Chapter 8
He loaded up with semi wadcutters and admired the small range facility in the cellar. "Nice place you've got here."
JD ignored him. "Right, when you're ready, react to the targets and don't forget to reload. It's going to be an eighteen round practice, three targets appearing each time. You'll be given eight seconds between each exposure to reload. Are you ready?"
He checked the two speedloaders in his right-hand jacket pocket, adjusted himself then nodded. "Ready."
JD stood back. "Watch and shoot! Watch and shoot!" Sandy and Clive stood by the table near the entrance drinking tea. At the end of the practice, Gally and JD inspected the targets. "Not bad, young man. Let's go back and do it once more. Try to shave a bit of time off your reloads."
"It's not easy getting them out of my pocket, you know."
"Never said it was, son. Never said it was." JD had no time for 'lame' excuses.
When he'd finished, Gally, with a wave of the gun, asked, "Am I supposed to clean it down here?"
JD, already lining Sandy up for his practice, looked back and replied, "You've got your own cleaning kit so fuck off back to your office, there's a good lad."
A surreptitious smile played across Gally's lips. Yep, definitely ex-Army, the sort of bloke who, when you attempted to hand a weapon back to the armoury, could repeatedly find invisible bits down the barrel and send you back to clean it all over again. He nodded to Clive who simply raised his eyebrows and shrugged an apology. Gally left to the sounds of, "Watch and shoot! Watch and shoot!"
Back in the office, he sat at his desk stuffing the little wire brush down the barrel repeatedly. Their conversation about the World Cup had run dry so he thought he'd give it a go.
"What's the score with the Old Man? Simple pen pusher or what?"
Winston sat at his desk eating digestives dunked in a large mug. "Don't knock pen-pushing. It's an honourable profession."
Ralph blew out a cloud of smoke, got up and closed the door after a quick check of the corridor. "He used to be operational, part of a network behind the curtain that went tits up. He was lucky to get out, some didn't."
He looked at Winston, who confirmed, "Yeah, that's what we heard. Only happened a few years ago as well, apparently."
Gally dragged the measured piece of cloth through the weapon and held it up to the light as he peered into the barrel. Satisfied, he closed the chamber and put the gun and cleaning kit in his drawer, turning the key.
"Why's he called the Old Man? He doesn't look much older than me."
Ralph smiled. "It just became a habit that kind of stuck. When I first came here the previous director was an old man, wasn't he Winston? "
"Yeah, a right crusty miserable old sod," Winston chipped in.
Gally tapped the dachshund on the head with his pen. "That may be, but his mother probably loved him." The dog nodded sagely. "So things were so bad this chap's an improvement?"
Ralph sucked on his pipe. "He's ok, when you get to know him better, not that we know him that well, but you know what I mean."
Gally did. "Just out of interest, what am I supposed to do, stats-wise, if there's a rush on and you two need some help? I think that's what Sandy told me, we're expected to weigh in."
Winston fished bits of a wayward biscuit out of his mug with a teaspoon ensuring nothing was wasted. "You just find the files we need and we do the rest."
"What if you get overwhelmed?"
Ralph answered, "Seldom happens, does it, Winston? But if it does we just make it all up. Not many people read this stuff and those that do don't understand it anyway." Yet another plume of smoke joined the ceiling.
A tap at the door which then opened. It was Reg. "Gally, the Old Man wants to see us, now."
They stood as he read the interim report. Gallagher inspected the office. No personal pictures, just a portrait of the Queen over drab Government wallpaper, good quality carpet, meant to last for years, which it had, a closed connecting solid door to another room, probably the 'secret files' room, he thought.
The sudden voice brought him back. "What you are telling me is that only one of these Stasi agents is being productive, this Radler fellow, and you believe Box aren't getting any results because they're looking in the wrong direction?" Gallagher nodded compliantly.
"You also believe that his contact is one of the postmen. Radler's posting two as if they are one and the active letters are probably discernible to his postman by size, colour or simply the address. Have we identified the postman and initiated surveillance?"
Reg answered, "GPO Investigations have just been on. They think they've identified him, Sir, and I've already had our contact at Box introduce the information into their process and they've just confirmed they've pulled their observations on the Cotswolds stamp dealer and it'll be transferred to our postie."
The Old Man took off his glasses. "Well done, Reg, but are we satisfied we haven't got a Stasi team entering the country pretending to be West German football fans?"
It was Gally's turn. "We have considered that, Sir, and we can't rule it out for obvious reasons but I think this has always been about sleepers. I don't think they flew a team here before, much too cumbersome, so why do it now? No, I think it's all about deep-cover agents."
"And you believe there's another death on the way?"
"I do, Sir. Either they're getting ready to extract them or they're preparing to target someone else. Who though is another matter? Reg is working on that, aren't you, Reg?" He turned to give him a glance.
Reg nodded, "I am, Sir. Clive's going to give me a hand."
The Old Man looked up at Gally. "And what will you be doing? Something useful, I hope?"
Feeling he'd been rather clever, Gallagher shifted his feet as if moving something to and fro on the carpet. "Well, Sandy and I will be keeping an eye on our stamp dealer in the Cotswolds, Sir. Now the surveillance on him has been pulled it won't take him long to notice. I'm hoping he'll reveal his true self somewhere along the way."
He was rewarded with a smile and a brusque, "Then why are you still here, Gallagher?”