Scavenger Hunt

by Barry Buckingham

  “Good thinking,” Bob nodded. “What about the courier?”

  “We’ll give him two different keys, we’ll take a chance they don’t know what they look like and then we’ll get the hell out of here!”

  They’d used UPS, so Bob wrapped two bike lock keys in a bubble bag.

  After the courier had left, Dave went into Hunstanton to find an Internet café. He didn’t know Nat’s mobile number, but they kept in touch via email.

  'Nat. Dave. I need your help. ASAP'. “That should do it,” he hoped, sitting back.

  He didn’t have to wait long for a reply. Dave sent him the number for a pay phone he'd passed down the road from the café. 'Ring me in ten minutes. Important!'

  The phone rang almost straight away.

  “Hello?” Dave answered.

  “Dave, how you doing?”

  “I’m good, mate. Thanks for getting back so quickly.”

  “It looked kind of urgent. What’s the problem?”

  “I need some information.”

  “Okay. I’m not promising anything until you tell me what you need.”

  “That’ll do, mate,” he said, thanking him. “What do you know about MI6?”

  There was silence for a few moments before Nat said anything. “Bloody hell, Dave! What have you done now?”

  “I just need to know how you’d check out if someone is MI6.”

  “Ask them,” he said, sarcastically.

  “No! Seriously, Nat. How can I find out?”

  “Okay. I’ll have to talk to my boss, give me ten minutes.”

  “Cheers, mate.”

  “Have we got a name?”

  “He calls himself Steve Graham.”

  “Okay, mate. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Dave sat, looking around for anyone or anything that looked wrong. He was about to walk off when the phone rang. He jumped. “Bloody hell that was quick,” he thought.

  It wasn't the pay phone, it was his mobile. He looked at the caller ID. Bob. Dave explained to him what Nat had said.

  Bob said, “Change of plan. We’ll come to you now. We’ll meet you by the pick-up point for the seal boat ride. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  "Okay. Just waiting for a callback."

  A few moments later, the pay phone shrilled into life.

  “Dave.”

  “What you got for me, Nat?”

  “You must be in some serious shit! My phone’s gone crazy with people ringing me, all asking why I want to know about this Steve bloke.”

  “Shit! What did you tell them?”

  “There’s nothing I could tell them, you just gave me a name. They want to meet you, now.”

  “Shit. Okay. Give them my phone number, I'll text you it.”

  “Dave, what have you been doing?”

  “Nat, you don’t want to know.”

  “Try me.”

  He filled Nat in on what had happened about the diamonds, the kidnap, and the dead agents and how they ended up back over in Baghdad, and now this. Nat stayed quiet the whole time, when he'd finished, he said, “Jesus, Dave. Listen, do whatever they say, these people are big. I ain’t going to be able to pull you out of this one.”

  “I owe you again, Nat. When this is over we’ll meet for a pint.”

  “Sounds good. Take care.”

  Dave hung up, sent the text and waited. Not for long though, unknown caller came up on his phone. He took a deep breath and answered, “Hello.”

  “Mr Roberts?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  The voice was very English, very proper.

  “My names, Peterson, MI6. I think we need to talk, don’t you?”

  Dave thought for a second. “How do I know you are who you say you are?”

  “I’m not here to play games with you, Mr Roberts, but if you want proof, your friend PC Nathan Parks made an interesting enquiry. I was informed about it straight away. Enough?”

  That was good enough for Dave. Peterson gave him an address in Cambridge. “I can be there in three hours," Dave said.

  “I’ll look forward to seeing you, Mr Roberts. Bring your friends with you.” He said the last bit as if it was an order, not a request.

  Dave hung up just as Bob and Lucy appeared. He filled them in on the phone call and they set off. They walked up to the centre and rang for a taxi, deciding it was too far for Lucy to drive. They had to wait about twenty minutes before the car arrived. When they gave the taxi driver the address, he looked at them, and said, “You’re having a laugh?”

  Bob got his wallet out, paid him a hundred pounds up front, “Get us there in less than three hours and there will be another two hundred on top.”

  “Pay me the two hundred up-front and the hundred when we get there and you’re on.”

  Bob didn’t argue.

  Two and half hours later, and they were getting out at the address in Cambridge, with one happy taxi driver who was now three hundred pounds richer. Bob gave him another two hundred on top. “You haven’t seen us, okay?”

  "Who?” he smiled.

  “Not bad for a couple of hours work,” Dave thought.

  50

  The address they'd been given was for the Magdalene College in Cambridge. They entered through a pair of big iron gates and headed along a gravel path towards a small grassy area.

  They were greeted by a smartly dressed man in a black gown. Dave mused at the fact that he looked like the stereotypical professor: tall, lanky, very pale, slicked back hair with a big pointy nose with a pair of glasses hanging on a piece of cord around his neck. He estimated his age at about the late fifties. He also spoke with a very British accent.

  “Mr Roberts?" he asked.

  Dave nodded. He was about to introduce the others when the professor abruptly said, “Follow me.” He stopped, looked at Lucy, as if he’d only just see her, and said, “Madam, if you would be so kind. Lucy smiled and fell in behind him.

  He walked as if he was late for a meeting, fast with big strides. They followed him over to the right-hand edge of the building, skirting between the river bank and a row of three terraced houses. Showing them up to the middle house, he held the door open, ushering the three of them in.

  Inside, they were led up a set of stairs lined with old paintings, of what Dave could only assume were former University Deans. They were led along a long hall lined with more portraits, the only lighting coming from little brass lamps protruding from the wall above each frame.

  Lucy glanced at a few of them, stopping at one she recognised. "This one looks like my old music teacher, Mr, Williams," she said.

  "That is indeed Mr Williams. He was very influential in the production of the fifth verse of the national anthem. It was a sad day when he passed away!" the professor said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

  He stopped the three of them at a group of chairs in an alcove, "Please sit." He then disappeared through a big wooden door.

  As they sat, Dave thought, “Jeez! It’s like being back at school and waiting outside the head teacher’s office because you’d been caught smoking behind the bike sheds.”

  He looked at Bob and Lucy, judging by the look on their faces they must have been thinking along the same lines.

  The professor reappeared, he looked agitated, as if he'd just been ticked off about something. He ushered them into the room he’d just exited.

  The room definitely looked out of place with the rest of the building they'd just walked through. The furniture was modern and new. The only old piece of furniture was the bookcase along two of the walls, it was crammed with books. Along one of the other walls was an array of files.

  As Dave scanned them, he could see some of them dated back to the First World War, others were only six months old. There was a large window on the fourth wall, it overlooked the river and a park. In the distance stood a few very large old oak trees in a grassed meadow area. Dave could see a few picnickers enjoying the sunshine.

  On his desk was a laptop, ope
n. The man who was sitting behind it looked to be in his later years, “Probably about seventy, seventy-fivish,” Dave thought.

  The man ignored his visitors. As they stood, waiting for the man to look up, three men entered. They hadn't seen them in the corridor, but as Bob and Dave turned to look at them, they were grabbed and forced down on the ground. They were handcuffed and made to sit on the floor.

  "Don't move, guys, okay?" one of them said.

  The man behind the desk didn’t even budge.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Bob cursed.

  “In good time, Mr Harris. In good time. Now, please, for your sake, shut up and listen!”

  “Lucy, are you okay?” Bob asked.

  “I won’t tell you again, Mr Harris.”

  “Fuck you!”

  The man nodded at the guy behind Bob. He walked around and stood at his head, picked him up by his hair and punched him in the gut. Bob keeled over, gasping for breath. Lucy screamed.

  “Now, I could have you killed and thrown in the river outside if you want, or you can be quiet and listen. What’s it to be, Mr Harris?”

  Bob groaned, he was straining against his restraints.

  The man looked at Lucy, “Miss Harris. May I call you Lucy? I trust you had a pleasant trip?”

  “Piss off!” she snapped. Dave giggled, Bob let out a little snigger but moaned again. When Dave looked at Bob he was smiling at her.

  The man behind the desk swung his chair around and looked out the window behind him. He said, “Very well, straight to business. My name’s Peterson. I’m going to ask you three simple questions. Answer them and you’re free to go.”

  He turned back to face them and leant forward, “Mess with me and I’ll hand you over to my friends here. Understand?” He let the statement hang in the air for a few moments, then said, “Now. Who are you working for? Where are the keys? And how do you know our Mr Steven Graham? See, not difficult are they. Answers please?”

  There was silence from the three of them as they looked at each other. Dave wasn’t going to say anything and he knew Bob wasn’t, but then Lucy coughed, “We’re not working for anyone.”

  “Lucy, don’t say anything," Bob cut in.

  Peterson got up and stood at the window. Looking out, he waited a few moments, then said, "Please carry on, Lucy."

  Lucy nodded and looked at Bob, smiled lovingly at him and started again.

  “We’re not working for anyone. I think if you thought we were, you would have come and got us, not asked us to come to you.”

  Peterson smiled at her, and then sat down as if he was looking for the lie. Leaning forward, his elbows on the desk, his hands under his chin, as if he was praying, he said, “Thank you, Lucy. Now, where are the keys?"

  Bob said again, “Don’t say anything else, Lucy, They’ll kill us if they know where the keys are.”

  Peterson looked at all three of them, “Robert, Lucy, David. I won’t kill any of you, it’s not in my ... in this country’s interest to kill any of you. This isn’t the film industry, you’re not in some adventure spy film. On the contrary, we plan on using the three of you more in the future. Let’s just say you’ve become...interesting to certain people. Now please, Lucy, where are the keys?”

  Lucy said something Dave and Bob hadn’t thought to ask, “Ring your HQ, then come and speak to us.”

  Peterson looked at her, paused, and picked up the phone, “Get me, Howard.” He waited about thirty seconds, “Howard, are there any packages waiting for us?” He listened to the reply, “Yes I’ll wait.” He looked back at Lucy, and warned, “I hope you’re not playing games with me, young lady.” He put the phone back to his ear, “Two keys. Are they the ones? Thank you, Howard.”

  He looked back at Lucy, “Thank you, Lucy.” He looked at Bob, “Your sister just saved you from, well, whatever the gentlemen behind you do to recover information from people like you.” With this, Peterson nodded at the three men. Bob and Dave tensed, ready for whatever they were going to dish out, but all they did was pull them up off the floor and sat them on the couch. Peterson nodded again and they released Lucy.

  Turning his attention back to Bob and Dave, “Gentlemen. The suitcase has been...” he paused while he got up, he went to turn to look out the window but stopped, “Release them please, gentlemen.” While they did this he carried on speaking. “The suitcase that was recovered by your little group has been lost, again. I, that is 'we' the British government, can’t let it fall into the wrong hands, again. Do you understand?”

  The three of them looked at each other, then Bob asked, “What about Major Anderson and the others?"

  “Unfortunately not. I’m afraid they were all killed in an ambush. We have good intelligence that this Steven Graham was involved. He’s been spotted in Baghdad.”

  Bob looked at Dave, “Anshu. I knew that meeting was all wrong.”

  Peterson looked at Bob, “Who is Anshu? And what meeting?”

  Bob looked at Dave, shrugged, then said, “Anshu was a contact Harry used when he was over in Baghdad, serving. We were using him when we went over last week. But he disappeared when your lot showed up. We met with Steve and his boss. We thought Steve had been killed the first time we went to look for the safe. He got hit by shrapnel and was killed when a munitions cell was attacked, or so we thought. It turns out he’s working for you.”

  “I can assure you, Mr Harris, this, Mr Graham isn’t employed by and never has been employed by the British government. He’s what we term as a terrorist. And a very dangerous one at that.”

  “Bugger, we had him in front of us,” Bob frowned.

  Peterson took a photo out of his drawer, “Is this the other man?” he said, handing it to Bob. He took one look at it and nodded.

  "And you say you met with him recently! Can I ask where? "

  "Two days ago, in London."

  "Are you sure it was him?"

  "Yes! Why?"

  "You’re very fortunate to be alive.” He looked at them, and said, “All three of you! I feel the next time you meet him, you won’t be so fortunate. We’ve been following Mr Graham's partner now for four years, waiting for him to enter this country and make his move. He was the mastermind behind several bombings. A number of them killing, in total, several hundred people, including women and children. He’s been seen beheading, and raping soldiers, before cutting their genitals to pieces." When he said this, Lucy put her hands to her mouth and gasped.

  "Would you like a drink of water, Lucy? I'm sorry you heard that, but this man is very dangerous. A lot of governments have been looking for him for a while."

  Lucy shook her head, “No. Thank you.”

  "He was also looking good for a failed attempt to kill the British royal family. You won't hear about that on the news, and everyone you ask will deny it ever happened.”

  He put the photo away, then looked at them as if he was studying their faces. “Now, this Anshu sounds interesting. We knew he was helping the allied forces up to about four years ago, then he disappeared. We thought he’d been killed. I hope I get the chance to meet him!”

  “Not if I get to him first," Dave growled. "Would you settle for a piece of him? I could always bring you his hand!”

  “That won’t be necessary, Dave, thank you. We’ve known about the suitcase, but not its location. The keys we had no idea where they were, but now we do.” He looked to Lucy, “Thank you again, Lucy.”

  “Someone will contact your little group. They’ll give you your next task. Until we have the suitcase, you three are in danger, so I suggest you lay low until we contact you.”

  Peterson went quiet, looked at his laptop and acted as if they weren’t in the room. They sat there for a few moments wondering what to do when he looked up and said, “Dismissed.”

  "Now he sounded like my old headmaster," Dave thought, shuddering.

  They left the way they came in. The professor followed them to the gates then walked back.

  "What, not even a 'than
k you for coming'," Dave said.

  "Let's find a pub," Bob suggested.

  51

  The next morning, over breakfast, they decided to go sightseeing, having stayed in Cambridge after finishing later than they wanted in the pub. The threat of being in danger didn’t worry them, they all thought, if it happens it happens, we’ll deal with it then.

  Bob and Lucy were talking when Dave joined them for breakfast. Bob looked up, “Sleep well, mate?”

  “Like a log. You?”

  “Same as.”

  Lucy chipped in, “What do we do now?”

  “Well we’re alive,” Bob smiled, “so let’s just wait for them to contact us and go from there.”

  They looked at each other for a few seconds and sat nodding.

  “Right, I fancy a punt and a pint," Dave smiled.

  “Sounds good to me, Dave,” Bob said, looking at Lucy.

  “I’ve never punted before. It sounds like fun though,” she smiled. “The pint though,” she frowned. “I’ll up you to a bottle of Champagne?”

  “You’re on," Dave said, rubbing his hands together.

  They set off towards the river.

  In the back of Dave's mind, he was thinking, “What the hell have we let ourselves in for?”

  Lucy loved the punting, even having a go herself. Dave tried but kept losing the pole in the water, a couple of times nearly joining it. Bob was a natural, guiding the punt up and down the river as if he’d been doing it all his life, so Lucy and Dave sat back and let the scenery pass by.

  After an hour, they pulled up alongside a small jetty, Dave and Lucy sat back and enjoyed the sun while Bob went off, and much to Lucy’s delight brought back a couple of bottles of Champagne and some glasses.

  They toasted old friends.

  After a few minutes, Lucy looked at both of them, and said, “I liked Harry. We could have hit it off, you know, got married and had a bunch of kids.”

  Bob looked at Dave and shuddered.

  “Oh well.” She raised her glass, “Harry, I’ll miss you. Goodbye.”

  With this Bob and Dave raised their glasses, “To Harry.”

  ****

  The next day, they made their way back to Docking. They’d been there long enough to get the kettle on when the phone rang. Lucy picked it up and said, “Oh.” Bob and Dave stopped what they were doing and looked at her, she’d gone as white as a sheet. “Peterson,” she mouthed. They sat at the table and waited for her to finish.