Sixty Minutes

by Tony Salter

  It was Sod’s Law that they’d met while she’d been working undercover. Changing name a few months into a relationship was never a good option, and she’d been stuck as Hana Koury as far as James was concerned. If he could have been patient for just a little longer, she would have been able to explain everything and they might have had a chance.

  As James continued to stare down at her, each of her false lives began to seem as real as any other, pulling Nadia into pieces like banners of smoke torn apart by the wind. She closed her eyes, marshalling her thoughts and reminding herself of who she really was and why the lies were necessary.

  Necessary, maybe, but at what cost? Was it always going to be like this? Was this her life? She’d always known personal relationships would be complicated, but she’d be thirty-five in a couple of years and James had been different. For the first time she’d dared to allow hope to creep in.

  ‘Sit down, James,’ she said. ‘Tell me what’s going on. What’s happened?’

  ‘Aren’t you even going to answer my questions?’

  ‘I will … but first tell me why you’re asking them.’

  He slumped into an armchair and, when he looked at her, she could see tears in his eyes.

  ‘Do you remember the last time we spoke?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. You called me at work, but I was busy and you said you’d call back later.’

  ‘Do you know where I was when I called?’

  ‘No. You didn’t say.’

  ‘I was standing outside your office door?’

  ‘In Melbourne? You went to Australia?’

  ‘Yup.’

  Nadia could picture the scene. A cheap plywood door hiding a virtual office in some unassuming building in Melbourne’s Central Business District, lights switched off and no sign of life. James standing there checking the address three times before calling her. He wasn’t a big traveller. She’d told Admin there was no reason to worry about an unexpected visit.

  ‘Ah,’ she said, as it all became painfully clear. ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘I wanted to surprise you,’ he said. ‘I went to your apartment first. Flat 17b didn’t exist and your name wasn’t on any of the buzzers.’

  ‘I can explain,’ said Nadia. ‘At least some of it. First, I need to …’

  ‘… I had to see you,’ said James. ‘I missed you so much.’ He looked up at Nadia, tears now flowing down his cheeks. ‘I was there to propose to you. How stupid was that?’

  Nadia hadn’t known what to say. This kind gentle man had loved her and wanted to marry her. He’d travelled to the other side of the world to tell her. She’d loved him as well, but all she’d been able to do was lie to him. And she was going to need to lie some more.

  Completing the security breach report had taken almost two hours, but Nadia was sure there were no loose ends. By the time the boys from IT had worked their magic, Hana Koury would never have existed.

  She was jolted back into the present as the meeting room door swung open and David McAllister walked in. David was larger than life in every way, his booming voice, physical size and exuberant confidence making it impossible to believe he’d ever been able to work as a field agent.

  He wrapped her in a huge hug, almost certainly in violation of dozens of HR directives, but he was the boss and a firm believer in the principle of “do what I say, not what I do”. He’d also been Nadia’s mentor since her first day and they were both fully aware that he’d come to fill the father-shaped void in her life.

  ‘Welcome back, Nadia. Sorry it’s all a bit hectic. You must be exhausted.’

  ‘Great to see you, Sir. It’s good to be home.’

  He patted her on the shoulder. ‘I noticed the security report on Sue’s desk. Sorry to see that. Tell me about it later. Yes?’

  Nadia nodded and David turned to the two men standing behind him. ‘You know Phil,’ he said. ‘And this is Ed Bailey who’s over from Six. He’ll be working with you on this.’

  Phil Castle was MI5’s Senior Operations Director and not one of Nadia’s favourite people. Leaving aside the occasion when he’d come on to her drunkenly at a Christmas party, there was something about him which sent shivers down her spine. Most people called him Voldemort – a strong hint that others felt the same way.

  She would give her new partner the benefit of the doubt – he looked harmless enough – although the services didn’t tend to mix that well. International operations often involved a lot of “champagne work” – hobnobbing with senior diplomats and politicians – and the snobbery and self-importance tended to rub off. On first look, Ed didn’t seem like that type – half-shaven, crumpled jeans, even more crumpled linen shirt and dark rings under his eyes. Decent looking after a shower and a night’s sleep, but no pretty boy.

  His smile was genuine and his handshake dry and firm. ‘Pleased to meet you Nadia,’ he said. ‘Sorry about the appearance. I’m straight off the plane. Hopefully I’ll be able to help.’

  11:06

  Jim

  Jim was still hunched forward but his breathing was steady and the tightness around his chest was almost gone. Before straitening up, he absent-mindedly registered the immaculate shine of his perfectly polished shoes with a sneaky, self-satisfied smile. That wasn’t something just anyone could get right.

  The booming hall was almost empty. Not even a few tasty young mothers to brighten things up and to help Jim pass the time in lazy lechery. There had been a group of schoolgirls in about an hour earlier and a few of them had definitely been tweaking their school uniforms for the field trip to London – shortened skirts pulled up high and blouses a couple of sizes too small. That had helped half an hour go by.

  Jim smiled at the memory before giving himself a mental slap on the wrist. He needed to watch himself. Kaylee, his granddaughter, was almost fourteen; it was time he stopped eying up girls of that age. The young mums were fair game, but he needed to draw the line somewhere. To be fair, it was only looking, but even so.

  He would need to sharpen up his act and get a bit of discipline back into his life. Jim patted his sagging belly which reminded him it wasn’t just his ogling habits that needed taking in hand. He might be a proud granddad, but he wasn’t old enough to give up the ghost yet.

  He leant back in his chair and looked around the huge hall with lazy eyes. The permanent resident had impressed him for ten minutes or so, but the boredom dragged him down soon enough and another week of the usual same-old, same-old yawned in front of him.

  They rotated locations every fortnight which was supposed to stimulate interest and keep them engaged and alert. Did the museum management really believe their own bullshit? It worked for maybe ten minutes but, after that, every posting was just a different old stone room full of crumbling bones and stuffed animals.

  Monday mornings were the high point of the week, but only because the rest of the week was so unbelievably dull. He wondered again how he’d ended up there? He was better than this. The most depressing part was that, if Julie’s dad hadn’t called in a big favour with someone he played darts with, Jim would probably have still been out there, queuing with all those sad bastards down at the Job Centre and being turned down for jobs again and again. It was illegal to discriminate based on age, but did they really believe anyone took any notice?

  Who could blame him for a bit of soft-porn daydreaming? As long as he kept the age of consent in mind; he wasn’t going to have anyone calling him a nonce – even thinking about those disgusting pervs made his blood boil.

  There had been one time in Belfast, back in the day. Jim had been on guard duty at the main gate – it was pissing down as usual – when a woman came storming up, dragging a young girl in school uniform behind her. The woman was wearing a grey raincoat and one of those transparent plastic headscarves, but that hadn’t hidden the fury in her eyes or the disdainful sneer which twisted her mouth.

  The girl had definitely wanted to be somewhere else, hanging head and crimson blotches on her cheeks t
elling the story of more than just embarrassment. She was pretty enough, but only a kid.

  ‘Do you know how old she is?’ the woman had dragged the girl forwards and shouted at him, her accent and anger melding and making it almost impossible for him to pick out the words.

  ‘I’m sorry, madam. I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he’d replied, genuinely none-the-wiser.

  ‘She’s fourteen. She’s only bloody fourteen, and she’s a good girl. Or at least she was until one of your lot started pawing at her.’

  ‘I still don’t understand. Do you want to make a complaint?’ By then Jim had understood perfectly well. They’d been five months without a break and the lads were bored and restless.

  But this was out of order. The girl was clearly underage, and they had their standards. They needed to set some sort of example to these murdering terrorist bastards.

  ‘Too bloody right, I want to complain,’ she’d said, getting right in his face. ‘One of your boys grabbed my Jenny here and pinned her up against a wall down by the canal. He started groping her even though she told him not to. She’s a good girl, my Jenny. God knows what might have happened if three of her brother’s mates hadn’t shown up.’

  They’d all been jumpy for weeks by that stage and Jim had taken a step backwards, half lifting his weapon. ‘I’m going to need to ask you to move away from the gate, Madam.’

  It hadn’t been any sort of set-up. She was an angry mother, nothing more, but he could tell she was ready to lash out, gun or no gun. ‘I’m sorry,’ he’d continued, speaking as slowly and calmly as he could while pulling the rifle up and around inch by inch. ‘It’s regulations. If you move back from the gate, I’ll call someone to come and take a formal complaint.’

  ‘All right. Keep your hair on,’ she’d said after a few seconds, pulling herself away but holding him locked in her furious gaze.

  Jim remembered thinking she was tasty enough herself once some of the scowl was wiped off her face, and moving back from the confrontation was enough to calm her down a bit. She looked like she had a good body under the raincoat and she’d reminded him of his Julie.

  And not much older than Julie if he’d had to guess. When Mrs Outraged-of-the-Falls-Road had got herself up the duff she’d probably been about the same age as her daughter was now. Not surprising that she didn’t want her Jenny caught in the same hopeless mess just for a damp knee-trembler with a faceless squaddie.

  Jim had picked up the gatehouse phone and called it in, but he could still remember how tense he’d been. Watching Jenny and her mum, but also flicking his eyes up and down the street, checking the boarded-up windows and the rooftops for any movement. At the time, he’d been less than a week away from the end of his tour and it was going to be his last. He’d had enough. He was only thirty-seven and had already been treated twice for stomach ulcers.

  Only a few more days. It would have been so bloody typical for something to have happened right at the end. It had been all he’d been able to think about for weeks.

  ‘Someone will be out in a couple of minutes,’ he said, turning to the daughter. ‘So what did this guy look like, Jenny? Are you sure he was one of us?’

  ‘Of course she’s bloody sure,’ said the mother. ‘Any moron can spot one of your lot at half a mile. You don’t exactly blend in.’

  Jim ignored her and carried on talking to Jenny. ‘Was he tall or short, blonde or dark? Did he tell you his name?’

  Jenny looked up at him and he could see the adult woman behind those child’s eyes, waiting to break surface. ‘He was tall,’ she said. ‘Dark hair. He said his name was Pete.’

  That narrowed it down to a field of one and, in any case, Jim would’ve put money that Pete Mitchell was lurking behind the curtains somewhere. Not that he believed Jenny’s mother’s protestations for a second. Jenny wasn’t a “good girl” however much her mum insisted. She’d have been up for a bit of fun, but Pete had taken it too far. That type always did.

  They’d stood there in silence for ten uncomfortable minutes before the duty officer had sauntered over. Captain Watson was a complete waste of space and one of the reasons why Jim was ready to hand in his ticket.

  ‘What have we got here, Sergeant?’ he said, ignoring the two women.

  ‘Mother here says one of our lads assaulted her daughter, Sir.’ said Jim, saluting crisply.

  ‘Does she indeed? Well, I suppose we’d better take her statement hadn’t we? Keep your eyes peeled, Pritchard. She looks like a shifty cow.’

  As the captain had ushered the two women into a small covered shelter next to the guard post, Jim had felt slightly sorry for them. Not only a waste of space, Captain Watson was also a lazy, arrogant bastard who would most likely use the report to wipe his arse. There would be no official investigation. To him, they were just a couple of Provo sluts with their knickers round their ankles.

  That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be justice. Everyone knew it wasn’t right to mess with young girls like that Jenny. She probably had been flirting in the first place, but that was no excuse. There was a code, Pete Mitchell had broken it and he had a visit the same evening. By the time they’d finished with him, Jim was fairly sure Pete knew the difference between right and wrong where underage girls were concerned.

  Jim’s attention drifted back to the present time, and he watched as a young man in a fetching purple fleece came sauntering across the hall – a big cocky grin plastered over his face. He’d been sharing shifts with Will for almost a month now and they got on well enough. He would have loved to have had a boy of his own, but it hadn’t worked out that way.

  Will was always chirpy and, for a posh student, was surprisingly normal. He was a good-looking lad and had that lanky, physical confidence which comes with having always been good at sports. Apparently he’d even won some sort of important rowing race at Henley Regatta while he was still at school.

  ‘Morning Jimbo,’ said Will, leaning against the wall next to Jim and pretending to watch the hall.

  ‘All right, Will,’ he replied. ‘You forgotten that we’re not supposed to talk on shift?’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Will said. ‘Let’s face it. There aren’t exactly hundreds of hammer-wielding vandals running about.’

  Part of the relative excitement of a Monday was getting the key fact sheet for their new room and Jim now knew it was two hundred and thirty-five feet long and eighty-three feet wide. He swung his head slowly from left to right. At ten past eleven, the population was precisely three, and that included the two of them. The only other resident was an old boy wearing a trilby who’d been sitting and reading for the previous ten minutes. He looked tired and sad but that wasn’t Jim’s problem.

  ‘Yeah. Good point, well made,’ Jim said. ‘And Hatchet-face won’t be round again for another half hour.’

  Will let out a spluttering guffaw loud enough to make the old man look up from his book. ‘Hatchet-face! Most excellent. Does she know you call her that?’

  ‘Of course she bloody doesn’t know, you plonker. And she’s not going to. This may be a crap job, but some of us need the work.’

  ‘Fair enough, mate. But Hatchet-face is ace. I love it.’

  Jim had known a fair few young lads like Will in the army. They used to call them Ruperts. Most of the second lieutenants he’d worked with had been just like Will at the start. They weren’t all idiots like Captain Watson; most just needed their soft edges roughening up a little, which didn’t take long if you knew how.

  ‘To be fair, she ain’t much of a smiler, is she?’ He enjoyed the way that Will seemed to look up to him. ‘Anyway, have you come over to brag about your love life again?’ Will seemed to be with a different girl every night and Jim enjoyed his daily updates.

  ‘Would I?’ said Will, lifting his hands up in mock outrage. ‘Although it’s pretty damn good, as you ask. You know that bet I’ve got on with my flatmate? I’m already two ahead for the month.’

  ‘Bloody Nora,’ said Jim. ‘I’m n
ot asking what the total is. We had free love when I was a lad, but it wasn’t like that. You still had to put in the groundwork.’

  ‘Not any more. You figure out who wants the same as you and that’s about it. It’s still usually the guy making the running, but not always.’

  ‘And you’re not just talking about slags?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Will looked almost offended. ‘I only go for nice girls.’

  ‘Jeezus H. Christ. It’s a different world, and that’s a bloody fact.’

  ‘Maybe not so different,’ Will said. ‘I’m sure you were a bit of a dog back in the day.’

  Jim thought back to his days of dating Julie which had been much more traditional. Over the years, he’d had a few one-night-stands here and there, but only a few and, thinking of the girls and the situations, they were best forgotten. Especially the ones where his wallet had ended up lighter by a week’s pay.

  ‘Nah. Not so much,’ he said. ‘Sometimes when I was on tour but only when I was too pissed to remember much. We used to have relationships. You not interested in that?’

  ‘Of course I am,’ said Will. ‘I’ll get spliced, have sprogs, the works, but I’m only twenty-two. I’ve got loads of time.’

  ‘Well, the best of British to you, son. It sounds cushtie enough, but I’m past all that. These days, I’m knackered after a couple of beers and the X-Factor.’

  Hassan

  Hassan was much too early. He didn’t need to be there until just before twelve and it wasn’t far. That left him with three quarters of an hour to kill.

  He’d never quite managed to develop a taste for coffee; at home it had always been milky-sweet and flavoured with cardamom and cinnamon which he couldn’t stand and, on the rare occasions when he’d been forced to go to a coffee shop, he could never get his mind around the idea of forking out two or three quid on a cup of hot milk with a chocolate fern swirled into it.