A Choice of Evils (17 page)

‘The meeting must take place in the open air, preferably coastal. You will arrange to walk along the beach with him but certainly not within the sight of other people. Once you have your money, you must make an excuse to leave. Is that understood?’

‘Clearly.’ I answered.

‘Good.’ He continued. ‘We want you to meet him in the evening at Widdicombe Bay in Cornwall. Your meeting point will be outside the life guards watch tower. It will be empty after 6pm. You will walk with him on the beach. Adhere to the instructions and wait to hear from us at home.’

I glanced at the faces of Inspector Marsh and Sergeant Morton. Both wore blank expressions. Commander Bennett then handed me the red folder. My mind was hyper active wondering if there was a catch. It sounded simple enough. I knew their eyes were upon me as I looked at the folder.

‘Here,’ the Commander said. ‘Put it in this briefcase.’ I did.

‘I want you to phone him now and arrange the meeting for Monday evening at 6pm and tell him you are having a holiday there. Do you have his number with you?’ I had. It was in my head. Silence presided over the room while I dialled on my mobile. After a few seconds a voice answered.

‘Dr Ahmed?’ I queried.

‘Who is calling? Jack? One moment, please.’ The voice told me. A gap of five seconds and Ahmed was on the line.

‘Jack, I was expecting you to call. Have you been shopping?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I have your present. Do you have mine ready?’

‘But of course. It has been ready for some time. Where shall we exchange presents?’

‘I will be on a week holiday in Cornwall. Could you meet me by the lifeguards watch tower at Widdicombe Bay on Monday at 6pm? We could walk on the beach. It is a very nice place to walk.’

‘It is a long way from home, isn’t it? But why not, like you, I enjoy the sea. It is agreed then.’

‘Ok. Agreed then.’ I confirmed.

An audible sigh could be heard as the call finished. It seemed our business for the time being was concluded. I declined an invitation for coffee but accepted a lift back to Battersea Park to collect my car. It did not take long to arrive there.

‘That’s it then until Monday.’ Said Inspector Marsh.

‘Until Monday?’ I queried.

‘We shall be there before you,’ she smiled. Then as soon as I was out of the car she drove away from the café. I stood watching for a moment, holding on to the briefcase. It felt like I was standing in the centre of the world.

Back in my car, I manoeuvred slowly out of the car park, thinking that MI5s presence at Widdicombe Bay was my security with Ahmed. Would he pay me the money? I wondered. Would he examine the formula in front of me? Would he know what should be within those pages? Should I not hand the formula over until I had seen the balance of the money? All these thoughts were going through my mind as I drove up Prince of Wales drive and past the dog’s home.

There was the usual Saturday evening traffic as I made my way home. A few pavement drunks had already ruined their own evening being the worse for wear. I felt a sudden need for an extra-large scotch when I got home. There was plenty for me to feel irate about but there was nobody at home to shout at about myself. I began to wonder why MI5 would want to exchange one fake formula for another. I looked at the briefcase beside me but no answer came to my mind.

It took thirty minutes to get home and everything appeared as I had left things when I got inside. I was sure they had no need to bug me anymore. They already had me by the balls but it was better than a life time in jail.

I soon had a large scotch in my hands as the armchair folded around me as I flopped into it. Both the alcohol and the silence took me into a foggy haze. Somewhere there, I could see myself talking to Ahmed on the beach. Half a bottle of scotch later, I found myself in bed with the scent of Louise beside me. I remember snuffing out the mouse’s early alarm call before sleep overcame me. Tomorrow will be Sunday. I needed sleep lots of sleep, and a day to myself.

I slept a good twelve hours, it didn’t happen often. Maybe all the stress of my predicament had built up a sleep debt. I needed to get a hold of myself and what better way to do that than spend the day alone sifting through all the events of the past six weeks? With my meeting with Ahmed arranged for tomorrow, there was sure to be some unforeseen problems ahead of me. My mind rehearsed the way in which I saw the formula being handed over. If there was any tricky business, then it was unlikely to be done out in the open. It was a cynical thought, as by the same token, I was in effect double crossing him knowing it was a fake. But there was no question of a moral about this. Were he to have got the real formula and poisoned the British water supply systems, then how would I have felt about that? Perhaps it was fortunate that the Intelligence Services was one jump ahead. I would have to go along with them now. They knew what they were doing, I thought.

Now it was almost midday. What will I be eating for Sunday dinner? I asked myself. I hadn’t given it a thought. But now I knew it was going to be a greasy kebab. Living on my own gave no incentive to cook for myself.

As usual, I cruised through my usual routine of a shower and getting dressed. After a coffee, I got down to typing a letter to my publisher. The novel would be ready for submission at the end of April, I wrote. Until then, I was unavailable to contact.

Next, I phoned Mustapha at the kebab shop for a mixed kebab. ‘And, please, ask your delivery boy to buy me The Times Sunday paper on the way over here.’ I asked him. I knew he would send his son knowing he would get a good tip.

Looking out of the window it seemed a chilly day. Murky grey clouds drifted through the sky promising us all a good soaking. My thoughts drifted to Cornwall tomorrow. It was a six hours drive to get there, so I planned to leave midmorning. It would be better to miss the rush hour traffic and hope the weather was at least dry for the occasion. I didn’t fancy walking on the beach in the pissing rain. But as another thought I was prepared to walk anywhere for £50,000.

The door buzzer sounded. It was Chico, Mustapha’s son. A pair of smiling brown eyes lit up his expectant face as I handed him £10 in return for the paper and kebab. It was piping hot wrapped in tin foil. ‘Thank you, Mr Jack.’ he beamed knowing he had earned £3 for his trouble. He jumped back on his mountain bike and was gone like a racing greyhound.

I furnished myself with eating irons and a plate before pouring myself a glass of red Merlot wine. There was a generous amount of lamb and sliced cutlets with the salad. I soon got into demolishing the best part of it, before I began to regret eating so much. It took me nearly an hour to realize that. All the same it satisfied my hunger. I washed the grease down with more wine then stretched out on the settee and listened to some light music.

I must have drifted off into the land of nod. The afternoon had sailed into evening as seven chimes brought my attention to the time and I hadn’t even read the papers yet.

For the rest of the evening I found myself in the mood to read and bang away on the typewriter. By midnight, I was glad that I did, as I was nearing the end of chapter 7 of my novel. It was always a relief when half way was passed, as all the action was taking place there. Somehow it gave me the ability to leave my worries behind for a while. Feeling tired, I moved to the bathroom, did battle with my teeth, left all the lights on and went to bed. But not before setting the mouse alarm for 7am.

Mouse soon had my eyes open next morning. A quiet weekend had helped my head and there was a spring in my step as I got out of bed. On auto pilot, I skated through my usual ritual and was nibbling a toast with coffee by the window at 8 o’clock. I listened to the radio reports of the world’s problems, but what could be greater than mine? I wasn’t interested that a gay activist group was challenging some Bishops to come out in the open. Neither was I interested with the problems that besotted the royal family. None of them paid my bills. Only the weather forecast fed me some real good news that some sunshine was expected for the day.

My constitutional walk to the paper shop gave me some needed fresh air in my lungs. The post box was empty apart from a M.O.T. reminder that mine expired soon. An hour later I was home but not before I had met the begging dog on the way and bought him a bag of crisps. After that he wanted to use my trousers leg as a lamp post. But my rolled up paper soon cured him of that.

At home, I did a mental preamble over the coming days events. Six hours of driving on the motorways to Cornwall was not a pleasant prospect. But the end result would make it worthwhile, I thought. Besides, I needed the money more than ever. Who knows what was around the corner?

Now it was time to make headway. A quick check had satisfied me that all was in order. With coat, cash, keys and briefcase I set off at exactly 10.30am. At the garage, I topped up with petrol and bought some mints to nibble on the way. The weather looked good. A bleak but watery sun looked promising as the day went on. I tuned the car radio on to Jazz FM and now I was mobile with my mobile phone in my pocket.

There were no traffic problems through from Bermondsey to Battersea. Then from Chelsea to White City and the M4 motorway, and the rest was easy. By 11.30 it was just another car leaving London for the West Country.

Memories came back to me as I passed familiar territory. As a thief, I had driven down this way more times than fingers and toes could count. Green fields and distant church spires revived halcyon memories. All the silverware, jewels and antiques I had pilfered from the rich and famous came to haunt me as I drove along. A distant shot of a gun echoed in my memory as an owner’s bodyguard challenged me to return his case of gold bullion. I thought of a chase by German shepherd dogs as I ran through a stream trying not to drop a bag full of jewels. Then some miles on, I recalled the chase of my life as a Police helicopter kept sight of me over the open fields. But luck was on my side as I disappeared into a village fete. All these and other memories returned like a replay of an old film. The miles were eaten up with nostalgia. Yet it seemed like it was yesterday again and here I was at my age still involved as ever and this time in the murkiest business of life.

With half of my journey done, it was becoming a bore as I checked each motorway junction to tally up the distance I had left to go. For the remaining 50 miles I drove forbidding myself to stop and busting to water the grass.

Finally, I was in the last ten miles and nearly bursting, as it came to turn off for Bode and Widdicombe Bay. Unable to contain myself any longer, a quiet spot invited me to let go. It was now only a few miles to my meeting place. I wondered if I had passed Ahmed or MI5 on the way.

It was now almost 5pm so I had timed it just right for the meeting at 6pm by the life guards watch tower. As I drove on, I thought it was best if I parked a little away from that place. A sense of caution on a lonely stretch of beach was good thinking. Perhaps I was being too paranoid. My mind seemed helpless to resist the idea.

A few late leavers were packing up and leaving the beach as I arrived. Here and there, a seagull swooped to scavenge after them. The sun had gone as fading light made silhouette of the rocks. Some weary fishermen complained of a poor day’s catch as I drove past them with windows open. Now I could see the watch tower come into view a half mile ahead of me.

On my left was a pub just off the beach road. A car park was nicely placed for me to pull beside it and gave me the perfect view. I would wait for the watch tower lights to go out. The life guards would leave at six. A ten minutes’ walk would ensure I arrived bang on time.

For half an hour, I sat tensed in thoughts looking to see if a solitary figure would emerge somewhere from the descending darkness. The colourful illuminations of the pub lights spread shadows around the car park. Through the windows I could see customers chatting and drinking away. An urge to join them played havoc with myself control. Then the moment came when at ten minutes to the hour, I judged the time was right to go.

I took the briefcase with the formula and walked with careful steps along the beach road to the watch tower. The lights were out inside. After five minutes, I was tensely concentrating. My eyes focussed towards the spot as I got nearer and nearer. Suddenly, I was conscious of the faint ticking of my watch as I approached the last 100 yards. Then I heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel about twelve feet in front of me. They stopped. I stood still. A coastal clock chimed six bells. ‘So we meet again, Jack,’ said a voice that I recognized. It was Ahmed. ‘You are so reliable. What a nice place to exchange presents.’ He then emerged from the side of the watch tower building.

‘Have you brought mine too?’ I asked.

‘But of course. Let us examine them before the last light denies us the pleasure. Here is what belongs to you,’ he said. Then, from the shingle he picked up a holdall and invited me to look inside. I did. Bundles of £50 notes were neatly stacked together.

‘The £50,000 is all there.’ he continued. ‘Do you wish to count it?’

‘I am sure that isn’t necessary.’ I answered. Having seen the stash I then gave him the briefcase. ‘The formula is in there. Check it out!’ I invited him.

With firm and fast movements, he took out the red XP42 bound file. I saw his eyes give way to a twisted pleasure as he stroked the cover. A casual flip through the pages spread his face into a smile. A feeling of relief expelled the tension through my breath. I knew it was now too dark for him read it. He was convinced it was the real McCoy.

Breezes from the sea wafted by as I stood watching him close the briefcase. The chill brought with it a keen sense of smell and just for a second, my nose twitched at the presence of something familiar in the air. Perfume? It was that distinct smell worn by Inspector Marsh. Then it was gone. I could see no sign of her or any of the others.

The brown eyes of Ahmed returned to his normal clinical gaze. ‘It will soon be cold standing here, Jack. Let’s walk a few minutes before departing.’ He looked to me for approval.