Time: 7:52 am, Monday 5 March 1990
Context: [former] office of The Service, Bloomsbury, London WC1
Despite taking the opportunity to talk through her frustrations, the note she’d discovered had continued to nag at Margo’s weekend until she’d decided to begin her Monday even earlier than usual. Finding the office as deserted as hoped, she had gone looking for answers by querying the database in an attempt to assess the snippets of possible intelligence sourced in Clapham.
Locking off the monitor, she stood up from the row of bulky terminals lining the long wall and headed back to her own desk. There, tugging at her short brown ponytail, she stared balefully at her now-heavily creased copy:
Hadley FRIG9 . 33RDAST
AV Piper (monk)
How optimistic she’d felt when commencing her task an hour ago by launching searches for the two names. Using a recommended technique, she’d widened her primary data pool by including deliberate misspellings – Hadleigh, Hadlee and less likely variations containing a double d. While Piper suggested fewer alternatives, it had greater potential when combined with the initials AV and the possibility he was a monk. However there was no indication either person had previously come to security attention.
Next Margo had checked each field against all submissions in the system authored by Toby. Another blank.
After FRIG and RDAST had also failed to return hits, she’d drafted a memo to Registry requesting that the acronyms be added to their burrow files; in this way, every staff member dispatched to one of the dozens of private libraries and collections tucked behind London’s neoclassical and Georgian façades would be alert to their possible occurrence. It was a long shot so, once she’d completed the chit and walked it over to the wooden tray, she had revisited the electronic repository. This time she’d undertaken some vehicle enquiries, thinking on a hunch that FRIG9 and 33RDAST might be rare number plates. Again, no luck.
With the computer having cross-checked its way through all the permutations, towers of pale green paper now covered her table top and she was forced to admit that the most satisfaction so far had come from the popping sound while ripping ream upon ream from the jaws of the dot matrix printer.
Looking up, she realised the large office had become markedly busier. All of a sudden a fresh idea came to her. An air rifle might be denoted by .33 which might, in turn, imply ownership of a more powerful weapon. Despite knowing that there would be a long wait for a reply, Margo initiated a slew of firearms traces against all of her names. With Toby’s work rarely seeming to take him outside the capital, it seemed reasonable to restrict these requests to the Metropolitan Police. Unquestionably this search would throw up a significant number of unconfirmeds, however there was a chance one might match something within the concertina of results she’d already unearthed. The paper version of which she now turned towards and started shuffling through.
The gun possibility had been something of a pick-me-up, but once more she was running dry of inspiration when her peripheral vision took in Bobby at the doorframe. Clearly trying to avoid catching the eye of anyone else, he was gesticulating to her.
‘What’s up?’ Margo called out.
‘Cuppa’ he responded then immediately shot from view.
Frowning, she secured her drawer and followed. Locating him just inside the adjacent staff room, she moved alongside him as if also perusing the notice-board and enquired again what was happening.
Bobby gave a subtle head gesture. ‘Scoot over there and make me a brew.’
‘Yeh right. Why don’t you go ….’
‘Seriously’ he interjected before she could let fly at him. ‘You won’t regret it. And while you’re there get a load of what them lot are discussing.’
Intrigued now, she glanced across the room and clocked a small group sitting in an otherwise empty canteen. Their identity was partially screened by a galley kitchen, but a moment later she twigged it was Toby and a pair of his equally untrustworthy friends.
With her glare blocked by a row of laminate cupboards, Margo sauntered to the kettle and began preparing tea.
‘Was she a good shag then?’ asked one of Toby’s admirers.
‘Loved it rough’ he replied.
As Bobby came to join her, he chuckled at Margo making soft gagging noises as she pretended to stick two fingers down her throat.
‘Get this though’ Toby resumed from the dining area. ‘She’d already chuffed off before I’d woken and had a chance to issue her with her marching orders.’
‘Well there’s gratitude for you’ cried the second acolyte.
‘Tell me about it. I buy the drinks, invite her back to my chateau, give her a damned fine seeing to and that’s all the thanks I get.’
Now Margo was laughing quietly too as she straightened from peering into the refrigerator.
‘So what happened exactly?’
Toby pretended to cuff his enquirer. ‘Dunno you knob. Didn’t I just tell you I was fast asleep. All we know is that before she departed the despicable harlot only went and helped herself to my wallet. As a result of which I’m down fifty quid.’
‘Oh this gets better and better. Fifty pound?’
The narrator paused for effect.
‘Plus one umbrella.’
‘You’re missing a what?’ came the ecstatic squeal.
‘Indeed. Only discovered it when I went to pop to my wine bar yesterday on Lavender Hill. Bitch had flounced off clutching one of mother’s finest brollies. My very favourite as it happens.’
Toby’s listeners continued pecking at his palm.
‘So did you get this bird’s number?’
‘Hello, have you ever known me do the asking? Actually I was three sheets to the wind so didn’t even get a proper squiz at the ugly troll.’
Margo felt a sense of relief wash over her.
‘…. Mind you. I’ll be having a serious word when I see her next.’
She froze in the midst of pressing the pedal on the bin, though a still-grinning Bobby didn’t seem to have registered her wince.
‘So how will you recognise her?’ enquired one of the cronies.
‘Oh I’ll run her to ground, don’t you fret. Suffice to say she left something behind after slinking away with her ill gotten gains. Let’s just say it was something quite familiar to me.’
‘What was it? Spit it out.’
‘No, not until I’ve managed to get the little hussy exposed as the common thief she is.’
‘Oh come on. Tell us what you found.’
The pint she was holding remained poised.
‘Ask all you like. It’s not going to happen till I’m good and ready. But I am very much looking forward to catching up with her again.’ Toby changed his manner of delivery, as if introducing a heavyweight boxing bout. ‘When the hour is right, Super Spy will swoop down and reveal her identity’
Bobby edged closer to her.
‘It were me’ Margo whispered.
‘You what?’ he replied, too loudly.
‘Holy shit’ moaned Margo. Then rushed from the room.
From beneath a wavy, fair fringe Bobby gazed at the splash mark from the milk bottle just thrust into his pecs. After a moment he too departed, face wracked.
The teas continued stewing where they were.
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