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Dear Annie,
It’s been over two years and I’ve not had a reply from you. I get the hint, don’t worry. You’re still angry with me, and Callista tells me you’re not reading my letters.
You’ve obviously moved on, and I mean nothing to you. If you can’t be bothered, then I’m not going to be some creep who’s stalking you. I’m getting on with my life too.
I’m off to Afghanistan next week. So, this is goodbye. For real.
You were my best mate, Annie, and I loved you. But I was kidding myself. You never felt the same way about me.
I’m never being that sucker again.
My rule is that I’m taking all my opportunities now. And I’ve had plenty, Annie. Girls throwing themselves at me. They all love army boys ‘round here. Never any numbers. Never get in deep.
Cal told me how hurt you were.
You’re so unbelievably stubborn, you know that?
Never bothering to read any of my letters has hurt me too. And this letter’s a complete waste of time, anyway. But, I’m writing it for me, not you.
I guess, we’re quits.
Now Cal’s moved, I don't suppose I'll see you again.
All the best in your life, Annie.
Jac
I stare at the angry and bitter words. My stomach knots; and the empty hollowness, the sadness that’s consuming me, makes me sigh out loud.
“This is ridiculous.”
I shake myself.
It was years ago. So, why am I doing everything to stop myself from crying?
I’ve been dumped.
Argh! It was me who opened this particular Pandora’s box of letters, and here I am getting a taste of my own medicine.
At least I know what happened to Jac Jones. Wounded by me, he turned into a tart. Taking his opporunities. Isn’t that what he did with me?
But, putting that aside, what really gets me is that he’d gone off into combat believing that I didn’t care about him. I had no idea how much I’d hurt him. Thank God, he came back unharmed.
Wiping my eyes, still bruised and remorseful, I go back downstairs, to the food I’m preparing for us, to put the chicken casserole I’ve made into the oven.
Not that there's any point. After posting that letter, writing those words, there's absolutely no chance, he'll turn up tonight for a cosy meal for two.
???
Sion waited on the South Bank by the crowded McDonald's restaurant. London’s Embankment was teeming with tourists, even on a grey and drizzly winter’s day, like this one.
“Wanna coffee?”
A tall man in jeans and a padded jacket sidled up to him.
“You paying? Or are you still struggling with Government cutbacks?”
“Alright, alright. I agree, it’s not exactly The Ivy, but if you wanna go mad I’m sure I can stretch to a cheeseburger.”
With the code word 'The Ivy' confirmed, they sat down at a table in a corner by a group of Japanese students.
It was the perfect venue, so public that people wouldn’t pay a blind bit of notice to them. The practised art of intelligence.
He’d been sending in details of his jobs, as instructed, since the start. But, this was the first intervention, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the development.
The assassination of the Albanian gang leader would be tricky enough, without the added pressure that MI5 wanted a new ‘hands-on’ approach in his operations. This job was no longer purely about gangs and crime. It was now a question of British national security.
"Why now?"
The spook ignored Sion’s question and stirred a sweetener into the paper cup.
“Have you found a place to do the job yet?”
“Yeah. The front of Prifti’s property’s well-secured. Pretty much impregnable. But they’ve been very slack at the back. There’s no high wire fencing, alarm system or cameras. And best of all, no dogs.”
Sion hadn’t found anywhere opposite the house. This wasn’t like the films, where the sniper set themselves up on a flat rooftop, or across the street in a conveniently located derelict flat. The cocky Albanians had bought a large detached house in London’s suburban South Woodford, with electric gates and a big drive filled with a range of premium cars.
“I’ve been trialling it out. The shrubbery at the back’s pretty dense, and there’s easy access over a five-foot wooden fence to a back cutting. I can leave a vehicle two streets away, so no problem getting from there quickly. The only hassle is the weight and size of the sniper rifle.”
His handler listened carefully.
“You’ll need to be outta there fast. Once they spot you, it’ll be mayhem. These guys are properly tooled up. Flashy cars ain’t the only things they’ve been collecting.”
“Did you see the Tesla?” Sion smirked, “Good to see that they’re taking their carbon footprint seriously.”
“Yeah. Green gangsters. We’ve had eyes on Prifti too. He’s got minions all over the patch servicing him. Some use cover outfits; fast food shops, that sort of stuff, for laundering. Others swagger around like a biker gang. They’re thugs, mostly; doing his dirty work for him.”
Concealed in the bushes, Sion had watched the gang through the large conservatory windows.
“Prifti’s a little shy. He doesn’t do much out and about stuff, except in the evenings. In general, people tend to visit him at the house.”
Over the course of each day, several of the men, including Prifti had used the patio out back to smoke their cigarettes and vapes.
They had strict house rules, it appeared.
The spook looked around uneasily. The Japanese students were taking selfies. The last thing he wanted was him and Sion in shot.
“What’ll be interesting is the Scousers’ next move after you do the job.”
“Think it’ll start a turf war?”
“We’re depending on it. With Prifti out of the way, the Albanians’ll fold like a bad poker hand. We want them out of London, and we’ll use all our powers to make that happen.”
So, that was why Sion was being pulled in now.
A double whammy.
MI5 wanted to rid London of the Albanians, and the National Crime Agency wanted to see how far up the chain they could go with the Scousers.
Would the Scousers be able to put two and two together?
“Can you guarantee that this won’t work its way back to me?”
The spook looked directly at him, reassuringly, “We’ll look after you; trust me.”
Easy enough for him to say. Sion was the one who was up to his balls in it with the nutters. The fall guy, if this went tits up.
It was a win-win for MI5. If it ever came out, they could brush Sion off as another ex-squaddie diversifying into private security, hired by a criminal gang. MI5 would melt away and Sion would be left high and dry.
Or dead, more likely. And very wet. At the bottom of the river Mersey.
For now, he didn’t have to worry about that. All he had to do was to fire the shot, and then get the Hell outta Dodge.
???
"You came?”
I'm confused. His note on the letter was pretty damning. And the letter he chose, a goodbye.
"Uh... yeah.”
He's carrying a folder full of drawings and a bottle of red wine.
He stares at me.
"Oh! You didn't think I'd... Look, it's not a problem... I can come another time...don't be...”
"No, no, don't be silly. There's plenty of food. I wasn't sure that's all.”
He holds the red wine out towards me. His edginess is making me tense too.
This evening’s already a disaster, and I'm sure he's regretting turning up. I can't, for the life of me, work out why he came.
Struggling what to say, I check the rice boiling in the saucepan, hoping I can make it stretch to three.
“Where’s Maureen?”
“In the lounge. She wants dinner in front of the telly.”
An awkward silenc
e.
He turns his attention to the wine, avoiding the strained atmosphere building between us.
“Corkscrew?”
“Top drawer.”
He opens cupboard doors until he has two wine glasses in his hand. He pours one for me.
“You’ve got a tattoo.”
“Yeah, my battalion. Welsh Guards. Got it before my first tour.”
He rolls up his T-shirt sleeve for me to see it all. It’s inked across on his large bicep.
“Cymru am byth? Wales forever? On an English boy like you?”
“Not so English these days,” he says warily.
We’re skirting around each other, but it’s brewing. And I’m struggling, so I check the food and get the plates out.
“Annie?”
His stormy tone sets me even more on edge.
“Hmm?”
“You opened up the past when you decided to help yourself to my stuff.”
I can feel my cheeks burning.
“Yeah, about that…”
I take the rice over to the sink and begin draining it through a sieve.
“I shouldn’t have…”
“No. You shouldn’t,” his voice rumbles.
There it is.
Being told off riles me.
I can feel my temper rising.
He’s the one that buggered off, right after he screwed me.
