‘Is it because I’m a black sheep in the intelligence community — a sordid little secret nobody wants to talk about?’ He cocked his head on one side and showed his teeth. But it wasn’t in a smile. ‘Or is it because I scare you shitless and you can’t face up to what you did and don’t want to be found out?’

‘No! I. .’ Maine choked on the words. ‘What?’ The single word was all he could manage, a sign of resignation. ‘How did you know I would be here?’

‘I didn’t. But I know where you work, Keith.’ Paulton’s tone on the last few words was pseudo ghostly, the kind to frighten children. But this threat was very real.

‘You followed me?’

‘Of course. It’s one of the things I’ve always been particularly good at, even if I do say so myself. But then, operate in some of the nasty places I’ve been to in my time, and you need to be good at something. You really should check your back more often, though, Keith.’ He prodded Maine in the chest with a stiff finger, forcing him back against the wall of the building behind him. ‘Now, I want you to help me find somebody.’ Any feigned geniality had now gone, replaced by a harder tone.

A dulled look. ‘Why should I?’

‘Do you really expect me to explain that?’

‘Is it someone important, is that it? I’m not going to help you kill anyone.’

‘I’m not asking you to.’ Paulton’s voice was smooth, persuasive, but developing a harder edge. ‘Not that it would make much difference if I were. I need some information, that’s all; you have access to the files and I know you’ll get it for me. Just one person, that’s all I’m asking. Then I’ll be gone for good and never bother you again. Scouts’ honour.’ He smiled. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you — me out of your life forever?’

‘What will you do to this person?’

‘Like I said, don’t ask. That way, what you don’t know can’t come back and bite you on the arse.’ He gave a huff of impatience and his voice dropped as a door opened along the alleyway and a bag of rubbish was dropped outside. ‘Remember what I know about you, Keith. Five years ago you sold confidential weapons files to a French intelligence officer for hard cash.’

Maine flinched. ‘I was tricked. I thought he was a journalist.’ It was a claim he’d always made, but right now it sounded even more hollow than ever.

‘Really? Was that what he told you? Boy, you were dumb. What was it he paid you — twenty-five grand? That must have bought you some nice little first editions.’ He applied more pressure until Maine cried out in pain. ‘Do you recall what happened to him, Keith?’

Pain etched Maine’s face. ‘No. I don’t. Why should I?’

‘He fell under a train in Norwood Junction. He should have stood back from the edge like they always tell you.’

Maine looked horrified. ‘I didn’t know!’

‘Nor should you. That was my job, cleaning up the mess left by people like you. But you didn’t suffer, did you, Keith? Nobody found you out; there were no heavy knocks on your door at the dead of night. It stayed strictly between you and me, remember? Well, that was the favour; now it’s time to return it.’

Maine was breathing heavily, his face ashen as the grim reality of what he’d done began to open up before him. The past few years since the Frenchman had disappeared had gradually absorbed the enormity of what he’d done. And the money had certainly helped. Now it was as if he’d been telescoped back to that time, with all the threat that had entailed. ‘And if I don’t?’

‘Well, let’s put it this way, Keith, I don’t think your masters will like it, will they? They usually throw people in prison for what you did. It’s called selling secrets, you know. Some might call it treason. . some of the old Eurosceptic die-hards, especially. They’d probably want to pull out your fingernails with pliers.’

Maine looked alarmed. ‘You wouldn’t!’

‘Actually, I would. Just one phone call.’ He snapped his fingers, making Maine jump.

‘But you’d be implicating yourself. I’d tell them everything — about how you tricked me and forced me to help you escape after that Georgian fiasco with Bellingham.’

Paulton released his arm. It was a recognition that he was winning. Had already won. ‘You really think that would help?’ He waved a hand around them at the alleyway. ‘What are they going to do — make my life more difficult than it is? They don’t even know I’m in the country. I’d be gone before you finished dialling.’ He smiled easily, eyes ice-cold. ‘More to the point, you’d be dead before the week was out.’

Maine’s face lost all colour as he recognised the truth in what Paulton was saying. He’d heard and knew enough about the man’s history to know that he would stop at nothing to get a job done. His reason for leaving MI5 was proof enough of that. And silencing someone who crossed him would be no more difficult than choosing a new shirt.

He breathed deeply, rubbing his forearm, then said, ‘Very well. What’s his name?’

‘She. A former intelligence officer, dismissed for misconduct, so no need to feel sorry for her. I want everything you have on her: addresses, family, photos, contacts, girlfriends.’

Maine looked puzzled. ‘Girls?’

‘Yes. Our Clare preferred the ladies. One of the reasons Six decided to dispense with her services. An outdated view of the world, but what can you expect of those dinosaurs?’

Maine shook his head. ‘But MI6? I can’t do that!’

Paulton’s hand shot out and gripped Maine’s arm once more. The pain was intense. ‘Don’t tell me you can’t, Keith. Can’t doesn’t cut it. And don’t try kidding me you failed, because I have a second source of information — and I will check.’

Maine tried to shake loose, but couldn’t. Paulton’s grip was too powerful. ‘You’re asking too much!’ he protested, a whine edging his voice. ‘They’ve put new systems in place ever since you. . since you left. Anyone trying to access certain files across the intel community triggers an alert. It’s too tight.’

‘Then you had better find a way round it, hadn’t you? You know what the alternative is.’ He took a pen from his pocket and yanked back the sleeve of Maine’s jacket. ‘Send everything you’ve got to this number.’ He scribbled on the man’s arm then let go, stepping back as a young woman carrying a bulging sports bag hurried by. ‘Do as I ask and you can carry on with your masters in blissful ignorance until you collect your pension. Refuse and you can wait for them to come for you. It’s as simple as that. Your choice.’ He turned away.

‘Wait.’ Maine’s voice was a whisper. He looked like a man facing death. ‘Wait. I’ll do it.’