by D J Harrison
84
‘Push, push harder then.’
‘I’m pushing as hard as I can, Jenny.’
‘Try bashing it with your shoulder.’
‘Ouch, that hurts.’
‘I think you’ve loosened it, try again.’
The door to my Salford Quays apartment is sticking again. This time I’m inside, trying to admit Alex. Three more solid thumps and it springs open, revealing Alex red-faced and displeased. I put my arms around his waist and hang on tight. I feel his hands on my back, warm and comforting, reminding me of what I’m missing.
‘You’ll have to get that fixed,’ Alex says.
‘I think it’s the weather, it’s been very damp lately.’ I don’t want Alex’s attention on my door, I need it on me.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve considered the possibility that it might have something to do with the bullet holes?’
‘Okay, you’re right, it has crossed my mind.’ There are five deep indentations, made when the Kalashnikov was fired at my door. The force of them must have been enough to distort the whole thing. One of the bullets bounced off and put paid to the two men intent on murdering me. My special door saved both our lives. It deserves a little consideration and sympathy now that it doesn’t function properly.
‘I’ll have it replaced but only after I move out.’
‘It’s not a great advert for selling the flat,’ Alex says.
‘I don’t much care at the moment, to be honest. They’ve got me hidden away at a safe house in Didsbury. A secret location where nobody can ever find me.’
‘Should you have come back here?’ Alex asks.
‘I needed to see you. I told them I needed to collect some things, that I was desperate. They said they’d come back for me in an hour, but for all I know they could be hanging around on the staircase.’
‘I didn’t notice anyone when I came up.’
I tighten my grip on him. ‘I’ll forgive you if you forgive me,’ I say.
‘There’s nothing to forgive.’
‘Oh yes there is.’
‘It’s okay, I forgive you then, but I don’t know what for.’ Alex draws back and gives me one of his careful looks.
‘You don’t get away that easily, Alex Hartley. First you’ve got to say you’re sorry and promise to be truthful in the future.’
‘I’ve always told you the truth, Jenny.’
‘No you haven’t. You’ve been deceiving me, it’s caused me so much pain and worry. Say you’re sorry.’
‘I’m sorry, Jenny, for causing you distress, that wasn’t my intention.’
‘I know it wasn’t. If it were, I’d not have let you in.’
‘You hardly let me in,’ Alex smiles, ‘I had to bash down your door.’
‘Yes, but with my permission.’
‘I still don’t get it, Jenny. When do you think I’ve deceived you?’
‘All the time you pretended not to be a policeman.’
‘But I’m not a policeman.’
‘There you go again, yes you are. You’re in the National Crime Agency, you admitted it yourself.’
‘That doesn’t make me a policeman, Jenny.’
‘Of course it does, what else could it make you?’
‘I’m an administrator.’
‘Hah – pull the other one, you’re a policeman. You used to be a spy, now you’re a policeman. Admit it.’
‘Look Jenny, if I worked for the National Health Service would you expect me to be able to cure your diseases, perform surgery?’
‘Not unless you were a doctor.’
‘And not everyone who works for the NHS is a doctor. There’re nurses, cleaners, orderlies, receptionists, lots of different jobs and administrators, managers, accountants. It’s the same in the NCA. We have some policemen, but not all of us are.’
‘You’d make a good policeman, though,’ I laugh.
‘Why’s that?’
‘You’re ever so good at bashing down doors. Maybe you should do that for a living instead of being a mandarin orange.’
‘What are you talking about?’ he laughs.
‘That’s what Charles called you. It doesn’t sound very appealing.’ I grimace at the joke that appeared entirely of its own volition.
‘There you see, even your hero Charles knows I’m an administrator. You should listen to him.’ Alex looks relaxed and welcoming now.
‘Did you miss me while I’ve been hidden away?’ I ask.
‘Yes, of course I did.’
‘What did you do for sex without me?’
Alex’s face twists. ‘I masturbated vigorously and often.’
‘Aha. But did you think of me while you were doing it?’
‘Most of the time I did.’
‘Which bit of me were you thinking about?’
‘Your inquisitiveness was what generally got me going.’
‘No, not a characteristic, I mean a body part, which one did you visualise?’
‘All of them. I started at the top of your head and worked my imagination slowly downwards. By the time I’d reached the tip of your big toe I was ready to burst.’
I flop backwards onto the settee and wiggle my toes in the air. ‘Here they are in all their erotic glory. You can start with them this time as a special treat.’
*
Alex is sitting on the side of the bed, feet firmly planted on the floor to bear my weight. His hands hold my thighs, controlling my movements. Because my legs are flat on the bed I can’t push myself up, I have to rely on him to move his penis in and out. He’s all smoothness and gentleness. His hands encourage deep, slow breaths and all I want is to hold my breath, clench my thighs, ride him to quick release. I need him to abandon his calm, to lose himself in mechanical passion, to fuck me hard and quickly.
I need the tension in my abdomen to be gone in one flare of instant gratification. Instead, I have Alex exhorting me to breathe, inviting me to feel into his touch, guiding my awareness. Now he’s slowly sliding himself into me, driving me half crazed with lust. There’s no alternative but to let it happen Alex’s way. I let my urgency subside with my deep breathing, feel the exquisite longing, let it go, breathe it away, then feel it return with greater intensity. Breathing in fullness and pleasure, breathing out, spreading the glorious energy up my spine and into my head.
We’re rocking gently together, he pushes deeper, touches my very core and retreats, leaving me tingling and longing for a return. The waves are beginning to envelop me. I’m no longer able to breathe with them, to spread them away from my genitals. I am being overwhelmed, taken over. My head can’t contain the white hot explosions that are shooting through my insides. For a few shuddering moments I’m transported into a helpless, screaming abandonment. As the waves of exquisite pleasure subside I find myself collapsing, sobbing into Alex’s shoulder, breathless and spent. Then I feel him move gently inside me again, a tiny spark of urgency ignites and the waves of pleasure begin to lap against me. My exhaustion subsides, the beautiful process begins again. When it’s over, I lie back and hear the persistent knocking for the first time. I wonder how long they’ve been waiting to take me back to the safe house.
85
‘Oh I beg your pardon, Mrs Parker, please do carry on. I don’t want to interrupt your meal.’
Mr Smith appears at the kitchen door, continues his entrance and sits down at the table. I push away my plate.
‘You can have it if you’re hungry.’
‘That’s very kind, but I couldn’t possibly eat a thing.’ He looks down his nose at the mess on my plate.
‘Have you got them?’
‘I’m sorry, got who?’
‘The ones who were trying to kill me.’
‘Of course, my apologies. We’ve been questioning some of the unfriendlies we apprehended at Bewley’s Hotel, at least the ones we identified. We also have the sniper in custody, so that’s a positive thing.’
‘So I’m okay now? It’s safe for me to go home now?’
/>
‘Not exactly. We can’t be sure that there aren’t others out there who have been engaged for the exact same purpose.’
‘Those men, they’re only the hired help, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, you’re right. Apprehending them doesn’t necessarily help your situation.’
‘So I’m stuck here for ever, eating frozen food and watching daytime television?’
‘Oh dear, Mrs Parker, we can’t let that dreadful fate befall a brave lady like yourself. We do have a proposal that might do the trick, though it rather depends on your willingness to participate.’
‘It sounds like I’ve not got much in the way of choice. What do I have to do?’
‘In a nutshell, work for us. Become a valued addition to the service, assist in the protection of your country. How does that sound?’
‘It sounds simple but I don’t see how that can possibly help me. Why should working for the Security Service protect me? I can hardly go around announcing the fact to anyone that might have a grudge.’
‘Of course you can’t, but it doesn’t work like that. If you agree to our terms and conditions, as it were, our job will be to protect you, as one of our own.’
‘So you’ll be following me around?’
‘Not exactly, but we will be well placed to keep an eye out for you. It’s more a case of altered status. Most organisations wouldn’t take your contract if you were under our protection. It’s a matter of economic viability for them. If they start killing our people, they know that our response is going to be very bad for business.’
‘What do I have to do, move to London, turn up at your office every day?’
‘Nothing so formal. You will be more of an associate than an employee. You’ll go about your normal business, apart from the occasional task that we might give you.’
‘Do I get paid?’
‘Certainly not, though certain expenses might be claimed providing the correct forms are completed and prior authorisation is obtained.’
‘What if I don’t like the job, what if I refuse to do it?’
‘Then, Mrs Parker, there will be no hard feelings at all. We both go our separate ways, tear up our unwritten agreement, if that were possible. Naturally you would no longer be a member of our team.’
‘So you would no longer protect me?’
‘Obviously we are committed to continue to protect you in exactly the same way we try to protect every citizen of this fine country. Our resources are limited, however, as you are fully aware.’
‘So I’d be on my own and at the mercy of hit men again?’
‘Only insofar as our special interest in you would no longer be maintained.’
‘I get it, Mr Smith, I don’t have any choice at all, do I?’
Mr Smith sits silently, hands placed flat on the table, face relaxed.
‘I won’t be much use to you if they send me to prison though, I can’t do any of your tasks in there, can I?’
‘I don’t think that will be a problem, Mrs Parker. Although there’s no guarantee, the police do tend to lose interest in you if it’s clear that your continued freedom is a matter of national security.’
This makes my heart leap with hope. All this talk seems academic if I’m being prosecuted but now, if they drop the charges, it suddenly all makes sense. They have me completely under their control, though. Unless I do everything they say I’ll either be killed or sent to prison. As long as I co-operate, I’ve got a chance.
‘So where do I sign?’
Mr Smith smiles. ‘No signature required, it’s all about trust.’
‘Will I be working for you, will you be my contact?’
‘We may see each other from time to time. You will be part of a team run by a man we refer to as the Brigadier.’
‘Brigadier?’
‘Yes, he was until very recently the Head of the Territorial Army, a remarkable man, enormous field experience, very capable. You’ll get on well with him. He’s very happy to have you.’
‘When do I get to meet him?’
‘That depends on whether you decide to turn up this time.’
‘I don’t get you.’
‘Sorry for being opaque, my poor attempt at humour. You’re selling your company to him, his name is Hector Brighouse.’
‘Hector? A Brigadier? But he runs Security Group.’
‘Ah, the wonders of the Territorial Army system. That’s the way it works, everyone in the territorials has a day job, even the big cheeses like Hector. It’s strictly for part time soldiers, though still deadly serious for all that.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘Why would you? Anyway, he asked me to get you thinking about your first task. There are two names on this piece of paper, both represent a major threat to our national interests. You will be helping him to bring them down.’
Smith gives me a sealed white envelope with my name neatly typed on the front.
‘Before I agree to help you, there’s one thing I have to have in return.’
‘Apart from our protection?’
‘Yes, I’m absolutely adamant about this. I need you to help me find Lottie’s sister, Kat. And I need you to put a stop to the traffickers who are trying to kill me.’
‘That’s two things.’ Charles smiles, one of his more annoying ones.
‘It might only be one, but okay, two things if you’re going to be picky.’
‘I’m sure we can arrange something once you’re fully on board. In the meantime I suggest you have a think about how you’re going to help us.’
I wait until he’s gone before I open the envelope. The two names inside are:
PETER O’BRIAN
FERGUS LAFFERTY.
LIMITED LIABILITY
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
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79
For Simon and D. J.
1
‘Jill Williams?’
My nod of agreement is fractionally late. I’ve been Jenny Parker for most of my adult life and no matter how much I’ve practised for this moment hearing my new name still takes me by surprise. He doesn’t seem to notice the hesitation; he’s too busy thrusting a shiny business card into my hand. It’s a gaudy affair, decorated in metallic silver and blue with the lettering proclaiming that he is Abe Morris, Financial Advisor. The man from the loan company is here at last.
&nb
sp; ‘Come in,’ I say, pointing him to a relatively uncluttered chair with threadbare cushions and ominous brown stains. He flops down, undeterred, then sits forward, elbows on knees, and fixes me with an earnest look.
‘I have the application form you filled in, Mrs Williams.’ He pulls a document from his inside jacket pocket, his hand pushing past the electric blue tie dangling from the slightly grubby white shirt collar that his scrawny neck struggles to fill. His suit is shiny, but it’s an old, worn, shine, and was made with a shorter, fatter man in mind.
‘I didn’t expect all this fuss. Your website says instant acceptance, fast service. Instead it’s been three days. I’d almost given up.’
‘Five hundred pounds, that’s a lot of money. We have to be careful who we lend to, you understand. We have to be sure you’re going to be able to pay us back. And that you understand our terms and conditions, what your obligations are.’
‘The way I see it, you lend me the money and I pay you back with interest. I already told you, I only need it to tide me over, a month, maybe two at the most. Then you’ll have it all back.’
‘What exactly will you be spending the money on?’ His eyes travel around my living room as he speaks. It’s a horrible mess, an affront to the eye. Rubbish is strewn everywhere, old pizza cartons, dozens of empty wine bottles. To be fair, the smell in this room isn’t too bad; a faint whiff of cheap wine coupled with stale food and damp carpet. The kitchen is the source of a much worse stench, though if Mr Morris has the misfortune to visit my toilet he’ll find it eye-wateringly pungent.
‘The kids need shoes and stuff for school. And I’m a bit behind with my rent.’
He’s leaning closer to me now, backside raised as if reluctant to risk his trousers on the filthy chair. I can smell his breath, sweetly foul over the deep undertone of his body odour. ‘I have to make sure you can make the repayments. You do understand, don’t you?’
‘How much are the repayments?’
‘Fifty a week.’
I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘I can do that, easy, no problem. My child allowance covers that.’
‘As long as you’re sure,’ he says, putting his hand high up on my thigh and squeezing. I shuffle away, disengage his grip, stand up and smooth down my skirt.
