9 : The Meeting. The doorman on the Hannover Club looked…
By: Mark J Diez
Tags: Computers, Painting, Meetings, Spy

Photo by André Ravazzi on Unsplash

The doorman on the Hannover Club looked just as he always did: long woolen overcoat, scarf, suit, shiny shoes and gloved hands clasped in front of him. Byford thought these people couldn’t be any more obvious, especially with their physical build, the look on their faces and radio earpieces obvious to the world.

“Afternoon,” he said to the doorman as he stepped up to the main door.

“Afternoon, sir,” the man replied and opened the door for Byford.

Byford had never seen this one before, but there were no casual visitors to the Club and the Handler had no doubt briefed the staff that someone would be coming at an appointed time.

Byford stepped into the reception hall and was greeted by the concierge, at least that’s what he thought this person was supposed to be.

“Good afternoon, mister…?”

“Byford.”

“Ah, yes, of course, mister Costana will be with you shortly, mister Byford. He’s asked for you to wait in here,” the concierge said, extending his arm out to guide Byford to a door on his right.

Byford went through into the small reception room and with no further pleasantries, the concierge closed the door behind him.

Not back in the family yet, Byford, he thought to himself.

The room looked like most others in the Hannover Club. A few large, well-padded leather lounge chairs, a heavy wooden table, some brass lamps and, in this one, some of the less-perfect paintings that Hannover possessed.

Byford studied one of a young woman who was sitting on a stone ledge holding a bow, one hand over the top of her eyes as if looking into the distance and protecting her eyes from the glare of the sun.

“A Pre-Raphaelite, or at least an attempt at the style,” a voice said from behind him.

Byford turned around to see mister Costana had come into the room by another door.

“Hello, sir.”

“Good to see you, Byford,” Costana said, shaking Byford by the hand and giving him a warm smile.

“Are you an art person?” Costana asked.

“No, not really, but this caught my eye. What or who is it of?”

“It’s by an unknown artist, mimicking what’s called the Pre-Raphaelite style, a romantic style recalling Greco-Roman mythology, an attempt to reconnect to the gods and nature, to take people back to a simpler time before the industrial revolution.”

Byford made a thoughtful sound and nodded. Costana took that as a cue to carry on.

“You see how she looks Roman or Greek in her flowing clothes, the golden crescent standing atop her hair band and so on. Do you know what the painting means, Byford?”

Byford thought for a second but felt nothing insightful come to his mind.

“Not a clue, sir.”

“Well, fair enough. It’s all a metaphor, and while a reasonable attempt, it’s not perfect. Look at her little finger,” Costana said, pointing to the little finger on the hand the woman had raised to shield her eyes from the sun.

“Oh yes, how do you bend your finger like that?” Byford asked.

“You don’t. Also, the arm is too long, the grip on the bow is wrong and the waist band would never sit like that.”

“Why does Hannover have such a bad example then?” Byford asked.

“I painted it,” Costana said with a smile towards Byford. “But anyway,” he continued, drawing the talk of paintings to a close and turning directly to Byford, “engaging, but nothing to do with why we’re here, so let’s get onto that, shall we?”

“Good idea, sir. Obviously I asked to meet with you about the interesting news Frost gave me a few days ago,” Byford said, somewhat relieved to be finished with the chit-chat.

“Yes indeed, Byford. Come through to my office,” Costana said, now waving Byford through just like the concierge had done earlier.

The room’s décor was the same stately style as the reception area’s: a stately desk at one end with formal chairs in front, and a nearby set of four of the lounge chairs he’d seen before. There was more art on the walls and a collection of old books in a glass case to the far side.

Costana walked behind the desk and sat down. Byford took a seat in front.

“I haven’t forgotten the usual civilities,” Costana said, handing Byford a cup of tea off a tray placed to the side of the desk.

Byford took a sip.

Milk and two sugars, he thought.

It reminded him just how much Hannover ensured they knew about their people.

“We have a project for you to deliver on, which needs to take place in the next week or so. Exact time scales to be confirmed once we’ve lined a few pieces up. It will involve you working with a new team, which should be fine as the project objectives are clear cut, and involve a target that is not expecting an event they have to respond to,” Costana said.

“So this is a civilian target then, sir?”

Strictly speaking, all Hannover’s targets were civilian. This militaristic allusion was meant to ask if the target was capable of making an armed response, whether they expected to or not. While all targets might be civilian, they weren’t all peaceful, law-abiding ones.

“Yes, Byford. It is in the civilian domain, so will not have a high level of security that you would need to counter. Is that clearer?” Costana explained, recognising Byford was only asking to ensure no blame for any confusion was placed on himself.

“Much clearer, sir,” Byford said.

“Good. As I’ve said, there’s a few pieces to align before we carry out the work, so you’ll have time to acquaint yourself with your new team. You’ll have to drill them somewhat to get their readiness closer to your liking, before we provide you the full brief and you execute the project.”

“Where is the team to be trained, sir?”

Costana smiled and said, “You’re going home for a couple of weeks, Byford. The team will be heading up to one of our houses on the Shetlands; South Island, to be precise. A flight and boat have been arranged for you midday tomorrow. The story is you’re a diving instructor and they’re your pupils. Not too far off the truth.”

Byford thought about the Shetlands. He had indeed be born and raised on the harsh islands, but he hadn’t been there in over twenty years.

“How long did you say I had to train them, sir?”

“Just under two weeks, didn’t I say that already?”

“Ah, sorry, sir. Must have missed it,” Byford replied.

Two weeks to prepare the team wasn’t long, and that would mean they weren’t as green as was being suggested.

“So, they need to learn swimming. Anything else? No weapons drills, skydiving, espionage…?”

“Yes, very droll, Byford. Q will be here with your Batman belt in just a moment,” Costana said with what looked like a hint of humour from the otherwise dry character Byford had become used to. “You’ll get your high-level brief now and full instructions when you’re on-site tomorrow. All over our encrypted communications channel as usual. You have the cipher memorised, correct?”

“I don’t, sir. I’ve been out for two years,” Byford replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

Costana gave a look of what to Byford seemed like mild disgust at being reminded of this fact.

“Well, in any case you’ll get the brief tomorrow, by email. We’ll go through some points now, though.”

Costana picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Costana here, can you bring up a laptop and arrange for a cipher briefing tonight?”

Byford couldn’t make out the reply, but Costana thanked the person on the other end and hung up.

“A new laptop will be at the desk outside when you leave and you need to go to Austin House to get a new cipher key tonight. I’ll have the brief emailed to you before you leave for the airport.”

While the two men drank their tea, Costana described the project Byford had been given. He outlined the team skills, their experience, strengths and weaknesses. He told Byford why the location had been chosen, given Dr Kirby’s need to use long-submerged enzyme samples. Once in his flow, Costana even went as far as suggesting what the nature of the main mission was. One thing that wasn’t mentioned was the reason Byford was here — Mary.

“Sir, what about this David?” Byford asked. “Where does he fit into this?”

“Yes, of course. As expected, your loyal friend has been giving away secrets.”

Byford ignored the disingenuous comment. Hannover would have told Frost to lure him into doing the mission by telling him about Mary. That was the game.

“David was approached some time ago. Not for who he is, but for who he knew. Foolishly, he refused our advances and tried to use his awareness of us to his advantage. It doesn’t work that way around, as well you know. Suffice to say, this does not end well for David. But his loss will be your gain.”

Costana’s words were both a portent and a reminder of who dealt the cards and made the rules.

“In which case, let the game commence, sir,” Byford replied, quoting the translated motto of Hannover he recalled was written in the Great Hall, in the very building where they were.

Costana broke into a smile. “Yes, indeed. Iacta alea esto! And what a fine game it is.”

The overview concluded and Byford’s agreement secured, Costana stood and walked over to the door of his office.

“All right then, Byford. Head on out and I’ll talk to you again when you’re ensconced on your native soil.”

“Thank you, sir,” Byford replied and shook hands with Costana as a farewell.

“By the way. What is it a metaphor for exactly, the painting?”

“Ah, well, this is what art does to you, Byford. I see you are an art man after all. What do you think when you look at the painting? Has she shot an arrow and is now observing the distance to see if it struck home, or is she watching and waiting for her quarry, and has yet to even cast an arrow? Is she a metaphor or is it her posture or the arrow? What’s the significance of the sun in her eyes and the moon on her head? Who knows, Byford! I’ll let you ponder it yourself and you can see what meaning it has for you!” Costana said, clearly amused with his own words.

“Well, sir, I suppose I could do that, but then again…”

Costana gave a short laugh and patted Byford on the arm.

“Fair enough, Byford. Travel safe and we’ll be in touch shortly to introduce your mission in full and your new team.”

With that, Byford left the office, walked through the reception room and past the painting. He gave it one last look as he passed, then left the room with no further inspiration revealing itself.

At the reception he was handed the new laptop Costana had requested.

“Cipher briefing arranged for 2100 hours at Austin House, sir,” the man handing him the laptop said.

“OK, thanks,” Byford replied, quickly signing to acknowledge receipt of the device. With that he headed out of the Hannover Club and home to the London house he’d not seen for over a year.

///split.eager.rise