London – Monday 19th August 2013:
Harry pulls up a chair so that he can better see the CCTV feed which Malcolm has lifted from just after 11 am the previous day. Three men – all in their late thirties to mid forties – enter the coffee shop. Malcolm fast-forwards the feed to 11.12 am, and the three men can be seen hurrying from the shop. One of them retrieves car keys from his trouser pocket, and jogs towards a car parked further down Station Road – towards where Ruth lives, Harry thinks. Then the car drives off, and towards the coast, until it reaches Alpha Road, and it turns left and out of sight of the CCTV cameras.
"I picked it up later, as they did a lap around a rather large block," Malcolm says quietly, his eyes still on the monitor. "Although the image definition is poor, they could be Russian. The driver looks Slavic around his eyes."
"That fits with what Andy Gilchrist told me. I rang the coffee shop, and he was already there, getting ready for a 9 am opening. He told me that Ruth arrived at work on time, and she was happy and looking forward to `a friend' visiting after she'd finished work." Harry grimaces, thinking of another lost opportunity. "Three men of `foreign appearance' – Andy's words – and speaking `in their tongue' – again his words – entered the shop and took a seat near the window. Ruth went out to take their order, and then she hurried back to the preparation area, which is not visible from the shop, and began babbling something about needing to leave. Andy took her into his office, and she told him that she had to leave – not only the shop, but her job there, and her flat. He prompted her, and she told him she'd worked overseas, and had left because she was in danger of some Russian men finding her."
"Had she said that to you?"
"Not in so many words. She said very little about her time in the US. She claimed she didn't wish to talk about it."
"I can understand that."
"So can I. Andy is worried about her. I had to tell him that I'm her partner …."
"Which you are, Harry."
"I'm not sure she'd call me that."
"I think her letter to you says that loud and clear. It is her attempt to deflect you from the truth, and so protect you."
Harry nods, hoping Malcolm is right. "Andy drove her home, through some back lane or other, and stayed with her while she packed a bag, and wrote the letter to me. After she took the letter next door to Mrs Pritchard, he drove her to the train station in Margate, and stayed with her until she boarded the next train. That's the last he saw of her. Malcolm, could you -?"
"Check the CCTV at all the stations between Margate and London, beginning with Victoria Station."
"Yes. That's what I was thinking."
Malcolm sits for a moment in quiet stillness. "Harry …." he says at last, "were Ruth to go somewhere she considers to be safe ….. and familiar, where would that be?"
Harry doesn't have to consider an answer. There are only two places outside London Ruth would consider to be safe and familiar to her. "Oxford ….. or Exeter."
"And which would the Russians know about?"
"Only Oxford, I imagine."
"So where would she go?"
"Exeter."
"But after her mother died last year the house was sold."
"Yes, it was."
"Harry …... you know something."
"I do, but I'm not about to say anything yet. I'd like to go to Exeter, but I fear she'd not appreciate my following her."
"It's a red flag, Harry. You might be being watched. Until the Russians are dealt with, you'd best stay close to home. I'll keep in touch. I have a plan."
"And you're not sharing it."
"No. I'm not. You're not my boss any more, Harry."
Around mid-morning Malcolm sends Harry home. Harry, being at a loose end, wanders around his house, looking at everything with a critical eye. Should they soon find Ruth, and should she agree to moving in with him, what would she think of his home? Well, for a start it's not terribly homely. He really wants to see Ruth. He needs to see her. Hopefully she will still wish to discuss a future with him, and to ensure that, he will need to consider retiring. Despite his days spent sitting behind a desk, while he works for MI5, there will always be hidden dangers for himself and those close to him.
Malcolm, meanwhile, makes a quick call to Lloyd Williams, agreeing to meet him at a pub in Wembley. His plan is underway.
London – Tuesday 20th August 2013:
Lloyd Williams had attended the same school in Swansea as Malcolm, but had been two years behind him. They had had similar backgrounds, and similar opportunities. Malcolm chose to study hard for his A levels and achieved straight A's. Lloyd's father had died when he was fifteen, and his life spiralled from there. Malcolm had pledged to help him at every opportunity, and now such an opportunity presented itself. Malcolm knows that he can rely upon Lloyd to do a job which he himself would never consider. Malcolm arrives only a couple of minutes before Lloyd, so he is able to watch him unseen as he weaves his way between the tables in the beer garden behind the pub. Malcolm has chosen this particular pub because it only has CCTV cameras inside the main building, and none in the beer garden, and why that is is beyond him.
Malcolm can see signs of aging and struggle in the face of his old friend, and feels momentarily guilty about not maintaining regular contact . The truth is that their lives have been too different, and now all they have in common is their early history.
"I have a job for you," Malcolm says without preamble. "Inside this envelope are images of three men – Russians -"
"I hate bloody Russians," Lloyd says, his Welsh accent still evident.
"- and £2000, and that is just a down-payment. If you are ….. successful …. there is more to come ….. a lot more."
"How much more?"
"You know I'll deliver, and you know I'm generous."
"Yes. I do."
Malcolm continues, his eyes holding Lloyd's eyes. "There are also CCTV images of these three men in Oxford. The addresses of the places they have been seen over the past two days are written on the back of the photographs. I have also included their names, but I suspect you'll not need to know that. All I ask is that you are careful, and do not try to befriend them -"
"As if I would!"
"- and do a clean job. Do not leave any traces of yourself ….. anywhere."
Understanding what he is being asked to do, Lloyd nods. This is not the first time he has done something like this, but it will be the first time he has done it for Malcolm. These guys must be really bad for Malcolm to be requiring his services.
"When the job is complete, use this phone to contact me." Malcolm slides a `clean' phone across the table towards Lloyd, who palms it, and slips it in his jacket pocket. "There is just one number programmed into it, and that is the only number you'll be able to ring. The money I am giving you is for expenses. I expect you to have completed your task within 72 hours. If you don't, you're on your own, and I'll hire someone more …... professional."
"I'm professional. You can count on me. Russians! If I had my way, they'd all be dead."
"Well, that might be a task too far for one lifetime, Lloyd. Do you have any questions?" Lloyd shakes his head. "If you think of something just ring me on that phone I gave you. Goodbye."
Malcolm stands, and walks out of the garden through a side entrance. Behind him, Lloyd Williams takes his time finishing his half pint of beer.
London - Thursday 22nd August 2013:
Harry is up early as usual, having showered, shaved and dressed ready for work. He sits on the sofa in his living room while he eats his fried egg on toast, and drinks his morning pick-me-up – a cup of strong coffee. He has the TV turned to a news channel, and is only half listening to it as he swallows the last piece of toast, wiping around his mouth with a paper serviette. He reads the banner at the botton of the screen, and sees the word OXFORD in bold letters. He quickly grabs the remote control from the coffee table and turns up the volume.
"….. Although there were no witnesses to the skirmish outside the hotel in Bath Place, patrons reported raised voices between the three men while they were drinking inside the venue. It is thought that one man drew a knife, and so the others retaliated. This is the third drinking related death this month in the wider Oxford area. All three were Russian nationals, while the fourth man possesses an Albanian passport. Police are looking into the possibility that all four men were in this country illegally.
Now to the weather -"
Harry mutes the sound on the TV just as his phone rings.
"Malcolm!" he says in greeting.
"Have you seen the news?"
"Just then. Are they our men?"
"Yes. An earlier bulletin showed images of them, and yes, they are the same ones. There were only three Russians, all of whom are dead. A fourth man was involved, and he's in hospital on life support. Ruth is free to come home ….. to London."
"I might ring her," Harry says, feeling excited.
"I can check the B&B's if you like. It might save you time that you can best spend together."
"Thank you, Malcolm. Thank you for everything. I won't be free to go to Exeter until Sunday."
"I'll get back to you."
And he does. Harry has just sat on a spare bench by the Thames, a chicken salad filled roll between his fingers, when Malcolm rings.
"Anne Redden is staying at the Oakcliffe Hotel in Exeter. She booked in on Sunday afternoon for 7 nights. And Harry, the country won't sink into chaos if you take an unscheduled day off."
"Thank you, Malcolm."
Malcolm's decision to keep Harry in the dark about Lloyd Williams was a good one. At just after midnight, Malcolm had been woken by the ringing of his safe phone from on top of his bedside table.
"Malcolm?" Of course it was Lloyd.
"I hope this is good news," Malcolm had replied.
"The best news possible. I didn't have to do a thing. They got into a dust up with another feller and they killed each other."
"What do you mean?"
"I followed them down this lane to a pub, right? And I watched them as they tried to drink one another under the table. Then they started fighting with this feller - a foreigner - who came up to them and began arguing with them. The fight went outside to the back of the pub, and they each drew knives. I watched from the doorway, along with a dozen other punters. They're all dead, Malcolm - all except the fourth feller, but he wasn't Russain - and I didn't have to lift a finger. Do you want your money back? I've only spent a little under £200."
"No, you keep it, and I'll transfer another £2000 to your account tomorrow when I go online. It's not your fault someone else got there first."
"Good bloody riddance, I reckon."
Malcolm had ended the call, and tried to go back to sleep, but his own curiosity had kept him awake. He'd put on his dressing gown and slippers and headed to his office. There he checked hospital records in Oxford. Davud Bogdani had been admitted to hospital at 11.12 pm with multiple knife wounds. Malcolm already knew that Davud Bogdani was a member of the Albanian mafia, and had previously been hired by the CIA to do their dirty work in Europe. If Bogdani survives, he's hardly likely to talk. Malcolm sees this as a tidy outcome ... a line drawn at the bottom of a rather messy page.
By the time he arrives back home at just after 8 pm, Harry has organised for Erin and Dimitri to take over his tasks for the next day, and mentally he is planning his drive to Exeter. From joy to despair, and then back to joy again, all within the space of four days. He just hopes Ruth will be as happy to see him as he will be to see her.
A/N: It seems there are a few Roxy-haters among you, and there I was, in writing her, attempting to create a sympathetic character. As if she'd have Ruth killed!