"Breaking the Chains"
19th May 2008 04.00hrs He scribbled out a note to Archie, apologising and then set about removing the cast from his leg with a set of plaster shears. That completed, he collected his few possessions and made his way outside. It was raining and he could feel an ache starting in his leg, but he pressed onward. He was lucky and scored a few lifts, by 10am he was in Carlisle heading down South. He was going home to Hereford, where he had trained with the SAS, and where he thought he would still find some of his army mates. He didn't know why he felt the need to go there, just that it was the only place that came to mind that he was certain of a welcome. 17.00hrs The lorry dropped him off about five miles outside of the town, the driver apologised for not being able to take him all the way in, "Got a schedule to keep, you understand?" Sean had nodded, and heaving the sack over his shoulder he started to walk down the hill towards the town. He knew he would be walking the rest of the way; the locals were not inclined to offer lifts, and were discouraged from doing so by the training staff; his leg was aching now, but he ignored the pain, he would manage the walk. Outside the Dark Man public house, he saw the bar full of off duty SAS, their stance at the bar was army, but the long hair giving them away as members of the elite force. He pushed open the door, and the chatter stopped, then a sergeant he recognised raised a hand, "Well I'll be buggered, if it isn't the flying Scotsman." The face broke into a smile, and he walked over to greet Sean who had dropped his sack on the floor and they hugged. "Sarn't Harrison, I thought they had thrown you out a long time ago." After an enthusiastic round of greetings, he finally got a quiet moment with the publican and a room was his for the asking. He ordered a round of drinks, and sat down with a plate of pie and chips by the fire. Mick Harrison brought his pint over and they sat down for a chat, "So Major Strathspey, what brings you back to Hereford?" Sean finished his mouthful, "Not a Major anymore, just plain …" he paused, "Call me Sean.. Though I would be grateful if you wouldn't say you have seen me if anyone cares to ask after me." Mick nodded, "No problems." By the end of the evening, he had found out everyone's name in the pub that night, and also that they were planning something special in the next few days as the Colonel of the squadron, was retiring in a few days time. Sean knew that his skills had allowed him to blend in easily, but even he was surprised when they invited him to the farewell dinner. The colonel's passion was fishing, and the guys had arranged to dress the mess up with an aquatic theme, a few local tarts were persuaded to dress up as sirens and mermaids, and plenty of drink was going to be available. They had a plan though, and that was while the after dinner entertainment was taking place, some of the guys were going to take the Colonel's jeep, dismantle it, and then rebuild it in his office. Sean smiled wryly, knowing John as he did, he was sure that he would see the funny side of it. The guys had arranged a bed for him at the base after the retirement party, and so he could afford to indulge in drink. The dinner was awesome, the drinks flowed like a rapid running river, and the jokes got more raucous, more dirty and soon the girls were wearing very little, not that they had a lot to start with. A tap on his shoulder, alerted him to the group leaving, and he made his excuses and joined in the action. 45 mins later and they were done, the jeep had been dismantled, carried up the two flights of stairs, and then rebuilt in the colonel's office, right where his desk had been situated. All they had to do now was to head back down towards the mess hall, and carry on drinking like the rest of the squadron. 08.00hrs He woke up, with a sour taste in his mouth, and a black lacy bra in his hand. He threw it away from him, disgusted with himself for losing control and not remembering the events that led to him holding his trophy. He lifted his head, and felt the pains lance through his body, what he needed was a wash and brush up, not to mention painkillers, neither of which were available here. He rose to his feet, and lurched towards the bright sunlight. Outside the rays of the sun seemed to burn an iridescent pattern on his retina, he shielded his eyes, and made his way towards D Block. The base hadn't changed much since he had last been here, and the buildings still looked in a dilapidated state, the CO had said that an elite force didn't require good accommodation, only that they had shelter for their heads. He opened the doors to the block, and his nose was assaulted by the smell of sour sweat, of unwashed men, but he went in, and found the showers at the end. Washing the smell of smoke, and of the previous night's excess off under a warm torrent of water, he already felt a lot more human. It was good being among friends, but he recognised that Hereford wasn't the place he wanted to spend the rest of his life in. He had no idea of where he was going to go next, but Mick, Sergeant Harrison, gave him a lift to the train station and saw him on a train to London. He watched as Mick's figure grew smaller and then disappeared into the landscape. He knew he wouldn't come back this way again; you could never go back to your past. London 23rd May 2008 He booked into an anonymous hotel in Victoria. Shopped for clothes and avoided being seen or noticed by MI9 or MI5 officers; the last thing he wanted was for Andrea to haul him into Thames House and give him a bollocking for leaving Scotland without notifying them. No, those days were behind him, he had no intentions of going anywhere near her and as soon as he had collected, clothes, money and a new identity he wasn't planning on returning to the UK. He had contacts that he could have used; but Andrea also knew those, and he had no intentions of alerting her if at all possible, so his plan was to use one of the names that had come up at Section 1, Rene Dupont, of Marseille and hope that he hadn't been compromised. This was one of Saf's contacts, and he wondered at the wisdom of his decision but he had no other real alternative. He rang the number and left a message with the answering service, which gave him some instructions. In the meantime, he had to transfer the money to a Swiss bank account, this he was able to do from a data access point. Then he sat and waited in the hotel room, for Rene to call him back, he spent the time flipping through the TV channels, though normally this bored him rigid. It took Rene less than 36 hours to deliver the goods, Sean had selected his name, Sean Robert McPherson, it fitted well and was partly in tribute to Archie as well as for his Uncle. His profession was listed as freelance journalist and the passport was suitably stamped and dog-eared, the picture indistinct, to indicate frequent usage. It wouldn't stand up to too much scrutiny, but at first glance it looked legitimate. He regretted talking to Archie, about where he wanted to visit, it was stupid of him; if Archie passed on the information to Andrea then `they' would be instructed to look out for him. He wondered whether to avoid those destinations, then decided that `they' would be expecting that, so he stuck to his original plan and booked a ticket for Athens. His cover story was that he was reporting for a travel magazine, on the outlying islands. During his stay in Scotland he had allowed his hair to grow longer, and now he visited a barber and had it trimmed a bit neater, then he visited a chemist and picked up some hair dye, and changed the colour of his hair to a bleached out brown; while he was at it, he applied a fake tan, which gave him the appearance of recent exposure to strong sunshine. Fake contact lenses, turning his eyes brown, completed the transformation. When he had finished, he glanced in the mirror and was amused by the reflection, a sort of aging, hippy was looking back at him, and when he put on his new clothes, it was as though he became the person his passport said he was. He was due to fly out the following day, so to test his new identity, he decided to go out and live a little dangerously. He walked through London and even past Thames House, asking one of the policemen on duty, where he could get a cup of coffee from. Despite his seeing the man every day for the past six months, the policeman didn't recognise him, just treated him as another annoying tourist that he had to be polite to. He could have laughed, but now was not the time to attract attention. He walked slowly back to his hotel and packed his remaining belongings, he regretted the loss of the personal things at his apartment, but better to lose them that to lose his freedom. This was the start of his new life. Return