Started to put some edited stuff on Devil's Afters together - initial stuff on the Boy is not for the delicate of stomach

DUA sat thinking about the operation in West Africa.

Boy and Huron - the only survivors and in the US supposedly safe…? 

No one else had survived the final inferno according to his information, perhaps unsurprising as they were already ‘Lunch’, before they had even left the UK with several of them already hunted and hiding… but how reliable is information these days? 

Everyone, including the Minister of Defence, the EU Minister, an Insurance guru, Bankers, et al. 

All trying to kill them for their own reasons, but in everyone’s parlance – they had been ‘Lunch’.

Now DUA had to look after the ‘Afters’, and tip the waiters—to speak, but where did he tip them, and how long before the bodies stank was another question? 

DUA didn’t consider introspection… it either worked out or it didn’t, and if it didn’t work out—he sorted it out—often terminally.

Part of the problem involved Sir Nicholas Peres, who, like the famous song, oiled his way across the floor and into every ‘pore’ Politician’s already open pocket.

Peres in DUA’s eyes was responsible for the current incompetent Director General and his Assistant… DUA felt that Peres planned to take over as DG himself – just one more failure required… for want of a more impolite expression—DUA thought of a few—all unprintable – which never stopped him, anyway.

The PM – who's extremely well known distrust of the Security Service relied more on Peres’ information than anything… which to be honest in this very dishonest world – was very good, from both inside and outside of the country – raising the question of, where the hell was the information coming from?

The question was, did the PM care, as long as the funding for his party continued to come from the ever present Peres’ presents? 

Peres had feeds from the US, Europe, Russia, Middle East and the UK coming in, and that was a hell of coverage for one man – enough in DUA’s eyes, to crucify him and don’t spare the nails. 

Peres supported the Labourats as we knew them – a change from the previous Coal group, who were always scuttling around, and Peres had bought himself a place into the higher political and business echelons. 

…. There were still some confusing issues from the ‘Lunch’ days, but the depth and width of the fall-off of information, following Simon Askew’s death has surprised everyone.

After Simon’s death… Simon was turning whichever way possible, wherever he might, for those he owed… what wasn’t that obvious but the link between Simon and the distribution of information, and how it occurred was clear in its existence if not the method! 

Simon, as a turncoat spy, turned so much, you might have spit-roasted sausages on him.

DUA bounced this off Bishop, although trying to bounce things off Bishop if he wasn’t interested, meant wasting time, but he rang him anyway.

“Bishop – DUA!”

“Yes, DUA?”

“Who was Simon betraying everyone to, Bishop? Everyone but us, that is. Everyone seemed to get everything he knew. Matthews OK’d his death after he finally found out, although knowing Matthews, it was more likely to be his way of getting that little PA on his lap?”

“Matthews is panicking, DUA,” said Bishop. “Might be an idea to give him something to quieten him down?”

“What do you have in mind, Bishop?”

“Something, sharp and brief, DUA.”

“Let him panic, Bishop. Only thing I’d give him would be a bullet enema. Killing the Minister of Defence needs a good reason. It doesn’t make an ounce of difference what he is up to now, but who else was picking up Simon’s information?”

“Thomas seems involved somehow, DUA, but I can’t see how?”

“Thomas…? Bishop? Thomas wouldn’t put his nose above the parapet if he smelt ‘Gold’, and that is not the smell that is coming from the Security Service, right now.”

“Thomas reports to Romel, DUA, and any information is going to Peres from Romel, I think!”

“It is certainly not coming to us, Bishop. See what you can get from Thomas?”

“Thomas knows we are out, DUA… he will not tell me anything.”

“We are being forced out, Bishop… tolerated like the plague – in fact the plague gets a higher favourable rating, so it is hardly surprising that no-one wants to know us.”

“Thomas supports us, DUA, but we need to support him – he won’t risk anything for us or just for old friendships, these days.”

…. “Whatever he’ll risk for us, Bishop, he reports to Romel – Thomas has kept his head down – saying nothing for years… I can’t see him bursting into song for anyone – unless it is the Irish National Anthem.”

“What are you thinking of, DUA,” 

“There is another something or someone, that is somehow holding this all together… Peres might seem the sauce of the month, but this turkey was gobbling long before he arrived, I think.”

“Who is it, DUA?”

“I don’t bloody know, Bishop – one of us would otherwise have done something in the much better, past climes we enjoyed and solved it.”

“What do we do about, Peres?” 

“Peres is very dangerous… a lot less so, since Simon Askew left us but what I don’t understand is why are there no known links to Romel, or the Russians from Simon? They had everything, but how?”

“What the bloody hell do we do about Peres, DUA?”

“We leave Peres for now… Peres and the Russians both seemed to get all information Simon had, as did the CIA – who he worked for… unless it was the CIA leaking to the Russians and the Brits, who were then passing the information around in a controlled fashion… no idea. The proof was his death stopping most of the flow!”

“What do you want done about Matthews, DUA?”

“At the moment, nothing. The big worry is Matthews is his panicking… at some point we need to sort out Matthews and his underwear, but I want us clear on why we touch him… we will then take both out – Peres is dangerous with his knowledge on us, while Matthews and his fear about us, is paranoid, but we don’t want any input from either into our areas, at the moment – we are stuffed enough, as it is?”

“They both have my number, DUA.”

“Can you contact Thomas and get all the houses swept?”

“I’ll do that now.” 

Bishop always enjoyed a conversation with Tom Maguire, who often seemed one of the few with any idea of what was going on. This time the phone seemed to ring forever until Thomas Macguire finally answered and noticed the number ringing, “Macguire here, Bishop?”

“Just had DUA on, Tom. He wonders when we can have a security clear?”

“I don’t know, Bishop! Some ‘knob’ with links to the PM is demanding we check out his house on the Thames, like yesterday, and the guys are already out, checking the PM’s children’s places.”

“I can do a sweep myself on your phones as that bunch is basically a Government Agency - I’ll put that in as soon as I put the phone down… John might have finished work on the Embassy project. If he is free, I’ll slip him in and bill it on the Embassy project, so no-one knows… I’ll look forward to that crate of booze, Bishop!”

“Consider it done, Tom. DUA is getting a bit worried. Peres, prowling around and snooping, is getting up his nose.”

“That’s the Bunny, Bishop.”

“He’s causing the trouble, then Tom?”

“He had Gloria Nantucket sacked and Romel runs around licking his backside.”

“Sneak us in under the radar please, Tom… we don’t want anyone bothering themselves about us?” “Will do, Bishop. Two crates, was it?”

Algenald’s dreams and memories were becoming crisper and crisper every-time Cynthia came into his office… something he prised and prized in his dreams. 

He watched her approach his desk, and just sat there swallowing whatever he could find, although his tongue seemed to be a favourite at the moment. Her chest – he still dreamed of, as did her hips whip him in his sleep… he was sure she wore red underwear with a transparent patch for him, and was almost dribbling, as she came up to the desk. 

“How can I help you, Cynthia?” He stuttered – touching his lower chin as the sweat ran down his forehead.

“Have you considered marriage, Algenald?”

He went into ‘heart attack’ mode… his shower was already wearing out with the excessive use, it was getting and now his heart was matching time!

Boy remembered waking up as a piece of metal was being removed from the quivering flesh constituting his chest – yes, they didn’t possess a lot of time or room and assuredly not for some guy flown in from a dodgy project… nice nurses, but he would have swapped them for a drink in the same hourglass shape.

He dreamt that he wasn’t fully asleep and slept as they realised he was awake. 

An errant piece of shrapnel to remove… a couple of weeks to lie up – concussion from the blast hitting both him and Huron - the rest of the damage…  Mr Hoo… last mad charge—who would understand the difference or did Mr Hoo ever find dreams of sanity, before death and did he plan for me and Huron to be killed in case we stopped him from his last ‘horanza’.

The CIA asked him what he wanted to do next, and he said, “Go to London.”

He landed at Heathrow as a fool, showing his British Passport, and was immediately and forcefully frogmarched into a room, put into a deep sleep – yet again, and someone rang Algenald Matthews to say, ‘we have your traitor’. 

Algenald’s reply was succinct and to the point. 

Put him under the floor in Kensington… he’s never arrived and he won’t leave it alive, either. 

Boy woke up in a Ministry of Defence cell, underneath the Basketball Floor in a hanger in Kensington. 

Everyone in the dark needs a wish, so they carried me into the Brain – so called, as it concentrates the mind wonderfully. 

No light, a nothing; my face blue, balls black and shoulders fixed. 

They wouldn’t come straight back for me – part of the torture was to make you wait for it. So I lay on the floor where they threw me, illuminated by the flashes in his mind. 

I looked at the door… I would not let them crack me like that – pain I can take – let’s see what they can take. Was my next thought?

…. I sang quietly, knowing nothing more was lost—louder and louder—until an opening hatch passed light and words as if I was human – they weren’t beating up a punch-bag anymore but a person, and I was focusing on surviving rather than giving up.

A voice from a distance said, “We’ve got a hard one here Corporal… break him in the man said - let’s do it!” 

The door swung open with light flooding from outside, illuminating my body on the floor. I hadn’t eaten, so the first blow was a pain in the neck – nothing in the guts or backside to come out.

One boot on each hand as they worked me over again, until the bruises had bruises and my head was illuminated by nervous pulses.

I lay there for hours until I dragged myself over to the door and beat my heels against it. Irish had lived through this treatment in Northern Ireland and he taught me and I would survive by provoking them.

The door opened again, the light appeared from outside and another voice shouting, “Lad wants a lesson again, Sergeant.” 

“Well, let’s give it to him,” said a more distant voice, “let’s sort this bastard out, once and for all.” 

Boy saw spots and nothing until he awoke on the floor and a kindly voice said “why are you making this happen?” and she helped me until I could half crouch; then smashed me into the wall and kicked me as I fell down. 

“I am Gris,” she said, and kicked me again. 

“Why do you want to pretend,” her voice said, “we know you betrayed your country? All you have to do is sign the truth, and none of this need happen.” 

I vaguely heard the words as she disappeared and the dark closed in again on me and I lay there, illuminated by the flashes in my brain as a song I once knew echoed, and I still had lips to sing it.

The hatch was slung open. “Keep it down sunny or you won’t need any love”

“What did they make of you before they fucked your arse, Sergeant?”

“I’ll fucking teach you, son!”

“You won’t teach your own son as you couldn’t father one.”

The door swung open – light flooding into the room. 

When they had finished, and Boy came too again, he used his head on the floor to get to his knees. 

He knelt with the pain washing over him, but he saw it in his head and he knew he had won!

Boy crawled across to the door, leaned on his back and started kicking the wall with his heels while he sang.

The door opened again, “Now keep it down sonny or we’ll make sure you never roam, again.”

“I still think the lad needs a lesson again, Sergeant.”

“Good. Let’s sort this bastard out, once and for all.” 

“Put these cuffs on him and hang him from the hook and doesn’t he spin nicely?”

“You don’t want children do you sonny? They spun me around again.” 

Black spots made an appearance again and nothing. 

They came back and back. 

I woke on the floor again, and a woman walking towards me, carrying a knitting needle.