by Guy Adams
‘I told you, darling, I know everything. What’s he like?’
‘You tell me, if you’re so well-informed.’
‘Well, his record’s a bit patchy. Some fuss in the Middle East, suggestions of incompetence.’
‘He’s not incompetent.’
She laughed. ‘Oh you’re such a sweetie. He’s only been with you five minutes and you’re fighting his corner. I do love a man of honour. And your chap was also flagged up as suffering from shell shock.’
‘PTSD, dear. Nobody says shell shock anymore.’
‘Don’t pick hairs, darling. My point is: the poor boy’s broken.’
‘Aren’t we all in one way or another? We are all sticks, whittled away by our experiences, some of us just get whittled more than others. He’s stronger than you think.’
‘As ever, I’ll trust your judgement. I’ll pop in and see you both tomorrow.’
‘Please don’t. I’d rather you didn’t scare him off.’
‘Scare him? Me? If he can stomach your ghosts and ghoulies, he can certainly tolerate a harmless old lady.’
‘No doubt, but can he tolerate you?’
‘I don’t know why I love you.’
‘It’s certainly not through encouragement on my part.’
They sat in silence for a few moments, April Shining sending delicate clouds of menthol cigarette smoke out onto the breeze. ‘Things feel …’ she paused, ‘important at the moment.’
‘Don’t they always?’
‘No, they don’t. You know what I mean. Years of messing around, chasing concepts and filling your days with trivial concerns …’
‘My work is important.’
‘Oh darling, I know that, but when was the last time something truly catastrophic happened? How long has it been since you held the world in your hands?’
Shining sighed. ‘A few years.’
‘And now you have someone new.’ She folded her arm around his. ‘It’s not a moment too soon if you ask me. The air’s electric, the wind’s changing. You’re about to be a very busy boy.’
d) Euston Station, London
Toby made a point of being early. He was less interested in the person who had left the note seeing him than he was in seeing them. It might be his best hope of staying ahead of the game.
He had raided his wardrobe for clothing that was neither conspicuous nor something he would frequently wear. He knew disguise wasn’t a matter of false beards and make-up, but rather a step away from the norm. So, he put aside his regular clothes, the work suits and the favoured shirts. He picked out a stained hoodie that he’d used for painting, a pair of tracksuit bottoms (bought for the gym but never actually used) and a baseball cap he’d picked up in Dubai, desperate to cover a sunburned head. He knew he wouldn’t bear close inspection but, if he kept his head low, his walk casual, he would blend in.
On the off chance that whoever had sent the note was sufficiently organised to have someone watching his front door – certainly what he would have done – Toby went out the back way, past the large rubbish dumpsters and through the rear gate. It was supposed to be kept locked at all times, but it was a rare day the caretaker remembered his keys. Most residents complained about it; Toby had just filed it away as useful.
Cutting through to Euston Road, Toby thought of an extra bit of cover, and darted into the twenty-four hour grocery store to buy himself a pack of low-tar cigarettes and a lighter. He hadn’t smoked since he’d left school, but he’d made a point of being able to feign doing so. Another bit of window dressing to differentiate himself from Toby Greene.
The front of Euston Station was a good choice for a meet. It was enclosed and congested, a concourse of takeaway outlets boxed in by the bus station on one side and the entrance to the train station and Underground on the other. There was nowhere he could stand maintaining a distance while reliably keeping an eye on the whole area. He went into the small supermarket, bought himself a can of lager and took up residence at one of the outside tables. He opened the lager, lit a cigarette and began to watch.
It was half an hour before he was supposed to meet whoever had left the note, but he was sure they’d be early. It was as quiet as the area ever got – in that hinterland between going out and coming home. He hoped the restricted visibility would affect both of them equally. The person meeting him could no more stand back and observe than he could. They would have to be here, moving amongst the listless shoppers, the residents picking up forgotten milk, and the tourists between trains – eating takeaways from Nando’s and topping up on caffeine.
He looked around the quad, assessing the people. A middle-aged man in a cheap suit stood to one side of the automatic doors, sucking on a cigarette as if it were keeping him alive. A young woman paced nervously, obviously fighting the urge to check her watch. If she doesn’t know how late they are, thought Toby, she can still pretend they’re coming. A pair of Japanese students were laughing over a pasty bought from a takeaway stall, pulling it apart gingerly and giggling at the sharp bite of the steam nipping at their fingers. Four girls overfilled a coffee shop table, checking their lives on their mobiles and sharing the results. A pair of bus drivers worked their way through sandwiches with no love in them, just limp ham and wilted lettuce, suffocated by cling film and neglect. An ageing soak sucked enthusiastically at the hole in his can of beer, every mouthful leaking, demanding a wipe from the back of a woolly, gloved hand. A burst of music washed out of the automatic doors as they hissed open to expel a man wearing his headphones loose around his neck. He seemed disappointed when nobody turned to look at him. An elderly couple shared custody of a shopping basket that fought to be free of them as they aimed it towards the entrance to the Underground.
Toby discounted them all.
A young man in a business suit styled in ‘flashy off-thepeg’ made a show of his phone call, a one-sided affair ripping verbal chunks from a mutual work colleague. Toby gave him special attention. A phone call was easy to fake. The man went on Toby’s list of possible targets. He was joined there by a quiet woman who studiously pushed her way through documents on her iPad, scrutinising everything as if it were a revelation. A man in a heavy anorak sat at another table, taking out serious frustration on a paperback thriller. He throttled it in his hands, snapping the spine back with every turn of a page. Toby couldn’t decide if the book’s violence was infecting him or he just hated it. Either that or he was playing too hard at being ‘a man reading a book in public’.
Toby checked his watch. Only five minutes to go before the planned meeting.
He took another sip of the lager and lit one more cigarette, gathering his cover around him as the clock ticked closer to his rendezvous.
A woman entered the quad dressed in standard office uniform, a light raincoat, dark blue skirt and matching jacket. Toby pegged her as a civil servant and immediately focused all his attention on her. She loitered by a takeaway baguette kiosk, glanced at her watch and looked out over the people around her, clearly searching for someone she was due to meet. As her attention swept over him Toby lifted his lager can to his mouth, blocking what little view of his face she might have had. Her gaze passed by him and she looked towards the entrance from Euston Road. She seemed innocuous enough, skin pale from too much office strip lighting and not enough sun. Her brown hair came from a supermarket shelf, and she wore no discernible jewellery. Probably born blonde, Toby decided she was a woman on the defensive in an aggressively male environment, trying to avoid preconceptions. London was full of such women, trying to dismiss their femininity in an environment that might see it as weakness. She certainly could be in intelligence. Despite a series of successful female operatives, the old guard could be a bigoted, patriarchal lot. The only thing that concerned him was that she seemed …
‘Far too obvious?’
He turned to find a woman had joined him at his table. She could hardly have been more different from the one he had been watching: brash in appearance, her hair a violent shade of
red with streaks of white, face heavy with make-up and a neck laden down with so many bead necklaces she could have substituted for a grocer’s curtain. Toby placed her in her late forties.
‘Sorry to sneak up on you,’ she said and reached for his pack of cigarettes. She paused while withdrawing one, raising an eyebrow by way of asking permission.
‘Help yourself,’ he said, ‘they’re obviously no use to me.’
‘Now don’t be like that, they were a nice touch. I’m just exceptionally good at finding the people I want to find.’
Patronising bitch, he thought and scooted the lighter across the table to her with a flick of his fingers. He looked over at the civil servant that had caught his eye, watched her greet a man with little enthusiasm – a colleague not a friend – and vanish into the station with him.
‘Thanks for coming to meet me,’ the woman said after lighting her cigarette, ‘I felt sure you would. After a day in Section 37 you’re bound to be curious. It’s not the world you’re used to, is it?’
Toby shrugged. He had already decided to say as little as possible, let her do all the talking.
‘And Shining is hardly the most conventional section head in the Service, though he may well be the oldest …’
The table of girls with smartphones erupted into a brief and universally fake explosion of laughter at a YouTube video.
‘Have you considered applying for another transfer yet?’ the woman continued. ‘You might think that they won’t grant you one but don’t discount it. There are those in the Service who are far from happy to see Section 37 allocated an extra man; you might be surprised at how easily you could be elsewhere.’
Toby remained silent.
‘I see, you want me to do all the talking.’ She smiled. ‘You young officers are so charming; every move comes straight from a manual.’
‘Perhaps I just don’t like being played?’ he replied, his anger finally coming to the surface. ‘If you have an issue with Shining might I suggest you take it up with him direct? Given how few people take him seriously I’m surprised he’s worth this bother.’
‘I take him seriously,’ she said. ‘You’re quite wrong about that. This isn’t about petty, inter-departmental politics, this is about people who stick their noses where they’re not welcome. I met you as a point of courtesy, a polite opportunity for you to step off the field.’
‘Really? In my experience there is very little courtesy in our line of work. If you want me gone then it’s because I’m an inconvenience to you.’
Her smile switched to a sneer. ‘Get over yourself.’ She stubbed the cigarette out on the surface of the table. ‘You’re nothing to us. You’re a silly little child that’s about to get caught up in matters he has no hope of understanding.’
Toby felt his anger suddenly dissipate. ‘If I was nothing you wouldn’t be wasting your time here. You may be good at finding people but you’re a lousy liar. Perhaps it’s you that needs to rethink your career.’
She stared at him for a moment and then stood up and walked away.
Well now, Toby thought, this transfer might be interesting after all.
CHAPTER FIVE: ARCHEOLOGY
a) Shad Thames, London
‘You know,’ said Toby on meeting Shining the next day, ‘I was thinking of offering my resignation this morning.’
‘Really?’ Shining’s face fell. ‘It would hardly have been the first time, but I had hoped you’d stay a little longer.’
They cut through the train station, emerging onto Tooley Street and then moving up towards the river.
‘To be honest,’ Toby continued, ‘I think I was just panicking a little. I couldn’t see what my place was in the section. It was all weirdness, a world outside that which I’d trained for. I couldn’t see what use I would be. I could think of nothing worse than spending the rest of my days watching on in confusion while you explained some new and unbelievable bit of nonsense.’
Shining laughed. ‘So what changed your mind?’
‘I met a woman who tried to convince me I was right, that it was all beyond me. I reasoned she’d hardly be saying it if it were true.’
‘A woman?’ Shining stopped walking. ‘What woman?’
Toby told him everything that had happened the night before.
‘How interesting,’ said Shining, as they continued on their way.
‘I assume it was something to do with that enemy of yours in Whitehall, Sir Robin?’
‘I doubt it, it’s not his style at all. He’d just have threatened to cut your pension.’
‘Great.’
‘Stick with me and you won’t live long enough to claim one.’
‘That’s a relief. So who do you think she was?’
‘No idea – isn’t that lovely? You can’t beat a bit of intrigue. I dare say you’ll hear from her again.’
‘I look forward to it.’
They emerged onto the riverside, went past HMS Belfast and towards the lopsided glass onion of City Hall.
‘For now,’ Shining continued, ‘let’s keep our eyes on the road. I took a gamble yesterday as to the location of the numbers broadcast and Oman has confirmed my suspicions.’
‘Well, that makes things easier.’
‘Actually, probably not; it opens up a whole new can of worms.’
‘Oh good.’
Shining patted him on the shoulder. ‘You’re a new man this morning! Where’s the sullen cynic of yesterday?’
Toby shrugged. ‘He’ll be back soon enough. For now I’m taking the path of least resistance. No doubt I’ll be up to my neck in something utterly impossible before the morning’s out. Until then I may as well just enjoy the walk.’
It was a pleasant day for a walk. The sun was bright, and had brought the tourists out to stare at the water and photograph one another’s fixed smiles.
The two men worked their way along the waterside, past Tower Bridge and on towards the scrubbed, false world of Shad Thames.
‘We love our history with all the soot removed,’ said Shining, ‘Industry as a charming ghost rather than a grunting, sweating, creaking beast.’
The older man moved away from the river and into the tight network of streets.
He stopped in front of an apartment block and stared up at its stone and glass body. ‘How interesting.’
‘If you like Terence Conran,’ said Toby, noting the shop beneath the building. ‘Personally I find it all a bit Emperor’s New Clothes: spindly nothings, the only heft is the price tag.’
‘Hmm …’ said Shining, glancing at a clear Perspex chair in the window. ‘I stumbled upon a real ghost chair once – cost more than a couple of hundred quid to sit in it. I wasn’t looking at the shop, though.’ He stepped as far back as he could, resting his back against the external wall of the building opposite. ‘Look between the buildings. What do you see?’
Toby stood next to him. ‘A bit of industrialist grey with a door in it, staff entrance to the shop maybe? I don’t know – just looks like a join between the two buildings.’
‘Keep looking.’ Shining walked across the road, marched up to the divide between the shop on the right and the clean walls of Cinnamon Wharf on the left. He reached his hands out towards the plain, grey concrete. Then he continued to walk and Toby was faced with exactly what he had predicted only a few minutes earlier: the utterly impossible.
From the young man’s perspective, the narrow stretch of concrete – no more than six feet wide – shimmered and ballooned outwards, changing its appearance entirely. It was a warehouse. Not the spruced-up, rebuilt apartment blocks that now filled the area but an ageing, crumbling, dirty stretch of wood and brick. Once the illusion had been broken, Toby could see it clearly, unable to believe he hadn’t noticed it in the first place. There was an entire warehouse between the shop and the apartment block. Shining reappeared, framed in the large, tatty doorway, having pushed open the double doors.
‘You see it?’
‘I see it.’
‘Come on then, if you’re going to accept the impossible you may as well explore it thoroughly.’
Toby walked across the road, narrowly avoiding a bicycle courier.
‘Open your eyes, mate!’ the cyclist shouted. Toby thought he could tell him the same.
‘I’m trying to remember walking past it,’ he said to Shining as he entered. ‘Surely you must notice it’s taking you too long to get from one place to the other? Your eyes say it’s only a few feet and yet you spend too long walking next to it.’
‘Did you notice?’
‘No.’
‘Then you have your answer.’
Toby looked around. The ground floor was open, some signs of a few crumbled partition walls, a rotting staircase heading up to a second level that could be glimpsed through the occasional hole in the ceiling.
‘Some form of perception field, I imagine,’ said Shining, continuing to explain the trick that had hidden the building from sight. ‘You can only see it if you know it’s there.’
‘A spy’s dream.’
‘Hardly one hundred percent reliable though. It didn’t take much encouragement for you to see it, did it? If I were them, I’d have put up more protection than that.’
There was a crashing sound from upstairs.
‘What the hell was that?’ asked Toby.
‘More protection?’ wondered Shining.
‘I’m really beginning to hate this job,’ said Toby. ‘What’s it going to be now? A dragon? A yeti?’
‘Nothing so subtle I expect,’ muttered Shining, dropping to the floor and beginning to trace in the dust with his fingers.
Toby shook his head in exasperation and began backing towards the door. ‘And this would be why she was right, telling me that I wasn’t cut out for this section …Years of training and it’s still like sending a plumber to fix your computer. I don’t suppose you thought to sign out a firearm?’
‘I haven’t carried a gun for ten years,’ Shining admitted, busily drawing a large circle in the dirt. ‘I think there may be an old revolver in the office kitchen if you want to bring it with you in future. I’m pretty sure it still fires. They built things to last in the ’40s.’