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Description
Chapter Three

   In a dingy bar in Soho, Kristov Yogi was sipping on his gin and tonic. His face was unshaven and his hair was a mess. He was fidgeting about and his general nature was one that would suggest Yogi was anxious. He had been waiting for someone to show up for about an hour. He wanted to leave but if he did his life would be over. His client was an important person. Yogi didn't know an awful lot but he was told they were a Stazi agent who was currently in England on personal business from Stalin himself. Yogi had encounters with the Stazi before and they weren't pleasant. He knew Stazi who had been kicked from the Gestapo for being too cruel. They were a violent bunch and not to be messed with.
   The door to the bar burst open and a man with a black woolly scarf wrapped around his lower face and a large duffel coat walked in. He paused for a bit and looked around the bar. He noticed Yogi and sat down beside him. The man removed his scarf. Beneath his scarf lied a face that had seen war and unrest. There were two large scars on his right cheeks and his left eye was completely white. His nose was broken and two of his teeth had been knocked out. He looked at Yogi.
   "You must be Yogi," he said. His accent was Russian, there was no doubting that.
   "Yes, I am," Yogi replied. "You're Gregovski, I presume?"
   The man shook his head. "Gregovski can't make it I'm afraid. He had business he had to do." What he was actually doing was sitting on a boat off Dover nailing an iron pipe into a man's chest.
   Yogi looked at the man. "And who are you?" he asked.
   "Rodion Murtazin," he replied. "I'm here for Gregovski. He wants to know what you've managed to gather. Have the Circus revealed anything important yet? Has Control reared his ugly head since the killings began?"
   Yogi sipped at his drink. "Nothing at all," he said. "The Circus is a highly guarded place. I'm still trying to gain access into Control's office. The fucker's locked himself in there, methinks. No one's seen him since Norton got his blood spilt all over the library's floor. Believe me, Mr Murtazin; Control is going to stay under the hood until this is all over. And if the rumours are true it seems as if Control is going to be six feet under the hood."
   Murtazin smiled. "You've heard what my boss is planning to do, da?"
   "Picking off Control? He's a fucking nut if he's planning on doing that. And if Woodward accepts the offer Vernon Tully has put on the table then the shit really will hit the fan."
   Murtazin grabbed Yogi's collar. He pulled out a rusty razor and held it to Yogi's throat. "What?!" he screamed. Everyone in the bar was looking at the two Russians. The silence was hanging in the air and everyone was waiting to see who would die. Murtazin looked around and lowered the blade. He pocketed it and sat back down. He looked at Yogi again.
   "I would hope for your sake you're not pissing with me, Yogi," he growled. "Because if you are then you better hope to get the fuck into America before Gregovski gets his hands on you."
   Yogi sighed. "Calm down," he said. "Vernon Tully and Rodney East are trying to get Woodward back in. If he is then you can pull the plug on the operation because anything Woodward gets involved means bad things for the enemy. And if you've been paying attention that means us."
   Murtazin buried his face in his hands. "Woodward can't be involved. He left the service seven years ago. He went to Stalingrad and got the shit scared out of him. He became pissed with Control and left. Why would he go back?"
   "Well I was passing messages through and Tully was trying to get Woodward back in. I doubt he'll do it but he has a soft side for East so I imagine he'll be back in soon. I'll pass on information to one of Gregovski's men or you when I get it. I'm going back in for the night shift so I can get a confirmation on Woodward's involvement. Don't worry, everything will work. I assure you."
   Yogi knocked his gin and tonic back, stood up and left the bar. Murtazin wrapped his scarf around his face and walked out of the bar. He knew he had to wait before saying anything to Gregovski. But knowing the Circus if they were getting Woodward in it wouldn't be long before things turned serious and the plans of the KGB would be lying in ruins.
* * * * *
   Gordon was sitting outside Rodney's office at MI6. He was sitting in a plush velvet chair surrounded by pictures from the old days. He spotted pictures of Rodney and him beside a Spitfire smiling. Gordon remembered that day. He and Rodney were going on a reconnaissance flight over East Berlin. It was the journey that would provide the evidence Control needed to send Gordon over to Stalingrad a week later.
   They were the old days, though. Those times were long gone and forgotten and Gordon had managed to put them behind him. The door to Rodney's office opened up and Rodney reared his head. He looked at Gordon.
   "Gordon," he smiled. "Care for a drink?"
   Gordon nodded and stood up. He brushed himself off and walked through the door to Rodney's office. As he entered the room he was bombarded with the smell of Rodney's pipe tobacco. Rodney's smoking habits were famous in the business. He was rarely seen without his pipe rammed into his mouth and his collection of pipes was supposedly worth six figures. Rodney's office was also spotless. There was a large window to the east of the room which overlooked the city of London. Bookshelves surrounded the walls and it was the only private room with a fire in the building. It was nicer than Control's office, by Control's admission himself.
   Rodney closed the door behind him and indicated to one of the red leather chairs dotted around Rodney's desk.
   "Gordon, please have a seat," he said. Gordon sat down. Rodney took a silver teapot from his desk and poured out two cups of tea. He added milk to the cups and handed one of them to Gordon. Gordon took it and sipped it. He looked up at Rodney.
   "You don't have my watch, do you?" he asked. Rodney smiled again.
   "This is why we need you back, Gordon," he said. He popped his pipe in his mouth and lit it up. "Things are a mess. We've added more and more security as time goes on. Do you know that Tully broke into your home, Gordon? I didn't want him to, the yank bastard. Please, Gordon. If you don't then Vernon is going to get his hands on this and then god knows what will happen then."
   The door opened up before Gordon could reply. A man in a navy suit with black stripes running down it walked into Rodney's office. His face was full and his hair was slicked back. He was tall and wide shouldered. He gave off the impression he was in power. Or at least he thought he was. He was carrying a bundle of papers as he walked in.
   "Rodney," he said. He had an American accent that seemed to be from New York. Gordon was bad with American accents. It all sounded alien to him. He paused before continuing. He looked at Gordon. "Gordon Woodward?" he asked. He smiled. "Good day to you," he said. "Vernon Tully, head of foreign operations. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
   He offered his hand. Gordon smiled. "Was your little break-in a disappointment? Sad you didn't get to meet me in person? Oh well. At least now you get to apologise to my face."
   Vernon chuckled. "Oh, Gordon," he said. "You're as good as the guys have been saying. It's good then that you're accepting my offer?"
   Gordon sat back down and continued sipping his tea. "Quite the opposite, actually," he said. "I'm sorry to say I'm declining Rodney's offer. And, Mr Tully, never call me Gordon again."
   Vernon's smile faded away and his general demeanour became more serious. "I'm sorry, Mr Woodward?" he said. He walked up to the desk and sat down on one of the chairs.
   "You can't be serious. Surely you're joking, right?"
   Rodney shook his head. "I'm sorry, Vernon. Gordon's declining the job. We can't force him."
   "Bullshit, Rodney, that's bullshit. We've got bodies piling up and we need someone who's competent enough to find the bastard that's pulling this off. He's deep within the organisation and he's going to kill off someone at the top if we don't find him. And Gordon is the only one who can figure it out."
   Gordon placed his cup on Rodney's desk. "You seem to be doing quite well if you've managed to completely rule out the notion of our killer being male. If you can do that then I don't think I'm needed."
   Rodney laughed. Vernon sighed and sat back down. "You know what we mean, Mr Woodward. Please. I beg of you."
   Gordon shook his head. Vernon stood up again like a flash. "You coward," he shouted. "I thought you were made of stronger stuff. All the stories I've heard. Stalingrad, Dresden, that incident in Singapore, you've faced things that are in our darkest nightmares and you won't do this. What are you, some kind of commie sympathising asshole?"
   Rodney jumped up so hard his pipe fell out of his mouth. "Shut up, you yank. It's your bloody country that got us into this pissing war. You got so paranoid with the Russians that you decided to get us and every other country in the west roped in to your phoney war. Where's your actual proof that anything the Russians supposedly have, they really do? If Gordon's a coward then you're a fucking hopeless wreck."
   Vernon swung his right fist at Rodney's cheek. Rodney stumbled back and wrapped his hands around Vernon's neck. He slammed him against the wall. Vernon rammed his knee into Rodney's groin. He kicked him in the shin and threw his body on top of Rodney's back. Rodney rolled out from underneath Vernon and scrambled to his feet. He rammed his fist into Vernon's back and flipped him over. He continued to punch him until Vernon moved his head and Rodney's fist slammed into the floorboards. Vernon took a strong hold of Rodney's throat and threw him to the ground next to him. He slammed his foot into Rodney's stomach and kicked again at his ribcage.
   "That's enough, you idiots!"
   The door had opened and standing in the frame was an old man with short brown hair and a grey suit. His face was covered in wrinkles and his glasses made his eyes look much bigger than they usually were.
   It was Control.

Description
Chapter Three

   In a dingy bar in Soho, Kristov Yogi was sipping on his gin and tonic. His face was unshaven and his hair was a mess. He was fidgeting about and his general nature was one that would suggest Yogi was anxious. He had been waiting for someone to show up for about an hour. He wanted to leave but if he did his life would be over. His client was an important person. Yogi didn't know an awful lot but he was told they were a Stazi agent who was currently in England on personal business from Stalin himself. Yogi had encounters with the Stazi before and they weren't pleasant. He knew Stazi who had been kicked from the Gestapo for being too cruel. They were a violent bunch and not to be messed with.
   The door to the bar burst open and a man with a black woolly scarf wrapped around his lower face and a large duffel coat walked in. He paused for a bit and looked around the bar. He noticed Yogi and sat down beside him. The man removed his scarf. Beneath his scarf lied a face that had seen war and unrest. There were two large scars on his right cheeks and his left eye was completely white. His nose was broken and two of his teeth had been knocked out. He looked at Yogi.
   "You must be Yogi," he said. His accent was Russian, there was no doubting that.
   "Yes, I am," Yogi replied. "You're Gregovski, I presume?"
   The man shook his head. "Gregovski can't make it I'm afraid. He had business he had to do." What he was actually doing was sitting on a boat off Dover nailing an iron pipe into a man's chest.
   Yogi looked at the man. "And who are you?" he asked.
   "Rodion Murtazin," he replied. "I'm here for Gregovski. He wants to know what you've managed to gather. Have the Circus revealed anything important yet? Has Control reared his ugly head since the killings began?"
   Yogi sipped at his drink. "Nothing at all," he said. "The Circus is a highly guarded place. I'm still trying to gain access into Control's office. The fucker's locked himself in there, methinks. No one's seen him since Norton got his blood spilt all over the library's floor. Believe me, Mr Murtazin; Control is going to stay under the hood until this is all over. And if the rumours are true it seems as if Control is going to be six feet under the hood."
   Murtazin smiled. "You've heard what my boss is planning to do, da?"
   "Picking off Control? He's a fucking nut if he's planning on doing that. And if Woodward accepts the offer Vernon Tully has put on the table then the shit really will hit the fan."
   Murtazin grabbed Yogi's collar. He pulled out a rusty razor and held it to Yogi's throat. "What?!" he screamed. Everyone in the bar was looking at the two Russians. The silence was hanging in the air and everyone was waiting to see who would die. Murtazin looked around and lowered the blade. He pocketed it and sat back down. He looked at Yogi again.
   "I would hope for your sake you're not pissing with me, Yogi," he growled. "Because if you are then you better hope to get the fuck into America before Gregovski gets his hands on you."
   Yogi sighed. "Calm down," he said. "Vernon Tully and Rodney East are trying to get Woodward back in. If he is then you can pull the plug on the operation because anything Woodward gets involved means bad things for the enemy. And if you've been paying attention that means us."
   Murtazin buried his face in his hands. "Woodward can't be involved. He left the service seven years ago. He went to Stalingrad and got the shit scared out of him. He became pissed with Control and left. Why would he go back?"
   "Well I was passing messages through and Tully was trying to get Woodward back in. I doubt he'll do it but he has a soft side for East so I imagine he'll be back in soon. I'll pass on information to one of Gregovski's men or you when I get it. I'm going back in for the night shift so I can get a confirmation on Woodward's involvement. Don't worry, everything will work. I assure you."
   Yogi knocked his gin and tonic back, stood up and left the bar. Murtazin wrapped his scarf around his face and walked out of the bar. He knew he had to wait before saying anything to Gregovski. But knowing the Circus if they were getting Woodward in it wouldn't be long before things turned serious and the plans of the KGB would be lying in ruins.
* * * * *
   Gordon was sitting outside Rodney's office at MI6. He was sitting in a plush velvet chair surrounded by pictures from the old days. He spotted pictures of Rodney and him beside a Spitfire smiling. Gordon remembered that day. He and Rodney were going on a reconnaissance flight over East Berlin. It was the journey that would provide the evidence Control needed to send Gordon over to Stalingrad a week later.
   They were the old days, though. Those times were long gone and forgotten and Gordon had managed to put them behind him. The door to Rodney's office opened up and Rodney reared his head. He looked at Gordon.
   "Gordon," he smiled. "Care for a drink?"
   Gordon nodded and stood up. He brushed himself off and walked through the door to Rodney's office. As he entered the room he was bombarded with the smell of Rodney's pipe tobacco. Rodney's smoking habits were famous in the business. He was rarely seen without his pipe rammed into his mouth and his collection of pipes was supposedly worth six figures. Rodney's office was also spotless. There was a large window to the east of the room which overlooked the city of London. Bookshelves surrounded the walls and it was the only private room with a fire in the building. It was nicer than Control's office, by Control's admission himself.
   Rodney closed the door behind him and indicated to one of the red leather chairs dotted around Rodney's desk.
   "Gordon, please have a seat," he said. Gordon sat down. Rodney took a silver teapot from his desk and poured out two cups of tea. He added milk to the cups and handed one of them to Gordon. Gordon took it and sipped it. He looked up at Rodney.
   "You don't have my watch, do you?" he asked. Rodney smiled again.
   "This is why we need you back, Gordon," he said. He popped his pipe in his mouth and lit it up. "Things are a mess. We've added more and more security as time goes on. Do you know that Tully broke into your home, Gordon? I didn't want him to, the yank bastard. Please, Gordon. If you don't then Vernon is going to get his hands on this and then god knows what will happen then."
   The door opened up before Gordon could reply. A man in a navy suit with black stripes running down it walked into Rodney's office. His face was full and his hair was slicked back. He was tall and wide shouldered. He gave off the impression he was in power. Or at least he thought he was. He was carrying a bundle of papers as he walked in.
   "Rodney," he said. He had an American accent that seemed to be from New York. Gordon was bad with American accents. It all sounded alien to him. He paused before continuing. He looked at Gordon. "Gordon Woodward?" he asked. He smiled. "Good day to you," he said. "Vernon Tully, head of foreign operations. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
   He offered his hand. Gordon smiled. "Was your little break-in a disappointment? Sad you didn't get to meet me in person? Oh well. At least now you get to apologise to my face."
   Vernon chuckled. "Oh, Gordon," he said. "You're as good as the guys have been saying. It's good then that you're accepting my offer?"
   Gordon sat back down and continued sipping his tea. "Quite the opposite, actually," he said. "I'm sorry to say I'm declining Rodney's offer. And, Mr Tully, never call me Gordon again."
   Vernon's smile faded away and his general demeanour became more serious. "I'm sorry, Mr Woodward?" he said. He walked up to the desk and sat down on one of the chairs.
   "You can't be serious. Surely you're joking, right?"
   Rodney shook his head. "I'm sorry, Vernon. Gordon's declining the job. We can't force him."
   "Bullshit, Rodney, that's bullshit. We've got bodies piling up and we need someone who's competent enough to find the bastard that's pulling this off. He's deep within the organisation and he's going to kill off someone at the top if we don't find him. And Gordon is the only one who can figure it out."
   Gordon placed his cup on Rodney's desk. "You seem to be doing quite well if you've managed to completely rule out the notion of our killer being male. If you can do that then I don't think I'm needed."
   Rodney laughed. Vernon sighed and sat back down. "You know what we mean, Mr Woodward. Please. I beg of you."
   Gordon shook his head. Vernon stood up again like a flash. "You coward," he shouted. "I thought you were made of stronger stuff. All the stories I've heard. Stalingrad, Dresden, that incident in Singapore, you've faced things that are in our darkest nightmares and you won't do this. What are you, some kind of commie sympathising asshole?"
   Rodney jumped up so hard his pipe fell out of his mouth. "Shut up, you yank. It's your bloody country that got us into this pissing war. You got so paranoid with the Russians that you decided to get us and every other country in the west roped in to your phoney war. Where's your actual proof that anything the Russians supposedly have, they really do? If Gordon's a coward then you're a fucking hopeless wreck."
   Vernon swung his right fist at Rodney's cheek. Rodney stumbled back and wrapped his hands around Vernon's neck. He slammed him against the wall. Vernon rammed his knee into Rodney's groin. He kicked him in the shin and threw his body on top of Rodney's back. Rodney rolled out from underneath Vernon and scrambled to his feet. He rammed his fist into Vernon's back and flipped him over. He continued to punch him until Vernon moved his head and Rodney's fist slammed into the floorboards. Vernon took a strong hold of Rodney's throat and threw him to the ground next to him. He slammed his foot into Rodney's stomach and kicked again at his ribcage.
   "That's enough, you idiots!"
   The door had opened and standing in the frame was an old man with short brown hair and a grey suit. His face was covered in wrinkles and his glasses made his eyes look much bigger than they usually were.
   It was Control.