I flew to London in business class looking like the spoiled daughter of a local wealthy sheikh. Mother saw me off at the airport. Departing in my abaya and hijab, I was told, once airborne, to change into Western clothes in the toilet before the aircraft landed.

When I returned to my seat, I was in a tailored trouser suit. It was very smart but cut for modesty. One of the air hostesses gave me an admiring look.

There was an expensive anorak with a removable lining in the suit carrier. It was late spring in the UK and you never can tell what the weather will be like. This looked like in UK terms, about five hundred pounds’ worth of quality clothes.

Our man met me at Heathrow. Discreetly, we made secure ID checks both ways. He first said, “Is your phone switched off?”

“Yes,” I replied, “Of course.”

“Show me, please,” he said.

This took place in the arrivals area. He had taken me to a quiet place where we had some privacy. I had switched the phone off and I saw him look pleased.

As we went to the car, he said, “We are going to a bistro cafe first to confuse mobile phone records. Once finished there, we will go to Docklands.”

A baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses partly hid my face. The minder told me to pull the brim of the cap down to hide my face as much as possible but to take it off in the cafe. He said his code character was ‘J’.

J had made a good choice. It was an expensive place and organised for good privacy for couples. He took me to one of the best tables with privacy in mind. He sat so he could see whoever was there and who came in. There was a bulge in his jacket. It was difficult to see my face because I sat with my back to most of the interior.

Food on the aircraft had filled me up. We contented ourselves with a couple of iced coffees. J confirmed information, mainly about our target, whose arrival they expected after four days. The last thing he did was give me the special UK phone. They had loaded the messaging app and the tracking software. He switched it on in front of me, then got out an older model Android mobile and switched it on.

J said, “I have switched off my main mobile. This one came from a second-hand phone store and has a full 4G Pay As You Go SIM fitted. It’s not registered to an address. I’m going to see if this phone can track it.”

He turned on the tracking software. Within two minutes, it came up accurately with the position of his mobile.

Once this demonstration was over, he immediately turned the tracking mobile off, followed by the old mobile.

J said, “We have to leave just in case the authorities come looking for whoever was running the tracking software. Many people are using it illegally, but they try to catch them. That is why the tracking software does not run at the start-up of the mobile. Also, be aware it times out after five minutes.”

He said, “Put your baseball cap back on.” We left for Docklands. I noticed the car did not have diplomatic number plates. It was a powerful variety of the upmarket model and would not stand out in London.

J was all business; he did not make a pass at me.

At the Docklands house, he asked me to open the door. My training kicked in, and we were through the door quickly. I faultlessly operated the security lock from the inside, which I believed impressed him.

Somewhat to my alarm, he took his gun out. He put his fingers to his lips and went upstairs slowly and carefully to check the place out. As he came back down, I noticed the bulge back in his jacket.

“It’s OK,” he said.

We went upstairs to the living room; I turned on the lights and opened the safe. J nodded in approval. He said, “Put your special phone in there. If you have a lot of currency on you, split that up and put the bulk of it in the safe.”

As instructed, I put the special phone in the safe. I unzipped my calf-length boots, took out two envelopes containing high-value dollar notes, and put them in the safe.

Full of coffee, I went upstairs to a bedroom and used the attached en suite.

There was no nonsense at all from him. Back downstairs, he said, “Let’s get out the list of numbers on the laminated sheet in there.”

I got it out, and everything I was told would be there was there. The letter J identified my minder, and T identified my target. There was his UK mobile and the number of his parent’s house.

We went through them.

He said, “You know about the daily messenger app update?

“Yes,” I said, “I have been told to ask the numbers which they will use.”

J produced a smaller laminated document with three numbers on it and went through the updating procedure.

“There is a standing embassy emergency number, EM, pre-loaded to the special phone. I suggest we load it on your phone. It is available to all our citizens in the UK. It changes, but less often than the others do. Give me your phone, and I will load it for you, with my new number which identifies as ‘J’.”

I gave him my phone, and he loaded the two numbers.

J ran through my safe procedure training for operating outside the house. He said that even in the Docklands area; it was a bad idea to go around in a hijab or similar that hid the face or hair too much. There were racist types around who would attack just because the girl was wearing those items of clothing.

The big bedroom drawers held more sunglasses and baseball caps, and I was about to change my appearance daily to confuse people.

He said the way I looked and dressed, I could pass as a southern Mediterranean, and it would be good if I could subtly add to that perception. This had not come up in training beyond going out looking Westernised. J recommended a trip to the West End to look at other Middle East young women to learn from them.

He asked me to talk about how I would travel around London. J said I was to limit my use of public transport and to avoid it at night at all costs. The rush hour was the safest because there were enormous crowds to blend into.

Then he handed me an old, simple mobile.

He said, “This is an old phone bought in the usual anonymous way. This won’t have come up in your training, but we have just started using this for added security for people like you.”

“It’s loaded with a PAYG SIM purchased for cash, and there is fifty pounds’ worth of time on it, also purchased by cash. You get hundreds of free minutes. Use this to call taxis, Uber, etc. There are several Dockland taxi companies loaded to it and several Uber numbers. If you need to top it up, you will find two top-up cards pre-paid under the phone on the leather pouch holding it.”

“Switch your phone off now. We wait ten minutes, and then we turn this one on. You will see the numbers and see the ‘mobile connected’ icon appear.”

I turned off my phone, and we talked about other matters until the ten minutes were up.

I turned on the old pre-loaded mobile, and, sure enough, there were the pre-loaded numbers, and the mobile icon came up.

He said, “Good, turn it off again. Wait at least ten minutes before you turn on your mobile.”

He went on, “We are watching T, and we will give you at least twelve hours’ notice of his arrival by messenger texts to your own and the special phone. You must respond on one of these phones that you have received the update message about his arrival.”

“We will send you more messages frequently once he is here. We think he will be here in just under four days from now (it was about 10 p.m.).

“If there are any changes, and aside from unpredictable airline problems, we don’t think there will be any.”

“I will need to know how things are going when and if you meet with T. If it’s going well, you can leave it until the end. If it goes wrong, you are to tell me immediately using the ‘J’ number I have given you. Is that clear?

“Clear,” I replied.

He said, “Is there anything else, please?”

I was getting close to information overload and said, “No, thank you, it’s been incredibly helpful.”

He said, “The visit to the West End is a priority. Within the next two days, take a walk around the area and check out the coffee shops mentioned in your briefing. Check out the route from the nearest Docklands Light Railway station to his townhouse. It is South Quay. Learn the route. The weather forecast is OK for the next two days.”

“Above all, don’t forget your pavement artist training. You did well tonight at the airport and in the cafe.”

They had trained me in all of this, of course, but it was good to be talked through it. The gentle reassurance was nice, too.

He continued, “We get to see the detailed file on everyone who arrives here. There are three spanking canes in the cupboard in the main bedroom and quality condoms in your bathroom cabinet. We don’t want you to be short of anything you might need.”

All said with a straight face.

“Good,” I said, “How thoughtful.”

I was getting hardened enough not to blush.

He then said one last thing, it was unforgettable, “If you need a caning, we have a choice of two safe ladies who can provide. The locations we can take you to provide security. We take care of the women financially, etc.

“One offers caning etc., and sex; the other offers canings only. They are NOT to come back here. They will not know who you are. We will take care of everything. Call me if you are in need.”

That DID shock me.

“Goodness,” I said, “You think of everything. Thank you for the offer. I won’t forget.”

“Goodnight then, and good luck,” he said. “Lock up after me.”

J let himself out, and I locked the door. Upstairs, I sat down, almost falling asleep in one of the reclining leather chairs. I pulled myself together, went upstairs, stripped off, and took a shower.

After unpacking, I put some nightclothes on. He had kept me so occupied that I had not had time to change. My slightly crumpled kit would need ironing the next day. The canes were in the cupboard, and the sizes were just right: very thin (too thin), thin (about right), and medium (a possible for the naughtiest girls).

I suddenly realised I needed a pee, took off my nightclothes, and went back into the bathroom, which had the usual fittings and included a bidet. The bath was of above-average size and was wider at the shower end. At the widest point, there were little steps in and out of the bath with handrails, a pleasant touch, I thought.

Of course, I put the bidet to use. It still provided excellent relief without a caning. I knew I would sleep better once I had made use of it.

It was true; the mock house back home was just like this one except for the bath. There were no canes in the mock house either, and no condoms.

Once in bed, I slept well, possibly because I could leave if I so wished. I could not do that in the mock house.

Jet lag woke me up a little late the next day. I got up, showered again, put the trouser suit back on, called an Uber, and went to Mayfair. The rush hour was over and the taxi was quick.

I found a good cafe-bistro catering to Middle Eastern tastes. There were several of ‘us’ in there and I looked at the names on a few of the upmarket-looking carrier bags. These establishments were mostly nearby.

After finishing my light breakfast, I headed off to these establishments. It was clear they catered to ‘us.’ During visits to three of them, I bought a selection of outfits, enough to give me four days wearing none of them twice.

With so much to carry, I called an Uber and asked him to pick me up just outside one of these establishments. When he heard the name of it and my accent, he must have gone through the sound barrier getting to me, probably hoping for a big tip.

It was mid-afternoon, and when I arrived back, I checked my messenger and email. Nothing of any significance had come in. The previous evening, I had let my mother know I had arrived, and she had replied; pleased to know I was OK, etc.

The rest of the day was quiet. My tummy was playing up and I could not stray from the house. I was grateful to have the evening to recover.

I texted Salma via messenger. It gave her a surprise I was here. In my text, I told her not to breathe a word to anyone. She was not to contact home or any else to say she had heard from me. We could meet not at her place or mine and had to be careful about it. Knowledge of my location was off-limits.

If she wanted to call me on the messenger voice facility, she needed to be certain she was not being overheard. It would be best to do it outdoors if possible.

We agreed to meet the next evening. I suggested we would go to the place where J had taken me on arrival, as it was very private. The cost did not come into it in my case because I could spend up to ten thousand dollars, unaccountable! Salma said she could get to the place on the Underground, which was not a problem in her situation.

The next morning, I gave the area a recce. This took in the upmarket coffee shop and the Docklands Light Railway station. The route to his townhouse and the location of other places that would provide cover were on the list. I needed to know the area by heart. No one paid much attention to a smart young lady walking about in the area in the daytime.

I rested in the afternoon.

Late in the afternoon, the expected text arrived. T was on his way a day early. Standby, I was told to expect him to come to the area the next day. The UK telephone number for T was loaded into the Android phone. J said to turn on the tracking software at eight a.m. and see if it gave his position. He checked I had made the recce and learned the details of the area, and I confirmed this to him.

We had a lovely evening, but Salma needed convincing to call me only through the app. I made her understand it was a matter of ‘state security’. Salma was not required to sign our Official Secrets Act because she was ‘family’. She got the point; she had to keep her mouth shut because I was there on secret state business.

If Salma gave me any problems, I told her I would give her thirty-six or more strokes with the thick cane as hard as I could. It was sad to have to talk to her like that, but I had to get her full attention. Salma knew I wasn’t joking. She had seen the look in my eye.

Salma’s delight that we could meet up again before I went back was clear. She had to wait for my message. I had to reduce my sisterly affections temporarily. The authoritarian in me had come to the surface. It was tough, but I’m sure it was grandmother coming out. Salma took it OK. She knew it was a serious matter.

Our meeting ended, and I went back to Docklands.

The next morning, I had walked about 1 km from the townhouse and was in a shopping complex. I sat down in a cafe, got a coffee and turned on the tracking software. It gave his position as close as possible to his parent’s house; he hadn’t set out or if he had; he had left his phone behind, which was unlikely.

I turned off the software, finished my coffee, and left. Back at the house, I waited. It was going to take him at least one and a half hours to get to the light railway station. After an hour, I walked a kilometre from the house in a different direction, this time to a small park overlooking a waterway. I sat on a park bench and ran the software again.

He was on his way, about ten kilometres from Waterloo station. He would be in the Docklands area in about a minimum of twenty minutes. Walking slowly towards the light railway station, I had worked out where to remain out of his sight. There would be time to intercept him once he was on his way to his townhouse.

My training advised, “Look as much as possible the way you did the last time he saw you.”

With my hair combed straight back and secured in an elastic pigtail, I looked much as I did when in prison. No makeup, no hat on, no sunglasses. I couldn’t wear the prison smock in public!

I turned on...