Fit For Purpose by Julian Parrott (scary books to read .TXT) 📗

“Are there any options for flights or should I just go ahead and rent a car?”

Sarah checked her computer. She felt sorry for this guy, there was an air of dejection around him.

“Yes,” she began. “I can get you on a flight in about four hours.”

“Damn, a four-hour wait, and then a one-and-a-half-hour flight, I might as well rent a car.”

“I don’t mean to be forward,” Sarah said with a shy smile, “but can you even drive with that sling?”

Gagnon moved his left arm and pain shot through his chest and across his shoulder. He grimaced. “I’m not sure,” he answered.

“Look sir, you look beat. I’ll get the ticket for you; we’ll comp for the cancelled flight. While I do that, why don’t you grab a comfy seat over there,” she nodded towards a celebrity chef’s diner. “I can give you a food voucher, full disclosure, it won’t cover the cost though but it’s actually a good place with good service. I occasionally eat there when I have the time.”

Gagnon looked over to the diner. It was light, people sat around a bar smiling and laughing. It looked like a happy place and he did feel hungry.

“Okay,” he said as he turned back to Sarah. “But, on one condition.”

“What’s that?” Sarah replied.

“That’ll you’ll join me,” he said. Sarah smiled, she already knew that she liked this tall, seemingly lost guy.

“Well,” she began. “My shift’s just about over. Give me about fifteen minutes to wrap up here and I’ll join you.”

“Would you like me to get you a drink?” Gagnon asked.

“Please, a red wine, a Malbec,” she replied.

Gagnon was drinking a beer, a Molson, when Sarah entered the diner, saw him, and slipped elegantly into his booth. She had removed her airline company scarf and jacket. Gagnon couldn’t help noticing that her blouse and tight pencil skirt outlined a nice, full figure. She smiled at him and reached for the wine glass. She took a big sip.

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s been a long shift. So, do you come here often?”

“No. But I’m seriously thinking about it,” Gagnon laughed and relaxed. More so when Sarah began the conversation which moved surprisingly easily for them both. They talked about travel and the places they had visited. Sarah realised that Gagnon’s travels in and out of the Middle East and South Asia must have been related to his having been in the military. She talked about her childhood service-brat life moving from base to base with her Canadian Air Force father. The conversation was light and natural and they both felt they were connecting. They talked of food and wine, of books, and movies. Four hours flew by and another gate agent announced the Ottawa flight.

Gagnon left the diner with Sarah’s number in his phone and a date for Saturday night. All of a sudden, the dark clouds that had gathered around him in London appeared to be dissipating. As the Ottawa bound regional jet took off, Gagnon looked out of the plane’s window at the lights of Montreal spreading out below him. He smiled. At the gate, Sarah Jones watched the same jet take off. Jacques Gagnon, she thought, he was going to be fun to get to know. She smiled and turned away. It had been a long and interesting day and it was time for her to go home. She was looking forward to Saturday.

***

London

It was a still dawn and the Georgian square appeared almost devoid of life. The SVR watcher, loaned to Kamenev by the Rezident, was observing Nia’s house on a laptop screen at a desk jammed with surveillance equipment all crammed into the back of a small nondescript white van. Decals on the van’s side announced it was an emergency twenty-four-hour plumber and sewer unclogging specialist. Walkers passing the van would not see anything out of the ordinary and neighbours would be too embarrassed to ask each other which house the van was servicing. The watcher operated under the guise of an itinerant Polish tradesman, and he even had a rudimentary grasp of British plumbing if anyone ever questioned him. He was a highly experienced surveillance expert. He’d positioned the van perfectly so its hidden cameras could focus on the front of Nia’s house as well as the comings and goings up and down the street. He also knew how to get comfortable while maintaining the same position for hours at a time, never letting the object of his surveillance leave his sight lines. He had spent many a long hour outdoors in wet undergrowth with mud soaking his clothes and the cold etching into his bones but never leaving sight of his target, so this was a cushy assignment. He was warm, had a padded seat, a Thermos of coffee and sandwiches, and, to cap it all, the woman he was watching was cute.

He liked observing women, less chance of violence and more chance of hitting the voyeurs’ jackpot; total unselfconscious, natural nudity. He recalled a recent assignment; posh London hotel, female member of the US House of Representatives. He wasn’t sure of her name, but he thought of her as Californian as she was blonde with incredible straight and white teeth and large, fake breasts. He smiled at the memory. Three simple, tiny cameras had provided him with hi-resolution quality images of her walking around the room naked and of her pleasuring herself. Sadly, he thought, rumours of her extramarital affair were not evidenced during surveillance for he would have been thrilled to see some boy-on-girl or girl-on-girl action. As it was, the SVR and FSB did now have some potentially embarrassing pictures and video to present to her at some key moment in her legislative career. Maybe embarrassing enough for her to vote the way the Kremlin would direct. The watcher had also saved some images to his own