A Choice of Evils (11 page)

I was soon out of bed and skipped through my morning rituals to now be on my way to Golders Green. The traffic was in my favour as I weaved my way through to earn some anti-social gestures from other drivers. I knew Dr Bruce did not arrive at his Research Lab until 10am. So my one hour journey to arrive would coincide with him leaving his Willifield Road home.

When I arrived, there was a readymade parking space a hundred yards from his house. I now rigged up my camera lens hidden behind a newspaper which I tested for position of a good picture. Fortunately it was fairly quiet here and perhaps too early for the curtain twitchers to be curious about a stationary car. My eyes peered over the top of my newspaper and I did not have to wait long. At 8.15am he came out of his house oblivious of my camera clicking away. I took four good pictures as he walked briefcase in hand to his BMW car.

He was about 5 10 in height and roughly 90k in weight. His light brown hair was much shorter than mine and he wore black framed spectacles. An average looking man, I thought and I was sure my impersonation of him would not be a problem for Lisa and Laura the make-up artistes. As soon as I had the deposit box passwords from Dave the weasel, I could perform the necessary task at the bank. Now I reminded myself to change over Bruce’s tapes again in a few days as I drove away on seeing his car blend into the other traffic.

Back at Surrey Quays I put the film into the chemist for developing to collect next day then went home. Some inspiration to type some more of my novel went slowly as writers mind block produced me just three and a half pages.

My concentration was broken by a phone call from Doc’. Could I meet him at 2pm at the dog’s home? He sounded pleased with his work on the keys and that was good to hear for me. I was making progress. The carriage clock chimed one which left me an hour to get there.

There was no problem with the traffic and parking was easy too. I liked meetings that were kept on time. As usual, Doc’ was there tapping his Reeboks outside the dogs home. We were soon part of the visitors looking around the kennels.

Doc’ handed me the keys he had cut, then from his pocket pulled out a ‘clock housing’ on its own. ‘See this,’ he told me. ‘This is the same security lock that those keys were made for. They’re used for safe deposit boxes. Go ahead Jack, you try them?’ he invited. That was music to my ears. Doc’ grinned as I went through the motions. They fitted and worked perfectly. ‘I’ve cut them in such a way that I guarantee them to open any deposit box,’ he continued. A smug smile lit up his face. He was a clever so and so, I thought. I passed him his £100 with another twenty on top. I knew Doc’ had done a good job. Our business was complete. If there any more help needed I was to give him a call he said as we parted like old friends do.

Also on my itinerary today were the change overs of the tapes at Ahmed’s and Bruce’s houses to be done this evening. I wanted a clear day tomorrow after collecting the films from the chemist and I needed to be in good form for my meeting with Susan. With that in mind, I drove home to collect my kit for the evening’s business.

It was 5pm when I arrived and safely put away the deposit box keys until I needed them. Now with my thieving tools to hand, I was back in my car to do the journeys again stopping at Lyndon gardens, Notting Hill first. As I knew Ahmed’s house well now, I was in and out with tapes changed within minutes. Then I went off to Willifield Road, Golders Green to repeat the exercise again. It was now all done with me back home at 7.30pm.

At home, I got straight into listening to the tapes hearing Ahmed’s first. The first few minutes of recording was taken up with issues of a domestic nature. Then what followed made me get up from my settee. Ahmed was being asked to deliver the ‘present’ within the next fourteen days as British Intelligence had been detected sniffing around the Embassy with parabolic listening devices. I had no idea when the time of this message was recorded. Was it conceivable that my meeting with Ahmed at Tesco’s was also under surveillance by the British Intelligence Service? I sat listening to Ahmed’s reply. ‘It’s all under control,’ he was saying. ‘I shall make it clear to him urgently.’ The voice hesitated then spoke again. ‘Our time is short. It is imperative that a resolution is concluded soon.’ A discussion about a duty roster then followed and finished the conversation.

I moved to exchange the tapes and listened to Bruce’s one.

On listening to his voice, it was clear that this was a man who chose his words carefully even talking about domestic things. First I listened to a pictorial description of an art auction he had attended. He was describing the refinements of a Canaletto painting then a conversation with a female turned into a promise of a candlelit dinner.

I listened carefully to his voice and the tenets of his vocabulary. The only thing of interest was about his attendance at a MOD (Ministry Of Defence) meeting at Porton Down, Devon. It was public knowledge that this was a government establishment for chemical weapons research. His meeting was scheduled for the last week in March. That was ten days from today. I saw that as my opportunity for calling at the bank’s safety deposit boxes. My meeting with Dave and the sisters would fit in just nicely, I thought.

In order to ensure my impersonation of Bruce was complete, I would ask Peter the pen to make me up another pass and I would put a reduced photo of Bruce on it. I would need his signature too so a bunch of flowers would be delivered for him to sign for at the Tropical Research Lab. It was easy to knock up an invoice for that. The flowers would purport to come from a belated valentine’s admirer and be seen as a light hearted frolic. But that would gain me his signature to use on the pass. This was a contingency measure in case I needed some identification other than my appearance at the bank. At least if I was challenged I would have something to show.

There was no room for mistakes now. One mistake and I would become my own executioner. I knew what I was up against with Ahmed and the formula. If the British Intelligence Service got a whiff of what was going on, then it would be goodbye Jack and hello prison, or even worse. They were not sniffing around the Iranian Embassy for nothing, I pondered. The formula had to be in my hands by the end of this month.

It was not often I doubted my own ability. As a thief, I had overcome some near impossible challenges in the past. Experience was something you never lost, even though I had been retired for the past ten years. Now I was at it again and greed and need often exchanged hats, so to speak. Old habits die hard – if the price was right. I didn’t need to get involved in this saga. I had been doing very well as a writer for a living and just the thought of it all took me to the scotch bottle. I poured myself a large one.

Time was getting on again. The carriage clock chimes reminded me to phone Peter for another pass. He was on his way to bed when I called but we agreed on a price as usual. A meeting was arranged for 10am in the morning after I had collected the Bruce photos from the chemist. After midday tomorrow, the rest of the day was mine. My thoughts turned to Susan.

By 11.30 I was in bed trying to plot out the next part of my novel. I was able to embellish aspects of my recent activities in my story. Yet it was not difficult trying to separate fiction from facts in real life. Sleep stole quietly over me as the night disappeared.

Next morning, I was greeted by mouse in the usual way. I let him carry on laughing for a while so as not to fall asleep again. A look out the window gave me an idea what the day would be like. There was no sign of rain but it looked crisp and cold. A need for the bathroom and a cup of coffee had me out of bed to make ready some breakfast and perform my usual routine.

A mental preamble of the day’s plans seemed easy enough. Collect photos, meet Peter. Get him to do me an invoice for the flowers and another pass. The thought that I was on a day count down to the end of the month would keep me on my toes. But with Susan at the back of my mind, our meeting at 8.30 was something to look forward to.

The news on the radio was dismal. Wars around the world and royal family squabbles preceded a report that the pope was on his knees away from Rome, kissing the tarmac in a foreign land. What did anyone ever have to show for all the prayers offered? I wondered. Maybe I was being a bit cynical. There were forces for good and bad in the world but where did I fit in? All I knew was that I had to get that formula. It was fast becoming my passport to sanity. I switched off the radio. There was enough bad news in my head without filling it up with more.

I needed to get out of the house. My post box was empty. But I then noticed a black rover car parked suspiciously close to mine. There was no sign of a driver or occupants in it. I always parked in that spot so I could see my car from my house. As there were no houses nearby where I parked, I wondered where the driver could have gone too. Was I just being over suspicious or was it coincidence maybe? I lingered for a few minutes hoping that someone would drive the car away. Nobody came. I decided to walk to the shops and passed the car without a glance.

It was a fresh morning as I strolled along. My thoughts nagged me about the car. A look back towards it saw nothing unusual. In the paper shop, I made a fool of myself having arrived without any money. I took one on credit. On the way back home, I noticed that the rover car had gone. That was within a space of 15 minutes. It troubled me, even though I had no good reason why it should. It was only a car. Perhaps I was getting too paranoid, I thought.

Back home, I killed time reading until I knew the chemist would be open. Two hours later, I was there collecting the photos, then I met Peter at Surrey Quays and discussed the terms of our business. He would phone me as soon as the new pass and the invoice were ready, he said. It was all sorted and done before midday.

When I arrived home the answerphone was blinking a message. There were two. Perhaps Susan had called. No. It was the beautiful Aisha. She had been thinking about me and she would phone again, she had said. The second call was blank. Though I could tell someone was listening on the line. The faint slam of a car door caught my attention followed by silence. I played it again to confirm what I had heard. Was it somebody wanting to know if I was in? Ahmed would have left a message. The slam of that car door? The black rover car? Was there a connection? I made for the scotch bottle. I was in need of a tonic.

Something made look around my sitting room. It was just a feeling. Call it instinct if you like, but I felt uncomfortable about it. Could anyone have been in while I was at the paper shop? My eyes scanned over the furniture, cupboards, pictures, TV and everything I could see. I examined my front door lock. There were some scratches on the brass key hole. But that was probably due to my fumbling with the keys on opening the door myself or was it?

Into the kitchen, my eyes searched for disturbances again but I was unsure what I was looking for. In the bedroom, I looked around for any signs of obvious clues but could not remember how I had left things. Back to the telephone, I examined the base knowing it was a good place to hide a bug yet everything seemed ok. There was nothing to justify my suspicions. Was I just being paranoid? Who would want to bug me other than the intelligence services? Surely they would have pulled me by now? I told myself I was imagining things. I was spooking myself.

I checked where I had hidden all the photos taken at the zoo. They were with the tapes stuffed down the side of my settee and they were still there. I could find nothing to support the possibility that someone had been in my house. Yet again, I had been in a position to say that about myself in the past, when I had been in people’s houses. Forget it, I told myself.

Over a slug of scotch, I shrugged off the idea. At least I wanted to convince myself that thoughts were not facts. I examined the photos from the chemist. The close ups of Bruce had turned out really good. Also the one inch square miniature I had asked for was perfect too. It would be a couple more days before Dave the weasel got in touch, but then everything would come together. At least that’s how I believed it would be.

My meeting with Susan this evening would be a welcome diversion. She was game for a laugh and enjoyed playing games with lip sticks and jelly babies. What I needed now was space filler. It was a chance to do some more typing on the novel. I had nearly reached half away and I was glad when I got past that point.

Getting myself in the right frame of mind, it was easy to get back into my stride. Somehow, the recent paranoia helped me to imagine where the plot was leading me. Some of my reality fitted in just nicely and my fingers were soon tapping away into the afternoon. I don’t remember stopping before I heard the carriage clock chime 6 bells. That was it. I had done enough to make my back ache and want to move. Another eight pages were added to my manuscript. It was time for a dip in the shower before making my way downtown to meet Susan. An hour later, I was ready to leave home when my taxi arrived at 8pm with the sound of a honking horn.

It was only a twenty minutes journey to the restaurant cutting down the back streets. The cab arrived in good time to see Susan wearing a low cut pastel pink dress, holding an evening bag by the entrance doors. Her long golden hair flowed down her back and I could see she was turning a few heads as people made their way in. I was soon at her side leading the way.

It was almost a twilight atmosphere as we sat at table overlooking the River Thames. Candles burned, while the lights shone dimly on the stage. Susan smiled approvingly as a waiter came and poured two glasses of red wine. Tables were filling up quickly while an air of expectation hung over the place.

We went through the preliminaries of conversation. How nice she looked. How were the trips to faraway places? She enjoyed being an air stewardess and her living expenses were low compared to mine. There was plenty of perks too, she said. How about me? What was I up too? The new novel was coming on fine. I was under pressure from the publishers. But things were going well. All the excitement in my life took place in the books, I told her. Except when I was with her, I added. Susan smiled. Our knees touched under the table. We said all the right things. Now the show was starting.