The Consultant - NaNoWriMo2021

Chapter 18

I glance at my watch; three am. My father's gone for a walk; I went with him to the porters' lodge to tell the snoozing Ronny that he will be back in a while; the gates are securely locked at night with no unaccompanied visitors allowed.

I'm aware that I'm gazing into space in a dark room. My desk lamp is the only source of light and it is creating eerily flickering shadows across the bookshelves; I need to change the bulb as it's on it's way out. I'm completely sober now; between dad's creation and the judicial application of several pints of strong coffee, my brain is in overdrive and I'm trying to process everything he told me. When he started with 'I'm the Director General of SIS', I was completely flabbergasted; I had not seen that coming at all, but it is all too true, even if, to my shame, I made him produce his key card for the building, and when that turned out to be something that you could mistake for a hotel key, made him call the switchboard and speak to the duty officer. Dad played along, making up an excuse about checking in to see if there was anything of note happening overnight; no doubt the young intelligence officer on duty is now wondering why the DG has called him and if he's in trouble.

What is infinitely more worrying is that though my recruitment process with SIS was real, the supposed assignment of monitoring Aubrey is not. Dad had no knowledge of that, and he had never heard of this guy Duncan. During a lull in conversation, he asked me to call Duncan but of course, the number had been discontinued. He asked me for text messages which I showed him, but there was nothing of note in them. Dad then proceeded to clone my phone and sent off the copy to his colleagues to see what they can unearth. I'm still reeling in shock that my technophobe father who can barely operate the TV, can clone a phone without any effort at all. It seems that whilst he knows me well, I really don't know him at all.

The attacks that Duncan briefed me on are real enough though. Another one took place this afternoon, at a theatre in Manchester leaving four dead and eight injured. Duncan wasn't kidding about that but I have so many questions buzzing around my head that I'm not sure which way to turn. I need to get this straight so I grab a pen and paper and start making a list.

1. If SIS recruited me, why don't I know?

2. Who is Duncan and how did he use an SIS office for my fake briefing?

3. Why did he want me to target Aubrey? Is she up to something?

Most importantly, what the hell is all of this about? Why was I targeted by Duncan or whoever he works for? I am no-one, just a doctoral student going about her business, applying secretly to join the SIS but absolutely no-one knew about that, not even Felix. Mum told Dad about him too, and his reaction is predictable. I have this slight concern that Felix will just disappear from College one day and never be heard of again, spending the rest of his life in a black site somewhere with angry men beating him with a rubber hose. No, I don't think my dad would do that. I don't think so anyway...

Perhaps I can figure out one thing; after thinking about it for a while, I have my suspicions. I grab my trainers and coat and hurry down the dark stairs, crossing the quadrangle to the Porters' Lodge where Ronny sits, smoking as usual and lazily wafting the smoke through the cracked window.

'If Frank catches you, you'll be done for you know.'

Ronny jumps out of his skin, inhaling his cigarette and then spitting it out on to the floor, coughing and spluttering as he spits sparks from his mouth.

'Jesus Miss, whaddya do that for? You could a killed me.'

'Sorry Ronny. Now look, I have a couple of questions for you. And I want the truth, none of your east end cockney bullshit okay?'

A serious expression clouded Ronny's face.

'What are you saying Miss? I don't lie.' His plaintiff defence wasn't fooling me. Ronny was a wide boy from Essex despite his adopted London accent, and he was much cleverer and more sly than he looked. I know this from seeing him creep out of undergrad rooms in the middle of the day, having been entertained by young male students, and he kept the whole charade hidden from old Frank, who remained convinced that Ronny was a bit lazy, but pure as the driven snow.

'You've been intercepting my post Ronny. I want to know who told you to do it, how much they paid you, and what you did with my letters.'

'I aven't touched your post Miss, honest. Frank'd ave my bollocks if I did that wudn e?'

'What Frank might do to your bollocks is nothing compared to what I will do with you if you don't level with me Ronny.' The boy paled, he could evidently sense my seriousness. Suddenly, a sly grin came over his face.

'What's it wurf then? How badly do you wanna know?'

'That man who went out earlier, and is coming back. He's not really my father. He's here to try to get me to authenticate a Babylonian scroll that he stole in Iraq. He wants to sell it on the black market to a Russian billionaire with very unsavoury businesses approaches. Now if you want me to tell this man that you've been up to dirty dealings, I will, but I can't promise how much of you will be left when he's done protecting his asset.'

'Alright alright Miss. I get the picture.' His accent had changed instantly, and I figured he had dropped the pretence of innocence along with his fake background.

'Some bloke found me in a pub. I was just having a quiet drink, before I came back and locked up. Don't tell Frank, he thinks I went out to do the rounds of the college before lockup.'

'I don't give a toss about you sneaking off to a pub. What did the bloke say?'

'It was simple really. He told me to watch for packages that came for you and hold them back until he had looked at them. I was to take anything that arrived, which is not much Miss, you're not exactly letter writer of the year are you?'

I kept my expression neutral and Ronny's grin faded.

'Anyway, he slipped me a hundred quid and told me to text him if something arrived. It only happened once. I texted, we met in the same pub, and he took the package, giving me another hundred for my trouble. After that, you got your post as normal and I never saw him again.'

'What did he look like?'

Ronny's description was vague, but it was easy to see that my mystery post thief was Duncan. It was clear to me now that he had taken my offer letter from SIS, and then sent a fake letter inviting me to a final briefing.

'You sure you haven't seen him since?'

'Yes Miss, but he said this would happen.'

'What?'

'He said you'd work it out eventually. That you'd come down ere and ask me about him. I suppose that's why we met in a pub; so you would never see im ere.' I stare at him with evil intent. He has no idea what he's done.

As Ronny stood in awkward silence, the bell clanged indicating someone who needed to be let in, and Ronny pushed past me to open the wicket gate. My father walked through, nodding at Ronny who stepped back in alarm to avoid him. My father shot a confused glance but then saw me and we walked back around the quadrangle, and toward my room.

I updated him on my conversation.

'So now we know how they duped you into the briefing, and why you never responded to SIS, and I just called our operations team who told me that we simply rented the house where your final interview took place. It's common practice as we don't want candidates who fall at the final hurdle coming back to haunt us when they get rejected. It seems that anyone can rent the space, even by the day, and I'm sure that if we went there tomorrow, it would have an entirely new tenant in place. I've instructed someone to check and see if they can get details but I doubt it will yield any information, whoever it was is probably too smart for that.'

We reached my rooms but Dad didn't come in this time.

'I suggest some sleep, then we can meet again at a more respectable hour. If you wouldn't mind, perhaps you could come to my office tomorrow,' he glanced at his watch, a gift from mum, 'later today rather, say about eleven?' I nod.

'I think we can have another go, and by then we might have a bit more information.' He leans forward and hugs me. This is the first time he has actually initiated physical contact for a decade and I lean into him, hugging him tightly.

'We'll talk again soon, I promise.' He lets go and steps back. I close the door and go straight to bed. I'm shattered and my mind is racing but I need to sleep, there is so much confusion that I can't process anything else.