This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.
…
So what do you do when you start having doubts about everything to do with your life? It starts with a sleepless night agonising over why you were lied to.
Then, in the cold dark hours of early morning, you turn to the only thing that can possibly give you answers.
The internet.
It’s time to delve into the prior life of the woman you are beginning to think is completely strange to you, and what do you find.
Previous relationships with a man before she was married to the man she said was Jack’s father. And yes, the man in the old photos is very easily recognisable as his father.
What’s more, he is a criminal himself, and is supposedly in jail. There’s more to that story.
Then Jack gets a cryptic message from his mother, who tells him she’s left a package for him at the travel agency, and that she is going away.
McCallister was old school, a man who would most likely fit in perfectly campaigning on the battlefields of Europe during the Second World War. He’d been like a fish out of water in the army, post-Falklands, and while he retired a hero, he still felt he’d more to give.
He’d applied and was accepted as head of a SWAT team, and, watching him now as he and his men disembarked from the truck in almost military precision, a look passed between Annette, the police liaison officer, and I that said she’d seen it all before. I know I had.
There was a one in four chance his team would be selected for this operation, and she had been hoping it would be one of the other three. While waiting for them to arrive she filled me in on the various teams. His was the least co-operative, and the more likely to make ad-hoc decisions rather than adhere to the plan, or any orders that may come from the officer in charge.
This, she said quite bluntly, was going to end badly.
I still had no idea why Prendergast instructed me to attend the scene of what looked to be a normal domestic operation, but as the nominated expert in the field in these types of situations, it was fairly clear he wasn’t taking any chances. It was always a matter of opinion between us, and generally I lost.
In this case, it was an anonymous report identifying what the authorities believed were explosives in one of the dockside sheds where explosives were not supposed to be.
The only reason why the report was given any credence was the man, while not identifying himself by name, said he’d been an explosive expert once and recognized the boxes. That could mean anything, but the Chief Constable was a cautious man.
With his men settled and preparing their weapons, McCallister came over to the command post, not much more than the SUV my liaison and I arrived in, with weapons, bulletproof vests, and rolls of tape to cordon off the area afterward. We both had coffee, steaming in the cold early morning air. Dawn was slowly approaching and although rain had been forecast it had yet to arrive.
A man by the name of Benson was in charge. He too had groaned when he saw McCallister.
“A fine morning for it.” McCallister was the only enthusiastic one here.
He didn’t say what ‘it’ was, but I thought it might eventually be mayhem.
“Let’s hope the rain stays away. It’s going to be difficult enough without it,” Benson said, rubbing his hands together. We had been waiting for the SWAT team to arrive, and another team to take up their position under the wharf, and who was in the final stages of securing their position.
While we were waiting we drew up the plan. I’d go in first to check on what we were dealing with, and what type of explosives. The SWAT team, in the meantime, were to ensure all the exits to the shed were covered. When I gave the signal, they were to enter and secure the building. We were not expecting anyone inside or out, and no movement had been detected in the last hour since our arrival and deployment.
“What’s the current situation?”
“I’ve got eyes on the building, and a team coming in from the waterside, underneath. Its slow progress, but they’re nearly there. Once they’re in place, we’re sending McKenzie in.”
He looked in my direction.
“With due respect sir, shouldn’t it be one of us?” McCallister glared at me with the contempt that only a decorated military officer could.
“No. I have orders from above, much higher than I care to argue with, so, McCallister, no gung-ho heroics for the moment. Just be ready to move on my command, and make sure you have three teams at the exit points, ready to secure the building.”
McCallister opened his mouth, no doubt to question those orders, but instead closed it again. “Yes sir,” he muttered and turned away heading back to his men.
“You’re not going to have much time before he storms the battlements,” Benson quietly said to me, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “I’m dreading the paperwork.”
It was exactly what my liaison officer said when she saw McCallister arriving.
The water team sent their ‘in position’ signal, and we were ready to go.
In the hour or so we’d been on site nothing had stirred, no arrivals, no departures, and no sign anyone was inside, but that didn’t mean we were alone. Nor did it mean I was going to walk in and see immediately what was going on. If it was a cache of explosives then it was possible the building was booby-trapped in any number of ways, there could be sentries or guards, and they had eyes on us, or it might be a false alarm.
I was hoping for the latter.
I put on the bulletproof vest, thinking it was a poor substitute for full battle armor against an exploding bomb, but we were still treating this as a ‘suspected’ case. I noticed my liaison officer was pulling on her bulletproof vest too.
“You don’t have to go. This is my party, not yours,” I said.
“The Chief Constable told me to stick to you like glue, sir.”
I looked at Benson. “Talk some sense into her please, this is not a kindergarten outing.”
He shrugged. Seeing McCallister had taken all the fight out of him. “Orders are orders. If that’s what the Chief Constable requested …”
Madness. I glared at her, and she gave me a wan smile. “Stay behind me then, and don’t do anything stupid.”
“Believe me, I won’t be.” She pulled out and checked her weapon, chambering the first round. It made a reassuring sound.
Suited up, weapons readied, a last sip of the coffee in a stomach that was already churning from nerves and tension, I looked at the target, one hundred yards distant and thought it was going to be the longest hundred yards I’d ever traversed. At least for this week.
A swirling mist rolled in and caused a slight change in plans.
Because the front of the buildings was constantly illuminated by large overhead arc lamps, my intention had been to approach the building from the rear where there was less light and more cover. Despite the lack of movement, if there were explosives in that building, there’d be ‘enemy’ surveillance somewhere, and, after making that assumption, I believed it was going to be easier and less noticeable to use the darkness as a cover.
It was a result of the consultation, and studying the plans of the warehouse, plans that showed three entrances, the main front hangar type doors, a side entrance for truck entry and exit and a small door in the rear, at the end of an internal passage leading to several offices. I also assumed it was the exit used when smokers needed a break. Our entry would be by the rear door or failing that, the side entrance where a door was built into the larger sliding doors. In both cases, the locks would not present a problem.
The change in the weather made the approach shorter, and given the density of the mist now turning into a fog, we were able to approach by the front, hugging the walls, and moving quickly while there was cover. I could feel the dampness of the mist and shivered more than once.
It was nerves more than the cold.
I could also feel rather than see the presence of Annette behind me, and once felt her breath on my neck when we stopped for a quick reconnaissance.
It was the same for McCallister’s men. I could feel them following us, quickly and quietly, and expected, if I turned around, to see him breathing down my neck too.
It added to the tension.
My plan was still to enter by the back door.
We slipped up the alley between the two sheds to the rear corner and stopped. I heard a noise coming from the rear of the building, and the light tap on the shoulder told me Annette had heard it too. I put my hand up to signal her to wait, and as a swirl of mist rolled in, I slipped around the corner heading towards where I’d last seen the glow of a cigarette.
The mist cleared, and we saw each other at the same time. He was a bearded man in battle fatigues, not the average dockside security guard.
He was quick, but my slight element of surprise was his undoing, and he was down and unconscious in less than a few seconds with barely a sound beyond the body hitting the ground. Zip ties secured his hands and legs, and tape his mouth. Annette joined me a minute after securing him.
A glance at the body then me, “I can see why they, whoever they are, sent you.”
She’d asked who I worked for, and I didn’t answer. It was best she didn’t know.
“Stay behind me,” I said, more urgency in my tone. If there was one, there’d be another.
Luck was with us so far. A man outside smoking meant no booby traps on the back door, and quite possibly there’d be none inside. But it indicated there were more men inside, and if so, it appeared they were very well trained. If that were the case, they would be formidable opponents.
The fear factor increased exponentially.
I slowly opened the door and looked in. A pale light shone from within the warehouse itself, one that was not bright enough to be detected from outside. None of the offices had lights on, so it was possible they were vacant. I realized then they had blacked out the windows. Why hadn’t someone checked this?
Once inside, the door closed behind us, progress was slow and careful. She remained directly behind me, gun ready to shoot anything that moved. I had a momentary thought for McCallister and his men, securing the perimeter.
At the end of the corridor, the extent of the warehouse stretched before us. The pale lighting made it seem like a vast empty cavern, except for a long trestle table along one side, and, behind it, stacks of wooden crates, some opened. It looked like a production line.
To get to the table from where we were was a ten-yard walk in the open. There was no cover. If we stuck to the walls, there was equally no cover and a longer walk.
We needed a distraction.
As if on cue, the two main entrances disintegrated into flying shrapnel accompanied by a deafening explosion that momentarily disoriented both Annette and I. Through the smoke and dust kicked up I saw three men appear from behind the wooden crates, each with what looked like machine guns, spraying bullets in the direction of the incoming SWAT members.
They never had a chance, cut down before they made ten steps into the building.
By the time I’d recovered, my head heavy, eyes watering and ears still ringing, I took several steps towards them, managing to take down two of the gunmen but not the third.
I heard a voice, Annette’s I think, yell out, “Oh, God, he’s got a trigger,” just before another explosion, though all I remember in that split second was a bright flash, the intense heat, something very heavy smashing into my chest knocking the wind out of me, and then the sensation of flying, just before I hit the wall.
I spent four weeks in an induced coma, three months being stitched back together and another six learning to do all those basic actions everyone took for granted. It was twelve months almost to the day when I was released from the hospital, physically, except for a few alterations required after being hit by shrapnel, looking the same as I always had.
But mentally? The document I’d signed on release said it all, ‘not fit for active duty; discharged’.
It was in the name of David Cheney. For all intents and purposes, Alistair McKenzie was killed in that warehouse, and for the first time ever, an agent left the Department, the first to retire alive.
I was not sure I liked the idea of making history.
The word left conjures up many interesting connotations such as:
Left at the altar, not a very nice occurrence but an oft-used scenario to fuel a Romcom
Should have turned left at Albuquerque, used by Bugs Bunny in a cartoon I saw once, and now basically is the go-to phrase when you get lost and have to tell someone
Lefties, not exactly the word but oft used to describe one side of politics usually leaning towards socialism or communism, or perhaps simply because they don’t agree with us
They’re coming at us left, right, and centre, meaning people, or some other object, are coming from everywhere, that is, from all directions
But one of some more simple explanations, I’m left-handed, which means I write with my left hand.
Only that doesn’t mean that I’m left-handed at everything because I’m right-handed using a bat and playing golf. How does that work?
Turn left which means you turn in a specific direction, directly opposite to another direction, right, but I defy you to describe exactly how to turn left!
Oh, and by the way, I often get left and right mixed up.
There was only one slice of cake left, which means someone else ate it all, or that there’s one slice remaining, and you’d better be quick getting it.
Or probably the saddest of the examples, I left London to go home, meaning that I had to depart a place I wanted to stay but circumstances dictated I had to leave. Usually, you have to go back to work where you came from, but more realistically you couldn’t afford to stay.
In politics, if you are a right-wing conservative, anyone from the other side is a left-wing lunatic. Politics can be very polarising and there is often an all-or-nothing approach to the opposition. Rarely is there a middle of the road.
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
I was trying to look like I was not doing what I was doing, and that sometimes was quite difficult.
The thing is, you know what it is you’re doing, and neutrally, you think that everyone else does too.
Especially when people are looking at you, and that look conveys ‘I know what you’re up to’.
All I was doing was sitting on a park bench under a tree next to a small waterfall reading a newspaper.
That was the first giveaway. No one stopped to read newspapers these days. It was always about instant news gratification on the cell phone.
The second might well have been me holding the newspaper upside down, or worse, that I had cut two small holes in it so I could see beyond the newspaper without lowering it, much like the cartoons of old.
The third definitely was, that if anyone got close enough, they would see it was yesterday’s paper. I had been running late and grabbed the wrong edition.
So, why was I sitting on a park bench under a tree beside a small waterfall, trying to look like I was not doing exactly that?
I was expecting company.
It didn’t matter who was sitting on that bench, just that they wore a pinstripe suit and a red rose in the lapel. The bowler hat and umbrella were optional, but I was feeling whimsical.
After all, in a sense, I was a typical English public servant.
Jacobson, ostensibly the man in charge of a group if us aspiring ‘public servants’ had chosen me to run this errand. I don’t know why. It was not my turn on the roster, and the person who should be going had been sent elsewhere.
It was unexpected and a much-needed change in what had been a very dull week.
I was five minutes early. I had taken in the early summer afternoon sunshine, clear sky, and aromas of the outdoor gardens. There was that freshly watered newly mown grass aroma that hung in the air.
There were quite a few other people also out for the afternoon, some strolling hand in hand, others as families with boisterous noisy children. There was plenty of distraction and camouflage.
I folded the newspaper neatly, put it on the seat beside me, and sat back, looking towards the lake and thinking I might take a walk down and back before returning to the office.
It’s best not to look like I was scuttling back to the office after making the pickup because that was what it was. A drop-off and pick-up in plain sight, my first and hopefully not my last.
I looked at my phone, ostensibly to check for incoming messages, but in reality, looking at the time.
One minute past the appointed arrival time.
I gave the scene before me a scan trying to look like I was not scanning the scene before me. That was difficult.
There were three possible threats that fitted the profile of a possible threat, and I was hoping they were not.
The first, is a man on another park bench under a tree, not beside a small waterfall, reading a newspaper. It was too far away to tell if it was an older edition. He was glancing in my direction, able to see me without lowering his paper.
The second was a woman with a pram; standing in front, stopped and ostensibly attending to the child within, if there was a child within. She had only arrived a minute before the appointed time.
The third was another man on another park bench not reading a paper by rather animatedly talking on his cell phone, at the same time looking in my direction. Was he on the phone reporting, or was he talking to a friend?
Scan ended, and the target, a woman dressed to be noticed, was strolling towards me along the path in a group of about a dozen others evenly spaced, looking like there’ll were together but they were not together.
So much for anonymity.
The first man noticed the new arrival and was on alert. It could be that she stood out, the sort of woman men would give a second look. She certainly had my attention.
This was getting to be thirsty work, and I took a drink out of the bottle of water I had brought with me.
The woman with the pram had noticed the first man on his bench stiffen and stopped fussing with the child, and started rocking horse the pram, looking at both him then me, then up and down the path, then repeat. Was that a look of jealousy after she was the approaching woman?
Was she waiting and looking for my target, or was she waiting for a friend or partner? She was moving towards me slowly.
The third man’s phone call ended when a woman came and sat next to him and greeted him effusively. Distraction.
The woman with the pram was suddenly met by another woman, older, most likely a mother carrying a large fluffy toy. Another Distraction.
First man, no longer on his seat, no longer in sight, where the hell was he? Damn.
Target arrives, and sits, there’s not supposed to be any interaction, but the first man just hovers into sight and is now looking directly at us.
“Long time no see,” the girl said and slid over towards me, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me. It was a fluid movement from sitting, sliding, and gathering me up in her web of deceit.
I kissed her back. I was happy to play the part asked of me.
Then she leaned back and smiled. It was like we had known each other forever. “My God, you have changed, Daniel, and I have to say I love it.”
She had all but taken my breath away, but not so much that the man who had been watching had moved on, assuming as anyone would that two old friends had just reunited.
All I could say was, “Wow.”
She took my hand in hers and said, “Walk with me.”
She didn’t need to ask twice. Once up, she didn’t let go. It was a smooth and fluid operation, and it felt natural and not forced. I had to remind myself that j was playing a role, it was an operation, and that we were improvising.
Over my shoulder, I could see the first man had stopped a short distance away, now intrigued, perhaps to see how this played out. If he was expecting a drop, he was not expecting two old lovers to reunite.
I leaned towards her, whispering, “Over my shoulder red handkerchief.”
“Saw him on approach. Amateur.” Then out loud, ” You got that dull as ditchwater desk job, where was it, treasury or no let me guess, revenue and customs?”
“That was the old me, you know, the one you said you wouldn’t be caught dead with. No, I’m in a far more interesting home, science innovation, and technology.”
“You failed science at school, come to think of it you all but failed everything except how to wear that old-school tie. My, and you thought you’d end up on a fishing trawler cleaning the bilges.”
“And therefore totally qualified to work for the government in something I know absolutely nothing about. Did you get that modelling contact?”
“And a screen test. I was going to be in the movies until I realised what the screen test entailed. Now I just model clothes.”
The banter, the manner in which we were walking, the carefree air of two people who had nothing better to do, we were heading for the nearest cafe. Coffee, cake, more outlandish conversation, the drop would be made, my life would have fifteen minutes of what I’d always wanted but would never get, and the job would be done.
Our new friend was already losing interest.
When I finally returned to the office, I tried to act like nothing happened and completely failed. The thing is, I was supposed to be able to handle any situation, act in any role it took to get the job done, then go home and come back the next day ready for the next role.
What happened before happened and was forgotten. Our lives were quite literally clean slates every morning. There was no time to dwell on what happened or what might happen.
Except…
“You’re not the first,” Lenny, another of the team, said. “The fact is, we all want to spend a few minutes with her. I’m told her name is Harriet. They call her Harry for short.
Jay, listening to the conversation, said, “Larry’s furious because he had been slated for this operation, and has now missed out. “He’s been assigned to work with her before.”
That might be the reason why he was passed over. She might not want to work with him again. I remembered him from training, and he particularly was prone not to follow orders or ‘ad lib’.
“Perhaps she wanted someone new, who knows how this works. No one understands what it is we’re really doing that involved her,” Larry muttered, “but the scuttlebutt is that we’re still being tested. How did it go?”
“Mission accomplished, potential threats taken care of, and I’ve been debriefed. I’m sure if there was anything wrong, they’ll tell me.”
Sixteen of us had gotten through the first round of training, out of an intake of about a hundred. That had been whittled down to six, and I was not sure if I was pleased or sad that my tenure would be determined by a situation, I had no control over.
The more I thought about it, the more I realised that whatever they’d been giving us to do, we were still being tested; only these were far more life-like than training. The question was if I ended up being in the final few, whether or not I would take it.
At the end of the day, I went home.
We had been told from the outset that this was not going to be a nine-to-five job, that we could go anywhere, at any time of the day or night, to do almost anything. We had to be able to drop everything and simply go. As per instructions, I had an away bag packed at ready to go.
And more important was that we should have no attachments, and one of the questions, and the main reason why the people recruited us, was because we had no families or friends of consequence. The reason it was stressed; they could be used as leverage.
On the other hand, if we had those special people we cared about, our minds would not be on the job in hand.
I certainly fit the loner category. My parents were dead, and I had no brothers or sisters or family of any sort, making me the ideal candidate. I certainly didn’t want friends; they had constantly let me down in the past.
Of course, if this didn’t work out. I was going to leave the country and become a ski instructor in New Zealand, a place I doubted anyone I knew knew existed.
But until then, my small place in Brooklyn was where I could hide from the rest of the world.
Or so I thought.
I walked up the stairs to the third level, where I shared the floor with another apartment. I ran into the other occupant the day I moved in, and he had referred to as the penthouse if only to feel better about the small space.
It was enough for me, as a temporary space to call home if and when I would be in London. I wasn’t planning on being there long or often.
A glance at the other door, the occupant was away. I unlocked my door and went in. It was unusually dark, and I did not remember pulling the curtains, I usually left them open to get some natural light in the main room
I stopped inside the door and leaned against it. There was a very familiar aroma in the room, a particular brand of perfume I had recently become acquainted with.
“Checking to see if I can notice a break and enter,” I said, at that moment to no one in particular.
If I was right, it was the woman I had met in the park who shared a fifteen-minute adventure.
The chair beside my desk swung around, and she was sitting cross-legged on it. She fit into it like it had been made for her. It also demonstrated a certain flexibility.
“What gave me away?”
“Perfume?”
“I will have to deal with that, something less potent.”
“Unless you want to intoxicate your target.”
“Does that mean I have you under my spell?”
She uncurled herself from the chair and sashayed over to me. I could not take my eyes off her, as I suspect was the point.
“If I deemed you a threat, we would be in a very different position right now.”
She smiled.
“Your training officer said you were more dangerous than a cage of riled rattlesnakes.”
“My compatriots would give their right arms to go on a mission with you.”
“And you?”
“I need my right arm, so no.”
“That’s a pity. You’ve reached the end of your training, and you’re ready. Would you like to stay? It’s not mandatory. Long hours, bad pay, and definitely no thanks. I don’t know why anyone would want to.”
“Today, you almost gave me a heart attack. It’s the most alive I’ve ever been. How could I refuse?”
“You will be working with me then. Undercover. It’s going to be long and arduous, and the people who were cosying up to are very, very dangerous. I’ve got your legend, and you’ll have a day to study it, remember every detail, and then live it. In or out?”
“Right now?”
“Right now. We leave tomorrow night. There is no time to think about it.”
I shrugged. “I’m in.”
“Good. Everything you’ll need is in your bedroom. Until tomorrow then.”
She took a step closer and was so close I could feel the temperature rise. It was like that moment on the park bench. I leaned forward slightly and kissed her on the lips briefly, eyes closed for just a second before opening them to look at her.
Whimsical. My heart did double somersaults, and I don’t think it was meant to.
“Perhaps not then. I think in a very small space of time, I’ve developed feelings for you.”
“I feel it too. That’s why I want you for the job. We’re going undercover as husband and wife, and it has to look real. I knew from that moment on the park bench you were the one. And you are going to have to compartmentalise those feelings. Think you can?”
“Of course. It’s the nature of the job. I’ll be ready.”
“Excellent. Change of plans. I want to know everything about you so I’m staying. And I’ll tell you everything about me. Let’s see where this goes.”
I would tell you how that went, but that’s another story!
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. He’s now over having the grandchildren staying with us.
As part of the COVIS 19 restrictions in place, the grandchildren cannot go to school.
However, because their parents are both working (which is very fortunate as so many others are not) they have asked us to look after them.
So, they arrive Sunday night, stay the whole week, and go back home on Friday. It means they are homeschooling, so the internet is taking a beating, I have to feed them, morning tea, lunch. After school snack at three and then dinner.
Chicken nuggets, pies, and shoestring chips can only go so far, and, no, he does not like scraps from their plates.
And having to cater for four rather than two means a gentle shift in logistics. More shopping for food, having to do the washing every day, tormenting the cat.
OK, that last part is where Chester comes in, or, rather, he stays hidden away.
Remember that phobia he has when the grandchildren are around?
Now they’re here semi-permanently, he’s in hiding, and coming out only for food and water.
And to let me know just how displeased he is.
He wants his domain back.
Pity I haven’t told him yet they’re going to be back next week.
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on the back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Chasing leads, maybe
When the room was empty and only Richards and I remained, he cut the ties that bound my hands and legs.
“Bad business,” he said.
I sat again, and flexed the muscles that had begun to stiffen up whilst tightly bound.
“I’m assuming you know a woman by the name of Jan?” I said. “She told me she was working for MI6 so I’m assuming you’re her handler.”
“When she chooses to be handled, yes. Jan is just one of her names. She’s currently missing, and I think we now know why?”
“Her work,” I nodded towards the body.
“God no. She’s charged with chasing down leads and then calling the cavalry. We had a tracker on this chap, found him, and had him in a safe facility awaiting interrogation, what we thought was safe at any rate, and Jan and another agent watching over him until the interrogation team arrived. When the interrogation team got there everyone was gone, but with enough blood on the floor to paint a pretty clear picture. Maury had been interrogated and killed there, dumped here, with no indication of the whereabouts of our agents. She told me this guy and another trained you, and others, in rather strange circumstances. A bogus operation. To what end?”
“From what I could tell, a single surveillance operation. Me and a dozen others. Cut loose after it failed, those of us that survived, that is.”
“A lot of effort to achieve nothing.”
“Pity we can’t ask him what it was about?” I looked over at the body. Maury was hardly recognizable. Whoever carried out the interrogation had been either in a hurry or in a bad mood.
“Indeed. She told me this chap called O’Connell was involved. Now so?”
Another rule that popped into my head from the training: never share information with other agencies unless you absolutely had to. I had no doubt if Dobbin was here, he would agree, but he wasn’t.
I wondered if I should tell him she had allegiance to another branch of the secret services, or mention Dobbin.
“He was the surveillance target. We were charged with observing him, but not what he was suspected of. I followed him as far as the exploding shop, got temporarily disorientated after the blast,, but managed to reacquire the target, following him to an alley where I spoke briefly to him before Maury and Severin arrived, and he was shot, apparently killed.”
“Either he was or he wasn’t.”
“The body disappeared. My view is he is still alive, somewhere.”
“That explosion was supposed to be caused by a gas leak.”
“Standard operational doubletalk. A journalist was killed, apparently in the shop waiting for the target. It went up after the target passed, I’m assuming his tradecraft was to check first then go back. Never got a chance. I think now given the circumstances, the journalist was going to hand something off. I’ve been asked a number of times by various people about a USB drive. You know anything about it?”
“This is the first I’m hearing about anything about a USB drive. You know what was on it?”
“Above my pay grade, I was told.”
“OK. What about this Severin character?:
“All I have is a phone number, and that, I think we can both agree, will be a burner.”
“Agreed, but it might be useful.”
I gave it to him and he put it on his phone.
A new team of men in white suits arrived at the door, no doubt MI5 forensic specialists, and two more agents, bigger and tougher, what I would call the muscle.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to come back to the office to answer a few more questions. It’s not custody, but mandatory co-operation.”
“And if I refuse?”
“It might make their day if you know what I mean.”
I shrugged. One I might be able to take, but not the both of them. And they both looked like they would be happy to teach me the error of my ways if I tried to escape/
“That won’t be necessary. I’m taking him with me.”
“Dobbin just came to the door, flashing an MI6 warrant card.
“I’ve been charged with cleaning this mess up.”
“And so you shall, but not including this agent. Orders from above, reasons why, as they say, are above your pay grade.
I suspect the warrant card said Dobbin outranked him. Did our people have fake MI6 IDs?
“This is highly irregular.”
“Call your boss, if you don’t like it. I can wait.”
I could see the reluctance in his face.
He glared at me. “Go, but don’t go too far. I still might get clearance to have another chat.”
This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.
…
Today I’m dealing with the art of elusiveness, and trying to emulate what it would be like to hide the truth from someone. It would require a great deal of elusiveness and guile to carry it off as though whatever you’ve been lying about for so long doesn’t come back to bite you.
Of course, if I tried it in practice I’d fail miserably, because I don’t have a poker face, and worse, I can’t keep a secret.
So, best not to ask me if I can keep a secret because I will say yes very earnestly, and then give it up when the pressure is on.
I’d never make a good spy either.
But it does make me wonder about all those people out there that constantly tell lies about everything, their past, whether or not they’re having an affair, where they’ve been, and what happened to the money.
Some people are very good at it, especially those who change their names, or have a half dozen different passports.
But, here, in this story, Jack’s mother probably just wanted to believe her twin sister had perished a long time ago, and the longer it became since she last heard from her, the more it was likely she was gone.
Pity. She’s about to come back from the dead.
And, of course, she does know about the doppelganger Jacob, because he had already visited her.
But as to why Jacob has come out of the woodwork, well that has something to do with the past, and an old flame Jack’s mother had a long time ago.
He too has come out of the past for different reasons, none of them good for her health.
That meant we had to make the journey from New York to New Jersey, by train. It involved the underground, or as New Yorkers call it, the subway, from Columbus Circle which by any other name was really, 80th street, to 34th street which apparently was the New Jersey jump-off point for us to get overground, well a lot of it was overground. So, were we going uptown or downtown?
Apparently, it was downtown, and to 34th Street on the A train.
You would not think this to be a difficult task, but for people not used to the subway, and where they were going other than some internet derived instructions, but without the help of a man at the station, just getting tickets may have stopped us dead in our tracks. With his help, we determined the return fare for three of us and then get through the turnstile onto the platform.
We get on the A train, but soon discover it was not stopping at all stations. There was for a few minutes, a little apprehension we might just simply bypass our station. Luckily we did not.
Now, finding your way to the New Jersey transit part of Penn station might appear to be easy, on paper, but once there, on the ground, and mingling with the other passengers which all seemed to be purpose going somewhere, it took a few moments to realize we had to follow the New Jersey transit signs.
This led to a booking hall where luckily we realized we needed to buy more tickets, then find the appropriate platform, and then get on the right train, all of which, in the end, was not difficult at all.
Maybe on the return trip, it might be.
At Newark Penn station it was momentarily confusing because the exit was not readily in sight, so it was a case of following the majority of other passengers who’d got off the train.
This led us to exit onto the street under the train tracks. Luckily, having been before to Prudential Stadium to buy the tickets, we knew what the stadium looked like and roughly where it was, so it was a simple task to walk towards it.
We were early, so it was a case of finding a restaurant to get dinner before the game. So was a great many others, and we passed about 6 different restaurants that looked full to overflowing before we stopped at one called Novelty Burger and Bar.
It looked inviting, and it was not crowded.
It was yet another excuse to have a hamburger and beer, both of which seemed to be a specialty in American. I could not fault either.
And soon after we arrived, this restaurant too was full to overflowing. Thankfully there were other Maple Leaf fans there because being in a room full of opposition teams supports can be quite harrowing.
That was yet to come when we finally got to the stadium. I was not expecting a lot of Maple Leaf fans. We went to this game with high hopes. New Jersey Devils were not exactly at the top of the leader board, and coming off the loss in Toronto, this was make or break for whether we would ever go to another game.
It’s remarkable in that all the Ice Hockey stadiums are the same. Everyone has an excellent view of the game, the sound systems are loud, and the fans passionate. Here it seems to be a thing to ride on the Zambonis. At the front door they were handing out figurines of a Devil’s past player, and it seems a thing that you get a handout of some sort at each game. At Toronto we got towels. And, finally, we were in luck.
The Maple Leafs won.
And it was an odd feeling to know that even though their team lost, there did not seem to be any rancor amount the fans and that any expectation of being assaulted by losing fans was totally unfounded, unlike some sporting events I’ve been to.
Perhaps soccer should take a leaf out of the ice hockey playbook.
That also went for taking public transport late at night. I did not have any fears about doing so, which is more than I can say about traveling at night on our own transport system back home.
Oh, and by the way, there are train conductors who still come to every passenger to collect or stamp their tickets. No trusting the passenger has paid for his trip here. And, if you don’t have a ticket, I have it on good authority they throw you off the train and into the swamp. Good thing then, we had tickets.
Though revenge is not what Michael wanted to get caught up in, it was the people with whom he had to see that had him thinking that way.
Michael knew from bitter experience that the world would be a better place without half the people in it, the half that made up the cheats, liars, self-serving, egotistical twits, and pompous asses.
He’d seen enough of those when he and Agatha had been together.
Dealing with a chap Agatha had had what had to be described as a fling, seemed to think that an invitation to stay at one of her apartments until he found his own was the same as being married.
That aristocratic self-entitlement was enough to have Michael considering whether a three-hour torture session in a disused factory where no one would hear the screams, might just teach him the error of his assumptions. Sadly, it didn’t come to that, but there were plenty of others on the list.
