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Chapter 1
Thinking of You
The London underground is one of the oldest, finest mass transportation systems in the world. Many a traveler, Londoner and tourist have marveled at its efficiency, which, inter-connected to the British rail network, can transport anyone over the whole of Great Britain and without the need for a taxi or any of the bus lines.
If sleeping while standing was an art form, John Bryce was Rembrandt. As the train came to a slow halt at the Green Park station, Bryce�s eyes snapped open even though they felt lined with lead. He grabbed his issue canvas bag and made his way to the exit swiping his �oyster� card and emerged into a slightly overcast London morning. He crossed Piccadilly and then trudged the familiar route up Berkeley towards the square and his town home which seemed a distant memory after two weeks scurrying about the Welsh mountains with the SAS.
He was wearing his casual military khaki�s and pullover but hadn�t shaved in nearly two weeks and the thick growth itched a lot. He also needed a shower. He continued wearing the olive beret with the emblem of the 22nd SAS and his twin rows of �lettuce� denoting his Commander�s rank. Waiting for a walk light, he fired up a cigarette and then smiled staring into Jack Barclay�s Bentley dealership and the stunning Bentley GT in British Racing Green that was glistening in the main window. He crossed the square and approached the front of the somewhat regal building that was home finishing the smoke.
Upon entering the courtyard, there was a sharp muffled bark from behind him followed by a low growl. Angus, the little black Scottish terrier, snarled at him. The unofficial watch dog of Windsor Place.
�Settle down little man.� Bryce chided him. Hearing the voice, Angus trotted over to see if the bedraggled figure was, in fact, someone he knew. Bryce set down his bag and knelt scratching his ears. Within seconds, Angus was on his back wanting his tummy to have some attention too.
Ellie Covington, the manager and a lovely young thing of seventy, stepped out of her own townhouse door and smiled.
�Welcome back Mister Bryce.� He grinned at her while still tending to Angus� needs.
�Hello Ellie.� She approached him, but Bryce stood and held off a warning hand. �Don�t get too close dear; I�ve been hurling myself over the white cliffs of Dover for two weeks. I�m surprised Angus hasn�t passed out.�
Ellie chuckled, �Oh, you poor dear. Not to worry though. Remember, I spent forty-five years with a Royal Marine and certainly inhaled worse.� Bryce smiled back collecting his bag.
�I�ll give you a proper hug after I�ve cleaned up. Promise.�
She beamed and then picked up Angus. �The Muses were here earlier knowing you�d be back today. Everything in yours should be right and proper. They are such lovely girls. Even did some shopping for me but wouldn�t take a quid.�
Bryce chuckled before moving to the lift in the corner of the courtyard. �That�s the way they are and they do adore you. Which ones were here?�
Ellie thought for a moment, �Er�Frances, Tara and Karen.�
Bryce nodded. Bidding Ellie farewell he took the lift up to his loft style unit and set foot in the door. Entering the foyer he dropped his bag with a heavy thud and then noticed the post-it note stuck on the decanter next to the tumbler along with what little mail he had received.
�Welcome home. Drink me.� And signed with three small hearts along with X�s and O�s. Bryce obliged and filled the tumbler halfway then took a waft. He sipped the single-malt slowly and determined it was one of the Glenmorangie 12 year olds, but slightly sweet. Either the Port or Sherry wood cask finish. The townhouse with it's polished cheerywood floors gleamed without a spec of dust and the windows were open with the central air set on fan only. He removed his beret and then the pullover and emptied the contents of his pockets onto the small table. He knelt and undid his boots and felt his feet expand again and crossed into the galley style horse-shoe shaped kitchen.
The fridge was fully stocked as was the freezer. The girls had left it so and certainly knew his tastes and likes. Bryce selected the butcher wrapped package of smoked salmon, a small bottle of Pellegrino and then toasted two pieces of fresh sourdough bread. Placing them on a small plate and grabbing his mail, he moved down the narrow stairs off the living room to the two bedrooms below.
Lovingly and neatly folded on the bed was his laundry and another post-it noting that his dry-cleaning was in the closet. Good to be home. He snatched up the remote from his night stand and pointed it at the 42 inch pedestal flat-screen TV on the large oak dresser. The screen came to life. Bryce scrolled through the menu and selected one of his favorite�s from the 300 plus channels. �Outland�. The film was very much reminiscent of the classic �High Noon�, but with Sean Connery, you could never go wrong.
Munching on the toast and succulent salmon after adding a splash of the mineral water to his scotch, he peeled off his clothes noting that both he and they needed a good wash. Now to business. He slipped on one of the many hotel robes he had collected and, noting the emblem, recalled fondly the week he had spent in New York with friends at the Waldorf Astoria. He grabbed the bedside phone and dialed the secure exchange. Two rings and then a curt voice answered.
�Tanner.�
�003 reporting in. Hello Bill.�
�John�Duly noted. Trust you�re still in one piece.�
�Yeah�One piece of shit. I�m racked.�
Tanner laughed and Bryce could hear the keyboard in the background. The Chief of Staff answered warmly, �Logged in and noted. You�ve got 48 to recover, and then we�ll see you on Thursday. Major Peters at the 22nd reported you�re still a bastard, but you�ve still got what it takes also. The Admiral�s pleased.�
It was Bryce�s turn to laugh, �Considering I�ve got twenty on some of those boys, I felt I held my own, but the HALO jumps are getting harder. Still, I managed to knock about a couple of hard twenty year olds on the hand-to-hand.�
�Marquis of Queensbury rules?�
�Of course�Kick �em in the nuts and then a few head-butts. Tried and true to SAS standards.�
�Alright Bryce, Thursday 10am.�
�Cheers Bill.� Tanner closed the line. He looked at his Rolex before removing it and then scanned his mail. There was a postcard. It showed a perfect sunny picture of the harbor in Monte Carlo. Bryce flipped it over. He recognized the hand-writing immediately.
Hello Darling,
Pity you�re off playing soldier boy. I�m here until Wednesday and have nothing to
do but lounge and tell pool boys to piss-off! I�ll ring when I�m back in London.
Thinking of you!
- Lava
P.S. � Really thinking of you in me!
No�REALLY.
Bryce actually laughed out loud. Lava�only Lava. Bryce�s mind flashed back to the night that united them. Had it been ten years since? God, it had. Laverne Cristianne Sterling. He shook his head and then debated if he could recharge his batteries enough to get himself over there. He went into the bathroom and switched on the shower. Entering the stall separate from the bath, he couldn�t believe how good it felt. He scrubbed himself down twice. Once wasn�t enough to remove all of the Welsh hillsides.
As he bathed from the twin shower heads, his mind cast back to Lava. 1997, the lounge of the Grand Hotel, now operated by the Fairmont chain. He had been in Monte Carlo to sniff out a head of section in France who was �bent� and playing both sides against the middle. The Cold War had passed, but the tactics never changed.
He�d killed the contact in a rather brutal moment on the roof of one of the high-rise buildings. Breaking the bastard�s neck using a steam pipe as leverage after avoiding several knife slashes. There had been a moment where Bryce had actually found himself nearly being thrown off the 25 storey roof, but he managed to turn the tables with an Aikido move that both disarmed and put his opponent at his mercy. Bryce offered no such thing. He felt three vertebras snap as one. It was done and then he had to confront the section head.
That had been a casual conversation in the man�s own living room of his villa. It ended with Bryce shooting him with his silenced Browning ASP. The job done, the Admiral had granted him a 72 hour liberty and he had gotten himself a corner suite at the hotel. In the lounge downstairs, he had returned from the casino with an extra two-thousand pounds, before the Euro had come about, and planned to enjoy the live music. A trio with a lead singer.
A sultry ballad began, an old Shirley Bassey tune; �The Liquidator� from some 60�s spy-spoof, and when the lights came up, a slender figure strolled up to the microphone stand and began the song. Bryce couldn�t help but smile at the irony given the evening he had had and what had placed him in Monte Carlo that night. The lyrics had him laughing at himself.
She was tall with a mane of auburn/brunette hair and a satin dress in orange and red with triangle patterns which looked like flames and a voice which silenced the crowd. Sparkling aqua-marine eyes and a stunning smile. Miss Bassey might have felt a tinge threatened by the voice which belted out the lyrics to the cheers of the lounge.
Bryce had been quite entranced by the performance and made a point to apply the tip of two fifty pound notes to the over sized snifter on the grand piano after she finished. He had returned to the bar and ordered himself a scotch and then felt an arm brush against his own.
�Thank you for the tip. The boys and I appreciated it.� She was smiling into his eyes. She had then offered her hand. �I�m Cristi.� Bryce took it and complimented her.
Hence it began. Over the last ten years, they had an understanding and she only knew that Bryce worked for the Ministry and was involved as a security consultant. It hadn�t stopped the relationship from blossoming. Meals, birthdays, a few trips � including one very memorable transatlantic cruise to New York - and a simple �cards-on-the-table� agreement with regards to their involvement with each other.
Based on her dress of that faithful night and her true first name, Bryce, as he was collecting it from the floor of his suite the next morning, had suggested that she take the nick-name �Lava� and she had beamed at the idea as she sipped her mimosa propped up in bed. Hence, �Lava Sterling� was born and even christened on a lazy Sunday morning.
As he toweled off from the thirty minute shower and felt refreshed, he attacked his two weeks growth with the Braun electric razor to trim away the mangled heavy stuff, then opted to use a blade to seal the deal with his preferred Dunhill shaving gel. He stared at himself in the mirror as he touched up his side burns. He spoke aloud, �You old bastard, you still clean up pretty well.� He pressed a hot cloth to his face and, feeling a few aches returning, opted for two ibuprofen capsules washed down with the scotch. The bedside phone rang. Snatching up the handset, he recognized the number on the caller ID and pressed the button. He barked into the phone.
�What do you want?!�
�A nice house in Lisbon with two twenty year-old Asian house girls in lingerie, but that�s always been the dream.� There was a familiar chuckle at the end.
�Well, I knew that.�
�You up to a real dinner or completely tossed?�
�Indian?�
�Mexican?�
�Greek?�
�German?�
�Are we talking about women or food?�
�I forget.�
�Me too.�
In unison, they both spoke.
�Chinese!�
Matthew O�Shawnassey snickered over the line and they agreed that Li-Chan�s above Leicester Square fit the bill. Seven o�clock and Matt would ring ahead.
After addressing each other as �wanker�, he rang off. It was just half-past eleven. He set the alarm for five and moved to the oversized king bed climbing between the sheets, sleep taking him within five minutes to the sight of Sir Sean talking tough to some bastard on the flat screen.
Good to be home.