The Life and Times of Jim Stevens - 1. The Beginning

1

Jim Stevens was about to become a hero. They were a point down and the clock was in the red, so all he had to do was slot this penalty and the game would be won. It was at the extent of his range, though, and off to one side, and not the right side, neither.

The captain threw him the ball, together with a ‘You’d better get this one mate’ look, and the rest of the team watched on in silence. He set the ball on the tee, aligned it carefully and then stepped back two and left two. He thought of Jonny Wilkinson and then tried to concentrate. The referee’s ‘Hurry up!’ didn’t help. Maybe they were paying him.

He ran up and swung his boot smoothly, the ball headed for the posts and just had enough on it to clear the crossbar. Three points and the match!

The dressing room was a happy place. They were a lousy side and in the bottom half of the table, so this win meant a lot. His hero status would last about half an hour, and then the beers would take over.

He contemplated his teammates and tried to decide which ones he would, which ones he might, and which ones he definitely would not. You could rate them according to how much alcohol you would need: how many beers would have to pass your lips before you so much as touched them.

Out of the backs, they all rated at least four, except for Tony who he definitely would. Good looking, coffee coloured, lithe and athletic; yes, no doubt at all. The back row rated at least six, and maybe more. You would have to be practically drunk before going near the front row. Fat, hairy knuckle-dragging morons, useful for only two thing: scrummaging and aversion therapy.

If only they knew what he was thinking….anyway, he was a hero for a while, a few beers to celebrate, and then Danny’s place…..

2

They lay in each other’s arms afterwards. He and Danny had been a number for a while now. Bed was great, and so was the rest. He was funny, smart, successful, everything you’d want in a partner. Except he hated rugby.

‘The villain’s game played by gentlemen. Well, and you too’

You don’t have to be rude, just because I come from a modest background.’

‘I never did understand scrummaging.’

‘You don’t try, that’s all. It’s easy. You have to stick your head between two fat guys’ bums, reach up between their legs and grab their shorts, and push.’

‘Hmm, sounds a bit dodgy to me. What if you grab the wrong stuff instead?’

‘You get kicked in the head, or invited back to his place, depending which way he’s inclined.’

‘Not worth the risk.’

‘That is undeniably true.’

Danny paused, and then dropped the news.

‘I’m away on a trip from next weekend. Big product launch all over Europe. It’ll be a least a month.’

‘Shit!’

‘It’ll soon be over and I’ll be back.’

‘I’ll proposition Tony then.’

He leaned over and kissed him.

‘Just make sure you don’t get kicked in the head.’

3

He pulled up into the queue waiting at security. Only three cars ahead of him. He hadn’t really got used to it yet, all the checks which needed to be done. He looked at the sign:

‘Walkinshaw Industries Ltd’

‘Authorised Personnel Only’

It didn’t give any indication of what went on inside the bland, almost nondescript building, which was just as well.

His turn, and the usual scrutiny of his pass, the usual questions, and he was free to park and go to his workplace, via the kitchen, the source of gossip and information. The people here were pleasant and helpful, and he made sure to keep up pretences by flirting with the women – not too much in case he got an invitation he didn’t want – and talking to the men about rugby. He also mentioned his fictional girlfriend: no need to put doubts into anyone’s minds. Not that he looked that way inclined: he made sure he seemed as straight as a die.

He enjoyed his work designing the electronic components for the missile system; it was intricate and complex, which appealed to him. He was fully aware that these were ancillary parts, based on his lower level of authorisation, but as he got more experienced he would get to work on the more important functions. It was certainly an advanced weapon.

What to do this evening? No Danny, so maybe the Whore and Handbag, as the pub in Richmond was known – by some at least. Yes, a little company would be good.

4

The place was fairly crowded. He saw a couple of guys he knew, well, sort of, and fought his way to the bar. He and Danny came here, but not frequently. He ordered a pint and turned around to size up the talent. Couple of old queens eyeing him up, some people his age, and some a bit younger, verging on jail-bait. No one he really fancied, although he’d been without company for a while so the bar was set quite low. Bored, he exchanged small talk with the barman, and then felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find a guy standing there.

‘Hi, I’m Tom.’ Very original.

‘Hi to you too. Jim.’

Hmm, he thought. Very cute, slim, a little shorter than him, chestnut hair, soft brown eyes. Just his type.

It didn’t take long, only one beer, and they retreated to Tom’s place, just a short walk away, where they proceeded to screw their brains out.

5

It was a few weeks of heaven, Danny forgotten, and Tom installed in his place, and very accommodating. Jim was a Top and Tom was a Bottom, so everything was totally compatible. Tom was a bit kinky too, and had a cupboard with, well, let’s just say kinky stuff in it – they always went to Tom’s place. All very much a turn-on.

Then one day Tom didn’t return his call, and the next day a brown envelope plopped on the doormat. When he opened it he found dozens of very explicit pictures of their encounters in full colour. He tried to figure out where the camera was; it seemed to be hidden in the picture above the bed. He’d never thought to look there. There was a short note telling him that he would contacted shortly and not to tell anyone about this.

Well, well, what to do. Some kind of blackmail attempt linked to his work, obviously. Time to see Uncle Ryan.

6

He went to door marked:

Ryan Sandford

Head of Security

and knocked and entered the small room.

‘Morning Jim, what’s up?’

‘Morning Ryan. I though you should see these,’ and he handed him the envelope.

Sandford took the pictures out and laid them on his desk. He ‘mmm’d’ appreciatively while he studied them.

‘My, my, what the younger generation get up too. Looks like you had some fun. Presumably the poor lad had aching jaws and a sore bum afterwards, given the size of your thing?’

Jim giggled.

‘I should think so. Still he seemed to enjoy it, and he was no doubt getting paid too.’

‘No doubt.‘ said Ryan. ‘So it’s worked out just as we planned when we hired you, and a bit sooner than I expected.’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘Wait and see what they ask for, which will presumably be data from the project you’re working on. If it’s a different one, we’ll transfer you there.’

‘You’re going to go ahead and give them the data?!?’

Sandford looked at him pityingly.

‘We’re going to feed them false or out-of-date stuff, of course! A Masters degree and you didn’t figure that out?’

‘Well, I’m not used to this sort of thing. OK, so I wait to be contacted.’

‘Exactly. They’re going to threaten to expose you so keep up the pretence. I can arrange a girlfriend if you like.’

‘Boobs? I don’t think so. I can get a friend to help out if necessary. By the way, are you going to trace Tom?’

‘Of course. We’ve got his DNA – thanks for that – as well as his address. It probably won’t yield anything; he’s a just temporary employee. They could have used any little tramp who needed the money.’

‘He was a very cute little tramp. If you find him I could help to interrogate him….’

‘I don’t think so. OK, I’ll let you go. By the way, there’ll be a bonus at the end of this.’

‘How about now?’

‘Get out of here.’

7

He was kind of intrigued by all this. Sandford had told him at the beginning that he’d passed all the interviews, that they were happy with his qualifications, but they had – of course – discovered that he was gay, which would normally have disqualified him from any sensitive role in a defence company. Then they’d discussed what might happen, which was exactly what had transpired.

He was a spy! Well, sort of. Not quite 007 of course. He wondered how long it would take for them to contact him. Not long, probably. Oh, well, training tonight followed by some liquid refreshment.

The envelope arrived a few days later, threatening to out him unless he copied the data on his project onto a memory stick and dropped it in the prescribed place. Very old-fashioned, but effective, he supposed. Maybe these people were still in the cold war era.

It was odd that they knew which project he was working on; there were more than a dozen, all classified. Could be chance, he supposed, but he wondered if there was already a mole in the place.

Time to see Sandford again.

8

‘Hmm, standard stuff. So here’s a condom...’

‘You don’t mean...’

‘…I’m not that way inclined. Then copy the data onto the memory stick, put it inside the rubber and shove it up your bum. That way we’ll pretend we didn’t find it.’

‘I don’t like things shoved up my bum.’

‘It’s a modest size, and a lot smaller than most of the options.’

He sniffed a bit and then agreed.

‘OK, good. Now this is the stuff I want you to copy, it’s from the component you’re working on but in another directory, so I’ll change your security clearance so you have access to it. It’s deliberately misleading.’

‘Who are these people anyway? Russians or Chinese?’

‘Don’t worry about that. Just get on with it.’

So he went to his workstation, shoved the stick in its slot, changed the directory to the one Sandford had given him, and looked at the list of files that he had asked him to copy. No problem. He waited until it was finished, and was about to take the stick out when his suspicious mind made him pause.

He checked the dates and attributes of the files against the current ones in his normal directory. Hmm, they were a few days old, alright, but otherwise looked the same as the ones he had been working on. He pulled up the two versions and compared them side by side – they were the same! He checked the others, and found that they were all current except for the minor – and unimportant – changes he’d made in the last few days.

He sat back in his chair and stared at the screen. Could Sandford have made a mistake? Surely not; you don’t get to be head of security of a defence establishment by making elementary errors. So he must be trying to get genuine data out of the company! Maybe he was less Uncle Ryan than Uncle Nikita.

What to do? He was out of his depth here, by a long way. He wasn’t going to give this data to whoever was blackmailing him, that was for sure.

He thought for a while. Should he go to the police? Or someone senior in the company? He might get arrested, or at least lose his job and get black-listed. Neither option appealed.

OK, decision made. He deleted the files he’d just copied, logged onto a directory which contained an obsolete version, and copied those files instead.