Farrell

Chapter One

`It was a dark and stormy night and the lightening crashed and the thunder flashed,' I began before being interrupted by a bright seven year old girl.

Excuse me Mr. Farrell,' her right arm held up high, but shouldn't that be the lightning flashed and the thunder crashed?'

`Quite right my young Miss. I changed the words to see if you were paying attention,' which proved that at least one was. This was becoming my party piece as I was always invited to the birthday parties of my niece and nephew and as the end of the party was nigh, I would always be asked to tell a ghost story. The floor would be cleared and we would only have the light of a solitary candle on the mantel piece behind me as the children sat in a semi-circle before me, holding hands. So in the gloom of the room with just this single flickering light that didn't show my features, I had to make the most of the story with the tones of my voice. They liked it when it was deep and sonorous to try and portray that somewhere outside of our circle was a mysterious and threatening presence. One year I didn't begin with those words and I had cries of dismay, so ever since, I've had to begin my stories the same way. They understood these words whether it be around an old house alone in the middle of the moors, or a castle perched high on a cliff edge with the seas crashing and rolling against the sharp jagged rocks that had seen many ships founder. They could imagine the single flashing light high up in the castle, luring a ship to its destruction on the rocks below.

These were pictures they could conjure up in their minds eye as I described the wind and the way that it talks to man, bird and beast. This was the beginning to their story and it was not to be left out though the critics say that a book should never open with these lines, but it was the way that my critics who sat before me all wanted it to begin.

But my own story for you really started with it being quite the opposite, though if I ever got to tell it to the children, it would have to be different. Spring had arrived and the sun was shining and all seemed right with the world. My name is Michael Farrell and I'm slightly overweight for my height of six foot if taken with my being thirty two years of age. I have light blue eyes, clean shaven, average features and have brown to black coloured hair which is of no value to the story but just helps to fill up the picture for you to see me.

I live alone in a cottage, of which there are twelve in what is known as Meadows Lane that leads nowhere from the lane at the top. This top lane, or road is one of those nightmare thoroughfares that only has passing areas about two hundred yards apart. Not lay-bys but just bits of ground where the hedge has been crushed over the years and were now just bare patches of earth that were full of mud and icy water during the winter. Many's the time you can hear the honking of horns as two vehicles meet and neither want to reverse to clear the way. It is usually the one with a female inside that finally gives way and makes the tricky job of reversing round a blind bend to be able to pull into the hedge lined gap.

This was the road at the top of my lane and it had just a small pub and one shop that sold a lot of nothing, and to complete this part of the village, there were six cottages either side of these two public places. These were all on the right as we came out and turned left from Meadows Lane because the land opposite and onto which my cottage backed, was Meadows Farm.

It was over a quarter of a mile before we came to the stables on the right and this was directly opposite another lane that ran in the same direction as the one I lived in. Now this would show the ingenuity of the district's planning many years ago, because it bounded the other side of Meadows Farm and that my lane was called Meadows Lane, they named this one by just dropping the letter S. Brilliant thinking on someone's part. This lane too had twelve cottages and so it was almost a mirror image to mine if one could look down from above.

Now at the bottom of the two lanes and of the farm in between, was what were locally known as the cliffs. A misnomer if ever there was one like calling our hamlet a village. Our cliffs were about twenty foot high and as the land and soil slowly broke away with wind and rain, they became slopes than ran down to a narrow pebbled beach, if I could even call it that. Though the land of the farm was flat where the farmhouse stood, it rose up towards the sea end but rolled down on either side to where the lanes were, so from where I lived, I couldn't see the lane on the other side of these fields because of this small hill.

I know, I know, you're getting impatient for me to start the story but I had to give you the lay out and topography of the place first and you'll understand why in a minute. Now I'll get to the problem I caused our postie, postman to you townies, his name by the way is Pat. Well, that is what everybody calls him like they call our village Toy Town. We don't have a Noddy but we do have a Big Ears, but due to the size of the fellow, no one has ever dared call him that. Built like a brick..., er, outhouse, with arms and shoulders that many a tree would be proud to have limbs like that. He was much in demand at harvest time because he could pitch fork even the most soggiest of hay bales to toss it over twenty feet high onto the hay wagon.

But the problem I caused our postman was of my surname Farrell, because there was another man of that name in the opposite lane, only his Christian name was Nicholas. When we did eventually meet, it became Mick and Nick, mine coming first alphabetically. What compounded postman Pat's problem was none of the cottages had numbers or names and he delivered by the surname on the letter, so sometimes I got Nick's and he got mine if the writer dropped the letter S. Also I think Pat had an eye problem to tell the difference between the two letters of our Christian names.

It was a joke when it first happened as I got a letter that was meant for Nick and so I took a walk along the cliffs and over the hill to hand deliver it myself for which he opened a bottle of beer as a thank you. Then another day he delivered one to me and I reciprocated with a bottle of beer and a chat. Now this would happen three, maybe four times a year so we both now always kept a few bottles of beer available in the pantry as payment.

It was on this glorious spring morning that Pat delivered one for Nick to my cottage, so after I had my breakfast and washed up and put the things away decided to take over his letter. I put it in my jacket pocket and went out into the garden but stopped as I looked at the sorry state of my roses. I saw that they could do with a bit of nutrient about now if I wanted a good showing this year, so decided to call in at the stables first to order some manure.

I walked up my lane and turned left and gave a wave to Dave, the pub landlord as he was seeing to his weekly delivery by the draymen. I ambled along the lane, keeping one ear cocked for the sound of any approaching vehicle from either direction, but as we are such a way off the beaten track, we don't get that many. I called in at the stables and spoke to the head lad; lad? He was nearly double my age and agreed to drop a couple of bags off at my cottage though I stressed that only when there was time and not to rush, which was a bit of a joke because nobody rushed in Toy Town.

With the manure ordered, I then went down the lane to Nick's cottage and I called out as I entered the garden but only got silence as a response. I went round to his back door which was never locked and went in, calling out his name again. The kitchen was clean and tidy but still no Nick. I went and felt the tea cloth and found that it was damp which told me he'd eaten and washed up. I went to his pantry and took out a bottle of beer and put it in the middle of the table so that it was a reminder of what he owed me as I propped his letter up against it.

I went out closing the door and down through his garden for the walk along the cliffs back to my place. It certainly was a pleasure to walk through the grass and feel the first hint of warmth from the sun on my back so I took my jacket off and slung it over my shoulder, enjoying the slight breeze coming off the sea and I could hear what I thought were larks as I got near the top of the small hill.

It was by looking up into the sky and not looking where I was putting my feet that I tripped and went sprawling flat down on my stomach, and as I raised my head, came face to face with Nick. There, in the grass, eyes half closed and the mouth fixed in a rictus of a grin, a foot away from me was Nick's head.

Chapter Two

I've seen many dead people in my life, but it was the sudden shock of seeing his head there that made me suddenly roll over several times to rise up on my knees and vomit. I wiped my mouth after spitting a few times, with my handkerchief and now looked and saw that it was his body that I had tripped over. My first thought was why Nick? Then came the how? How many people walk about the English countryside carrying a machete or sword slung at their waist. Oh you poor bastard I thought as I looked at his head so far from his body but knew better than to bring the two together. With not a soul in sight there wasn't anything I could do except get to my cottage and phone for the police, so at a stumbling run, I made for home.

Police?' I asked when I got through. I wish to report a murder at the far end of Meadows Farm.'

`How do you know it's murder sir?' was the polite query from the other end.

`With the head six feet away from the body, I ruled out suicide,' I said sarcastically. Giving them my name and address, I was told to stay there and a car would be dispatched immediately. It still took them nearly thirty minutes to come down the lane and with them looking quizzically at all twelve cottages, went out and made myself known to them.

You found the body sir?' the sergeant asked me. Where is it?' I said yes to the first question and took them through my garden up the cliff walk and over the rise to where Nick`s body lay. When it came into view, he told me and the other two policemen to stop and he went on by himself. He didn't go too close before coming back and instructing one of them to stay there to see that nobody else went near it.

As we walked back to my cottage he was speaking into his mobile walkie talkie attached to the shoulder of his uniform asking for a forensic team, giving them brief details plus directions. By the time he had finished we were at the cottage and we went inside and they accepted a cup of tea as I related my movements of the morning while the policeman wrote in his notebook. As we finished, another car drew up outside with a van pulling up behind it.

Constable,' the sergeant said. Go with the forensic team and take them through the farm to where the body is.' As he went out, two obviously plain clothes policemen came in.

`My name is Detective Inspector Loomis and this is Detective Constable Dawkins, Mr....?' he asked with his hand extended which I shook as the Sergeant tended my name.

`Farrell sir.'

`Mr. Farrell. I understand you found the body?'

`Yes. Nicholas Farrell of Meadow Lane.'

`Farrell? A relative?'

`No. Just one of those quirks of fate that we are, were, both in the village at the same time with the same name.'

`Yes, quite. That will be all sergeant, we'll take over from here. Collect your men and thank you for being so prompt.'

Exit stage right the sergeant and constable.

`May we sit down Mr. Farrell?'

`I'm sorry, of course. Would you like tea or something?'

No thank you,' he said as they sat down. Now tell me what you know of the other Mr. Farrell, your connection with him and what happened today?' So I related as much as I could of Nick and of how I found his body.

What did you have for breakfast this morning sir?' D.C. Dawkins asked of me, and what you also had for dinner last night?' I knew why he asked so I told him and felt sorry for the person who would have to analyse what I'd left up on the hill to prove my statement.

`May I ask what your occupation is Mr. Farrell?'

`You may, but I'm afraid you'll have to make that enquiry of room forty two at the Foreign Office for an answer,' I replied.

Oh, I see,' he said slowly. Well, let's go and visit the scene of the crime.' So D.I. Loomis, D.C. Dawkins and myself left the cottage and went up the small hill to where the forensic people had set up some screens. I was now able to view Nick's body dispassionately as the others did and let my thoughts wander as to the why. I had my thoughts as to the who because it had all the hallmarks of an Arabic execution, but which faction I couldn't say at this time. There were quite a few I had upset over the last few years, but how had they got my name? How did they know where to find me? The answer was to go to London to find out.

Chapter Three

When I got to my usual reporting station I found a message for me to go and see Jackson, head of my department. Well not just mine as he was really the head honcho of the whole shebang and had been working for him for the past four years.

Farrell?' He exclaimed as I entered at his call after knocking at his door. That was damned quick. I only sent a car an hour ago for you, what did you do, fly back?'

`No sir. Something happened yesterday that I think is serious enough for me to come and see you for I think I've been compromised,' and went on to tell him what happened in Toy Town and the conclusions that I had arrived at. The thing I liked about Jackson was the fact that whatever you had to say, he listened without making any interruptions, making notes till you had finished before speaking himself.

`It seems they are slightly ahead of us. It's what I feared and why I dispatched the car for you. You are correct in the fact that you have been compromised and I have pity for that other man, but it's a question of there, but for the grace of God. Him having the same name as you is what saved you from his fate.

We've worked out that it was a splinter group of the Ba'athists that ordered your execution in reprisal for what you did the last time you were out there. Matheson's body was dumped outside our Embassy only six hours ago. The doctor who examined his wounds believed he lasted eight hours under their torture and it has now been proved that they got quite a bit of information out of him before he died. The saving grace was that they didn't have a picture of you and so believe they have succeeded in their mission.'

`Have they been identified yet?'

I believe so, but it has yet to be confirmed. The suspects are now in Dublin and,' he looked at his watch, about to board the flight for Paris. There's a helicopter on the pad waiting to take you to the airport where a private jet is ready to take you to Paris. Lewis, you know Lewis?'

`Yes,' my thoughts racing at this sudden turn of events.

`He'll give you more details on landing because we believe they'll be catching a plane there for Teheran and you are to follow them, but do not stop them. Let them report a successful mission and we can deal with them later.'

`I still don't know who they are?' I protested.

`We'll both know for sure by the time you get to Paris. Good luck Michael, oh, that we'll have to change when you get back.'

So that would be the end of Toy Town for me I thought as I was escorted upstairs to the helicopter pad on the roof of the building. Four years of a home now gone plus what could have been a long lasting friendship, something I'd not had so far in my life. The pilot of the helicopter saw that my straps were fixed properly before he lifted off to take me to Heathrow where we landed ten minutes later. An airport car was waiting which quickly took me to a small jet that already had its turbines turning over waiting, and was beginning to move before the door had closed properly.

It was taxiing as the door was closed and I was shown where to sit and had only just buckled up my seat belt before it was taking off with immediate clearance from the tower. So much for travelling on government business. I still didn't know what I was supposed to be doing but Jackson had just over the hour to get that sorted out for Lewis to instruct me when we got to Paris.

Hello Mike,' he greeted me as I stepped off the jet at a place out of sight of the terminal. Let's talk in the car,' so I followed him and got into an airport car, without driver, to talk. `I'm glad they missed you Mike,' Lewis said.

So am I but my friend isn't,' I said sourly, but it won't be Mike anymore, will it?'

No, and I'm sorry for your friend, but, well, what about poor Matheson?' He gave a cough and opened one of these flat kind of carrying cases and drew out a wad of paper and documents. New passport in the name of Phillip Travers, oil pipe line construction surveyor. All verified with the oil company in London that you've been working for them for the past ten years. Brief history here,' as he handed me three close typed sheets of paper. `The photographs and names of the two assassins for you to study but not touch. Jackson was most emphatic on this. Leave them alone for they will be dealt with later now that we know them. Your job is to follow them where ever they go and more importantly, find where their headquarters are. We believe it is the region of the geological maps in this case that you are going to survey for a possible pipe line, along with all the necessary permits for you to travel about the area. Also there are five thousand pounds of the local currency and ten thousand U.S. dollars and Jackson has asked for you to bring back the change please.

We are staying in the Teheran Hilton for our first night and play it by ear from then on. If you've finished with the brief and the photos, I'll have them back.' I had been reading them as he had been speaking and having got the basic gist of them along with knowing that I would recognise my two friends again, passed them back to him. He put them into another small case which I recognised as a mini incinerator and that any paper or inflammable material placed inside and the catch operated properly, burnt to a crisp whatever was put inside in a matter of seconds without smoke or fumes.

`Now let's get to the terminal and mingle before the flight,' he said as he gave a signal to a waiting man who got into the driving seat and drove us to where we could slip in unobserved. Lewis had already prepared a grip for me with clothing that befitted my new persona, so with ticket, passport and grip, I presented myself at the airline check-in and was passed through into the departure area to await the calling of my flight.

I casually strolled through the shops seeking the two men but it wasn't till after the flight was called and in that small holding lounge did I spot them, I also noticed that Lewis had picked them up too. What pissed me off was that I then saw as the boarding began that Lewis had a first class ticket while I had to sit and suffer in economy class. Thankfully it was a French airline so I was able to have with my meal, a vodka and tonic, my last drop of alcohol until I got out of Iran.

It was bloody hot when we landed and was thankful to get to the hotel and into the air conditioning. I forgot how hot it could get out there and hoped that Lewis had remembered to pack some sun blocking cream in with my kit. Lewis hadn't come with me to the hotel because he had been picked up by a waiting car that followed our two men to find out where they would be spending the night. He also had some local ground operatives standing by to watch them and report their movements within the city.

The first thing I did on checking in was to ask the front desk for them to hire me a four wheel drive vehicle and an English speaking driver, letting them see my oil papers and permits. I mangled what appeared to be the only Arabic words I knew in this request concealing the fact that I spoke the language fluently. I knew I was going to be grossly overcharged and wasn't disappointed when I was told how much a day it would cost me. I shrugged and had to accept the figure they gave me listening to their spoken asides as they silently laughed at me for being another stupid business man.

I later met up with Lewis in the bar and only accepted a soft drink as we talked as two Englishmen would meeting up that far from home. With the barman finally getting called away from our end of the bar where we sat, he brought me up to date with where they were and that they were expected to leave Teheran the following morning by bus. Before we parted, he passed across a small package that contained a magnetic tracking device and the responder which was about the size of and really did look like a mobile phone.

The driver of my Land Rover the next morning spoke English and was quite happy to go out shopping with me for supplies of food and camping equipment. He would haggle with the shopkeepers taking nearly twenty five per cent as a back hander with every purchase we made chalking up about seven hundred pounds for which he would suffer later.

With all that I needed, we returned to the hotel where I still had time for a shower and to change into decent travelling clothes for the desert before I had to relinquish the room. I met Lewis in the bar and he told me what bus our targets had boarded, passing across the route of it saying that they probably wouldn't disembark until near the end of its scheduled run. Then I had to somehow get the tracking device onto any vehicle that might pick them up.

The bus had a two hour start on us but I didn't push my driver knowing that we would be up to the bus by about mid afternoon. I gave him the direction and off we set in pursuit of the bus and after four hours driving, I had him stop at the next village for a break and some tea. Nearly a pound for a small glass was exorbitant, but I didn't argue but paid what was asked and got a couple of sweetmeats thrown in free. Now I made the excuse to sit in the back so that I could spread my maps to study the terrain as we travelled, also to check the stopping points of the bus so that I could have him pull off the road for me to observe who got off.

We passed the bus just after three o'clock and now it was time for me to start having the driver zigzagging across the sands so that we were never far from the bus and I could get to a vantage point to see who left it when it stopped. It was about an hour before nightfall and it almost caught me unawares when the bus stopped it appeared, to be in the middle of nowhere. It was only by using my telescopic sight could I then discern a track and my two would be executioners get off and let the bus go on its way.

I made a quick study of the terrain and got back into our car and told the driver to get back down to the road and had him head in the same direction of the bus. I could see the two men in the distance waiting, and at the same time, a land rover coming out of the desert to obviously meet them. We were still a mile or two away when the jeep came up to the two men and after a few minutes they climbed aboard and the jeep reversed its course and set off again.

My driver couldn't understand when I ordered him to turn off the road onto the track to follow the jeep. Our speed was faster and it was soon in sight and I urged him on faster to catch it up and get them to stop. He began flashing his lights and sounding his horn as we got closer and the jeep eventually slowed and came to a stop and we pulled up just behind them.

`Ask them how far it is to the next village,' I instructed my driver. So we both got out for him to ask the question while I did some stretching exercises and then went round kicking our tyres and eventually moved over to the jeep and asked him what the answer was. While doing this, I placed the transmitter just under the spare wheel on the rear door of their jeep before he turned to give me the answer.

`Too far along this track before nightfall. They suggest we either go back to the road or sleep out here because it will be dark soon,' he reported back. It was close enough to what they had said between them in Arabic so I agreed that we would tent out for the night. My driver thanked and bid them farewell and as they drove off, began to get our gear out for setting up camp for the night. I went back to my maps showing no interest in the departing jeep as he began to erect my tent.

Having seen where the men had got off the bus and knowing exactly how far we had come down this track I knew precisely where we were. I watched anxiously my tracking device getting more unsettled the further and further it was moving away from me. Then to my relief, it stopped moving at just under one hundred and twenty miles away and by turning the device one way and then another, was able to near enough pin point on my map where they had stopped.

Thankfully I turned it off and had the meal that my driver had prepared for me before turning in for the night. I was up before first light and going away a little for a pee and a crap, tuned into the tracking signal and was pleased that it was still stationary. I spent the whole of that day making the appearance of surveying the area and studying the terrain, but keeping an eye on my transponder. The signal didn't move, and nor had it moved the next morning so I told the driver I'd seen enough and to get us back to the city.

The driver was happy enough to go back after sleeping two nights in the car and now he would soon get paid. I made him wait outside the hotel while I checked in and had a word with Lewis, telling him to have his friends ready near the garage where the car came from. I then got my gear from the car and paid the driver and thirty minutes later he was stopped, robbed and all the camping equipment stolen. This paid off all of Lewis's hired hands and after a bath and a good night's sleep in a bed instead of on sand, flew out of Teheran the following morning.

For two days, experts studied the satellite photographs of my location of this terrorist camp and confirmed its existence but had no signs of life at each pass of this surveillance equipment. But we knew that they knew the times when this spy in the sky was due to pass over and so all activity ceased until it had passed. It spite of this enormous amount of inactivity, two stealth bombers flew into Iranian air space at low level and blew the place apart and were back out inside of twelve minutes.

Chapter Four

I was shown the satellite photographs taken after the air attack in Jackson's office and there wasn't a sign left of the encampment and the Iranian government was screaming blue murder about a violation of their air space but made no mention of a bombing attack on a terrorist camp.

`That was a good job you did Phillip,' Jackson said. So I was now to be Phillip Travers of no fixed abode in his eyes, well to hell with him. My name was Michael Farrell and as I was now presumed to be dead by these terrorists I couldn't see any reason for my not returning to Toy Town. He raised an eyebrow when I told him where I was going but saw the logic to it and didn't demure. But before I went home I decided to drop in on Lewis not having seen him at the office. The office is what we called the section where Jackson sat like a spider in the middle of his web, listening and feeling all the vibrations throughout the world. Just picture in your mind how a spider's web looks like when you've come across one in the garden of a field or wood. From the centre there are many threads that move out to the final ring and in between these are many circles joining the whole together.

The first inner circle would be the international desks and the thread running out being their line of communication, now for where every ring touches this thread is another desk and so on. The rings themselves are either operatives or informers or gatherers of information that feed it round to the desk nearest them.

So if there is the slightest tremor in one of the circles of this web, its vibration is fed to the thread that leads to the centre. Small tremors may only reach the first desk, but high powered ones then get fed up the line and if it is deemed worthy of action may even reach the centre where Jackson sat. I was just part of one thread but being out on one of the rings as it were though I must say I was on a ring that was very close to the centre.

Lewis was my field officer where I was known as a field operative. Not 007, licensed to kill and all that, but I could get away with it if it was in the national interest, or more bluntly, my own survival in a sticky situation. It was his job to set things up like this last one, that is getting me papers, supplying me with a false identity and background, money and being a back up. I've somewhat over simplified his job but that is the basics of what he does, though it would take far too long to really go into in depth. There were too many inconsistencies in this affair that was nagging me and before I wanted to start to draw conclusions, I had to know a bit more of what Lewis knew or had been told.

There's always this need to know basis, which is a good thing for if caught, you cannot, even under torture divulge what you don't know. You might make up stories to try and end the torture which would mean your death, or make something up to either prolong the torture in the hope that you would be rescued, which in itself is fanciful. It was more to hope that you might, just might be able to escape in the interim period of them checking out what you have told them.

But being the curious bugger that I am, I always needed to know more than I should, like I knew where Lewis lived and where he went for a drink and so on. I made it point to know as much about him as he knew about me which was a damn sight more.

So after swanning about London for a while, I finally made my way to Chelsea to a pub where I knew that Lewis went for a drink. Boy did he jump when I tapped him on the shoulder and asked for a vodka and tonic.

`What the bloody hell are you doing here?' were his first startled words.

`Asking for you to get me a drink,' I said mildly.

`With ice?' he asked sarcastically.

`Naturellemont,' I replied sitting down, pleased at his discomfiture at being found by me of all people. He got up and got himself another beer and my drink and returned to the table.

`What the hell are you doing here?' he asked again.

Need to know basis Lewis, a need to know,' I said as I put my hand on his and squeezed it hard. I need to know who set me up?' I said fiercely in a low harsh voice.

`Matheson broke,' he said, having to use force to get my hand off his.

`Bollocks. They knew where I lived whereas Matheson didn't and that's just for starters.'

`What do you mean?' he asked, rubbing his wrist.

Okay, I'll come back to that in a minute,' I said somewhat wearily. When were you told to set up this operation we've just finished?'

`About four hours before you arrived in Paris. I was there at the embassy and got woken up and told to cobble it together. I thought I did a bloody good job in the time frame.'

`And this was the first you knew of it? When you were woken up I mean?'

`Yes, why?'

`I'm just trying to put the pieces of this jigsaw together because some of the pieces don't fit.'

`In what way?'

`Okay, I'll try and make it as simple as I can. Jackson sends a car for me at eight in the morning because he's found out that Matheson has been tortured and killed, dumped outside our embassy, but of which one? This hasn't been said. Jackson didn't mention where he was found and it took him around four hours before sending a car for me. What was the link between me and Matheson?

Next point is that if he was killed after torture, which according to the doctor, must have lasted about eight hours judging by the state of his wounds, what time was he first taken? The doctor hadn't given a time of death or at least I wasn't told when he died, just the fact that he was dumped around four a.m. Now I don't see them keeping a body for very long before getting rid of it when they've got the information they want. But why advertise the fact? Why not just bury him? I believe Matheson was a red herring!'

Oh come on,' Lewis protested. He got caught, tortured and killed and then they came after you.'

`No. That's where you are wrong. As I said at the beginning, Matheson didn't know where I lived plus the time frame's all wrong. They, the killers, were already in a remote part of Cornwall knowing where I was nearly twenty four hours before Matheson got taken. Matheson didn't tell them, they already knew!'

`Oh Christ,' Lewis breathed, the time element now sinking into his brain.

`As I said, I was a target and that they used Matheson to try and cover up that somebody else had given them my whereabouts.'

Yes, yes, I see it now,' Lewis said. You don't think, no, it can't have been Jackson!'

`No. I'm certain it wasn't him and it was why I asked you when you were informed.'

`You didn't think it was me?' he looked and sounded shocked.

`Not really or I wouldn't be talking to you now.' I saw him give a little shudder though he tried to hide it for he knew I was a killer and that what I had said was true.

`Now I mean to find who set me up and you've got to help me, because I may not be the only one in the department who is being fingered to the opposition.'

Then came an incident that I'm not sure confirmed or didn't, my hypothesis of what was going on. I'd got another round of drinks in and then went to the toilet. I just finished having a pee and was washing my hands when the door opened and in walked Telford. Now this man was a known purveyor of lies, truths and half-truths. He lived by listening to other people's conversations and gleaning what he could and then selling what he learned to a willing recipient of either gossip or secrets.

His face went white when he saw me which was enough to make my hackles rise.

`Farrell! You're supposed to be dead!' was what he said and then he became so. It was the fact that the death of Nicholas Farrell had not been made public that prompted me to such quick action because he, of all people, shouldn't have known of my death. I would liked to have got him to our basement to find out what he knew, but I'm afraid I was rather over exuberant in this case. As he uttered those words, my hand went up and with the hard edge, smashed it into his larynx and he went down like a pole axed bull. I couldn't take the chance and then twisted his head till I heard, and felt his neck snap.

I cursed myself as I went out of the toilets after heaving his body up off the floor and into a cubicle and pulled the door shut. I should have hit only to maim so as to get more out of him but it was the shock of him knowing the fact that I should be dead and didn't believe that he had connections to the Middle East that made me want to stop him from telling the world that I was still alive.

I went back to the table and quickly gulped down my drink.

`Drink up or leave it because we're leaving, now!' I said to Lewis.

`Why?' he asked with the pint glass halfway up to his mouth as he took a mouthful, then nearly lost it when I answered him.

`I've just killed Telford in the toilet.' It took some effort on his part not to splutter his beer all over the table, but managed to swallow what he had in his mouth. To give him his due, the glass went straight down onto the table and he got up and we left the bar and he got onto control with his mobile phone. When the connection was made he asked for a clean-up squad, giving them the name of the pub and where the body was.

Somewhere deep in the bowels of our office building is a large underground garage where a variety of vehicles are stationed. Mostly vans with different logos painted on the sides as well as cars. There is always a squad of men on standby in case of emergencies and have various uniforms, overalls or other types of clothing to suit whatever purpose the leader decides on.

To collect a body that could cause a problem for the department was usually done very quietly, like from an hotel room or a private flat or house. It was more difficult when it was such a public place like a pub. The leader of the squad, Trevor Dasher, a very apt name for the speed he had to sometimes generate before the body was found, immediately called out to the men that they would be a bomb squad. So while they quickly found the appropriate clothing, he phoned the police for a cordon on the area while his second in command let the garage people downstairs know what vehicles they would need.

Such was their experience and control, they were there at the pub in just a shade over fourteen minutes, arriving just after the police. The street was quickly sealed off and people being asked to move back as the pub was entered and all told to leave immediately because of this report of a suspected bomb on the premises.

The bomb squad themselves checked out the toilets to see that they were empty as the police got the civilians out of the pub until only the squad were left inside. Of course they located the body immediately but stopped for a cigarette to waste the time that they were supposedly checking out the building. Equipment had been wheeled in that was really the means of getting the body out, and after ten minutes, declared the place clean and that it must have been a hoax call.

I had caused an awful lot of bother to the police, motorists, civilians as well as our own crowd, but Telford's body was spirited away and then dumped somewhere else to be found as though he'd fallen and crushed his throat and broke his neck at the same time.

His death wasn't even reported in the daily paper's the next day, it not being worthy of noting, but the bomb scare was. Jackson I knew would be furious, but there wasn't much I could do about that now, but this would be the following day.

It wasn't till we were quite some distance away did Lewis ask for more details though I countered with my own questions.

`How did that slime ball know I was supposed to be dead? I didn't think he had connections with the Middle East guys,' I said as we walked a couple of blocks before hailing a taxi to take us to his flat. I saw and noted the surprise on Lewis's face when I gave the cab driver his address.

I know more than you think Lewis, I said to the unspoken question I could see in his eyes as to my knowing where he lived. `The point is, how did that shit know that I was supposed to be dead?' This stopped all questions and thoughts until we reached his flat.

Why the fuck did you kill him?' was the first question from Lewis as he went and poured out a stiff drink for himself before pouring me one. We could have learned something!'

I know, I know,' I said as I took my drink from him. It was the shock I think of seeing his shocked face at seeing me alive that made me react too quick. I tried to pull it back at the last moment but it was too late. Now keep my name out of this mess as I don't want to become involved because this might tip the hand of a person or persons unknown that I know that other people who shouldn't know that I am supposed to be dead. The whole bloody thing stinks,' I said, still not sitting down, but pacing up and down that short strip of carpet in his lounge. `This Ba'athists group should be the only people who know what with our news blanket on Nick's death. So how in God's name did he know?' I ranted.

Well we're not going to know now are we?' said Lewis laconically. You have seen to that.'

Thanks for reminding me,' I said sardonically. Fuck it! The one good lead to start and I balls it up!' I went and slumped in a chair and sipped at my drink.' The fact that I had just killed a man didn't faze me at all, as I have said earlier that I have seen many dead bodies before, neglecting to mention that I had been the cause of their demise. This was just another one in a long line and had ceased to worry or even think about them afterwards. But I did with this one when we could have learned so much that I was really annoyed with myself.

`Maybe we can back track his movements?' Lewis offered.

`Join the queue on the M25, slowly moving but getting nowhere at all! Christ, he talks to everyone. It would take a month of Sunday's.' With that, we slipped into a morose silence, each with his own thoughts. What Lewis's were, I don't know, but mine were running through all those people that I knew at the office, trying to think of who could be the mole and wanted me dead.

We didn't get anywhere that evening, talking as we ate frozen pizza's from the fridge. Cooked in the oven first, you cretin, and then I crashed out for the night on his sofa before going back to Toy Town.