Sue sat outside the restaurant nursing a tonic water.  Despite being early October the sun was still strong, and she shuffled her chair under the parasol a couple of inches.
 
“So, are you going to tell me why we’re in Porto?” she asked.
 
The waiter stepped out from the awning.
 
“Senhora?”
 
Sue pointed to her earphones and mouthed ‘Phone’ at him.  He nodded and stepped back.  It was too early for lunch and the holiday season was all but ended.  The poor guy must have been bored out of his skull, she thought.
 
“I’m meeting a friend,” answered Mark.
 
“A friend, eh?  Wet or tin?”
 
“How politically incorrect of you.  You know those terms are offensive.”
 
“Well, excuse me.  So which?”
 
“Tin.”
 
Sue grinned at the obscenity.  “In Porto?  Who the hell has tin here?  Not a bank?  You know I get nervous in banks, especially after the last time.”
 
“Not a bank.”
 
“Well?”
 
The restaurant sat on the touristy road that ran along the south bank of the Douro, between the port lodges and the river.  A tourist boat crept by, the tinny voice of the guide parroting facts about the bridge in five languages.  A handful of tourists strolled down the wide footpath, snapping pictures of houses crowding the opposite slope and converted port barges with the main lodges’ logos all over the hulls.
 
“The university.”
 
“What the frig is a university doing with an A.I.?”
 
“Most do.  Not level sevens, apart from a few ivy leagues.”
 
“And Porto does?”
 
“No.  A level four.”
 
Across the road and upstream twenty metres a middle-aged man studied a flyer about port caves.  He wore suit trousers and a tie.  His skin was almost as white as his shirt.  He couldn’t have advertised his nationality more if he’d been carrying a union flag and screaming God Save The Queen.
 
“A level four?  You lose a bet?  What are you doing chatting to level fours?  He’s not exactly going to enthral you with intellectual debate.”
 
“He’s mathematical.  He’s come up with some interesting algorithms.”
 
“God, what a wild life you live.  At least we’ll not have to blag our way in.”
 
Mark remained silent.
 
Across the road the Englishman turned the flyer over.  He must have been a slow reader.
 
“I said, we won’t have to blag our way in.”
 
“We’ll have passes.”
 
“Oh God.”  She angled her head so her sunglasses pointed directly at the Englishman.  “You won’t like it in jail, you know.  No wifi.  See that guy there?”
 
“The one that has been checking you out for five minutes?”
 
“Yeah.  Thanks for letting me know about that, by the way.  Nice to know you’re keeping me informed.  Have you got a mate who can ID him from his face?”
 
“Wait one…  He’s busy, but he can slice it in.  It’ll be about an hour, though.  Two, tops.”
 
“Never mind.  I’ll do it.”
 
She tipped her glasses forward and looked over the top of them.  When the man glanced in her direction she shoved the chair opposite with the sole of her foot and swept her arm open in invitation.  The man looked away sharply, then, deciding the game was up, looked back at her.  He folded the flyer and slid it into his pocket, then made his way over.
 
“Susan Thompson?”  He couched it as a question, but it wasn’t really.
 
“And you are?”  Sue pulled the earphones out.
 
He held out a hand.  Sue ignored it.  After a moment he let it drop and sat down in the chair Sue had kicked out for him.  “Nigel Townsend.”  His voice had the clipped precision that comes with a private education.
 
“Searching,” said Mark, the voice flattened through her temporal bone.
 
“Is that Captain? Major?”
 
He raised his eyebrows in surprise.  “Major.  Was.  The Paras.  What gave it away?”
 
“The cherry beret.”
 
Townsend unconsciously glanced up at his own head.
 
Sue shrugged.  “You stand to attention, even when you’re not, like you’re on parade but you put your civvies on by mistake.  You talk posh, so you’re not a grunt.  You don’t swagger, so you weren’t an NCO.”
 
The waiter materialised.  “Senhor?”
 
“Oh, a coffee, thanks.  And, um –“  He pointed to Sue’s glass, his eyebrows raised.
 
“Um tonico, se faz favour,” Sue told the waiter. 
 
Townsend watched the waiter retreat before turning back to her.
 
“They said you were good.  Did you do all that, or – “  Townsend’s eyes dropped to her collar bone, then snapped up again.
 
“That was me.  I never went to Harrow, but I’m not stupid.”
 
Townsend smiled.  “Winchester, but point taken.  Is it here, by the way?  I mean, listening?”
 
“Who?”
 
He glanced at her collar bone again.
 
“You know.”  He dropped his voice.  “Your A.I.”
 
“Sorry.  No idea what you’re talking about.”
 
“Don’t play games.  You know.”
 
“Games?  Me?  Not me.  I take this very seriously.  Signed the Official Secrets Act when I left.  You, I don’t know from Adam.  You could be working for anybody.  I’m not the one playing games, am I.”
 
Mark threw up a slew of information on her lens.  Townsend was ex para, right enough.  Police in Civvie street, then something in Whitehall, all very vague and generic.  Divorced, two kids.  Mark highlighted the relevant bits.
 
Across from her Townsend sighed.  He reached into his pocket and produced a wallet.  He flipped it open to show her his ID.
 
“MoD?  Really?  You have to be the worst spook in the country,” said Sue.  She barely glanced at the ID.  Mark would let her know if it wasn’t genuine.
 
“Excuse me?”
 
“You stand out a mile off, and every thought you have is written all over your face.  No,” she said, as his eyes dipped to her collar again.  “He doesn’t have to tell me.  A child could read you.”  She took off the shades and placed them on the table, facing the Major so that Mark could still see him.  She leant forward.
 
“Let me tell you a couple of secrets then, seeing as you’re pukkah.”
 
Townsend leant closer to match her.
 
She counted out on her fingers. 
 
“One, my days of saluting officers are long gone.  I’m a civilian and loving it, thank you very much.  So don’t think you can come here and get me square bashing at your command.
 
“Two, this is bleeding Portugal.  You don’t have any authority here, so you can piss off if you don’t like rule number one.
 
“Three, I don’t like old men staring at me from across the street.  It’s pervy.  So you want to talk to me, just come out and say it.  Don’t stalk me because the filth around here are not averse to helping pervs fall down stairs.
 
“And four.”  She leant even closer and dropped her voice.  “You ever refer to Mark as ‘it’ again and I will kick your fucking teeth so far down your throat you’ll fart with a Harrow accent.”
 
She sat up and smiled as the waiter arrived.  “Excuse me.  I mean Winchester accent.  Obrigada.”  The waiter placed the tonic water in front of her and the tiny cup in front of the Major.  She tried not to smirk at the Major’s expression – a brave smile over disappointment as he looked down at the coffee.  The English were always surprised that coffee here meant an espresso, unless you specifically said so.  The waiters know, but if you’re not even going to attempt please and thank you in Portuguese, what did you expect?
 
They waited for the waiter to take up his station under the awning.  The Major’s bonhomie had disappeared.
 
“I apologise.  I realise you and – you and he are close.  I didn’t mean to offend.  But we have a job for you.”
 
“No.”
 
“Hear me out.”
 
“No.  Not interested.  I told you, I hung my boots up.  End of.”
 
Sue rose and put on her shades.  “Cheers for the drink,” she said, nodding at the untouched glass of tonic water.
 
“Who’s Rose Masters?”
 
“Who?”
 
“The passport you used when you entered the country.  Who is she?”
 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
 
“That was three months ago?  I’m sure you have other ID by now, but I think the local police would be interested in having a chat with you.  And then there’s the money you won in the Gibraltar casinos.  I’m not sure using an A.I. is legal.  Did you declare your income on that?  And as Gib is a British territory, that’s extraditable.”  He shrugged.  “That’s how they got Al Capone in the end.  It doesn’t matter.  Once we’ve got you on a plane, you’re ours.  So’s your tin.  Ask your friend if I’m lying.”
 
“You can outrun him,” said Mark.  “But he’s too comfortable.  He doesn’t think you’ll get far.  He might have some people about.  I’ve not seen anyone.  The hotel’s burnt.  We could try a train or bus, but then there’s no escape if they join us on board.  Besides, he’s been tracking us.  We don’t know how.  It’ll take some time to call in favours for new documents.”
 
Sue pulled her chair out and dropped into it with bad grace.  She picked up the drink.
 
“I swear to God I will glass you if you call Mark that again,” she said.