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I needed to make this work. It was the only way I could make any sense of what happened to him. If I got caught, I’d die too. If I succeeded, maybe it would put something right. I could only pray for a quick end like in the Horsemaker’s Arms, and not a slow one in that chair bolted to the floor over a drain. Or even worse; a desk. My own desk back at New Tomorrow, a year from now, jumping at doors slamming, staring at reports and seeing Cleverly’s face in the margins. The smell of Cleverly’s interrogation room haunting me. My own personal ghost.
I knew the signs of my fear then: the smells, the tremors, the sweat. I just needed to stand up straight and face them.
My mind was racing.
I was already creating and discarding plans in my head. A notebook and a pen would have been good, but you don’t write these things down in the middle of enemy HQ.
Clarity came.
Simplicity and speed.
And gigantic balls!
“And Cleverly?”
As for him, he wasn’t nearly so forthcoming.
“You saw what he’s like. He’s a fuckin’ nightmare.”
I’d had enough, lost too much self-respect, not to mention the best colleague a man could ask for.
“You fuckin’ tell me what you know, or I’ll tear your head off right here. Anything about him.”
So, Eugene McDougal, double agent extraordinaire, told me what he could about the ghoul that was Major Cleverly.
As he whispered, I saw it in his eyes: the certain knowledge that no matter who won this game, he was already a dead man. He was just choosing the manner of his execution. I was using a shell. When this was over, Cleverly would erase him, or my own people would tidy him away.
The best this slippery eel could hope for was to be the last one swallowed.
*****
Opposing Cleverly was seemingly pointless because of his vast experience and his cunning and devious mind. I felt a fire of furious anger welling deep inside of me. There was no way I could give up.
Rather than planning everything out, I decided it would be more realistic to make the best of my naivety and stupidity. I’d act like I’d been there forever. Smile at the right time. Look busy, not scared. If I could make them see a man with a purpose, maybe they’d stop looking for a spy.
Surely it would be harder for the master planner Cleverly to compete against randomness and luck rather than guile and ruthlessness.
Amazingly, Eugene’s directions to the office were perfect. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.
I had no authorisation, no backup, no second chance. So, I’d do what Cleverly never could… trust to luck. Drop his name, act like I belonged, and pray the universe preferred amateurs today. If he pressed, I’d stall and let my forgetfulness pass for nerves.
I knocked and walked in.
“So, you found it, then?”
Cleverly!
The adrenaline wave of hope I’d been surfing crashed.
I nearly drowned.
“So, it seems.”
“I imagine you’ve come for the codebook, haven’t you?”
“Right first time.”
He caught the sergeant’s eye and gave a brief nod.
“This is Lieutenant Goodall, a recent addition to the intelligence staff.”
I returned the sergeant’s salute.
“Let me sign you in,” Cleverly said, signing the registration book.
“Sign here,” showing me where. With the formalities over, the desk sergeant produced the book.
Considering the importance that New Tomorrow attached to it, the book looked distinctly ordinary. Just as Eugene had described it, but a bit more dog-eared than I’d imagined.
Cleverly leaned in and put his arm around my shoulder.
“This is our main codebook, David. The secrets that have been passed using this book have been invaluable.”
He opened it. “Have a look and tell me how you think it works.”
It smelled faintly of polish and sweat, like home, and death.
I studied it carefully, but I had to admit defeat.
“Don’t worry, it’s always difficult the first time.”
“You see, you show if your message is an order, a report or a request by using the symbols at the top.”
This was more complex than I’d expected.
“Then you reference the word you need with the number for the symbol.”
Ingenious.
“Statistics show these are the most commonly used words; if another is needed, it’s spelled out with numbers for each letter.”
“Wow!”
“Yes David. Wow, as you say.”
He came really close. Threateningly close.
His breath smelled of a mixture of garlic and smoke. “This is how we do it, Davie boy. We don’t fuck about.”
I hated myself for stuttering a little.
“Th… that must be the b… best way.”
“Don’t give me your shit, boy.” His lips curling, “You’re ours and you’re going back to your nest to spread the virus. Get it?”
Calm came over me.
“Don’t worry, I get it.” I couldn’t believe that it was me talking.
”You’d fuckin’ better. Cos I’m watching everything you do, boy. Every move. Every step. You’re mine! Remember that.”
He gave me what he obviously thought was a deep, searching look.
“Sure,” I said, looking back with what I hoped was a casual stare.
“You’d fuckin’ better, Goodall.”
A Tannoy announcement broke the spell and called him away.
I followed him at a distance, walking down the long corridor.
“Fuck it! I’ve got to do this.”
As he turned the next corner, I turned on my heel.
Every step was a dread.
Every breath was my last.
Every beat of my heart was a death knell.
Everything that had happened hung heavily on my mind.
The reprimand, the shout, the arrest never came.
Enjoying these stories? Try the book.
I entered the office again, commanding my body to obey.
Just as I opened my mouth to speak to the sergeant, someone ran in, stopped, saluted and barked, “Urgent request for Captain Croft. He needs all the staff attendance records for the past three months.”
I was going to have to wait in the worst possible place.
Fate! What a fucker!
The sergeant busied himself, collecting various folders, piling them up on the counter, and noting them in a pale green notebook.
He handed them over, then looked at me expectantly.
I was still trying to look as if I did this two or three times a day.
”Sorry to be a pest, sergeant. Major Cleverly needs the codebook again and sent me back to collect it.”
“But Major Cleverly isn’t here, sir.”
Take a card or fold?
Take a card.
“He was just here with me about a minute ago, sergeant.”
”But he needs to sign for it, Lieutenant.”
Another card
Ah, this is his responsibility.
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think he signed it back in, Sergeant.”
Time slowed.
He picked up the registration book.
The ticking of the big round clock on the wall was deafening.
He opened it.
The faintest whiff of pen, pencil and sweat.
Ran his finger down the column of signatures.
I wiped the bead of sweat from my upper lip.
Stopped.
”It seems to me, Lieutenant…”
My legs were jelly.
I could barely stand.
I leant casually against the counter for support.
“… that you’re right. I’ll need to see your ID again, though.”
My breathing was sucking the oxygen out of the room.
The phone rang.
The sergeant picked up.
“Sir, yes, sir. I’ll do that, sir.”
He put down the phone.
Looked up.
His eyes narrowed as he recognised the panic in mine.
He picked up the codebook.
“Here you are. Ask him to return it by tonight, please, sir.”
“… eh, eh, yes, of course, Sergeant. Thank you.”
I was even more terrified as I walked away.
Everyone was watching.
Everyone knew what I was doing.
Caught, and I’m dead.
The book was inside my jacket, tucked into the back of the waistband of my trousers.
Everyone was looking at it.
How did they know?
“Goodall!” like the crack of a whip echoing down the corridor.
Fuck!
It took all my willpower not to run.
My heart is pounding in my chest.
I turned and faced Cleverly as he approached. “Sir?”
“Anything exciting planned for the weekend…?”
“… Just catching up with friends, sir. You?”
“Oh, you know. Running around catching spies. Bending them and breaking them to suit
my mood. Throwing them to the pigs for lunch.”
“Do you keep pigs, sir?”
Arsehole thing to say.
“I love traitor-flavoured bacon, Goodall.” Giving me his cold, hard glare, “You want to try some?”
“Maybe some other time, sir”
“And Goodall.”
Nearly hyperventilating.
“Yes, sir.”
”See you on Monday… if you make it that far.”
At that, he turned and walked casually back along the corridor, leaving me a simpering mess inside a hesitant body, the smell of floor polish mixing with that of my terror.
I had to leave.
Immediately.
I concentrated on walking as naturally as possible to the main door. Not an easy job when you’re walking away from the toilets while all you want to do is vent explosively from both ends.
I turned the corner to the door and walked into some kind of security check.
Is it never going to end?
“If you’d like to step over here, sir,” the physical presence of the huge, armed guard was professionally pleasant. “There’s a security alert; we just need to give you a quick search.”
The two sitting at the desk gave each other sidelong glances.
They knew.
My mouth filled with cotton.
Options?
I’m carrying it for… somebody’s paperwork…
Major Cleverly will vouch… he said he would…
I thought it was signed out…
I can show my ID… call him… call anyone…
Say I’m authorised.
Say I’m late.
Say anything.
None of those words formed.
They came out as breath.
“Face the wall.”
“Raise your arms, sir.”
My jacket shifted. The edge of the codebook dug into my ribs. One slip. One thud. Game over.
Don’t slip. Don’t breathe. Don’t exist.
“You carrying anything you shouldn’t, sir?” The guard’s eyes flicked to my waistband.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor behind. Someone called Cleverly’s name.
“Private Dunn, over here, now.”
The guard left me facing the wall, arms raised, sweat crawling down my spine. A female voice suddenly close to my ear: “He said you had promise. You really do.”
A file was lightly tapped against my raised arm. “Your clearance just came through. You can go now, Lieutenant. Maybe another time…”
She stepped back, nodding once to the space behind me.
The moment broke.
I tried to return her smile, but I was so at sea, it sank before it left the shore.
And I was out.
Fresh air.
A cool breeze.
I found a disused doorway, quiet and out of sight.
I let go.
My knees buckled against the door… I wanted to throw up, but all I could do was laugh silently.
I was a mess.
But a successful mess.
That was for you, Jonesy.
*****
I made my way back to the New Tomorrow headquarters, still bruised inside.
Once my achievement had sunk in, there were pats on the back, two-handed handshakes and even a few bottles of champagne.
“You’ve done your bit for history, son. Well done!”
The tension still wouldn’t leave my body. I needed some kind of release after all that excitement.
They must use the same floor polish; the smell’s stuck in my mind, just like the fear in my stomach.
A group of analysts drooled over the book so much; I insisted the pages should be laminated.
Leaders who I’d never met before called me ‘David, my boy.’ Staff hovered, eager to please, which only made it stranger after what I’d been through.
And Jonesy. It was impossible to ignore his contribution, so I raised my glass and proposed a posthumous toast to Major Jones, my friend, colleague, and mentor. In fact, after a while I slipped out to have a bit of a cry, it being the first time I’d had the chance to grieve for him. More later, no doubt.
*****
6 months later
Our analysts had become used to decoding The Return messages. All of them made sense and spoke of current events, situations and their important players, but we never seemed to have any major successes; the timing was always off.
Last week, the entire cell we were chasing disappeared an hour before our raid.
Yesterday, we discovered that the workshop under the antique store we’d been surveilling for a month had been shut down weeks earlier.
NT always seemed to turn up late to the party, or even to the wrong address, and the reports I’d read often had phrases I’d seen in intercepts before we had the book.
Strange.
We just needed to keep intercepting, decoding and cross-referencing the intel, and a breakthrough would come.
For me, I could still smell the stale garlic and smoke of Cleverly’s breath spraying onto my face.
I thought I’d beaten him.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
I kept smelling garlic.
*****
Major Cleverly
I loved it there in my home office, where no one (not even my wife or kids) could glean anything useful.
I had a board. I wanted it like Go or Chess. But it was a wargaming board. All the pawns were in place in mini-Rosehaven. Reporting back, sabotaging or following a long series of wild goose chases. All colour-coded, so I could tell at a glance if anyone was going to step on someone’s toes.
I could really relax there and delve deeper into everything.
Mmm, the whisky was lovely.
“Cheers, Lieutenant David Goodall. You did exactly as I expected.”
I placed one hand on the real codebook lying open on my desk.
“The fake one’s doing a much better job than I thought it would. Misdirecting, exposing surveillance teams and causing mayhem. Definitely value for money.”
Another sip.
“You trusted luck, David. I made my own.”
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