Tatiana Was Everywhere

TATIANA WAS EVERYWHERE

The first building Him came to was a ruined dovecote. The house was yet further into the woods. It was in a clearing that itself seemed to be returning to nature. How quickly such things happen, Branches of trees were scratching against the high razor wire that surrounded the place. The wooden gate was padlocked and encased in more razor wire. A huge sign proclaimed the names of a development company and a security firm, and strictly forbade any acts of trespass. There was a silhouette of an Alsatian on the sign.

He took a small key from his pocket and opened the lock. Then he walked up the slight incline of the drive to the turreted house, a late Edwardian Ruabon brick folly built just before Modernism set in. The long, ever so long, Victorian and Edwardian ages about to be blown away by something seemingly so different- Le Corbusier, Picasso and the rest.

The front door was open and the dingy mat was full of junk mail from estate agents, pizza deliverers and purveyors of broadband. He walked up the stairs and turned left at the top. A third time, more recent even than Modernism. He stopped at the first door. No Edwardian had designed this silky aperture which had what looked like a large glass spyhole in the centre.

“Place your eye on the glass”. It must have been a loop activated by his presence. He obeyed.

“ Left. Stop. Do not move. Do not blink.”

How long can a man refrain from blinking, but he continued to obey. There was a flash. Then the door opened. Mister sat at a desk with a Notebook in front of him. The room looked out of keeping with the house, the sort of office you might find in a new glass block. The man looked out of keeping with both house and room. He looked like a librarian- except for his stare. Time at odds with itself.

“Him”

“Mister”

“Help yourself to coffee.”

The coffee apparatus was on a side table. Him helped himself from the cafetiere and the metal milk jug. There were even a few small biscuits. He was aware that he had his back to the man. The cafetière seemed to take forever to pour. He returned with the coffee and sat on a chair. It felt like an interview; the rest of the room was too empty. But he was not the sort of man that ever really felt nervous, just continuously aware of every last detail.

“How did you get here?”

“I took the train from Paddington to the station. Then I got a cab to the village. Then I walked the back way through the woods.”

Things that took hours explained in seconds.

“Good. Can I have the key please?”

Mister took the tiny padlock key from Him and bent it out of shape.

“Do you put that post there or is it really delivered?”

“There’s preliminary small talk and there’s need to know. That’s neither.”

Him nodded. There was a long pause. Both of these men were well used to long pauses and had in the past used them to test those who sat before them. Using time and the awareness of time to gain mastery. Mister was still doing it. Him wasn’t. Him had already taken all he needed from these surroundings. Mister broke the silence.

“How’s life in old Anatolia?”

King Suppilumiuma

Had a sense of humour.

He said I’m a Hittite.

And the rest of you are shite

Mister gave a thin smile.

“We have to be doubly careful now we outsource these arrangements.”

Mister watched Him drink his coffee.

“Did you write that yourself?” Mister asked.

“Small talk and need to know only.”

Mister opened a drawer in the desk and took out a big A4 photo. It was of a handsome young woman with high cheekbones standing in front of the Stephansdom in a wintry looking Mitteleuropa at some time in the last say fifty years. Any time. Austria was like that.

“That’s Her.”

“Looks Photoshopped”.

“I think not but does it matter?”

“I’ll call her Tatiana. She looks like one.”

“We don’t use names here. You know that. You cannot think of Her as having a name like Tatiana. This is the woman you have to kill.”

Him shrugged. Mister continued.

“How you kill Her and where you do it is up to you. You appear to have a number of procedures that you can adopt. But we need it done within the month.”

Time was of the essence. A lovely crisp phrase thought Him. Nothing else was ever thus styled.

“You liked my references then”.

Him sensed that Mister might be getting a little on edge at his behaviour. But Mister knew that killers came in many packages and developed coping mechanisms to humanise their inhuman lives. He opened another drawer in the desk and handed Him a memory stick.

“All you need to know about Her is on that. Off you go.”

“The money. It’s half now and half on job done.”

Another thin smile greeted Him and another drawer was opened. Mister handed over a bulging brown envelope. Him carefully counted the contents. He was aware of time passing and knew Mister was too. Then Him replacing the notes in the envelope and pushed it down an inner pocket of his coat.

Then he got up from his seat and for a minute, less than a minute time can be so misleading, seemed to be heading for the door. But he turned round. The gun looked small in his hand. The hole that appeared in Mister’s forehead was small too. The man’s eyes turned inward making him for a moment look like Ben Turpin. Then he slumped on to the desk.

Him left the room and quickly descended the stairs. He was out on the shingled drive heading for the gate. There he discovered that the padlock had re-engaged and the razor wire was all around it.

“Enter the exit code on the gatepost.”

He turned quickly but there was no-one there.

“You must enter the exit code now.”

When had this been done? While he poured the coffee? Or perhaps even as Mister fell forward on to his desk, life already departed. He stared at the device. It looked like a simple padlock. Perhaps he had killed Mister five seconds too early. Time the essence? It was too late now for such speculation.

He took his mobile from a pocket and quickly texted- COME NOW. In less than a minute (as he would say later) he saw the jeep bouncing through the wood. It stopped in front of the gate. Then the driver slammed it into reverse and threw it through the arc of a circle. The manoeuvre continued. Dust and small stones were kicked up. The jeep came racing backwards crashing into the gate. The old wood moaned. Thrown back into first gear the jeep leapt away again into the wood. It quickly stopped. The driver’s foot on the throttle must have been touching the floor as the jeep careered back into the gate. The engine screamed and the wood screamed too. Splinters flew off the gate, and vertical tears appeared. The two halves of the gate were coming apart. Him scrambled through them. Thin strips of sharp wood snagged his coat. He clambered into the front passenger seat of the jeep.

“Thanks, Tattie”.

“We have to get out of here.”

“No rush. There’s no-one else here but us.”

He looked at her. She was in the prime of life, a little flushed, the adrenalin of the moment, but she was composed too. A proud woman with plenty to take pride in. A woman in her own time.

“Tatiana you get more beautiful every day you age. He had a picture of you that was at least fifteen years old. Were you ever in Vienna?”

“I was everywhere.” Time and space, they go together.

The envelope with the cash was tickling his nipple.

“Let’s go have some dinner” he said.