Chapter 1

To my shock and consternation, the phone went off in my pocket. Bloody hell, that should not happen! No-one should be trying to ring me on a number that to all intents and purposes did not exist, and certainly not in the middle of the night.

It was set to vibrate and not actually make a sound, so I was temporarily safe, unheard, but no-one should be ringing me at any time of day or night, as it should not be possible. I was effectively off-grid, anonymous, a blind spot with the authorities, so no-one should have my number. No-one should know it, as it was not listed anywhere, not even with the phone company. With a bit of luck, it was a wrong number; someone hitting the wrong digits on their phone and getting through to my ‘non-existent’ number.

I was on the fifth floor of this office building, collecting my fruit selection for tomorrow’s meals from the snack bay that each floor had available. These laid-out offerings were for its office staff to help themselves from while taking a break from their computer/office work, or to snack on as they pounded the keys and swung their mouse in whatever expert objective they were tasked to achieve. I had no care or interest about them; they could remain anonymous for all I cared. But no-one should know me or be able to reach me, for I simply did not exist, in normal terms.

The multi-storey building was in darkness and I was using my low-power head torch to see my way around. Good eyes don’t need strong light. The emergency staircase suits me fine for accessing each floor, having no windows to the outside. At this high level, there was no chance that my presence could be observed from other buildings, for they were closed up just as was this one was at one a.m. My earlier SAS training had included entry to locked buildings, and I had made use of that past knowledge and experience to get me through the external doors once again. I had been using this building several times as a source for scran, as we call grub. Fresh fruit is good for your health, I can tell you, but office managers don’t get through their thick skulls that vegetables like carrots are also just as good for you.

Other buildings might be a better source for long-life free bits and pieces – wrapped biscuits and oatcakes, plus packets of coffee, tea and sugar. Such snacks never get missed by the company; it is always assumed they had been consumed by the staff. At a pinch if nothing else is available at the time, a small sachet of sugar gives you energy for a little while, even if not very nutritious.

Fruit is helpful in balancing your diet, and one has an added advantage: bananas get thrown out by the company if not consumed before getting past their best and showing black markings on the skin. Forget that spotting on the outside; the edible part inside is usually still fine for days after, I find. I like bananas, so I choose to do my own early disposal of these, into my collection bag. A six-floor building can provide me with a couple of carrier bags of bananas, apples, peaches, pears and oranges and other citrus fruit. Carrier bags – though I prefer string bags for fruit – are simple to obtain and easy to secrete in a pocket. Two smaller bags are simpler than one large one in performing my depredations and also in exiting the site. It is seldom that I have to depend on an insecure window, for most door locks are not as secure as the owners imagine. I have my own professional set of lock picks, provided by my army trainers for covert tasks.

Commercial buildings are a godsend for me. In some, I can use the staff showers (once I have tripped the power breaker switch for that area), and I can also trim my small beard to be neat again. In furniture and bedding stores I can have a good night’s sleep on top of one of their beds, covered by a blanket from another bed. After my phone wakes me in good time, I return the blanket and straighten all the bedclothes neatly (my wife trained me in that) before heading to the gents washroom for a quick wash and a good teeth cleaning with my personal toothbrush I carried in my inside pocket, its plastic holder keeping it free of contamination.

In case a cleaner comes in while I wait in the gents, I sit comfortably in a locked cubicle until opening time, when I can exit the facilities and wander back to the front door and so outside, unnoticed. If a delayed cleaner happens to to try my cubicle door, I call out, “It’s me! I’ll clean up after.” It is amazing how that is accepted as normal, that another cleaner is using the loo at the time. There is almost no chance it will be queried, as so many cleaning firms switch staff around incessantly to no apparent purpose, and no cleaner knows for certain who they will be teamed with in a large building. Suits me. While most cleaners are women, a few are men, mostly husbands of other cleaners, and money is money when you need a job.

Outside, I make sure I have a number of daytime hidey-holes where I can stay out of sight when I want to. I try not to wander around inside shops too much in the daytime in case I get noted as a potential shoplifter casing the place. Most large stores have public toilets that I can use during the day. I do most of my shaving – beard trimming, that is – at night inside a store that sells shavers where I can get into the store and make use of their test examples. I always make certain that my earlier presence is not remarked on; I clear up as I go, and leave not even a footprint anywhere.

Most importantly, I leave no sign that I have broken in; my illicit entry should leave no evidence that I ever got in or out. It is signs of damage that come to the attention of security personnel and makes them search for an intruder. If there is no sign of anything untoward, what is there to watch for? If I pick a lock, and I do that well, it is like I had used a key; no visible scratches. The only entrance doors – and it is usually a staff entrance in the daytime – I leave alone are those well-lit and/or under public gaze, no matter what time of day or night. Side doors are my preference.

If I used a front door an observant policeman in a passing vehicle at night might spot my criminal entry and call it in, so I avoid such unnecessary exposure. A police observance of anything unusual, even a light on inside, means a call to the registered key holder, and he has to go to the building and check if it is secure and that no-one is inside. I never want that, even if I can escape capture – as I probably could. My aim is to never be noticed. I am the mouse in the walls, creeping about and minding my own business. The police also call the key holder if they find an insecure door, as that is a clear security concern.

This is why my phone going off was so unnerving.

I fished it out of my pocket and checked for the call. The number was not shown, so I could only try a bluff. I finally answered, with a gruff and noncommittal, “Yes?”

A confident voice said, “Ah, at last! I would like to make an appointment to speak with you in person, Mister Jones.”

I was shocked that he knew the name I was going by at the moment. That information should not have been attached to my phone number anyway, and I was damn positive it was not linked. This was odd. I tried another tack, without acknowledging anything. “Who have I the pleasure of speaking to?”

“You can call me Smith; then we can be Smith and Jones, eh? I might have a job for you, Mr Jones; or Broughton if you prefer?”

Even worse, for Broughton is my true surname. This was extremely serious. This guy had knowledge that he couldn’t have unless he was with some U.K. intelligence agency; foreign states did not know me at all, and most organs of the British state had me noted as dead or missing in action if they had me in their records at all. I upped my next question to be more specific, still saying as little as possible. “What kind of job?”

“You are needed to get into a building and deal with a small task and then disappear again. You seem to be quite good at that, or so your previous, uh, ‘employers’ indicate.” This guy knew too much about my army record for my safety. I had best be very careful, admitting nothing.

“Where might this building be, that you want me to enter for you?” “Cautious as I expected, young man. I can say you don’t have to leave the country, but exact details will not be made plain until after our arrangements are finalised and we both know what the other wants.”

“Hmm. Would this ‘small task’ involve violence of any kind? And is there remuneration involved?” “Such matters can be resolved after we have met and entered our agreement. If all goes well, there may be more, shall we say? positive activity between you and my organisation.”

“YOUR organisation? This is not one of these little-known government bodies then?”

“Not even what you would call the Secret Service. I lead an even more secret organisation, one that is entirely off the record, much as you are apparently off the record. That is why you are of interest; not just for your abilities as a soldier, but your agility at disappearing from public notice and why you did so.”

“Oh? You know about that?”

“Indeed. We like to keep track of potential staff, either for regular work or one-offs. Keeping tabs on you has been a trifle more onerous than usual. Well done on that! Incidentally, we have your phone GPS located on the inside of a large office building that is closed during the night, so that tells me that your entrance techniques continue to be considerable. Can we fix our meeting?”

I admitted, “It appears my talents are not as good as I had hoped, so I am willing to collaborate with you for now. Where and when do you propose we meet?”

“The simplest is a coffee shop where we can chat unobserved as other than a meeting of friends. Might I suggest the one across the road from where you are at this moment: the Highland Cafe? That will show that it is not a set-up arranged in advance. It will be my treat, so you don’t need to arrive with cash. You can leave your investments alone for the moment. I approve of your choice of shares: quite perceptive a selection if I may say so, especially the technology companies you have invested in.”

The man had obviously researched me intensively and extensively, for I thought my investments were well hidden. “Very well. Is tomorrow too early? Or rather today, for it is past one a.m.”

“That would be suitable for me, if we can make it for three p.m. Find a seat at the back, and I will spot you; your face is known to me from photographs.” “And yours remains unknown to me until then.”

“That is what you can look forward to, my boy. You will remain unnoticed by the world. My true identity is equally obscure, and will remain so, thus stick with Smith.” We finished our call, then I tried the 1471 code, which tells you the number the call came from. It reported, “The caller withheld their number’, which did not surprise me, so I returned to my night-time foraging.

Tracking my phone’s radio signal is impossible to prevent, if the tracker has the requisite equipment, permission to use it and ability to triangulate using signal strength at various cell towers. My phone as it stood was the best available secure option, but another option I perhaps should consider was to obtain a second phone and leave my original in a secure place when I want to go exploring. The second one could be scrapped if it is identified by anyone. That would work until whoever was tracking me somehow got access to my second phone’s ID. That would be an expert job, not easy, so what happened tonight has already shown me what resources Smith has access to: a lot.

Shrugging all of this off, I prepared for my meeting with ‘Smith’ as best I could. In the morning I changed my clothes and used a different deodorant so my body had a new smell for the meeting. Disguising my face was useless, as AI image software identifies you from facial measurements that cannot be altered. I decided not to carry a gun or knife, but a slim extendable baton which is useful for debilitating an attacker, should it come to that. This could be up my jacket sleeve, able to be dropped – actually shaken - into my hand if and when required.

I made sure I was not carrying any identifying material, even for my temporary identity. Any document carries with it some clues as to its maker, especially if it is not officially issued. The term ‘officially issued’ is a useful descriptor. One can get an identity paper – birth certificate is most common – and thereby apply for an official passport or other document, if you know how to go about it. The date of birth can be subtly altered on the birth certificate to make it more modern, yet still be almost undetectable. The original holder is usually long deceased and often not in the digital records, though these old records are slowly being added to the database to prevent identity hacking. One’s formal evidence is seldom queried, as in 99.9 per cent of the time the identity document is accurate. No-one wants to waste time on useless checks, I find.

So I went to my meeting, hoping for at least a good-tasting coffee. Hopefully Smith was able to influence the quality of the coffee offered to us. Power has its advantages. I made my way from my current temporary abode to the designated coffee shop, and took a gander at the exterior. It was bright and cheery, with the name Highland Coffee Shop emblazoned about the front window. Inside I could see a smattering of customers, it now being past the lunchtime rush. Still, there was enough clientele that I would not stand out too much, so I entered and made my way in search of a back table.