“You just couldn’t write it could you Griffer, hey?”
I sit down and listen to a bit of Jeff Buckley on my iPhone, chilling out with Jeff and Griffer whilst sipping on my tea. Jeff has a beautiful voice. I would definitely say that his version of Hallelujah is, in my view, his masterpiece.
The song ends, and I cuddle the dog for a couple of minutes. Looking down at Griffer I reflect on the past. My job in Paris had not been an easy one.
Three months ago, my mate Smithy set me up in a job working for a top firm in London. He was also an ex-regular. I met Smithy in London, and was soon shaking the hand of a fella called Ken. He was a big old bastard. His nose had been broken more times, than fat people have had hot dinners. I had seen a lot of hard men in my time but our Ken was even harder than that. Underneath his explosive shell, though, he was a family man with a heart of purity. His only dress code was shorts and a rugby shirt. We had bets in the regiment that they’d bury him in his rugby shirt. Ken was the boss, the man that issued out contracts. Before you did anything, you had to meet Ken first. If he didn’t like you, he’d say it to your face and you’d be on your way home. Ken seemed happy with me and we signed the contract!
A week later, I flew out to Paris from Gatwick, meeting Smithy over there at the airport. He smiled at me, ran over and slapped me across the back.
“It is bloody good to see you, my old friend!”
“You too, Our Kid. So where are we going then? What’s the job Smithy?”
“Minor details, Michael, minor details. Just relax. Would one fancy a quick pint later after meeting the boss?” I gave him the nod. After a drive in the most cramped conditions – a small Ford Fiesta stinking of chips and cigarettes, and with my legs crushed up in the back seat – we finally arrived at an old building just outside the city.
Smithy rang the bell. A tall fella in a black suit opened the door. I could see a Browning 9mm pistol in a pouch under his arm.
“For God’s sake, Smithy, what have you got me into here?”
“You’ll soon find out, lad.” He laughed.
I was ushered into the lounge by a large figure, who stood by the door holding a pistol.
I sat down in a dusty old armchair feeling like a right plank. Smithy went into the kitchen and got the brews on. The gorilla thing kept looking at me.
“Michael, do you still take two sugars buddy?”
“Yeah, go on mate, two please. Oh, and nice and milky, just like you’re sister used to take it.”
“You cheeky little bastard!” Even the ‘Missing Link’ released a minor smirk.
Smithy brings the brews into the lounge. A very smart and clean-shaven male shadows him closely. I would say his age was about forty-five and not a day younger.
“There’s your brew, mate.” It was not bad at all.
“Michael, I would like you to meet the boss. This is Pierre.”
I put my tea down and shook his hand up and down, enthusiastically acknowledging his authority. I needed this job.
He spoke perfect English.
“Hello, Michael. I have heard a lot about you.”
“Thank you, Sir! All good I hope!”
He smiles, “Yes, yes, Michael. So you were in the SAS, Michael?”
“Yes that’s right, Sir. I need a job, Sir. Things have been a little rough lately, and I’ve got a wife to pay for, and also I’m up for a challenge, Sir.” I was trying not to play the family bullshit too much, but just make him aware.
“Well, that’s all good. My name is Pierre Cudon. I work for Intelligence here in France; I also work very closely with the British and American Intelligence Agencies. You know how it all works, Michael. We all walk along the same path.”
“We sure do, Sir!” I said, sounding as endearing and interested as I could.
“Not long ago, Claude Pierre received a ransom demand for the sum of 150,000,000 Euros, or his son would be taken and killed.”
“Jesus Christ, this fella’s worth a small fortune then?”
“Very much so, Michael. He has contracts in the oil industry, building empires across the world. He has a lot of contacts in America: and I mean contacts at the highest level.”
“I got you, Sir. So what do you want me to do and when can we start?” He smiled and the others laughed.
“Good man! We knew we could count on you.”
Smithy told me to drink my bloody tea; it was getting cold and I was not getting another.
“So, what will I be doing then, Sir?” He put his brew down and looked me in the eye.
“Your job will be to babysit the son. Just keep him safe until we pick these bastards up and put them away.”
“When do I start?”
“Monday, Michael. Is that ok with you?”
“It all sounds good to me.”
“We’ve nearly got them, Michael: we just need a little more time.”
“Ok, boss.” I stood up, and then shook his hand up and down for more reassurance.
“It looks like we got our man, Smithy.” Pierre walked out the room, patting Smithy on the back.
“Well done, Michael!” Smithy was happy.
“Come on, Shit for Brains. Let’s go out and get you a pint.” I quickly rang Hannah, reassured her, and then met up with Smithy.
We jumped in a cab, and I didn’t understand a word he was saying. I know the basics of French but I’m not that good. Our Smithy knew the lingo all right – he was a dab hand at it!
The driver dropped us off in a small town, and we walked over to the alehouse. It looked like the place was full of pretentious twats, and they all stared over at us, but Smithy said the place was safe. He walked to the bar and bought the first round. Anyway, after my eighth pint I started to relax and was soon past caring. I even chatted to a few of them, and they seemed to be a good bunch. I couldn’t hang out with them all night, though. It was getting late and I had to get back to my hotel. Shame!
The next morning it felt like someone had taken a turd in my mouth. Giving Hannah a call on her mobile, I caught her just in time. She was just about to start work. I told her that I loved her and hoped our Fran was ok. Fran grabbed the phone off her mum and told me she loved me. I was over the moon, telling her I would be home soon. She knew not to ask questions: she was a good girl.
I couldn’t hold it down any longer. I lifted the toilet seat and puked down the hole.
“What a waste of money!” I made myself a brew and got dressed.
Smithy wanted to meet up with Ken, who was en route from Arras where he had been on a fastball job. I was told that Ken had been babysitting a French barrister. He’d pissed a lot of people off with a mafia case, so a price was put on his head and he’d received a few death threats in the last few months. The worst part was that his eleven year old kid had been threatened with a knife at school, so through a mate knowing a mate they sent our Ken in and he sorted it out.
I met Smithy outside my room – some swish room in the centre of Paris. Smithy had excelled himself on this one.
“Did you sleep well, Michael old chap?”
“Yes, I passed out about three I think. I was watching some French porn channel, and then I think I passed out on the best bits.”
“You’ve let the side down Michael, mate!” He was laughing his butt off.
“Come on mate, let’s show you the area.” Hopefully, I’d be able to find something to eat around here, for lunch later on. I was starving.
We walked first, but then Smithy decided to jump in his car, as it would be a lot quicker.
“So come on, tell me! What’s this arsehole like then, Smithy? What have I let myself in for?”
He turned to face me. “He’s a married man – for the third time, I might add. He has two kids, a girl and a boy. The girl is fourteen and the boy is eight. Your job will be to babysit the young fella, take him to school etc. Just keep a tight rope around his neck, Michael, and don’t let anyone near him.”
“Do we know anything about the crew?”
“Well, they’re possibly Al-Qaeda. Our top Intel is telling us that the cash is for guns etc. For the ‘cause’ and all that.”
“Tell me about this lad. What does he do; what does he like to do; what are his hobbies?”
“He goes to a Catholic school in a tiny village outside Paris. His class only holds about eleven children, and most of them are from upper-class families. It’s very private, as you can imagine. He’s in the junior rugby classes a lot, so he’s not a fat lay-about, like most kids of today. He is also a bit of a shy lad at first. Once he gets to know you, he’ll break out of it; you just need to gain his trust first.”
“I’ll buy him an ice cream then.” We both crack up.
Smithy pulled up outside a café, and I jumped out of the car and went in.
“What are you having then, Smithy?”
“Get us three brews, mate.”
“Three?”
“Yeah, our Ken is joining us. He’ll be here in two minutes.” I turned to the woman at the counter. My French is not particularly good.
I stuck three fingers in the air and started waving my hand to and fro from my mouth, showing a cup sign. “Tea, love! Tea, yeah? Do you get me, darling? Tea!” She looked right in my face.
“I am not your darling; I speak English and I will get you some tea,” came the rather blunt reply.
On cue, two minutes later Ken arrived. I walked over to the table with our brews to greet him, and he was pleased to see us. He told us how his job went tits up and how he had to head back to the UK. He said it was a fuck up from the start, that “those tossers in Arras could not even plan a day trip to the zoo without screwing it up.” He was not happy. The Police commissioner was a right know-it-all bastard. Ken had asked those above to keep his kid protected at school, and they fucked it up. The kid was nearly snatched by the mafia and after a terrific row with the Commissioner, Ken got the boy back home safely. He wasn’t happy! The barrister and the boy were evacuated to a safe house 100 miles away.
We finished off our brews, and Ken left for the UK with a smile on his face.
“Come on then, let’s get you back to your glamorous hotel for a spa, you camp bastard!”
“Now that sounds good, Smithy. Come on, let’s go then!”
He dropped me off just before the spa closed. The only other option was to give our Hannah a phone call and then get pissed in the bar. Well, I couldn’t let the side down, now could I!
Monday Morning
05:45hrs (Security Office)
Smithy had lent me a motor for the week. I arrived at the front gate. “He wasn’t wrong. You really do live in the middle of bloody nowhere, mate, don’t you!” I went on muttering to myself. It was most probably the nerves kicking in.
Three security guards were standing at the main gate waiting to meet me. A dog barked constantly, sniffing about the place, and I showed one of the three my papers. Another of them phoned through to the main office, checking me out. He hung up the phone.
“Come with me, Mr Fox.” One of the guards jumped in the passenger seat and I drove the car in through the narrow gate and up the driveway. With trees on either side, it looked like something from a horror movie. I could see a large house up front and said to myself, “You’d have thought a man with his money would have had better cars than that. What a cheap bastard!” It looked like an old Datsun Cherry on the front drive.
“Follow me, Mr Fox.” We walked inside, with me feeling a little tense, but that was only to be expected. I was told to take a seat in the living quarters; I was then given a cup of coffee and a small wafer biscuit.
Soon after another man entered the room and walked up to me.
“I have been waiting for you, Mr Fox.” We shook hands.
“Please Sir, call me Michael.”
“I hope you have enjoyed your stay with us so far?”
“Yes Sir, I have. The hotel I’m staying at is superb Sir, the best, especially the bar.” He giggled like a child. I thought that Claude would have been a lot taller!
His son ran into the room and grabbed hold of his father.
“This is my son Pierre. Say hello, Pierre.” He stood nervously by his father’s side, his little head drooping, and greeted me. Pierre was about as nervous as they came. He had short brown hair, blue eyes and was missing a finger on his left hand. It was a birth defect.
“‘Allo!” Then he hid behind his father once again. He was quite cute actually.
Pierre suddenly darted out from behind his dad and walked cautiously over to me.
“Excuse me, Sir! Are you going to look after me?” I crouched down and looked straight into his eyes.
“I give you my word, Pierre, I give you my word.” He smiled timidly and then ran out of the room.
“Claude seems happy enough. Let’s get cracking on then, mate.”
“Would you care for a little light lunch, Michael?”
“Well, yes Sir, I would please, that would be awfully kind of you.” This was the life, hey! I had a great morning. The Lady of the House escorted me about the place. She was a grand and calm woman. She had her head on her shoulders all right and was very protective of her family and so she should be.
“Mr Fox, Pierre needs this with him always, ok?” She passed me an inhaler for his asthma, and I was rigorously reminded of any medical disorders in the family, and what she wanted me to do in an emergency. I could not blame her for being so protective; she was protecting her only son.
“I promise no harm will come to your son, ma’am.” She smiled at me.
“Come on. I will show you the gardens.”
Next, I was introduced to the head of security. With all the diplomatic stuff out the way, it was time to get down to business. I was not going to hold back with some jumped-up security guard.
“Right, mate. My name is Michael. Whatever you were doing before is about to be thrown in the bin. You got me, mate?” Oh, he got me all right. He didn’t look too happy, but he got me.
I located his office and checked his security files, what kit they had and so on. Most of it was binned. “You only have one guard on nights?” He told me about staffing levels.
“Don’t you worry about that; I will get you all the funding you need.”
I held a meeting with security management that afternoon. We gathered in the boardroom with locked doors.
“Gentlemen, may I humbly apologise for my lack of French skills on this occasion. I have been welcomed here with open arms and I am sincerely grateful for that. However, I am also here to carry out a job, and that job is to protect young Pierre from a very serious threat. This is no joke, gentlemen. A young person’s life is in danger and we are here to prevent that as from now. Do you understand me?” They nodded in agreement.
“From this moment life as you once knew it is over.”
“This is the plan.” They listened in carefully.
“I want funding from you the manager, to replace all the security cameras in the grounds. Is that ok, Sir?”
“Yes, Michael. What else do you need?”
“Sir, I’ve been talking to the head of security this morning and we have only one man on nights. That is just not enough: we need a minimum of two, ideally more. Can we fund this please?” The head of security agreed.
“I also want static and perimeter patrols in and around the grounds twenty-four seven. If we have dogs, then why aren’t they being used effectively? Come on, guys, let’s screw the nut.” I walked the grounds with the security manager, looking for weak points that could compromise the house security. I pulled out my personal notebook and briefed the manager as to what I wanted in the near future.
“Right, boss! We have an acre of ground here. I’ve already seen one hole in the fence down by the duck pond, which isn’t secure at all. The fence is broken in two places by the squash courts and I could run a regiment through that drive way without anyone knowing about it!” He looked rather pathetic! I called the rest of the guys in and briefed them on my find
ings. Then I got the boss down to listen to what I had to say.
“Thank you, guys, for coming back. I’ve been around the grounds and I’m not really happy!” I read out my list of faults. The men agreed with me.
“With your permission, boss, I would like a little extra funding to correct these faults. I’d like two men permanently stationed at the front entrance, and two guard dogs patrolling the grounds every hour. I would also like the repairs done this week to the exterior fence etc.” The boss was happy, and so was I.
Later that afternoon we ended the briefing. I had my dinner and the boss insisted that I stay from this day forwards. Smithy brought my kit over and I retired to my new quarters for the evening. The room was a double, with a small narrow window made of dark pine. I had a great view of the garden and the main gate house. Through the vast tree line, I could see down into a valley where a bunch of sheep stood munching on the grass. I had a small lamp next to my bed with a little glass of water and a couple of chocolate cookies. I felt very welcome.
The following morning I met a few colleagues downstairs for a full hearty French breakfast: croissants, preserves, and a cup of coffee.
The head of security met me outside after breakfast. Pierre stood behind me, and I was handed a Browning 9mm pistol with a shoulder holster.
“Have you got your school bag, young man?”
“Yes, Sir. Oh!” He ran back inside, and then came running out again holding his PE kit.
“I nearly forgot this, Sir.”
“Don’t call me “Sir”, call me Michael – ok?” He jumped in my car and we drove towards the main gate. I waved over to the guards and smiled, and they waved back. They seemed friendly enough. I’d soon work them into shape, and have them working as a team before the end of the week!
“Are you scared, Pierre?” A bit of a dumb thing to ask, but I could not think of anything else to say.
“A little, but I know I have you and the others looking after me, so I feel safer now.”
“Don’t you worry, young Pierre; I am the best there is for looking after people.”
“Good! Are you sure we have to go to school? Can’t we go fishing or something?”
Sabre Six : File 51 Page 3
