by Geoff Wolak
* * *
‘Henry, it’s Kirkpatrick.’
‘You sound ... flustered?’
‘Our English friend and our Swiss friends.’
‘Oh?’
‘Just received an intercept from Bern, Switzerland. Email intercept with all the right keywords. Thank God for the advent of the Internet and the far-sightedness of the NSA!’
‘And?’ Henry quietly nudged.
Kirkpatrick paused. ‘A Bern solicitor being retained to help validate an inheritance.’
Another pause preceded, ‘Impossible.’
‘Apparently not,’ Kirkpatrick insisted.
‘Dear God, if he got together with them!’
‘We need to take steps ... and quickly.’
Henry’s laboured breathing could be heard down the phone. ‘Do so, cover all the bases, and prepare to withdraw our exposed assets.’
4
Beesely’s eyes widened. ‘Head up K2? Me!’
Otto shrugged slightly. ‘Yes, why not. You are the best qualified, and it needs a re-structuring. It needs –’
‘Direction,’ Beesely cut in, staring out of focus and thinking. ‘It needs… a purpose.’
Otto formed a thin smile. ‘Yes, it needs direction and purpose. Why have power and money if it does not do anything… constructive?’
‘MI6 would have kittens,’ Beesely stated, glancing at Ricky.
Ricky grinned and lifted his eyebrows in emphasis. ‘Wait till they discover the size of K2!’
‘Oh?’ Beesely asked, a question in his look.
Ricky added, ‘Two thousand staff in twenty countries, plus contracted staff. About four hundred front line agents.’
‘Jesus,’ Beesely let out. ‘They won’t just be pissed off at me, they’ll be… somewhat concerned!’
‘Screw ‘em, Boss. They tried to screw you over. And they left Johno up the creek in Kosovo.’
‘We knew the risk,’ Johno stated.
‘Yeah,’ Ricky agreed. ‘But there’s a shit load you don’t know.’ Ricky turned to Beesely for permission to continue. Beesely sighed and sat back. A wave of his hand told Ricky to go ahead. ‘Sir Morris spent close to a million squids of his own money to get you out. He offered me money, which I did not take! Before Kosovo I didn’t know who you were, Johno, I just knew that Sir Morris was turning hell inside out to organize a rescue.
‘He was officially ordered not to, on threat of prison. Or worse. So he got a crew together. They helped me to the border, I had a guide to your last known position - poor fellow getting blown away just as we reached you - then Sir Morris offered the Yanks top secret info about MI6 activities in Saudi Arms deals, stuff they wanted to know. The Yanks only then agreed to fly you out. If he got caught he could have faced life in prison or the death penalty for treason.
‘He paid for that plane out of Italy, and your hospital bills. He even put a gun to the head of an Army communications officer to get your last known position. And I mean, gun to the head, literally - scared the Rupert to death. There was an enquiry an’ all afterwards. Fortunately, Sir Morris knew where the bodies were buried. He told head boy cock-sucker in the Foreign Office that he would talk if he got charged.’
Johno took it in, thinking, before addressing Beesely. ‘You felt guilty about sending me into Kosovo?’
‘Not quite,’ Ricky suggested with a sigh. ‘Perhaps someone should tell the poor fool. Now … seems like a good time.’
Johno turned his head. ‘Tell me what, pineapple face?’
‘Shall I?’ Otto offered.
‘Did Richard tell you?’ Beesely angrily demanded.
‘No. K2 is … very efficient,’ Otto smugly replied.
‘Tell me what?’ Johno repeated, being ignored.
Beesely breathed in slowly as he considered the face of his newfound son. ‘This is going to be a turning point, for many things and many people.’ He lowered his head and sighed. ‘Today will be the last day as we were.’ He faced Otto. ‘Go ahead then, let’s see what you think you know,’ he prompted without any hint of malice.
Otto turned squarely to Johno. ‘Sir Morris went to so much trouble to get you out of Kosovo … because you are his illegitimate son, my half-brother.’ It took a while to sink in, Ricky and Otto watching Johno’s reaction. Or lack of it.
Johno focused on Beesely, his brow slowly creasing. ‘You … you’re my … real father?’ Beesely nodded, appearing tired. Johno looked almost studious as he continued to think. ‘Well,’ he sighed with a resigned look, ‘that explains a hell of lot. I used to think I had a guardian angel, back in the early days in the Army. I should have been court-martialled twice –’
‘Three … times,’ Beesely slipped in.
Johno thought back. ‘Three times? So that was you … getting me off?’ Beesely gave him a quick nod. ‘And that strange NAAFI raffle I won?’ Johno probed. Again his employer nodded. He took a big breath. ‘Always wondered why you kept me on, all the hassle I gave you.’
‘Give … me. Hassle you give me,’ Beesely quietly, but firmly corrected.
Johno rubbed his moustache. ‘Thirty grand a year to be your driver when you hardly go out - should have figured that one.’ He stared out of focus for a moment. ‘Well … if it’s not a stupid question, why didn’t you say anything before?’ He focused on his father. ‘I’m not a frigging kid.’
Beesely turned to Otto to answer. Johno’s new half-brother began, ‘Because you would have been a target, had anyone known your connection to a senior manager in MI6.’ He turned back to Beesely for confirmation, acknowledged by a brief smile.
Johno remained studious. ‘So my mum Barbara and you … shit!’ He screwed up his face. ‘Yuk! And that wanker of a step-dad I had –’
‘Yuk?’ Beesely repeated.
Otto keenly cut in, ‘That man used to beat you and your mother, so Sir Morris had him jailed on the made-up charges. When he was out of jail –’
‘Yuk?’ Beesely quietly repeated, being ignored.
‘I decked the wanker,’ Johno finished, focused on no one in particular. ‘I was big enough then.’ He turned to Beesely. ‘And that money my mother got from some dead relative?’
‘Yes,’ Otto confirmed. ‘It was Beesely. He wanted you to go to college, but you joined the Army instead.’
‘College!’ Ricky laughed.
‘Piss off!’ Johno retorted, still deep in thought.
Beesely wasn’t quite sure what he had expected after all these years; tears, big hugs, lots of shouting about ‘lost years’. He should have known better.
Johno addressed Otto, but pointed a finger at Beesely. ‘So, when he finally croaks, how much do I get?’
Ricky laughed so loud that Jane came back in. Even Beesely began to laugh and Otto joined in.
‘What?’ Johno asked, looking from face to face and reaching for a sandwich.
5
Half an hour later, and Johno and Otto were stood talking about climbing, a little awkward in quite how to deal with each other. Johno worked hard on suppressing his natural urge to take the piss out of this ‘suited pin head’, but was starting to develop a great deal of respect for Otto’s climbing achievements. Not to mention the cross-country skiing, the downhill skiing, ski jumping, competition shooting, canoeing…
Beesely stood with Ricky at the other end of the room, teacup and saucer in Beesely’s hands, mug in Ricky’s. Beesely asked, ‘Have you been to command central in Switzerland?’
Ricky’s expression suggested it was an interesting place. ‘Big underground office beneath an old castle on a lake,’ he whispered.
‘Castle?’ Beesely repeated. ‘Is there a cave with a bald fellow stroking a white cat? Goes by the name of Dr No?’
Ricky laughed. ‘There is a cave, the whole damn command centre is underground.’
‘Is it linked to Swiss Military Intelligence, the UNA?’
Ricky edged closer. ‘I think these boys at K2 own the UNA!’
Beesely nodded t
o himself as he thought. ‘Any mention of P-26?’
‘What’s that?’ Ricky whispered.
‘Never mind.’ He shot a quick glance toward Otto. ‘What else have you seen?’
‘The castle is a hotel type place with about ten, fifteen palatial guest rooms, like a five star retreat in the country. There’re rooms for you, Johno and Jane ... plus a fleet of Range Rovers just to make you feel at home.’
Beesely raised his eyebrows, tipped his head forwards and asked a silent question.
Ricky grinned. ‘Likes to plan ahead, does our Mister Otto. All the guards use old MP5s and Browning pistols so that Johno will feel at home.’
‘You trust him?’ Beesely pressed, glancing again at Otto.
‘As much as you and Johno,’ Ricky answered. ‘The thing to keep in mind, is that if you don’t inherit the bank and K2, Otto is out of a job, state steps in. Add to the fact that Marianne was Jewish, and poor old Otto is on a knife-edge - don’t know how the fucker sleeps at night. He didn’t need to come here and chat nicely, this guy could snap his fingers and make you lot do whatever he wanted. The power this guy has makes MI6 look like a bunch of frigging girl guides; two thousand staff, offices all over Europe. Frightening, some of the things he can arrange.’
Beesely tipped his head. ‘Such as?’
Ricky leant in closer. ‘He lifted all the old MI6 files relating to you. They’re in the fucking car.’
Beesely brightened. ‘Ah, now that would be interesting reading.’
Ricky grinned. ‘Thought so.’
Beesely glanced over at his two boys. Whispering, he enquired, ‘What do you think motivates him?’
‘He wants to be a spymaster. Can’t blame him, we all need a hobby, and it beats being a desk-jockey in some sterile fucking bank. And it seems that this Gunter wanker treated him badly, no hugs at bedtime. Kid grew up needing to prove something, now he’s got the chance. And it’s you he wants to prove it to.’
Beesely nodded to himself, facing Otto. He asked, ‘Seen anything of our good friend General Rose lately?’
‘If I did I’d deck the winker. Gave me the cold shoulder ten years ago – only offered me the shitty missions that no one else would touch.’
‘Because you wouldn’t spy on me,’ Beesely put in, sighing.
‘He never did trust you.’
Beesely led Ricky by the arm back to the table. ‘Gentlemen, your seats please. Jane, come sit by me. No matter what we discuss from now on, I want you to be a part of things.’ They all sat, and they all deferred leadership to Beesely. Beesely took a breath. ‘To business. Otto, I presume a man of your abilities has a plan he is working to, some … objectives?’
‘I have, yes,’ Otto answered, glancing from face to face as Jane made ready her pad, ready to take notes. ‘But they are open to debate and to … guidance. You, sir, are infinitely more experienced than I in running intelligence operations. John, is more experienced in special operations of a military nature.’
‘John-oh,’ Johno corrected.
Otto glanced at him. ‘Of course, John-oh.’
Beesely took the pad and pen from Jane. ‘Well, let’s hear the main points, and we can kick the ideas around from there.’
Otto cleared his throat, the first sign all night of any nerves in this company. ‘The first objective is to review current structures and operations on a macro scale, and to define some directions. I would suggest that the principal aim is to continue to make money, to facilitate the other operations that we may desire to be involved with.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Beesely commended. ‘Need to oil the wheels. Does K2 make a profit from its own activities?’
‘No, only around twenty five percent of costs are met directly. The rest are met indirectly by the investment arms; stocks and shares, patents, direct dividends.’
‘And the investment arm benefits greatly from intelligence garnered by K2 operatives and sleepers?’ Otto nodded. Beesely seemed deep in thought for a moment, easing back. ‘Do any of those operations take money away from the needy? Does anyone get hurt?’
‘Not typically, certainly less so in recent years. If you mean to ask - are shareholders adversely affected when we benefit - then only to a small degree. It is mostly institutional size investors that may lose money to us. Naturally, if we deliberately bankrupted a company for some benefit ... then the staff and investors would be hurt.’
‘Would we do that?’ Beesely gingerly enquired.
‘Such a move would be high profile, which is not our style. There would have to be a special reason for it,’ Otto explained.
Beesely interlaced his fingers, leaning forwards and resting his weight on his forearms. ‘Such as a factory selling replica guns that they know can easily be turned into real ones on British streets?’
Otto seemed a little confused. ‘I am not sure...’
Beesely helped him out. ‘There’s a specific factory in the Czech Republic that I’m thinking about, read about just the other day in The Times, British Government not too happy.’
Otto pulled a large phone from inside his jacket.
Johno snorted, ‘Are those frigging things supposed to be getting smaller? Very nineteen nineties! Got a fucking filofax as well?’
Ricky tapped Johno’s arm. ‘Advanced satellite phone, GPS, homing signal, makes the tea...’
‘Handy,’ Johno offered, deciding to shut up.
Otto pressed a button and began to talk without waiting. ‘Czech company … makes replica firearms … has recently been criticized by the British Government.’ He paused, listened, then held the phone away from his ear. ‘There are three such factories.’ He raised the phone to his ear once more and listened for a minute. ‘One is owned by a Chinese parent company … one is struggling financially… the last is the one being criticized, name of GNG, owned by a German businessman.’ He put the phone to his ear again. ‘I see. He also has a stake in the second factory.’ Otto held the phone down. ‘How would you … wish us to proceed?’
Beesely leant forwards slightly. ‘How would you normally handle this, if your objective was to stop the flow of these guns around Europe?’
Otto considered the scenario. ‘I would … buy a majority stake in each company, discreetly through several proxy holdings, then insist that the gun’s design be altered –’
Beesely straightened. ‘Which would all take many months. There’s nothing wrong with your approach, commendably professional, stealthy and measured - as I would expect. But these guns are ending up in Manchester slums every day. A few more months means a few more lives lost.’
‘How would you wish us to proceed?’ Otto repeated.
‘The factory owned by the Chinese -’ Beesely began.
‘Burn the frigging thing down!’ Ricky suggested.
‘What I was going to say,’ Beesely explained, a reproachful glance toward Ricky, ‘was to burn down all three at the same time, making them all look like insurance claims. The Chinese we do not like, the struggling factory is a prime case for arson, and this German fella should know better than to dabble in such matters.’
‘So burn them!’ Johno recommended.
‘I second that,’ Ricky offered with a smirk.
Beesely raised his arm, ‘I vote in favour of the motion put forward by the board.’
Otto lifted the phone back to his ear. ‘Burn all three factories on the same night, making it appear as if deliberate arson, implicating the German businessman owner for his two.’
‘May as well make it all three,’ Beesely suggested with a cheeky grin.
Otto shrugged his shoulders. Into the phone he ordered, ‘Make all three look as if it were the same person. Get back to me tomorrow with a detailed plan, to be executed the day after.’
‘Just like that?’ Johno asked. ‘Sweet.’
‘Just like that,’ Ricky repeated with a confident smile.
Otto hung up, looking Beesely directly in the eye. ‘Are you testing me, or testing K2?’
Beesely leant forwards. ‘A bit of both, my lad. How better to get to know you and your outfit’s capabilities than some practical work, eh?’
Otto considered Beesely’s words. ‘Are we, then, to define K2 as an instrument of political good in Europe?’
Beesely offered two open palms. ‘Can you think of a better use for it? It’s not like you need a ‘stay behind’ army any more, no threat from the Russians these days!’
‘Stay behind army?’ Johno queried. ‘What the fuck’s that? An Army that stays in bed all day?’
‘Something you should know, my boy. MI6 and the SAS trained them, at least they used to up until the nineties.’
‘I had a Swiss guy embedded with my squadron for five weeks in 1981,’ Ricky informed the group. ‘Not up to much.’
‘No, they’ve never fired a shot in anger,’ Beesely pointed out. He explained to Johno, ‘Following the Second World War the Swiss set up a small ‘resistance force’, based on British SOE operations there during the war. In fact, I recall one British SOE instructor retiring there.’
‘To do what?’ Johno enquired.
‘Create potential resistance fighters,’ Beesely explained. ‘Pop up after the Russians invade and blow up bridges.’
‘Like Gladio in Italy?’ Ricky asked.
Beesely smiled. ‘Guess you actually read a book once in a while.’ As the words trailed off he shot a look at Johno, who did not notice. Now he made direct eye contact with Otto. ‘Did K2 evolve from your P-26 unit, underground resistance army on paper?’
‘Let me pronounce this correctly,’ Otto began. ‘You may think that, I cannot comment.’
Beesely smiled and corrected him. ‘You may think that, I could not possibly comment.’
Otto gave a small bow. ‘It part. K2 did not evolve directly from these old men. As you say … army on paper. K2 evolved from Gunter’s ... er … paranoid?’
‘Paranoia,’ Beesely corrected.
Otto considered his father carefully for a moment, seemed to come to a decision then opened his case. He produced three phones of the same style as his, each having been labelled in advance. He slid one across the table to Beesely. ‘Press the green button and you will be instantly talking with a senior assistant in operations. You can ask questions of a research nature, instigate studies or obtain the information on most any subject, person or business. You can obtain the private phone numbers of any individual, including Presidents and movie stars. You can also order actions of almost any nature. The signal is encoded beyond the reach of any agency, privacy is assured.’
Beesely studied it through his bifocals. ‘This one has bigger buttons than the others.’
‘Yes –’ Otto began.
‘Because ya a blind old git,’ Johno suggested.
‘Thanks for that,’ Beesely replied without detracting from his study of the phone.
Otto handed Johno a phone, but held on to it. ‘Please ... do not abuse this.’
Beesely squinted at Otto over the top of his glasses then turned to Johno. ‘Johno, it’s business use … or we will have a problem.’
‘OK, OK. Keep your panties on.’
Otto handed one to Jane, for which she thanked him as if receiving a Christmas present. ‘If you are ever in danger, press the red button and hold for a few seconds. It will send your exact position to operations. We can find you quickly.’
Beesely had been listening to the tone of that last sentence with great interest. Did Otto know about Jane? Probably. ‘Jane, you were not in the room when Otto revealed a few interesting details to us.’
‘Oh?’ she said, genuinely interested in everything happening.
‘Otto is my biological son, as you heard earlier, but so is Johno.’
She seemed shocked, glancing from one face to another. With a puzzled look she finally asked, ‘So … how did that happen?’
‘Do you want me to show you some pictures?’ Johno offered.
‘No, not that … I mean –’
‘It was the sixties,’ Beesely offered by way of excuse. ‘I was rushing around London playing secret agent, believing that I could do just about anything and everything. Anyway, I was not as careful as I should have been, and sex was a great antidote to stress in the face of imminent death.’
‘Must have been very stressful,’ Johno quipped without looking up.
Beesely took a deep breath, taking hold of Jane’s hand. ‘Jane, I have an apology to make, and today seems to be the day to make it. Today seems to be the turning point I had always believed I would avoid. I always believed you would all read my will and … understand.’ He took in their faces. ‘Cowardly, perhaps, but simpler … for all your sakes.’ He faced her and announced, ‘Jane, I am also your father.’
6
Johno looked up, and stared across at Jane. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he muttered. ‘Anyone checked that stray cat? She had a litter last year!’
Otto had not reacted, he already knew. Ricky was perplexed, and Jane sat quietly stunned.
Beesely held her hand, ignoring Johno. ‘I’m sorry for not having told you before –’
‘Didn’t apologise to me,’ Johno muttered, loud enough for them to hear.
Beesely ignored him. He continued, in a soft voice, ‘Because it would have made you a target for kidnap and blackmail. If people thought that you were just a secretary then you would have been safe, and Johno just a driver in the same fashion.’
‘I can look after myself!’ Johno angrily pointed out.
‘That’s not the point!’ Beesely rounded on him. ‘It would have made you a target. I was involved in stuff that none of you know about. Very dangerous stuff, pissing off just about everyone from the CIA to the KGB.’ He took a breath. ‘Let’s just leave it at that for now.’
He turned back to Jane and stroked her decidedly cold hands. ‘I have always looked after you as if you were my own, so I don’t think things would have been any different between us if you had known.’ He brightened. ‘And besides, who else would give you a job?’
She seemed mildly offended. ‘My typing is not that bad.’
‘It’s legendary in intelligence circles,’ Beesely pointed out with a pained expression. ‘And not for its accuracy.’ She gave him an embarrassed look before lowering her head. ‘My bosses in the Circus used to mark it with a red pen and send it back, points out of ten. The only benefit came when the KGB were intercepting my mail. They had trouble translating it, thinking the misspellings were some sort of code.’ He fought back a smile. ‘They spent months, apparently, trying to decipher it.’
Ricky used all his strength not to laugh out loud.
Jane forced back a tear, not being the most composed person at the best of times. ‘I often wondered why you kept me around. Everyone else was always telling me how useless I was.’
Johno had wandered around to where the sandwiches were. Now he stood behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘You make a great cuppa. And in the summer you can chill my beer just by holding the can.’
Otto placed a hand on her arm. ‘I have been looking forward to getting to know my family. I am very glad that you are my half-sister.’
She lifted her head, focusing on Johno. ‘See, he appreciates me!’
‘What?’ Johno protested with a mouth full of sandwich. ‘I said you make a great cuppa, stroppy tart.’
Beesely turned back to Otto. ‘The apple fell far from the tree with that one.’ They both watched Johno as he crammed more food onto his plate than it had been designed for.
‘Yeah, well the tree dropped its seed, pulled up its roots and pissed off to another orchard,’ Johno pointed out.
Beesely had to concede, ‘Fair point.’ He turned back to Jane. ‘Will you be alright?’
She sat hunched, almost crying. ‘What happens to me now?’
Otto jumped in and answered with, ‘Now you will be protected, looked after in every way. You will want for nothing - houses, cars, money, food - just tell me what you need. You wil
l not have to worry again.’
Beesely was quietly taken aback as the authority was temporarily stripped away from him, but also delighted to see that Otto purported to be so protective towards her.
Otto turned to Ricky. ‘If you can go outside, I will send for the others.’ Ricky, and Otto’s driver, stood and stepped outside.
‘Others?’ Beesely nervously enquired.
‘My staff,’ Otto reassured him, a hint of a smile. ‘If you would please step outside for a moment,’ he formally requested. Facing Jane he said, ‘Please put on a coat, we may be some time.’
Again Beesely felt odd that someone else was looking out for Jane; for the past forty years that had been his job. Otto made a call, and by time they reached the gate several cars were coming down the lane, followed by the headlights of many other vehicles.
‘Billy Smarts’ Circus?’ Johno asked. ‘Tent on the lawn?’
The first vehicle arrived, a Range Rover.
‘For you, Johno.’ Otto gestured him towards it.
‘Not such a bad wanker after all,’ Johno muttered as he walked over to it, finding it brand new and customised, top of the range.
‘And for Jane,’ Otto said as he gestured. Through the gate trundled a bright yellow Ford KA.
Beesely smiled and turned to her. ‘That must be for you!’ he shouted over the noise building up outside his house.
Jane was delighted; the right colour, small and nippy, and she had always wanted one of these. She gave Otto a big hug from within a padded coat that appeared to be three sizes too big for her before gingerly sitting inside.
A Rolls Royce Silver Ghost, 1907, came next, a beautiful antique of a car that Beesely stood admiring. He gestured off to one side, smiling at Otto as the classic car was now parked up at the edge of the grass. Otto had followed Beesely to the ‘Roller’, halting the rest of the vehicles with a hand, the drivers of the prior vehicles now stood in a neat line by the main door to the house.
‘Collector’s piece,’ Beesely stated through the open door. ‘Lovingly restored.’
Otto explained, ‘Imported from a collector in southern France, where it was used for several movies. All the details are in a … how you say … scrap book, in the rear with a certificate of provenance.’
Beesely beamed as he clambered out, circling the car. ‘You know how to impress, my boy.’ He closed the door and turned to the line of vehicles in the lane. ‘And they are?’
‘Security and operations,’ Otto stated, beckoning them in. ‘This house is not secure. When you or the others are in residence there will be the round-of-the-clock security, cameras, lights and dogs.’
Beesely watched the procession with some concern; Otto had brought a small army.
‘Shall we go back inside, sir?’
Several Range Rovers, and two vans, halted on the gravel as Otto led Beesely back to the house. Back inside, Otto opened his briefcase as Beesely watched the commotion through the dinning room window.
‘For you.’ Otto handed Beesely a Swiss diplomatic passport, complete with suitable photograph and signature, a worryingly neat piece of forgery.
‘My diplomatic skills are a little rusty,’ Beesely joked as he thumbed through the red booklet.
‘This property is now registered by the Swiss Diplomatic Corps as an official residence,’ Otto informed him as Johno wandered back in. ‘That means-’
Beesely cut in, ‘That the police and security services could not enter, even with a warrant, if they see me running naked round the house with a surface-air-missile on my shoulder.’
‘Who’d want to come in with you naked!’ Johno quipped as Otto handed him a passport. ‘So what can I do with this?’
‘Clobber whomsoever you like. With impunity!’ Beesely pointed out.
Johno’s eyes widened. ‘Sweet.’
‘Worst the police could do is deport you to Switzerland,’ Beesely added, thumbing through his.
Johno stuffed the passport inside his jacket pocket as Jane accepted hers.
Otto explained to them, ‘There will be a plaque on the front gate and several signs around the fences. This house is now off limits to British police and intelligence services. And I hold full Assistant Ambassador status.’
Beesely looked up sharply. ‘You do?’
Otto smiled, barely visible. ‘We work closely with the Swiss Government.’
‘Get out of jail cards all around,’ Johno announced to no one in particular, grabbing another sandwich.
‘May my people use your spare rooms and the cottage?’
Beesely nodded his agreement. ‘The cottage is a good idea, but it needs work –’
‘Decorators and builders will arrive tomorrow.’
Beesely tipped his head. ‘Why…?’
‘To make the cottage suitable, to install a fence, to replace the windows in this house and to install state-of-the-art security systems.’
‘Johno is good with those,’ Beesely pointed out.
‘Yes, I am aware. When we are set up, Johno can inspect and test the systems.’ He took a file from his case and handed it to Johno. It held detailed plans, very detailed plans; drawings, sketches and technical specifications.
Johno sat down with his sandwiches, another mug of tea and began to read, occasionally mumbling to himself. Headlights flashed outside, gravel crunched under tyres, doors slammed and dogs barked as Ricky slipped away on a job for Otto.
