The Prisoner - Village Day - Chapter 1

 

The right of David Stimpson to be identified

as the author of this work has been asserted by

him in accordance with copyright, Design and

patent act 1988.

All rights are reserved. No part of this publication

may be produced in any form or by means – graphic,

electronic, or mechanical including photocopying, without

the prior permission, in writing, of the publisher.

The Prisoner – A New No.2’ is published under the banner of “Fan Fiction” which means the promotion of ‘the Prisoner’ from which no money will be earned.

1

The Beginning

    Prague had become a dangerous place, his cover as a seed and fertiliser salesman had not been one hundred percent, plus he was unsure of two members of the espionage ring, set up by one of Military Intelligence’s counter agents, and the information which they had supplied turned out to be bogus. The meeting at Petrin Hill had not gone as planned, he had barely escaped with his life!

    As part of his cover he had attended the agricultural trade exhibition as one of the British Trade Delegation, and as a matter of course anyone new to the city of Prague sooner or later attracted the attention of the secret police. Questions asked, his passport and papers checked, at one point he had been interviewed by Colonel Ivan Berkov himself who was head of the secret police. They have to be careful he had said, only the other day a man was fished out of the river who turned out to be a spy. “But of course you are with the British Trade Delegation, so we welcome you to Prague, and I hope you have a pleasant stay in our beautiful city. Czechoslovakia needs trade deals with other countries.”

    Colonel Ivan Berkov, a clever man and as such men go, a dangerous one to fall foul of, and his men of the secret police were everywhere and on every street corner, evade one and another was further along by a lamp post reading a newspaper, or across at the café, in their dark raincoats and wide brimmed hats.

    Today had been worse, a day when he felt that all of Prague’s eyes were upon him, a day of dangers and disappointment. The danger of being pulled in by the secret police and disappointment due to the non appearance of his target…… Karl Kopec. He had waited at the café for well over an hour, this had drawn the attention of both the café proprietor and the secret police. Why was he there? Who was he waiting for? Let me see your papers, what is your name? How long do you intend remaining in Prague? The questions going round and round in his head until he finally stood up from his table, leaving the café, and having given up on any chance of contact as a bad job he returned to his hotel, the hotel Miramar.

    His room was both functional and adequate, and as he closed the door behind him he turned the key in the lock and crossing the room looked out of the window into the street below, at the parked black car opposite, and of the man in a wide brimmed hat and dark raincoat stepping out of the telephone kiosk and towards the parked car, there to report to the well set man in military uniform sitting in the back seat…. Colonel Ivan Berkov.

    Frank Peterson, well that was the name he had been using for the past week, a tall man, with light brown hair and hazel eyes, a man who had long become used to living by his wits, having developed asixth sense where danger is concerned, a professional who is considered to be one of the best agents in the field. Taking a silver cigarette case from the inside pocket of his jacket he lit the cigarette with his lighter and at the same time took a photograph of the man sitting in the back of the black car parked in the street. Then drawing deeply on his cigarette closed the lens cover of the cigarette lighter and replaced it in his pocket. Standing at the window he continued to watch the street below until at last the black car drew away from the kerbside, leaving a man in dark raincoat and wide brimmed hat standing alone by the telephone kiosk reading his newspaper. Peterson walked away from the window and paced the room wondering what his next move was to be. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and removing the jacket of his charcoal grey suit and unbuttoning his black polo shirt, reclined upon the bed.

1

    From out of his briefcase he took a blue cardboard file, on the front of which were two words - Karl Kopec. The file was thin with the least of all information upon the subject, and the only photograph was five years old and would by now be completely out of date. Well no one from the west had seen Kopec in all those five years, and it had been only on rumour and speculation by one of the members of an espionage ring that had seen him sent here by the Colonel. Having studied again the file and photograph of the aging, grey haired man, Peterson lit another cigarette, the tobacco tasted good. As for his next move, he had absolutely no idea, save for contacting members of the ring again, but that would be both fool hardy and dangerous, what with Colonel Berkov bearing in on him and his every move watched by those men of the secret police. But then isn’t that why he did what he did, because of the danger, well it certainly wasn’t for the money! It was at this point that the telephone upon the bedside table suddenly began to ring, which put him on his guard, at least it wasn’t a knock on the door in the middle of the night. Reaching over he picked up the receiver and slowly put it to his ear.

    “Mister Peterson?” asked the hotel operator in broken English.

    “Yes.”

    “I have a call for you from London” the operator informed him.

    Peterson was puzzled, who would be calling him here from London, unless it was Amalgamated Phosphates, but the voice on the other end was not that of the Colonel, but one he knew very well indeed.    

    “Janet, how did you manage to call me here, this is not a good time.”

    “It’s John, he’s gone missing” Janet suddenly blurted out “I’ve asked father about it, but he tells me that even he doesn’t know where he is, He’s not sent him on a mission or anything, trouble is I don’t know whether to believe him or not……..”

    “Well that’s your father for you, never could give a straight answer to anything” Peterson quipped.

     “He’s been gone a year and then just before my birthday party this man turned up, living in John’s house, he had even lent him his car…..”

     “Janet this is not the time, how did you find me anyway?”

    “Danvers, he told me.”

    “He should have known better, and so should you if it comes to that. Look you know John, the kind of work he does, like me he can be gone for months and a year would not be out of the question.”

    There was a sudden click on the line.

    “I don’t know which way to turn and have no one else to turn to, please help me Da…..”

    Peterson stopped Janet from giving his real name away over the open line, he was sure someone was listening in on his phone conversation, probably recording it as well “Look Janet I’m working myself, and in a very big deal in fertiliser, you could say I’m up to my neck in it. I have one more meeting at the trade delegation and if all goes well I will be back in England in a few days. I’ll look you up when I get back, you can tell me all about it then.”

2

    Peterson replaced the receiver and stubbed out his cigarette. Janet Portland had seemed very distressed, so his brother had gone missing. It had been about a year since he had last seen John and wondered if his disappearance had had anything to do with his decision to resign. He got up off the bed and crossed to the window. Outside it was beginning to get dark and below in the street the man by the telephone kiosk was being relieved by an identical looking man in wide brimmed hat and dark raincoat. His sixth sense was telling him that danger was just around the corner, that it was time to go while the going was good, before it was too late, perhaps it had been too late for John!

    Picking up the telephone receiver “Reception, this is mister Peterson in room eighteen, prepare my bill for me would you and I want you to book me a seat on the next flight to London, yes London.”

    “You are leaving us so soon mister Peterson, is there some problem?” asked the desk receptionist.

    “Yes I’m afraid so, the telephone call I received a few moments ago was to recall me to London, business you know” that was a lie, he knew it, the receptionist knew it and so too did the man in the wide brimmed hat listening in on the call.

    The receptionist looked at the man standing over her, eyes peering from beneath the brim of his hat.

    “I’ll put you through to the manager sir.”
    There were two clicks on the telephone.
    “Hello mister Peterson, its Brodnic, the hotel manager. I’m sorry to hear you have to leave so suddenly………… yes I have your passport…….”

    The man in the wide brimmed hat handed him the black British passport.

    “……….. I shall have your bill prepared immediately.”

    Peterson put the receiver down and swung his legs round, raised himself off the bed, and taking his brown suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe he began to pack. The blue Kopec file he closed, and with it the chance of collecting the other half of the four hundred, and dropped it into the suitcase along with his clothes and the Smith and Wesson 38 revolver which he had previously taped to the bottom of a drawer of the dressing table. His plane was due to leave for Paris at two that afternoon, and from Paris he would catch a flight to London airport. Or perhaps a train to Calais, from there a ferry to Dover. He paid his outstanding bill and collected his passport from reception.

3

    “I take it that you had a pleasant stay mister Peterson” said the dark haired receptionist who smiled at him.

    “Yes very much” he returned with a knowing grin.

    “You will be sorry to be leaving, no?” the receptionist asked stamping his hotel receipt and depositing his money into the cash register.

    “No, oh I mean yes’ Peterson grinned.

    “And you have made many useful contacts?” asked the receptionist smiling.

    Peterson was put on the alert “Contacts?”

    “Yes, agriculture, no?’ prompted the receptionist.

    Peterson looked relieved and hoped it did not show on his face, although he felt it had as he waited at the reception desk.

    “Is there anything else Mister Peterson?”

    “My passport” Peterson smiled holding out his hand.

    “Your passport? Oh the gentleman standing behind you has it” pointed the receptionist.

    Peterson turned round to see the tall, well framed figure of Colonel Ivan Berkov thumbing through the British passport that he was holding “So you are leaving us mister…. Peterson, what a pity you cannot stay longer.”

    “Perhaps I shall return one day.”
    “And when you do you shall be made very welcome.” Colonel Burkov closed the passport and offered it to the man standing before him “Perhaps next time you will return with a passport in your real name. I’m prepared to allow you to leave….this time, for now the game is over. She must mean a great deal to you, for you to go back to London so quickly.”

    “She?”

    “I said the time for games is now over, why do you persist, we know all about you, Amalgamated Phosphates and this secretary who telephones you for help, or is she more than a secretary to you, a lover perhaps, certainly she was most distressed on the telephone” said Colonel Berkov “and now you are on you way to render her assistance, and as you English say, at the drop of a hat.”

    “She is an old friend….”

    “Certainly a very good one to take you flying back to England so quickly” the Colonel returned as he stared back at his adversary.

4

    “It is often the way of things, besides my work is concluded, there is nothing holding me here” he said with feeling, a little nervous under the Colonel’s continued stare.

    Peterson slipped his passport inside his jacket pocket “I have my overcoat and suitcase to collect from my room.”

    “No you do not, they have been searched and placed in my car which has in turn been placed at your disposal, my driver will take you to the airport” and with a click of Colonel Berkov’s fingers two armed guards approached Peterson and stood either side of him.

    Peterson grinned, but at the same time was somewhat relieved “Why do I get the impression that you can’t wait to see the back of me?”

    “I assure you that we consider you a most important British visitor to our city and so being I have offered you the use of my car, I would be neglecting my duty not to do so.”

    Berkov’s words sounded sincere, yet there was an underlying menace, he had heard of Colonel’s methods.

    “You are not coming Colonel?” he asked halfway out of the hotel.

    “You are too kind, perhaps to see you safely on your way.”

    The drive through the relatively empty streets of Prague was for the most part, a quiet one until the Colonel said one word “Kopec!”
    Instinctively Peterson knew the game was not over.

    “You are an excellent agent, one of your company’s best I should think.”

    “Agent?”

    Colonel Berkov saw the sweat on his passenger’s brow “An agent of your company, oh you would say a representative of Amalgamated Phosphates. But will they appreciate your leaving the trade exhibition so soon I wonder?”

    “I am a free agent, I come and go as I please…..”

    “Only as I allow you to mister Peterson. You must be highly thought of to be in such a position, such a man as yourself would fetch a high price on the open market” Berkov grinned, knowing that he was going to let this man go, but that one day he would be back, Kopec was assurance of that.

    Finally arriving at the airport the black car came to a stop outside the terminal. The driver and one armed guard stepped out of the car, the guard opening the car door, whilst the driver collected his overcoat and suitcase from the trunk of the car, then flanked the passenger as he stood upon the pavement.

    The driver and armed guard got back into the car just as a radio message came through for the Colonel. A moment later the driver honked the car horn, Peterson about to enter the airport terminal stopped, and turned.

    “Oh I have news for you of a mutual acquaintance” the Colonel shouted from the car “Karl Kopec.”

    Peterson tried to maintain his poker face.

5

    “I have just been informed that my men have picked him up, he’s at Police headquarters. I understand he is being made very comfortable. I thought you would like to know.”

    “Never heard of this man” Peterson lied.
    “Oh come now, Kopec is the reason for your being in Prague. Did you think we did not know? Do you take us for fools? We have had all of your activities watched since your arrival. Now get on your plane while I’m feeing charitable, and mister Peterson, do not let me see you in Prague ever again!”

    Now the game was over, and he had lost……..this time!

6