Rendezvous Point

Olivia sat on the bench, fighting both her confusion and her growing panic. Something, she thought, had gone very wrong.

At least she could rest here for a moment, gather her thoughts. She’d often used the bench as a meeting place; it was on top of a hill and she could see anyone approaching from a long way off. It would give her a chance to plan her next move.

At least so far no-one seemed to have noticed her escape. It had been remarkably easy, she thought, to get away from the establishment where they had been holding her, for goodness knew how long. She went over the events of the last few hours, trying to make sense of it all.

She had awoken in the strange room, with no idea how she had got there; in fact, the last few weeks felt fuzzy in her memory. She could remember little; it felt as if she had been in this bedroom for as far back as she could remember. There was a vague feeling that she had been doing the same thing, day after day, with little to break the monotony; so much so that she had a momentary suspicion that she had perhaps been drugged. She realised with a chill that she had no idea of the date.

However, after a while her training had kicked in. She had forced herself to remain calm, take stock of her surroundings.

She lay in a warm, comfortable bed, in a nightdress. The room was the size of a normal living room, with a bathroom through one doorway. There was a cheap looking chest of drawers; a wardrobe, and a small dressing table with a mirror, covered in brushes, combs and other personal effects. Beside the bed was a framed photograph of a couple; she recognised herself, and an attractive, dark haired man. She had no idea who the man was.

Obviously faked, she thought.

Olivia listened. She could hear the distant buzz of traffic, voices of children somewhere beyond the window. Outside the door she could hear nothing.

Quietly, she rose from the bed, paying attention for any approaching footsteps outside her door.

She went through the drawers, looking for any clue as to what was going on; but she could find nothing of interest, just clothing, make up, personal possessions. The chest of drawers was the same.

Quickly she grabbed some clothes and dressed, in a nondescript outfit which nevertheless seemed to fit her perfectly. In the wardrobe she found a coat, scarf and a pair of shoes, which were also a good fit.

Someone, she thought, has taken a lot of trouble, whatever their motive was. Perhaps it was just to confuse her, make her feel at home so she would give herself away.

Well if so, they’d not done their homework. Whoever had taken her, they were in for a surprise.

As quietly as she could, she turned the door handle and pulled it open. Outside, there was a carpeted passageway, completely deserted. Olivia followed the passageway to a staircase. At the bottom of this was a kind of reception area, once again strangely unguarded. There was a reception desk, and a young girl sitting there, having a telephone conversation. Beyond, glass doors led out onto a sunlit garden.

Olivia took a deep breath, then strolled across the reception area. It was a trick her trainer had taught her; act as if you are supposed to be there, and nine times out of ten no-one will take any notice of you.

Even so, she felt a small trickle of sweat run down her forehead as she passed the girl, opened the door, and stepped outside.

There was a small garden, then a brick wall with a metal gate. Nobody stopped her as she stepped through the gate and onto the pavement beyond. There was a sign on the wall. “The Willows” it read.

Too easy, she thought. It could quite possibly be a form of psychological torture; to let her escape, give her false hope, only to pick her up again when she had relaxed her guard.

She was in a quiet street. Across the road was a small park, nearby there was a school from which came the sound of children’s voices. A road sweeper walked past, wearing a blue mask, protection against the dust.

A postman passed her, pushing a trolley. He too, Olivia now saw, wore a similar mask.

Olivia calmed herself and tried to get her bearings. She walked as carelessly as possible to the end of the street. The road sign said, “Brook Green W6.” So, she was in London.

There was a bus stop nearby, going towards the West End. She made a point of walking past, then stopping suddenly, as if she had just remembered something. She turned around, as if about to retrace her steps.

The road behind her was clear. No-one stopped suddenly, no-one ducked into a doorway. Obviously, she had not yet been missed; and anyway, the opposition would never try a pickup, out in the open like this. No, they would follow, waiting for an opportunity where there would be no witnesses. Well, they weren’t going to get one that easily.

A bus pulled up. The door opened and Olivia stepped aboard.

She fumbled in her pockets fruitlessly for change. A couple of people went ahead of her, swiping small wallets on a small device by driver. Olivia had no such pass; fortunately, the driver nodded her on board. The doors hissed shut.

Olivia tried to remain calm; however, it was worrying to see that the driver, and all the passengers, wore masks across their faces. To avoid standing out, she arranged her scarf so that it covered her mouth and nose.

There could only be one reason for the masks. The Russians. Obviously, they had done something…to the air, perhaps? All the more reason for her to report in.

The bus made its way slowly through the early morning traffic. Olivia felt reassured as they travelled past some familiar sights. Kensington High Street, the Albert Hall, Hyde Park Corner. She alighted at Park Lane, picking up another bus heading north. Once again, the driver seemed happy to let her on board without paying.

She caught a glimpse of herself, reflected in the window; and gasped. An old, slightly dishevelled woman stared back at her.

No wonder the drivers were being so kind, she thought, letting someone who looked like a pensioner travel free of charge. She wondered how long she had been a prisoner, to make her age so quickly.

Regents Park now passed on her right. She rang the bell near the Zoo and stepped off. Once again, she took in her surroundings.

There was a gaggle of schoolgirls crossing the road towards the park, plus various people walking, pushing prams, or jogging. Nobody seemed to be paying her any attention; and the masks were everywhere. Some of them seemed to be personalised, gaily patterned; this was obviously a situation that had been going on for some time.

Olivia entered Primrose Hill park and began to climb up the path. At the top was the bench, the one that had a view of the whole of the city below. This was one of her rendezvous points; it would be regularly monitored.

She was surprisingly out of breath as she reached the top. The bench was empty, and she sank down onto it, furtively looking in all directions as she did so. Once again, there was no-one that looked remotely suspicious.

For a split second she even felt disappointed, that nobody had an interest in her even after she had broken out. This brought a grin to her face. Same old Olivia always wanted to be the centre of attention. Once again, she asked herself why, then, had she chosen a career where her life depended on always being in the background, never catching anyone’s attention. The grey woman.

Although that had not always been completely correct. There had been many occasions when, as part of her job, she had given herself a touch of glamour. She may only have been playing a role on these occasions; but she did remember that she had been eye catching, with the right poise, the right use of makeup. And of course, the expensive outfits and jewellery that were only hers for an evening, before being returned to the quartermaster. It had been her mission, to catch the eye. Of an Arab prince here, a Soviet attaché there. She had charmed them, promised them things that she would never deliver; and then in intimate conversation picked up important little bits of information that they would only have ever let slip in close proximity to a beautiful woman.

The image of her face on the bus returned and she shivered. Was it possible…had she really become old? And what had happened to the years in between?

She had been in frightening situations before, life threatening even. But she had been trained to deal with such eventualities. This, though, she did not understand; and suddenly she felt more scared than ever before.

Again Olivia tried to remember her training, tried to calm herself. She had another look around.

Along the top of the hill couples sat on the grass, arms around each other’s shoulders, gazing down at the hazy city. A small boy was flying a kite, people walked dogs; overhead an airliner whined through the blue sky. It was a perfect spring day, people out enjoying themselves, oblivious to the world of subterfuge that surrounded them with invisible tendrils. Not for the first time, Olivia wondered how they would feel if they knew what was going on around them on a daily basis. Of the secret world and the wars being fought in it to maintain their safety, that they were completely oblivious to.

She almost missed the man approaching her. She caught him out of the corner of her eye, making sure that she showed no sign of recognition.

He was small, slight of build, wearing a long grey coat, black mask and stripy scarf. He walked with the aid of a stick yet was climbing up the hill energetically towards her.

As he came closer Olivia could see the man was old, perhaps in his eighties. Thin wisps of white hair blew around his head; he wore horn rimmed glasses and had a grey white beard.

The man sat beside her.

“Olivia?”

She ignored him.

“Olivia Martin? It’s me, Henry. We’ve been worried about you…”

“I’m sorry” said Olivia. “My name is Nicola. Nicola Stuart. I think you must have me confused…”

“Hm” said the man.

“I wonder” he said “do you know the weather forecast? I have misplaced my Times…”

“I believe” said Olivia “that it will remain overcast…”

“Until warmer climes return?”

“Yes…yes I…”

“That’s right, Olivia. That’s the codeword.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s me, Henry.”

“Henry?” She looked closely at the man. It was definitely her controller.

“Thank goodness” she whispered.

“The mission…something went wrong…”

Henry raised a hand.

“Olivia my dear. There’s no mission. Not anymore.

“Those days are behind us. We’re retired, both of us.”

“Retired? But the Soviets…”

“Are no more. Not since the wall came down…”

“You mean…its over? The Cold War?”

Henry nodded and squeezed her arm gently.

“Thirty years ago.

“Don’t worry, there are plenty of new, er, challenges, shall we say. But they’re for a new generation, not for us. We’ve done our bit.”

Olivia was silent for a moment.

“Is it really true? Am I…are we really old now?”

She began to cry.

“But I can’t remember…how many years?”

Henry hugged her.

“A few. Have to say I’ve almost lost count myself…”

“There’s a gap” said Olivia. “In my memories…I can remember my training, missions, codewords from years ago. Thirty years ago, you said. But those thirty years…there’s nothing. I can’t remember anything…”

“Well then it’s time to remind you of a few things.”

Henry waved; a small group of people approached, including a small boy. Incomprehensively, the child ran towards her and flung himself into her lap.

“Granny Olive” he exclaimed.

“What are you doing out here? We were coming to visit you in your little flat.”

“Oh, I’m sorry…Nicholas. Looks like I went for a little day trip.

“Oh, I remembered your name…”

“And don’t forget us Mum” said a young woman with a young man next to her.

“Christine. And Michael. My children.”

“See” said Henry. “You haven’t forgotten everything. And what about George? You remember him?”

Olivia remembered the photograph on the bedside table.

“Yes. My husband. He’s no longer with us, is he?”

Henry shook his head.

“It was your daughter who called me, said you’d gone missing.

“She had my number, from years ago. She still thinks that I’m your old boss from the “advertising company.”

“So my family still don’t know that we were…”

“Spies? Spooks? Oh no. Official Secrets Act you know; it’s for life.”

“And that place…the Willows; that’s where I live now, isn’t it?”

Henry nodded.

“And your family visit you there almost every day” he said.

They all began to wander down the hill.

“Henry” she asked.

“Why is everyone wearing a mask?”

“I’ll explain over a cup of tea” said Henry.

“Oh, and there’s some other news.

“From tomorrow you’re going to have a new neighbour at “The Willows.”

“You?”

“Me. I am very old now, you know. We’ll be able to keep an eye on each other.”

“Well that’s what we’re good at, isn’t it? Keeping an eye on things.”

“And we can chat about the old days sometimes. Or just sit and read perhaps.” Henry winked conspiratorially.

“I’ve got some confidential files you know!” he whispered.

Olivia giggled.

“I do love a confidential file!

“And you can be my memory” she said. “Whenever it needs a bit of jogging.”

“So” said Henry.

“Time for that cup of tea.”