"Yes, I think I do," said Arthur, feeling the elevator settling on him slowly. This project was supposed to be exciting but there now seemed to be a serious edge to it. Perhaps Joan was right after all.
"So, you see we need it done as quickly as possible."
"But, if I have the files at home till it's all settled, there's no possibility of the FSA seeing anything half complete," said Arthur, quietly. Mary sat, shaking her head. "You can say the matter is in the hands of your expert consultant and can delay giving them anything till I've answered all your questions. If the worst comes to the worst, you can delay till then, blame me and they can't see the job till it's all plastered, wallpapered and looking ready for sale, so to speak."
Mary sat and smiled at this undeniable logic. "Arthur Bayly," she said, eventually, "you're a bit of a dark horse, aren't you! I hadn't thought of it that way."
"I have my moments."
"Right, perfect solution," said Mary, standing again and coming round to Arthur's side of the desk, with her hand out. "If I was one of those New Agers, I'd give you a hug, but I'm not!" She shook his hand strongly and did what she was good at - giving orders: "I'll get my PA to photocopy all the files, you get two computer sticks, copy all you have in your computer onto them. You keep one stick and the original files. I'll lock all the copies away from anyone's view, in case the worst happens. I'll organise you a laptop, be on your way with the original files and computer stick and you can download a copy when you get home. Okay?"
"Uh, yes, fine, thanks Mary."
"And we'll keep in phone and email contact each day. I'll need to know what's happening all the time," said Mary, smiling. "Upstairs will want to know that good progress is being made. And don't forget to ask for any resources you need - money is no object, as they say!"
Arthur felt a little like James Bond with a rising sense of excitement - even danger - he'd never felt before. Every moment he feared an earnest band of pin-striped inspectors confronting him perverting - well, temporarily skirting - the course of justice and being hauled off for incarceration in the Tower of London ... his mind went wild with the awful consequences it created, one upon the other. What he was very sure of was that James Bond would not trip up on shadows on the carpet, drop his computer stick behind his drawer and spend five sweaty minutes extracting said drawer and said computer stick, dropping a bundle of files in the corridor and spend a few more precious minutes gathering them up. No, James Bond would be in his office for four and a half minutes and out the door before anyone noticed.
"So, Mr Bond, how are we going? Mission completed?" asked Mary as she strode back with the files.
All Arthur could offer in reply was a sort of grunty, giggly refrain as he stood staring at his computer screen, wondering whether to scream or cry.
"Is everything alright, Arthur?" asked Mary, her smile turning to concern.
"I'm afraid this Mr Bond just isn't up to it today, Mary ... ah, Miss Moneypenny," said Arthur, staring intently at the screen. "I turned it on and it just downloaded an upgrade of some sort and it's shut down and restarting - too dashed clever for itself, I'd say. I'm sure this never happens to our Mr Bond ... I say, how did you know I was thinking of him when you came in?"
"I didn't, it just came out," said Mary. "So you were thinking how James Bond would be doing this?"
"Well, yes I was, actually," said Arthur. "Dashed interesting, really." He rushed to his chair, suddenly, downloaded his Atkinson file onto the two sticks, gave one to Mary, took the files from her and packed it all in the bag she gave him.
"Gosh, what's the rush?" asked Mary, surprised at his speed. "They won't be here today, Arthur."
"I must be nervous. I'm sorry," he said, sheepishly. "I really should be going, anyway, to help Joan with something." His eyes wouldn't stop darting to the door and the reception area - you never know with these investigation types, he thought.
"OK, well, please keep me informed each day - I know you'll have it completed in no time," said Mary as she shook his hand and disappeared up the corridor to the lift.
Arthur walked out with more speed than grace and bumped into two large men in black suits at the reception area. He immediately sensed who these two strangers were and he felt a most uncomfortable prickly heat in his face and it seemed to be spreading over his head. He supposed that he must be sweating, something he was not prone to do. These tense moments looked all very exciting on television and in the James Bond movies and he'd always wondered what it was like in real life. Now he knew and he didn't like it. His mind became strangely focussed, rather strongly, on several things at once.
He thought of Joan and how she'd like him to act - cool and decisive. This was not a natural state for him but, for her, he tried. He noticed the clock on the wall said 11.37 and that time stuck in his head. He noticed the black suits, nearly identical. He noticed that the man who stepped forward, had blonde cropped hair and and a faint scar from his left ear to his mouth. As he extended his hand a tattoo showed on his forearm, under his cuff-linked shirt cuff.
His colleague was slightly shorter and broader with a shaven head. Arthur noticed that he kept his right hand clenched and was sure the fourth finger was missing.
Then a strange thing happened - perhaps because he was focused on some things and not on others. Anyway, a shadow, a flicker - maybe it was a trick of the light or the dread in his brain - passed the left corner of his eye. It was there and gone and he felt a faint whisper of wind, a zephyr. His left hand felt lighter but he daren't look down; he needed his focus on these men who, he assumed, were Financial Services Authority auditors. Rather more rugged looking than he'd imagined, they had obviously caught the scent - as auditors are wont to do - of whatever intrigues surrounded the Atkinson case. And here he was, Arthur Bayly, walking from the crime scene with the stolen jewels on his person, so to speak.
"Arthur Bayly, I presume?" said Crewcut, a missing tooth marring his smile.
"Ah, yes, correct. Arthur," said Arthur. "And you are?"
"You got da Atkinson stuff?" asked the shorter man.
"The Atkinson file," said Crewcut, interrupting his friend. "We just want to ascertain the whereabouts of that information, Sir."
Arthur felt the prickly heat intensify and spread down his neck, as the man moved closer, his sickly deodorant filling Arthur's head. His legs felt a little unsteady. He was determined not to betray the precious information he carried but he couldn't help himself. He glanced down quickly ... and glanced again. The briefcase was not there! He knew he'd carried it out and now it was gone, like a phantom. He glanced around and saw Halee, the receptionist, smiling sweetly at all three gentlemen.
"Excuse me, sirs," she said in her New Zealand accent, "would you like to talk to our director about that?"
"Your director, who dat?" asked the Shorty.
"Mary Collins, sir, she's our director."
"But we were told ... we need to talk to Arthur Bayly about this," said Crewcut.
"Who should I tell her you are?" Halee asked with great efficiency as she held up her handpiece, ready to call.
"But it's the Arthur Bayly we need to see," said Crewcut, looking a little uncertain.
"Did you have an appointment with Miss Collins, sirs?" asked Halee, apparently unable to hear their wish to see Arthur.
"No, no appointment. We just here to see Arthur Bayly and get the Atkinson file, thank you miss," said Crewcut, losing his smile.
"Yes Miss Collins, they're here at reception now ... no, they don't seem to have any warrant or authority to take any client files ..." said Halee into her phone piece. Arthur was sure she had not dialled anyone. However, the two men stepped back a little. "The police? You think I should call the police, Ma'am?" said Halee into her phone.
Arthur suddenly found himself suspended and being carried towards his office.
"Yours is the second on the left, here, i'n it?" asked Shorty, the stench of his bad breath mingling discordantly with his strong deodorant.
<
br /> "Ah, yes, just here," said Arthur, wondering how he knew.
"Right, so where's the Atkinson file, Sir?" demanded Crewcut.
"Ah, the Atkinson file," muttered Arthur, trying to remember his activities five minutes prior to this. He gulped as he realised the Atkinson file was in two places and neither was in his office. "The Atkinson file," he said again, deciding to act dumb. Though, as he smiled to himself, it wasn't acting at all, really. "It should be in this filing cabinet. I just need to unlock it," he said, fumbling in his pocket for the office keys. They weren't there. Mary had them. "Look, I most awfully sorry, I don't have the keys."
The shorter man dashed to the filing cabinet, knocking Arthur aside, and yanked on the handle, several times. The cabinet tipped towards him, spilling a pile of paper onto the floor. By now Arthur had noticed a growing number of people passing his office, looking in while pretending not to. The two men noticed this, too, and Arthur could tell they were not happy.
"Yes," said Arthur, "it's locked and so I'll just go up and get the keys for you."
"You're not bloody goin' nowhere, buddy," said Shorty sharply. "Just open this willya!"
"I ... I don't have the key," said Arthur, trying to sound calm and helpful. "I need to get the keys. They're not here, sir."
"Don't sir me, just open the cabinet," said Shorty, grabbing Arthur by the coat collar and pushing him towards the cabinet. "We ain't got time to piss around. Open the damned cabinet!"
"I'm very sorry, sir, I don't have the keys," said Arthur turning his pockets out, quickly, to show that he was carrying nothing but a white handkerchief and an oyster card.
"Good morning, gentleman, I'm Mary Collins, Regional Director!" said Mary breezily behind him. She held out her right hand. "And you two gentlemen are?"
The two intruders looked around and down at Mary and then turned back to Arthur without a word.
"What is it you're looking for?" asked Mary, dropping her hand.
"The bloody key ..." said Shorty.
"Ah, the Atkinson file, Ma'am," said Crewcut, frowning at his colleague and turning to Mary. He put his hand on his waist and, as his coat was pushed back, the top of a revolver could be seen. "We just need to get the Atkinson file. We don't intend to be mucked around, okay?"
"Of course," said Mary feeling sick. She realised she needed to remain calm. "However, we don't keep keys for confidential files down here on this floor. You'll have to come with me."
The two men looked at each other uncertainly. Their quarry was right there - do they risk leaving it?
"The alternative is hammers and crow bars, if you insist," said Mary, sensing their uncertainty. "But we don't have those here either and, as you say, you don't want to be mucked around. Keys are much quicker. Come this way and we'll leave Arthur to get on his way!" As she strode past him she whispered to Arthur, "Go, go now!" and she marched off up the corridor to the lift, fully expecting the two men to follow her. They fell in line and followed her obediently.
Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. He was free of them! But Mary wasn't. What should he do? As relief, fear and confusion swept over him in alternate waves, he felt a tug at his sleeve. He jumped.
"Oh, I'm sorry sir," said an antipodean accent behind him. He turned to see the cheery elfin Halee there with his briefcase. "Sir, right now, you need to take this and go home."
"But where did that come from," asked Arthur, confused. "It disappeared before ..."
"Ah, that's easy, sir, I disappeared it for you!" said Halee with a grin.
"You did?"
"Yup! I did!" said Halee. "They seemed to want it and Miss Collins had warned me someone might want it and shouldn't have it. So I disappeared it for you. Now you must go and all will be well, I promise you."
"But Mary's with those ... those rough men ..."
"Miss Collins is fine, Arthur, just you go or she won't be."
"What?"
"You want me to spell it out?" asked Halee, with urgency. "That bag, in this building, is a lot of trouble for Miss Collins. So you just get going and make it safer for her. You understand?"
"Uh, I think so," said Arthur not understanding at all but knowing that he didn't have to. He just needed to go. "Thank you Halee. Thank you so much."
"That's no trouble at all, sir. Just you get yourself going and don't stop till you're home."
Arthur turned and walked into two large men in police uniforms.
"Oh, gosh," said Arthur with a feeling of déjà vu.
"That's alright, sir, we're looking for a Mary Collins," said one of them.
"Come with me, gentlemen, and I'll see you later, sir," said Halee waving him away surreptitiously.
Arthur walked rather briskly from the building, down the street and onto the waiting tube, constantly alert. He then boarded the train with the dreaded feeling that someone was watching him. He didn't know which passenger it was. His mind whirred ceaselessly. Apart from the possibility of being discretely manhandled at the point of a gun at any moment, there was the delicate matter of telling Joan ... or not telling Joan. How do you keep something so ... well, so exciting, scary and potentially harmful to her - perhaps to his family and neighbours ... oh my God, where did it end? How do you bottle up such an experience and save others from worry while they should be warned?
Intruders
Monday, 12th March 2012, 11.52 a.m.
As she led the men up the corridor to the lift, Mary wondered what on God's earth possessed her to do this. What was she going to do with them? Say to them? She smiled bravely at them as she waved them into the lift. They waited for her - suspicious sods, she thought. The ride to the seventh floor took seventeen seconds but it seemed like a day. She smiled awkwardly at them and they smiled awkwardly back at her but their smiles turned to grimaces as they frowned at each other. Mary wondered if they were as confused as she was. She knew their day had not gone as planned - pop into the office, scare a clerk into handing over a file, disappear from said office, hand over file to Mr X, collect cash and be at the pub celebrating by 11.45 am - and here they were, still in the building, going in the opposite direction of the said file while being led around by the noses by a bossy woman. Mary was tempted to smile but she stifled it on the grounds of health and safety. Her health and safety.
The lift doors opened and everybody waited for everybody else to get out. Stupid English, she though, so insanely polite, it's a wonder anything gets done and the place is falling apart. Oh dear, maybe, just maybe, they're suspicious and want her in front of them so they don't fall into a trap. She almost giggled at the thought as she was, at that moment, quite unable to formulate any plan beyond the next three seconds, let alone make a trap for them! Again, on health and safety grounds, she stifled the giggle ... just.
As she strode off down the oak-panelled passage to her office, she was surprised that these two large men had trouble keeping up with her. Mind you, most people did. She also noticed her secretary, Toby McGuire, rising from his seat with a large, toothy smile.
When she'd moved into Sam's office, she decided changes needed to be made - not least to help expunge some of her memories of Sam - so she had told his clueless and probably quite beautiful (in a clueless sort of way) secretary that as she was so meticulous about constantly cleaning and preening herself, she would be perfect to work in the cleaning team, on her ridiculous salary. Strangely, the girl didn't turn up today. This morning Mary had plucked young Toby from the third floor processing team where she had noticed, for some time, that his typing skills were exceptional, that he seemed to have a functioning brain and, most importantly, the bounding enthusiasm of a young puppy. It was nice to have a bloke around. Then she discovered he was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. She wasn't sure she'd ever need his brick-chopping skills, but it was, somehow, comforting.
"Ah, Toby, these gentlemen are looking for the Atkinson file to take away with them," she said loudly down the corridor, while trying to mouth help silently to him.
"Oh dear,"
said Toby, his lanky frame leaning over his desk. "Isn't that confidential, Ma'am?"
"Yes, yes it is, Toby," she said, mouthing call the police to him. "But it seems these gentlemen are insisting they take it." Call the police she mouthed again as the two gentlemen caught up with her.
Toby's frown turned into a welcoming smile. "Pleased to meet you," he said, extending his hand to them graciously. "I'm Toby and you're?"
"Just give us the key!" said Crewcut, curtly.
"Ah yes, um, the key," said Toby, thinking aloud. "The key ..."
"Yes, the key, Sir!" said Crewcut. "Just give it now and we'll be gone. Nothing said."
"Yes, the key," said Toby, backing towards his desk. He smacked his palm to his forehead as if a blinding flash of inspiration had hit him and he laughed. "Of course, I'll just need to phone our security desk. They'll know where the key is!" He backed around the chest-high counter, sat and phoned.
"Look, lady, you said you had the key to da file," said Shorty. "Are you pulling our tits?"
"Pulling what?" asked Mary, confused.
"Pulling our ... oh, shittin' us, lying to us," said Shorty. "We want that key now or else we'll just have to take the whole damned filing cabinet. What's it to be?"
"Ah, oh dear, I thought it was here," said Mary, stopping in an attempt to keep them as far from Toby's phone conversation as possible. "I forgot security look after all that stuff. I haven't been in this job very long ..."
"You're stalling lady ..." said Crewcut.
"Miss Collins, if you don't mind," said Mary, determined to keep up appearances of being in charge. "And I'm not stalling. But let's be clear about what's going on here. You've barged into our office, uninvited and unannounced. You've demanded, with threats, that we do something which is illegal - hand over confidential files. That will get me into a whole heap of trouble - I could lose my job and it could cost the company a whole heap of trouble with the Financial Services Authority. And you're whining that I'm a bit nervous about all this!"
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