The Last Stand Down

by Philip J Bradbury

  "Ah, Martin, I know where you got your bossy britches from - me!" said Joan. "Sorry to be so pushy. I just want to see you happy ..."

  "Yes, I know, Mum," said Martin, wiping his eyes with a smile. "But if our resident psychologist here is right, you might have to see me not-happy for a while yet. It's such a relief to know it's okay that I can be like this. Thank you Emily, thank you so much." His hands went to his face as another sob came up.

  "Are you alright Mister?" asked Chloe, standing beside him. Arthur wondered how she had just materialised beside his son.

  "Yes thanks, young lady," said Martin, also surprised at her presence. "I'm going mad but your mummy said it's okay to do that." He chuckled and it infected the rest of the room. Smiles floated round the room from one person to another.

  "Can I sit on your knee, Mister?" asked Chloe.

  "What? With this blubbering old man?" asked Martin, his humour returning. "Of course you can and before you get up can you get me one of those biscuits, please? This is all very draining."

  Chloe fetched a biscuit and then snuggled up into Martin's solid frame and everyone settled back with a sigh.

  "Well," said Arthur, after a minute of peaceful silence. "We were saying that the right thing or person always turns up when we ask for it. You remember saying that, dear?"

  "Oh yes I did," said Joan. "That feels like hours ago!"

  "Well, we thought Martin was going to be the answer for Emily but it was the other way round, wasn't it!" said Arthur, smiling at his wisdom.

  "You know what, Arthur? You're right!" said Joan. "We knew a solution was at hand but we were looking for the wrong one!"

  "What's this all about questions and answers and solutions?" asked Martin, looking strangely peaceful, snuggled up with Chloe.

  "Well, before you arrived ... actually the reason Emily is here, I think, is that her father has gone missing and no one knows where," said Arthur. "Not the police, not his work, not Emily. Quite a mystery."

  "And I miss my poppa," said Chloe.

  "Of course you do," said Martin, gently.

  "So, we were trying to work out what to do next," said Joan. "We asked the universe for an answer and you turned up!"

  "You asked the universe?" asked Martin.

  "Don't worry about that," said Arthur, a little embarrassed. "Some silly new theory, I think. Anyway, Emily's father, Sam Lord, was just not at work last Friday, didn't turn up and hasn't been seen since."

  "Not the Sam Lord ... your boss?" asked Martin.

  "Yes, my boss," said Martin.

  "And the answer's not staring you in the face, Dad?" asked Martin, surprised.

  "Well no, Martin, it isn't," said Arthur.

  "Look Dad, what do you do when clients make a claim for missing property - cars, furniture or whatever ... even people?" asked Martin.

  "Uh, we have search agents ... oh, my gosh, of course!" exclaimed Arthur. "It's what I've done for the past thirty years! How stupid of me! Why didn't I think of it before?"

  "Because you needed your highly intelligent son to do it for you," said Martin, smiling. "Must be something in the air - we're all losing it! But that's okay, isn't it. Emily?"

  "Absolutely," said Emily, looking relieved, Arthur thought. Maybe the possible solution Martin proposed has given her hope. Maybe Martin, the person, had given her hope, somehow. Whatever the reason, Martin felt grateful for his son and sweetly happy for Emily. The poignancy seemed to touch everyone as a gentle silence filled the room - no one seemed to want to disturb it.

  "Look, I've got some contacts who might be able to help," said Martin, eventually, his usual restlessness reasserting itself. "And you must have some, Dad. So why don't we get together in a few days' time to see where we're at and take it from there?"

  "Excuse me, Mister, but could I go to the car races with you?" asked Chloe.

  "Oh my God, I'm not going to get away with this am I!" said Martin. "Look, it's now Monday and they're racing at the Castle Combs Circuit this Saturday. I think my mate, Stuart the steward, could wangle some tickets for us. Why don't we all go for the day on Saturday - kids and all - and we can see what we've turned up about Chloe's grandad then."

  "Emily, do you want to join us?" asked Joan.

  "Oh, ah," said Emily as if rising from a trance. "Yes, that would be lovely. Absolutely lovely!"

  "Look, I've got to go and pick up the kids from school, so let's swap cell phone numbers, Emily, and you can give me all the details I need later on tonight," said Martin, picking Chloe up and dumping her playfully back into his chair. She giggled and leapt up to grab his leg. "Sorry, kiddo, but the silly crying man has to go now."

  Joan stood up to give Martin a hug goodbye and she held him for a long time, smiling.

  Arthur stood to shake Martin's hand but Martin grabbed him in a bear hug.

  "Oh, oh ..." said Arthur, taken aback.

  "Thank you so much, Dad," said Martin. "Just for being there. You don't know how much it means." Martin then shook Emily's hand, formally, awkwardly. He ruffled Chloe's hair and sort of skipped from the room. "I'll be in touch with you all," he called as he went out the front door.

  Sifting and Sneaking

  Tuesday, 13th March 2012, 9.00 a.m.

  Arthur found it difficult to concentrate on his work but he just had to get it done ... and quickly. He'd yearned, just a little, for more excitement in his life and now he had it, along with fear and confusion ... in spades, as he'd heard them say.

  Joan had helped him move the bed against the wall in their third bedroom and they'd set up the desk in front of the window. It was fortunate that a builder, some forty years ago, had had the foresight to place both a power and a phone switch in that corner and he now had a lovely aspect, with his desk, computer and phone, looking over their small back yard, over to the St Mary Magdalene church, with the sun smiling in at him.

  Yes, most pleasant, had it not been for the unnerving situation he now found himself. He'd spread the files out on his bed, in vaguely logical order, and tried to reconcile them all. It seemed that Lord and Lady Atkinson had both been tied up while their house was being burgled. Unfortunately, Lord Atkinson had resisted and his arm and a rib had been broken in the struggle. Having just arrived from New Zealand, their daughter and son-in-law wondered why they'd not been met at the airport and, sensing something wrong, took a taxi from Heathrow to the property near Kings Wood in Surrey. That seemed quite clear to Arthur. The rest of the information, however, wasn't so clear.

  The local police reported that they had been called, along with the ambulance, by one of the servants. The office had been ransacked while the rest of the house was untouched. Lady Atkinson had difficulty breathing, with the shock and her asthma, and Lord Atkinson was in considerable pain but would not leave the house to have his arm and rib attended to at the hospital - the ambulance people treated him as best they could, with a temporary brace and sling. He insisted on helping the police inspection of his office and was looking for an item or items (undisclosed) quite frantically. Tyre marks were noticed across part of the lawn, near the office and Sergeant Tomlins felt it was most likely from a four-wheel-drive vehicle. He had had no chance to confirm this.

  A half hour into their investigation, four plain clothes men from MI5 turned up and, using their higher authority, ordered the police to leave the premises. Against their wishes, Lord and Lady Atkinson were forced into the ambulance by the MI5 team and the ambulance was ordered off the property. This was most irregular and Sergeant Tomlins insisted on completing a report, on behalf of his team, and forwarding copies to both his supervisors and to the Atkinsons' insurance company, Allied Insurance Ltd.

  The ambulance driver's report (confirmed by his assistant) noted property damage as well as footprints by the tyre marks on the lawn, as per the police report. Their report confirmed the Atkinsons' injuries per the police report and that they were ordered from the property by a second group of police. This, again, was most irregular and both report
ed their concern, in writing and verbally, to their supervisor at the hospital. Lord Atkinson's arm was put in a plaster and sling and his rib cage was bandaged. He was released and returned to his home. Lady Atkinson was suffering from lack of breath, was put on oxygen and kept overnight in hospital for observation.

  A succinct report from MI5 confirmed that they were called to the house and found local police in attendance. Because of their lack of experience in these matters, these police were sent away. The Atkinsons proved to be particularly uncooperative and were dispatched to the local hospital for attendance on their injuries. The report also briefly mentioned that the daughter and son-in-law (Melinda and John Maranui) had had arrived later and had been taken to the Send office for questioning and no results of that were indicated.

  What the MI5 report did not mention was that Melinda and John Maranui were questioned, separately, for four hours without a break, in a military-like establishment in Send, Surrey. They were asked about every moment of their lives for the past six years. They averred that they had nothing to hide but the relentlessness of the interrogation team suggested MI5 did not believe this.

  The report also omitted to mention that a Mr Brown (later presumed to be the lead character of the MI5 team) initially refused to allow Ahmed Khan and his two assessors, from AIL, to enter the property. The insurance team was eventually allowed in on the second morning. Ahmed and his team found no smashed windows or doors, but newly-repaired ones. The lawn near the corner of the library looked like it had been run over by a hundred different vehicles and no tyre treads could be identified in the remaining slush.

  Lord and Lady Atkinson made a written a statement, along with an insurance claim for property missing - none of it particularly valuable and all of it portable. Their statement confirmed that, at 10.30 p.m., they were about to leave for Heathrow airport to pick up their daughter and son-in-law when they heard a crash downstairs and, shortly after, a man in black burst into their bedroom, brandishing a pistol and tied them up, with more force than was necessary. The man could not be identified as he said nothing and his face was covered by a balaclava. Lady Atkinson was sure she heard glass being broken - the office, she surmised, at the time - while they were being tied up, suggesting at least two burglars. Their attacker then left the building and a vehicle was heard, leaving. One of the servants (who called the police and ambulance) was adamant that it was a four-wheel-drive, by the sound of it.

  Arthur felt that it was all quite clear but for the dissenting report from MI5, which could not be ignored. And, what were they doing at the scene, ordering everybody about? Lord Atkinson may have been a politician but a break-in was hardly cause for such tactics or such high-level investigation ... unless they knew something no one else did. Surely such a high profile person as the Minister of Immigration wouldn't risk his reputation and position with silly misdeeds.

  The discomfort was that Arthur knew or sensed there was something behind the facts, the bland objectivity of a list of items missing and actions taken. Arthur knew he needed to get behind the data to the reasons for the incident. In order to accept or reject part or whole of any claim, there had to be clear evidence (or lack of it) to substantiate his decision. With the FSA breathing down his neck, he could not take any chances or have any ambiguity. Somehow, he needed to talk to Lord Atkinson and/or his wife, and hear their story. As these unwelcome thoughts crowded his mind, his phone rang.

  "Arthur, how are you? How is it all going? Any progress?" asked a breathless Mary.

  "Yes, yes, making progress ..."

  "Good, good, Arthur," said Mary, interrupting. "Now, I have a favour to ask and I know it would help speed up your investigation."

  "Oh?" said Arthur, thinking this was beginning to sound like a request he couldn't refuse.

  "Now, I hope you don't mind, but Lord Atkinson wanted to know who was dealing with the case," said Mary, in full flight. "I gave him your name and he wants a meeting with you."

  "Oh! Mary!" said Arthur. "That's just what I was thinking!"

  "You were? How strange ... Now, Arthur, the touchy bit, I'm afraid," said Mary, obviously faltering while she phrased the next bit. "Your situation is a little ... a, interesting. There is a possibility, just a small one, that you could be followed at some time."

  "I already am, Mary, by an Australian and his gang," said Arthur, smiling. That bit sounded quite exotic, quite ... well, 007ish.

  "You are?" asked Mary with evident surprise. "And we thought they ... oh, he, was from New Zealand? Gosh ... so you know you could be followed again?"

  "Yes, I suppose I do," said Arthur, with the exotic label quickly fading while the fearsome one lit up bright neon lights. He wiped his brow.

  "So, Arthur, we have a plan," said Mary, who loved plans, Arthur knew. "You're not planning on going anywhere today, are you?"

  "No, no, I wasn't ..."

  "Good, so the plan is this," said Mary. "A tradesman's van will pull up outside your house at ten o'clock this morning. He will knock on your door and you're to let him in. Understand?"

  "Yes. Is that it?" asked Arthur.

  "No, Arthur, I just want to make sure you understand every bit of the procedure," said Mary. "Now, you and the tradesman will exchange overalls and boots and you can then go out and hop into his van. There will be a passenger who will give you driving directions. You can drive, can't you?"

  "Uh, yes, I can drive though it has been a long time," said Arthur, wondering if it was all that much fun being James Bond.

  "Now, the tradesman will be Toby McGuire, my secretary. He's younger but about your size," said Mary, obviously ticking things off a list as she conveyed them to him. "You'll be away for an hour or so, if your wife wouldn't mind plying him with cups of tea for that time ... and please don't take your cell phone. It can be traced. Then, when you come back, you and Toby can exchange clothes and boots again. Do you follow all that?"

  "Ah, yes, I think so," said Arthur.

  "Good," said Mary. "And good luck."

  As Arthur put the phone down he realised his apprehension over meeting the Lord and Lady was not his only problem. He had another problem - Joan. How was he going to explain this strange turn of events, especially when she wasn't keen on him starting the project, anyway? As well as that, she'd asked little about the project and he'd told her little. And now, in fifty minutes' time, a stranger was going to come through the door, exchange clothes with Arthur and stay in the house while Arthur drove off in his van to destination unknown, with a passenger unknown. How much to tell and where to start? What a conundrum ... and one that wasn't going away!

  Oh well, gird the loins, take a deep breath (a very deep breath) and wing it - just say whatever comes to mind. His brain froze, his body rose and he wondered how he'd got himself in this pickle - life was so regular, ordered and predictable two weeks ago and he'd disliked it. Now, well, yes, it was anything but regular and predictable and, yes, he had to admit, it was just the tiniest bit exciting. And fearful.

  Putting on his sternest face, he strode up the short hallway, turned down the stairs and called for Joan before he reached the bottom.

  "Yes dear," said Joan, from the kitchen. "Can it just wait a minute? I was just about to ring Dottie and thank her for her help over the funeral."

  "No Joan," said Arthur, frowning rather seriously. "That will have to wait. I'd like to talk to you now, please."

  "Oh Arthur, you do sound masterful!" said Joan appearing in the doorway of the lounge where he was standing. She was wiping her hands on her floral apron. "What has come over you? You're diff ..."

  "Joan, I'm sorry, but I don't have a lot of time," said Arthur, indicating her chair.

  "Right, yes, if you insist ..." said Joan, unused to such direction from Arthur.

  "Now, at ten o'clock a young man I don't know will come to the door," he said, discovering his mouth (or was it his brain that was in charge?) was diving straight in. No preamble. "I will let him in, we'll exchange clothes, I will dri
ve off in his van and he will stay here with you until I return. Probably about an hour."

  "Right, yes," said Joan. "This stranger - he's quite safe, is he? He won't be torturing me or anything will he?"

  "No, of course he won't!" said Arthur, not sure if she was joking or being very logical. "He's Mary's secretary, a nice young man by all accounts."

  "That's good," said Joan, smiling. "What else did you want to tell me, dear?"

  "I ... ah, well, that's what's going to happen," said Arthur, expecting objections that didn't eventuate. "I can tell you more if you want to know more."

  "Not really, if you don't have enough time, Arthur," said Joan. "I'll have a whole hour with this charming young man so I can drill him, can't I?"

  "Yes, yes, I suppose you can," said Arthur, now wishing she did want to know more so he could tell her. "It's about this Atkinson case, actually."

  "Yes, I had guessed that," said Joan. "I'd like to know more about it some time but there's probably not the time now, is there?"

  "Well, I could make a start," said Arthur, wondering where that bossy and demanding Joan had gone. A quite pleasant one had stepped into her body somehow, recently.

  And so Arthur spent the next half hour explaining everything.

  "Oh my gosh, Arthur, I didn't realise it was that Atkinson," said Joan, clapping her hands gleefully. "You certainly do move in exalted circles." Any previous apprehension seemed to have been dissolved by immersion in excitement and intrigue. Arthur went upstairs and assembled all his papers - again and again - while Joan spoke to Dottie on the phone.

  "Come on, Arthur!" called Joan from downstairs, "I've made you a nice cup of tea to calm your nerves."

  "Okay, okay," said Arthur, who felt he had done so well concealing his nerves.

  As they were drinking their tea, with Joan assuring him he would be fine and safe, there was a knock at the door. Toby, in very efficient and assertive manner, had their clothes changed, Arthur's papers in his tool box and ready to go before Arthur could draw breath. There was nothing else to do but get into the van but Toby held him back.