K2

Inheritance

K2

Book 1

Geoff Wolak

www.geoffwolak-writing.com

Glossary of abbreviations

P-26/P-27 - Swiss secret sleeper armies

UNA - Swiss Military Intelligence

MI6 - British Intelligence, aka, SIS - Secret Intelligence Service, for overseas operations (non-domestic), aka, ‘Circus’.

MI5 - British Intelligence (domestic)

CIA - Central Intelligence Agency, USA, overseas intelligence service<= /span>

SAS - Special Air Service, British Special Forces

SBS - Special Boat Squadron, British, similar to US Navy Seals<= /p>

DOD - Department of Defense - USA

MOD - Ministry of Defence - UK

NSA - National Security Agency, USA, aka ‘No such agency’. =

SOE - Special Operations Executive, British WWII covert operations OSS - USA, like SOE, WWII, overseas

DGSE - French Secret Service/counter terrorism - domestic and foreign=

IRA - Irish Republican Army, terrorist movement

ETA - Spanish/Basque separatist/terrorist movement

Red Brigade - Italian communist/terrorist/crime gang

KGB - Soviet Intelligence, prior to 1990s.

NAAFI - Navy Army Air Force Institute - shops on British military bases.

SIB - British Military Police

BKA - Federal German Police, similar to FBI

SVR - Russian Intelligence, formerly KGB

Special Branch - British Police, anti-terrorism/organized crime

Wehrmacht - general term, German armed services WWII

COBRA - Cabinet Office Briefing Room ‘A’, used by British Prime Minis= ter for meetings with security staff.

FARC – Colombian guerrillas/communist

British military slang

Oppo - opposite number/close working buddy

Pongo - soldier - derisive

Ponce/poncey - upper class/educated/effeminate - derisive

Regiment - he was ‘Regiment’- he was SAS

Rock Apes - RAF Regiment - defensive unit of airfields

Rupert - officer/upper-class - derisive

Beast - punish soldier

Stripy - Air Force Officer, derisive term for ranking stripes

Billets - accommodation/food

Civvy - civilian

Badged - qualified entry to SAS, receipt of cap badge

Best bib and tucker - best suit/outfit/military dinner suit

QT - on the QT, on the quiet

Stag – on guard duty

Valetta, Malta. 1963

‘Try and rest,’ the = priest softly encouraged, dabbing his father’s brow with a damp cloth, the temperature high for an autumn day in Malta. He idly swiped away another fl= y, the apartment’s cracked windows letting in the shouts of children pla= ying in the street below, an unseen cat crying out for some attention.

= His elderly father struggled to sit up, unable to complete that small movement;= the energy had left his frail body. ‘The list!’

‘Rest= ,’ the priest softly encouraged, now kneeling at the side of the bed.

Easing up, = he took in the rundown apartment with a puzzled frown; the bottles littering t= he floor, the cockroaches attracted to rancid cat food placed on old newspaper= s, empty food tins, and a large pile of handwritten pages. Fetching water from= a rusted tap, he wondered how his father - a very rich man, had come to end u= p in this squalor.

The priest = had spoken little to his father in the past ten years, since his vows. Before t= hat his father had always been distant, but at least approachable when his moth= er had been alive, fond memories of a pleasant childhood in Basel, Switzerland. The priest had grown up in a large house, always full of interesting people, always the best of everything. Unlike many families struggling through the = lean post-war years, they had enjoyed holidays abroad, especially here in Malta. They had been better off than most, but for reasons that the priest could n= ever have guessed.

His mother = had died after a short illness whilst he had been in seminary, the detail of th= at illness coming as a shock, and only being revealed to him after she had pas= sed away. Returning to their home in Basel for the funeral, he had found it stripped of everything, his father offering a single ‘goodbye’ = as they passed at the cemetery. Now, little more than a year later, his father= had summoned him here, to a cheap apartment on the island of Malta, his father = now living in squalor, an old revolver visible under the pillow.

The old man= tried to speak, lifting a shaky hand. ‘Buried in Zug … buried the treasure … Nazi treasure.’

The priest = stared hard at his father, not sure he had heard the words correctly, a chill runn= ing through him. ‘Nazi … treasure?’

‘Buri= ed … next to the treasure … the files … files of great value. The list!’ The words were repeated many times, the old man using his remaining energy to desperately force them out before he slipped into unconsciousness.

Unable to r= ouse his father, the priest lifted up the pile of hand-written notes, scanning t= he first page whilst he considered fetching a local doctor, and debating how he might go about finding such a person at this late hour. He took several measured steps toward the door as a cat cried out again, enough time to read the first paragraph. He stopped dead. The written words caused him to turn,= and to stare open-mouthed, at the seemingly lifeless form of his father.

By dawn, the priest had re-read the numerous pages four times, catching only an hour’s sleep during the night, the tear-tracks down his face distinct in the amber light of dawn. Setting light to each page in turn, he let the burning paper float down into apartment’s chipped and rusted bathtub, staring at the pages as they = slowly changed colour and folded in on themselves, their hideous story lost foreve= r.

Gathering up the brittle ashes, he flushed them down a yellow-stained toilet, another cat crying forlornly at = him through a cracked bathroom window. Returning to the bedroom, he snatched the pillow out from under his father’s head, placed it over the old man’s face, and pushed down with force and anger in his arms.

‘Forg= ive me, Lord,’ he said in a strained whisper as he pressed down.

Leaving the apartment, and trying n= ot to trip over the dozen hungry cats littering the stairway, the priest consider= ed the final line his father had written, and what it might mean: ‘Find = the Englishman, Beesely.’

Dallas, Texas. That sunny day.

The police officer rele= ased the safety catch on his sniper rifle and waited; calm, confident, resolute in h= is beliefs and his purpose. A moment later, cheering signalled the approach of President Kennedy’s motorcade, the procession visible through a crack= in the wooden fence the office now stood behind. The officer had just a few seconds to make a choice that might change history, his grip on the rifle tightening.

As he observed his intended target, three shots rang out, distorted echoes bouncing off nearby buildings, an overlapping chorus of screams and shouts rising up. He felt oddly relieved, and heaved an involuntary breath. Loweri= ng his rifle, he peered over the wooden fence at the chaos. In his black and w= hite police motorcyclist’s helmet, he studied the scene through his sunglasses: the President was slumped forwards, not a visible target, not t= hat it mattered now, it seemed the job had been done.

The rifle’s barrel and stock = were unclipped in haste, the weapon soon a third of its original length. His motorcycle’s pannier hung open ready and the rifle parts fitted well, covered in a moment as the pouch clipped shut. Throwing a leg across, he pu= shed the bike for ten yards, free wheeling before starting it. Pulling off quiet= ly, he gently accelerated, the bike’s radio buzzing with shouted orders or requests for clarification. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed an e= mpty parking lot.

With the sun beating down on deserted streets, he drove four blocks, the only thought on= his mind being what a pleasant day it was for such a cold act. He pulled into t= he next alley. Turning hard and then braking, he passed under a shutter door b= eing held open for him, halting with a squeak in the dark interior of a large workshop, the shutter immediately dropping down with a clatter. The officer dismounted, kicking out the bike’s stand before calmly taking off his= helmet. A punctured oil barrel enclosed and funnelled a roaring fire just outside an open rear door, the police helmet tossed in, his sunglasses and gloves insi= de it.

‘Any problems?’ came a familiar voice from the shadows.<= /p>

The officer= took a moment to adjust to the darkness. ‘None at all,’ he replied i= n a nasal and clipped English accent, calm and casual as he continued to strip down. ‘Our friends loosed off three rounds, so one fired twice. Poor old Oswald, he was in the wrong place at the right time.’

‘Did you … need to, you know?’ echoed from the shadows.

‘No,&= #8217; the Englishman answered as he undressed, amused by the other man’s discomfort.

‘And … would you have?’ the second man asked after a moment, standing and moving into the light.

‘With= out hesitation,’ the Englishman firmly stated as he grabbed fresh clothes= , as if proud to issue the words. ‘I manage to see these things … qu= ite clearly.’

The second man nodded, putting his cigarette back on his lip. ‘Listen, old chap,’ he mocked with an English accent, stepping closer and checking over his shoulder. ‘Fami= ly would prefer if you didn’t get too friendly with my kid sister given = who, and what, you are.’

The Englishman attended his clothes. ‘Oliver, let’s be clear about this; she … was the one mak= ing all the moves. And dare I remind you that it was you who introduced = us. A surprise given just who, and what, I am.’ He tipped h= is head and formed a thin smile as he buttoned his shirt. ‘And the good = lady is not quite the kid sister. She’s twenty-six, divorced with two kids, and could probably drink us both under the table!’ =

Oliver shru= gged a reluctant agreement with that last statement. ‘C’mon, old chap<= i>, the new Chairman of The Lodge is waiting. He hasn’t yet had the pleas= ure that is Morris Beesely from Englandshire.’

England. June, 2007. The J= oke.

Sir Morris Beesely woke= from a daydream, certain that he could hear gunfire. Sitting up and letting down h= is legs, fogged for a moment, he observed as delicate beams of sunlight illust= rated dust mites rising and falling, his mind still in Dallas on that sunny day. Easing up and stretching, he peered through a crack in the curtains, noting= his bodyguard below with a resigned sigh. ‘Oh … gawd.’

Sweat rolled down the bodyguard’s face, today being a particularly warm day for stalking pr= ey. He now wished that he had not worn his silk ‘Simpsons Family’ shorts, they were stuck to his skin.

He stood motionless, pistol ready, breathing steadily. Ignoring any distractio= ns, he waited for the right moment. Nine years in the SAS, ten years working as= a freelancer for various mercenary and intelligence groups, he had seen better days. He now had something to prove. He had missed this quarry fifteen times already, but this time it would be different, he told himself. With his wea= pon held on-target, he wiped sweat away from his eyes with the sleeve of his su= it jacket, his sponsor observing unseen from a high window.<= /h2>
      Movement. T= he gunman’s quarry foolishly gave away its position. <= /p>
      This one wo= uld be different, they would see, he could do it. He pulled his sweaty shorts out = of the crack of his backside, and fired. Quickly adjusting his aim a fraction,= he let off six rounds, bracketing the target, spent 9mm cartridges flying high= and wide. He closed the gap and fired again at point blank range with anger and determination, willing the bullet into his intended victim.

      Nothing. No movement.

He readied his trowel, determined t= hat they were not getting away. Digging quickly, he opened up the mole’s latest mound, right down to the small two-way tunnel.

Nothing.

‘Bollocks!’

With a sigh, he holstered his weapo= n, his sponsor turning away from the window.

=       ‘Any luck?’ his sponsor’s housekeeper enquired from the edge of the lawn, the lady now stood with a tea towel in her hand.

      The gunman = lit up as his sponsor came into view. Since leaving active service, and retiring to work as a simple bodyguard and driver, his sponsor and mentor had been very tolerant. So far.

      ‘Well= ?’ the old man asked, no hint of emotion evident.

=       The gunman lowered his head and dropped his shoulders. Two hours of shooting up his sponsor’s lawn with a 9mm pistol had produced no visible results; no deaths, not even a wounding. The garden moles had won.

      The houseke= eper was sympathetic. ‘Maybe if you wore your old camouflage clothing.R= 17;

&= nbsp;    Slowly, his sponsor’s features distorted. He bent double, clutching his chest. Laughing hard, but silently, he crumpled and fell over. Bemused, the housekeeper did not understand the cause of the hysterics, rushing to the a= id of her elderly employer; she had not meant to be cruel about the gunmanR= 17;s efforts.

&= nbsp;    The gunman walked inside, his head lowered, checking his watch. The Simpsons we= re on in five minutes, time for a cuppa.

Not a pleasant way to die

1

=

= With his shoes squeaking on the recently polished floor, George Willis, assistan= t to the new director of MI6, approached an isolated office in the basement of t= he MOD, Central London. He knocked on the glass door and entered without waiti= ng.

      ‘Will= is?’

      The sole oc= cupant of this small office squinted over the rims of his glasses in unwelcome recognition of the younger visitor, the occupier half-buried in files. The disgruntled employee, fifty-four at his last birthday, sat wearing new red braces over an off-white shirt hiding a slight frame. His grey hair grew th= in, his cheeks thinner. After a moment’s thought he jabbed towards the ke= ttle with his pen, a firm hint. ‘Kettle has boiled.’

      Willis snif= fed. ‘What’s in the kettle, Toby? Scotch?’ he asked with a kno= wing grin as he took a seat.

      Toby stared= back for several seconds. ‘It’s the cleaning liquid they use for the lino on the floor, it smells terrible,’ he stated. He threw down his = pen, eased back and took a big breath. ‘So, what brings you down to purgatory?’

      ‘Well, you’re really, really old, and rumoured to be a really sneaky shit.’

=       Toby forced= up his eyebrows in theatrical surprise. ‘Compliments already, you must be after something.’ He folded his arms.

      Willis ease= d back and crossed his legs. ‘Sir Morris Beesely.’
      Toby allowe= d himself a thin smile, an old memory surfacing. ‘That name takes me back to the good old days; long lunches, fiddling your expenses, being politically incorrect, genuine enemies to spy on. He was old school, prop= er spy. He knew Ian Fleming, they said.’

      ‘What= ’s he like?’

      Toby frowne= d in surprise. ‘Beesely? God, is he still alive?’ he asked as he pou= red out two small drinks.

      ‘Yes, apparently. Someone lifted his old personnel files, so Madam will not be pleased. That is, of course, if I tell her.’

      ‘Ah y= es, the new lady of the manor: Dame Helen Eddington-Small. How long now, three weeks in the hot seat?’

      Willis nodd= ed. ‘She’s not one of the boys, but better at her job than –’

      ‘Cert= ain age-ed gentlemen,’ Toby finished off without looking up. <= /p>
      ‘So w= hat about this Beesely character?’ Willis pressed.

Toby curled a lip as he thought bac= k to his early career. ‘He was quite the lad. Excellent at his job, don’t get me wrong, but he always managed to get himself into trouble and, strangely enough, he always managed to get away with it.’ He lif= ted his head, staring out of focus. ‘Bit of a ladies man if I recall, eve= n in later life.’ He focused on Willis. ‘Anyway, they never managed = to make anything stick. Not even that Kosovo thing.’
=       ‘Kosovo?’ Willis challenged. ‘That would have been well after he retired.’= ;

      ‘AGN Security,’ Toby whispered, glancing around the small office, despite = the fact that they were the only occupants.

      ‘I kn= ow the outfit. What about them?’

      ‘They= ’re heaped full of ex-SAS muddy-boot-wearing types. An unofficial recruiting gr= ound for your more energetic field agents ... when the lads are short of money, of course.’

=       ‘So what’s the connection?’ Willis asked, hiding a smile.

      Again, Toby curled his lip, giving a slight shrug. ‘Beesely used to own it, he may still do. Madam’s illustrious predecessors used to sub-contract the o= dd job to AGN - plausible deniability. But I had heard he retired from = all that long ago.’

      ‘Got a photo?’

      ‘Why,= lost his file?’ Toby pointedly enquired.

      Willis heav= ed a sigh. ‘Photo?’ he pressed.

=       ‘Only in my mind,’ Toby mouthed in an exaggerated fashion. ‘Five ten, thin, bit of a stoop, walks quickly.’ He shrugged, grimacing. ‘Bald, thin face. Looks like someone of his age, I suppose. Saw him l= ast year - well, maybe five years ago - at a reunion bash somewhere. I can̵= 7;t remember where, so it must have been a good one. Still sharp as a tack, mind you. He remembered me, and all my … misdemeanours.’

=       ‘Didn’t catch you drinking on the job, did he?’ Willis took a sip and winced. ‘So what’s this Kosovo thing you mentioned?’ he coughed o= ut.

      Toby grinne= d at his visitor’s discomfort. ‘It happened during the early days of= the conflict, when I had a desk with a window; Beesely sent recon’ teams = in under the radar. Some got themselves caught, but the powers that be wouldn’t send a rescue after them, so he funded one himself. He rescued some ex-SAS trooper by sending in some other ex-SAS trooper. ItR= 17;s quite the after-dinner story in some circles.’

      Willis̵= 7;s expression suggested they had the time.

      Toby reluct= antly continued, ‘Well, this one ex-SAS guy, a freelancer for Madam’s predecessors - Ricky something if I recall, he went in after Johno. That’s Beesely’s driver now, by the way, I saw him at the reunion.’

      Willis ease= d his face forward. ‘His driver?’

      ‘Back= then this Johno fellow was a freelancer for your lot. He went into Bosnia a few times, apparently successfully blowing things up. Whatever. Anyway, he went into Kosovo to blow up some ammo’ dump. He parachuted in, walked twen= ty miles, and made a nice big bang.’

      Willis offe= red a look of mock surprise.

&nb= sp;    ‘I told you, it’s quite the after-dinner story. Anyway, on the way out he ran into a battalion of Serb regulars. They put five, ten, or twenty rounds into him - depends on how drunk you are by this point in the story – = and left him for dead.’

      ‘What happened?’

      Toby studie= d the inside of his glass. ‘He performed first aid on himself apparently, stitches and everything, radioed-in his position. Powers that be decided against a rescue.’ He sighed. ‘Bravo Two Zero all over again.’

      Willis hid a grin. ‘So how did he get out?’

      Toby raised= a finger and smiled coyly. ‘Beesely organized the rescue, that guy Ricky plus some Kosovan Albanian resistance fighters. Not only did your lot refus= e to help, they threatened Beesely. He sent a rescue anyway, all organised in ju= st a day apparently. This Ricky was some big deal agent; he walked across the border, found Johno, and carried him out.’

‘Carried him?’

      ‘On h= is back, apparently, so the story goes; thirty miles to the border, dodging the Serbs. Some say Ricky carried him for three days without sleep. Who knows? Anyway, they had to shoot their way out, American helicopter picking them u= p on the Macedonian border.’

      ‘Why = on earth would the Americans pick them up, especially if AGN sent them in, a civilian outfit? And a British firm at that!’

      ‘Big … mystery.’ Toby mouthed the words carefully, again glancing ar= ound the room. ‘Another rumour about Beesely – he was always very friendly with the Americans. Anyway, rest is sketchy, rumours of this pair landing on a Yank aircraft carrier, Johno being stitched up and flown to It= aly and to a Yank military ho= spital before turning up back here. His driver, this man Johno, he spent a year in rehab.’

      ‘What= does this … Johno look like?’

      Toby ran a forefinger and thumb from below his nose, edging his mouth, and squarely do= wn to his chin. ‘Old school trooper moustache – Mexican bandit - l= ong sideburns, crew cut on top. Stocky, five eleven. Wouldn’t want to nud= ge his elbow in a bar; dangerous eyes. Spoke to him at that function, or the o= ne before.’ Toby curled a lip. ‘He drinks a lot, very sarcastic and negative.’

Willis raised an eyebrow and suppre= ssed a smile as Toby poured himself another drink.

Toby continued, ‘Big enquiry = by your lot as to how that pair got out. Anyway, they arrested him, Beesely th= at is. Next thing we know - all charges dropped. I told you, he always got away with it. Maybe the Queen helped.’

      Willis uncr= ossed his legs and straightened. ‘The Queen?’

      ‘Stra= nge trivia fact; she and Beesely met up once or twice a year, every year, for s= ixty years. They have, apparently, known each other since 1944.’

      ‘Well= ,’ he said as he stood. ‘I’ll be leaving with more questions than I came in with.’

      ‘Enli= ghtenment is what I’m here for.’

      ‘That= guy Ricky, he was working for Beesely’s firm at the time, AGN?’

      Toby formed= a thin, humourless smile. ‘Nope, he was on your books. He and Beesely k= new each other through Trooper Snoopers.’

      Willis tipp= ed his head. ‘Trooper … Snoopers?’

      Toby glanced around the empty room. ‘It’s a unit that isn’t supposed to exist. They draw officers and men from all services, just for a year or two.’

      ‘To do what?’

      ‘Chec= k up on ex-servicemen after retirement, former officers from delicate positions,= to see that they’re not writing their memoirs or married to a Russian ballerina named Olga. They also spy on ex-SAS troopers, see what they are up to. Mostly SIB flatfoots, and some of your lot.’

      ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.’

      ‘Like= I said, it isn’t supposed to exist,’ he said with a smirk, ‘= ;but I see the funding!’ He tapped the files in front of him. ‘Beese= ly was involved on and off for twenty years, so I’ve heard, even after he left regular work.’

      ‘Ah &= #8230; the fog is lifting a bit.’ Willis stepped to the door, turned and shrugged one shoulder. ‘See you at Christmas then, I suppose?’<= o:p>

      Toby stared. ‘How many uncles do you have?’

2

‘What’s up, Doc?’ Johno asked.

      The grey-ha= ired psychiatrist rolled his eyes, gesturing John ‘Johno’ Williams t= owards a seat, the roar of London traffic a dull drone in the background. This was Johno’s regular monthly session, the psychiatrist’s offices on = the second floor of a drab building off the Tottenham Court Road, central Londo= n.

      Johno picke= d up a pink squeeze-ball and slouched down. ‘It all started when I was a schoolboy,’ he said with mock seriousness. ‘Teacher touched me up.’

      ‘Did he?’ Doctor Manning probed as he settled himself, finally facing his patient.

&nb= sp;    ‘Hah! That would give you something to scribble down.’ Johno sat upright. ‘Anyway, why don’t you scribble down stuff any more? You used to.’ He ran a hand down his bushy moustache.

      ‘I ga= ve up on you long ago, you know that,’ Manning dryly stated.

      ‘Brok= e you, I did.’

      ‘You certainly gave me a run for your money.’

      ‘Bees= ely’s money, waste that it is,’ Johno retorted as he glanced out of the win= dow.

=       ‘Do you think your time here has been wasted?’ Manning posed, easing back= and now holding his pen between both hands.

      ‘Ah, = the serious pen stance,’ Johno teased. Suddenly self-conscious, Manning put t= he pen down. Johno tossed him the squeeze-ball. ‘Try that, you look stressed. I have that effect on people.’

      ‘I mu= st admit, Johno, you are a … perplexing character.’ Manning placed down the ball, interlacing his fingers.

=       ‘Me? Nah, two dimensional me,’ Johno mocked.

      ‘Hard= ly, you’re far more complicated than most give you credit for.’

      Johno squin= ted. ‘Most?’

=       ‘I assist a lot of soldiers, some know you.’

      ‘And = you discuss me?’

      ‘Not directly, but some are former SAS, and they recall experiences ... and peop= le. You crop up a lot actually. And I use your ... experience as an example.’

      ‘Do I= get a commission?’

      Dr. Manning= could not hold in the smile. ‘So, Johno, how have you been?’

=       ‘Up and down, not enough side to side, the usual. Still drinking too much, bad dreams, leg hurts. Can I go now?’

=       Manning lifted his hands, offering two open palms. ‘No one is forcing you to = come here –’

      ‘Not<= i> quite true, Doc. Beesely gives me money for the hotel and … expenses= , so I go lap dancing, burn up a few weeks pay. I’d come here every frigging week if he paid.’

      Manning let= out a breath. ‘Well, it’s nice to know there’s no ulterior moti= ve for you attending these sessions.’

      ‘So, = what did you want to discuss this month, Doc?’ Johno asked with a wry smil= e.

      ‘What= would you like to discuss?’

      Johno sighe= d. ‘How many times have you asked that?’ He waited. ‘And how many times have you got a straight answer?’

      ‘It&#= 8217;s a requirement. It’s what they teach us shrinks on day one at shrink s= chool.’

      Johno laugh= ed. ‘See, isn’t this more fun when we take the piss out of each other?’

      ‘Well= , I would actually like to earn my pay.’

=       Johno adopted his best attempt at a serious expression, resting an elbow on the c= hair arm. ‘I feel cured. Just tell me where to sign and I’ll let you= off the hook. Is there a standard form? Patient self-cert’ of sanity?R= 17;

      ‘If o= nly it was that simple. So, how have you been, Johno?’ Manning presse= d.

=       ‘Fine.’ Johno took a big breath, becoming genuinely serious. ‘I’m forty= -six in a few months, I can’t run too well because of the knee, I shag prostitutes because I don’t want any nice girls to see the scars, and= I can’t spend the night with anyone because of the shouting nightmares.= So I get hammered quickly, just before bedtime. Bad for my health I know, but simple.’

      Manning stu= died him. ‘And you seem to accept it.’

      Johno gave = it some thought, shrugging. ‘What else should I do? Make you happy and g= et all morbid and moody, fit neatly into one of your psycho-models? Look, Doc,= my head isn’t injured, my body is. If someone loses a leg they get a pla= stic one. I got some scars, so no swimming in the public pool. Simple. I dream fucked-up scary stuff, so I drink. Simple … and practical.’

      ‘Quite practical. You seem to see all your problems as just that, problems to be solved in the real world.’

      Johno offer= ed Manning a teasing grin. ‘As opposed to the Twilight Zone that some of your patients visit?’

      Dr. Manning sighed. ‘No, the real world out here, not in the sub-conscious mind, which is where I spend most of my time.’

      ‘Is it dark? Do you, like, take a torch?’

      Manning sig= hed again, long and hard. ‘Where did I put that “cured” rubber stamp?’

      ‘With= the rubber mallet for difficult patients?’

      ‘So,&= #8217; Manning started again, a big breath taken in and let out, ‘how’s Beesely these days?’

      ‘He&#= 8217;s doing better than me. He’s still sharp as a tack, and in better healt= h. Eighty now –’

      ‘Seve= nty-nine. Eighty in three months,’ Manning corrected.

      Johno stare= d at the floor. ‘Remind me closer to the time, always forgetting his bloody birthday.’

      ‘Did = he … appreciate the lap-dancers you got him last year?’

      ‘Nah,= he let me enjoy myself. But you and I both know he lives his life through my eyes.’

      ‘Quit= e an insightful observation,’ Manning said, his eyes narrowing as he focus= ed on Johno.

    = ‘Why else would he keep me on? He doesn’t need a bodyguard, and he can sti= ll drive himself just about.’ Johno shrugged again, glancing out of the window at the bustling London thoroughfare below.

    = ‘Maybe he’s just gotten used to you, and all your annoying habits.’

    = ‘Maybe he’s just afraid of burglars,’ Johno quickly retorted.

    = ‘I don’t think Mr. Beesely is afraid of anything.’

    = Johno squinted, focusing on the psychiatrist. ‘You and he go way back.̵= 7;

    = ‘A long time, yes: thirty years. I was retained by MI6, sorry … SIS these days, working with agents returning from imprisonment abroad.’      =

Johno winced. ‘T= hat must be tough, twenty years in a fucking Siberian Gulag.’

    = Manning nodded, alone with his thoughts for moment. ‘Some had great difficulty adjusting.’

    = ‘So I’m lucky, still functioning up top, all right as rain.’

    = Manning again hid a smile. ‘How’s Beesely’s housekeeper, Jane, th= ese days?’

    = Johno tipped his head and studied the psychiatrist. ‘As far as I remember … that’s the first time you’ve ever asked.’

    = ‘You all live together, so she must play a part in your life. You admitted before about treating her like a younger sister.’

    = ‘And see where that got me; you talking about family for a whole year, twelve sessions in a bleeding row.’

    = ‘So, how is she?’ Manning pressed.

    = Johno glanced out the window. ‘Same as ever, and just as fucked up as me. S= he’s anorexic, she cries in her sleep, and she doesn’t leave the house or Beesely’s side. Like a ten year old.’

    = ‘You sound … harsh, and yet you were almost jailed two or three tim= es for looking out for her?’

    = Johno made a face. ‘When I first started working for old man Beesely he ord= ered me to protect her, you know, part of the job. He also told me not to show a= ny interest in her. Fat chance of that, no pun intended, she’s a walking skeleton.’ He turned away again.

    = ‘There is a difference between protecting someone, and chasing a bag snatcher then beating him to a pulp.’

    = Johno focused on Dr. Manning. ‘That’s my anger issue, as we labelled = up years ago, not about … her.’

    = ‘Are you sure? Are you sure that you don’t actually feel better about your= self … when you look out for others, especially a frail and anorexic woman?’

    = ‘I’ve never wanted a puppy, Doc, so no,’ Johno stated in dismissive tones.<= o:p>

    = Manning sighed. ‘I must be keeping you from some young lady with large breasts and colourful tattoos.’

    = Johno stood, beaming a false smile. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Doc, as always.’ On the street, he lifted his mobile and dialled. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello?’ c= ame a woman’s voice.

‘Who’s that?’ Johno asked.

‘Who am I? This = is the Alzheimer’s Association. How may I help you?’=

‘Why are you rin= ging me?’ Johno enquired, a smile creased into one cheek.

‘Uh … you = rang us, sir.’

‘Did I? Why did = I do that?’

‘Are you OK, sir= ? Is there someone else there we could talk with?’

    = ‘Yes.’ He waited. ‘Who’s that?’

    = A sigh could be heard from the other end. Johno’s path was suddenly blo= cked by a man in a suit stood with his hands on his hips.

      ‘Still ringing the Alzheimer’s Association?’ a familiar voice asked.

      Startled in= his recognition of the man, Johno stared, his mouth opening. ‘General Sir Christopher Rose. Well I’ll be buggered.’

      ‘Need= a word, a private word, so get in the car.’ A car door was opened from within by a passenger, a smile for Johno.

      ‘Sir?= ’ Johno said, bent double and facing the passenger, lost for other words as he recognised the second man. A firm nudge on the shoulder, and Johno eased in. ‘My mum told me never to get in cars with strange men.’

      The General eased into the front passenger seat, the car immediately pulling off. ‘I think, Johno, that mothers tell their daughters that with you in mind.’

      ‘You = may be right. It’s been a long time, General. Were you, you know, old, wrink= ly and bald the last time we met?’

      The passeng= er tried to suppress his smile. General Rose glanced over his shoulder, a hard glare offered, but said nothing.

An hour later, and Johno was sat staring at the wall of a cheap hotel room, several empty beer cans littering the small window table. With pursed lips = he blew out, long and slow. ‘Bloody hell.’

      ‘We b= oth know you’re a good actor,’ General Rose reminded his unwilling guest. ‘Good undercover. And, in the short term, all we need you to d= o is to be your annoying self; keep your eyes open and your ear to the ground. I= f, and when, over the next few months you happen to hear the name, try and get= the list – lookout for the treasure. We’re not asking you ̷= 0; to betray Beesely.’

      Johno turne= d his head, making strong eye contact. ‘And I wouldn’t,’ he snarled. ‘Her Majesty’s Government, bless ‘em, left me in Kosovo. He got me out!’

=       General Rose sighed and straightened. ‘Let’s not go back over old groun= d. This is about the safety of the UK–’

      ‘Yeah, yeah, we did the patriotic speech bit. I stood to attention, remember.̵= 7;

      ‘In e= ffect, we’re not asking you to do anything. We’ve given you the details and the clues, so that if and when the time comes you’ll know = what to do.’

      Johno faced= the wall again. ‘Bloody … hell,’ he let out. ‘And what’s these Swiss boys interest in Beesely again?<= /p>
      ‘You = tell us … when you find out,’ General Rose stated.=

      ‘We&#= 8217;ll drop you around at the lap-dancers,’ the second man offered.

      Johno faced= his old boss, offering a hard glare. ‘Like I could get it up now!&= #8217; He finished the last beer can. ‘Any backup on this deal?’<= /o:p>

      ‘None= ,’ came quickly back, the reply sounding final.

      ‘Cont= act routes?’

      ‘The usual.’

      Johno stood. ‘Love to say that it’s been a pleasure, but all things consider= ed, I really wish I hadn’t got out of bed this morning, fuckers.’ He tipped his head at the second officer and left.

      With the do= or slammed shut the second officer stood. ‘Can we rely on him?’ he complained.

      General Rose eased up. ‘All our psych’ evaluations say he’s certifiabl= e; if he were still in the service he’d be sectioned. If he were a h= orse or a dog – he’d be put down! But I know Doc’ Manning, and= he has faith in Johno, although God knows why. We even bugged some of his sessions. He has acute Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; regressive childhood behaviour, shouting nightmares, chronic drinking, hand tremors, the works. = He wears t-shirts with little messages on them, phones people at random and ta= kes the piss. About the only adult thing he partakes of is the prostitutes, and even that’s weird.’

‘Weird how?’ the second office asked, dreading the answer.

‘Never takes his clothes off,= just gets the old todger out, keeping the scars hidden.’=

      ‘Why = are we even using him?’ the second officer complained. ‘On something t= his important!’

      General Ros= e sighed. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers. And right now he’s in the rig= ht place … at the right time.’

Five minutes after the officers had vacated the room an elderly cleaner let hers= elf in, an unlit cigarette balanced on her lip. She reached under the bed, fidd= led around and removed a listening device, pocketing it. She took another from behind the mirror, a third from the bathroom before leaving, the beer cans still littering the room.

3

= ‘Not a pleasant way to die.’ Willis uttered the words as much to himself as his superior, stepping now across the spacious office of the new director of Britain’s overseas intelligence service, SIS.

At forty-five she remained attracti= ve, if a little thin in the face for his liking. In her subordinates opinion she had earned the post, despite being noticeably younger than her predecessors= ; he regarded her as being more politically astute. He placed the report that he= had been reading onto her desk then, as an afterthought, rotated it the right w= ay up for her to study.

      She shot hi= m a look. ‘I doubt there are too many pleasant ways to die,’= she commented, a dry and husky voice out of character with her trim and pleasant appearance.

      Willis slip= ped down into one of two large leather chairs arranged in front of her noticeab= ly uncluttered desk; the desk supported just two flat-screen computer displays= , a neatly recessed keyboard and a multi-buttoned desk phone. ‘Not someth= ing you’re going to want to read before bedtime,’ he pointed out as= she started to scan the front page. She raised her eyes toward him without movi= ng her head, then focused again on the report as he pointedly added, ‘Or= any other time, come to that.’

She hesitated as she held the docum= ent, issuing a sigh. ‘Give me the highlights.’

      ‘This= poor guy was tortured at length. And expertly, might I add. They made sure he st= ayed awake and understood the full weight and magnitude of what he had done, = whom he had upset. They administered adrenalin injections, supplemented with coc= aine on the gums – finger toothbrush!’

=       ‘Cocaine?’ she puzzled.

      ‘Appa= rently it makes the tactile senses stronger, and it stops the attendant party from falling asleep, or inconveniently fainting too often during torture.’ She eased further back into her chair, her expression blank. ‘They took to him with a blowtorch, all captured on high quality vide= o, this guy surviving for some six hours. Towards the end of the tape they, we= ll, got rather nasty with him.’

      ‘Nast= y with him?’ she repeated with a pained expression.

      ‘Yes,= ’ he grimaced, remembering some of the video images. ‘As best we can figure, the victim was our Mafia hit man, the guy on our watch list.= Not an easy task, getting reliable intel’, since these guys play their ca= rds very close to their chests.’

      ‘And = our man’s connection?’ she asked, rising and walking to the window.=

      ‘Our = man had been tailing the deceased from Italy to Switzerland. Just at the point = that our luckless Mafia man was being bundled into a van, our man became aware of five other men, agents of some sort, suddenly surrounding him.R= 17; She glanced over her shoulder briefly with a questioning look. ‘Anywa= y, they politely escorted him back to the Swiss-Italian border, gave him some local wine and cheese, and bade him a fond farewell.’=

      At that Dame Helen turned around, her eyes widening. ‘Bade him a fond farewell?= 217;

      ‘With= a gift basket of wine and cheese for his troubles; good quality stuff, apparently.’ She lowered her head, thinking hard as she returned to h= er desk. Willis added, ‘The local police or intelligence services seemed= to be in on it, they waved them through an impromptu checkpoint.’

  =     ‘The Swiss Intelligence Services abilities rank just above those of Luxembourg, = and slightly lower down the scale than those of my local boy scouts,’ she illustrated. ‘We should know, we used to train them until they went a= ll political in the 1990s. Now the Germans and French train and equip them.= 217; She took a breath, staring out of focus. ‘So just what, exactly, is g= oing on over there?’ she thought out loud, tapping a foot.

      ‘All = we know is that the Mafia hit man, alleged hit-man, was linked to those= on our watch list, hence our interest. And it’s definitely the same Mafia guy in the video.’

      She eased forward. ‘Which was sent to the supposed Mafia man’s boss, found its way into the hands of the Italian not-so-Secret Service, and to us some four weeks later.’

      ‘In a nutshell. It doesn’t make a lot of sense I know –’

      ‘It doesn’t make any damn sense!’ she pointed out. He sank further = into his seat. ‘This unknown group is well connected - enough to influence= or corrupt Swiss police - ruthless beyond Russian standards in what they do to this poor man, but send our man off with a packed-lunch and his tail between his legs.’ She pulled a file out of a drawer. ‘I‘ve been doing some digging.’

      Willis was = immediately concerned. ‘Oh?’

      ‘I ca= n tie this group in to five other murders with the same taste in snuff videos. Apparently, it’s called getti= ng the chair. They were all video taped, all of the victims sitting naked in a chair as they were tortured. One lasted fourteen hours.’

      Willis purs= ed his lips. ‘Ouch!’

      She regarde= d her assistant for a moment. ‘Yes, ouch.’ Focusing back on the report, she said, ‘All of the victims were male, well built. Two more were Mafia hit men, several were Russians, one of thos= e being rumoured to be a particularly nasty Russian hit man with Chechen links. Ano= ther was former Serbian special op’s, rumoured to have raped and killed the children of a German industrialist before attempting to ransom the father, = and one was later identified as a Slovakian planning an attack on the Pope. All= in all, a very oddly-mixed bag.’

      He raised h= is hands, palms upturned. ‘All bad boys, no tears shed.’

      His boss sh= ot him a disapproving look. ‘Perhaps. It’s almost as if there is a = 230; vigilante element to these killings. It’s definitely the same group, cheekily confident in their ability to evade the authorities, and cheekily sending in a video each time, usually to the employer of the victim …= or associates of the victim.’

      ‘Quit= e a deterrent,’ he emphasised. ‘Any details from the local police in these countries?’

      ‘Noth= ing beyond the obvious; this group displayed a great professionalism each time,= not so much as a fingerprint or witness in any of the cases. There’s susp= iciously little evidence, as if the police themselves were colluding across four countries.’

      ‘That hardly seems likely.’

      She glanced= up at nothing in particular. ‘Then we have a mystery on our hands.’

      Willis stoo= d. ‘Not to worry,’ he offered. She had put her glasses back on, and now frowned at him over the rims. ‘Whoever this group is, they’= re only killing the scum of Europe.’

      He stepped towards the door as she returned to her previous file. Stopping and turning= , he said, ‘Oh, one more thing, completely unrelated. Some old files have gone missing.’

      ‘What= ?’ she barked.

=       With a pained expression, he informed her, ‘Yes … seems that someone= has removed all files that we had on an old boy, well before your time, former section head in the seventies and eighties, a Sir Morris Beesely.’

      ‘Bees= ely!’ She jumped up, slamming her hands onto the desk. ‘Oh, God,’ she added, her shoulders dropping.

      Willis took= a step closer, surprised by her reaction. ‘This… gentleman is alm= ost eighty years old.’

      She forced herself calmer. ‘He was rumoured to have stolen Prime Minister Harold Wilson’s private journals, from Number Ten, back in the seventies. We’ve been searching for those journals for a long time. Besides…’

      He waited. ‘Besides … what?’

      ‘Never mind. Thank you, that’s all.’

4

On a small sailboat in a Washington D.C. marina, senior CIA analyst James Kirkpatrick studied the report that had just been placed down for him on the polished galley table. As he read and absorbed each line his face inched cl= oser to the paper, his features hardening, his eyes widening. Finally he raised = his head and stared at the elderly, white-haired man sitting opposite.

      ‘You = see the problem?’ the white-haired man enquired, although it had clearly = not been meant as a question. He glanced at the yacht’s brass barometer, = gently tapping it as the boat moved, a familiar creaking sound issued by the boat’s rope moorings.

      ‘I do, Henry.’ Kirkpatrick eased back, taking off his glasses. ‘How do= you wish to proceed?’

      ‘Simp= ly observe for now. We have to be very, very careful with this. When he was active, Beesely knew about our ... activities in this area. If he reappears with a connection to this Swiss group just as we are finalising <= i>activities then, well …’ He upturned his hands.

      ‘A se= rious impediment,’ Kirkpatrick finished off. ‘What’s Beesely’s link to our Swiss cousins?’

      ‘We don’t know yet, but I have taken steps to find out. Pity is, there’s a prize greatly valued in Switzerland, at least in the short term, if that’s what Beesely and his people are up to … to get = at it.’

      ‘Do y= ou think Beesely knows what’s hidden in Switzerland? Or what’s hid= den within the K2 organisation for that matter?’

=       ‘All = we have at the moment are a great deal of K2 intercepts, all concerning Beesely.’

=       Kirkpatrick glanced again at the report. ‘Do you think they aim to kidnap him, to= get information?’

=       ‘Bees= ely hasn’t attended a meeting for ten years, hasn’t worked on any sensitive projects for twenty. What would be his value to K2?’

=       ‘Well, they’re interested in him for some reason,’ Kirkpatrick pressed= .

=       Henry took a breath. ‘Worst case scenario ... they’ve found something, somet= hing old that they think he can shed some light on, something from the sixties or seventies - either MI6 business, or possibly us. But as far as I know, the = K2 organisation has never shown any interest in anything this side of t= he pond.’

5

=

‘What kind of man is Beesely?’ the front seat passenger asked in a mildly accented voice. The driver turned his head, but the question had been meant for the passenger in the rear.

The three men now sat in a darkened Range Rover, the inside even darker than the rain-swept dusk outside due to= the vehicle’s tinted and bullet-proof glass. Those rain clouds had brough= t on dusk an hour early on this otherwise mild June day in the English countrysi= de. From their raised positions, the men could see out over hedgerows on either side of the country lane they had stopped in. In the distance, they could j= ust make out a large house with its lights on, the house nestled between a wood= and a small lake.

The rear passenger began, ‘He’s a unique man, and he was a good officer back in the day – a good leader of men. He coined the phrase leading from the fron= t. He’s also an old-school gentleman, a proper gentleman, not like some = of the public school twats that run the intelligence services these days. You could image Beesely on a hunt in Africa with a line of slave bearers behind him.

‘I’ve known him almost twenty-five years, right from my first days in SAS. He wasn’t there t= hen, he was working for Army Intelligence, but I heard the stories and met people who knew him. When I did finally meet him I took to him straight away. He’s simple in his attitude, no messing about. If he’s wrong he’ll admit it, not like most of the Ruperts I worked for… who’d do anything to advance their own fucking careers.

‘He takes care of his boys, t= hose he sends out. It breaks his fucking heart if one gets hurt. What he did for Johno in Kosovo was no isolated case, he would have done it for anyone work= ing for him if he could. He’s eighty now, but still sharp and still going strong. I haven’t seen him for two years, but I don’t reckon he’s changed much.’

The front seat passenger sighed.

      ‘You&= #8217;ll be fine, boss. It’s going to be like frigging Christmas in there when they see me. Smartest move you made - bringing me along.’<= /span>

      The front s= eat passenger announced, ‘I would rather … climb Everest again than= be here. I hate things that are not ... controllable, not black and white.’ He spoke with a cli= pped accent, even-toned, and with no hint of emotion.

      ‘Well that’s because you’re a tight-arsed Swiss banker. No offence. Y= ou can control the figures on a balance sheet, but you can’t control peo= ple, especially not the ones in that house.’

      ‘Sir?= ’ the driver asked in English, but clearly not his first language. ‘Why= is Lower Church Fenton called lower, and Upper Church Fenton called = upper, when the signs are there … and this land is flat?’

      The R= 16;sir’ in the front seat turned his head towards the rear. ‘I have wondered = this myself. The land here is flat, no hills, yet many place names are ‘lower’ or ‘upper’?’

      ‘Stre= ams, Boss. The villages are roughly at the same height above sea level, but a st= ream flows from one to the other, and in the old days a stream was a valuable commodity for all your frigging cows and crops and the like. Downstream was ‘lower’ and upstream is ‘upper’. In those days, if = you widened or dammed-up the stream, your neighbours downstream cut your bolloc= ks off.’

      The two men= in the front nodded their understanding, less so for the quality of the explanation.

      ‘Grea= t,’ the rear passenger complained. ‘Now I’m frigging hungry. Shall = we roll, Boss?’

      The R= 16;tight-arsed Swiss banker’ picked up his mobile phone.

Unknown to the three men, their Range Rover came into view through a night-sight, t= he central feature of a bright green-grey image. With a gloved finger, a button was selected, doubling the magnification, the sight’s built-in softwa= re taking a moment to adjust and settle. The vehicle’s occupants were not clearly visible, their general outlines appearing as distorted pale green b= lobs through the tempered and tinted windows.

The observer focused on the shapes,= a wry smile forming. ‘Two, this is One,’ he whispered in an American accent. ‘That vehicle has bullet-proof glass.’

The observer swept left then right,= the thermal image adjusting itself. The car’s bonnet displayed as bright orange, indicating heat, the car’s headlights a rich red colour that = was being toned down automatically by the system software. He turned on Video Record, a red flashing square of writing appearing in the bottom left of the image, its letters too small to be legible. The laser-rangefinder, now displaying in the top right hand corner, showed ‘60m’; sixty metres.

An audible beep in the man’s earpiece caused him to suddenly hold his breath. He lowered his stance quic= kly, and put solid ground between himself and whoever else might be around, a la= rge tree and small ditch offering him protection from being viewed with another night sight.

      ‘Two,= this is One. You have movement?’ he whispered.

      ‘Stan= dby,’ came the confident response.

      The first m= an listened, unwilling to elevate himself to a position where he could see, or risking being seen.

      ‘We h= ave two stealthy unknowns across the lake, kitted with night-sights. Two more r= ear of house.’

      ‘Am I clear, egress route one?’

      ‘Affi= rmative, you’re shielded from both parties. Haul it, buddy, got us some professional company for a change, not just irate Limey farmers.’

Sex and the sixties

1

=

Sir Morris Beesely placed down the house phone, a 1940s antique that had been specially adapted for modern exchanges. ‘How very odd,’ he commented.

      He now stoo= d at the edge of a large oak table that had been the focal point of family gatherings his entire life. It remained one of the few things that reminded= him of the war, and of his parents and his brother - all now long dead. He rema= ined by the phone, his thumbs in the waistcoat pockets of his tweed suit. <= /o:p>

      ‘Very odd,’ he repeated.

      Johno wande= red in, slapping a newspaper onto the table. ‘What’s odd, Boss?R= 17; He stood dressed as usual in an old black suit with a clean white shirt.

      Beesely sta= red down at the phone as Johno drew near. ‘That was the auction house up = in town,’ he stated without looking up.

      ‘Sold= this old place then?’

      Without mak= ing eye contact, Beesely quietly stated, ‘Oh, yes, my boy, well and truly sold.’ He shook his head slightly. ‘In fact, it’s been so= ld several times over.’

      Johno flick= ed through the newspaper’s TV section. Without looking up, he quietly commented, ‘That auction house idiot screwed up and sold it to= two people at the same time?’

      Beesely rai= sed his head without making eye contact. ‘Nothing quite so simple, my grammatically challenged little helper.’

      Johno glanc= ed across. ‘Uh?’

      Now Beesely turned to face Johno squarely. ‘They did not sell it twice, young man, they sold it once … and for seven million pounds.’<= /o:p>

      Johno’= ;s cheek creased into a huge smile. He faced Beesely squarely. ‘Result! I feel a fact finding trip to Bar-bloody-Bados-in-the-frigging-sun coming on.’ Then he checked himself and frowned. ‘Thought you said that all the work it needed for the listed building status shit ... would make it only worth a million?’

      Beesely iss= ued a reluctant nod. ‘Correct. It is only worth a million.’ He straightened, staring ahead. ‘And yet, here we stand like a pair of p= rize tarts on the opening night of a New Delhi whore house.’ Focusing on J= ohno for a few seconds, he asked, ‘Would you be happy … to retire to Barbados, never to return?’

      ‘In an instant.’

      Beesely car= efully studied his driver.

      Johno stepp= ed closer. ‘Have they … you know, received the money?’ he as= ked, almost whispering.

      Beesely lea= nt towards him, whispering conspiratorially. ‘It was wired immediately.’

      Johno folde= d his arms. ‘Can they ask for it back?’

      ‘Nope= ,’ Beesely shot back. ‘Auctions … have rules, my boy.’<= /o:p>

      Johno let h= is arms drop, and turned back to the TV section of the newspaper. ‘It’s their problem then. Someone with that kind of money knows what he’s doing. Maybe there’s oil under the lake.’<= /o:p>

      ‘It&#= 8217;s a puzzler.’ Beesely breathed out. ‘I’d hate to find out t= hat this old place is being pulled down to build the next McDonalds or ... or w= hat am I babbling on about. We’re miles from anywhere, the roads are terr= ible, we sit on the edge of a National Heritage site and the grounds are too small for a weird little theme park of sorts.’

      Johno glanc= ed up briefly. ‘Know who bought it?’

      Beesely tip= ped his head from side to side, stretching his neck muscles. ‘It was anonymous; paid with a Swiss bank transfer.’

      Johno contr= olled his reaction. ‘Swiss?’

      Beesely too= k a moment, making eye contact. ‘Just because the buyer uses a Swiss bank … does not mean that he is Swiss.’

Johno shrugged, looking resigned to= the fact, stuffing his hands in his pockets. ‘They must know what they’re doing, not our problem. Let’s just pack a bag and fuck = off, eh.’

      As Beesely = held his gaze on Johno, his long serving housekeeper entered the room with a sil= ver tea set. It held a mug for Johno that pronounced ‘Passing forty!̵= 7;, its side adorned with a picture of Homer Simpson, belly hanging out. <= /o:p>

‘You’re back early. So what’s not our problem?’ Jane enquired as she prepared the tea.= The two men walked over to where she had placed the tray.

The housekeeper, and occasional secretary, wore a pained expression on a forty-one year old face that typic= ally showed no joy. She often complained about the temperature in the old house, even in the summer, her cold hands the butt of many jokes from Johno. Even = when they were abroad together, in the Caribbean or the tropics, she complained = of the cold.

      ‘Some= silly sod just paid seven million quid for this old dump,’ Johno blurted ou= t.

=       She turned = to Beesely for confirmation, her aged employer smiling and nodding. ‘Wow, that’s great,’ she commented in a quiet West Country accent. ‘What with all the stuff you’ve sold off and the shares you sold … you’re set for life now. Good for you.’ She poured out = two teas.

=       ‘Set for life,’ Beesely loudly repeated, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. ‘I wonder what I’ll do when I finally retire.’ He lowered= his gaze to Johno, who rolled his eyes at Jane’s statement. ‘I can = just about pay your salaries now,’ he risked.

It was an old joke. Johno and Jane exchanged glances, as they had done a hundred times before.

      BeeselyR= 17;s mobile came to life, Johno hiding a smile; he had downloaded another ring-t= one to it without anyone noticing. A mechanised voice began, ‘Ring ... ri= ng! Won’t somebody answer the damn phone? Ring! Hello!’<= /span>

      Beesely foc= used on Jane as he took it out. ‘Death can come as such a sweet release.’

      She gently slapped his arm and scowled, as Johno laughed.

      ‘Bees= ely here,’ their employer answered in a high-toned and nasal voice.<= /o:p>

      ‘My n= ame is Otto Schessel, and I am calling from The International Bank of Zurich,̵= 7; came an accented voice.

      ‘Ah, = I had been expecting someone to call.’ He glanced at Johno as he lowered the phone. ‘Swiss bank,’ he whispered.

      Johno’= ;s shoulders dropped. ‘Bollocks,’ he muttered. ‘I knew it wa= s a cock-up. So much for Barbados.’

      ‘Go on,’ Beesely keenly requested of the voice. ‘You are calling ab= out the sale of Broadlands –’

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘No?&= #8217; Beesely puzzled.

      ‘No, = sir. I wish to talk with you regarding your late brother-in-law from Switzerland, = Herr Gunter Schapphaust.’

      Beesely sud= denly looked pale, Johno noticing and jumping to his feet. ‘My late brother-in-law,’ Beesely repeated for the benefit of Johno and Jane. ‘Would that be the Swiss Nazi bastard, Gunter, that particular brother-in-law?’ He carefully observed Johno’s sudden lack of i= nterest in the call it.

      The caller paused. ‘I cannot comment upon that, sir.’

      ‘No, = of course you can’t, you’re a polite and efficient Swiss banker. W= ell then, why exactly, are you calling my good self at this hour on a da= mp Thursday night?’

=       ‘Apol= ogies for the hour, sir, but this is an important matter. You are the last surviving heir, a distant relative, and your brother-in-law left no will. Therefore, = we must speak with you urgently given the large sum of money you will be inheriting.’

      ‘Larg= e sum of money I’ll be inheriting,’ Beesely repeated with a sceptical look, Johno now taking an interest. He added flatly, ‘It is my lucky day.’

      ‘Sir?= ’ came from the caller.

      ‘Never mind,’ Beesely intimated. ‘What did you wish to discuss, and ho= w - pray tell, would we communicate about this matter? Do I need to fly to Switzerland?’

      ‘No, = sir, I am outside your gate.’

      Startled, B= eesely clicked his fingers at Johno. ‘You’re outside my gate.’ J= ohno stepped to the window. After a second he turned and nodded, looking all business. ‘Then I suppose we should get to the bottom of this. My man will come out and open the gate; not electric I’m afraid, bit of a ch= ore to open it.’ He clipped the phone shut. ‘Tool up,’ he instructed Johno, his features hardening. ‘We have company … an= d I smell a rat.’ He held up his mobile. ‘And just how the hell did they get my mobile number? This darn thing is an unregistered pre-pay thing= y.’

2

=

As Johno walked out to the gate, he could feel the Browning 9mm pistol digging into his lower back, cocked ready and stuffed down his belt for the most discreet profile. Stepping slowly, and glancing around, each step was loudly advertised as his shoes crunched gravel, a fine misty rain cooling his face= . He manhandled the large gate, the old iron squeaking loudly in protest as it w= as pulled open on dated hinges, gravel being crunched and displaced. He stood = to one side and waited, his face and hair now moist.

The Range Rover drew level, and he strained to see inside, the passenger’s window already down. Once the headlights were beyond him he could see two men in suits, dressed like R= 30; well… dressed like pin-head Swiss bankers, he considered. The passeng= er looked like a nervous Boris Becker with a tidy haircut, Johno considered. He offered tired eyes sunken into a youthful, pale face.

Johno’s concerns ebbed away. = ‘Evening,’ he flatly offered. ‘Nice night for it.’

The passenger glanced up at the dar= k sky and the rain with a puzzled look. ‘Nice night for what?’ he genuinely enquired, missing the sarcasm.

‘For things … that you might want to do a night like this, like … slug spotting.’ He raised an arm towards the house. ‘Park anywhere, but not on the flowerbeds, the boss gets pissy when visitors do that.’

Confused, the two visitors glanced = at each other as they watched out for non-existent flowerbeds, pulling forwards onto the large gravel driveway, Johno having failed to notice the diplomatic number plates. And the rear of the vehicle was now empty. The passenger ste= pped down from the car, briefcase in hand, and waited. The driver came around the front of the vehicle; no briefcase, just a bulging chest visible under his jacket.

‘Please,’ Johno said, gesturing towards the house, ‘go on in.’ He slowed his progress, keeping his distance behind them. The two visitors stepped into the illumin= ated porch. Johno had just stepped inside when he felt the press of cold metal to his right temple.

‘Keep walking,’ a voice whispered, a hand now on Johno’s left shoulder.

‘Bollocks,’ Johno let o= ut, louder than he’d meant to.

T= he two visitors had turned, smiling oddly at him before proceeding calmly inside. = They walked into the dining room, to be greeted by Beesely and Jane rudely sat waiting – not standing. As Johno trailed them inside, he carefully considered his options. Beesely and Jane were now both sitting behind the o= ak table, Johno noted as he entered the dining room, the big bullet-proof table with several under-table drawers, great places to conceal a gun. The tables were about to be turned.

T= he passenger politely introduced himself to Beesely as Otto Schessel, placing = his briefcase onto the table before standing off to one side, the driver walkin= g a similar distance the other way. Johno now stepped slowly towards the sitting Beesely, gun still to his head. His employer’s hands had been below t= he table, but as Johno crossed the room Beesely raised them onto the table, as= did Jane. Johno felt as though he might explode; he stared so hard at Beesely he thought his eyes were going to pop out. But Beesely smiled widely, soon cop= ied by Jane. The press of metal against his temple ended, the hand came off his shoulder.

=       ‘Getting frigging old, slow, and fat,= 217; came a voice that Johno recognised immediately. He spun around. There stood former SAS sergeant Richard ‘Ricky’ Davies, beaming. The ‘gunman’ put his weapon into his shoulder holster. Ricky stood almost six foot tall, a wiry frame with shortly cropped grey hair, and a fa= ce that made even close friends believe he was contemplating killing them then eating their body parts. Beesely had always remarked: a face that only a mo= ther could love.

=       Johno worked hard to control his reaction; this was one man in the world he could= not get angry with, no matter what he did. And this was a dirty rotten... ‘Dirty rotten bunch of bastards,’ Johno began, addressing them = all. ‘Bleeding sons of putrid dogs bollocks …’ They were all i= n on it, he was sure. It was elaborate enough for Beesely to have had a hand in,= but it wasn’t his birthday or April the first, no major anniversary, not = that he could remember those anyway.

      ‘You = looked shit scared, sonny,’ Ricky teased as he stepped closer. ‘You ne= ed a drink?’

      Johno stayed firmly rooted to the spot, muttering every bad word he could think of; a lo= ng list. He had been humiliated, scared, the butt of a joke, yet stood utterly delighted to see the man now in front of him.

Jane was the first to Ricky. She fl= ung her arms around him and he lifted her up, her eyes already full of tears of joy. He let her down gently and kissed her on the forehead, Johno having hu= rt people for far less.

      ‘Hey, skinny,’ Ricky whispered. ‘How’re the hands?’ He fe= lt her hands, exaggerating a sharp jerk at how cold they were. She slapped his arm, hard. ‘I told you before, if you want to play with my balls you’ve got to warm up them hands.’ She slapped him again.<= /o:p>

      Beesely drew level with Johno, who was still swearing under his breath. ‘Beaten by= a better man,’ he whispered as he passed, Johno relaxing a few degrees. Ricky put out a hand to shake, but was surprised to find Beesely giving him= a hug. ‘Good to see you again, Richard.’

The visitor, who had introduced him= self as Otto, stood watching, his face betraying no emotion as he studied them a= ll carefully.

      Ricky hugged Beesely, careful to note that he was hugging an eighty-year-old man, even if fit and healthy for his age. ‘Good to see you again, sir.’=

      Beesely eas= ed back, but held onto Ricky, suddenly becoming serious. ‘Last I heard y= ou were supposed to be banged up somewhere, but no one could find out anything= . I would have come for you –’

      ‘I know,’ Ricky cut in, also now serious, ‘but I have a new guardi= an angel, thanks to you in no small part.’ He tipped his head towards Ot= to.

      Beesely fol= lowed Ricky’s gaze, sizing up Otto. ‘I thought these goons were with = you, part of the … joke?’

      Ricky shook= his head. ‘He’s the real deal Swiss banker, no joke. I’ve been working for him for the past few months.’ Beesely studied Otto, many things racing through his mind. Ricky added, ‘I was in a Chinese jail= for life, till Otto here bribed half the officials in chicken-chow-mein province and got me out. They faked my death so that Peking-duck and Ho Chi Min wouldn’t be asking too many questions. Hell, MI6 were not about to sw= ap me –’

&nb= sp;    Beesely straightened, shocked. ‘MI6 sent you into China?’ Without waiti= ng for an answer, he shook his head, walking back to the table. ‘Jane, c= ould you please prepare something for our guests.’ She turned towards the kitchen. Loudly, he said, ‘And if someone would be so kind as to shut= the bleeding front door we will all stay warm and toasty.’ Quieter, he ad= ded, ‘Except Jane, of course.’

      ‘I he= ard that!’ she complained as she disappeared through a side door.

      Now Ricky s= tepped up to a more relaxed Johno, although Johno still appeared as if he might clobber someone. ‘How you been then, runt?’
      ‘I= 217;m an inch shorter, that’s all. And I can cook field rations.R= 17;

      ‘You = call that cooking?’ Ricky challenged. ‘You ungrateful little shit stain.’

      ‘Hey,= old man, I didn’t alert the enemy by farting too loud!’<= /span>

      ‘List= en, sonny, if you weren’t so damn fat we could have got out of that scrape days earlier, maybe weeks, you little whinge bag.’<= /p>
      ‘Arse= hole!’

      ‘Toe rag!’

‘Whore house toilet washer!’

Beesely ste= pped up to Otto. ‘This could go on for a while. Cup of Tea?’

Otto gave a= slight head bow. ‘Thank you, that would be very nice,’ he said with an accent that Beesely picked up on straight away: German-speaking Swiss. Otto shot a glance at the other man, who immediately sat in the farthest corner, tucked out of the way.

Beesely had= followed Otto’s signal around to the second man. ‘Your … driver?’

‘Driv= er and bodyguard,’ Otto replied. ‘One of many.’

‘I see,’ Beesely muttered, frowning slightly as he pulled out several ch= airs around the large table, as if a board meeting was about to be convened.

Jane soon reappeared holding two la= rge coffee flasks, mugs precariously gripped on each little finger. She fetched several best china cups from an old wooden sideboard and a large stack of coasters. Ricky and Johno were now gently punching each other on the should= er, talking about an arm wrestle or a race around the house.<= /p>

‘Rick= y, Johno, front and centre!’ Beesely firmly commanded, noting Otto’= ;s mild surprise. ‘Sit down! And somebody close that bloody door!’=

Johno atten= ded to the door as Ricky sat. Otto sat where his briefcase had been left, and Jane stood at the far end of the table, soon busy taking whispered orders for tea and coffee. She had also brought out a pen and pad, an old habit.

When Johno returned, still mumbling= to himself, Beesely seated himself deliberately opposite Otto. ‘So, Richard,’ Beesely asked whilst staring directly across at Otto. ‘Just what, in exact and precise terms, not withholding any relevant detail, is going on?’

‘Long story, Boss.’

‘Good= job then that we have biscuits,’ Beesely cut in with, still focused on Ot= to.

‘Sir Morris, may I introduce to you Otto Schessel, head of The International Ban= k of Zurich. And, at forty-two years old, quite likely one of the world’s richest men.’

Beesely app= eared as if he was about to say something, but checked himself and turned to Rick= y, a ridge creasing his brow. ‘Really?’

‘Yep,= ’ Ricky replied. ‘This guy has more money than God.’

Johno eased forwards, resting his elbows on the table. ‘Bought any nice old Engli= sh country houses lately, Blotto?’

Otto frowned slightly at the delibe= rate mispronunciation of his name. Before he had a chance to answer, Beesely had turned to Johno.

‘Good question,’ Beesely approved, surprised by Johno’s insight. ‘Not quite as stupid as= you look.’

Johno gritt= ed his teeth as Ricky laughed.

‘Yes,’ Otto answered. ‘I bought this property today, as you have guessed it correctly.̵= 7;

‘For = seven times what it’s worth,’ Beesely pointed out. ‘Not a very smart move. Generous, and gratefully received, but not very smart. And from= the same man who is handling my … inheritance. How intriguing.R= 17; He glanced again at Ricky.

= Otto studied Beesely for a second, then opened his case and took a large brown envelope = from the middle of a pile of envelopes and files.

‘I was expecting to see your sandwiches in there,’ Johno quipped, Ricky controlling a small, stifled laugh. ‘Does your mum know you’re = out this late?’

Otto did not react as he retrieved a set of house deeds from the envelope. ‘This s= igns the house back over to you, to use as you wish until death,’ he state= d.

Beesely sho= t a look at Ricky, noting his coy grin, then just stared across at Otto, his expression blank. There came a long, awkward silence.

‘Nice gesture,’ Ricky finally encouraged, Beesely not responding.

Otto glance= d at Ricky before taking another file from his case. ‘Your late brother-in= -law left a detailed will that stated … that in the event of his death, his money was to be used for supporting several political groups across Europe.= ’

Beesely eas= ed his head forwards. ‘On the phone you said that he left no will.= 217;

Otto stared= back for a moment, and then seemed to read the documents in front of him. ‘= ;If that version of his will had been allowed to be executed, then many right-w= ing political groups would have benefited from Gunter’s money.’

‘You = mean … neo-Nazi groups?’ Beesely prompted with a concerned look.

Otto paused. ‘Yes.’

‘Oh.&= #8217; Beesely gave it some thought. ‘So you, Mister Otto Swiss banker, are = here because you do not agree with my late brother-in-law’s will, and would rather … I get to choose how the money is used?’

= ‘It is complicated, but in simple terms, yes.’

Beesely sat= back in his chair and turned to Ricky, who was now munching on a large shortbread biscuit. ‘What’s wrong with this picture?’ Ricky tried to swallow. ‘I mean, call me old fashioned, but I have always believed t= hat Swiss bankers do not go around changing wills, that they take their work ve= ry seriously, that they act diligently in the interests of their clients. And = yet here we sit, expected to believe that this Swiss banker - generous to a fau= lt in throwing away money on decrepit old houses - has changed someone’s will so that I benefit. Little old me.’ He tur= ned to Otto and stared directly at him. ‘Were you, perhaps, hoping I might split the proceeds with you in this grand international conspiracy?’<= o:p>

‘No,&= #8217; Otto replied as he pulled out another brown envelope, the top one. ‘T= he money is yours, to do with as you please.’

Beesely sta= rted to get louder. ‘And just why the hell would you be arranging t= his … for me?’ He checked Ricky, finding him still smiling.

= Otto opened the envelope and slid an A4 black and white photo across the desk, n= ot dissimilar to someone laying down four aces in a poker game. Beesely sudden= ly appeared tired, the colour draining from his face. He reached down with his right hand and placed a Beretta 9mm pistol onto the table.

‘Boss= ?’ Johno asked, straightening.

‘It&#= 8217;s OK!’ Ricky assured them all. ‘Everyone relax!’=

Beesely sta= red down at the photo of a woman. He ran a finger over the glossy paper, as if running it over the imagined contours of her face. ‘You’d better have a very good reason for having this photo, mister.’

His hand remained on the pistol as = their eyes met.

‘She was my mother,’ Ot= to stated.

* * *

Guido Pepi cut the end off a cigar, taking many seconds to light it. He shook the match, reaching across and tossing it into an ashtray on his grand desk bef= ore assessing the men ranged in front of him. He eased back into his chair, run= ning a hand through his long silver hair, a glance toward the windows. The moonl= ight was fighting its way in through the curtains on this warm night in the Tivo= li hills, east of Rome. ‘So,’ he said in Italian. ‘K2 has a = new owner.’

‘It&#= 8217;s a trick!’ a man complained. ‘Gunter’s will was altered, or destroyed.’

Pepi nodded= ; a slow, almost unnoticed movement. ‘Of course it was. The original will left his fortune to the Swiss Government, some money to political groups; t= hat was the deal he struck for them to allow his continued existence. This new owner –’

‘Is British!’ another man spat out, disgusted at the idea.

‘The = K2 staff will not welcome this man, nor the Swiss people or Government,’= the first man suggested.

‘We w= ill see, as it unfolds. But gentlemen, it is no coincidence that our two biggest problems have just joined forces, not unless you believe in fate.’

A Roman Cat= holic cardinal stepped in, fully robed and splendid in his regalia.

‘Ah, Cardinal. What news?’ Pepi asked, no one making any effort to stand or greet the newcomer.

‘The inheritance appears genuine.’ Pepi blinked. The cleric added, ‘This man, Beesely, w= as a very distant relative of Gunter, through his sister –’

‘Ah, yes,’ Pepi let out, tapping the end of his cigar over the ashtray. ‘She went to live in England before the war. It would be easy enough = for British Intelligence to alter some old records.’

‘Ther= e’s something else,’ the Cardinal added, his hands clasped as he made his report. ‘This man Beesely was a maverick, not trusted by his own peop= le. There is suggestion that he was a CIA plant.’

Pepi eased = up, his concerned look noticed by the gathered men.

‘Something?’ a man deli= cately enquired.

Without taking his studious gaze of= f the windows, Pepi responded, ‘Any CIA interest in K2 must be seen as a priority. I have no doubt they would love to get hold of the files, and = the list. Even more so than the British.’ He turned back to the Cardi= nal. ‘Kindly make contact with your people in the CIA. Re-acquaint yoursel= f, without explaining just what our concerns are. Do not … trust them.’

The cleric = bowed his head and left, leaving Pepi staring at the windows, a puzzled frown forming.

‘Sir,= that bomb is still in place, counting down. They have not spotted it.’

Pepi shrugg= ed. ‘It still suits its original purpose. Let it run.’

If Beesely had looked ill before, he looked like death now. Inch by inch he lowered his head, his eyes misting over.

Otto contin= ued, ‘If I may explain, it is a difficult situation, a long story. My grandmother was Jewish, a German Jew –’

Beesely lif= ted his gaze, tapping the photo of his former lover with a finger. ‘Maria= nne ... was Jewish?’

‘My mother, the woman you met= in 1963, was the daughter of a German-Jewish refugee. She adopted the name Schessel. I am, technically, part Jewish.’

‘Which is very odd, consideri= ng the position you’re in ... in a Swiss bank,’ Beesely delicately, but firmly, pointed out.

Otto nodded slightly. ‘Yes, it is correct. If this information was known I would = not be employed where I am. But I did not apply for any position, I was given t= he work by Gunter, your brother-in-law. He knew, but hid the fact; he did not = wish anyone to know that I was the son of a Jew.’

Beesely rub= bed his forehead. ‘Sorry, you were saying something.’

‘My grandmother, she travelle= d to Switzerland just before the war. During the war she was detained by the Swi= ss authorities, in a camp near Lugano, being released with the help of her Swi= ss lover. He disappeared towards the end of the war and she raised my mother in Bern. My grandmother died when my mother was eighteen years old, leaving li= ttle money.’ He took a breath. ‘That was when my mother met and married Gunter.’

‘Gunter!’ Beesely explo= ded. ‘She ... was his wife?’

Johno glanced from face to face, not understanding.

Otto stared back for a moment, befo= re lowering his gaze. ‘He treated her well enough at the beginning, so I have heard, but spent less and less time with her in the short time after t= hey were married.’

Beesely’s eyes widened, clear= ly stung by the words.

Otto continued, ‘He never let= on about his past, his time with the Wehrmacht. In 1963 he found out that a distant relative, you Sir Morris, were working for British Intelligence and= he wanted to corrupt you, to bribe you perhaps. I do not know all the details.= He sent my mother to try and get you to Switzerland for some reason. She ̷= 0; was an attractive woman.’

‘The best,’ Beesely muttered.

Otto offere= d, ‘Naturally, if you wish to have a DNA test carried out...’

Beesely tur= ned his head to Ricky.

Ricky offered him back a confident = smile. ‘I wouldn’t bother, I’ve seen the evidence, did some of my own checking; Herr Otto here showed me around the outfit thoroughly. He knew you’d ask the question.’

Beesely foc= used on Ricky with a hard stare. ‘Would you bet your life on it?’

‘With= out hesitation.’

Beesely nodded his reluctant accept= ance.

Johno eased= up, reached across and had a peek at the photo. ‘Shit, she’s a babe= ! Know who she looks reminds me of–’

‘Alex= andra Bastedo,’ Beesely informed them without looking up, pronouncing the n= ame carefully. ‘Actress in that 1960s TV show: The Champions. People often mistook her for that actress when we went out. Something I may not ̷= 0; have denied as strongly as I should have.’

Jane had a = look at the photo. ‘My God, she’s beautiful.’ She put a hand on Beesely’s arm. ‘What happened between you?’

‘She = told me everything,’ Beesely informed them, still staring at the photo, a = pain growing in his chest. ‘Not about Gunter, just that she was sent to sp= y on me. I offered her asylum here, in this country, thinking she was working for the East Germans, but she insisted that she had to go back. She said the two weeks here with me was the best … holiday she had ever had.= 217;

‘Hang= on...’ Johno’s brain had now caught up. ‘She came over to, you know, M= ata Hari … you knocked her up … and Blotto here -’=

‘Is, = most likely, my biological son.’

Johno took a bite. With a mouthful of sandwich he said, ‘Shit, he’s got a lot more hair than you!’

With Beesely focused on Johno, Jane approached Otto and placed a hand on his arm. ‘That’s great. Where are you staying? You should stay in the gu= est room here, get to know everyone,’ she rapidly got out.

Otto did not quite know what to say, but smiled back politely.

‘Rick= y said it was a long story,’ Beesely firmly interrupted. He motioned for Jan= e to sit back down.

Otto collec= ted his thoughts. ‘I was raised by Gunter, as his son. I never knew my mother, she died a year after I was born. A man I spoke to one year ago suggested that my … father had killed her in a drunken rage.’

Beesely bre= athed in hard enough to worry Johno and Jane. ‘He … killed her?’

= ‘Defi= nitely. I have confirmed it since.’

‘And = that’s why you changed his will?’ Beesely asked, now appearing unwell.<= /o:p>

= Otto suddenly seemed saddened, or disappointed, his expression drifting through = many slight changes that Beesely was having a hard time following. He glanced at= the faces in the room for several seconds. ‘I changed his will the day I killed him.’ Jane’s enthusiasm for their guest had been swept a= way. Johno did not quite know what to make of that, and Ricky shifted uneasily in his seat. Otto added, ‘As he lay sick in the bed I poured water into = his mouth and held his mouth and nose closed, looking him in the eye. I told him ... this is for Marianne.’

Silence gri= pped the table.

Johno spoke first, still with half a mouthful of sandwich. ‘Nazi bastard deserved everything he got.’

‘Quit= e,’ Beesely agreed.

Otto turned= to Jane. ‘Perhaps some fresh drinks would be nice.’ He spoke with = the confidence of a man used to giving orders and managing people. She glanced = to Beesely for confirmation, and her boss nodded. They waited until she had le= ft before resuming.

‘Some details are, perhaps, not for her ears,’ Otto suggested to Beesely, w= ho agreed with a nod.

= ‘So how much was the old bastard worth then?’ Johno loudly asked.

Beesely sco= wled at him, but seemed keen to know that as well.

‘Perh= aps if I start at the beginning,’ Otto offered. ‘Gunter was an officer= in the Wehrmacht towards the end of the war. Not an SS officer or camp guard, = or anything of that nature, he was a coward and avoided the Russian front by working as an undercover agent in Switzerland, spying on Allied embassies, = and depositing money and works of art for Nazi party members and high ranking officers into Swiss banks.’

‘So he wasn’t a Nazi then?’ Johno puzzled.

‘Not technically,’ Beesely admitted. ‘But back then any German soldi= er was called a ‘Nazi’, and Gunter had a Swiss passport as well, s= o he could have sat out the war instead of volunteering to join up.’<= /o:p>

Otto continued, ‘He was from = a rich family to start with, inheriting a thirty-five percent share in a Swiss munitions factory when he was just fifteen, bequeathed by his uncle whom he helped each summer. He did not need to work ... or fight. He was already ri= ch towards the end of the war, when his activities depositing money and works = of art for Nazi officials flourished. It was not lost on him that many of these officers might not survive the war, so he kept copies of numbered Swiss accounts, branches, and details of what was deposited. It is also certain t= hat in 1945, even though he was only twenty, he helped many of his contacts esc= ape to Switzerland, only to murder them in his safe houses. Their riches fell i= nto his hands.

‘It i= s fair to say that he cleaned up, as you English say it. He may well have killed upwards of fifty people, taking over their bank accounts. Since he opened the accounts, no one at the banks would question him. And he held a genuine Swiss passport.’

‘How&= #8217;s this Grunter wanker related to you, Boss?’ Johno queried.<= /span>

= Otto answered the question, ignoring Johno’s deliberate mispronunciation, ‘Gunter’s older sister travelled to England in 1937. The sister, Guette – a Danish name - changed her first name to Gillian and married Sir Morris’s brother, Robert. They were both killed in a car crash in 1965.’

‘Tenu= ous bleeding link,’ Johno pointed out.

= Otto turned= to address Johno directly. ‘In the eyes of the law it is still the only = link to a living relative.’ Turning back to Beesely, he added, ‘Gunt= er seems to have had a series of mistresses, and possibly some illegitimate children, who were rumoured to have been killed.’

Beesely ran= a hand over his bald scalp. ‘All that money in 1945, it must be worth a great deal by now.’

‘I to= ld you,’ Ricky emphasised as he walked around the table to pour himself = another cup of tea. ‘He’s the world’s richest man, and he’s here to give it all to you.’

Beesely stu= died Otto. ‘Is there more?’

‘A gr= eat deal.’

= Jane re-appeared with food, fresh tea and coffee. She attended each of them in t= urn as this ‘board meeting’ seemed to pause. She even diligently ga= ve Otto’s driver tea and biscuits, before making her excuses and leaving= the room.

Otto contin= ued, ‘Just after the end of the war, Gunter made several trips into Germany and Austria to recover gold, currency, and other valuables. He recovered a = great deal of gold and was the keen - how you say - cave explorer man. And= he was no fool, not keen to spend his money.&= nbsp; He invested wisely, trained himself in the stock markets and currency markets, employed researchers to help him pick growth stocks, and he soon h= it upon the idea of industrial espionage - he had the contacts and the skills,= and he was not afraid to break the law or kill people.

‘The company that he created,= an investment bank, soon started to make a great deal of money around the worl= d. As soon as anyone started asking questions, they would be told that this Sw= iss trading group was acting on behalf of third parties, not themselves, and Sw= iss banking laws did the rest. Secrecy was assured.

‘He put spies into many compa= nies, large companies; IBM, Ford, the petrol companies. And these sleeper agents = were there for thirty to forty years. He used their intelligence data well, but never became greedy. He was always as discreet as a Swiss banker, as we say. Eventually, he came to own several large banks and handled the investments = of a great many happy foreign investors. He grew three distinct businesses: the banks, the investment house and an intelligence gathering and security agency.’

‘What happened to the intelligence agency?’ Johno keenly enquired.

Otto crease= d one cheek, a sly smile forming.

‘Oh .= .. shit,’ Beesely let out, his eyes narrowing. Johno straightened, Ricky grinning to himself with his head lowered.

Otto proudly explained, ‘They are all still running, and going from strength to strength. They have been under my direct control for the past six months, u= nder my indirect control with Gunter for the past twenty years. I was formerly h= ead of the banking group, but then moved five years ago to help organize the ot= her branches.’

‘Oh .= .. hell,’ Beesely let out.

‘Boss= ?’ Johno asked, now concerned.

Beesely ask= ed, ‘This Swiss espionage company … does it have a name just two characters long?’

Otto smiled. ‘There are not many people outside of Switzerland who know that, and = most of them are … well … not sure what it is, or what it does.̵= 7;

‘Is industrial espionage still its main concern?’ Beesely asked, standing= and stretching.

‘It w= as, but we have branched out in recent years to private security work in Europe, transporting clients and their valuables discreetly, offering security advi= ce and assistance to companies, to casinos, and some third world governments. = As well as keeping Switzerland as the politicians in Switzerland desire to keep it; quiet, discreet, and free of terrorists and criminals.’

‘Unle= ss they can pay,’ Beesely suggested.

‘Payi= ng criminal clients are not treated in the same way as non-paying criminals,’ Otto admitted.

Johno finis= hed his biscuit. ‘So what’s it called?’ he asked no one in particular.

‘K2,&= #8217; Otto informed him. ‘An unofficial name I gave it after climbing the mountain, K2.’

Johno perke= d up, himself a former climber in the Army. ‘You climb at that standard?= 217;

Ricky shot = in, ‘Otto climbed Everest in 1991!’

= Johno now saw the ‘pinhead Swiss banker type’ in a new light, and now= with a great deal of respect.

Beesely stepped up to him, Johno ra= ising his head. ‘You remember me mentioning a secret organization in Switzerland, one that the Yanks and the Brits could never find anything abo= ut, a group that ties naked people to chairs and then sets fire to them?’=

= Johno snapped upright, glancing at Otto before turning back to Beesely. ‘Them?’

Beesely rai= sed his eyebrows for emphasis and nodded. ‘Them. Sitting having tea and biscuits in our home.’

‘Shit= ,’ Johno slowly let out. He glanced over his shoulder at Otto’s driver. ‘Hey, Swiss fuck.’ The man blinked. ‘If you’re gunna kill me, stick a banana up my arse; it’ll give the mortician somethin= g to laugh about!’

Ricky chuck= led.

‘So,’ Beesely asked his visitor as he finally sat back down. ‘Why bother to involve me at all? You seem to have things under control?’

Otto ran a = finger right around the four sides of the envelope in front of him. ‘I grew = up thinking my father was a Nazi who murdered dozens of people; men, women and children. Then to discover that my grandmother and mother were Jewish, that= my supposed father killed my mother … it was not a good time for me. And then, to discover that my biological father was a real life hero of epic proportions - a decorated Guards officer, hero officer of the SAS, twenty y= ears in British Intelligence and still going strong at eighty. And the more rese= arch I conducted, the better I felt about myself. Meeting Richard convinced me t= hat contacting you was the right thing to do. After the story of Kosovo I was convinced, convinced that you should head K2, and not me.’

* * *

= ‘Henry, it’s Kirkpatrick.’

= ‘You = sound ... flustered?’

= ‘Our English friend and our Swiss friends.’

‘Oh?’=

‘We just received an intercept from Bern, Switzerland, an email intercept with all the right keywords. Tha= nk God for the advent of the Internet, and the far-sightedness of the NSA!R= 17;

= ‘And?= ’ Henry quietly nudged.

= Kirkpatrick paused. ‘A Bern solicitor being retained to help validate an inheritance.’

= Another pau= se preceded, ‘Impossible.’

= ‘Appa= rently not,’ Kirkpatrick insisted.

= ‘Dear= God, if he got together with them!’

= ‘We n= eed to take steps ... and quickly.’

= Henry’= ;s laboured breathing could be heard down the phone. ‘Do so, cover all t= he bases, and prepare to withdraw our exposed assets.’=

Beesely’s eyes widened. ‘Head up K2? Me!’

Otto shrugg= ed slightly. ‘Yes, why not. You are the best qualified, and it needs a re-structuring. It needs –’

‘It n= eeds direction,’ Beesely cut in with, now staring out of focus and thinking. ‘It needs… a purpose.’

Otto formed= a thin smile. ‘Yes, it needs direction and purpose. Why have power and money if it does not do anything… constructive?’

= ‘MI6 = would have kittens,’ Beesely stated, glancing at Ricky.

= Ricky grinn= ed and lifted his eyebrows in emphasis. ‘Wait till they discover the size of K2!’

= ‘Oh?&= #8217; Beesely asked, a question in his look.

= Ricky added, ‘Two thousand staff in twenty countries, plus contracted staff. About four hundred front line agents.’

= ‘Jesu= s,’ Beesely let out. ‘They won’t just be pissed off at me, they’ll be… somewhat concerned!’=

‘Screw ‘em, Boss. They = tried to screw you over, and they left Johno up the creek in Kosovo.’<= /o:p>

= ‘We k= new the risks,’ Johno stated.

‘Yeah= ,’ Ricky agreed. ‘But there’s a shit load you don’t know.’ Ricky turned to Beesely for permission to continue. Beesely si= ghed, and sat back. A wave of his hand told Ricky to go ahead. ‘Sir Morris spent close to a million squids of his own money to get you out. He offered= me money, which I did not take. Before Kosovo I didn’t know who y= ou were, Johno, I just knew that Sir Morris was turning hell inside out to organize a rescue.

‘He was officially ord= ered not to, on threat of prison. Or worse. So he got a crew together. They help= ed me to the border, I had a guide to your last known position - poor fellow getting blown away just as we reached you - then Sir Morris offered the Yan= ks top secret info about MI6 activities in Saudi Arms deals, stuff they wanted= to know. The Yanks only then agreed to fly you out. If he got caught he could = have faced life in prison, or the death penalty for treason. <= /p>

‘He p= aid for that plane out of Italy, and your hospital bills. He even put a gun to = the head of an Army communications officer to get your last known position. And= I mean, gun to the head, literally - scared the Rupert to death. There= was an enquiry an all afterwards. Fortunately, Sir Morris knew where the bodies were buried. He told head boy cock-sucker in the Foreign Office that he wou= ld talk if he got charged.’

Johno took = it in, thinking, before addressing Beesely. ‘You felt guilty about sending me into Kosovo?’

‘Not quite,’ Ricky suggested with a sigh. ‘Perhaps someone should te= ll the poor fool. Now … seems like a good time.’=

Johno turne= d his head. ‘Tell me what, pineapple face?’

‘Shall I?’ Otto offered.

‘Did Richard tell you?’ Beesely angrily demanded.

‘No. = K2 is … very efficient,’ Otto smugly replied.

‘Tell= me what?’ Johno repeated, being ignored.

Beesely bre= athed in slowly as he considered the face of his newfound son. ‘This is goi= ng to be a turning point, for many things, and for many people.’ He lowe= red his head and sighed. ‘Today will be the last day as we were.’ He faced Otto. ‘Go ahead then, let’s see what you think you know,’ he prompted without any hint of malice.

Otto turned squarely to Johno. ‘Sir Morris went to so much trouble to get you out= of Kosovo … because you are his illegitimate son, my half-brother.’= ; It took a while to sink in, Ricky and Otto watching Johno’s reaction. Or lack of it.

Johno focus= ed on Beesely, his brow slowly creasing. ‘You … you’re my ̷= 0; real father?’ Beesely nodded, appearing tired. Johno looked almost studious as he continued to think. ‘Well,’ he sighed with a resigned look, ‘that explains a hell of lot. I used to think I had a guardian angel, back in the early days in the Army. I should have been court-martialled twice –’

‘T= hree … times,’ Beesely slipped in.

Johno thoug= ht back. ‘Three times? So that was you … getting me off?= 217; Beesely gave him a quick nod. ‘And that strange NAAFI raffle I won?’ Johno probed. Again his employer nodded. Johno took a big breat= h. ‘Always wondered why you kept me on, all the hassle I gave you.’= ;

‘Give … me. Hass= le you give me,’ Beesely quietly, but firmly corrected.

Johno rubbed his moustache. ‘Thirty grand a year to be your driver when you hardly go out, I shou= ld have figured that one.’ He stared out of focus for a moment. ‘W= ell … if it’s not a stupid question, why didn’t you say anyth= ing before?’ He focused on his father. ‘I’m not a frigging kid.’

Beesely tur= ned to Otto, for Otto to answer. Johno’s new half-brother began, ‘Beca= use you would have been a target, had anyone known your connection to a senior manager in MI6.’ He turned back to Beesely for confirmation, acknowle= dged by a brief smile.

Johno remai= ned studious. ‘So my mum Barbara and you … shit!’ He screwed = up his face. ‘Yuk! And that wanker of a step-dad I had…’

‘Yuk?= ’ Beesely repeated.

Otto keenly= cut in with, ‘That man used to beat you and your mother, so Sir Morris had him jailed on the made-up charges. When he was out of jail –’

‘Yuk?= ’ Beesely quietly repeated, being ignored.

‘I de= cked the wanker,’ Johno finished, focused on no one in particular. ‘I was big enough then.’ He turned to Beesely. ‘And that money my mother got from some dead relative?’

‘Yes,= ’ Otto confirmed. ‘It was Beesely. He wanted you to go to college, but = you joined the Army instead.’

‘Coll= ege!’ Ricky laughed.

‘Piss off!’ Johno retorted, still deep in thought.

Beesely wasn’t quite sure wha= t he had expected after all these years; tears, big hugs, lots of shouting about ‘lost years’. He should have known better.

Johno addressed Otto, but pointed a finger at Beesely. ‘So, when he finally croaks, how much do I get?’

Ricky laugh= ed so loud that Jane came back in. Even Beesely began to laugh, and Otto joined i= n.

‘What= ?’ Johno asked, looking from face to face and reaching for a sandwich.

Half an hour later, and Johno and Otto were stood talking about climbing, a litt= le awkward in knowing quite how to deal with each other. Johno worked hard on suppressing his natural urge to take the piss out of this ‘suited pin head’, but was starting to develop a great deal of respect for Otto’s climbing achievements. Not to mention the cross-country skiing, the downhill skiing, ski jumping, competition shooting, canoeing…

Beesely sto= od with Ricky at the other end of the room, teacup and saucer in Beesely’= ;s hands, a mug in Ricky’s hands. Beesely asked, ‘Have you been to command central in Switzerland?’

Ricky’s expression suggested = it was an interesting place. ‘Big underground office beneath an old castle o= n a lake,’ he whispered.

‘Castle?’ Beesely repea= ted. ‘Is there a cave with a bald fellow stroking a white cat? Goes by the name of Doctor No?’

Ricky laugh= ed. ‘There is a cave; the whole damn command centre is underground.’= ;

‘Is it linked to Swiss Military Intelligence, the UNA?’

Ricky edged closer. ‘I think these boys at K2 own the UNA!’

Beesely nod= ded to himself as he thought. ‘Any mention of P-26?’=

‘What= ’s that?’ Ricky whispered.

&nb= sp; ‘Never mind.’ He shot a quick glance toward Otto. ‘What else have you seen?’

‘The castle is a hotel type p= lace with about ten, fifteen palatial guest rooms, like a five star retreat in t= he country. There’re rooms for you, Johno and Jane ... plus a fleet of R= ange Rovers just to make you feel at home.’

Beesely raised his eyebrows, tipped= his head forwards and asked a silent question.

Ricky grinned. ‘Likes to plan ahead, does our Mister Otto. All the guards use old MP5s and Browning pisto= ls so that Johno will feel at home.’

‘You = trust him?’ Beesely pressed, glancing again at Otto.

‘As m= uch as you and Johno,’ Ricky answered. ‘The thing to keep in mind R= 30; is that if you don’t inherit the bank and K2, Otto is out of a= job and the state steps in. Add to the fact that Marianne was Jewish, and poor = old Otto is on a knife-edge; don’t know how the fucker sleeps at night. He didn’t need to come here and chat nicely, this guy could snap his fin= gers and make you lot do whatever he wanted. The power this guy has makes MI6 lo= ok like a bunch of frigging girl guides; two thousand staff, offices all over Europe. Frightening, some of the things he can arrange.’<= /o:p>

Beesely tip= ped his head. ‘Such as?’

Ricky leant= in closer. ‘He lifted all the old MI6 files relating to you. They’= re in the fucking car.’

Beesely brightened. ‘Ah, now that would be interesting reading.’

Ricky grinn= ed. ‘Thought so.’

Beesely gla= nced over at his two boys. Whispering, he enquired, ‘What do you think motivates him?’

‘He w= ants to be a spymaster. Can’t blame him, we all need a hobby, and it beats being a desk-jockey in some sterile fucking bank. And it seems that this Gu= nter wanker treated him badly; no hugs at bedtime. Kid grew up needing to prove something, now he’s got the chance. And it’s you he want= s to prove it to.’

Beesely nod= ded to himself, facing Otto. He asked, ‘Seen anything of our good friend Gen= eral Rose lately?’

‘If I= did I’d deck the winker. He gave me the cold shoulder ten years ago ̵= 1; only offering me the shitty missions that no one else would touch.’

‘Beca= use you wouldn’t spy on me,’ Beesely put in, sighing.

‘He n= ever did trust you.’

= Beesely led Ricky by the arm back to the table. ‘Gentlemen, your seats please. Jane, come sit by me. And Jane, no matter what we discuss from now on, I wa= nt you to be a part of things.’ They all sat, and they all deferred leadership to Beesely. Beesely took a breath. ‘To business. Otto, I presume a man of your abilities has a plan he is working to, some … objectives?’

‘I ha= ve, yes,’ Otto answered, glancing from face to face as Jane made ready her pad, ready to take notes. ‘But they are open to debate and to … guidance. You, sir, are infinitely more experienced than I in running intelligence operations. John is more experienced in special operations of a military nature.’

‘John= -oh,’ Johno corrected.

Otto glance= d at him. ‘Of course, John-oh.’

Beesely too= k the pad and pen from Jane. ‘Well, let’s hear the main points, and we can kick the ideas around from there.’

Otto cleare= d his throat, the first sign all night of any nerves in this company. ‘The first objective is to review current structures and operations on a macro scale, and to define some directions. I would suggest that the principal ai= m is to continue to make money, to facilitate the other operations that we may desire to be involved with.’

‘Yes,= of course,’ Beesely commended. ‘Need to oil the wheels. Does K2 ma= ke a profit from its own activities?’

‘No, = only around twenty five percent of costs are met directly. The rest are met indirectly by the investment arms; stocks and shares, patents, direct dividends.’

‘And = the investment arm benefits greatly from intelligence garnered by K2 operatives= and sleepers?’ Beesely asked, Otto nodding. Beesely seemed deep in thought for a moment, easing back. ‘Do any of those operations take money away from the needy? Does anyone get hurt?’

‘Not typically, certainly less so in recent years. If you mean to ask - are shareholders adversely affected when we benefit - then only to a small degr= ee. It is mostly institutional size investors that may lose money to us. Natura= lly, if we deliberately bankrupted a company for some benefit ... then the staff= and investors would be hurt.’

‘Woul= d we do that?’ Beesely gingerly enquired.

= ‘Such= a move would be high profile, which is not our style. There would have to be a special reason for it,’ Otto explained.

Beesely interlaced his fingers, leaning forwards and resting his weight on his forearms. ‘Such as a factory selling replica guns that they know can easily be turned into real ones on British streets?’

      Otto seemed= a little confused. ‘I am not sure...’

      Beesely hel= ped him out. ‘There’s a specific factory in the Czech Republic that I’m thinking about, read about just the other day in The Times, Briti= sh Government not too happy.’

      Otto pulled= a large phone from inside his jacket.

      Johno snort= ed, ‘Are those frigging things supposed to be getting smaller? Very ninet= een nineties! Got a fucking filofax as well?’

      Ricky tapped Johno’s arm. ‘Advanced satellite phone, GPS, homing signal, mak= es the tea...’

      ‘Hand= y,’ Johno offered, deciding to shut up.

      Otto presse= d a button and began to talk without waiting. ‘Czech company … makes replica firearms … has recently been criticized by the British Government.’ He paused, listened, and then held the phone away from h= is ear. ‘There are three such factories.’ He raised the phone to h= is ear once more and listened for a minute. ‘One is owned by a Chinese parent company … one is struggling financially… the last is the= one being criticized, name of GNG, owned by a German businessman.’ He put= the phone to his ear again. ‘I see. He also has a stake in the second factory.’ Otto held the phone down. ‘How would you ̷= 0; wish us to proceed?’

      Beesely lea= nt forwards slightly. ‘How would you normally handle this, if your objective was to stop the flow of these guns around Europe?’

      Otto consid= ered the scenario. ‘I would … buy a majority stake in each company, discreetly through several proxy holdings, then insist that the gun’s design be altered –’

      Beesely straightened. ‘Which would all take many months. There’s nothing wrong with your approach, commendably professional, stealthy and measured -= as I would expect. But these guns are ending up in Manchester slums every day.= A few more months means a few more lives lost.’

      ‘How = would you wish us to proceed?’ Otto repeated.

      ‘The factory owned by the Chinese -’ Beesely began.

      ‘Burn= the frigging thing down!’ Ricky suggested.

      ‘What= I was going to say,’ Beesely explained, a reproachful glance toward Ricky, ‘was to burn down all three at the same time, making them all look li= ke insurance claims. The Chinese we do not like, the struggling factory is a p= rime case for arson, and this German fella should know better than to dabble in = such matters.’

      ‘So b= urn them!’ Johno recommended.

      ‘I se= cond that,’ Ricky offered with a smirk.

      Beesely rai= sed his arm, ‘I vote in favour of the motion put forward by the board.= 217;

      Otto lifted= the phone back to his ear. ‘Burn all three factories on the same night, making it appear as if deliberate arson, implicating the German businessman owner for his two.’

      ‘May = as well make it all three,’ Beesely suggested with a cheeky grin.

      Otto shrugg= ed his shoulders. Into the phone, he ordered, ‘Make all three look as if it = were the same person. Get back to me tomorrow with a detailed plan, to be execut= ed the day after.’

      ‘Just= like that?’ Johno asked. ‘Sweet.’

      ‘Just= like that,’ Ricky repeated with a confident smile.

Otto hung up, looking Beesely direc= tly in the eye. ‘Are you testing me, or testing K2?’=

Beesely leant forwards. ‘A bi= t of both, my lad. How better to get to know you and your outfit’s capabilities … than some practical work, eh?’=

Otto considered Beesely’s wor= ds. ‘Are we, then, to define K2 as an instrument of political good in Europe?’

Beesely offered two open palms. ‘Can you think of a better use for it? It’s not like you need a ‘stay behind’ army any more, no threat from the Russians these days.’

‘Stay behind army?’ Joh= no queried. ‘What the fuck’s that, an Army that stays in bed all day?’

‘Something you should know, m= y boy. MI6 and the SAS trained them, at least they used to up until the nineties.’

‘I had a Swiss guy embedded w= ith my squadron for five weeks in 1981,’ Ricky informed the group. ‘No= t up to much.’

‘No, they’ve never fire= d a shot in anger,’ Beesely pointed out. He explained to Johno, ‘Following the Second World War, the Swiss set up a small ‘resistance force’, based on British SOE operations there during the war. In fact, I recall one British SOE instructor retiring there.’= ;

‘To do what?’ Johno enq= uired.

‘Create potential resistance fighters,’ Beesely explained. ‘Pop up after the Russians invade= and blow up bridges.’

‘Like Gladio in Italy?’= Ricky asked.

Beesely smiled. ‘Guess you= actually read a book once in a while.’ As the words trailed off he sh= ot a look at Johno, who did not notice. Now he made direct eye contact with Otto. ‘Did K2 evolve from your P-26 unit, underground resistance army on paper?’

‘Let me pronounce this correctly,’ Otto began. ‘You may think that, I cannot comment.’

Beesely smiled and corrected him. &= #8216;You may think that, I could not possibly comment.’ =

Otto gave a small bow. ‘In pa= rt. K2 did not evolve directly from these old men. As you say … army on paper. K2 evolved from Gunter’s ... er … paranoid?’<= /o:p>

‘Paranoia,’ Bees= ely corrected.

Otto considered his father carefull= y for a moment, seemed to come to a decision, then opened his case. He produced t= hree phones of the same style as his, each having been labelled in advance. He s= lid one across the table to Beesely. ‘Press the green button and you will= be instantly talking with a senior assistant in operations. You can ask questi= ons of a research nature, instigate studies or obtain the information on most a= ny subject, person or business. You can obtain the private phone numbers of any individual, including Presidents and movie stars. You can also order action= s of almost any nature. The signal is encoded beyond the reach of any agency, privacy is assured.’

Beesely studied it through his bifo= cals. ‘This one has bigger buttons than the others.’

‘Yes –’ Otto bega= n.

‘Because ya a blind old git,&= #8217; Johno suggested.

‘Thanks for that,’ Bees= ely replied without detracting from his study of the phone.
Otto handed Johno a phone, but held= on to it. ‘Please ... do not abuse this.’

Beesely squinted at Otto over the t= op of his glasses, and then turned to Johno. ‘Johno, it’s for business use … or we will have a problem.’

‘OK, OK, keep your panties on.’

Otto handed one to Jane, for which = she thanked him as if receiving a Christmas present. ‘If you are ever in danger, press the red button and hold for a few seconds. It will send your exact position to operations. We can find you quickly.’

Beesely had been listening to the t= one of that last sentence with great interest. ‘Jane, you were not in the room when Otto revealed a few in= teresting details to us.’

‘Oh?’ she said, genuine= ly interested in everything happening.

‘Otto is my biological son, a= s you heard earlier, but so is Johno.’

She seemed shocked, glancing from o= ne face to another. With a puzzled look, she finally asked, ‘So … = how did that happen?’

‘Do you want me to show you s= ome pictures?’ Johno offered.

‘No, not that … I mean –’

‘It was the sixties,’ B= eesely offered by way of excuse. ‘I was rushing around London playing secret agent, believing that I could do just about anything and everything. Anyway= , I was not as careful as I should have been, and sex was a great antidote to stress in the face of imminent death.’

‘Must have been very stressful,’ Johno quipped without looking up.

Beesely took a deep breath, taking = hold of Jane’s hand. ‘Jane, I have an apology to make, and today see= ms to be the day to make it. Today seems to be the turning point I had always believed I would avoid. I always believed you would all read my Will and … understand.’ He took in their faces. ‘That might have b= een cowardly, perhaps, but simpler … for all your sakes.’ He faced = her and announced, ‘Jane, I am also your father.’=

=

6

=

Johno looked up, and stared across at Jane. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ = he muttered. ‘Anyone checked that stray cat? She had a litter last year!’

Otto had not reacted, he already kn= ew. Ricky was perplexed, and Jane sat quietly stunned.

Beesely held her cold hand, ignoring Johno. ‘I’m sorry for not having told you before –’=

‘Didn’t apologise to me,’ Johno muttered, loud enough for them to hear.<= /p>
Beesely ignored him. He continued, = in a soft voice, ‘Because it would have made you a target for kidnap and blackmail. If people thought that you were just a secretary then you would = have been safe, and Johno just a driver in the same fashion.’

‘I can look after myself!R= 17; Johno angrily pointed out.

‘That’s not the point!&= #8217; Beesely rounded on him. ‘It would have made you a target. I was invol= ved in stuff that none of you know about, very dangerous stuff, pissing off just about everyone from the CIA to the KGB.’ He took a breath. ‘Let’s just leave it at that for now.’<= /p>
He turned back to Jane and stroked = her decidedly cold hands. ‘I have always looked after you as if you were = my own, so I don’t think things would have been any different between us= if you had known.’ He brightened. ‘And besides, who else would give you a job?’

She seemed mildly offended. ‘= My typing is not that bad.’

‘It’s legendary in intelligence circles,’ Beesely pointed out with a pained expression. ‘And not for its accuracy.’&nb= sp; She gave him an embarrassed look before lowering her head. Beesely continued, ‘My bosses in the Circus used to mark it with a red pen and send it back, points out of ten. The only benefit came when the KGB were intercepting my mail. They had trouble translating it, thinking the misspellings were some sort of code.’ He fought back a smile. ‘= They spent months, apparently, trying to decipher it.’
Ricky used all his strength not to = laugh out loud.

Jane forced back a tear, not being = the most composed person at the best of times. ‘I often wondered why you = kept me around. Everyone else was always telling me how useless I was.’

Johno had wandered around to where = the sandwiches were. Now he stood behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘You make a great cuppa. And in the summer you can chill my beer just= by holding the can.’

Otto placed a hand on her arm. R= 16;I have been looking forward to getting to know my family. I am very glad that= you are my half-sister.’

She lifted her head, focusing on Jo= hno. ‘See, he appreciates me!’

‘What?’ Johno protested with a mouth full of sandwich. ‘I said you make a great cuppa, stroppy tart.’

Beesely turned back to Otto. ‘= ;The apple fell far from the tree with that one.’ They both watched Johno = as he crammed more food onto his plate than it had been designed for.

‘Yeah, well the tree dropped = its seed, pulled up its roots and pissed off to another orchard,’ Johno pointed out.

Beesely had to concede, ‘Fair point.’ He turned back to Jane. ‘Will you be alright?’

She sat hunched, almost crying. ‘What happens to me now?’

Otto jumped in and answered with, ‘Now you will be protected, looked after in every way. You will want = for nothing - houses, cars, money, food - just tell me what you need. You will = not have to worry again.’

Beesely was quietly taken aback as = the authority was temporarily stripped away from him, but also delighted to see that Otto purported to be so protective towards her.

Otto turned to Ricky. ‘If you= can go outside, I will send for the others.’ Ricky, and Otto’s driv= er, stood and stepped outside.

‘Others?’ Beesely nervo= usly enquired.

‘My staff,’ Otto reassu= red him, a hint of a smile. ‘If you would please step outside for a moment,’ he formally requested. Facing Jane, he said, ‘Please p= ut on a coat, we may be some time.’

Again, Beesely felt odd that someon= e else was looking out for Jane; for the past forty years that had been his job. O= tto made a call, and by time they reached the gate several cars were coming down the lane, followed by the headlights of many other vehicles.

‘Billy Smarts’ Circus?&= #8217; Johno asked. ‘Tent on the lawn?’

The first vehicle arrived, a Range = Rover.

‘For you, Johno.’ Otto gestured him towards it.

‘Not such a bad wanker after all,’ Johno muttered as he walked over to it, finding it brand new and customised, top of the range.

‘And for Jane,’ Otto sa= id as he gestured. Through the gate trundled a bright yellow Ford KA.<= /span>

Beesely smiled and turned to her. ‘That must be for you!’ he shouted over the noise building up outside his house.

Jane was delighted; the right colou= r, small and nippy, and she had always wanted one of these. She gave Otto a big hug from within a padded coat that appeared to be three sizes too big for h= er, before gingerly sitting in the car.

A Rolls Royce Silver Ghost, 1907, c= ame next, a beautiful antique of a car that Beesely stood admiring. He gestured= off to one side, smiling at Otto as the classic car was now parked at the edge = of the grass. Otto had followed Beesely to the ‘Roller’, halting t= he rest of the vehicles with a hand, the drivers of the prior vehicles now sto= od in a neat line by the main door to the house.

‘Collector’s piece,R= 17; Beesely stated through the open door. ‘It’s been lovingly restored.’

Otto explained, ‘It was impor= ted from a collector in southern France, where it was used for several movies. = All the details are in a … how you say … scrap book, in the = rear with a certificate of provenance.’

Beesely beamed as he clambered out, circling the car. ‘You know how to impress, my boy.’ He closed = the door, and turned to the line of vehicles in the lane. ‘And they are?’

‘Security and operations,R= 17; Otto stated, beckoning them in. ‘This house is not secure. When you or the others are in residence, there will be the round-of-the-clock security; cameras, lights, and dogs.’

Beesely watched the procession with= some concern; Otto had brought a small army.

‘Shall we go back inside, sir?’

Several Range Rovers, and two vans, halted on the gravel as Otto led Beesely back to the house. Back inside, Ot= to opened his briefcase as Beesely watched the commotion through the dining ro= om window.

‘This is for you.’ Otto handed Beesely a Swiss diplomatic passport, complete with suitable photogra= ph and signature, a worryingly neat piece of forgery.

‘My diplomatic skills are a l= ittle rusty,’ Beesely joked as he thumbed through the dark red booklet.

‘This property is now registe= red by the Swiss Diplomatic Corps as an official residence,’ Otto informed h= im as Johno wandered back in. ‘That means -’

Beesely cut in with, ‘That the police and security services could not enter, even with a warrant, if they = see me running naked round the house with a surface-air-missile on my shoulder.’

‘Who’d want to come in = with you naked!’ Johno quipped as Otto handed him a passport. ‘So wh= at can I do with this?’

‘Clobber whomsoever you like.= With impunity!’ Beesely pointed out.

Johno’s eyes widened. ‘Sweet.’

‘The worst that the police co= uld do would be to deport you to Switzerland,’ Beesely added, still thumb= ing through his.

Johno stuffed the passport inside h= is jacket pocket as Jane accepted hers.

Otto explained to them, ‘Ther= e will be a plaque on the front gate, and several signs around the fences. This ho= use is now off limits to British police and intelligence services. And I hold f= ull Assistant Ambassador status.’

Beesely looked up sharply. ‘Y= ou do?’

Otto smiled, barely visible. ‘= ;We work closely with the Swiss Government.’

‘Get out of jail cards all around,’ Johno announced to no one in particular, grabbing another sandwich.

‘May my people use your spare= rooms and the cottage?’ Otto asked.

Beesely nodded his agreement. ̵= 6;The cottage is a good idea, but it needs work –’<= /p>
‘Decorators and builders will arrive tomorrow.’

Beesely tipped his head. ‘Why…?’

‘To make the cottage more sui= table, to install a fence, to replace the windows in this house, and to install state-of-the-art security systems.’

‘Johno is good with those,= 217; Beesely pointed out.

‘Yes, I am aware. When we are= set up, Johno can inspect and test the systems.’ He took a file from his = case and handed it to Johno. It held detailed plans, very detailed plans; drawin= gs, sketches, and technical specifications.

Johno sat down with his sandwiches, another mug of tea, and began to read, occasionally mumbling to himself. Headlights flashed outside, gravel crunched under tyres, doors slammed, and dogs barked as Ricky slipped away on a job for Otto.

* * *

Johno bumped into Beesely coming out of the toilet around 2am. Beesely stood read= y to head back to his room, when Johno quietly asked, ‘Do you think this is all on the level?’

      Beesely tur= ned to him. ‘I think ... I think that if we considered this some giant trap = then we are deluding ourselves as to our worth to the world, and to our potential enemies. With me at the head of K2 we most certainly are in clear and present danger, as they say. Take away K2 and rewind a few hours, and y= ou and I, boy, we are not worth two bent pennies to anyone. No one would go to this much trouble to screw with us, we’re yesterdays’ news.

      ‘But,= it seems like life has dealt us four aces on our last hand of the night. Anyway, starting tomorrow I’m going to test our new best friend to destructio= n. And have some fun doing it! First, I’ll test his Jewish heritage, something I know a great deal about. If he isn’t on the level he̵= 7;ll have a heart attack before noon with what I’ve got planned.’

      Johno nodde= d his acceptance of that idea, heading off back to bed, Beesely unhappily noting Johno’s Simpson’s shorts, and a t-shirt that announced: ‘= Does not play well with other children.’

Fun and games

James Kirkpatrick, CIA, could hardly believe what he was hearing. He listened har= der to the call, his eyes narrowing. ‘Say again.’=

‘Obse= rvation is now limited on primary target. The house now has continuous patrols, dog= s, motion sensors and laser movement kit. Plus the guards are armed, and they wander outside the fixed perimeter.’

‘Have you been compromised?&#= 8217;

‘Negative.’<= /span>

‘Withdraw. Stateside.’<= o:p>

‘Affirmative.’

Kirkpatrick eased back, deep into h= is chair, frowning hard. ‘What the hell is going on over there?’ He raised the phone. ‘I want a fresh assessment made of K2’s defen= sive and offensive capabilities, staff and equipment. As fast as you can, please.’

* * *

Otto had spent the night in the = guest room. The previous evening he had confessed to not needing much sleep, which was just as well, because Johno’s intermittent snoring in the next ro= om had kept him awake. The toilet had been flushed many times during the night, the old cistern taking ten noisy minutes to fill back up. Dawn saw the arri= val of several wood pigeons on the branch outside Otto’s window, cooing a= way and leaving him looking a little haggard at breakfast. His suit was immacul= ate, but his eyes betrayed the fatigue.

He said nothing of the fact that he= heard Johno scream out during the night, or Jane sobbing. He would also say nothi= ng of the fact that he thought he heard Johno sobbing.

Otto and Beesely had chatted conspiratorially next to the fireplace the previous evening, working their = way through several glasses of wine and finishing off with the best malt whisky. Johno had pestered, poked, prodded and generally questioned at length the n= ew security staff, testing most of the equipment and breaking just a few small items. Now he was having a well-deserved lie-in.

Jane now made Otto and Beesely brea= kfast, having already insisted that the passing guards have a toasted muffin each. Their dogs were grateful.

Otto reached over the small kitchen= table and helped himself to more of Jane’s ‘special’ scrambled eggs, with potato wedges and tomatoes in. He noticed Beesely’s gaze following his movements. Checking over his shoulder, Otto whispered, ‘= ;It is good, no?’

Beesely seemed unconvinced about Jane’s cooking and stuck to toast. ‘It should be a busy day, pl= enty of people to impress, and some to upset. If it is not a rude question, just= how much are we worth?’

Otto produced a wallet and removed = from it a neatly folded piece of paper.

‘There are way too many zeros= on there for me to understand, and it’s in European notation.’ Bee= sely grabbed a pen, slicing off groups of three zeros at a time. He swallowed. ‘That is a lot of money.’

‘More than the British Govern= ment spends on its military in a year.’

Beesely seemed concerned. ‘A = sum … which would make us a target for those capable of taking it away fr= om us.’

Otto confidently smiled and shook h= is head. ‘First, only a handful of people know this detail. Second, there are triple redundant safety measures in place … and the Swiss Governm= ent would step in if they suspected foul play. I give you the example: if you o= r I are killed, automatically many millions are paid to three independent agenc= ies in three separate countries, who will investigate with aggression and vigou= r. If they suspect foul play, a further sum of money is transferred to deal wi= th those they suspect. The people who work for me know that killing me would achieve nothing for them.’

‘As thorough as a Swiss banker,’ Beesely commended, accepting more tea from Jane. He told her, ‘Wake up Boy Wonder in an hour, we have visitors this afternoon.̵= 7;

‘I have a helicopter at your disposal,’ Otto suddenly announced.

‘My boy, first rule of negoti= ation: let them come to you. Keep the high ground, do not go cap-in-hand.’ Beesely could see that Otto did not quite understand. ‘Watch and lear= n, my boy. Watch ... and learn.&= #8217;

Mossad, Israel’s Secret Intelligence Service, had been surprised by the call; concerned that Beesely had called their UK Section Head directly. The invitation had been cryptic, but urgent: Beesely had some vital intelligence for them, and a helicopter stood waiting at London Docklands Airport.<= /o:p>

Mr. Elle Rosen, the forty-eight yea= r old Section Head, quickly investigated Beesely. A call to ‘the institute’, Tel Aviv, had surprised him: he was to go ahead and meet = with Beesely, no further explanation given. Now, the low profile, and generally unknown Section Head – fronting as a mortgage broker, stepped down fr= om a K2 helicopter on Broadlands lawn with his assistant, after a twenty-minute flight from East London. As the helicopter disappeared over the lake, scattering the ducks and swans, Otto greeted Elle in poor, but appreciated Hebrew.

‘Germ= an?’ Elle puzzled.

‘Swiss Jew,’ Otto replied. ‘Not practising.’

Elle shrugg= ed his shoulders and made a face.

Beesely shook his hand. ‘Do c= ome in, refreshments await us.’

As Elle followed Beesely towards the house, he carefully noted the guards, the dogs, and the building work, being stopped at the edge of the grass by his assistant pointing out a sensor half buried in the lawn; it was, after all, Israeli manufactured. They exchanged looks as they caught up.

‘You take your security seriously,’ Elle casually commented as they stepped into the house, a London-British accent with a little New York American mixed in.<= /span>

‘I take many things way too seriously,’ Beesely replied without stopping or looking around.<= /o:p>

After five minutes of obligatory pleasantries around the old oak table they finally sat, adjusted seats, and squared up to each other.

&= nbsp; ‘I’ve been … working with the CIA quite closely of late,’ Beesely beg= an, stirring his tea.

The Israelis again glanced at each = other. ‘Working with them … or for them?’ Elle enigmatically pro= bed, the faintest hint of a grin evident.

B= eesely offered Elle a look of candid, mock surprise. ‘I’m sure I have = no idea what you mean.’ Otto was not following. ‘Anyway, as you are probably aware –’ which he knew they weren’t. ‘- I = have recently become the head of a private security agency, headquartered in = 230; Zug, Switzerland.’

E= lle appeared as if he might say something before checking himself, a glance at Otto. His assistant stiffened.

B= eesely continued, ‘You have probably had your suspicions for some time.̵= 7;

Elle simply acknowledged with an undetermined nod.

‘Yes … not much slips past your outfit.’ Beesely stirred his tea. ‘Anyway, I am not as young as I used to be, and I wish to change the = way we do things, become more pro-active as the Americans like to say. My organization has roughly two thousand staff –’

‘What= ?’ Elle questioned.

Beesely mad= e firm eye contact. ‘I guess it’s grown a bit since you last checked u= p on us.’ Lowering his gaze again to his teaspoon, he continued, ‘But many of those are researchers, not front line agents, as you can imagine.’ The guests stared back. ‘Anyway, I have accumulated a substantial amount of money over the years, stashed it away in Swiss banks,= but now ... now I want to do more with it. And that’s where you chaps come in. I feel that I can help you.’

‘Help= us? How?’

Beesely tur= ned his head towards Otto, who produced a document without taking his gaze off Elle. He handed it over. Beesely continued, ‘We’ve set up a Swi= ss bank account for you, untraceable, and one that you can use for operations = that your government and legislators - shall we say, may not get to know about.’

Elle was pu= zzled, a heavy crease forming across his forehead. He put a finger on the sum and displayed the detail to his assistant.

Beesely add= ed, ‘It’s more than we made available to the Americans, of course. = We did not want them asking too many questions. You gentlemen are far more discreet about stuff like this.’

Elle nodded, still re-reading the page.

‘Now, gentlemen, there are a few little provisos that come with this piece of paper.’ Beesely slid it back. ‘There are a few things that you could do to help little old me. After all, you … are the professional= s, and I am just the keen amateur. First of all, we are based in Switzerland. Any operations by your good selves inside our borders and we would be ... most disappointing.’

Elle appeared as if he was about to object, but Beesely raised a hand.

‘Naturally, if there is some operation that needs to be conducted on Swiss soil then we will do it for y= ou; we have agents in every walk of life inside our borders. I am afraid I must insist, gentlemen. If you want our kind co-operation then you must not operate inside our borders. If you want the Iranian Embassy in Switzerland bugged, then we will do it for you. We … will not get caught.’

      Elle’= s eyes slowly widened at the cheek of that statement.

‘Do it for us?’ his ass= istant repeated.

=       Beesely tried to hide his amusement. ‘Yes, do it for you. We are very, very efficient at what we do, especially on our own patch.’ He pushed the paper back across the table. ‘And … we would have the odd reciprocal favour to ask. Someone followed there, someone killed here –’

      ‘Kill= ed?’ Elle’s assistant queried.

      ‘We d= o not piss about,’ Beesely sternly pointed out. ‘If you gentlemen are tailing an Arab suspect and he ducks across our borders, we’ll deliver him to Tel Aviv for you, dead or alive.’

      ‘I= 217;m just gunna feed the fucking mutts,’ broke the tension as Johno stepped out of the front door.

      Beesely for= ced a smile. ‘That’s my gardener. Now, you must stay for some food and some fishing.’

      ‘Fish= ing?’ Elle puzzled.

      ‘Yes,= in the lake, all set up for you. Chopper won’t be back for almost forty-= five minutes, our American friends popping down.’

      Elle tilted= his head. ‘CIA?’

      ‘Yes,= you probably know them.’

      After a few nibbles, some tea and pleasantries, Beesely took Elle for a long one-on-one session, chatting as they strolled around the house grounds, Elle’s assistants sitting by the lake and fishing.

* * *

‘Ah, I wonder if you can help me,’ Beesely said into his mobile. ‘I = am trying to reach the director of fundraising for your charity. That’s yourself? Good. I am an anonymous benefactor with ten million pounds about = to wing its way to you by electronic transfer from my Swiss bank account ̷= 0; yes … you’re welcome.

      ‘Well, here’s the thing. My dear lady wife died from breast cancer ... thanks ... and she had this idea before she left us. I want you to organize someth= ing for me for tomorrow in central London, and I shall release the funds today = on an agreement between us. Fine, OK, this is what I would like you to organize for me...’

Beesely had given Otto a firm directive, one that involved large sums of money, and would stretch over many years. It had been codenamed ‘Operation Clean= -up’ and was due to start soon.

      He had made numerous phone calls to perplexed individuals; a few senior police officers= he knew, a few retired SAS officers, and some ‘unpleasant operators̵= 7; as he had described them to Otto. Beesely would be buying guns, illegal str= eet guns.

=

* * *

=

= In Bern, Switzerland, The Zimbabwean Ambassador stood confused. So did his sta= ff. Their two shiny black limousines had been securely stored overnight in the spacious embassy garage as usual. But today was different. Today they were … pink, neatly and expertly re-sprayed, pink.

=       They walked around the vehicles. No paint spots were visible on the glass, the chrome w= ork, or on the garage floor. The paint gleamed, dry and shiny, a perfect gloss finish, diligently tested by the Ambassador himself. They stood and stared, already late for their meeting.

At Broadlands, Beesely held an A4 colour computer image, freshly printed off, roaring with laughter. Otto did= not understand what this use of K2 resources actually proved.=

3

=

The London CIA Deputy Section Chief, Hamilton Burke Junior, followed the flight-plan of his Israeli colleagues to Broadlands, using the same helicop= ter. He too had checked out Beesely, and he too had been told to attend the meet= ing. As he landed, he could not have missed the men sat by the side of the lake, fishing.

His assistant tapped his arm and sp= oke into the headset as they unbuckled. ‘That’s the new Israeli Sec= tion Head for the UK.’ They exchanged glances.

      ‘The = guy looks pretty fucking relaxed. He a regular visitor?’

      Beesely sto= od waiting on the gravel, a direct path toward him keeping the Americans away = from talking to the Israelis. He waved to them as they cleared the rotor blades,= the two men finally straightened up. ‘So nice of you to pop down.’<= o:p>

      Burke wore a casual jacket over a polo t-shirt, covering a barrel chest, a neck the same girth as his head. With crew cut grey hair, he appeared to Beesely to be in= his fifties. The Americans glanced at the Israelis as the Israelis watched the Americans walking into the house.

      ‘You = do business with the Israelis,’ Burke noted, very matter of fact, as they assembled around the table. The used cups had been deliberately left, giving the impression of a long prior meeting.

      Jane steppe= d in, Beesely saying to her, ‘Shall we clear this lot away and start afresh?’ He gestured firmly for the two Americans to sit down. ‘Please, gentlemen, have a seat.’ Then, as an afterthought, he said, ‘Sorry, you were saying something about the Israelis? They like= the fishing, it gets them away from London.’

      ‘Sure= ,’ Burke agreed, his eyes taking in as much detail of the room as he could fin= d. ‘Love to fish myself,’ he announced whilst still checking out t= he room, managing to make it sound his least favourite activity, his accent no= w getting broader and heading west.

      ‘Exce= llent!’ Beesely boomed with a broad smile. ‘You’ll have to try the lake after the Israelis head back.’

      The helicop= ter roared past the house.

Beesely turned to Otto with a surpr= ised look. ‘Have they gone?’

Otto nodded.

‘And left the fishing gear on= the lake?’

Otto again nodded.

‘Bloody typical! Not the most diplomatic of people.’

      ‘That= ’s for sure,’ Burke blurted out, immediately regretting it.

      ‘As friendly as waiters in a Tel Aviv hotel,’ Beesely joked. They all lau= ghed, Burke’s laughter forced. Beesely continued to avoid eye contact with = his guests as Jane brought out tea, plus coffee for the Americans in the exact flavours and measures of milk and sugar as the guests favoured. It was not missed on them, and they exchanged uneasy glances.

&= nbsp;    Burke sipped his coffee, the exact Colombian blend he had brought with him to the= UK. It remained hard to find outside of South America. ‘So, how’s D= ame Helen working out for the Circus? If … you’re still in the loop?’=

=       Otto tapped Beesely’s arm, Beesely ignoring the dig from Burke. ‘She wants to make an appointment and pop down. Today if possible,’ he lie= d.

      ‘What= is this, open house day?’ Beesely feigned.

      Otto contin= ued lying, ‘She wants us to have another crack at that Russian problem.&#= 8217;

      Beesely nod= ded, deep in thought, then edged closer to Burke and whispered, ‘We’= re holding some Russian computer guys.’

      Burke nodde= d his apparent understanding. Of what, remained to be determined.

      Johno opene= d the front door, ‘Bastards bit me when I fed them, then one shat on my sho= es. I’m gunna get a cattle prod.’

=       Beesely played back the image in his mind, before realising how the Americans could have interpreted Johno’s words. ‘So, to business, gentlemen.= 217;

      ‘And = what kinda business can you help us with?’ Burke asked, folding his arms a= nd easing back.

      Otto handed Beesely a bank statement, as with the Israelis, and Beesely slid it forward= s. To their surprise, Burke took out a pair of golden, half-moon glasses, hold= ing the page at arm’s length. Beesely remained silent, his fingers interl= aced and held against his chest as if an earnest monk in prayer. Burke finally gestured with a hand, a conscious plea for explanation.
      Beesely eas= ed forwards. ‘That money is for your unofficial operations in central Europe. Consider it a gift, of sorts.’

      Burke whipp= ed his glasses off. ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘Let = me explain,’ Beesely offered as he stirred his tea loudly. ‘I have made a substantial amount of money over the past fifty years, had some shre= wd investments at the right time. Now … now that I’m getting old a= nd ... winding down, I would like to see some of that money put to good use, a= nd by that I do not mean Save The Whale.’ He tapped the spoon, deflecting Burke’s stare. ‘You see, I have spent my entire adult life eith= er in the military or in private security –’

      ‘You = sold your interest in those private security companies years ago. You could have made a whack in Iraq!’

      Beesely considered that it was obviously a well-used phrase, albeit painfully poor = use of Queen’s English. ‘So it would appear to the wider world,R= 17; he stated with menace. ‘But you should never believe everything you hear.’

      Burke waved= the sheet. ‘And who knows about this?’

      ‘Just us.’ Beesely took the paper back. ‘But there are some provisos = that we would like to … request before handing over the money.&#= 8217;

=       ‘Which little country ya want invaded?’ Burke asked with a grin, glancing at= his assistant.

=       Beesely forced an unfriendly smile. ‘Nothing quite so dramatic, young man.= 217; The put-down could hardly have been missed. Burke stopped smiling. ‘We simply want two things. First, that you do not carry out operations on our turf, and by that I mean Switzerland. And second … if you have some s= mall operations that we may help you with, that you consider contracting back to= our division.’

      Burke nodde= d and cracked a smile. He understood where Beesely had been expertly leading him. ‘Business is business!’

‘And, when you are no = longer contracted to the CIA…’ Burke’s eyes widened at the illic= it employment offer, Beesely adding, ‘Some room for consultancy work, for someone with your skills.’

      =

* * *

Elle Rosen lowered his phone, having spent ten minutes talking with his boss at ‘the institute’, north of Tel Aviv. He sat now in an anonymous mortgage broker’s office in Highgate, London.

      ‘Prob= lem?’ his assistant enquired after noticing Elle’s look.<= /p>
      ‘We&#= 8217;re to stay close to Beesely and K2 where possible. There is an … oppo= rtunity here.’

=       ‘Will we get any insider information on Swiss banks?’

      ‘With Beesely where he is, I should think so. Besides, Beesely is not who he appe= ars to be.’

      ‘No?&= #8217;

&nb= sp;    Elle shook his head, a slight movement. ‘He’s a longstanding, and very highly regarded, American asset.’ He frowned slightly. ‘And, considering just who he is, the meeting we had today was … very odd.’

      ‘The = Swiss man was there,’ his assistant pointed out.

=       Elle wagged a finger. ‘Which could mean that K2 doesn’t know about Beesely. Amazing. It would seem that Beesely has manoeuvred himself into a Swiss bank, a remarkable feat.’

      The assista= nt lifted the Swiss bank account details they had been given. ‘What about this?’

      Elle shrugg= ed. ‘Transfer it all, see what happens.’

Past employment presen= t

=

1

=

Beesely lowered his newspaper as Jane served him tea and warm scones. Otto smiled u= p at her, briefly distracted from a mountain of paperwork created by the activit= ies of the last two days.

      Beesely tap= ped the newspaper. ‘It says here that a council in ... where is it ... Hertfordshire, has banned the local schools from a nest building project, presumably to help save local birds, because they may damage the trees.R= 17;

      Otto consid= ered it. ‘If a tree is big enough to hold a small wooden nesting box, it i= s in no danger. I did this when I was a boy.’

      ‘So d= id I. In fact, there are still a half dozen around here someplace.’ He eased upright. ‘Right, let us go and annoy some local councils, shall we?’

      Otto formed= a knowing smile. ‘What did you have in mind?’ he asked as he took= out his phone.

      ‘Let = us find someone who makes wooden bird boxes. Better still, self-assembly –’

      ‘For = the children to assemble,’ Otto finished off.

&nb= sp;    ‘Yes, my boy. Let us see if we can get some delivered to every school in Great Britain, and anonymously of course. And an extra large number for Hertfordshire!’

* * *

Willis just stood there, the report in his hand.

      ‘Well?’ the director asked, getting impatient.

=       ‘You’re not going to like this, not after our chat about one … Sir Morris Beesely.’ He lifted his face out of the file. ‘Both the London Section Head of Mossad, and the London Deputy Section Chief of the CIA, vis= ited our good friend Sir Morris today.’ She stared across her desk without comment. He continued, ‘We received an anonymous tip, complete with photos of them getting into a helicopter at Docklands.’

      She eased b= ack into her chair, staring incredulously at her assistant’s revelation, = her head spinning with a hundred thoughts, the main one being that there were m= any things going on under her nose that she did not know about. Taking a breath, she composed herself. ‘Fix an appointment with our good friend Mr. Beesely,’ she flatly ordered. ‘It’s about time I finally = met the distinguished gentleman, especially given that someone is nudgin= g me that way.’

=       ‘Funny you should say that.’ Willis produced a second page. ‘He just f= axed us – on your direct fax line. It says that a chopper is ready anytime= we are, to take us down to the country.’ Willis passed the fax to her. ‘It says the fishing is lovely this time of year.’ He clasped h= is hands behind his back. ‘I quite liked the little doodle of the man fishing.’

* * *

‘Henry, it’s me,’ Kirkpatrick said into the phone.

      ‘Yes?= ’

      ‘Bees= ely met with the Deputy Section Chief, London. Guy called Hamilton Burke Junior.’

      Henry could= be heard laughing. ‘A rich name for an idiot; I’ve met the guy. Wh= at did they discuss?’

      ‘Acco= rding to Burke, Beesely offered him a Swiss bank account with a hundred million dollars – in fact pounds, for unofficial operations in Europe.’=

      ‘That= ’s … puzzling, to say the least.’

=       ‘It sounds as if he’s on the team. Sure you don’t want me to contact him direct, sound him out?’ Kirkpatrick nudged.

      ‘No, = not yet, let’s see where this goes. Mossad has been checking out Beesely = as well.’

      ‘Did = they get any money?’

      ‘Unkn= own at the moment,’ Henry pointed out.

      ‘What= ’s he up to?’

      ‘Good question.’ Henry hung up.

* * *

As the helicopter carrying Dame Helen touched down, there were no guards or do= gs in sight; they had been hidden. No chairs sat near the lake, no fishing rods were set up. Johno stood washing the Rolls Royce, his jacket off, but a driver’s hat on his head. He had been carefully positioned to be in t= heir direct path to the house, and firmly told not to say anything.

      As Dame Hel= en and Willis approached Johno, the helicopter’s engines now winding down, J= ohno touched his cap. ‘Aft-noon, Ma’am. The old man of the manor ‘sup the big house.’

=       Willis hid a smile. Dame Helen gave Johno an unfriendly stare, washing the car less than six feet from the ‘big house’.

  =     Johno continued, in his best attempts at a ridiculous accent. ‘Appen yud li= ke me to wash ‘em windows of ya flying contraption then?’

      She took a = step towards him. ‘John Johno Williams. Formerly a freelance agent, formerly 14 Intel’, formerly Sergeant John Williams of the SAS, 1985 = to 1994, formerly of 2^nd Battalion Parachute Regiment.’<= /o:p>

  =     Johno scratched the side of his face. Returning to washing the car, and continuing with the accent, he retorted, ‘Just cos a fella can’t hold down= no job don’t mean mistress dominatrix Helen should be putting on ‘= im an all.’

      Willis foug= ht the urge to laugh.

Beesely stood with Otto in his old study, viewing a bank of newly installed monitor= s. Otto handed Beesely a crisp new twenty pound note.

      ‘Told you,’ Beesely commented as they made their way towards the front door. ‘I knew Johno wouldn’t be able to resist.’

      =

‘Mrs Eddington-Small. Director. Or may I call you Dame Helen?’<= /span>

      ‘I= 217;m sure, Sir Morris, that you will call me whatever you like. And, given your historically documented disdain for authority figures, I am sure that wh= atever you call me, and howsoever you do, will seem like a thinly veiled insult.’

      ‘Wow!= ’ Beesely let out. He edged a step closer. ‘I shall call you Dame Helen then; a perfect blend of authority plus familiarity.’=

=       The guests were ushered into the main room, the old oak table now offering an o= ddly wide range of food and drink.

=       She placed down her bag and sat without waiting to be asked. ‘Well, let’s see.’ She glanced around the assorted goodies ranged in f= ront of her. ‘My favourite, used to be my favourite, like those, love thos= e, my kids love those - I’m not so fussed these days, Willis loves those, drinks - perfect choice.’ She finally raised her head as Beesely and = Otto sat. ‘You’ve undertaken some very thorough research, gentlemen. Commendable in fact.’

      Beesely cla= sped his hands together. ‘From the Director herself that is indeed high praise.’

      She helped herself to the Earl Grey tea. ‘You’ve been getting a lot of attention lately, Sir Morris. You keep enough milk in the fridge?’

      ‘Ah, = I must apologise for the clandestine photos of your associates from America and Israel, we just wanted to pique your interest. You are, after all, a busy woman; the pulse of the nation’s security at your fingertips. We figu= red that prising someone of your calibre away from her desk would not be easy. After all, you probably have numerous foreign governments to topple with your army of super spies.’

      She smiled, threateningly. ‘Ah, if only that was true.’ She stopped smiling. ‘Then I could order certain people shot!’

      Beesely coc= ked an eyebrow. ‘Anyone we know?’

      The tea pro= ved excellent and she savoured it, taking a moment to study the man she had hea= rd so much about over the years. ‘Perhaps you could help shed some light= on just how your old personnel files went missing.’ She edged closer. ‘Because if, and when, I find any direct evidence of your involvement there will be a police car at the gate –’

      ‘Whic= h, under British and international treaties and law, would not be allowed onto this property, I am sad to say,’ Beesely stated.

      She hesitat= ed. ‘What?’

      Otto produc= ed his passport and credentials. ‘I am Otto Schessel, Deputy Swiss Ambassado= r to Great Britain.’

=       Dame Helen checked his details quickly, thumbing through the pages. ‘Mister Deputy Ambassador, I ... apol= ogise on behalf of the British Government if I was in any way rude, but this gentleman–’

      ‘Is n= ow residing in an official Ambassador’s residence. We have now purchased this property, and we allow Sir Morris and his assistants to remain here.’ Beesely took out his Swiss passport and slid it across the table with a coy smile. Otto continued, as Dame Helen carefully examined Beesely’s passport, ‘Sir Morris has been assisting my government for some time,= and has dual nationality.’ She glanced up, her surprise evident. ‘Furthermore, he is directly engaged by our Foreign Department as a diplomat of Switzerland.’

      ‘My &= #8230; apologies, gentlemen,’ she loudly offered, sounding less than sincere. ‘I didn’t know … and I was not trying to make any insinuations, Mr. Ambassador, about a member of your staff-’

      ‘Very diplomatically handled, Dame Helen, a true professional,’ Beesely remarked with a broad smile. ‘But do not worry, we are all friends he= re, and wish to become better acquainted. I did not invite you down here to mak= e waves, rather to mend bridges. Oh, by the way, we did lift those files and, before= you ask, no memoirs. Secrecy … is the one thing we are good at.’

      ‘So it would seem,’ she reluctantly admitted, handing back the passports.

      ‘More tea?’

      ‘Than= ks,’ she muttered, resigned to the fact that there was nothing she could do for = the moment.

      Johno stepp= ed into the room, jacket still off, shoulder holster put back on. He slumped i= nto a leather chair in the corner.

=       ‘I’d forgotten he still has a current licence for a weapon,’ she commented= .

      Beesely fol= lowed her gaze across to Johno. ‘To business. I’m sure that you are b= usy, saving us from those terrible hordes at our shores.’

      She forced a smile. ‘Never a dull day.’

=       ‘As you are … not aware, I have been secretly involved with a … rat= her aggressive private security agency for a long time, based obviously …= in Switzerland.’

      She had been sipping her tea, but now banged down her cup and glanced at Willis. Both we= re shocked, coming to the same conclusion at the same time.<= /p>
      Beesely continued, ‘I guess you have developed a few … concerns = in that area lately.’

=       ‘Are you involved with some grotesque vigilante group?’ She turned her hea= d a notch, and accused Otto with her stare. ‘And what does this have to do with official Swiss policy?’

      Otto straightened, running a hand down his tie. ‘My government has always maintained a very effective, yet ultimately very confidential, security organization for the protection of banks and banking activities –R= 17;

      ‘Not = for foreign or domestic terrorism!’ she stated.

&nb= sp;    ‘That is correct,’ Otto admitted. ‘As you can imagine, we deal with s= ome extremely rich people. We also deal with some affluent persons with a ̷= 0; less than perfect past.’

      She tipped = her head. ‘That’s why they go to Switzerland.’

=       Otto seemed mildly offended, quickly composing himself. ‘It is a fact that= not all of us agree with, hence some recent unauthorised changes in policy.R= 17;

      She raised = her eyebrows, mocking him. ‘You’ve started operating outside of the law?’

      Otto shook = his head. ‘We, the Government, are not involved in such activities.’= ;

      She turned = to Beesely, clearly surprised. ‘I would never have taken you for someone= so … gruesome.’

      He fixed he= r with a firm stare. ‘We fight fire with fire! And some of the things I did = for the Circus, young lady, were pretty gruesome, as you put it. Good job none of that made it into the papers.’

      She shifted uneasily in her seat. ‘Just how big is this organization? And what pa= rt do you play in it?’

      Beesely straightened, a quick glance at Otto. ‘Around two thousand staff, departments in twenty countries, bigger annual budget than MI6 and MI5 combined.’ Dame Helen was stunned. ‘And my part? Why, young lad= y, I personally own the whole operation. Another biscuit? Lemon bon-bon perhaps?’

=

2

=

After using the bathroom as an excuse to compose herself, Dame Helen returned to = the table, not sure where any of this was heading. Beesely was now stood at the= far end of the room, enthusiastically showing Willis a fly-fishing rod. She sat without a word.

      Beesely smi= led at her as he sat back down. ‘You must be wondering why, exactly, I invit= ed you down here today. Well, it was not to tell you about my secret little organization –’

      ‘Well= done on that, by the way,’ she offered. ‘We had no idea.’=

      ‘Not = to worry, my dear, we’re on your side.’ Beesely cleared his throat= as Otto passed him a Swiss bank statement. ‘I am well aware of the restrictions placed upon you, Madam Director, both politically and legally.= Not to mention financially. Which is why, in my twilight years, I have decided = to use some of the money I have made to help you - specifically you - in your current role.’ He slid across the paper. ‘That, my dear, is a numbered Swiss bank account, the funds therein available to the head of MI6= for unauthorised overseas operations.’

      ‘It&#= 8217;s SIS these days,’ she cheekily reminded Beesely. She lowered her gaze = and read the paper. ‘This is …’ She pushed the paper away. ‘I can’t accept that, officially or otherwise.’

=       ‘Which is why I shall hold on to it for you. And by that, I mean for whomsoever is= the head of … MI6. If you need an operation discreetly funded overseas, y= ou need only pick up the phone and I shall assist you. If there is any comebac= k, then first they would need to get through Swiss banking laws, then they wou= ld need to get through me - a harder task than you may imagine - then they wou= ld have to tie you in. And unless the PM’s office bugs your office, I do= not see how any of that is likely to happen. Do you?’

Five minutes later, Beesely led Dame Helen towards the lake. ‘The conversation we are about to have you can never repeat.’ She did not react. ‘Not with your own people, the Prime Minister - or even my good friend, dear old General Rose.’ She glanced around briefly at the mention of the General. Beesely continued, ‘There is only one premise to use as a start point to all this: my loyalties always have been, and always will be, with the security of this nation. In the weeks ahead that premise will be thoroughly tested. Now, we don’t have long, so listen well, and read between the lines. Or, inde= ed, listen between the lines.’

Beesely and Dame Helen had wande= red around the lake as far as they could before a muddy stream prevented further progress. They turned about and retraced their steps. The warm afternoon air hung still, dragonflies darted about, and the ducks followed - expectantly waiting for the bread that Jane often threw to them, the swans proudly igno= ring them.

=

= Dame Helen had not been back in her office more than five minutes when her phone buzzed. She hit a button. ‘Yes?’

=       ‘Gene= ral Rose on line one, Ma’am.’

=       ‘It n= ever rains…’ she quietly let out.

=       ‘Ma&#= 8217;am?’

=       She sat. ‘OK. Thank you.’

3

=

Johno knocked on= a door in the village and waited. The door laboriously unlocked with several clicks, and finally opened.

      An attracti= ve and buxom lady in her thirties peered out. ‘Johno?’

      ‘You alone?’

      She stared = at him for a moment. ‘Why don’t you cut the small talk and get to the point.’

    = ‘Are … you … alone?’ he carefully mouthed.
    = ‘Yes … I … am,’ she replied, mocking him.

    = ‘Good. Because I’ve got five hundred quid … and you’ve got large breasts and a great arse.’ He pushed his way in, sitting on the stairs and taking off his shoes.

    = She watched him, still holding the door. ‘And who says romance is dead?’

    =

Twenty minutes later he lit up, stood in just a t-shirt = and a pair of socks, looking out of his companion’s bedroom window at her overgrown garden.

    = ‘So, you raided the piggy bank or something?’ she asked.=

    = ‘Old man Beesely came into some money, and gave me some as a ... work bonus.R= 17; He took a long drag. ‘Didn’t I promise to fix that garden someday?’

    = ‘And someday you’ll settle down and raise kids in a small cottage,’ she quietly suggested as she lay on the bed, half covered.<= o:p>

    = He laughed, facing her. ‘Me, and kids?’ He took a drag and peered = out the window. ‘Yeah, right.’

    = ‘Yeah,’ she sighed. ‘Social services would take them off you in a week.’= ;

    = He turned his head. ‘That bad, am I?’

    = ‘No, actually, you aren’t, you just like to pretend you are.’

    = He squinted at her. ‘You haven’t been talking with my shrink, have you?’

    = ‘You have a shrink?’

    = ‘I told you before. God, woman, you never listen to me when I’m shagging you!’ He feigned hurt.

    = ‘So, you … off soon?’ she delicately enquired

    = ‘From here … or from the country?’ he asked with a grin.

    = ‘I don’t mind you being here, you know that.’ Their eyes met for a brief second, a sudden look of sadness on Johno’s face, many things g= oing through his mind. ‘You said old man Beesely was selling up, heading o= ff somewhere nice and warm.’

    = ‘Change of plans,’ Johno said as he noticed one of her neighbours. ‘Lik= e I said, he came into some money, so who knows what we’ll do.’ He brightened. ‘Anyway, do you think the old bat next door likes my hairy bollocks?’

    = ‘Johno, please. I have to live here.’

    = He turned, firm signs of arousal.

    = Her eyes widened. ‘I seriously hope that it was not my neighbour that cau= sed that, because I’d be jealous. Not to mention concerned.’

    = He laughed. ‘No, it’s all this talk of money.’

    = Her eyes twinkled. ‘You will be gentle with me?’ =

    = ‘Gentle with you?’ he repeated. ‘Last week you knocked two guys cold in= the bar and carried them out!’

    = ‘Maybe this time you’ll take your socks off. Still, you are getting better. = Time was when the pants didn’t come off. And at least these days we make i= t to the bedroom!’

As Johno stepped outside, he lifted his mobile and diall= ed. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello?’ c= ame a woman’s voice.

‘Who’s that?’ Johno asked.

‘This is the Alzheimer’s Association. How may I help you?’=

‘Oh. Why are you= ringing me?’ Johno enquired, a smile forming.

‘You’re ri= nging us, sir.’

‘Am I? Why did I= do that?’

‘Are you OK, sir= ? Is there someone else there we could talk with?’

    = ‘Yes.’ He waited. ‘Who’s that?’

    = A sigh could be heard from the other end.

4

A street-corner drug dealer offered no challenge for a w= ell trained and highly motivated assassin equipped with an assault rifle, a nig= ht sight, a silencer and a laser range finder. From this third floor London window, the sniper would not have been visible to pedestrians in the busy street below, the hum of the traffic loud enough through Soho to mask the s= ound of a shot from a silencer. The window was propped open just three inches, assuming that anyone could accurately relate to where the shot may have come from.

A gloved hand gripped the rifle, the first trigger pressure taken and held, the sniper’s partner picking a target through a night-vision scope. Their supervisor observed from another window, a uniformed police officer at the foot of the stairs to this desert= ed floor.

‘Baseball cap,’ the spo= tter stated in an accented voice.

The sniper adjusted his aim, a red = dot becoming visible, a gentle squeeze and a gentle cough being followed by the sound of a metal-on-metal mechanism reloading.

‘Good hit,’ his partner stated as the target’s knee exploded, the victim crumpling.

‘Man with padded coat.’=

The shot man dropped to the pavemen= t.

The spotter turned to the superviso= r. ‘The girls?’

The supervisor shook his head. ‘Clean up. We go.’

‘How many more tonight?’= ;

‘You have twelve, quota is tw= enty, then home.’

* * *

At a private Virginia golf course, twelve elderly men gathered around a large ta= ble, numerous armed guards patrolling outside and visible through the clubhouse windows.

      The white-h= aired chairman of this meeting tapped the table reverently. ‘Gentlemen,R= 17; he began. They came to order. ‘Are we all well?’ he enquired, smiling and glancing at faces over the rim of his glasses, members smiling warmly at each other.

      He opened a= file. ‘OK, first.’ Reading from the file, he said, ‘Our thought= s on just who we support for the next President.’

      ‘Hill= ary Clinton!’ someone joked. They all laughed.

      ‘With= The Terminator as her running mate!’&nbs= p; More laughter followed, the chairman lighting a cigar as the assembl= ed group settled.

      ‘Does= it matter?’ a man finally asked.

&nb= sp;    The chairman blew out a pall of grey smoke. ‘To a degree, yes; it always helps to have someone … malleable.’

      ‘I don’t think Hillary is such a bad idea,’ an English voice suggested.

      The chairman tipped his head. ‘Oh? What’s your thinking?’

      ‘Simp= le. Put a soft face on the bottle label, while the contents are distilled even stronger.’

      Members considered the idea, some nodding.

      A man in his forties walked briskly in, something of a ‘whipper-snapper’ in = this geriatric gathering. Smartly dressed, he halted at the foot of the table and smiled, shaking his head. ‘Gentlemen, you are going to fall off your seats when you hear this.’ Everyone’s interest was piqued. ‘Beesely is back!’

      Heads turned sharply, men glancing at each other. One particular man glanced from face to face, looking out from under his eyebrows. Henry O’Sullivan eased bac= k in his chair, quietly concerned.

The chairman lowered his cigar. ‘When you say he’s back...?’

‘Back in the game!’

‘How so?’

The newcomer smiled broadly. ‘= ;By some very strange twist of fate that I’m still trying to come = to terms with, one Sir Morris Beesely just inherited control of K2 in Switzerland.’

Henry eased forwards, a puzzled expression. ‘Did you say ... he has inherited control of K2? N= ot just working with them?’

‘Personally inherited it all,’ the newcomer affirmed. ‘Don’t know how he accomplis= hed it, but the documents have been registered and verified. As of - well yeste= rday actually - Beesely owns K2 and the International Bank of Zurich; got to be worth tens of billions.’

The chairman stared ahead, Henry st= aring at the table.

‘Our Sir Morris Beesely?̵= 7; the Englishman asked.

‘I’m not familiar with = this fellow,’ another man called.

The chairman exclaimed, ‘He w= as one of us. Still is, technically. He stepped down about ten years back, but sta= yed in touch. His membership dates back to 1949, when he ran assassinations for= us. Later he became a full member. Hell, he set up a lot of our institutions and practices. He was the second man on the Kennedy assassination.’= ;

‘Then we have nothing to fear?’ a man tentatively asked.

The chairman shook his head. ‘He’s more us than we are! Still, we’ll keep an ey= e on things - bit of a maverick is our Morris.’ He raised his phone. ‘Send Mr. Grey to England, please, to observe Sir Morris Beesely. Tha= nk you.’ He took a long draw on his cigar, staring out of the window, his brow furrowed.

Can I have my job back?<= /span>

=

1

=

Max Hawthorn, current managing d= irector of AGN Security Limited, arrived by car the next morning. At forty-seven, he was just a year older than Johno, but many years sitting behind a desk had = not been kind to him; his stomach hung over his belt, and a second chin was starting to emerge. Counterbalancing a bald scalp, his jaw was covered by u= neven silver stubble, creating a permanently joyful Santa Claus expression.

He parked his DB7 near to the Silver Ghost, and jumped out with a huge smile, bounding up to the vintage Rolls Royce.

      ‘Morn= ing, Boss,’ Johno offered as he slapped soapy water onto its bonnet. ‘Miss Daisy is up in the big house.’

      ‘John= o, that’s the hardest I’ve ever seen you work.’

      ‘Sod off,’ Johno muttered as he neared. They hugged affectionately, and th= en patted each other on the shoulder. ‘Good to see you, Boss.’

      Max poked J= ohno’s chest. ‘Does it still hurt?’ he asked, suddenly serious. <= /o:p>

‘Only hurts when I’m sober.’

      Max beamed = a huge smile. ‘Well then, where’s the bar?’

      ‘C= 217;mon. The old man is inside.’

Gravel crunched as they walked, cha= tting feverishly, their words overlapping.

      =

‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ Beesely announced, thrusting a hand forward= s to shake.

      Max gripped= it with both hands. ‘By God, Beesely, you look better than I feel.’= ;

      ‘Perh= aps then, old chap, you should cut down on the pork pies and beer!’<= /o:p>

      Max laughed= , loud and infectiously. ‘Life would not be worth living! Good to see you ag= ain, really good.’

      ‘And = you too. May I introduce my right-hand man, Otto.’

      Otto stepped forward and greeted Max, typically businesslike.

      ‘Germ= an?’ Max puzzled.

      ‘Germ= an-speaking Swiss,’ Beesely pointed out. ‘He heads up my operations in Switzerland.’

=       Max frowned= his surprise. ‘Since when have you had any operations in bleeding cuckoo-clock country? Last I heard you were well and truly retired, selling this place and heading off somewhere nice and warm.’

      ‘Ther= e’s been a slight change of plan.’ Beesely suddenly became serious. ‘This is top secret, Max.’

      Max stopped smiling. ‘You back in the game?’

      ‘I ne= ver left, I just stepped up a gear. Or ten.’

      Max seemed concerned. ‘Pissing in anyone’s pool?’<= /p>
      Beesely inc= hed closer. ‘Crapping in it!’ he whispered.

      ‘Well that’s more like it! A bit of action.’ He turned to Johno. ‘What happened to that bloody drink?’

      Beesely put= an arm around Max’s shoulder, and guided him to the oak table as Johno opened the drinks cabinet. Five minutes later they were chatting about old times. The leather chairs had been moved around to create a more comfortable environment, and Max sat with his feet up on an old brown leather footstool= .

      ‘So,&= #8217; Max began, ‘you said you had something for me, and wanted something f= rom me. You need men? Soldiers or spooks?’

      ‘What= I would like, old friend, is fifty-one percent of AGN Security.’

      Max stopped smiling. ‘You want to buy back in?’ He glanced from face to fac= e.

      ‘I wa= nt to buy back in then leave you as managing director. I get the pick of the boys, you run some … errands for me.’

      ‘Dang= erous errands?’

      ‘Most certainly.’

      ‘Stea= lthy errands?’

      ‘Quite likely.’

      Max shifted uneasily in his seat, putting down his feet and leaning forwards. ‘Th= ing is, I have new partners in AGN; whose shares would you want? I would have to discuss it with them first.’

      ‘Thes= e new partners are not worth your time,’ Beesely firmly pointed out. ‘I’ve been checking. You don’t seem to get along with the= m, and they are not pedigree. They are not even ex-Regiment or Circus.’<= o:p>

      ‘Well …’

      Beesely pro= duced a cheque and handed it over. ‘Make them an offer they can’t ref= use. And should they be stubborn, we will persuade them.’

      ‘Wow!= ’ Max studied the cheque. ‘That’s at least three times what they = paid for their shares.’

      ‘So t= here should be no problem. Seriously, Max, I want this done and dusted by end of play Monday. Then I want you, not me, to buy control of MSM and Northgate.’

      ‘Nort= hgate? C’mon now Morris, they’re international, part owned by the Yank= s. We’re talking a lot of dosh.’

      Beesely pro= duced another cheque and handed it over.

      ‘Jesu= s! Just where’re you getting this lot from, you rob a bank?’<= /o:p>

      ‘Yes,= a Swiss bank.’ Max glanced at Otto. Beesely continued, ‘What you = have never known, was that one branch of my family were Swiss. They have all died now, and left me my own banking group.’

      ‘Bank= ing group? Shit, what’s it worth?’

      ‘More= than our government spends on our entire armed forces in a year. Plus change.= 217;

      Max’s= mouth fell open. ‘Blow … me!’ he let out. ‘Wow, what a windfall.’

      ‘Yes,= ’ Beesely affirmed as he leant forwards and held Max’s arm. ‘And = I am going to use it to alter the playing field a bit. Are you in?’

      ‘Damn= right I’m in.’ He held up his glass. ‘To screwing over the establishment!’

      Beesely rai= sed his glass. ‘Without them even knowing about it!’

* * *

Kirkpatrick arrived five minutes late, his watch showing 7.05am. He quickly stepped down and into the boat’s galley, the rope lines creaking as it rocked gent= ly at its moorings.

      ‘You = look … harassed,’ Henry quietly noted.

      ‘And = for good reason.’ Kirkpatrick caught his breath after jogging across the = huge Pentagon car park. He opened his case and handed his guest a report.

      ‘What= ’s this?’

      The boat= 217;s owner took off his brown coat, throwing it onto one of the wooden benches t= hat ran parallel to the galley table. ‘It’s an updated appraisal of K2’s offensive and defensive capabilities.’
      ‘Y= ou … authorised this?’ Henry questioned, clearly concerned. ‘It could have tipped them off!’

      ‘I had close observation on our friend withdrawn,’ Kirkpatrick explained as = he sat, still breathing hard.

      Henry’= ;s eyes widened. ‘Why?’

      ‘Thei= r boys turned up with sniper rifles with night sights, dog patrols, Israeli laser motion detectors - twenty five grand a piece!’

      Henry leant forwards across the table, staring hard. ‘What does the appraisal say?’

      ‘That they’re about twelve times bigger than anyone previously thought, and= now armed to the teeth with the latest sophisticated equipment.’

      Henry stare= d. ‘And their facility in Switzerland, that secret place?’

      ‘It w= ould take a battalion of Delta Force guys to crack it; all the interesting stuff= is underground! They’ve bought a lot of kit from the Israelis; air filte= rs, water purifiers, gas detectors. That place could withstand a direct nuke attack. Talk about paranoid.’

      ‘How = many men at this … facility?’ Henry quietly pressed, staring out of focus.

      The analyst offered a concern look. ‘Three hundred plus.’=

      ‘Three hundred staff?’

      ‘No, = three hundred guards! Staff estimates are two thousand plus! Two of our assets in Switzerland have gone over to their side, two are missing, and those still = in service are terrified of K2.’

      Henry straightened. ‘Just when the hell did all this happen?’

      ‘It s= eems that K2 has been built up on the quiet over the last few years. Official Sw= iss description of it is deliberately misleading; Swiss Government seems to be happy for them to grow.’

      ‘This alters things. I’ll be arranging to remove our project assets and investments in Switzerland - they’re exposed. And I have a bad feelin= g as to why the Swiss have allowed them to grow.’

      ‘Which is…?’

      ‘I can’t say.’

      Kirkpatrick blinked. ‘You can’t say … even to me?’

      ‘I= 217;ll need to do some research first. And some things… are more dangerous t= han others.’

      He left Kirkpatrick wondering about that as he left.

2

=

Colonel Milward, current operational Commanding Officer of the SAS, sounded confuse= d as he sat at his desk, phone in hand. ‘Am I in my office? Of course I’m in my office, because this phone has a piece of wire that goes in= to the wall of my office, a landline, which you have just dialled.̵= 7;

      ‘Actu= ally, old chap, I’m using a satellite phone, and this call is being re-dire= cted by my operations staff in Switzerland,’ Beesely pointed out. ‘I would hate for there to be any confusion.’ He waited.

      Milward gav= e it some thought. ‘Of course, my apologies for being brusque. How exactly= can I help you, Sir Morris?’

      ‘I ha= ve some gifts for your guys; there will be several large lorries arriving at y= our main gate in a few minutes time. Be so kind as to let them in and find a practical use for the contents.’

      ‘Gift= s? Who for? And what for?’

      ‘I= 217;ll call you back tomorrow, have to run, just enjoy the goodies.’ Beesely hung up.

      Milward hel= d his phone halfway between ear and desk as it buzzed the confirmation of a dead line. He pressed zero.

      ‘Sir?= ’

      ‘Get = me the front gate.’

      A moment la= ter came, ‘Guardroom, Sir.’

      ‘If y= ou see some large lorries –’

      ‘They= ’re here now, Sir. What do you want done with them?’

      ‘Dire= ct them to the parade ground, then get twenty men to help with unloading.̵= 7;

      ‘Unlo= ading what, Sir? We need a forklift?’

      ‘Don&= #8217;t know, we’ll see when we get there.’

      Milward ste= pped to the window of this new, two-storey building, a commanding view over the = rest of the single storey prefabs and metal huts. His view over the uniform collection of buildings led off to gentle green hills in the distance. ‘Old man Beesely. What’s he up to?’

      The parade = ground appeared after a short walk along concrete paths, squarely navigating around several single storey buildings with green-painted metal roofs. Several sen= ior officers and adjutants trailed along after Milward’s cryptic mumbling= s.

      ‘What= the hell?’ he protested as an eighteen-wheeler slowed to a crawl across t= he parade ground. Three smaller trucks followed it in and parked as inquisitive soldiers started to see what was up.

      The juggern= aut hissed to a stop, and the driver clambered out wearing neat blue overalls. ‘Morning,’ he offered as he jumped down, stepping immediately to the rear. A powered loading ramp started to descend.

      Milward loo= ked to his officers. They looked back expectantly. ‘Don’t look at me, I just work here.’ He marched to where he could view the unloading.

      The lorry d= river wheeled an off-road motorbike down the ramp, carefully applying the brakes = and pushing it toward the first soldier. ‘Grab this mate, keys are in it.’

      The soldier= took the handlebars, threw a leg over, and a few seconds later sped along a trac= k. Twenty bikes came off the back, followed by a dozen quad bikes and fifty mountain bikes. In short order, the buzz of engines filled the air and seve= ral near misses were eliciting a lot of shouting. Milward and his officers were= puzzled, the parade ground noise now attracting more onlookers. Fifty canoes were unloaded, laid out and inspected as troopers jumped into the trucks en mass= e.

A hundred and fifty garden barbecue= sets were soon laid out on the edge of the grass. As the front of the line grew = the back of the line began to disappear, as if a creeping snake.

      A Captain s= tepped up to Milward. ‘They’re nicking the bloody barbecue sets!’ Milward did not reply. ‘Do you want one?’ the Captain whispered= .

      ‘Plea= se.’

      The Captain retrieved two as the din grew, bikes and quads flittering about the base.

      ‘Sir,= ’ a soldier called. ‘There’re a thousand cans of lager coming on = that lorry.’

      ‘I wa= nt a couple of hundred in the Officers Mess, same in the NAAFI, rest split equally. And= I want some left for staff on ops!’

      ‘OK, = Boss. What about the spirits?’

‘Same deal.’ He clicked= a finger at an officer who had been close enough to hear. ‘Make sure.’

‘Yes, Sir.’<= /span>

‘What’s that?’ Mi= lward asked no one in particular, pointing to dozens of long thin boxes being unloaded.

‘Fishing rods!’

‘Fishing rods?’ Milward quietly repeated. Then louder, ‘And those boxes?’

      ‘Trai= ners, Boss, hundreds of ‘em, all sizes. I got some for my kids.’=

      ‘Sir,= ’ an officer called from his left. ‘Combat binoculars. Expensive stuff - good Swiss stuff.’

      ‘Make= sure they all go under lock and key!’ Milward ordered. ‘Do not let them out of your sight!’

  =     ‘Sir, these boxes have laptops in.’

      ‘Lapt= ops? God’s sake, laptops?’ They had to be inspected. ‘My offic= e. All of them.’

      ‘Sate= llite phones, Boss, couple of hundred.’

      ‘GPS position finders, Boss.’

      ‘Gents fleeces, Boss.’

      ‘Wate= rproofs here.’

      ‘Box = of a thousand tampons?’ The soldier scratched his head and frowned.

      ‘Scub= a gear coming out.’

      ‘Lawn mowers, Boss.’

      ‘Exce= llent. I want one at my house before end of work today. Start clearing this stuff away.’

      ‘Rope= s, Boss. Helmets.’

      ‘Froz= en barbecue steaks, Boss.’

      Milward smi= led. ‘Guess they are supposed to be used up today. Staff Sergeant!’<= o:p>

      ‘Sir.= ’

      ‘Dozen barbecue sets over there. Beer and steaks, you’re in charge of the la= wn party.’

      ‘Righ= t, Boss.’

      His adjutant laughed to himself as he walked past, carrying way too much of whatever was= in the boxes, Milward shaking his head.

=

3

=

Otto brought the TV news to Beesely’s attention, Johno told to sit and = observe.

      ‘Here= ’s the news on the hour: breasts, breasts and more breasts. No, not a bar room joke, but the scene today outside the Houses of Parliament as more than a thousand activists and supporters of a breast cancer research charity strip= ped off and bared their bosoms in protest at the lack of government support<= /i> - pardon the pun - for breast screening issues.

      ‘Ther= e were several minor car accidents as startled motorists caught an eyeful of hundr= eds of women of all ages, many mothers and daughters, baring themselves. Touris= ts photographing Big Ben had something more interesting to photograph, and the roads were blocked for almost thirty minutes before vans of policewomen arrived. Apparently, the police did not want men handling the arrest= s and crowd clearance.

      ‘Down= ing street later said that the Prime Minister was keeping abreast of things. An= d, no doubt, he’s keeping an eye on things as well.&= #8217;

      ‘We organize that?’ Johno asked, smiling.

      Otto nodded= .

      ‘I wonder,’ Beesely began, ‘how Gunter would react if he knew how = we were spending his money?’

      ‘I th= ink, maybe, he would turn in his grave - if he had one,’ Otto replied.

      Beesely tur= ned his head. ‘Cremated?’

      ‘Chop= ped up and fed to a field of pigs.’

      ‘Crik= ey!’ Beesely let out, now making eye contact with a stunned Johno.

* * *

In a London hotel room, an American man, booked in as Mr. Grey, watched the news with a broad smile. He had just stepped out of the shower, and now stood na= ked as he dried, a tanned and muscular body scribed by numerous white scars.

      Lifting his mobile, he selected the number of a Virginia lodge. ‘It’s me. I’m in London, sir, hotel at the airport. I’ll be moving out in= an hour, be based here for equipment and messages.’

      ‘Anyt= hing to report?’ Oliver Stanton, chairman of The Lodge, formally requested= .

      ‘I= 217;ve spoken to our people here, and they think that a breast cancer protest rally got ten mil’ from Mister Beesely and associates. They were persuaded = to bare their breasts right in front of Parliament, sir.’

      ‘Well, that’s … rather odd. What else?’

      ‘We&#= 8217;ve been intercepting traffic for the last twenty hours. Their SAS Regiment had three truckloads of assorted … things. Gifts, sir.’<= /span>

      ‘Gift= s?’ Stanton repeated.

      ‘Thin= gs like quad bikes, clothes, binoculars, fishing rods.’

      Stanton pau= sed. ‘Oh.’

      ‘He&#= 8217;s made contact with Mossad and the local CIA, no mention of The Lodge, they don’t know about him.’

      ‘I= 217;m starting to wonder if he’s going a bit senile. Ask for a distance psych’ evaluation on the available data, plus history,’ Stanton ordered.

      ‘Yess= ir. You know he offered the local CIA money towards unauthorised ops?’

      ‘Ah, = now he’s starting to make some sense; method in his madness, quite clever really.= 217;

      ‘Sir?= ’

      ‘Obse= rve, Mr. Grey, observe. Just remember who he is.’

4

=

After an hour-long ‘power nap’, Beesely was refreshed, the old grandfather clock in the hall chiming out six o’clock. He had changed= his clothes, freshened up, and was ready to start again.

Johno and Max now sat by the lake on fold-down aluminium chairs, several empty beer cans littering the grass, so= me floating on the lake. Beesely found Otto staring out of the main dining room window towards the lake, his hands clasped behind his back. Otto had heard Beesely’s approach, and half turned his head, but remained where he s= tood as Beesely joined him.

      Otto sighed. ‘He does not take life seriously.’

      Beesely pee= red through the glass, taking a moment to think. ‘Johno had a difficult childhood, finding a purpose and some respect in the Army. The lifestyle, t= he discipline and the adventure … it suited him. He excelled ... and it = made me proud to observe his progress. It was a little nerve wracking when he la= nded on the Falklands, and again when he joined the SAS like his old man. But if= he knew what his real father was up to then it would have been him doing all of the worrying.

=       ‘He was torn to pieces in Kosovo, shot seven times. They left him for dead, but= the stubborn bastard crawled away, plugged up some of the holes and got his rad= io working, fixing his position by co-ordinates and the name of the village he= was near. The rest you know - how Ricky rescued him.

      ‘His fitness has never returned … and he is getting older. Smashed bones, = torn ligaments - things of that nature never really heal. He feels a great deal = of pain each day, but never mentions it.’

      ‘Our doctors in Switzerland can probably help, they are very good. When we go I shall arrange examinations for you all, no expense spared,’ Otto enthusiastically offered.

      Beesely nod= ded as he thought, then took a breath. ‘You may help his body, his mind is another thing altogether. He does not take life too seriously because that = is the best way for dealing with being shot-up and left to die in the mud. I t= hink they call it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder these days. When I was a lad it= was called Shell Shock.’

      ‘Your father was in the World War One.’

      ‘Yes,= the First World War,’ Beesely corrected, carefully pronouncing the words.

      ‘I am= with the Swiss Reserve, on the books, as you say. All young men have to do it, six months. After this, two weeks of camp a year in the summer, two wee= ks winter training. Gunter was keen for me to be involved; he often complained that I was not so strong.’

      ‘Tell= me about these … executions?’ Beesely delicately nudged.

      ‘Gunt= er killed many people. I do not know how many, perhaps fifty, perhaps two hund= red. Some were business competitors, some were people he had dealings with in the Wehrmacht. About fifteen years ago he became the owner of a group of factor= ies in Italy, and he had problems with the Mafia. They are very different cultu= res, the Swiss and the Mafia.’

      BeeselyR= 17;s eyes widened. ‘Very different indeed!’

      ‘So t= here were some problems. At first Gunter offered them some money, but they always wanted more.’

      Beesely gla= nced out of the window. ‘People like that always want more.’

      ‘One = year they killed a factory manager, a German man with a family who was known to Gunter. So Gunter killed the local Mafia representative, a union manager. At first the Mafia believed it was a local problem, but after they asked again= for money, and two more Mafia men were killed. Then they sent several Mafia men= to Switzerland; it was not a good idea. Gunter had them all killed, and then he made a film of their bodies and sent the film to the Mafia and photos to the newspapers in Italy.

      ‘For = six months there was no problem, then a Mafia man became close to Gunter, close enough to shoot a rifle and miss. Gunter found the man and tortured him tie= d to a chair, the torture taking many days. They kept this man alive and they ma= de a film of his torture and his death. This film Gunter sent to the Mafia.=

      ‘The = Mafia were not so intelligent, I think. They sent another two men, one after the other. They both ‘got the chair’ in the same style. After this,= the factory was burnt down by the Mafia, but no more Mafia men came from this family.

      ‘Gunt= er liked the torture, and used it for business people who he had the problems with. It became very effective. Some groups would not go to Switzerland, so= me groups were very respectful towards Gunter and K2. Also it was a signal to = his staff, that if they betrayed him they would get the chair.’

=       Beesely raised his eyebrows in a look of mock horror. ‘I bet loyalty has not = been a problem!’

  =     ‘It has not, but not only for this reason. My staff know that they will be trea= ted well for life, but if they betray me they will be found wherever they go in= the world. But I do not wish my staff to be afraid of me.’

      ‘In t= he game we’re in, there needs to be respect and fear; we deal with kille= rs every day. We … can not afford to be weak.’

      Otto nodded= as he considered Beesely’s words. ‘For many years, when Gunter starte= d to become unwell, I moved staff into higher places if they were more loyal to = me than to him. All believed I was his son, so I would say to people ‘he will not live much longer, then I a= m boss’ and people would respect this, and do what I said. I also identified twenty people who were of Jewish parents; no one Jewish was allowed in the organization by Gunter.’

      ‘Not = that there are many Jews in Switzerland,’ Beesely suggested. ‘What, fifteen thousand in the whole country, most around the Zurich canton?’= ;

      Otto seemed surprised by Beesely’s knowledge, his expression and slight head tip suggesting that he agreed with Beesely’s estimate. ‘The manager= s I selected hid the fact that one parent or grandparent had been Jewish, which= is common in Switzerland. I contacted them and told them the truth about mysel= f. We have a … secret society, inside K2. Many of the current managers inside K2 are from this group, and loyal to me.’

      ‘And = your driver?’

      ‘He h= as this problem, a Jewish grandmother. If it was known he could not work in ba= nk security.’

      ‘Ever suspected any Mossad infiltration?’ Beesely asked. =

      ‘No, I think the staff would say, since we all had this secret.’<= /span>

&nb= sp;    ‘And when Gunter died, his Will?’ Beesely probed.

      ‘I to= ld the managers that the Will mentioned the fact that I was not his biological son. They were shocked. So we destroyed the Will and started to look for the clo= sest relative; the managers responsible for this task were all from my inner gro= up. One manager seemed uncertain, a man not from my group, so he was sent to run casino security in the south of France. After three months he had a small accident.’

      ‘And = what would the Swiss Government do if it knew about the inner Jewish group?̵= 7; Beesely probed.

      ‘The Federal Swiss Government is trying, on the surface at least, to be less = 230; anti-Jewish.’

      ‘Anti= -Semitic,’ Beesely corrected. ‘I understand, that before 1874 no Jews were allow= ed to enter the country.’ Otto agreed. ‘And only thirty thousand allowed in at the start of the war, before they closed the borders and turn= ed them back?’ Again Otto agreed. Beesely was about to walk off, when he stopped and paused, turning back to face Otto. ‘You have said nothing= of the noises you must have heard during the night.’
  =     Otto took a moment to think. ‘I … understand.’

      ‘With= all due respect, Otto, I doubt you fully understand what pain both Johno and Ja= ne have gone through in their lives. You are joining quite a dysfunctional fam= ily. We make Johno’s favourite cartoon family, those … Simpsons, look quite normal.’

A car pulled up on the gravel, obse= rved by Beesely and Otto. ‘We will have to check if we have enough milk,’ Beesely muttered as they stepped outside to greet their guest.=

      The driver = jumped out of a Silver Mercedes, glancing at the house before opening the back doo= r. The man clambering awkwardly out of the rear appeared to Otto to be in his = late sixties, overweight and tall - well over six foot; getting out of the vehic= le had been a struggle. The guest straightened himself, putting on his jacket, taking in the house and grounds for a moment before stepping forwards. The = two pairs of men walked towards each other across the gravel, as if cowboys squaring off for a gunfight.

      ‘Mr. Beesely.’

      ‘Mr. Short.’

      ‘I th= ought you sold this place.’

      ‘We d= id, but in a kind of … equity release deal; I still get to live here.’<= o:p>

      The guest s= eemed mildly disgusted, not impressed at all. Then two guards with dogs came into view near the woods, another two with dogs on the far side of the lake, two more shutting the gate behind them.

      ‘Expe= nsive security,’ Mr. Short noted.

      ‘Tax deductible.’

      ‘Tax deductible?’ Short puzzled.

      ‘Comp= any men.’

      The very ta= ll Mr. Short took a long look around; cameras on the house, infrared. ‘What company are you keeping these days?’

      ‘We c= ould stand here all day exchanging pleasantries. Why don’t we go in and sit down, have a nice cuppa, or something stronger if you prefer.’

      Short stepp= ed forwards. ‘It’s your deal, you called this meeting.’=

      They walked slowly inside. Two more guards stood next to the stairs, carefully studied = by Short as he entered the main room. Johno stood with his jacket off, holster= on.

      ‘Mr. = John Williams. Still alive and well?’

      Johno shrug= ged his shoulders. ‘Can’t complain.’

      ‘That= ’s not what I’ve heard about you.’

=       Johno offered the back of Short’s head a quick glare and a curled lip as the visitor passed him.

=       Short sat down and helped himself to a biscuit. He felt the temperature of the te= apot, then helped himself to a cup as the others sat. ‘So, old Mister Si= r Morris Beesely,’ Short began in patronising tones. ‘What is it = that you wished to discuss, exactly? I’m a busy man!’

=       Otto stood up, as planned, to start the amateur dramatics. But as Beesely listen= ed, he became certain that Otto was not acting at all. ‘I do not know what your business relationship is with Sir Morris, Mr. Short, but I do not appreciate your attitude, neither do I conduct business in this tone and manner.’

      Short seemed distinctly unimpressed by the speech. ‘What are you, Dutch?’

      ‘Swis= s. I am a senior official in K2.’

=       Johno hid a smile.

  =     Mr. Short’s face now betrayed the fact that he had heard of K2, and was a= ware what they did to people they did not like. He slowly lowered his tea, missi= ng the saucer and placing it onto the table.

      Beesely led= Otto by the arm, back into his seat. ‘Gentlemen, no one ever benefits in business from conflict. We are all sensible people, we all have wants and n= eeds and desires. We have things to sell, and things we need to buy. That is the= art of negotiation.’

      Short sat n= odding in agreement with Beesely, clearly terrified. ‘What is it that my com= pany can do for you?’

      Beesely smi= led inwardly, Short now diverting any implied threats from him personally, and towards his company. ‘You, sir, are well placed in the international = secure parcel industry, and our research suggests that you are good at what you do. You run a tight ship, you keep a single-minded stranglehold on your staff - especially your junior directors, and you are… discreet in your dealings with many and varied groups. In a nutshell, Mr. Short, you are an aggressive, secretive, criminally minded player who seems to be going place= s. And we like that. We’d like you on our team.’=

      Short’= ;s demeanour suddenly took a U-turn in the road and put its foot on the gas. ‘Oh, right.’

      Beesely continued, ‘And there are distinct advantages to having friends like us.’

=       ‘Yes, there are,’ Short confirmed, now regaining a lot of his composure. ‘But what are you looking for from me? You want items moved around the world?’

      ‘My g= ood fellow, everyone wants items moved around the world,’ Beesely explain= ed. ‘Especially us!’

      ‘Then I’m your man.’

      So, it̵= 7;s back from his company, now all about him, Beesely considered. ‘Before= we go any further, Mr. Short, are there any problems or impediments to your current growth … anything that we might be able to help you with?R= 17;

      Short gave = it some thought, now happy enough to help himself to another biscuit. ‘Well,’ he began, spilling some crumbs onto the table. ‘I’ve been watching one of my junior directors lately; I suspect he’s going to split off and set up in competition against me.’<= o:p>

      ‘Oh d= ear, that just won’t do. His name?’

      ‘Robi= nson, bit of a fag. Lives in Wimbledon.’

      Beesely tur= ned his head to Otto, who produced his phone.

      ‘This= is Otto. British man, name Robinson, junior director of Secure Transit Limited, Holborn, London. Robinson lives in a place called Wimbledon. Arrange for ca= sh to be found at his house and details of multiple bank accounts, Cayman Isla= nds, notify tax authorities. Arrange for documents relating to insider share dealings to be found also. He must become a disqualified director within the next month.’

      Mr. Short w= as mildly stunned. ‘What … just like that?’

      ‘Just= like that,’ Beesely confirmed, nudging the biscuit tin forwards. ‘Ha= ve another biscuit.’

As Mr. Short used the bathroom, Otto produced a thick wad of fifties and handed it to Beesely. After smelling th= e wad, Beesely banged the table with it before chucking it to Short’s driver= .

      The man cau= ght it and pocketed it quickly. ‘Always nice doing business with you, Sir Morris.’

      ‘Stay= in touch,’ Beesely quietly ordered. ‘I want to know what that fat = slob is up to step by step.’ The man gave a quick affirmative nod.

When Short returned, Otto presented= him with a million pound cheque, for just fifteen percent of the shares in his business. After a ten-minute stroll with Beesely, the visitor bounded to his car with vigour and enthusiasm.

      ‘Now that’s how you do business,’ he told his driver as they set off. ‘You could learn a lot from me.’

      ‘Aye, sir,’ the driver smiled.

Beesely turned from the window to O= tto. ‘That fellow, Robinson: when he gets caught, let him know that it was= our friend Mr. Short that stitched him up, and then recruit him for future endeavours.’

      Otto approv= ed of the idea.

As Short’s car joined the main road, just beyond the village, a man in a coffee shop noted the number plate and recognised the face. He dialled a nu= mber in Virginia, USA, as he stepped out.

=

5

=

Otto clinked glasses with Beesely. Otto noted, ‘It has been an interesting= few days, very busy. You are well?’

      ‘Neve= r felt better, got the blood pumping.’

      ‘Each meeting these past days was staged quite differently,’ Otto commented= .

      ‘Did = you learn anything useful?’ Beesely asked.

      ‘I ho= pe so. I have taken notes and we have the camera footage. I will study it. How you= do business, it is very different from us Swiss.’

      ‘Of c= ourse it is, my boy; salesmanship - one size does not fit all!’ Otto seemed puzzled. Beesely explained, ‘When I was ten years old, a shoe salesman came and sat on my friend’s garden wall in the village, not far from here. In those days a door-to-door shoe salesman was not so uncommon. He did not look well and asked me for a glass of water, which I fetched. As he sat there, he said he had something important to tell me. What I did not realise was that he was having a heart attack. Well, you don’t when you’= ;re ten years old.

      ‘So he started to try and tell me, for reasons best known to himself, how to be a = good shoe salesman. He told me all about how to assess the person and their house and garden before attempting to sell the shoes. I remember that his favouri= te trick was always to pretend he had an appointment … and that this<= /i> must be the wrong house, getting the sympathy of the householder. Then he w= ould comment on their garden, or their house, always looking for something unusu= al before he ever attempted to sell any shoes.

      ‘Stur= dy shoes for the working man, handsome shoes for the teenage daughter, practic= al shoes for the mother; he had the situation sized up before he ever spoke ab= out the shoes themselves. The longer he talked about gardens, the longer he had= to make an assessment of the family - and their needs. If the family had new shoes, he would walk off to find that wrong house. If the household’s car looked clean, but their shoes looked old, he would ta= lk about style. It was all about selling to that person what the person needed, and often without them knowing about it.

      ‘He d= ied on that wall, falling off and into my friend’s vegetable patch. I have o= ften wondered if he knew that he was dying, and why he tried to impart that knowledge to me. You see, it was the only thing of value he had, and at the= end I guess it made him feel … proud of his life in some way. His last wo= rds were, one size does not fit all!’

‘You know, I remember now, I = had a strange notion at ten years old that you had to bury people where they fell= . Got it from some old cowboy movie I think, people falling dead off horses in the desert and being buried where they fell. Anyway, when I realised he was dea= d I went and fetched a shovel, just as the village constable arrived. When asked what the shovel was for, I replied that I was planning on burying him in the vegetable patch before the vultures got him. Still remember the look on the constable’s face.’

* * *<= o:p>

=

= The meeting of African Union members, hosted now in Paris, approached the end of the formal greetings and opening speeches. All African delegates, plus memb= ers of the UN and the European Union, adjusted their translation screens, the various speakers words translated to text and the recipient’s computer screens adjusted by touch-screen language selection.

=       As the head= of the European Union’s Overseas Development Department finished up, the background image on the computer screens changed from a pastel blue to an i= mage of the Zimbabwean Ambassador easing out of a pink limousine.

=

6

=

The noise coming from the yard at 3am alerted the desk sergeant. He glanced at = the CCTV monitors in time to see a small lorry dumping its load into the middle of t= he police car park.

      ‘Shit= !’ he cursed as he jumped up, wishing he had spotted it earlier. He pressed the station’s tannoy button. ‘All available officers to the rear car park!’

      The sergean= t knew he could not leave the desk, not least because there were prisoners shouting for attention; lock-up had a recent delivery of drug addicts waiting to be processed, when they became a little more coherent. Officers rushed by, male and female, as he pressed the buzzer for the back door. <= /p>
      ‘Go o= n. Quick!’

=       The shift duty officer appeared. ‘What’s up?’ he asked, expec= ting a van full of new arrivals ‘kicking-off’.

      ‘Some= damn lorry driver is dumping his load in our yard!’

      ‘He&#= 8217;s what?’ the officer barked, now bolting out with others.

      The first o= fficer could not believe the sight that greeted him: pistols, rifles, sub-machineg= uns, shotguns, magazines with ammunition in, loose rounds rolling around, and al= l in their yard. They checked the cab. Empty. Later they would find that the lor= ry had been stolen, no prints.

      Close to two hundred weapons of all sorts were now lying in a pile as twelve officers st= ood around, looking confused. The area was hastily taped off – just in ca= se, bomb disposal called, and everyone warned to stand back. The chief constable put in an appearance at 7am, adding to the ‘much scratching of heads’, as the desk sergeant had reported it to his wife at the end of his shift. It’s not every day that someone dumps several hundred ille= gal weapons on the police’s doorstep. Or in this case, in their back yard= .

New beginnings

=

1

=

= Sunday morning brought some new additions to the household. From his bedroom windo= w, Beesely noted a large pile of building materials outside the old cottage be= yond the lake. He put his glasses on. The lakeside grass now offered two benches, each sat facing the lake and bisected by a small pontoon reaching twenty fe= et into the lake. He stepped across to his second window. A small wooden bridge now spanned the stream feeding the lake, allowing someone to stroll all the= way around the lake unimpeded. He smiled. And against the old fence that edged = the wood, he noticed reels upon reels of new green metal fencing.

Ten minutes later, Beesely found Ot= to supervising the erection of a large conservatory on the side of the house t= hat viewed the lake, on ground that was previously a neglected vegetable patch.= Now it hosted quick drying cement, one side of the conservatory already up. Stopping and surveying the grounds, he noted many men in yellow plastic waistcoats. ‘Morning,’ he offered Otto, squinting against the bright summer sun. ‘You do realise,’ he pointed out, studying t= he new conservatory’s foundations, ‘that this is a listed building?’

=       Otto smiled. ‘Not any more, it was … de-listed. Have you had breakfast?’ he asked, clipboard in hand.

      ‘No, = not yet. Why don’t you join me.’