Chapter 2

I heard a low electrical hum, and noticed that I was being observed by CCTV cameras, swivelling to watch me. A voice came out of nowhere, but I presumed loudspeakers somewhere were the source.

“Mr Freeman?”

I responded, “Yes.” Give little away: that is my motto. Force them to divulge data.

“Please enter by the door on your left. That takes you into a corridor, where you should go to the third door on your left, and enter that room. You will be met there.”

Hmmm ... not much data here either. Need to go further, if I am to get anything out of this puzzle factory.

I followed the instructions, and opened both doors as directed. It might be a test of my fitness to cope with doors again, but people are not going to remove nameplates just to test a possible candidate. Just another part of the puzzle that is this company.

I found myself in an empty room with a large desk and two chairs: one close behind the desk, the other facing it from a few feet away. The seat behind the desk was significantly more opulent: an old trick to use psychology to indicate relative importance. It is a technique used in military interrogations.

There was no-one in the room, so I deliberately went round behind the desk and sat in the superior chair. Two can play at this game.

The door I had come in by, opened again, and a tall, efficient-looking man came in. He looked at where I was sitting, did a double-take, then laughed.

“Mr Freeman, I think we have the right man. Welcome to the company.”

He came over and offered his hand in welcome. I stood and took it, shaking it formally. “Nice to meet you, sir. You have a military air about you; Is that significant?”

“Indeed? Would you care to go further in that observation?”

“Rank? Sergeant, I would say; not a trooper like me. Regiment? I am not sure. Your voice; hmm. You are better spoken than me, so possibly Guards, if you are not an officer. I certainly haven’t met you before now.”

He nodded, politely, but gave nothing of significance away. “Reasonably good assessment, Mr Freeman. I had the advantage of being able to look at your file. Your military record.”

“Bloody hell! These records are supposed to be VERY private. How the heck can you have access to them?”

The other looked bashful. “That is a matter you would have to take up with Mrs Margulies. Would you like to speak with her now?”

“Damn right I would! Where is she?”

“I will take you to her, Mr Freeman, if you would follow me?”

Still fuming, I followed him out of the room and further down the corridor. He stopped at what turned out to be a lift. He pressed the single button, and the doors opened silently, sliding to each side. Most peculiar lift I ever saw. The interior was panelled in polished wood, but there was a small CCTV camera in each corner of the ceiling.

We stepped in, and my guide said “Up”. The lift moved smoothly upwards, to the second or third storey by my reckoning. It stopped, just as smoothly, and the exterior doors opened, revealing another corridor identical to that below. As before, none of the doors had labels.

My host led me down about halfway, past what was clearly an inbuilt security monitoring frame. The security equipment allowed me through without complaint, despite the metal in my leg. That surprised me; much higher capability here than expected. Almost, I found myself thinking, almost military grade.

I was becoming confused. This was supposed to be a private company? Doors with no names; no company logos or advertising panels in the lobby; none of the usual paraphernalia that one would expect. In fact, it felt more like a government secret agency than a company.

I was ushered through another unidentified door and into a plush office just as one would expect of a Managing Director: all expensively furnished, a picture window at the back, with a massive antique desk in the middle, behind which sat a woman.

She looked like a doting grandmother; as if she would chase a fly out of a window rather than kill it, and probably act similarly with any spider she found in her office hunting the fly.

That window at her back? In the centre of London? It showed a rural landscape bathed in sunshine, despite the fact that it had been overcast with clouds in the true London landscape of buildings. Clearly a fake window; an image from a computer file. Not a still image, either, possibly a feed from elsewhere. The trees were waving slightly in the breeze. Impressive high definition quality.

I pulled my attention back to Mrs Margulies, for I presumed this was she. My escort did the introductions.

“Mr Freeman, this is my boss, Mrs Margulies.”

I went into Trooper mode. “Very pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“Likewise, John. You seem to have impressed Jeeves, here.”

“Really, ma’am? I had no idea of that. I was just being myself, the poor injured ex-soldier, looking for a civilian job.”

“A lot more than that, John. Jeeves gave me a signal with his face as he came in. My employees can be quite subtle in how they convey information. I should have thought that your signals expertise would have warned you.”

“Indeed, ma’am. It was just that I was not expecting such procedures within a private company, if it really is a private company; pardon me, ma’am.”

“Excellent, John. Excellent. I observed your seating decision in the other office. Interesting psychology. That was what this Jeeves considered noteworthy.”

“THIS Jeeves, Mrs Margulies? Does that relate to the company title? Jeeves as a rank?”

“You catch on fast, John. I am surprised you didn’t take up the university option through the army. You have the brains for it, according to your school records.”

I blinked in my surprise.

“Ma’am, I get the impression you have had access to the records of my entire life, and that sort of data retrieval is not something that a mere company is allowed to do.”

“That is a point, John.” She looked me over, as if waiting for something. Me.

“So you have close links with government, ma’am?”

“You could say that, John. Nothing overt, though.”

“Is that so? In that case, ma’am, what do you want with little injured me? I suspect you could get whoever you wanted.”

“But, Mr Freeman, we wanted YOU.”

I suddenly realised that this whole charade had been set up to recruit me, and the process had been a long interview technique. I had been got at; led along by my insatiable curiosity. Where has this got me to, I wondered?

“Mrs Margulies, perhaps it is time you revealed a little about yourself and your company, and where you see my place in its hallowed halls?”

She laughed delightedly. “Hallowed halls, indeed!”

She went on, “Our little company supplies the best butlers to the rich of this world, and in particular, to the rich criminals who have protected themselves from all legal justice. I anticipate training you to be one of our high-class butlers, John.”

“Why butlers, may I ask?”

“John, top butlers are privy to confidential information about their putative employer. Such close working comes with the job, allowing the butler to protect his client from pitfalls that may otherwise come his way.”

“Like a private secretary has to know things he can’t talk about?”

“Exactly, my boy. Our butlers all come included with a certain degree of financial expertise, to the delight of our clientele. Our Jeeves will be in a position to advise on the financial affairs of his employer; to OUR benefit, of course.”

“Weird. I don’t have such financial acumen, ma’am.”

“Not yet, you don’t. That can be rectified during your training, John. Our butlers have to know everything that there is to know about any matter on which the client might consult them.”

“You expect to make me an expert on all things butleresque?” I queried despondently.

Mrs Margulies grinned at this devised word. “By no means, John. You will, however, be trained in the basics of everything, and more importantly, trained in the esoteric language applicable to each subject. Being able to talk the talk is an essential in any scam, my boy.”

“What about my accent? Won’t it reveal my lowly origins?”

“Your accent merely adds to the verisimilitude of the façade, John. You can be a butler who has worked his way up from boot boy to the higher strata of servants, or if need be, a common soldier turned butler by circumstance. You can use whatever background suits. The contrast between your accent and your new personality and our “Johannes Factotum” will impress. I take it you know the Latin, or did that not feature in your education?”

“Not quite the norm in my schooling, ma’am. I think factotum is an old word for a servant; not sure about the Johannes; sounds like a name.”

“Johannes is the Latin for John. The original phraseology was “magister factotum” – master of everything, and that is what we want you to appear to be.”

I was able to follow that up, “But in reality, I will be ... what?”

“A spy, a scout, a collector of data; much as you used to do in the SAS when you were sent on a recce mission. You gather the information that we need in order to relieve the criminal of his ill-gotten gains in our own unique way. Regard us as an unofficial enforcement arm of the tax authorities. The taxation rate we apply is usually 100 per cent.”