Seven Swans a Swimming

(This is set in part of the French countryside Alison and I walked through. We walked for days through forests and even encountered a wild boar on one path. I gathered a whole load of stories in my mind and this just happens to be one of them....)

He had once read how people in the country used to sustain themselves across each year by working out on the land during the more kindly months then stayed in doors engaged in cottage industries during the colder periods. He had imagined something like that sort of pattern when he decided to live in this remote rural area. However, he was not particularly skilled in anything that could be bottled, boxed or wrapped and sold and he had discovered very early in his time here that there were no large farms or estates here requiring casual labour during the spring, summer or even autumn.
Not that he needed the money – it was just the boredom, really. He wanted things to do.
Then, in his second year in the place he had a sudden scare. It was something that both terrified him and gave him a new purpose.
He was just about to leave the little patisserie just off the market square one Friday morning when he saw two men climb back into an English Rangerover. They had been talking to Marcel in the local bar and he had given then the brush off. They were not looking too happy and Marcel was pretty pissed off by the look of it. He knew everyone’s routine and was aware that George was probably in the patisserie so, when the Rangerover was scuttling down the road away from the bar he looked across at the door George was standing at and nodded to him.
George stepped out and glanced down the road to the bottom of the town to see the brake lights of the big motor flash as it paused at the crossing down near the bridge. It then made a rapid turn to the left and headed west on the river road.
George crossed to the bar and exchanged a cautious greeting with Marcel. The Frenchman was at least ten years older than George but seemed even older today.
“They were not your friends, I trust.” He stated rather than asked.
“Never seen them before. What did they want?”
They were looking for someone like you.” Replied Marcel, his eyes watching George openly and carefully. “But I could not recall even you when I heard them speak.”
“Thank you. Nosey Englishmen are even worse than friendly ones. They would have expected me to help them even if I told them I was not interested.”
“Hmm. Probably true.” Marcel decided to shrug the whole thing off. “Want a coffee?”
“Just a small one, Marcel, I have lots to do today.”
George sat looking at the local paper, checking out the weather and the local sports section before looking at the headlines. He was looking at the paper but he was not reading much. Half his brain was on the question of “Who?” and the other half was engaged in looking and listening while pretending to relax.
As soon as seemed reasonable for someone who was in a hurry but really didn’t have that much going on in his life, he left the bar and strolled back to his car.
He lived about two miles out of the little town and often walked back and forth along a path through the woods following the river, but today he had really been thinking of doing some work on the property and he had been pondering that a couple of nice cakes would brighten up the weekend, so he had driven in. He was glad he had done this. He kept running the faces through his mental database but nothing was coming up. He knew the type, of course. They were big trouble for anyone who happened to be their target. The question was –were they after him? He felt that it was too close to home to think otherwise.
His conclusion was that he had become too complacent. Time to get himself sorted.
Well, he hoped he had enough time.
He parked the car in the small barn which was his garage and workshop and walked through a connecting door to the large barn, climbed to the hay loft he looked out through the holes in the old stone wall that passed for windows in this ancient structure. He could see down the valley from there. On an old stone shelf alcove carved into the wall he had a powerful set of binoculars. Carefully, he scanned the various places he had scoped out long ago as possible locations for observers and hostiles. You could not use such places as a guide for snipers – professional ones would make themselves invisible and would be impossible to detect in this sort of mixed woodland, farm and hedgerow landscape. But thugs with scoped rifles and observers preparing to do him harm would choose particular sites for the job. He had spent the first few months identifying them all and then another year adding to the list. Shame he had stopped doing his daily check up on these sites.
On the third sweep around the possibles he caught sight of what looked like the Rangerover as it drove along the valley in the opposite direction to the one it had taken out of town. Either they were doing a loop or they were surveying the place methodically, back and forth, criss-crossing the area. He watched as the vehicle slowed and turned into the sheltered lay-by he had earmarked as the most obvious stopping place. It was half way up the side of the valley, taking advantage of an old, tight bend in the road that was left there after they straightened and widened it. Much of it was hidden from the road by trees yet it held a commanding viewpoint over his property. If he had known about the place he would not have bought the property. But then, again, such an obvious place had its advantages. It was also easily observed from the barn and could be reached (unseen) by foot if you knew what you were doing.
George watched as the two oversized men rolled out of the car as if it was a mini. They stretched and casually strolled to the small wall by the edge of the lay-by. There was a steep drop from the old road down to the rocky river below and the trees were thin enough here, as a result of this, to open up the view down to George. The two men seemed to lean awkwardly against the wall which made George scoff. They were too tall to make that look even a little bit casual. They were casing his home and were leaning their arms on the wall so they would not accidentally point as they talked. They knew what they were doing and had obviously worked out that if they could see so clearly, they could also be clearly seen.
It was only ten in the morning and already it was too late to do anything much. It was obvious that they were coming for him soon.
He had to have a game plan – and fast!
Of course, he could ambush them when they arrived on his land. He had worked out a number of scenarios to do that.
Perhaps he could sneak up on them and drop them at the lay by? If they decided to set up camp there, or at any of the other sites, come to think of it, he might just give it a try.
Or he could lure them somewhere and ambush them. He had one possible scenario that might work if that was what was required.
He pulled up one of the old bar stools he had placed there last year and rested his feet as he quietly observed them. One was in his early thirties, blond cropped hair, very square head with difficult to distinguish features, his face was a bit like a boxer’s from here. Nothing fine or petite about even his face. The other had darker hair which looked like it was thicker and slicked back from his face. He was large but it looked like he had worked at getting a larger, fuller figure. Perhaps a chiselled face but a body pumped up with something more than just exercise, perhaps. Who was the senior member of the party? George was betting on the darker haired one but was not sure why. Perhaps there was some body language he was reading sub-consciously.
After another ten minutes or so the double act returned to their car and headed off up the road away from George’s property.
“They’ll be back!” he said.
He trotted back down and fished out the shotgun he kept hidden in the workshop and checked through the property carefully. He should have done this when he first arrived, which worried him a bit (“Am I going soft?” he wondered) but he was glad that he had seen the goons properly and had been able to assess the threat they presented. After satisfying himself that the property was clear and unsullied, he put his cakes in the fridge, his bread in the bin and settled down to checking his intruder alarm systems.
He had six carefully placed cameras covering the perimeter of the property and two more on obscure access points. There were two radio controlled cameras set up along the road leading either side of his turn-off and another two on the drive. He had not checked the batteries in the remotes for some time, but he had not turned them on either. He sent a signal to each one and they responded with clear images forming in their allotted squares on his large format screen. A system check told him the batteries were OK for the moment but he would need to change them by tomorrow if he ran them on a steady basis from now.
He set the system working at what the software called “Maximum Alert” and went to the kitchen for some coffee.
Every time a vehicle drove past the cameras on the road the system beeped and he looked into the study to see what sort of car it was. By lunch time the goons had driven past his drive three times.
Lunch was a simple affair – some cheeses and cold meats, bread, butter and fresh fruit juice. He sat eating while watching the little images on the screen. At one o clock the car passed again and he took his gun and fresh coffee up to the barn where he sat on the stool and surveyed the valley again. The two thugs were now in what he called the “woodland drive observation spot” which was easy to drive to but gave the observers better cover for their car and themselves. He had driven there on a number of occasions and believed that it was a good spot except when the hunting season was on – not that these guys would understand that. So now he knew that they were serious and were planning their moves carefully. Now he knew he would have to act quickly before they started calling the shots.
This was his territory – he should be able to do something!
Of course, he could get to that spot, too. And because of its position he could empty his shotgun into them and pile them in the back of their car, drive it even deeper into the forest and leave them. Perhaps if he did that and left the car doors open there would not be much of them left when they were eventually found....
It all seemed too messy. He knew the best place to dump them and he even had a half baked plan to get them there, too.
He sat ‘till almost three watching them and thinking about it. He was worried that the cat was already out of the bag. If they were on contract to a particular person they would probably have called him by now to say they had found Georgie-boy and were about to do the dirty deed. But, of course, they had not seen George in the flesh yet, so perhaps they would wait to get a proper confirmation first. Were they there to observe the house and catch a glimpse of him first?
George reckoned that they had shown his picture to a couple of people and that was why they were there. They must be pretty certain that their quarry is currently nestling cosily in the pretty little cottage next to the barn. They would spend the day working out the best possible scenario and then attack him – probably at some point during the night.
All this indecision was winding George up. He was beginning to sweat a little and his adrenalin level was gradually rising. He needed to act, he could not risk waiting until they dropped in on him.
He made his mind up and headed for the small barn. There, he put his shotgun, hunting rifle and some ammunition in the car. Plan A would be to get close and finish them ASAP and plan B would be to lure them to his favoured spot. Plan A or Plan B.... he ran back into the other barn and climbed to his observation spot. One last look then action time!
He got there just in time to see them move back to their 4 by 4 and climb in. Looks like plan B might be the one to go for. If they were going to hit him tonight they would be looking for some food and rations. The most logical place would be the Intermarche on the other side of town. They did not seem shy about driving past his place so the most likely route they would take would be straight into town past him then out the other side following the signs saying “Intermarche 5 minutes straight on” and the like.
He rushed to the car and drove it to the end of the drive and waited. When he saw the car coming down the hill towards him he put on his indicator showing that he was going to turn in the opposite direction to them and then, as they passed he made certain that they could see his face clearly. He looked straight at them as if he was just casually waiting for them to pass so he could carry on with his daily chores. He could see them clocking him and felt sure he had them hooked. So he drove off immediately they were passed him and saw the big car’s brake lights come on bright and hard. By the time he was at the top of the hill and turning along the ridge they were doing a quick three point turn. “Good,” he thought, “they have taken the bait. Let’s see if this works.” Then he burst out laughing. “If it doesn’t work I’ll be dead...or tied to a chair wishing that I was already dead!”
As he drove steadily on he kept thinking of making a run for it but knew it was too late for that. He could see the big car following at a careful distance away.
His plan was quite simple, really. He had scoured the local landscape for this place and had spent hours, even days, checking it out. It was isolated, infrequently visited and, best of all, had a large, deep pool of water conveniently situated at its heart. He drove steadily for another ten minutes then turned off onto a single lane of tarmac – what the locals called a piste. After a few minute’s drive into more and more dense woodland he turned onto an unmetalled road which wound up a small, heavily wooded hill. At the top he drove onto a wide clearing. From this spot you could look across a landscape of rolling hills covered in mixed deciduous forest but the edge of the clearing also looked over a large, gaping hole. This had been a working quarry until about twenty years , he knew, but the road to the bottom was now blocked off and the path was so overgrown it was not fun to walk along. George knew this because he had checked out the land below. Up here was a spot where hunters parked their cars because this whole area was great for hunting. The local “joke” was that sometimes poachers disappear here because when they drive up at night to do a bit of illegal hunting they sometimes end up driving off the edge of the cliff.
The cautionary tale had been an inspiration to George.
So he parked at the other side of the clearing, visible from the entrance but enough room for the other car to come in and block the exit. Then he quickly got out of the car, picked up his rifle and slung the shotgun over his shoulder and dashed into the woods. There was a path that took him just beyond the entrance. He then sat on a clump of stones behind a large bush and waited, listening to the 4 by 4 being inexpertly driven up the hill wondering why people drove cars they are incapable of controlling properly.
He heard the car stop half way up with its engine running and heard someone getting out of the car. So, they were not as stupid as he had hoped. One was going to come at him in the car while the other worked his way around to the other side of the clearing. They must have a detailed map of the area and the passenger had been checking out the place as they drove; smarter than the average heavies. George now worried that they might be ex-servicemen and rapidly ran through the options in his head.
The foot soldier would choose the path that swung around the side of the hill then basically emerged from the trees next to the path he had used from the car. From his memory of the map the path was clearly marked. He decided to wait until the car started up again before he returned along the path. Partly because he suspected that the foot soldier would signal to the car once he was in position and partly because the noise of the car would give him good sound cover which would allow him to move quite fast.
It took more than five minutes for the ambush to be set up. George heard the car engage gear and begin its slow climb and he trotted along the path keeping himself low and watching out for twigs and other dangers while also keeping an eye out for the thug ahead. He stopped just short of the clearing and watched the broad back of the dark haired man who was casually leaning against a tree watching George’s car.
The car stopped exactly where George had expected it to with the front half in the clearing and the back half still snuggled in the shadow of the path. The blond guy switched off the engine and stepped out of the vehicle. He casually stretched and George noted the holster under the jacket and had no doubt the other one had something similar under his smart leather jacket, too. He was also sure that they had the skills to use their weapons effectively, too.
As the blond slowly walked across the clearing he swept the place with a calm, almost amused stare, looking for any anomalies or signs of movement in the dense undergrowth. He walked all the way to the car and looked in, tried the handle and opened the door. He looked in the glove compartment and released the catch for the boot. He then opened the boot and had a quick shuffle through the debris he found there. After closing the boot, he strolled to the edge of the clearing and looked down at the large pool below. Several white swans were moving around down there and as he began to count them one disappeared below the shiny blue surface and two others bobbed back up, hardly causing a ripple on the smooth surface.
He turned and walked casually towards the other man who then emerged into the sunlight. They were going to decide what to do next but George was there to make that decision for them. Helpfully, the blond man turned his back to the woods as he pointed towards the cliff with the pool at its bottom and George shot them both in the back with his hunting rifle and, just to make sure, put another bullet in the back of each man’s head.
He was going to go through their pockets but decided not to do that. He was already shaking from the shock and horror of what he had just done and he just wanted to finish the job and get the hell out of there. So he trotted over to the Rangerover and, after putting on a pair of old driver’s gloves, he climbed in and drove the car to the edge of the cliff. He dragged the men to the car one at a time and then spent almost half an hour struggling to get them into the car. At first he had thought that he would place them in the two front seats but that was just impossible to do. The easiest thing was to open the tailgate and bundle them in there.
Drenched in sweat and aching with the effort and shaking with the horror of it all he closed the tail gate and went back to the driver’s position. After a minute’s debate with himself, he climbed in and reversed the car about four or five feet. Luckily, the car was an automatic and much simpler than he had expected. He experimented with the gears and brakes, putting the car into drive with the hand brake on made the thing whine but it stayed where it was so he dropped it back into park and before stepping out he wound down the windows using a central block of switches next to the driver. He took a deep breath then leant forwards and moved the gearshift into drive then he grabbed the hand brake and pushed it down.
The car suddenly surged forwards and nearly took him with it. He threw himself back and landed with a bump on the ground. He lay there and watched, transfixed, as the big car seemed to drive out into empty space then disappear. He was getting up when he heard a nasty crunching sound then a great splash and a large number of white swans appeared before him as he stepped to the edge. They were flapping and looked quite put out by the sudden appearance of the car. He stood and watched the car burp and gurgle air as it disappeared below the surface. Interestingly, the swans were already starting to head back to their watery home.
He was about to turn away when his ‘phone began ringing. The sudden shock of it made his heart jump and he shook violently as he struggled to get the thing out of his pocket. What if it had done that just a short time before, when he was standing in the woods biding his time?
He looked at the number and answered it. It was a London number he recognised. The chief superintendant who had handled his case and had arranged for his new identity and “safe” location. “Damn,“ George thought to himself. “Perhaps I should have ‘phoned him first.” But then, what would the Metropolitan police have done? The danger was too imminent for them to have done anything themselves and the local police were really not the answer either. He had done the right thing to handle it himself. So he was partly worried and keen to keep this incident quiet and partly angry at having been exposed to immediate danger like that.
“Hello, sir,” Said George, hoping he sounded quite calm,” What can I do for you?”
“Hello, Mr er, Philips. This is just a quick courtesy call. Just to let you know I have sent down two of my men to check out your current circumstances. It is always worth doing a security check from time to time, try out the locals and see how they react to inquisitive strangers and so forth. I’ve asked them not to disturb you and my initial report from them has been pretty good. Seems like you’ve settled in there pretty well.”
George watched the last of the swans as they landed back on the water.
“Hello? Are you there?”
“Yes, sorry, just distracted. Watching some swans swimming on a small lake.”
“How lovely. They said the area is quite attractive. Must say, I think they have enjoyed wandering around your patch but I didn’t want them causing you any upset. They’re quite harmless really, ha ha!”
“Well, er, thank you.” Answered George.
“OK, so as long as everything is fine with you I’ll give them another couple of days and then call them back.”
“Thank you for letting me know!” said George. “Good bye.” And then he switched off the phone and put it back in his pocket.
He counted seven swans swimming below him before he turned and walked back to his car.