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RAFE McGREGOR

THE SECRET AGENT - Part One

Penzance, Friday 10^th June, 1522 hours

“You’re sure no one can see us?”

Sommer looked up from the tripod-mounted Olympus and grimaced.  “I been doing this since you were a Brownie, an’ all.”

“Sorry, I’m bein’ a divvy,” said Jessica Smith.  Then she exaggerated her normally lyrical Liverpudlian accent and added, “They didn’t have Brownies where I grew up.  It wasn’t tha’ sorta neighbourhood.”

Sommer smiled.  “I can believe it.”

They were watching the entrance to the Admiral Benbow from a room above the Turk’s Head, on the other side ofChapel Street.  Jessica lifted her binoculars and peered through the gap in the net curtains.  She didn’t need to use them, but it was something to do to pass the time.  She examined the life-size model of the smuggler on the roof, and then the picture of the admiral himself on the sign suspended above the entrance.  “They’ve been in there nearly three hours.  Wha’ the heck can they be doin’?”  She turned as the door behind them opened.

“Any movement?” asked Detective Inspector Moon.

“Not yet.”  Sommer shook his head.

Moon handed Sommer and Jessica a beaker of tea each, and checked his watch.  “What the fuck can they be doing?”

“You sure this geezer’s the right man for the job, guv?” asked Sommer.

Moon frowned.  “Why?”

“He looked out of shape when we went to his gaff.”

Moon shrugged.  “Maybe.  But he took the Yank out, didn’t he.  Practically cut his head off.  And that was only three months ago.”

“Yeah, I s’pose.”  Sommer didn’t sound convinced.

“Besides, once he’s in, I couldn’t give a flying bat’s fuck if he lives or dies.  Just so long as he gives us what we want first.”

Sommer turned back to the window.  “Here we go!”  He began shooting with the camera.

Moon pulled a monocular from his jacket and raised it to his eye.  “Pay attention, Jess.  That’s Penhelleck, their leader.”

A short, stocky man with brown hair came out the pub.

“Ex-marine,” said Jessica.  “He’s done bird for armed robbery, ABH, and dealing; connected to organised crime inBristol.”

“Was,” corrected Moon.  “He’s set up on his own now.  He was the Lizard bomber.  Next up, our boy, Wilké.”

Another stocky man – with a long scar running down his left cheek – followed. 

“His legend is dual citizen, retired major in the South African Army.  Come back to the family home to make some money, but unemployed and lookin’ for trouble.  Tha’ right, sir?”

“Exactly.  Last one’s Tregowan.”

A tall, muscular man with short black hair walked out behind Wilké. 

“Also done time.  All violent offences except a theft of motor vehicle.  Suspected of killing the dealer in Perranuthnoe,” Jessica added.

"Right"

To be continued...