“Looks like your neighbour got lucky last night.”

It was 5:30am and Jacinta was sitting at the dining table scrolling through last night’s video recordings from the CCTV, one of her daily jobs; she paused the video to take a look.

“Hmmm; and she’s hot.”

“Let me see.”

I fount this hard to believe.  Whereas Tom was a nice guy, and very bright, he was not exactly a babe magnet.  Shy and awkward around women, he rarely seemed to bring one back to his apartment.

“OK, but don’t start getting any ideas!”

“Nor you!”

Jacinta was right, the girl was hot, if a bit tarty.  A standard bottled blond, she was pushing the limits at the upper and lower end of her scant apparel.  Maybe she was an escort or a working girl?  I turned to Jacinta:

“Can you have her checked out?”

“I would anyway, we check out most of the new faces we see in the block, and this one is on our floor.  Why, are you concerned?”

“I’ve never seen Tom pull someone like that; it’s just not him.”

She took some stills from the video and emailed them to whoever looks up strange hot blonds in the police establishment.

“Fancy some porridge?”

I had just gotten up and needed to eat something before settling down to work.  I had adapted my day to match her habits developed over some years of working from a police station; a light breakfast and an early lunch, or brunch, whatever one wants to call it.

“As long as you promise not to dress; I like you in that nightdress.”

I was wearing a blue, slip-type nightdress, short, with a small slit and lace trim.  Jacinta hadn’t dressed yet either.  I measures the oatmeal into a pyrex jug, added light milk and popped it into the microwave while I got some bowls, spoons and honey ready.  The microwave pinged just as I had the water and coffee added into the coffee maker; I stirred the porridge and put it back in for round two.  I’d have to watch it this time; it had a habit of expanding out of the jug if I wasn’t careful.

Porridge eaten, we sat on the couch with our coffee and iPads to plan the week.  Now that we were settled into a routine, this was useful both for us and it also enabled the police to plan back-up surveillance if resources were available when we were going out.  This was only guaranteed for our four gym nights in the week.  These were done, deliberately, as a matter of routine.  The Kingstons, or anyone interested in delivering on the contract, could identify this routine relatively easily and would hopefully walk into a trap if they made a move to take advantage of this apparent breach of security.  Jacinta and I had solved the problem of bring our pistols into the gym by each carrying a small draw string, duffle-type bag, which apparently carried our water, weights gloves, mobile ‘phones, etc.

Client meetings were relatively rare and were always carried out late morning, or early afternoon.  This was both to ensure that we were not driving in heavy traffic and it suited our domestic routine.  Jacinta attended as my “apprentice”, a former public servant who had changed career and was now starting a new career in cyber security.  It suited her personally as well; she seemed to enjoy working with me on my private business but, ironically, did not have security clearance to help me on my military projects!

This week would be straightforward enough; two client meetings and one visit to the Military Cyber Security establishment.  Then domestic issues:

“Shopping Thursday, 12pm?”

What I’d just proposed was almost becoming another routine.  Jacinta shook her head:

“Can’t be guaranteed cover, and we’ve done that the last two Thursdays.”

“Can’t we just change location?  Go to a different shopping centre?”

“No; we might be followed.  If they’ve picked up the routine, they might opt to tail us there and get us a traffic lights.  That’s what I’d do.”

“Jacinta?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not tempted to try and deliver on the contract yourself?”

“I’ve thought about it; money’s not bad.”

She rolled on top of me on the couch and we got into a very pleasurable wrestling match.  Later on, lying together in bed, I whispered in her ear…

“We never finished planning the week!”

“After we shower.”

When we sat down again, with fresh coffees, I picked up my iPad and opened the calendar.

“I need to visit my parents soon.”

“This weekend OK?”

“Yeah, we could go to the range and continue on from there.  Do another practice on the way back?”

One of our allowable expenditures was training ammunition, not an inconsiderable benefit when it was possible to expend a few hundred rounds each over two days.  This was OK for 0.22LR ammunition, the 9mm for our SIG’s was very expensive.

“OK; I’ll be on show!  Will I get the thumbs up?”

We had joked about the reception Jacinta would receive.  My mother tended to see each girl that I’d brought to visit them as a potential daughter-in-law.

“Hmmmm, not sure.  Once a copper, always a copper….”

“If they ever find out that you actually brought a serving policewoman into their house, you’re probably toast!”

“Well, you know us country folks; a still in every barn.”

Our week was now full, and we still hadn’t bought food.  We settled on a stop on our way back from a client meeting on Wednesday.  We would eat out that evening and not drive back home until after the rush hour.

We had pretty much finished our shopping on Wednesday evening and were packing the boot of Jacinta’s car when her ‘phone rang.  She left me to finish and took the call.  I finished packing the groceries away and waited for her.

“From Europol, Russian, mob connections, arrived in the country last week.”

She didn’t need to explain that she was talking about Tom’s new girlfriend.  She had featured on our cameras  for three nights in a row now.  I felt really sorry for him:

“Ah!  And he thinks she likes him. Poor Tom.”

“F*** Tom; if she’s looking to collect on the contract she’s already got access to our floor.”

“I presume she’s looking after the f***ing piece so we needn’t worry about that.”

“Don’t be such a bloody smartarse; this isn’t funny.”

“No; but now that we know what she might be up to, it could be useful.  We know, but she doesn’t know we know.  We need to talk to your Department of Funny Tricks.”

“Bugs?”

“Yes; both ways.  Can your guys detect a bug placed against the adjoining wall of our apartment?”

“Don’t know; will have to ask them.”

“Actually, if she is bugging us, she already knows that we’re suspicious of her.  If she sticks around, it probably means that she hasn’t overheard us, yet!  Probably no point in bugging Tom’s place; she’ll hardly discuss her business with him!”

Jacinta demurred.

“No; but if she’s there when he’s out, we might want to listen to her ‘phone calls.”

“Just as long as we don’t have to listen to them making out.  Can you set up a meeting with your team?”

“And this started off as an easy week!”

“Let’s go eat.”

********************************************
The technical people had our apartment swept by Thursday afternoon, and a funny funnel-shaped apparatus installed in the back of one of our kitchen presses, the wide end pressed against the wall separating our apartment from Tom’s.  They could not guarantee that there wasn’t a similar arrangement on the other side of the wall, but thought it unlikely; Tom would notice it!  We should not hold any sensitive conversations in the living area as this was where the two apartments shared a common wall.  It did mean that we had to spend more time in the bedroom.

Friday passed uneventfully and Saturday morning rolled around.  Instead of just rolling around in the bed for a while, we had to roll out to get a slot at the range.  I had to remove my earrings and hope that my parents would not notice the piercings under my hair; it also helped to ensure my ear defenders didn’t hurt.  I also removed even the clear nail varnish from my nails; that would cause greater consternation than the earrings if detected.  Jacinta was amused:

“Hope I don’t call you Jesse by mistake!”

“You do than and I’ll spank you!”

“Sounds nice; dare you try though!”

I filed that one in my mind for later.  Eventually, fully de-feminised, on the outside at least, we headed off with the boot full of pistols, ammunition, overnight cases, ear defenders, safety glasses, wellington boots, and probably a kitchen sink if we searched hard enough.

This was my first reappearance at the range in around nine months, so I was greeted effusively by the owners and my fellow shooters but eventually we managed to take our place on the shooting line.  Our Walker PPKs, mine secured immediately on returning from Lisbon, caused great hilarity with us being called James and Jill Bond, until we started to shoot them.  The accuracy was spectacular considering that the barrels were only about three inches long.  As Jacinta/Jill remarked to one of the leading jokers:

“It’s not the length; it’s how you use it!”,

to which a woman further down the line remarked,

“Not sure about that, Honey!”

Further ribaldry ensued, quickly silenced when we swapped our Walters for our SIGs; centrefire pistol licences are as rare as hens’ teeth.  This time all the slagging was about the excess sound of our “cannons”.

Eventually we left the line, cleaned our pistols, reloaded them and tucked the SIGs away in our shoulder holsters.  We replaced our ammo; we didn’t want to have excess direct contact with the police just to replace ammo.

There was occasional police surveillance of our apartment which would continue in our absence. Having informed Supt. Smyth-With-a-Y where we would be overnighting, and as countryside camouflage is way outside the skill set of police forces, he had reluctantly agreed to my suggestion that the military provide surveillance using the personnel currently on a Sniper training course. Besides providing security, it served as a live exercise and the personnel involved would receive a security duty allowance.  We agreed that we would keep an active lookout and, if we spotted any of the surveillance team, we were to provide feedback. We also did some standard anti-pursuit stuff on the way to my parents’ farm; it would be better if they were not associated directly with me, although the relationship was easy to discover on open sources.

We pulled into the farmyard to receive the usual enthusiastic greeting from the dogs.  Well, I did at least; I had to go around to the driver’s door to ensure Jacinta didn’t receive more than a friendly lick.  I introduced the dogs to her and they took my word that she was not on the menu.  Grumpy dogs were essential: In an otherwise idyllic location, the very remoteness left the farm vulnerable to machinery theft. It would be fun if someone tried their luck tonight!

Dogs sorted, my normally undemonstrative parents had arrived out to greet us.  They both hugged me and, somewhat unsure, shook hands with Jacinta.  Even in jeans, boots, a polo neck jumper and a sheepskin coat, she looked great.  As we were coming, lunch, normally taken around 1pm, had been deferred until our arrival so we left our gear in the car, washed up before dropping our coats in the guest bedroom with our SIGs and slipped our Walter’s into our jeans under our shirts.

Conversation was a bit difficult at first. As well as this being my return from nine months of absence, and with a background of past and possible future danger, there was also the presence of my “new girlfriend.” They understood that I couldn’t divulge where I had been in hiding on the basis that others might use the same place: I didn’t tell them that I might have to use it myself. Things picked up after dinner when Jacinta asked if she could see the farm, truthfully saying that she had never been around one before. There wasn’t much happening as calving and milking had yet to start, but my father was delighted to bring her around while I helped my mother clear up after dinner.

“You’ve known her a while so?

Maybe I should have gone on the farm tour; the interrogation had started.

“From soon after the trouble started; she was my contact point both before and after I went away.”

“She must have visited you out there so?”

“Yes, quite a bit. That’s how we started dating.”

“And you say she’s left the police now. Why did she do that?”

“They didn’t approve of her seeing someone she was protecting.”

“It must be serious so; her giving up her job for you.”

Good job Jacinta and I had foreseen this line of questioning and had agreed our story.

“She was thinking about leaving anyway, go to college and get into IT work.”

“Handy so you can give her some experience.”

I was tempted to remark that we were giving each other experiences, but thought that would not be appreciated. We tidied up and I got our bags from the car. On the pretext of having a look around the land I walked around the outside of the farmyard, trying to spot our surveillance; I couldn’t, even though I had a good idea of where I would locate myself if in the same role.

Things became more relaxed as the evening progressed; my father and Jacinta appeared to have gotten on well. Unexpectedly two cousins called in after dark, having heard that I would be there and not having seen me for almost a year. Jacinta slipped out to text our surveillance that these were “friendlies” and we ended up having a game of one-hundred-and-ten before they departed and we all turned in.

“Are all your family practiced in interrogation?”

It was the first time that Jacinta and I had a chance to talk since her farm tour.

“You’re lucky, my father is a pussycat compared to my mother!”

“You got the same?

“Of course; good job we’d sorted out our story.”

We refrained from any nocturnal exercise; somehow it wouldn’t have felt right!

The following morning, before breakfast, I volunteered to take some hay to the cattle. The grass hadn’t really started to grow yet but the ground was hard enough to let them out around the land. Feeding involved picking up a roller bale of hay on a front lifter and driving it to whatever feeder the cows had decided to wait at that morning. Jacinta hopped into the cab beside me and we trundled off carefully as the front load can cause uncomfortable pitching if driven too fast over rough ground. Two of the dogs, Satan and Lucifer, ran along beside us. The cows had decided on a nearby feeder so we had a short drive. I climbed down to break up the bale in the feeder with a pitchfork and was helping Jacinta climb down when I noticed that the dogs were on alert, hair up on the back of their necks, fixated on a small copse of hawthorn bushes on a nearby hillock. They were doing their “let me tear their legs off” low growls; any encouragement and they’d be off. We had no leads with us so all we could do was catch their collars, walk them to the copse and introduce them to our surveillance. The two lads were dreadfully embarrassed, but it was a good lesson. A good canine nose can defeat most camouflage, no matter how skilful. Hoping we hadn’t been seen we broke up the bale for the cows, strictly enjoined the dogs not to tell my parents, and Jacinta drove the tractor back to the farmyard.

We showered, and had a light breakfast of porridge and some fruit . My parents were going to church; we turned down their invitation to attend with then on the grounds that I wanted to keep a low profile. Jacinta and I offered to cleanup after breakfast and to get lunch in order to let them get away early. As soon as they were gone, I cooked up some sausages as quickly as possible, made sausage sandwiches, and brought them to our guardians with a flask of tea. Rather than break their cover again, I walked around the back of the copse, left the bag with the food on a rock and walked away, speaking softly into the air:

“Leave the flask back on the same rock; I’ll pick it up later.”

A voice from the copse, equally softly, responded:

“Thanks Sir, will do.”

By the time I was back in the kitchen Jacinta had everything cleaned up. I turned on the oven and dressed a half leg of lamb with garlic and dried rosemary, added half a bottle of white wine to the roasting tray, covered it with aluminium foil and slipped it into the oven to cook slowly over the next four hours.

“White wine with lamb?”

“I know, but it gives a lighter flavour if you’re eating early. Don’t worry, we’ll open a bottle of red for the meal!”

No time like the present. I opened a nice bottle of Douro which I had brought with me to give it time to breath. Then we set to chopping vegetables to roast later, tossed them with some Italian herb and oil and left them to marinade until we ready to put them in the oven.

“Well, how would you like living on a farm?”

I was wondering what Jacinta had thought of her experience.

“For all the good bits, being your own boss, out in the air, it’s very isolated, and likely very hard work.”

“Once milking starts, it’s unrelenting. No paid holidays, weekends, or eight hour days; that’s why I’m into computers.”

“But, not to be nosey, won’t you inherit this place?”

“I don’t think I want to.”

Church for country folk can also be a social occasion and it was almost lunchtime by the time my parents were back. Jacinta and I let them sit back with a sherry for my mother and a can of draft Guinness for my father while we finished preparing the meal, and then called them to the table. This was a much more relaxed meal; as well as having their apéritif and a glass of wine, my parents were more accustomed to Jacinta, even if she couldn’t yet tell a cow from a bull.

 I wondered if there were bulls who would have preferred to be cows!

After lunch, on a pretext of going for a walk before our drive home, I collected the flask and sneaked it back into its place following a wash. It was then time for us to push off and we departed to a chorus of “goodbyes” and “ come back soons”.

“What did you think?”

I was wondering what Jacinta thought of our weekend.

“They’re going to be upset.”

I wasn’t sure with what: Jesse turning up; Jacinta still being in the police; finding out that Jacinta and I were only in a relationship of convenience, someone taking a shot at us, all of the above? Without clarifying I responded:

“Yep, they are.”

As Jacinta was driving, I texted our surveillance team; they could pull out at their own discretion.

Being now too late for a second session on the range, we drove directly home.

********************************************

“That’s interesting; Nadya is suggesting that they invite us out.”

Jacinta had managed to pass the job of listening to our neighbours’ conversations to Supt. Smyth-With-A-Y’s team on the basis that, as we might actually meet them, she should not be in a position where she could inadvertently let slip something that she should not have known.  She received a daily update; anything urgent would be communicated immediately by ‘phone or text.

“What’s her reason, or excuse?”

“Get to know the neighbours; Tom hasn’t really met me; she hasn’t met you.”

“Did Tom agree?”

“Of course; he would agree with anything she asked.”

“What’s your team saying?  Do we accept the invitation when it comes?”

“It’s possibly, even probably, setting up the hit.”

“And still nothing from the surveillance?”

“Not a word.”

This was bad news; the police believed that the Kingstons had not discovered their surveillance, as they continued to discuss low level criminal matters. They just said nothing about me.  I wasn’t so sure; they might have discovered the surveillance and were engaged in an elaborate deception arrangement to pretend that they hadn’t.  On the other hand, this could be a Russian gang freelancing just for the reward.  It’s one of the problems with partial intelligence; you can read almost anything you want into it!  With this level of uncertainty, accepting an invitation that might be a setup seemed, on the surface, mad.  On the other hand, if there were shooters in town, would it not be better to engage them when we expected them to make an attempt as opposed to simply waiting for them to take a shot sometime, somewhere. 

Jacinta was looking at me; she knew my thinking face and waited for me to answer.

“If your people are up for it, we should accept.”

“You sure?”

“Yep; it’s too dangerous just to leave them out there looking for me.”

**********************************

The invitation arrived two days later in Tom’s usual method of communication, a note pushed under my door.  He had my ‘phone number and email address; I never understood why he choose to communicate in this way.  To try and break the habit, I responded by text.  To pick ground of our own choosing, I nominated a location and suggested that it not be on a weekend as it would be easier to get a table.  Tom responded by text after an hour or so and nominated the following Thursday, two days away.

That evening we met with the Superintendent and some of his team. We had some planning to do.