Matthew thought that he looked similar to Steven Segal, the American martial arts actor, particularly as Segal was running a little fatter recently.
He walked oddly, as if carrying an injury or suffering from a bad back. Mind you, he was overweight, so that might have bearing on his gait.
“Matthew?” he said, in a very deep and gravelly voice.
“Yes, Igor?”
“My name is Dimitri. Igor just cover name.” His accent was thickly Russian. Matthew smelled an exotic after-shave waft from the man. It was strangely intoxicating and very unusual. Matthew liked very expensive colognes, and this one instantly intrigued him. He wondered if this man was like him, and therefore might be open to... No, don’t go there, he told himself.
“Ah, cover name?” he asked, instead.
“Da, it is name I use for business.”
“This is not business then?”
“Nyet,” the man said, smiling. “This is pleasure.”
The way the man said it almost gave Matthew a thrill. He was a very big man, and Matthew almost reached out to touch the man, just to see. He restrained himself.
“You have bags?” Matthew asked.
The man held up a pilot’s case.
“I travel light.”
“Are you staying long?”
“Nyet. I go to London after seeing sword.”
“Right. I take it you have photographs of your swords?”
“Of course.”
They walked to the car park, and then to Matthew’s Jaguar.
The man put his case on the back seat and then got in the front. He got in awkwardly, once again, as if he had a bad back. He almost filled the front of the car.
“Are you all right?” Matthew asked.
“Da, I am stiff from the flight.”
“Was it a good flight?” Matthew asked, just to break the ice.
“Nyet, plane too small. Seats not go back. Tickets cheap. Now have sore back.”
“So, are you married?” he asked, fishing.
“Not anymore,” the man said.
“Ah,” said Matthew, not feeling he should explore the reasons. He risked a glance at his passenger. Dimitri was looking at the world as the car passed through the streets of Luton, heading north on the A6 towards Bedford.
The silence was quite stressful for Matthew. Despite living alone, when with people, he liked to talk and listen. The Russian said nothing, but simply looked out at the world as they travelled along.
Allun was about as unhappy as he could be, so his grumpy disposition was not an act. He could see no other way to do this. It was with extreme reluctance that he said a temporary farewell to the person he wanted to be, to become the person he most definitely didn’t want to be. Every moment was like a year in hell, and he couldn’t wait for this to be over.
He had not shared this part of the plan with Lee. Tamsyn had simply smiled enigmatically to her friend and said, “I have a plan. Just meet me when it’s all over.”
They’d spent time with a 3D printer creating a sword. Much of the time Tamsyn spent with her eyes glued to the monitor as she designed the sword from deep within her psyche. Every dent, scratch and gouge in the steel was there, indelibly printed, somehow, in her mind.
The final result was awesome, in Lee’s words, and once painted with special enamel paint, it looked absolutely authentic, save for the weight. Even the tatty leather handgrip cover seemed sufficiently elderly and aged.
Thanks to Lee’s advice, Allun was aware that CCTV cameras were everywhere, so the ‘change’ had to take place away from prying cameras and eyes.
Tamsyn travelled by train up to London from Cornwall carrying a musical instrument case that was designed for an oboe containing the replica sword and a pilot’s case containing some clothing. She then got a train for Luton.
It was a slightly miserable Allun who stepped off the train at Luton Station, with Tamsyn’s clothes in the case. Having visited the toilet at an opportune moment, he took off the torque and Tamsyn faded away for a brief time; at least, he hoped it would be for the briefest of possible times!
The bus trip up the hill to the airport was short and once inside the terminal building, he went to the left luggage office on the main concourse, opposite Bar Des Voyageurs. Terrorism rendered left-luggage lockers a potential risk, so one had to deposit the items on the understanding that they would be checked before being accepted.
“I wish to leave these here for just a couple of hours,” he said, trying out his Russian accent and showing the man the empty oboe case and the holdall with some items of clothing therein. The bags were scanned through an X-ray machine and accepted.
“Certainly sir, please fill in this form, including your name and address.” The bored man passed him a form and moved on to the next customer.
Allun inquired about costs and was told it was £5 for up to two hours, and £10 for anything up to twenty-four hours. He paid £5 and told the man that if there was any more owing, she would pay.
The man barely glanced at the form as he accepted it and tore off a receipt section.
“Just this when you return and we’ll release it.”
Allun then waited for Matthew to arrive.
“Can I ask what you were doing in Romania?”
Matthew’s question jerked Allun out of his mental reverie. He almost forgot to put on the accent.
“Seeing a man about some Roman militaria. I am mainly interested in Roman weapons and artefacts, but will buy anything that is of a compatible vintage. The swords are old, but not as old as the Roman items.”
“I have some Roman pieces in my collection. Would you be interested in seeing them?”
“It is possible,” the man said, but saying no more. Matthew put it down to him being Russian.
“Your English is very good; where did you learn it?”
“In school.”
“Ah.”
Matthew frowned, as the man was clearly not going to engage in conversation.
“Do you speak any other languages?”
“Da.”
That’s it, thought Matthew, getting slightly cross. Then, he cursed himself for asking closed questions. The man was simply answering what was asked.
“Oh, yes, which ones?”
“Polish and Romanian. I did time in military in both countries.”
Matthew re-evaluated Dimitri’s age. If he was in the Soviet military before the late 1980’s breakdown of communism, that put him around fifty.
“Oh yes, army?”
“Intelligence.”
Matthew decided to shut up. This man was probably ex-KGB, so he felt that the less he knew about him the better.
Fortunately, the traffic was light, so they pulled into the drive of the manor at around nine fifteen.
“Can I offer you some refreshment?”
“No, thank you.”
He entered the house, trying to gauge his guest’s reaction, but the Russian remained stony-faced as he walked through the grand hall.
“This is an old house. It has been in my family for many generations.
“It is a nice house. I like it. I have one as big back in Russia. It is not as old, though.”
Phew! Matthew was relieved, but the man was not exactly free with expressing his feelings.
As they walked through the large hall, Matthew noted that the Russian still held his pilot’s case.
“Do you want to leave your bag here?” he asked.
“Nyet. We see the sword now?”
“Let’s adjourn to my study,” Matthew suggested, leading the way up through the house, across the gallery and to his study. The Russian noted the items on display without comment or changing expression. Matthew was beginning to regret asking him here, but the potential danger gave him an almost sexual thrill.
“If possible, I’d like to see your photographs first,” Matthew said once they arrived in the wood-panelled room.