A day at the cricket

A day at the cricket.

A normal life.

The orchard snoozed away the afternoon sun. The warmth of an English August lulling even the bees into silence. The pear tree stood among the Apples, being a conference it did not need a pollinator buddy tree; the Coxes Pippins ripened earlier and the Bramley later, so the pear was in the middle of everything. The gentle breeze was so very gentle it did not even move the tips of the grass which grew between the trees. Stillness and warmth, after yesterdays rain, slowly but surely, swelled the fruit and gave peace to the world. Two people lay in a small clearing, a blanket between their bodies and the lush grass. They lay still and silent, seemingly so taken over by the ambiance that they too were part of nature at rest. The human dressed in summer skirt and flimsy blouse, pulled herself onto her side, rested her head on a hand and spoke. “Will you still be here when it's harvest time, will you help with the apples and pears?” “unlikely” came the soft spoken reply, without stirring from his rest, the older man continued “this is too good to last, orders will come, and I will be on the march again.” These two, despite being so very different, are actually brother and sister; the orchard was part of their family home. A sprawling twenty acres of gardens, outbuildings and a large old farmhouse, one that has seen better days but was still loved and lived in. The days of live in servants had long past but they still had a gardener and he still lived in the proverbial gardeners cottage but now one of the outbuilding housed a complex array of mechanical devices that allowed this one gardener to do the physical work that used to employ ten others. The gardener's wife helped out with the laundry and the bed making while the two family daughters helped out with the catering and cleaning, whenever they came back home. Other wise the patriarch fended for himself, now that his wife had died. Both father, and son were military men, and like the gardener, they are ex special forces. The father and the gardener had served together and had that unbreakable bond that only men who fought side by side, experiencing death and survival, together, can have. The son was a generation later but shared similar experiences, he was officially retired and now a civil servant with a desk job in an obscure government department based in London. Only here at home, could he relax and not have to be constantly on guard, so careful about every word and action. Only here was he among people who knew and understood his real work well enough to never ever ask questions.

The evening meal was over and the dishes done, one daughter kept suggesting that they get a dish washing machine but the old man claimed that when he was alone it would be wasted and when they were all together, there were enough hands to do the job easy. The phone rang, a call for Robert junior, the son. He was required back in the office tomorrow morning to sign some documents that were urgently required by the cabinet secretary. Robert said his goodbyes, picked up the weekend travel bag that was always packed , got his car from its shed, check his weapons and drove to London. His department did not use mobile phones or any other technology that could be traced, hacked or compromised in any way. Just as it never kept electronic records at all and what records that were kept were never allowed to even hint at the actual purpose and activity of any of the people involved. The actual records would show he spent all day reading and signing papers. This department took the concept of knowledge only on “a need to know basis” to an extreme. Requests for their actions came only by face to face, word of mouth with both participants very keep that no one ever knew what was said. The chain of command was simple, personal and totally off all records. The recipient of the latest request for action, met Robert in a crowded and very noisy tube station, they talked as they rode a down escalator staircase, no chance of being accidentally overheard and absolutely no chance of any audio surveillance working. Robert entered his office building at nine am and was not booked out again until six pm.

In fact Robert left the rear of the building though a tunnel foot-way that passed under several adjacent buildings, a tunnel that did not appear on any building plans or local authority records. It emerged into daylight in a electrical sub station, one securely fenced off from the public and covered in warnings of dangerously high voltage equipment. The sub station was in a corner of a little used “public green space” At night it was the meeting place for the bottom rung of the drug supply network but in daylight very few even visited. After checking that no one was around to see him, he emerged through a movable part of the enclosure. Robert left the open space and walked about a quarter of a mile along a busy shop lined road, crossed over and walked back the way he had come. He stopped to examine goods in a shop window, at the same time checking to ensure that no faces around him, had been there earlier in his stroll. He walked down a side turning and let himself into a small door which gave access to a tiny two level apartment. Cameras gave him a view of the outside and no one was showing any interest in the door or his movement. He changed clothes to a blazer and cream colored slacks. Leaving his office suit neatly folded. He picked up a large blue sports bag, the only thing different about this bag and the tens of thousands of others, was the weight it held. He checked the contents with great care, repacked the bag and left via another door way. This led into a garage with just one car and had an automatic door to the street. The car was a normal looking Ford, one of nearly a million others on the roads of Europe. It had French plates showing it was registered in Paris The bag was placed in the passenger foot well, the garage door opened, he drove out and the door closed behind him. He drove to Lords Cricket ground and bought an entrance ticket with cash, he had waiting until there was a queue at this entrance and went in with the flow of many other people. He was wearing a Panama hat and sun glasses, as were so many others. He found the beer selling kiosk and got a pint of bitter in a plastic “glass.” The game was about to start, the fielders already out, just waiting for the two opening batsmen. Robert used field glasses to survey the crowd and found his target, he causally walked around behind the seating areas until he came up three rows behind the man he had been instructed to kill. The match started, at first there was very little excitement as batsmen and bowlers both tested the pitch and the ways in which the wind was affecting the bowlers deliveries. People in the seats between Robert and the target left their seats to fetch more beer. Robert calmly moved to just behind his target, waited then when a batsman hit a powerful drive high into the sky, the crowd in this section all stood to better follow the flight of the ball. When they sat and applauded the runs scored, the target was sitting slumped in his seat seemingly asleep and Robert was among the crowd at the beer counter. By the time alarm was raised about the sleeping man, Robert was wearing a cap, walking with a slight but noticeable limp and had removed the glasses. He left the ground when the lunch interval started, reclaimed his car from the exorbitantly priced automatic controlled car park and returned to the tiny apartment. Once in the garage, he changed the registration plates on the vehicle and destroyed the French ones. He changed clothes back to the suit he had arrived in earlier, checked the cameras to ensure all clear and let himself out. He returned to his office via the same electric sub station and tunnel. Signed some papers and left at the regulation time, drove back to the farm house in time for supper, His father simply asked if he had had a good day at the office and he nodded. They watched the cricket highlights together and strolled around the garden checking the vegetables and the growth of the pears on the pear tree