It began one morning, in a quiet way.
It then went haywire in no time. I work a lot from home, kind of free-lancing, in the art business, drawing etc.There was a telephone call about ten thirty from the office; could I go to the airport to collect a package, some important legal documents, then bring them in to work the following morning. Yes, that was no problem; the house was just ten minutes away if there wasn’t too much traffic. Even at what passed for rush hour, it might take fifteen minutes, so the office asked me from time to time if I would mind collecting on their behalf. The office of course, was in the opposite direction; it made sense for me to get things, plus it gave me a bit of a break from work in the house. I often got a free lunch for my trouble too; company perk. I checked that the house lights were off, picked up a big duty free bag that I had acquired on some trip a few months ago, grabbed the car keys, and went out. I got into the car, put the seat belt on, and jammed the bag between it and my thigh. Ten minutes later, I parked the car and went into the one terminal, a grand name for a small building. The airport had about twenty commercial flights per day, including a couple of international ones, so it wasn’t that overworked. Most of the aircraft were small, Fokker, that type of thing. It was used for the most part in the week by the local businessmen - okay, and women, and government people; at the weekend, by a small but consistent number of tourists. There was always a good amount of activity going on, but without the horrible congestion one might get in a major airport. The size meant it was quite a profitable business, with a regular turnover of passengers, cargo, in the main for the farming community, and of course, being out here, the running costs were a fraction of those of a big airport.But regardless of size, as you know these days, security is rife and strict. Going through one area to collect the package, I had to pass the sniffer dog. This fellow was on a long leash tethered to a carnivorous looking character, one of the local Customs Officers. People had to walk past very close to the animal, thereby giving it a chance to sniff you. There were occasions when some ignorant tourist would try to pat or touch the dog, only to be told to keep away by a growl from the owner.The dog had singled me out, and had begun barking. The dog had smelt something. In minutes, there were Police, airline security and airport staff round me. In fact, it would have made an excellent opportunity to get a free trip, as everyone except the pilots seemed be poking their noses in, trying to find out what was going on.
They asked me to accompany them to the police office, a few minutes walk away. Here, I was searched by two police officers, who rather unsurprisingly found nothing. They seemed as puzzled by the whole business as me. They began to ask questions.
‘Do you have a gun?’‘No.’
‘Are you a licensed gun holder?’
‘No.’
‘Have you touched a gun recently?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know anyone with a gun?’
‘No.’
‘Is any member of your family in the army?’
‘No.’
The nearest experience that I had of explosives was driving past the local quarry. I was interrogated, and asked to surrender my passport. I carry this with me when I go to collect anything, nothing unusual in that. I had no real objection; I assumed I would get it back in a day or to when the matter was cleared up. They asked me for the bag, as it was this that had aroused the interest of the dog.
‘You want my bag? What on earth for?’
‘We need to get the lab to analyse it. The dog thinks there’s something about it that’s not quite right.’
I looked at the two of them. I expected them to laugh. I was wrong. They were serious.
‘You want a lab technician to examine an empty duty free shop bag because of a dog?’ ‘That’s right.’
I waited, looking at them. They looked back, quiet. As Customer Relations people, they would have made abject failures, both of them.
‘I have to collect the package.’
‘Not now; we’ll take care of that.’
‘They are confidential documents belonging to –‘
‘I said not now. Do you know simple English? Not now.’
I didn’t know what to do. There seemed to be nothing.
‘You may go. We’ll get in touch with you in a day or two.’
That was it. No ‘thank you’, no ‘sir’, no ‘goodbye’. I turned and walked back to the car. I could feel their eyes on my back.
The next day, a quartet arrived at the house in the early morning, before I went to work. My wife and the children had already left, they to the school nearby, and she to work. There was loud knock on the front door, and I opened it. Three of them were Police, I guessed. None wore a uniform. The were big men, with the look and physique that made Charlton Heston and Sylvester Stallone look like flower power people. The fourth, a young skinny character of pale office complexion, I thought might be one of the technical people from the lab. I thought wrong. He turned out to be some government lackey. On reflection, he looked too thick to be a lab man or scientist. In fact, he looked too stupid to be anything.
'May we come in?' said the eldest, making his way into the hall as if I didn't exist. The others followed. They went into the lounge; the eldest helped himself to an armchair, the two heavy ones followed, the skinny one was lounging against the door. They wasted no time. The eldest one did the talking, punctuated by an agreement from the two big men. They seemed to know everything about me, a worrying amount of personal information. I denied all knowledge of being part of a terror group cell, and said there was some mistake.
‘Who called you a terrorist? Why do you use the word terrorist? Why do you think that we might think you are a terrorist?’
‘Well,’ I began, ‘you have taken an empty bag for lab analysis, you have taken my passport, you went through confidential legal documents meant for my company, you are here in my house now, and the dog didn’t like me. That suggests to me that you think I might be a danger to people.'
‘Terrorists can and do strike anywhere, anytime. We take the threat seriously, any threat, any possible threat, any threat, any threat we look into, any threat. They can strike morning, noon, night, at any time.’
It was the skinny young fellow. He spoke with the irritating whine of a government official, a human equivalent of a slightly malfunctioning electric motor. It grated on me.
‘I always thought terrorists worked 9 to 5, Monday to Friday –'
I was pushed hard against the wall. One of the big ones was holding me in a very firm grip.
‘That suggests to me that you’re an idiot. You try being funny with me, boyo, and I break you. Got that?’
I got it clear there and then. He let go of me, and air and blood resumed their circulation. I looked at them with mounting anger, but I was trying not to show it, trying to keep cool and alert.
‘When do I get my passport back?’
‘You get it back when I think the time is right for you to have it back.’
It was the eldest of the four. The way the others looked when he spoke, I guessed he was the one in charge.
‘I want the dogs to search in here. We can do it the quick and agreeable way, or the long, difficult and most disagreeable way. That is, to make it very clear, quick and agreeable for me, and long, difficult and most disagreeable for you. Your move.’
I sighed.
‘Okay, go ahead. You have authority to do this, I assume?’
‘You assume correct.’
He showed me an official looking paper.
‘That authorises you to search –'
'It authorises me to do what I want, including taking this place apart, and detaining you for many, many hours and interrogating you as long as I wish. There is also the matter of your wife and children…’
He went quiet. The message was very clear.
‘I get the point,’ I said, ‘please carry on.’
‘Good boy. People end up seeing it my way.’
The other two policemen grunted in agreement; the older man nodded at one of them who then began to wander round the house. He then told the other one to bring in the dog, and turned to the skinny man, who was lounging against the front door.
‘Bring in your team now. You have an hour.’
Three men in white coats came in, each carrying a box. They each went to a different part of the house. The first officer came back with the dog. They began to walk around, the dog eager. One of the white coat men was checking the food cupboards; another had gone into the small rear garden. The house too wasn’t a big place. Even if, as Boss had threatened to do, they were to take the place apart, it wouldn’t take them that long. Watching them, it was clear they had done this before, many times before. I wasn’t watching an amateur show; that was very clear. The Boss was in the lounge, looking at my small library. From time to time, he pulled a book half out of the shelf to check the title.
‘These are yours?’
He motioned towards the books. I nodded, although some belonged in theory to my wife, meaning she had bought them. We didn’t think in terms of ownership, though.
'You’re an educated man. Postgraduate?’
I nodded again.
‘Me, too,’ he went on. ‘Problem is, the educated ones are the ones who make the problem. That’s what I think. Experience tells me, too.’
Much to my surprise, they were through in under an hour, maybe just thirty or so minutes, not that I was complaining. I would be glad to see the back of them. No one likes people traipsing through their house, but at least they didn’t make a mess; they didn’t take anything away with the exception of the three or four remaining tomatoes. They put these into a sealed transparent sack. I couldn’t help thinking that, if they were dangerous, I would have gone down with something long ago. We had bought them…when? Four days ago at least, and everyone had eaten a few.
‘What’s wrong with the tomatoes?’ I asked them, as they went out of the house.
‘We don’t know,’ said one of the technicians, ‘but we think that they might be contaminated tomatoes.’
He went out.
‘Contaminated tomatoes? With what?’
‘That’s what we want to find out,’ said the boss.
‘We don’t use drugs here,’ I answered. The four of them looked at each other.
'I thought you are here because of Doggy at the airport, you know, sniffing for drugs...'
The senior figure said,
‘Drugs? Oh, no, we’re not looking for drugs. The dog that was sniffing your bag, no, he doesn’t do drugs. He’s the explosives dog. He sniffs out things that go bang. He sniffs out traces of them.’
'Get this clear. I tell you what I want to tell you '
I waited. They looked long and hard, I assume waiting for me to continue.
'Right,' said the Boss, 'let's go.'
They went out. I shut the front door behind them. I was puzzled by this; no, not puzzled. I was totally baffled. There was no way I had gone near anything even vaguely explosive. I worked in business; I had no reason, and even less desire to have anything to do with things that went bang. My wife was a language teacher. She didn’t even go into the science lab. How could traces of an explosive get into a bag that, apart from spending its early life in some overseas Duty Free zone, was kept in our house here? It made no sense. I had used the bag, it was true, on a couple of trips to the shop to pick up some beer, or milk and a loaf of bread, but that was it.
There was something not right. Then a horrible thought entered my mind; what if I were being set up? But by whom, and why? I wasn’t a member of any political party, I hadn’t crossed anyone, and I led a quiet life here. You’re getting paranoid, I thought to myself; too many films with too much conspiracy. But the banging against the wall was real enough. I thought back to the time we had gone shopping, and then come home. We had stopped at the garden centre for half an hour, but the food was in the car, of course. We hadn’t bought anything in the centre that could have infected the food, just a few things for the garden; most of the time we had spent just looking. No one had broken into the car, and why would they do that anyway. It didn’t make sense; it didn’t add up. Maybe it would turn out to be some horrible mistake, although the visit of these characters seemed to make that an implausible scenario. Here I was, left alone in the narrow hallway, not knowing what to think, indeed, maybe not even thinking. My brain seemed to have gone. It didn’t work.
How long I waited there I have no recollection...that’s not the whole truth. The phone rang around 10am. It was the office. Where was I? Was I going to grace them with my presence this morning? I sighed, and told them I’d be in by 11. My line of work in art meant I had a certain amount flexible contact time with the office, and I did in fact do much work at home. It was quiet; the office at times could border on mayhem. My work was good enough that they were keen to keep me, and we had a flexible arrangement. It suited us both. It didn't suit many of my colleagues who thought I was getting a better contract than they had. My argument was that most of them worked office hours; I often worked much of the weekend too, not that I minded. Creating art work for clients is something I enjoy; my work is almost a hobby, although I get paid a decent rate for it too. I got into the car and went to the office. There were, of course, a few questions to answer; people remarked on how tired I was looking. Their main concern was the documents I had tried to collect from the airport, or rather, to be honest, the main concern was the lack of the documents I had tried to collect from the airport. I had to explain everything. They exchanged wary looks when I mentioned what had happened that morning, and things just got worse. There was muted half laughing when I told them of being pinned against the wall by ape-man.
One of my colleagues, with an ‘I don’t think you are being truthful’ look, left the room, turning as he exited with, ‘How’s your brother keeping?’ as he walked out.
I should explain that my brother is part-owner, a large part, and one of the company Vice Presidents. I knew I was good at my work, but there are always those who think you get a job because of family connections. I didn’t; I got the job on merit. But it was clear what he, and the others, were thinking. There were many in the firm who resented me; that I knew. I had seen this kind of thing many a time in films, but I hadn’t thought it would, or could, happen to me. It is not a pleasant experience when people with whom you have worked for a number of years begin to think you are a liar, maybe a lazy cheat. In retrospect, I should have told them I had forgotten to go to the airport, and that I was drinking, or had just overslept, had an argument with my wife, anything but the truth. I could see them whispering to one another. It was, I conceded, a peculiar reason for not having done something and for turning up late for work. I got through the rest of the day somehow, how, though, I don’t know. I got back home to find my wife and children eating dinner. I was glad this time they hadn’t waited for me. I had little appetite. I put on a show; just a bit tired from work etc. The children went to bed, at long last it seemed to me, and then I told my wife what had happened that morning. It was nice to talk to someone who knew I wasn’t lying, or making things up. We went over everything we did in the preceding week, thought of everyone we had met, in the house, out of the house, where we went in the car, everything. It was no use. Nothing seemed right. I went to bed late; my wife had gone up a couple of hours before me. I looked in on her, at for the firt time that day, had a sense of some pleasure. She was fast asleep, regular breathing, her body relaxing under the bedsheets. I didn't want the business to get to her too much. There was enough worry for her regarding work. I lay in bed until three or four in the morning, unable to sleep. I got up a few times to make a warm drink. I didn't know what to do or what to think. When sleep came to my body, it didn't bother to try to touch my brain. If anything, things were worse.
I woke up the next morning just afer sunrise. It looked as if it would be a day; fine in the sense of the weather. But at once, the nightmare of yesterday came back. I got up, went to the bathroom, and then got the breakfast things ready for my wife and children. I had zero appetite.They came down, had their cereal, toast and tea.
'What are your plans?' my wife asked me.
'I have none. I'm not going in to work today. I want to try to work here; I have plenty to do, but whether I get anything done, I don't know.'
'Try to relax,' she said, kissing me before she and the children went out.
It was ten am when the trouble began yet again. There was a firm knock on the door. I was so geared up to the continuing nightmare that I didn't bother to to even look at them. I just opened the door and walked back into the lounge. This time, there were just the three policemen.
'We need to ask you some additional questions,' the chief said in a blunt way.
'Go. I'm waiting,' I answered, trying to sound somewhat cooperative.
'Not here. We need you to come with us.' 'Where?' I heard the alarm when I spoke.
'A house in the country. very quiet, very peaceful. You'll like it.' A quiet, peaceful house in the country might be fine for a holiday, or as one's second weekend retreat. It didn't have that appeal right now to me.
'What's wrong with the local police -'
'We're not police, that's what's wrong.'
'Who are you then?'
'Government.'
'Government what?' I asked, in a mixture of confusion, incomprehension and growing unease.
'It's not important,' the Boss answered.
'It's important to me. You can't just drag me off like this. There is a law, I have rights. I am a citizen of this country.'
I knew I sounded weak and frightened. I knew full well that rights, citizenship, law etc means nothing if you were in the wrong group.
'You're correct.'
'What do you mean?'
'You said you have rights, there is the law, you are a citizen. You are correct. It is just at the moment, that counts for zero, in particular, with me.' I didn't know what to think.
'In that case, why are you taking me to this wonderful place in the country?'
We were sitting down in the lounge; the Boss was on one armchair, the two goons were on the sofa. They looked like twins. They were both big, with short hair, wore the same type and colour suit, the same tie, and had the same look of ruthless authority on them. Once again, I got the impression that they had done this many times before. I was sitting opposite them.I looked across to the Boss.
'Do you have a name?'
'Yes.'
I waited. I waited a long time. He wasn't going to tell me, that was clear.
'May I know your name, please,' I said, trying copy the front desk politeness of a quality hotel receptionist.
'You don't need to know my name, or their names, either. They're not important.'
'Well, what do I call you?'
'Call us anything you like. I am sure you already have.'
His shoulders shook slightly. It might be his way of the laughing. The two others on the sofa were a bit louder in their effort. They looked across to their boss.
'What would you like to call us?' he asked me. 'What are your favorite names? Do you have a favorite name?'
I was beginning to find this going from incomprehension and fear, to the bizarre.
'I'm just thinking that...'
I stopped talking. It was no use.There was a long silence. After what seemed like an eternity, the boss nodded at one of the others. He stood up and told me to go upstairs and pack a small bag. I told him the last time I had taken a bag out of the house I had got into trouble. He told that this time if I didn't take a bag out of the house, I would be in even bigger trouble. I got the impression 'bigger trouble' might mean anything from a longer break at the country house to being thrown down the staircase. We went up, and he watched me pack. Back in the lounge, the boss looked at me.
'You may call me Captain. He's the Sergeant, and he' - he glanced at the one who had accompanied me upstairs just now - ' he is the Corporal.'
He looked at me. The three of them looked at me.
'Right, thank you.'
'You're welcome,' the Captain answered. He seemed to have mellowed a bit. We went out of the house and got into a waiting car, or a cross between a car and a mini-bus. Behing the wheel, a big, young woman in military uniform was reading a newspaper. She put it away on seeing us. When I tell you she was big, I don't mean in an offensive way. I mean big, in a big, tough way. It was clear she was a woman who was serious about her body and its condition. She looked at me as if I were a tramp who had spent a night or two in the municipal dump. I wasn't sure if she would make a good mother. There were three rows of seats. The Corporal got into the rear. They motioned to me to get into the centre. The Captain got in the front, the Sergeant next to me. The Corporal was now behind me, rather like an assassin one sees in films of the Mafia, where the victim is then garroted in a matter of a minute. I licked my lips. I half-turned towards the Corporal. The Captain laughed.
'You watch too many films,' he said, as if reading my thoughts to a tee. 'If we were going to 'dispose' of you, we would have done it long ago.'
There was a slight pause and accent on the word 'dispose'. Once again, I got the impression that he had used the word before. We went off, and the country went past, woods, cattle, a few small market towns. It dawned on me that I forgotten to phone my wife. It sounds a bit odd but that was the case.
'I need to phone my wife to let her know where I am,' I told the Captain.
'Where are you? he asked me.
'I don't know.'
'In that case, you're going to sound an idiot on the phone, aren't you?'
I sighed, and wiped my eyes. There weren't any tears; it was like a reaction to being tired, to being lost in one's own inability. The Captain was looking at me. He told me to tell her I'd be away for a day or two on business, that I was fine, nothing to worry about etc. Again I was reminded of the parallel type of scenario in films. In another time, it would have made a perfect day out, The sun was shining, the sky clear, and the rural scenery as pleasant as one could wish for. It was only then I realised we were using very quiet minor roads. The fear began to come back. The Captain looked back at me.
'Relax,' he said 'enjoy the trip. Even if we find you guilty, you'll get just nine or ten years.'
'I thought a judge in a court of law decides what one gets.'
'Of course they do. We just tell them the length of time we want you away.'
He spoke in a way that suggested a slight surprise on his behalf, as if it were common knowledge. I asked him if he were serious, or joking. I was told that I was quite ignorant. He gave the impression that rigging a court was part of Citizenship class, something that every schoolboy and girl should be taught in Form two. I had no recollection of dozing off.
'Wake up, we're here.'
I opened my eyes and blinked in the warm afternoon sunlight. In front of me were the steps to a large country house. The grounds seemed quite extensive, with plenty of mature trees, birds and even some deer. Even now, in my position, I found the place very pretty.
'It's very pretty here, isn't it?' the Captain asked me, as we went in.
The Corporal led the way through a series of corridors, to a large room. Much to my surprise, there was modern furnishing, the lighting, table, chair, bookcase etc. It didn't, however, look much out of place. The Captain motioned me towards a chair in front of a large mahogany table. The military woman brought in a tray of tea and biscuits. She poured out three cups, one for the Captain, one for me, and one for the Sergeant, who was sitting on a small sofa by the wall to my right. This augered well. I assumed they weren't going to beat me up if they had gone to the trouble to make tea. Then I recalled that chat in the car about the judge and the time one might be put away. Maybe anything could happen. The Captain opened a thin folder on the table, looked at it, then he spoke. He went through name, address, place of work etc, the whole gamut of opening questions. Why, I don't know; he must have known this already.
‘Right, let’s get this clear. You were caught by the sniffer dog at the airport whilst carrying an empty bag. Why were you carrying an empty bag at an airport?'
They looked at me as if I had done something terrible.
'Since when is it an offence anywhere in the world to carry an empty bag in an airport?'
'To quote, I assume, a film of World War Two, 'we ask the questions here.' Is that clear. We can do it the quick and agreeable way or -'
I put up my arms in the surrender way.
'Right, I know, I know, I know. '
I was told I was a good boy. The questioning resumed. After some time, the Sergeant began to ask questions, questions I had already told them the answer to. Out in the park, the light was growing dimmer. I looked at my watch. 9 30pm. I yawned.
'Right, we will finish here.'
He picked up the phone, spoke, and a minute later the corporal came in. They put me in a sparse room, ie cell, with a bed and small table and chair. There was a door leading to a small bathroom. It was tiny, far too small for a place like the house we were in. I mentioned this to the corporal. I was told it was one of the store rooms, converted, no doubt by taxpayers' expense into a 'holding area'.
‘You’ll get something to eat later.’
He went out and closed the door. I listened for the noise of the turning of the key, but there wasn't one. I went across to the door; to my surprise, it opened. I closed it again. There was no where to run to, and no point. I felt terrible. I thought back to the day before. All I had done was to squeeze a cherry tomato; a tiny amount had gone on my shirt and trousers, but inadvertently, I had boxed myself into a corner. A mere twenty-four hours later, I was being held and interrogated by the Army...? on suspicion of having the ingredients of a bomb. I was, in their eyes, a ruthless terrorist. I had to think of some way to explain the 'traces of explosive' on the bag. The military woman came in with the meal, and put it on the table. Much to my surprised, she knocked on the door, then wished me 'bon appetit'. Things were getting better, I thought. I ate, and then lay down on the bed. I fell asleep.
I was awoken by the sound of scampering. It was a rat. I watched it for some moments. It ran here and there, and then seemingly disappeared. I peered under the bed, but could see nothing. I wish I could disappear like that rat, I thought. I then thought of Mr Jingles in 'The Green Mile'. But he was a mouse. I thought, too, a split second later of what happened to Mr Jingles' owner in the electric chair. I thought I would stop thinking about a rat, or a mouse. I fell asleep, and began to dream. This quite often happened if I woke up early, and then went back to sleep. There were times when the dreams were quite clear. They were also frequently very foolish, too. I found myself wandering around a port; where, I am not sure. In the port, there is a large nuclear-powered submarine on what they call a ‘courtesy’ visit to foreign powers, usually a Third World place. I have always thought them to be a ‘look what we got, you watch your step’ visit. I walked past the vessel, along the quay. A woman wearing a pair of shorts and a brief, colourful blouse came up to me.
‘Would you like to go around the ship?’
I answered that I would, but I didn’t have a pass, and I wasn’t going to wait in a queue for three hours, much I would like to see the interior.
‘That’s okay, I’m the Captain.’
The fact that this didn’t bother or surprise me tells you something about my dreams, I suppose. We went along the gangplank and into the submarine. It was very cold, so she put on a fur coat, with the three stripes of a Commander. Then, she painted her nails.
'Right, let’s look at the torpedo room.'
We went forward; none of the crew seemed to be around.I asked her
‘What does this button do?’
‘That fires the torpedo. Would you like try?’
‘Yes, very much.’
I was just about to push the button when a sailor came in.
‘Have you had breakfast yet?’ he asked me.
‘No, but I would like some now.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, saluted, and went out.
I was just going to press the button when the Captain said, ’please kiss me,’ and threw her arms around my neck. We continued like this for a few minutes. I was worried in case the breakfast came. We stopped, and she said, ‘hit the button. Fire one.’ I did, and the whole place blew up.
I woke up to find the corporal at the door of the room.
‘Good morning, I said do you want any breakfast?’
‘Yes, please.'
He went out of the door and I heard him move away. I came back a few minutes later, to find a tray with a mug of tea, some toast, and a small plate of scrambled eggs. It tasted quite good. I had a shower, then lay back on the bed, and thought of what to do next. Half an hour later, I heard footsteps in the corridor, and the sergeant came in.
‘The Captain wants to see you again.’
We went out, down a series of long, expensive corridors, and into the 'interrogation' room. The captain was sitting behind the desk, and the corporal and the woman were there too.
‘Did you sleep well?’ the captain asked me.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Right, I want to get this cleared up, so we can charge you and get you locked away.’
I told him I appreciated his honesty. He cleared his throat.
'I am joking.' He didn't suggest that to me.
' We have a slight problem.'
My heart began beating rather quicker than a minute before, it seemed to me.
'The lab report came back. It found no traces of anything dangerous or illegal in your bag. What we did find however, were minute bits of biscuit, and a small smear of chocolate. We were puzzled by this.'
I thought for a postgraduate to be puzzled by biscuit crumbs or bits of chocolate in a bag used for shopping said something about their course of study. I kept my thoughts to myself. I didn't want the sergeant to begin to 'let's play Chuck Norris' with me again.
He continued, 'There is one other thing. The dog that was aroused by your bag, how can I put it, was the wrong dog. By that, I mean, there were some crossed wires. The dog, so it seems, was not trained to sniff explosives. It wasn't trained for anything. It is a new recruit, and the handler was allocated it by mistake. It just reacted in the way that any pet dog might.'
The others laughed. I didn't.
'You're free to go. The car will be ready in a few minutes. Pack your bag. Oh, and on behalf of the government, I apologise for any inconvenience. Goodbye.'
He got up, came across and patted me a couple of time on the arm.
'I'm sorry about that. I didn't think you were the type, to be honest.'
I mumbled something, and turned to go. I think I felt humiliated rather than angry. He seemed to sense my mood.
'Think of the nice trip you had here, a couple of meals, a good night's sleep etc.'
I walked out, went to the room, got my bag, and left the house. It was yet another beautiful day. The woman was in the front seat.The others walked over to the car. The shoes crunched on the grit on the parking area. I noticed for the first time that it, I assume built at the time of horse and carriage, was very much bigger than my house and garden. The captain leaned by the open car window.
'I take it you'll be going to the airport at some future time?'
I answered that I thought that would be a sure thing.'
In about three months from now, you might see your pal there.'
'What pal?'
Right now, I didn't know what he was talking about.
'The dog. He would have finished his training by then, a qualified Working Dog. He has a name now We thought 'Richard' would suit him. You seem to share the same passion for biscuits and chocolate. Bye bye.'
The car purred and we left. In the mirror, I could see the three of them in front of the house; they turned, and went in.The journey home passed in complete silence, except for the occasional swearing at some errant motorist. I didn't care less. I just wanted to get back. We got home a couple of hours later. The woman spoke for the first time.
'Bye. I suggest you don't do anything stupid, like talk to people, or the press, or your brother. Think about it.'
The car went off. In the evening, we had a pleasant meal together, my wife and the children. After the three of them had gone to bed, I lay on the sofa, just thinking. The phone rang. I picked it up. There was no greeting or introduction.
'Your bank account was credited this afternoon with two thousand pounds. I suggest you keep this to yourself. I am sure you wouldn't want the tax authorities to begin asking questions, would you?'
I thought for a moment.
'What account?'
'You know full well what account.'
He proceeded to tell me the account number, the balance, when I had last taken money out or put it in, the manager's name, the names of the three cashiers, the last meeting I had had with the manager, etc. There was a pause. 'That account, okay?' I thought for a moment.
'Right, I get it.'
'The woman told you something before she left, right? I suggest you tuck that away in your brain, Richard, okay. Goodnight.'
I put the phone down. It was very quiet now. The night came to me.
It then went haywire in no time. I work a lot from home, kind of free-lancing, in the art business, drawing etc.There was a telephone call about ten thirty from the office; could I go to the airport to collect a package, some important legal documents, then bring them in to work the following morning. Yes, that was no problem; the house was just ten minutes away if there wasn’t too much traffic. Even at what passed for rush hour, it might take fifteen minutes, so the office asked me from time to time if I would mind collecting on their behalf. The office of course, was in the opposite direction; it made sense for me to get things, plus it gave me a bit of a break from work in the house. I often got a free lunch for my trouble too; company perk. I checked that the house lights were off, picked up a big duty free bag that I had acquired on some trip a few months ago, grabbed the car keys, and went out. I got into the car, put the seat belt on, and jammed the bag between it and my thigh. Ten minutes later, I parked the car and went into the one terminal, a grand name for a small building. The airport had about twenty commercial flights per day, including a couple of international ones, so it wasn’t that overworked. Most of the aircraft were small, Fokker, that type of thing. It was used for the most part in the week by the local businessmen - okay, and women, and government people; at the weekend, by a small but consistent number of tourists. There was always a good amount of activity going on, but without the horrible congestion one might get in a major airport. The size meant it was quite a profitable business, with a regular turnover of passengers, cargo, in the main for the farming community, and of course, being out here, the running costs were a fraction of those of a big airport.But regardless of size, as you know these days, security is rife and strict. Going through one area to collect the package, I had to pass the sniffer dog. This fellow was on a long leash tethered to a carnivorous looking character, one of the local Customs Officers. People had to walk past very close to the animal, thereby giving it a chance to sniff you. There were occasions when some ignorant tourist would try to pat or touch the dog, only to be told to keep away by a growl from the owner.The dog had singled me out, and had begun barking. The dog had smelt something. In minutes, there were Police, airline security and airport staff round me. In fact, it would have made an excellent opportunity to get a free trip, as everyone except the pilots seemed be poking their noses in, trying to find out what was going on.
They asked me to accompany them to the police office, a few minutes walk away. Here, I was searched by two police officers, who rather unsurprisingly found nothing. They seemed as puzzled by the whole business as me. They began to ask questions.
‘Do you have a gun?’‘No.’
‘Are you a licensed gun holder?’
‘No.’
‘Have you touched a gun recently?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know anyone with a gun?’
‘No.’
‘Is any member of your family in the army?’
‘No.’
The nearest experience that I had of explosives was driving past the local quarry. I was interrogated, and asked to surrender my passport. I carry this with me when I go to collect anything, nothing unusual in that. I had no real objection; I assumed I would get it back in a day or to when the matter was cleared up. They asked me for the bag, as it was this that had aroused the interest of the dog.
‘You want my bag? What on earth for?’
‘We need to get the lab to analyse it. The dog thinks there’s something about it that’s not quite right.’
I looked at the two of them. I expected them to laugh. I was wrong. They were serious.
‘You want a lab technician to examine an empty duty free shop bag because of a dog?’ ‘That’s right.’
I waited, looking at them. They looked back, quiet. As Customer Relations people, they would have made abject failures, both of them.
‘I have to collect the package.’
‘Not now; we’ll take care of that.’
‘They are confidential documents belonging to –‘
‘I said not now. Do you know simple English? Not now.’
I didn’t know what to do. There seemed to be nothing.
‘You may go. We’ll get in touch with you in a day or two.’
That was it. No ‘thank you’, no ‘sir’, no ‘goodbye’. I turned and walked back to the car. I could feel their eyes on my back.
The next day, a quartet arrived at the house in the early morning, before I went to work. My wife and the children had already left, they to the school nearby, and she to work. There was loud knock on the front door, and I opened it. Three of them were Police, I guessed. None wore a uniform. The were big men, with the look and physique that made Charlton Heston and Sylvester Stallone look like flower power people. The fourth, a young skinny character of pale office complexion, I thought might be one of the technical people from the lab. I thought wrong. He turned out to be some government lackey. On reflection, he looked too thick to be a lab man or scientist. In fact, he looked too stupid to be anything.
'May we come in?' said the eldest, making his way into the hall as if I didn't exist. The others followed. They went into the lounge; the eldest helped himself to an armchair, the two heavy ones followed, the skinny one was lounging against the door. They wasted no time. The eldest one did the talking, punctuated by an agreement from the two big men. They seemed to know everything about me, a worrying amount of personal information. I denied all knowledge of being part of a terror group cell, and said there was some mistake.
‘Who called you a terrorist? Why do you use the word terrorist? Why do you think that we might think you are a terrorist?’
‘Well,’ I began, ‘you have taken an empty bag for lab analysis, you have taken my passport, you went through confidential legal documents meant for my company, you are here in my house now, and the dog didn’t like me. That suggests to me that you think I might be a danger to people.'
‘Terrorists can and do strike anywhere, anytime. We take the threat seriously, any threat, any possible threat, any threat, any threat we look into, any threat. They can strike morning, noon, night, at any time.’
It was the skinny young fellow. He spoke with the irritating whine of a government official, a human equivalent of a slightly malfunctioning electric motor. It grated on me.
‘I always thought terrorists worked 9 to 5, Monday to Friday –'
I was pushed hard against the wall. One of the big ones was holding me in a very firm grip.
‘That suggests to me that you’re an idiot. You try being funny with me, boyo, and I break you. Got that?’
I got it clear there and then. He let go of me, and air and blood resumed their circulation. I looked at them with mounting anger, but I was trying not to show it, trying to keep cool and alert.
‘When do I get my passport back?’
‘You get it back when I think the time is right for you to have it back.’
It was the eldest of the four. The way the others looked when he spoke, I guessed he was the one in charge.
‘I want the dogs to search in here. We can do it the quick and agreeable way, or the long, difficult and most disagreeable way. That is, to make it very clear, quick and agreeable for me, and long, difficult and most disagreeable for you. Your move.’
I sighed.
‘Okay, go ahead. You have authority to do this, I assume?’
‘You assume correct.’
He showed me an official looking paper.
‘That authorises you to search –'
'It authorises me to do what I want, including taking this place apart, and detaining you for many, many hours and interrogating you as long as I wish. There is also the matter of your wife and children…’
He went quiet. The message was very clear.
‘I get the point,’ I said, ‘please carry on.’
‘Good boy. People end up seeing it my way.’
The other two policemen grunted in agreement; the older man nodded at one of them who then began to wander round the house. He then told the other one to bring in the dog, and turned to the skinny man, who was lounging against the front door.
‘Bring in your team now. You have an hour.’
Three men in white coats came in, each carrying a box. They each went to a different part of the house. The first officer came back with the dog. They began to walk around, the dog eager. One of the white coat men was checking the food cupboards; another had gone into the small rear garden. The house too wasn’t a big place. Even if, as Boss had threatened to do, they were to take the place apart, it wouldn’t take them that long. Watching them, it was clear they had done this before, many times before. I wasn’t watching an amateur show; that was very clear. The Boss was in the lounge, looking at my small library. From time to time, he pulled a book half out of the shelf to check the title.
‘These are yours?’
He motioned towards the books. I nodded, although some belonged in theory to my wife, meaning she had bought them. We didn’t think in terms of ownership, though.
'You’re an educated man. Postgraduate?’
I nodded again.
‘Me, too,’ he went on. ‘Problem is, the educated ones are the ones who make the problem. That’s what I think. Experience tells me, too.’
Much to my surprise, they were through in under an hour, maybe just thirty or so minutes, not that I was complaining. I would be glad to see the back of them. No one likes people traipsing through their house, but at least they didn’t make a mess; they didn’t take anything away with the exception of the three or four remaining tomatoes. They put these into a sealed transparent sack. I couldn’t help thinking that, if they were dangerous, I would have gone down with something long ago. We had bought them…when? Four days ago at least, and everyone had eaten a few.
‘What’s wrong with the tomatoes?’ I asked them, as they went out of the house.
‘We don’t know,’ said one of the technicians, ‘but we think that they might be contaminated tomatoes.’
He went out.
‘Contaminated tomatoes? With what?’
‘That’s what we want to find out,’ said the boss.
‘We don’t use drugs here,’ I answered. The four of them looked at each other.
'I thought you are here because of Doggy at the airport, you know, sniffing for drugs...'
The senior figure said,
‘Drugs? Oh, no, we’re not looking for drugs. The dog that was sniffing your bag, no, he doesn’t do drugs. He’s the explosives dog. He sniffs out things that go bang. He sniffs out traces of them.’
'Get this clear. I tell you what I want to tell you '
I waited. They looked long and hard, I assume waiting for me to continue.
'Right,' said the Boss, 'let's go.'
They went out. I shut the front door behind them. I was puzzled by this; no, not puzzled. I was totally baffled. There was no way I had gone near anything even vaguely explosive. I worked in business; I had no reason, and even less desire to have anything to do with things that went bang. My wife was a language teacher. She didn’t even go into the science lab. How could traces of an explosive get into a bag that, apart from spending its early life in some overseas Duty Free zone, was kept in our house here? It made no sense. I had used the bag, it was true, on a couple of trips to the shop to pick up some beer, or milk and a loaf of bread, but that was it.
There was something not right. Then a horrible thought entered my mind; what if I were being set up? But by whom, and why? I wasn’t a member of any political party, I hadn’t crossed anyone, and I led a quiet life here. You’re getting paranoid, I thought to myself; too many films with too much conspiracy. But the banging against the wall was real enough. I thought back to the time we had gone shopping, and then come home. We had stopped at the garden centre for half an hour, but the food was in the car, of course. We hadn’t bought anything in the centre that could have infected the food, just a few things for the garden; most of the time we had spent just looking. No one had broken into the car, and why would they do that anyway. It didn’t make sense; it didn’t add up. Maybe it would turn out to be some horrible mistake, although the visit of these characters seemed to make that an implausible scenario. Here I was, left alone in the narrow hallway, not knowing what to think, indeed, maybe not even thinking. My brain seemed to have gone. It didn’t work.
How long I waited there I have no recollection...that’s not the whole truth. The phone rang around 10am. It was the office. Where was I? Was I going to grace them with my presence this morning? I sighed, and told them I’d be in by 11. My line of work in art meant I had a certain amount flexible contact time with the office, and I did in fact do much work at home. It was quiet; the office at times could border on mayhem. My work was good enough that they were keen to keep me, and we had a flexible arrangement. It suited us both. It didn't suit many of my colleagues who thought I was getting a better contract than they had. My argument was that most of them worked office hours; I often worked much of the weekend too, not that I minded. Creating art work for clients is something I enjoy; my work is almost a hobby, although I get paid a decent rate for it too. I got into the car and went to the office. There were, of course, a few questions to answer; people remarked on how tired I was looking. Their main concern was the documents I had tried to collect from the airport, or rather, to be honest, the main concern was the lack of the documents I had tried to collect from the airport. I had to explain everything. They exchanged wary looks when I mentioned what had happened that morning, and things just got worse. There was muted half laughing when I told them of being pinned against the wall by ape-man.
One of my colleagues, with an ‘I don’t think you are being truthful’ look, left the room, turning as he exited with, ‘How’s your brother keeping?’ as he walked out.
I should explain that my brother is part-owner, a large part, and one of the company Vice Presidents. I knew I was good at my work, but there are always those who think you get a job because of family connections. I didn’t; I got the job on merit. But it was clear what he, and the others, were thinking. There were many in the firm who resented me; that I knew. I had seen this kind of thing many a time in films, but I hadn’t thought it would, or could, happen to me. It is not a pleasant experience when people with whom you have worked for a number of years begin to think you are a liar, maybe a lazy cheat. In retrospect, I should have told them I had forgotten to go to the airport, and that I was drinking, or had just overslept, had an argument with my wife, anything but the truth. I could see them whispering to one another. It was, I conceded, a peculiar reason for not having done something and for turning up late for work. I got through the rest of the day somehow, how, though, I don’t know. I got back home to find my wife and children eating dinner. I was glad this time they hadn’t waited for me. I had little appetite. I put on a show; just a bit tired from work etc. The children went to bed, at long last it seemed to me, and then I told my wife what had happened that morning. It was nice to talk to someone who knew I wasn’t lying, or making things up. We went over everything we did in the preceding week, thought of everyone we had met, in the house, out of the house, where we went in the car, everything. It was no use. Nothing seemed right. I went to bed late; my wife had gone up a couple of hours before me. I looked in on her, at for the firt time that day, had a sense of some pleasure. She was fast asleep, regular breathing, her body relaxing under the bedsheets. I didn't want the business to get to her too much. There was enough worry for her regarding work. I lay in bed until three or four in the morning, unable to sleep. I got up a few times to make a warm drink. I didn't know what to do or what to think. When sleep came to my body, it didn't bother to try to touch my brain. If anything, things were worse.
I woke up the next morning just afer sunrise. It looked as if it would be a day; fine in the sense of the weather. But at once, the nightmare of yesterday came back. I got up, went to the bathroom, and then got the breakfast things ready for my wife and children. I had zero appetite.They came down, had their cereal, toast and tea.
'What are your plans?' my wife asked me.
'I have none. I'm not going in to work today. I want to try to work here; I have plenty to do, but whether I get anything done, I don't know.'
'Try to relax,' she said, kissing me before she and the children went out.
It was ten am when the trouble began yet again. There was a firm knock on the door. I was so geared up to the continuing nightmare that I didn't bother to to even look at them. I just opened the door and walked back into the lounge. This time, there were just the three policemen.
'We need to ask you some additional questions,' the chief said in a blunt way.
'Go. I'm waiting,' I answered, trying to sound somewhat cooperative.
'Not here. We need you to come with us.' 'Where?' I heard the alarm when I spoke.
'A house in the country. very quiet, very peaceful. You'll like it.' A quiet, peaceful house in the country might be fine for a holiday, or as one's second weekend retreat. It didn't have that appeal right now to me.
'What's wrong with the local police -'
'We're not police, that's what's wrong.'
'Who are you then?'
'Government.'
'Government what?' I asked, in a mixture of confusion, incomprehension and growing unease.
'It's not important,' the Boss answered.
'It's important to me. You can't just drag me off like this. There is a law, I have rights. I am a citizen of this country.'
I knew I sounded weak and frightened. I knew full well that rights, citizenship, law etc means nothing if you were in the wrong group.
'You're correct.'
'What do you mean?'
'You said you have rights, there is the law, you are a citizen. You are correct. It is just at the moment, that counts for zero, in particular, with me.' I didn't know what to think.
'In that case, why are you taking me to this wonderful place in the country?'
We were sitting down in the lounge; the Boss was on one armchair, the two goons were on the sofa. They looked like twins. They were both big, with short hair, wore the same type and colour suit, the same tie, and had the same look of ruthless authority on them. Once again, I got the impression that they had done this many times before. I was sitting opposite them.I looked across to the Boss.
'Do you have a name?'
'Yes.'
I waited. I waited a long time. He wasn't going to tell me, that was clear.
'May I know your name, please,' I said, trying copy the front desk politeness of a quality hotel receptionist.
'You don't need to know my name, or their names, either. They're not important.'
'Well, what do I call you?'
'Call us anything you like. I am sure you already have.'
His shoulders shook slightly. It might be his way of the laughing. The two others on the sofa were a bit louder in their effort. They looked across to their boss.
'What would you like to call us?' he asked me. 'What are your favorite names? Do you have a favorite name?'
I was beginning to find this going from incomprehension and fear, to the bizarre.
'I'm just thinking that...'
I stopped talking. It was no use.There was a long silence. After what seemed like an eternity, the boss nodded at one of the others. He stood up and told me to go upstairs and pack a small bag. I told him the last time I had taken a bag out of the house I had got into trouble. He told that this time if I didn't take a bag out of the house, I would be in even bigger trouble. I got the impression 'bigger trouble' might mean anything from a longer break at the country house to being thrown down the staircase. We went up, and he watched me pack. Back in the lounge, the boss looked at me.
'You may call me Captain. He's the Sergeant, and he' - he glanced at the one who had accompanied me upstairs just now - ' he is the Corporal.'
He looked at me. The three of them looked at me.
'Right, thank you.'
'You're welcome,' the Captain answered. He seemed to have mellowed a bit. We went out of the house and got into a waiting car, or a cross between a car and a mini-bus. Behing the wheel, a big, young woman in military uniform was reading a newspaper. She put it away on seeing us. When I tell you she was big, I don't mean in an offensive way. I mean big, in a big, tough way. It was clear she was a woman who was serious about her body and its condition. She looked at me as if I were a tramp who had spent a night or two in the municipal dump. I wasn't sure if she would make a good mother. There were three rows of seats. The Corporal got into the rear. They motioned to me to get into the centre. The Captain got in the front, the Sergeant next to me. The Corporal was now behind me, rather like an assassin one sees in films of the Mafia, where the victim is then garroted in a matter of a minute. I licked my lips. I half-turned towards the Corporal. The Captain laughed.
'You watch too many films,' he said, as if reading my thoughts to a tee. 'If we were going to 'dispose' of you, we would have done it long ago.'
There was a slight pause and accent on the word 'dispose'. Once again, I got the impression that he had used the word before. We went off, and the country went past, woods, cattle, a few small market towns. It dawned on me that I forgotten to phone my wife. It sounds a bit odd but that was the case.
'I need to phone my wife to let her know where I am,' I told the Captain.
'Where are you? he asked me.
'I don't know.'
'In that case, you're going to sound an idiot on the phone, aren't you?'
I sighed, and wiped my eyes. There weren't any tears; it was like a reaction to being tired, to being lost in one's own inability. The Captain was looking at me. He told me to tell her I'd be away for a day or two on business, that I was fine, nothing to worry about etc. Again I was reminded of the parallel type of scenario in films. In another time, it would have made a perfect day out, The sun was shining, the sky clear, and the rural scenery as pleasant as one could wish for. It was only then I realised we were using very quiet minor roads. The fear began to come back. The Captain looked back at me.
'Relax,' he said 'enjoy the trip. Even if we find you guilty, you'll get just nine or ten years.'
'I thought a judge in a court of law decides what one gets.'
'Of course they do. We just tell them the length of time we want you away.'
He spoke in a way that suggested a slight surprise on his behalf, as if it were common knowledge. I asked him if he were serious, or joking. I was told that I was quite ignorant. He gave the impression that rigging a court was part of Citizenship class, something that every schoolboy and girl should be taught in Form two. I had no recollection of dozing off.
'Wake up, we're here.'
I opened my eyes and blinked in the warm afternoon sunlight. In front of me were the steps to a large country house. The grounds seemed quite extensive, with plenty of mature trees, birds and even some deer. Even now, in my position, I found the place very pretty.
'It's very pretty here, isn't it?' the Captain asked me, as we went in.
The Corporal led the way through a series of corridors, to a large room. Much to my surprise, there was modern furnishing, the lighting, table, chair, bookcase etc. It didn't, however, look much out of place. The Captain motioned me towards a chair in front of a large mahogany table. The military woman brought in a tray of tea and biscuits. She poured out three cups, one for the Captain, one for me, and one for the Sergeant, who was sitting on a small sofa by the wall to my right. This augered well. I assumed they weren't going to beat me up if they had gone to the trouble to make tea. Then I recalled that chat in the car about the judge and the time one might be put away. Maybe anything could happen. The Captain opened a thin folder on the table, looked at it, then he spoke. He went through name, address, place of work etc, the whole gamut of opening questions. Why, I don't know; he must have known this already.
‘Right, let’s get this clear. You were caught by the sniffer dog at the airport whilst carrying an empty bag. Why were you carrying an empty bag at an airport?'
They looked at me as if I had done something terrible.
'Since when is it an offence anywhere in the world to carry an empty bag in an airport?'
'To quote, I assume, a film of World War Two, 'we ask the questions here.' Is that clear. We can do it the quick and agreeable way or -'
I put up my arms in the surrender way.
'Right, I know, I know, I know. '
I was told I was a good boy. The questioning resumed. After some time, the Sergeant began to ask questions, questions I had already told them the answer to. Out in the park, the light was growing dimmer. I looked at my watch. 9 30pm. I yawned.
'Right, we will finish here.'
He picked up the phone, spoke, and a minute later the corporal came in. They put me in a sparse room, ie cell, with a bed and small table and chair. There was a door leading to a small bathroom. It was tiny, far too small for a place like the house we were in. I mentioned this to the corporal. I was told it was one of the store rooms, converted, no doubt by taxpayers' expense into a 'holding area'.
‘You’ll get something to eat later.’
He went out and closed the door. I listened for the noise of the turning of the key, but there wasn't one. I went across to the door; to my surprise, it opened. I closed it again. There was no where to run to, and no point. I felt terrible. I thought back to the day before. All I had done was to squeeze a cherry tomato; a tiny amount had gone on my shirt and trousers, but inadvertently, I had boxed myself into a corner. A mere twenty-four hours later, I was being held and interrogated by the Army...? on suspicion of having the ingredients of a bomb. I was, in their eyes, a ruthless terrorist. I had to think of some way to explain the 'traces of explosive' on the bag. The military woman came in with the meal, and put it on the table. Much to my surprised, she knocked on the door, then wished me 'bon appetit'. Things were getting better, I thought. I ate, and then lay down on the bed. I fell asleep.
I was awoken by the sound of scampering. It was a rat. I watched it for some moments. It ran here and there, and then seemingly disappeared. I peered under the bed, but could see nothing. I wish I could disappear like that rat, I thought. I then thought of Mr Jingles in 'The Green Mile'. But he was a mouse. I thought, too, a split second later of what happened to Mr Jingles' owner in the electric chair. I thought I would stop thinking about a rat, or a mouse. I fell asleep, and began to dream. This quite often happened if I woke up early, and then went back to sleep. There were times when the dreams were quite clear. They were also frequently very foolish, too. I found myself wandering around a port; where, I am not sure. In the port, there is a large nuclear-powered submarine on what they call a ‘courtesy’ visit to foreign powers, usually a Third World place. I have always thought them to be a ‘look what we got, you watch your step’ visit. I walked past the vessel, along the quay. A woman wearing a pair of shorts and a brief, colourful blouse came up to me.
‘Would you like to go around the ship?’
I answered that I would, but I didn’t have a pass, and I wasn’t going to wait in a queue for three hours, much I would like to see the interior.
‘That’s okay, I’m the Captain.’
The fact that this didn’t bother or surprise me tells you something about my dreams, I suppose. We went along the gangplank and into the submarine. It was very cold, so she put on a fur coat, with the three stripes of a Commander. Then, she painted her nails.
'Right, let’s look at the torpedo room.'
We went forward; none of the crew seemed to be around.I asked her
‘What does this button do?’
‘That fires the torpedo. Would you like try?’
‘Yes, very much.’
I was just about to push the button when a sailor came in.
‘Have you had breakfast yet?’ he asked me.
‘No, but I would like some now.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said, saluted, and went out.
I was just going to press the button when the Captain said, ’please kiss me,’ and threw her arms around my neck. We continued like this for a few minutes. I was worried in case the breakfast came. We stopped, and she said, ‘hit the button. Fire one.’ I did, and the whole place blew up.
I woke up to find the corporal at the door of the room.
‘Good morning, I said do you want any breakfast?’
‘Yes, please.'
He went out of the door and I heard him move away. I came back a few minutes later, to find a tray with a mug of tea, some toast, and a small plate of scrambled eggs. It tasted quite good. I had a shower, then lay back on the bed, and thought of what to do next. Half an hour later, I heard footsteps in the corridor, and the sergeant came in.
‘The Captain wants to see you again.’
We went out, down a series of long, expensive corridors, and into the 'interrogation' room. The captain was sitting behind the desk, and the corporal and the woman were there too.
‘Did you sleep well?’ the captain asked me.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Right, I want to get this cleared up, so we can charge you and get you locked away.’
I told him I appreciated his honesty. He cleared his throat.
'I am joking.' He didn't suggest that to me.
' We have a slight problem.'
My heart began beating rather quicker than a minute before, it seemed to me.
'The lab report came back. It found no traces of anything dangerous or illegal in your bag. What we did find however, were minute bits of biscuit, and a small smear of chocolate. We were puzzled by this.'
I thought for a postgraduate to be puzzled by biscuit crumbs or bits of chocolate in a bag used for shopping said something about their course of study. I kept my thoughts to myself. I didn't want the sergeant to begin to 'let's play Chuck Norris' with me again.
He continued, 'There is one other thing. The dog that was aroused by your bag, how can I put it, was the wrong dog. By that, I mean, there were some crossed wires. The dog, so it seems, was not trained to sniff explosives. It wasn't trained for anything. It is a new recruit, and the handler was allocated it by mistake. It just reacted in the way that any pet dog might.'
The others laughed. I didn't.
'You're free to go. The car will be ready in a few minutes. Pack your bag. Oh, and on behalf of the government, I apologise for any inconvenience. Goodbye.'
He got up, came across and patted me a couple of time on the arm.
'I'm sorry about that. I didn't think you were the type, to be honest.'
I mumbled something, and turned to go. I think I felt humiliated rather than angry. He seemed to sense my mood.
'Think of the nice trip you had here, a couple of meals, a good night's sleep etc.'
I walked out, went to the room, got my bag, and left the house. It was yet another beautiful day. The woman was in the front seat.The others walked over to the car. The shoes crunched on the grit on the parking area. I noticed for the first time that it, I assume built at the time of horse and carriage, was very much bigger than my house and garden. The captain leaned by the open car window.
'I take it you'll be going to the airport at some future time?'
I answered that I thought that would be a sure thing.'
In about three months from now, you might see your pal there.'
'What pal?'
Right now, I didn't know what he was talking about.
'The dog. He would have finished his training by then, a qualified Working Dog. He has a name now We thought 'Richard' would suit him. You seem to share the same passion for biscuits and chocolate. Bye bye.'
The car purred and we left. In the mirror, I could see the three of them in front of the house; they turned, and went in.The journey home passed in complete silence, except for the occasional swearing at some errant motorist. I didn't care less. I just wanted to get back. We got home a couple of hours later. The woman spoke for the first time.
'Bye. I suggest you don't do anything stupid, like talk to people, or the press, or your brother. Think about it.'
The car went off. In the evening, we had a pleasant meal together, my wife and the children. After the three of them had gone to bed, I lay on the sofa, just thinking. The phone rang. I picked it up. There was no greeting or introduction.
'Your bank account was credited this afternoon with two thousand pounds. I suggest you keep this to yourself. I am sure you wouldn't want the tax authorities to begin asking questions, would you?'
I thought for a moment.
'What account?'
'You know full well what account.'
He proceeded to tell me the account number, the balance, when I had last taken money out or put it in, the manager's name, the names of the three cashiers, the last meeting I had had with the manager, etc. There was a pause. 'That account, okay?' I thought for a moment.
'Right, I get it.'
'The woman told you something before she left, right? I suggest you tuck that away in your brain, Richard, okay. Goodnight.'
I put the phone down. It was very quiet now. The night came to me.
