A Minefield Full of Penguins Page 2

  “I’m not working for them. Unlike you, I’m not built for close protection duties. You get a gold star for noticing the blue strobes in the grill though.” James replied, putting on a pair of chunky dark glasses despite the overcast sky.

  “I know. You’re recruiting for a posh Blues Brothers tribute band.” James laughed,

  “If I was doing that I would have got someone who had some sort of musical talent, like your brother.” James said as he delicately put the car in gear. Instead of heading out the main gate, we headed further into the graveyard, down a road just wide enough to drive a hearse down.

  “What are you doing?”

  “They’ve told me it’s a good idea not be predictable in my movements, take the back exit, that sort of thing, just in case. It’s a shortcut anyway,” he said, turning down a track used by the cemetery workers that took us out onto a relatively busy road. James pressed a button and blue strobe lights reflected off our surroundings as he accelerated down the middle of the road over a railway bridge.

  “You’re doing a blue light run?” I asked, wondering if James’ job, whatever it was, came with a get out of jail free card.

  James grinned madly, turning sharply down a long, straight, tree lined residential side road with cars parked both sides and accelerated even harder. The speedo briefly read the wrong side of 100mph before James had to slam on the brakes throwing me into the seatbelt, made a sharp left turn down another residential road then drove straight across a junction of a busy road. He didn’t appear to look, let alone slow down as we sped across it.

  “If you work for Uber, I’m only giving you one star if we crash.”

  “What makes you think I’ll Ahhh... that was close!” he said avoiding an oblivious pedestrian. Despite the near miss, James’ driving skills verged on the supernatural.

  “Did you know the average speed of Central London traffic is 9 mph?” I asked, trying to sound casual as James sped up again.

  “I’ve never aspired to be average.”

  “A little closer to the mean would be nice.” I said trying to sound disapproving and wipe a mad grin off my face as we sped down the wrong side of the road, traffic pulling over to let us past. James didn’t just stick to the roads, we drove across at least two parks scattering joggers and dog walkers. After driving through a large chunk of South London at quite unbelievable speed, he drove into a private car park under an unexciting, slightly run down three-storey building. Unfamiliar with London at the best of times I realised I hadn’t a clue where I was. South of the river, maybe close to Greenwich was the best I could do.

  “Enjoy the drive?”

  “It beats being at work, which, by the way I’m not at.”

  “It’s my work, not yours.”

  “I did tell my boss I’d be back by lunchtime.” I said. James gave me a look of disgust.

  “Really? Is this the real Xavier I’m talking to? The scourge of The Cornwallis Secondary School?”

  “Hardly a scourge, more of a minor irritant now I think back on it. Why have you brought me here?”

  “Just to catch up in more cheerful surroundings. Fancy a coffee?” James said, already half way across the underground garage that boasted a surprisingly intricate vaulted brick ceiling. Alongside the ubiquitous BMWs, Audis and Mercs you’d find in any office car park I noticed two interesting shaped cars hidden under dustsheets. I lifted a corner of one to reveal what looked like a 1980s Rolls Royce but didn’t have time to investigate further before James left the garage.

  I emerged into a pleasant red brick lined courtyard with tables and chairs, obviously a social area for the offices that overlooked it, but on this cold, damp February morning it was deserted. The building looked in much better repair and substantially older than the outside façade suggested. James motioned me through a set of French doors into a deserted eating area that was either a café or a posh works canteen. “Two lattés and a plate of cakes to the flat please Chloe,” James called over the counter.

  “Okay, give me a minute,” a voice from the back replied.

  “Oh, send Kate up with the Trafalgar stuff too.”

  “Not my job - but I’ll do it, anyway.”

  “You’re my favourite minion, you know that?”

  “I bet you say that to all your minions.” The voice replied.

  James took me through a door at the back of the cafe, then up a narrow staircase to the third floor, using a fingerprint scanner to open a door. We entered a large tastefully decorated living room. An eclectic mix of original paintings hung on the walls in quantities that revealed either James, or more likely, whoever he shared the apartment with, was a serious art buff with an eye for interior design. The place looked and smelt freshly decorated but was just messy enough to feel like a home. James picked up a few colourful plastic toys off the floor and threw them into a toy basket at the other end of the room.

  “Don’t tell me you are married and have kids?” I said in surprise.

  “I am. I met a wonderful woman who has a real thing for geeks.”

  “So, what happened when she found out you’re an arsehole as well?”

  James laughed. “Well as we have two kids and divorce hasn’t been mentioned, I’d say she hasn’t noticed.”

  “Yet.” I said. It was a big mental adjustment, James being married and swimming in the deep end of the gene pool. It’s not that he was hideously ugly or completely socially inept, he’d just never quite been able to conform to society’s norms. On a good day he could stun with insights that would make Sherlock Holmes look unobservant then charm the birds from the trees. On a bad day... well you had to ignore the personal insults, industrial grade fidgeting, off key practical jokes and find him something to occupy his mind. Either some amazing woman had either met him in charming mode or seen past his twatishness, and given his priorities, and by the looks of it, his wardrobe a good shake up. “Been married long?”

  “Five years now, the kids are three and five, Josh and Annabelle.”

  “So, you and Debbie, you’re not…?” James gave me a rueful smile.

  “Oh no, that pretty much ended after she finished uni and announced she was engaged to Simon. That was a bit of a shock at the time. Make yourself at home.” James removed his coat and jacket, revealing a pistol in a shoulder holster he also removed and placed on the coffee table.

  “I can’t believe you went armed to a funeral.” I said, picking up the pistol, an army issue Glock, and checking it without even thinking. There was a sharp intake of breath and I looked at James. All the blood had drained out of his face and he was looking at me with a look of horror. I put the pistol back in the holster as I realised what I was doing, and James let out a deep shuddering sigh of relief.

  “Sorry old habits…” I apologised.

  “Don’t do things like that, Xav. Things are a bit tense in my world, for a second there I thought you’d been got to.”

  “You are my oldest friend, how could you think such a thing?” I said, in mock outrage

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “If I was going to kill you, I’d have done it in the car and you’d have never have seen it coming. Give me some credit.” I grinned at him

  “You are not reassuring.” He replied, not returning my grin. I wandered over to the window. The building opposite was a modern development of either offices or apartments. Of more interest to me was the bulletproof glass and well-hidden steel shutters in the window. I was willing to bet the thick walls were reinforced as well.

  A short, pale girl in her twenties with long blue hair and a delicate flower tattoo peeking out from the necklines of an inordinate amount of baggy jumpers entered the room carrying a tray with two mugs and a large plate of assorted pastries.

  “Kate, you’re a lifesaver.” James took the tray off her and put it on the coffee table. From under her jumpers, she pulled an A4 file and gave it to James.

  “There ya go.” She had a strong Belfast accent and was eyeing my proximity to the pistol wi
th distrust.

  “Don’t worry about Xavier, Kate, he’s an old friend.” James said. She looked at me, then back at James, sighed, picked up the pistol, went over to a bookcase, opening a safe disguised as a row of books and put the gun away.

  “How old a friend?”

  “We lived next door to each other when we were kids.”

  “So, you haven’t spoken for how long?”

  “Umm... about seventeen years, why?”

  “Have you actually read his file?” Kate said, with a sigh.

  “Err... of course, most, well some... I’ve been busy,” James looked at me, really looked at me. I smiled my most innocent smile at them both.

  “Okay, Kate, I get your point, he looks scary as hell, especially when he smiles like that. I’ll give it a quick look. I don’t suppose you’ve got the box under all those jumpers.”

  “You didn’t say you wanted the box too, it’s fucking freezing in the vaults.”

  “Its climate controlled, you’re getting soft, stuck in a nice warm office all day.”

  Kate stomped off, muttering something about it being James’ fault she was stuck in an office.

  “Sit down Xav.” James gestured to the other sofa. I sat down and took a sip of my coffee.

  “Nice coffee.”

  “You should try the cakes,” James replied grabbing an éclair and taking a large bite as he opened my file. “Hmm… refugee, country of origin unknown, probably the Middle East. Check. Your mother dies shortly after you make it to the UK. Check. Lots of social worker crap… hmm,” James skim read the next few pages. “Placed with your long-suffering foster parents, who, in a moment of madness adopt you. Check. So far nothing I don’t know… So, after your A levels you got a job. Working as a builder’s van weasel? Really? I thought you had a Cambridge scholarship all lined up. That’s why you didn’t come with me on my gap year.”

  “Yeah, well mum and dad were struggling with the smallholding, I thought I’d earn some money before I went to uni and I sort of put off going for a year, then two, then three...”

  “I get the idea. So how did you end up in the army? Did you wander into an army barracks one day and they gave you a tank?” James turned another page in my file.

  “Not exactly, I bought an old house in Whitstable and converted it into flats. The renovations cost me a lot more than planned so I needed somewhere to live rent-free and didn’t want to move back in with mum and dad. The Royal Engineers fitted the bill nicely. I thought it would just be for a couple of years.”

  “So it had nothing to do with getting your hands on expensive military hardware and high explosives.”

  “That may have factored a little in my choice.” We both grinned at each other

  “Aren’t your mum and dad pacifists?”

  “My poor parents are still right on, left wing crusaders, anti-war, anti-government interference, you name it, if it involves the British armed forces they’re against it. It didn’t help I only told them once I was safely ensconced in boot camp and needed someone to manage the flats.”

  “That must have been an awkward phone call.”

  “You have no idea. I don’t think they properly forgave me till I started paying them a decent amount of commission.”

  “So, what happened to two years in the army, then back to building your property empire?”

  “Well, I liked being in the army, especially after they found out I had a talent for the more... combat oriented activities.” James turned a page in the file and started reading. There was a lot to read. Eventually he looked up at me with something worryingly close to respect.

  “You certainly lived in interesting times, Staff Sergeant. Why didn’t you become an officer?”

  “I liked being an NCO, it kept things interesting,” I grinned at him.

  “I’ll say. What made you quit last year?”

  “Cutbacks. The badass special ops unit I’d been in got rationalised out of existence, and I found myself sent to the Falklands where I must have pissed someone off even more than I usually do. My drink got spiked, and I ended up being sent back to the UK.” I sighed, not wanting to talk about the worst weeks of my life. Whatever my drink had been spiked with had broken me in a way that eleven years of almost continuous front-line postings had failed to do. “Anyway, by that point, I’d had enough of the army and quit. Biggest mistake of my life, that was. Civilian life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “It’s not all bad. Anyway, let’s get down to business.”

  “So, we have business then. Are you actually going to tell me what you do?” I replied, unable to hide a smile. James placed a file on the table and pulled what looked like a standard Official Secrets Act form from it.

  “Before we go any further, you need to sign that.” I scribbled my signature in the highlighted boxes skimming over the contents to make sure I wasn’t selling my soul or signing up for an extended warranty.

  “Xavier Costella.” James intoned in a serious voice, the effect only muffled by the remains of the éclair he seemed to have inhaled.

  “That’s me.” I replied baffled at the sudden formality. James pulled back my shirt cuff and without warning, stabbed me in the forearm with a strange looking syringe. It stung. Like a bee.

  “Ahhh, what the fuck was that for,” I yelled grabbing my arm, but the pain had already subsided. The needle leaving a small hole the size of a ball pen point.

  “DNA sample, plus a drug and alcohol test.”

  “What’s wrong with a swab, and why do you want my DNA, anyway?”

  “Stop being a wimp. We need a decent chunk of your DNA to see if you’ve committed any serious crimes and to build my clone army.”

  “I don’t see why you couldn’t use a swab rather than taking half my arm,” I complained, trying to remember if I’d been near any crime scenes or if anything I’d handled at work had been used for something dodgy enough to be forensically analysed.

  “Oh man up, there's hardly any blood." James said, looking at the syringe “Well you’re drug free and sober.”

  “I’ve been sober since I woke up in a minefield surrounded by penguins. Not that I was much of a drinker before.”

  “That’ll teach you to drink with penguins, they may look cute and cuddly but they’re hardcore.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Agency Work

  "So, what is this place anyway and what do you actually do here?" I asked James.

  “This place,” he gestured grandly with the éclair, “deals with the stuff the police or the usual intelligence agencies can’t. We take on the cases too strange, the organisations too big and the people too powerful.” James waved his éclair around for effect and a lump of cream flew off into the distance. “We predate the formation of the police force by several hundred years. Although we have many of the police’s powers, we’re not accountable to any government department and we’re self-funding. The only things we answer to is our consciences and a board of Trustees and, for my sins I’m in change."

  “You are in charge of an unregulated intelligence agency? How the hell did that happen?”

  “Last October my predecessor keeled over without warning one day. No suspicious circumstances, just a massive heart attack. As I am one of the few people here with experience on how a modern intelligence agency should be run the bloody Trustees gave me the keys.” He took a deep breath and gave me a rueful grin. “And now we could use your skills.”

  “Go on.” I said, trying to hide my excitement.

  “At present we have a bit of a staffing situation for various reasons, enemy action, unexpected deaths, retirements. We only have around half the people I think we need to function properly.

  “So what do you want me to do?” I asked, wondering what had constituted enemy action and how quickly I would let James persuade me to do something about it.

  “Over the years we’ve acquired quite a bit of property. Our estates department manages most of it, but we have somewhere that needs a perma
nent caretaker. The last person living there had looked after the place since the ‘60s. She had a stroke and was put into a residential home around six months ago. That’s what the consensus here is, anyway. James sighed. “My predecessor wasn’t big on record keeping and very big on not telling anyone anything. It’s caused us no end of problems. Anyway, I was having a meeting with the Trustees about her replacement and your name came up on a list of suitable candidates.”

  “That must have been an interesting list to have my name on. Was it long-lost friends who can drive a tank?” I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I’d been hoping for an interesting new job, although living somewhere bigger than the overpriced rabbit hutch above a kebab shop would be welcome.

  James grinned. “No, it was idiots with an X in their name who are known to make questionable life choices.”

  “So you want me to live in one of your properties? What’s the catch? How much are you going to sting me for rent?”

  “No rent, we’ll be paying you.” James pulled a piece of paper out of the file. “You’ll be responsible for keeping the property in good repair, the Estates Department will pay all utilities, and you get 10% commission on any profitable income the property generates. That includes non-essential asset sales. The property has an existing income from two farms that are managed by our Estates Department and you get a small salary.”

  I nodded. “So how small is the small salary and where is it? London isn’t known for its farms.”

  James looked uncomfortable. “Salary is calculated at the minimum wage for forty hours a week and the place is in… umm... Wales. It’s on the borders of the Snowdonia National Park. Would that be a problem?”

  “Maybe,” I replied, thinking even with two of us working full time there wasn’t much left after we had paid the bills. Then I remembered I was one-half of a couple and my heart sunk. “Not for me but Melissa will need persuading. She likes living in a rabbit hutch in London. I’m sure she thinks exhaust fumes are good for her skin.”