by M G Leslie
“Which girl?”
“About six months ago Sir. Named Jennifer Lee – caught passing intelligence to a foreign power?”
“Oh yes, I remember. I read your report – the operation went very smoothly and without incident. You did well – although I realise it was an unpleasant duty to perform. Why do you mention her?”
“Who was she Sir?”
“Price, you saw the file before you went there – and you just replayed it to me – she’d been passing on secrets. What’s the problem?”
“I just wondered – that was all Sir. Do we know where the intelligence came from?”
“I don’t know now, no. Frankly speaking, a lot of other things have taken my attention since,” said the Chief. “But if you’re concerned, speak to Bill – I seem to recall he, or one of his team, was involved. She was originally from Africa wasn’t she?”
“Yes Sir – I believe she was.”
“Anyway what’s the problem? It was a clean operation with ministerial approval and no complications – or is there something I’m not aware of and was not included in your report?”
“No – I just wondered – there’s nothing to worry about. Thank you Sir,” said Price, as he turned again to leave the office.
“Price!”
Turning back to face the Chief again, Price said, “Sir?”
“I don’t like surprises. So if there’s a reason for your question – whatever it may be – I want to know.”
“I just wondered. There really is no reason Sir,” Price lied. “She just seemed nice, that was all. It just seemed a shame.”
“I would remind you that you are not the judge.”
“Of course Sir. I understand. Sorry to trouble you with my thoughts – I didn’t mean to speak out of place.”
“I believe I offered to show you evidence of the damage that leaked information caused at the time. If I remember rightly, you declined.”
“Yes Sir you did – and I did.”
“We can get that data for you if it makes you feel better. Because I think we established that at least two overseas assets died as a result of those leaks.”
“I do recall you mentioning that Sir. There’s really no need – I just wondered – I’m fine. Although, did we ever identify the contact that the data was being given to?”
“No I don’t believe we did. Thinking back, I remember that it was extremely well managed from their end.”
“Which is why we eventually decided to terminate the source,” Price interrupted.
“That’s right,” the Chief continued. “It was our only option in order to avoid further casualties.”
“Yes I remember now. Thank you Sir.”
The Chief didn’t immediately respond – seemingly thinking. Then a short while later, he made direct eye contact with Price and, in a firm voice asked, “So I can assume this isn’t related to your medical report after you got back from Hong Kong?”
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to Sir.”
“Then, for some reason, today you have an uncharacteristically poor memory. I recall the report stating that you had extreme bruising on your back and shoulder – yet there was nothing in your report to explain that. I let it go at the time – I assumed you’d been up to no good and had to deal with something. But I have to say that all these questions are making me question that initial decision.”
“I think I just slipped and fell – it was nothing – just an embarrassing accident Sir, and not related to the job.”
“If you get injured by any means, as far as I’m concerned, it's related to the job. Let me remind you – you’re no good to anyone with broken bones. And I know that's the story you gave your medical examiner at the time. Well – understand this Price – I’m not so gullible. I saw the photos – I know what a fall looks like, just as I know what a damn good beating looks like – your bruises were not caused by a fall.”
Price remained silent as the Chief let his message sink in. Then after a short pause, he continued, “I'm told your latest report shows a clean bill of health. So let’s put this behind us. You have a job to do – and you don’t need these things to distract you.”
“Thank you Sir.”
“Good luck Price.”
“Thank you Sir.”
6. A Circuitous Route to Africa
Price prided himself on having an almost sixth sense when it came to being followed – and on this occasion, he felt it the moment he started to make his way home.
As was his usual habit – indeed, the habit of most of the intelligence officers based in the famous MI6 Headquarters at London’s, Vauxhall Cross – Price left the building by a discreet exit in an adjacent tower block, connected via an underground tunnel that afforded far greater security and anonymity for those working in the highly secretive SIS organisation.
The secret exit left Price standing by the south bank of the River Thames, where he normally hailed a taxi to take him to Waterloo Station for the train journey home. However, since it was a nice sunny day, he decided to take a walk along the embankment – first crossing over Vauxhall Bridge to the north bank to do so – as it’s a more pleasant walk than on the south side.
It was mid-afternoon, so he had expected the embankment footpath to be empty, aside from perhaps a few tourists. However, there seemed to be quite a few people hanging around – everyone seemingly normal and certainly nobody standing out or doing anything even remotely strange.
“That’s not good – normal people do odd things,” he thought to himself. “It’s the completely normal ones who fade in to the background, that you need to worry about.”
Nevertheless, he still wondered if it was paranoia. So he decided to conduct a few tests – initially slowing down whilst seemingly typing on his mobile phone.
Contrary to what you may see in the movies, it’s actually quite difficult to follow someone moving very slowly – primarily because, to follow someone moving very slowly, you have to slow down as well – thereby drawing attention to yourself. Or you need to have a large team, with people ahead, people behind and more to each side – but that takes time to set up. So as Price slowed down, he waited to see what would happen.
Firstly, as he almost came to a complete halt, a man that had been behind him walked past and kept going.
“Got you,” thought Price, as he took a photo of the man on his phone – focusing on the shoes because, whilst you can easily change coats, add or remove a hat or glasses – it’s much more difficult to change shoes – it’s just a really inconvenient thing to do – so it’s a pretty good test.
As he continued to wander along the embankment, Price decided to take a turn away from the river and head off down a side road. He was aware of a coffee shop a couple of roads away so he turned left – noting that a lady coming towards him, took the same turn. So he immediately turned left again – and then again – thereby, effectively executing a full circle.
The lady didn’t follow him – but another lady appeared as he stepped in to the coffee shop and bought a Café Latte. Then, sure enough, a few seconds later, she followed him in and bought a coffee as well – not realising that Price had discreetly added her photo to his collection.
Price decided to take a seat – noting that the lady did the same – but the instant she sat down, he stood up and left. “She can’t follow me,” he thought to himself, “As that would be a total give away – so that rules her out – for a while at least.”
On leaving, Price walked back towards the embankment, only to see a man standing looking out at the river – so having added his photo to the collection on his phone, Price resumed his casual walk towards Waterloo Station.
As he meandered along, Price flicked back through his snapshots – first looking at the photo of the original man that had passed him, then comparing it with the man now standing by the river – moments later, cursing to himself, “Dammit.” – the man he’d just seen looking at the river had identical trainers to the first man.
Price zoomed in the photos and compared them more carefully. They were both rear views and both showed a small scuff mark on the back of the right-hand shoe – in exactly the same place and in exactly the same way. The man had obviously walked through some mud or something – and that had turned his completely harmless high street purchase in to something unique.
The man’s jacket had changed colour – although it was the same type and general shape – “Presumably turned inside out,” Price thought – now convinced that it had to be the same man.
As he continued walking along, Price noted that the man had now started walking as well. He didn’t look back directly at the man – that would be too obvious – but as buses went past, he glanced to his left and used his peripheral vision to glance at the reflection in the bus windows.
So now that he had confirmed his instincts were correct, Price started to wonder who would tail him. “Was this related to the meeting that had just taken place – or was it something in the past? Worst still, do these people represent a threat? Indeed,” he thought, “Am I in immediate danger? Were these people trained to kill?”
Price considered calling it in – it was the rule – he was in the UK, which meant he was effectively just a civilian like any other person. And that meant he was supposed to behave as one and call the Chief of Staff in the event of a problem. His jurisdiction, or more accurately, his approved place of work, was outside the UK. There, he had authority to take action – but this was home territory.
He stopped and paused – again considering whether to call the incident in, whilst looking aimlessly out at the river – the occasional boat passing by – mostly sightseeing tours crammed with foreign visitors taking photos. "More big fat Americans," he thought.
For a few moments, Price's mind wondered – almost forgetting where he was. But after a minute or so, he snapped his head back to reality and started to walk again – deciding that he would deal with this himself – just in case it was related to the briefing he’d just attended.
"What to do – what to do," he thought. If he was abroad, he’d probably find a quiet street and make the person following him answer his questions – perhaps even using force to do so – but he couldn’t do that here. If by some chance he were captured on a CCTV camera, he’d be in real trouble. “And let’s not forget,” he thought, “London has more CCTV cameras than almost anywhere else in the world.”
Then suddenly, "Chas – the regiment – that's the answer," he thought, as he turned to face the road, stopped and waited for a taxi.
Given where he was standing, it didn't take long for one to arrive.
Covering the side of his mouth, so that an onlooker could not lip-read, he leaned his head in the passenger window of one of London’s famous black taxi’s and very quietly spoke to the driver, "Wardour Street please." Then, after the taxi driver nodded, “OK,” he got in to the passenger seat and relaxed – hearing the familiar click of the taxi door, indicating that it was now locked, as the car moved away from the side of the road.
Looking behind through the rear window, Price could see the man from the river bank had carried on walking – but he presumed there would be more people following him now – either in cars or maybe another cab – certainly, a short blonde-haired man had taken a taxi immediately behind his and seemed to be tracking his turns.
Some minutes later as Price’s taxi turned in to Wardour Street, he leaned forward and said, “This’ll do for me mate – just drop me anywhere you can stop please.”
The taxi pulled over to the right, in a gap between parked cars, and Price got out. Then, having paid the fare, he started to walk down the road – noticing that the other taxi had gone past but pulled up about 50 yards ahead, where the short blonde-haired man got out and started to walk back up the road.
Price knew that there was no way anyone following him could have predicted he would go to this location – and in London traffic, it would have been difficult to follow him without staying very close. So the chances were, Blondy, as he decided to call him, was on his own – at least for the next couple, or few, minutes.
With that in mind, Price casually walked forward and turned left in Tyler’s Court – one of London’s many pedestrian lanes – on this occasion providing a convenient, if dark and narrow, cut-through from Wardour Street to Berwick Street.
He suspected that Blondy would be following him in a few seconds. So as soon as he had turned in to Tyler’s Court and was out of sight, he sprinted forwarded as fast as his legs would carry him – ducking in to the entrance of a shop a few seconds later – very grateful that there was nobody else around.
Then he waited – looking at the reflection in the window on the opposite side of the lane to see if anyone had followed. And sure enough, a few seconds later Blondy appeared. He was speaking on his mobile phone – so Price presumed he was calling for help and reporting that he’d lost sight of his target – but was searching.
A few more seconds and he’d be level with Price – so Price prepared himself, clenching the fist on his left hand. Then just has Blondy drew level with his position, Price stepped out, swinging his arm round in the process and landing a devastating punch to Blondy’s stomach.
The man dropped his phone and collapsed on the floor, where he proceeded to roll around, crumpled up and holding his stomach.
Price quickly looked around to see if they were alone. He was lucky – they were. So he picked up the phone, removed the SIM card and put the handset back in the man’s pocket before saying, “Sorry – but you were following me – and not very discreetly I might add. Do you want to tell me why you were following me?”
The man just looked up at Price. He was clearly in a great deal of pain – still clutching his stomach, coughing and gasping for air. Despite that though, he just managed to mutter the words, “Piss off.”
“Fair enough,” thought Price. “I’d probably say the same thing in his position,” as he reached down and quickly frisked the man to check that he wasn’t armed – the last thing he needed was to be shot in the back as he walked away. Then, having satisfied himself that he hadn’t done any lasting damage and didn’t need to call an ambulance, he turned and sprinted off down the lane – turning left at the end in to Berwick Street.
Fortunately for Price, Berwick Street seemed to be fairly quiet as well, so he sprinted up the road to the junction, then across and in to another of London’s small pedestrian lanes – this time, however, the considerably less salubrious, Walker’s Court.
Walker’s Court and Berwick Street are in the area of London called Soho – known for being the location of many great restaurants as well as the legendary, Ronnie Scott’s jazz club – a particular favourite of Price’s. Perhaps more notorious than famous though, Soho is also renowned as the centre for London’s sex industry. And indeed, as Price entered Walker’s Court he passed various sex shops selling all sorts of books, videos and devices to keep even the most imaginative person amused.
Price wasn’t there for the shopping though – instead, he focused on the numbers on the doors, as he casually made his way down the lane – finally stopping around two-thirds of the way down, where he looked back to see if anyone had followed him, before turning towards a door where a lady was standing.
Price just looked at her – her huge chest that was clearly the result of surgery – pushed up by a bra that was several sizes too small and was covered, as a result only partially, by a cheap glittery dress and even cheaper perfume that filled the air.
“Hello darling. Come in. We have sexy girls inside,” she said in an east European accent.
“Good lord, it speaks,” Price mused to himself – noticing that as she moved her mouth, the inches of makeup that had been layered on to her face, seemed to crack.
“Thank you,” he said – stepping inside, after another quick glance up and down the lane to make sure neither Blondy, nor any other unwanted person for that matter, had appeared.
The girl star
ted to speak again – this time attempting to explain that he needed to pay a fee to go in. However, Price politely raised his hand to stop her, “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m not here for the girls. The owner of this place is an old friend. Is Chas in?” he asked.
“Chas?”
“Charles? Or maybe even, Charlie?”
“Oh you mean big Charlie,” the lady said with a smile. “Yes, follow me,” as she led Price down the dark corridor to an imposing black metal door where she carefully knocked – in the process, ensuring that she didn’t damage her, excessively long and overly decorated, false nails.
“Charlie, Charlie, a friend of yours is here to see you,” she called out.
For a few seconds there was no reply – just noise from neighbouring bars and people chatting outside. Then Price heard a solid click as the door opened – and before them stood an imposing, tall and well-built blonde-haired man -– almost as tall as Price and with an equally weathered-looking face.
The man’s initial blank and uninterested expression immediately transformed in to a broad smile as he stepped forward and literally threw his arms around Price’s shoulders to embrace him. Then, rather more loudly than Price would have preferred, he bellowed, “Price – this is a surprise. Come in mate. Come in,” as he stood to one side of the door and instructed the lady to get back to the lane and bring in a real customer.
As the lady walked away, muttering something that Price didn’t catch, he followed Chas through the door, being sure to close it firmly behind him.
Once inside he was pleasantly surprised. Whilst the entrance was nothing less than dark, sleazy and unwelcoming, the door led them in to a luxurious and modern apartment. Price liked the choice of hardwood flooring, the functional decoration, the comfortable furniture and the state-of-the-art kitchen – indeed, in many ways it reminded him of his own apartment.
Chas walked over to the kitchen bar, “What’ll it be mate. Coffee? Or Beer?”
“Coffee thanks. Big Charlie,” Price replied – stressing the word ‘Big’ before laughing.
