“Before I show you, I want to see your money,” the Brit replied with an impertinence that struck Andy as being beyond foolish.
Easing back in his seat, Andy smirked as he began to sip his beer, never once taking his eyes off the Brit. When he was finished, he made a great show of looking about the room as he spoke. “I do hope you appreciate you’re in no position to make demands. If I had a mind to, all I’d need to do was snap my fuckin’ fingers and you’d be joining that pair of corporals.”
Realizing he’d overstepped his bounds, the Brit relented, placing a small package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string on the table. Ever so slowly he slid it toward Andy.
“And what the bloody hell is that?”
“It’s the hard drive from a computer.”
Like many of his peers, Andy knew what computers were and what they did. But that was about the extent of his knowledge. When the Brit saw the quizzical expression on Andy’s face, he hastened to explain. “It’s the part of a computer where information is stored. It remembers everything that’s been run through the computer, even if the operator tries to erase it.”
“What’s so important about this one?”
Cassidy answered for the soldier. “Our friend here is a storesman at HQ Northern Ireland in Lisburn. They’re getting rid of the computers they’ve been using, replacing them with new systems. The computer the lad here got this thing out of was one that he was ordered to dispose of.” Cassidy’s grin was near to splitting his face. “It was used by a major who oversees counterterrorist operations.”
As hard as he tried, Andy found he could not help but react to Cassidy’s revelation. He only hoped the man didn’t see it for what it was: shock.
Pausing to collect his wits, Andy drained the last of his beer. Only when he was ready did he once more lean over the table and address the Brit. “If this is what you say it is, you can be sure you’ll get your just reward,” he muttered in a low voice even as he was reaching out, placing his hand over the wrapped piece of computer hardware. He slid it toward himself, glaring menacingly into the eyes of a fellow British soldier as he did so. “I expect this doddering old fool knows how to contact you.”
Realizing he’d sadly misplayed his hand and having no choice but to play along, the Brit held his tongue. Instead, he nodded. “Aye, he knows.”
Satisfied, Cassidy came to his feet, allowed the Brit soldier to slide out of the booth, and watched him leave the same way he’d entered the place, never once suspecting the reward Andy would arrange for him was far different than the one he had in mind.
After he’d gone, Cassidy beamed as he was resuming his seat. “Well now, does that patch things up between us sufficiently to buy a round for a poor soul who’s been down on his luck of late?”
Despite wishing to leave as soon as possible and pass the odd package on to people who would know what to do with it, Andy had little choice but to honor Cassidy’s less than subtle request. Lifting his empty glass, he managed to catch the pub owner’s attention, tipping the glass toward Cassidy and then himself by way of letting the man know he needed to serve them another round even though the one Cassidy had ordered had yet to arrive.
Edward Telford and the section from the Coldstream Guards close observation platoon, or COP, who were Andy’s backup, would just have to cool their heels a little longer, Andy told himself. Like all guards officers he’d come across, Telford impressed Andy as being entirely unsuited for the sort of cat-and-mouse game Andy found to be strangely exhilarating. Keeping his fellow captain and friend on edge, waiting like he was crammed in the rear of a pig together with a bunch of squaddies who were eager to extract some righteous vengeance on the Provos who’d killed corporals David Howes and Derek Wood, could be the only bright spot he would be able to salvage from what could very well turn out to be a waste of his time, especially if the package he’d slipped inside an oversized pocket hidden in his coat wasn’t worth the price of scrap metal it would fetch.
It was the rare day that Andy beat Spence into the office. While no one would ever be able to accuse him of being a slouch when it came to work, Spence’s childhood habit of slipping out of bed before her father in order to spend time with him before he headed off to the base had left its mark, leaving her unable to sleep past oh-six-hundred. Now, with no one to chat with at home over a bowl of cereal before embarking on a new day, Spence headed out the door long before the likes of Tommy even thought of tumbling out of bed.
Besides the computer he was using — an ancient Compaq Portable II that was, in her opinion, about as portable as a cinder block — what struck her as odd on this day was Andy’s attire. Rather than apparel that allowed him to blend in with London bankers and the countless bureaucrats who carried out the orders of HMG, Andy was wearing a gray hoodie and matching trackie bottoms. If this wasn’t enough to cause Spence to balk, even from across the room it was evident he hadn’t even taken the time to shave before leaving his flat.
Without taking her eyes off of him, Spence set aside the groceries she’d picked up on her way to the office and waited for him to acknowledge her presence. When he didn’t, she ever so slowly crossed the room. The idea of trying to be cute by sneaking up and surprising him never entered her mind. She was well aware one didn’t do that to a person who’d spent more than his fair share of time tempting the Fates in places like Northern Ireland, Bosnia, and Kosovo.
Coming around his desk and stopping before it, she chose instead to make her presence known by clearing her throat. “Would you care for coffee or tea?” she asked quietly.
“Coffee,” he muttered without bothering to look up from the tiny monochrome screen he was staring at with an intensity that cut deep furrows into his brow. “Please.”
“Would you like a croissant as well? I picked them up fresh this morning.”
“Hmm, yeah, sure,” he added as he took to madly tapping the keyboard’s down arrow key as his eyes hurriedly scanned each line as it appeared.
Realizing Andy wouldn’t tell her what was so hellfire important until he was ready, provided, of course that he felt she had a need to know, Spence made her way back to the counter in the corner of the office where the coffeemaker, kettle, and other such things were kept. There she busied herself making coffee and cutting a croissant before smothering both halves with a thick layer of butter and jam. When the coffee was ready, she poured a cup for herself as well as Andy. With the paper plate on which the croissant was set perched upon Andy’s cup, she returned to his desk, set it down, and stepped back.
His response to her kindness came as no great surprise. Without looking away from the computer’s screen, he slowly reached out until his fingertips lit upon the croissant. Mechanically he took it up, raised it to his mouth, and took a bite, ignoring the glop of jam that oozed out and fell into his lap. Finished, he returned the croissant to the plate and moved his hand about until it brushed the coffee cup. In the same unthinking manner, he brought it to his lips and took a sip. Only then, as he held the cup aloft and off to one side, did he remember to thank Spence in a most perfunctory and distracted manner.
Realizing Andy was lost to the world, at least until he’d completed the quest he was on, Spence retreated to prepare her own croissant while sipping her coffee.
When he finally made his appearance, Tommy recognized Andy’s behavior straight off for what it was, an obsession, the kind that would not be quelled until it had been mastered. So rather than declare his arrival as he often did by greeting Spence with a glib remark meant to rile her, he made his way over to the snack counter, poured himself a cup of coffee, took up a croissant, and made his way over to his desk with all the care and cunning of a poacher who was stalking game on a royal preserve.