Codename Files Nos.1, 2 & 3

by Mark Arundel

  Norbert gave us the guided tour and we finished back on the upper floor where an impressive dining table and a raised seating area topped off the functional decor. The villa had the typical Spanish style with the bedrooms on the lower floor where the rooms remained cooler allowing more comfortable sleeping.

  Norbert had been a capable guide despite his accent, which at times made him hard to understand. By way of explanation, he had told us about his wife, describing her as Canarian but his pronunciation made it sound as if he had said Canadian. Geoffrey smiled at him politely and said, ‘You must get a lot of maple syrup at home.’ The puzzled expression from earlier returned to Norbert’s oversized features and from then on he spoke only to me.

  I counted out the money in cash on the shiny-topped dining table and Norbert folded it away inside the pocket of his baggy cords. Smiling he said, ‘Danke, Mr. Smith.’

  With the cash safely in his pocket, he relaxed and showed us how to work the giant flat screen television and then took us back into the kitchen where he had left a welcome-basket of food and drink. It contained all the essentials including a fresh loaf, orange juice, cheese, wine, fruit and a big cake shaped like a donut with a hole in the middle, which he told us was a local speciality.

  I asked him about security and he replied with seriousness creasing his deep brow, ‘All the doors, and the sliding doors and the windows have good locks; you call them deadbolts, yes?’ He led me to the heavy patio door, slid it shut with his big fist and then demonstrated the locking mechanism, which did have a deadbolt that sunk deeply into the wooden frame with a reassuring clunk.

  I said, ‘Is there outside lighting?’

  He nodded enthusiastically and replied, ‘Ja, much outside lighting, all around; you say, motion sensor, yes? It lights when you move.’

  It wasn’t dark enough yet to test, but I took his word for it. I said, ‘Does the villa have binoculars?’

  ‘Ja, binoculars.’ He thought for a moment and then went to the cabinet against the wall, opened a drawer and produced a reasonably powerful pair of bins. I nodded and he left them out for me.

  It seemed everything Charlotte had told me about the villa was true.

  Norbert made his way back to the door and we all stepped outside again.

  The weather had worsened and the mountain fog was thicker and even lower than earlier. Norbert noticed me looking at it and said, ‘It is well known this mountain fog. The locals call it El Burro, the donkey because it comes slowly down from the mountain.’ He made a gesture using his paw like hands to mimic the slow descent of a donkey.

  Neither Geoffrey nor I could think of anything to say in response to this unexpected anecdote.

  Norbert said, ‘I will go, now.’ He passed me the keys and a business card. ‘Is there more questions?’

  I said, ‘No, no more questions.’

  He said, ‘You have my telephone number on the card.’

  ‘If I need you I’ll call.’

  Norbert left with a final nod and I went over to the terrace railing and watched him drive away. I wanted to see how far down the track that I could still see his vehicle. It wasn’t that far because the steep slope undulated and he quickly disappeared behind the trees. Geoffrey had come over to join me and when I turned back from watching Norbert leave Geoffrey said, ‘Why didn’t he like me mentioning maple syrup?’

  I said, ‘His wife is Canarian not Canadian—native to the Canary Islands.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Geoffrey. His cheeks flushed.

  I patted his shoulder and said, ‘Don’t worry about it. His accent was terrible.’

  Back inside Geoffrey suggested that we eat. He was eager to sample the food from the welcome basket, particularly the doughnut shaped cake.

  I said, ‘Before we eat I want to go over the villa again and make a start.’

  Reluctantly, Geoffrey agreed and I led him downstairs to where an outside door opened onto a small courtyard. In the corner was a blue painted door with a brass handle. I searched through the bunch and found the matching blue key. Behind the door was an L-shaped laundry and storeroom. At the far end was a yellow door that led into the garage.

  We both went in and I opened one of the double doors with the remote. I took the opportunity to move the 4x4 inside and then I closed the garage door. I handed Geoffrey the remote and the two coloured keys and said, ‘This is where you’ll hide and wait until it’s over. If you have to escape, use the 4x4, I’ve left the key in the ignition.’

  He said, ‘I don’t really want to stay down here.’

  ‘We discussed this and you agreed. I’ll bring down a comfortable chair, food and drink; you can work on your theory. It won’t be for long.’

  Geoffrey didn’t look happy but he finally conceded to the plan.

  I smiled at him and said, ‘Let’s go and try that cake.’

  Back upstairs, we put all the food on the dining table. Outside it was nearing last light and I would soon be able to test the motion sensors.

  I sipped a glass of orange juice, considered the layout and weighed up which position to put myself in while I waited. It required the best combination of concealment and vision.

  We were hungry and most of the food soon disappeared from the table. Geoffrey made a pot of tea and we drank it with a slice of the cake. It was Madeira style but with a heavier consistency and a citrus flavour. We both liked it and Geoffrey ate two slices.

  We sat for a few minutes in silence and then Geoffrey said, ‘Thank you, thank you for everything. I wouldn’t have lasted very long on my own. You’re the reason I’m still alive.’

  It must have been the cake talking. I said, ‘Let’s keep it that way,’ and picked up one of the two ballistic vests I had taken from the Russians. As personal armour, they were of a high specification and easily capable of stopping a bullet from a handgun. Although, the energy can often cause a blunt force trauma under the impact point. I’d seen it happen more than once. I was still surprised at how fast the Russian had recovered after I had shot him. It just depends on where on the torso the bullet hits.

  Geoffrey removed his shirt and I strapped the vest in place. He complained it was too tight. I told him, ‘It has to be tight otherwise it doesn’t work so well.’

  He put his shirt back on over the top. I said, ‘Don’t loosen it or take it off.’

  I then removed my own shirt and put on the second vest making sure it was just as tight. I covered it with my t-shirt. We were almost ready.

  Outside, last light had gone and darkness filled the large glass panels along the wall. Inside, I had deliberately left the lights off and now it was gloomy with only the silver glow from a half-moon by which to see.

  The ringing of Geoffrey’s phone interrupted the silent darkness. He studied the shining display. It was Charlotte. He passed it to me and I answered the call.

  Charlotte asked, ‘Why have you turned off your phone?’

  ‘I didn’t want it to be traced if you called.’

  ‘Is everything all right at the villa?’ she asked, but before I could answer a corner of the garden beyond the pool and the patio burst into a bright, white light. Something had tripped one of the motion sensors.

  ‘I’ll call you back,’ I said.

  As the startling intense light hit the back of my eyes and burned my retinas, I thought of something that struck me with a jolt. The words I had just spoken to Charlotte were still in my head. I didn’t want a trace... If the expensive and new 4x4 was fitted with a security tracker, the kind insurance companies insist on then someone could have already traced us. Someone could already be outside.

  Chapter 36

  ‘The Jack of Hearts, please, partner.’

  My instinct made me grab Geoffrey from the table and pull him to the floor. He went down awkwardly and then fell onto his side. He made a pained sound and asked, ‘What are you doing?’

  I whispered, ‘A light came on in the garden; someone tripped the motion sensor.’

  Geoffrey tried t
o push up with his hand to look but I held him down. He said, ‘It’s probably just an animal like a dog or a cat, or a fox; do they have foxes here in Tenerife?’

  I whispered, ‘Be quiet. The sensor wouldn’t pick up a small animal; it’s a person.’

  Geoffrey kept still and silent. I tried to work out who it was most likely to be and concluded it could be any of our pursuers. Anyone may have obtained the information on the whereabouts of the 4x4 from the tracking company in several different ways. All of which were available to the traitor in London, and Bradshaw or even Charlotte, although, as far as I knew, she didn’t have knowledge of the 4x4 or at least not from me. My deliberation was not helping. It was time to take action.

  If someone was outside already, in the grounds of the villa, it was too late for the plan. I didn’t have time to hide Geoffrey downstairs in the laundry room; he would have to stay up here with me.

  What happened over the next few minutes, or however long it was, I have rerun over and over in my mind, and each time I’ve wondered what I could have done differently; but every time the answer is always the same—nothing.

  I whispered, ‘I want you to hide in the cupboard beside the big plant until I tell you it’s safe to come out.

  Geoffrey said, ‘I want to stay with you.’

  ‘No, hide in the cupboard,’ I said and gave him the Glock from my waistband. He took it. ‘I don’t want you visible. Go now.’ Reluctantly, he went across the room to the big plant and hid in the cupboard.

  My rucksack was hanging on the back of the chair. I kept low and lifted it off. Inside, I found the second Glock and tucked it into my waistband.

  On the east wall of the raised seating area was a door that opened onto a narrow balcony. Silently, I let myself out, leaving the door ajar and listened. The evening air felt cooler than earlier and I saw that the moonlight didn’t penetrate the front row of fir trees. The only thing I could hear was the faint barking of a dog further down the mountain and a cooing pigeon hidden somewhere in the trees.

  I climbed onto the railing and used the wall for support. By stretching out, I could reach the stone coving that decorated the edge of the tiling. I swung out and pulled myself up. The pitched roof sloped gently. Four dividers split it into sections. I moved quickly to the south side and maintained a squat position while I searched the illuminated area below. It was still. All I could hear was the gentle hum of the underground pump as it circulated the water in the pool. I held my position and waited.

  A click from the powerful bulb coincided with the abrupt darkness. My eyes adjusted without difficulty and I moved across to the west side. As I stopped on the corner and searched the far area between the bushes and the steps leading from the trees against the wall I saw movement. It was a man’s figure dressed in black, almost a silhouette, with only the monotone outline of a shoulder and thigh caught in the moonlight. He moved at speed, in silence and then stopped against the wall beside the glass sliding doors. The one thing I noticed above all else was in his hand he carried a long barrelled pistol. I knew from experience the length of the barrel meant the addition of a suppressor, or as it’s more commonly known a silencer. The man had come prepared for silent killing.

  In unobserved silence, I watched him overhead. He carefully moved his head to the edge of the glass door and looked in. From his size and shape, I thought he was probably the Russian who had escaped from the hospital. He moved his hand slowly and tried the handle. It was unlocked and the door slid open a few inches. Before he made the decision to go inside I made the decision to drop on him and then shoot him. I positioned myself and aimed for his shoulders. In the moment before I leapt the sensor light by the pool came on in a sudden burst of brilliant light. In the same instant, I saw a walking cat beside the pool; it stopped in the shadows and turned to look at me. Two round eyes burned yellow. They were luminous and feral. Perhaps Geoffrey had been right. The man below me looked up and I jumped. He tried to evade the full hit by turning his upper body and hunching defensively. My knees and body weight struck his upper back causing his legs to collapse. He dropped and I dropped on top of him.

  It’s never certain how a jump like that is going to work out especially if the man below defends his body with a reflex action. Instead of sticking to him as we hit the ground, the momentum rolled me. My gun arm slapped the hard flagstones and I was exposed. Fortunately, my opponent hadn’t fared any better. I hoped he would be worse off than he was; we seemed to recover our positions at the same time.

  In the army, in close quarter combat, they train you to defend your position against an armed opponent even if you have a weapon yourself. If you think about it, the reason for this is obvious. A man cannot shoot you or stab you if you’ve neutralised his weapon.

  Anyway, it seemed we had both been taught by the same instructor because we both moved forward, ready to engage the other, rather than relying on an attempted shot.

  The fight that followed was brutal. There were blows and counter blows. We both knocked each other’s gun to the ground. Neither of us could work a telling advantage. It was a fast, violent and deadly battle. The man knew how to fight, exactly as I did. His elbow jabbed at my stomach into the armoured vest I was wearing which dissipated the force of the strike. The grappling fingers of my left hand tried to get purchase on his face only for them to slide on his freshly applied camouflage paint. His face was striped black just as mine had been many times when I was a soldier.

  The sensor light went out and the timing of the unexpected darkness gave me a lucky advantage. The man missed a block and my fist struck his eye in a clean, deep blow. He took a step sideways and his hands dropped. He was exposed. I flew at him, striking his jaw with my flying forearm. He weakened further and I knew I had him. I leapt behind him and using my arms, my chest and my thighs I put him in a stranglehold that he was never coming out of. My lungs gulped the mountain air, my muscles hardened, and my arms tightened. I felt his windpipe close and his struggling decrease like an antelope held by the death grip of a lion. Then, with almost his last breath, he managed to choke out a few words. They were probably the only words he could have said that would have stopped me from killing him.

  He said, ‘Your mother left you a letter.’

  Chapter 37

  The finesse is a daring technique of taking a risk and trapping the king against the ace.

  I am not easily surprised, let alone shocked. This man’s words shocked me, though, as surely as if he had sent a thousand volts through my body. I breathed out, my muscles eased and my grip loosened. His windpipe opened again and he gulped air.

  As the shock went and my mind worked, I realised who the man was. It was Stafford. He was the officer I had nearly killed. The one who got me kicked out; the one who had taken me on the mission and not told me my mother was seriously ill in the hospital. Stafford; it was that bastard, Stafford.

  Was there really a letter? I wanted to believe it but I realised a man might say anything to save his own life.

  Stafford continued gulping and although weakened, I knew he was still dangerous. Without slackening my iron hold any further, I dragged him across the flagstones to where I could reach my fallen Glock. I grabbed the gun and pushed the barrel hard into his neck.

  I said, ‘Tell me about the letter; where is it?’

  With a gravelly voice made even hoarser by my efforts, he said, ‘It’s safe; back in England.’

  ‘...where?’ I said.

  ‘It’s safe; I’ll give it to you if you let me get back to England alive.’

  His thinly veiled words brought me back to the immediate situation. I put all thought of the letter away and refocused. I said, ‘Did you come alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who sent you?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was some Whitehall prick in a flash whistle.’

  ‘How did he know my location?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was sent to my K106.’

  ‘You’ve got a K106?’

&nb
sp; ‘Yeah, I’ve got a K106. Hey, you’re really pissing me off with all these questions.’

  I sunk the barrel of the Glock deeper into Stafford’s neck and said, ‘What are your orders?’

  ‘To kill a man named Geoffrey Button and you if it was necessary.’

  ‘...or even if it wasn’t,’ I added. Stafford kept quiet.

  I said, ‘Why you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  There was a pause while I thought.

  Stafford said, ‘Well, what’re you going to do?’ The irritation in his voice told me he was feeling better.

  I needed to get him onto my side. I couldn’t kill him because there was the possibility of the letter and he would know that, and anyway, Charlotte needed him alive.

  I said, ‘There’s a lot more to this than you know.’

  He said, ‘I don’t care about that. My orders are simple. Just tell me where Button is, I’ll kill him and then we can go back to England and I’ll get you your mother’s letter—deal?’

  I said, ‘No, Button lives. He’s important to the nation’s future prosperity. We need to work together on this. It’s likely there are others on their way here with the same orders as you. The three of us: you and I and Button have to get away and go to the airport where we can have a private government jet waiting to fly us back to England.’

  Stafford was disbelieving. He said, ‘Yeah, right,’ and then he added, ‘Look, I don’t care what you think is going on here, but all I have to do is kill Button and that’s it.’

  There was another silence while I thought.

  I said, ‘Do you know a man called Bradshaw, Stephen Bradshaw? He works in military intelligence.’

  ‘Yeah, of course, I know him. He runs the hit squad.’