A Minefield Full of Penguins

  A MINEFIELD FULL OF PENGUINS

  T B CARTER

  A Minefield Full of Penguins by Trevor Carter

  © 2018 Trevor Carter

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the author.

  Contact:tbcarterauthor@gmail.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, persons living or dead is coincidental or they are used fictitiously.

  Cover art by Adele Garley: adelegarley99@gmail.com

  No penguins were harmed in the writing of this novel.

  V1.2

  To my wife, Maree, who woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me there’s always a Xavier.

  To Sean Ashcroft, Sami Mikhail, Tom Van Der Vorm and Karli Lambert who advised and criticised.

  And finally, Terry Pratchett who inspired me to start writing. This is all his fault.

  PROLOGUE

  1991 – A small village in the South East of England.

  The two men looked down out the window over the overgrown garden, watching the four children play.

  “It’s a big old house for just the three of you,” the younger man remarked, brushing a speck of dust off his blazer as he looked around what must have once been quite a nice bedroom. Now it was badly in need of decoration and filled with packing cases.

  “It is a bit isn’t it,” the unremarkable-looking older man said, taking a sip of tea from a large mug.

  “I suppose you’ll be okay until the leaks in the roof reach the rooms you’re using. The gardens could be spectacular though.”

  “Well, the house could do with a little work but the gardens are fine as they are. Anyway, how’s your new place in Soho? A bit different from what you were used to?”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” The younger man grinned pulling a book with plants on the cover from a packing case and then discarding it when he realised it was in Russian. He turned back to the window where a painfully skinny, dark-skinned child had somehow climbed onto a branch of a massive horse-chestnut tree several metres above the ground. A short pale boy was trying to throw a rope to him with little success.

  “Let me go, James, you’re useless,” a larger boy said, snatching the rope off him.

  “I’d like to see you do better, Simon, you couldn’t drop a turd in a toilet.”

  “Shut up, James.” Simon replied pushing James out the way. He threw the rope, missing by a larger margin than James had.

  “Stop it you two, it’s my turn.” A girl, taller than the boys, recovered the rope, tied it to a lump of wood and swung it round and round.

  “Go on Debbie,” the child up the tree cheered her on realising what she was trying to do.

  “It’s good to see young Xavier’s settling in well, despite everything he’s been through,” the younger man said, watching as Xavier caught the rope and tied it to the branch whilst the other children squabbled amongst themselves.

  “Xavier and James have become firm friends and they seem to be good for each other, James hasn’t had one of his meltdowns for weeks.”

  “Xavier’s a good influence?” The younger man said, surprised.

  “I wouldn’t go that far, to tell you the truth he’s a bit of a rascal. Are you sure it was wise placing him with a childless couple with no fostering experience?”

  “They both used to be teachers and they haven’t complained. Not to me, anyway. Do you think they’re struggling?”

  “Let’s say I don’t think they’ll be taking on any more foster kids for a while yet.” The older man sounded rather smug about this.

  “Who are the other two kids?”

  “Oh, two of James’ school friends. I’m not keen on that Simon, he can be nasty. Debbie, I believe, will be a heartbreaker. They’ve taken over the old air raid shelter and formed a club, it even has rules. Actually, that’s one of the reasons I called you.”

  “That’s the sort of thing kids do... Isn’t it?”

  “Maybe. What do you make of this?” The older man gave the younger a photocopied piece of paper. The younger man read it and smiled.

  “The Interesting Times Club? I wonder if I’d qualify for membership.”

  “It looks like trouble.”

  “You’ve been spending too long at work, they’ll probably forget about it in a couple of weeks. Anyway, even if they don’t they are just children, what’s the worst they could do?”

  “With Xavier involved? Pretty much anything and James will cheer him on. Right until the Police, Fire Brigade and possibly the bomb squad arrive.”

  “I’m glad you agree with our assessment of his potential.”

  “I’d rather he didn’t realise that potential in my back garden. Also, the fact your Agency is assessing the potential of an eight-year-old child gives me cause for concern. Who is he?” The men watched the subject of their conversation launch himself off the branch and swing around like a pendulum, seemingly by accident clipping Simon, knocking him flying and provoking howls of protest. The two men, as one, turned their back on the window.

  “That is not your problem, let’s say he’s someone I’m keeping an eye on. You know, I traced the route he and his poor mother took, through Eastern Europe and the Middle East, back to Iraqi Kurdistan. Halabja, to be precise.”

  “Halabja… that rings a bell and not in a good way…” The older man commented, frowning, trying to recall where he’d heard of the town before.

  “You’ve heard more than most then.” The younger man sighed. “Do you mind if I keep this piece of paper?”

  “Not at all, take it. Are you looking for some new rules for your secret society?”

  “We could do worse. Talking of secrets, I don’t suppose your people have heard any whispers about our missing people?”

  “It’s been four years now. We could help more if you told us where to look.”

  “That’s a problem, we’re not entirely sure ourselves.”

  “That’s what I love about your Agency, not one of you has the slightest clue what the others are doing. So, anyway, what do you make of the latest from the Soviet Union?”

  “Ah, the Russians. I can’t see their current power structure lasting to the end of the year. The West might actually have won.”

  “You say that as if it’s a good thing. If the Soviet government falls Russia will be in chaos for years. Plus, what will all us spies do once the Soviets are gone?”

  “I’m sure the CIA will find you lot some new threat without too much delay. Anyway, when did you last do any actual spying?”

  “Point taken. Actually, I’m thinking of leaving and setting up in business with a couple of our tech guys. Tell me, have you heard of something called the World Wide Web?”

  The two men talked about the security implications of the embryonic internet before the younger man bid the older farewell. As the younger man got in his car to drive off, he read the photocopied piece of paper again and smiled.

  CHAPTER 1

  February 2016 - Honor Oak Crematorium. South London

  Bad Influence

  I was late. The undertakers had arrived, a hearse and two limousines already sat empty outside the rather ugly chapel. Also parked the wrong side of the No Entry sign and most definitely not part of the cortège sat an official looking Range Rover that suggested to me someone at Simon’s funeral warranted serious police protection rather than a twat who couldn’t find a parking space.

  As I burst into the chapel, the co
ngregation turned, almost as one, a sea of, almost exclusively, disapproving white faces, their hostility towards me almost tangible. One friendly face stood out amongst them; James, my oldest friend, staunchest ally, co-founder of the Interesting Times Club and general bad influence. Despite not having seen each other for going on seventeen years, his wide smile was a welcome sight.

  He waved me over to a spare seat next to him in the middle of the chapel. As I made my way down the aisle a few members of the disturbed congregation muttered disapprovingly and the vicar whom I’d interrupted mid prayer glared at me in what I felt was an exceptionally unchristian manner. I sat down on a seat that wasn’t designed with my oversize frame in mind, and the vicar, with one last glare at me, found his place and picked up from where he’d left off. I shook James’ proffered hand provoking a slight wince from him. He was as skinny as he had been when we were kids but his hair was now thinning and there were dark circles under his eyes. His smile was the same, as was the intensity of his gaze. His tailored suit and discretely expensive watch spoke of a sense of style he must have acquired in the intervening years.

  “Good to see you Xav, I see you haven’t lost your ability to piss off an entire room without even trying.”

  “It’s a gift I have. Good to see you too, by the way.”

  “I was worried you weren’t coming.”

  “Blame the buses, I could have walked quicker.”

  “You took a bus to Simon’s funeral? Shame on you.”

  “Is that your badly parked Range Rover out the front?”

  “Yeah, only took delivery of it two days ago, it’s got the supercharged V8 engine...” James’ enthusiastic whispering was interrupted as everyone stood for a hymn. As we belatedly got up, I gave the congregation an automatic scan for potential threats. A black clad, dark haired, behatted head in the front row turned and I locked eyes with Debbie who gave me a grim smile of welcome before joining in the unenthusiastic drone with the rest of the congregation.

  “He married Debbie?” I asked James in amazement after the hymn had finally ended.

  “Yes, she chose him. Over me!” James confirmed in what was probably mock outrage but echoed my own thoughts exactly. The vicar, after another round of pious platitudes started talking about what Simon had done with his life. My job, managing a pawnbroker wasn’t about to set the world on fire but it still sounded far more interesting than Simon’s entire career spent working as an accountant for a local council. The high point in his life, according to the vicar, who appeared to be ignoring the existence of Debbie, was being made Governor of a local primary school. The congregation seemed to lap it all up. I looked at James who was fidgeting with his watch.

  “Are you sure we are at the right funeral or was his life really that boring?” I asked, hoping to distract James before the fidgeting got annoying.

  “As far as I could make out he and Debs were living the suburban dream.”

  “How did he die, boredom?”

  “Anaphylactic shock. He swallowed a bee whilst jogging.”

  “I didn’t know he was allergic to bees.”

  “Nor did he, poor bugger. In the middle of winter too.”

  “How unlucky is that? Did they have any kids?”

  “Two, they’re sitting with Deb’s mum and dad. You would know these things if you’d bothered to keep in touch. They even made me Godfather.”

  “So you’ve got to see to their spiritual upbringing now then?” We were both silent as both of us considered the unlikely combination of James and spirituality. After a few seconds, I interrupted James’ panicked silence. “What’s Debbie do?”

  “She teaches Biology. In a Secondary school.” James’ tone indicated he considered this a rather hazardous profession.

  “I wish we’d had a Biology teacher like her when we were at school.”

  “I don’t know about you, but she taught me rather a lot about comparative anatomy.”

  “Oh, yes, now you come to mention it…” Our catch-up was brought to a halt as our already outraged neighbours shushed us and we sat the rest of the service out in silence until the coffin slid into the back of the chapel to the highly inappropriate ‘Killer Queen’.

  “It was meant to be ‘Another One Bites the Dust’.” James murmured as the vicar desperately tried to turn off the unfamiliar music system. “But I thought this was more fitting. I may have misjudged the audience slightly though.” I looked at Debbie shaking with her face in her hands and then to the disapproving and shocked faces of the audience. I nodded in agreement trying to keep my face straight.

  We left the chapel last, nodding greetings to old school friends we vaguely remembered, letting everyone else console the widow before we made our way out. Both Debbie and Simon’s parents were there and they looked no happier to see us than they had when we were kids. Debbie however, had a word with them and they took her kids in tow. She came over to us and threw her arms around me.

  “You came, you actually came,” she said into my coat as I held her tight, breathing in her perfume. The hug went on for far longer than could be considered proper, even at a funeral.

  “Hello Debs.” I said, as she detached herself and looked me up and down.

  “You still give the best hugs. What happened to you anyway? You’re all muscles.” If we hadn’t been at her husband’s funeral, I’d have said she was flirting with me.

  “Twelve years in the Army does that. You look good, despite everything.”

  “You look dangerous. Are you James’ henchman now?” I looked at James who looked outraged. I grinned and shrugged wondering, not for the first time, what James actually did now.

  “Hey, I’m one of the good guys, good guys have sidekicks.” James protested.

  “After that stunt you pulled with the music? I almost pissed myself trying not to laugh in front of everyone. You’re parked like a twat too.”

  “Just be thankful I didn’t do my ventriloquist act,” James replied. Debbie turned her back on him trying to hide a smile.

  “So, Xav, are you and your fit body out of the army now?” She asked. Now I was certain she was flirting with me, probably to annoy James.

  “I left a year ago.”

  “He’s not that fit,” interrupted James, poking me in the stomach revealing a year being desk bound hadn’t done much for my waistline.

  “He’s ten times fitter than you’ll ever be. Are you sure your dad’s not a stick insect? And you, Xavier, you didn’t feel the need to get in touch with your old friends? You could have made up with Simon sometime in the last seventeen years. Dammit, Xav, you might have even been able to save him.”

  “You know that would never have happened. He never forgave me for getting better exam results than him.”

  “Was that all your feud was about? You made better use of the exam papers we nicked?” James exclaimed in exasperation.

  “Pretty much. The fact I got better A Levels than him sent him batshit crazy. All because I missed copying one page of the chemistry paper.”

  “I remember, he tried to brain you with a fire extinguisher. I thought it was just because he’d found out I was two-timing him with you. Or maybe you were just being even more of a smug git than usual.” Debbie reminisced.

  “He was being a very smug git... wait, weren’t you going out with me then?” James asked Debbie. For a moment, it felt like we were teenagers again until Debbie remembered why Simon wasn’t there.

  “I don’t want to hear about the club, those exam papers, or anything else we did ever again. ‘May you live in interesting times’ is a curse, and it’s not funny anymore.” Debbie burst into tears. I put my arm round her and she buried her face in my chest, covering my good coat in snot.

  “I hope that means we can still keep in touch.” James said, sounding upset, and I wondered, with a sudden unexpected pang of jealousy, if anything was still going on between them. I decided I would have to have some serious words with my subconscious.

  “Of course, you’
re both welcome around anytime, especially you, Xav. Just never mention that damn club in front of me again.”

  “Are you okay? Financially I mean?” James asked.

  “I don’t think Simon ever took a risk again in his life again after those exams. If I’d known how much life insurance he’d had, I’d have bumped him off a long time ago.” Debbie said, winced at her own thoughtlessness and started to cry again. This time James comforted Debbie. I noticed she didn’t blow her nose on his coat though.

  After she regained her composure, we escorted her back to the waiting limousines. Debbie introduced me as Uncle Xavier to her, by now, bored kids then we watched her go on her way. The looks both sets of parents gave us made it clear neither of us would be welcome at the wake.

  As the limousines left the crematorium, two police cars followed by a private ambulance pulled up outside the chapel and several police officers entered the building. “Debbie’s still... very Debbie. How old are her kids?” I asked. Being introduced as Uncle Xavier had affected me more than I cared to let on.

  “They’re eight and five.”

  “Poor sods.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on them.” James promised.

  “Since when did you become the responsible one?”

  James gave me a wan smile. “Things change Xav, Simon got boring, I got responsible, Debs got faithful, and you turned into a small mountain range. Come on, I’ll give you a lift to work.” He nodded to the police cars, frowning. “I wonder if they are anything to do with Simon.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me, his life sounded a little too perfect to be true; also, being killed by a bee in winter strikes me as a bit strange.” I said, getting into the Range Rover. James started the engine, the unexpected roar of a tuned V8 engine destroying the relative quiet of the graveyard.

  “When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound right. I’ll make some enquiries, see what’s actually going on.”

  “So who do you work for to get one of these? I thought only SO1, Specialist Protection or whatever they’re called this week got to play with these when they worked with Royalty.” I asked James pointedly