by S G Read
‘Just wondering what the old ball and chain would have thought of me doing this in bed Lana.’
‘And what would she have thought?’ Lana asked.
‘With her in the bed, she would have watched every crumb and complained when one landed on the bed, with you in here instead of her, she would have probably come in with a baseball bat and sorted us both out.’
‘There’s no chance of that, is there?’ Lana asked.
‘She is long gone, ran off with some French attaché she met at one of those boring balls.’ John answered. ‘I was devastated at first, but the more I thought about it the more I liked the idea. I made the house look like I wanted it to and got rid of anything she had insisted in putting in here. I must admit, the charity shops did well while I was clearing out the object d’art she had stuck round the place.’
‘Might be better to lock the door though, just in case.’ Lana warned, with a smile.
‘I would, if it had a lock, just to keep you in here.’ John answered.
When the caviar and champagne was all gone they made love and then fell asleep.
During the following week John checked his emails for a sign that one of his searches had proved fruitful. On Friday afternoon while Lana was washing the cups up and email arrived about the search for a building. He went to his search and entered his password to find only five possibilities. He made a mental note of the addresses, as he knew it could be fatal to write such things down. Not only for him but his bloodhound as well. He sent an email to the man he was going to assign to the search, no one knew of him and John never actually met him now, not after the first meeting so that he knew what he was like.
Later that day he sat on a park bench while the council workman swept the path. The man grew closer and closer but as John was reading his paper, he did not know where he was apart from the noise of the broom.
‘I have five addresses that Winfield might be using as a safe house. I want you to look into it and find out which one it is.’ John announced while he was still reading the paper.
There was no answer. John recited the addresses twice while still reading the paper. There was still no answer.
‘You can reach me in the same way as usual.’ John added.
The man sweeping did not answer and did not stop sweeping. He moved past John with his barrow and John carried on reading his paper. When his phone rang John answered it.
‘Where are you?’ Lana asked. ‘I am ready to go home.’
‘In the park Lana, come and join me and we can walk by the lake before we go home.’ John answered.
‘The park? Isn’t that outside in the open air?’ Lana asked.
‘Well yes, that is the general idea.’ John answered.
‘Then I’ll see you at home, I don’t like parks or the wide open spaces.’ Lana complained. ‘I thought Lorna would have told you that!’
‘No, Lorna did not mention you much at all Lana, only to say how well you put your food away.’ John replied.
‘It is a good job she’s dead or I would have killed her for saying that!’ Lana complained again. ‘Since she has been gone, I seem to have lost my appetite.’
‘I had noticed, a sparrow eats more than you do.’ John agreed. ‘Still when you are over it, maybe you appetite will improve.’
‘I’ll see you at home lover boy.’ Lana quipped.
‘Boy! Still that is better than old man I suppose. I can get back there in five minutes so that I can run you home.’ He offered.
‘I’ll time you, I’m not that fond of public transport either so it would have been a taxi and on my wages that is extravagant.’
John walked back to the office and found Lana waiting by his car.
‘Not bad, five minutes exactly.’ She agreed looking at her watch.
‘I used to run it in two minutes but not anymore, life is not that hurried.’ John replied.
It was week before John received an email from his bloodhound. It was routed through Hong Kong and worded like the usual spam he received but he saw what it was and knew what it meant. This time he drove to a location and sat in his car with the window open on the passenger side. A postman walked past and told him the address Winfield was using as a safe house without changing his stride or looking in his direction.
John waited ten more minutes, then went into the house he was parked outside for his dental checkup, closing the windows and locking the car before he did so. To anyone watching, he was early for his appointment and chose to wait outside and not in the waiting room.
His bloodhound knew just where to be for such a chance meeting and knew what disguise to wear. He also put letters into the letterboxes as he went. They were advertising blurb but it looked better than just walking up the street and he was getting paid for delivering them!
The man had been recruited some years before when Winfield was not in charge of the spook side of things. There was no money trail to follow which would lead to the man as he was paid an invalidity pension to stop anyone finding him. John had made this happen to make sure he would never be found, it was his secret and even Lorna had not known who he was.
When he found out something, he merely said a little bird had told him and as she grew to know what went on in the office she just called John’s bloodhound the little bird. As yet Lana had not mentioned a little bird, if she did she still would not find out who it was. The fewer people who knew his name, the better, it was the way both men liked it. John did not write the address down but merely remembered it, it was not hard to do. The anchor public house was no longer a public house, it was now Winfield’s safe house. It had rooms up stairs and a cellar for questioning people in, which was what Winfield liked.
He sent an email asking for more details, if he found any and left it at that. If he needed to shake Winfield’s tree, he could organise a raid on the place, making it out to be a brothel of some sort. That usually did the trick, well it had worked in the past.
There was no news about the DNA search but then there may never be. It relied on Clementine getting injured badly enough to be treated in hospital and she knew to deal with most wounds, even bullet wounds. So it was not that likely to happen, as she was no longer doing what she used to do.
Married life does have its ups and downs, he reflected. But it is unusual if it breaks into open warfare, well apart from his marriage, that was different. He was hardly there and he did like the girls when he was younger. That thought brought him back to thinking about Lana, she had a birthday coming up and he wondered if she would mention it. Lorna would have said nothing until afterwards but Lana was certainly not like Lorna.
The rest of the day passed like any other. He found the villain who had been stealing supplies from the stationary cupboard and they received a warning, verbal this time as it was a first offence. John wondered if he was becoming paranoid as he assumed Winfield had put the girl up to stealing enough to make it noticeable, just to keep John occupied.
Late in the day Lana walked in and ringed a date on John’s calendar. John looked at it and then carried on with his crossword.
‘Any ideas about this one?’ Lana asked. ‘A time for receiving, it begins with a ‘B’?’
‘Bar mitzvah?’ John answered without looking up again. ‘It is always that when you get a clue like that.’
‘Not this time, one word, eight letters long.’ Lana added.
‘I’ll yell out if I get it, is there a cryptic clue? They are usually easier than the coffee time clues.’
‘I am sure it will come to you eventually.’ Lana retorted and walked out again.
John watched her walk out and smiled. She was no Lorna!
The next night Lana went off to do her brass rubbing, so John trawled the internet for a present for her. He searched for an hour before he came up with a suitable present, a very sexy negligee. He paid for it by credit card and turned the computer off. As it was late, he went to bed and did not hear Lana come home. She was cuddled up to him when he woke but there
was no time for anything but getting ready for work in the mornings.
He walked into the office and found an email waiting for him from his bloodhound. It detailed who was coming and going from the pub and how many were inside during the night. It made interesting reading. At least two remained in the pub over night with one discreet sentry walking about, trying to look anything but a sentry.
-What are they guarding?- John thought, but he had no thoughts to go in and find out, not yet!
He walked to the next meeting spot and merely dumped his paper in the wastepaper bin. It would remain there. The fact that it was in the bin was the answer and nothing needed saying. John left before his man came on the scene, merely walking up the street as though he was going somewhere and just using it as a short cut to anyone watching. As it was a busy street, if there was a contact it could be anyone, especially if they chose to pick up John’s Paper.
John and his men always assumed that John was being followed, so that Winfield could find out where he was going and who he was meeting. It was an assumption that had served them well up to now and they did not see any reason to change it.
John returned to the office where Lana gave him the first degree to find out if he had been buying her present. John just tapped his nose as if to say, mind your own business!
For three more days they monitored the pub for signs of movement. Until one day, there seemed to be a flurry of activity, which brought Winfield to the pub. It was reported to John who was in bed at home and he drove to the office to see what was going down. He walked in and passed through the security barrier, nodding to the porter as he did so.
In his office he turned on the computer. He started by reading his emails from his watchers and after trying to read something into the actions which were unfolding on a Friday morning, he read the rest of his emails. Then started sorting through the spam, until he found one from his other search engine. He had his DNA match. Not an exact match, but close enough to make it a relative of Clementine. There was no address available with the email, the only contact was through the charity which supplied the details. He smiled but it turned to a frown! Was this what had sent Winfield into overdrive, his chance to show Clementine who was boss?
He growled in anger and sent an email to get someone to find the address for him. If that was the answer, Winfield would be going down there personally and killing her. As far as John knew, Winfield did not know about Vladimir still being alive, so there was a chance that Winfield would come off worst but John was not about to take that chance, she had to be warned. He owed her that much.
With all that set in motion he returned home to find Lana missing and assumed she had gone into the office. He settled down to read his paper but ended up pacing the lounge, waiting for the answer. His man had to break in, hack the computer and then let John know about it via his latest phone. This phone had not seen the light of day until today, now he needed it to receive the emails on, to save being in the office. He had a new email address and a new number. He also had another pay as you go phone for emergency calls, after the call it would be disposed of.
Finally the answer came back and he knew where Clementine was. Not her address but a post office box number in the West Country. That box would be watched by his men until someone collected the letter John sent to it, a letter with a red envelope, to make it stand out.
Even though it was Friday and the letter would not arrive until tomorrow he debated going down there for the weekend. If they did not pick the letter up Saturday, there would be no one to allow the letter to be accessed on the Sunday, so was it worthwhile. John decided yes and packed a bag ready for the journey. When he was ready he left a note for Lana, telling her he would be gone for the weekend on business, then drove away.
He did not worry about being followed. He drove carefully and within the speed limit. He drove on to the M25 and then took the M3 toward the coast before picking up the A303 to take him to Exeter. There was no hurry and when he felt like stopping he stopped. He had tea in a service station before driving on. When he reached Exeter he drove straight past it and on to the A31.
Clementine had chosen an out of the way place to live, if it was her. As far as he knew she was an only child and her parents were both dead now. With no other relatives available, to give such a DNA sample, John though that it must be a child and if Winfield succeeded in killing both Vladimir and Clementine, the child would be trained how to kill. Just like Clementine had and John did not want that to happen, if he could stop it.
He drove to a village which could be considered to be ‘in the middle of nowhere’ and found a bed and breakfast to stop in. To anyone watching, or following, he was there for the night. He parked his car, locked it and walked in with his suitcase.
What happened inside was like an episode of mission impossible. He walked into the lounge, straight through to the back and down into the cellar. He was met in the cellar by a young man who swapped keys with him. John followed an old smuggler’s tunnel and emerged in a garage. There was another car, it had tinted windows and whereas he arrived in a blue car, he drove off in a black car ten minutes later. Thus he hoped that anyone following would wait for him to come out in the morning. They were in for a long wait!
He drove away from the village and took a turning that took him away from where he had been heading. He passed through little village after little village until he met a larger road. Now he was on his way. From there he drove to Devon, hoping to arrive before Winfield did. If Winfield had the news as well, he would have sent his own letter and his men would already be there watching the post office box to see who picked up the mail and follow them.
He stopped at a house which did bed and breakfast, and there he stayed. It had been a long drive and he wanted a rest and a good meal. The meal was good and there was a lot of it. He chose a nice wine to drink with it. On the basis that if he was going to die soon, which was on the cards, he might as well enjoy his last few meals.
He did not get up early in the morning. He had men watching the post office box as well as Winfield, if Winfield had men there. He did not know what Winfield knew and that was what worried him. Before Winfield knew only what John wanted him to since he had found a missing agent for him and before he could notify Winfield, the agent was dead. He knew that he had been spied upon and probably listened to and he did not like that one bit. That was just before Lorna’s aunt had died and the house became available.
Lorna suggested they use it and that was when the elaborate ruse to get out of their houses were dreamed up. The fence was merely hinged so that it could be opened and closed but only from the inside. The shed was put close enough to stop anyone getting past it to see that the fence opened.
He lay there thinking about Lorna and then his thoughts turned to Lana. Would she be wondering where he was? That was the least of his troubles. He had a large breakfast but did not go far, merely sitting in the car on a bridge. He would receive the address, make one phone call and then throw the phone into the river.
He sat there until the post office had closed and an email told him his men were staying to watch. Clementine was an expert in getting in somewhere she wanted to get in to and sorting out the alarms. He waited until it was dark and then drove back to the bed and breakfast. By now the men following him would know something was afoot when he did not come out of the bed and breakfast he had first stopped in. He ate another large meal and downed a bottle of wine with it. With no messages to keep him up, he went to bed. It felt odd not having Lana in bed with him but he was soon asleep.
The following day John drove into the local village to shop, not the same village with the post office box but one ten miles away. He drove through the village at a leisurely speed hoping to spot Clementine as he passed through but that would have been too easy. She was a master of disguise and could look like anyone.
He smiled at that thought, what would her son or daughter think of her mother disguising herself to go out. –No- he thought. Wh
en I see her I will recognise her! With no word on the Sunday John drove back to the bed and breakfast for his meal and yet another bottle of wine, this time he supplied the wine and they shared it.
The next week started and with him out of the office any messages from the office were routed to his lap top. He drove twenty miles in the opposite direction to connect to the internet and download his emails, then drove back. If anyone was trying to trace him through his internet connection and succeeded, they would end up twenty miles away.
The news from the pub was not good. They had all left early on Friday afternoon and there had been little or no visitors since. The sentry still did his walking the street routine and each sentry had their own routine. One did not go back in until his shift was over. A girl in a car arrived and they spent some time in the car, eating and making love in a place he could watch from. Then the car left and he looked to walk away but every now and then his face could be seen in the shadows. Another man went into the pub four or five times a night to relieve himself and then returned to his post in the shadows.
John just had to wait until the letter was picked up. He sat in his car on the bridge, ready to go in any direction when he knew where Clementine lived. The Monday dragged by, and so did the Tuesday. He wanted something to happen and started thinking about the problem. If Clementine’s son or daughter wanted to be a donor then she would let her but would she just stop at a post office box. The more he thought about it, the more he thought the answer was no but how do you get letters from a post office box without going in there?
The answer was, he did not know. But he had to find out and returned to the little village he had driven through. This time he stopped outside the local shop and walked in. It was quite a big shop but it was not a post office, people from here had to drive ten miles for a post office. He browsed round the shop, picking things up and reading them before replacing them where they had come from. While he was doing that he was listening to the talk in the shop, not only between the customer and the shop keeper but also between customers. He was hoping to pick up an idea. In the end he bought some biscuits and a decent bottle of wine and put them on the counter.