How I Met Your Mother Ch. 07

"Come on, let's forget about the game and get a drink." Bryant said, helping Andrew to his feet. "I'm buying." Andrew looked confused as they left the squash court.

"But I thought you won?"

****

Manifold Avenue

Thursday

2:13 pm

James Blevins nervously looked over his shoulder as he entered the cramped public telephone box a few streets away from his home. This was the third one he had tried in quick succession and the first one he had found that was still in working order. The stench of stale urine and cigarettes immediately assaulted his nostrils as he began to load pound coins into the slot. Pulling a scrap of paper from his jacket pocket he cradled the receiver in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Looking at the number and whispering it to himself as he dialled it, the sound of the ring tone actually connecting was like music to his ears.

He still couldn't believe what had happened to him – just how quickly everything had fallen apart. The smug expression on that bitch Frost's face when she had sauntered into the office to have him ejected and confined to his home had become etched into his mind's eye. As soon as he'd sorted all this shit out she was going to be the first on his list of people who he'd deal with.

After what seemed like an eternity the tortuous sound of the opposite end of the call ringing out was replaced by a voice heavily distorted by a combination of distance and outdated technology.

"Usimanov, it's Blevins." His words was hurried and rushed; they were immediately met with a garbled response in some Slavic language. "Look, I haven't got time for your shit – I have to get the fuck out of here by tomorrow morning…what? What do you mean you can't help me? After everything I've done for you…Listen, you Slavic piece of shit, if you don't help me then I'll…Good, that's better." Blevins looked around himself again, not sure whether the sensation of being watched was real or simply a product of his increasing paranoia. "Right, I'll make my way to Monaco and I'll meet you at the usual place."

He slammed the phone down and quickly escaped the cloying confinement of the telephone box before he retched. For the first time in a few days James Blevins could see a light at the end of the tunnel.

****

76 Burrow Street

Thursday

4:30 pm

Andrew slumped onto the sofa, the sound of the children heading upstairs to get changed ringing in his ears. His limbs felt heavy and numb. The short walk to and from the school had felt like it had taken three times longer than normal. Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the sofa, he revelled in the momentary lapse into silence. A minute later, Leah popped her head around the doorway.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah – just feeling abit tired." She moved across and looked at him. His face was a pale colour yet from where she was standing she could see the beads of sweat on his forehead. Placing the back of her hand against his head she could feel the fever just as he coughed, his chest rattling violently as his eyes shot open.

"You're ill." Leah stated as Andrew looked up at her.

"No, I'm fine – I'm just abit under the weather."

"Bollocks are you." He could tell she was angry. "I told you that you were pushing yourself too hard and not getting enough sleep – now you're run down and you've come down with something." She exited the living room. Upon reaching the kitchen she grabbed a mug and filled it with scalding hot water from the kettle. Then she opened one of the cupboards above the sideboard and pulled out several sachets of varying makes of cold medicine. Looking through the packets, Leah chose one that she knew worked well with Andrew's physiology and poured it into the mug. Before returning to the living room, Leah lifted down a second tub from the back of the top shelf of the cupboard and removed another small tablet. Using the back of the spoon to grind it up, she sprinkled it into the hot liquid. Stirring it as she returned to the living room, she presented it to him. "Drink this." Andrew took the mug from her hands and began to sip from it.

"Thanks." Leah sat down next to him, her demeanour softening slightly. The skin beneath his eyes looked dark and sallow, contrasting with his pale complexion.

"I've got to go out for a couple of hours tonight to sort out your Christmas present. Will you be okay looking after the kids?" Andrew nodded, and then coughed again. Leah winced as his chest wheezed, sounding like a near-perfect impression of Darth Vader. "That's it; I'm calling your mother. She can come and baby-sit while I'm out."

****

The Peters Gallery

Thursday

6pm

Entering the small, private collectors gallery just off a side street some five minutes away from Oxford Circus, Leah felt slightly out of her depth. Even after years of undercover work and developing a knack for melting into her surroundings, she never truly felt comfortable in an alien environment like this. Several plush sofas were arranged in the centre of the viewing space to afford its patrons the opportunity to view the works on display without the need to strain their necks.

Brushing the last few persistent droplets of rain off her coat, Leah took a moment to look at the paintings hanging from the walls. There were several other people inside the viewing space taking stock of the creative works and two young ladies were moving around them, talking to them in an attempt to gauge their interest with the hope of enticing them to part with their money. Nominally they were classed as hostesses, yet the reality was they were simply glorified sales assistants. Good luck with that, Leah thought as she watched one of the hostesses flirting with a young man – much to the chagrin of his female companion.

"Mrs Hargreaves, so good to see you!" The overly exuberant voice came from Leah's right. Turning, she saw Hector Peters, the owner and manager of the Peters Gallery, making a beeline straight for her. His garish shirt, white linen trousers and matching loafers reminded her of Robin Williams' character from The Birdcage, an analogy that was completed by his thin moustache and even thinner hairline. As Hector hugged Leah, she realised the other patrons of the gallery were looking at her.

"I came as soon as I got your message Mr Peters." Leah replied as Hector relinquished his surprisingly firm grip.

"Please, it's Hector, just Hector." He admonished as he took her hand and virtually dragged her towards the rear of the gallery. "I have the Suydam work for you, just as you requested."

"Fantastic, and please call me Leah – Mrs Hargreaves makes me sound old." The relief in Leah's voice was evident – this one item had been causing her some considerable heartache and consternation since she had seen it three months ago. Hector presented the framed artwork to her for her inspection. The imagery was exactly as she had hoped – the figure of a classic interpretation of the Dark Knight known as Batman, backlit as he stood at the entrance to his subterranean home, looking outwards of his dwelling surrounded by a swarm of his mammalian namesakes. Looking at the picture she knew that Andrew would enjoy looking at it wherever he hung it. Staring even closer, she could see the brushstrokes on the canvas and the signature of the artist in the bottom right corner. The certificate that came with it confirmed it was the work of one Arthur Suydam.

"However, that's not why I called you." Hector's tone was hushed and secretive as he closed the door behind her as she continued to look at the painting, the atmosphere in the enclosed space reminding her of countless briefings she had experienced in the past. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

"What do you mean?" Leah asked. Hector's face was animated and his eyes sparkling.

"When it came in I just knew you had to see it before I showed it to anyone else." He moved to the back of the room and lifted up a frame covered in a shroud. Taking a deep breath, Hector pulled the sheet free, revealing the image underneath. Leah gasped.

"My god…"

"I know – it's wonderful isn't it?" Hector said as she took in the canvas presented to her.

The scene etched onto the material was equal parts stark horror and ethereal beauty. The foreground of the painting depicted what looked like a soft, sandy beach – not unlike those Andrew and Leah had encountered on countless holidays. However, the scene playing out on the beach was something far from idyllic or peaceful. The figure was clearly that of a woman, her age undeterminable due to her facing away from the viewer, bound to a wooden stake that had been driven into the ground. The impressions of the muscles in her shoulders were clear to see, obviously as a result of straining against the rope binding her in place in the light of her terrifying predicament. Standing either side of her were cowl-covered acolytes, clearly awaiting something.

Beyond the foreground, Leah's eyes took in the sight of scattered clouds and the inky blue star-filled sky beyond breaking through the broken coverage. Striding majestically through the early evening sky was a figure she recognised immediately – vaguely anthropoid, with a skin texture that reminded her of weathered leather, it had a sense of movement and scale that was breathtaking. The wings on the it's back would not have looked out of place on a mythical dragon and the mass of octopus-like tentacles where it's mouth would be only heightened the sense of other-worldliness as it moved through the surf, dominating the painting. A sickly green mist that seemed to froth up around it as it moved, churning the waters beneath it, obscured its feet. Although not clearly visible, the malevolence in its eyes actually made Leah feel distinctly uncomfortable as she looked at the artwork.

Leah found herself struggling for words as she took in the visage she recognised as that of Great Cthulhu, rendered in a manner she hadn't thought possible before now. "Andrew would love that..." Leah was almost whispering.

"I managed to locate it in a small gallery in Belgium," Hector explained. "The artist is a promising young man by the name of Tegehel – and like all young artists he was inclined to accept my first offer for it. So, to you, I'll sell it for seven fifty."

"I'll take it." Hector clasped his hands to his face.

"Thank you!" He squealed.

"Hector, I have to run another errand before I head home," Leah said. "I was wondering if you could package both of these paintings for me and I could pick them up in about an hour."

"Darling, for you, anything is possible." Hector replied as his mind filled with thoughts of a prosperous Christmas.

****

50 Berkeley Square

7:44 pm

Stumbling inside his London flat, James Blevins struggled to pull the key free from the front door. Once inside, he brushed the grass from his jacket and trousers that had adhered itself to him as he had climbed over the fence into the communal garden shared by the block of Edwardian buildings. Ensuring he evaded the prying eyes of the sleek black car sitting across the road from his city residence, Blevins had become very familiar with climbing over the fence and into the shared access that ran the length of the properties in this particular section of the homes and offices here.

He paused for a minute as the events at Susan Gosling's residence the other day ran through his mind. For a brief moment he felt angered by her betrayal, and then he knew that if he had been in her position he would have done the same thing. He couldn't ask anymore of her – she had done everything she had asked of him and more over the years.

Switching on the light in the hallway, he placed his jacket on the rack next to the door and dropped his keys onto the sideboard. Moving swiftly along the hall, he found himself in his study. He knew that he would have precious little time to arrange to leave the country – however he was confident of being able to pull it together tonight. He just needed his passport and a supply of easily liquefiable assets that were kept in his locked desk draw.

However slim the chance is of getting out of this shit storm, I have to take it, he thought as he contemplated what the best course of action would be to evade the proverbial watchdogs at the door. Dragging the chair out from behind his desk, he sat down and reached for the light switch of the desk lamp. His finger pressed the small switch into the on position – with no effect.

"Don't bother trying it again; it won't work." The words were fluid, soft and very definitely feminine – in direct contrast to the hard metal stub that was pushed into the back of head. "And I wouldn't think about going for the panic alarm under the desk – that was the second thing I disabled in here."

"Okay," Blevins replied, trying to remain calm. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"Who I am is irrelevant. However, what I am offering you is an opportunity for redemption." The woman's voice stated. A large padded envelope was thrown onto his desk, making a hard, heavy metallic sound as it landed. "That is a complete copy of all the evidence that is about to be presented against you at the Select Committee hearing next week. Witness statements, evidentiary documents, copies of your bank account statements from the last ten years – everything. It would appear that your assistant has been very thorough over the years in collating this sort of information – maybe a little too good if you ask me, but then I think we both know that everyone has their breaking point, right?" There was a pause in the rather one-sided conversation.

"I'm sure the threat of deportation to Gambia to face trial for the murder of a journalist would be enough to convince her to co-operate with the Committee's investigation." Blevins swallowed hard, the sweat on his forehead started to creep down his face. "From what I understand, they are looking to formally arrest you tomorrow night – just after your Father gives a speech in the House of Lords supporting the Committee's role in making sure Britain's security services are beyond reproach. I'm sure that will make for some interesting headlines in the Saturday morning newspapers."

"So? What's your interest in all this?" He asked – and immediately felt the barrel of the pistol being pushed into his skull again.

"Let's just say that I have a personal interest in seeing this matter progressing to the right outcome." There was another pause. "I'm giving you twenty four hours to figure out what you're going to do before I am forced to take matters into my own hands." She said. The directness of the unknown woman's statement convinced Blevins that she was more than capable of pulling the trigger right now – there was a calm resolve about her voice that told him she had killed before. Blevins tried to nod as best as he could. "Either take responsibility for your actions or do the decent thing and save the taxpayer the cost of a long and excessive trial."

"I don't suppose I could persuade you to help me get out of the country? I have some friends in Estonia who are more than prepared to shelter me for a short time…" There was a condescending laugh from behind him.

"Really Mr Blevins, if your solution to this problem is to try to run away then I'll just bring the deadline forward to tonight if you like."

"No, no – that won't be necessary…" Blevins said. He felt the pressure of the gun barrel ease off.

"Good evening Mr Blevins – I trust there won't be any need for us to meet again." He saw the figure – clad in dark clothes from head to foot, with a baseball cap pulled down over her facial features – move around the desk. "I'll see myself out."

****

As she threw the cap into the boot of her Golf, Leah pulled up carpet covering the access point to the spare tyre. Securing her pistol underneath it, she made sure everything was in place before locking the compartment and returning the covering to its original state. Moving around to the driver's side of the car, she glanced down at her watch. It would be pushing it, but she should be able to get back to the Peters Gallery before Hector closed for the evening.

As she opened her door and was about to get in she heard the unmistakeable sound of a single gunshot ringing out from the apartment owned by James Blevins.

****

Friday

11:33 am

His head lifted up from the pillow and for the first time in a week he didn't feel groggy. Looking around the bedroom he caught sight of the time on the alarm clock. Struggling to lift himself out of bed, he picked up his dressing gown and made his way downstairs. The sound of the radio coming from the kitchen prodded him to head in that general direction.

"How long have I been asleep?" Andrew asked as he wandered into the kitchen.

"Let's see, you were in bed when I got back last night at half past eight, so probably the best part of fifteen hours." Leah replied with a smile on her face. "The kids wanted to wake you up when I took them to school but you were flat out."

"It feels like it too – what did you give me in that drink last night?" Leah chuckled.

"Just some Beachams powders." She replied, sounding sheepish. "And…maybe a little something to help you sleep. How are you feeling?"

"You drugged me?" Andrew shook his head with a look of amazement on his face. "Well, I feel fantastic." He stretched his arms as Leah scuttled across and hugged him. "It's weird – the last few days just seem like a blur." His gaze drifted across the kitchen. "So, what am I cooking for dinner tonight?"

"I thought you could do that quick-fried shredded beef that you do so well." Leah said as she reluctantly relinquished her grip of his body. "I swung by Sainsburys on the way back last night and picked up a few things along with a bottle of wine for your Mom. It's mainly picky bits, finger food, that sort of thing, but I thought it might be a nice change."

"Did she say anything to you about what we're doing for Christmas?" Andrew asked. "She said something to me but I was so far out of it last night I can't remember…" the shrill sound of the phone ringing interrupted him. He reached across the unit and pulled the phone free of its base. "Yello…" he whispered to Leah its Bryant. "What? You're shitting me? Seriously, he topped himself? Jesus…well, yeah, I guess you could look at it that way. Sure, sure - you're still on for tonight, right? Okay – I'll see you later." He returned the phone to its base before looking at Leah, his shocked expression clearly displayed. "It seems that Blevins killed himself last nigh – left some sort of note admitting his guilt and apologising to his family for the embarrassment he'd caused them."

"Really?" Leah tried to sound genuinely concerned. "I can't say I'm surprised – I'd have put money on it never getting to trial…you know what these people are like when it comes to maintaining the family's honour and all that crap." She walked over and hugged her husband again. "Are you okay honey?"

"Yeah, yeah I guess so – it just seems so…" Andrew searched for the words. "So sudden – it's such an anti-climax."

"Well, it's funny how things have a way of working out." Leah said, kissing him on the cheek. Andrew looked at her.

"You…didn't have anything to do with this…did you?" His question seemed almost hesitant as he asked it.

"Me? Of course not – I was busy getting your Christmas presents sorted out last night – your Mom helped me get them in from the car. Oh, that reminds me – you can't go into the garage today." She turned and headed out of the kitchen, pausing for a moment to look back over her shoulder at her husband. "Look, I'm going to take a shower, so if you'd care to join me before we start sorting out dinner…"