Gerald Seymour - Home Run

"Another day, another dime, David."

"You know what…? Last night they walked all over us.

We were the little chappies who had stepped out of their depth, and we were being told how to behave, and the Chief took it… I still feel sick."

"Like I said, another day. Do you want to come home with me?"

"What for?"

"Don't be a cretin… "

"I'm going home, got to change."

"Might be best to give home a miss."

She was the girl he ought to have married, that's what he thought. He knew why she offered her place, her bed. He knew why she was on offer, if she had spoken to Bill Parrish on the phone.

"Thanks," he said.

He came round the desk and when she stood he put his arms around her shoulders and he kissed her forehead. It was a soft kiss, as if she was his sister, as if she could only ever be a friend.

"Don't let the bastards hurt you, David."

He slung his suit jacket over his shoulder. Still in the buttonhole was the red rose that Ann had said he should wear for the dance. He walked out on Token, who would have taken him home to her bed. He started up the car. It was a fast drive through the desert that was the city and it took him little more than an hour to reach home, and he'd bought flowers at a railway station stall.

She'd left the lights on.

The lights were on in the hall and in the bedroom and in the bathroom.

She had left the wardrobe door open, and inside the wardrobe there was a chasm, her dresses gone. The bed wasn't made, and the envelope was on the pillow, the pillow, for God's sake.

He went into the bathroom because he thought that he was going to throw up, and her dressing gown was on the bathmat and her bath towel, and beside her bath towel was his.

Perhaps that was the way it always was, that a marriage ended. The flowers were in the kitchen sink and he didn't know how to make a display of them.

There was a light knock at the door. Mrs Ferguson, beckoning Carter out. He went, and smiled an apology at Mattie.

If there was a way back then Mattie did not know it. He paced in the room. He faced the alternatives, and his future.

There was no going back. To go back, to admit the lie, that was resignation. He was a member of the Service, and if the lie were admitted then he would be out of the Service.

"Sorry, Mattie, so sorry to have abandoned you. The telephone is one of the great tyrannies of modern life. Things are a little more confused. Our message to our man in Tehran, the message for him to abort, it didn't get through."

"Why not?"

"Seems that our man had disappeared, couldn't be traced.

That's a shame."

A long sad silence in the room. And Henry's eyes never left Mattie's face. He walked across the carpet and he stood in front of Mattie.

"What I've always heard, and you know that I've no personal experience, when you start talking under pressure then you cannot ration yourself. If you start then you have to finish," he said.

The explosion. "Damn you, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"I think we'll have a walk down to the pub, you'd like that, wouldn't you, Mattie? I'll ask George to tether the hound."

The message was very faint.

The message from the short wave transmitter, that was in itself hardly larger than a cornflakes packet, was carried the 90 miles from Bandar Abbas, across the shipping lanes of the Straits of Hormuz to the listening antennae on the summit of the Jebal Harim in Oman.

Only the height of the Jebal Harim, 6,867 feet above sea level, enabled the message to be monitored. It was known by the Service that the transmitter could reach the antennae with short messages, and it had been given to the official who worked in the Harbourmaster's office for use only in emergency.

He knew his situation was critical, he knew he was being watched.

He sent the one short message.

He was a man filled with fear that spilled towards terror.

And that afternoon he prayed to his God that he would have the protection of Mr Matthew Furniss, and the colleagues of Mr Furniss.

Park was waved forward by the Military Police corporal.

There was no salute. A Ford Escort didn't warrant a salute from a corporal who was losing Sunday at home. Park drove forward, bumping over the rutted dirt track, and he parked beside the Suzuki jeep. On the far side of the jeep was a black Rover, newly registered and the driver was quietly polishing the paintwork and minding his own business. Park had changed at home. After he had tidied the bathroom and made the bed that Harlech had been in, then he had stripped off his suit and put the rose from his buttonhole in water, and put on jeans and a sweater.

He walked towards Charlie Eshraq. Eshraq stood with the man, the supercilious and drawling creep, who had lectured Park at Century.

He walked towards them, and their conversation didn't hesitate.

"… So, that's it?"

"That is it, Mr Eshraq. Mr Park will accompany you to the border. You will not attempt to impede his job. You don't fool with him and he has been told not to play silly buggers with you. Got it?"

"And I get the weapons?"

"Mr Eshraq, if you were not getting the weapons then this afternoon's exercise would be somewhat pointless."

"I don't get to see Mr Furniss?"

"You will be handled from Ankara, good chap there."

"Why do I not see Mr Furniss?"

"Because from inside Iran you will need to deal with someone else. All that will be explained to you once you are in Turkey. Good luck, we'll be rooting for you."

The driver had finished his polishing, and had started up the Rover. There were no farewells. The car drove away.

In the cause of duty… Park walked to Charlie Eshraq.

"I'm David Park."

"No, you're not, you're April Five, but you may call me Charlie."

"I'll call you any name I want to… Probably, like me, you reckon this set-up stinks."

Eshraq was Tango One, trafficker in heroin, always would be. There was no handshake. Charlie turned his back on him and walked away towards the army Landrover. Park followed, and behind him the Military Police corporal reckoned that it was safe to light a cigarette. There was an officer standing beside the Landrover, and squatting on the low seats in the back were two sergeants. David saw the olive-painted case lying on the floor between their feet.

The officer said, "Which of you is it? I was told the instruction was for one."

"For me," Charlie said.

The officer looked him up, down. "The LAW 80 is pretty straightforward.''

"Oh, that's good, you'll be able to manage the tutorial."

Park thought the officer might have cracked Charlie. He heard the sergeants laugh aloud.

They went out on to the range. The officer led. They'd given Charlie a tube to carry, and the sergeants each carried one. They seemed to walk a hell of a distance, past red flags, past warning signs, until they came to a place where the heather ground sloped away. There were tank tracks, and ahead of them was the burned, black hull of an armoured personnel carrier.

"Where are you going to use this, young man?"

"Is that your business?"

"Don't fuck me about, Mr Eshraq… On where you are going to use it depends my briefing. Are you going to use it in a battlefield condition? Are you going to use it over open ground? Are you going to use it in an urban environment?

You don't have to tell me, but if you don't then you are wasting my time and you are wasting your time. Got me?"

The officer smiled. He reckoned he had the upper hand.

"The first one will be fired on a street in Tehran. That's in Iran."

And the smile died on the officer's face.

"All I can say is that I am not totally confident at the moment,"

Henry said. It was the scrambled phone. "He's peculiarly aggressive when I attempt to pin down detail… Yes, it bothers me very much that I may be selling him short… I suppose we just have to soldier on. Thank you."