Just something I'm playing about with, what do you think?
When I say I had inherited a flat, I had. But not in the
strictest term that that implies, from a relative who had died. No, I used to go for a fag in Bloomsbury
Square Gardens at lunch times and sit and read whatever book I was 'reading' at
the time, and while sitting there one day the old guy who had been sharing my
bench for the last couple of weeks spoke.
I was never a great conversationalist at the best of times
and when on my lunch break I just wanted to clear my head, sometimes I was
reading the book, or at least gave the appearance of reading the book while not
really taking in anything that was written on the pages. It could have been a
book on quantum physics or the latest best seller for all the attention I was
giving it and, looking back, it was more of a defence mechanism than anything
else. It was something to prevent people
engaging with me or me engaging with them.
I had been working in an office as a clerk. I was 27
and had worked there for two years and was still a clerk. But, I couldn’t really complain as I had no
real ambitions. I had been a mediocre
pupil at school in Scotland and had run away to London when I was fifteen. It wasn’t that I had anything to run away from,
my family were still there at the time, or at least my mother was and a brother
and sister and while we were ‘poor working class’, we were in the same
situation as everyone else, surviving day to day. But even at 15 I knew that there was going to
be no job for me as all the factories were closing down. So I forged my mother’s signature on my sign
up papers for ‘boy’s service’ in the Army and off I went. When my mother found out she threatened to
have me sent back home, but as I pointed out to her that if she did, I would be
straight off again, as there was nothing there for me, she relented and never
said anything.
I spent the next ten years as an infantry soldier, promoted
a couple of times and demoted a couple of times. Got shot, stabbed and crippled a couple of
times, but recovered from all of them.
When I wasn’t soldiering, when I
had had my various incidents and was medically downgraded ,I was on ‘light duties’ which normally entailed admin
work in the company offices for the company sergeant major, or in the stores or
the armoury, and it was during those little soirees I learned to type, file and
do general office duties.
When I got out after 10 years, I had accumulated a variety of skills, but, not ones that had a high demand in civvie street, apart from the general office
dogsbody bit. I could drive, anything
with an engine, any size, track vehicles as well. I could strip and assemble any infantry
weapon blindfolded and was an excellent shot, qualified as a marksman and I was
handy with a knife. I could creep about
unnoticed in field jungle or desert and I could blend in, in a city
street. I did a stint with intelligence
after being noticed being able to pick up on certain information hidden in
documents as a test that I wasn’t aware I was sitting! Apparently an officer in
the regiment noticed something about me and decided to set me a little test
reading some intelligence analysis reports; I picked out some information and
highlighted it, and was seconded to a small intel unit for six months to analyse
incoming information, interesting but boring, for me. While there I was asked to do a couple of
things and was detailed with a team to shadow some people in London, Berlin and
Paris. Languages came easy to me, so it
was no problem and all I had to do was shadow, photograph where I could and
write out detailed reports on movements and meetings. I ended up there for the next 8 years. At the end of my ten
years I was asked to stay on, but I get bored easily and decided to leave.
Col Hicks, who I got to know while on secondment, asked what
I was going to do. I had no idea. I certainly wasn’t moving back to
Scotland. My mother had died while I was
serving and there was nothing there for me.
I had saved quite a bit of cash while serving. I liked to drink, back then, still do but not
as much as then. But, there is only so much money you can spend on drink. I had never spent money on a holiday. Didn’t
need to, I had been all over the world with the Army and while, from time to
time I really had to earn my keep with some of the places I had visited and the
things that I had to do, it was in effect like being employed with a holiday
company; Germany, Cyprus, Hong Kong, Norway, America, Canada, Singapore
Australia. I had relationships with
women, and while I wined and dined them and even moved in with a couple of
them, they lasted as long as I was in the country or area, and then they and I
moved on, no regrets.
So, honourable discharge and a bank account with £40k in it,
not a lot but at least it was a cushion. Col Hicks knew that I wasn’t going to
be looking for much and suggested that I call on a friend of his who had publishing
house on Great Russell Street. I asked him, “Is it a cover,” I knew what he was
like, sneaky. He replied, “No, but
Kirkus is an old friend from military circles, he took a degree in psychology and did
a lot of profiling for us, when needed.
He looks after people for us, normally people who need looking after,
but others too, people like yourself Jason, people who have served us well, but
who are not in need of special care, who just need a job to tide them over
until they decide what they want to do.
He will expect you to work but, it is not demanding and he will
understand if you suddenly decide to up sticks for something else. And,” here
it comes I thought, “it may well be that we may call on you from time to time
if we have someone we need looked at, if you have nothing better to do for a
couple of days, and you will be well remunerated for any work you do for us,
cash in hand, but all the appropriate paperwork will be in place to ensure
there are no problems with HM Revenue, if you know what I mean.” So there it was then, they didn’t mind me
leaving but they might want to use my skills from time to time.... I didn’t
mind. If Kirkus was going to pay me to
do an easy job filing his paperwork, and
I could get the odd backhander from HMG for doing things that I was
particularly good at, what the hell, and that’s how I had been living for the
last few years.
Kirkus, as it turned out, published a quarterly journal on
psychology with contributors from all around the globe, but his main source of
income was from publishing text books, don’t ask, who would have thought you
could produce so many of these things and make money from it, but he did. I think he also had translators who
translated them into different languages as well for overseas sales and this
was apparently a lucrative market. I
know they cost a fortune, but then all text books do as I discovered when I
signed up for a degree course in security and, coursework was fine and gave me
no problems and was into it by two years when the boredom kicked in again, so
£8k down and gave up. But, the thing I did notice was that every text book I
had to purchase, cost a fortune, so maybe students do have a problem,
complaining about the cost of their education today!
I was set to work in the archives and that’s where I was for
the next few years, it suited. Monday through
Friday 9 to 5 and no weekend work. Hicks
did call on me from time to time.
Usually a manila envelope handed to me by Kirkus, with the comment that
I should use the locked shredder, the one that destroys sheets of paper into
minute specks and was kept in a locked cabinet in the archive room, I was the
only one who worked in archives, once I read the information, that’s all he
would say apart from, “I’ll see you when you get back then.” I was never asked if I wanted the job, there
was no mechanism, that I could tell, for saying no, although I wouldn’t and I
hadn’t thought about it, the consequences of saying no I mean! I also knew, that if I wanted to I could disappear,
whenever I wanted to. And anyway, each
job came with a minimum of £10k. I was contacted once by the bank and HM Revenue
about the payments made into my account, I told Kirkus and was never bothered
again. I also made sure that the bulk of
the money I had was salted away in a non UK account, just in case I had to
disappear and there was a variety of safety deposit boxes around London and
abroad with passports and emergency cash. I also know that Hicks, the sneaky
bastard, was keeping tabs on me as he did let slip on one occasion that he was
surprised that there was not more money in my bank account! I knew from that
moment, or at least it confirmed to me that he was a sneaky bastard and that I
was right to do what I had been doing and in making sure that I was never
followed when I sneaked out of the country.
I guessed that when I stopped making the payments into my
bank it got back to him, and he knew I would not keep those sums of money in
the office or lying around. He probably
guessed I had other arrangements, and as long as he was only guessing, no harm
no foul. And I was too god for anyone to
stick on my tail when moving around. The usefulness of the drama lessons in the
amateur dramatics society paid off in terms of make-up and disguises when
changing appearance.
So, this flat I had ‘inherited’. The old chap had been watching me for a
couple of weeks, not long after I started going to the park which was a couple
of weeks after I started working at Gowe’s publishing, as he sat on the bench with a tartan rug
around his legs, didn’t matter what the weather was he had a rug around his
legs. Eventually, other than the cursory
and pleasant good day, we never spoke. After a couple of weeks though, he spoke. “Why do you pretend to read those books when
you are in the Gardens, young man? I
couldn’t help but notice that you have had a different book every week, for the
last three weeks, giving the impression that you are reading a book per week,
but that you aren’t actually reading them.
You are good though, you turn pages regularly and in the time it would
take someone of average reading ability to read and move on, and I even notice
that occasionally you will turn back a page, just to confirm a point, before
moving on again. But, again you are not
actually reading, are you?”
I looked at him, he continued, “And I noticed that there are
plenty of smokers, like you in the park, yet you are the only one who does not
dispose of his cigarette butt on the ground or in the waste bins either. Neither do you dispose of your sandwich
packet or empty coffee cup in any of the bins, you take with you, exactly what
you brought in, why is that!”
“I hate litter bugs” I responded. He smiled, it was a warm smile, he might be
getting on but there was life in the eyes yet and they were slate gray with
flecks of green that sparkled. They were
the type of eyes that you wouldn’t want to see in a woman, if only because,
once she caught you in the glare of them, you would be hooked. “I hardly think that that is the reason, no I
suspect that there is something more to it than that. In fact, I’ll wager,” he
continued, “ that you are a very careful person. You are a person that leaves very little
trace of his comings or goings and that it would take a considerable amount of
resources to determine that you were anywhere, where you did not wish people to
know that you had been!”
“Do you read?” I asked in return. “As a matter of fact I do.” He
responded. “I read a lot, not while I am
here taking the air, but in my apartments”
I considered this while he waited for my response, “taking the air” and
“apartments”. He was clearly of a certain era, using phrases like
that. “Crime and thriller, eh” I
said. “As a matter of fact, yes” he
replied and before I could add anything, ..................................
Okay. You're building something here. Keep going.
ReplyDeleteBut before you could add anything....What? I want to know what! Like Jaye said, keep going.
ReplyDelete