The misty Heath - continued

The ground was cold. Freezing cold. He was breathing heavily but could not move. Suddenly, he heard the sound of steps and felt the warmth of breath over his face. Then the thick, sticky tongue of a panting dog. A Cocker Spaniel. He was drifting in and out of consciousness. Still, Smiley was alive. The bullet missed the spine and went out out of his left cheek bone.

3 months later and Smiley was sitting in his room in the Royal Free Hospital. An armed PC at the door and Ann by his side. She was always there when it mattered most. His large thick, heavy glasses hanging from the end of his nose. The left lens black, to hide the scar that was all that's left of his eye. His mind was racing trying to explain what happened. The cold war was over. And, even back then, no one would ever order this sort of operation. No one would target the man at the top. Especially not 10 years into his retirement. This could not have been an operation. This was not part of the East vs West battle. This was personal.

Nonetheless, Smiley could not afford to be emotional. Whilst he was raging inside, his animal instincts urging him to track down the assailant and avenge him with his bare hands, he knew his attacker was merely a pawn in a bigger game. Two questions rang constantly through his head: "who?" and "why".

Smiley was running through the list of those who might be behind the attack. It was long. Very long. It's an awkward prism through which to view one's life. One which makes it difficult to feel proud of yourself. What does one have to do to have so many people not only wishing you were dead but actually willing to ensure that you are?

Smiley looked up and noticed the PC standing next to him. He must have been standing there for a while. He had a brown envelope in his hand. It had only one word written on it. One name. Max. Smiley took the envelope with haste, his fingers fumbling to tear it open. Only a handful of people ever new Smiley's alias. In it was a case of a 9mm cartridge. No one could ever mistake its origin - the Pistolet Makarova. The list of suspects has just been cut short. Very short.

To be continued . . . .

PS 950km down. 50km to go.