Peter hated Bunny. He thought him to be ignorant, unwashed, and uncivilized. Peter also knew that Bunny regularly sexually assaulted Becka. He was aware that The Fixer knew this as well, and that he chose to do nothing about it. In fact, Peter suspected that The Fixer took some sick pleasure from allowing such obvious and outrageous assaults to take place, in the sure knowledge that nobody would dare to complain. Peter had speculated that it was a way for The Fixer to dominate his employees passively. In a similar way, he kept his name secret, making people call him ‘Boss’ or ‘The Fixer’, as if he were the head of the Secret Service or something.
Peter enjoyed his work. In many ways, it was good to be in the Wrecking Crew. He was paid very well, and he relished the feeling of supremacy that his position brought. However, like the other employees, Peter didn’t know his real employer. His pay slips came from a charity, but that was clearly just a ridiculous subterfuge. He suspected that the Wrecking Crew was actually a clandestine arm of the CIA or perhaps the British security services. He liked that idea. He was a patriot at heart, and loved to think that he was a spy doing good things for his country. Admittedly, some of the things he had been asked to do were questionable, but he had always suppressed his concerns in the hope that his work was officially sanctioned from upon high.
However, some time ago Peter had begun to realize that The Fixer was a dangerous and unstable man who was prone to sudden outbursts of anger, particularly in the face of bad news. He also recognized that his boss could be petty and vindictive, using his considerable power to further his own agenda. Over the last twenty months, Peter had noticed that some of their assignments had been directly linked to The Fixer’s personal interests. Usually this was when someone had crossed him, or posed a danger to the Wrecking Crew — like Charles Rathbone, or the man in the envelope, Eric Stone. Peter took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door.
“Come!” the Fixer barked sharply.
“I’ve got the initial results of the surveillance you ordered on Eric Stone,” Peter said, his voice trembling slightly with fear, “there is a report, and some photos.”
“Ah, yes — let me see.”
Peter handed over the envelope and, reading from his copy of the report, he began a commentary as his boss read along.
“Eric Stone aged thirty-nine, martial arts instructor — owns a dojo in Colchester. Decent earnings, taxpayer, unmarried, and no criminal record — he seems like a decent, upstanding guy. Very respected and successful in his field, he has a staff of twelve. There’s some evidence to suggest that he gives additional training to some of the troops from the Army barracks in Colchester — probably to help sharpen their skills and fitness before deployment. Charles Rathbone was a member of the dojo, which seemed odd until I noticed that Stone runs several self-defense classes for the disabled, and kids with special needs. I guess that Rathbone went to him because of his disability.
“We had people watching his work and his house. I had someone go and enquire about karate lessons. He asked to see Stone in person, but the guy he spoke to said that he hasn’t been at work for a while. By my calculation, he has probably been away since Rathbone died. For a while, it looked like he may have dropped off the grid completely, but yesterday he turned up at his house. When he arrived, he met with a girl and she stayed the night. There are photos of both of them.”
The Fixer flicked through the sequence of photos of Stone arriving at the house, then the blonde girl arriving, and the picture of Stone and the girl kissing. As he reached the first photo that clearly showed both faces, he suddenly stopped flicking and sat very still. When finally he spoke, Peter was shocked by the sudden tension and anger in The Fixer’s voice. He wondered if he had made some dreadful error or omission.
“Who’s the girl?” The Fixer held up the photograph.
“Um… let me see… ” Peter quickly searched to the correct page in his copy of the report. “Ah yes, here we are. The red sports car is registered to a Linda Smart. Aged thirty, she is a fitness and yoga instructor from Sawbridgeworth. She has a rented studio there and a nearby apartment. Average earnings, regular tax returns and so on. There is no history of previous communication with Rathbone. She has no criminal record… just two parking tickets… stopped for speeding last year, but let off with a warning. Nothing else of any interest, really. She’s a pretty girl though.”
Peter smiled as he closed the report, slightly embarrassed at the last comment. He hoped that The Fixer wasn’t about to explode in anger. In the end, his response was rather muted.
“Um… fine… tell your people that they did well.”
“Thanks boss, I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear that—” he stopped as The Fixer held up his hand.
“And I want you to up the surveillance on Stone. I want maximum coverage, day and night. I want to know where he goes, who he talks to, what he does. I want the lot; phones, email, post, everything. Do you understand?”
“Yes boss, no problem,” Peter said, trying to hide his relief, “I’ll put a team on it immediately. They should be in place by first thing tomorrow.”
“And the girl — you’d better do the girl as well.”
“Ok… yes. Err… one thing though… there will be quite a large expense… who do I invoice for this?”
The question was met with stony silence. The Fixer sat completely still, staring unblinkingly at the photo of Eric Stone and his girlfriend. His knuckles were white with tension. Peter White remained quiet. He knew better than to interrupt when his boss was thinking.
The photograph he held showed the girl in profile, but Eric Stone was visible almost full-faced. The Fixer was shocked. He felt chilled to the bone. It was like seeing a ghost — in fact he was seeing a ghost. He had recognized the face almost instantly. He knew that people’s faces could change over time, particularly in this era of elective plastic surgery. It was some years since he had seen this particular face. He had only ever seen it once before. On that occasion, he had seen the face from a great distance, in poor light and with the aid of binoculars. Nevertheless, he was positive. He recognized the face in the photograph. Something was wrong — something was very wrong.
“This is internal Peter,” the Fixer’s voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. “This Eric Stone is a big risk to our organisation. Bring me the invoices, I’ll sign for them.”
While Eric cleared away the breakfast dishes, Linda got her bag from her car and unpacked her things. Then they went for a run together. They followed Eric’s usual route; enduring a couple of minutes of dodging traffic and pedestrians, before picking up the riverside sidewalk that quickly led them out of town. From there on it was a pleasant scenic loop of around five miles. At first Eric ran a little slower than usual. However, they soon upped the pace, when he realized that Linda was every bit as fit as he was. She was also just as competitive.
As they neared the town again, on the sidewalk alongside the river, they slowed to walking pace. Linda pointed to a phone booth, where the sidewalk met the road, and challenged Stone to a race.
“Last one there does a forfeit — ok?” she suggested.
“Right, you’re on!” Stone stood behind Linda with his hands on her shoulders and gave the countdown. “Ready, set… Oooff!”