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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.

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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

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you?

John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.

What should have been solace after disappointment turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realises his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.

The story paints the characters, cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times, taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice, where, in those back streets, I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.

All in all, a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.

…

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

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

One‑Day Stopover in Lima? Make It Unforgettable With a Visit to Plaza Mayor

If you’ve only got 24 hours in Peru’s bustling capital, there’s one spot that will let you taste its history, culture, and culinary magic all at once: the historic heart of the city—Plaza Mayor.

Why Plaza Mayor is the Perfect One‑Stop Destination

What you getHow it fits a tight schedule
A UNESCO‑listed heritage zone – Colonial palaces, a cathedral, and the Government Palace all within a few blocks.No need to hop between neighborhoods; everything is foot‑accessible.
Iconic photo‑ops – Colorful façades, the famous “Basilica of San Francisco” bell tower in the background, and the central “Fuente de la Victoria.”Capture the city’s essence in minutes, leaving more time for food and souvenirs.
Culinary micro‑cosmos – Street vendors selling anticuchos, ceviche to go, and artisanal chocolate.Sample authentic Peruvian bites without a long sit‑down lunch.
Free or low‑cost entry – Most buildings can be admired from the outside; the Cathedral interior is a modest ticket.Keeps your budget intact for that extra pisco sour.

In short, Plaza Mayor is Lima’s “must‑see‑in‑an‑hour” that also gives you a genuine feel for the city’s soul.

Arriving at Plaza Mayor: The Logistics

  1. From the Airport (Jorge Chávez International – LIM)
    • Taxi / Ride‑share: 20‑30 min (≈ S/ 30‑40). Use a reputable app (Beat, Cabify) or the official airport taxi desk.
    • Bus “Airport Express”: Free, stops at the Central Station (Estación Central). From there, hop on a Metropolitano bus (Line 1) to Plaza Mayor (stop Plaza San Martín).
  2. Best Time to Go
    • Morning (08:00‑10:30): Light, fewer crowds, and the city’s iconic “Lima sunrise” casts a golden glow on the stone façades.
    • Late afternoon (16:00‑18:00): The plaza comes alive with street performers, and you’ll catch the sunset over the Pacific in the background of the Government Palace’s balcony.
  3. What to Wear
    • Light layers (Lima’s climate is mild, 18‑24 °C).
    • Comfortable walking shoes—cobblestones can be uneven.

The 3‑Hour Itinerary That Packs a Punch

1️⃣ 08:30 – 09:15  | Stroll Around the Square

  • Start at the Cathedral of Lima – Enter for a quick 10‑minute peek at the baroque altar and the tomb of the famed painter José Gálvez.
  • Walk clockwise: admire the Palacio de la Municipalidad, the elegant Palacio de Gobierno (guard change ceremony at 10 am if you stay a bit longer), and the Casa de la Literatura Peruana (pop‑in for a coffee and a literary souvenir).

2️⃣ 09:15 – 10:00  | Culinary Pit‑Stop

  • Anticucho stand (skewered beef heart) – ≈ S/ 10 for a tasty bite.
  • Ceviche “to go” from Ceviche La Mar kiosk (fresh, portable, and perfect for a waterfront vibe).
  • Pisco sour at the historic Bar “La Casa del Pisco” – a quick 5‑minute sip to kick‑start your day.

3️⃣ 10:00 – 10:45  | Dive Deeper – Guided Mini‑Tour

  • Free walking tours run daily (check the kiosk near the plaza). Guides will whisk you through the hidden stories of “El Cabildo” and the “El Cristo del Pacífico” statue.
  • If you prefer a solo pace, grab an audio guide from the Tourist Information Centre (S/ 5) and wander at your own rhythm.

4️⃣ 10:45 – 11:30  | Cultural Finale

  • Visit the Museum of the Central Bank of Peru (just a block away). A quick 30‑minute look at pre‑Columbian artifacts and colonial silverwork ties together the narrative of Lima’s past.
  • Take a final photo at the Fuente de la Victoria—the fountain’s bronze lion is a beloved Instagram spot.

Total time: ~3 hours, leaving you ample room for a quick hop to Miraflores or the airport for your onward flight.

Bonus: Extending the Magic (If Time Allows)

OptionWhy It Works After Plaza Mayor
Walk to the “Parque de la Exposición” (5‑min) – Beautiful gardens, a historic glass pavilion, and occasional art fairs.Keeps you in the historic zone while adding a green pause.
Cross to the “Barranco” district (taxi, 10 min) – Bohemian murals, the Bridge of Sighs, and a sea view.Gives you a taste of Lima’s modern, artistic side.
Head to “Miraflores” (Metropolitano, 20 min) – The clifftop “Parque del Amor” and the spectacular Circuito Mágico del Agua light show.Ideal for a sunset finale and a last‑minute souvenir hunt.

Quick Checklist for the One‑Day Stopover

  • Passport & boarding pass – Keep them handy for airport re‑entry.
  • S/ 50 cash – Small vendors and taxi rides still prefer cash.
  • Light rain jacket – Lima’s “garúa” (mist) can appear unexpectedly.
  • Portable charger – Your phone will be busy with photos, maps, and the audio guide.
  • Travel‑size sanitiser – Public plazas are bustling; stay safe.

Wrap‑Up: Why Plaza Mayor Beats All Other Options

In a city where the modern skyline competes with centuries‑old stone, Plaza Mayor is the single point where history, architecture, and flavour intersect. It lets you:

  • Walk through time (from the Spanish conquest to modern Peruvian identity).
  • Taste the nation (quick bites of ceviche and pisco).
  • Snap stunning photos without a long trek across traffic‑choked avenues.

So, if your itinerary says “Lima, 24 h,” set your compass to Plaza Mayor. One stop, endless stories, and a day that will feel far richer than the minutes on the clock.

Ready to Make Your Layover Legendary?

Book your taxi, grab a map, and let Plaza Mayor be the heartbeat of your Lima adventure.

Got a different favourite stopover spot in Lima? Drop a comment below—let’s keep the conversation (and the travel inspiration) rolling! 🌎

An excerpt from “Betrayal” – a work in progress

It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t.  It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…

She sighed and came away from the window and looked around the room.  It was quite large and expensively furnished.  It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.

Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917.  At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.

There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.

She was here to meet with Vladimir.

She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.

All he knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, whose life both at work and at home was boring.  Not that she had blurted that out the first they met, or even the second.

That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.

It was a celebration, honouring one of the Embassy officials on his service in Moscow, and the fact he was returning home after 10 years.  She had been there once, and still hadn’t met all the staff.

They had talked, Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and of course what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.

It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords if this was a fencing match.

They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity.  She knew the signs of a man who was interested in her, and Vladimir was interested.

The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery, and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined.  After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.

Then, it went quiet for a month.  There was a party at the American embassy and along with several other staff members, she was invited.  She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.

A pleasant afternoon ensued.

And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.

By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends.  She had broached the subject of being involved in a plutonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy.  Normally for a member of her rank, it would not be allowed, but in this instance it was.

She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something that might be useful.  In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open and file a report each time she met him.

After that discussion, she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit.  She also formed the impression that he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.

It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine.  She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.

A Russian friend.  That’s what she would call him.

And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue.  It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.

Even so, she had made him promise that he remain on his best behaviour.  It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.

So, it began.

It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one where she had expected to be reprimanded.

She wasn’t.

It wasn’t until six weeks had passed when he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country.  It would involve staying in a hotel, that they would have separate rooms.  When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution; keep her wits about her.

Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report.  After all, her reports on the places, and the people, and the conversations she overheard, were no doubt entertaining reading for some.

But this visit was where the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report.  She had realised at some point before the weekend away, that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.

It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen.  Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, and it just happened.

And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.

She took off her coat and placed it carefully of the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room.  She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.

Then, after a minute or two, she went to the mini bar and took out the bottle of champagne that had been left there for them, a treat arranged by Vladimir for each encounter.

There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit.  She picked up the apple and thought how Eve must have felt in the garden of Eden, and the temptation.

Later perhaps, after…

She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.

A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival.  It was if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality.  A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.

The doorbell to the room rang, right on the appointed time.

She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.

A smile on her face, she opened the door.

It was not Vladimir.  It was her worst nightmare.

…

© Charles Heath 2020

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 53/53

Days 52 and 53 – Writing exercise

You wake up in a room, a note on the mirror, a whole new identity, and a card with my new name on it.

…

I went to bed Thursday night after a few drinks at the Fox and Hounds with a half dozen or so lads who were having a Stag night for James Aloysius Corbey, the groom-to-be on Saturday.

That’s the first thing I remembered when I woke up the next morning, slightly hungover and vague.  About where I was, and who I was.

Because I woke up in a place I didn’t sleep.  The walls of the room were wallpapered, not painted; the roof was ornate plasterwork, not plain; and the main light was a chandelier, not a round plastic light found at IKEA.

As for the curtains, well, by that time I was beginning to think something was terribly wrong, like the Stag party boys had moved me to another hotel as a practical joke.

A quick glance sideways almost gave me a sign of relief, they had not planted a dead body, or worse, one of the three girls that turned up halfway into the session and ‘performed’ for the Stag.

I hoped his wife would never be found out.  Perhaps that was why they chose to be at least 50 miles away from his town. 

A sheet of paper on the bedside table told me I was in Morden, wherever that was.  Scrawled hurriedly was a note, “pack up your old life and put it in the suitcase, you are no longer that person”.

I shrugged.

It was a condition of joining the service that you left your old life behind.  It wouldn’t be that hard; my old life wasn’t a life; I had just been going through the motions. 

I hadn’t quite considered the ramifications of the change, but now that it was a reality, it wasn’t that hard. 

Out of curiosity, I looked out the window.  It overlooked the lane outside the hotel.  It looked almost like an anonymous suburban house.

I went to the closet, and my clothes were hanging up, the suitcase was on the rack, and yesterday’s clothes were in a laundry bag.  I quickly attended to cleaning the room of any evidence I’d been there.

Then I went into the bathroom, and everything was laid out, like I would have.  The only thing out of place was a handwritten note tacked to the mirror.

Written in spidery but neat cursive script, the calligraphy of a woman rather than a man.  It was neat and just readable.

Jack,

That is your name now, Jack Williamson.  The rest of your details are in an envelope in the drawer beside the bed.  Memorise them and destroy the paperwork in the usual manner. 

Your mission is to find Eloise Margarethe Anderson.

Your new cell phone has an untraceable email with the details of her disappearance.  There is a backpack under the bed with everything you will need. 

You will be contacted in due course, but if you have information or require research assistance, there is a number to call.  It will not be answered; it is for text messages only. 

Good luck.

Unsigned, which was no surprise.

There was a slight aroma of a familiar scent, the sort a woman would use, and I tried to remember who she was.

Tried.  The weight of the previous evening still hung over my head.  Thinking wasn’t easy, so I went and stood under the cold water for a few minutes to wash the cobwebs away.

I should have expected this.

Having graduated, if it could be called that, from training, the sort that taught you skills that most people would never need, and watching a large percentage of the other candidates wash out one by one, I made it to the last ten.

We were told we would learn whether we succeeded or failed within the week, and that we should go home and wait.  That had been five weeks ago, and I was sure I had failed.

Apparently, I had not failed.

Or this was a final test.  A final final test.

It bothered me that I could be transported from one place to another and know absolutely nothing about it.  According to one of the instructors, if that happened, you were as good as dead. 

Had it happened in a real-life situation, I would be.

So, after half an hour, dressed and compus mentus, just the thought of what had happened scared me.  We had been told to be on our guard the whole time, and I had not.

I pulled out the backpack, retrieved the file, discovered Jack Williamson was not the greatest of characters, and that the missing girl was no one of consequence, just someone’s daughter who went to London for a friend’s party and was never seen again.  She was reported missing. The police kept the file open for a month but found nothing substantive. The evidence pointed to the fact that she had purposely left the party. They tracked her to Waterloo Station, where she was met by a young man, and they disappeared into the underground.

They did not get on a train, underground or overground, and did not leave the station, at least as far as CCTV could see.  Conclusion: she did not want to be found.  The meeting at Waterloo was planned, and the man was known to her.  There were photos of her and the man, both identified.  There was a copy of the police file, and it showed they’d gone the extra mile.

Why?

Something didn’t add up.

I guess that was why it had become my first, and quite possibly last, mission.

….

The hotel was a few minutes from Morden underground station and then to Waterloo.  I didn’t waste time thinking about the how or the why of getting there; I figured that it was their way of saying that whatever you had before was gone, this is how it’s going to be, a different place, a different name, a different case.

There was no one at the hotel to ask, and even if there had been, I was sure any questions would be met with blank expressions and no information forthcoming.  It was probably a safe house.

Going out the front door, having seen up one from my room to the foyer, and after dropping the room key in the box provided for self-checkout, I saw an elderly couple going in as I went out.

“Good morning for a walk,” the lady said.

“Sounds like a good idea,”  I said, holding the door open for them, then heading off.

It was a short walk to the station, then a short wait for the Northern Line train.  I had enough time to read up on Waterloo Station, its entrances and exits, and some interesting station plans.

There was an interview with the girl’s father; her mother had left a few years earlier, abandoning them both for a work colleague.  The ex-wife did not paint the husband in a good light, subject to bouts of unemployment, heavy drinking, and domestic violence.  An interesting question, why leave a young girl in his care?

The neighbours didn’t see him much, not since his wife left, and said that he had changed.  The girl had been taken into child care, but he had managed to get her released into his custody on probation.  Nothing had happened until she disappeared.

If things were all right at home, why would she just up and leave?  He would not have let her go to the party if he didn’t trust her.

There was a document listing social media profiles found by the IT specialist assigned to the case, for the girl, her friends, particularly the one she went to the party with, and several email accounts for the father, mother and the two girls.

There was another, for the man she went to meet at Waterloo station.  The last message he received and the last message she sent told Jim which train she was on and the estimated arrival time.  After that, both phones went dead and hadn’t been reactivated.

I had photos of the two the last time they were picked up by CCTV, at the end of the Northern line arrival platform at Waterloo.

It was my starting point

…

Standing at the end of the platform, I looked up and saw the camera that had recorded their presence.  Behind me was the dark tunnel, and while they could have escaped that way, it was unlikely.  The CCTV would have been monitored, and they would not have got far.

I sat down at the very end, the last seat, and looked at the photograph.  Nothing special.  It was just one blurry shot taken from the continuous feed.

I sent a message to the email on the phone, “Can I see any CCTV footage relevant to the two at the end of the platform?” And waited.

In an idle moment, I loaded the Times crossword and started filling it in.

Five minutes, a reply, “Yes.”  There was an attachment, and I opened it.  Three minutes, walking to the end, talking, sitting, exactly where I was sitting, then getting up and retracing their steps, just as a train arrived and a lot of people got off.  That was where the CCTV lost track of them.

But…

Why were they sitting here?

Out of curiosity, I felt under the seat, expecting to find old chewing gum, but instead found two cell phones tucked under the metal fold, held in place by double-sided tape.

I made sure that anyone watching the current CCTV would not realise what I was doing.  I was going to assume they’d either thrown them on the tracks to be smashed or tossed them in a rubbish bin.

Not leave them to be retrieved. And if they did leave them, expecting to retrieve them, why hadn’t they come back?

They would be dead now, and I would have to recharge them.  It didn’t explain how they disappeared.

But on the way up to the main overland concourse, I checked all the CCTV locations against those labelled on the plan.  Three were missing, or at the very least, I couldn’t find them.

Three that would make it easy for them to leave without being noticed.  Having lost them at the station, they checked the CCTV footage outside it, but there were gaps.

I sent another email asking for CCTV coverage at any location for the exit near the three missing cameras.  This time it took 15 minutes. There was a reply, but no sign of them, and there was a black hold.

10 more minutes, I received another message and a file.  The file showed, a half hour later, what might have been the girl and man getting into a taxi.  Different clothes, hats hiding their faces, the man with a backpack.  Nothing conclusive, just a feeling.  There was a taxi registration and where it could be found.

I found a three-star hotel and checked in.  On the way from the station, I found a shop selling chargers for the two cell phones, and my first job was to charge them.

…

By the time the two phones were charged, I had the cab’s location and the driver’s number; the driver was an owner who went home at the end of his shift.  He would be there first thing in the morning, and so would I.

As Detective Inspector Strange, or so it said on the warrant card, with a rather interesting photo of my face.  Someone had assumed it might need one.

The phones were password-protected, but then entering the notebook computer solved that small problem.  I’d expected a treasure trove of data, and was immediately disappointed except…

On the man’s phone, photos showed the locations of the CCTV cameras that issued the alerts and a set of images charting a course around the dark spots.

Those photos were from a month ago, so was this disappearance planned? And planned meticulously.  There were no other messages, and the call histories on both phones had been erased except for her last call and one from his phone.

I sent it to my invisible assistant, and it came back with a surprise.  The number belonged to the cab driver who picked them up.  I went back to the CCTV footage and realised the taxi had been waiting for them to appear as they came out of the exit, not hailed by the man.

This was too easy.  How had the police failed to see what I was seeing?  Back to the police file, it seemed once they lost track of them in the station, they had only done a cursory check shortly after they disappeared, thinking they’d head straight for the exits.  They hadn’t.  They had found a place to change, away from prying eyes.

With a few hours to wait for the taxi driver to come off shift, I put my head down to get some rest.

I was woken several hours later by the vibration of the cell phone warning me of an incoming message.

It showed the taxi’s track from the time it picked up the two, including the stops it made afterwards.  It was an address in Guildford, Surrey, about 40 miles away.

A car had been ordered and would be out front of the hotel in an hour. I was to proceed with caution in establishing whether the two were in the house and to report back.

Once again, while washing the cobwebs away, I had to think that this was too easy, that there was something I was missing. The police would have gone through the same processes I had.

I took my time getting there, then parked some distance from the house. It was exposed, and they would see me coming, especially if someone was watching from the upstairs windows. If I had to make an assessment, it would be ideal. More importantly, in an emergency, they could get away quickly without being seen from the front of the house.

It wasn’t a random selection. A lot of thought had gone into this disappearance.

So, given the circumstances, I decided to drive to the front of the house and walk straight to the front door, with purpose, giving the impression I had a purpose to be there.

When I got out of the car, a curtain moved in a window from the house over the road, and I thought I saw movement in the upstairs window. No hesitation, I headed towards the front door, waited for a few seconds while I pretended to check my phone, then knocked, not forcefully, but loud enough for them to hear.

Nothing. No movement, no sounds behind the door.

Don’t knock again too soon and sound impatient. I waited, then knocked again. The same tempo. Not in a hurry.

This time, there were sounds from behind the door, then, with a flourish, it opened.

“Hello, Jack. Come on in.”

I tried not to look surprised. How did these people know I would be turning up on their doorstep? Unless…

The girl and the man were sitting in two chairs opposite someone I instantly recognised.

One of my instructors. The one who had supervised my final test. The one who gave no inkling as to what he was thinking, or believed in giving feedback.

“You’ll be pleased to know that eight out of ten candidates fail this test. It proved to us that you can find people who don’t want to be found. The thing is, we were not sure if the measures we put in place to protect these people were sufficient, and they are not.

But, more to the point, we now want you to find Eloise’s mother, Margarethe. The files will be sent to your phone imminently. In the meantime, a hotel has been booked for you at Heathrow, and you are booked on a flight to Vienna. ” He stood. “Well done. Now, off you go. Progress reports as per protocol.”

I got to sit down for all of five minutes.

Vienna! Wiener Schnitzel and Apfelstrudel. If there was time.

…

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey.  Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there.  She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions.  Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife.  Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

…

lovecoverfinal1

In a word: There

Yes, the dog is over there. It’s a place somewhere other than where you are currently.

Or, you could say, there was a brave man, but he couldn’t help so there was no hope. It doesn’t refer to a place.

Or I’m taking you to the border, but from there you’re on your own.

Confused yet?

Let’s try by adding a similar word, their

It means belonging to a group as in, it was their dog that caused the damage.

Of course, this can be twisted a little, and you could say, everyone has to bring their own pack, meaning at times it could refer to one, or many,

Then just when you thought it was safe to go back into the water, there’s they’re.

This is a contraction for they are, so it’s they’re not going to fo as their told.

Wow, it starts getting complicated when you use two or more of those similar words in the same sentence.

Confusing?

That’s why it always pays to have a dictionary handy.

Just in case autocorrect fails, which it seems to quite often for me. I’m not sure why.

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 20

Just what do you talk to aliens about?

…

We were standing off the two ships, each about half the size of our ship.

I wondered briefly if the people on board were thinking the same as us.

What were the people like, friendly or hostile, what weapons the other had, and what technology?  We knew they could board us, by beaming in combatants, so I’d sent the third officer to organize the security team and other crew members to spread out through the ship and keep an eye out for boarders.

At the very least they knew we couldn’t send people over to their ships.

I walked over to the communications officer’s console where the communication expert sat, waiting.

“Can we broadcast a message so the other ship can hear us?”

“Assuming they understand any or all of the 32 languages we can convert any message to.”

And, if I read the crew briefing note on her correctly, she could speak fluently in every one of them.  Just, perhaps, not alien, but up till now, she didn’t have to.

“The last one I spoke to understood me just fine.”

“Very good.  Just speak when you are ready.  We’re transmitting now.”

I went back to stand in front of the Captain’s chair though I was not sure why.  I took a moment to consider what I should say, then proceeded with, “This is the commanding officer of the Earth space ship “Nautilus” hailing the two ships nearby.  We are following the vessel that kidnapped two of our crew members.  We have no quarrel with you, and this being the case, we will be proceeding with our pursuit forthwith.”

I put my hand up to indicate the message was done.

“Are systems online and ready to go?” I said in the direction of the helmsman who, like the rest of the crew, were looking at me.  Why I wasn’t sure.

The helmsman replied, “Ready when you are.”

I was going to give the alien ships five minutes, then leave.  They were either going to board us, or shoot at us, or maybe just let us go.

I looked at the military specialist.  “I assume we can retaliate if they start shooting at us?”

“It’s possible if they don’t hit any vital parts of the ship.”

It was a rather sardonic reply, or maybe that was her usual tone.  I didn’t get time to reflect on it.

“You might want to reconsider that plan, Earth ship Nautilus.”

It was an accented version of English, British perhaps, but very precise, and most likely the result of a translator.

“Who am I speaking to?”

“You may call me the commanding officer of my spaceship. 

“Are you with the people who kidnapped my crew members?”

There was silence, a period where I assumed they were considering a response.  Then, “I am not sure what you mean by with but were are of the same people, yes, but the one you speak of is not like us.  We have been seeking them as you appear to be, but for different reasons.”

“So why are here, impeding our progress, if you are not helping them?”

“We wanted to see who they have mistreated, and what they have done.  This is not the first time they have ventured into uncharted space.”

“Where have you come from?”

“Several thousands of what you call light-years away, in a system similar to yours, only each of the planets have a different people.  The people who have taken your crew come from one of the planets who are looking for weapons to fight a war they are losing.”

“Then I think you people are in a great deal of trouble.  They have also stolen a shipment of plutonium, which if they know what they’re doing, can be used to make bombs that can render a place unliveable for thousands of what we call years.  Believe me when I say it’s a very long time.”

“Nuclear bombs?”

“You’ve heard of them?”

“In a roundabout way.  You should know we are currently chasing the people who did this, and we are here to advise against you proceeding with your rescue mission.  The people you are chasing have a vastly superior ship, and weapons than you, as I suspect your ship is to you, a marvel, but to us, about a hundred of your earth years behind us.  We always believed your differences with your fellow humans would always hinder your space programs to the point where Mars would be the furthest you could travel.”

“You should realize we are out there on the very edge of our galaxy ready to find new ones.”

“That we cannot stop.  But I give you this warning, not everyone out there is ready to accept new people from other planets or systems.  And they are all more technologically advanced.”

Nothing surprising there.

“We’re still going out there, danger withstanding.”

“Be that on your head.  I suggest, however, that you do not follow those who have taken your crew members.  We will take care of them, and return your people in due course.”

“Thanks for the warning, but we do not abandon our people.”

“Then don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Then, before our eyes, the two ships left, or that is to say, disappeared into a bright light that lasted a few seconds before the inky black returned.

“What just happened,” I said before I realized I’d said it out loud.

A voice from behind said, in reply, “I believe they disappeared into what might be described as a wormhole.”

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2023

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 38

This is one of those images that could be anywhere.

So, here’s the problem:

Ethan was reluctant to agree to go to the stag night, knowing firstly, that the others going were a bit too unruly when they had too many drinks and, secondly, that they had to agree to not know where they were being taken by the bus, and thirdly, anything they saw or did had to remain completely confidential.

That was particularly the case when it came to the ‘stag’.

In that case, Ethan knew exactly what this night was going to be, hours of unrelenting debauchery.

And, since Ethan was the stag’s brother, and he was the best man, there was no way he could wriggle his way out of this one.

On top of that, Ethan had to promise the bride-to-be that he would not let her husband-to-be go too far. That statement, of course, was like a box full of hand grenades. He didn’t ask for a definition of too far.

So, seven sober, respectable, hard-working junior executives in suits that were worth more than Ethan’s annual salary boarded the bus.

What happened from that moment the bus drove off until Ethan’s brother’s body was found floating face down in the river behind the resort, handcuffed to a naked girl in a rubber dinghy, barely alive from an overdose, was anyone’s guess, and Ethan’s worst nightmare.

Especially when he was the last one to see his brother, and the girl, alive.

And, no, this is not based on a real-life experience, though in recurring nightmares I’m the one floating face down in the river.

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 57

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…

I hadn’t realised until I said it out loud to someone who would not understand the significance of it, just how far-fetched the reason was.

But in my newly adopted world, it made perfect sense.

 Spies dealt with many things, mostly the notion of a threat, and the removal of it, whether it is an object like a USB or a person, or persons, who could make the threat become a reality.

This threat started with a laboratory working for the military to produce biological weapons.  Then the funding stopped, for whatever reason, and the laboratory had to cover its losses.

What better way than to hawk the formula on the dark web?

Someone perceived that the laboratory would become a threat and dispatched operatives to monitor the situation.

The worst-case scenario occurs, but from a different standpoint, the outrage of a community-conscious scientist who didn’t like the idea of people creating monstrous weapons and steals the formula to leak to the media.

The laboratory is shut down by the government before the formula could be sold, but there is a copy in play via the scientist.

The scientist, and therefore the threat, neutralised.

The threat then moves to his wife, who contacts someone in the Department, likely but not necessarily Dobbin, who then assigns O’Connell to find the wife and offer a lot of cash for the formula.

She agrees.

Somehow, the planted operatives, Severin and Maury discover the wife and O’Connell’s arrangement.

They create a surveillance group with the intention of monitoring the handover and then try to remove both O’Connell and the wife.

For what reason.  The threat would have been removed unless O’Connell and Dobbin had another agenda.  Why then when Dobbin rescued O’Connell, did O’Connell then turn on him?

A relationship with the wife?

Or was it simply the thought of making a huge sum of money, one both O’Connell and the wife could retire on.  He would not be the first spy to sell his soul for twenty pieces of silver.

But the good news, was we had Severin’s assassin.

The plan from there was to hand her over to the Detective Inspector, who didn’t have an agenda other than getting to the truth and keeping Jan away from Dobbin, or anyone who could set her free.

That plan was quashed the moment I saw Dobbin turn up at the scene.  He knew where Severin would be, he must know Severin was meeting with me, and he had sent Jan.

The fact I was still alive meant he wanted something from me.

The question was whether he knew if Jan had been taken off the playing field.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

It was the exact question in my head, though I was closer to answer than she was.

“Run interference, or worse, take over this case too.”

“I thought that was left in the hands of MI5.”

“He turned up after you left.”

She shrugged.  “Above my pay grade, to be honest.  He can have it.  I prefer to deal with the mundane, common thieves or murderers.  None of this cloak-and-dagger stuff.   I’ll tell my Super about the biological stuff, but you have to admit it is a bit farfetched.  There’s a more rational explanation for these deaths, you just have to look harder.  Now, if there’s nothing else?”

Too late to escape, Dobbin had circled around and reached us before I could disappear.

“You seem to turn up to department crime scenes with alarming regularity, Sam.  Any particular reason you’re here?”

The Detective Inspector had expected him to talk to her, not me.

“He’s just another possible witness on the periphery of a crime.  You’re here because?

“It’s one of our people.  I’m afraid…”

“…you’re going to have to take over?  Be my guest.  Your friend here is altogether far too uncooperative, like the rest of you.  I am going to file a formal complaint.”

.“And I’m sure it will be seen by the relevant people.”

She just shrugged and walked away, waving her hand at no one in particular

I waited until she was out of hearing range and asked, “So, why didn’t Jan shoot me too?”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2023