Dover
7 a.m.
April 17th
Mary McKie waddled uncomfortably through her kitchen door, paused for breath and called up the stairs clutching her rounded bump.
“Come on David you’re going to miss your train!”
“Alright I’m coming.”
David McKie, tall, broad shouldered, sandy haired and dressed in a dark brown suit heavy footed down the stairs of his Dover semi. He checked his reflection briefly in the hall mirror, aware in his Spartan soul of the dangers of narcissism.
“Don’t want to be late first day.”
David bent and kissed her puffy cheek and rubbed at her denim covered pregnancy. She took one hand and held his face examining his eyes.
“No. You’ll be alright no?”
She had watched him stagnate at Dover customs, always wondering why with a degree in history he had applied to the civil service. True he had passed the Executive Officer’s exam and gone into the Scottish Office at the top, but he hadn’t liked the desk work. Then transferring to customs had brought the family to Dover and the adventurer in him had stopped him getting further up the promotion ‘ladder’. It was so like his father who’d spent twenty years in the army and got no further than sergeant. She was pleased that he’d got the London job and she was glad he’d be working from home most of the time. She was worried though mostly because of the lockable metal gun cabinet and the loft full of technical equipment the two men had come and fitted two months ago, but mostly she was worried because of David’s month long absence at Lympstone in Devon. She knew from Conor, David’s dad, that the marine commandos trained at Lympstone. She shared her worries with him and he had reassured her and she knew that he wasn’t a man to be held back from things he wanted to do. She also knew he wasn’t a man to take random risks.
“I’ll be fine and don’t forget I’ll be at home here a lot of the time. It’s only two weeks on the active rota three times a year, the rest I’ll be here.”
“That’ll be nice, especially now.” She hugged him as tightly as the pregnancy bump allowed.
Their three year old son Conor joined the scene.
“Me hug! Me Hug!”
He grabbed their legs and pulled at them. David bent down and picked him up and squeezed him. Conor struggled against the gaggle of kisses David planted on his son’s morning ruffled hair.
“A wee hug for my man Conor here!”
“I’m a boy.”
“You’ll be the man when I’m not here though. Look after mummy and bump.”
“Okay daddy.”
David put him down and for a moment there was silence.
“You’d better go, you’ll be late.”
“Righto.”
On his way to the door David picked up a medium sized black rucksack and a large black holdall. To his strong arms the rucksack was surprisingly light, especially when he thought that it contained his hand gun, ammunition, laptop, satellite phone, night binoculars, a digital SLR camera and a gun microphone. The holdall had changes of clothes and toiletries.
“David…”
“Aye…”
“I’m proud of you. Take care.”
“Bye love. See you in two weeks.”
“Call me tonight.”
Outside of the nineteen thirties semi-detached house on the outskirts of Dover, towards the Folkestone side of the Kent coast, David inhaled deeply and cleared the moisture from his eyes.
But for the contents of the rucksack, and the large black holdall, it might have been any man commuting to a job in London. As he closed the black iron garden gate David McKie thought momentarily of the thrill of being a spy.
“Morning David.” The neighbour’s voice cut into his thoughts.
McKie checked his stride for his retired neighbour’s undoubted banal conversation and turned, surreptitiously glancing at his watch.
“Morning Tom.”
“Off to Customs today? Guarding the borders?”
“Aye. That I am.”
“Listen David a word about that new satellite dish up on your roof
…”
David cut across him. “Not now Tom I’m late. I’ll talk to you later.”
With the view that people thought too much of the glamour of espionage David marched to the train station.