Jon Stock - The Daniel Marchant Spy Trilogy - Dead Spy Running, Games Traitors Play, Dirty Little Secret

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1

A bright Blackheath morning and it was already hot, too…

2

It took ten minutes for Marchant to find Pradeep again.

3

Paul Myers was unpicking encrypted emails and eating his fourth…

4

Daniel Marchant looked out across the shallow valley and watched…

5

Paul Myers drew heavily on his third pint of London…

6

Marchant watched from his bedroom in the safe house as…

7

Marchant knew that someone was in his room as he…

8

It was a long-held custom that the first half of…

9

Later that day, Fielding accepted Chadwick’s offer of a sharpener…

10

Leila headed back to London that night, leaving Marchant to…

11

The gang of Year Five boys in the corner of…

12

The undisputed waterboarding world champion was Khalid Sheikh Mohammed. Marchant…

13

Nine hundred miles west of Poland, Marcus Fielding took a…

14

Leila turned the key in the front door and slipped…

15

For a moment, Marchant wasn’t sure if the explosion was…

16

After a bone-breaking, hundred-mile drive through the Polish countryside, Marchant…

17

Marchant knew that the best legend for a spy was…

18

Sir David Chadwick had spent a lifetime brokering compromises in…

19

Hassan was the only asset Leila had ever slept with.

20

Spiro didn’t like the CIA sub-station in Warsaw. He didn’t…

21

Marchant lay on the bed, watching Monika as she undressed…

22

Leila had met Jago, a tousle-haired six-year-old, once before, but…

23

Spiro looked again at the grainy image of a two-tonne,…

24

Six miles south-west of the shopping mall, Daniel Marchant sat…

25

Prentice sent the pre-written text while his hand was still…

26

Daniel Marchant pushed open the blue door, not sure what…

27

‘It was a precaution, Marcus, nothing more,’ Sir David Chadwick…

28

After twenty-four hours in India, Daniel Marchant concluded that he…

29

It was Alan Carter’s first visit to Legoland, but after…

30

Leila took it as a very public expression of gratitude…

31

Marchant felt the weight of a body lying on top…

32

‘Can we assume that Marchant was at the club?’ Fielding…

33

In another life, a different time, Marcus Fielding and William…

34

Paul Myers had been drinking heavily all evening in the…

35

Marchant heard the police before they reached his carriage. He…

36

Fielding had ordered his driver to turn round and head…

37

Marchant stood in the shade of a stall selling strings…

38

Fielding’s office clock said 7.30 a.m.

39

Marchant listened to the rustle of the necklaces slung loosely…

40

Paul Myers hadn’t been hit so hard since he was…

41

Fielding lifted the flute to his lips and began to…

42

Leila listened as Monk Johnson finished running through the itinerary…

43

There was something about the network of cave-like huts on…

44

Fielding put down the phone and looked around the room,…

45

‘Sons turn out in the strangest ways,’ Carter said. ‘My…

46

William Straker sat back in the DCIA’s office in Langley,…

47

Marchant heard the mobile phone begin to ring moments before…

48

Marchant lifted his head towards the cell door and listened…

49

‘The Prime Minister was adamant that you shouldn’t be killed,’…

50

Dhar watched the rickshaw driver’s legs seesaw through the Chandni…

51

Straker took the call in one of the small private…

52

Marchant couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad…

53

Salim Dhar brought the US President into focus with the…

54

‘As far as we’re concerned, she took the bullet that…

55

Marchant stood outside Legoland, on the Thames path, looking across…

Acknowledgements

Copyright

A bright Blackheath morning and it was already hot, too hot for twenty-six miles. Daniel Marchant scanned the crowd and wondered again why he was about to run a marathon. Thousands of people were stretching in the early sunshine, massaging limbs, sipping at water. It was like the stillness before battle. A woman in a baseball cap strapped an iPod to her arm; the man beside him tied and retied his laces. Another runner poured water over his hair and shook it like a dog, droplets catching the light. Whatever it takes, Marchant thought. In his case, too much Scotch the night before and not enough training.

‘One last try,’ he said, turning to Leila. She was sitting on the grass, leaning back on her hands, staring straight ahead. Why was she taking it so seriously, he thought, as he strolled over to join a long queue for the Portaloos. If the going got tough, they could walk, enjoy the day out. Wasn’t that how she had sold it to him? But he knew that would never happen: they would crawl before they walked. It was a stubbornness they shared, a bloody-mindedness he could sometimes do without.

He inched forward in the queue. The sweet smell of Deep Heat hung heavy in the spring air, reminding Marchant of school changing rooms, the similar imminence of pain. He always felt like this before they went out running in Battersea Park, only for his resentment to subside when the endorphins kicked in; that and the sound of her rhythmic breathing, her easy footfall. He still wondered why he was about to run twenty-six miles, though, and at such short notice. Their longest training run had been the weekend before, eighteen miles down the towpath to Greenwich and back. But how could he have said no when he barely realised she was asking him? That was her job, after all: persuading people to do what they shouldn’t, to say what was meant to remain unsaid.

After queuing for five minutes, Marchant changed his mind and returned to Leila, who had stripped down to her running kit. From the day they had first met, he had promised himself not to fall in love with her, but she had never made it easy. Today was no exception. Her limbs were long, but she touched her toes with ease, shorts tightening against toned muscles. He looked away at the hot-air balloons behind her, swaying in the gentle breeze, desperate to rise up into the brilliant blue sky. In front of them lorries were parked up like a military convoy, piled high with runners’ plastic bags, ready to be transported across London to the finish line.

Marchant took both their bags and handed them in to a marshal. He tried to imagine how he would feel when they were reunited with them again, three, more like four, hours later. Despite his protests, he knew that it was the right thing to be doing. The training, however inadequate, had kept him sane during the last few weeks, helping him to focus on what must be done.