The cold of the morning air burned Joshua’s lungs as he drank in each mouthful of hard-earned breath. The sights of London’s Hyde Park passed him in a blur as he pushed himself ever harder. The unseasonal warmth in which England had recently basked was gone, replaced by the sting of the morning chill. It made Joshua feel more alive than he had in days.
Joshua pushed himself to move even faster. Forced his body to do things that he had previously taken for granted. The speed at which he covered the acres of London’s largest park would have been impressive for a man half his age, but as the years advanced he hit that speed through gritted teeth and sheer bloody-mindedness. No one could outrun time. Age was stalking him. Had been for a while. As Joshua drew each tortured breath he found himself wondering, once again, whether his current assignment was a job too far.
Ignoring the park’s landmarks, Joshua used his own sense of direction to bring him south. His speed remained constant in spite of the screaming demands of his ageing body. Only his goal mattered: to reach the end of the run in a time that improved upon yesterday’s.
The gates at the southern end of Park Lane marked one of the UK’s most prestigious addresses; certainly its costliest. Joshua turned left as he reached them and edged onto the straight path that ran alongside the half-mile length of road. With a glance towards the massive bronze statue of Achilles that stood to his left, he prepared to break into his final sprint. This burst of speed would take him the last half-mile to Marble Arch and conclude the torturous element of his morning exercise regime.
Joshua took the first steps with the force necessary to hit top speed in the shortest time. Perhaps today he would have hit his peak, but after just a few paces at his top speed, he was brought to a sudden halt by the sound of the dreaded ringtone.
Pulling up, he cursed to himself, breathing hard. Fumbled through his baggy running clothes for the vibrating handset. Found it. Put the receiver to his ear without looking at the screen.
‘I was starting to think something had happened to you.’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Joshua replied. ‘I was jogging.’
‘I wasn’t worried. Although with your breathlessness from a little exercise, maybe I should be?’
Joshua refused to rise to the bait.
‘What do you have for me?’
‘Not on this line,’ Stanton replied. The answer invited no debate. ‘Memorise this number, then destroy your phone. Purchase an unregistered pay-as-you-go handset for cash and call me back. I’ll be waiting.’
‘Wait!’ Joshua exclaimed. ‘It’s 7.30 in the morning. I won’t be able to pick up a handset for another hour and a half at the earliest.’
‘Then I’ll expect your call at 9 a.m.,’ was Stanton’s terse reply. It was followed immediately by the sound of the phone line being cut off.
Joshua shook his head at the abrupt disconnection. And at his enforced subservience to a man far from his equal. Not that there was anything he could do about it. For now, at least. With the number committed to memory, he sat down on the grass leading to the Achilles statue and dismantled the phone’s handset.
The established line of communication to Stanton had somehow been compromised. That much was obvious. Joshua wasted no time speculating on what form that compromise had taken. Instead he gazed at the massive bronze Achilles that was still ahead of him.
The statue had been cast from the cannons captured from Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo and raised to commemorate that victory. One of Joshua’s favourites, the sight always brought him to a halt. Today, though, it had a different effect. For the first time he thought of the man portrayed by the statue, rather than the victory it represented. He contemplated the similarities between himself and the mythical hero. Both gifted soldiers whose pride overtook duty. Both warriors who dealt out death as naturally as others took breath. Both giants in thrall to inferior men.
Joshua hoped that his own story would have a happier ending.