Chapter 13

 

The weekend was spent liaising with London and reassuring them that he would have something soon.

Milton had been in Dubai a week and he could not believe how well it had gone. He passed every scrap of information on to Waite, who in turn briefed the team, but his superiors only needed to be reassured that things were going well.

He knew his team would never be pressurised into giving away information to the media, but he could not trust his coverage-hungry superiors. All it needed was one mention of the Middle East to an alert hack and his life would be in immediate danger. His bosses would only be told the bare essentials for the moment.

On the other hand, the dust had only just settled over Zurich and the France match was around the corner, less than a month away.

Milton was back in work on Sunday and decided his approach would be to show his keenness and to prove to his new employers that he was ready to take the step up. He had to know what else was going on at Expatriatedotcom and the only way he could do that would be through promotion.

Jacks was back in the office on the Monday and he had a brief chat with Milton, only revealing that his weekend business trip was fruitful.

Milton had asked Waite to tell Interpol to request the flight manifests over that weekend in and out of Dubai. They showed that Jacks had flown to Berlin. Nothing alarming there really, Milton thought. Business is business.

Tuesday night was spent with the lads again. It was another cracker.

At one point Kirk had been slapped by a blonde air hostess for a desperate chat-up line. His lines didn’t always work, it seemed, but he operated on the process of elimination. Eventually one girl out there on a night out would fall for it and Kirk didn’t give a toss what she looked like.

“Always go for the big girls. They appreciate it more and give you a far better time,” he said before walking out of the bar with his arm stretched around the back of a huge Irish schoolteacher. She was so wide he could barely reach her other shoulder.

The cocktails flowed, it was a laugh a minute and a hangover was inevitable.

Pups was the target of a practical joke once again. This time he was chatted up by a beautiful young Russian girl.

“Well, lads, you have either got it or, in you sad bastards’ case, you have not,” was his goodbye to the lads as he headed for the exit with a smile that would make a Cheshire cat look miserable in comparison.

It was only after he had left arm in arm with the leggy brunette that Milton was told she was a prostitute who had already been paid for and organised by the lads.

“We have told her to tie him up, smear him in ice cream and then leave,” said Stardust in his broadest Cockney voice. “Oh, and just for good measure we have told her to turn the air conditioning down as low as possible on the way out.”

“We will nip over to his house in an hour and see him,” added Chalky. “Don’t want him dying of hypothermia now do we?”

Milton could not help but laugh and couldn’t wait to join the lads when they went over to put Pups out of his misery. In fairness, the shivering Pups, covered in frozen chocolate and vanilla ice cream, saw the funny side of it once again and was still half expecting her to come back at some point.

“What are you doing here, lads?” was all he could muster through his chattering teeth when the mob burst into his freezing cold flat.

Wednesday dragged slower than a pregnant elephant being pulled by a mouse. Mind you, working days usually do when you are hungover.

By Thursday, Milton was becoming frustrated but he had to be patient. If he started asking questions about special duties it could raise suspicion, but time was running out.

It was now only three weeks until France entertained England and he was in trouble. He had got no nearer to the secrets of what lay behind that wall and the pressure was on for him to head back home to co-ordinate the anti-hooliganism operation for the game. He had put Waite in charge but his superiors were worried.

Milton knew there would be no returning to Dubai if he went back to the UK now. He just had to hope that he would be embraced into the special duties soon.

Thursday provided his big break.

As the clock dragged towards 5.00 p.m., Milton was called into Jacks’s office.

“Sit down, Milton,” said Jacks.

The office was nothing special and contained no personal pictures or souvenirs. It was, in fact, painfully dull.

“JT tells me you’ve been doing an exceptional job over the last week, Milton,” opened Jacks.

“Thanks, Carson. I’ve enjoyed the work and I can’t thank you enough for sorting me out.” Milton knew this was leading to somewhere and wanted to kiss as much ass as possible.

“C’mon, man, you can’t fool me. The job’s boring and you seem an intelligent man. You could do this with your eyes shut.”

Jacks climbed from his seat and put his hands in his pockets as he looked out of the window.

He then changed his tone, using Milton’s Christian name for what seemed like the first time. “What do you think about the UK these days, John?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you here and not living in England when you once swore to Queen and country that you would quite gladly give your life to defend its shores?”

Milton was shocked. It was a question that came from out of the blue and somehow he felt Jacks was testing him out.

“To be honest with you, Carson,” Milton paused for breath, “I feel a little let down by England, but I would still do anything to protect it.”

Jacks walked from behind the desk and stood over Milton, who started to feel uneasy. What if he had just insulted what Jacks believed in? These could be the last breaths that he would ever take.

Jacks extended his hand and added, “Welcome aboard, John. I think you are ready to join us for special duties.”

Jacks made a quick phone call and Stardust entered the office with Chalky.

“He’s ready boys,” Jacks said.

“I knew it from the minute I met him in that sand pit,” said Stardust as he patted Milton on the back.

“I think you fancy him,” replied Chalky.

“Why, are you jealous, gay boy?” said Stardust as the two exchanged play punches and ushered Milton out of the door.

Milton was still completely in the dark and did not have a clue as to what he was letting himself in for.

As the three walked away from the office, Stardust and Chalky led Milton towards the door that allowed access to the segregated area at the back of the warehouse.

The air siren, signalling the end of the afternoon shift, had sounded while Milton was chatting in Jacks’s office, so the warehouse was already deserted.

A wild river of adrenalin was flowing through Milton as Lenny stood aside and allowed the three to enter what had previously represented the unknown for Milton.

He was absolutely numbed by what he saw.

In front of him was one of the most well-equipped gymnasiums he had ever set his eyes on. There were cycling machines, treadmills, weight benches and enough free weights to sink a ship.

“What the hell is this place?” Milton said as his eyes struggled to absorb everything in front of him.

“What’s wrong, John?” said Chalky, patting Milton’s stomach. “Have you never seen a gym before?”

“This is where you will work from 5.00 p.m. to 6.00 p.m. after your shift finishes. Expatriatedotcom is a very caring company and we like all our employees to be in good shape,” Stardust explained with a laugh.

Milton could see that Pups appeared to be the main fitness coach, putting men through their paces on the huge array of machines.

Milton’s guided tour continued. Behind a small segregation panel of around 10 feet, there were a number of punchbags hanging from beams and mats laid out on the floor.

“This is where you will work from 6.00 p.m. to 7.00 p.m., John. Let’s just say we will sharpen up your self-defence here,” said Stardust as he looked and laughed at Chalky.

Milton stood and watched in amazement as Kirk and JT were training three men in what looked like martial art techniques on one of the mats.

As they watched, Lenny came from behind them and launched a volley of punches into one of the punchbags that was being catapulted in every direction.

“All that martial art stuff is for puffs,” he exclaimed, showing his clenched fist to Milton. “Brute strength and a knockout punch are what’s needed these days.”

“Needed for what?” Milton enquired.

“Ah,” said Chalky as if they had forgotten something. “Your final hour at work is spent in here.”

They walked past the mat as Kirk decked one of the ‘students’ with a judo throw over his shoulder.

Chalky opened a door and the trio entered what resembled a classroom. There were around 50 desks facing a blackboard. To the right of that was a huge television screen linked up to a video and other electronic boxes, which Milton immediately recognised from his own high-tech surveillance equipment in his briefing office in London.

It was astonishing. Jacks was training a bloody army.

He looked around the room in astonishment as Stardust and Chalky fiddled with the electronic equipment.

Outside he could hear the thud of the combat training on the mats and the grunts and groans of the men in the gym.

If, as he suspected, all of the employees of Expatriatedotcom were ex-British military, Jacks had at his disposal a complete militia.

The thought left Milton speechless. What had he stumbled across here?

As he shook his head in disbelief, a voice came from the direction of the door: “Park your arse, John, it is time to start your education.”

He turned to see Jacks enter the room and flick on the lights.

“You two can park up too. You could do with a refresher.” He motioned to Stardust and Chalky who sat either side of Milton at the three desks in the middle of the second row.

“John. We have all been very impressed by your progress and you have a lot to offer this organisation.

“You are one of us. You talk like us, you think like us and you feel let down by your country like us but, as you said, you would still do anything to protect it.”

Milton just sat and nodded in acknowledgement, still dumbstruck as everything unfolded around him.

Jacks patrolled the room from left to right.

“We all have one thing in common here, John. We are all fiercely proud of being English. We love England and would do anything to defend it.

“But we won’t live there, and why? Because we have been let down by what is happening there. A regime that has turned its back on the ordinary people.

“England, because it is the greatest nation on Earth, has become a dumping ground for what comes out of the arse of other countries.

“We have become sympathetic to the needs of everyone else, and the needs of those actually living there have become second fiddle.

“We are not racist thugs, John. You can leave that to the Nazi idiots. We are talking plain common sense. Of course everyone wants to come to England to live, it is the best country in the world. All we are saying is, take in those who can actually offer something to enhance the nation.

“I do feel sorry for the asylum seekers who leave their countries because their lives are in danger. But imagine all the young men in Britain that thought their lives were in danger in 1939 had set sail to the Americas instead of standing firm to fight.

“Some of those same men are now having to sell up their houses and go to places like Germany to pay for operations and medical treatment. If they joined the hospital waiting lists in England they would be dead before their turn came around.

“We have opened our arms to the world, and our hospitality - or stupidity - has been abused.

“The people of England are losing hope and becoming a nation of Saturday night fighters, drug addicts and benefit scroungers.

“But that will not go on for ever, John. Don’t worry, the honest man’s day will come again and we will regain control of our country.

“As you may have gathered by now, John, we are all ex-servicemen. Most have come here through recommendations and others have applied via the Internet. For every man here, John, there are another 10,000 who would want to be here.

“All of these men still want to fight for the country of their birthplace but can’t tolerate living there and seeing what it has become.

“We live the life of Riley out here, John, as you know. We are all trained to fight for our country and we do it in a way that shows how patriotic England still is, and it sends a clear message across the world telling people that we have had enough.” Jacks paused to draw breath, then continued.

“Did you see the pictures on television of the trouble in Switzerland a couple of weeks back, John?”

Milton nodded only, not wanting to knock Jacks off his soapbox.

“What did you think, John, when you saw hundreds of fans proudly flying the St George flag and wreaking havoc? What message did that send to you through the media?”

Milton had a feeling that he knew where this was heading. He wanted to say it sent out a message that had ruined his life for the past year but he continued to play along.

“It made me think that England has gone wild. It made me think that the country is angry; aggressive and hostile towards anything non-English.”

“Bingo,” continued Jacks.

“And that is the message we want to get through to people hoping to come to our country to abuse our system.

“Those men you saw on television are the ordinary men on the street; the ones that are paying high taxes to supplement illegal immigrants - people on the dole, benefit frauds, I could list them for hours.

“Football provides those people with a platform to show off their patriotism, vent their frustrations while at the same time fight for their country.

“For sure, those men are pretty sad too. They tank themselves up on beer and can barely swing their tattooed arms past their inflated bellies.”

Jacks paused again and changed direction to walk to the window, looking out to the men training.

“But these men here have fought for their country,” he continued. “Many of these men, like Chalky and Stardust here, fought with me in the Gulf War. Some are Special Forces, some are squaddies, some are engineers and some are communications experts.

“What we have here, John, is an elite version of the British Army. Men who thought they had a job for life but became disillusioned with it for some reason or another and bailed out.

“They have come to realise that soldiers this day and age no longer fight for their Queen and country. They fight for politicians to win votes, putting their lives on the line in shitholes like Iraq just for some public schoolboy to gain some popularity - using good men’s lives for convincing people to put the cross in the right place on a ballot paper once every four years.”

Milton was absolutely dumbstruck and simply continued to listen, motionless.

“Here they have that job for life, John. They have a family in each other and they have a group of people who will stick by them through thick and thin. The only thing they miss is England as it was, but we will all return home one day.

“That day will come when the country is strong once again - when we are revered across the world as a powerful nation and not a soft touch.”

Jacks looked Milton straight in the eye and was gauging every blink, twitch or movement. Milton knew he was in the spotlight and kept listening intently. Jacks again cast his gaze back towards his men training hard outside.

“These men have skills of warfare and confrontation. What we do here is hone those skills and use them in a different confrontational situation.

“Football is our battlefield, John. We are proud Englishmen and we need to get our buzz from what we are trained in.”

Milton was transfixed to his every word.

“Do you think these men joined the army to overlook miles of nothingness in Germany from watchtowers? Or march off into the Arabian desert on meaningless exercises in the hope that maybe one day they might actually see some action?

“No, John, the buzz comes from confrontation and putting into practice what you have been trained to do. The extra buzz comes from seeing the successful implementation of all that training come to life on TV.”

Milton continued to play dumb. “But I saw on the news that all this trouble is ruining England’s chances of staging the World Cup in 2006?” he said.

“Exactly,” replied Jacks. “The World Cup is watched by billions of people across the world. This tournament will make England the most desirable destination in the world for any asylum seeker or scrounger looking for the greener grass on the other side.

“In 1966, John, when England last staged the World Cup, we still ruled over half the world and were a bigger superpower than the USA, Russia or China will ever be. Then it was all about Britain and Britishness. You were privileged to be let in to such a great country.

“Look at us now, a downtrodden nation relying on a sporting event to lift the country’s spirits. No, John, there’s plenty of time for the world’s attention to be on England and 2006 I am afraid is too soon.

“A World Cup in England will just encourage more people to go and live there. That’s the last thing we want.”

Milton took it all in and couldn’t decide whether Jacks was a genius or a madman. Whichever way, he was a genius or a lunatic with his own mini-militia at his disposal.

He had hand-picked a group of men, provided them with well-paid jobs in paradise and allowed them to continue what they loved most: fighting for their country.

Brilliant. Simply brilliant.

“So then, John, are you in or are you out?” Jacks rested a hand on Milton’s shoulder.

Milton climbed from his seat, knowing he had no option at all. “I’m in. One hundred and ten per cent.”

His answer was hailed by pats on the back from Stardust and Chalky as Jacks walked to the door and back into the gym.

“Oh, and by the way, John,” he added as he turned before departing, “you’ve got a pay rise. Fifty thousand pounds per year. Congratulations.”

Bloody hell, Milton thought.