Fit For Purpose

by Julian D. Parrott

  They fell together hungrily. After, they lay spooned together as Nia ran a hand through Tom’s hair.

  “That was lovely,” Nia said. “Do you know what would make it perfect?”

  Tom turned on his side so they were face to face.

  “Errr,” he responded. “A cup of tea?”

  Nia smiled, “Tom, you’re a genius.”

  “What’s with you and all the sex and tea?” Tom joked.

  “It’s Welsh thing,” Nia replied laughingly.

  Tom got out of bed.

  “You are a gentleman genius,” added Nia. “And with such a fine arse too.”

  She slapped Tom’s bottom.

  “Oh, I haven’t had this much affection since basic training,” Tom said as he put on some boxer shorts and Nia laughed.

  “I love you, Tom Price,” Nia said as Tom disappeared down the small corridor to the galley. Jack ran into the cabin after being sexiled in the lounge and jumped up on the bed. She licked Nia’s hands before settling down, after her usual circular nesting motion, at the foot of the bed. Nia lay back enjoying the warmth of the bed, the weight of the dog on her feet, and the diffused light that emanated through the curtains. She sighed with happiness.

  The afternoon’s trip down the quiet canal was uneventful. Tom steered the Periwinkle and Nia joined him at the stern taking in the countryside and the tranquillity. She was a little nervous as the narrowboat approached the first of three locks. Nia’s confidence returned almost as soon as she had opened the first lock gates. Tom pulled the Periwinkle in and Nia closed the rear lock gates before she moved to the front gates and opened the sluices to fill the lock. They worked well together through the next two locks and Nia was a little disappointed that the lock flight at Grindley Brook would require the assistance of a lock keeper.

  Tom pulled the Periwinkle up to a water station after the final lock. Nia walked up from the lock after a quick chat and a word of thanks with the hirsute, friendly volunteer lock keeper. A shiny red and gold narrowboat moved into position to go down the lock flight. Nia took the tiller as Tom pushed the Periwinkle away from the water station and then stepped on board. The late afternoon sky moved from shades of reds to oranges to yellows.

  Nia took a turn at the tiller and increased the revs. Tom noted, again, that there wasn’t any speeding on the canal as well as no running around the locks, another thing Nia continued to do. Nia slowed down and steered the Periwinkle into the canal banks to let Tom off to open the swing bridges that marked this stretch of canal. Nia was always quick to wave and shout out a greeting to the few boaters that passed by. She received friendly ‘hullos’ or ‘how do’ in return and the occasional double take of recognition.

  Tom enjoyed watching Nia at the tiller. She had quickly become a competent helmsman and was now confidant enough to control the boat around sharp bends, into locks, and even steering the middle course between narrowboats on her port and starboard sides. Tom finished making two steaming mugs of tea and brought them back to the stern.

  “Ummm, lovely,” Nia said taking one of the mugs. She was squinting in the lowering sun but had zipped up her coat over one of Tom’s fleece jackets against a wind that was progressively getting colder.

  “It will be a chilly night once the sun drops,” Tom stated. “Do you want dinner in a village or on the boat?”

  “Let’s stay on the boat,” Nia replied.

  They both looked at each other and smiled.

  “Like a real couple,” she added and immediately regretted the turn of phrase. Her smile faded.

  “What’s wrong?” Tom asked.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be presumptuous,” she said.

  “Nia, don’t you see us as a couple?”

  She thought for a moment, “Yes, of course I do, I love you so much, Tom. It’s just that it sounded strange to announce it publicly.”

  “Publicly? There’s only the two of us. And Jack.”

  Nia laughed nervously and moved to hug Tom. She felt vulnerable but wanted to make sure that Tom was okay with where the conversation was going.

  “I do love us being a couple, doing couple’s things,” she said. Then she added, reticently, “I haven’t felt as if I needed to be a part of a couple for a long time now… but now, with you, I do.”

  Tom lifted Nia’s chin gently and kissed her.

  “To us, being a couple. Let’s toast to that,” Tom said and raised his mug of tea and Nia reciprocated with a throaty guffaw as they clinked mugs.

  Tom had actually thought of himself and Nia as a couple since the drink they shared in the theatre bar after her performance in Blithe Spirit.

  Nia drove the Periwinkle through the wetlands of Prees which she thought felt like a nature reserve and then on past the meres outside of the aptly named Ellesmere. Tom suggested they push on past the village with its busy wharf and eventually moor up at a more bucolic stretch of canal. The canal took a rightward turn passing the junction for the Montgomery canal. Tom and Nia pushed on through the two locks at New Marston until Nia chose a mooring spot on a quiet, heavily wooded stretch of the canal.

  The Periwinkle’s engine clicked through its cooling and contraction stages as Tom locked the stern doors and he, Nia and Jack went for a run down the towpath. Hidden in the undergrowth at the side of a small canal bridge to the rear, the Russian agent observed them through his binoculars. He was thankful that his run across fields, down county lanes, and on the occasional towpath, shadowing the Periwinkle, had finally ended. He watched the narrowboat and its occupants until the evening dark made further observation impossible and the Periwinkle’s curtains were drawn. He slipped back through the hedgerow and stretched his cold and aching limbs; he was exhausted from the physically demanding day. He walked quickly across the field to a breeze block farm equipment shed. He forced the lock with ease. He lay out some hay and pulled a coat from his day pack, a can of Coke and a power bar. He made a makeshift bed and settled in for a long, cold night.

  ***

  The Next Day, Seven a.m.

  The small narrowboat yard was situated at the end of a twisting, turning, oft overgrown country lane. Hard against the canal side, it was ideally positioned for canal traffic. A light burned in the yard’s office as the manager made an early start to his working day. The yard’s secluded nature made it the ideal spot for Kamenev and his driver to approach. The SVR watcher who had followed Nia was waiting for them as they pulled into the ancient boat yard’s small car park. The surveillance man was dirty and sore from his night in the machine shed. He slipped into the Focus’ rear seat and quickly apprised Kamenev and the driver as to Tom Price’s location.

  The boat yard manager, surprised by business so early in the morning, greeted the Russians suspiciously. Kamenev quickly assuaged the manager’s concern with his cut-glass public-school boy accent and a wad of cash. The manager was quick to rent Kamenev a narrowboat. Kamenev had told the manager that he and his friends had planned an early trip to Llangollen and back, two days and one evening. Kamenev overpaid for the rental, much to the yard manager’s delight.

  The three Russians entered the forty-five-foot-long narrowboat along with the yard manager who quickly ran through the boat’s operations. The manager cut his usual orientation short as Kamenev had convinced him that he was a veteran of numerous narrowboat trips. The Russian driver retrieved the two go bags from the Focus as Kamenev bought some basic supplies of food and beverages and caps emblazoned with the boat yard’s name from the small office. Kamenev was keen to make a start and another exchange of cash, as a tip, quelled the boat yard manager’s concern about Kamenev’s desire to start his canal trip before the eight a.m. approved start time.

  The watcher, rather dirty from his time tromping across fields, muddy towpaths, and hiding under hedgerows and machine sheds, cleaned himself up in the boat’s small bathroom. The driver, taking up his customary role, this time at the tiller, waited for Kamenev to reboard the canal boat and then he pulled the tiller
to the left and increased the engine revs, and the narrowboat moved slowly off from its mooring and into the canal’s main channel. It was heading west. The watcher joined the driver at the stern.

  He handed the driver a cigarette, lit it, and then yawned widely and loudly.

  “Fuck, I hardly slept at all last night. This country is always frigging cold.”

  The driver nodded not really listening and not caring.

  “Crazy this, isn’t it?” the surveillance man continued. “Now we’re chasing some Brits in a boat that can go what… four miles per hour? High speed chase, da?”

  The driver didn’t see the humour in the situation.

  “It’s our job. The boss knows what he’s doing.”

  “I don’t know,” the watcher replied in a whisper. He shivered, “I don’t feel right about this. Something’s not right and I’ll be happy when this shit is all over.”

  He flicked his half-smoked cigarette into the canal and went into the body of the boat where Colonel Kamenev was cleaning his Makarov.

  ***

  Tom and Nia woke early. The morning was bright but chilly and they had lain in bed chatting and giggling and listening to the cooing of wood pigeons from the copse that bordered the towpath. Once up, Tom had taken Jack for her morning walk while Nia made breakfast. Later, Nia made coffee as she washed the dirty breakfast bowls and plates. Tom checked the engine’s fluids and then fired it up. Tom went back into the boat as Nia sat on the stern gunwale, drinking her mug of coffee. Jack lay down at Nia’s feet. Ducks quacked demandingly on the canal.

  A goose waddled down the towpath towards the Periwinkle’s stern. Nia and Jack watched the goose’s slow progress intently, Nia raised her coffee mug in a silent greeting, Jack wagged her tail. The goose slipped into the canal with hardly a splash. The ducks quacked their displeasure at the goose’s arrival. Nia smiled, she was enjoying the little dramas of canal waterfowl, the warmth of the coffee, and the company of the terrier. The Periwinkle’s redoubtable engine hummed contentedly beneath her feet. At eight-thirty a.m., Tom cast off the lines, pushed the Periwinkle away from the canal side, and joined Nia at the tiller.

  The Periwinkle made good headway as the canal wound its way around the border town of Chirk and through its first tunnel. Nia noted how the more natural, river-like appearance of the canal changed to something that had been obviously cut through the landscape by the picks, shovels and dynamite of man. She wondered about the canal builders’ hard lives, of how much blood had been spilt to build the canal, bridges, tunnels and aqueducts. She thought of the builders’ wives and families. Tom was aware of the history of the canal, particularly, this stretch, which he considered his home stretch, but enjoyed Nia’s enthusiasm for the story. He watched her face as she recounted canal builders’ tales, he watched her eyes shine, how her lips parted over her teeth. He loved that she now shared this passion.

  They passed over the border between England and Wales at the dramatic Chirk aqueduct. Nia increased revs to fight the increase in the canal’s current as the Periwinkle traversed the aqueduct and then through another tunnel. A little later, Tom suggested they moor up for lunch below the little Welsh village of Froncysyllte before they travelled across the most dramatic aqueduct on the British canal system. Nia pulled the boat into the right-hand bank of the canal hard against some mooring points. Tom stepped off the Periwinkle and made the boat fast.

  The afternoon warmed and Tom and Nia enjoyed a post-lunch cup of tea on the stern. The low winter sun had inspired their use of sunglasses. Tom made some notes in his log while Nia skimmed a script. They were pleasantly interrupted by an ancient towpath walker who greeted them with a robust ‘hello’ along with a wave from his walking stick. Tom and Nia both smiled and nodded to the walker.

  “Where are you two from?” the walker asked.

  “Here,” Tom said. “And London,” he added, with a nod in Nia’s direction.

  “Funny I haven’t noticed you before,” the walker continued. “I usually walk the towpath most days. At my age, I’ve got to keep moving or I’ll seize up. I’m eighty-six you know.”

  “Well done you,” Nia said. “I hope to be as active as you when I’m eighty-six.”

  “Yes, it’s about two, two and a half miles, my walk. And I see all kinds of things.”

  Nia was intrigued, “Oh, like what.” She smiled slyly to Tom.

  “Well, some wonderful wildlife; hawks, badgers, an occasional fox,” the old man looked off into the woods that bordered the towpath. “And, erm, some people need to close their curtains when they’re on the boats more. I’ve seen people in their toilets, and in the bedrooms. In all kinds of undress. Not that I’m looking mind!” He shook his head with some kind of memory. “It’s not right. Kiddies walk and cycle on these paths you know. And the number of people who can’t handle the boats. I’ve seen all sorts; people who can’t steer or control the boats, I’ve seen crashes into the canal sides and into other boats. All sorts of malarkey.”

  “Have you indeed,” Tom said.

  “Why just about ten minutes ago a boat tried to pass under the swing bridge back there,” the old man signalled where with a directional shake of his walking-stick. “A boat tried to rush through the swing bridge even though it had been opened by someone from a boat that was patiently waiting on the other side. Both boats then tried to get under the bridge at the same time and scraped each other with a terrific noise. Cheeky buggers too, they were, the people on the boat at fault. All loud and shouty. Foreigners, they were.”

  Nia and Tom glanced at each other anticipating a pro-Brexit turn to the conversation.

  “Russians, I think.”

  Tom froze.

  “I served in West Berlin when I was in the army,” the walker continued. “Used to meet some Russkis at the checkpoints there. Recognised the lingo.”

  “Which way was their boat travelling?” Tom asked with barely concealed concern in his voice. Nia stared at him.

  “Oh, this way,” the walker said. “Towards the aqueduct.” He turned and looked back down the canal, “Yes, that’s them now. Silly buggers.”

  Tom quickly moved to the open stern doors and grabbed a small pair of binoculars that were hanging in a storage compartment there. He focused on the boat. It was a battered old purple rental, and it was moving faster than was acceptable on the canal. Its wake was visible, and it rocked moored boats as it passed, clanging them into the canal’s sides. Tom didn’t recognise the two men on the tiller but for a fleeting moment he saw a third head pop up to stare over the boat’s long cabin. Even through the binoculars he recognised Zalkind/Kamenev.

  “Nia,” he commanded. “Cast us off.” He turned to the walker, “Sir, you better get the hell out of here. Make your way back down the towpath. Try to act naturally, keep your head down. Call the police when you’ve passed the purple boat.”

  There was something in Tom’s voice that the old walker didn’t question. He nodded grimly and immediately started to walk back from the way he came. Nia untied the bow rope and made her way back to the stern rope. Tom cut it with a knife and held his arm out to her as she stepped up on to the stern deck. Behind them, the purple boat appeared to slew sideways across the canal.

  “They’re blocking the canal,” Nia said with alarm creeping into her voice. “Who are they?”

  “Russians,” Tom replied. “I think they’re after me.”

  “Holy fuck!” Nia stated, eyes wide.

  Tom increased the revs and the Periwinkle moved into the centre of the narrowing canal. He quickly tied the tiller so that the boat maintained a straight course. He moved quickly into the Periwinkle’s long cabin. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought. He knew that whatever was about to happen would change the trajectory of his and Nia’s lives forever and probably not for the better.

  Kamenev watched the Periwinkle leave her moorings and move out into the narrow canal.

  “I’m going on foot,” he shouted to his two agents. “Stay here.”

&nb
sp; He jumped off the purple narrowboat and began to run down the towpath towards the Periwinkle. He darted into the woods on the side of the towpath and used the trees for cover. He stopped when he felt he was in shooting distance of the Periwinkle. Kamenev was a good shot and he was confident of bringing anyone down who stepped out on to the stern deck.

  Inside the Periwinkle’s cabin, Tom knelt in front of the little Morso stove and opened an almost invisible hatch in the oak planked floor. He retrieved a small fire safe and unlocked its combination in a fluid movement. Nia moved closer and peeped over his shoulder. She saw passports, some legal looking papers, cash and, troublingly, a heavy semi-automatic pistol with an extra ammunition clip.

  Tom picked up the pistol, a Browning Hi-power. Expertly, automatically, he cleared the breach, released the magazine that nestled in the pistol’s handle, checked it, slid the magazine back, chambered a round, and clicked the safety catch to off. He turned to Nia. She stared into his eyes and noticed that his eyes had almost turned flint black. Tom’s pupils had dilated almost across his entire irises, his jaw was set, and he clenched his teeth. It was as if his face had become one of chiselled granite. His look of grim determination momentarily scared her.

  “Stay here,” he commanded. “Call the police. Tell them they’ll need an armed response unit and they should contact the security services.” He attempted a smile, “I’ll be back.”

  Nia nodded but reached out her hand and touched him on the shoulder. “Tom,” she said. “Don’t kill anyone, I couldn’t stand it if you did.”

  Tom paused momentarily. “I can’t promise that Nia. These are different people. Not London street thugs. They’re a Russian hit squad. I think it’s, literally, us or them.” He pushed past her and moved swiftly through the narrowboat. He turned momentarily to look back at Nia. “I’m sorry,” he said then moved quickly up the stern steps and was gone.

  Kamenev observed the Periwinkle from the thick undergrowth at the canal’s side. He watched as Tom jumped off the stern and ran towards the Russian narrowboat down the towpath. Kamenev brought the Makarov up took quick aim at the running Tom, but then lowered the ugly pistol. He let Tom run past. The Russian grinned with a new tactic. He’d go after the woman.