One London Day

by C. C. Humphreys

  And he? Well of course, he was Morpheus. The ultimate brains.

  They’d stayed in touch, after Oxford. So when last year an opportunity arose to make some serious dosh, the team was perfectly positioned. Needed a name change though. Needed to step back… into the Shadows.

  He initiated it. At MI6, with all his service in the Middle East, he was privy to all sorts of useful intel – especially the ripple-effect opportunities created by the war in Syria. Perry had been promoted to Charges D’Affaires in Ankara, where he kept his ear – caulifowered since some oaf from Cambridge trod on it during the Varsity game - to the ground. Sadiq, a partner at Goldman Sachs, knew just how to take all the money they made, legitimize and increase it, in high return stocks and shares. While Bernard, at MI5, was able to monitor any domestic fall out.

  Something had obviously appeared on his radar. Bernard might have been annoying in refusing to say anything at all. But Sebastien had known the man since prep school. He was a steady eddie, a little dull to be honest, even more introspective since his wife had died suddenly of cancer the year before. Little shook him – yet he was shaken now. And if he was shaken… Sebastien felt that tightening in his balls again. He needed to know, now. “Look,” he said, interrupting another Sadiq moan, “Fuck Nate. I think we should begin.”

  Then he looked up and realized that a waiter was hovering at his elbow.

  The man leaned down and murmured softly, “Mr Greenburg wishes you to know he has gone straight to the table, sir. Would you like me to take your drinks through?”

  “No need. Drink up, all.” Sebastien hefted his own tankard and demonstrated. “Time to move onto the wine anyway. I ordered two bottles of an acceptable Pomerol decanted four hours since.”

  He’d reserved a table right in the middle of the room. The idea of being bugged at the Athenaeum was absurd. But ever since he’d heard the alarm in Bernard’s voice when he called for this extraordinary meeting of the Shadows, he’d wanted to take extra precautions.

  Nate was indeed already there. “Kudos on the Pomerol, Morpheus,” he said, as they approached. He swirled some wine in his glass. “Good call, as the Yanks would say.”

  He took a swallow that probably cost fifty pounds. Sebastien sat and looked at him. Agent Smith. The trader. Not only could Nate get anything shipped anywhere – beside the drugs and refugees, there’d lately been some valuable antiquities out of Syria – he had contacts with ex-Mossad Israelites that saw that their shipments were well protected. They’d made a lot, even in one year. You know, he thought as he reached for the decanter, if Bernard does have bad news, perhaps we can dissolve and reconvene. Too good a crew to break up.

  They ordered. The Bedales boys went for game – woodcock for Perry, grouse for Bernard and himself. Sadiq punished himself for the whisky by taking the vegetarian risotto, and drinking only water. Nate ordered a steak, well done. As the waitress walked away, Bernard began to speak.

  “I’m concerned. We may be rumbled.”

  “What? How?”

  “Well, I don’t fully know.” Bernard took a hefty pull at the wine. Sebastien was pleased he’d ordered two bottles decanted. It looked like they were going to need the second sooner rather than later. If it was bad news, there was no point hearing it on lesser wine. “It’s a rumour, for now, at the Box.” All knew what he meant. Box 500 was the postal address of MI5.

  “How wide-spread a rumour?” asked Sadiq.

  “Again, I don’t know. Fairly wide, I would say, considering my source.”

  “Who is?”

  “Little number from Communications. Junior. So if she knows…”

  “Pillow talk? Knobbing her are we, Trinity?” Perry said.

  “Certainly not! You know that I - ”

  Sebastien interrupted before he could launch into his usual song and dance about still being in mourning. “What did she say?”

  “She’s new, wanted to check with me if she’d properly encrypted a couple of messages between departments.” Bernard picked up his wine, gulped again ‘Wild elephants in the Circus’ was the phrase used.

  “We’re almost certainly not the only… wild elephant at MI6,” he said. “Why do you think this is us? Did she say more?”

  “No. Well, I didn’t ask. Didn’t show any further interest” He shrugged. “I mean, if she was fishing…”

  “So you asked elsewhere?”

  “No. But I did do a little checking. On the QT. One of my cases right now is illegal immigration. I saw that someone called Ellerby was taking a special interest in one particular boat.”

  “Which boat?”

  “MVS Thalia.”

  “Fuck.” The same word, from the four other mouths.

  Nate now spoke for the first time. “I told you. I said it was too risky. It was stupidity.”

  “But you agreed.”

  “I was voted down, as you know. Right in this room. Four sugar lumps to one.” He leaned forward. “Ari had told me, in Haifa last month – the passage is getting harder. The fucking Libyans are sending boats out which are more rust than metal - ”

  “Rust is metal - ”

  “Fuck off, Perry.” Nate shook his head. “It was bound to draw attention when it sank. Two hundred people dead? It was greed and it was stupid and we shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Would you like to transfer your forty thousand dollars back to the consortium?” Sadiq, the banker said, leaning in. “Since you have such a problem with it?”

  “And you can fuck off too…”

  “Shhhh!” Sebastien’s hiss was a soft contrast to the rising voices. “This table may not be bugged but there are souls about.” He gestured to other diners scattered about the room. “Besides,” he continued, “What’s past is past, right? It’s done, the money’s banked. What we did doesn’t matter. All that matters is what we do now.” He turned to Bernard. “Should we panic? Can they find us? I mean,” he waved at Nate, “our friend here found a very adept member of his tribe to do our one set of books. Old school. We’d agreed - the only untraceable trail these days is a paper one.” He waved at Sadiq. “You’re not questioning our black-balled friend’s ability to hide the money, are you? If we simply - ”

  “Of course not, it’s just…” Bernard interrupted. “I looked into this Ellerby. A woman. Rising star. Very ambitious. Doubly so since she’s black, and grew up on a South London estate.” He grunted. “Friend in her department says she passed on all her other open files to her colleagues, and is now only concerned with one.”

  “Does it have to be our one?”

  “No.” Bernard sat back and frowned. “But I have a feeling in my waters…”

  “Oh well, case proven then!” Perry laughed and shook his head. “Steady, you chaps. Let’s find out some more before we do anything hasty. I mean, I’ve just ordered the fucking Morgan! And the wife’s bought the full Aga for Faversham Hall!”

  Sebastien looked at Bernard. He’d never talked about his waters before. He wasn’t the type. There was something else. “Trinity,” he cajoled. “What aren’t you telling us?”

  His friend coloured. The red mark on his cheek, where the squash ball had struck him, crimsoned. “Alright, one more thing. The Wolf’s back.”

  “What?” Sebastien leaned forward.

  “Who the fuck’s the Wolf?” asked Sadiq.

  “My question as well,” added Nate.

  “The Wolf…” Sebastien paused, considered, spoke. “Maurice Wolfden. A bit of a legend at 5. A sniffer out of rodents. Or wild elephants. Also said to be the man who used to do internally what we contract Mr…” he broke off without saying the name. Suddenly he felt things needed not to be said. “What we use our freelancer for.” He turned again to Bernard. “I thought he was dead. Back for a visit? Or back to work?”

  “I don’t know. He was there twice last week.” Bernard drained his glass, immediately refilled it, emptying the decanter. “Could be coincidence. Or he may not be a threat. I mean the cunt’s older than God, isn
’t he? Still…”

  Sebastien nodded. He also felt something in his own waters now. “Well, gentlemen. Given that, I think we may need to take some precautions. Fold up the tent? Slip back into the Shadows for the nonce?”

  “Oh come on!” Perry, his new sports car and country house cooker clear in his eyes, leaned in. “Some old animal visits and you all bleat like sheep in the fold? At least wait until the end of the week. We’ve got that shipment of heroin base coming through Turkey. Our biggest yet, on its way to the lab in Bosnia.”

  “What would that be worth, Sadiq?”

  The money man sucked at his lower lip. “To us? At least one million.”

  “Not so much then,” said Bernard, “so not worth riski…”

  “Apiece.”

  The four other men simultaneously sucked air between their teeth.

  “Well, gentlemen. Perhaps we shouldn’t be over hasty – on a feeling in Bernadette’s waters.”

  “I still think - ”

  “Sugar?” suggested Nate, interrupting Bernard.

  “Looks, let’s discuss further first - ”

  “Sugar,” agreed Perry, and reached for a lump.

  Each man took one, Bernard reluctantly last. Each pulled out a pen, cupped their hands over the lump, stabbed down – or not. Sebastien held out a bread plate, each looked away – and dropped their lumps onto it.

  They all looked then. One lump had a clear blue mark on it. But after turning the others over, it was clear that there was just the one.

  Bernard threw himself back in the chair. Sebastien spoke. “So we think about dissolving. But not till after this week. For now. Each to their own… field.” He turned to Sadiq. “How much do you think we have left to share out?”

  “I’d need to see the books.”

  “Ah yes, the books.” Sebastien looked at Nate. “Your friend has them safe, I trust.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Nate shrugged. “I’m going to his daughter’s bat mitzvah on Saturday. I’ll confirm.”

  Sadiq leaned forward, lowered his voice. “But I have to report - I have learned something rather disturbing about our bookkeeping friend.”

  “What?”

  “As you know, I invest our profit – legitimize it and make some good interest on the principle. I have been focusing on three companies – all a little shady to be honest, which accounts for the high returns. But I have also been monitoring who else is investing in them. Confirming my choice etc. Hedge funds, some big brokers… but I noticed this rather odd, regular investment, day traded but very small sums. So I got our young hacker chum, Vasislav from Minsk, onto it. Guess what he found?” he looked around at the others, none of whom replied, so he went on. “It’s our friend, the bookkeeper. Following my bets. Making some extra money for himself.”

  Nate leaned back. “So? Proves he’s smart, doesn’t it?”

  Sebastien hissed. “We didn’t want smart. We wanted steady. That’s what you promised us.” He turned to Sadiq. “Is this dangerous?”

  “Well, it’s a trail. An electronic one, which we wanted to avoid - which is why we hired a man to do double entry on paper in the first place.”

  “So it is a danger?”

  Sadiq shrugged. “Possibly.”

  “I think this calls for our friend Venom don’t you?”

  “Wait a minute.” Nate leaned forward. “You mean just to collect the books, right? You don’t mean…”

  “Oh, I rather think I do. If we do need to dissolve – for now – we’ll need a proper tidy up.” He looked around at the others. “Don’t you agree?”

  “No, no!” Nate raised both hands, palms forward. “This man is from my synagogue, he has a family…”

  “We all have families, Nathan.” It was Sadiq who spoke.

  “And when push comes to shove, I prefer mine to his,” added Perry.

  “Oh come on! You asked me to find someone to do the books. You never said he’d ever be at risk.”

  “Well, now he’s the risk.”

  “You can’t…”

  “Sugar?” Bernard said.

  “Sugar,” Perry and Sadiq agreed.

  “No, not yet. Let me reason with you - ”

  Sebastien reached forward and picked up a lump.

  The others did as well. “Fuck,” Nate muttered, but he reached as well.

  When they looked at the plate only one had ink on it. It fell apart as Sebastien turned it over, so hard had Nate driven his pen nib into it.

  “Well, fuck you all.” Nate pushed back his chair, stood.

  “Sit down, you fool.”

  “No. I’m off.” He turned away, turned back, leaned down. “I hope you can live with yourselves. His daughter is getting bat mitzvah-ed. He’s got a kid on the way.”

  “Calm down, sit down, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” Nate still stood, so Sebastien sighed, and continued. “I’ll… investigate your friend a little. Be interesting to find out why this eddie is not quite so steady, eh? And see if he’s… unsteady anywhere else, hmm?”

  “And you won’t… do anything hasty?”

  “Not until we’ve found out more.”

  “And then?”

  “Hopefully all will be fine. If not,” Sebastien gestured to the sugar lumps. “Well, we have a mandate, don’t we?”

  “I want to be consulted again. Before anything…”

  “Of course. Look, the food’s coming so stop being a clot, sit down and eat.”

  “You know,” he looked at them all. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  As he turned again, Sebastien murmured, “Nothing stupid now, Agent Smith.”

  Nate passed the waitress approaching with their plates. “Shall I go after him?”

  “No, Sadiq. Leave him. It’s just a… tribal thing. He’ll come around. He has as much to lose as anyone here, after all. Which he’ll realize when he gets home, and tucks his kids into bed. Ah!”

  The waitress had arrived and put the grouse down before him and Bernard. It was bloody, just how he liked it. The woodcock she placed before Perry, the risotto before Sadiq, the steak where Nate had been. Sadiq immediately scooped it up and dumped it onto his rice.

  “Oh, you can bring the other decanter now, sweetheart,” Sebastien said. As she went off, Sebastien beamed at them. “Eat hearty all.” He paused, his first forkful half way to his mouth. “Sadiq, what’s the chap’s name again?”

  “Joseph Severin.”

  “Happen to know where he lives?”

  “Near Nate, if it’s the same synagogue,” Bernard said, while chewing. “North West London.”

  “That’ll do.” Sebastien smiled as the waitress returned and poured a splash of the wine into his glass. He swirled, sniffed, tasted, nodded. She filled up the others. He noticed that Sadiq did not refuse this time. Sebastien raised his glass. “Here’s to the finale of our first venture. And to the overture of many more.”

  They clinked, then set to on the food. The rest of the meal passed in trivialities.

  Sadiq had compensated for his earlier restraint by hitting the wine hard. They hailed then helped him into a taxi. “Share a cab?” Sebastien asked.

  “Not going home. Going on.”

  “Oh yes? Where to?”

  Bernard blushed. The squash ball strike flared again. “I, uh, I’m seeing, uh, Sonya tonight.”

  “What? The Russian whore.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t say it in that tone. I told you, she’s only working to earn money for…”

  “Yes, yes. All sorts of good causes, no doubt. You really are such a soft touch, Bernadette. Fall for any old claptrap.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Still, if it helps you to forget. Oh, look, cab. You take this one. Love’s winged chariot and all that.”

  Bernard climbed in, and off he went. Sebastien watched the taxi merge into traffic. He was sure his friend regretted the bottle of McCallan that had loosened his tongue, lowered his guard, and mistake Sebastien’s sympathy for honesty. He’d blurted out this c
onnection with this prossie, this Sonya. Just more ammunition for a tease later. Though he didn’t blame him – it had been the matter of moments to track Sonya Ivenetza down. Visa photos were notoriously underwhelming. So she must truly be a cracker.

  Another yellow light was approaching from Trafalgar Square. He thrust up an arm and the black cab pulled over.

  He was just about to get in when he noticed the coin at his feet. One pound. It had almost certainly come from the cup he’d kicked earlier. As the cab pulled in, he stooped and picked it up. A profitable night, he thought. One million quid more if all went well in Turkey this week… and this pound in his hand. For just a moment, he couldn’t work out which sum gave him the greater pleasure.

  5

  The next morning - Thursday July 26th

  Some clients wanted it normal. Some wanted it different. Some very different. Sonya was up for most things, on a sliding scale of payment, so long as her base rules were observed: condoms, courtesy and no pain – for her. Pain for them? Fine. Negotiable as to degree and rate. She wasn’t a dominatrix, but knew… the ropes. English was such a funny language. In Russian, a system was a system, a rope was a rope and bondage was… zavisimost. They were not the same.

  Sometimes a client wished to talk. No, truly, some clients wished to be listened to. She could do that. In the army, she’d taken a course on interrogation techniques. Knew what questions to ask to provoke the answers. She’d also learned about inflicting pain, though this wasn’t the sort of pain her clients were interested in. Mostly.

  This man, Bernard, wasn’t ever after anything different. They’d usually meet for a late supper in the hotel restaurant – though last night he’d already eaten so only she did. He’d do most of the talking. Later, in the hotel room, they’d fuck briefly, simply, missionary. Afterwards he’d cry, and she’d hold him till he fell asleep. He paid her to spend the night which she didn’t do for many. But he paid her extra so she stayed. In the morning they’d have a room service breakfast and then they’d leave. He’d lost his wife one year before, ovarian cancer.