He left the three to their compressed Golf and tirade of abuse directed at him. Having left the car park, Jago decided to enter the traffic once again and looked for another parking space. He pressed a button on his iPhone.
“Hey Siri, call Rebecca.”
“Calling Rebecca.”
“Hi Jago, where are you?”
“The car park was full. I’m going to have to find another one. Why don’t you go in, buy the tickets and keep warm?”
“Okay, see you soon,” she said in a soft-toned voice with a hint of a West Country accent. He liked it and found it warm and soothing to his ear.
He found a modern car park, twice the price, but it was clean, tidy and complete with CCTV on every floor. Jago drove to the third floor where he made sure that he’d found a space that was covered by the cameras. Donning his telescopic umbrella, he headed for the cinema through the wet streets.
***
They walked out of the screen room and into the foyer.
Rebecca asked, “Well, what did you think of the film? What was your best part?”
He thought.
“Well, it was clearly a work of fiction. Nobody that smart would find themselves in some of those situations.”
“But he was like you, an ex-military policeman. Don’t you two have anything in common?”
“He was an ex-US military policeman. Let’s be clear on that.”
“What’s the difference?”
Jago’s pride welled up inside him.
“The difference is that the Royal Military Police train to such a high level that no other can compare with them. I’ve worked with military police from other nations and it has not always ended favourably. That is not to say that there aren’t good investigators among them, because there are, and I have worked with many of them too. Come to think of it, the Yanks had some great kit, and their systems weren’t bad either. Truth is, we were jealous of some of it. There was one line I did like in the film that was very true, you know, the one where he says something like, ‘The difference between a civilian policeman and military policeman is that the civvy police are looking for a killer among innocents whereas all the suspects of a military policeman are trained killers’.”
She replied, “I see. Then I’m in good hands, am I not?”
She laughed while linking her arm in his and nestled her head on his shoulder. He squeezed her slender body closer to him, kissing her on the forehead and said, “It’s still raining. You wait here, and I’ll go and fetch the car. I’ll only be a couple of minutes.”
***
Jago stepped into the street and opened up his umbrella. On his way to the swanky car park, he passed a range of boutique shops, some with windows lit and others not. He used the reflections in the windows to his advantage. He habitually walked in such a way that he created angles by which to see if anyone was following him. Occasionally, he would pause and look in a window, his eyes focused on the dimly-lit space behind him. In his mind, he was never off duty, nor were the people he pursued. He arrived at the car park, ignored the lift and took the stairs to the third floor. The door from the stairwell to the parking area contained a small window through which he peered, surveying the area he was about to enter. It was bright, the car park full, and a couple walked arm-in-arm over to a blue saloon. As he opened the door, he caught a glimpse of a man in jeans and black leather jacket near the area of his pickup. He immediately recognised the clothing and scanned the car park for the other two men. As he neared his pickup, the other two emerged from between parked cars either side of him.
“So, we meet again, Mr Pickup Man. We figured that if you wanted to park, that you wouldn’t be too far away. It wasn’t difficult to find you.”
The three kept their distance.
“So, Genius. You found me. How do you want to play this?”
“Play? Oh, we’re going to play all right. We’re going to play with your head.”
To the men, Jago must have appeared to be an average guy of about five feet ten with slim build and displayed nothing visible to tell them otherwise. They might have also assumed that he would be a walkover for the three of them.
The three advanced towards him. Jago stood his ground and moved diagonally between two of them. One paused to turn towards him, and the other two collided with each other.
“Got some fancy moves have you, Pickup Man?” said the man in the jeans and leather jacket as he swung his right arm towards Jago.
In blocking the swing, Jago thrust the pointed end of the telescopic umbrella into the man’s windpipe. The man clutched his throat with both hands and, taking advantage of his vulnerability, Jago kicked him between the legs, leaving a crumpled heap on the floor groaning in agony. The other two were now on their way. One flew at Jago with open arms, his head tucked low in the hope of taking him to the ground. As soon as he’d grabbed Jago, he would have felt the downward thrust of Jago’s double-handed grip on the umbrella impact between his shoulder blades. On his way to the ground, his friend ploughed his fist into Jago’s left shoulder. Jago rotated his upper body to the left and, with his right arm, thrust his protruding fingers into the face of his attacker, making contact with eyes and cheek, creating just enough time for him to move in a sweeping circular movement to the right, taking his attacker off balance to land on top of his friend on the floor.
Jago stepped back. He’d done enough. The first was still writhing on the floor, nursing his balls and throat; another was groaning in pain while holding an eye; the third was just regaining his footing, attempting to get up. He looked Jago in the eye.
“Do you really want to carry on?” Jago said, looking straight back at him. “Do you really think it’s worth it?”
The man stood in silence, turned to help his friend to his feet and led him away.
Jago quickly checked the pickup for damage, found none and left the car park to pick up Rebecca.
He pulled up right outside the cinema.
“That didn’t take you long,” she said.
“No, it wasn’t far away.”
“Where shall we go? Your place or mine?”
“That depends on who’s got food in the fridge?”
“Well, as usual, mine is full of … nothing. So, I guess it’s your place.”
“Mmm, I’m not sure that I believe that.” She smiled. “But there again, if you have got food I would probably have to cook it anyway because you’re a lousy chef.”
Jago came back at her. “I am not a lousy chef!”
“Oh yes you are, and it’s about time somebody told you the truth.”
She laughed at the disgust displayed in the expression on his face.
“You really think I’m a lousy chef after all those meals I’ve cooked you?”
“Let’s just say, I think there’s room for improvement. A lot of improvement.”
“Well, let’s get to your place and I can prove you wrong. How does that sound?”
“That sounds great, except for one thing.”
“And that is?”
“How can you cook with nothing?”
“Don’t tell me your fridge is empty too?”
“I’m afraid so. You’ll just have to take me out to dinner. Chinese sounds really good. What are you going to order?”
Jago didn’t reply. They were already halfway to her place, and at the very next junction he did a U-turn and headed back to town to their favourite Chinese restaurant, The Emperor.
The rain subsided and Jago managed to park next to the restaurant with its grand entrance of brightly-decorated columns, complete with fiery dragons guarding the doorway.
“Good evening, Mr Jago. Would you like your usual table?”
“Yes, that would be fine, thank you.”
“And drinks, would you like the usual bottle of Rioja?”
Jago smiled. “You know us too well. Rioja would be perfect, thank you.”
They ate with chopsticks and the conversation flowed fluently. He had never had a relationsh
ip quite like this where there were no awkward silences, where one could discuss anything and everything. Well, nearly everything. He’d met Rebecca in a bank on the High Street where he’d had an account for many years. Having been away for three months on a case, he returned home to find a letter stating that he was overdrawn. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he read the letter, because his salary went into the account every month and his overheads were minimal. In fact, he had more than enough money for his lifestyle. He wasn’t frugal, just careful. And he didn’t spend for the sake of spending. He did like nice things like his wine, the best seats at the concert or the theatre and, occasionally, he would buy new clothes, but there was no way he could have been overdrawn. He called the bank and they had asked him to come in to speak to someone in the branch. It was during this meeting that their eyes locked. She had helped him solve his problem and when he had left he could have kicked himself for not inviting her out to dinner. He returned the next day and invited her out; they had been seeing each other for over a year.
After their third date, he decided to complete and send in the obligatory new relationship declaration to his superiors. He had to enter the usual stuff — name, address, date of birth and passport number — which required some rifling through drawers. Not the best activity to be caught at in a new relationship. But he’d had plenty of practice. The vetting approval came through within a month via a cold text message: ‘Subject vetting approved with minor reservations’. No other details were forthcoming. The words were sufficient to warn him to be aware of any untoward activities, relationships or ideological views. He accepted and didn’t feel too bad about the vetting procedure. After all, it was his world. He also thought that she was able to glean a fair amount of information about him through his bank account if she had the presence of mind. Although, she would only see the odd trip to France, frequent trips to Spain — no mortgage or loans. She wouldn’t see the numerous trips to a wide variety of countries over the years as those were all paid for by the business account.
They had just ordered coffee when his mobile phone came to life. He stared at the illuminated screen. It was the office.
“I’ll just nip out and take this call. I’ll be back in a moment.”
He exited the restaurant and wandered to where his pickup was parked.
“Jago here.”
“Ah, Jago, we have a trusted meeting request for you.”
“What do you mean trusted?”
“Well, he’s one of ours, but we have no name. I’m told that you will know him at the meeting venue.”
“Where is it?”
“I’m afraid all I have are the words, ‘Grade Three White Water’. I hope that means something to you, Jago.”
Jago didn’t respond; he fell silent, deep in thought. What does The Commander want with me after all these years? Didn’t think he was still around.
“Jago, are you there? Jago?”
“Yes, I’m here. When is their meeting?”
“Tomorrow at 0900 hours. Do you have what you need?”
“Yes, and I have the message. Is there anything else?”
“No, that’s all I have for you.”
Jago ended the call abruptly and went back into the restaurant.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes, fine. That was the office, and I have to prepare for a meeting in the morning.”
Before he could continue, Rebecca cut him short.
“I know the drill. This is where you take me home, you leave, and I see you, maybe, in a few days. I may even get a call from you. But I know all this, don’t I, and here I am still with you, and I’ll be waiting for you when you get back. But then, you know that as well, don’t you?”
They both hated parting, and there was an uneasy silence until Jago broke it.
“Come on, let’s go.”
Chapter 3 – White Water
Having packed a light holdall, Jago travelled a couple of hours to Nottingham, stopping to grab an early breakfast at a motorway service station on the way. He didn’t usually eat a full breakfast, but as he was going to meet the commander, he thought it wise. Experience told him that anything could happen, and it probably would. It was 09:00 hours on Tuesday 17th May, and he sat in his pickup watching the meeting point at the water sports centre while having an electric shave. All was quiet with no one in sight.
He wondered what Rebecca would be doing now. Was she still in that huge king-sized bed, under the quilt, or would she up and about, wandering around, coffee in hand and listening to the radio?
His attention was drawn to a Land Rover with a trailer full of kayaks pulling into the car park. Two other vehicles arrived shortly afterwards, one of which had two kayaks on its roof. The group laughed and joked as they unloaded the multicoloured kayaks and changed into their gear. They comprised of three adults and some teenagers. Picking up their boats and paddles, they headed towards what Jago knew to be the man-made slalom course which, apart from some protruding concrete and the brow of a bridge, was not visible. In the water expanse behind the group, three quad shells glided through the water silently.
Jago drove the short distance to the car park he’d been observing and parked alongside the Land Rover and its trailer. He surveyed the area quickly before walking towards the slalom course.
Well, this place hasn’t changed much, he thought. In fact, it hadn’t changed at all. He remembered spending all the hours he could at the course, and in all weathers, fifteen or twenty years previously. He had enjoyed it, though.
It must be, what, fifteen to twenty years since I started here? No, it’s probably more. When I think of all the hours I used to spend here and in all weathers. I must have been mad. I did enjoy it though; it was like a family.
By the time he reached the first bridge over the white water, the first kayakers were paddling their way down the course. The leader was just approaching the Washing Machine, an aptly-named area of the course, famous for sucking you in and spitting you out in a variety of directions.
He wondered where it would spit out today’s willing victims.
Jago looked back towards the car park, the only real entrance to the course. He watched as a lone person walked around the bend towards him. He wore a heavy duffle coat with the hood up, while at the same time looking down and slightly ahead of him, giving the impression of a monk, complete with slow cadence and purpose. Smoke billowing from beneath the hood was the only giveaway of the person’s identity. Jago knew that the commander would wait until he was on the bridge and close to him before he spoke. There would have been no point doing it before because he wouldn’t have been heard above the raging white water and the slight breeze. The raging water would blot out any sound, and approaches from all directions were clearly visible. It was open yet private at the same time.
“Hello, Jago. Long time, no see,” said the well-educated voice between pursed lips that gripped a smouldering pipe.
“Hello, Commander. Yes, it’s been a long time. At least ten years. I thought that you would have retired by now. Our roles don’t coincide these days, so to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Jago, my dear fellow. Straight to the point as ever. Let’s take a walk,” said the commander, indicating the path alongside the water towards the lake.
“Jago, do you remember all those years ago when we first met here?”
“I remember like it was yesterday. I was paddling my first competition here. We were competing against all the other cadets from the other services, and you were here to present the medals to the winners.”
“Yes. If I recall correctly, you won silver that day, and you were pissed off. For you, it was gold or nothing, and from what I hear you have retained the same attitude throughout your life to date. Is that a fair appraisal?”
“You tell me. You always knew everything,” said Jago.
“Oh, Jago. You do keep hold of stuff, don’t you?”
“You tend to when your home life is lousy, and some guy in a shi
ny- buttoned suit wearing a nice white hat gives you a medal and then proceeds to map out the next fifteen to twenty years of your life. Some of which, I might add, was not to my liking. In fact, it was awful. But I did it, I made a bargain. I agreed, and I guess that’s why I’m here talking to you now.”
“I know, Jago. I know it wasn’t all rosy, nor was it intended to be. Shall we say it was all … let’s see, what is that phrase? Ah, yes. ‘Character building’.”
He stopped and looked Jago in the eyes.
“Look, Jago. This reminiscing is all well and good, but we have work to do.”
“We? What do you mean we? I’m already deep into a case.”
“Ah, yes. The arms dealer fiasco. Well, I have to tell you that you have been taken off that case with immediate effect. You, and a team of your choosing, are going to work with me.”
“Now hang on, we put a lot of work into that case. You can’t just take us off it, just like that.”
“We know what it means for you see a case through. However, what we have in store for you is far more important than some piddling little arms dealer and his henchmen.”
Jago couldn’t believe his ears.
“Do you know to whom they are about to sell those weapons? If they succeed, we could have real trouble here on the UK mainland.”
Shades of Loyalty Page 2
