The Loneliness of the Once-Distant Agent
Part 2
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The offices and labs of Spencer-Clark were in the midst of a row of three tall old buildings, the façade of which dated back to at least Edwardian times, if not Victorian, though Lucas was certain that the inside had been modernized beyond all recognition. After dropping Rory off, Lucas drove in the direction of Lydia's flat, and contacted Section D again. To his surprise, it was Harry who answered.
"Mercy's triangulated the location of Lydia's phone, it's at the address you gave us," Harry said. "And she's also found some pictures of Lydia on Facebook; I'm sending them to your phone. Apparently, there's also a boyfriend called Stephen. Mercy's trying to track him down, just in case. Or she will, as soon as she gets back from the loo. Again."
"Ros isn't there yet?" Lucas asked, and Harry sighed. "No, not yet. I’ve seconded some help from GCHQ, and they’re not here yet, either."
"I'll check the flat first," Lucas decided. "Lydia's a student, maybe she stayed up all night partying and is having a lie-in."
But although he rang the bell labelled Miller/Whitford five times, nobody answered. Glancing quickly around to make sure nobody was paying attention, Lucas picked the lock and let himself in. He had a look in the appropriate postbox, which held nothing more exciting than a menu for a local pizza delivery service, then went up three flights of stairs to the flat directly under the roof. Again, nobody answered when he rang the bell and knocked, and again, he let himself in.
The flat consisted of a kitchen, a toilet, and two bedrooms, but both beds were empty. Lucas didn't have to look twice to discover which room belonged to Lydia; the wall over the bed was plastered with photos of her and her boyfriend Stephen, some of which were identical to the ones Harry had sent him. Next to the bed, there was a space heater that had apparently been on all night, making the room suffocatingly hot. Lucas peeled off his coat and tossed it onto the bed, enjoying the warmth, but not wanting to work up a sweat before having to go back out into the cold. After sitting down at the desk, he switched on the computer, then began his search by glancing through the pile of papers that covered the rest of the desk's surface. Half-hidden by books, menus for takeaway food, a few postcards and even an official-looking envelope, there was a cell-phone in its charger. Lucas had just detached it when he heard footsteps on the stairs and the sound of the outside door opening.
There was no place to hide, and Lucas didn't even try, merely stood up and turned towards the bedroom door to see who it was. There was a loud sniff from the hallway, a gurgle of liquid and a loud sound of swallowing, and then Lydia herself appeared in the doorway of the room, wiping her eyes with one hand while hanging on to a nearly empty bottle of Bacardi Breezer with the other. She stopped when she saw Lucas, tilted her head in a confused fashion, then slurred, "Who are you?"
"My name is Simon Stannard, I'm a friend of your father's. He sent me to find you."
Lydia ignored the mention of her father and instead looked Lucas up and down as though she were shopping and he were a dress that she wasn't quite sure would suit her. Before he could say anything else, however, she asked, "Do you think I'm attractive?"
"I think you're drunk," Lucas answered, watching Lydia take another swig from the bottle. "Your father— "
"Of course I'm drunk!" Lydia broke in. "I've been drinking all night, because my so-called boyfriend broke up with me. Can you believe it, he's traded me in for a younger, prettier model! And I'm not even twenty yet!"
Sighing inwardly, Lucas tried again. "I'm sorry. But listen. Your father's been trying to contact you, you need to call him."
"The battery of my phone is dead," she said, then stopped, looking uncertain. "Did I recharge it? I can't remember. I didn't want to take it with me anyway, didn't want to be interrupted, not when I was with Stephen – but now he's broken up with me!"
She dropped the bottle onto the rug and lunged forward suddenly, pawing at Lucas' shirt. "Tell me I'm attractive, tell me you want to sleep with me!"
"I think you're drunk," Lucas said again. He gripped her wrists, but she'd already managed to wrestle his shirt out of his jeans and pull it halfway up his chest.
"What is that?" Lydia asked, staring at the skin she'd revealed. Lucas pushed her hands away and his shirt dropped down again, but she continued to stare. "That—that was a Russian prison tattoo, wasn't it? You can tell by the colour …"
She backed away, her expression both horrified and very afraid. "Just like Viggo Mortenson in that movie! You've been in a Russian prison – you – you're part of the Russian Mafia!"
"No –" Lucas strode forwards, grabbing her upper arm as she turned to run. He had to concentrate on stopping her escape, otherwise he would start thinking about how much her disgusted reaction to his tattoos had hurt.
"Help!" Lydia screeched, and Lucas clapped his other hand over her mouth, pushing her shoulder against the door so that her momentum slammed it shut. She struggled until Lucas tightened his grip, then stopped, staring up at him with big, frightened eyes.
"I'm not part of the Russian Mafia," Lucas told her. "I do have a tattoo, but it's nothing to be afraid of. I'm a friend of your father's, my name is Simon Stannard, and your father sent me to find you. A situation has come up and he's very worried because he hasn't been able to reach you. Now. I'm going to let go, and I'm going to hand you your phone. I want you to call your father. All right?"
Lydia nodded. Lucas let go of her mouth, then held both hands in front of him in a placatory gesture while he stepped backwards in the direction of the desk. When he turned to pick up the phone, however, he could see out of the corner of his eye that Lydia was ducking down to scoop up the bottle she'd dropped earlier. Straightening up, she swung it in his direction, but Lucas was already there, and blocked the blow with his left arm. The bottle shattered against his bandaged wrist and pain exploded through his arm while the last swallow of raspberry-flavoured alcohol flew up his sleeve and across the front of his shirt. Ignoring the pain, Lucas grabbed Lydia's arm and pushed her back into the door again, pinning her body there with his own, and holding her wrist so that she couldn't cut him with what was left of the bottle neck.
"Drop it!" he commanded, and he could feel her trembling against him as she opened her fingers and let the makeshift weapon fall. When it had hit the floor, Lucas turned his attention to the phone he still held in his right hand. He flicked it open with his thumb and turned it on, skimming through the menus.
"What—what are you doing?" Lydia asked, trying to shove him away. Lucas refused to be moved.
"Your messages," he told her, holding the phone close to her ear. "Listen!"
There were two or three short messages first, in which Rory told his daughter in increasingly impatient and worried tones to call him back, and then at last, the message that Lucas had witnessed in the car. As Lydia listened to her father describe Simon Stannard, her eyes flicked to his hair, to the bandage on his wrist, and finally to the floor in acute embarrassment. Lucas knew it was safe to let go of her then, so he stepped back, and extended the phone towards her.
"Call him," he ordered, but Lydia's expression changed instantly. Putting a hand to her mouth, she whirled around, fumbling for the door handle. Lucas followed her to the toilet, and as she bent over, retching, he pulled her long hair out of her face and held it gently at the back of her neck. When she'd finished, she twitched her head irritably, and he let go.
"Better?" he asked, watching her straighten up.
"I wish I were dead," Lydia moaned.
"Have you got any coffee?" She shook her head, and Lucas went on. "Painkillers?"
"In the kitchen," she whispered, then led the way in. After she'd swallowed two aspirin with water, she stood there for a long moment, breathing shallowly, and poised as though ready to race to the toilet again. Eventually, however, she relaxed somewhat, and Lucas handed her the phone. She dialled with shaking fingers.
"Dad," was all she said at first, but even from where he was standing, Lucas could hear Rory exclaim, "Lydia! Are you all right?"
Lydia winced at the volume, but said, "Yeah. It's just that Stephen broke up with me and –"
As she listened, the tears started up again, and she wiped them impatiently from her cheek with one hand. "No, I'm home now. In my flat. There's some bloke here who says he's a friend of yours?"
Lucas didn't hear what Rory replied, but it must have included something about the secret service, because Lydia looked over at him in sheer disbelief.
"Oh, right, Dad, and next you're going to tell me that you're some kind of secret agent, too," she scoffed. But the longer Rory spoke, the more the skepticism drained from her face, and when she finally got a word in edgewise, it was in a frightened whisper. "Dad, are you sure? I mean, what if he's not what you say he is? Did you know he's got a Russian prison tattoo—"
Lucas sighed inwardly. Some people thought tattoos were sexy, he knew, at least those tattoos that you got outside of the Russian prison system. But the only woman he'd known who had accepted his tattoos, even liked them, had been Sarah Caulfield – or so he'd thought. Later, after her death, he'd started to wonder if it was less about the tattoos and more about what he'd had to submit to while getting them which had turned her on.
Listening to her father tell her more, Lydia bit her lip, then finally answered, "Dad, of course I trust you! Okay. Yeah, I'll go with him. Yeah, okay, I'll tell him. Dad, I love you, too. Bye."
She clicked off the phone, and scrubbed new tears off her face with the sleeve of her shirt. "Dad says to tell you that he got the tracker in place. What tracker, what's going on? Is he a secret agent?"
"I can't tell you any more than you already know," Lucas said, "Pack some clean clothes, your toothbrush, and whatever else you might need for a few days."
"Where are you taking me?" Lydia asked, her voice small and scared.
"A safe house." Lucas said.
Entering the bedroom, Lydia walked straight into the broken glass and stopped as it crunched underfoot. "I should clean that up."
"Leave it," Lucas told her. "Just get your things and let's go."
Lydia bit her lip and looked away, then murmured, "I'm sorry for … all the trouble."
"It's all right," Lucas replied. Her horror at his tattoos and her rejection of him based only on their existance had stung, but he refused to show it. Opting to calm the waters instead, he pushed past her, then turned to send an apologetic smile in her direction. "And by the way, I do think you're attractive, but … I'm on duty."
Not waiting to see her response to his carefully acted regret, Lucas strode over to the electric fire, then leaned down to switch it off.
"I suppose you have women throwing themselves at you all the time," Lydia remarked, finally moving. She was obviously straining to give the words a casual tone as she went to the bed and pulled a backpack out from underneath it. "Being a secret agent and all."
As he reached over to power down her computer, Lucas spoke a lie, not because of his job, but solely because he wished it was true. "Oh, yes. All the time."
Lydia sighed a little, but didn't say anything after that, and when they left the flat, Lucas wondered if she had also retreated into a painless fantasy world.
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Part 3
The offices and labs of Spencer-Clark were in the midst of a row of three tall old buildings, the façade of which dated back to at least Edwardian times, if not Victorian, though Lucas was certain that the inside had been modernized beyond all recognition. After dropping Rory off, Lucas drove in the direction of Lydia's flat, and contacted Section D again. To his surprise, it was Harry who answered.
"Mercy's triangulated the location of Lydia's phone, it's at the address you gave us," Harry said. "And she's also found some pictures of Lydia on Facebook; I'm sending them to your phone. Apparently, there's also a boyfriend called Stephen. Mercy's trying to track him down, just in case. Or she will, as soon as she gets back from the loo. Again."
"Ros isn't there yet?" Lucas asked, and Harry sighed. "No, not yet. I’ve seconded some help from GCHQ, and they’re not here yet, either."
"I'll check the flat first," Lucas decided. "Lydia's a student, maybe she stayed up all night partying and is having a lie-in."
But although he rang the bell labelled Miller/Whitford five times, nobody answered. Glancing quickly around to make sure nobody was paying attention, Lucas picked the lock and let himself in. He had a look in the appropriate postbox, which held nothing more exciting than a menu for a local pizza delivery service, then went up three flights of stairs to the flat directly under the roof. Again, nobody answered when he rang the bell and knocked, and again, he let himself in.
The flat consisted of a kitchen, a toilet, and two bedrooms, but both beds were empty. Lucas didn't have to look twice to discover which room belonged to Lydia; the wall over the bed was plastered with photos of her and her boyfriend Stephen, some of which were identical to the ones Harry had sent him. Next to the bed, there was a space heater that had apparently been on all night, making the room suffocatingly hot. Lucas peeled off his coat and tossed it onto the bed, enjoying the warmth, but not wanting to work up a sweat before having to go back out into the cold. After sitting down at the desk, he switched on the computer, then began his search by glancing through the pile of papers that covered the rest of the desk's surface. Half-hidden by books, menus for takeaway food, a few postcards and even an official-looking envelope, there was a cell-phone in its charger. Lucas had just detached it when he heard footsteps on the stairs and the sound of the outside door opening.
There was no place to hide, and Lucas didn't even try, merely stood up and turned towards the bedroom door to see who it was. There was a loud sniff from the hallway, a gurgle of liquid and a loud sound of swallowing, and then Lydia herself appeared in the doorway of the room, wiping her eyes with one hand while hanging on to a nearly empty bottle of Bacardi Breezer with the other. She stopped when she saw Lucas, tilted her head in a confused fashion, then slurred, "Who are you?"
"My name is Simon Stannard, I'm a friend of your father's. He sent me to find you."
Lydia ignored the mention of her father and instead looked Lucas up and down as though she were shopping and he were a dress that she wasn't quite sure would suit her. Before he could say anything else, however, she asked, "Do you think I'm attractive?"
"I think you're drunk," Lucas answered, watching Lydia take another swig from the bottle. "Your father— "
"Of course I'm drunk!" Lydia broke in. "I've been drinking all night, because my so-called boyfriend broke up with me. Can you believe it, he's traded me in for a younger, prettier model! And I'm not even twenty yet!"
Sighing inwardly, Lucas tried again. "I'm sorry. But listen. Your father's been trying to contact you, you need to call him."
"The battery of my phone is dead," she said, then stopped, looking uncertain. "Did I recharge it? I can't remember. I didn't want to take it with me anyway, didn't want to be interrupted, not when I was with Stephen – but now he's broken up with me!"
She dropped the bottle onto the rug and lunged forward suddenly, pawing at Lucas' shirt. "Tell me I'm attractive, tell me you want to sleep with me!"
"I think you're drunk," Lucas said again. He gripped her wrists, but she'd already managed to wrestle his shirt out of his jeans and pull it halfway up his chest.
"What is that?" Lydia asked, staring at the skin she'd revealed. Lucas pushed her hands away and his shirt dropped down again, but she continued to stare. "That—that was a Russian prison tattoo, wasn't it? You can tell by the colour …"
She backed away, her expression both horrified and very afraid. "Just like Viggo Mortenson in that movie! You've been in a Russian prison – you – you're part of the Russian Mafia!"
"No –" Lucas strode forwards, grabbing her upper arm as she turned to run. He had to concentrate on stopping her escape, otherwise he would start thinking about how much her disgusted reaction to his tattoos had hurt.
"Help!" Lydia screeched, and Lucas clapped his other hand over her mouth, pushing her shoulder against the door so that her momentum slammed it shut. She struggled until Lucas tightened his grip, then stopped, staring up at him with big, frightened eyes.
"I'm not part of the Russian Mafia," Lucas told her. "I do have a tattoo, but it's nothing to be afraid of. I'm a friend of your father's, my name is Simon Stannard, and your father sent me to find you. A situation has come up and he's very worried because he hasn't been able to reach you. Now. I'm going to let go, and I'm going to hand you your phone. I want you to call your father. All right?"
Lydia nodded. Lucas let go of her mouth, then held both hands in front of him in a placatory gesture while he stepped backwards in the direction of the desk. When he turned to pick up the phone, however, he could see out of the corner of his eye that Lydia was ducking down to scoop up the bottle she'd dropped earlier. Straightening up, she swung it in his direction, but Lucas was already there, and blocked the blow with his left arm. The bottle shattered against his bandaged wrist and pain exploded through his arm while the last swallow of raspberry-flavoured alcohol flew up his sleeve and across the front of his shirt. Ignoring the pain, Lucas grabbed Lydia's arm and pushed her back into the door again, pinning her body there with his own, and holding her wrist so that she couldn't cut him with what was left of the bottle neck.
"Drop it!" he commanded, and he could feel her trembling against him as she opened her fingers and let the makeshift weapon fall. When it had hit the floor, Lucas turned his attention to the phone he still held in his right hand. He flicked it open with his thumb and turned it on, skimming through the menus.
"What—what are you doing?" Lydia asked, trying to shove him away. Lucas refused to be moved.
"Your messages," he told her, holding the phone close to her ear. "Listen!"
There were two or three short messages first, in which Rory told his daughter in increasingly impatient and worried tones to call him back, and then at last, the message that Lucas had witnessed in the car. As Lydia listened to her father describe Simon Stannard, her eyes flicked to his hair, to the bandage on his wrist, and finally to the floor in acute embarrassment. Lucas knew it was safe to let go of her then, so he stepped back, and extended the phone towards her.
"Call him," he ordered, but Lydia's expression changed instantly. Putting a hand to her mouth, she whirled around, fumbling for the door handle. Lucas followed her to the toilet, and as she bent over, retching, he pulled her long hair out of her face and held it gently at the back of her neck. When she'd finished, she twitched her head irritably, and he let go.
"Better?" he asked, watching her straighten up.
"I wish I were dead," Lydia moaned.
"Have you got any coffee?" She shook her head, and Lucas went on. "Painkillers?"
"In the kitchen," she whispered, then led the way in. After she'd swallowed two aspirin with water, she stood there for a long moment, breathing shallowly, and poised as though ready to race to the toilet again. Eventually, however, she relaxed somewhat, and Lucas handed her the phone. She dialled with shaking fingers.
"Dad," was all she said at first, but even from where he was standing, Lucas could hear Rory exclaim, "Lydia! Are you all right?"
Lydia winced at the volume, but said, "Yeah. It's just that Stephen broke up with me and –"
As she listened, the tears started up again, and she wiped them impatiently from her cheek with one hand. "No, I'm home now. In my flat. There's some bloke here who says he's a friend of yours?"
Lucas didn't hear what Rory replied, but it must have included something about the secret service, because Lydia looked over at him in sheer disbelief.
"Oh, right, Dad, and next you're going to tell me that you're some kind of secret agent, too," she scoffed. But the longer Rory spoke, the more the skepticism drained from her face, and when she finally got a word in edgewise, it was in a frightened whisper. "Dad, are you sure? I mean, what if he's not what you say he is? Did you know he's got a Russian prison tattoo—"
Lucas sighed inwardly. Some people thought tattoos were sexy, he knew, at least those tattoos that you got outside of the Russian prison system. But the only woman he'd known who had accepted his tattoos, even liked them, had been Sarah Caulfield – or so he'd thought. Later, after her death, he'd started to wonder if it was less about the tattoos and more about what he'd had to submit to while getting them which had turned her on.
Listening to her father tell her more, Lydia bit her lip, then finally answered, "Dad, of course I trust you! Okay. Yeah, I'll go with him. Yeah, okay, I'll tell him. Dad, I love you, too. Bye."
She clicked off the phone, and scrubbed new tears off her face with the sleeve of her shirt. "Dad says to tell you that he got the tracker in place. What tracker, what's going on? Is he a secret agent?"
"I can't tell you any more than you already know," Lucas said, "Pack some clean clothes, your toothbrush, and whatever else you might need for a few days."
"Where are you taking me?" Lydia asked, her voice small and scared.
"A safe house." Lucas said.
Entering the bedroom, Lydia walked straight into the broken glass and stopped as it crunched underfoot. "I should clean that up."
"Leave it," Lucas told her. "Just get your things and let's go."
Lydia bit her lip and looked away, then murmured, "I'm sorry for … all the trouble."
"It's all right," Lucas replied. Her horror at his tattoos and her rejection of him based only on their existance had stung, but he refused to show it. Opting to calm the waters instead, he pushed past her, then turned to send an apologetic smile in her direction. "And by the way, I do think you're attractive, but … I'm on duty."
Not waiting to see her response to his carefully acted regret, Lucas strode over to the electric fire, then leaned down to switch it off.
"I suppose you have women throwing themselves at you all the time," Lydia remarked, finally moving. She was obviously straining to give the words a casual tone as she went to the bed and pulled a backpack out from underneath it. "Being a secret agent and all."
As he reached over to power down her computer, Lucas spoke a lie, not because of his job, but solely because he wished it was true. "Oh, yes. All the time."
Lydia sighed a little, but didn't say anything after that, and when they left the flat, Lucas wondered if she had also retreated into a painless fantasy world.
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Part 3