‘No – but I’m maybe a little wiser!’

‘Cheers,’ she said.

We chinked glasses. It was strange to be having this conversation. Her name was Martha. Two years ago, when I’d been in New York on my previous assignment, she had been allotted to me as my secretary. My cover then was Production Control Analyst for Intercontinental Plastics Corporation, and I had no way of telling then whether Martha was a genuine, innocent secretary, or whether she knew the true nature of both my business and Intercontinental’s. On a number of occasions I had wanted to ask her out, but a steady bird and a busy schedule had prevented it from happening.

‘I just saw Hagget,’ I said, ‘this evening.’

‘How is he?’

‘Sour as usual. Tell me, Martha – what the hell are you doing at AtomSled? How long have you been there?’

‘Good agents don’t talk,’ she said.

‘You want to bet?’

‘Try me,’ she grinned.

I did. She put up a spirited resistance, but at five o’clock in the morning she talked. Then I tried her again once more, for luck.

Chapter 21

21

Hagget might have been sour, but he didn’t let me down; at five thirty the small Bell helicopter was waiting at La Guardia airport, and I clambered in, clutching a soft hold-all. It was pitch dark, sleeting again, and a fierce wind was blowing across the concrete. The engine was already running, and the pilot nodded as I pulled the door shut and strapped myself in. The noise in the small cockpit was deafening.

‘Y’okay?’ he shouted.

I stuck my thumb up. He pointed to a set of headphones, and I put them on. It was like going into a different world as most of the roar and clatter was suddenly shut out. There was a burst of sharp, dipped speech from the pilot, a crackling hiss, then a reply from the tower. ‘Any time you want, Charlie Zero Tango. Watch the wind.’

‘I’ll watch it. Y’awl have a good Christmas,’ he said. He spoke with a heavy deep-South accent.

‘We’ll try.’

He reached forward with his right hand and pushed the throttle forward. The chopper shook violently, the body-work flapping so hard it sounded as though the whole machine was going to fall apart, then suddenly we lifted off the ground and hovered a few feet above it for some moments while the pilot fought against the buffeting wind to keep us stable. He opened the throttle full, dipped the nose slightly into the wind, and we started to climb upwards.

As the lights became smaller beneath us, we bounced uncomfortably about in the sky, and the pilot was fully occupied keeping the yawing, pitching machine in some semblance of level flight.

After about a minute and a half, he turned to me and pointed to my headphones. I lifted them off.

‘Going to have a bumpy ride!’

I nodded in agreement.