Chapter 4

“That last bit, about birthing a child? Does this mean that you would not be averse to being the father of such a child? Forgive me if I am being too forward.”

“Phemie, if only all women were as straightforward in making clear their ambitions and preferences. To some extent, the general reluctance of girls to express personal views about sex is the ancient traditions of man being the taker and the woman being subservient to man’s wishes. Society is taking its time over accepting that a woman has the choice of partner and what she would like to happen with him. It is a slow process.

Unfortunately the same age-old pattern has happened with men. Our law courts see children as naturally being with the wife as mother, so a divorce today mostly penalises the husband and restricts his ability to influence his children’s upbringing, no matter how much he loves his children or how much she is neglectful in their care. That is what I have had to put up with, and why I am averse to starting any long-term relationship. It is all the fault of her, me and the court system. The courts mean well, but are not organised to look into the balance of love and care; they simply assume that the best solution is always motherly care, without viewing the clear evidence of individual cases where that is not true. It is all: mother equals good for children, father equals bad for children. I am suffering from that generalisation. So you see why I am reluctant to jump at the possible chance of being the father of your child? Why I worry overmuch about the downsides of any sexual relationship, instead of looking at the bright side? I am sorry if I don’t live up to your vision of me as the tough soldier-philosopher taking on the world. I am a mere man, afraid of more commitments going wrong.”

Phemie reacted by moving to envelop me in her feminine embrace, her hug giving me her sympathy in the best way she knew how.

“Poor Alec! I didn’t realise you were so sensitive, and loving. You are more worried about your boys than about yourself, I can see.” Clamping me tight in her arms, I became aware of her breasts pressing into me, not sexually, but like a mother consoling her son. I could hardly breathe at the constriction, but she eased off and looked me straight in the eyes. “I feel for you, Alec; I truly do. My personal troubles are minor compared to what you have been putting up with.”

I was able to take this as genuine empathy, and was thankful for it, but it also enabled me to deflect her hints at a closer relationship, at least for now. “Thank you, Phemie. I have to work on going slow about future relationships. It has nothing to do with you or your kindness towards me. To show you my determination to work with you willingly, I could perhaps do another talk related to intelligence matters in warfare. It would be about propaganda as a war tool. The date would have to wait until I know I will be free, but hopefully soon.”

She moved back and collected herself before saying, “I think my pupils would like to hear you, Alec. So would I. Can I assume you would not be averse to coming back here afterwards for an evening meal?” I told her with a smile, “I just love your meals, Phemie. You are an excellent cook, and a lovely hostess as well, so take that as a yes.”

“Can I also take it that you would be willing to allow me to cultivate a friendship with you, without either of us committing to anything more? A sort of – wait and see?” “I can go along with that, Phemie. I am still too raw inside to think of taking on anything more substantial for now.”

That earned me a quick kiss, but Phemie spoiled it by coming back with another, more passionate, kiss. Then she pulled back to exclaim, “Sorry! I just couldn’t help myself there; it was too tempting to resist.”

“Phemie! You have to watch yourself, or you could end up being fucked and then regretting it; in effect, being also fucked in your life if you became unexpectedly pregnant.” “Eh? You think so? My ... my ... my ... goodness; I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say it; leave it as it is.” I was about to say more than that, then restrained myself. Phemie nodded, accepting my reservations with a maturity that astounded me. She knew when to shut up and leave things unsaid. I usually failed that test.

We gradually settled down somewhat, and our chatting became more social than personal, talking about our likes and dislikes. She liked spicy foods, while I was less enthusiastic about curries and such. So she took note that if she made a curry for us, it would be a mild one. Her favourite historical period was the Edwardian one, mostly from the lovely clothes of the period. My own interests were much farther back. When I finally left, she came to the door and kissed me goodbye; a chaste kiss, this time, but a sign of her affection for me. I left, wondering as a I went.

Two days later, I got a call from Smith. He wanted me to investigate an office building. It appears that the information he (or they) had gleaned from the handbag’s spyware had led them to an office in this building. He didn’t tell me any names or any other relevant data, but simply told me that my task was to enter that office and locate whatever secure storage was hidden there. He didn’t know whether it was a safe, or a hidden compartment in a desk, or whatever. It was up to me to discern what I could, after getting inside.

Smith offered no advice on getting into the building, for he knew that was my area of expertise. Unfortunately, I had no personal knowledge of the building, so would need to reconnoitre it first.

I checked its location on a large scale Ordnance Survey plan of the location at the nearest public library, for London’s libraries are excellent for such materials. They never ask you why you want to see the map; their job is merely to store it and provide the material for users. The plan showed the external entrances, and it was easy to tell which were for the visitors and owners and which for the staff members. The prominent central front door was the ‘official’ entrance, and the side doors were either for staff/cleaners or emergency fire exits on the ground floor. The plan only showed that they were doors, and we couldn’t go asking for architect’s drawings to suit our own purposes.

My mind had clicked when I thought of cleaners, for cleaners go in when the building is empty, to clean up the offices, toilets, and so on. But, were the cleaners going in during the evening after closing time, or in the early morning before opening time? I would have to know, so that I didn’t inadvertently bump into a cleaner. But, I thought again, look at it the other way. If they met a man and he was there officially, it would not be a worry. If, say, I was there as a security man checking up on the cleaning company’s work; speed of work, staff numbers, etcetera, it would be the cleaners who would be worried after meeting me. In fact, if I walked up to them in the building, introduced myself as random night security patrol, I could put their minds at rest and get on with my own task without interruptions.

I would need some evidence of my bona fides, but I was sure that Smith could provide me with an official-looking badge declaring me Security, with a fictitious name and my portrait, or what appeared to be my image: close, but not exact, as if the picture was a bit out of date. I could ask Smith for that, as the precursor to attending to his task. First, examine the building for entry points.

I made a special trip to be there when the employees left for the day, and waited to see if cleaners arrived. I did look for cleaners arriving before closing time, but saw non-one who looked like going in as others were going out, and my view was angled so I could observe the main side door as well as the front.

It was half an hour after everyone seemed to have left that I saw a line of women, anything up to two dozen, forming up at the side door. Oh, well, it was a large building. Someone opened it from inside, and the cleaners slowly trooped in, being checked as they entered. Oh-oh. That looked like an emergency exit, only openable from the inside. Damn. How was I going to get in?

I decided on an extension of my plan. I would arrive with the cleaners, and present my Security badge to whoever was letting the cleaners in. The badge would need to have a company name, and a contact phone number, so that the man/woman at the door could challenge me and when shown the badge, he could phone the number and one of Smith’s team would answer it with the company name and confirm I was who I said I was, saying we had been granted a temporary contract to show what we could do, before getting the contract confirmed on a longer basis. I must have an exact name so that it could be confirmed. I decided on John Hunter, and would ask for that name to be put on the badge. I went off and applied some make-up to my face, making me appear years older, and took a selfie at one of the passport photo booths at a local store, so I could hand over the photo to Smith for making the badge.

Later, I phoned and told him of my intentions and what I needed. He told me to hand the picture, inside a brown envelope, into a specific shop within 24 hours, stating the codewords, “Mr Smith asked me to hand this in.” I was to return to the shop a day later and collect a brown envelope marked, “Attention of Aled Jones”, which would be my Security badge, under the company name of Securitas with a contact number. and I would be ready to proceed at my own pace. The contact number would be purely invented by Smith and one of his people would answer if needed and dismiss the enquiry as a waste of time.

Okay, I can fit in with that. He told me the office number that they needed me to enter – 371 -, so I elected to do a daytime visit, just walking around the building, seemingly looking for an office, until I was able to walk past the target office and have a quick look at what sort of door lock there was, and check whether it was a standard lock throughout the building, or a special one for this office. With a bit of luck, it was a standard lock, and that would allow me to practice with another door, or even better, visit a locksmith business and ask for information about this door lock ‘that has been recommended to us’. The locksmith would be eager to tell me all about it, and that would give me the basis for opening it with my own expertise.

Getting in the front door was easy, as the vestibule was a public space, and contained a list of all the businesses occupying each floor. I decided on the office that had a number on the fourth level, so if challenged on the third level, I would ostentatiously check my paper of directions and admit I was confused as to which level I was on, and would go off to move to the ‘correct’ level. Being confused is a great excuse in most circumstances, for almost all office buildings have a standard décor throughout that makes one floor look the same as any other floor. It makes sense in the building owner saving money on decoration, and that provident attitude suits me fine.

So I made my perambulation of the building, and was completely ignored! I was able to wander past office 371 and confirm that the door lock appeared identical to all the others, so I noted the lock brand and went off to find a suitable lock supplier to question on the brand. I know many of the more popular locks, and can get through most of them without much bother, but a few are difficult. I was unfamiliar with this brand, which is why I had to learn more.

I phoned Smith to ask him if there was an architect or building firm I could claim to be from when asking about door locks. He laughed briefly, and said, “Of course! We prepare for most eventualities. You can be from Brown, Brown & Gris, architects to the nobility. It is just a shell company, but is perfect for jobs like this.”

And so it was that I found myself being treated to a demonstration of the excellent qualities of the lock I asked about. I was able to see the weak spot in the mechanism that I could exploit, so I asked for a sales brochure about it to take back to my bosses. I must have been pretty convincing as they even gave me a cutaway sample lock to take back and show my boss how good a mechanism the lock was. Wonderful: I could practise on this and hone my opening talents for the later event. I might even ask Smith to send a letter of thanks from the shell company for the lock company’s salesmanship, saying he would recommend their company to other businessmen. I liked it, for a company never doubts you if you are being complimentary to them.

Within 24 hours, I had made my own tool specifically for that lock, and was confident I could open one of these locks in about ten seconds, while appearing to anyone around to be using a key as a genuine member of staff. I even went back to the shop and handed back the sample, saying it had been examined by the junior partner at the firm, and commented on positively.

Next, I had to wear clothing that made me look like a security guy. An hour of raking through a charity shop’s stock, and I had what was a rough approximation of a uniform. I was happy with what I found, even if it did not fit all that well. On the job, if it was remarked on, I could complain that this was the nearest uniform the company had to my size, and that they promised me a new one if I passed all the initial tasks set for me. Complaining about your lot is also a good way of establishing yourself as a disgruntled employee going about your business grumpily. People tend to not want to engage with you if you are like that, but will accept you as genuine, which was perfect for me.

I was at last told by Smith that I could go ahead with my search of the offices, and prepared myself to the extent of also having a baseball-style peaked hat on my head, a bulky torch on my belt and a sandwich box in my hand for my food break while on duty. All of this builds up the right picture of a working employee.

When the cleaners lined up for the start of their shift, I joined them. They were surprised to see a man, but I flapped my Security badge at them and they understood. The door opened, and we all filed in. The man at the door was shocked to see me. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Bloody Security, man,” I answered. “My boss wants me to check things over, to see if everything is as it should be. Bloody nuisance, if you ask me, but when the boss says go, I go; it is all the same to me. You probably feel the same.”

I flapped my badge at him. “You had better record my presence, man, so that if he checks, I am recorded as doing my job: John Hunter is the name. I don’t have a number, as I am on probation for six months. I only get that full ID if I am accepted as permanent. Bloody rules, meant to keep us workers down, in my opinion.”