Nothing Personal: Part Fourteen

~ beetleypete

This is the fourteenth part of a fiction serial, in 797 words.

Finishing his second cognac, Clive paid for the drinks on his Tony Scott credit card and walked outside to the taxi rank in front of the hotel. He told the driver to take him to the Hilton Hotel on Park Lane. On the way, the cabbie wanted to chat.

“So you’re going from one Hilton to another one. What d’ya do, work for Hilton or summink?” Not in the mood, he replied as curtly as possible, indicating no futher conversation was required.

“No, nothing like that. It seems I went to the wrong Hilton. The person I was supposed to meet is in Park Lane, not Canary Wharf”. Although the taxi dropped him right outside, he didn’t go in. Instead, he walked north along Park Lane to the Dorchester Hotel, and hailed a cab just pulling away from the entrance.

“Royal Free Hospital, please”. He had no intention of taking a taxi all the way to the Hampstead House, and knew the hospital was a short walk from the heath. Luckily, the driver of that cab was also in no mood for chit-chat.

There was no point approaching the house covertly, as it was bound to have all kinds of security. Night-vision CCTV cameras, proximity alarms, automatic lights, to say the least. Best to march up to the front door and see what happened. He wasn’t surprised that the door was open, and he could hear the noise of a TV from the main room at the front once he was in the hallway.

Alison was stretched out on a leather Chesterfield holding a glass of wine and staring at the big flat-screen. It was the twenty-four hour news channel run by the BBC. He would like to have walked over and battered her unconscious, just to release the tension, but the convoluted journey from the site of the job back to Hampstead, and two large glasses of very good Cognac had mellowed his desire for immediate revenge.

As always, she was as cool as a cucumber.

“Sorry about the no taxi, Tiger. It was a test of sorts. Shall we say an aptitude test?” She sat up, and reached for her cigarettes. “You passed it with flying colours of course, I knew you would, and told John just that. I didn’t think it was at all necessary, truth be told, but he’s the boss. Anyway, you did a first-rate job, sit down and watch your success unfold on the news”. Lighting the cigarette, she moved her legs to free up the third seat on the long sofa.

Three hours or more after the event, the talking heads were already blaming the Protestant paramilitaries of the UVF for the killing in Beckton Park, calling it a ‘Terrorist attack’. There was no way the forensics could be back that fast, so there had obviously been some kind of leak to the journalists. The reporter was standing with her back to the police crime scene tape, and the camerman was doing his best to zoom in on the burnt out wreckage. There was a tent over something in the car park, probably Jimmy’s body. They showed a previous piece with a local senior police officer rambling on about suspects and ongoing investigations.

Standing up, Alison walked over to a side table and refilled her glass.

“By morning, things will be heating up over in the six counties. Sinn Fein has already withdrawn from any further talks, and IRA sympathisers are on the streets of Newry and Derry throwing stones at the police and setting fire to buses and cars. Next there will be revenge killings of Protestants, and I give it two days to all go to rat shit in the province”. She came and sat down again, staring at him.

“No need to be so sullen. You were never really in any danger, because you’re too good at your job. If you had been caught, then you wouldn’t have been worth recruiting anyway. But I told John that even if they had arrested you, you would have stayed silent, and we could easily have extricated you from some local cop shop. You have to realise that we can’t have peace in Northern Ireland. For one thing, that would put a lot of my colleagues out of a job. Besides, there’s no way were’re giving Paddy Land the six counties back, even if we don’t want them. That would be a sign of weakness”.

With Clive still not talking, she started to get edgy. Then she thought of something to diffuse the situation.

“What do you say to ten days leave? You did a great job, and deserve a rest. Go anywhere you like, if there’s anywhere you want to go”.

He thought of somewhere he wanted to go,

32 thoughts on “Nothing Personal: Part Fourteen”

  1. I think many operatives want the troubles around the world to continue. In our state much of the economy is military based(jet engines, submarines.) I did find it ironic that the state university students here wanted the university to get out of the weapons business without knowing that that business sustained the public university!(A sidebar I know, but thought you would enjoy.)

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    1. In my last job, I found out a few things that managed to surprise me, as cynical as I was by then. And that was only the tip of the massive iceberg that represents the ‘secret state’ in many countries, including the UK.

      Best wishes, Pete.

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  3. I don’t know how you come up with these creative serials, so detailed, surprising and intriguing. Your writing just draws the reader in. And every story is so different along with all the characters. You really are an incredible writer Pete. You should publish a few of your serials in a compilation of short stories. It would be a best seller. Hugs, C

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    1. You kind words are much appreciated, but I really don’t have the energy for writing a book or compling stories, getting them onto Amazon, then having to promote them. I am happy for everyone to read them on here, free of charge.

      Best wishes, Pete. x

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    1. We are all part of the game those people play as they control everything but make us think we are masters of our own fate in some way. You will see where he is going later today.

      Best wishes, Pete.

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  7. (1) Loretta Lynn, who was born a coal miner’s daughter, avoided Canary Wharf for reasons she never explained.
    (2) Bad citation: “Alison was stretched out on a leather Chesterfield holding a glass of red wine and smoking Chesterfield cigarettes.”
    (3) Alison was as cool as a sea cucumber. And, as usual, deep in thought.
    (4) The world champion origami artist watched his success unfold on the news. It brought tears to his eyes.
    (5) Bad citation: “With Clive still not talking, Alison started to get edgy. And then she fell off the sofa. That resulted in a hard landing on the floor, causing her to choke on her cigarette butt, and her silk lingerie’s cheeky knickers to be splattered with red wine.”
    (6) Overheard:
    Alison: “You did a great job, and deserve a rest. Go anywhere you like, if there’s anywhere you want to go.”
    Clive: “I’d like to go to your place and spend ten days in bed. But I don’t think I’d get all that much rest.”

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    1. They really do, Janet. The ‘Deep State’ is not a theory, it is the real world of the security services beyond what they let us know. Everything is a game to them, they even call it ‘The Great Game’.

      Best wishes, Pete.

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