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Authors: Alex Gerlis
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going to stay but instead we have decided to move you back to your bedsit in Acton. We’re pretty certain that no one has been around there looking for you so the story will be that you went to visit a friend in the north. Don’t worry, for the first time in a long while, Vermeulen, you are not going to be on your own. You will have company. Your landlady has very obligingly made arrangements for my men to occupy the other three bedsits in the house. She thinks you are an important engineer and three colleagues are moving in.
The Englishman slapped his hand a bit too hard on Vermeulen’s leg and the Belgian jumped. ‘So you see, Vermeulen, for the first time in your life, someone thinks you are important! Now get ready, we’ve got a busy couple of days.’ To all intents and purposes the Englishman could have been describing the plans for the weekend to an old friend up from the country.
‘Today we need to go to Oxford, don’t we? Pick up the transmitter. And on Sunday ... we go for a walk in the park.’
ooo000ooo
At ten minutes to eleven on the first Sunday that May, a woman in her mid-twenties emerged from Ealing Common tube station in west London. She had taken care to dress in a manner designed to attract minimum attention. Her slim figure and long legs were concealed by a slightly larger than necessary raincoat that was closer to shabby than smart, but only just. Her long dark hair was covered by a plain woollen scarf. She came out of the station and turned right, taking care to walk neither too fast nor too slowly. Everything about her was calculated to ensure that she blended in. She was grateful for the opportunity for fresh air that the short walk would afford her. A journey that she could have comfortably done in three quarters of an hour had actually begun more than three hours ago in central London. Since then, she had taken a circuitous route. Walking, buses, different tube lines, waiting at stations and then crossing to other lines. Only when she was absolutely sure that there was no chance she could have been followed, did she begin the final phase of the journey that had brought her to her intended destination.
A few hundred yards from the station, on the other side of the main road, was a narrow strip of parkland. Park was perhaps too grand a word. Gardens it was called, but it seemed more like a wide strip of grass to her, buffeted between a narrow road behind and the main road. The gardens were actually split in two, bisected by a broad avenue.
To anyone watching her, her pace had not changed, but she had slowed down very slightly, enough to be able to look carefully into the larger of the two small strips of park. He was there, as he had been a fortnight ago when she first met him and as he had been on every other alternate Sunday for the few weeks before that. On those previous occasions she had not actually gone into the park but had walked past it to satisfy herself that he would be there when she needed him.
She noticed that the little man was sitting on the bench furthest away from the station. Next to him, he had placed his newspaper and on top of the newspaper sat his hat. He had signalled that it was safe to meet. If he was wearing his hat, but with the newspaper on the bench next to him, that would mean come back in half an hour as he was not certain all was clear. If he was wearing his hat and reading his newspaper, it was not safe to meet and she would calmly continue her walk.
The woman entered the small park and casually approached the bench. No one else was in the park, there never seemed to be. It was not the kind of place where anyone would want to sit down for too long, not even the English.
‘Is this seat free?’ She spoke in English.
‘Yes, of course, please let me remove my newspaper.’ The final check. ‘I am reserving this for a friend’ would have been a warning, but by then it would have probably been too late. Vermeulen had done all that they had asked of him
The Englishman slapped his hand a bit too hard on Vermeulen’s leg and the Belgian jumped. ‘So you see, Vermeulen, for the first time in your life, someone thinks you are important! Now get ready, we’ve got a busy couple of days.’ To all intents and purposes the Englishman could have been describing the plans for the weekend to an old friend up from the country.
‘Today we need to go to Oxford, don’t we? Pick up the transmitter. And on Sunday ... we go for a walk in the park.’
ooo000ooo
At ten minutes to eleven on the first Sunday that May, a woman in her mid-twenties emerged from Ealing Common tube station in west London. She had taken care to dress in a manner designed to attract minimum attention. Her slim figure and long legs were concealed by a slightly larger than necessary raincoat that was closer to shabby than smart, but only just. Her long dark hair was covered by a plain woollen scarf. She came out of the station and turned right, taking care to walk neither too fast nor too slowly. Everything about her was calculated to ensure that she blended in. She was grateful for the opportunity for fresh air that the short walk would afford her. A journey that she could have comfortably done in three quarters of an hour had actually begun more than three hours ago in central London. Since then, she had taken a circuitous route. Walking, buses, different tube lines, waiting at stations and then crossing to other lines. Only when she was absolutely sure that there was no chance she could have been followed, did she begin the final phase of the journey that had brought her to her intended destination.
A few hundred yards from the station, on the other side of the main road, was a narrow strip of parkland. Park was perhaps too grand a word. Gardens it was called, but it seemed more like a wide strip of grass to her, buffeted between a narrow road behind and the main road. The gardens were actually split in two, bisected by a broad avenue.
To anyone watching her, her pace had not changed, but she had slowed down very slightly, enough to be able to look carefully into the larger of the two small strips of park. He was there, as he had been a fortnight ago when she first met him and as he had been on every other alternate Sunday for the few weeks before that. On those previous occasions she had not actually gone into the park but had walked past it to satisfy herself that he would be there when she needed him.
She noticed that the little man was sitting on the bench furthest away from the station. Next to him, he had placed his newspaper and on top of the newspaper sat his hat. He had signalled that it was safe to meet. If he was wearing his hat, but with the newspaper on the bench next to him, that would mean come back in half an hour as he was not certain all was clear. If he was wearing his hat and reading his newspaper, it was not safe to meet and she would calmly continue her walk.
The woman entered the small park and casually approached the bench. No one else was in the park, there never seemed to be. It was not the kind of place where anyone would want to sit down for too long, not even the English.
‘Is this seat free?’ She spoke in English.
‘Yes, of course, please let me remove my newspaper.’ The final check. ‘I am reserving this for a friend’ would have been a warning, but by then it would have probably been too late. Vermeulen had done all that they had asked of him
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