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

she loved. She returned to her book, Hadfield’s Illustrated History of British Canals. It was rather dry and she was distracted. She was tired too, her latest role, the 1960s’ lesbian matron, had just wrapped. She had spent one night in her home before heading out for the rendezvous with Tom. She hadn’t noticed that the small white plumbing van had returned to her Georgian square or that it had followed her taxi to Euston station that morning. Nia had no idea that two carriages behind her a Russian SVR agent was reading the morning’s Daily Mail while occasionally updating his boss with texts.

***

Outskirts, London

The hotel was north-west of London on the outside of the capital city’s greenbelt. The hotel’s heyday, if it ever had one, had long since passed. It was threadbare, barely surviving on travellers with very limited budgets, the accidental passers-by needing a late-night check in with no other options available, or prostitutes booking in for a four-hour ‘nap’. Its selling points for Kamenev were that it took cash, indeed it was preferred, waived ID, and had no cameras. In a corner room on the first-floor, Kamenev sat on a single bed reading texts on his phone. He tapped out a short response and then put the phone back into his jacket pocket.

“Go gas up the car,” he ordered his driver. “It looks as if we are heading to a place called Crewe.”

The driver got off the room’s second single bed with a grunt. He was glad for an opportunity to get out of the shithole hotel they been cooped up in for the past few days. He grabbed his small hand grip, his go bag, that contained cash, three separate identities with passports and other identification, and a Skorpion. He left the room and headed out of an unalarmed emergency exit to the small car park and the silver Focus. Kamenev, too, was pleased that things were once again moving.

Kamenev knew that as a rogue agent his time was short. The driver and the surveillance man had begun to question the total communications blackout with the embassy, the Rezident and Moscow. It wouldn’t be long before one of his team breached the radio silence and the British security services or, worse, the FSB or SVR tracked them down. He didn’t enjoy feeling like prey. His field craft was good enough to evade the forces aligned against him for some time but he much preferred being the hunter. He was focused on his own hunt and that hunt was now accelerating. The actress was now being followed and she would lead him to Tom Price. Then, at least, he would settle the account that began long ago and far away in Afghanistan. He grabbed his own go bag. He pulled out his heavy Makarov semi-automatic pistol and chambered a round.

***

Crewe

Nia’s prearranged taxi was waiting for her as soon as she exited Crewe station. She took a quick look at her watch to calculate the time it would take before she would see Tom again. She didn’t notice the man who had followed her out of the station nor the cab that tailed hers. She didn’t see the following taxi stop when hers pulled into the White Swan’s car park in Marbury. She failed to notice the man who got out of the taxi and shadowed her, at a distance, as she entered the pub.

Tom had arrived at the pub before Nia. He had chosen a table in the corner of the lounge, hard against a floor to ceiling bookshelf, that allowed him to tactically observe the pub’s main entrance. An exit was directly behind him. He saw Nia enter the pub and look around. She was elegant as usual. Her hair was tied back but looked as if it had been prepared by a stylist. She wore her new Barbour coat over a red wool jumper, a white tailored shirt and cropped jeans with brown Dr Martens. She was toting a smart leather weekend bag. Tom stood up as soon as Nia made eye contact with him. He felt her broad smile warm deep inside. They moved together and hugged as if they had been apart for months. Nia kissed Tom hard and he reciprocated. As they broke their kiss Tom noticed the entry of a pub patron who stared at them before he made his way to the bar. Tom ushered Nia to the corner table. Nia kissed him again as she sat down and removed her hat and coat. They quickly fell into conversation. As Nia talked quickly and excitedly about her recent acting role Tom caught the eye of the same pub patron in the bar back mirror. Instinctively, Tom assigned the patron’s facial features to memory, but he became quickly engaged in listening to Nia and her rapid fire, almost stream of consciousness conversation.

After lunch, Tom and Nia held hands as they walked through the high hedgerowed country lanes and down to the canal. They had enjoyed the excellent food served at the White Swan but were both looking forward to getting back on the Periwinkle. Nia was also looking forward to seeing Jack again. Out of their sightlines behind them, Kamenev’s SVR man watched them through a small pair of binoculars. He moved stealthily through a farm field and lay down, hidden by the hedge that separated the field from the canal. Through his binoculars he watched Tom and Nia make their way down from a humpbacked road bridge and down onto the canal’s towpath. There was only one narrowboat moored on the bank and the Russian watched as Tom and Nia entered it. The Russian noted the boat’s name, the direction it was pointing, and texted Kamenev.

***

Periwinkle

Jack greeted Nia with her usual welcoming licking routine before the terrier rolled on her back in anticipation of a tummy rub. Once Jack was satisfied, she allowed Nia to unpack