CHAPTER ONE
"February the 13th"
I read aloud, rubbing my finger over the preceding day.
"Valentines Day"
I cursed barely audibly in my, somber, moonlight apartment. It had been almost five years since Ricky had walked out on me; Valentines Day 2003 to be exact. For five years I had re-lived in my mind the constant tensions and frictions there were between the two of us and wondered whether all relationships were the same? I certainly hadn't pushed myself into finding a replacement and, if I was to be totally honest, remembering how unhappy I felt, I believed I would be better off on my own. I shook my head and scoffed thinking how silly this must appear to onlookers; me endlessly counting the passing years whilst, simultaneously, clinging onto old, de-grading memories that seem to served no useful purpose except making me feel miserable. It was time to do a little growing up and move on! The kettle, having just started whistling a happy chune, signaled its own appreciation at my new found zest for life. At least I had some support!
Mug in one hand I slowly slid the glass paneled door revealing more and more of my private balcony with each effortless push revealing the dark, foreboding sight of London's midnight. Setting my mug down on the wooden 'garden' set, with a thud, I light one of my menthol cigarettes and turned to view the surroundings. I lived in the old quarter of the city which, once upon a time, was a bustling fishing dock where boats would endlessly either set sail for the days catch or be busily setting up stall displaying their proud goods for passing trade to buy; it was a place family and friends would meet up when they had free time to spend. That was, of course, many years ago, even before my time; the dock was now an executive residential area with high end houses, flats, shops, restaurants and a marina. One of the few reminders of the docks history was an old-fashioned haulage crane used for unloading heavy loads and a water measuring stick.
As I stood, leaning against the railing, watching the streets below, I remembered the times Ricky would lovingly say 'Kristoffer, you'll catch your death!' or 'don't even think about coming back to bed without warming up!' every time he saw me sat out on the balcony, wearing only a dressing gown, on cold nights such as this. I smiled to myself remembering the happier times we had shared; it was almost as if he was terrified I would turn blue and keel over. My cigarette finished I half-heartedly dropped it into Miss Rozarios' prized marigold hanging basket one floor down; the woman was pushy, rude even, the real life embodiment of the fictional Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced 'Bouquet'). If you wanted to know anything about your fellow residents she was the person to ask; I honestly believe she would make a far better intelligence officer than I ever could. Darkness had somehow given way to sunrise in the short time I had been loitering on my balcony; I looked up at the orange sky only to quickly turn away again as the light began to hurt my eyes. I had tried to catch some sleep the night before but it had never come, thus, my midnight balcony stroll. Perhaps it was a good sign I hadn't been able to sleep; I was on the early shift today and functioning, for me, in the early mornings was a struggle at the best of times -- I loved my sleep!
As I rode the glass paneled elevator the short distance to the ground floor I thought to myself why I had never bought a car; I had the licensed for one, hell, I was even paying for a parking space which other people believed was vacant and parked in; but having only a 20 minute commute into the city centre, to me, made owning a car pointless; shopping was easy too. The elevator came to a sudden, abrupt halt.
"Ground floor."
The elevator politely informed me -- she sounded as tiered as I felt! The ground floor and car park of Beverlac Court were the only exceptions to the 'all glass' elevator that stuck out from the rest of the building; giving the feeling one was falling to their death. The main car park elevator door was nothing special but the rest had an art deco appearance which was repeated thought the entire building with geometrical/mismatched shapes and lots and lots of lines; strange for a modern building. I was taking in the look of our newly refurbished, sparse lobby when, in a rather rude tone, someone bellowed.
"Are you just here to admire the view or are you considering buying a place?"
I turned to see whose voice was echoing thought the lobby.
"FRANK!"
I roared as I ran over to greet him like a happy five year old.
"Hehe -- how you doing, kid?"
Of all the people I had expected to see it certainly wasn't him! Frank was, or use to be, the Courts head security guard or, as he often quipped, the `receptionist.' He was a rather large guy although I had never really seen him eat a lot. Despite his size he was a lovely, caring guy which people could only help but be at ease with.
"Well, well, well. When did you return to work?" I said in a mocking, friendly tone.
He turned his eyes from the bank of coloured security cameras behind him whilst, simultaneously, refilling his `i'm the boss' coffee mug.
"Well you know how the Mrs. likes her holidays?" He muttered to himself as I smiled on in amusement. He set his mug down on his desk and sighed. "The last one all but wiped us out. I duno where she books the damn things from" he added as an after thought and threw his hands up in the air. "So here I am kid. Back in this fantastically high paid job" he said; his comment dripping with sarcasm. His gloomy demeanor altered as he said to me "so how is the love life? Still with Ricky?"
I looked down at the gold and black polished marble floor. I really did not want to answer this question. "Ricky split" I said clearing my throat.
Frank tilted his head sideways; looking at me sympathetically. "That's bad kid. You two always struck me as a strong couple! What happened?"
"He kept ... he kept" I repeated myself feeling frustrated at having to think about my unforgiving ex "wanting to know where I worked ... why I was called into work at short notice on days off" I kept that fact that he had called me difficult and secretive to myself.
I really had missed Frank he was an honest and fair soul; if I ever had any problems in the past I knew I could always go to him and visa versa. After a moment of calm silence between us he put his coffee mug down and said.
"Well you could have told him where you worked; couldn't you? It wouldn't have done any harm surely?"
I started to get a little to defensive towards Frank. "I wanted to Frank ... on many occasions ... but I couldn't ... not with the job I have."
"Oh" was all he said as he took another sip of his steaming coffee; I never could understand how people could drink drinks that hot -- I always ended up with agonising tongue ache. Frank had turned round to complete some paperwork whilst I noticed an attractive arrangement of flowers sitting in a brightly decorated yellow vase on top of his desk. Frank and flowers? I leaned forward on his high-rise desk; my hands folded on top. "You got a secret admirer Frank?" I said amused. He swiveled round on his chair and made a `huh' noise with his pen in his mouth; I nodded towards the vase. He started to look unwell.
"It was the Rizario woman" he said sounding alarmed. I made an `o' face and nodded in sympathy for him; no one deserved that. "Honestly kid, that woman! I was not sat at my desk 5 minutes when she strolled into the lobby acting like some movie star bearing gifts."
`B side actress' I thought to myself. Frank continued.
"Honestly that woman! She wouldn't leave me alone till I told her all the `gossip' I had. She's like a blood hound!"
I nodded. Our conversation was interrupted by the front door claxon wailing. Those sorts of sounds always made chills go up my spine.
"Auugh sorry kid; I forgot there were people coming to view apartment 300."
"The penthouse?" I asked. Frank stood up and began to move towards the doors with his key card.
"Hehe yeah -- must be nice to have the money ... eh kid?" He said turning to speak to me whilst moving towards the huge tinted glass doors.
"Haha yeah ... I have to get to work buddy. Nice to see you back!" I said as I thanked him for opening the door for me and nodding towards the perspective couple. They were middle aged and, thankfully, didn't look half as snooty as most of the people in this area.
As I descended the station 'wheelchair' friendly ramp -- which was so steep one wrong move from wheelchair users could mean they make it to the city centre in record time; I noticed how eerily quiet it was. I normally noticed regular commuters and business people but, today, perhaps they knew something I didn't. The train breezed into the station; I boarded and found a vacant seat opposite two teenage boys who weren't fooling anybody by acting straight - they made a cute couple. It was a nice surprise to find Frank back in my life; I had tried to keep in-touch, during his absence, on many occasions, but when he talked about his wife loving her holidays he really meant it. I got bored of looking through with window at London's endless houses and tower blocks so I, instead, turned my attention to the couple sat opposite me who, because of the lack of people in the carriage, had given up the straight boys act and were play fighting. One of them appeared to be the more dominant one and was biting, tickling and nudging his boyfriend whenever he tried to get the upper-hand. Domination, in a relationship sense, had always frightened me and I disliked it fully when individuals had tried to do it; which often ended up with me running away. I often wondered whether it stemmed from my childhood. The thought of relationships had me thinking about Ricky instantly and what Frank had said; would it really have hurt if I told him where I worked? I knew he wanted to 'surprise' me at work but they would have killed him, surely? I only did it to protect him.
My job, you see, is not what most people would consider 'normal.' I was born in Belgrade, Serbia to British/Serbian parents and was recruited, more like head hunted, for the Bezbednosno Informativna Agencija (BIA), the Serbian intelligence service, after graduating from Belgrade University. Whilst at first it was an interesting and enjoyable job; the constant bickering and stalemates between Serbia, Montenegro and Kosovo made it rather tiresome and boring. I started to become restless and, towards the end of my contract, was appointed Serbia's attaché to Britain charged with looking after Britain's interests abroad. So, you see, I really couldn't tell Ricky where I worked; he would have been seen as a threat to national security. I would forgive you for believing I worked for MI5 or 6 -- I did not; during the 1990s the director general of MI6 succeeding in making the agency more transparent and open to the public with an internet site, newspaper recruitment and monthly reports. The government was, understandably, anxious about this situation and created the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) which began undertaking most of MI6's primary roles. My head quarters were in a colossal, modern style, building next to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office which was well protected from both internal and external attacks; our security guards, unlike Frank, were armed!
I hated being so close to other government departments; they all thought we were snobby and could take over their departments with one phone call -- nothing could be further from the truth! I signed in at reception and handed over my Beretta 92; my Serbian standard issue sidearm. I wasn't expecting it but the receptionist handed me a black envelope addressed to me; this was the agencies preferred method of covert internal communication. Inside was a glossy red card. I started to feel nauseous; something bad was beginning to take place either inside or outside of Britain -- something bad. I sure hoped the coffee machine had plenty of juice in it; I was in for a long day!