Back at his flat, he shucked off the tunic and hung it in his closet to dry. As he did, he came across the card Sir Tim had given him. He flopped down in his chair. Retirement? What would he do in retirement? He had no civilian connections whatever, and no training that would qualify him for a job in the city or in the courts. He’d sold the family’s country property after his father’s death, and he still had that money, so he could live. He imagined his existence, and that depressed him further.

It became clear to him as he sat there that he was going to have to bring some pressure to bear on old Tim; it had worked before, it could work again. Maybe some administrative post at the Admiralty; that would be bearable. He picked up his laptop and turned it on.

As the screen came up it was occupied by a message, demanding a user name and a password. He was expecting nothing like that, so he attempted to exit and go to his e-mail, but it would not budge. He restarted the computer to clear it, but got the same message.

He looked at the card Tim had given him and tried typing in the entry code and password it contained. Instantly a photograph appeared: it was a medium shot of himself, naked and in bed with a man, whose face was obscured. He scrolled down and found half a dozen other photos, from different angles and himself in different poses. He shrank away from the computer, as if it were a poisonous reptile.

Mercifully, the video ended, but there was another on-screen message: Consider your options.

Fife-Simpson fell back into his chair. What he had seen on screen had shocked him to the core. It was no longer a criminal act, but for an officer of flag rank, it would be a career-ender; whoever had sent the video was clearly threatening that it could get out.

Retirement was beginning to look better to him. Certainly, better than the Falkland Islands.

32

Stone and Lance took a ride together at mid-morning. After jumping the wall Lance pulled up under a tree and got down from the saddle. Stone followed him. Lance sat down with his back against the tree. “Join me?” he asked.

Stone joined him.

“This might be a good moment for a little chat,” Lance said. “I don’t suppose the horses or their tack are bugged, are they?”

“I think not,” Stone replied.

“I was thinking about our relationship,” Lance said.

“‘Relationship’?”

“Between you and the Agency. I think it has been valuable to both of us on occasion, has it not?”

Stone thought about that in terms of what Lance had done for him, not what he had done for the Agency. “I suppose so,” Stone said. “At widely separated intervals.”

“I was thinking that the relationship might be more satisfying, if the intervals were shorter.”