Dominic Conlon - Arctic Firepath

It was hard to believe the Section café could be so cosy, situated in such a nondescript office block, north of the Thames. Just two miles away lay the imposing grade II listed building that was home to their sister organisation, SIS. The Section preferred anonymity on the other side of the river.

The café was a home from home for Sean; he always called in here before a meeting. The tea ladies liked to mother him. Perhaps they sensed the tension forming inside. But whatever his mood, they were invariably cheery and ready with a chirpy remark. Sometimes he would listen to the conversations they had between each other. They were so down to earth, so different from his experience in the field that listening to them took his mind off current worries.

‘What’s that, dear?’

Sean glanced at the gold pendant he was absentmindedly twisting in his hands. ‘It’s a gift from a friend.’

‘That’s nice,’ she replied, mopping the table. ‘Though I thought you wouldn’t need it, love.’

She must have met plenty in here, sipping lattes and nervously anticipating a mission. No doubt she had also seen them when they returned; some ready to pull the walls down, others seeing nothing but the abyss. She was right; he had never been superstitious.

Outside the normality of the café were several Directors’ offices, where missions were incubated and hatched. Sean was killing time while waiting for a meeting with one of the Directors, Christopher Abbott. The tea lady collected a couple of empty mugs. ‘She must be fond of you.’

Sean smiled. He had received the present only two nights ago, and the memory still occupied his thoughts.

It had started so well. He had booked a table at L'Osteria in the beautiful square of Santa Marina. Her long dark hair was done up in a tight bun and she wore a simple black strapless dress. Sean admired the line of her bare shoulders. He could no longer spot where the bullet had nearly ended her life six months ago. Her recovery had been remarkable, and tonight her face glowed with health in the candle light.

‘You look elegant.’

Natasha smiled, and raised her wineglass. ‘To us.’

Sean lifted his glass. ‘To us’. He glanced at his mobile phone. ‘Just a minute.’

Natasha waited patiently while Sean checked a text message. After a minute of silence she couldn’t help but say something. ‘Let me guess — an urgent call from the office. They want you tonight,’ she said with a clipped voice. ‘Don’t they know you’re on holiday?’

‘They know.’ Sean’s tone was subdued.

‘When do you have to go?’

‘There’s a flight first thing tomorrow.’

Natasha’s face fell.

‘Until then, let’s celebrate.’

For a moment she didn’t respond. ‘What about the rest of our holiday?’

‘You can still go and see your family, Nat. I’ll catch up with you later.’

‘But I only have a week. After that I’m at work. Surely they’ll let you stay for a few days?’

Sean frowned. ‘I’m really sorry Nat.’

Natasha turned away, saddened at how quickly the romantic atmosphere had been dispelled. She poked about inside her handbag and brought out a small case wrapped in gold paper.

‘You may find this useful then.’

Sean unwrapped the paper revealing a jewel box. He opened the lid slowly. A gold pendant attached to a necklace lay on a grey cloth. Sean dangled the ornament from its chain, turning it in the light from the candle. Inside an oval frame was a figure walking with the aid of a staff, carrying a child on his shoulder.

‘It’s a man’s St. Christopher medal,’ she explained, seeing Sean’s curious expression. ‘It will keep you safe.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you.’

‘I realise you’re not the type of man to wear it around your neck’ continued Natasha lightly, her mood improving. ‘But you could always keep it in your pocket.’

‘I will, Nat. You’ve given me a gift, and now I have one for you.’

Sean took out his own present and placed it in front of her. ‘Before you open it, I have a question which is sort of related.’

Natasha looked up with surprise. She waited a second. When Sean didn’t continue, she inclined her head. ‘Yes?’

‘Will you marry me?’

The question caught her unawares and she was unable to respond immediately. Then abruptly she pushed the unopened box towards him. ‘I’m sorry Sean. I don’t think you’re ready for this.’

When it appeared Sean wasn’t going to speak, Natasha broke the silence.

‘I really wasn’t anticipating anything quite like this. I’m not saying no. It’s your job. When you go I worry you might not come back. They ring you at any hour, and wherever you are you say goodbye and leave. What sort of life would that be for me?’

Sean sighed. ‘When I return to London I’ll resign.’

‘I’m glad, Sean. But are you sure you mean to leave? You’ve been there a long time.’

‘No, I’ve decided. I want to be with you.’

‘Maybe. But I imagine you’ll miss the excitement of another assignment or thrill of a chase.’

‘You’re more important. Besides, I’m ready to leave.’

‘Why?’

‘Recently I’ve begun to get the odd tremor.’ He held out his left hand to demonstrate. ‘Sometimes I get occasional twitches during a mission.’

‘I expect everyone gets that — particularly in your job.’

‘We all do. It’s quite common to develop jitters before a mission. But it never used happen once I’d started.’

‘Why do you think that is?’

Sean hesitated. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I am getting too old, but I’m afraid they’ll find out. I’d rather go out under my own steam.’

‘I can’t say I’ll be sorry. What will you do?’

Sean shrugged. ‘I’ve not thought that far ahead. I’ll have to give notice.’

‘How long will that take?’

‘I’m not sure Nat. Perhaps they will let me go after I finish this job.’

‘Would they allow you to go straight away?’

Sean shook his head. ‘No, they’re not that kind of people.’

‘Please be careful. You know how much I worry.’

‘I promise I will. Sean turned the medal towards the candle light. ‘I have this to protect me.’

The tea lady interrupted his thoughts. ‘Call for you dear, Mr Abbott says you may go in now.’

Sean snapped back to the present. He pocketed the keepsake and strode to the exit.

Director Abbott indicated the chair opposite his desk.

Sean saw no point in pussy footing around. ‘What the hell happened?’

Abbott had been in the post a year, and had grown hardened to agents with a beef. He shrugged. ‘We were listening on the police channels. Someone told them where to look.’

‘How could it be — no-one knew where I was going to take the shot. Damn, even I didn’t know until 12 hours beforehand.’

Sean continued to prowl around the office. ‘And what happened before that?’

Abbott raised an eyebrow.

‘Why did you stand me down at the last moment?’

‘We were told to.’

‘Told? By whom?’

‘Sean, for God’s sake, will you sit down? My neck’s killing me!’

Sean tore his gaze away from the window and glanced round Abbott’s comfortable office. Reluctantly, he took the chair. ‘OK, let’s start at the beginning, at my briefing. You couldn’t wait to get me on the plane to Austria to slot Zlotnik. You didn’t even have time to assign an Executive to the mission. Why was it so important?’

Abbott leaned back in his chair, appraising the man in front of him. Quinlan was a formidable force and he wouldn’t give up easily. Abbott decided to humour him, for now. ‘We’ve lost two agents in the last six months, and we think Zlotnik is behind the killings. We almost lost a third yesterday.’