A Minefield Full of Penguins Page 3

  “Who’s Melissa?” James frowned, flicking through his file in panic.

  “My girlfriend.” James looked at me in alarm.

  “You have a girlfriend? That’s not in the file.”

  “Your researchers must be slacking. We’re sort of engaged. We’ll have been together three years on Valentine’s day.”

  James threw the file down in disgust.

  “This file says nothing about your personal life, I’d just assumed you didn’t have one. Why can’t you post your life on social media like the rest of the world, it makes our life so much easier? So, what’s she like?”

  “Melissa? Good looking, has a business degree, works in HR in the City.” I showed him a selfie she’d taken of the two of us. We looked like a perfect couple, her, a petite perfectly made up blonde, me dark and, for once, not brooding.

  “Wow. She looks a bit high maintenance.” James said, getting closer to the truth than I was happy to admit to myself. Our relationship, if I was to be honest with myself, had deteriorated to the point where we just about tolerated each other’s annoying habits because neither of us could afford to live alone in London.

  “She’s all right as long as she gets to the gym regularly.” In the first flush of our relationship, I’d taken Melissa to a gym and shown her some Krav Maga moves. To my surprise, the delicate young woman who looked like she’d blow away in a stiff breeze had taken to the martial art like a killer whale to a baby seal. “What’s the place like, anyway?” I asked, changing the subject back to my potential new living quarters.

  “It’s old, large and almost certainly habitable.” He paused for a second and then continued when I made no comment. “There are two conditions. The Trustees insist that someone needs to be in situ by tomorrow at the latest and you can’t leave the place unoccupied overnight.”

  “Sounds like the start of a dodgy horror movie. What happens if I want to go on holiday?”

  “Don’t worry we can arrange cover if you give us notice, you won’t be left up there to rot forever. We might even come up and housesit ourselves.”

  “And if the place is uninhabitable... or is it haunted and you haven’t told me?” I joked.

  “We’ll buy you a nice tent and if it’s haunted just keep in mind you are far scarier than any ghost or spirit I’ve ever had dealings with. Just tell ‘em to bugger off.” James looked at my face and grinned, “Oh, all right, if the place is that bad I’m sure you can get a mobile home or something while you fix it up."

  “I don’t think Melissa will take the news well, not to mention my boss is her uncle. He’s not someone you want to upset.”

  “So it’s a no then?” James sounded disappointed and a little shocked. For a moment, I weighed up the pros and cons of staying in the safe, comfortable, if tedious rut I’d got myself into. All common sense said I should stay in London and, maybe work harder on my relationship with Melissa.

  “I hate my job and I hate living in London. Where do I sign up?” I found myself saying, wondering what Melissa was going to say. This didn’t bother me like it would have this morning. For the first time in ages, I felt in charge of my destiny.

  “Here.” He pushed a piece of paper at me before I could change my mind. I read the brief document, took a deep breath and signed. James clapped me on the shoulder “Rule One wins again, although, for a moment I didn’t think you would go for it.”

  “Yeah, I almost made a sensible life choice. That must have been what happened to Simon, one too many sensible choices. Anyway, talking of life choices how does one become the head of an unregulated intelligence agency at thirty-five years old, anyway?” I asked James.

  “Well, after spending my gap year travelling in the Far East, I got into Cambridge, read Computer Science. I got a First, of course.”

  “So, cheaters do prosper.”

  “I worked bloody hard for that First. So hard, MI5 recruited me. It really pissed my dad off.”

  “Why?” I said, “What was so bad about MI5?”

  “Didn’t you know? He was high up in MI6 before he set up his consultancy. He was convinced they’d recruited me to annoy him. Still is. He wanted me to join the family business.”

  “I’m sure you got in entirely on your own merits,” I said condescendingly, “What did you do in MI5, anyway?”

  “Nothing you’d find remotely interesting, not at first anyway, I was never a field agent as such but after a few years I got promoted and transferred. We were working on more umm... unusual cases, sort of like the British X files...”

  “Aliens?” I interrupted him when he hesitated.

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, if there were aliens around it wasn’t our problem. Unless they posted plans for invading earth or obscene probing images.”

  “So what sort of stuff did you deal with then?”

  “I can’t tell you, you wouldn’t believe half of it, anyway.” I shrugged, guessing I’d find out about the interesting stuff at some point and took an éclair from the rapidly diminishing pile. Like the coffee, it was really good, and I wondered how James had stayed as skinny as he was. “Anyway, we worked with this Agency quite a bit on the more unusual cases, they umm... headhunted me.”

  “That sounds like your recruitment wasn’t through the normal channels.” I said.

  “We do nothing through the normal channels if we can help it. They made a special effort for me though. I was honey-trapped.” James admitted, looking embarrassed.

  I laughed. “What happened?” I asked.

  “I was seduced. In a surveillance van. Watching this place. My old boss caught us at it and he made me quit MI5, just as a vacancy happened to become free here. I do believe Fiona had other motives though.” He gave me a grin that spoke volumes. Without warning the door to the flat opened, making us both jump and Kate stomped in. She was carrying what looked like a small safe deposit box.

  “Ahh, thanks Kate,” James said taking the box and handing her my DNA sample, “if you could get that sent to the lab, label it,” he grinned at me, “Idiot X.”

  “I’d prefer Clone Army Sample A.” I interjected.

  “I’ll put both on if it will make you happy.”

  “Oh, Kate, who the hell compiled this file?” James asked. Kate frowned.

  “Me, well, the bulk of the information came from Sir Arthur’s office, what’s the problem?”

  “Quite a bit. Starting with his place of birth and who his father is.”

  “Oh, yeah, I struggled with that. Well, you can ask him now.”

  “I never knew my father. I was a refugee till I was eight.” I explained.

  “I know, I’ve read your file, you had a rough childhood,” she said, sounding sympathetic.

  “I don’t remember it being that bad, considering. I had my real mum looking out for me until she died and we were here by then. She protected me from a lot.”

  “But not from the pick-pocketing gang masquerading as a circus.” Kate said. I grinned at her.

  “We had to eat, the circus was fun, more fun than school, anyway.”

  “I suppose it’s a good thing we’ve got this then. We may find out who your father is.” Kate shook my DNA sample like a little bell.

  “That’s all very well Kate, but you also missed the fact he has a fiancée.” James gave Kate a hard look.

  “Ah, that’s a pity,” She looked at the plate of pastries and sighed. “All the good ones are taken,” she winked at me, grabbed a bun and wiggled off munching.

  “I want it all sorted,” James called after her and she waved her hand in acknowledgement. I watched her go as James typed a code into the keypad on the box. It failed to open. “Bugger,” he tried another much longer number counting under his breath and this time there was a click. He opened the box, inside was a very large bunch of keys. There must have been fifty of them ranging from a huge key for what looked either a castle or a cathedral to some tiny padlock keys. I picked the bunch up; some key rings were
labelled with dirty pieces of paper. “I think some of them are duplicates,” James said uncertainly.

  “I think I shall open a key museum,” I replied, holding the bunch up by the biggest key. The bunch slowly spun round. “In my tent.”

  James rummaged through the file and handed me several bits of paper. “That’s a copy of what you’ve just signed, that’s a list of numbers, addresses and emails, don’t lose that, this one’s important, it’s the address. Oh, here’s my card, I can’t always answer my mobile but there’s someone here 24 hours a day and they’ll pass on any message.” He wrote a number on the back. “That’s Debbie’s number. Call her or I’ll never hear the end of it. I’ll get our lawyer to come and visit you at the property, sort out your contract and go through the inventory with you. Can you get up there for tomorrow?” A thought struck him, “You do have transport don’t you.”

  “I’ve got a Merc van I should be able to get all my stuff in. Unless you want to lend me your Range Rover?” I grinned at him. James grinned back

  “No chance. I’m sorry to give you so little notice on this, Xav. I need someone I know and trust up there, someone who’s not beholden to our Trustees. Not that I think you’ll be doing much more than caretaking, maybe looking after the occasional house guest.” James looked around, almost furtively. “The Trustees are not the easiest group to deal with and they like their little games. I personally think they want someone with your skills as a semi sleeper unit.” I nodded, realising I didn’t even know the name of the organisation I’d just signed my life away to and looked at the piece of paper I’d just signed which unhelpfully stated I was employed by Trafalgar Court Estates.

  “What’s the name of your Agency, anyway?”

  James picked his business card from the paperwork he’d handed me. It was a plain white card with black writing. All it had on it was his name, his phone number and the name Universal Consultants. He grinned.

  “Happier now? The government agencies seem to change our name and designation every few months, so no one ever remembers what they are. We don’t have a proper name as such, those who need to get in touch with us know who we are. Those who don’t, need not know we exist.” I folded up the paperwork and stuffed it into my jacket pocket, it looked like our brief catch up was over and I tried to think of something that would keep me away from real life for a little longer. I wasn’t relishing giving Ed the news I was quitting or having what promised to be a free and frank exchange of views with Melissa. James threw me a temporary lifeline.

  “Those cars in the garage, the ones under the covers, got time to have a look at them?” I had never been able to resist a vehicle under a dustsheet and James knew it. He grinned, “I’ve passed them almost every day for the last five years and often wondered what they were. Now I’m in charge I suppose I should have a look.” He got up, “I need to introduce you to Sky as well.”

  I took a large gulp, finishing my coffee, James grabbed another bun from the diminishing pile then he led me down another staircase to a more inhabited part of the empty feeling building. Not that I could see much of the work going on as all the office doors were kept firmly shut, only accessible by fingerprint scanners but I could hear phones ringing and people talking. James stopped outside some double doors with no obvious security lock, knocked and entered. I followed. The room looked like a boardroom from the 1920s minus the suicidal bankers and the centre table was scattered with the debris from what looked like a lengthy meeting. At the far end, an elegantly dressed, dark skinned woman of indeterminate age and ethnicity was speaking to a grey haired, slightly portly man, in his late 50s or early 60s dressed in a suit that was just the right side of respectable. “Morning Sky, Al,” James greeted them. “How did it go?”

  “Better than I expected, they finally seem to be coming together as a team,” replied the woman. “How was the funeral?”

  “We livened it up, comforted the grieving widow, you know how it is.”

  “I don’t think I want to. Who’s this?” She nodded at me.

  “I found him in the graveyard, he doesn’t seem to have an owner. Can we keep him? I’ll clear up his mess and everything.” The woman gave him a hard look.

  “Okay, Okay. Sky meet Xavier, the new denizen of Trafalgar Court.”

  “Welcome Xavier.” She purred with just a hint of what may have been an Indian accent holding out her hand, either for me to shake it or kiss it. “Did you enjoy the drive here?”

  “Oh yes, I’ll use him whenever I need to get lost very quickly in London. What do you do here?” I asked, shaking her cool, dry hand.

  “Oh god, not another smart arse,” she said rolling her eyes. “My job is make his," she gestured at James, “unreasonable wishes come to fruition. You’d better be worth all the trouble we went to this morning.” She sounded pissed off, and I wondered what trouble I’d caused before I’d even started.

  “His name came from Sir Arthur’s office, nothing to do with me,” said James either coming to my rescue or abandoning me to my fate.

  “I suppose it did,” she said coldly. “Covering the Trustees’ asses is what we do best.” She gave a dramatic sigh, turned back to me and purred in her seductive voice, “It was a great pleasure meeting you Xavier, I hope you enjoy your new... accommodations.” Before I could reply, she stalked out the room.

  I turned back to James, he grinned at me, shrugged and spread his hands but was interrupted before he could say anything.

  “You’re going downstairs to look at the cars?” James raised his eyebrow in surprise.

  “How do you know about that?” James asked.

  “I am the keeper of this building’s secrets so your request for the car keys found its way to me. I’ve no idea where they are but I’ll come and give you a hand.” He turned to me. “I’m Alan by the way, so, you’re taking over our Welsh operation?”

  “Yes” I said, shaking the proffered hand.

  “Good luck with that.” Alan grinned at me and I wondered what James hadn’t told me.

  “Come on you two,” James interrupted us before I could interrogate Allen about my new accommodation. We followed him back across the courtyard and into the garage. James went over to one of the two dustsheet covered cars and pulled back the sheet. Dust went everywhere. “Bugger,” James swore brushing off his previously immaculate suit having caught the worst of the dust. It wasn’t a Rolls Royce but rather the identical Bentley and not, by any means a classic of car design. It could, at best be described as imposing. This one was dark green and looked to be in good condition apart from the flat tyres.

  “Ugly beast isn’t it?” James had moved round the front, trying to find an aesthetically pleasing angle and failing. I walked round the back to see which model we’d uncovered.

  “It’s the Mulsanne Turbo, the fast one,” I said, trying the driver’s door handle that opened with an expensive sounding clunk. Inside was a far more pleasant experience than the exterior, all walnut veneer, burgundy leather, black and white dials and the smell of exclusivity. The milometer showed the car had covered less than 8000 miles. The passenger door opened and James got in next to me.

  “This is nicer than the outside,” he said, opening the glovebox and looked inside. I pulled down the driver’s sun visor and, as I’d hoped, a set of keys fell out.

  “Bingo.” I said, looking for the ignition.

  “Double bingo.” James said holding up a cassette of Queen’s Greatest Hits and slotting it into the cassette player.

  “Really?” I found the ignition and turned the key. Predictably, nothing happened.

  “We’ve got a jump battery thingy somewhere around here,” James got out and wandered off with Alan to the far side of the car park. I popped the bonnet and opened it. There was a lot of engine but no sign of a battery. James, by this time had returned with a professional looking jump-start trolley that someone had written ‘Q Branch’ on the top. I peered into the engine bay making myself look less foolish by checking that there was not
hing obviously wrong with the massive engine.

  “Where do I plug these?” James asked bringing the two jump leads together and producing sparks.

  “In the boot,” I said hoping I was right. James wheeled the trolley round the back of the car.

  “This belonged to Sebastian, your predecessor before he disappeared in the 80s.” Alan said, poking around in the Bentley’s engine bay.

  “Disappeared?” I said, looking at James wondering if he had left something very important out of my very sketchy briefing. James pretended to be busy in the boot of the car so Alan answered for him.

  “He went on some mission to the States with an associate and never came back. His wife never got over it, poor Jane. I’d only just started here when it happened.”

  “Jane was the lady looking after the place until she had a stroke?” I asked Alan.

  “Yes, and no, I don’t know where she is now, if you find her, say hello from me.” He’d moved round to the back of the Bentley and was rummaging around in the boot. “Aha, it was here, under our noses all along.” He pulled something long and thin, wrapped in a wax jacket from the back of the car.

  “What was?” asked James.

  “This,” Alan pulled a sword from the jacket with a rather spectacular flourish belying his age and appearance. “We were looking for this for years. I suppose it’s yours now though,” Alan presented me the sword formally, “you being the guv’nor up at Trafalgar now.” I took the sword, it was surprisingly heavy, beautifully balanced and had the appearance of a longer than average Roman Gladius. The blade was layered with alternate dark and light bands that gave the impression of flowing water and it glinted seductively in the florescent lights of the car park. I took a few awkward experimental swings, James and Alan both took a few hasty steps back. Judging by their looks of panic I decided I wasn’t the best person to keep the sword and, rather reluctantly, handed it back to Alan trying to imitate the way he’d handed it to me before I hurt someone, probably myself.

  “You better look after it, I can’t use it and it would attract quite a bit of attention on my walk home.”