Excerpt: Edward (working title)

One of the strangest people I ever met was a young man called Edward. Or at least he said his name was Edward. I was never quite sure. I was in London, which wasn't strange back then, as it was where I lived and worked.
We met one morning in a busy branch of Starbucks, just as I was finding an empty table. He was a young guy, mid twenties, and was wearing a nondescript dark blue suit. His hair was cut in a plain style. I didn't notice right away, but he seemed to dress in such a way to be as average as possible, even though his face was striking, with sharp cheekbones and a thin nose. He had a coffee of his own, and was obviously looking for a seat of his own.
"Can I sit here?" we both said, pointing to the same seat. We both grinned, nodded to each other, and took a chair on opposite sides of the table. I opened my laptop and started poking about online.
"Any news?" Edward asked, though I didn't know his name at the time.
"Nothing much," I said, "a scandal at ICORD, something to do with drugs. Oh, and the election in America."
"Is it just me, or do American elections seem to happen more often than they used to?"
I grinned again. I'd thought the same thing a few days before. "Amazing how the latest tsunami dropped out the news so quickly." I said.
Edward nodded, then took a sip of his coffee. "Yup, pretty impressive," he took another sip, "but white men losing money or power is always bigger news than anything else. You know, Andy, one of these days someone will dare run a news feed that covers just the important material."
"Excuse me," I said, trying not to frown, "do I know you?"
Edward suddenly opened his eyes wide. "Ah! I know your name... Well, no. Sort of. Actually, you've never met me before."
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean is..." He paused, obviously trying to think of what to say, or maybe how to say it. "I saw you in here before, and someone you were with said your name."
"Nope," I said, "this is the first time I've ever bought a coffee here."
"Maybe it was another Starbucks?"
I closed my laptop and turned to face him. The last time I'd visited any Starbucks was maybe a year before. There was no way he'd be able to remember the randomly mentioned name of a random fellow customer.
"Do you want to tell me the truth?" I asked.
"I'd rather not. It's classified."
"And then you'd have to kill me?"
"Nothing so pointless." I thought about that for a few seconds but couldn't work out what he meant. He continued: "I'll tell you the truth, but you have to promise something."
"I'm not promising anything!"
"Fair enough, I guess it won't matter either way. Here's the truth..."

Edward went on to tell the most preposterous story I'd ever heard. He was born in South America to English parents who were there on a year long adventure holiday. A few days later his parents fell overboard during a boating trip on the upper Amazon. Their rented boat drifted for an unknown time, containing just one camera, one hand bag and one tiny baby. He was found many miles downstream and was taken in by some Peruvians. He lived for 8 months on a houseboat slowly making its way from village to village, delivering drugs paid for by a French Canadian charity.
Once the houseboat reached Manaus the Peruvians left him on the steps of the British Embassy building. He had two things tucked into the basket beside him; a note saying where and when he was found, and the passports of his parents. He was flown to London and was taken in by social services. There was confusion as what to do with this unnamed child. His parents' bodies had been found months before, and due to the bloated nature of his mother's corpse the doctors in Chile had thought she was still pregnant. The bodies had long since been cremated, and all his remaining relatives didn't even know he had been born yet, let alone still alive and well.
As social services bureaucrats, in the name of sensitivity, were still unsure of what to do, a call came in from the personal secretary to a high level government minister. A recommendation was made, a corse of action decided, and within a few hours the boy had been adopted. His new parents were retired university professors from Oxford University.
The bureaucrats weren't told not to ask questions, but they weren't exactly encouraged to make any followup enquiries.
Edward, as he was now called, was bought up like a normal upper class child, the only difference was that he knew he was adopted, and his latest father was honest that his real parents were both deceased. That all changed on his eighteenth birthday, when he was ordered to the warden's office at his boarding school. He was met by a man in a nondescript dark blue suit with a plain haircut.
"Edward, your country needs you!" he was told.
"Me?" he asked.
"Yes. You've been selected by MI6 to work for Her Majesty's Secret Service."
"But I didn't apply!"
"But you are the one we want and need. What do you think of this?" He was given a Rolex watch. "Careful when you change the time now."
He held it away from his face and twisted the tiny wheel on the side. A laser shot out and melted a hole through his school bag.
"Do I get a car?" he asked.

Fifteen minutes later, he was done recounting tales of his years in training. Edward sat back in his seat and drained the last of his coffee. "And that is how I became an agent. I've never killed anyone, though I was the top of my class in unarmed combat. I mainly do intelligence work, not red ops."
I frowned, not sure if I was amused or annoyed. The story was full of holes. No, it was full of blatant lies.
"And why do you know my name again?"
"Oh, we've been following you for years. Up until about 7 months ago, that is. Someone in your line of work, it's pretty normal."
"I work in a bank."
"I know. Don't worry, you didn't do anything wrong or anything. Just random surveillance. Make sure the banks are keeping vaults, their servers and their staff secure."
"What else do you know about me?"
"Your name is Andrew Gateman, you're thirty one, your birthday is November twenty one. You are single, or were seven months ago. You have one brother, Fraiser, and one younger sister, Amy. You have a strained relationship with your parents, and when you see a call is from their home phone you don't answer."
"You were watching me at home?"
"Don't worry, we don't care about the porno DVD's you keep in the Fawlty Towers Extras Disc case. You wouldn't believe how many of our targets have similar hiding places."
I felt my cheeks and ears turn red.
"You are on time for work every day and are never ill. You don't use an obvious password for your work account, but each time you are scheduled to change it you just re-enter the old one again. Are you still using 'foxrabbit974' or what?"
My mouth dropped open.
"You really should break that habit."
"I could lose my job!" I hissed, looking left and right.
"You've nothing to worry about," Edward said, reaching over and holding my arm, "we didn't tell your managers. It was decided you were firmly in the no worries column. However," he leaned over towards me, "when I said you must promise me something, I meant it."
I nodded.
"Promise me you'll never mention this to anyone, and go about your life as normal, and don't think of me again. Oh, and change your password."
I nodded again, but kept quiet. Edward raised one eyebrow.
"Promise?"
I nodded, but I could see he wanted more than that.
"Right, if you won't actually say you'll stay quiet, I take it you'll spill. So let's make a deal. You keep completely silent about me and this meeting for the next..." he looked at the date on his smart phone, "... for the next 22 years, seven months, two weeks and one day. After that you can do whatever you want."
"What?"
"Stay quite for the next 23 years and all will be well in the world. Start blabbing to anyone, you even think about me too much, and there'll be repercussions. I don't want that, you don't need that."
"What happens in 23 years?"
"A lot will happen, I'm sure. But we know what won't happen until then." Silence. "Right?"
"Okay. I promise."
Edward smiled, stood up abruptly, turned, and walked away. That smile stayed with me. Not just the rest of the day, but all that week. Then all the next week. Then the whole of the following month. That smile seemed to contain a carefree playfulness and, at the same time, something deadly serious. Something manic yet completely in control. And a smile that seamed tailored specially for me.
Nothing about his story convinced me, and I was sure this was all an elaborate prank conducted by office mates, or my brother, or my wife, or some combination of people who knew me well. The only information utterly secret was my work password, but that could have been snooped somehow.
Yes. I was sure it was all a practical joke. Until that smile.
Eight weeks later I broke my promise, but only slightly. I wrote down everything I remembered about that meeting, far more than I have included here. I sealed it in an envelope and placed it in my safety deposit box.
Sometimes months went by without my thoughts returning to Edward but I'd see a Bond movie, or read the word "rabbit" or "fox", or countless other things. My mind would replay that memory again, I'd see his smile once more and remember my promise.
Once I saw a face in an image that I was sure could have been Edward. There was no name attached and no credit, but the eyes, cheek bones and nose was just "there", and the age was about what it should have been. The photo was of a political rally in New Brazillia, and he was just a member of the crowd. Why was he there? I've no idea. The motives of spies are beyond our understanding.
If he was a spy at all!
Twenty three years are not yet over, not by four or five years, but I recently visited my deposit box and brought home that envelope by accident. I read through the story, surprised at how well I still remembered all the details. Or maybe I just remember writing the details, and that is why they match up so well.
Either way, I don't think any harm will come from posting this summary here. Edward will never read this. Not even google reads this blog. Actually, who does read this? Is text too old fashioned these days? I just like the feel better than iscan.