Sam took out his Kindle and started to read just as somebody sat in the seat opposite. Sam was a little surprised, as the seat was usually empty until Basingstoke. Still, this was public transport, which meant members of the public could use it, not just city workers and us spies. Thought Sam.
He glanced up, just for a second, and saw a face he recognised but couldn’t quite place.
Nathan Raynor looked back at him.
‘Reading anything good?’ Asked Raynor.
‘Just a crime thriller.’ replied Sam. With the realisation that he’d seen Raynor before, he asked, ‘Were you in The Mills last night?’
‘The Mills?’
‘Yeah, the Town Mills Pub.’
‘Oh. Yeah, that was me, I saw you with your mates, so when I saw you this morning I thought I’d say hello. Your mate though, the short, overweight, balding one?’
‘Dave?’
‘If you say so. You need to do something about him. He needs a good smack.’
Sam raised an eyebrow, somewhat taken aback by this candid revelation from a complete stranger.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, softly but firmly, ‘but who are you? And what gives you the right to badmouth my mates?’
Raynor sat back in his seat, shaking his head slowly. Smiling. A little stunned by the retort, but enjoying the baiting nonetheless.
‘You can look after yourself. I can tell.’ Came Raynor’s response.
‘Most people wouldn’t talk to me like that. I’m quite intimidating… apparently.’
Now it was Sam’s turn to be stunned. He’d expected his retort to elicit a different response from the stranger sat opposite. He was expecting anger, confrontation. Instead, this massive man with the gentle tone was goading him. Time to play him at his own game.
The quintessential banker, looked over the top of his glasses, and over the top of the Financial Times, trying not to be too obvious. He was inwardly shaking with fear of confrontation, expecting a western style bar-room brawl to break out at any minute. That or a duel along the length of the carriage. Oyster cards at ten paces.
Sam reached out across the table with his right hand.
‘Sam Edwards.’ He said with a smile. ‘Nice to meet you.’
The quintessential banker let out an audible sigh of relief.
Raynor looked at Sam in disbelief. Then a wide smile broke across his face and he gave a little chuckle before grabbing Sam’s hand with his and announcing. ‘Nathan Raynor. Nice to meet you too, Sam.’
The quintessential banker relaxed again. Well played Mr Edwards. He thought.
‘You’re not going to start some macho bullshit handshake grasp contest now, are you?’ Asked Sam, grinning, ‘Because I really can’t be bothered. And you’d win anyway.’
‘No, you’re alright Sam. I won’t bother with such a juvenile game. Like I said, I can tell when someone can look after themselves.’ Raynor released his grip and sat back in his seat. He stretched, revealing part of a tattoo on his left bicep.
‘What’s the tatt?’ Asked Sam.
Raynor pulled the sleeve of his t-shirt up to his shoulder revealing the tattoo. The head and shoulders of a devil. Scared. Biting its nails, tears coming from its eyes. The cartoonish lines depicting motion. Shaking.
‘Nice.’ Said Sam, ‘What is it?’
‘Oh, nothing special, just a bit of a laugh with my unit when I was a squaddie.’
‘Armed services eh?’ Sam enquired. ‘Army?’
‘Yeah, didn’t get too far, just an average infantryman, a grunt as we’re affectionately known.’
At that point, Sam’s phone rang. He checked the display.
‘Shit. My boss, sorry, got to take this.’
‘No problem.’ Replied Raynor.
If this is another Starbucks order, I’m going to be pissed off, Sam thought I don’t get the money back half of the time.
Sam answered his phone.
‘Morning Boss, what is it today? Skinny cappa-frappa-mocha-latte with caramel syrup and chocolate sprinkles?’
‘Good morning Samuel, please don’t be so facetious.’
Sam’s boss, Jayshree Virani, the only person other than his Mother to ever call him Samuel. Sam was sure that Jayshree thought calling him Samuel asserted some kind of authority, but to him it just made her sound old, and as if she were trying too hard to assert the authority she already had through her rank.
At thirty four, Jayshree Virani was one of the youngest Counter Terrorism Team Leaders in Thames House. She was MI5’s poster girl. Extremely intelligent, boasting several degrees in subjects ranging from Mathematics to Politics, Psychology to Economics, often studying more than one subject at a time.
The MI5 bosses loved her. For as well as being intelligent, she was also fluent in several languages. She was a bit of a stunner too. And she knew it. And of Asian descent; the bigwigs had the complete PR package with Jayshree Virani.
‘Are you on the train?’ She asked.
‘Yeah,’ he replied ‘soon be in Whitchurch.’
‘Well get off and turn around, we don’t want you in today.’
‘Is there something you’re trying to tell me Jay? Do I still have a job?’
‘Don’t be such a drama queen Sam, of course you still have a job. It’s your lucky day, you’re in the field.’
Sam looked at Raynor, who had been listening to one side of the conversation, and smiled, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.
‘So where am I going Boss? Monte Carlo, Cannes?’ He turned back to the window and watched the Hampshire countryside fly by like a blurry oil painting.
‘No Samuel,’ Said Virani, ‘It’s much more glamourous than that, do you have a passport?’
Sam sat up straight at this, suddenly interested.
‘Er, yeah, I’ve got a passport, where am I going?’
Virani let out a laugh. ‘Tidworth Barracks’ she replied.
‘Bollocks’, muttered Sam. ‘Tidworth Barracks, Jay? Why?’ he asked.
At this, Raynor sat up and started paying a bit more attention. He took his phone out of his jacket pocket but it slipped out of his hand and slid across the table. By now Sam was resting on his elbows on the table when Raynor’s arm shot out to grab the sliding phone. Raynor was now standing, leaning over toward Sam. He grabbed the phone and accidentally knocked it against Sam’s mobile as he sat back down.
‘Sorry.’ Raynor mouthed at Sam. Sam nodded back, conveying ‘No problem.’
‘Sorry Boss,’ said Sam, ‘would you say that again?’
The train started to slow and Sam put his Kindle in the inside pocket of his jacket. In the confined space he stood up, still listening intently to his superior as she filled him in with the goings on at Salisbury plain.
The quintessential banker let out a loud tut as Sam transferred his phone to his free hand and tried to put his right arm into his jacket sleeve, knocking the other man’s paper. The banker put the paper down and stood to let Sam squeeze past into the carriage walkway.
Sam nodded his thanks to the banker and turned to Raynor. He gave Raynor a nod of farewell. Raynor replied with a single thumb-up and a wink, mouthing ‘See ya later, Sam.’
Sam got off the train and crossed the footbridge to the return platform where he waited for a train back to Andover. He’d received his orders. Report to Corporal Jenkins at Tidworth, who will take him to the explosion site. Investigate. Analyse. Report. A team from London were on their way, but the initial investigation was his.
He thought about Raynor, his casual, overfamiliar conversation, always using Sam’s name, like trying to gain confidence. It made him feel a little anxious. Maybe that was the point.
When he arrived back in Andover, Sam walked home to get his car. Julia was giving Jack his breakfast when he walked in, Shreddies with a side of toast. Jack sitting at the dining room table on a booster seat, favourite blue car in hand.