Codename Files Nos.1, 2 & 3

by Mark Arundel

  ‘And do you know Charlotte, Charlotte Miller?’

  ‘No, never heard of her.’

  ‘She works in intelligence, too. She used to be Bradshaw’s boss.’

  ‘No, don’t know her.’

  ‘Well, she’s running this operation, not Bradshaw and not the prick in London with the flash suit. I’m going to call her and get her to speak to Bradshaw, and she’ll get Bradshaw to speak to you; you’ll take orders from Bradshaw, right?’

  There was no answer.

  I jabbed the barrel painfully.

  ‘Right,’ I repeated.

  ‘Okay, yeah, I’ll listen to Bradshaw.’

  I said, ‘The phone’s inside.’

  We went together over to the sliding glass door and I made Stafford pull it open. Inside, we walked to the table where I’d left Geoffrey’s phone.

  I pushed Stafford down onto a chair and said, ‘Put your hands behind your head.’

  He did it and I picked up the phone. My eyes went to the phone for a couple of seconds while I searched the screen to call Charlotte.

  It happened faster than even I could have done it. Despite having the Glock ready in my hand and holding the phone with my other, I didn’t even have time to raise the gun let alone fire it.

  Xing came in so fast and in total silence. She was dressed all in black and wearing gloves and her face was streaked black by a painted mask. Both her arms were already outstretched, holding and pointing the handgun. She had targeted me from her entrance at the door only a fraction of a second before and now she was closer she didn’t hesitate. She had only one intention and that was to shoot me.

  Xing fired and I remember falling backwards and then hitting the back of my head on the hard wooden floor.

  I didn’t lose consciousness but I struggled to focus my vision. I couldn’t get up. I didn’t see the second shot but I heard it. It came only a second after the first one and I heard Stafford’s body fall from the chair and hit the floor.

  In the black and silver moonlit gloom, I tried again to get up but the impact from the bullet had struck me in the heart and it was all I could do to avoid unconsciousness.

  My vision remained blurry, but I could make out the black figure of Xing standing over me. Although I couldn’t see clearly I recognised what I thought was a look of relief in her eyes. Given her accuracy with a handgun, and after targeting me at close range and aiming for my heart she should have been surprised to see I was still alive. I thought I saw her mouth open but I couldn’t hear what she said.

  It was then that my vision cleared a little and I saw in the darkness behind Xing another figure appear. He was treading slowly and carefully, and in his hands, he held the Glock. It was Geoffrey. On hearing the gunfire, he had come out of his hiding place and was now targeting Xing in the two-handed way that I had taught him. I wanted to smile but my muscles weren’t working. I wanted to shout out shoot her but my voice wasn’t working. I wanted to get up; I wanted to fire my own Glock, but most of all I wanted to save him, but I couldn’t do any of those things.

  Xing was so quick. I don’t know whether she heard him or just sensed him but she spun with true suddenness. It was the first time that I had known her to look at him directly. Her hands were already rising. She seemed to aim without doing anything that took any time.

  Geoffrey should have shot her, but he didn’t. I wasn’t surprised. He should have done it the moment he came out of the cupboard, but he didn’t.

  Xing fired.

  This time, whether she had worked out why I wasn’t dead or if she just decided to make certain I don’t know, but she aimed the bullet at the head.

  Geoffrey dropped. There was silence and I knew he was dead.

  The shout from the door was loud but I wasn’t sure if it was real. It sounded like the strained voice of Bradshaw. I wondered if I was hallucinating.

  Then Xing ran.

  She went to the other door that led onto the balcony and through a foggy blur, I watched her disappear.

  Then I passed out.

  Chapter 38

  Improved enjoyment of the game comes with the choice of opponent skill level.

  Charlotte didn’t come to get me in the private jet. I wasn’t surprised. Instead of there being three people to collect, two of which were important to her, there was only me.

  It took me a while to recover from the blunt force trauma; I think I had a bruised heart. Bradshaw wasn’t sympathetic and neither were Baines and Treadwell.

  Although Treadwell gave chase, back down the mountain track, he never found any trace of Xing. She had vanished.

  Bradshaw spoke on his phone with Charlotte for a long time. He glanced at me more than once. Afterwards, I could tell he didn’t tell me everything Charlotte had told him.

  I waited with Bradshaw while Treadwell and Baines cleaned up. We sat on the balcony and I stared at the fir trees. Neither of us spoke.

  Then Bradshaw said, ‘If Charlotte and that bastard Meriwether had shared their intelligence with us...’ I glared at him, but he finished anyway. ‘...it needn’t have ended like this.’

  I wasn’t in any mood for recriminations or analysis. I asked him, ‘What happens now?’

  He said, ‘I’ve put a call into our consulate in Santa Cruz. Treadwell and Baines will finish cleaning up and then some people will come out from the consulate to complete the job. There won’t be any trace left once we do it. Everything will be tidied away.’

  I said, ‘and then what?’

  Bradshaw offered me a cigarette. I shook my head. He lit one before he said, ‘We’ll move your vehicle and leave it somewhere. Someone will also collect your things from the first villa you stayed in.’ I didn’t speak. Bradshaw continued to smoke. He said, ‘Charlotte thinks the local police will be checking for you at all the places they carry out passport control. She has spoken with our consulate and the people coming here will bring a passport with them, one in a different name. You can use it to get home. You’ll have to pay for your ticket in cash; do you have enough left?’ Again, I didn’t speak. Bradshaw looked at me and said, ‘I’ll give you a lift to the airport. I’ve got to go to the consulate and finish tidying this mess.’

  I said, ‘Why did you pull a gun on me in the car?’

  He said, ‘I still didn’t know what was going on, not for sure, and so when you mentioned the word traitor I decided it was time to try and get everything straightened out.’ He smiled and felt his throat. ‘It was a bad idea.’

  I didn’t ask any more questions and Bradshaw finished his cigarette and went back inside.

  A team of three arrived from the consulate. There were two men and a woman. One of the men gave me a new passport. It contained my photograph and it was obviously genuine. I put it in my pocket.

  Treadwell collected all the guns and knives that Geoffrey and I had accumulated including the rifle I’d taken from Xing, and he gave them over to one of the consulate men.

  Bradshaw took Geoffrey’s satchel, which contained all his papers. I watched him put it away inside a bigger bag. He saw me looking and said, ‘We may not have Button, but we have his work; that’s something.’

  I wanted to punch him. I knew which I would rather have.

  Bradshaw spoke to the woman from the consulate. It seemed she was some kind of pathologist and she insisted on giving me an examination. Bradshaw had told her about the ballistic vest and the gunshot. I stood in the bright overhead spotlight with my t-shirt off while she prodded me. She removed the bandage on my side and studied the stitched knife wound.

  She said, ‘Who did these stitches?’

  I remembered Jennifer Smithson and said, ‘A friendly doctor I happened to bump into.’

  The pathologist didn’t ask anymore. She replaced the bandage and then said, ‘The bullet impact has caused some deep bruising. If you continue to suffer any further pain after forty-eight hours, then you should get it checked out.’

  The diagnosis was just as I thought a bruised heart. I was ce
rtain there was going to be further pain. I put my t-shirt back on.

  We all left at the same time. The pathologist and the two men had brought the right vehicle. It was a four-wheel drive van. The cleaners had put Geoffrey and Stafford inside zipped body bags. I watched as they carried them outside and then slid them through the open rear doors. I felt regret. I felt responsible. It was the same feeling I had experienced as a soldier. The feeling when the adrenalin has worn off and the tiredness and physical pain had taken over. It was then that the blackness was at its most difficult. From experience, I knew it would pass. It always did.

  While the rear doors banged shut I thought about Stafford, about what he had said and I wondered if there really was a letter.

  Baines drove with Bradshaw sitting in the passenger seat. Treadwell and I sat in the back. The big saloon was quiet and comfortable. Nobody said much. We glided along the motorway towards Santa Cruz in the dark and I closed my eyes. It helped to ease the pain.

  We arrived at the airport. It was the one in the north. I had flown into the south. I got out carrying only my rucksack and walked away towards the terminal building without saying goodbye or looking back.

  There was a flight leaving for London that night and I was lucky to find spare seats available. I showed my new passport and paid in cash.

  I sat in departures and waited for my flight. Time seemed to slow down and I tried not to think. It almost worked except for one thing. I couldn’t block it out from my mind. The one thing, which I knew I would always remember. The regret I would always have. If I’d killed Xing when I had the chance in the back of the police car then Geoffrey would still be alive.

  Chapter 39

  BARTHOLOMEW WELLINGTON MERIWETHER

  ‘A first rate job,’ he said. Charlotte didn’t reply. She pictured Meriwether’s face. He was at his club with his phone held to his ear. She heard him sip from a drink.

  ‘He’s on his way back,’ she said. ‘I’m leaving shortly for the airport.’

  With such a plan, Charlotte always knew the probability of sustaining casualties was high. She wondered what it was she felt. Not regret; it could not be that. No, just disappointment, that was all. An innocent man had lost his life. She put it out of her mind. Then she wondered if Meriwether felt guilt at the death of an innocent man.

  ‘We have what we need,’ he said. ‘It worked exactly as you said it would.’

  He pictured Charlotte at her apartment in Mayfair and knew she would be unhappy. The death of the Button man was unfortunate. Charlotte had expected to bring them both back alive, he knew that. There was no changing it now. The plan was always high risk, but it was the only way to get what they needed. They had to expose the traitor. Accomplished with a finesse of the highest order, and one, which if known could not fail to be appreciated. Charlotte’s spy craft was exquisite. It contained the dirty sweat of achievement with the delicious flair of intellectual irony. He appreciated her talent in the same way he appreciated fine claret. It gave him pleasure. He sensed her feelings and spoke softly. ‘The death could not be helped, my dear. We could not have played it any differently. It had to be done.’

  ‘...for the greater good?’ she said.

  Meriwether did not reply.

  ‘We’ll let the new man finish it, shall we?’ he said. ‘After what he’s been through he deserves to taste the sweetness of revenge and it will tie it off neatly.’ Meriwether liked things to be neat.

  ‘Yes, if you like,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll tell him together. I don’t want him to have any doubts,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘he’s a soldier; he doesn’t understand doubt.’

  Meriwether sipped his wine. ‘That’s a useful quality for a man to have,’ he said. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting him.’

  Chapter 40

  The game may end abruptly if a player has to leave before the hand is completed.

  I had a nice surprise waiting for me when I landed back in London. At least I hoped it was going to be nice. Standing at arrivals, away from the crowd near the coffee shop, was Charlotte. She was alone. She didn’t smile and I didn’t speak. For a moment, I thought she might ask me how I was, but she didn’t.

  She said, ‘I’ve got a car.’

  She was dressed for winter with an expensive coat and hat. I realised I was only wearing a t-shirt with a volcano printed on the front.

  I said, ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I’m taking you to mine,’ she said.

  We left the warmth of the terminal building and I immediately felt the chill of a London night in early November.

  Fortunately, the car park was only a short distance away and Charlotte soon cocooned me in her German saloon. It was the same one as before. This time, the music playing was Beethoven. It was one of his symphonies, I think, or was it his Midnight Sonata?

  We wafted along with Charlotte driving confidently, and I realised we were heading towards the centre of town.

  She said, ‘I have a change of clothes for you. You can shower and dress at mine.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’re going out tonight.’

  We drove along Knightsbridge beside Hyde Park and at the Corner turned onto Piccadilly. Charlotte lived in Mayfair. Her apartment building had a night watchman on duty. He opened the door and greeted her formally as Miss Miller.

  She said, ‘Good evening, Ben.’

  We went up in the lift. Charlotte unlocked the heavy wooden door and inside tapped a keypad on the wall to deactivate the alarm. Her apartment was big and luxurious with expensive fittings and the smell of perfume and self-belief.

  She said, ‘Do you want a drink?’

  I showered and dressed in the clothes she had bought me. Looking in the mirror, I didn’t recognise my reflection. All I saw was Xing firing and Geoffrey dropping.

  The suit was dark and seemed well tailored. Underneath I wore a white shirt with a plain tie and black shoes. It felt like I was dressed for a funeral.

  Charlotte saw me and made some complimentary noises, which I didn’t really acknowledge, and then we were leaving.

  Ben held the door for us and I helped Charlotte into the black cab.

  I said to her, ‘Where are we going?’

  Charlotte smiled and said, ‘It’s not far.’

  The cab drove us back onto Piccadilly and then turned off onto St. James’s. Our destination was a traditional old gentlemen’s club.

  I said, ‘Do they allow women inside?’

  Charlotte smiled and said, ‘Yes, but only in certain parts of the club. There are still no women members permitted.’

  Inside was like going back in time.

  ‘We’ve come to see Mr. Meriwether.’

  ‘One moment, madam, I’ll inform Mr. Meriwether of your arrival.’ The old boy spoke slowly into the telephone and said, ‘Your guests have arrived, sir.’ He replaced the receiver and then said to Charlotte, ‘Mr. Meriwether has asked if you would join him in the guest lounge.’

  I followed Charlotte who had obviously been here before, probably many times.

  As we entered the lounge, he stood up and faced us with a friendly smile. Bartholomew Meriwether reminded me of one of those English actors from the nineteen forties and fifties, the ones who were always impeccably dressed with unfaltering manners, public school accents and the air of superiority that wafted effortlessly from their brilliantine heads.

  He said, ‘Charlotte, thank you for coming.’ He didn’t give her a chance to say anything before he looked at me and extended his hand. He said, ‘How do you do?’ We shook hands. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. Please, come in and sit down.’ A waiter silently appeared beside us and Meriwether ordered brandies without asking if that was what we wanted. When the waiter had left he said, ‘I was terribly upset to hear about our clever friend, he was such an original thinker, we shall all miss his future contribution to Britain’s wellbeing. It’s such a shame, although he has left us something to re
member him by, and I’m optimistic there are others, like him, who may benefit from his legacy.’ I listened to Bartholomew Meriwether and realised I was going to need an interpreter.

  Charlotte said, ‘It was a sad outcome. He was a brave man. I wish things had worked out differently.’ Then she looked at me. I didn’t say anything.

  Meriwether said, ‘I understand from C. just what a resourceful chap you are and that the outcome was terribly bad luck. A man like you is an invaluable asset at times like these. We’ve been very fortunate to find you. I propose putting you on a retainer. How would that suit?’

  I wished that interpreter had been available. Weren’t retainers the method by which the aristocracy paid their servants for the work they did to maintain their privileged and lavish lifestyles?

  Before I could answer, Meriwether was speaking again. He said, ‘C. will work out the details with you; I’m certain we can agree on an acceptable sum.’

  The waiter returned walking slowly and carrying a silver tray with three balloon glasses containing generous measures of brandy. Meriwether stopped talking and acknowledged the arrival of his order with a nod from his shiny head.

  Once the waiter had left, he began speaking again. He said, ‘Now, there’s just the little matter of concluding our recent business.’ He was talking to me. He lifted his brandy glass and took a sip. I left mine on the table. ‘As you know we have an internal problem that needs resolving. We had hoped to settle the matter without any ill feeling, unfortunately, however, recent events now make that impossible. We shall have to take measures that are more direct. It really is most regrettable as I had hoped to develop the situation to our advantage but there it is. Charlotte, of course, will give you all the details and be only too happy to offer any assistance that you may require.’ Meriwether stopped talking. He was staring at the expression on my face. He smiled in a sombre way and then said, ‘Yes, naturally you want to know who it is?’ He then turned to Charlotte and said, ‘C., my dear, why don’t you tell him.’