by Jack Fiske
This morning Jim was counting his blessings. The sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and at 7.00 a.m. on a Sunday morning everything was peaceful. Nothing disturbed the silence apart from a young blackbird and a few sparrows, who were happily singing a variation on that morning’s dawn chorus in the trees behind him.
The hedge, which separated Jim’s garden from the woods, was in need of some serious attention, but apart from that, the garden looked good. The shrubs and trees were all in leaf and the lawn, which Jim was gradually getting the hang of, was a satisfying shade of green and looked rather neat, having been cut the previous afternoon. The only cause for annoyance was a small hole that had appeared next to the path, which he suspected was the work of some nocturnal woodland visitor, although he knew that Wolf would no doubt be on his wife’s list of suspects.
Until recently Jim had never lived in the country and he still found it quite a novelty. As a child, he had been brought up in and around Salisbury and although open countryside had never been far away, their home had always been on one housing estate or another. When, at the age of eighteen, Jim had joined the army and was posted abroad, he had been glad to leave, but ten years later, he’d been equally glad to return. He’d noticed that as the years went by, the simple things in life – his family, walking the dog, tending the garden, had become more important to him, whilst the values he’d held all those years ago seemed to be more and more misplaced.
It would be his wedding anniversary next month. Since he’d married Susan eleven years ago, his life had changed beyond recognition. Even in the early years, life had been good, with enough money to afford a comfortable lifestyle and a nice property in town. Then as the family business had grown, changing from a local concern, to a national company and then to one of the best known names in software design, money had become even less of an issue. The income the business now generated meant that last year they could afford a cottage in the New Forest, which to Susan’s delight had an old stable block, a small paddock and one and a half acres of semi-wild garden with nothing beyond it but the New Forest itself. It’s probably true, Jim thought to himself, that the more money you have, the less important material possessions tend to become. However, it was ironic that those things which he now appreciated – like the peace and quiet of his present surroundings, were only available to the privileged few who had the money to afford them.
A reflection from something moving just inside the trees broke Jim’s train of thought and made him turn to see what had produced it. As he watched from his semi-concealed location, he saw a middle aged man, dressed in dark sweatshirt and dark trousers move purposefully along the boundary of his neighbour’s property, surveying the well separated houses through what appeared to be a small telescope of the type used by birdwatchers. The fact that this birdwatcher was more interested in houses and gardens, rather than woods and wildlife, immediately made him suspicious and he settled a little further back into the rhododendrons to watch the stranger’s movements without being seen himself.
Having observed a neighbour’s house for several minutes, the man pulled a small pad from his back pocket and began to make notes, or was it a sketch of what he had seen? Once finished, the notebook was stowed away and the stranger moved closer, stopping behind one of the Ash trees which bordered their own garden. Picking a spot where he couldn’t be seen from the house, the man produced the small telescope once more and began a slow examination of Jim’s house and garden.
Jim crouched lower, giving himself as much cover as possible and sat perfectly still. Camouflage was something that was second nature after years in the army and anyone who was familiar with the principle, knew that keeping absolutely still and breaking up your outline with the surrounding leaves would almost always prevent you from being seen. On this occasion it proved true, as the stranger’s inspection passed over the rhododendrons with no indication that he had been spotted. A few minutes more were all that the man needed to finish his inspection and go through the same routine of note-taking.
By this time, Jim had decided it was all rather suspicious and that in all likelihood the stranger was ‘casing’ the house for a potential break-in. He had decided that he would let the man move on to the next property before slipping quietly up to the house to phone the police, when he was surprised to see him take a small can of spray paint from his rucksack and write something at shoulder height on the trunk of the nearest tree. After one final look, the man packed up his telescope and notebook, slung the rucksack onto his back and turned away from the houses, heading in the direction of a minor road that crossed the New Forest half a mile away.
Jim waited a good five minutes to make sure the man had gone and then walked round to the end of the boundary hedge, where an old wooden gate let him into the woods beyond. Near to the garden, the trees were not dense and several paths ran through them, including one that ran parallel to the house and took him to within a few feet of the trees. There, Jim could see that on the trunk of the nearest, had been sprayed what looked like a piece of meaningless graffiti – “MO 4 CT” in capital letters, with “84L31” and a small arrow written immediately beneath it. Anyone passing by on the path probably wouldn’t give it a second glance, assuming it had been put there by some love struck teenager. Jim however found it a little disturbing. What was its purpose? Why had the stranger chosen to put it right outside his own back garden? He sighed. Maybe it was nothing? He’d speak to Susan and phone the police to see if they’d had any reports of prowlers in the area, although he doubted whether they’d want to do anything on the strength of one person’s concerns over a stranger at the bottom of his garden.
Having decided to take a bit more care about leaving things outside and locking their doors and windows at night, Jim’s thoughts like Wolf’s, turned to breakfast and he walked up to the house.
Inside the kitchen there was no mouth-watering smell of frying bacon, nor was there any sign of the steaming cup of tea that he’d half hoped for. Susan had been up and about when he’d left, but now there was no sign of her.
“Susan?” he shouted up the stairs.
“What?” came a muffled voice from the bathroom.
“Are you up?”
“Almost!” replied the same muffled voice. “I’m in the bath! Sunday mornings are supposed to be for having a lie in and relaxing you know!”
She’s probably right, Jim thought, but then he’d never been able to break the habit of getting up early, even at the weekend.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” he shouted back.
“Yes please,” Susan replied. “Bring me one up and I’ll make you some breakfast when I get out.”
Sounds like a good deal. Jim thought, as he put the kettle on and rummaged in the cupboard for their mugs.
“I’ll be up with it in a few minutes.”
“Thanks. Oh – and you could feed the dog if you would, he’s mooching around up here looking hard done by.”
“O.k.” Jim agreed.
As if on cue, there was the sound of paws running down the stairs and Wolf appeared, looking hopeful. Wolf was quite smart for a dog and could usually understand what you were talking about – especially phrases like ‘feed the dog’, or any sentence that had the word ‘biscuit’ or ‘out’ in it.
A few minutes later, Wolf was making his usual ill-mannered slurping noises as he pushed his bowl around the kitchen floor and Jim left him to it and went upstairs with two mugs of tea and a couple of rich tea biscuits to keep him going.
The bathroom door wasn’t locked and he pushed it open to find Susan soaking in the bath, a towel folded under her neck so that she could lie down more comfortably. Susan, at five foot six, could stretch out easily in the bath, which was something that Jim envied and with her slim figure, short blond hair and easy smile, she was still very attractive, at least to Jim – although he knew she didn’t think so herself.
“Tea is served,” he said, as he perched her mug on the corner of the bath and pus
hed her dressing gown off the bathroom stool, so that he could sit down.
“Do you want me to wash your back?”
“No thanks. I’m getting out in a minute.”
“Susan,” Jim mumbled through a mouthful of biscuit, “have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around recently?”
“No, why?” she asked, looking a little concerned.
“Oh no particular reason – there was a strange chap in the woods this morning. Probably nothing to worry about, but he was acting a bit suspiciously.”
Jim explained how he had watched the stranger from the bushes and what he had seen and they were still discussing him half an hour later, when they sat down to eat.
Breakfast, Jim decided, was rather tasty, with bacon, eggs, mushrooms, fried tomatoes, toast and all the trimmings. Susan agreed that the man in the woods was a little worrying and she also had to admit that they could be more security conscious, but she argued that one incident wasn’t necessarily a reason to inform the police. Sitting discussing it at the breakfast table, Jim wasn’t so sure. He still couldn’t get rid of a gut feeling that there was more to this than met the eye.
The rest of the morning Jim spent lounging about reading the paper, washing the breakfast dishes and listening to the radio, before Susan reminded him that he was supposed to be picking up their daughter from her parents’ at eleven thirty.
Millie was ten, but rather mature for her age and of late had become very independent. Over the past few months, she had become a lot closer to her grandparents and loved to visit them at the weekend, staying over on a Saturday night and coming home the next day. Stephen and Marion were always delighted to have her and it gave Jim and Susan an evening to themselves, although the penalty was a fifty minute round trip to pick her up again on Sunday morning from Stephen and Marion’s place in Ringwood.
This morning Jim didn’t mind too much. The drive to Ringwood was pleasant enough, although a little slow. All the roads in the area had a 40 m.p.h. speed limit to try and protect the ponies who wandered freely through the Forest. Sometimes it could be inconvenient, but it was more than made up for by the sight of the horses grazing contentedly on the verges.
Jim had taken Susan’s Renault, rather than the Land Rover. The latter had proven its worth on country roads and the surrounding tracks, especially in the winter, but on a sunny morning in May he preferred a little comfort. Sliding the sun roof back, he let the warm breeze blow through the car and after a quick search through the preset stations on the radio, Jim found something that he liked.
As he wound his way along the quiet roads, Jim would check his mirror periodically and after a few miles, he realised that something had nudged that sixth sense which tells you that all is not as it should be. A good distance behind him a black Volvo seemed to be following the same route. Not particularly unusual on this stretch of road, which would be the main route into Ringwood, but Jim could have sworn that the same car or a similar one was parked about two hundred yards from the house when he’d left.
Probably nothing, Jim thought, but there was a simple way to check.
At the next junction he took a left turn, which led towards open countryside. Sure enough, the Volvo turned at the same spot and could still be seen, following at a safe distance, in the rear view mirror. Another left at the next junction produced the same result and now, beginning to think that he was being followed, Jim stretched over to get the pen that Susan kept in the glove compartment, whilst at the same time slowing down, to bring the Volvo closer. The car obligingly closed the distance between them, enough for him to make out a back-to-front registration number in the mirror, which he scrawled on the back of his hand.
Half a mile further on, yet another left turn took him back towards the road that he’d started on and he was relieved to see the Volvo continue onwards, in what was now the opposite direction to his own destination. Must be getting jumpy, he thought, or else the stranger in the woods that morning had worried him more than he’d realised.
Fifteen minutes later as the country roads gave way to the outskirts of Ringwood, Jim pulled into the driveway of a large imposing property that had once been derelict, but which had been completely renovated by Susan’s parents long before he had known them. Property prices had shot through the roof in recent years and a large detached house with the amount of land that Stephen and Marion had, must now be worth an absolute fortune.
Jim walked round to the back of the house, where a pair of French windows stood open to the fresh air, and shouted, “Anyone in?”
“Daddy!” a voice shouted back, and Millie shot out of the kitchen to give him a hug, with Marion following closely behind, her hands covered in flour and a frog pattern apron tied around her waist.
“Hello Jim, you’re just in time to give us your verdict on the cake. Millie and I have been doing some baking.”
“Sounds good. Any chance of a cup of tea to go with it?”
“Of course there is. Stephen will probably be ready for one. He’s been up in that study for far too long, going over some report that he brought home with him on Friday night.”
“Daddy, come and see the cake!” Millie demanded, hanging on to his arm and pulling him in the direction of the kitchen.
Millie was the image of her mother – not very tall, but slender with long blond hair and a slightly quirky smile that reminded Jim of Susan when they had first met.
“Who made it then? You or Granny?”
Millie looked round at Marion, as if for approval, before replying.
“Well Granny did most of it, but I helped with the important bits.”
“It looks pretty good,” Jim said, quite truthfully, thinking that despite breakfast, he could still manage a piece of the chocolate cake, which stood cooling on a wire rack in the middle of the work-surface.
“I’m going upstairs to see your Grandpa. Is there a waitress service for tea and cake, or shall I bring him down?”
Marion laughed. “Oh, I expect the waitresses can manage to bring it up for you.”
Jim climbed the stairs to Stephen’s study on the first floor, which overlooked the gardens to the rear. The room, which was modern compared to the rest of the house, was bigger than most people’s living rooms and was just as comfortable. A large three-seater settee and a couple of armchairs filled one half of the room, whilst an enormous desk stood immediately in front of the large picture window. It all looked a good deal neater than it used to. Over the last few years, the bulky equipment that used to dominate the room had become much more refined and Stephen now only needed a modest desktop PC, a printer and a dedicated telephone line to connect him to everything back at the office. Jim could understand why he preferred to work from here. He had all the modern conveniences, a superb treetop height view of the garden and a waitress service from the kitchen downstairs.
“Morning Stephen!” Jim announced as he walked in. “Mind if I come in, or are you busy?”
“Hi Jim. No, come in, come in. I need to stop anyway, or Marion is going to shoot me. I told her it would only take me an hour to do this, but I’ve been up here all morning.”
Jim peered over Stephen’s shoulder to see what he was working on and was pleased to see that it was the security report that he and Mark Brennan had finished just a few days earlier.
“Have a seat for a minute,” Stephen said. “I just want to finish this bit while I’ve got it all up on the screen.”
Jim took a seat in one of the armchairs to wait for his father-in-law to finish and watched him jot down brief notes as he went through the last page of the report.
Stephen was the brains behind the company and at sixty-eight, he still managed to run everything. Some said that at his age he ought to retire, but Jim wasn’t one of them. He knew from experience that Stephen was still more than capable of running things.
“Right then,” Stephen said, as he tidied his paperwork into a neat pile and shut down his P.C. “that’s one less thing to be dealt with on Monday.”
He got up from the desk and smiled broadly at Jim.
“I suppose you’ve come to collect that grand-daughter of mine have you?”
Jim sighed in mock resignation. “I am. I suppose we’ve got to have her back sometime.” Then he continued more seriously, “Actually, while I’m here, I wouldn’t mind your opinion on something that’s bothering me.”
Stephen was the only person apart from Susan who knew the real reason why Jim had left the Army and he knew he could rely on him for some sound advice. He still remembered standing in this same room asking Stephen’s permission to marry his daughter and taking the decision to be absolutely honest with him and be truthful about his background.
Most people were aware that Jim had been in the army and that he’d left when he met Susan and moved to Ringwood. What they didn’t know, was that he’d not been attached to the signal corps, as he claimed, but had worked undercover for the intelligence service.
He was only here now because of one undercover operation that had gone seriously wrong. A colleague’s chance meeting with an old school friend in a Belfast restaurant had blown their cover completely and had ultimately resulted in the death of a man by the name of Donnie Ellis – the brother of a high ranking figure in the IRA. Apart from a few bruises, Jim himself had escaped unscathed, although afterwards he had been a marked man in Northern Ireland.
Three months later and back in England, he had narrowly missed death at the hands of two Irishmen in a quiet street in Reading, where he subsequently spent two weeks in hospital, with a serious knife wound and a punctured lung. The fact that one of the Irishmen had fared little better, led to the man’s arrest at the local A & E unit the next day and from him, the authorities learnt of the contract that had been taken out on Jim’s life and of the price that the IRA were prepared to pay to see him dead.
