Authors: Joe Thompson-Swift
It was beginning to sink in but I couldn’t think of a reply after hearing that. ‘It’s simple really Jack,’ added Inspector Marsh. ‘For these people, their earthly sacrifice of death is the ultimate test of faith and belief that it is their ticket to a hereafter life.’
I was now taken into a small office for a debriefing. There was a tape recorder and some official blank statement forms on a desk. It was explained to me that I was required to give a full account of my activities leading up to the arrest of Pandres. It was just a formality they told me, as if I didn’t know. Every step of my involvement with the intelligence services prior to the plan I was detailed to follow was spelt out in graphic detail. All I had seen including the threatening movements of the three terrorists and what followed was recorded and signed with my voice and signature on paper. Nothing was left out even how I felt about it all. Sick! Was the shortest word I could think of?
Two hours later, just when I thought it was all over, the commander smiled weakly at me. ‘You are not out of danger yet,’ he told me. ‘When the Iranians get wind of what has happened they will send out their scorpions to avenge their losses. We know you have already been acquainted with Aisha.’
‘Scorpions?’ I queried. ‘What do you mean?’
Inspector Marsh answered. ‘Pretty girls who have lethal stings. What better way to keep an eye on someone than to court him with a pretty girl, especially a man who has a weakness for a beautiful woman.’
I looked at her trying hard to let it sink in what she was saying. Aisha? A scorpion? ‘No’ I said aloud. ‘What else do you know that you haven’t told me about?’ I asked feeling flustered.
Commander Bennit gave a weary sigh. ‘The world of espionage and subterfuge is fraught with uncertainty. No one can ever be certain that the person you are talking to is not on double pay. Most men have a predisposition for sex. Any red bloodied male can be seduced by a pretty girl, especially a girl who is trained to exploit the sexual desires of a willing male. Aisha was the perfect observation post to keep an eye on you for her controllers, but when your brains are in your pants, a pretty girl like Aisha can learn more in a night of passion than Susan or Sharon can learn in a year. It will not have escaped your attention just how much we have learnt about you?’
I lowered my head with a feeling I was being admonished. But I felt the facts hurting to know it was a true statement. ‘So Ashia would have been part of their contingency plan if something went wrong, like it did this evening for them?’ I asked.
‘Precisely’ he answered. ‘It would just be a matter of time before she stung you. There are many ways to skin a cat and Aisha was in a perfect position to snuff you out. A classic case of the Venus fly trap you may think?’
Jesus H Christ! I was learning fast. The intelligence mob was right. I was easy game for the ladies. I felt a few pangs of paranoia flutter in my mind. ‘What will I do about her then?’ I asked.
‘You won’t need to do anything,’ commander Bennit smiled. ‘She was arrested three days ago and is here in the cells. Would you like to see her?’
I looked at all four faces. Marion tweaked a smile. Wasn’t she a scorpion too? I thought. And Inspector Marsh? The Marylyn Monroe lookalike, she too? For a moment, I felt a little intimidated even a little humble.
I felt an overwhelming curiosity to take a last look at Aisha. ‘I need convincing,’ I answered. ‘Come this way,’ invited Sergeant Morton. He picked up a bunch of keys from the desk and all five of us walked to the cells. A square iron grill was pushed back for me to peer inside. The solitary figure of Aisha sat on a concrete bench, her long black hair hung down to her waist. She still looked beautiful with an innocence that did not betray her motives. Her full shapely breasts and curvy figure would turn any man’s head and that was the effect she had upon me when we first met.
She turned to look at me. Not a flicker of emotion touched her eyes. She seemed different, cold, subdued and unlike the woman I had shared a bed with. It was a strange feeling knowing our bodies had shared the ultimate union and all that separated us was a covering of skin. Yet within her heart was a sinister motive for provoking the sexual activity between us. That now gave me the creeps. It would have been a close shave if the intelligence services had not got on to her. Seeing Aisha again in the cell merelyconfirmed what they had said. I turned away empty of feeling and embarrassed with myself.
‘Well Jack,’ he again continued, ‘I think this has been an education for you, so in future, you’ll want to be careful where you stick it!’ I truly felt like a prize fool but I knew he was right.
‘I want to go home now,’ I told him. ‘I’ve had enough surprises for one day.’ Commander Bennit led us all back to the office entrance. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I think you have played your part well. We will sort out the formalities and get back in touch when and as we need to. Don’t lose your holdall,’ he smirked. I muttered a reply of sorts ready to leave the claustrophobic fortress.
Marion led me outside into the concrete corridor. A black taxi with the grinning face of two chins at the wheel was waiting for me. ‘Hop in Sir,’ he said chirpily. ‘It’s Brunswick Place isn’t it?’ I nodded with almost a grunt reply. ‘Yeah,’ I answered.
There was no sign of the 159 bus. They had obviously taken the bodies away to a mortuary and Pandres would be getting grilled by MI5 in some secret location, I assumed. I gave a nod to Marion as the cab drove away down the concrete driveway. The big oppressive iron doors opened as the guards let us out into the street. It was a great relief to get away from that place.
I felt a numbness sitting there in the cab knowing that the driver was watching me in his mirror. No conversation took place. All the events of the past few hours were alien to my way of life. It was the sort of stuff you would see in a film. Mi5 had done a good job of blackmailing me into doing what I did for them. Yet, when I looked down at the holdall with £50.000 in it, I guess it was an offer I could not refuse. The alternative was a refusal that would have landed me in jail for some long years with my life in ruins. Now I had a new lease of life and after Pandres trial was over, I could start afresh back to writing books full time. My journey passed unnoticed with all those thoughts going through my mind. Two chins the driver was telling me we had arrived at Brunswick Place. It was now 2 o’clock in the morning as I alighted into the cold night air.
Back inside my house I made for the scotch bottle to pour myself a large one. A wave of relief flooded through me as it felt good to be home and away from the dark world of espionage, murder and madness. Again I got to thinking if I could ever be sure MI5 would ever use me again. After all, I had signed the OSA (official secrets act) and there was dam all I could do about it. I sipped at the Scotch whisky reflecting on Commander Bennit’s words, ‘You will forget all about it in time,’ he had said. But Would I? Everyone has to deal with things in their own way, I concluded, as I finished the last drop. A visit to the bathroom and then to bed was all I wanted now and that’s exactly what I did. The events of yesterday were fading into the darkness as the scotch helped fade away my unwanted memories as I drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, a cloudy grey sky greeted my eyes as I looked out of my window. It was the last day of March and the rain came with it as the laughing of mouse’s alarm rang in my ears. I let him carry on knowing that if I closed my eyes I would miss the opening time of the bank. I wanted to deposit the money quickly. Altogether, I was now £150.000 better off and I could never have foreseen a simple ‘steal to order’ proposition would turn out the way it did. Three dead terrorists and the capture of two others now seemed ample justification to salvage my conscience for earning the money.
As usual, I went through my shower routine giving brisk attention to my hands and nails. Perhaps it was a psychological thing to clean away all the taint of the past few days and still lurking at the back of my mind. The coffee and toast were now cold by the time I got to it. Nevertheless, I lined my tummy in preparation for a good meal later on as I hadn’t eaten for two days. Now I was ready for a visit to the paper shop and the bank. There was no mail in the post box as I closed the door behind me.
It was raining heavy as I made my way to the car. I noticed the face of my neighbour Mrs Breen peeping from behind her curtains. The rain was a good excuse for her to do so and there were a lot of curtain twitchers where I lived who all belonged to a gossip club. I bet she even saw MI5 bugging my car, I thought. However, a nosey neighbour was good value, especially if you had nothing to hide. Now I was a retired thief again, wasn’t I, so I gave her a friendly wave even though she stood like a ghost staring at me. Some people are like that, I thought.
My old sierra car fired into life as I automatically sniffed the inside half expecting to sniff the perfume of Inspector Marsh but instead was a faint whiff of Louise L’air du Temp mixed with a pot purée of scents from the flowers I had given her. It was much nicer to remember her than Aisha, I thought. Now I felt a little shiver run through me thinking how lucky I was that MI5 was a few smart jumps ahead of me. The rain chucked down heavy as I pulled up and rushed in for the paper.
The headlines of the Evening Standard said it all. IRANIAN TERRORISTS KILLED IN BUS HIJACK. I then read the write up as follows; Three Iranian terrorists were shot dead and one other arrested when they threatened to blow up almost thirty passengers if the Uk government did not hand over Sadiq Marsula known as the ‘mad mullah’. Marsula was sentenced to thirty years jail for bombing the House of Commons where 27 members of parliament were injured in December 1995. It is believed that all the three terrorists were suicide bombers. The elite SAS unit took just under 5 minutes to disengage the two men and one woman and release the passengers on the bus etc.’
I read the article in amazement. It was obviously written and designed for public consumption. Any story would do as long as it sounded plausible. No member of the public was going to argue with that. It was not good for the British people to know how close they came to being annihilated by poison through their water supply systems. It would create panic and hysteria and possibly give other religious fanatics the same idea. So the government knew what it was doing in providing its news report like that and I could not disagree with it. But at least I was privy to the truth.
My journey to the bank was made in good time. An opportune parking space allowed me to be second in the queue and out again before the third customer was finished. It was quick work at the other two banks that I divided the money into. By 10.30am I was on my way home. I knew what I was going to do for the rest of the day as there were a lot of new ideas I could work into my novel. It was a good way to unwind after the past few days of stress.
Like always when absorbed in writing, the plot got more intriguing as the hours rolled by. I had reached the part where the fugitive myself, was on the run. Sally Larson, an undercover police woman was after me for a murder I did not commit. Not unlike Aisha, she had shared my bed and wormed her way into my confidence. By chance, I had discovered who she was and had to go on the run until I could prove my innocence. It was getting harder to hide as a reward was offered for my capture and my wanted picture was everywhere. Now I had to do my own police work to track down the real killer who had assumed my identity. It was not easy as I came up against walls of silence. But hope was beginning to blossom as money changed hands and gained me the clues I was looking for.
Satisfied with the pages into chapter 12, my stomach was now protesting against its neglect. The carriage clock had just chimed seven bells and my fingers were sore from all the typing. As I looked out my window I could see a tourist boats cabins all lit up to reveal some evening revellers on a wine and dine trip which gave me an idea. I called for a cab to take me to Tower Hill river boats. Ten minutes later I was on my way there to make the 8 o’clock trip wearing a warm overcoat.
It was a cold evening but I didn’t care. I had a need to get away from my house for a few hours so a few miles round trip to Hampton Court and back seemed just the ticket. Some drinks and a platter of sea food were going down well as I listened to the waves lapping at the sides of the boat and the tourist guide was giving his usual talk.
My thoughts were a world away as the tourist cameras clicked at anything with a flag or statue in passing and various dialects in French, German, Japanese and American animated their excitement.
I got to thinking about Pandres trial. Would I have to give evidence and be cross examined? Who would come to watch? When would it be? I had an aversion to court rooms with the entire theatrical goings on in them with stupid wigs and black gowns. Surely it was really just a theatre where everyone was an actor playing their part. But wasn’t the world a stage and we all had a part to play, willing or unwilling? Are we all victims in one way or another? Such thoughts came and went then I got thinking about my novel as it was almost finished. Would the publisher accept it? I told them it would be ready for submission by end of April. Now the beginning of the month had arrived. My experiences with MI5 had given me some ideas to merge into my story and my looking down at the water reminded me how time was passing by.
The night wind blew around my ears as I let my thoughts drift along with the boat. An hour and a half had gone by as we made our way back to the Tower Hill return station. There was a taxi available which I took back home. It had been a pleasant evening for a change and I felt I should do it again, perhaps next time with Susan, Sharon or Louise. There was something about the water which was soothing while hearing the ebb and flow of the waves. But maybe my thoughts were still subconsciously connected to the British water supply systems?
Back home, I made it my objective to spend the next few weeks finishing my novel and getting things done which had been neglected because of the current events. So it was those thoughts which took me to sleep and awoke me the next morning. It became my daily routine over the next three weeks to type and sleep, type and sleep.