Yet the Saturday morning hadn’t promised much. Diederik had slept in late — it was his day off from the academy college where he taught history. After waking up, he had lain in bed with a trashy thriller until almost midday; then he drank two cups of coffee and went to a Russian café nearby. On the way back, he bought the latest issue of The Times, which he opened on his arrival home and had just started studying the TV guide when the intercom chimed. Anna Walsh, a beautiful MI5 agent, came in and announced that Diederik alone could and should save the world.

Up until that moment, Kew had been thoroughly out of sorts. The day started inauspiciously — from the moment he’d got up, he had been persecuted by one misfortune after another. It had begun with the weather: going up to his window, Diederik had frowned at the leaden clouds and the wind that hurled a fine drizzle at the panes of glass, eliciting melancholy. His home — a one-bedroom apartment in southeast London that he’d inherited from his parents — was badly insulated and draughty. He had almost tripped down the communal stairwell, which was poorly lit by a single dim light bulb, and, once outside, was stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice, “Hey, Mr. Few. May I have a word?” Diederik turned around in irritation, knowing in advance what awaited him.

Mr. Smith, his retired neighbor, was looking down from the first-floor window. “You forgot to close the door again yesterday, Mr. Few,” he griped, continuing to mispronounce Diederik’s surname. “You need to be more careful. We don’t want us all to be cleaned out someday!” The latch of the door to the street had been a longstanding source of contention between them. There was something wrong with the mechanism, and the door was often left unlocked. Diederik and Jeremy Smith each accused the other of negligence, both totally convinced that they were in the right. “It was you who failed to close the door properly, Mr. Smith!” Diederik shouted back, waving his arms in indignation, but his voice, for some reason, quavered treacherously.

A superior smirk appeared on Mr. Smith’s face. “I said, close the door next time, Few!” He said loudly and distinctly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And I’m saying close the door yourself, Mr. Smith,” Diederik repeated, refusing to back down.

“Close the fucking door, Few!” Smith continued, raising his voice another notch. “I’m sure it was you who broke it in a temper after a girl wouldn’t give you any – although I doubt if any girl would even spare you a moment’s notice...”

This last comment marked a new turn in their conflict, and Diederik couldn’t come up with a witty rejoinder. Mr. Smith sensed this and immediately pressed home his advantage, “And I will call the management — you’ll be hearing from them. They’ll fix it, but it’ll cost you a pretty penny, Few, you can bet on that!”

He added, “Two hundred pounds, at the very least,” turned, and was about to close the window. Only then, having shaken off his torpor, Diederik shouted back, “If you want me to listen to anything you say, you must address me as Dr. Kew!” – but again, unable to control his voice, he ended up yelping like a puppy. Mr. Smith gave his opponent a withering look and hissed, “Ha! Some Doctor!...” — expressing his intense contempt for every “doctor” living in their district — and disappeared into his apartment. All Diederik could do was blink a few times, swear under his breath, and try and fail to calm himself down the entire quarter of an hour that it took him to walk to his favorite café.

From his street, which served as the border between two boroughs, instead of making his way to Clapham with its rather prosperous reputation, he had to turn left toward Brixton, with its less than salubrious one. The store signs were quick to remind him of that — “Brixton Barber,” “Brixton Caribbean Café,” “Akhmed’s Brixton Vegetables…” Diederik pulled his head into his shoulders and walked on, looking sullenly and intently at his feet. The area didn’t suit him; every crack in a wall and every stain on the road bore the threat of hostility, a feeling of a dead end. Kew was thinking that he was probably destined to live here, in a tiny apartment on the outskirts, among the immigrants and the poor, for the rest of his life, and this thought was unbearably painful. He returned to his senses only next to the tube station, almost running into a black preacher who was quoting from the Bible in a singsong voice. “Come back to Jesus!” he shouted right into Diederik’s face and laughed, seeing Kew flinching in fright.

“Jesus my ass,” Diederik muttered and immediately bumped into a brazen drunk blocking his way. “Spare us some change, mister,” he asked and, recognizing a soft touch, proceeded to follow Kew down the street. Diederik reached into his side pocket and, instead of offering small change, pulled out a five-pound note that he’d forgotten he’d had. The drunk immediately snatched it out of Diederik’s fingers and limped away, shouting, “Thank you, mister! Now fuck off, mister!” — and raising his middle finger above his head. Two other beggars immediately rushed after Diederik and wouldn’t leave him until he’d reached the café, almost prompting him to start running.

This, of course, further soured his mood, and even the stuffed cabbage leaves with sour cream seemed to lose their savor. To make things worse, Dasha, the blue-eyed waitress with her long and slender legs whom he’d been trying to flirt with, failed to smile and just looked away when he’d tried to share a joke with her. Afterward, Diederik glanced furtively in her direction and noticed a fat elderly customer also trying to catch Dasha’s attention and even taking her hand when she had brought him the bill. This convinced Kew more than ever of the hopelessness of his cause: the girl had no doubt heard every man’s line in the book, and, alas, it was impossible to impress her. He didn’t have the slightest chance — Diederik shook his head and whispered, “No chance. Nada. Nothing.” The word suddenly struck him: for some reason, nothing hinted at something, something immeasurable — perhaps the indifference of the world, which has no boundaries. Kew twitched and finished off his food with little pleasure, glaring down at the table, angry with both the fair sex and the world itself.

As he left the café, he glanced up and down Brixton’s high street, which was packed with people. No matter whether you looked north or south, it seemed to have no end; the same vista stretched in both directions — fast food outlets, small stores, greengrocers and haircut stalls. The street was perfectly straight, but Diederik felt that it was a deception, an illusion. Surely, in some other dimension, it would bend round, closing itself into a loop, with everything on it, himself included, moving along this same circle, unable to ever get off.

Kew could sense his mood deteriorating even more. He cursed under his breath and swore not to give in to feeling sorry for himself. The only cure for this state of mind was the steady following of his time-honored routine. The rest of Saturday awaited —with his fresh newspaper, two pints of Guinness and TV series until late at night. Diederik turned resolutely and walked toward his house.

However, by three o’clock that afternoon, despite being ensconced in an armchair with The Times, he was still quite unhappy with his life and the world. Therefore, when Agent Walsh appeared on his doorstep, he regarded it as some unfortunate misunderstanding or a prank. “You must have the wrong address,” he grunted — and then, realizing that MI5 had indeed decided to take a personal interest in him, he mumbled in confusion, “Is this because I’ve just had lunch at that Russian café or what…? Well, don’t tell me you’re here because of the broken door latch!”

Anna, however, wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Her task seemed quite straightforward, but behind its apparent simplicity lurked some oddities, foreshadowing surprises.

At this point, little was required of her: she simply had to deliver Diederik to a certain location and keep an eye on him there for as long as necessary. “You will be answering for him with your career,” the anonymous man, lounging proprietorially on her boss Jeff Murphy’s office couch, had casually informed her. Who this man was and from which Olympian summit he had descended, Anna could only guess. Judging by Murphy’s sullen silence, the summit was pretty heady.

Anna demanded more details. The man frowned and warned first that by simply knowing Diederik’s name and the fact that the government was interested in him, both she and Murphy were already out of their clearance levels. Then, carefully selecting his words, he informed them that this operation was related to an impending catastrophe that, for some reason, could be prevented only by Dr. Kew. And this was exactly what Anna would have to tell Diederik during their first encounter, notifying him also that his household affairs — the college, the bills, the apartment and so on — would all be taken care of.

“Remember,” the man with no name said, fixing his frown on Anna. “Remember, we will be needing his full and conscious cooperation. We cannot count on threatening him — he has nothing and no one, except for some elderly relatives in Holland. And there is one more subtle nuance, Walsh,” — he chewed his lip and managed to squeeze out the semblance of a smirk. “You will have to become, as they say, his very good friend!”

Anna silently waited for him to continue. “You will have to become good friends,” the man repeated. “You will be his comrade in misfortune, a hostage of circumstances — not his mentor, looking down on him from a height. You will need to, you know... feel his pain. To sympathize and share his fears. To become his confidante — the only person he can trust. It’s highly likely that things may be tough for him – and he’s going to look for a shoulder to cry on...”

The man spat out his words with a studied languor, peering at Anna from under his half-closed eyelids as if trying to penetrate her soul. She briefly thought that this was how a reptile in an expensive suit might look.

“You will report directly to me,” he said in parting. “Here’s my contact number. You can call me, shall we say, Number Four...” — and that was the end of the briefing. It was clear to Jeff and Anna that they had been drawn into something that boded no good.

That, however, was the norm for the Iota group, which had been created to carry out special operations for the Joint Committee. Its ranks boasted people from several different agencies who had been carefully selected and rigorously vetted. Iota’s “targets” often found themselves entangled in high-profile scandals or crimes affecting the political landscape. Anna had worked with individuals who’d later ended up in car accidents and other fatal mishaps. Formally, she was still on the staff of MI5 and had access to the agency’s resources, but she reported only to Jeff Murphy, who had led the group from its inception. They were supervised by a morose man from the Committee’s administration team, who was never mentioned in the public media. The fact that this time the task had been set not by him but by the mysterious “Number Four” gave the operation a slightly irregular quality. This, in turn, suggested that it would probably entail even more unpleasantness than usual.

Anna Walsh spent the next three days diligently preparing. The secrecy of the mission did not permit the direct employment of MI5 specialists, so she studied Diederik’s life and compiled his psychological profile herself. The profile allowed her to accurately calculate his reactions to different influences — from subtle flattery to outright threats. She approached this task with the utmost precision: Kew would need to leave his home calmly and casually; he could not be taken by force. But at the same time, as an ordinary, innocent citizen, he was not obliged to go anywhere — which he was, most likely, well aware of. And Anna did not want to resort to intimidation or false arrest to avoid harming their future “friendship,” which, on top of everything else, she wasn’t completely clear about either.

Formalized, parametrized and squeezed into an abstract behavior framework, Diederik was nothing out of the ordinary. His looks were likewise unremarkable — of medium height, thin and slightly awkward, with a pointed chin and receding hair. His past history looked as dull as his present; he had no special skills, no money and no connections. To all appearances, he was going to be putty in her hands, yet Anna did not feel completely confident. She was bothered by a nagging feeling that she didn’t quite understand Diederik Kew, despite his apparently humdrum personality and life. The facts just didn’t add up to form a coherent picture — most likely because comprehending men was not her strongest suit, she told herself. It was probably an area she needed to work on... Also, the difficulty in pinning him down could be attributed to his foreignness — he had come to the UK from mainland Europe at the age of twelve and a half. This explained why, despite studying at a local school, he had never become fully “anglicized” and did not neatly fit into a stereotypical English mindset.

Nonetheless, Anna did not allow herself to overthink; she developed a plan and set about executing it. She drove up to Kew’s house in a small silver Ford and walked slowly to the front door, swinging her handbag in a carefree manner. At the entrance, however, her face took on an official and reserved expression. Entering the apartment, she introduced herself with an emphasized propriety, allowing Diederik to examine her ID for as long as he pleased. And only after did she look straight at him and dazzled him with one of her most beguiling smiles.

It was a powerful weapon — Anna Walsh’s smile never failed to hit its target. It had won over much less compliant individuals. Diederik became amiable, agitated and obliging. He invited Anna into his tiny living room and offered her a glass of mineral water, followed by a coke, then tea and then coffee and biscuits. She graciously refused them all, sat down on the sofa, modestly straightened her skirt and said, again looking directly into his eyes, “I have come here to take you with me. And don’t worry, you have not endangered national security — the reason is entirely different...”

It didn’t take long to persuade Diederik. At first, of course, he became wary and wanted to make some phone calls, although he did not know to whom. He muttered something about his rights and even asked for the contact number of her immediate superior. However, applying the tactics she had prepared in advance, Anna gently but insistently stopped him in his tracks, convincing him to take the only reasonable course of action — to pack his things and get into her car. Diederik soon realized that refusal was not going to be an option. Moreover, he did not want to refuse: more than anything else, he wanted to go with special agent Anna Walsh and find out the details of this sudden adventure. It was clear that Anna had no motive to deceive him: he had been convinced all his life that his persona held no interest to special services or stunning women. Evidently, Anna Walsh had a good reason to come here for him – and his curiosity was growing rapidly. And the whole incident itself — the appearance of a MI5 agent and the hint of an impending global catastrophe — was just too incredible to ignore.

Nevertheless, he played for time, expressing his bewilderment and unleashing a barrage of questions. Anna had no answers, but that did not bother her at all. Her initial uncertainty was gone; it was clear that her ward had already made up his mind and only needed to steel himself, accept the decision and act upon it. Diederik jumped up from his seat, paced around the room and then sat down again, shaking his head and rubbing his palms. And Anna, without changing her pose, spoke in an even and measured tone, sending over waves of calm and serenity. Kew’s agitation quickly surrendered to her sedative aura, submitting to its dominant frequency and fading to naught. He accepted the inevitability of his compliance with someone else’s will — not difficult, given that this will was ensconced in such a pleasing body.

“But I should at least know what my status is going to be!” Kew declared somewhat pathetically. “I’m not accused of anything, not even a suspect, so, what am I — a witness? Or maybe an expert?”

“As for your status,” Anna replied calmly, “I can only say what I know for sure: you are an employed, unmarried, thirty-eight-year-old British citizen. But you are also a key figure in a highly complex matter of the greatest scale. I understand that this all sounds like a ruse, but it most definitely isn’t.”

Diederik frowned, shrugged his shoulders and asked, “Well, can you at least give me a hint? What is this all about, and why do I have such a key role to play?”

Anna smoothed her skirt out and dazzled him with that same beguiling smile. “You are an unmarried, employed British citizen...” she began. Diederik waved his arms, “Okay, okay, I get it. It’s perfectly clear that nothing is going to be made clear, but I agree nevertheless!”

In twenty minutes, Kew was ready. All along, his mind worked frantically, imagining the Bond-style obstacles and dangers that he and Anna would be facing together. He tried to drive them away, but they wouldn’t leave him, and even some heroic music echoed around his head.

“You haven’t forgotten anything?” Anna asked before they left. “Do you need to notify anyone — your parents, friends, a girlfriend perhaps? Do you have a cat? Maybe you’ll need to ask someone to take your cat? Or water the flowers? Or feed the canary?”

Anna was well aware that Kew had neither a cat nor a canary — and no one remotely resembling a girlfriend, except for an online character whom he had been trying to seduce in a chat room for ages. She presented herself to her admirers as a twenty-five-year-old librarian with the fantasies of an aged virgin, but Anna knew that the “virgin” was actually a man over fifty, a used car salesman from Scotland.

“All your affairs will be sorted out by the Agency, but is there anything urgent that I need to report?” she added. “Any special circumstances, obligations, worries?”

“Yes,” Diederik muttered, standing in the middle of the room with his bag over his shoulder. “The front door latch needs to be repaired. Could the Agency organize that, and could they also explain to that pig, my neighbor, that he’d better get off my back from now on?”

“I think we can arrange that,” Anna replied seriously. “Did you turn the water off? And the electricity? Are you ready? Then let’s go!”

As they were leaving the house, Diederik let Anna go on ahead and ran an appraising eye over the fine form of her legs, thighs and buttocks under her tight skirt. Anna’s legs were in no way inferior to blue-eyed Dasha’s from the Russian café. Despite the extraordinary situation he found himself in, some very ordinary thoughts flashed through his head. He quickly shooed them away, reminding himself that his masculine charm wasn’t enough to impress even a local waitress.

The silver Ford Focus, parked at the entrance, looked innocuously similar to the other cars in the street — unlike Anna, who strikingly contrasted with the surroundings. Opening the front door, Diederik glanced over his shoulder and saw a baffled Jeremy Smith spying on them from his window. He’ll do his head in trying to work this out, Kew chuckled as he got into the car — and was suddenly overwhelmed by a brief attack of anxiety. It occurred to him that he was approaching some irrevocable turning point in his life. It might happen this was the last time he would ever see his neighbor — Diederik turned slightly pale and fidgeted. But then Anna Walsh nodded to him from the driver’s seat, and the anxiety retreated somewhere beneath the surface.

Yet it did not go far, which was probably why Diederik became talkative and clumsily forward. “You know,” he said with a giggle, “it’s been a while since I was driven in a car by a beautiful woman. And I’ve never before been picked up by an MI5 agent — like you. With beautiful hair — like yours. With beautiful eyes, beautiful legs...”

Anna looked at him and said softly, “I think you’d better stop. If someone hit on me like that in a bar, things might turn pretty nasty. I could, for instance, break his finger or even his wrist...” She smiled, signaling it was a jest, and Diederik obligingly chuckled, but then he became serious again. “All right, my small talk may not be up to much, but this is due to all this uncertainty — I feel out of depth,” he mumbled, turning to the window. “I feel like I’m in a movie — it’s all too weird to be true.”

“As amazing as it seems,” Anna replied after a pause, “this is all for real, and even I’m not entirely in my depth either. I have to admit, it’s not every day I get assigned a case like this one.”

They drove through Clapham, got onto the A3 and headed toward Richmond. “What about now?” Diederik looked askance at her. “Maybe you can tell me at least something? I’m in your car, and we are on a motorway — at this speed, I can hardly run away, can I?”

“I’m not authorized,” Anna shrugged. “I might end up using the wrong words. Words make impressions — and I don’t want to spoil your first impression. If this happens, the people working with you will need to spend more time than necessary.”

“Maybe you could just take that risk?” Diederik persevered. “After all, I’m now developing an impression of you as well.”

“It’s good that the rain has stopped,” Anna said. “It’s perked up, and the sky is stunning, isn’t it?”

The sky had cleared, and the wind was driving away the last remnants of the clouds illuminated by the sun.

“No, but…” Diederik tried to continue but failed to finish and just fell silent. Then he muttered in an undertone, “Stunning sky my ass,” — and he trailed off, looking ahead at the road.

His mind was no longer captivated by fantasies about their incredible joint mission. He thought to himself that this “adventure” would most likely be over all too soon, ending up being predictably boring — and then he would have to return to his dull life, in his cramped piece of spacetime, squeezed somewhere between Brixton and Clapham. Then his thoughts moved to the unapproachable waitress Dasha; from her to women in general — and then for some reason, he began to imagine Anna’s co-workers, tough alpha males with square jaws, whom he knew from action movies. One of them could well be Anna Walsh’s lover — probably the most brutal of the lot.