The Fire by Robert White

'celebrity agent'. He needed a bodyguard for one of his clients who had received some death threats via a social media site.
    So, determined to try out my new toy rather than take the train, I drove. The car was a beast.
    The guy's office was in the West End and I left the Aston with the front brake callipers glowing red by the Tube station, and rode the final few miles crushed against half the third world.
     
    His building was just off Broadwick Street. I hit the intercom and was instantly buzzed inside. The office was surprisingly frugal and I found myself standing in a room with just a desk and two chairs.
    Seconds later a door opened and a man walked in who was as much a celebrity agent as I was a choirboy.
    He was young, mid to late twenties, fair, over six feet tall, with a lithe physique that had 'triathlon' stamped on it. Impeccably dressed in an Armani navy suit, he finished it off with a crisp white buttoned-down collared shirt and Hugo Boss crimson tie. He carried a black leather briefcase that looked like it cost more than Lauren's ten day stay in Helsinki.
    He sat without hesitation and gestured for me to do the same. I elected to stand for a moment.
    "Please sit, Mr Fuller. I don't bite," he said.
    His accent had 'Eton old boy' running through it, but there was something else mixed in there that pricked my senses.
    "Who the fuck are you?" I said flatly, feeling my hackles rise.
    The suit smiled. His teeth had been whitened; the latest American import to the UK. They looked unnatural against his sun-bed tanned skin. His grey eyes were alive with mischief and showed no fear considering the company he was keeping.
    "Yes, I suppose I should introduce myself, Richard. Manners maketh the man and all."
    "That they do," I spat.
    "I'm Clarke, Joseph Clarke. I'm your new boy from the Ministry, so to speak."
    "I don't have a 'boy'," I said.
    Clarke ignored the rebuff and opened his briefcase as he spoke.
    "I realise I have you here on false pretences, Richard, but needs must and all that. We can't just go about our business in public, now can we? Poor Cartwright, your previous chap, has been reassigned; it would appear he no longer has the stomach for the work, so the powers that be have decided to assign your little team to me."
    I pulled the other chair away from the desk and leaned on it, close enough to invade his personal space.
    "We don't work for the Firm any more, 'old chap'; so you can close your case and I'll trot on."
    Clarke wagged a finger and tutted softly.
    "Mr Fuller, don't be so naive as to think that employment, or unemployment, is so clearly defined in our business. My colleagues have informed me of your excellent credentials and record so far; Ms. North did a sterling job over the water September last, and it is felt that it would be a shame to waste such valuable resources as yours, especially as this matter is of such grave concern to the country."
    The spook dropped a file onto the table. It was thinner than the O'Donnell file, but had the same wrapping and 'Top Secret' label.
    I did my best to ignore it.
    "You don't appear to be listening, sunshine. I'm retired and so are my team. If this job is of such importance to the country, get your own guys to sort it."
    Clarke placed his hand on the file, revealing a perfect manicure.
    "Richard; you and I both know that some tasks cannot be undertaken by our own people...this... is one of those tasks. We realise that you are in the middle of creating your own little business venture up north, and we commend your efforts. We can help you with that endeavour. On the other hand, should you persist with this line of conversation the powers that be, may consider you and your team a threat to our ...national security."
    I was having none of it.
    "You're forgetting the hard drives. Remember that messy little business in Gibraltar? If anything happens to us, they go public."
    Clarke closed his case and stood. He waved a dismissive hand. "Yesterday's news, old chap.