Wuthering Dormice (aka Bike) Part 789 by Angharad

“Why are we being targeted at all?” It seemed so unjust to me – I know I’d caused some problems to the Russian mafia before, but they started it, mine was purely defensive.

“They’re after the bank again.”

“So two people had to die for a bank?” I was horrified, to my mind life was infinitely more valuable than money. Money is an enabler, without life it’s somewhat pointless. I suppose I’ve always had a philosophical view of wealth – not really desirous of it – yet it seems to have sought me out. My parents have left me comfortable, though I’d still have to work, I’ve quite a cushion if I need it, plus a house that’s paid for.

“Both were terrorists, they think.” Simon was remaining aloof from the emotions of this, unlike me. I was fizzing – with fear and anger.

“So two arseholes blow themselves up trying to do what?”

“Frighten us – Dad was supposed to be entertaining one of the treasury ministers at the hotel at the weekend.”

“I thought bribery and corruption were things of the past?”

“He was also going to be hosting unofficial talks between the minister and several chief execs of the big clearing banks. There was supposed to be no publicity and the details were top secret, so we don’t know how they got out.”

“But the Russians knew, somehow?”

“Looks like it. Bill, tell her what you can.”

Bill the builder, who looks nothing like Daniel Craig – more like Guy the Gorilla – had come into the house to speak with Simon. He looked uncomfortable but nodded to Simon. “Looks like we have a situation on our hands.” Gone was the working class accent instead there was a neutral, Southern British one. He could be from anywhere, even Bristol.

“Cathy, you are all at risk.”

“Why are they doing this to us?”

“They want the bank, probably for money laundering. Several Russians banks spend more time doing the laundry than things one would normally expect from banks. They‘re making loads from gas and oil exports and much of it goes into the pockets of very few individuals.”

“Nothing new there then,” I interjected, “I suppose, some of them might just be politicians with a great deal of power, and one in particular who fancies himself as a pin up – personally, I’d rather have Will Smith or Daniel Craig.”

“I can’t comment on personalities, Cathy,” continued Bill, “but we do know they are trying to destabilise the bank again so they can buy it at well below its true value.”

“And that includes putting the frighteners on the family?”

“It looks that way.”

“I suppose fleeing the country isn’t a good idea?” I asked, wondering where I’d like to go.

“We couldn’t protect you then.”

“So far, I’m not terribly impressed, Bill. They nearly had me yesterday.”

“We didn’t realise you could ride so fast – we assumed women rode slower than men.”

“Tell that to Nicole Cooke or Vickie Pendleton.”

“Yes, but you’re not exactly Team GB, are you?”

“Point taken.” I fumed quietly.

“We were actually shadowing you until you turned off up those lanes, then somehow you lost us on the downhill bit, in fact you came from behind and overtook your protection vehicle.”

“Perhaps it would have helped if you’d told me before hand.”

“If we had, you wouldn’t have gone for the ride or behaved normally.”

“No, I bloody well wouldn’t, I’d have stayed home and begun building barricades.”

“Then they would have known you were onto them.”

“So what? I consider my life is worth more than political gestures.”

“Cathy, please, the service is apolitical, we’re here to serve the country and its people.”

I apologised, I was just angry. “Every bloody time things seem to be going well, some miserable pig upsets it.”

“That’s life, I’m afraid.”

“But it isn’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t, Babes, but it’s a fact of life – so it’s sink or swim time.”

“How do we protect our children?”

“Carry on as normal, we’ll shadow you and agree a route for the day.”

“Are the phone and emails safe?” I asked.

“Possibly not, both can be intercepted.”

“And they can put listening devices inside the house too, so they may even know what we’re talking about.” I’d seen these things on television.

“Um – no, we did a sweep earlier, there are no devices in the house or garden.”

“You didn’t do my bedroom?”

“We did.”

“When?” I was horrified, how intrusive are these blokes?

“Don’t worry, we did from outside on the pretext of checking the walls.”

“You can do it from outside? Is that clever or creepy?”

“We prefer to believe it’s clever.”

“Of course – so what happens next?”

“You carry on doing what you normally do.”

“Like tying a goat to a tree to hunt tigers?”

“I like to think it’s more humane than that.” Bill smiled, his face had changed as well as his voice. He was actually not bad-looking – still no Daniel Craig, but you know if I was in need of physical comfort ... um ... don’t be like that.

“You didn’t get cast as the goat,” I sniped.

“True,” he agreed, “but then I believe you don’t like guns.”

“Touché,” I conceded.

“Your shadows will have at least one firearms officer with them, you and your children should be safe.”

“The only reason we were safe last time was we had half the British Army there.”

“So I heard, I’m not sure it would be feasible in this time of fiscal austerity to have a unit of Royal Marine Commandos following you around.”

“I don’t know, I pay enough bloody taxes,” quipped Simon.

“Instead we have Bob the builder and his merry men,” I sighed.

“It gets worse, Babes, one of his colleagues is called Ben.”

“Oh shit! That’s all we need, Bill and bloody Ben*, I suppose Andy Pandy* is down there somewhere? That makes me feel really safe,” I snapped.

*Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men, and Andy Pandy were children’s programmes on BBC television some years ago.