I'll never learn
God knows I try
Keep coming back for session and I don't know why
I'll never learn
I'll never see
So tell me why this sessions got a hold
Got a
Got a hold on me

11th July 2003

"Pint of Fosters please"

My pint arrived, and I waited for Steve and the crew to show up.

Another Friday night, another week over. I was a systems analyst with a company in central London called Waylen systems. I'd just finished my Computing degree at South Bank University. I would have finished it a year earlier if it hadn't been for a set of very unusual circumstances - 18 months ago, I wouldn't have expected to ever be able to complete my degree.

The gap year I had taken had definitely been out of this world. And the whole thing was pretty much my secret. Only Steve knew about the whole thing, and I wasn't the one that told him - and it didn't take him long to work out why not.

Steve was now a junior sports reporter at the Evening Standard - currently covering London's lower league football teams - how long he'd hang around at that level was anyone's guess though.

The place was 'The Fishermen' well, Steve, me, boozing - there were going to be few other places.

I took another sip of my pint, it was now 8:45pm and still no sign of any of the others.

At that point I heard a voice "Rick?"

I didn't think I was the guy he was looking for.

"Rick Francis?"

OK so that was my name but I certainly didn't recognise the voice. I turned round to face a brown haired bloke in jeans and a leather jacket who I'd never seen before.

"Rick?" he asked again

"Yeah" I replied coolly "that's my name. Now who the fuck are you?"

"My name's Greg Markson - Rick I need to talk to you."

My first instinct was to ask 'what for?'. However I started to get a slight sick feeling about what this could be about and who Greg could be.

My hunch said Greg wasn't a plain clothes copper who'd finally caught up with me over the AHA, or Gegenspass or anything else. He didn't sound like a Yank so it couldn't have anything directly to do with the SGC(or NID for that matter).

One of Her Majesty's faithful servants? Wouldn't they have gotten the message after I rejected Simone's offer? I didn't think they'd have any reason to bother me now.

Could anyone else have known about my well...other life?

Didn't seem likely, but I wasn't taking any chances "Outside" I said sharply.

We went into the deserted car park, Teddington TV studios next door. I looked Greg straight in the eye.

"Now what do you know about me?" Cool, calm, steady.

"You're the Shadowfan aren't you?"

It wasn't honestly a name I'd heard before, so my only reply was "Huh?"

"The guy who exposed Reg Porter, AHA you know..."

I exhaled and my eyes darted around the still empty carpark. Worst case scenario, Greg was a copper. Fair cop if that was the case but...

"OK..." I started "how did you find that out?"

"A few people saw between the lines during Reg Porter's court case and started an IRC group where people joined the dots. The rest..."

In other words, I'd become an urban myth. Or was that cyber myth - it didn't make a difference "...is history." I completed Greg's last sentence "Tell my fans that the Shadowfan is out of business." I turned round and made my way back to the pub.

"Why?"

"Look..." I turned my head round "I was 20 years old when the AHA thing happened, I'm 23 now. A lot happens in three years." I kept walking.

"Yeah." said Greg's voice behind me "The World Trade Centre was still standing three years ago for one thing."

I turned round fully "What the fuck does 9/11 have to do with your request?"

"If I told you there was an Al Queda fundraiser hiding out in Bristol..."

"I'd say tell the police or MI5."

"Like you originally told the police about Reg Porter?"

"What about MI5? I've had dealings with these guys before. They have their heads slightly up their arses but they're not complete idiots"

"Well they've dropped the ball this time out "

"Says you. You even got a name for this man?"

"Name's Abdul Shareem, small time businessman, heads a small construction company called Ramnan. Guess where some of the profits go to - we suspect he's bribing the authorities before they even get close to what's going on."

"Suspect?"

Greg took a sheet of paper from the pocket of his leather jacket, it was a photocopy of a cheque for £20000 to an N Watson. "The name on this is the head of a nearby police station. We've tried all the anti-terrorist hotlines but we suspect the investigation's getting blocked somewhere"

"That's it?"

"That's all we've got so far. We suspect the meaty stuff's on Ramnan's computers."

Sounded like déjà vu, and I knew full well that Greg could be bullshitting.

On the other hand, if the local beat had been brought off, the whole thing could be worth checking out at least.

There was one thing though "Who exactly is 'we'?" I asked.

"Mate of mine used to work for Ramnan, and got nervous"

"He still there?"

"He quit"

"Is he still on good enough terms with Shareem to get back in?"

"Forget it - he's too scared of the guy now"

'Crap!' Help on the inside could have been useful. Still...

"The deal is this. I go to Bristol - get inside Ramnan and have a sniff around for two weeks. If I come up empty I let you know, if I come up with something I let you know and find whichever copper in the area hasn't been bribed. Either way, I get five grand in cash at the end of it"

"Five grand?"

"Look Greg, this isn't exactly legal and so therefore is pretty risky, and cash will be hard to trace - I just need to work out where to store it that's all!"

 

"OK...deal!" We shook hands. And Greg didn't handcuff me - I guess that counted for something at least!

Round about then Steve and the crew showed up "What took you so long?" I yelled out to them as Greg walked off.

"Buses" replied a mate of mine called John. "Who the heck was that?"

"No one" I replied

"You sure?" Steve countered.

Steve knew everything else about my...'classified' work. But it wasn't worth telling him about this. Not yet!

"Yeah..." I replied tiredly "Guy thought I was someone else!"

28th July 2003

Well I was officially in the West country. Just 100 odd miles south of where I was unofficially.

Unofficially I had arrived in Bristol on Saturday to set up accommodation, using Sunday to get the lay of the land and make sure I had my story straight. Over the past two weeks I had set up my cover and got myself a job at Ramnan.

Or more precisely, I'd got Neil Taggart a job. Neil hailed from Cornwall and had dropped out of Bristol University after two years to do some travelling. Now back in the UK, he wanted to hook up with some old Uni mates in Bristol and had decided to add something to his CV while he was at it. The something was going to be teaching the staff IT on a temporary basis

Things hadn't gone entirely to plan however - Abdul had only given me a week's contract, and my deal with Greg said I had to hang around for two weeks. I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.

Right now I had to tie up some loose ends. I was in Ranman's office on an industrial estate in the north west of the city. It was 10am "Hi, Neil Taggert, I'm supposed to be giving you IT lessons"

"Oh, yeah I heard something about you" the secretary replied. "Abdul wanted to let you know when you were coming in". She soon had Abdul called up.

"Neil?"

"Yeah"

"Abdul" We shook hands. So far so good.

"So who exactly am I going to have to deal with?"

"To be honest with you, a bunch of ludniks. I'm the only one with a computer in this place and I could do with the IT workload getting shared. Saves time and gets us more customers."

"So when do I start?"

"I would have said now but we only just getting the workstations set up - any chance you could come back at 2"

"No problem"

Officially I'm here to remove paranoia of one kind, unofficially to check whether another kind of paranoia is warranted. Right!

1st August 2003

Well, I now knew why Abdul had only given me a one week contract - it's not like it takes too long to teach even a bunch of 'ludniks' how to operate a modern computer. Along with the teaching, Abdul had gotten me to fix up a password system for the new users.

So I said, it would be good for Abdul's password to be added into the new system - the guy was certainly reluctant to do that which was interesting.

"What's up with that?"

"Nothing..."

"Nothing?"

"Yeah...OK I'll do it - don't worry I'm freaking out"

"Ya think!" we both laughed. My instinct was now saying there was definately more to Abdul than met the eye.

I didn't know for sure what secrets Abdul was hiding, but he was definitely right to be nervous. I'd managed to give myself my own level of accsess to the password database, and it would allow me to view all of the passwords, including Abdul's.

So, it was the end of my last day and I went into the password database to pick up Abdul's password before making sure his office was empty. I logged on to his computer and had a look around.

The 'Finance' folder looked promising and though most files looked clean, there was one file which was password protected, or rather it was encrypted and it would only automatically decrypt with a password.

I transferred the file to a floppy I had - I was going to need to get accsess to a computer somewhere in Bristol if I was going to have a hope of decryption.

4th August 2003

I managed to get a laptop hired on the Saturday and started trying to decrypt the file on Sunday.

The encryption turned out to be basic, but it still took a lot a lot of work

Theory: Think of a word, any word. Convert the letters of the alphabet into numbers 1-26(A=1, B=2 etc). Add the first letter of your word to the first letter of your document and convert it back to the corresponding letter. If the total comes to 27 or over then subtract 26 before reconverting.

Keep this procedure going until you get to the end of your 'codeword' and start again.

Keep going over your codeword again until the end or the document.

It looked like Greg had been on the money. The message was basically a note telling some 'Brothers' about a contribution towards 'holy warriors' gained from profits made by Ramnan. The contribution was to be made over the Internet.

Looked like paydirt to me.

I phoned Greg to report my succsess, dumped the floppy in a police station on the other side of town and caught the next train from Temple Meads to Waterloo.

Rick Francis 1 Al Queda 0 sounded pretty good at that point.

8th August 2003

Another Friday night, 11pm, but I was giving the pub a miss this time out, I'd gotten the cash from Greg, and was headed to a lockup in Islington to store it. The cash was in tens and twentys in a large sports bag and I'd taken forty out to pay for it's storage.

Place wasn't exactly well signposted but I'd done my research - place was large, decent security, nice place to keep a financial security blanket.

Then just outside the holdup a fist came out of nowhere.

I dropped the bag and swung round to see some Asian guy who swung at me again. I staggered backwards and just about regained my balance - we exchanged blows for a few minutes before I gave him a right hook, tripped him up and placed my foot on his neck.

I had a good hunch who this guy was and got ready to call the police.

"Who you calling?" I heard from below me "The police? You're the only criminal here Rick. You turning yourself in?"

"Whatever" I replied '9...9...9...wha???' The guy had just managed to trip me up and send my mobile flying. In ten seconds though I was up and had him on the deck again - this time with my hand around his throat!

"And you are?" I asked looking him straight in the face.

"Muhamed Shareem. My brother is in jail thanks to you!" he spat.

"Your brother's Abdul Shareem?"

"Yes - and you know full well he has nothing to do with Al Queda"

"I know nothing of the sort pal - all I know..."

"...is that you set my brother up! If he was Al Queda you'd have been dead by now!"

Maybe. "As I was saying earlier" I started to cool down "all I know is that I found a document on your brother's system which had been encoded using a cryptokey"

"What was the cryptokey?"

"Allah" Muhamed snorted "Well I'd heard your brother had bribed the local police - it would make sense for him to be a little arrogant in that situation"

I allowed him to get back up "Look I want to talk to your brother" I sighed "I might be willing to do him a few favours"

"Might be?"

"Yeah! Either you're lying or the guy that hired me is - and I'm not sure which option I prefer. As it is I hope you've got twenty quid on you!"

"Why?"

"Because though I'm willing to offer your brother the best part of the five grand that's in this bag as compensation, in return for your earlier actions however you're going to have to pay part of the storage costs." I smirked.

10th August 2003

It was back west, to a prison in the Bristol area where Abdul was being held on remand. There was a lot of questions that were going to need answering before I'd be willing to helping him.

Whole thing gave me a sense of déjà vu of my trip to Belgium three years ago where I visited Steve to tell him of my plans.

Same situation, same tactics. Same CCTV cameras as well

"Salut, mon nom est Rick Francis, je suis votre billet hors d'ici" Well, Muhamed had told me that his brother spoke French so...

"Vous est francais?" he asked

"Non, anglais" a subtle glance to the TV cameras and Abdul soon got the message.

"Are you not the one who put me in here?" he asked in the same language.

"Sorry, I thought..."

"I think you're an idiot. Why were you working for my company under the name Neill Taggart anyway?"

"Have you heard of the Shadowfan?"

"No. Who is he?"

"Me."

"And who are you?"

"I'm a systems analyst."

"Is the Shadowfan a systems analyst?"

"No. The Shadowfan thing happened three years ago - do you remember Reg Porter?"

"Oh...are you saying you set that man up like you've set me up?"

"No, that man really did frame several football fans during Euro 2000 - my best friend was one of them."

"I see, and this is connected to me how?"

"Abdul, do you know a man called Greg Markson? If anyone has set you up it's him."

"Oh shit shit shit" Abdul sighed "I should have known they'd do something like this."

"They?"

"The Brotherhood of the Kingdom, a sick pile of shit based up north - Leeds I think. Greg Markson is one of them." Well that's what I understood it as.

"How do you know about them?"

"Let's say I'm another Shadowfan?"

That raised my eyebrows. "For how long?"

"Since 1995 - I felt someone had to clean up the shit in this world."

"What sort of shit?"

"Shit like the Brotherhood - they make people scared of Muslims and they're helped by the fucking Americans!"

That was a little too close to home for my liking "US military team saved my life once. Don't diss!" Well, that's a rough translation.

Abdul just guffawed "Was that their day off?"

The guy clearly had a bee in his bonnent about the Yanks - Iraq wouldn't have helped but I wasn't interested in arguing with him - not at the moment.

"Look. I have an offer to make"

"OK Shadowfan what is it?"

"I get up to Leeds, get proof that you got set up, give it to the police and you're free."

"How good are you?"

"Been out of the game for a while - but I think I'm good enough!" I didn't even want to mention to this guy that I'd actually been working out of a US military base for a while.

He was clearly thinking about things "This will probably be your best offer - I'll throw in the best part of five grand..."

"I don't want your fucking money" Abdul snapped. "You want me to have any respect for you - get me out of here!"

Couldn't say much fairer than that given the circumstances!

11th August 2003

The task I'd signed up to was one of the trickiest ever. Cover names were out - this 'Brotherhood of the Kingdom' would know me too well by now.

And this wasn't like Tok'ra work where half the time the opposition was seen as fair game for killing - Seng'ok had always been a lot more comfortable with that side of things than me anyway!

And on the other hand, I wasn't even supposed to know about the 'Brotherhood'.

One step at a time: First up - call Greg on mobile!

"Greg Markson" came the voice on the other end.

"Greg, it's Rick Francis. I've got a problem"

"Yeah?"

"My boss didn't like me taking two weeks off work at the last minute so I got fired."

"Five grand should keep you going for a while"

"Yeah and I get bored easily - you're partly the reason I've been fired..."

"You're thinking I've got work available?"

"Maybe"

"Maybe is the right word...I'll see if I can scrounge anything up but you could be expecting a bit much" The call ended

14th August 2003

It was about lunchtime when a text got through.

"If you can make it to Leeds my 10am next Monday then I might have something - ring me once you're up here - Greg"

Hmmm...interesting. But good enough

Only problem now was getting more time off at the last minute without getting fired for real!

18th August 2003

Well the time off thing wasn't a problem - I blagged a family emergency. Getting up to Leeds wasn't a problem - I was now in a local B+B. I didn't have to make contact with Greg till the next day but decided to check in anyway - didn't have much else to do.

The result was an arranged meetup on 10am Monday at a pub just down the road from me called the Smithson.

Once in it looked like it would just be a matter of time before I found what I was looking for - only problem was even if I deleted the stuff concerning me then surely the Brotherhood would be more than happy to bring it up in court.

I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.

It was now 10am Monday and as I walked into the Smithson I saw only two people, Greg and the barman. Along with two pints, Greg was sipping one of them. This was way too conveinient for the Greg to have the place completely deserted. Was this Brotherhood territory? Probably.

Did I usually drink booze this early? No but I didn't want to piss anyone off.

"Morning" I greeted

"Morning, I took the liberty of ordering you up a Carling"

"Thanks" I took a sip "So what's the deal?"

"It's not long term but...we've got a problem here in Leeds"

The last thing I'd wanted "What sort of problem?"

"A crime lord"

"Another Shadow op?" If this kept up then the 'Shadowfan' tag was going to go down the drain sooner of later.

"Yeah. Target's name is Tariq Washam. Financial adviser by day, gang leader by night" Another Asian no surprises there. "We're willing to pay a grand, dependent on results - just don't ask for any more work"

"You paid me five grand to take Abdul Shareem out of the picture"

"Al Queda, or gang members up north, what's the bigger problem?"

It was best not to argue too much "Game on." Well what else was I supposed to say? "Who are you guys anyway?" sounded good for a bit of exploration.

"Neighbourhood Watch!" Whatever!

"We've set up a cover for you - Mike Spence. Cockney like yourself. You start working with Washam tomorrow.

"Right" I finished my beer and quit the pub.

19th August 2003

Mike Spence's day at Loton Finance didn't go all that smoothly - due to the fact that Rick Francis didn't have much financial knowledge - I should definitely have asked Greg to give me more time to get up to speed on that front.

I was able to blag my way through the first day as a rookie learning the ropes - problem was, that left me with two options at the end of the day:

Feign illness for the rest of the week or get this part of the op finished pretty damn quick.

This gave me two problems - firstly, despite the fact that it was Washim who was showing me the ropes, there was zero oppitunities to get at his personal files.

Secondly, what would happen after I delivered the drug dealing evidence(fake or not, there was bound to be something) to the Brotherhood. Use the oppitunity to find what I was really up north for, evidence that Abdul had been set up, of course.

However, that could well involve me winding up in jail myself either through a straight confession to the police or my getting subpoenaed at some point down the road. Even if I altered the incriminating documents before handing them to the coppers I knew the Brotherhood would have no reason to protect me in this matter.

And though it would be fair cop, I didn't really like handing myself on a plate if I could possibly help it.

Which meant it would be very useful to work out Washim's game. All I knew at the moment was that he must be a headache for the Brotherhood in some way - therefore I might be able to do some deals with him.

One thing was to certain - I had to get this office day out of the way first. And at 5:30pm I was able to do that.

What next though? Follow Washim around Leeds for the night? Didn't look like I had many other options.

So I hire a cab and give the driver a thick wad to follow this guy back to his flat - I want to hang around for a while - cabbie's not interested - can't say I blame him.

Washim lived in what looked like a decent quality tower block.

Only chance I had of getting at Washim now was knocking on his door and hoping he didn't have company. So it's into reception - get his door number and head on up and knock.

"Who is it?" came from the other side of the door.

"Mike Spence!" replied a mockney accent.

Tariq opened the door. "Mike what you doing here?" he asked.

"My name's not Mike Spence" I replied in my normal voice "Name's Rick, Rick Francis - I think we need to talk"

Tariq took a minute to digest this "OK - take a seat" He lead me into his living room where we both sat down. "Who are you? Police?" he was clearly nervous.

"Nope! How worried would you be if I was?"

"If I was police how worried would you be?" A smirk appeared on Tariq's face.

"If you were police I'd say nice one for catching me" I grinned "What do you know about the Brotherhood of the Kingdom?"

Tariq now looked irritated "I know of them. And you?"

"Let's just say I've had dealings with them - they hired me last month to take out what was supposed to be an Al Queda operative in Bristol but the guy turned out to be nothing of the sort so I'm up here hoping to clear that guy's name - preferably without getting burnt. You're next on their hitlist"

"So you're an assassin"

I laughed "No - the Brotherhood don't want you dead - they just want you out of the picture, and I've burned people before - fuck knows why they want you burnt though, you're just a financial advisor" I smirked

"And what do you want me to be?"

"Someone who can scare the Brotherhood into keeping their mouths shut about my involvement with them."

"And what would I get in return?"

"The Brotherhood paid me five grand for the original job - you get the money then you do whatever you're gonna do"

"Maybe"

"Oh and by the way - you're supposed to be a gang leader according to the Brotherhood - any chance I could have something to show them?"

"I said maybe"

I left the flat.

23rd August 2003

The rest of the week went by slowly - Greg didn't seem to be getting too impatient so I was just able to play things cool - with Tariq's help of course. Just a case of going through the motions till the week was over.

This morning was when things kicked up a notch. I took the 10:05 train from Leeds to Kings Cross - arriving in London in time for lunch. I didn't feel like hitting Islington till late night and found that Steve was reporting on a QPR game so I just made my way to Hammersmith and chilled out in my flat.

That evening Steve and I hooked up in Hammersmith - place called Edwards, we'd hung there sometimes when at least one of us was in central London and couldn't be arsed to get back to Teddington. Maybe I shouldn't have hooked up with Steve in the middle of this thing but hey - I wanted to take a time out.

The conversation went something like this:

"Allright?" That was Steve.

"Yeah" I replied "So how did QPR get on?"

"Beat Bournemouth 1-0 - Paul Furlong hit the winner"

"Not bad for them. So you're a division 2 know-it-all yet?"

"By the end of the season? Maybe. So how was Leeds?"

"Leeds was interesting"

"So what exactly did you have to do up there?"
"Got sent up there to help out a partner firm - John...you know...boss John... recommended me." John White was my boss at Waylen. And yes I know it was risky giving Waylen and Steve different stories - but it's not like 'boss John' and Steve had ever met.

"Job's finished then I take it"

"Nah - got some cleaning up to do up there on Monday - just staying the night down here"

After a while I quit the place - headed to Islington, got the five grand out of the lockup and took it back to the flat.

24th August 2003

So it was Sunday night. And Tariq and I were meeting up - back in Leeds.

"Five grand?" he asked

"Satisfied?" I responded as I threw a sports bag load of cash over. "Whatcha got?"

He passed over a cassette tape. "Brotherhood's wet dream" he commented.

"OK then" I told him "I contact you when my end's done, you do whatever you're gonna do and we won't see each other again. Deal?"

"Deal" was the response.

24 hours tops till this shit was over - with any luck.

25th August 2003

Contact Greg and bowl it into Brotherhood HQ with a rucksack on my back.

"So you've come up with something?" he asks

"Yep, you might be interested. Recorded Washim on the sly" I replied

"Not bad" Greg grabs the cassette

Greg heads into some kind of recording room which sets me up nicely - head into an office, flip on a computer just in case my luck's in and they system's not password protected, but it ain't - ah well, best check the paper files.

Find what I'm looking for - hardcopy of a memo detailing the plan for the original sting on Abdul - which just so happens to mention a 'probably gullable Cockney lad who thinks he's James Bond' by the name of Rick Francis.

My instinct tells me to fix up a photocopy before I do anything else. No worries - Brotherhood seem to be going bananas over whatever Washim's fixed up - and popped the original back where I found it before doing anything else.

Brotherhood came out looking like the cat that got the cream - what they said went completely over my head but it was clear that they thought they were well sorted. I walked out with £1000 in cash which was cool as far as it went but a well covered back is, to quote the Mastercard ad - priceless. And I still had some work to do to fix that up.

So I blag my way into Loton finances where I remember they have a pretty classy copier - one of those where you can delete and edit text on a document via a touch keypad - had to blag my way in as a mate of Mike Spence looking for him and use the copier to make the guy the Brotherhood hired anonymous, you get the picture.

Hand the document into the local police station and I'm home and dry. I then phone Washim up.

"Ready?"

"On it".

So, it's back to the B+B to get packed up and fit the cash in every nook and cranny of my bag get to Leeds station and catch a train back down south - the 12:05.

Once I'm on the train I flip on my Walkman. The news says something about an office building getting burnt down - after it's occupants had been arrested.

I've got a good idea who that was. A slow grin spreads across my face.

Game, set, match. The train moves off.

That is definitely the last time I'll get myself in shit that deep.