Chapter Two – A Nice Night For A Swim
Alex took the long way home.
He walked beneath the bare trees, feet crunching on the thin layer of grimy snow. Snow that couldn't even be bothered to stay white and now, in the gleam of the streetlights, seemed orange. The pavement showed through from underneath, patches of discarded chewing gum creating ridges underneath his shoes.
Alex didn't notice any of this however. He was busy turning over the conversation he had had with Bruno in his mind. He'd been worried, scared even. After a few more whiskies he'd tried to pass it off for paranoia, although Alex knew otherwise. Out on the field, Bruno had always been the bloke you looked to in an emergency. Calm and collected, Bruno could handle anything.
But could he handle this?
Bruno could pass it off as anything he liked and it wouldn't fool Alex. Not for a second. Something was wrong and, retired or not, Alex was going to get to the bottom of it.
He turned down a quiet side street and froze.
Down the street, in front of one of the houses, was a gaggle of hooded young men all huddled around a smaller, un-hooded figure. It was now dark, and the group were all huddled inside the blind spot in between the streetlights, orange beams occasionally grazing the edge of a jacket or sleeve when one of them moved too suddenly. The point was, Alex realised, that no one would see them unless they were actually looking for them.
The largest of the hooded men grabbed the small figure and pushed them up against the railings. The figure flailed and writhed in panic, hands scrabbling against the cold metal.
"Oi." Alex's voice carried down the street perfectly, as if having been shouted down a megaphone. The men looked down the street towards him, although the one holding the figure up against the fence didn't let go. Alex strode over.
"What's going on?" He asked, trying to make his voice sound imposing.
"Nothing you should be worried about, old man." The voice came from one of the taller figures. It seemed upper-class somehow, as if from Oxford or Cambridge.
"On the contrary, my friend." Alex replied, applying a little sarcasm. "I am worried." At this, a different hoodie stepped forward aggressively.
"Back off." He barked. Alex didn't flinch.
"No." He replied. "Let him go." He nodded over towards the figure held up against the railings.
Now, closer up, Alex could make out the figure a little bit better. He was a young man, possibly eighteen or nineteen with thick, dark hair, although in the streetlight it was hard to make out the colour. Other distinguishing features included large, dark eyes and a rather long nose. He wasn't looking Alex in the eye.
The hoodie laughed.
"Back off." He said, adding a little more force to his order.
"No." Alex repeated, unfalteringly. It was then that the hooded man tried to shove him backwards.
He didn't get very far.
Anticipating a physical attack, as the hoodie lurched forwards, Alex placed the palm of his hand against the man's chest shoving him backwards into the man behind him. The man fell backwards, landing on the crisp, snowy pavement.
Another man lurched forwards and Alex grabbed his left hand and twisted it behind his back, shoving him face first into the railings, holding him still with his arm.
"Anyone else see a problem with letting this young man go?" Alex said, his voice icy and cold. No one spoke. "Leave." He ordered. The man on the floor picked himself up and after a moment, gestured for the others to follow him. They sloped off down the street.
Alex turned back to the boy.
He was still up against the railings, cowering slightly, staring after the men.
"Are you alright?" Alex asked, surveying him through squinted eyes. The boy nodded quickly, still not meeting Alex's gaze.
"Who were they?" Alex asked.
"No one." The reply was quick, rehearsed and Alex frowned.
"I see..." He said, looking back down the street. "Do you need a ride home?"
"No." The boy said, stepping away from the railings, still staring fixedly at the pavement. "Thank you." With that, he hurriedly walked away from Alex, head bent low into the collar of his coat.
Alex watched him go, a little annoyed. After all, he had just saved that ungrateful little sod's arse from those thugs. The least he could have done was look him in the eye. He shook his head and crossed the road.
Forty-three Werner Street was a large semi detached house, overlooking the sports field. Large, gleaming bay windows adorned the front face and a large, neatly mown lawn rolled down to meet the street . Alex couldn't help feeling proud of his home. He'd travelled all over the world, but never before had he taken such pride in a property.
He unlocked the front door and was immediately leapt upon by a huge, furry beast. It was Sam, the Alsatian, completely fed up with sitting alone in front of the television and exceptionally glad to see his master.
After prising the huge dog off his chest, Alex managed to make his way to the living room, where he settled down in one of the armchairs and started to watch the news. However, his mind was still to unsettled to focus on the glossy, female newsreader.
He'd started the day with the funeral of quite possibly the most influential woman in Britain. She'd been ninety eight when she'd died, Bruno had a point about her clinging desperately onto her job...but did that necessarily mean that the rest of Bruno's accusations were justified? After all, there were plenty of security measures in place at MI6; Alex found it hard to believe that none of them would object to such missions...
Then of course, he had rescued that boy from those thugs...to receive almost absolutely nothing in return. Even though petty and slightly snobbish, Alex couldn't help feeling a little irritated by this. He wasn't exactly expecting a fanfare but a solemn thank you and maybe a name to go by would have been appreciated. After all, those thugs could find that boy again, surely?
Alex's brain continued on similar thought tracks for the next few days. Although life continued along the same pattern, he couldn't help feeling disturbed by what Bruno had told him and annoyed at the boy's dismissal.
Cutting up some carrots for dinner on the following Sunday, Alex was still turning over the two situations in his mind. The boy could still be in danger now, surely? After all, Alex had only got rid of the bullies once and who knows how many other times they could have hurt him. The spy within him wondered exactly what it was that the thugs had wanted. Money? Drugs? The boy hadn't looked like a dealer....it was times like these that Alex had to remind himself that it wasn't any of his business and that he shouldn't go poking his nose into other people's affairs. After all, what could he do about it? He was a retired seventy two year old with an obese dog and partiality to treacle tart.
From the kitchen, he heard the sound of post being pushed through the door and after throwing Sam a bit of raw carrot, he shuffled along the hall to collect it. That was odd, post wasn't delivered on Sundays.
It was a postcard from the Docklands Hilton Hotel, however, it was the back that interested Alex.
Tonight. Hungerford Bridge. Midnight. Come Alone.
I need to tell you more.
B.
Bruno. There could be no other explanation. Unless of course it was someone pretending to be Bruno. Either way, Alex had never been one to play it safe.
The taxi came at 11:30pm. The driver seemed grumpy and tired, having obviously been on the job for some hours.
"Hungerford Bridge, please." Alex said, settling down on the back seat.
"You catching a train?" The driver asked, pulling away from the kerb. Hungerford Bridge was a railway line, no accessible by foot. The choice of meeting place had confused Alex too.
"No..." Alex said. "I'm meeting...a friend."
"Oh." The driver was quiet for the rest of the journey, scowling out into the darkness.
Alex questioned his decision to venture out. All he had received was a postcard, he could be walking outside into fire fight for all he knew. He had come out alone, but he wasn't unprotected.
Wrapped around his chest was a full torso piece of body armour, covered with a dark shirt and pullover. In a small holster to the side of his chest was a Browning 9x19mm Hi-Power handgun and a Swiss army knife was strapped to the inside of his left leg. Fifty years in the business had abolished any naivety he may have had when he was younger.
If it wasn't Bruno that had sent the message, a man might die tonight and he was going to take every precaution to make sure it wasn't him.
"Stop here please." The driver pulled up to the side of the road and Alex paid him. Alex climbed out into the cool, wintry night and watched the taxi drive away.
He'd asked the driver to stop quite a way away from the bridge. If things were going to get nasty, he wanted as few people involved as possible, not to mention he didn't want to be a complete sitting duck.
The pathway he was now on ran along the side of the Thames, the black water rippled dangerously on the other side of the metal railing. The tide was out and a small strip of grey sand ran in front of the lapping waves. Waterloo Bridge stretched out across the water behind him, casting a dark, haunting shadow. The other end was blocked off to pedestrians, wooden boarding advertising the exciting new 'Opal Theatre' currently under construction. Across the water, Alex could just make out the grey, ghostly silhouette of Cleopatra's needle.
Alex turned and there was Hungerford Bridge.
The huge, grey expanse of metal and concrete stretched over the dark, rippling water, huge metal spike scraping the dark, cloudy sky. The shadow of the bridge shielded the underside, cloaked in blackness.
In between the two bridges was a ferry terminal and on the other side, two grey buildings: a prime location for snipers. The pathway was bathed in a silvery glow. If he ventured out onto the pathway, he was an easy target.
But then, if it really was just Bruce, there was nothing to worry about. He glanced over his shoulder and that was when he saw him.
A black figure had pulled itself back into the shadows of Waterloo Bridge, dodging the puddles of moonlight. Alex threw himself to the floor.
Bullets tore through the air where his head had been less than a second ago. In the sudden chaos, Alex crawled along the floor and threw himself over the edge of the walkway, landing on the cool, slightly wet sand beneath.
Ok, so it wasn't Bruno.
Either that or Bruno had transformed into a murdering psychopath. Alex straightened up and found the handgun.
Silence.
Footsteps.
Alex peered over the wall. A bullet missed his ear. Snipers. Probably positioned on the roof of one of the buildings. While he crouched, they couldn't reach him. He shuffled along the wall.
He couldn't run forever. Waterloo Bridge cut out into the middle of the river and there was no gap for Alex to creep through without swimming. Swimming against the current, snipers and breathtaking temperature may have once been an option worth considering, but now at seventy-two Alex didn't think it advisable. Then again, neither was leaping back over the wall into the midst of a fire fight.
Another torrent of bullets cascaded over the wall. Alex flinched and looked back over at the water. How deep would it be? He couldn't believe he was even considering this...
He glanced up at the wall. Before long, the snipers would move closer, rendering his hiding place useless. He had to move now, whatever his options.
He took off his shoes.
As soon as he moved an inch away from the wall, the snipers would have a clear target. He would have to move fast. He flicked the safety catch off his handgun and fired a few haphazard shots over the wall. He then darted forward and threw himself into the icy water.
Luckily, the water got very deep, very quickly and so Alex found himself completely and utterly submerged. This was a blessing from one point of view and a curse from another. All thoughts and rational feelings were completely smashed out of his brain as freezing water submerged his entire body. Senses paralysed, Alex found himself screaming internally as the iciness pierced every single inch of flesh.
It was the bullet that jerked him back into reality.
It nearly hit him in the leg. Panic flared inside his head, pulling his non-functioning brain to the current situation. Now was not the time to go berserk over a cool bath, now was the time to move your arse.
Staying submerged, Alex started to pull the murky water towards him, pulling himself through. Bullet splattered around him, each one more and more wildly targeted. The darkness of the water was to Alex's advantage: the snipers wouldn't be able to see him.
His body had begun to tire, his seventy two years starting to make themselves known. His strokes shortened and his lungs begged for air. Not yet, he thought.
He made it to the pillar of the bridge, now half way. His lungs were near breaking point. Recklessly, he came up for air, although the sudden crack of a bullet made him quickly swallow a mouthful of dirty river water. Tired, lungs aching and desperately needing to cough, Alex felt defeated. Swimming had been a stupid idea and now he was going to die. Alone.
No. A small part of his mind suddenly spoke up. No, I'm not going to die. Not now.
Defiantly, he pulled another stroke towards the wall on the opposite side of the bridge and found himself marooned. Sand. He put his hand down and felt it sink into the greyish riverbank.
Thank Christ.
He pulled himself up and ran the last couple of metres, bare feet on sand, exhaustion making every step a little shorter than the last. If he didn't move quickly, the assassins would find another way around the boarding cutting off the bridge. He had to move fast.
Running soon wasn't an option. After sprinting down a side alley and a fairly long way down the main road, he collapsed onto a bench, breath ragged. No further.
Tonight had been weird. Someone somewhere obviously wanted to kill him. Why? It must have had something to do with Bruno, otherwise why use his name? But then, if someone just wanted him out of the way, why not come to his house and do it? It would save everyone a lot of bother...
A car rounded the corner. It was dark with the windows blacked out: features that immediately set alarm bells ringing. Run. Wearily, Alex picked himself up from the bench before realising there wasn't much point moving as the car was already halfway towards him. It pulled up and the passenger window rolled down.
Haynes.
"Rider?" He asked. "Get in."