London, 2007

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The man in the dark grey trench coat walked briskly along the embankment, cursing the cold and his lack of gloves. It had been years since he'd been called out to a secret rendezvous---- he was past this kind of thing. But the name rang a bell. Made him curious. Astonished, in fact.
The old boy was waiting under Westminster bridge, as promised, his thick coat cut like a Russian's. He didn't try to shake hands, but nodded slowly, several times, when he saw his old, old colleague.

'By God, is it you, dick. I can't believe you have the nerve----even after fifty years!'
Dick smiled. A miserable smile.

'I came to give you information. About Eric. I have to clear my conscience. It wasn't him. . . It was me. I was your man---- not Eric
He had no choice. that's all'

The man in the dark grey trench coat shook his head 'what do you want?'

'To be here again, in England, for the rest of my life . . . It won't be long'

'And Eric? And his children? What about them?'

'His children?' The older man looked shocked.

'You didn't take them?'

' . . . Didn't you?'

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