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In a word: Incline

When you first think of this word, it is with a slippery slope in mind.

I’ve been on a few of those in my time.

And while we’re on the subject, those inclines measured in degrees are very important if you want a train to get up and down the side of a mountain.

For the train, that’s an incline plane, the point where traction alone won’t get the iron horse up the hill.

Did I say ‘Iron Horse’?  Sorry, regressed there, back to the mid-1800s in the American West for a moment.

It’s not that important when it comes to trucks and cars, and less so if you like four-wheel driving; getting up near-vertical mountainsides often present a welcome challenge to the true enthusiast

But for the rest of us, not so much if you find yourself sliding in reverse uncontrollably into the bay.  I’m sure it’s happened more than once.

Then…

Are you inclined to go?

A very different sort of incline, ie to be disposed towards an attitude or desire.

An inclination, maybe, not to go four-wheel driving?

There is another, probably more obscure use of the word incline, and that relates to an elevated geological formation.  Not the sort of reference that crops up in everyday conversation at the coffee shop.

But, you never know.  Try it next time you have coffee and see what happens.

Featured

Writing about writing a book – Day 2

Hang about.  Didn’t I read somewhere you need to plan your novel, create an outline setting the plot points, and flesh out the characters?

I’m sure it didn’t say, sit down and start writing!

Time to find a writing pad, and put my thinking cap on.

I make a list, what’s the story going to be about? Who’s going to be in it, at least at the start?

Like a newspaper story, I need a who, what, when, where, and how.

Right now.

 

I pick up the pen.

 

Character number one:

Computer nerd, ok, that’s a little close to the bone, a computer manager who is trying to be everything at once, and failing.  Still me, but with a twist.  Now, add a little mystery to him, and give him a secret, one that will only be revealed after a specific set of circumstance.  Yes, I like that.

We’ll call him Bill, ex-regular army, a badly injured and repatriated soldier who was sent to fight a war in Vietnam, the result of which had made him, at times, unfit to live with.

He had a wife, which brings us to,

Character number two:

Ellen, Bill’s ex-wife, an army brat and a General’s daughter, and the result of one of those romances that met disapproval for so many reasons.  It worked until Bill came back from the war, and from there it slowly disintegrated.  There are two daughters, both by the time the novel begins, old enough to understand the ramifications of a divorce.

Character number three:

The man who is Bill’s immediate superior, the Services Department manager, a rather officious man who blindly follows orders, a man who takes pleasure in making others feel small and insignificant, and worst of all, takes the credit where none is due.

Oops, too much, that is my old boss.  He’ll know immediately I’m parodying him.  Tone it down, just a little, but more or less that’s him.  Last name Benton.  He will play a small role in the story.

Character number four:

Jennifer, the IT Department’s assistant manager, a woman who arrives in a shroud of mystery, and then, in time, to provide Bill with a shoulder to cry on when he and Ellen finally split, and perhaps something else later on.

More on her later as the story unfolds.

So far so good.

What’s the plot?

Huge corporation plotting to take over the world using computers?  No, that’s been done to death.

Huge corporation, OK, let’s stop blaming the corporate world for everything wrong in the world.  Corporations are not bad people, people are the bad people.  That’s a rip off cliché, from guns don’t kill people, people kill people!  There will be guns, and there will be dead people.

There will be people hiding behind a huge corporation, using a part of their computer network to move billions of illegally gained money around.  That’s better.

Now, having got that, our ‘hero’ has to ‘discover’ this network, and the people behind it.

All we need now is to set the ball rolling, a single event that ‘throws a cat among the pigeons’.

Yes, Bill is on holidays, a welcome relief from the problems of work.  He dreams of what he’s going to do for the next two weeks.  The phone rings.  Benton calling, the world is coming to an end, the network is down.  He’s needed.  A few terse words, but he relents.

Pen in hand I begin to write.

 

© Charles Heath 2016-2019

“Sunday in New York”, a romantic adventure that’s not a walk in the park!

“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.

When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.

From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.

There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.

Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.

Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?

Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?

Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?

As they say in the classics, read on!

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-SundayInNewYork

If I only had one day to stop over in – Valletta – what would I do?

One Day in Valletta? The One Spot That Will Make It Unforgettable

You’ve just landed in Malta’s capital for a 24‑hour lay‑over. The airport shuttle whisks you into the heart of a city that feels like a living museum: baroque façades, limestone streets, and a history that stretches back to the Knights of St. John. With only a single day, the temptation is to try and cram everything—the fortifications, the museums, the seaside cafés—into a frantic sprint.

Spoiler alert: You don’t need to do all of that. One place, perched above the glittering Grand Harbour, captures the soul of Valletta in a single, unforgettable glance.

The Spot: Upper Barrakka Gardens (and the Saluting Battery)

“From here you can see the whole island as if it were a postcard.”
— A seasoned traveller who once walked the same limestone steps.

The Upper Barrakka Gardens are a terraced public garden perched on the highest point of the city’s fortifications. From its neatly trimmed hedges and marble benches you get a 360° panorama of the Grand Harbour—Fort St. Elmo, the massive three‑fort complex of Fort St. Angelo, the sleek yachts of the marina, and the iconic Azure Window silhouette far out on the horizon (even after its collapse, the sea still holds its memory).

Below the gardens sits the Saluting Battery, a set of historic cannons that fire a majestic salute at noon every day (and at sunset on special occasions). The sound reverberates across the water, a dramatic reminder of Valletta’s martial past.

Why This Is the Only Must‑See for a One‑Day Stopover

ReasonWhat It Means for You
Instant ContextThe view instantly tells you why Valletta was a coveted naval base for the Knights, the British, and now the European Union.
Photographic JackpotOne wide‑angle shot from the central terrace captures the whole harbour—perfect for Instagram, postcards, or a memory that lasts a lifetime.
Time‑FriendlyA 30‑minute stroll (plus a quick coffee break) fits neatly into any itinerary, leaving you time for a bite, a museum, or a stroll through the streets.
Free EntryNo ticket queues, no crowds fighting over a museum’s limited capacity—just you, the sea, and a slice of Maltese sky.
Cultural TouchstoneThe noon salute is a living tradition; watching (or hearing) it makes you part of Valletta’s daily rhythm.

Bottom line: If you can see Valletta from the Upper Barrakka Gardens, you’ve essentially seen Valletta.

How to Make the Most of Your 1‑Day Visit

1. Get There Quick‑Style

ModeApprox. TimeCostTips
Public Bus (Routes 13/14/222)15‑20 min from the city gate€2Grab a Tallinja Card for unlimited rides (good if you plan a quick museum visit).
Taxi / Ride‑Hail5‑10 min (traffic permitting)€8‑€12Ask for the driver to drop you at the Upper Barrakka Gate (just off Strait Street).
Walking from the Grand Harbour10 min from the cruise‑ship dockFreeThe promenade is a scenic intro—watch the yachts glide past.

Pro tip: If you land early in the morning, the gardens are serene and the light is perfect for sunrise photography. Arriving by 9 am means you’ll beat the midday crowd and still have time for a leisurely coffee.

2. Time Your Saluting Battery

  • Noon (12:00 PM) – The traditional “Noon Gun” is fired every day. Arrive a few minutes early to snag a good spot on the steps or on the low terrace.
  • Sunset (optional) – On the first Saturday of each month, the battery fires a sunset salute (check the Malta Tourism Authority’s calendar).

If your schedule doesn’t line up with the noon salute, don’t worry— the view is spectacular at any hour. A short wait for the cannon’s echo is still worth the dramatic soundtrack.

3. Pair It With a Quick Bite

  • Café Jubilee (steps down from the garden, on Strait Street) – A historic café that once served British officers. Try the Maltese pastizzi (flaky pastry with ricotta or peas) and a strong Maltese coffee.
  • The Governor’s Palace Café (behind the Upper Barrakka) – Offers a modest terrace with a view of the harbour; ideal for a light lunch of ħobż biż-żejt (Maltese bread with olive oil, tomatoes, and tuna).

Dining tip: Order the Ħobż biż-żejt “to go” and enjoy it on a bench within the gardens for an authentic, on‑the‑go experience.

4. Quick Optional Add‑Ons (If Time Allows)

Add‑OnApprox. TimeWhy It Works
St. John’s Co‑Cathedral45 minHome to Caravaggio’s St. John the Baptist, a masterpiece you can’t see anywhere else.
The Valletta Waterfront (Birgu/Hardwicke)30 minA stroll along the promenade offers a different perspective of the harbour at sea‑level.
The Malta Experience30 minA short audio‑visual show that condenses 700 years of Maltese history—great if you’re a visual learner.

If you decide to squeeze one of these in, keep an eye on the clock—most attractions close by 5 PM in winter and 7 PM in summer.

Insider Hacks: Making a One‑Day Stopover Feel Like a Mini‑Vacation

  1. Dress Light, Carry a Light Jacket – Valletta’s limestone retains heat; mornings can be crisp, evenings breezy.
  2. Buy a Small Bottle of Maltese Water – The tap is safe, but a reusable bottle with a filtered cap keeps you hydrated on the go.
  3. Download the “Malta Public Transport” App – Real‑time bus schedules help you squeeze in that extra museum or shop without guessing wait times.
  4. Use the “Free Wi‑Fi” in the Upper Barrakka Gardens – Malta’s tourism board provides a stable hotspot at the garden’s central bench (just look for the “Visit Malta” sign). Perfect for uploading those new photos.
  5. Respect the “No Smoking” Zones – The gardens are a smoke‑free sanctuary; a polite “thank you” goes a long way with the local guards.

A Day in Review: How It Felt to Stand on the Upper Barrakka

“When the noon cannon boomed and the wind carried the sound across the water, I realized I was standing on a piece of living history. The sight of the three forts guarding the harbour, the modern yachts bobbing beside centuries‑old stone— it was a conversation between past and present that no guidebook could fully capture.”

That’s the magic of the Upper Barrakka Gardens. In less than an hour you get the city’s story, its strategic importance, and its breathtaking beauty—all while sipping a coffee, feeling the Mediterranean breeze, and listening to the echo of cannons that have sounded for over three hundred years.

Quick Reference: Your 24‑Hour Valletta Cheat Sheet

TimeActivityDetails
7:30 AMArrive at Valletta (bus/taxi)Head straight to Upper Barrakka Gardens
8:00 AMSunrise & Photo SessionUse a wide‑angle lens, capture the harbour
9:00 AMCoffee & Pastizzi at Café JubileeQuick bite, soak up the street vibe
10:00 AMOptional: St. John’s Co‑CathedralPre‑book a ticket to avoid lines
12:00 PMNoon Salute at the BatteryArrive early for the best spot
12:30 PMLight Lunch on the Gardens BenchEnjoy Ħobż biż-żejt with a view
1:30 PMStroll Down to Strait StreetExplore local shops, murals
3:00 PMReturn to airport / ferryAllow 30‑45 min for travel and security
4:30 PMFlight onwardWith a pocket full of photos and a memory that lasts a lifetime

Final Thought: One Spot, Infinite Memories

Travel isn’t always about ticking boxes; it’s about feeling the pulse of a place, even if you’re only there for a few hours. The Upper Barrakka Gardens give you that pulse—an elevated, panoramic snapshot of Valletta’s past, present, and future.

So the next time a layover lands you in the heart of the Mediterranean, skip the exhaustive itinerary and head straight to the gardens. Let the sea, the sky, and the echo of historic cannons fill your senses. In that single moment, Valletta will have shared its story with you, and you’ll leave the island with a day that feels more like a lifetime.

Safe travels, and may your next stop be just as unforgettable!

“Echoes From The Past”, the past doesn’t necessarily stay there


What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

…

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment, Will’s life slowly starts to unravel, and it’s obvious to him that it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule: don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 45/46

Days 45 and 46 – Writing exercise

Take one of your stories that’s stalled and re work it.

…

They say trouble comes when you least expect it.

It does.

I can attest to that.

I was at the end of my shift.  Another shift, another night, another ten hours of my life gone, doing a job that, had you asked me twenty years ago would I be here, I would have said no.

Circumstances and stupidity put me here, and it’s not as if I didn’t deserve it.   I was told I had choices, and I did, but I didn’t make the right one.  There were reasons, but they were nothing but excuses.

And it wasn’t as if I was the only one.

Like Jim, slightly younger but no wiser, like Joe, older and regretting his mistakes, and like Mike, who simply didn’t care until he had to.  My name was Sam.  No one questioned whether they were our real names, no one wanted to know our last names, and the names were, by coincidence, easy to remember.

Along with rule number one: we had each other’s backs.

The breakout area was scratched Laminex, discoloured plastic and scuffed and cracked linoleum tiles.  It was old and tired like we were.

“Usual weekend?” Jim asked.

I was heading towards the kitchen to get my small fridge bag, then out the back door and off home.

“The boat and the lake await.”

“You still expecting to find fish in that swamp?”  Mike had been with me one weekend, and nothing took the bait.

After six or so months, I was beginning to think the locals were right.  There were no fish.

“Miracles can still happen.”

“Yeah, right.  You should come hunting with us.”

“Don’t like guns.”

Not anymore, anyway.  There was a time I was happy to use one, when I had a purpose, and there was a reason to use it.

“Then why pick a job that needs one?”

“Chances of having to use it, Mike, zero per cent.  If I have to, I will, but until then…”  I left it there.  We’d had this conversation, and it always ended the same way.

I collected the bag, told them I’d see them next Monday, the start of the next shift, and stepped out the back door into the early morning dawn, that period just as the light came.

Silent, fresh, the promise of either a good day or a bad.  I wasn’t sure.  I glanced over towards the car, and it had a slight sprinkling of snow.  The weather was clear now, but I could feel that more snow was coming. 

A white Christmas?  Those were memories in another lifetime.

Across the parking area where there should have been four pickups, there was one too many, something out of the usual, and I slowed.  The fifth vehicle, a car, looked empty, but it might not be.

I felt for the sidearm, for reassurance.  I wasn’t expecting trouble, but was ready for it.  No one could possibly know where I was now; that person had disappeared long ago.

Thirty-three steps, measured, slow, eyes on that fifth car, watching and waiting.  Less than ten yards I stopped when I saw movement inside it, and effortlessly, the gun was in my hand, by my side, but ready.

I sopped when the light went on as the door opened.

I could see the driver was a woman, stepping out and standing.   The interior light cast an eerie glow over her for a few seconds before letting the dark envelop her again.

“Graham?”

A second’s hesitation before my eyes readjusted to the overhead lamps, long enough to recognise the voice and its owner, one I hadn’t heard for a long time, one from that past I had tried to forget.

“Penny?”

She took several steps towards me, then stopped, leaning against the front of my truck.

“Thank God.  You’re a hard person to find.”

Which was exactly what she asked me to do, twenty-three years ago, when any hint of scandal would have ruined her chances at become a District Attorney.  I was a mess back then.

“You asked, I did as I was told.”

“It wasn’t meant to be forever.”

“Not according to your husband.”  He said if he saw me again. It wouldn’t end well.  I believed him.

I saw her grimace, and I don’t think it was the memories of that last encounter.  “How did you find me?”

“I know people.”

Of course.  She knew people who knew people, and so on.  “OK.  You found me.  What do you want?”  I could have been more conciliatory, but there was too much water under that bridge.

I could see the surprise and then hurt in her expression.

“You are the only person I can turn to.”

“For what?  I have nothing you could possibly want.”

The black sheep, the perennial loser, the sibling no one wanted to know or see.  Why would they?  Run with the wrong crowd, join the Army, get deployed to hell on earth, walk away with bad dreams and PTSD.

Not exactly the sort for a District Attorney to be rubbing shoulders with or have as a contact/reference on a resume.

“I need help.”

I laughed, or was it a harsh guttural sound that was almost a snort of derision?  Help from a person who couldn’t help himself?  But curiosity got the better of me.  “Why?”

“Someone wants me dead.”

“Isn’t that part of the job?”

She sighed and slumped back against the car, and I could see a dark stain on the left side just above her waist.

“I can’t go to a hospital, and no one must know…”

I reached her just before she hit the ground.

“No hospital, or doctor.  Do not tell Fred.  No one can know where…”

That was all she could manage before she passed out.

Damn.

Why me?

Trouble always finds trouble.  It had been like that almost all my life.  I had only managed to break the cycle with this job, being anonymous among anonymous people.  I knew nothing about them; they knew nothing about me.  Only that I was running.

When I saw Mike sauntering across the car park, all of that anonymity went out the window.

“What the hell?  Sam?”

“My sister.  Shot.  In trouble, though she didn’t say how deep.  A wound, a knife or a shot doesn’t matter.  It’s bad enough.”  I looked up at him.  “I didn’t do it.  I swear.”

His eyes took in the whole scene and made a decision.  “I know a guy.  No questions.”

He helped me get her into the truck, then took her car and told me to follow him.

What choice did I have?

We took her to my place, a cabin with a two-car shed and a spare room.  The guy met us at the house, he took one look at the wound and said it wasn’t serious, but she wasn’t going to go far for about a week.

She had been shot, single bullet, missed vital parts, but was messy.  He left bandages, antiseptic and pills and told me to keep an eye on her for the next twelve hours.  It looked like I was going on a different fishing expedition when she woke up.

And twelve hours to relive some memories that should not be allowed to come back, but then we never get a choice in what the mind wants to recall, or when.

Night bled into day, a dark, gloomy, murky morning where the sun had disappeared and left us with grey, and then white.  The snow had come, heavy at first, then into a sprinkle.  I was standing by the window, and the wind rattled the windows, just enough to keep me awake.

I shivered.

“Graham?”

A softer tone this time, the sort used when searching for a familiar person in the darkness and hoping you didn’t find a monster instead.

“I’m here.”

I heard rustling.  I had put the clean sheets on the spare bed and gave her one of my blankets.  Even so, it would still be cold.  There was a fire in the other room, but it barely heated the area nearest to the hearth.

“Come, sit.”

I weighed up the odds that sitting near her could be harmful to my health, particularly if the gunman had followed her here.  But then, with Penelope, her version of the truth was never the same as anyone else’s.

Almost instinctively, I pulled the chair back a few feet before sitting.  Close was too close.

“You still don’t trust me.”

“Two years in jail, Penelope.  Hard to forget or forgive.”

It still burned twenty-three years later, like it was yesterday.  She had a choice, but in an election year, it had been all about appearances.  Tough on crime, tougher on family.  It didn’t matter that I was proven innocent.

Mt cell phone rang.

“It’s slime ball number two.”  In other words, her husband.  He and I never got along, never would.  “How did he get my number?”

The look on her face told me more than she wanted to convey.  The usual granite expression was replaced by fear.  This was not the Penelope of old.

“Don’t…”

I pressed the answer button.  Giles was not a man to ignore.  He would find other ways to talk to me, which would lead to more trouble.

“What do you want?”  This time, I didn’t disguise the hatred.

“Where is she?”

No hello, no how are you, after twenty-three years of silence.

“The cat’s mother?  Damned if I know or care, Giles.”

“Don’t get smart, Graham.”

“I thought you said smart was a word not in my vocabulary, Giles.  If I had another brain, it would be lonely.  How did you get this number?”

“I have my methods.  Like I know where you are and can cause you infinite grief.  Now stop stooging around and tell me where she is?”

I counted to ten.  Not because I was angry, which I was, but because Giles was a man it took effort to annoy.

“I take it that was a threat, Giles.  If it were a declaration of war, let me tell you, I know how wars work, and if you want to go down that path, I’m your man.  I don’t know where she is, I don’t care where she is.  I’ve had twenty-three years to forget about you lot, and when I hang up, I don’t want to hear from or see you again.  Do I make myself clear?”

“You don’t get a choice.”

“No.  Neither do you.  Start something, Giles, it won’t end until I say it ends.  My advice, Giles.  Go crawl back under that rock, and don’t come out again.  Goodbye.”

I hung up.  Of course, I knew exactly what was going to happen.  He knew where I was, because she knew where I was.  And like anyone who had no one left they could trust, she chose family.

Conveniently ignoring twenty-three years of history.

“Why would you do this to me?” I asked.  “I just got my life back together.”

“I had no one else.”

“So you decided, let’s ruin Graham’s life again.  He’s expendable.  Nobody cares whether he lives or dies.  Giles isn’t going to let this go.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not.  If you were, you wouldn’t come here.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did.  You simply chose what was best for you.  I’m sorry.  But it doesn’t work this time.  You’re on your own.”

“He will kill me.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t do that the day after you got married.  He certainly tried.”

Giles was not a man who could handle drinking, and it made me curious as to why he very rarely had a drink in his hand and always politely refused.  Except on his wedding day.  I called in on them after the reception to drop off some presents, and he was standing over her, and there was blood everywhere.  I dragged him off and gave him a taste of his own medicine.  It earned me his eternal hatred, and once an enemy of Giles, always an enemy.  I discovered that in jail.

“I didn’t know he was like that.”

“Everyone else did and tried to tell you.”

“He changed.”

“Until?”

“He didn’t shoot me.”

“No, he doesn’t do that sort of stuff.  He had people to do it for him.  You don’t need me.  You need a bodyguard.  Two or three.  I have to leave, now he knows where I am.”

“Take me with you.”

“No.  I was done with you and him, twenty-three years ago.”

“Then I’ll die.”

“Perhaps then you’ll know what it’s like when he sets his goons on you, like he did to me.”  I was supposed to die in jail, not get exonerated, and since then I’d only been one step ahead…

Damn.

I got it, and it was already too late.

He had deliberately set his goons on her, knowing she would lead them to me.  He’d known, with no one else to turn to, she would instinctively turn to me.  A desperate plan from a desperate man.

“Has he decided to jump from District Attorney to State Governor?”

The expression on her face was priceless.

I ran.

…

©  Charles Heath  2026

‘What Sets Us Apart’ – A beta readers view

There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?

A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.

But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.

And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.

Susan is exactly the sort of woman to pique his interest.  Then, inexplicably, she disappears.  That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.

Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!

A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.

When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.

I’ve been told there’s a sequel in the works.

Bring it on!

…

The book can be purchased here:  http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

…

In a word: Double

I was watching a TV program and the words ‘double standards’ kept being thrown about with little attention being paid to what it really means.

Like statistics, words can be used in any manner to support or debunk what someone else will call a fact.

Fact, of course, is another word that’s thrown around like a football.

But double standards, what does it really mean?

“a rule or principle which is unfairly applied in different ways to different people or groups”

Put simply, if you own a cat, and I hate cats, I’m likely to say to you I like cats because of who you are and what I might want from you.

It has far more reaching consequences in reality because some of us might profess they regard everyone as being equal ‘in the eyes of the Lord’ but have a very different private view.

Personally, I believe everyone should be treated equally.  The problem is, a great many people around me do not, and it seems that I am slowly becoming a minority in my own country.

How do we rectify this?

I don’t think we can.  Politicians are now running scared in their own constituencies because of the increasing multicultural population, and cannot be seen to favor one group or another.

Until lobby groups come into play, campaign funding to the politician is discussed, and very subtly, votes are bought.

Does your political representative work on the basis of double standards?

Maybe it’s time to find out before it’s too late, and you too will be living in shanty huts on a reservation.

PI Walthenson’s second case – A case of finding the ‘Flying Dutchman’.

Known only to a few, there is a legend that a ship named the ‘Flying Dutchman’ left Nazi Germany in the last weeks of the war and set sail for America, escorted by U-boats, under a different name. Aboard was a trove of treasure and gold worth a ‘king’s ransom’.

It was said that it had been sent to a group of American Nazis to create the Fourth Reich at an appropriate time. Over the years since many expeditions off the coast had searched, but found no trace of the vessel or the treasure.

In other words, it was just a legend created to boost tourism.

…

Fast forward to 2024. Our intrepid private detective, Harry Walthenson, overhears a conversation at Grand Central Station. It was the oddness of the message that caught his attention. An investigation turned up nothing out of the ordinary, and he thinks no more about it.

Then Harry is kidnapped, interrogated, and asked questions over and over about a date and a place, why he went there, and when he could not give satisfactory answers, he was beaten half to death and left for dead on a rubbish heap. He was lucky that it was a living space for homeless men; otherwise, he would have died.

In the aftermath, he once again gives it no more thought.

…

After resolving his first case successfully, there’s no rest. Harry’s angry mother comes to his office and demands that he find out where his father has gone. She believes he has run off with a mistress, not for the first time.

Perhaps it was not the wisest decision she has made, because Harry promises to investigate, and adds that she might not like what he finds.

He soon discovered he does not like what he finds, that his father’s friends, a cabal formed at University, have two who are his mother’s current lovers, and another, a criminal blackmailing his father.

Felicity, now his partner, working on a different case, and trying to get answers, uncovers a crime family involved in guarding a disused warehouse on the docks, where she believes Harry had been taken for interrogation, and subsequently dumped nearby to die.

Why are they up to? What is so important that the empty warehouse needs guarding? Who is employing them?

Harry, following up on the death of the blackmailer, traces his death back to an enforcer employed by his grandfather. His mother’s grandfather was a pre-war industrialist who made his fortune in war munitions and shipbuilding.

He was also a member of the American Nazi party.

When Harry also discovers a logbook belonging to a so-called wartime Liberty ship the “Paul Revere” in brackets ‘Freiheitskämpfer’, hidden by his father, and written in a code that is not readily identifiable.

It is no longer a matter of a father who has run off with his mistress; it is a very frightened man in fear of his life, running from a group who will stop at nothing to get the logbook back. And when Harry discovers a family connection to the group, it becomes a race against time to decode the log and find his father before his grandfather does.

…

Coming soon: Harry Walthenson’s new adventure – A case of finding the ‘Flying Dutchman’

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 13

Our first contact didn’t go so well

…

As soon as I stepped off the shuttle in the cargo bay, the third officer was waiting for me.

“The captain asked me to escort you up to his day room.”

Unusual. The captain could have just called me on the private communicator if there was a need for secrecy, if that was what this was.

“Any reason why he would send you?”

“Didn’t want you getting lost, sir.”

I knew I should not have admitted to him that I had got a little confused finding my way around, but that was because the dockyard people had blocked off several passageways.

“No. I guess not.”

The Third was a man of little humour, and particularly didn’t think any of my jokes were funny. On station, he was all serious and unamused.

Now, he had his serious face on, and I thought it best not to ask what to expect.

He took a different route to the bridge than what I would have taken, a much shorter and more direct route. It was obvious he had studied the plans of the ship and knew it backwards. I on the other hand, was not that prepared, but it meant I would have to.

He went as far as the door to the day room, and left me there. I didn’t need to announce myself, the doors just opened, whisper quiet, showing me the room I could expect one day when I got my own ship.

Or at the very least, I could dream.

The doors closed behind me, and I walked forward into the room proper, and first saw the captain sitting at his desk, and then a figure standing beside and back a step, behind him.

There was a weapon in his hand, but it was by his side.

And something else I noticed, the figure looked just like the three I’d seen on the other ship.

The captain saw me looking at him.

“This is the captain from the vessel that just arrived as those assailants on the cargo ship were ‘rescued’.

He, or she, looked human under the clothes and helmet, but could be almost anything.

“Does he…”

“Speak our language, yes, and a lot of others. And he would like our help.”

…

© Charles Heath 2021

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 32

This is a spot behind a group of restaurants at Victoria Point, Queensland.

But it could be anywhere, like a spot we saw on a boat trip on a river in the Daintree, in far north Queensland

So, this could be a spot, not far inland from the ocean where smugglers, or drug runners come ashore, in a place so remote they would never get caught.

Unless an enterprising federal agent comes up with a plan to track them from the ocean side using satellite images, or reported sightings of suspicious activity.

My money is on a random sighting, a vague report files in a small town police station, and a body washed up in shore, apparently the victim of a crocodile attack. Or not a crocodile.

It cold be a fishing trip gone wrong in a backwater stream, a weekend away by a dialled group of friends, who are not really friends, which all comes to a head when one of the friends go missing.

Or, I’d you like the idea of historical drama, a story about the first expedition from the bottom of Australia to the very top, for the first time, with all the hazards of rivers to cross, paths to create though the bush, the heat, the animals, the local inhabitants who have yet to see Europeans.

To be honest, I would not want to be one of those early explorers, especially those who went inland and struck desert, or died just short of their goal.

Just as an aside, we did learn about these people, Hume and Hovell, Blaxland, Wentworth and Lawson, Burke and Wills, and others.

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 51

This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.

The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Things are about to get complicated…

Once out of the elevator I could see another security desk halfway up the corridor.  There were no doors before the desk, only after, so my destination was past the desk.

I pulled out my card in readiness, and as I approached, a woman came out of a door behind the desk and joined the security guard.

She spoke to the guard, then looked at me.  “My name is Joanne, I have been assigned to help you, and in accordance with security measures in place on the floor, I will be accompanying you.  One of the conditions of access is to not be anywhere on your own.”

“Except in the restroom, I hope.”

A momentary frown, “Common sense applies, you know.”

OK, try not to be flippant.

She handed me a form, I read it, ticked several boxes, and signed it.  I gave the guard my card and he scanned it.  Logging my movements, was not unexpected.  Having a shadow was.

But, there was nothing I was going to look at, that I didn’t want anyone not to know about.

“Good,”: she said when I handed the form back.  She in turn passed it to the guard, then said, “Follow me.”

A gate opened to let me through, then jolted shit behind me.  Either the mechanism was broken, or the thud was just to remind people going through it, it was not a toy.

We went three doors up the corridor where she stopped, opened the door, and ushered me in.

It was a reasonable-sized room with a desk, a computer with three screens, and two chairs, one I guess for me, and one for her.

We sat.

I thought I’d ask a couple of questions first.  “Do you always look after incoming researchers?”

“Yes.”

“And when there is none?”

“I work in with the research team, creating or updating breeding papers for agents in the field.”

“Do agents normally come in to look stuff up?”

“No.  Generally, they request it through secure channels.”

“Secure channels?”

“Usually, one of our consulates or embassies scattered all over the world.”

Good to remember.

“You’re just going to sit there?”

“Yes.”

I shrugged.  So be it.

I logged in and typed in Severin’s original name David Westcott.

The search engine brought back over a million hits, the first dozen relating to a violinist who seemed to be having a relationship and drug problems.

To narrow that search down, I added ‘Military service” in the hope that he may have been in the military before joining the intelligence services.

He was.  I did the same for Bernie Salvin and found the two of them had served roughly at the same time, in the same places, and were among the last people out in 2014.

When I added “Intelligence” to the search, the computer sent me on a side mission, bringing up documents relating to both men’s service in various branches of the intelligence services, for 5 years, after which it seemed they had just up and left, their service sheet marked ‘retired’, which could have meant anything, but I think it was a euphemism for ‘dead’.

I thought about asking my shadow, but that would lead to too many other questions that I didn’t want to answer.  As it was, I could see she was very interested in the two names I’d just searched on.

It explained how both men were so knowledgeable about the operations and facilities.  A quick search on the training facility we had used showed it had been closed, and abandoned, 6 years before.  I’d always thought it had that abandoned feel about it, and we were using it for the atmosphere value.

Then came searches on Severin and Maury and Arche Laboratories, and that too brought up the Security profiles of both men, but their prior history had been manufactured, though no doubt based on their real experience, being in the military in Afghanistan, and in a branch of the intelligence services, though not mentioning the specifics.

There was information on several security breaches and the computer systems being hacked reportedly by a foreign country, but nothing had been taken, a story perhaps to allay the fears of people who might think dangerous material might have fallen into the wrong hands.

At the very least, it was reported the facility would be shut down, due to its age and everyone being reassigned to a new more secure facility.  The fact Severin and Maury didn’t transfer told me they had either been caught, or they ad jumped before the fingers of accusation were pointed at them.  Either way, both had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Until I and others have become their unwitting recruits.

Everything O’Connell said was true, and it was all there, so Dobbin was as well versed on the pair as I now was.  And, now I had some background before I met Severin later in the day.

When Joanne finally plucked up the courage to ask me about my searches, I told her I had been reading up on a lot of old laboratories that used to contract government research and had narrowed the place where the information came from to several candidates and struck it luck the first search.  Arche Laboratories.

Previously I had got a list of the security staff from half a dozen labs that had closed unexpectedly, looking for possible matches to Severin and Maury, because I thought they would have a military and intelligence background, but the two I’d used, didn’t seem to fir the profile.  Their photographs, those that were posted for Arche Laboratories looked nothing like the Severin and Maury today, but I’d expected that.

She didn’t need to know that and looked satisfied with my answers.

Now it was time to look at some CCTV feeds.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022