John Porter Interim

Chapter I

Note: The following story takes place between Chapters 9 and 10 of my “John Porter: The Windward Passage” fanfic. All the previous disclaimers apply.

-August 2010-

"Porter," I answer my mobile as I get out of the car.

"It's Layla. We have a lead on who hired your little Jamaican friend."

"Let me guess. A is for American?"

"And certain national military cemeteries. I'll fill you in when you get back in town."

"And Alex?" There was some resistance when I demanded an agent to watch the house she was sharing with Dianne's mother. But even if Alex was not the target, Layla understood that I was not coming back to London until she put someone on the house. It's nice to have a C.O. that gets you.

"Eyes are in place. She'll be fine John."

"Thanks. I have some things to take care of, but I'll be in tomorrow morning. I hear congratulations are in order, Captain."

"They are and thank you."

"Does Firm protocol allow NCOs to take their superior officer out for a drink?"

"It does in my part of the Firm."

"Friday then, if prevailing conditions permit."

"Yes well, we'll talk about that. See you tomorrow."

I turn off the phone as I walk into the churchyard. In mufti I look like another tourist and so pass unnoticed. When they moved the barracks to Credenhill, they moved the old clock tower and created their own cemetery for the Regiment's fallen, very organized and formal and military. So I was glad to hear that Karen Andrews had honored her husband's request by burying him in the traditional plot in St. Martin's. There is something about the old stone church with its red doors surrounded by the old family graves, the wall of trees screening the yard from the suburbia that has grown up around it. I remember Steve saying when he first saw it that if it was any more picture-postcard English country-side he'd start sweating tea, but deep down he'd liked the place. It feels like a good place to have a rest, and with S.A.S.' long history here they know how to take care of us...of him.

I hadn't been here since I left the Army. Steve died while I was in the field, so I was spared a funeral that could have turned very ugly if I had showed up. When I got back, I was busy debriefing and then getting ready for Greg's jaunt to the Caribbean. Alex had come down on the train...

 We are the Pilgrims, master: we shall go

Always a little further: it may be

Beyond that last blue mountain barred with snow,

Across that angry or that glimmering sea,

White on a throne or guarded in a cave

There lives a prophet who can understand

Why men are born: but surely we are brave,

Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.

I've crossed the glimmering sea and a few the blue mountains. And I'm still above ground. Still journeying.

Fuck it and the excuses, I didn't come because I hadn't. I saw Mike and Keith's names on the clock tower, but I hadn't felt comfortable staying long. Before I cleared my name, the looks I got from the personnel told me I was there only on sufferance. After the truth came out, after Steve had cleared it for me, I just...hadn't. But driving Alex back to her Grandmum's in Leominster, I didn't have any more excuses.