131: Break-in

It happened on the morning of Kenneth Murchison’s funeral. Over the previous few months Charlie, ably assisted by Melisa, had been Ken’s principal carer. He’d asked her to be his executor, but had produced no Will. He simply handed her a smallish package to be opened only after his demise. She’d had me place it in the safe.

Now, on our way to the crematorium with myself at the wheel, she asked to stop by Ken’s flat to check on something or other. As I pulled up and parked, we found ourselves next to a police patrol car containing two male officers casually chatting. Charlie asserted; ‘Somethings up, I recognise one of them. An Inspector Dobson.’

As we locked the vehicle and made towards the apartment, Dobson lowered his window and said; ‘Ms Sparkwell, there’s a gentleman checking out old Murchison’s flat, one of the funnies, court order and all that, we’re just here to maintain the peace, shout if he’s any trouble.’

The front door was open, but didn’t appear to have been forced. ‘Halt! Who goes there?’ Said Charlie, as we tentatively entered.

‘Friend or foe?’ I added for good measure!

I recognised the figure, wearing hat and gloves, who emerged from the bedroom, it said; ‘You are Charlotte Sparkwell. And you, Mr Arlington, we’ve met before. Just routine, no cause for alarm.’

‘Who the hell are you and what do you want?’ She demanded.

‘Standard procedure, when a former employee dies. Can’t be sure they haven’t hung-on to something they shouldn’t have, as it were.’

‘His name is Wieck, Casper Wieck, retired former something or other, with the same, not so secret organisation, which once employed Daphne’s daddy.’ I added helpfully.

‘They asked me to step-in, fact is I’m the last to remember working with Kenneth, odd fellow. Not thought to be one hundred per cent, one of us. Still, all appears as it should be. I’ve tried to make it all look undisturbed, alas, not as decorous as I used to be. Well, I’ll be on my way. Good day to you both.’ At which point he doffed his hat to Charlie for a split second, before toddling off.

And after a pause I said; ‘Well, clearly, he hasn’t taken anything. One up to Ken then.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I assume anything worth retrieving is in our safe!’

‘But I thought that would be a Will, letters and things.’

‘Bit heavy for just that!’

It was a modest sending off. Charlie and myself, Melisa and Daphne plus a few from the book club. But just as we were waiting for the service to begin, I felt a hand on my right shoulder. Turning my head, I saw the other hand on Charlie’s left shoulder. A bowed head said; ‘The funeral pyre is traditional for the nomad.’ Then Wieck sat down behind us.

Funerals are for the living I thought to myself. I’m not much one for church attendance, births, deaths and marriages of course, otherwise I’m a bit of a Christmas and Easter Anglican. Just following the habits of parents, aunts and school really. As the service proceeded, I was distracted by thoughts of the last time I had been sat there. On that occasion the only persons present had been Kenneth and myself, apart from the lady vicarage of course. All three of us masked, there to bare witness to Aunt Elisabeth’s final journey, everyone else had to parade outside in the cold.

Afterwards we held a modest wake at our place. Wieck not invited. And after they’d all gone, I asked; ‘When do you want to open Ken’s parcel?’

‘Soon-ish.’ She replied. ‘Right now, I’m thinking about the garden, we’ll need some expertise to keep us on track, otherwise it will just go into decline again. We’re already behind.’

‘Is Mel still seeing young Timothy?’

‘Yes, but he’s full-time on his course. Probably already fed up with people asking him to do their gardens.’

‘Then offer him a deal.’

‘What kind of deal?’

‘Well, you get Melisa to make the approach of course. She tells him something like; “You’re meant to be getting experience in all sorts of environments, well I know someone who could get you into lots of different gardens, and behind the scenes at a garden centre. In fact, I know they need a bit of help with their own Victorian garden etc...” You know, that sort of crack.’

‘You’d have to pay him!’

‘Of course, but it would also give Mel an excuse to keep drifting around.’

‘Always the art of the deal, do you ever do anything without the expectation of a favour in return?’

‘Reciprocity is everything.’

‘Okay, open the safe.’ Said Charlie that evening. When I handed her Ken’s modest parcel, she added; ‘We’ll open it at the kitchen table, more appropriate. Can I borrow your best scissors, this is seriously taped-up.’

I watched as Charlie struggled with the tightly packed package, after a few minutes she said; ‘You do it!’ I stuck at one end and eventually managed to slide out the contents. Looking up, her expression seemed to say carry on. There were three items, wrapped around by a fourth, a paper document. It turned out to be a Will, drawn up by a local solicitor about ten years previous. It appointed them as executors and stated that Kenneth Murchison wished to leave all his worldly goods to Mrs Elisabeth Hayward.

‘What do we do?’

‘Give it to Bernard, let him see how far he can get on our behalf. Meanwhile maintain his flat as it is, send any bills to Lawrence.’

Next there was an old plastic pocket photo album. Glancing through, it appeared to be a sort of portable aide-memoir to Ken’s life, starting in childhood and ending with a few snaps taken by Charlie in the garden. About half way through there was a black and white of Ken and another man standing on a flat roof in some tropical location, behind them was an old radio transmitter tower and various antennae. Fascinatingly, Ken appeared to be dressed in a GPO telephone engineer’s uniform from the nineteen sixties. Charlie asked; ‘Where’s that? When was that?’

‘Who knows, there may be writing on the back of some, or all of them. He did say he’d once got as far as Singapore.’

Finally, there were two battered passports, Charlie casually open one; ‘Oh my God, take a dekko at this, he looks a bit like you!’

‘I beg your pardon? Oh, my lord, oh my ears and whiskers.’ I looked at the second. ‘Why the hell didn’t he talk this through?’

‘What?’

But by now I was intrigued. I quickly scanned both documents back to front; ‘Eh, we have, two seemingly genuine, Swiss passports issued in the mid-seventies, but with false names, at least I hope they are!’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because one features a photo of my father, the other of my mother.’

After a pause she asked; ‘Is that good or bad?’

‘Wait here.’ I ran upstairs and fished around in the bottom of my desk.

Upon my return I switched off the kitchen light and turned on my little device. She asked; ‘What’s that?’

‘Mini UV light.’ I started to scan the passports page by page.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘Invisible writing. Or rather numbers to be more precise.’

‘You think your parents might have been spies?’

‘Oh, no! I’m looking for bank account numbers, hidden assets!’

120: Spies r' us

Nothing much happened until we’d come off the M5, joined the M4 and were approaching our turn-off at the junction north of Bath. We were using number two car.

‘I think you have a tail, old boy.’

‘What?’

‘Been with us since Bristol.’

‘Well, I am cruising just inside the speed limit.’

‘Looks like a government car to me. I must say this extra mirror for the passenger side, is very good.’

‘Got it from an old driving instructor friend, years ago. However, time passes.’ I started fiddling with the dashboard computer controls. ‘There you go, rear view camera.’

‘Good lord!’

‘So, zooming-in on the number plate, now we just wait a second, there, on the side panel. Now that is one of the restricted codes, is that government? I know it isn’t the code for any of the police forces.’

‘Beyond me old man.’

‘Anyway, let us have a go at zooming-in for facial recognition. Well, blow me, we don’t need the database for that. I know him!’

‘You have some strange friends.’

‘Hark who’s talking! The last time we met, he was running security at Downing Street for one Buffy Trumpton. Acted as a bit of a mentor for Charlie when she was on the inside, during the global summit.’

‘But is he friend or enemy now, that’s what you have to ask yourself?’

‘Or, have he and his mate, just had the same invitation to attend a funeral as we’ve had?!’

As we entered the main village street at Chipping What Not, still being followed, there were vehicles parked all along the church side of the road. We were rapidly flagged down by Melisa, so darkly and formally dressed she reminded me of Charlie. She opened the door for Kenneth. ‘I’m under strict instructions to escort you around today, Ken. Tony, Dad says to drive on to the cottage, he’s reserved the second parking space for you.’

‘Will do.’

Barmy and I walked the couple of hundred yards to the church together; ‘I should tell you; Daphne is in agreement at last to go to your solicitors with her father’s Will, then we bring ours up to date, with trust or foundation arrangements for all our combined assets. Too much for Mel and Bel to handle right now, should disaster strike.’

‘And the cottage?’

‘We’ll hang on to it for now, make a nice holiday home.’

‘Like so many others, here about.’

‘Quite so, you may find Daphne on the war path about your mate Jack, she saw him in the news, no smoke without fire stuff, wondering why Melisa is negotiating with him for a car, Mel even said she quite fancied being a motor mechanic. You can imagine.’

‘Thanks for warning me.’

‘Are we the last?’ Barmy asked Daphne.

‘Last from the list, but there’s half the village in there too, they remember mummy, which is nice.’

‘Chin-up and best foot forward then Daph.’ I spoke.

‘We need to talk about Melisa, simply refuses to look at the universities. Unbelievable, a straight A student, talking about apprenticeships in classic cars, or social care courses for the shelter. And totally under the spell of you and Charlotte. Damn it Tony, we have to explain to the girls about the money within weeks.’

‘Well, she’s showing all the social graces today.’ I quipped, with no Charlie to restrain me.

‘Just, just get inside the two of you.’

As we walked down the nave, Ken seemed to be being acknowledged by many and was happily chatting away. I sat on one side of Daphne, Barmy on the other, whilst the girls twittered away to themselves. I said; ‘If you want to positively-vet Jack, just drop by the club. Henry Walpole successfully defended him about twenty-five years ago on a charge of handling stolen goods, he walked from the court without a stain on his character. It’s just our chief of police who never forgets and is forever thinking two plus two must equal five. And Fiona, our part-time Marketing manager, spends most of her time working for Jack as his front of house, receptionist and admin assistant, at his classic car workshop.’

The service got underway, it was all very right and proper. Significant others giving readings and what I took to be an ex-colleague, talking about a lifetime of public service. All devised by the old man himself, presumably. The tone didn’t change until the end, when the vicar invited us all to join in with the singing of Jerusalem. I was taken aback by the gusto of my fellow attendees as we belted it all out, so inevitably the service concluded with; ‘...In Englands green and pleasant Land.’

At the graveside I found myself in the second row, as it were, amongst a sea of strangers. Suddenly one of the men next to me said, in not quite hushed enough tones; ‘You are Anthony Arlington. My name is Casper Wieck.’

‘I’m sorry, have we met?’

‘You don’t recognise me, that’s good. You’re not one of us then?’

‘I don’t think so. Friend of the family.’

‘Still your face is familiar, never forget a name. Perhaps your file passed over my desk at some time. Retired now, can’t say I know what’s going on anymore. Still, you brought Murchison. How is the old rogue?’

‘He’s my gardener now.’

‘Good lord!’ Heads turned, he shut up.

As we moved on from the graveyard, I caught up with an only too familiar figure; ‘Nice seeing you again!’

‘How are you, sir? Sparkwell not driving you today?’

‘Well, it is only a two-seater and I’m here with another friend of the family. But then you’d know all about that.’

‘Word to the wise, sir. I think you’ll find people aren’t so much curious about you, but the car. Even more than your longstanding association with the secret state’s leading techno-head.’

‘Is that Barmy’s reputation these days?’

‘Very much so, sir.’

‘I suppose there’s no point asking what your job is now, or who you answer to?’

‘We get moved around, sir. Do give my regards to Ms Charlotte.’

Back at the cottage; ‘Thank God you’re here! I’ve no idea what’s going on.’ Said Melisa, sideling up.

‘Well neither have I!’

‘Yes, but you’re at least, normal.’

‘How’s Ken?’

‘Just got him a decent seat and a cup of tea. He looks knackered.’

‘I’m sure. Why don’t you give me a tour of the place, haven’t been here in thirty years.’

When we reached Daphne’s, Daddy’s study, Mel said; ‘The sanctum sanctorum.’

‘You might care to raid his library, don’t imagine your parents will be much interested. And of course, people traditionally love hiding vital and ancient paperwork between the pages of books. Anyway, your mother gave me an ear-wigging about you, seemed to blame Charlotte and myself.’

‘She’s mad. And something about Grandpa’s death has put her in a panic.’

‘Well spotted, look I might as well tell you, I’m not meant to know, but it’ll give you a chance to prepare yourself. Part of his Will jumps a generation, giving monies direct to you and Bel, when you each turn eighteen.’

‘Really? I had no idea. Is it like, a lot?’

‘By the standards you’re used to, yes; but in terms of the bigger picture, your father’s inheritance, peanuts.’

‘How do you know any of this Tony?’

‘I’ve known all the players a long time. Also, I’ve been keeping control of a family fortune out of the hands of others myself, for a very long time. So, to cut a long story short, work for Captain Bob, work for Jack, or both if you care to, just sign-up for a night school class in accounting, you need to know the value of money and it’s not what most people think it is.’

Arriving back in the front room, Kenneth declared; ‘We can go now Anthony. All’s done and dusted.’

On the road home Kenneth was quiet for a while. Then; ‘Well, that was enlightening, most instructive.’

‘It was?’

‘Oh, yes. All up to date now, fully briefed.’

‘You wouldn’t care to enlighten me would you, nothing much about today has made any sense.’

‘Oh, no. That would never do, need to know and all that.’

93: Panic

‘All done, Mr Cleverly.’ I spoke. ‘And I can quite appreciate the bank’s desire to move on, I’ll do what I can to expiate matters.’ Back in Archie’s office I was met by expectant smiles. ‘Well, we mustn’t delay the staff Charlie, onward and upward.’

Back in the street; ‘Well?’

‘Bit of luck that, being able to just breeze in, I quite thought such arrangements were a thing of the past, there was no indication as to how many boxes were still in use, so to speak.’

‘You know damn well what I meant. Are we now the possessors of a wad of escape cash, several false identities and an automatic pistol?’

‘You really are quite romantic when you want to be. No, none of that, just more notebooks and old documents, masses of them, they weigh a ton! So, to the Villa, for as long as it takes for me to do an initial assessment of the two bags.’

‘Archie was really quite nervous.’

‘He shouldn’t be, they have us and we have them. In the fullness of time a local media event, highlighting our discoveries, might solve their problem.’

‘But surely, they could just get the police and some sort of officer of the court and the crooks are busted.’

‘You’re still not getting this. Remember your heuristics. Separate in your mind; empathy, feeling what others feel, from “theory of mind”; the realisation that others think differently from you. The bank, are bricking themselves over what is in the boxes of the honest punters, okay?’

‘But?’

‘Just suppose the bank does decide to end the service and open the boxes, the owners of the contents are anonymous and most probably long dead. The crooked stuff? Ten per cent at most. The vast majority is the property, if they only knew it, of well to do and influential locals - jewels, historic artefacts, documents giving title to, investment certificates of one sort or another. Some of the best of the city was flattened in the war, killing their owners. Before you know it, multiple multi-million-pound lawsuits from people claiming to be the rightful owners of the same stuff!’

‘And you think you can gain kudos by helping them avoid all that by publicising something you don’t actually know anything about yet!’

‘Just thinking ahead.’

‘We need to tell Julia something! It’s getting late.’

‘Er, text; “MT frail but okay, hope to return by tomorrow evening”.’

Charlie was towering over me as I was trying to make sense of our cache of documents by arranging them on the floor of the media room. ‘Done. Now, what have we got?’ She asked.

‘In essence, Mr Tufnell’s name on title deeds for numerous properties, across the entire county it would seem, but what’s odd is these are piddling bits of land. Mainly brown field sites, occasionally built on. I can’t see rhyme nor reason to any of it.’

‘Someone must know.’

‘Sure. But which of his contemporaries would be in the know? And how to get them to talk?’

On our way back to the manor, we couldn’t resist dropping-in at the Park. There was raucous laughter and cheering emanating from the bar. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Buffy’s gone.’

‘Gone where?’

‘Sacked, thrown-out, they’ve deserted him. He’s gone too far. The right-thinking element have told him to walk.’ Said one of Buffy’s long-time critics.

‘I see.’

‘Glass of bubbly old man?’

‘I’ll just stick with the black coffee, if it’s all the same, need to keep a clear head.’

We retreated to the lounge, only to be confronted by Prudence, pacing the ground before the hearth.

‘It’s the end, certain defeat at the next election, money gone, Rory jobless, hopeless, the shame of it, Tony you’ve got to help, I’ll do anything, I’m begging you.’

‘You need to show patience, Prudence.’

‘What?’

‘You’re local, Rory’s local, that’s your appeal. You fight for the seat with all gusto, unapologetic about Buffy, if you lose, you merely stay where you are, campaign for the local party, fight the next election after that, return in triumph, the problem is the money. Rory’s unfit to do anything else, you have to find the cash doing something part-time that will raise enough. Focus on that.’

‘That’s all very well for you to say!’

‘I know, but that is the answer, the only answer.’

‘But how?’

‘Well, you’ve got two years to put your plan B in place, hang around here as much as possible, the money is here. With the individual members. Who likes you, who do you get on with, what do they need that you can supply, get my drift? Oh, and remember, membership here, is a fixed cost in your accounts.’

‘Er?’

I walked towards the garden for some fresh air, Charlie had drifted off somewhere as is her habit. I needed time to think. As I wandered towards the pond, I was surprised to find Don Wooley, newspaper man extraordinaire, seemingly on much the same mission. ‘Wouldn’t have thought you’d be operating from here at a time like this?’

‘I’ve been sneaking into the conference area and using the fibre, it’s still copper wire in the first-floor bedrooms. I don’t think that Fiona likes me!’

‘I see. Okay, well I can get the issue of more fibre throughout the occupied parts of the house further up the “to do list” because the relative cost is falling, Fiona is another matter entirely. Fiona always has to be in the room, so to speak. She is the public face of the Park, she’s the one in front of the camera. She may not have authority in decision making but she does have to be included. Charm her Don, after all she’s an old friend of Charlie’s, Charlie got her in here.’

‘Shit! Er, look I’ve got an idea about your conference centre, let’s go inside and have a look.’

It turned out the Don was concerned about the smaller of the two rooms leading off from the ballroom. ‘So, you don’t like the tables and chairs?’

‘Most of the time it’s being used as a media room now, no point in it looking like a college seminar room when by the simple act of replacing them with a sofa and a couple of chairs from upstairs, you have the grand country house decor along two sides, and your cameras and a perch for the technician come director on the other two sides. Now what does that set-up make you think of?’

‘The posh-ist Breakfast Time or Daytime tv studio ever?’

‘Exactly! Or to be more precise the summer residence, or perhaps winter residence, of The Don Wooley Podcast. Daily rent for at least three months of the year.’

‘I like it.’

‘Not that different from your home set-up really?’

‘Who, told you that?’

‘Oh! No secrets between me and Charlie these days, I know all about her, spread out on the chaise-lounge, whilst you fiddle with your gadgets.’

‘I beg your pardon!’

‘Fear not, she’s one of the special people. Anyway, what do you think Buffy will do now, now he has time on his hands, write his memoirs?’

‘Buffy doesn’t write.’

‘Really? Now that is interesting.’

‘Apart from reading agendas, and scribbling notes for speeches, he is a cultural desert!’

‘What are you two conspiring about?’ Came a voice from the doorway.

‘Charlie!’

‘There’s progress at the stables to be inspected, sir. Before we hit the road.’

‘Well, don’t let me detain you any longer.’

‘I’ll speak to the committee.’

‘What’s he doing?’

‘Distressing a brick!’ Our stone mason’s mate, had just chucked a brick into the portable cement mixer, whilst the man himself was attending to a piece of the decorated stonework which intermittently broke the monotony of the brick work. Only the garaging of the minibus could be said to be complete.

Speaking from atop the portable scaffolding, the boss said; ‘We’ve been taking a few days off from your Magdalen Place properties, while matey rescues bits of wrought iron guttering and down pipe from the back, to make the front entirely genuine again, so the back alas, will be entirely fake.’

‘Which it’s going to look anyway because of the sure-ing-up you’ve had to do?’

‘Well, that’s the way we see it, sir.’

‘No worries! Right then Sparkwell, we can’t hang around here watching other men work, we have places to be and things to do.’

Back at the manor about a week later, Julia sort me out in the grounds; ‘Tony, I’ve just taken a call from Victoria Herring.’

‘Oh, lord.’

‘I’m sorry, Mary’s gone. Passed away whilst still at the house apparently.’

90: Nest of spies

‘Well?’

‘Well, what?’ I replied.

‘What’s on?’

‘Nothing’s on.’

‘With you, something is always on.’

‘Today we simply wait to see what the day brings forth.’

‘Sod that, nothing comes of nothing. Time to get moving!’

‘No post?’ I asked.

‘No post. Online?’

‘Nothing stirs, at least nothing human!’

‘I’ve summoned Melisa, to be here by tea time.’ Announced Charlie as we were consuming our meagre lunchtime rations. ‘She can pick-up her copy of the placement report, check it over, before the other one goes in the post to her headmaster.’

‘At least she has a headmaster, that’s something. Or headmistress, I mean, rather than some other silly, ungendered title.’

‘Shut the door quickly. I think I’m being followed.’ Melisa scurried to the reception room window and peered down the street.

‘And whom do you fear is spying on you?’ I asked.

‘The family of course.’

‘Ah! Well, you’re a child, you should be used to that.’

‘Yes, but they’re all so evasive when you ask questions.’

‘Come on up to the media room, we’ll talk before tea.’

‘It would be highly unusual if anyone in your family was physically following you. Your father provided you with a top of the range mobile, he’s almost certainly set it up, so he knows your location, and if you’re here that’s no problem.’

‘What’s that?’ She asked looking at what I’d just put on the screen.

‘Your father’s mobile is on, and is in the garden shed at this very moment.’

‘Oh, my god!’

‘It’s okay, we’ve been playing this game for years. But he will know what I just did. It’s the way our network is set up. I mean there will be masses more you can do with your mobile in years to come if you care to learn how.’

‘I just keep getting an uneasy feeling everywhere I go.’

‘Well, in a sense, we’re all on tv now, cameras are everywhere. And if you’re sensitive to that, it’s not uncommon to feel you’re on stage all the time, unable to relax completely and just play as you please.’

‘But father and all his lot are expert in this stuff, then there is grandfather, mum’s dad. I don’t get straight answers from any of them.’

‘Well, just because someone knows a lot of secrets doesn’t make them a spy! It just means they have to abide by the Official Secrets Act, and keep their mouth shut.’

‘That’s kind of what they say.’

‘But anyway, we need to stop this anxiety of yours running away with you. You need to be confident about what’s fact, fantasy or simply stuff that is unknowable or uncertain.’

‘How?’

‘Wipe from your mind for a moment, any thought of spies or your German heritage. You are in grave danger of missing that which applies to absolutely anyone who looks into their family history, whoever they are, wherever they come from.’

‘What?’

‘You have four grandparents, eight great grandparents, sixteen great, great grandparents. Everyone’s family tree of descent grows massively as you go further back. Sooner or later, you come across people you dislike, or disapprove of. Some you may be able to empathise with a little, realise that had you been in their situation, you might have acted in a similar way. But all our ancestors experienced poverty and tyranny by today’s standards. Equally, if you could go back far enough, you’d find you are a direct descendant of someone, considered royal in their time.’

‘Okay.’

‘That’s your context, your starting point or baseline. So, with a little knowledge of German history, it should be obvious you’ll come across people who went along with unpleasant regimes as well as those who took a stand. Most people think and act in terms of day-to-day survival, even if you’re resisting a particular government, you’ll still have had to join a queue for the essential food or energy supplies your enemy controls, in that sense everyone ends up a kind of collaborator.’

‘But if Daddy’s family made money, ever since radios and electrics went into planes, they must have been in the arms industry, war profiteers!’

‘Sure. But you must ask what choices they had? Could they pick which side to be on? Come on, let us go in the garden, and have some of Charlie’s wonder tea.’

‘How are you, Mel?’ Asked Charlie.

‘A bit jumpy actually, you explain Tony.’

‘Melisa is a bit worried about her German family history, their involvement in the aeronautics industry, and the whole secrecy thing that comes with her father’s work.’

‘How old are you, Melisa?’ Asked Kenneth.

‘Sixteen.’

‘The only way to get over the old spying paranoia is to read about real spying throughout history. Anthony, you should lend her your ancient copy of Knightley’s, The Second Oldest Profession and Simon Singh’s, The Code Book.’

‘So, you’ve been spying around the media room then!’

‘Bad puns don’t become you.’

‘More to the point, how do you know about such things?’

‘National Service old boy, trained as a cypher clerk, down the coast from here as it happens.’

‘Is Barmy being asked to give consultation on this business in eastern Europe?’ Interceded Charlie.

‘More than likely.’

‘In that case he might be a bit anxious, Daphne would pick up on that, and so too the girls.’

‘That’s a point.’

‘Some people default to Moscow Rules when under pressure.’ Threw in Kenneth.

‘Oh, good lord!’ I exclaimed.

‘What are Moscow Rules?’ Melisa asked in all innocence.

I looked at Kenneth, he said; ‘You’re the great explainer Anthony.’

‘Well, the term has taken on a life of it’s own these days, some people even produce lists. What they don’t usually explain is that the expression comes from fiction, from the John le Carre spy novels.’

‘Or the late David Cornwell to give him his real name, one time MI6 officer.’

‘Thank you, Ken! In le Carre’s fiction, Moscow Rules should be followed by spies when in enemy territory, rules about being hyper vigilant. But it has a very specific context, the situation in the Cold War period when the Soviet Union existed. So, anyway, a western spy finds himself in say, Moscow, now the foundational rule, so to speak, is you must assume in all your day-to-day behaviour that your real identity and purpose is already known to the KGB and that you are always being followed. Therefore, every communication with your informer, or contact must appear innocent, unplanned. Now there is no list in the novels, just odd examples of procedure, I’m trying to remember examples?’

‘Oh, carry on old chap, you’re doing very well.’

‘Well, take being followed, we have this sense of the danger being behind us, but the real situation is likely to be very different. It’s almost certainly a team, men and women. All dressed differently, possibly with a couple of cars as back-up. The real danger is very likely in front of us... Makes one think of Nemesis.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Greek goddess of retribution.’ Offered Kenneth.

‘But that’s just where people go wrong. The goddess Nemesis, in her winged chariot, is inevitable retribution, something everyone faces eventually. She is way out in front of you, over many horizons, sets off at your birth, she is coming straight at you from the future... Anyway, that’s a bit of a diversion, what you really want to know about are dead letter boxes, crash meetings, and their relevance in a digital world.’