Assigned

At once Mrs Nelson barged in the door.

‘Steven how could you?’ yelled Mrs Nelson. ‘The Gautiers are not involved in terrorism. What a ludicrous idea … even suggesting it!’

‘It’s not as ludicrous as it might sound to you, my dear,’ Mr Nelson calmly answered her. ‘I myself find it hard to believe Michelle is involved or knows anything, but Sebastian … now he was acting very odd … not talking … suddenly having to rush of to this book group. Surely he could miss one week to catch up at a reunion with old friends?’

‘Steve, don’t be ridiculous!’ replied Mrs Nelson shrilly. ‘Don’t you remember how much Sebastian loved reading? Whenever we went for a coffee at theirs, he was always reading some book or other. Big thick things, too.’

‘Even so,’ said Mr Nelson. ‘The government need to know all my suspicions. I’m the only agent on this case at present, and there aren’t many willing to take my place, and only a few willing to help me. This is dangerous. They have to know, Sarah, they need to know everything.’

‘So,’ said Mrs Nelson stiffly. ‘Are you going to get Sebastian arrested?’

‘No, you are forgetting … this has nothing to do with the police.’

It was nearly eleven o’ clock now, and Chris realised how very tired he was. He staggered into the living room, and his father was sitting on the red sofa calmly watching television.

‘Where’s mum?’ yawned Chris.

‘In the kitchen,’ said Mr Nelson, looking up, ‘making a green tea.’

‘Oh dear. So she’s really stressed out about the whole phone call thing, huh?’ Green tea was something that deeply relaxed and calmed Mrs Nelson and she normally only drank it if she was highly worried or stressed.

Mr Nelson nodded. ‘And while we’re on the subject,’ he said, ‘could I have a word?’

‘Sure,’ said Chris, his brow furrowed. ‘What about?’

‘Could we, er, maybe talk somewhere a bit more private? I don’t want your mother hearing …’ requested Mr Nelson almost inaudibly. ‘Say … your room?’

‘Sure,’ reiterated Chris.

Father and son went upstairs. They had disappeared by the time Mrs Nelson came through to the living room with two steaming mugs of fragrant green tea.

Chris closed the door behind him.

‘Have a seat,’ he said to his dad, and he sat down on his bed.

Mr Nelson sat down, took out a tiny black notebook and an expensive-looking red pen, and faced Chris.

‘I – I just needed to ask you … did Joe Gautier do anything strange … or suspicious?’

But Christopher frowned.

‘You – you think Joe’s involved?’

Mr Nelson held his son’s gaze unapologetically for a moment.

‘I think it’s possible. He’s old enough now to do what he wants,’ he said, ‘and so I ask again … did he or did he not do anything strange or suspicious?’

‘Well,’ Chris said, thinking as hard as he could. After the long wait while he pondered and frowned, Chris thought his answer was a little of an anticlimax. ‘No, not really.’

Chris’s dad leant back in his chair.

‘Well, then … what did he say?’ he queried.

Chris shrugged. ‘He was just telling me what he was up to, just catching up really. Said he was doing well at school, had a part-time job, stuff like that. Asked me how some of his friends up in Leeds were, stuff like that.’

‘What’s his job?’ enquired Mr Nelson.

‘He works at Strachton Book Shop.’

It was only in the three-second silence that followed that he realised what he’d just said.

‘I see …’ said Mr Nelson.

‘No, no, dad wait, don’t you go getting any ideas,’ Chris said, raising his voice in a worried tone. ‘He’s doing it because he gets good pay. That’s all, dad. Good pay.’

‘Well, did you see Gautier Senior doing anything suspicious?’ asked Mr Nelson.

Christopher thought for a moment.

‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘But he did say something very odd to Joe. Joe seemed as confused as me!’

‘Really?’ said Mr Nelson. ‘And what did Sebastian say?’

‘He – he said something like “Your rabbit does love you. He eats, you know.” It was quite funny, really, the complete randomness of it,’ laughed Chris.

Mr Nelson sniggered slightly himself, and gave a confused frown mixed with amusement. All the same, he scribbled into his notebook.

‘Did Joe say anything back to him?’ he asked.

Here Chris had to think some more.

‘Yes …’ he said slowly. ‘Yeah, he gave him a really strange look – he was as confused and amused as I was – and said to him “You’re mad, possibly psychopathic.”’

‘Is that all?’ asked Mr Nelson, an edge of mild disappointment in his tone – though he continued to scribble, almost in an absent-minded way, into his notebook.

Chris shrugged again. ‘Well, yeah …’ he said. ‘That’s it, basically. Can I go back downstairs or have you got some more interrogating to do?’

Chris looked into his father’s eyes, and his father did not look away. Chris found it was like trying to outstare two bright green stars. It must’ve been a somewhat similar experience for Mr Nelson too; after all, their eyes were practically identical, as they were in looks. For a forty-eight year old man, Mr Nelson’s wavy brown hair was well-kept; though it was beginning to thin and slightly grey. His nose, like Christopher’s, was perfectly straight. He was six feet one, just like Christopher, and he had size eleven feet – just like Chris. Some said their resemblances were uncanny.

‘There is something I’d like you to do,’ he said to his son, not taking his emerald eyes away from Chris’s. ‘I’d like you to … get to know Joe a bit. Make friends again. It’ll train you up a bit – that is, if you still want to be an agent?’

‘Of course I do,’ said Christopher, and then he hesitated before saying reluctantly yet confidently ‘and I’ll do the job. Hopefully it’ll prove Joe is not involved … maybe even prove Sebastian’s innocence as well.’

‘Great!’ said Mr Nelson pleasantly. ‘And please – don’t tell anyone, not even Marie … or your mother, god forbid.’

‘Why not Marie?’ argued Chris. ‘I’m here, she’s in Leeds.’

Mr Nelson smiled. ‘A secret agent isn’t called a secret agent for nothing, y’ know.’

Chris sighed and gave a little grin.

‘Oh, and don’t forget …’ said Mr Nelson, and he pulled a revolver from his back pocket. ‘It’s loaded. You’ve just entered a dangerous game … you got to have protection.’

Chris felt an icy thrill.

‘Jesus Christ, dad,’ stammered Chris. ‘You want me to carry a – a gun?’

Steven Nelson looked calculatingly into his son’s eyes. Chris had never seen his father look like that before. Very slowly, and in a very pronounced manner, Mr Nelson said:

‘Chris, you cannot enter this field of work without protection. It is the way this business works.’

Chris inhaled steadily.

‘Right, OK dad,’ he muttered, taking the gun and putting it deep into his trouser pocket.

‘Keep that with you at all times Christopher,’ said Mr Nelson. Chris had never seen him so sharp and attentive. ‘Remember – only ever use it as a last resort,’ added Mr Nelson warningly.

Chris nodded, as he silently adapted to the weight of the gun in his pocket, and then he and his dad walked out of the bedroom, this time Mr Nelson closing the door behind them. The pair went back downstairs.

‘Where’ve you two been,’ snapped Mrs Nelson, sitting at the kitchen table opposite two red mugs. ‘Your tea’s getting cold.’

And indeed, no more did steam rise from the two mugs as it had done before Mr Nelson and Chris had gone upstairs.

‘It’ll do fine,’ said Mr Nelson, smiling. Chris grabbed the remote control from the table, trotted through to the living room, sat on the sofa and flicked through the television channels, not really thinking about the programmes on or the channel he had just switched to. He had a task to do now. He had to find out if Mr Gautier was involved in the terrorist meetings, and if Joe knew or was involved in what was happening. He had to, in other words, forget his past and befriend Joe like he had done when he was younger. He felt a sudden inclination to telephone Marie. He tensed up and made a sudden movement as if to get off the couch, but then he relaxed and slumped back into the cushions. It could wait until the morning …

A few more minutes of hypnotic channel flicking ensued. Then Christopher pushed the red stand-by button and the screen went blank.

There was the sound of a mug landing on a table, and Chris looked around to see his father get to his feet.

‘I’m going to take the car out for a spin to the garage,’ he said.

Mrs Nelson looked confused. ‘Why ever are you doing that? The car’s fine.’

Mr Nelson smiled at her sweetly. ‘I just want to check something. Be back soon.’

Chris frowned. What was his dad up to? – ah well, it could wait until morning.

‘Going to bed,’ he called from the sofa, and he allowed himself a long yawn. ‘Night,’ he called to his parents, one of whom – his father – was at the front door, pulling his coat on and swinging the door open.

‘Night,’ came the two distinctive return calls, and Chris was already half way up the stairs. He leapt up the remainder of the staircase and practically sprinted into his room. He was amazed at his own tiredness and desire to get into his own new bed. He closed the bedroom door and collapsed onto his mattress, without bothering to turn on the lamplight. He undressed quickly and fell asleep almost instantly. A final thought flew through his brain – Phone her – and then it was gone, and so was he.

---

He woke up to the sound of Oasis blaring from his parents’ room. They were Chris’s dad’s favourite band, and Chris liked them too. He lay in bed listening to the voice of one of the Gallagher’s (Chris had no idea which one) and thinking hard about the lyrics.

‘’Cause all of the stars, are fading away,’ sang one of the Gallagher’s,

‘Just try not to worry; you’ll see them some day,

Take what you need, and be on your way,

And stop crying your heart out,

Stop crying your heart out …’

These song lyrics made Chris think of Marie. So many of her friends had left her. It must kind of feel to her like her friends are fading away. Four years ago, Joe had gone. The next year, one of her best friends called Liz had left for Manchester, and another best friend called Jenny moved to Bathgate, a place near Edinburgh in Scotland. A few months before Chris had moved, another mate called Stephanie had immigrated to Holland.

Chris’s last glimpse of Marie had been of her crying, crying because he was leaving her. And she had told him to not forget her. Chris had known there and then that he would never forget her or what she said, and even though it was only a week since he’d seen her that night, he already missed her so much. She was his only, true, best friend. Murray was a great mate, and they’d go out a lot together and have a laugh, but the difference with Marie was that he knew he could tell her anything … and usually he did.

He got up and dressed with only one thought in his head, and it was the same thought floating around when he had gone to sleep the previous night: to phone Marie. He walked downstairs and found the telephone, dialled Marie’s number and waited impatiently …

‘Hello?’ said a voice. Chris suddenly felt pleasant and warm inside. It was Marie.

‘Hi, it’s Chris.’

‘Oh, hi Chris, what’s up?’

Chris smiled and plonked down on a nearby armchair.

‘Lots of stuff. You’ll never believe this in a million years,’ said Chris, ‘but Joe Gautier is my next door neighbour!’

‘I know!’ shrieked Marie down the phone. ‘That is so cool!’

Chris was about to say something, but then he faltered.

‘How do you know?’ he asked.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Joe phoned me last night. He sounded as amazed as you do now!’

‘Oh, okay,’ he laughed, ‘well it was a bit of a shock.’

‘It’s pretty cool, though, isn’t it?’ said Marie. ‘Now you can get to know him again.’

Chris made a strange kind of grunting noise. He had temporarily forgotten that his job assigned to him by his father was a secret, and had nearly let slip.

‘Yeah, I suppose,’ agreed Chris, thinking about his job. He was absolutely desperate to tell Marie … but he couldn’t. Chris Nelson didn’t break promises, especially ones he made to his father. ‘He seems pretty cool, I must say.’

Then Chris nearly told Marie about the Strachton book group and how his dad suspected Joe’s dad, but he refrained … he didn’t know whether he was allowed or not. He’d have to find out what he could and couldn’t tell Marie before telling her anything.

Christopher glanced down the hallway, and saw his dad talking to someone on his mobile phone. He’d be able to ask him as soon as he got off the phone with Marie if he could tell Marie what was really going on. Chris saw Mr Nelson glance up at him from the other end of the hallway, and it was a suspicious glance. Christopher looked away swiftly.

‘So,’ he heard Marie say. ‘You really should start hanging around with him and stuff. You really will like him …’

‘Yeah,’ said Chris distantly. ‘Yeah.’

It seemed Marie had noticed her friend’s change of tone.

‘What’s up?’ she queried.

‘What?’ answered Chris jerkily. ‘Nothing.’

‘Okay …’

‘Listen, I got to go,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to you again soon. Love you.’

‘Okay. Bye,’ said Marie. Chris tried very hard not to but he couldn’t mistake the puzzled and maybe slightly hurt note in Marie’s voice. But he did what boys do best: he ignored it.

‘See you,’ and Chris hung up.

Away in Leeds, Marie Slater dropped the telephone with a curious, confused look on her face.

Back at 121 Stratton Avenue, as soon as Chris had moved away from the telephone his dad had put his mobile in his pocket. Chris and Mr Nelson approached each other.

‘Chris,’ said Mr Nelson, as he reached him. ‘What did you tell her?’

Chris held his father’s gaze for a few seconds.

‘I told her I had moved in next door to the Gautiers, I told her Joe was cool and that I might start hanging around with him – after she suggested it, mind you, and I told her I loved her,’ said Chris, in a voice verging on heated, but still steady and calm. ‘Nothing important.’

Mr Nelson surveyed him for a drawn-out moment and then beamed at him. ‘Well done,’ he said appreciatively, ‘that must’ve taken some effort.’

Chris grinned back.

‘Now, Chris, this is important,’ he said, suddenly business-like, crouching down and putting his right hand on his son’s left shoulder, even though Mr Nelson and Chris were exactly the same height. ‘I have just been off the phone with Stallion, or John Black, though try hard never to call him that. Do you know who he is?’

‘No,’ replied Chris blankly.

‘Well,’ said Mr Nelson. ‘He’s my boss, he’s the one who briefs me on all my jobs, who gives me all the new information.’

Chris nodded in understanding. ‘Any new information?’

‘No, not right now’ answered Mr Nelson slowly. ‘But it is also my duty to tell him everything. I told him that I’m using you.’

‘Well, what did he say?’ enquired Chris.

‘He thinks it’s a great idea, and he allows me to use whomever I like to help out in jobs,’ he said, slowly again, ‘as long as they know what they’re doing.’

‘Ah,’ said Chris. ‘And I don’t?’

‘You’re not trained at all,’ said Mr Nelson, shaking his head. ‘That is why Stallion requests your presence. He wants you to have a full day’s training.’

‘Okay,’ said Chris. ‘When?’

Mr Nelson looked slightly surprised and put out by the question.

‘When do you think?’ asked Mr Nelson, sounding astonished. ‘Today! Now! When you’re in this business you don’t have any time to lose!’

Chris stared incredulously.

‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously,’ repeated Mr Nelson. ‘Now grab your coat. We’re off.’