‘Sir, you take the lift to…’
‘Thank you, I know my way’. Lomax dismissed him and strode to the lift. As the doors closed he pushed the button for the sixth floor. He couldn’t help wondering what they had in store for him.
Up until he left he had been an agent for the Section. Though agents were trained to deal with it, they had to work for prolonged periods under extreme stress and threat of exposure. Lomax knew several agents who had not lasted beyond their first mission. But he thought it unlikely he would be offered agent status again — not after the last time.
There were only two other roles in the field he could be offered: executive or specialist. Executive’s job was to liaise with London and obtain whatever resources were required by the agent: information, access, guns, money or anything else. The executive was responsible for keeping the mission on track, making this the most senior position in the team. It required a different set of skills though the best were former agents. Given the balls-up on the last mission Lomax knew he wasn’t about to be offered that role.
Possibly specialist then, thought Lomax. He had racked his brains as to what specialist skills they might want him for, but he kept coming back to the thought that all his experience was in field-craft: survival, weapons, hand-to-hand combat, intelligence gathering, theft and burglary, transport — the list went on. But all those skills were gained from his time as an agent. Specialists had knowledge or skills outside the range of normal agents, such as communications, ciphers or bio-technology. Lomax couldn’t imagine he was to be offered that role either — he simply wasn’t an expert in any other field.
Only one position seemed to fit. They wanted him not for field operations but as a training instructor — an area well away from the cut and thrust of mission work. They wanted him to pass on his extensive experience to people like the kid on reception. As he knocked on the door he resolved to turn down any offer they made. He was just not cut out to shape up green recruits; he lacked empathy and was too impatient with anyone less experienced than himself.
As he walked in he recognised the man behind the walnut veneered desk. Andrews had aged badly and looked at least ten years older than his actual age of sixty two. He wore a thatch of white hair and his immaculate suit was draped over a scarecrow of a body. Andrews continued to write in his notebook as though unaware of Lomax. There was a strained pause.
Just like old times, thought Lomax: the servant must always wait for the master. But not today. He spoke first. ‘Afternoon Andrews’.
Andrews motioned Lomax to sit down. ‘How are you?’ The voice had a gravelly quality that had not been there before.
‘Much recovered and you probably know that better than me. Let’s cut to the chase.’
A rasping chuckle erupted from Andrews accompanied by a brief shake of the head. Lomax noticed the deep shadows under the eyebrows and the paper-thin skin over the cheek bones. He looked decidedly ill.
‘Some people never change. It’s one of the things I used to like about you Lomax. Always straight to the point.’
‘Let’s just get on with it sir, shall we?’, replied Lomax evenly.
There was another pause as Andrews assessed Lomax. He had lost none of his muscle tone while he was away. In fact up close he looked even more strongly built, exuding a powerful sense of controlled aggression. His relatively short stature accentuated a burly chest. He wouldn’t win any prizes in a beauty contest but he could win any bare knuckle fight going.
Satisfied, Andrews pushed a file across the desk towards him. ‘We have a job for you’.
Chapter 2
‘We want you to run this one as executive.’
Lomax felt a jolt of electricity. He struggled to keep his face blank. More than a year ago he thought he had done with the Section. And the Section had left him in no doubt that they had done with him. Finito — or retirement, however one chose to look at it. They must have a very special reason for wanting him back.
‘Scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel?’
‘You know us better than that Lomax. Do I take it you are declining my offer?’
Lomax looked carefully at Andrews. A trick of the light made the man’s eyes appear like black sunken sockets in a skull.
‘Well?’ enquired Andrews.
‘You are giving me the opportunity to become an executive for the Section?’
Andrews nodded.
‘Despite the fact that I’ve never been an executive before.’
‘You’ll have to prove yourself, like you did when you first arrived.’ Andrews took a sip of water but was unable shake off the hoarse rasp to his voice.
‘What about my retirement?’
‘You’ll have to leave that behind’ replied Andrews. ‘Do you feel ready?’
‘I feel ready, but I need to know why you want me back.’
Andrews didn’t reply immediately. ‘You mean why we chose you instead of another experienced executive?’ he said carefully.
Lomax nodded curtly.
‘Like you, we think you’re ready for it.’
Lomax allowed a trace of scepticism enter his voice. ‘OK, let me see’ he mused. ‘You’re giving me a simple mission — one that the kid on reception could do. Perhaps with the idea of breaking me in gently, seeing how I go, with the prospect of a more interesting mission next time?’
Andrews indicated agreement.
‘Bullshit!’
Andrews’ eyelids rose fractionally.
‘Bullshit’ repeated Lomax. ‘That’s not what you have in mind. There’s more to this than you’re telling me.’
Andrews remained still. ‘Go on.’
‘Before I make any kind of decision I need to know what this is all about.’
A ghost of a smile flickered over Andrew’s lined face. Lomax’s perceptive comments confirmed that he had chosen the right man for the job. He placed both his hands face down on the table as if spreading out all his cards.
‘Then I shall tell you. But first I want to introduce you to your agent — also a man of considerable experience.’ Andrews picked up the phone and spoke into it. After a short conversation Andrews put the phone down. ‘Seems he’s gone walkabout’. Andrews grinned, ‘I’ll fill you in while we wait.’
Sean sipped strong coffee from a mug. He had pulled a few strings and secured a place on an American military transport from Kuala Lumpur to Frankfurt, then by charter to Heathrow. A police car drove him all the way to HQ with flashing lights. The driver was curious but refrained from asking any questions giving Sean time to close his eyes on the short journey.
One of the tea ladies had slipped some ginger biscuits onto his plate and hadn’t charged him. They always tried to mother him in the canteen, bless their cotton socks. Perhaps they sensed his loneliness but Sean only wanted to get the briefing over. Maybe they hoped he would agree to take the job just to relieve the tension he could feel building.
Abruptly Sean left the café and made his way to the fourth floor, the main communications suite where they kept tabs on current missions. When he opened the door he saw Murdoch lounging back in his chair with a cigarette between his fingers. They had taken out the smoke alarm in order to let Murdoch light up — in direct contravention of any number of laws relating to health and safety. But the thought only made Sean chuckle — health and safety in his line of work!
‘Evening Murdoch, you still haven’t given up the weed then?’
Ten years ago Murdoch was one of the best field agents they had. He was eventually caught in a sniper’s sights in the Far East. The bullet shattered his tibia and with it any hope of further action.