Matthew Dunn - Slingshot

Betty turned toward him, her expression one of total sympathy. “Oh no. You poor thing.”

Emotion welled up inside him. He tried to keep it in check. “I need you to start today. I’m so sorry I couldn’t give you more warning.”

“Nonsense.” Betty’s tone was now authoritative, her posture strong. “We’ll get this sorted. Don’t you worry about a thing. And the whole point of us is that despite our age, we can move quicker than your other assets. That was your idea, remember?”

Betty was right. He’d chosen the two husband-and-wife teams because they were retirees, therefore were not tied to an employer, and could support him at a moment’s notice. It also helped that Betty was a former undercover operative with Fourteenth Intelligence Company that her husband Alfie had been a sergeant in the SAS, that Robert had been Alfie’s captain, and that Joanna had been an MI5 case officer. The four operatives had first met in the mid-seventies in a farmhouse in a remote part of the United Kingdom. Joanna was there to debrief a source, the others there to ensure the agent and handler were protected. The agent never showed up; instead armed IRA men did.

Betty asked, “What’s the threat to your home?”

“It’s unlikely there’s a direct threat. I need someone in there, as it’s probable that I’m going to receive some very important letters, letters that will be trying to warn me off an operation. I’m going to be overseas. If a letter comes, its contents must be relayed to me straight away. But I need two of you in there just in case.”

Betty seemed to consider this. “When do we collect your sister?”

“Today. She should be home around six. And it won’t be just her, we need her husband as well.”

“Are they expecting us?”

“No.”

“In that case, you’re going to have to do some pretty smooth talking to her, because”-she rubbed her legs-“the days of me being able to take part in a snatch operation are long gone.”

Will smiled. Betty had always reminded him of the no-nonsense, get-on-with-it women who’d built Lancaster bomber planes, nursed air raid casualties, or parachuted into German-occupied France during World War II. “I will be talking to her. But I could do with your help to keep her calm.”

With pinpoint accuracy, Betty threw the last of her bread into the gullet of a pelican. “Then that’s settled. Alfie and I will pack our walking sticks and thermal undies; Robert and Joanna can play mum and dad spending a few days visiting their son’s London pad.”

As Will kept his eyes on Betty, he felt safe and secure. Betty was a remarkable woman, had a backbone of steel, and was a highly experienced operative. But what set her apart from others in Will’s life was that she had always displayed an unconditional compassion toward him. He suspected she viewed him as the son she’d never had. He didn’t mind, because to him she felt like family. “Is there anything you need?”

Betty patted his hand again. “Silly boy. You leave everything to us. We know what we’re doing.”

From the backseat of the vehicle, Will checked his watch. It was ten minutes past six. The three-bedroom row house in Richmond’s Manor Grove was still in darkness, as were most of the other houses in the street. Will’s sister and her husband were both partners in a law firm; Will imagined that the rest of the street’s occupants were also white-collar professionals and were either still working or on their way home.

From the front passenger seat, Alfie glanced over his shoulder at Will and said in a south London accent, “Bit of money around here these days, ain’t there, sunshine. Make you wish you were in the private sector?”

Will smiled, though felt uneasy. “I don’t think the private sector would have me.”

Alfie pulled out a filterless cigarette, stuck it in the corner of his mouth, lit it with a match, and partially rolled down his window. The sixty-five-year-old ex-SAS man was short and had a stocky frame that was clearly once very powerful, but now moved a little more slowly and more awkwardly. He was dressed in an ill-fitting suit, shirt, and tie, and Will knew that Betty had made him dress up for the occasion. “Look at ’em. Just ordinary terraced houses like my old folk used to live in. Couldn’t afford it now. Bet these places cost a quarter of a million.”

Beside him, Betty gave a disapproving sigh. “You’re so out of touch with London prices, angel. A place like this would be at least half a million.”

“Blimey, petal.” Alfie looked out of the window, blowing a long stream of smoke into the cold exterior air. “Where did we go wrong?”

“We joined the army.”

“Oh yeah, that was it.”

Will looked over his shoulder in the direction from which he thought Sarah and her husband would be entering the street. He saw nothing, but wondered if there were armed men hiding somewhere on the route in an unlit vehicle, waiting to ram Sarah’s car when she arrived and gun her down. “I’m going farther up the street.”

Betty said, “Off you pop then, my dear. .”

Will opened the door and put one foot out onto the street.

“. . But I hope you’re wearing a warm vest underneath that thin suit.”

“I. . I’ll see you in a minute.” He shut the car door and walked fast up the road until he reached another vehicle that was facing him.

The sedan car was at least twenty years old. Robert and Joanna were inside, and as he moved to the side of the vehicle Joanna rolled down her window and beamed at him. “It’s lovely to see you again, William.” Her formerly blonde, now gray hair was tied back in the severe style that she’d always had it in since attending the Cheltenham Ladies’ College as a teenager. It was at odds with the almost permanent smile that she wore. At sixty-one years of age, she was the youngest in the team, though a recent onset of arthritis in her hips had aged her once pretty face and her physique. “I was sooo excited when Betty told me we could come out to play with you.”

Will nodded, unsure how to respond.

“Hello, Willy old boy.” This came from Robert, who was leaning across his wife from the passenger seat.

Will had always hated it when the ex-SAS captain called him Willy. Or old boy, for that matter. Will leaned forward so that his face was by the window. “Hello, Robbie.”

Robert made the tiniest grimace at being called Robbie. His expression changed, and when he spoke it was in a clipped tone favored by army officers. “Hunkered down in a car”-he patted Joanna’s thigh-“bit of stuff by your side, watching a place and knowing it could all go to rat shit at any moment.” He grinned. “Just like the good old days, eh Willy?”

Will smiled. “Your days, not mine.”

Joanna asked, “Is there anything you’d like us to do with your place while we’re there?”

Robert huffed, “Stop mothering the boy.”

Will thought for a while. “Actually, I’ve got some boxes that need unpacking. Don’t feel obliged, but it would be a big help.”

Robert was about to say something, but Joanna held a finger to his lips and said, “We’d absolutely love to.” She looked mischievous. “But have you got any naughty boy things you’d rather this shrinking violet didn’t see?”

“Hardly.” Will laughed.

As did Robert. “Shrinking violet?”

Joanna looked sharply at her husband while opening the glove compartment, withdrawing a Heckler amp; Koch MK23 handgun, expertly checking its workings, and saying, “No chance of being a shrinking violet when married to you. Is there?”

Robert shrugged. “Never said I was a saint.”

Joanna held his hand, looked at him with adoring eyes, and said, “My man.” She glanced back at Will. “When she arrives, make it fast. Speed confuses most people. Betty and Alfie will deal with the fallout en route to destination.”