The Becket Approval by Falconer Duncan (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

his head. His thoughts turned to his early days wearing the coveted beret. A young, slender, determined Jack. A thick, handlebar moustache grew over his top lip. He could see the lads he’d completed his selection with. The pleasure of learning he’d passed. He saw himself trudging along the very same track, perspiring, in pain, weighed down by a heavy pack and rifle, filled with resignation. He was never going to fail. It was cold and drizzly that day with low cloud reducing visibility to a handful of metres. It seemed like a long time ago. It was.

Jack shaped the beret onto his head as he pressed on.

When he reached the Pen he walked around it. Still no sign of another soul in any direction.

He sat himself down and removed his beret to look at the cap badge once more, rolling the rim through his fingers as he contemplated his life.

‘Enough,’ he said.

He laid the beret on the grass, bottom up, and removed a photograph from his breast pocket. It was of Megan, smiling, young, her beautiful face, auburn hair just like her mother’s. As always, she made Jack smile. But the memories of the last few months were too bitter to bear. The most painful of them her death. And he was to blame.

He placed the photograph in the beret, stretched out on his back and looked at the sky. He removed a pistol from his pocket, held it above him. Cocked it. Placed the end of the barrel under his chin. His final thought. If there was a God, the bastard had better let him see his Megan one last time.

The shot rang out across the Beacons and like Jack, it was gone. A gentle breeze picked at Megan’s photo and yanked it out of the beret. It rolled away and caught the breeze as if it was his very soul leaving his body.

 

 

Chapter 26

Gunnymede lay on the couch in his apartment looking at the Thames, the wind and rain beating at the glass balcony doors. He delicately sipped a mug of tea, trying to avoid touching his lips with the hot cup where they were tender.

His phone rang and he stiffly reached for it. The number was withheld but he answered it anyway.

‘Hi.’ It was a girl’s voice.

‘Hello,’ he said back.

‘I don’t suppose you recognise my voice.’

It was a soft voice with the hint of a southern Irish lilt to it. It didn’t trigger any immediate memories for him though. ‘Sorry, I don’t.’

‘We worked together. Briefly. Eight years ago.’

It hit him like a slap and he sat up stiffly. He’d never forgotten her. She had been brand new, straight out of the recruitment box. It was her first operation. Gunnymede had been brought in to help boost the numbers for just one night. He was partnered with her because he had operational experience and they also looked like they could pass as a couple. Two complete strangers thrown together. They spoke hardly a word to each other throughout the operation. He wasn’t the chatty type with strangers anyway. The fact that he found her quite beautiful the first time he set eyes on her had to be ignored. It had been an effort for him not to take another look at her face. She had been painfully aloof, as if she had a wall around her. He did his best to ignore her and let her stay behind her wall. They were on task and that was that. There was no need for chat. They were on a stake out.

They were in a car in the old city of Prague pretending to be a couple hanging out after the bars had closed, quietly watching and waiting while listening to the operational radio chatter through hidden ear pieces. And then the target suddenly appeared. The man they’d been waiting for. Their job was to trigger his move for the team. He looked directly at them, the only other people around. The man stopped to scrutinise them. And so they did what a couple were expected to be doing in a car at night parked in a dark, quiet side street after the bars had closed. They embraced and kissed deeply. The bad guy continued to watch. They kept on kissing. But then something happened between them. Something deep within them both. The moment became mutually magnetic. They grew more passionate.

At some point they were no longer acting. It was as if they’d forgotten why they were there. Their fervour grew. The man stepped closer as the windows were coated in steam.

Convinced of their ardour, he stepped back and walked on. They continued to kiss and explore each other, neither wanting to separate. It was the most passion-filled moment he’d ever experienced. She smelled and tasted like nectar.

Voices began to break through. The ops officer was calling for Gunnymede to assist the follow. When they finally separated they were out of breath. He climbed out and hurried away.

On completion of the task, he went to his hotel and hung around the lobby until the small hours hoping she’d turn up. The next day he was gone. Sent somewhere else on another task. He never saw or heard from her again. He never knew her real name or anything about her and it was inappropriate to ask about another operator.

‘I remember you,’ he said. ‘Not your name though. I don’t think I knew it.’

‘It’s Neve.’

‘It’s been a long time.’

‘It seems it.’

‘It was ...’ he began, then stopped himself.

‘What was that?’

‘Memorable. That time together.’

‘I wasn’t calling to reminisce.’ There was a sudden chill in her voice. ‘I’m running the team to find Saleem.’

Gunnymede went silent as he digested that.

‘Did you exchange any words with him?’ she asked.

‘There’s a team?’

‘They didn’t tell you? Need