The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2827 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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I walked to the taxi rank knowing that I was being followed but wasn’t sure why, though as the CIA hadn’t taken much notice in me before I had to assume it was to do with my assistance in preventing the assassination at Waterloo of the Israeli negotiator. But weren’t the CIA in favour of those talks? So just what was he doing and how did he know which train I’d be going for? A mole in Special Branch or did they simply tell them and for what purpose?

If the films I’d seen and articles I’d read were to be believed, the Company pretty well did what it liked until something went wrong and it came to wider notice, then someone would say mea culpa and it would all carry on as before, usually once someone had metaphorically fallen on his sword. I didn’t know if this was true or not but it was likely to be so at least some of the time. At the same time it was probably true that some were genuine and worked for their country through their office, not the other way round. As Jack Kennedy said, ‘Ask not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country.’

How much of a patriot would I be? I don’t know and I suppose it depend upon the cause. Would I risk my life for the UK government? Probably not. For the land I live in? Maybe. For the people I know? Yes. For my family and friends—absolutely. I suspect most people would be similar, the closer the threat comes the more likely it is to get a positive reaction.

Those who sign up to protect their country—our armed services, law and order services, including intelligence and police and even fire and rescue services such as fire and lifeboats, rescue helicopters and so on, sign a contract or even pledge to serve their country, usually the reigning monarch but in effect means the government. However, I have heard servicemen and ex servicemen say they pledged to serve the Queen not some dozy politician, then because she’s head of the armed services, if the government and monarchy came into conflict—the armed services are all pledged to serve the monarch. Could cause problems. If it was a case of Queen or Parliament, though I have no credence in any of the current politicians, save possibly Nick Clegg—who seems quite a balanced sort of chap—my support would be for the democratic process over an hereditary monarch. I’m sure she’d understand, if not it’d be off to the tower and removal of my head—with a sword, not an axe—it’s supposed to be cleaner and quicker—just because I’m now a noblewoman by my marriage to Simon.

All these ideas went through my head as I travelled in my taxi and I was being followed by another. I asked mine to take a roundabout route and still we were followed, so I asked if there was some way he could lose the other cab which contained my ex husband who was trying to find out where I lived now despite a restraining order for assault. I know, the lies get bigger.

“Why don’t you just call the cops?”

“Last time his lawyer got it dismissed.”

“Okay, wotcha want me t’ do?”

“Can you lose him enough to drop me nearby where I can hide until he goes past and I can walk home.”

“Not on the address you gave me, can I take you some place else?”

“To the university campus.”

“Okay, here we go.”

I closed my eyes as ‘Lewis Hamilton’ did some suicidal driving but we lost our tail. I got to the university and found that Daddy was in doing some paperwork. I got him to take me home and we had no tail—that I saw.

An hour later, I’d just finished dinner and the doorbell rang. As we weren’t expecting anyone, Simon went to answer it and called me. My man from Exxon was standing in the hall, “Lady Cameron, we meet again.”

“What are you doing here, Mr Brown?”

“It was my job to protect you so you got here.”

“You obviously did a good job, as you can see.”

“So who are you?” Simon asked our visitor.

“This, darling, is Mr Jason Brown of the Central Intelligence Agency.”

“Is that related to the CIA?” asked Simon and Brown and I looked at each other and raised eyebrows—our own, naturally. Well he is an hereditary nobleman, inbreeding and so must take their toll.

“It is the CIA,” I sighed.

“I wanted to see if Mr Brown knew the answer.” Duh? Simon does a very good upper class twit—sometimes I do wonder if it’s an act though.

“I do, sir,” said our visitor politely.

“Would you care for some coffee, Mr Brown, it is your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am, though I wasn’t aware they’d briefed you.”

“Nor I you.”

“Si, would you show Mr Brown into the sitting room while I make some coffee.”

My husband was surprised by my request but agreed to do so and stayed with him. I made a cafetiere with three cups in it and carried it through with cups, milk and sugar and some biscuits.

I poured the coffees and then asked Mr Brown if I needed protecting, why was an American agency assigned to it not our own Special Branch or MI5?

“Good point.”

“I hope I’m going to get a true answer this time or I shall call Commander Strong and have you arrested.”

“Whoa there, you don’t pull punches do you? I thought you academics were supposed to bumble through life in your ivory towers, not leap into action like Wonder Woman.”

“I’m on holiday, I do what I like then.”

“Oh, okay.” He sipped his black coffee. “Here’s my ID.” He handed me an identity card with the logo of the CIA on it. I wouldn’t know if it was genuine but I suspected it was. “You were involved in the prevention of an assassination at Water-loo station...”

Do all Americans pause on multi-syllabled words?

“...the guy you protected was Mr Iacov Levi, a senior diplomat, though he’s not supposed to be on the official radar, so how the radical Zionists knew who he was, is a matter we’re hoping to identify in consultation with the Israeli government. Looks like they could have a spy in their camp.

“We spotted the gang, four of them coming in through Spain on scheduled flights to Gatwick. We knew they were here for no good reasons and that they could be an assassination squad. Somehow they slipped our tail and got to their target, or one of them did and you happened to be there, saw what was gonna happen and stopped it.”

I shrugged.

“How the hell did you spot it?”

“I told the police what I saw, he was looking anxious. At first I wondered if he was a claustrophobe but it wasn’t typical and he kept looking at the chap he tried to kill. As he moved with some purpose instead of pacing about I knew something was afoot and moved to try and stop whatever it was.” I didn’t tell him that I thought he might be about to commit suicide. “So why you and not MI5 protecting me?”

“I know all the members of the gang. Your guys don’t, so they asked me to watch over you. That guy on the train, presumably that was just a little local difficulty?”

“What guy on the train, Cathy?”

“The police got the train held for me, just two or three minutes and some bloke took umbrage and called me names. I told him to go away or I call the guard and have him taken off the train. He went to get physical and Mr Brown interceded and the man went away.”

“Thank you for that, Mr Brown,” offered Simon, “though I suspect he might have been safer with you stopping it going any further, Cathy tends to defend herself when under threat. The other guy always comes off worse.”

“So I hear. But that’s why I was there, we knew which train because Scotland Yard told us which one they’d get you on. Slipping my tail on the way home wasn’t a good idea, you could have been in danger.”

“Oh come off it, I did a bit of derring-do, I’m not involved in the political shenanigans, so why would I be at risk?”

“They think you are, and the press have got hold of the story.”

“What d’you mean?” I gasped.

“Someone captured it on a smart phone and it’s on the news and presumably youtube.”

Oh poo.