The long voyage

On = the job

The 3pm flight from Rome t= ouched down five minutes early. Mick stood just inside the main doors of the small airport, holding up an A4 sign saying ‘WILSON’; bold black lett= ers on a white background. Opposite him stood a local taxi driver with a sign saying ‘HOFFMAN.’ Mick wore a baseball cap and sunglasses as before, and now leant on a stainless steel railing awaiting the mark, secur= e in the knowledge that no one would pay him any attention at all.

Twenty minutes later Sayeed walked past, a quick glance at the name signs. Mick straightened, took out his mobile and dialled the last number, cutting the = call after two seconds and quickly pocketing the phone. He rolled up the sign as= he stepped out, turning the baseball cap around. Jim pulled up in a dusty and beaten-up old white Fiat Punto, being tooted at since he was not a taxi.

Mick jumped into the back. ‘Follow that taxi,’ he theatrically announced, pointing forwards. ‘But I got its number in c= ase you frigging lose him, old man.’

Jim accelerated, soon positioning himself to be one car behind the taxi, Mick hiding behind Jim’s head and shoulders, but focused on Sayeed. Jim sa= id, ‘Looks like he’s heading for St. Julian’s Bay, Mick. Is t= his guy a big spender?’

‘Apparently not.’

Mick opened a knapsack on the back seat. Taking off his cap, he gelled his hair back with a colouring gel, combing it straight as they sped along. Wiping his hands in a cloth, he placed on clear glasses. Hanging off= the front passenger seat was a white cotton jacket that needed ironing. Mick grabbed it, struggling to get it on in the back seat, taking out a German passport and placing it into his shirt’s breast pocket.

‘The mark is definitely heading to St. Julian’s,’ Jim said from up f= ront as they left a dual carriageway and joined the traffic.

‘Are they ever going to fix these fucking roads?’ Mick complained as they crawled along dusty potholed streets.

‘I’ve been coming here thirty years, and trust me – this is better.’

‘If it looks like it is the Hilton, then drop me in the next street - by the st= eps, don’t pull up next to him in this.’

‘What, don’t you think this’ll pass for a new Mercedes taxi?’ Jim protested.

Five minutes later, Jim said, ‘It is the Hilton!’ He screeche= d to a halt at the base of the steps, the steps that the courier had ambled down earlier.

Mick jumped out, grabbing an abnormally light suitcase from the boot and rushing= up the steps, the suitcase light due to its limited contents. At the top of the steps he extended the suitcase handle and walked calmly along the cul-de-sa= c, Sayeed now having his own case placed down by his taxi driver.

In reception, Mick drew alongside Sayeed. ‘Speak … Deutsche?’ he asked the lady receptionist. She called over a man in h= is late forties.

‘Kann ich ihnen hilfen?’

In German, Mick said, ‘I haven’t made a reservatio= n, I’m off a boat. Do you have a room, please?’

‘A single room, sir?’

‘Please.’

&nb= sp; Sayeed filled in his booking card, a glance at the tall and well-built German next= to him.

‘Room 310, sir,’ the receptionist informed Sayeed. ‘Up two floors.= 217; She placed his key card in a small cardboard wallet and handed it over with= a second page of detail. ‘Meal times, sir. Three days with breakfast, restaurant is downstairs, sauna and spa two floors down.’

‘Thank you,’ Sayeed offered. He turned to grab his case, but took a long ten seconds to scan the street through the glass doors, that action now noticed= by Mick. Walking off dragging his suitcase, Sayeed carefully studied guests sa= t in the foyer before turning towards the lifts.

‘Your key, sir,’ brought Mick back to the man attending him. The receptioni= st swiped Mick’s Santander Bank credit card, handing it back as he typed into a computer. ‘Room 317. Three days, bed and breakfast.’

‘Danke.’

Mick caught the next lift car after Sayeed, carefully watching the floor that the mark had gone to, the sixth floor according to the display. The hotel’= ;s reception sat at street level, but was actually on the third floor due to the hill th= at the hotel was built into. Exiting the lift, Mick could see Sayeed enter a r= oom, the suitcase dragged. Hunting for his own room, he found it almost opposite Sayeed’s, a little closer to the lift.

Inside the room, he called Jim. ‘You still there?’

‘Round the corner. How’d it go?’

‘Fine, but the mark is nervous.’

‘Told you he was dirty.’

‘You’re on a retainer till tomorrow midnight, usual rates. Park up, go sit in the m= ain square with a paper and look for a Pakistani in a smart suit, short black h= air, about five ten tall, bit of a pot belly. Call me if I miss him.’

‘I’m on it.’

Mick selected a number. ‘Colette, it’s Mick.’

‘Got him?’

‘I’m in the room opposite his at the Hilton.’

‘Expensive?’

‘Single room is a hundred and ten Euros a night with breakfast; it’s low seas= on. Anyway, our boy is nervous.’

‘Yes?’

‘Either he’s not as clean as we think, or he thinks we’ll follow him because of his brother. But if he thinks we’ll follow him anyway - th= en why does he care, and why’s he checking over his shoulder?’

‘Given who his brother is he’s bound to be a bit paranoid. Got to go.’ Colette hung up.

Mick heard a door slam and rushed to his own door, his palms flat, his eye flush against the peephole. Sayeed. Mick lifted his mobile and selected the last number called. ‘Jim, he’s moving,’ he whispered. ‘C= over the end of the cul-de-sac, I’ll be three minutes behind.’

Mick tore off his jacket and threw it onto the bed. Opening his case he pulled o= ut a blue shirt, placing it over his white short-sleeved shirt, fastening just t= hree buttons. Grabbing a blue baseball cap and his sunglasses, he tapped his poc= kets before finally opening the door.

Sayeed was not visible in the foyer, but Mick did not wish to be seen to be looking around the plush seated area below reception. He stepped outside and into t= he bright afternoon sun, Sayeed visible at the top of the steps, but seemingly halting. Mick knelt next to a green and yellow Mercedes taxi, the driver winding down the powered window.

‘Sorry, my English … not good,’ Mick said. ‘To go to the Gozzo Island, it is … aeroplane?’

‘No, no. Taxi or bus to ferry, and boat.’

‘Ah, boat, yes.’ Sayeed disappeared from view. ‘Thank you.’

Straightening, Mick walked around the cul-de-sac and across the entrance of the tall tower, soon stood observing Sayeed from above, and now being shaded by a large bush in a concrete base. Sayeed stopped to ask directions, crossed the road and asked a second time, soon heading left and towards the main square.

Mick raised his mobile. ‘Coming your way, light grey jacket. Give me his direction, then get the car, we’ll swap.’

‘Moving.’

Mick walked casually down the steps, a deliberately slow pace. Not following Say= eed’s path, he walked one block over and turned left, crossing over and closing i= n on the square. Sayeed eventually came into view, no sign of Jim yet.

Mick’s phone trilled a minute later. ‘He’s h= eading down the coast road,’ Jim said.

‘I’ll take him. Get the car and wait over the other side of the bay.’

Darting through the traffic, Mick jogged across to the busy main square, populated = with bored taxi drivers sat waiting some trade, and slowed right down, ambling a= long in the late afternoon sun, pigeons moving aside. Sayeed’s jacket stood out amongst the tourists, but his direction was being fixed for him by the layout of the bay.

Ducking into a café to read their menu, Mick could see = that Sayeed would soon be on an exposed stretch of busy road, the harbour on one side and hard for a tail not to be spotted. He lifted his phone. ‘Dou= ble back, pick me up.’

‘Give me a minute.’

Mick crossed the road, flagging Jim down thirty seconds later,= Jim being tooted at by angry Maltese drivers. ‘Drive up and around, plent= y of time, and back to where you were.’

Jim turned in the square, being tooted at again, and sped down the hill and onto the bay road, turning left up a hill and a sharp right at the top. Noticing= a vacant parking place, Jim ducked in and screeched to a halt. He pointed to = the road ahead. ‘Down this road, it’s easy to follow someone in a car.’

‘Yep,’ Mick agreed, adjusting the car’s mirrors.

Ten minutes later, Jim said. ‘Here he comes.’

‘Pull forward to the next curve in the road.’

They moved a hundred yards along the road and found a vacant parking place.

‘Still coming,’ Jim confirmed.

They waited.

‘He’s crossed over,’ Jim noted. ‘Obviously not wanting to take in the nice sea view like a normal tourist.’

Mick swivelled around, an arm on the seat back. ‘Fuck, he’s just gone into that hotel! What hotel is that?’

Jim craned his neck around. ‘That’s … the Metropole.’

‘Quick, go book in, make up a story. Got a passport?’

‘What the hell would I carry it for? I live here!’

‘ID of some sort?’ Mick pressed.

‘Yeah.’

‘Go tell them you’re a resident, but have relatives in your flat, or a bu= rst pipe. Book two days!’

Jim eased out and crossed the road.

After five minutes of observing the hotel in the car’s mirrors, and pedestrians out strolling, Mick stepped out and stretched, par= tly hidden from a direct line of sight of the hotel’s front by numerous s= mall concession stands. Turning, he walked to the nearest of the stands. A couple were stood at the stand, but did not seem to be being served.

‘Got a large bottle of water, love?’ Mick asked the lady inside. He grabbed two chocolate bars. She handed over the water bottle, Mick paying four Euro= s.

‘He’s inside the hotel. Do we go in?’ came a whisper, uttered by the woman = to Mick’s side. But in Russian.

Mick turned away and carried his purchases back towards the car, every step take= n in slow motion, his eyes everywhere. He immediately noticed two suspicious men= sat in a white hire car. Beyond them, he noticed a moped rider in black leather= s, stopped and facing the hotel. Finally he noticed two local police officers strolling towards Jim’s car.

Mick tossed the chocolates onto the back seat, cracking open the bottle’s = top. Pouring water on the windscreen, some on the rear window, he knew that he w= as in plain view of the two men in the car, as well as the Russian couple. He sipped some of the water, noting that the police officers were getting clos= e.

Placing the bottle in the back of the car, he turned to face the officers. ‘S= orry to trouble you. I live here – retired from Interpol, but I was trying= to get a license for a boat mooring - not in the marina, but a small fishing boat.’

‘You mean, the red ball on the water, like that?’ the first officer asked = with an accent.

‘Yes, like that, for a little fishing boat.’

‘Officially, they don’t make new ones, you have to buy it from an existing owner, = and then pay to have it recognised. Thirty Euro. But many people make their own= if it’s a quiet area.’

‘So … I have to find someone with one first, because I haven’t seen them advertised.’

‘You won’t, they are always kept and passed down – the good ones.= 217;

‘You said you were Interpol?’ the second officer asked, the older of the t= wo men.

‘Yes, Berlin, nine years. I had enough and came down here.’

‘I worked in Interpol, Brussels, for a two year exchange.’

‘Oh, excellent,’ Mick said with a smile. He pulled out his wallet and show= ed the man a photograph taken at Interpol Headquarters, a group of graduates posing.’

‘You did the course?’

‘Yeah, that was interesting enough. But chasing Russians smuggling BMWs to the east was boring. I came down here a lot for scuba diving, I’m an instructor -’

‘You know the Paradise Bay dive centre?’

‘Up by the ferry, yes. Dived off the wall on the left many times, out to the wr= eck, especially at night.’

‘Next month I do my Divemaster exam there.’

‘Studying hard?’

‘When I can.’

‘Say, tell me, what is it with Maltese airline pilots? Are they all women?’=

The officers smiled widely. ‘We have many lady pilots, but don’t go upsetting them. As the aircraft captain they can remove you.’<= /p>

Mick laughed, taking back the photograph. ‘I dive up at the ferry often; i= f I see you I’ll buy you a beer afterwards. Thanks for the advice on the moorings.’ He extended a hand and shook with both officers, waving th= em off, all smiles, before sitting in the car, certain now that the officers appeared more as friends to a local resident than anything else.

Jim appeared a few minutes later. Mick jumped out. ‘What the hell was that?’ Mick barked.

Jim stopped dead. ‘What?’

‘You were only supposed to look at the vending machine, not stop for a sleep.= 217;

‘Ah…’ Jim let out. He opened the car door. ‘Do it your fucking self next time,’ he shouted before getting in, Mick easing back into the car. ‘We got company?’

‘There are more watchers on this street than you could poke a stick at.’

Jim pulled away.

‘Did he meet someone in there?’ Mick asked.

‘No, he booked in.’

‘He booked in?’

‘Yep. Room 127, sea view, thirty-five Euros a night.’

‘Do you smell that, Jim?’ Mick asked, staring out at the ocean.

‘I smell a giant rat,’ Jim said. ‘There was a dodgy looking guy sa= t in reception and eyeing Sayeed. And did you see the moped?’

‘I did.’ Mick dialled Colette as they drove. ‘Got a minute, boss?’

‘Shoot.’

‘You want to tell me what the fuck’s going on?’ Mick loudly asked.

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning … that Malta is hosting a spy convention, guest of honour and chief m= ark being Sayeed.’

‘He has a tail?’ Colette puzzled.

‘We’ve been on him less than an hour, and we’ve counted five fucking tails! = Not only that, he’s booked himself into two separate hotels.’

‘I’ll call you back in ten.’

Colette knocked on Chambers’ door. Poking his head in, Chambers peered over the rims of = his glasses.

‘Come in.’

Colette stepped in and closed the door. ‘Slight … hiccup, sir, with Sayeed.’ He sat.

‘Did he arrive?’

‘Yes, and our man followed him to the Hilton Hotel. But then our man noticed that Sayeed was twitchy.’

‘Twitchy?’

‘Looking over his shoulder … twitchy.’

‘So, he may be a gofer,’ Chambers realised.

Colette’s expression suggested trouble.

‘Something?’ Chambers asked.

‘First, Sayeed booked himself into two separate hotels, and second … there are half a dozen different tails on him.’

‘Ah...’ Chambers took his glasses off and eased back, deep in thought for a moment,= his chest rising and falling. ‘I do not … wish us to be step= ping on anyone’s toes – we don’t need an incident. Tell your m= an he has twenty-four hours. Then, if he can’t tail him without rubbing shoulders, I want him pulled off. Follow Sayeed in the computer.’

‘And if Sayeed is up to something?’

‘Then he won’t get very far with his plans, not with that many bedfellows.’

‘I checked the computer again, spoke to the French and Italians. No one’s interested in Sayeed, no one has an active file, Interpol has no interest – and the Maltese obviously don’t care.’

Chambers made a face. ‘Any clues as to who the other teams belonged to?’=

‘If I may, sir.’ Colette dialled Mick. ‘It’s me. Any national= ity on the other teams?’

‘Russian.’

‘Thanks.’ He hung up, carefully pronouncing, ‘Russians.’

‘Russians? Tailing Sayeed on our turf? Oh, no, no, no … that is most definite= ly not allowed. Tell your man to track the Russians; put some extra bodies on = it. If the Russians are interested in Sayeed then I’m damn well intereste= d as well.’

Mick answered his phone to Colette as Jim drove around in circles through the town. ‘Mick, we’re very interested in the Russians, and what they’re after.’

‘No problem. I’ve got old Jim with me, you remember Jim Turvil?’

‘Yes, I forgot he retired to Malta.’

‘Can we find him a week’s pay as a driver?’

‘Yes, definitely. And try and identify the other parties for me.’

‘Will do, boss.’ Mick hung up and faced Jim. ‘You got a week’s work.’

‘Excellent.’

‘Head back around, we’ll sniff out the Russians.’

They spotted Sayeed walking back around the bay, and possibly back to the Hilton. Behind him the couple strolled hand in hand.

‘That’s them,’ Mick said, glancing over his shoulder as they drove past. ‘Park near the square, I’ll jump out. When the happy couple wan= der past, nudge them from behind.’

‘Nudge them?’

‘Enough to shake them up; I’ll be the helpful bystander.’

‘I could do without trouble from the local police,’ Jim firmly requested. ‘I have to live here!’

‘Just a nudge. Besides, they won’t want anything to do with the local polic= e; they’re probably on fake passports. Relax, I’ve never steered y= ou wrong.’

Jim shot Mick a look of clenched teeth and curled lips.

‘OK, OK, just a gentle nudge for the happy couple,’ Mick nudged.

Mick ran to the road as th= e thud of two pedestrians impacting a car registered with bystanders, the bored ta= xi drivers stepping forwards at the chance of some excitement. Jim had hit the couple from behind – harder than he had meant to, and now stepped out, loudly proclaiming his apologies.

‘I saw it, they just stepped out,’ Mick stated as he knelt. ‘Are y= ou OK?’

The man was dazed, the woman clutching her elbow.

‘Are you OK?’ Mick loudly asked as he relieved the man of his wallet, toss= ing it under the car and next to a wheel. He lifted the man up and handed him to Jim, who then helped the injured man to lean against the car as Mick tended= the lady, a crowd starting to gather. ‘To the bench,’ Mick told Jim= , and assisted the lady towards the seats vacated by the taxi drivers.

Easing the lady down, Mick allowed a Maltese woman to assist, soon finding a police motorbike in front of Jim’s car. Mick approached the officer as the m= an took off his gloves and helmet. ‘I saw it all; they just stepped out = and were hit from behind by this car. They don’t seem hurt, just a bit bruised.’

With the officer approaching the injured party, Mick retrieved the wallet, pretending to look for damage to the car, everyone now focused on the coupl= e. Back at the edge of the crowd, he could now see two officers on foot approaching, the same two officers Mick had spoken to outside the Metropole= .

‘Shit,’ Mick whispered, turning and circling away from the officers. With his head = low he walked off, jumping into the first taxi on the rank. ‘Silema, please.’

In Silema shopping centre, Mick paid the driver, walked through the bustling shopping streets, ducked around the corner and flagged down a second taxi, = soon back at the Hilton and in his room. Sitting on the bed, he opened the walle= t.

‘Oleg Djubornov, a … Ukrainian from … Kiev. No you’re not my friend, not with that accent.’

The wallet gave up two hundred US Dollars, fifty Euros, a train ticket stub from Kiev to Odessa, a Ukrainian driving license, and a folded piece of paper. M= ick opened it and read the Cyrillic script letters: Sayeed, Malta, Hotel Metrop= ole.

‘Well that’s naughty, Oleg, because I wasn’t told what hotel he’= ;d be staying at. So how come you knew the hotel, my friend. And you got a nic= e lady assistant to work with.’

Mick’s phone chirped. ‘Yeah?’

‘Where the hell did you get to?’ Jim loudly asked.

‘Two local police officers I spoke to earlier approached, I had to be gone. What happened?’

‘The police took our details, but the Russians didn’t want to make a complaint. They stormed off. The Russians I mean.’

‘I got the guy’s wallet. Listen, grab a quick bite to eat, stock up the = car with food and drink and meet me behind the Metropole in an hour. And don’t forget, you’re being paid, so be punctual.’ Mick co= uld hear cursing as he hung up.

* *= *

Colette answered his mobil= e with ‘Hello?’

‘It’s Mick. Got a paper and pen?’

‘Fire away.’

Mick read out the driver’s license details. ‘Have a nose on the computer, I think they’re Russians posing as Ukrainians.’

‘And you got this information…?’

‘The guy dropped his wallet. But I will return it.’

‘Sayeed?’

‘Back here for now.’

‘Good work on the Russians – and quick work. I’ll call you back.̵= 7;

* *= *

With a sandwich ordered fr= om room service, an expensive sandwich at twelve Euros, Mick sat on a chair ne= xt to the door. Several door slams signalled false starts, regular hotel guests glimpsed walking past, their images distorted by the fish-eye lens of the door’s spy hole. Finally, Sayeed was moving.

Mick checked his watch. 7pm. ‘Evening meal, but not in the hotel.’ <= /span>

Listening intently, he opened the door a crack and waited for = the ‘ping’ of the lift. With the lift door closed, Mick stepped out, grey jacket, clear glasses, dark trousers, fake goatee beard in pocket. It would not hold up to scrutiny, but from across the road it served its purpo= se, especially at night.

He dialled Jim as he approached the lift. ‘He’s on his way, so dri= ve over to the square. Oh, and Jim – drive carefully, eh.’<= /p>

Sayeed wasn’t visible in the foyer, but the Russian couple were sat in the p= lush area below reception. And – oddly enough, from where they sat they wo= uld have had little chance of seeing Sayeed leave. Through the hotel’s automatic glass doors, Sayeed could be seen heading for the steps.

Stepping out, and lifting his welcome note as he walked, Mick dialled the number of = the Hilton. ‘Ah, I wonder if you can help me. Could you page Oleg Djuborn= ov for me, he should be waiting in reception. That’s Oleg Djubornov. Tha= nks.’

Stood next to the tower, Mick could see Sayeed heading up the hill towards Pacevi= lle. He moved slowly towards the steps with the phone still to his ear. ‘No response? Try his business: Oleg from the SVR. Thanks,’ Mick said as = he negotiated the steps. Smiling widely, he hung up and dialled Jim. ‘Ji= m, he’s heading up into Paceville. Park up and see if you can pick him u= p at the start of the bars.’

‘On it.’

* *= *

‘He’s just sat= there stuffing his face, his back to the crowd,’ Jim noted an hour later. ‘Anyone could just walk by and stab him. In that crowd, no one would notice!’

‘He does seem to be … a bit obvious,’ Mick commented, sat with a be= er in hand. ‘And he must have seen the tails earlier.’ He moved his chair in as people squeezed past and to the next table, the bar they were in busy, the pedestrian thoroughfare outside bustling.

Jim tipped his head to the left. ‘Aye, aye.’

Mick could see the Russian couple taking a table at a bar, the opposite side of = the busy thoroughfare to Sayeed, and the next bar down to his own. The steps between the bars were packed, mostly with locals, the music from several ba= rs competing to be heard.

‘I haven’t been up here for ages,’ Jim noted.

‘It is a bit loud,’ Mick agreed, taking out his phone. Squinting towards = the sign on the next bar, Mick carefully entered the establishment’s numb= er into his phone and checked it. He pressed the green button and put a finger= in his other ear.

‘Hello, er … I wonder if you can help me. I was due to meet my friends in your bar. Can you look for a man and woman, Russian, about thirty, the man weari= ng a blue shirt and blue jeans, the woman in a red top. His name is Oleg. Can you tell him its Mister Putin. Thanks.’

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Jim whispered.

Mick leant forwards, across the table. ‘They were in the Hilton foyer earl= ier, so I paged them using his real name – from the wallet. A professional would have left the country by now; this guy don’t know when to quit.’

They both turned, observing as a waitress approached the Russian couple, Mick hitting the red button and hanging up as the waitress asked the Russians if they were the couple in question. Heads shaking, Oleg and his companion got= up and walked off.

Jim laughed, shaking his own head as Mick put his phone away. Two tall men, dre= ssed all in black, squeezed past and took the next table, a corner table with a clear view of Sayeed.

Mick suddenly adopted a louder voice, and a crude tone. ‘So what’s ‘em lap dance bars like, you reckon they’re any good? Are they = as good as Spain?’

Jim had been squinting back, but quickly got into character. ‘Guy in my h= otel says that the girls here - they don’t take their clothes off.’<= /span>

‘They don’t take their clothes off?’ Mick repeated.

‘No,’ Jim confirmed. ‘They have clothes on, and they strip down to a bikini= and … and that’s it. And they can’t dance in front of you or touch!’

‘How’s that lap dancing?’ Mick asked.

The first of the two men had been listening, and now turned towards Mick and Ji= m. In an accented voice, he said, ‘Sorry. You say here … lap dance with clothes?’

Jim nodded. ‘Really strange it is, but cheap – like ten Euros.̵= 7;

‘Ten Euros. But … you can do nothing?’

The second man turned inward, but in sight of Sayeed.

‘Nothing,’ Jim confirmed. ‘But there is a street … you know, of ladies. But apparently they are … you know, not worth going to.’

‘It’s not like Europe,’ the first man noted, Mick considering the man’= ;s accent as possibly Czech.

‘You down here for a drinking holiday?’ Mick asked.

‘Drinking … holiday? Ah, no. Diving.’

‘Diving, underwater diving?’ Mick asked, the man nodding. ‘You wouldn’t see me with that equipment on. Swimming in the sea, fine, but under … nah.’

‘You are … drink holiday?’

Mick nodded. ‘It’s cheap, very cheap down here in the winter. Only o= ld people you see.’

The men nodded. ‘Let us get you a drink.’

‘Never say no, very kind of you. Where you from?’

They exchanged a quick look. ‘Germany.’

‘You Germans are all big strong lads,’ Jim said, tapping the nearest man’s broad shoulders.

Three beers later, everyon= e was merry, the two “Germans” quite relaxed, but secure in their position observing Sayeed, Mick and Jim coming across as stupid British dru= nks on holiday. When Sayeed finally decided he’d had enough of the loud music, the two “Germans” stood.

‘Off now?’ Mick asked.

‘Yah, our woman … in hotel.’

‘Well good luck with the … you know, diving stuff.’ They were waved o= ff.

Jim eased closer. ‘Christ, Mick; there’re more people watching our = mark than there are in this bar. And I’m sure I saw a pistol grip.’<= /span>

Mick’s features changed. ‘You sure?’

Jim nodded, a stern expression offered.

Mick stood. ‘C’mon then, let’s spoil their fucking night.̵= 7;

At the top of the busy thoroughfare, Mick caught sight of the two “Germans”, easy enough to spot the men since they were tall, we= ll built and dressed in black. Quickening his pace, he closed in to within ten yards of the men, the crowds thickening, the pedestrians being weaved aroun= d. Where the steps met the road, two police officers in blue stood next to a patrol car. Mick rushed over.

‘Officer, these two men, big German men in black,’ Mick said pointing. ‘We saw a gun in their belt, a pistol.’

The police in the car were soon out, one officer on his radio, the first two officers weaving through the crowds. Jim caught up with Mick, now taken by = the arm and down a side street. They stopped on a corner and looked back, the police pointing guns at the “Germans”.

‘Go take a closer look,’ Mick said. ‘Not too close!’

Five minutes later, Jim returned. ‘Pistols,’ he carefully mouthed, n= ot looking happy.

Mick took a moment, staring at his old friend. ‘Let’s circle around = to the car.’ He dialled Colette as they walked along quiet and dark side streets, the air full of the sound of sirens.

‘Mick?’ Colette asked.

‘Yeah, got a problem.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘We just spotted two goons following Sayeed, muscle bound idiots that sounded l= ike they were Czech. And Colette, they were armed.’

‘Armed?’

‘We just tipped off the police, who grabbed them, pistols recovered. Mister Col= ette … you know better than anyone how difficult it is to get weapons onto= the island. These two idiots were not very good, but their paymaster is not half bad.’

‘That Ukrainian drivers license is fake.’

‘No shit. Mister Colette, is there something we should know?’

‘You already know more than I do.’

‘That’s not very inspiring, boss. Listen, we’re unarmed and tailing someone w= ith no record – supposedly; you said nothing about a shooting war.’=

‘I’ll get the details of the men who were arrested in the morning. In the meantim= e, pull back.’ He ended the call.

‘We’ve been ordered to ease off,’ Mick commented as they neared the car, lef= t by Jim in a quiet side street.

‘Do we still get paid for the week?’ Jim queried.

Mick shrugged. ‘You OK to drive?’

Jim nodded. ‘I had Shandy.’

At the first junction, Mick said, ‘Fuck it. You need the money, and I can take these amateurs.’ He faced Jim and waited.

‘Well, if you think we’ll get paid…’

‘You want to quit?’

Jim took a moment. ‘No.’

Mick faced the empty junction, and the quiet street beyond. ‘We carry on then.’

Jim pointed. ‘Is that Sayeed?’

Mick peered through the window. ‘Yep. Taking a very slow and roundabout way back to the Hilton.’

‘Don’t look left,’ Jim said. ‘Scooter. It’s the same guy.’=

‘Don’t pull off yet.’

Jim checked his mirror. ‘Nothing behind us.’

The scooter pulled forwards and turned, obviously watching Sayeed.

‘Now, does that guy work with the Russians, or the other two?’ Mick thought= out loud. ‘Jim, how’s your driving?’

Jim sighed. ‘Not very good, not today.’

‘So it can’t get any worse then. Go.’

They glanced left and right before pulling off the empty junction, taking the co= rner on the wrong side and swiping the scooter side on and into the back of a van with a thud. Jim hit the brakes, Mick’s door open before the car had stopped. Running around the van, the street dark and quiet, Mick found the rider sat on the road. A powerful kick to the front of the helmet knocked t= he rider backwards.

Mick placed the man’s foot on the curb, stamping down with all his weight = and strength, a muffled cry coming from within the black helmet. Mick tore at t= he man’s trousers, finding a wallet. Back in the car, Mick said, ‘Go!’

Jim pulled off with a screech, reaching a brightly lit main junction at the end= of the road.

‘Metropole,’ Mick said as he opened the wallet, Jim turning right at the junction. ‘Ah, bollocks.’

‘What?’

‘Interpol. Special Investigations Division.’

‘Interpol? We knocked down an Interpol officer? Jesus, Mick.’

‘Relax, the guy didn’t see our car. He felt it, but he didn’t see it.’ He wound down his window as they crossed the bay, throwing the wallet out hard and into the water. Winding the window up, Mick said, ‘Here, four hundred Euros for you - he won’t be needing it. He won’t be doing any figure skating for a while either.’

‘Jesus, Mick.’

‘Look, if these shits are all over Sayeed we don’t get the job. And tomorrow morning I want to report to Colette that the teams have gone.’=

‘Gone? Been done over gone!’

They pulled up near the Metropole hotel.

‘C’mon, Jim, they were rank amateurs; look how easily we played them. This is no= t … a high stakes game.’ They clambered out. ‘You got your = room key?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I want you to zero the guy you saw earlier, and then leave him to me. OK?R= 17;

Jim reluctantly nodded as they crossed the road.

‘And tell me you don’t miss this.’

&nb= sp; Jim tried, and failed, not to smile. ‘I must be mad.’

‘No, retiring down here to open that crappy fucking bar - that was mad!’

They reached the hotel entrance. ‘OK, stupid drunk Brits on holiday, quiet= but wobbly.’

In the bar, Jim ordered them both drinks, Mick’s eyes closing, a hand on Jim’s shoulder for support; the act had begun. Drinks in hands, and c= risp packets gripped by fingers, they sat, Jim deliberately sitting near the mar= k, a man in his fifties with a thin face and an intense stare.

Mick placed down his beer, unsteady on his feet, and plonked down. Opening the crisps, some ending up on the floor, he dunked them into his beer before ea= ting. It elicited a disgusted look from the mark, the old ladies sat opposite not= too pleased either.

‘Safer in here, ladies,’ Mick told them. ‘We were up the Paceville just now, and some guy was shot.’

‘Shot?’ the old ladies queried.

‘Aye, some Pakistani fella,’ Jim put in.

The mark looked like he had been prodded with a hot iron. ‘You say … someone was shot?’ he asked Mick in a heavily accented voice.<= /p>

Mick put an unlit cigarette on his lip.

‘It’s no smoking in here,’ the ladies pointed out.

‘I don’t smoke,’ Mick told them. ‘I just … you know … so I don’t smoke.’

‘The man who was shot, you saw it?’ the mark asked.

‘We walked by after; fella in the road, blood everywhere,’ Mick said, slurring his words. ‘Police said he was a Pakistani tourist. Only arr= ived today, poor fella.’

‘Terrible business,’ Jim commented, eating his crisps. ‘First day on holi= day and all.’

The mark got up and left the bar, heading towards the hotel foyer.

Mick stood. ‘Where’s the bog, ladies?’

They shot him disapproving looks, but pointed towards the foyer. Mick stepped ou= t.

The mark reached the second corner before a fist robbed him of further thought = on the reported shooting. Mick rolled him into the gutter, shielded from the r= oad by parked cars and from behind by a closed concession. With a wallet retrie= ved, Mick put the man’s foot on the curb, and for the second time inside t= he hour broke an ankle.

Back in the bar, Mick collected Jim. ‘C’mon, you look like you’= ;ve had enough.’ He lifted Jim up, said goodnight to the ladies, and head= ed to the lift. With the lift doors closed, Mick said, ‘Make the bed in = your room look slept in, muck up the bathroom, towels on the floor and a bit damp.’ Jim nodded as Mick produced the wallet. ‘The guy was Austrian.’

‘And when will he wake up?’ Jim knowingly asked.

‘Waking up won’t be the problem, figure skating will be the problem. OK ̷= 0; we have Steffan G. Marzt of Vienna, aged fifty-eight, no sign of employment.’

In Jim’s room, Mick tossed three hundred Euros onto the bed. ‘You’re having a good day so far, Jim.’

Jim pulled back the covers and sheets, and hit the pillows. ‘You worry me, Mick.’

‘What’s wrong with this picture?’ Mick softly asked, a heavy frown taking hol= d.

‘Something?’

‘At first glance, and to anyone outside of Austria, this would seem normal. But= his driving license is a year out of date, he has a voting card for the Zurich canton of Switzerland, a medic alert card for a home address in Karlsbad, a= key pass to a few Austrian slopes that would kill me - let alone that old twat.= No, this has been cobbled together to make our friend appear Austrian.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, this wouldn’t stand up to police scrutiny. It may fool the old ladies downstairs, but not someone looking hard. So, it’s not there to fool = the pro’s.’

‘Why fool others?’ Jim thought out loud. ‘Wouldn’t achieve anything.’

‘I’d say our friend here was a scam artist. You sure he was interested in Sayeed?’

‘I clocked him in the reflection of the glass case down there. And you saw his reaction downstairs; he wanted to see the body!’

Mick stood, pocketing the wallet. ‘Let’s go. We both need some kip.’

‘We’re not going to do a round-the-clock job?’

‘Tonight, of all nights, we don’t need to attract the police by sitting in a ca= r in the dark. Besides, I’m not sure just who’s out there.’ In= a quieter voice, Mick added, ‘Or what the fuck is going on.’

* *= *

Thirty minutes later they = sat in Jim’s Irish bar, closed to the public, fresh beers pulled.

‘It don’t make sense, Jim.’

‘Then there’s more going on here than you were told. You trust Colette?R= 17;

‘Yeah, yeah; guy’s backed me up a few times.’

‘Then what’s really going on?’

Mick took a moment. ‘Sayeed’s brother is a big fish, but Sayeed hims= elf is of no interest; he has a clean record. He flies into Rome then down here= . So … why not stay in Rome, it’s lovely this time of year? But then= he books into two different hotels, the other watchers already knowing that he’s booked into the Metropole, and not the Hilton.’

‘No, no,’ Jim said, shaking his head. ‘When I booked in he had no reservation.’

‘No?’

Jim adamantly shook his head. ‘They never heard of him.’

‘But the Russian had a note, saying that Sayeed was at the Metropole.’

‘Did he … get the note after Sayeed booked in?’ Jim wondered.=

‘How? He was outside on the street when Sayeed booked in.’

‘Maybe he wrote down the name of the hotel afterwards, to stop him forgetting it.’

‘Jim, who the fuck would put a note like that in their fucking wallet? May as well wear a t-shirt that says “spy” for fuck’s sake.’

‘He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box though, was he?’

‘Well, in fairness … no. Neither were the two goons, or your Austria friend.= The only thing that makes sense is the lone Interpol agent, keeping an eye on Sayeed; that fits perfectly. The rest of the odd bunch, they don’t fi= t at all.’

Jim rubbed the sweat off his face.

‘You OK?’ Mick asked.

Jim blew out. ‘Yeah.’ He smiled, shaking his head. ‘Bloody he= ll, Mick. We tailed the mark, found his bolt holes, took out the competition – and collected our petrol money!’

‘Tell me you didn’t love it.’

‘It’s not something I’d want to do every day.’

‘Rubbish, you’re wasted here. You were one of the best field agents they produced.’

‘That was twenty years ago, and I feel like I’ve aged fifty!’<= /p>

‘Not active enough - not using your brain, that’s why.’

‘So, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?’ Jim asked.

‘I have a feeling that we’ll be pulled off it,’ Mick reluctantly informed his old friend. ‘I’ll call Colette in the morning, then … well, we’ll see.’

Jim took a moment. ‘What happened, Mick? What was it that gave you the sh= ort fuse?’

Mick didn’t answer.

Jim continued, ‘You could have got a first at Oxford, you pissed through officer college, and you were top dog in Interpol. Being with SIS … t= his is the longest job you’ve held down.’

‘Seven years, almost,’ Mick said without looking up.

‘So what went wrong in the wiring, Mick?’

‘Who says there’s anything wrong with me?’ Mick countered with a gri= n.

‘You’re not exactly in a steady job,’ Jim carefully stated.

Mick sipped his beer. ‘Maybe I found my calling, and this is it.’ He took another sip. ‘I like it. And most of the time I like it a lot. I= get time off to do whatever the fuck I want, I travel –’

‘You drink, you fuck prostitutes, and you live out of a suitcase…’

‘Don’t over-glamorise it too much. Besides, you told me it was a good career when I joined.’

‘It is – for the rest of them,’ Jim pointed out. ‘They sit be= hind computers, fill in forms, and have families. And they live to collect Civil Service pensions; we’ve not lost an officer killed in the line of duty forty years!’

‘Yeah, well … that wasn’t enough, obviously. With all due respect, Jim= , I don’t want to end up like you.’

‘I haven’t done too badly out of it. I have this place, some cash, and t= he pension. And if … if she hadn’t passed then we’d be in Cy= prus and … happy.’

Mick made firm eye contact. ‘But that’s it, isn’t it: best laid plans…’

‘You can’t go through life expecting the worst.’

‘It’s my life to screw up, and so far I’ve done a very good job of screwing= it up,’ Mick countered. He sighed. ‘You were my mentor, Jim, but you’ve become a symbol of what might be – what I might become a= fter twenty-two years of pension qualifying time on the job. I love you to bits, Jim, but I don’t want follow in your footsteps.’

Jim took in the bar. ‘When Jill went I … I thought about ending it.’ Mick looked across, Jim adding, ‘It was just me, fifty-six years old, bit of money, grown family, and the big wide world. And to tell = you truth ... I was terrified.’

‘Why did you settle here?’

‘I went to Cyprus as planned, but everything there reminded me of her; we̵= 7;d been holidaying there for thirty years. I tried a little golf, and I sat on= the porch a lot. If I’d stayed … well, I would have ended it.

‘When you’re by yourself in an apartment … it’s always clean, nothing to do. You use just the same plate every day, sit and watch TV. No,= if I’m honest, this place has kept me so busy - and so damned annoyed a = lot of the time, that it’s helped.’

‘There’s other work I could get you, Jim. But you’d have to … get your h= ands dirty.’

Jim took a moment. ‘Not sure I’d want to end my days in a cell somewhere, Mick.’

‘When I get the safe work I think of you.’

‘And I appreciate it, I do.’

Mick eased back. ‘Tell me, Jim, how do I compare to the best field agents you’ve seen?’

‘To be a good field agent you need to be comfortable doing it. And if you can e= njoy it and not be afraid, then you’re there. Agents need to be cheeky, and you have that in abundance. And what you did today … Jesus. You thoug= ht on your feet, you saw the opportunities and you went for them. And paging t= hat Russian in the hotel – that’s the kind of attitude we’d l= ike to instil in new recruits, but you can’t teach that. They either have= it or they don’t.’

‘I learnt from the best,’ Mick offered.

‘No, we just brought it out of you. That first survival course – you had a girl pick you up the other side of the hill, and spent the week with her. W= hen we found you, you were in the same clothes and stinking – but we trac= ked your credit card to a nice restaurant in the local town.’

Mick laughed. ‘Good days, Jim. Good days.’

‘The rest of your intake sat in the bushes for a week feeling cold and hungry, no fucking initiative at all.’

Mick finished his beer. ‘C’mon, let’s at least try and do a respectable job of it in the morning.’

A b= right new day

At 7am, Gird woke to a pen= is trying to find a happy home. She moaned as it found its way in.

‘The morning alarm cock,’ she muttered.

‘Alarm cock?’ Mick whispered.

‘Not to be woken by the alarm clock, but by the alarm cock.’=

‘Ah.’ Mick rolled her face down. ‘I’ve woken a few girls that way.= 217;

‘Why bother to wake them at all,’ Gird said into the pillow, Mick thrusting from behind.

‘I’ll have you know I’ve given some of my best performances while the girl = was still asleep.’

* *= *

Going down for some breakf= ast, they met Suzy sat alone and joined her, Gird a little worse for wear, Mick awake and alert. Suzy avoided any direct questions as to where her friend h= ad stayed the night, and buttered her toast.

‘So, what do you do today?’ Gird asked Mick.

‘We can show you around the north of the island if you like, have lunch out, si= t in the sun.’

‘Sounds good,’ Gird approved. ‘I’ll get some clothes from my room, and a bag.’

Jim arrived at 9am, differ= ent clothes to the day before, so Mick figured he’d been back to the bar. Everyone dumped their bags in the boot, moving aside wetsuits and masks.

‘This … is a hire car?’ Suzy questioned, stood with her arms folded as she studied it.

‘Yes, it … er … was cheap,’ Jim explained.

‘It is safe?’ she queried, taking in the damaged panels.

‘Oh, yes. But most cars around here have a few dents.’

‘Is that blood?’ Suzy asked, bent double and peering at the top of the bonnet.

‘I … er … hit a bird, big bird, a sea bird,’ Jim explained.<= /span>

They set off through the congested roads of Paceville, soon on= the dual carriage and ultimately joining the coast road north, a pleasant view = of the inviting ocean on the right as they progressed.

Passing St. Paul’s Bay, Jim said, ‘This is where I normally stay each winter, hotels around here, very cheap.’

Beyond St. Paul’s Bay they stopped briefly at an inlet and admired the numer= ous small boats, locals fishing off the sea wall, before driving up a steep hil= l, descending into Mellieha Bay. Today, a few local surfers were trying to make the most of modest waves, the local sailing school out in force. Jim pulled= up.

Piling out, Mick commented, ‘This is the best beach, rammed in summer. The o= nly other decent beach is Golden Sands, but that gets packed in summer.’<= /span>

After walking across the sand to the water’s edge, the ladies removed their sandals and paddled for ten minutes - whilst whispering comments. Jim rever= sed course to a pizza restaurant below a hotel; it was time for some lunch. When both of the ladies went to the toilet, one of their bags remained on the ta= ble, Mick pointing a finger towards it.

Jim focused on the bag, glancing over his shoulder. ‘You’re …= a fast mover,’ he told Mick.

‘Nice girl, might have a few days together. Better than diving.’

‘Well, why not. You’ve been a bit down since you hurt your back. When do you reckon they’ll return you to normal service?’

‘I’ve got a medical in two months, and then we’ll see. You … er ̷= 0; you not unhappy that I’ve hitched up.’

‘Oh, hell no – you enjoy yourself. I’m beyond all that.’

‘She’s great in bed, but when she was asleep she farted a lot.’

Jim resisted laughing out loud. ‘Some girls are like that after a drink. = You know, bubbles in the beer,’ he said towards the bag.

‘You never know, they might like each other,’ Mick suggested. ‘Maybe= a threesome. I could get a video camera.’

After a meal of late-arriving and already cooling pizzas, they again set off north and to the ferry terminal, boats leaving for the Island of Gozo. Approaching the sea wall on the left, they sat with bottled drinks and observed divers entering the water from the rocks. The day remained warm, but with a cool w= ind off the sea, a few clouds threatening to spoil their excursion.

When the ladies went to the toilet together, bags taken this time, Jim said, ‘Should we … be watching Sayeed?’

‘No, because he … is not the main event here. He’s the honey,= but it’s the flies we should be more interested in. And I’ll bet you anything he just wanders around again like yesterday.’

‘So what the hell is he up to?’

‘He’s here to see who comes out to play,’ Mick suggested. ‘But so far= , I can’t figure out why, or how anyone would benefit. If the other broth= er wants to waste our time – he’s doing that. But what good is tha= t to him? Besides, I was asked to check out the Russians. But, since they’= re just amateurs, I really can’t be arsed. They’re not SVR anyway.’

‘So who sent them?’

‘That, my friend, is why I’m here with the ladies; because maybe they know, = and maybe they’ll throw us a clue. I know she went through my wallet last night when I was singing badly in the shower, so she saw the fake Interpol = ID and the American ID underneath.’

‘What if they’re from a friendly agency?’ Jim cautioned.

‘Then they would have run the Interpol ID already, and the American ID, and now they’d be right confused as to who I am. But they haven’t, not = yet, because Colette would get the note to say my name went through Interpol.= 217;

‘Why give her your real name?’ Jim puzzled.

‘Because I use it the least. I have ID cards and passports in many other names, and I use those so often I sometimes forget my real name. If she runs my real nam= e, then she’ll think I haven’t set foot outside the UK in six year= s, that I have no credit cards, not even a driver’s license – and = then she’ll be even more confused.’

‘White hire car,’ Jim suddenly said.

‘I see them.’ <= /span>

‘How’d they know we were here? The girls?’

‘Or … it could be because it’s a small island with just a few roads= . Or … they lost us earlier and just found us. I doubt it’s linked to the girls. What do they need a tail for, they’re with us?’

‘Could they be more interested in the girls … than us,’ Jim posed.

They exchanged looks.

The girls reappeared, walking over chatting. ‘So, what is next?’ Gi= rd asked.

‘Silema? Shopping?’ Mick asked.

‘Yes, sounds good.’

As a group they casually walked back to the car, a tourist bus of pensioners hissing to a stop, the bus providing an effective barrier between them and = the tail. Jim started the car, but Mick asked he wait a moment, flicking through old text messages, suggesting there may be something from a friend. Two min= utes later, two men stepped to the ferry-side café and sat, their table affording them a view of Jim’s car.

‘OK,’ Mick said. ‘All good. Let’s go.’

Jim pulled around in a tight circle, throwing up dust and stones, and sped off south down the coast road. At St. Paul’s Bay, Mick said, ‘Take = the road towards the airport, it’ll be quicker.’

Jim shot him a look, knowing the road was a nightmare. Five minutes later they = were in heavy traffic, buses tooting.

‘These houses, they are very dirty,’ Gird noted.

‘Some are nice,’ Mick commented, glancing out.

‘Always the yellow sandstone walls,’ Gird observed.

‘Local quarry stone,’ Mick informed her as they stop-started through heavy traffic, Mick certain no one could follow them, not least because there wer= e a dozen cars on this road that were also dusty white Puntos.

Finally reaching Silema, they took a place in a multi-storey car park, a very short walk to the start of the shops. Gird and Suzy turned into shopping mode as = the group strolled, Malta’s select shopping district consisting of little more than three small streets, the shops climbing up steep side streets. Th= irty minutes later, and the girls were asking if this was all Malta had to offer, just a handful of boutiques. It was.

Re-claiming the car, they risked heavy traffic to reach Valetta, halting at the dockside near Barrakka, the docks a natural canyon covered in climbing fortification= s from a thousand years of occupation, the walls again local yellow sandstone.

Suzy suddenly decided she was tired, and asked if they could go back to the hote= l, the group arriving back at the Hilton twenty minutes later, at 3pm.<= /p>

Jim said, ‘If you’re tied up, Mick, I have some apartments to go lo= ok at.’

‘No, no, I’ll come with you,’ Mick quickly offered. ‘Gird?R= 17;

‘No, I need a small sleep.’

‘Sure. Call me if you … want anything.’

They waved goodbye to each other, Jim pulling off. At the main square he said, ‘Tail’s behind us again.’

‘Then let’s go somewhere where I can … mix it up a bit. Head back to = the docks.’

‘They have the registration of this car, and it’s in my name, Mick.’<= /span>

Mick took a moment. ‘What address is it registered at?’

‘Ah, the flat next door to the bar; I was living there first. Still, it’s close.’

‘If they’re from a regular agency then they’ll check out that flat, which is fine, because we’ll be waiting.’

‘Am I going to have to leave the island?’ Jim asked as they negotiated he= avy traffic.

‘Do you want to leave the island?’ Mick quickly countered.

‘It was getting that way, if I’m honest.’

‘Then maybe all you needed was a nudge, and this is it.’

‘I figured I’d pack up and go, not in cuffs, or in a box!’<= /p>

‘Relax. What could go wrong?’ Mick said, hiding a grin.

At Valetta docks, Mick directed Jim to a road leading around the waterfront, halting near a set of steps that cut into an almost sheer cliff face, the w= all shading them from the sun.

‘They’re halfway back,’ Jim said. ‘Ducked in behind that small building.’

‘Stay here,’ Mick said as he jumped out. He stood peering at a large grey n= aval vessel, docked across the water, a cigarette balanced on his lip. After a minute, and certain that he had been seen, he turned and crossed the road, = soon bounding up a steep flight of steps, out of breath at the top.

Turning away from Jim’s car, but following the line of the waterfront, Mick jogged along a road that ran parallel to their own, soon seeing the tail car sat behind a small building built into the rock face.

Leaning over the wall and staring down twenty metres, a group = of giggling youths said, ‘Hey, mister, don’t jump.’

Mick stepped across to them. ‘You want to make two hundr= ed Euros?’

‘For what?’ they asked, closing in, the youths aged twelve to sixteen.

‘See that white car below us.’ They peered over. ‘The man inside is following me, because I fuck his wife.’ They giggled, Mick producing a hundred Euros. ‘A hundred now, a hundred after you drop that metal bi= n on the car.’

‘OK,’ the tallest youth agreed, a small argument breaking out as to whose deal it was. ‘Wait till I get back down to my car, and I’ll meet you at= the end of this road.’ Mick flashed the second hundred Euros before turni= ng to run.

Getting in the car, panting, he said, ‘Turn, quickly. Go.’

Jim turned the small car around. Just past the tail car they heard an almighty bang, Jim almost crashing his car.

‘Keep going!’ Mick urged. ‘Faster!’

Looking through his rear view mirror, Jim could see a metal bin embedded in the roo= f of the car, the windows smashed. ‘Jesus, Mick, that could have killed them!’

‘Dangerous game, spy work.’

At the top of the road, the youths were running down to meet Jim’s car. =

‘Stop here, hard left.’

Mick handed over the hundred Euros. Pointing at a girl in the = group of errant youths, he handed over a twenty Euro note. ‘Walk down to th= at car, nice and slow, speak to them, ask them if they’re alright, find = out what country they’re from.’ She trotted off. ‘You lot, scatter before the police get here.’

With their money in their hands, still arguing about whose deal it was, the yout= hs ran off.

They waited, Jim breathing hard and shaking his head.

The girl returned ten minutes later. ‘They are from the France country. T= hey have blood on their faces.’ She held up a wallet. ‘What money?’

Mick produced a twenty Euro note, exchanging it for the wallet. Shaking his head again, Jim started the car and pulled off, soon in heavy traffic and crawli= ng along.

‘What do we have here then? A … French private detective, a resident of = 230; Paris. Driver’s license ... genuine, credit cards … look OK, th= ey match the driver’s license. A metro stub from … two weeks ago, a cinema stub from … three weeks ago, photograph of the wife and kids, three hundred Euros.’ He handed the Euros to Jim. ‘ID card for = some … association of detective agencies. Credit card receipt from …’ Mick laughed. ‘From the favourite haunt of officers fr= om Interpol’s Paris office.’

‘They’re Interpol?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘Favourite trick of the French DGSE is to make themselves appear to be Interpol agents= in hiding. You peel back the layers and think you’ve discovered that they’re not private detectives but Interpol, when they’re really DGSE.’

‘Their tailing skills need work,’ Jim scoffed.

‘No, they did alright. They’re off their patch, they don’t know the roads, and they didn’t have a team – it’s just them. So t= hey did what they could, not expecting trouble. I was watching them in the mirr= or and I thought they were OK. And they hired a dusty white car to blend in.’

‘And now they’ll be in the local hospital with the others.’

‘Do you think we should send flowers, drop in some grapes,’ Mick asked, s= till studying the wallet.

‘You should ask Colette to contact their bosses,’ Jim suggested.

‘That would mean Colette having to rattle the cages of those a few pay grades hig= her, and he’s not about to do that.’

They pulled up in Paceville, in a side street, and took seats in a corner café, cold drinks ordered – and much needed.

‘So why are the French interested in us?’ Jim posed.

‘It’s possible that the guy on the bike wasn’t Interpol, but one of theirs.= It would be normal to send someone else down to investigate the incident.̵= 7;

‘So how did they pick us up, that biker didn’t see anything?’

‘No, he didn’t,’ Mick pondered, easing back with his beer. ‘But our ladies could be DGSE.’

‘If they are, then they would have reported that you’re more interested in shagging - and drives to the beach - than tailing Sayeed!’

‘Which was the idea – to throw them. They must be certain by now that we’re not the bad guys, and if they think we work for Her MajestyR= 17;s Government, well … they’re not going to be aggressive.’

‘Not till they get out of hospital, no,’ Jim quipped.

Mick sipped his beer. ‘Heads up. Top of that road.’

‘It’s Sayeed, wandering again. Do we follow?’

‘Not if the French are on his tail. And I’m still waiting for Colette to g= et a kick from above, asking us to pull back.’

‘Moped.’

‘I see him,’ Mick confirmed.

They sat and observed the street as Sayeed wandered past on the opposite side of= the road. Checking behind Sayeed, they could see no one obvious.

Mick’s phone trilled. ‘Here we go; it’s Colette.’ He answered the phone. ‘Right, boss?’

‘What’s happening your end?’

‘Quiet day, we spent it with the girls, but they quit an hour ago.’

‘And Sayeed?’

‘Just walked past, still walking around in circles, moped following him.’

‘And the girls?’

‘They say they’re German, but they sound Swiss. They followed Sayeed last night, so we sat on our arses, and today we took them up the coast instead = of tailing Sayeed and tried to bore them to death. Anyone searching my name or aliases?’

‘No, nothing, I just looked.’

‘No?’

‘Not so far, and Sayeed is booked onto a flight to Malaga, Spain, day after tomorrow.’

‘Are we still on the job?’ Mick asked.

‘Yes. But Martin Davies from the Russian Section will be with you shortly.’=

‘Did you get a nudge from above?’ Mick teased.

‘He’s interested in the Russians. Be nice.’

‘Always, boss. Always.’ He hung up.

‘You know Martin Davies, Russian Section?’ Mick asked Jim.

‘Sounds familiar.’

‘He’ll be here shortly. We’ll have a professional in our midst, so I might t= ake notes. Anyway, pack a bag tonight, we’re off to Spain tomorrow.’= ;

‘Spain? You want me…?’

‘Why not? Sayeed is moving on, and Colette has sanctioned the money for you. And once Sayeed moves, the rest of this lot will move as well. Malta will go ba= ck to being a quiet backwater.’

‘I’d have to close the bar,’ Jim noted.

‘And how much revenue would you lose?’

‘Well … about ten Euros a day.’

‘You’ve made that already, and there could be a bonus. C’mon, it’ll be fun.’

‘If the French see us there…?’

‘The only people who can eyeball us won’t be there, unless they send the girls. And as soon as the girls see us they’ll bug out.’=

‘I’d be using my own ID to fly.’

Mick shook his head. ‘Remember the ID I had made up for you?’=

‘That was just a driver’s license.’

‘No, I had a passport made up as well.’

‘Jesus, Mick.’ Jim shook his head.

‘Use your own ID into Heathrow, switch when we buy tickets for Malaga.’

Jim sighed and nodded.

Ten minutes later, Mick’s phone went, an unknown number. ‘Hello.= 217;

‘Canuck, it’s Davies. I just booked into the St. Georges hotel.’<= /p>

‘We’re sat in Paceville, one road down from the main drag, café with a yell= ow awning.’

‘Ten minutes.’

Mick put his phone away. ‘The professionals are here,’ he carefully mouthed.

When Davies finally arrived he sat without saying anything, scanning the street.= The waitress stepped out, Davies ordering a Fanta orange. He appeared to Jim to= be in his late forties, a slim and fit looking man with greying hair. He wore a light beige jacket and beige slacks.

Taking off his sunglasses, Davies said, ‘So, what’s new?’=

‘Our boy just wandered past, moped tailing him,’ Mick reported.

‘And the Russians?’

‘No sign of them since yesterday,’ Mick answered.

‘The details you gave us led nowhere, other than to the conclusion that they were good fakes, and expensive.’

‘That couple were Laurel and Hardy,’ Jim baulked. ‘No way in hell they were SVR – unless standards have dropped a hell of a lot!’

&nb= sp; Davies took a moment to study Jim. ‘The two gunmen are not talking, as expec= ted, but their weapons were traced back to Bulgaria – so they came in by b= oat, the weapons that is. The two men had fake passports with Shengen visas, aga= in – good fakes and expensive. But there is a tenuous link between the f= ake IDs and the gunmen; both seem to have holidayed in Marmaris, Turkey, at the exact same time.’

Jim eased closer to Davies. ‘The two gunmen were six foot five, dressed in black, wearing boots, and their pistols were noticed. I bring your attention back to the aforementioned Laurel and Hardy.’

‘He’s right,’ Mick put in. ‘Good fakes, expensive, yet the hired help were crap. The paymaster knows what he’s doing, but his hiring skills= are sadly lacking.’

Davies regarded Mick coolly, almost arrogantly. ‘It’s a work in progress.’

Mick turned to Jim. ‘Go back to the bar, but check the area first. Sort yourself, pack, eat; you can handle the nightshift tonight – so get f= our hours kip.’

Jim nodded and eased up. To Davies he said, ‘See you later?’=

‘I’ll be around.’

Mick paid for the drinks. ‘Why don’t we walk, I need to check the ar= ea anyway.’ They stood. ‘Never know, that couple might still be around.’

They turned down the hill, slowly ambling along.

‘Jim seems a little … old for fieldwork,’ Davies delicately mentioned.

‘That’s my call. Besides, people ignore him, especially when he has his blazer on a= nd a walking stick.’

They walked on, and to the next corner. Taking the long way around, they scanned= the main square, Mick not noticing anyone of interest.

Entering the start of the cul-de-sac, Mick asked, ‘How&#= 8217;s your fitness – for fieldwork, Mister Davies?’

‘I keep myself in shape.’

‘Good. Don’t look around, but we just picked up two goons. Are you good with your fists, Davies, or better with your legs?̵= 7;

‘It’s a public street, they won’t do anything.’

‘Really. And if the two goons now in prison were behind = you, would you like to put their shyness to the test?’

‘I see your point.’

‘I know where we can lose them, and get a good look at t= hem. And, if the Gods are smiling down on me, I’ll get their wallets.̵= 7;

‘You … aim to go head to head with them?’ Da= vies asked, sounding nervous now.

‘That’s what I’m paid to do. Turn down here.’ He led Davies down the steep marina steps. ‘Quickly,R= 17; he whispered.

At the bottom of the steps they turned left and walked quickly= to the wooden bridge, over and towards the dock visited by the courier, Mick glancing back as they reached it.

‘Shit, they mean business. Run!’

Mick led Davies along the edge of the square dock, Davies fast= on his feet. ‘When we reach that end, quickly up and around!’

At the sea wall, reached a few seconds later, they clambered up steps and hugged the wall as they ran along a wet concrete path, the waves pounding the rocks to their immediate right. Ten yards in, Mick reached in between two rocks and pulled out a pistol wrapped in a white plastic bag. Turning, he could see a face peeping around the wall. Mick stepped out brazenly, holding the pistol at his side. The face pulled back.

Turning back to Davies, Mick could see Davies studying the pis= tol in Mick’s hand, seemingly more concerned and disapproving of that, than = the men following. With a smile, Mick dropped the pistol and stamped on it. ‘Plastic. It works well enough at night, and from a distance.’<= /span>

A dull crack behind Mick caused him to turn, and he saw the two faces peeking around the wall. ‘That was cheeky. They fired a round towards us.’

Davies collapsed in a heap, heard before being seen.

‘Christ,’ Mick let out as he spun around. He tore Davies’ jacket off, tearing open his bloodstained shirt. ‘Take = it easy.’

Davies was in shock. Not through blood loss, just the shock of= being shot. Mick glanced over his shoulder, the rocks and the wall now clear.

Turning back to Davies, holding him now with a knee to Davies&= #8217; back, Mick inspected the wound. ‘It’s still in there, but it hasn’t hit an artery,’ he urgently got out. He lay Davies down = and placed an ear to his chest. ‘Breath as deep as you can, but slowly.’

After Davies had complied with three large breaths, Mick lifte= d up. ‘Your lung hasn’t been hit, there’s no major bleeding, so you’re in no immediate danger.’

Davies had not uttered a sound since being shot, a look of sho= ck and abject terror etched into his face. Mick lifted him to the sitting position= , a knee at his back. ‘Listen, that wound is going to hurt, but you’= ;re not going to die, or lose the use of the arm. You were lucky, real lucky, so just hang in there.’

Mick dialled Colette. ‘Colette, it’s Mick. Davies = has been shot.’

‘Shot?’

‘He’s got a slug in his shoulder, fired by two goo= ns following us near the Hilton, but he’s in no immediate danger. I can = take him to a hospital, call an ambulance, or you can extract him. But if I take= him to a hospital then the authorities here will be all over us, and not at all happy that you didn’t tell them earlier!’

‘Christ!’

‘How long to get a private medical plane with the right paperwork?’

‘Four hours, probably six,’ Colette reported.

‘He’ll make it that long, but I’m not sure I’d like to take the chance= , so it’s your arse on the line … and your call.’

‘I’ll call you back. If he gets worse, or you think he needs it, get him to a hospital.’

Mick dialled Jim. ‘Jim, Davies has been shot. Get a first aid kit, water, towels, and meet me in that little lane between the Hilton and the Dragonar= ra, we’re on the rocks below the Hilton. And be quick.’

Mick stared out to sea at the surreal scene, a few boats in the distance, a few cruisers heading into Silema, the day warm and pleasant. ‘Take it easy,’ he softly told Davies, checking his pulse. ‘Breath slowly.’

‘It’s gone numb,’ Davies whispered.

‘That’s normal. Look, if you want an ambulance we’ll get one in three minutes. Well, the goons might get to us first, and they’re not shy about shoo= ting in public. When Jim gets here we’ll get you patched up and to the car= . If necessary, we’ll drop you at the hospital - you can tell them you were mugged. You got your ID on you?’

Davies nodded.

‘If you want me to take it and hide it I will, then I can drop you around at the hospital. Given the goons with guns they caught the other night … you won’t have to explain much.’

Mick eased Davies up slowly, placing Davies’ arm around his shoulder before directing him across the bleached white rocks and away from the marina. They expending a good four minutes negotiating a narrow path above crystal clear water, before reaching a low wall, the other side of which lay a road. Mick peeked over. A few dusty cars sat at the end of the road, but no one was ab= out.

Sat against the wall, checking Davies’ pulse intermittently, Mick stared = out to sea. ‘Need a fucking boat.’

The afternoon was warm, the excitement and the exercise making them both sweat,= but the cooling breeze off the sea was most welcome.

‘Boat,’ Mick repeated a moment later. ‘A ruddy great boat.’

He dialled Colette, who now sounded as if he was in a car. ‘Colette, it’s Mick, I’ve got an idea. Trust me, I’ll have Davies i= n a surgical ward in no time – and no one will know!’ He hung up. ‘OK, I need to get you down that street, but first I need to check it. Don’t go anywhere, sit and enjoy the view.’

Mick was soon running along the road to the first corner, ducking his head aroun= d. It was clear. Returning, he said, ‘Right, other side of the wall is a road, easy to get along it. C’mon.’

At the corner, he tidied Davies’ appearance as best he could, closing his jacket and doing up two buttons. A car drove past, a single occupant that showed them no interest, Jim pulling up with a screech ten minutes later.

‘Christ, Mick, what the hell happened?’ Jim got out in a strained whisper as t= hey eased Davies into the back of the car, Mick easing into the back as well.

‘More goons with guns,’ Mick replied.

‘Where to?’ Jim asked as he took the wheel.

‘Valetta Docks, south side. Quick.’

They sped off. ‘Why the docks?’ Jim asked.

‘HMS Exeter,’ Mick said with a grin.

‘HMS Exeter? Jim repeated. ‘Christ, aye. They have a surgical bay, and they could get him out unseen.’

‘You listening, Davies?’ Mick asked, Davies sat with his eyes closed.

‘I served … seven years as … an officer aboard … HMS Newcastle.’

‘There we go then,’ Mick encouraged. He dialled Colette.

‘You’re talkin= g him where?’ Colette asked.

‘HMS Exeter. She’s in the dock! Talk later.’

Before they reached the dockside, Mick grabbed Davies’ Military Intelligence= ID. At the Maltese police check, on the main gates, Mick handed over that ID.

‘We’re expected by the Captain. We’re ex-navy, but now Military Intelligence.’

The police officer puzzled the ID’s for a moment, but allowed the car through. Fifty yards short of the ship, British Royal Marines diligently stopped the car, their rifles ready.

Mick said, ‘We’re Military Intelligence officers, and I want your du= ty officer right now, or you’ll be back at Lympstone Base doing press-up= s in the mud! Move it, mister!’

The young Marine let them through, using his radio to alert the ship. Halting, = Mick faced Davies. ‘I need you to walk up that gangplank without looking l= ike you’ve been shot. Can you do that?’

Davies nodded, looking now like death warmed up. ‘I can do it.’=

Between Jim and Mick, they eased Davies out, curiously observed by another young Marine. After a slow climb of the gangplank, a third Marine and a Commander stood waiting.

‘Who the hell are you?’ the Commander demanded.

Mick handed over Davies’ ID. ‘He was a naval officer, now military intelligence. One of our operations down here went badly wrong and he’= ;s been shot in the shoulder. You, Popeye The Sailor, are going to get him to = your doctor, patch him up and get him off the island without any fucker noticing= , or I’m going to take a very personal interest in your career development= . My boss … will call your boss … very soon. Till that ti= me, he’s one of yours, and he’s bleeding all over your nice clean deck.’

‘Inside. Quickly,’ the Commander requested, not looking happy.

Davies was taken one way, Mick and Jim led another way, and to an empty mess hall = to wait in, guarded by a vigilant young Marine.

The ship’s Captain turned up a minute later, stepping in= and sitting. He gave Mick and Jim a look over. ‘You’ve got a damned cheek bringing your man here.’

‘He’s ex-Navy, so he’s your man as well,R= 17; Mick curtly stated.

‘If the Maltese authorities knew … there’d be hell to pay!’

‘And if we take him to a hospital … there’d be hell to pay!’ M= ick countered.

‘I have to send this up the line, and they’ll decide what happens.’= ;

‘Fine, go fill in a form,’ Mick said. ‘Just save his life first.’= ;

The Captain took a moment. ‘What the hell happened?’

‘We were tailing the brother of a Pakistani nuclear scientist, but the Russians showed up, plus a few other party-poopers, and some east European goons with guns.’

‘Here, in Malta? Gunmen? That’s outrageous.’

‘We think so too. Want to lend a hand?’

The Captain forced a breath and took a moment. ‘We’ll look after yo= ur injured man, we have a surgeon onboard.’

‘Yeah, well our guy is probably going to be happy as fuck to be back on the ocean wave; he served aboard HMS Newcastle.’

‘I’ll arrange some food and drink for you while I wait a response from London.= 217; He stood.

‘Captain,’ Mick called. ‘There’s an on-going operation out there, and we’re losing it. If you want to be helpful, I have a request, and some rules to bend.’

Colette slowly stood up as= he got the detail about Davies. To his secretary he barked, ‘Find Chambe= rs. Quickly!’

A moment later, she said, ‘He’s over in Vauxhall, in a meeting.’

‘Damn. Get me a car, quickly.’ He grabbed his jacket. ‘Call operations= and then the Russian Section, tell them Davies has been shot in Malta.’ He rushed out.

In the car, he took the second call from Mick, puzzling what Mick meant about a secure surgical unit.

At SIS headquarters, Vauxhall, the driver showed his ID, followed by Colette. = At the main entrance, Colette showed the police his ID, then again at the front desk.

‘Where’s Chambers?’ he asked at the desk.

The staff on duty checked the sign-in book. ‘In a meeting, third floor, C10.’

Colette strode towards the lifts, his future career prospects upper-most in his min= d. On the third floor he scanned the signs and arrows, finding C10. Approaching it, he could see a meeting in progress through the room’s tinted clas= s, the Director himself chairing the meet. At the door, a pale wood, Colette forced a breath, knocked and entered, despite the sign to the contrary.

‘Sorry, sir, gentlemen, but there’s been an incident.’

Chambers looked horrified.

Colette turned to the head of the Russian Section. ‘Your man, Davies, has been shot in Malta.’

‘Shot?’ the Director asked. ‘Dead?’

‘No, sir, alive and quite well according to our people, a lucky hit in the shoul= der, no immediate danger.’

‘He only got there an hour ago!’ Chambers put in.

‘Would you … like a briefing on the operation, sir?’ Colette asked the Director.

‘When one of my officers gets shot, yes I damn well would! But first, what’s happening on the ground? Is Davies on his way to hospital?’

‘No, sir, but our people say they have a secure surgical facility.’=

‘Secure … facility?’ the Director puzzled.

Colette’s mobile went. ‘Sorry, sir, that might be them. Yes, it is.’ When Colette ended the call, he informed the room. ‘HMS Exeter is in dock = in Malta and … our people are taking Davies to it.’

The Director lifted a phone on the table. ‘Get the Admiralty, duty officer.’

Thirty minutes later, Cole= tte had briefed the managers of the complete situation, using a white board.

‘Thank you, Martin,’ the Director offered. ‘And although that was thorough, we’re no further forwards in understanding what’s goi= ng on. We know what’s happened, but are yet to understand objectives, motivations and associates. Opinions, gentlemen?’

‘Has Sayeed upset someone in Eastern Europe?’ a man asked.

‘Sayeed … is alive and well and wandering around,’ the Director pointed out. ‘Whilst our people get fired at.’

Chambers put in, ‘Any attempt to try and scare us off – would have the e= xact opposite effect.’

‘And why would anyone want Sayeed surrounded by armed and nervous agents or police?’ a man asked. ‘The most likely outcome would be Sayeed being picked up, or at risk of being shot.’

‘And if he was…?’ the Director posed.

‘The agency responsible would feel the fall out,’ another man put in.

‘Are we saying … that someone desires a tussle in public, and the resulting bad publicity?’ the Director posed.

‘Sayeed’s brother has accused The West of harassment, and of threats to kill.’<= /span>

‘And if we increment our interest in his brother he gets a small victory in the press,’ Chambers added.

The Director focused on Colette. ‘Your men, they’re freelancers?= 217;

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Have them keep a discreet eye on Sayeed. I want no one else near that man.’= ;

‘Might I ask, sir, if any of the steps I took were … inappropriate?’

‘No, Mister Colette. Your people found, identified, tracked, and lifted the IDs = of the opposition. As for using the Exeter? Well, that was cheekily brilliant; we’ve kept this out of the papers and contained it. As for Davies, there’ll be a formal inquiry, the question one of threat level and briefing. And I for one would never have expected someone to take pot shots= at our people in Malta.’

‘Davies was responsible for his own conduct on the island,’ the head of Russi= an Section admitted. ‘As well as senior to the freelancers. He also knew about the armed men who were arrested.’

‘Keep me informed through Mister Chambers,’ the Director told Colette. ‘Thank you, Martin.’

Back in the car, Colette blew out so loud the driver was worried for him. ‘Tough meeting, sir?’

‘No, it … it went OK.’

‘You look like you need a beer, sir.’

At 9pm, the two gunmen responsible for Davies’ condition ambled along the street that led to= the steps, the street affording them plenty of dark corners to wait in, wait in= and observe the approaches to the Hilton. From behind, they heard raucous singi= ng, turning to see a gang of young men with flags walking along singing and chanting. The two gunmen eased into a darkened porch and waited the passing= of what appeared to be football fans.

From the middle of the gang, Mick said ‘Now!’ the Royal Marines and = Navy ratings pummelling the two gunmen with dozens of blows and kicks. When down, the gunmen were stamped on, weapons and wallets removed, hands and feet bou= nd with plastic ties. The singing started up again, flags waved, and the gang moved off, having stopped for less than twenty seconds.

Around the corner, Mick jumped into Jim’s car, two naval officers sat in the rear in civilian clothes. ‘As a respectable British tourist, I’= d to take this opportunity to complain about the conduct of your drunken ratings.’

‘Noted,’ came from the men in the rear. ‘What have you got?’

‘Your lads have two pistols, unloaded and cleared, and I’ve the wallets belonging to those two gentlemen.’ Mick passed back five hundred Euro= s. ‘Beer money for the lads.’ He checked the wallets. ‘Czeck identity, probably a forgery like the last lot. Oh, for fuck’s sake.’

‘What?’ Jim asked.

‘They have a note as to which hotel Sayeed will be at in Spain.’

‘How the hell could they know?’ Jim puzzled.

‘Because someone … told them.’ He handed Jim the wallet. ‘C= all Colette, give him their details.’ Mick craned his neck around. ‘Ready for some leg work, gents?’

The officers opened the car doors.

In the main square in Paceville, Mick and the two officers nav= igated through the tourists and locals, the numbers swollen by more than eighty sailors, the sailors mostly ignoring each other. Some were in pairs, others= in groups of four, a few waving flags. The area appeared busy, but no one would have ever considered that through the seemingly random crowd a single group= of eighty people now worked together.

Two ratings approached. ‘Got a couple of likely lads, sir, speaking some language I can’t figure. Big lads, padded jackets, in the bar opposite the one you said to check.’ &nbs= p;

They all faced Mick. ‘When I attract their attention, let them follow me to the base of the steps, then we’ll have a quiet word – in the be= st traditions of the Royal Navy.’

The two officers followed Mick a few steps behind, many ratings nearby but invisible in the crowd. At the bar that Mick and Jim had used to observe Sayeed, Mick stopped and stared at the two men for two seconds before moving off. He had their attention, the men up and following.

At the base of the steps, weaving through revellers and bombarded by loud musi= c, Mick stopped and turned at street level, no police visible. The men kept coming, now just two flights of steps away.

‘Run ashore!’ Mick shouted.

The goons were thrust forwards, flying over a set of steps and landing hard, rolling to a stop whilst being kicked repeatedly. Flags went up, ratings cl= osed in, and loud singing broke out, the goons getting a good beating.

A rating walked past and dropped a wallet into Mick’s hand without stopping, a second wallet a few seconds later. A third rating said, ‘= Guns in the bag, sir,’ the chanting and flag waving ratings moving off, Mi= ck using them as cover as locals attended the two semi-conscious and bound men= .

Back in Jim’s car, Mick turned his head to the two Naval officers, handing over a further five hundred Euros. ‘The lads did well, so be a love a= nd buy them all a few beers on me. Well, on the goons actually.’ He turn= ed back to examine the wallet. ‘And you took four armed men off the stre= ets of the very peaceful island of Malta.’

‘They Czeck again?’ Jim asked.

‘Yep, carbon copies.’ Mick swivelled around. ‘We’re out of here tomorrow. So, we were never here, you never saw us and … thanks.̵= 7; They shook, the officers jumping out.

With the doors closed, Jim said, ‘I still can’t believe you just did that.’

‘Drop me at the Hilton, I’ll check out. I certainly don’t fancy spend= ing the night in there.’

As Mick passed through the Hilton’s automatic doors, the German-speaking receptionist waved Mick over. In German, he said, ‘We have had a complaint about you, sir, about activities on your balcony.’

‘Really? Well my boat’s fixed, so I’m sailing tonight, checking out now. Kindly prepare my bill for the dry and expensive sandwiches that were washed down with lukewarm coffee. Thank you.’

Mick checked the foyer and the seating area, not noticing anyone of interest. Outside his room he put an ear to his own door and listened before knocking= on his own door. Nothing. He swiped his key, moving inside.

The room was as he left it, the balcony door closed, the bathroom cleaned and no one hiding under the bed. His case was still locked, no sign of being force= d.

Having paid for the expensive stale sandwiches, Mick jumped into the car and they = left the cul-de-sac, checking every face as they progressed along the road. ‘Another day, another hotel room,’ Mick sighed. ‘Oh, did Colette sound OK when you spoke to him?’

‘Yeah, fine; we’re still on the case.’

‘That’s odd.’

‘Why?’

‘Should be a full-scale sphincter enquiry over Davies getting shot.’

‘You think … you were at fault?’

‘Well,’ Mick sighed as they stop-started through the traffic. ‘Maybe. We could have walked to the hotel, and they could have shot at us later. I led Davies down into the marina so I could jump the two goons, but you won’t see that go in any report.’

‘And if Davies wants to bury you?’ Jim posed.

‘Then I’ll be … looking for work. Do you need a barman?’=

‘Hah.’

Outside Jim’s bar they circled the block three times before parking up for ten minutes, finally walking the block both ways. Inside the bar, Jim locked the door, both men checking rooms and cupboards, even the till, finding everyth= ing in order.

‘As I left it,’ Jim noted.

They blocked narrow steps from within and claimed the flat above, drawing the curtains before putting on the lights. With cold beers in hand, they sat opposite each other on dated and worn sofas.

‘Listen,’ Mick softly began. ‘If you … think this is all a bit too much.’

Jim took a moment. ‘The last few days has taught me one thing – how much I loathe this damn bar!’

Mick laughed. ‘You needed someone to shine the light of illumination on the problem.’

Mick’s phone went. ‘Mister Colette, you’re on the job late.’

‘Just wanted to let you know that Davies had an operation to remove the bullet, a= nd he’s doing well. They don’t expect any complications. We have t= wo doctors flying down tomorrow to double check, but it all looks good.’=

‘Is he … going to try and bury me?’

‘His section head has already taken responsibility for Davies’ actions, and Davies is five grades up from you; he knew what he was doing. If anything, = you should have been seen as being under his guidance.’

‘Fine, stick that in the report. Oh, I know what hotel Sayeed is going to in Spain.’

‘How?’

‘Let’s just say I found a wallet in the street, belonging to a few goons.’

‘They knew ... in advance? About Spain?’

‘Yep, they had his itinerary and his favourite toothpaste.’

‘The Director thought as much.’

Mick sat upright. ‘The Director … is following this case?’

‘I gave him a full briefing today. We think Sayeed is baiting the service.R= 17;

‘And … I’m not about to have my balls cut off?’

‘No, he’s happy enough.’

‘Oh. Well … yeah, good.’

‘What’ll you do tomorrow?’ Colette asked.

‘Let you buy me a cup of tea in Heathrow.’

‘Send me the landing time, Mick. Goodnight.’

‘What was that?’ Jim asked after Mick lowered his phone.

Mick made a face. ‘Davies’ section head is taking responsibility for= his man’s actions – like standing in the way of a bullet, and Colet= te briefed the Director about us.’

‘I’ll take a wild guess here, but I think Colette gave them the sanitised version.’

‘I’ve not told Colette half of what we’ve done, so it must have been,’ Mick pointed out.

‘And we’re still on the case?’ Jim puzzled.

‘They think Sayeed is baiting the service – which might be right, so who be= tter than us.’

‘Plausible deniability,’ Jim said.

‘So why is Sayeed baiting the service?’ Mick thought out loud. ‘And, more importantly, did my sexual technique impress Gird?’<= /span>

‘Have the girls called?’

Mick shook his head. ‘I asked at reception, and they checked out five minu= tes after we dropped them off. Which can only mean they’re not interested= in us. And Jim, no one has run my name through the computer.’

Jim’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Then the girls were not Interpol, or French.’=

Mick shook his head, looking worried. ‘If they don’t have access to Interpol’s computer, then they’re not working for the good guys= . We clocked them, but they were cool and professional.’

‘You figuring any of this out?’ Jim asked.

‘We’re being paid to follow Sayeed. Figuring it out is Colette’s job.’=

‘No one in their right mind baits the service. Maybe the Iranians, but certainly not Sayeed. He neither wants, nor needs, the publicity,’ Jim argued.<= /span>

‘Someone does. Someone wants the agencies to flock around Sayeed like flies around s= hit, and mix it up whilst they’re at it.’

‘Do you think Sayeed knows?’ Jim posed. ‘Maybe he’s just doing what he was asked to do. He couldn’t have seen any of the incidents.&= #8217;

‘He’d have to be daft not to have seen the tails on day one,’ Mick scoffed before sipping his beer.

‘Given the goons with guns, I’m starting to think that Sayeed might not be a= ware of all that’s going on around him. He’d have to be crazy to put= himself near Czecks and Bulgarians with guns.’

Mick gently nodded his head. ‘If any goons turn up in Spain I’ll rem= ove them, and they should be getting low on warm bodies by now.’

‘Whoever hired those men must be crapping himself by now!’ Jim loudly pointed = out. ‘Two in jail, four in hospital - and with their weapons and IDs taken! The guy must be on the run already.’

Mick shook his head. ‘To get the guns on the island cost money, and took g= ood organisational skills – so the paymaster is not stupid. The goons he sent, however, were crap.’

‘They were set-up to fail?’ Jim questioned.=

Mick raised a finger. ‘What would have happened … if I wasn’t here?’

‘The watcher would have glimpsed Sayeed a few times a day and reported little mo= re than the chosen hotel, restaurants used, time in and out – and would = have run a mile from those two ladies! You go over the top.’

‘Therefore…’=

‘Therefore … you took out the watchers, so they sent more, and more aggressive ones?’

‘Do you think … I upset someone?’ Mick posed.

‘Mick, you’d only need to turn up to do that.’

Mick smiled widely. ‘So was the heavy mob even related to Sayeed, or was it emotional?’

‘You think … one of the people you took out had a paymaster that took exception to his front man being jumped on?’

‘Can’t be the Interpol guy on the bike, or the fake Austrian, and the two Russians were too stupid to even join the dots.’

‘So which group is pissed at you?’

‘Best bet would be the two fake Ukrainian-Russians, the happy couple you bumped,’ Mick suggested, now yawning. ‘But, the best bet is Spa= in, to see who turns up. Let’s get some kip, eh. Last night’s shagg= ing session is catching up on me.’

‘You got the couch. And no, I don’t have a balcony.’

Tou= ching base

Landing at Heathrow, Mick presented a Russian passport with a correct visa, Jim in the queue for Euro= pean citizens.

‘Thank you, sir,’ the lady passport controller said as she checked the passp= ort carefully. ‘And the nature of your visit, sir?’

‘Business,’ Mick said with an accent.

‘And the nature of that business?’ she pressed, still checking the passpor= t.

‘Not … good English.’

‘You won’t get much business done without speaking English, sir,’ she noted without looking up, still studying the passport.

‘My business … Russian peoples … London.’

‘What business?’

‘Future gas.’

She looked up. ‘Future … gas.’

‘Yes. Future gas.’

The lady glanced over her shoulder, two men stepping forwards. ‘Would you mind following these gentlemen, sir.’

They led Mick to a room. Scanning his passport, a Russian speaker was called in,= who in turn scanned the passport.

In Russian, the man asked, ‘What’s the nature of your visit to Gre= at Britain, sir?’

In Russian, Mick replied, ‘I’m a futures trader, gas and oil. I ha= ve clients here, and I’ve been here many times before.’

‘Don’t they trade futures on the stock exchange, people sat behind computers?̵= 7;

‘Yes, of course, but some contracts are privately negotiated if they are recurring contracts.’

‘And if your English is not very good, how will you arrange such deals?’

‘They are Russian customers, but based here in London.’

‘And do these Russian customers have large houses to heat with all the gas they buy?’

Mick produced a business card and headed notepaper. ‘Call my boss, or the office here in London, check to your hearts content.’

The man glanced briefly towards Mick, lifting the business card. He asked Mick = his name, telephone number and address. ‘If I call this number … who will I get through to?’

‘To Olga at reception. She’s a big girl ... you know.’ The man star= ed back for a moment, then returned to the headed notepaper. ‘My boss is Mikhail Lubov. Call.’ Mick checked his watch. ‘Yes, he will sti= ll be in work. May I ask, is something wrong with my passport?’

‘No, your passport is in order, but Russian businessmen and gas traders all spea= k a reasonable amount of English, whilst members of criminal gangs don’t.’

‘I have a letter from my mother that says I am not in a gang.’

The man inspecting the passport glanced at his colleague. In Russian, he said to Mick, ‘I think we may have to look into your background in some detai= l, sir.’

In English, Mick said, ‘Take your fucking time, Knob Head, just get me a cuppa, I’m drying here.’

The two passport inspectors glanced at each other with peeved looks. ‘Wou= ld I be right in assuming that this is a wind-up?’

Mick produced his SIS pass. ‘How was my Russian?’

‘Your Russian was perfect, and this passport…?’

‘Like Pamela Anderson’s tits.’

‘I couldn’t fault it.’

‘You won’t, not unless you visit the eighty-year-old man in Moscow whose identity I pinched, and confirm that I’m not him. Is Dolan on duty?’

The second man stepped out, back three minutes later with Dolan.

‘Mickey!’ Dolan loudly greeted. They shook. He thumbed towards his colleagues. ‘= ;Did they pick you up?’

‘No, but the lady on the desk figured my English was not up to scratch.’

Dolan examined the passport. ‘Good work, real good work, Mick.’ He ha= nded it back. ‘Tell them about the vase.’

‘Ah, not that old story,’ Mick mock complained.

Dolan faced the men. ‘He snuck into Russia, went right across the country, = took a priceless stolen vase off an armed gang of fifty men, got it out, all the= way to the owner and dropped it.’

The men laughed.

Dolan continued, ‘Turns out the owner’s insurance pays for damage or theft, so Mick pretends he found it already broken. They collect the insurance … and everyone is happy.’ He faced Mick. ‘And d= id they … slip you a few quid?’

‘They bought me a beer,’ Mick admitted.

‘That passport...?’ Dolan nudged.

‘Issued in Russia; it’s genuine apart from the fact that I’m not me. Listen, Colette is upstairs if you want a cup of tea.’

‘Martin Colette? Sure. Go grab your bag and I’ll see you at the gate.’<= /span>

‘Don’t want to shine a torch up my bum?’ Mick teased.

‘Not your bum, no.’

Mick addressed the other two men. ‘Sorry about that, but I like to give yo= ur staff a live one every once in a while.’ They shook.

With suitcases retrieved, Jim followed Mick through the gate, Dolan following as they headed for the Costa Coffee shop. Colette was sat waiting.

Standing, he Colette said to Dolan, ‘He didn’t come through on a fake passport, did he?’

They shook. ‘Passport was a brilliant fake, but he wound the guys up.̵= 7;

Colette shook Jim’s hand, catching up on old times and common friends as Mick= and Dolan grabbed trays and bought drinks and food. Twenty minutes later, with Dolan heading off, Colette asked, ‘Anything fresh?’

‘I left the Hilton last night, and we didn’t go back,’ Mick report= ed. ‘And the honey-trap ladies … they booked out without so much as= a call.’

‘Then they were … who you suspected.’

‘Oh yeah, and very professional with it,’ Mick confirmed. ‘But I th= ink I figured something out.’

‘What’s that?’ Colette asked.

‘I think, I mean I suspect, that after I … liberated the wallet of one of the people around Sayeed, that the paymaster got mad about it. The g= oons were to teach someone a lesson and return the status quo.’

‘The Russian couple?’ Colette puzzled.

‘They’re the only logical choice,’ Mick said. ‘Nothing else makes sense.= And last night we took down four armed goons, so that was six armed goons in to= tal. Some fucker was upset, real upset to send that many.’

‘That’s a serious worry, Mick,’ Colette cautioned.

‘More so for him, because he’s lost six men; the four from last night endin= g up in custody with the first two idiots. He’s got to be crapping himself right now.’

‘Be careful in Spain, you two,’ Colette urged.

‘I will,’ Jim offered. ‘Don’t know about him.’<= /p>

‘We’ve alerted other agencies to the fact that Sayeed is trying to bait the securi= ty services. You may have a quiet run at it.’

‘The Spanish won’t back off from Sayeed,’ Mick suggested. ‘But, then again, it’ll take ten days for the Spanish paperwork to reach the right people, and even then they won’t give a fuck. Did Interpol get a note?’

‘They did.’

‘And still no searches on me?’

Colette shook his head as he sipped his tea.

Mick faced Jim. ‘Those ladies were definitely not agency then.’

‘Private?’ Jim puzzled.

‘Yes, and a worry, because private individuals don’t mind cutting the balls= off sleeping men.’

‘You put your heart and soul into it, Mick,’ Colette quipped. ‘Liste= n, you’re not authorised to come through here with fake passports. Some = day –’

‘I have to practise,’ Mick insisted. ‘Besides, you’ll bail me out.’

‘If Chambers knew…’

‘Look, a few months back you sent me to Libya with fake details, and I flew back in with them!’

‘And they were duly handed in,’ Colette noted. ‘And … they were for just that job. Your other fakes … God knows where they com= e from, and I won’t ask.’

‘You … getting heat about Malta?’ Mick nudged.

‘No, not at all. I even had some praise, I’ll have you know,’ Colette informed them, his nose in the air in a mocking gesture.

Jim put in, ‘What Mick did, was to shake the tree on day one, and damned fast. What we know, we knew early, otherwise we could have tiptoed around f= or weeks. Something is going on. For someone to send those six goons – a= rmed in Malta? He has money, connections, channels, and a bad temper to go with = it.’

‘As I said, be careful in Spain,’ Colette cautioned. ‘First sign of trouble, call.’

‘How will Davies get back?’ Jim asked.

‘They sail for Gibraltar in three days, he’ll fly from there.’=

‘Has he … said anything?’ Jim asked.

‘He spoke to his section chief this morning, who reported him doing well. Why?’

‘Just wondering if he blames us?’ Jim admitted.

‘I … sent you to do that job, Davies’ section chief sent him, and = none of us could have predicted armed idiots running around Malta – itR= 17;s unheard of.’

‘C’mon,’ Mick said to Jim. ‘Best collect our tickets. I booked them online this morning, so it’ll be a headache.’

On the flight to Malaga, M= ick and Jim ignored each other, sitting apart. Collecting their luggage at Mala= ga airport they exchanged looks, but kept apart. Safely though passport control and customs, Jim followed Mick as they took a shuttle-bus the short distanc= e to the railway, catching a train down to Fuengirola.

They both checked the people getting on and off at the various stops, the train trundling slowly down the coast and eventually passing under Torremolinos t= own centre, into the sunshine again at Arroyo, soon in tunnels again before arriving in Fuengirola, halting in an underground station. At street level, Mick grabbed the first taxi, waving Jim over.

‘Where we staying?’ Jim asked as they jumped in, Mick handing the driver an address.

‘With friends,’ Mick enigmatically stated. ‘But we’re booked in= to a local hotel as well, just in case.’

The taxi followed a main road out of the town, soon climbing a gentle rise, the hills in the distance dotted with houses.

‘This is Mijas,’ Jim noted. ‘I holidayed here once.’

At the small and picturesque mountain town of Mijas, its square the local tour= ist trap, Mick said to the driver. ‘My friend, first Benalmadena Pueblo, we’ll have a look.’

The taxi driver shrugged. They cornered around steep bends with equally steep drops, arriving at the pueblo five minutes later. Mick directed the taxi pa= st uniform white houses, a fountain, and to a small square.

Handing the taxi driver fifty Euros, Mick said, ‘Wait please.’ He led J= im to a viewpoint.

‘Expensive ride,’ Jim complained.

‘Around here they’re pricey.’ They halted at an iron railing, the chosen spot affording them a panoramic view of coast some two miles below.<= /p>

‘I remember this view,’ Jim noted. ‘Think we came up here once. You follow that road down to Benalmadena Beach.’

Mick placed a cigarette on his lip and nodded. ‘Yep. Right, let’s go= say hello.’ He turned and started down a set of steps.

‘Say hello?’ Jim repeated as he followed, glancing back at the waiting tax= i.

They found a small bar built into the cliff, tables and chairs outside, no patro= ns visible. Stepping in, the barman looked up. The man looked to Jim to be aro= und fifty-five and of Mediterranean appearance, five eleven tall and with a bit= of a potbelly, now wearing a purple jumper.

‘Roger, this is Jim. Jim this is Roger.’ They shook. ‘Jim, Roger is a former Interpol officer who doesn’t mind stretching the law. And Roge= r, Jim is a retired former Circus officer who thinks twice about stretching the law.’

‘Backup,’ Jim realised.

‘Drinks?’ Roger asked.

‘Nope, expensive taxi sat up top. We’ll be up at the villa, I’ll call = when we need you.’ Mick led Jim out, and back up the steps to reclaim the taxi.

‘He British?’ Jim asked.

Mick nodded. ‘But can pass for Mediterranean.’

Back in Mijas Square they carried on the way they were facing,= along a quiet road and to a villa. Halting at a large wooden gate set in high sto= ne walls, Mick jumped out, pressing a buzzer several times. The gate clicked o= pen, but Mick had to manhandle it aside. With the taxi through, Mick jumped back= in and directed the taxi fifty yards down a slope and to a huge and sumptuous villa. A pink villa. A white-haired lady in her seventies stood with small = dog in her arms, the strong wooden doors behind her ajar.

‘Flora, you old slapper,’ Mick called.

The taxi driver unloaded the cases as Mick closed in to the lady and kissed her= on the cheek.

‘Flora, this is Jim. And no, you can’t bed him, he has more taste than that.’

‘Charming,’ she complained.

‘Hello,’ Jim offered.

With the taxi pulling away, Flora led them inside.

‘Wow!’ Jim quietly let out, a look exchanged with a smirking Mick.

‘Your rooms are upstairs, I put sticky notes on them,’ Flora announced with= out turning around.

A maid in uniform stood waiting, drink orders taken. With cases left in the hallway, they all sat. <= /span>

‘Jim, Flora here is an … old customer –’

‘A friend, Mick. We’re friends,’ she insisted.

‘I … handled Flora’s divorce.’

She laughed, tipping her head back. Jim shot Mick a puzzled look, a request for further explanation.

‘I … befriended her late husband, got him drunk, gave him some Viagra, a= nd got him a nice eighteen year old Romanian hooker who...’

‘Gave him a blowjob and a heart attack,’ Flora squealed.

Jim shot Mick a disapproving frown.

‘Flora got the full sixty-eight million quid,’ Mick explained.

‘Bloody hell,’ Jim let out.

‘So Mick’s my favourite man in the whole world,’ Flora added.

‘And a year ago some conmen took Flora for half a million,’ Mick explained= as their drinks were placed down. ‘So I … recovered it.’

‘It wasn’t the money, it was the principle!’ Flora insisted. ‘They conned me, and Mick got it all back when he could have legged it with the money.’

‘He’s good that way,’ Jim mockingly approved. ‘When he finds a wallet= in the street he hands it in.’

‘What’s the job, Mick?’ Flora asked.

‘Couple of Russian gentlemen, Flo.’

‘Stay as long as you like, I could do with the company.’

‘Still playing bridge?’

‘No, I gave that up.’

‘Got some work for you if you want it,’ Mick told her, Jim surprised by the offer.

‘I love a bit of intrigue and sneaking about; you just give me an hour’s notice.’

Mick faced Jim. ‘Tomorrow: eye patch, blazer, walking stick – and Fl= o on your arm. And don’t worry, Flo’s excellent at ad-libbing and watching people. She also spills her drink on people like a pro.’

Jim smiled widely, shaking his head.

* *= *

Dinner was cooked by a vis= iting chef, served by the maid and of five star quality, the wine a hundred pound= s a bottle.

After the meal, Jim was both full, and impressed. ‘That = was damned good,’ he let out.

‘He comes up twice a week, the chef,’ Flo informed them.

On the patio, the three of them sat watching the twinkling lights of Fuengirola below.

‘So, what’s the game plan?’ Jim asked, easing back and relaxing, sip= ping a nice red wine.

‘Sayeed will book into the hotel some time after noon, so you two can confirm that.= My guess is … we’ll see watchers in the hotel before he gets there.’

‘What hotel?’ Flora asked.

‘Granada Star.’

‘God, what a dump. Does he travel cheap?’

‘He was in the Hilton in Malta,’ Jim put in.

‘I’ve been there. Didn’t like it much.’

‘What’s the Granada like?’ Jim asked her.

‘It’s on a busy main road, two blocks from the promenade. It’s one of them = tall towers, but the rooms look over apartments with TV aerials. Ghastly.’=

‘It has the Italian restaurant opposite the main entrance?’ Mick asked wi= th a frown.

‘Yes, that’s it,’ Flora confirmed. ‘But that restaurant closed = for a year and then re-opened, back as it was – same people.’

‘It’s easy to watch,’ Mick commented, taking in the view. ‘Pack a sma= ll case, Flo, we’ll get you a room there for nap time.’

‘If I catch an hour at 4 o’clock I’m fine,’ she said defensiv= ely.

With Flora off to bed, it was just Mick and Jim, under the stars with a good red wine. It was chilly, but not cold.

‘You got this place sewn up,’ Jim noted.

‘Spent a lot of time working down here. And when I make a contact … I try and keep hold of them.’

‘A gregarious spy,’ Jim idly commented.

‘To do the tail work well you need the structures and the people, the contacts = and the places. I can tail people down here from in front and know where they’re going. I can guess where they’ll eat out, and where they’ll shop. And I can tell the difference between a tourist, an ex-= pat, an ex-pat gangster, or a mark.’

‘The paymaster worries me.’

‘He worries me as well,’ Mick admitted. ‘But so long as he keeps sending idiots … well, we’ll see tomorrow.’

‘Should we pick up Sayeed at the airport?’

‘Roger will, it’s a days work for him. And I’d like to see the look on Sayeed’s face when he gets the taxi bill down here.’

‘He may get the train like us. That was two Euros.’

‘Maybe.’

‘And if I spot certain ladies tomorrow?’ Jim posed.

‘Then I’ll have to stay back, and you’ll need the patch and sunglasse= s. I doubt they’ll recognise you.’

‘If they think we’re tailing Sayeed, they’re bound to think we̵= 7;ll be here,’ Jim posed before sipping his wine.

‘I’m not so sure. If we we’re of interest to them they’d have stuck = with us.’ Mick’s phone trilled. ‘Yeah?’

‘It’s me, can you talk?’ Colette asked.

‘Sure, just sat with a good red wine enjoying the view.’

‘Someone died at the Metropole Hotel in Malta today, and they can’t identify h= im. Aged around sixty, dark hair. He had a leg in plaster, but fell and broke h= is neck.’

‘Doesn’t sound like anyone we saw.’

‘Well, I’ll try and get you the details. Night.’

Mick faced Jim, taking a moment. ‘Fake Austrian guy had his neck broken in= the Metropole today. Police think it was a fall.’

‘That would be too convenient. So, who pushed him?’

Mick took in the view. ‘Whoever pushed him is private, not an agency. And = our dead man was not agency, or they’d know. So, private agency one kills private agency two’s man.’

‘Which makes a complete nonsense of the idea that Sayeed is baiting the security services,’ Jim put in.

‘It does, kind of.’

‘So, tomorrow we can expect a bunch of squabbling kids, all either trying to fol= low Sayeed - or trying to stop others following him!’

‘You and Flo go static at the hotel tomorrow, I’ll go mobile with Roger.’

Wearing a beige eye-patch, glasses and a blue blazer, Jim helped Flora from the taxi and into the hotel foyer, a booking made by phone the night before. With the room checked, cas= es dumped, they took the lift down and settled in the hotel bar for a coffee, a clear view of the foyer from where they sat.

‘The couple,’ Flora said. ‘Fakes for definite.’

‘Yes?’ Jim studied the couple as best he could. ‘Why?’

‘Why are they sat in here, young couple like that? And she has a wedding ring, b= ut he don’t.’

‘Maybe they’re cheating,’ Jim said with a grin.

‘Then they’d be upstairs and at it, not here. They have one coffee cup each= and three dirty coasters, so they’ve been there an hour.’

Jim smiled, shaking his head. ‘Mick said you were good.’

‘Mick said you lost your wife.’

Jim lost his grin, and took a breath. ‘Yes, of thirty years. She … developed cancer just as I retired and … before we moved to Cyprus.’

‘I had a lot of friends out here when I came. Half I buried, the other half ha= ve gone do-lally in the head. Some don’t even know their own names anymore.’ She sipped her soda water. ‘Mick took me on a job a w= hile back, to Nice.’

Jim’s eyes widened. ‘Mick? Took you … on a job?’

‘Aye. I sat in the hotel, spotted the mark and his buddies - and his slapper, then Mick got their documents or something. It was great fun. And you’re n= ot so young either, my lad.’

‘Well … no.’

‘If you don’t use your body, you lose the use of it. If you don’t u= se your head, you go do-lally like the rest. Make the most of it, Jim. I got a= ll the money in the world, and no one pays me any notice, or any respect. If I= sat in that house till I died no perisher would notice.’

Jim focused on the foyer and its reception desk, alone with his own thoughts fo= r a full minute. ‘I’ll go to the room and call in. You OK there?= 217;

‘Fine, I’ll watch the watchers.’

In the room, Jim called Mick. ‘How we doing?’

‘Sayeed is taking the train. Roger is with him because Sayeed has some close compan= y, and I’m not sure if they were in Malta. How’s it your end?̵= 7;

‘Flora spotted the watchers before I did; couple in reception chain-drinking coffee.’

‘Go passive: no tails and no interest shown. Let’s bore them to death, eh?’

‘No problem.’

Downstairs, Flora now had a handful of tourist leaflets on the table, Jim picking one u= p as he sat.

‘I had a word with the watchers,’ Flora discretely mentioned. ‘Ask= ed them to read the small print on this. They’re east European of some sort, broken English.

‘That fits. Mick has a man on the mark, who’s not alone.’

‘I know Roger; runs the little bar in the pueblo. I used to pop down there for Sunday lunch, but his steps up and down are a bugger on my legs.’

Twenty minutes later, and with sandwiches being nibbled at, Jim whispered, ‘That’s the mark.’

Flora did not react. ‘Car outside, three men in it,’ she said whilst picking bits out of her sandwich.

Two men walked in, through reception and to the bar, sitting behind Flora and J= im. The first man made a call in German.

‘We’re at the hotel, the Granada. He’s booking in. No, nothing so far. Yes, they’re sat in reception, I’ll talk with them soon. OK, I’= ;ll call Muller later.’

Flora lifted a tourist guide. Placing it close to her eye, she lifted her glasses= for a better look. Swivelling, she glanced at the first man. ‘Do you speak English, love?’

‘Yes.’

She offered the flyer. ‘Can you see what it says at the bottom?’

The man smiled and took the flyer. ‘Thirty-five Euros each, no refund. Mu= st book one day before.’ He handed it back.

‘Thank you.’ She turned to Jim. ‘Thirty-five for the bus trip.’<= /span>

Jim put a hand to his ear. ‘What?’

‘Thirty … five!’

Jim nodded, accepting the flyer.

From behind, he could hear in German, ‘If I ever get like that, fucking sh= oot me.’

With Sayeed in the lift, the men left the hotel.

‘Did you get any of that?’ Flora asked.

‘Yes, they’re our boys alright. I even got a name, maybe the paymaster.R= 17;

‘Sloppy boys. They never respect the old, or think we’re listening.’

‘Let’s walk down to the beach, or we’ll look as suspicious as that couple.’

Jim eased up, a hand for Flora, and hobbled out. At the main entrance, Flora exaggerated her difficulty with the steps before Jim led her towards the promenade, the car’s number plate noted.

At the beach he called Mick. ‘Three goons at the hotel in addition to the couple, and they have a car; I’ve got the plate. They speak German, b= ut I can’t tell regions as well as you. Got a potential name for the paymaster: Muller. And Mick, the amateur couple in reception are part of the team.’

‘Then the amateur Russian couple were with them all along.’

‘And we bumped them, taking the guy’s wallet.’

‘That pissed off someone,’ Mick commented. ‘They probably made the fa= ke Austrian and killed him.’

‘And the honey trap?’ Jim asked.

‘Not part of that group. Anyone there you recognise?’

‘Not so far,’ Jim reported.

‘Anyone with a bruised face?’

‘No,’ Jim said with a grin.

‘Bore them rigid, Jim. Tonight, leave Flo there, meet me at the villa for 8pm.= 217;

Mick put his phone away, l= ifted his binoculars and focused on the street outside the hotel, and the car in question.

‘Well?’ Roger asked, the two of them now on a high roof, wedged between a lift hous= ing and a large satellite dish.

Mick lowered his glasses and faced Roger. He made a face, taking a moment. ̵= 6;If they’re true to form, then they’ll be carrying … and read= y to use them.’

‘So what are they after?’

‘We don’t know. The mark is wandering around Europe, possibly to try and = bait the security services for the bad publicity, and this lot … they foll= ow him around and play at watchers, shooting at people taking an interest in t= he mark. Some of those that turned up in Malta are behind bars.’<= /p>

‘Mick, if their buddies are behind bars, then that lot down there either have a de= ath wish … or they don’t know.’

‘Don’t know?’ Mick queried.

‘Don’t know a fucking thing about Malta.’

Mick took in the view from the roof. ‘Sacrificial lambs?’

‘Mick, if that lot thought for a moment that someone like you was on their case … they’d fuck off.’

‘They were all amateurs in Malta…’ Mick thought out loud. ‘But what does that achieve? We can work around them and still follow= the mark; he’s all over the computer and using his own ID.’<= /p>

‘Why do you think they’re baiting the police?’

‘His brother has a long-running row with the press in various countries, accusat= ions of harassment and death threats,’ Mick explained, focusing the binoculars. ‘If we pull in the mark for nothing … they get more publicity.’

‘Any publicity from Malta?’

‘Not a thing, I kept it that way.’

‘Mick, could this be about you?’ Roger let float.

Mick faced him with a curious frown. ‘Me?’

‘I can think of a few people that would spend good money on trying to catch up with you,’ Roger warned.

‘No one could have figured I’d get this assignment. And those I’ve fucked off over the years … they don’t know who I work for.R= 17; Mick re-focused the glasses. ‘Besides, they’d send a pro, not a dozen amateurs. When the time came my head would explode, a high velocity r= ound making a nice hole, and I’d know nothing about it.’

‘Just a thought.’

Mick lowered the binoculars, staring across at Roger for several seconds.=

At 8pm, Jim drove past Mic= k in Roger’s car on the mountain road to the villa, Mick and Roger now par= ked up and waiting. They remained a further five minutes, checking the road, be= fore joining Jim.

‘Well?’ Mick asked as he slumped down onto a sofa in the huge lounge, the maid stood waiting.

‘We’re boring them,’ Jim answered as Mick asked the maid for three beers. ‘Sayeed has come and gone, and we saw him sat at a café, back = to the road as usual.’

‘Like he’s trying to be followed,’ Roger noted.

‘Thought I spotted someone with a big lens,’ Jim mentioned. ‘If Flora hadn’t been with me I could have been sure.’

‘Could just be Interpol watching Sayeed,’ Roger put in.

Mick held his hands wide. ‘We’re being paid to baby-sit, London requ= ires nothing more.’

‘But…’ Jim nudged.

‘But … there’s something more going on, and I’d like to know w= hat it is,’ Mick answered. ‘Either that, or we simply baby-sit for = five days.’

Roger eased forwards. ‘From what you’ve told me, the paymaster is alr= eady twenty or thirty grand out of pocket and down six men. This is a high stakes game, not just to piss-off the police in the press, no matter how much the brother might want to.’

‘I’m tempted to follow this all the way up the tree,’ Mick told Jim. ‘And, if we find a few half-decent professionals on the way, London w= ill pay us. If we catch a big fish, we’ll get a good bounty.’

Roger told Jim, ‘Mick and me, we hunt around the coast when we can. We̵= 7;ve picked up four individuals, a total bounty of over two hundred grand.’= ;

‘If one of the key players has a bounty on him, we’ll make a few quid,= 217; Mick told Jim, a gentle encouragement, a bit of carrot dangling.

‘Is that why you took the wallets in Malta?’ Jim asked.

‘Partly - I checked the names, but you won’t catch a big fish playing at bein= g a watcher.’

‘But the paymaster may have a few quid on his head,’ Jim noted. He shrugge= d. ‘I’m not averse to some extra income. What about Colette? And n= ow that Davies has been shot, London is paying attention.’

‘They don’t care about us looking for bounties, they pay them themselves of= ten enough,’ Roger emphasised.

‘When Sayeed flies home we’re off the case,’ Mick pointed out. ‘Best make use of the time while they’re paying us our costs.’

‘So what’s the plan?’ Jim asked before sipping his beer.

‘We try and get their wallets and mobiles,’ Mick said. ‘That may le= ad us to the next guy up the chain. The room you have in that hotel, does it f= ace the street?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we need a few condoms.’

Jim raised a flat palm. ‘Excuse me?’ he loudly asked.

Mick and Roger laughed. Mick explained, ‘Condoms full of paint. You’= ll see; it’s a tried and tested routine.’

Book 1=

“The babysitting routine”