Lesley's Bruise

Lesley Buckley pulled up a sleeve and inspected a bruise. One of her colleagues had inflicted it. It was fading. That was good. She covered it up. She glanced at her watch, then locked a comptuer and left her office. Lesley was always careful to secure that machine as classified information sat stored on it. The screensaver showed her father in his army uniform.

She joined workmates. They walked a short distance to their canteen. She passed an electrician in a corridor painted white and they exchanged hellos. He wore the staff uniform, a navy blue T-shirt.

"Have they caught him yet?" the electrician asked.

"Sadly no. I'll see you later."

Then she and those others entered the canteen. Smells of roast beef and curry hung in the air. Long tables stretched across a tiled floor. Square lights glowed overhead. A middle aged man in a suit sat at one end of the room. He was flanked by two others. They were bodyguards. Lesley took a seat at the back, near the door. Hearing footfalls she looked round, expecting another agent. Instead a man in a blue T-shirt was reflected in the door. Lesley thought there was something unusual about him. She only glimpsed him and so couldn't put her finger on it.

Then her boss stood up and introduced the new minister, the central man in a suit. After that said minister stood up, delivered a short speech and sat down. He was bombarded with questions. Not one did he answer directly. Lesley raised her right hand. Blue varnish shone on her nails, like turquoise.

"Minister, a certain Chesney Gyle escaped from prison last week," she began. "Had he been in a top security jail he would never have got out. Should you not be providing more resources for our prisons?"

Glye had been arrested for spying. No room could be found for him in any top security jails. Delivery vans called at his prison, bringing food for the kitchen. He had escaped by strapping himself to the underside of one such van. Presumably an accomplice on the outside had helped. Gyle had not been recaptured.

The minister answered saying "we have increased the number of prison officers."

"By all accounts your predecessors cut the numbers," Lesley reminded him. "That means there are still fewer than we need. Do you know the prison population has increased since you got elected?"

"Can we move on to the next question?" the politician asked. There was a quiver in his voice. Lesley bit back an angry remark. Her fingers clutched at the arms of her chair until her knuckles went white.

Footsteps came from behind her, through the canteen doorway. She felt glad of a distraction. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the person who had passed by earlier. She didn't recognise him. He looked slim but strong, like a bipedal leopard. She slipped out of the room and followed him, like a tiger stalking a buffalo. The stranger went into Lesley's office. How strange. She hadn't asked for any plumbing or electrical work. Goosebumps rose on her arms. Her stomach felt as if she had swallowed a jumping frog. She followed him in there. Her steps were muffled by a beige carpet. She curled long fingers into fists. That man walked over to Lesley's desk. He had his back to her. He stood over her computer and tapped its black keyboard.

Lesley shouted "hey, you! What do you think you're doing?"

That stranger spun round and faced her. Lesley's breath stuck in her throat. Her eyes widened. She was facing Chesney Gyle. He had dyed his hair and grown a beard but it was him. Presumably he thought this was the last place anyone would look for him. She expected him to run. Instead he lunged forward and siezed her. She felt hard muscle through blue cotton. Anger heated his flesh. A strong arm pressed against the woman's throat, pinning Lesley to his front, constricting her windpipe. He was trying to take her hostage.

Lesley drove her right elbow into his solar plexus with all her strength. Her opponent cried out in pain and loosened his grip on her. She broke free. Lesley grabbed him, spun him around and banged his head on a cream coloured wall. This caused a picture to crash to the floor. Then she hurled herself out through the doorway and ran. She raised the alarm. The intruder attempted to flee. Pain slowed him down. He staggered while holding his midriff. Lesley's colleagues soon caught up and overpowered him. They pinned him against the wall of a corridor. Her legs wobbled. Teeth chattered. There hadn't been time to think while she was fighting. Now she collapsed into an office chair. A friend put an arm round Lesley's shoulders and that brought comfort. Others dealt with their enemy. Someone explained things to the new minister. He looked bewildered.

Lesley took a few minutes to get herself together. Then she spoke to the minister. "Earlier this year, an agent from a hostile country planned to kill me," she explained. "I managed to avoid him but I was unsettled. One of my colleagues taught me self defence, so I'd stand a chance if someone else went for me. I learned to handle guns in the army, but this was unarmed combat. I took a few bruises by accident, but it was worth it."

"Do you want to go home?" a workmate asked.

"No, I'd go back to an empty house." (She had recently been divorced). "I'm at least as well off here with friends."

A computer screen was dark, like an Aztec mirror. Its mouse looked more like a beetle than a rodent. As she recovered Lesley was haunted by the look on Gyle's face as they dragged him away. She had seen it before. It showed unquestioning devotion to his paymasters, whoever they might be. It was all well and good, but what if the regeme changed? Even in dictatorships leaders grew old and died, or were overthrown with violence. After that it wasn't guaranteed that your new leader would think like his or her predecessor. Whatever the system her opponent was devoted to, it could be more fragile than he knew.

A friend approached. What was she bringing? Oh, coffee. It was steaming. Aromas from it lifted Lesley's spirits. She said "thank you," then reached out and felt its warmth.

Later, they would learn that Glye had, during crow black night, forced a back window and closed it behind him. Then he had concealed himself in a store cupboard, emerging next day when people switched their computers on, when they were distracted by the ministet's visit.

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