Sleeper: The Seven Sequels

by Eric Walters

  “Private detectives?” I asked.

  “Yes, apparently they were hired to investigate you,” he said, pointing to Charlie.

  “Why would anybody investigate me?” she demanded.

  “You can expect your privacy to be invaded when you date a member of the royal family.”

  “You’re dating royalty?” I gasped.

  “There are lots of royals in England. It’s not like he’s next in line to the throne.”

  “Close enough,” the man said.

  Great! I’d been in competition with a prince or an earl or a duke or something. I’d never had a chance—not that I’d ever really have a chance with somebody as incredible as Charlie. Well, at least I wasn’t losing out to some common git.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “CIA,” Sir March said. “I recognize the clothing, the expensive tracking device in the pen and, of course, that smug smell of superiority.”

  “You’re CIA?” I said to the man. “But we’re on the same side!”

  “Everybody is on their own side,” Sir March said.

  “Or a few sides,” the man added.

  “What do you want with us?” I asked.

  “I want you two to walk away,” he said, pointing first at me and then at Charlie.

  “We can just leave?” Charlie asked.

  “Walk away and nobody will know you’re involved. Go—enjoy your New Year’s celebration. If you leave right now, you won’t even be late.”

  “What about Sir March?” I asked.

  “Believe me, we’ll take good care of him.”

  “You’ll return him to his home?” I asked.

  “Eventually.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We have a few questions we’d like to ask him,” he said.

  “Like the Russians do.”

  “Perhaps the same questions but using different methods. You two should run along now.”

  Charlie went to stand up, but I said, “We’re not going anywhere without him. He comes with us.” Charlie looked confused and upset, but she sat back down.

  “Do you really think you’re in a position to make demands?” he asked. “Not only do I have the weapon, but I also have the two young people who kidnapped Sir Bunny March. Even if I don’t shoot you, do you know how much trouble you’ll be in when I turn you in to the authorities?”

  “Less trouble than you,” Sir March said. I wasn’t aware that he’d even been paying attention to what was going on. “You should look under the table.”

  “What?” the man asked.

  “Look under the table…all of you.”

  I looked. Sir March was holding a pistol, and it was aimed right at the CIA agent’s crotch!

  “I think you should slowly move your right hand away from the newspaper,” Sir March said.

  The agent looked down at the paper, but his hand remained in place. I thought about reaching for it, but I wasn’t sure I could beat him to it.

  “I am very old, but I can still pull the trigger faster than you can reach that gun.”

  “Do you really think you can get away with shooting me in the lounge of a hotel, in front of dozens of people?” he asked.

  “I don’t expect to get away with it. I shoot you and the police will come, and I will be arrested…and then released. I am a member of the Empire, a knight, a former head of SIS.”

  “That won’t be enough to let you get away with it.”

  “Perhaps not, but I’m also an old man whose mind goes in and out. What are they going to do to me, take away my tapioca pudding?” He laughed.

  “My government won’t let you get away with this,” he said.

  “Your government will disavow any knowledge of you. Don’t you think they’re just going to look for any excuse to distance themselves from claims that they authorized you to kidnap and interrogate me? I’d be surprised if they even admit they know who you are. Now, move your hand.”

  The man slowly withdrew his hand. Without thinking, I reached forward and took the newspaper and gun.

  “Good work, David.”

  Charlie and I started to get up, and this time Sir March motioned for us to stay. We slumped back into our seats.

  “First, give me the keys to your vehicle,” Sir March said to the man.

  “I don’t have any—”

  “You really want to get shot, don’t you? Is your Mercedes really worth a gunshot wound?”

  “Is it a white Mercedes?” I asked.

  “Probably. The Russians like black BMWs, and the CIA drive white Mercedes. They might as well put a sign on the door that says spies inside. Give me the keys.”

  The man pulled the keys out of his pocket.

  “David,” Sir March said. I took the keys.

  “Try to drive a little more carefully than you did with the cab,” the man said.

  “Where is it?” Sir March asked.

  “Right out front. You can’t miss it.”

  “Now I want you to speak into your little microphone and tell your two colleagues to get up and leave the lounge,” Sir March said.

  “What are you talking about?” the man asked.

  “One is sitting at the bar, pretending to read a magazine, and the second is at the table right by the entrance. I’m sure they can both hear me. They need to leave right now. Tell them to leave.”

  “Both of you leave the building,” the agent said into his lapel.

  “No, I do not want them to leave the building. I want them to walk right over to the fountain in the lobby and take a seat…in the fountain.”

  “What?”

  “In the fountain.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No joke. I want to make sure that every single person in this hotel sees them and makes note of them, so that if we’re followed, it will also be noticed.” Sir March leaned forward and spoke louder. “I know you can both hear me. Do as I’ve suggested or I shoot your agent.”

  I watched as the two men got up and slowly started to walk out. One of them gave us a long, hard look as he went toward the exit, where the second man was already waiting. We watched as they walked over to the fountain, stepped over the retaining wall and sat down in the water. The whole lobby noticed. People laughed and stared and pointed, and a hotel employee came over and started yelling at them.

  “Now it’s your turn,” Sir March said.

  “I’d rather be shot than sit in the fountain.”

  “No fountain. I want you to go into the washroom—the women’s washroom. Now get going.”

  The CIA agent got to his feet. If looks could kill, we’d all be dead right there at the table.

  “You go in there and stay in there. If I see you peeking out, I’m going to shoot off whatever is sticking out.”

  “I’m not going to forget this,” the agent said.

  “And I probably will…maybe before the day is over. Go.”

  As the agent started to walk away, we all got up. Charlie offered Sir March a hand.

  “Take the newspaper and gun. We’ll leave it in the car when we abandon it,” he said. The agent disappeared into the washroom. “Let’s go.”

  We hurried as fast as Sir March’s legs would carry him. Out of the lounge, past the fountain and its two bathers—who had now drawn a large crowd—and out through the revolving door.

  “There it is!” Charlie exclaimed.

  It was a big white Mercedes—the one that had followed us before. I hit a button on the key fob, the car’s lights flashed, and we jumped in. I started it up, threw it into Drive and took off. Pulling out, I clipped the fender of the car in front of me. So much for being careful. We raced off.

  SEVENTEEN

  We drove a few blocks and then abandoned the Mercedes, bashed-in fender and all. As I pulled over, I deliberately brushed a telephone pole to give the other fender a matching look. Sir March said he was certain the car had a tracking device as well, so we had to get f
ar away from it before the agents’ backup could locate us. We jumped into a cab and headed for Trafalgar Square.

  Sir March had gone back to staring into space and muttering things about the Nazis.

  “I don’t get it,” I whispered to Charlie. “One minute he’s like James Bond, and the next he’s, well, like this.”

  “My grandmother was like that too. Some things she could do well, like nothing was wrong. Mainly things from when she was a lot younger.”

  “So he became a spy again.”

  “Exactly.”

  I guessed that made sense.

  “Now if only the taxi could go faster,” Charlie said.

  We were barely moving, jammed in bumper-to-bumper traffic. I kept looking through the back window for black BMWs, white Mercedes, motorcycles or cabs—which made up pretty much half the vehicles on the road.

  “Can’t you go any faster?” Charlie asked the driver.

  “Not unless I go up on the sidewalk, and I don’t think I’d make much progress there either.”

  He was right. It wasn’t only the road that was blocked; the sidewalks were packed with people walking, singing and drinking. Almost everybody was moving in the same direction as us—toward Trafalgar Square.

  “How much farther is it?” I asked.

  “A dozen or so blocks,” Charlie answered.

  “It’s eleven forty-five. I know this is important, but I don’t think we’ll get there in time. I’m sorry,” I said.

  “I could walk faster than this!”

  “And if you did walk, could you get there by midnight?” I asked.

  “I could, but there’s no way Sir Bunny could walk that far or that fast,” she said.

  “He doesn’t have a date, and neither do I. I’m taking him home, remember? Go, get out, walk.”

  “I can’t just leave you two here,” she protested.

  “We’ll be fine. Get out and get going before it’s too late. You’ll miss your…appointment.” Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to say the word date.

  She hesitated. I knew she wanted to go but also felt bad about leaving us.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get him home. I’m just sorry I can’t spend New Year’s with my favorite lady, but I hope your nana will understand that I wanted to be with her.”

  She laughed. “I’m getting out. Stop the cab,” she said to the driver.

  Since we were barely moving, that was an easy request. She opened the door and jumped out.

  “Be safe…I’ll call you tomorrow…I’ll be over tomorrow…I promise,” she said.

  “Sure, see you tomorrow. Now go, or you’ll miss him!”

  She gave us one more smile and then raced away, getting quickly swallowed up by the crowd as a wave of sadness washed over me. Some part of me had hoped—believed—that maybe she wouldn’t go, that she would stay with me. I should have known better. She was going to meet a prince, not be with a pauper.

  “Driver, you can turn around. We’re not going to Trafalgar Square anymore. Take me to Coventry Lane, please.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “No, wait,” Sir March said. “You don’t have to go all that way. I can get there by myself.”

  “I have to make sure you get there safely.”

  “I think between myself and the driver, I’ll be fine.”

  Part of me wanted to agree and get out of the cab, maybe even run after Charlie, but I couldn’t leave him alone. He needed my help.

  “Sorry, sir. I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can. DJ, you need to go after your girl.”

  “She’s not my girl and—what did you call me?”

  “DJ, which is short for David Junior, named after David McLean Senior, your grandfather.”

  I was shocked. I stared at him and saw something different. He looked all there.

  “I know you’re surprised, and perhaps I shouldn’t be telling you any of this, but after all you’ve been through, I feel you deserve to know the truth,” he said.

  His voice was steady, his words clear and concise, his eyes bright.

  “I am Bernard March. I am the former head of MI6. I am also very much in possession of my faculties.”

  “But…but how…why…?”

  “Let me try to explain. As you are aware, your passport sounded an alarm when you entered the country. In the process of clearing you, the large amount of cash and the false passports in your pack were discovered.”

  “But they didn’t find them in my bag. They stopped searching before they found them.”

  “They were stopped before they found them the second time. They wanted you to be unaware they had found them. The discovery of the false passports, particularly one with the name Nigel Finch, triggered even more alarms—alarms that pulled me out of my long retirement.”

  “But how does that involve the Russians and Americans?”

  “Your quest for answers alerted them both, and that’s when we saw an opportunity. In taking me away, you allowed the Russians to gain access to all the information floating around in the head of a former director, information they could extract from me in my, shall we say, reduced capacity.”

  “But why would you want to give them information?”

  “There is information and then there is false information. Right now, the two Russian agents have hightailed it to their embassy, where they are reporting this significant intelligence coup.”

  “This was all a trick?”

  “Counterintelligence is done with smoke and mirrors.”

  “But they could have killed us; they beat you up.”

  “I’ve had worse beatings from better interrogators. Besides, we were covered. There were agents and surveillance outside the building at all times. Those men we saw on the monitors were British SIS getting ready to break into the building.”

  “Then why didn’t they just come in and…Wait! the Russians had to get away. How did you know we’d be able to escape?”

  “I didn’t. We had another plan in place—not nearly as dangerous as the one you executed,” he explained.

  “I guess I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about.”

  “I understand about the Russians, but why would the CIA try to interrogate you? Aren’t they on our side?”

  “As I said before, everybody is on their own side.” He smiled. “Although, believe me, the CIA is going to be paying for that little error in judgment. You know, your grandfather would have been proud of the way you handled yourself.”

  “You did know him, right?”

  “Very well. Very well indeed.”

  “Then you need to tell me about him, about what he was, what he was doing. Was he a spy or a double agent? A sleeper or a traitor?”

  “I’ve already told you much more than I should have.”

  “You have to tell me! You owe me that much.”

  “DJ, let’s say I did tell you. I gave you answers. I told you all about him. Would you believe me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

  “After all you’ve seen, all you’ve been through, do you still feel that you can believe anything? This whole world of espionage, intelligence and counterintelligence is nothing more than a journey through the looking glass.”

  I thought about what he had said. How could I believe anything? I shook my head.

  “Tell me about your grandfather,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me about your grandfather.”

  “He was my grandfather.”

  “But what sort of person was he?”

  “I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “Yes, you are. Tell me about him, the things you know for certain.”

  I thought about it before I answered. “He loved to tell stories and jokes. He played golf. He liked everybody. He always said strangers were friends you hadn’t met yet. He was always there for his daughters and grandchildren. He was kind and decent… and honest.”

  “He was also somebody I
’d trust with my life. Somebody I did trust with my life. He was somebody who always did what needed to be done,” Sir March said.

  That’s what it said in the notebook. I always did what needed to be done. Nothing more and nothing less.

  “Isn’t that enough for you to know?” he asked.

  “I guess it is.”

  “Good. Now get out of the cab and go after that girl.”

  “I don’t think she wants me to go after her.”

  “And I think you don’t know what you’re talking about. She was practically begging you to go after her.” He extended his hand, and we shook. “It was a pleasure—but you know that none of this ever happened.”

  “None of what?”

  He laughed.

  “It is all right for me to leave you? What if there are other Russian agents around?”

  “I think they’d be foolish when you consider that our cab driver is also one of our agents.”

  The driver turned around and gave a slight wave of his hand.

  “And the cab in front of us contains two more MI6 agents. Not to mention the car three back, with three more agents. I think we’ll be able to just get by without your assistance, although your not wanting to send me home alone…well, that shows real class. You weren’t prepared to abandon the helpless old man even when it put you in danger. Now you know I’m safe, so you have to go…now!”

  I jumped out of the cab and went to close the door, then stopped. I had one more question. “David McLean—that really was my grandfather’s name, right?”

  “His name…and yours. Goodbye, David McLean.”

  I closed the door and hurried off.

  EIGHTEEN

  I moved through the throng of people. They all were happy and laughing and enjoying the gigantic street party. I glanced at my watch. It was almost the New Year—time for a fresh start, a new beginning. The music got louder as I got closer to Trafalgar Square. I could see Nelson’s Column in the distance, but I wasn’t going to make it in time. The crowd had almost become a solid mass, and I could do no more than shuffle forward a few inches at a time. I wondered if Charlie had been able to push through to get to her date. I hoped she had…no, I hoped she got what she wanted. She deserved that.