10-20 years ago I wrote 7 books in ignorance. Devil's Teatime is unedited and needs editing - bits of it.
People often wonder who really writes the Devil’s books … the answer is I do – Sir Arthus Dirstly’s daughter – Doris.
My blood father was DUA, and my blood mother was Hazil, and that was the end of that… 2 people who apparently never gave a shit about anything or anyone, but themselves.
My real father and mother adopted me after I was abandoned by Hazil, and they were my Parents, not two people on a one night stand who then abandoned some of the babies.
DUA might genuinely argue that he never knew about us, but in fact he didn’t care, anyway.
DUA’s life and relationship with the world seemed almost at times seemed to be two things living in, and on, different worlds… DUA concentrated on what he felt was important and ignored everything else, apart from killing.
DUA and my father finally found a good working relationship as time developed and DUA would often update my father while I was there, but then I noticed more and more, that DUA would ostentatiously come to see my father when he wasn’t there, and he then would sit and talk to me, almost as if he wanted to get things off his chest.
In the early days there was no time for my natural father but as we talked I started to realise why he did the things he did I thought again.
He never excused himself – he just talked and he lied, covered up and confused everything he could… I felt that was just a habit but this is the truth I think I managed to extract from him.
In recounting his words, please bear in mind that I could never trust anything that DUA said and you should never rely on anything ever being near the truth, it is probably just the lesser of the lies he told me.
I have kept things in the third party, even when talking about myself … what DUA said was complex enough without my destroying it to be grammatically correct, and in recounting the discussions I have tried to keep them as DUA described them … all errors according to DUA, are mine!
You could say that DUA’s Team cut its teeth in the Far East, and then filed them on the Irish troubles, considering it to be just the icing on the cake … those rules they didn’t bend – they broke; they killed people to order, whether guilty, proven guilty or innocent – they just killed them, and that is those they remembered or had instructions about!
A law unto itself: a team of killers – judges, jury and executioners, one and all who were under their own control in reality, although the MOD tried to control them in the main, with an often, dishonest Defence Minister involved in high level arms deals for conflicts he helped to generate, until Parliament made some half-heated deal for MPs to disclose their dealings and the Ministers were hardly likely to disclose dishonest behaviour – it would never have stopped.
DUA also complimented this historic performance by not creating a Secret Prison in Kensington for the MOD that wasn’t shared with MI5 … it was certainly used by them, and the other shadowy organisations who don’t and never did exist, but it was frequented by Gris and other approved people for social work experience.
The prison of course does not now exist, nor according to Politicians ever existed, nor did people die there but it was praised within certain Political circles for it’s work in Governing the country with a large ‘G’ and had Politicians been aware of it’s existence, it would probably have ranked less than their expenses claims did in their ideas of importance, but since it didn’t exist, there was nothing for anyone to deny.
DUA’s Team did however, hit a mid-life crisis after a series of authorised, or justifiable executions according to their creed … but killing the late Minister of Defence who controlled the team and the PM’s personal Party Funder— …?
It just wasn’t the thing to advance your Membership admissions and subscriptions for the Clubs.
Killing their Boss was eventually the type of activity that brought the team into the Security Service; pensioned then off and quietly lay them down under the ?rose’ - never expected to grow again but out of the thorns arose a pardon for previous activities, which by then including killing the Minister of Defence, two of his Personal Assistants, a top Insurance Guru and an Israeli Agent who was a close confident of the Prime Minister and a major backer of his Coalition Political Party.
When it became obvious that a series of Moles had been infiltrating the Security Service for a number of years, the Team were dug up from under the rose, yet again with the CIA heavily involved – including paying for several of them as double agents. DUA’s Team had became the Security equivalent of an Aunt who feels that wearing her knickers on her head in Church is acceptable once again, and to be encouraged.
This did provoke violent political reactions, however once again the records show that this team has never existed nor will it ever exist, and it is not run by a man called DUA.
Once the Politicians had decided this, any perceived threat disappeared or at least went back below ground level until the sound of the shovel summons it again.
Chapter II – A Bit Breezy
Gris and Boy were enjoying that late Sunday you sometimes want, when everything is quiet and you feel you have the time for that ?lazy hazy day’ with a bit of naughtiness; considering each other with a carnal degree of pleasure and forward thinking, and perhaps a very late lunch cum tea planned after you have earned it.
This was interrupted, when the door was kicked both physically and metaphorically, open, and in as usual, without knocking walked DUA, “you two can get divorced now you’ve done what I wanted!”
“I like being married to Ralf!” Shouted Gris, “you don’t just barge into a room and tell us to divorce!”
“You do what I tell you, Gris!”
“No!”
“Divorce her Boy … you owe me your life!”
“DUA? What are you playing out? The days you killed and got away with it, are gone … you don’t rule like that – we’ve killed more than 12 people in the last two years, and you don’t have a licence to kill anyone, anymore.”
“Everyone made money out of me, Boy and I want my share … we’re sat around here doing nothing, living off you and Gris – I want some money out of this for myself, so I get some kind of life.”
Looking at DUA with her face and her temper ready to blow at the same time, Gris shouted, “Why do we have to divorce for that, DUA?”
“You two married because I wanted it, now you divorce for the same reasons!”
“We married because you could bully Gris, and threaten to let that bunch kill me, if I didn’t marry her. We took the risks with this house so you could rejoin Security – why now DUA?” And I asked a lot quieter than Gris – I needed an answer, not an argument, but DUA really seemed to have lost it, big time— God knows what he was thinking, this time?
“Since you asked I want you to take a job in a Stockholm Bank – meet a woman, and while she and you are playing, play about with her systems and transfer money out, so we can have our bite of the cherry, instead of being the poor bloody relatives at the end of the table.”
“They will throw you out of Security, if not into jail for that, DUA, and don’t think you are not being overheard by Huron – he has this whole house monitored.”
“Huron can kiss my arse. He is finished here, and on his way out.”
“You better ask him for the favour, then, DUA he is stood just behind you, and while you are talking to him, close the door – Gris and I want some privacy, if you can understand the concept.”
The door slammed … Gris and I looked into each other’s eyes – we didn’t need to think these days – each knew what the other wanted, but what I said as a joke when DUA first pushed me to marry my former torturer, was that she knew my body better than I did – it didn’t ease the pain as she vaulted on top of me, crushing me essentially flat, but it helped me to understand it.
I suppose once a torturer always a torturer, but by some miracle it rose again and she seated herself for the first furlong without realising the horse was already crushed in the starting gates. I managed to raise myself at the final ribbon, signalling the end of the race, but I wished at times she would control herself – leaving the whip and boots behind.
Gris had hardly arrived at the weighing room, before the door burst open again, and this time DUA and Huron followed it!
They would be selling tickets next for this, but at least Gris was only showing what she would on a beach, as she sat on top of me, “Can you two get out, and stay out?” I shouted.
“We’ll see you downstairs, Boy, once you’re finished,” added Huron.
“Not without me!” Shouted Gris.
Sometime later, we finally made it downstairs to the bar room and met up again with DUA and Huron – this time, however we were dressed.
Huron open the conversation with, “I have pointed out to DUA that you are all CIA Double Agents, not free Agents, and we need you based here as we use this house as well.”
“A pity you don’t pay for it,” said Gris, “it was a temporary matter when we were chasing Moles, but I want a normal house back unless you pay not a boarding house for anyone passing, which is what it is at the moment.”
“You pay some money, Huron, but that is to us, not for the house,” added Boy.
“We pay Gris, you, DUA and Bishop some $12,000 in total.”
“A lot less than that, Huron after the UK and US have had their tax cut, plus the Accountant’s fees to stop the double taxation … a double agent’s price is riddled with taxation these days, and we are lucky to see half of that. Prilloch chips in, but Prilloch considers the grounds and gardens his possession, and only just tolerates others using them.”
“We pay you both, and you are doing nothing for the money, so don’t push it! DUA can’t just up sticks and take off on his own again, either and he knows that. You are just getting bored, DUA.”
“DUA is certainly correct that we are just sitting around doing nothing, Huron.”
“Since the Moles have gone, there isn’t really anything for you to do … DUA should have taken that management role, but the Finland and Russia project have the go ahead – Marcel is back and we are ready to move. So let’s get that moving on that as you are complaining. What is the status with ‘Easter Eggy’ from your people, DUA?”
“Sir Phillip Norris and Julia Perkins … our temporary new broom cleaners have, following complaints from MI6, the EU and Africa Minister, and ‘all and sundry’, discussed this project with the PM who has decided that we have no mandate outside of the UK, and has passed the project to MI6.
“We’re off the project completely, Huron – out to pasture with the all the other poor lambs, although going ‘baa’ is not officially required … that is reserved for Politicians. The PM is still incensed, with constant encouragement from the Israelis, that I murdered their Agent – his Chief Fund raiser and prevented him from taking over the Security Service. They feel this was very severe action from friends, and that it was just a friendly game to test us – basically their excuse.”
“What did they expect to happen, then?”
“They didn’t expect their Agent to be killed – just pat him on the wrist, raise him to Baronet and give him control of our Security Service; while they imprisoned ours without trial until he finally cracks, and hangs himself in solitary confinement. We are now pulled off everything, and I just had the call from Norris this morning telling me to stay away from any overseas operations and to close down Coombe Lane as he is not paying for it – I pointed out that he wasn’t paying for it, anyway, so why was he telling Security Staff to sell their homes?”
“His answer, DUA?”
“He hung up!”
“Well you have a choice, DUA but it is your plan isn’t it?”
“There is no plan, Huron … MI6 is as infiltrated as we were, and anything involving them will fail. We have virtually all the MI5 Moles caught, only King Rat left who would have escaped but for Val’s team of surveillance operatives who saw him and didn’t think anything of it until it was too late to get him – the Service did not want another mole to appear, but he is not worth pursuing now and we can’t pursue him anyway, as we are once again, out in the cold.”