| General Fiction posted May 20, 2019 | Chapters: |
...59 60 -61- 62... 
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Chapter 61: Electronic surveillance
A chapter in the book The French Letter
Well, I'll be bugged!
by tfawcus
| Background Charles, who is now working for MI6, has been asked to renew his liaison with Helen, so they can be sent back together to her home in the Hindu Kush, to neutralise an international terrorist group. |
Final paragraphs of Chapter 60
"I don't think you understand." Her tone was expressionless. "Helen fantasises in that journal about her relationship with me. In Pakistan, homosexuality is still a capital offence. It is for her protection that you must hand her journal over for destruction."
I had scarcely absorbed the implications of what she was saying before she deflated me entirely with her next comment. "It would make her position more secure, Mr. Brandon, if you could mend your relationship and marry her before we send you into the Hindu Kush."
Chapter 61
I snorted at the suggestion I might marry Helen for the convenience of the operation - whatever that operation might be. Marrying Helen because I loved her was an option, but for operational reasons? Absurd! What was this woman thinking?
"You must be joking! Anyway, who are the mysterious 'we' who intend to send Helen and me off to the Hindu Kush, and since when have you been the mouthpiece for MI6?"
"I never joke, Mr. Brandon. If Helen were to live in sin with you in Pakistan, and the police discovered that you were not married, the consequences would be severe. Discovery of her homosexual tendencies would be tantamount to a death sentence, particularly in the more remote areas of the country." I knew enough about Pakistan to realise how true that was.
"As for me being able to speak for MI6 - of course, you are right - but Group Captain Bamforth and I work together closely. Our intentions are aligned."
"Then perhaps you'll let me in on the nature of this operation you both keep talking about."
"Doubtless, MI6 will brief you in due course. That, as you have pointed out, is not a part of my job."
I could see that I wasn't going to get very far with this woman. However, I persisted. There was something about her that made me rise to the challenge. Perhaps it was her arrogant self-assurance.
"Tell me, Jeanne," I emphasised the first name, "why did you breeze in here and jab a loaded gun into my back? How did you get in, anyway? Has Helen given you a key?"
"So many questions. Helen suggested it as a joke. She is upset with you. I did it to humour her - and to help defuse the situation between you. Getting in was straightforward because the door was not locked."
"I thought you never joked. And a loaded gun? That is rather heavy-handed humour, wouldn't you say?"
She met my gaze with eyes of steel. "My gun is always loaded, Mr Brandon." Pausing for effect, she continued, "I have a second reason."
"Oh, yes - what might that be?"
"I want you to discredit me in Helen's opinion. By all means, tell her the gun was loaded. That will unnerve her. Spin her a yarn. Make yourself out to be a hero. Discover the electronic surveillance devices. She will admire you for discovering them and be shocked to find she has been spied on."
"She'll know the gun was loaded all right when she sees the mess you've made of her shower. But what's the point of this charade?"
"She needs to be weaned from dependence on me. I am sure you have already discovered, despite all outward appearances, Helen has a dependant personality. It's important she learns, not just to trust you, but to rely on you."
I hadn't a clue what the woman was driving at but, regardless of the hidden agenda, I liked the idea of driving a wedge between her and Helen. I glanced around the room. "In that case, you'd better show me where all these bugging devices are."
"There's one up there." She got up and pointed towards the light fitting. "I'll leave you and Helen to discover the other two for yourselves." She crossed the room and opened the door of the apartment, adding, "A nice little bonding experience, don't you think?"
Before I was able to articulate a response, she was gone. Probably just as well. I spent the next ten minutes searching and eventually uncovered one of the devices, hidden behind the headboard of Helen's bed. Perverted bastards. Oh, well - at least it wasn't video. I hope they were more amused by my grunting and snorting than Helen was.
I walked to the window. Across the street, the sun-faded, cerulean canopy of Café Gabrielle sparkled with dancing shadows. A few customers lounged on rattan chairs in the dappled shade, sipping cognac and coffee. It was altogether too inviting a scene to resist.
Stepping into the sunshine lifted my spirits. I chose a seat alongside two elderly gentlemen who were gesticulating with some animation against the government. Having ordered a club sandwich and a half-carafe of wine, I shrank behind a copy of Le Figaro, while still keeping an eye on the entrance to Helen's apartment. All that remained was to wait for her return.
A gentle breeze disturbed the plane trees and blew a jaundiced leaf onto the table. I imagined it a fig leaf that concealed from Helen the nakedness of my intent. I imagined it a parachutist wafting towards the foothills of Tirich Mir. Then, after examining the intricacy of its contours and veins, I crushed it and cast it aside.
The waiter arrived and, with priestly ceremony, filled my goblet. Communion or libation? What did it matter? I swigged half at one gulp and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. The old men paused to regard me with the Gallic suspicion that is reserved for strangers. I raised my glass in a mock-toast before draining it and attacking the toasted sandwich.
My thoughts turned inwards. What was I to do? Jeanne's self-serving suggestion suited my purpose, but could a relationship with Helen really be built on intrigue? On a snot-rag of lies? I was considering this when my phone rang. It was Bisto.
There was a pause before he heaved the words out on a tide of emotion, "It's Jenny. She took a sudden turn for the worse yesterday and ... and ..."
"...and you'd like me to come back and help with things."
"Yes - that's it - the arrangements. Would you mind awfully?"
"Of course not. What are friends for? Terribly sorry to hear the news. You must be devastated. Don't worry, I'll drop everything and come straight over."
I imagined the look of relief as he stammered his thanks and put down the phone.
"I don't think you understand." Her tone was expressionless. "Helen fantasises in that journal about her relationship with me. In Pakistan, homosexuality is still a capital offence. It is for her protection that you must hand her journal over for destruction."
I had scarcely absorbed the implications of what she was saying before she deflated me entirely with her next comment. "It would make her position more secure, Mr. Brandon, if you could mend your relationship and marry her before we send you into the Hindu Kush."
Chapter 61
I snorted at the suggestion I might marry Helen for the convenience of the operation - whatever that operation might be. Marrying Helen because I loved her was an option, but for operational reasons? Absurd! What was this woman thinking?
"You must be joking! Anyway, who are the mysterious 'we' who intend to send Helen and me off to the Hindu Kush, and since when have you been the mouthpiece for MI6?"
"I never joke, Mr. Brandon. If Helen were to live in sin with you in Pakistan, and the police discovered that you were not married, the consequences would be severe. Discovery of her homosexual tendencies would be tantamount to a death sentence, particularly in the more remote areas of the country." I knew enough about Pakistan to realise how true that was.
"As for me being able to speak for MI6 - of course, you are right - but Group Captain Bamforth and I work together closely. Our intentions are aligned."
"Then perhaps you'll let me in on the nature of this operation you both keep talking about."
"Doubtless, MI6 will brief you in due course. That, as you have pointed out, is not a part of my job."
I could see that I wasn't going to get very far with this woman. However, I persisted. There was something about her that made me rise to the challenge. Perhaps it was her arrogant self-assurance.
"Tell me, Jeanne," I emphasised the first name, "why did you breeze in here and jab a loaded gun into my back? How did you get in, anyway? Has Helen given you a key?"
"So many questions. Helen suggested it as a joke. She is upset with you. I did it to humour her - and to help defuse the situation between you. Getting in was straightforward because the door was not locked."
"I thought you never joked. And a loaded gun? That is rather heavy-handed humour, wouldn't you say?"
She met my gaze with eyes of steel. "My gun is always loaded, Mr Brandon." Pausing for effect, she continued, "I have a second reason."
"Oh, yes - what might that be?"
"I want you to discredit me in Helen's opinion. By all means, tell her the gun was loaded. That will unnerve her. Spin her a yarn. Make yourself out to be a hero. Discover the electronic surveillance devices. She will admire you for discovering them and be shocked to find she has been spied on."
"She'll know the gun was loaded all right when she sees the mess you've made of her shower. But what's the point of this charade?"
"She needs to be weaned from dependence on me. I am sure you have already discovered, despite all outward appearances, Helen has a dependant personality. It's important she learns, not just to trust you, but to rely on you."
I hadn't a clue what the woman was driving at but, regardless of the hidden agenda, I liked the idea of driving a wedge between her and Helen. I glanced around the room. "In that case, you'd better show me where all these bugging devices are."
"There's one up there." She got up and pointed towards the light fitting. "I'll leave you and Helen to discover the other two for yourselves." She crossed the room and opened the door of the apartment, adding, "A nice little bonding experience, don't you think?"
Before I was able to articulate a response, she was gone. Probably just as well. I spent the next ten minutes searching and eventually uncovered one of the devices, hidden behind the headboard of Helen's bed. Perverted bastards. Oh, well - at least it wasn't video. I hope they were more amused by my grunting and snorting than Helen was.
I walked to the window. Across the street, the sun-faded, cerulean canopy of Café Gabrielle sparkled with dancing shadows. A few customers lounged on rattan chairs in the dappled shade, sipping cognac and coffee. It was altogether too inviting a scene to resist.
Stepping into the sunshine lifted my spirits. I chose a seat alongside two elderly gentlemen who were gesticulating with some animation against the government. Having ordered a club sandwich and a half-carafe of wine, I shrank behind a copy of Le Figaro, while still keeping an eye on the entrance to Helen's apartment. All that remained was to wait for her return.
A gentle breeze disturbed the plane trees and blew a jaundiced leaf onto the table. I imagined it a fig leaf that concealed from Helen the nakedness of my intent. I imagined it a parachutist wafting towards the foothills of Tirich Mir. Then, after examining the intricacy of its contours and veins, I crushed it and cast it aside.
The waiter arrived and, with priestly ceremony, filled my goblet. Communion or libation? What did it matter? I swigged half at one gulp and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. The old men paused to regard me with the Gallic suspicion that is reserved for strangers. I raised my glass in a mock-toast before draining it and attacking the toasted sandwich.
My thoughts turned inwards. What was I to do? Jeanne's self-serving suggestion suited my purpose, but could a relationship with Helen really be built on intrigue? On a snot-rag of lies? I was considering this when my phone rang. It was Bisto.
There was a pause before he heaved the words out on a tide of emotion, "It's Jenny. She took a sudden turn for the worse yesterday and ... and ..."
"...and you'd like me to come back and help with things."
"Yes - that's it - the arrangements. Would you mind awfully?"
"Of course not. What are friends for? Terribly sorry to hear the news. You must be devastated. Don't worry, I'll drop everything and come straight over."
I imagined the look of relief as he stammered his thanks and put down the phone.
 Recognized |
List of Characters
Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Group Captain Bamforth (alias Sir David Brockenhurst) - an intelligence officer with MI6 and Air Attache in Paris
Helen Culverson - Also a travel writer, whose relationship with Charles is complicated by her relationship with Jeanne Durand.
Kayla Culverson - her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok and has surfaced again in Paris.
Madame Jeanne Durand - a French magazine editor and undercover agent with the French Drug Squad.
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman (now deceased)
Ian 'Bisto' Kidman - an ex-RAF friend of Charles's.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Andre (aka Scaramouche) - an actor in Montmartre and friend of Kayla's
Dr. Laurent - a veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix - vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre - an old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Alain Gaudin - brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Francoise Gaudin - Alain's an intellectually disabled sister.
Estelle Gaudin [deceased] - mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased] - Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
Jack and Nancy Wilkins - a Wiltshire dairy farmer and his wife.
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - of whom we may hear more later.
Gaston Arnoux - Owner of an art gallery in Paris, recently assassinated by Charles Asserted to be leader of an ISIS network
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Group Captain Bamforth (alias Sir David Brockenhurst) - an intelligence officer with MI6 and Air Attache in Paris
Helen Culverson - Also a travel writer, whose relationship with Charles is complicated by her relationship with Jeanne Durand.
Kayla Culverson - her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok and has surfaced again in Paris.
Madame Jeanne Durand - a French magazine editor and undercover agent with the French Drug Squad.
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman (now deceased)
Ian 'Bisto' Kidman - an ex-RAF friend of Charles's.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Andre (aka Scaramouche) - an actor in Montmartre and friend of Kayla's
Dr. Laurent - a veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix - vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre - an old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Alain Gaudin - brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Francoise Gaudin - Alain's an intellectually disabled sister.
Estelle Gaudin [deceased] - mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased] - Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
Jack and Nancy Wilkins - a Wiltshire dairy farmer and his wife.
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - of whom we may hear more later.
Gaston Arnoux - Owner of an art gallery in Paris, recently assassinated by Charles Asserted to be leader of an ISIS network
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