by Adam J Watts
Vice Marshall Stratton did not appear amused.
'In part, yes. But I fear you are missing the bigger picture Samuel.’
'Seb. I prefer Seb.’
'Whatever. The point of the matter is this: The Firm is always in need of operatives to undertake -- shall we say -- less than savoury tasks.’
Seb removed the handkerchief from his jacket pocket and placed it to his nose.
'We like to refer to them as Black Ops. Missions of significant importance that never make it onto the official register.’
Replacing the now soiled tissue, Seb spoke for the first time in a matter of minutes.
'And what? You would like to utilise certain skills of mine for the benefit of the nation?'
'You could put it like that, yes.’
With this Gerald snipped his cigar off at the halfway point and placed it on an ashtray.
'That's all well and good Mr. Stratton, but why should I take you up on your less than generous offer?'
The question was still at the forefront of Seb's mind when he became aware of his impaired vision. His first thought was that he must have something in his eye, but when wiping with the back of his hand didn't do the trick, panic began to set in.
Seb could hear the words and understand what was being said, but articulating his own response was becoming increasingly difficult.
There was no two ways about it; he had been drugged. But how?
'I think we both know that you are in no position to barter Samuel.’..
It had to be the handkerchief. The sly old dog must have picked his pocket in the elevator and impregnated the fabric with something sinister.
'I preferrrrr Se... b.’..
Unfortunately, those would be the last words 'Seb' uttered before being plunged into complete darkness.
***
At the extending of his arm, a semi-conscious Seb could feel something cold against his skin. The metal of the hospital trolley felt like ice, but it did prove useful in waking him from his forced slumber.
Suddenly he remembered what had happened. That crafty old sod Stratton had drugged him. He needed to find out where he was and fast.
Quickly -- almost too quickly -- Seb sat up on the bed. Only now did he recognise the magnitude of his headache.
A hospital bay?
'What am I doing in a hospital bay?' he mumbled to himself, more than anything.
'We had to run some tests.’ A voice replied.
This took Seb by surprise and he jerked back on the bed.
'Don't worry my boy, there'll be no lasting damage. We've already invested too much time and effort into you to throw it all away.’
Stratton.
'You drugged me you...'
'Now, now Samuel, I suggest you refrain from saying something you'll later regret.’
The old man rose from his chair slowly and made his way over to the bed.
Seb decided to change tact and pose a few questions the Vice Marshall might answer.
'What tests?'
'A physical... mostly.’ He said with a grin.
Seb did not like the sound of that.
'Mostly?' he asked, trying to prevent his voice from raising an octave.
'You worry too much Samuel. Trust me, whatever we have done to you is for your own benefit.’
'That's the problem Gerald, I don't trust you... Tell me.’
The old man's cooperation at this point surprised Seb.
'Very well. We have fitted you with a prototype.’
'Go on.’
'If successful the device will act as a stabiliser when triggered.’
Slowly Seb surveyed the machinery he appeared to be connected to.
'And what do I need stabilising exactly?'
'Your emotions, my boy. An operative with over-riding emotions is no good to me.’
'You?'
Gerald blinked before quickly amending his Freudian slip.
'Me, us, the government. It's all the same thing, Samuel.’
Somehow, Seb didn't believe the treacherous old agent. His brow furrowed.
'And what if I don't approve of your changes?’
'You know what will happen if you don't play ball.’ Slowly and succinctly Gerald gestured with his hands. Seb didn't need many guesses. The charade was meant to illustrate a hangman's noose.
Sweeping back his thinning, grey hair Vice Marshall Stratton decided now would be a good time to continue the lecture.
'It's really quite clever, Samuel. The device is attached to the pituitary gland and regulates both the hormones and electrical impulses the rest of your body receives.’
'And the benefits are what? Certain, unwanted impulses can be eradicated?'
'You're a quick learner, my boy.’
Flattery will get you nowhere, old man.
'Fitting you with this state-of-the-art invention seemed the obvious step. Once you have the basic tactical training under your belt, you will be ready to work with me... On matters of a sensitive nature.’
Seb hated that sadistic smile of Gerald's, but could appreciate the logic laid down in front of him. The government -- or Gerald -- had both the motivation and the means to create a military monster.
After the debacle of the Great War, the world's leaders were looking for another kind of warfare. Something that could get results but without the heavy causalities.
Seb was under no illusions: this was, after all a prototype. He was to be the test bed for a generation yet to come. If there was to be another war anytime soon, there would still be bloodshed and all the other atrocities that go with it.
Just maybe however, his efforts here could prevent such a thing in the distant future.
What did he have to lose?
'Ok Gerald, you win. When do I start the rest of my training?'
There it was again. That hideous grin...
Chapter Five:
House Call ~ Winter 1938
‘Ah come on now, Mrs Callahan, we know you were in last night. You must have heard something.’
Ed drummed his fingers on the dining table as the old spinster stood with her back to the investigating officers.
‘If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, gentlemen: I saw neither hide nor hair of my next-door neighbour.’
The old woman glowered over a cup of exceptionally weak tea before foisting it in the general direction of Seb.
Time for the softly, softly approach.
‘Mrs Callahan-- it is Mrs, right?'
‘That is correct young man,’ the grey-haired hack retorted with notable hostility.
‘My apologies, ma’am I am merely in search of the truth.’
There was another pause while Seb drank some of the dishwater. Ed elected not to intervene, but did smirk at Seb's grimace as he swallowed.
‘Where was your husband last night, Mrs Callahan?'
An unexpected titter teetered across the tired oak table.
‘Same place he’s been for the past three years’…
Seb eyed Ed.
‘The pub?' Ed ventured and Seb could not help but see the irony in his colleague's speculation.
‘Prattling to Saint Peter more like!'
Without hesitation Seb continued his questioning.
'Sorry for your loss.’
'Don't be daft, officer. I'm glad the old fecker is gone.’ Now was the time for Ed to re-enter the exchange.
'So you and your husband didn't see eye to eye, Mrs Callahan?'
Another pause, followed by some fiddling with a tea towel.
'You could say that, yes.’
'We're not judging Mrs Callahan, simply trying to obtain some facts.’
The old woman smiled and her laughter lines became clearly visible.
'I suppose the cat is out of the bag now anyway.’
'What's that?’ Seb probed promptly.
'I was out last night.' She looked straight at Ed before continuing, 'With another man.’
Ed smirked before rec
lining in his chair.
'Now we're getting somewhere.’
Ridiculing the interviewee was not the way forward and Seb recognised this.
'What you do in your own time is your business and no-one else's Mrs Callahan, all we want to know is what happened before and after your outing.’
Slowly but surely Seb could see that he was winning the confidence of the widow.
'I left the house at around seven and didn't get back until past eleven.’
'Thank you Mrs. Callahan.’
It was Ed's turn again.
'Yes that's very helpful Mrs. Callahan, but if you could try and remember any other details?'
A puzzled expression gazed back at Ed.
'We went dancing, followed by a drink at the local pub.’
Ed was becoming restless with the interview and for a brief second, allowed his short temper to get the better of him.
'Not details of your evening. I don't care to know which dances you did and which drinks you had Mrs Callahan...'
'I think what my colleague is trying to say ma'am is that we are looking for information surrounding your neighbour's movements.’
Still recovering from Ed's outburst the aging spinster took her time and gathered her thoughts before speaking.
'The ground floor light was on when I left, but there were no lights on when we returned from The Sandhog.’
'Thank you' Seb replied.
'We returned?' Ed mused.
'Yes, myself and my dance partner, Bert.’
'Oh I see.’
With this the old woman rose from the table and gestured for the investigating officers to leave.
'You may be the police, but I do not have to stand for such behaviour gentlemen.’
'You're absolutely right, Mrs Callahan and we'll leave you in peace. You've been most helpful.’
Standing, one foot out the door, Seb turned to face the old woman for one final time.
'Apologies Mrs. Callahan, but I do have one last question.’
She appeared vexed, but remained cordial.
'And what would that be sir?'
'If it's not too much to ask; how did your husband die?'
Once outside Seb turned to Ed, the rain dripping from his trilby.
'Why the bad cop routine?'
'Why not?' Ed retorted.
'Because the best way to get valuable information from a potential witness is surely to cajole them. The more pressure they feel, the hazier their memory gets.’
Ed threw Seb a look that could kill before returning fire.
'And a flustered mind struggles to furnish the truth. Remember who the real policeman is here and we'll get along just fine.’
With that he turned and started toward the car, leaving Seb in his wake.
As the relentless Irish rain beat down, he couldn't help thinking that just because Ed had the credentials didn't mean he was suited to the job.
They had, however uncovered some valuable information. The murder was carried out between the
hours of seven and eleven, giving the perpetrator a window of approximately four hours.
'Interesting turn of events' Seb reflected as he sat dripping onto Ed's upholstery.
'The husband's death you mean?'
'Yes.’
Ed yawned.
'Add it to the list... Tomorrow morning we pay a visit to The Sandhog. We'll see if the landlord's story matches that of our Lateral Lambada lovers.’
Chapter Six: A Secret Admirer ~ Spring 1937
He watched her from the wings. She was beautiful. Not just in her appearance, but the way she moved. The way she portrayed the character. He was falling for her; of this he had no doubt.
It was his turn to take to the stage, but he had missed his cue. A frantic producer came bustling onto the stage.
'Where is Monsieur Beasley?' he demanded to know, 'This may only be a rehearsal, but I require absolutement commitment from the entire cast.’
A few fingers pointed in Seb's general direction. He cringed.
Slowly he emerged from behind the scenery. His expression that of a naughty schoolboy being reprimanded by the head teacher.
'Sorry about that. I missed my cue.’
'I think we are all aware of that! The question I am asking is why?'
He saw no harm in telling a partial truth.
'I was distracted by the performance of Miss Legard.’
She stared at him. She didn't need to speak. Her eyes spoke volumes.
'I see...', he paused for thought. 'Very well. With this I cannot disagree. Just try and remain focussed in the future. From the top everyone!'
***
Gathering his things together after the practice, Seb did not notice the captivating Caitlin approach him from behind.
'Thanks for the backhanded compliment,' she said bluntly.
Seb turned around to face her. His expression was one of slight panic. She laughed. 'Did I startle you?'
'Yes, but it's okay... and you're welcome,' he smirked.
She sat down next to him on one of the auditorium seats. The theatre was small. A custom built performance area for those students studying a performing art and the University's amateur theatrical society.
'Oh it is, is it?' she smiled.
'Yes. I paid you compliment, deflected an angry Jean Luq and the rest of the rehearsal went swimmingly,' he said with an air of deliberate over confidence.
She paused for thought.
'You certainly did, but did you mean what you said?' His response was too quick, 'Yes.’
Then came the awkward silence broken only by the clatter of a distant stage hand dropping some pieces of wood. Seb took his chance. 'I study English you know, so if you ever want a hand with anything in that neck of the woods...'
Her response took him by surprise.
'So I'm a good actress, but I can't handle the written assignments?'
