Free Nothing but Trouble by Roberta Kray

walked through the terminal, he paused by a bookshop, pretending to examine the rows of novels displayed in the window.
     His eyes quickly sought out the reflections of the travellers behind him. Was he being followed? It was unlikely, but in his
     line of work you could never be too careful. When he was as sure as he could be that there was no one on his tail, he refocused
     his gaze on himself.
    He was a commonplace middle-aged guy of average height and average build. His eyes were grey, as was his thinning hair. He
     was
neither handsome nor ugly, but perfectly ordinary. The word bland could have been invented to describe him. For some men this
     objective evaluation of their looks might have been disheartening, but for him it provided a solid reassurance. His features
     were so mundane that they attracted no attention whatsoever – and that was exactly how he liked it.
    Turning, he strode towards the train station. In his left hand he carried a black nylon suitcase, not too large, not too small.
     Under his beige raincoat he was wearing an off-the-peg navy suit, a white shirt and a blue-and-white-striped tie. As he walked,
     he lifted his right hand and patted the upper left pocket of his jacket. Fake passports didn’t come cheap, and he needed to
     keep this one safe. He had many identities, but on this occasion he was travelling as Ian English, a retired expat home to
     visit his family.
    As he stepped on to the station platform, mingling with the crowd, he thought of his real family back in Cadiz. He looked
     up at the clock, knocking off an hour for Spanish time. The lunchtime rush at the bar he owned would be in full swing now.
     His wife, Anna, would be serving the food and drink, clearing the tables, stacking the dirty plates and glasses on the counter
     and looking forward to a sit-down. He could imagine her smiling as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, a fondly
     remembered gesture that made the breath catch in the back of his throat. Immediately he brushed the image aside. He was no
     longer a husband. He was another man, with another man’s responsibilities.
    From Gatwick there was a Service every fifteen minutes to Victoria, and he didn’t have long to wait for a train. As he made
     his way through the compartments, he took note, as always, of the people around him. He could sniff out a copper at a hundred
     paces, but it wasn’t just the filth he had to worry about. If there had been a leak – and he prayed to God that there hadn’t
     been – then his shadow could be much harder to spot.
    He lifted his suitcase on to the overhead rack after choosing a seat
beside a pretty blonde girl with an iPod round her neck. She glanced sideways, instantly dismissing him as of no significant
     sexual interest before shifting a fraction of an inch closer to the window. He was certain, even if pressed, that the only
     facts she’d be able to recall about him were that he was old and that he was male. Girls of her age
–
what was she?
–
nineteen? twenty? – viewed most men over forty as being in their dotage.
    Before settling down, he glanced casually over his shoulder to see if anyone, especially anyone without luggage, was taking
     a seat behind him. He was instinctively more wary of the male passengers, but fought against the prejudice; there were plenty
     of female cops these days, plenty of women involved in all kinds of undercover work. It was best not to make any assumptions.
    He passed the half-hour journey staring at a paper he had picked up at the airport. War, famine, political scheming. He flicked
     over the pages, but he wasn’t really reading. It was all bad news and he didn’t need reminding of the dire state of the world.
     He had problems of his own. It was these more personal problems that he dwelled on as the train rattled towards its destination.
    Knowing when to quit was the trick to his game, and he’d made that decision years ago. Being back on the job made him uneasy.