Fit For Purpose, Julian Parrott [most recommended books txt] 📗

Rover’s after-market entertainment system and as Cwmbran disappeared in the rear-view mirror he asked, via voice command, the system to call Gagnon.

***

London

Gagnon answered Tom’s call on the fourth ring. The tall Canadian was sitting in his hospital room’s lounge chair wearing a threadbare hospital dressing gown and a face like thunder. He was still in pain but in no medical danger and was more troubled about the afternoon’s meeting he had experienced with representatives from MI5. The meeting had been short and to the point; his personal vendetta against Zalkind/Kamenev was now over, permanently, as was his time in the UK. He was informed that as soon as he received medical clearance to travel, he was going to be quietly escorted to Heathrow and put on a plane for Canada. The rather pompous MI5 officer informed Gagnon that he was to consider himself fortunate that charges weren’t going to be held against him. And worse was to come; he was subsequently visited by a pale Canadian intelligence officer from the embassy who, after taking Gagnon’s report, informed Gagnon that Ottawa had made a decision to relieve him of duties. Gagnon had expected such news. He was disappointed, yet, he told himself, he was lucky to be alive.

Gagnon told Tom about the meetings with the grey men from the intelligence agencies. Tom asked what Gagnon planned to do once he was back home in Canada. Gagnon had made a few calls to Canadian universities and colleges, some NGOs, and think tanks. An old commanding officer, Gagnon continued, who was now a small private college’s president, had been able to secure Gagnon an adjunct teaching gig. Gagnon told Tom that he would now put his PhD to work in higher education. Tom joked that the world of higher education was as cutthroat and political as the dark world of espionage. They laughed together as old friends. They talked through their experiences in London. It inspired them to talk about old times, being young officers, their shared experiences in Afghanistan, their adjustment back to civilian life. As the conversation slowed, Gagnon expressed thanks for Tom’s actions that had saved his life. Tom generously brushed it off; simply right place, right time, he told Gagnon.

***

 

Rachel’s Farm

Tom was dead tired when he pulled into the courtyard adjacent to Rachel and Owain’s farmhouse. Tom exited his Land Rover and inhaled the farm’s scent deeply; sweet hay and fresh cow manure was an oddly pleasant odour. The farm door opened, a crack of warm yellow light spread across the dark flagstones of the courtyard. Jack came bounding out to greet her owner. Tom knelt, allowing Jack to lick his face in her welcoming style. Rachel stood in the door with a small but warm smile. Tom decided to stay the night at the farm and head out to his narrowboat in the morning.

Rachel made a quick round of bacon and egg sandwiches, Owain joined Tom for the late-night snack and Tom told them of his new book contract and his flying visit to Nia on location. He left out the rather juicy detail concerning the trouble with the Russian security services. His phone dinged with a text and he was disappointed that it wasn’t Nia but from the young MI5 officer who had been introduced as Patel.

“Gagnon being sent home by week’s end,” Patel had written.

“Is that wise?” Tom texted in response. He was surprised when Patel replied almost immediately, “Medically cleared. PNG-ed.”

Chapter Nineteen

Above Montreal, January 20th

Gagnon was tired, sore and depressed. The flight home had been long and uncomfortable. A six-foot five-inch man, bandaged and wearing a sling, was never going to be comfortably seated in economy. Gagnon closed his eyes and reflected on the past few days as the cabin crew informed the passengers that the big jet had started its descent into Montreal Trudeau.

Gagnon felt the big Air Canada Airbus slide sideways, purposefully dropping altitude. The jet banked over the St Lawrence River on its final approach into the airport below, and Gagnon began to work through a mental checklist of the things he now needed to do. He was so distracted he almost didn’t realise the plane had landed and was taxiing to its assigned gate. Gagnon was still in some pain and discomfort as he moved gingerly up the skybridge. Once inside the main body of the terminal, he checked the departures board to double check the time and gate for his connecting flight home to Ottawa. As Gagnon turned away from the board his flight’s listing moved from ‘on time’ to ‘delayed’.

Gagnon moved quickly past gates, restaurants, bars, and the strange assortment of tourist tchotchke and high-end shops that all international airports are populated with. He passed a men’s bespoke clothing shop and wondered what he would need to wear at college. He immediately thought tweed with elbow patches and smiled at the cliché. His smile faded when he saw the delayed sign at his gate. His face clouded as he approached the gate agent. The gate’s seating area was suspiciously empty, he expected the worse.

Sarah Jones watched the bearded giant approach her customer service station. She thought he looked tired, sore and angry. Oh dear, she thought as he approached but never-the-less gave him a big smile and cocked her head slightly.

“How can I help you, sir?” she asked.

Gagnon was disarmed by the smile and the stunning green eyes. She was tall too, he liked tall women.

“Err, my flight’s delayed, just want to know when we can expect to board.”

Sarah’s fingers moved across her keyboard. “I’m sorry, sir,” she began. “It looks as if this flight’s going to be cancelled due to mechanical issues. The airplane is still on the ground in Ottawa.”

Gagnon scowled. It’s an inconvenience, he thought, but at least he didn’t now have work pressures on him to get home or get to the