Jack didn’t know what to say, he suspected his father had been the victim of some elaborate con, a salesman who had persuaded him to invest thousands in a home office, earn a fortune playing the markets from the comfort of your own home.
“I’ve found it son.” He announced proudly.
“Found what?” Jack asked. He’d come here hoping to get some advice, from what he’d seen so far it looked like his father was in far greater need of help than he was.
“Money. In those screens, in those little numbers running up and down. I’ve found it. Money just waiting to be taken.” Jack looked at the screens, then back at his father. His eyes had taken on an unnatural brightness, a zealous convert to a new religion. Jack shook his head. Why had he thought coming here would be a good idea?
“You don’t believe me do you? Don’t blame you. See those flight cases up there in the cupboard? They’re full of cash, stuffed to the brim with it.”
“Of course they are dad.” Jack replied, not bothering to get up.
“I’ve been playing the markets,” he announced sagely, pulling another bottle from his dressing gown pocket and putting it to his lips. “Seems I have a bit of a knack for it. You sit here, watch what’s happening. Leverage your position, sell short, do a little spread betting.”
Jack nodded his head grimly. His father had gotten involved in countless get-rich quick schemes since he retired from the army in his early forties, dog breeding, snail farming, the pub he’d bought a share of then proceeded to drink into the ground. Didn’t take long for him to burn through the nest egg his more prudent mother had ensured they set aside. At least this one seemed pretty harmless. As long as he was only risking his own money.
“And you’ve wisely decided to stash your cash in those flight cases up there?” Jack asked sarcastically. His father shook his head.
“No no no no.” He replied quickly, as if Jack had suggested something perfectly ludicrous. “That’s just a little taster. I called up the bank manager and asked him to bring round something from the account. I,” he looked briefly embarrassed, “I just wanted to check it was real, make sure I wasn’t fooling myself. You know how fuzzy I can get after a couple of beers. Anyway, he was more than happy to, turned up in person in a security van, would you believe it.” His dad laughed.
“Are you sure he wasn’t riding a pink elephant?” Jack asked, his face deadpan. His father pretended not to hear him and downed the rest of his beer.
“You want to take some? Help towards those expensive Oxford fees?”
“Cambridge dad, it’s Cambridge. And no, I’m fine.” He said, not wanting to see his father’s face when he opened the suitcases to reveal a couple of moth eaten army uniforms, a few keepsakes of his mother. His dad nodded, only half listening. “Like your independence eh? Good, good.” He put the empty beer bottle down and leant towards him, his face serious. “Now Jack, tell me why you’re really here. You don’t call for two years and then you turn up out the blue. You in some kind of trouble?”
Jack swallowed the last gulp of tea. He hadn’t really thought about how to put this.
“I’m not in trouble. Not exactly, I mean it’s something I can walk away from.” He was aware of his dad’s eyes burrowing into him; the haziness of his gaze had been replaced with a steely concentration. An expression Jack did not recognise.
“The government wants me to do something for them. It’ll sound ridiculous if I try and explain it, but basically it’s an exchange, a small computer programme they want me to hand over.”
“Who to?” His dad said quickly.
“Um, don’t know. That’s what they want to find out.”
“Don’t do it.” His dad replied flatly.
He was surprised by the forcefulness of his father’s reaction. The intensity of the expression on his face. More than that, he was surprised at how easily the bumbling, alcohol-soaked persona had fallen away.
Jack frowned, “that’s it?” he said. “I haven’t even explained what this is all about…” His dad held up his hand, placed a finger over his lips.
“You don’t have to. You’ve told me enough. The people who’ve asked you to do this are sending you in blind, either because they don’t want you to know who you’re dealing with, or because they don’t actually know. You asked for my advice so I’m telling you. Don’t work on those terms. One thing you learn pretty quick in the army, never work with lying bastards or idiots. Both are liable to get you killed.”
Jack bit his lip and looked away. Were things really that simple? His dad had made a career out of giving up and walking away, why should he expect anything different in the advice he offered?
“Look,” his dad said. “You’re not convinced. I’m not going to try and persuade you and I’m not going to ask you why you’re doing this, or how you got into it. But I will say this, if you’re going to go through with it, keep your eyes and ears wide open. Whatever is said, assume the opposite could also apply, whatever they ask you to do, make sure you have your own exit strategy. Where is this going to happen, UK or overseas?”
“UK. Tomorrow evening.”
“Where?”
“Cambridge, not sure yet.”
“Want me there?” Jack raised his eyebrows, thrown off balance. “No, don’t think so. Should be fine.” He said at last. His dad looked unconvinced.
“What kind of kit are they giving you?”
“I don’t know, nothing. There’ll be other people there.” He said weakly. His dad shook his head.
“This stinks Jack. You know more about it than I do but to me it stinks.” He scratched at his tangle of grey hair, “let me just say this, whatever you’ve got yourself caught up in, you need to decide where your priorities lie. Don’t step up to a challenge for the sake of it, to see if you can dodge bullets, don’t do it unless you know exactly what you’re letting yourself in for.”
Jack nodded. For a man on his third beer of the morning who looked like he’d selected his clothes by running at his neighbour’s washing line with his arms outstretched, his father made a certain amount of sense.
“Thanks, I’ll think on it,” he said and got up slowly, nodding; his dad waved him away.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, reaching for another swig of beer. “Oh, one more thing Jack, before you go.” Jack turned to face him, he had opened the cupboard and was ferreting about, pulling clothes from the shelves and letting them land in an untidy pile on the floor.
“Here it is, knew I’d put it somewhere safe,” he said at last, handing Jack a battered Omega diver’s watch, the face scratched, the metal strap scuffed. Jack looked at it uncertainly.
“My birthday’s in May dad, and there’s really no need.”
“It’s not for your birthday, it’s for luck,” his father said, eyes gleaming with something stronger than booze, hands pulling at Jack’s wrist, undoing the strap of his cheap Casio, yanking it off, adjusting the Omega and fastening it in place. Jack winced, surprised at the strength that flowed from his father’s hands, unnerved by the intensity of his expression.
“Promise me you won’t take it off,” he said. Jack could feel his wrist beginning to go numb, his father’s grip tightening.
“Promise me.”
“Alright, alright.” Jack said at last. Archie released his grip, and smiled into the distance as Jack rubbed his arm, tried to get the blood flowing again.
“That chunk of metal has seen more action than most soldiers manage in an entire career,” he said proudly. “Think of it as a talisman. Like the ring they have to protect in that Harry Potter film.” Jack couldn’t help but smile, no point in correcting him.