Month: December 2019

A matter of life and … what’s worse than death? – Episode 22

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

 

When we arrived back at the underground site Martina was waiting, and it was clear she was extremely annoyed.  Word, somehow, had filtered back of what just happened.

“Are you totally mad?” she snarled.  “You know what’s going to happen now?”

I had a good idea but chose not to speak.

“They got what they deserved,” Carlo said.  “They found the missing man that you left on the side of the road, by the way, and it was lucky we were there when they found him.  Whether they believed it was an accident or not, they were heading to Chiara’s, and we had to do something about that.”

“And you didn’t think that might have consequences?”

I think all of us had considered what would happen as a result of what could only be described as an ambush.  And, while I thought, as no doubt the others had also, it might lead to retribution killings, it might not.  Wallace could not afford to be seen acting like the Germans, who certainly would have lined up a dozen villagers and shot them and might not do anything.

But, when he realised I was involved, and that the so-called remnants of the resistance could and were willing to cause him trouble, he would have to do something about it.  Especially with a high-value defector coming his way.

“Wallace certainly can’t do anything about it, other than come and ask questions.  He can’t afford to be seen acting as anything but a British officer.”

“But he could get Leonardo and his men to do it for him.”

“Surely he wouldn’t kill the same people he’s lived with all his life.”

“Leonardo’s allegiance’s go to anyone who hands him a free meal ticket.  Until the so-called British arrived at the castle, it was fine to be the resistance because he was being paid handsomely for his help.  When the Germans left the castle, he considered his job was over, and we all went our different ways, hoping the war was over for us.  Of course, that was only wishful thinking.  Even when the British turned up at the castle, with the express intention of capturing and repatriating to England any Germans who wanted to defect, his advice was to let them do what they want.”

“What changed?”

“The man in charge, Wallace you call him, sent out a message for those who had been in the resistance to come up to the castle to talk.  Leonardo thought it might be an opportunity to get back on the payroll.  Carlo and I and several others didn’t go.  There they were told they would be paid for each defector they collected and brought to the castle.”

“Didn’t he think that might be a little suspicious since it was just as easy for Wallace to send his own people to collect them, and not have to pay anything?”

“Now that we know they are Germans masquerading as British, it makes sense.  But Leonardo is little more than a fool and greedy.  He doesn’t care who pays so long as they pay.  I suspect he has no idea who he’s working for, or what happens to the people he collects.  Anyone who opted out of the new arrangement seems to have disappeared.”

“Many?”

“Three that we know of.  They’re probably locked in the dungeons with the others you saw there.”

“How come he hasn’t come after you?”

“Too much trouble, and possibly because it’s a fight he can’t necessarily win.”

“He might not have a choice now.  Wallace is going to have to do something about us, simply because he can’t let the defectors fall into our hands, and especially now that we know that’s why he’s here.”

“Then if it’s a fight he’s looking for, then we’ll have to give him one.”

“On that, I just had a thought on how we might be able to even up the odds a little, but I have to give it a bit more thought.”  

An idea came to me, one that might just work because I was counting on the fact Wallace would have to do something and depending on… “In the meantime, we have to do something about the rest of the villagers, just in case I’m wrong about Wallace.  How many people are left in the village?”

“About twenty.  All the rest scattered when the Germans came the first time, and half of those that remained were killed for one reason or another.  The previous commander of the castle frequently lost it when any of us refused to co-operate.”

“Then send Carlo out to round them up and put them somewhere safe.”

“There are no safe places anymore,” Carlo said, “None that they don’t know about.”

“What about here?”

“It’s the only place we have left that no one knows about.”

“Well, you don’t have much of a choice.”

Martina was not happy.  Her isolated resistance effort was steadily becoming a large-scale attack, not the sort of operation she had intended.  But I don’t think it would have stayed that way for very long, given Carlo’s actions.

She turned to Carlo.  “Go and round them up and bring them here.”

“And if they refuse?”

“Then we’ve done all we can for them.  But tell them that it’s a distinct possibility they will die if they stay where they are.  Take Chiara, and hurry.  I doubt it will be very long before the castle finds out what happened to their men.”

Carlo and Chiara grabbed a weapon each and left.  When they returned, it would be to formulate a plan to take down Wallace and the others at the castle, hopefully before the defector arrived.

That plan that was evolving in my mind didn’t exactly involve the villagers, but the three or four remaining members I was now working.  Leonardo might not know of all of them, or even if he did, one of them would be Wallace’s first calling point.  It just depended on who he sent.

And if I was a betting man, and if he knew that one of his men was ‘seeing’ Chiara, then that’s where they would go.

The only question to be asked at this point, would we be too late to take advantage of an opportunity to reduce the odds?

© Charles Heath 2019

What happens after the action-packed start – Part 32 – Revised

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.

 

Bamfield met me at the airport, before we took off.  Monroe had come over and told me there was a visitor in one of the rooms, the one with Operations crookedly glued to the door.  She opened the door, ushered me in, then stepped back out closing the door after her.

Mental note: the door to that room would not withstand a good kick.

There was a table, two chairs, and one of them had Bamfield sitting, looking up expectantly when I entered the room.  His eyes beckoned me to the other chair, so, after a look around the room, nothing else other than the table and chairs were in the room I casually made my way to the chair and sat.

We glared at each other over the tabletop.

”I’m guessing this is the last place you expected to be?”

“You have a funny way of issuing invitations?”

“Would you have come along if I asked you politely.”

“Probably not.”

Another minute’s silence while he looked for the words that would be anything other than an apology for coercing me into a corner.  I’d come to realise that Bamfield was far from the sort of officer I’d first thought him to be.

An excuse could be made that because he needed to find people to do particularly dangerous and covert operation, nothing was off the table, including blackmail, in order to get the job done.  How he was justifying it using armed services personnel was anyone’s guess, but it would have been kicked higher up the food chain before approval was given.

These operations weren’t conceived by military commanders, just the CIA on a good day, allowing the armed services to tag along.  But make no mistake, this would be a CIA operation, and the CIA to take the credit if it worked out, and the army would take a hit if it didn’t.  Either way, it would never reach the newspapers.

“You don’t need me to tell you how important this is, and that we’ve only got one shot at it.  If you get caught, any of you, we cannot acknowledge you, so you will be on your own. Your team will obey orders.  Monroe is there to maintain discipline if it’s needed.”

“So she’ll be shooting first and asking questions later?”

“Something like that.  She’s a tough officer, and worthy of your respect.”

“And the rest?”

“Good soldiers who just got into trouble.  They’re being given an opportunity for redemption, and this mission will count towards lessening their sentences.  At any rate, Monroe will have your back.”

Good to know.

“You’ll be going to a new destination, after stopping over in northern Uganda.  We’ve arranged for the plane to land at a disused airstrip, when you’ll be met by Colonel Chiswick ex British army, unofficially there to train the local troops.  He’ll be arranging you and your teams travel arrangements from there.  I can’t tell you any more at this time for security reasons.”

“You do realise that a group of people who look every bit like mercenaries are only going to get as far as the border crossing before they get arrested, or worse.  I’ve had time to think about it, and this is as ill-advised as you can get.”

He smiled, which worried me more than the idea of getting shot by Congo border guards.

“That’s what I was thinking too, so I told Lallo to devise a plausible cover story.”

Off the top of my head, one that would be ‘plausible’ didn’t come immediately to mind, and dropping it in Lallo’s lap, well, he didn’t strike me as being an ‘ideas man’.  We would look like a team of mercenaries looking for trouble, and hardly tourists taking in the African countryside, particularly where there were dangerous warlords and child soldiers roaming free.  It was going to be hard to disguise that.

“This should be interesting,” I muttered half under my breath.

“It is, in fact.  Lallo surprised me.  You will be going in as a documentary making team who, by the time you arrive at the border, should have the appropriate clearances.  It seems the place you’re now going is quite near the Garama National Park, where I’m told there are Elephants and Giraffes that are nearing extinction.  I suspect you might even run into one or two poachers.  Apparently, they come down from the Sudan.  Before you cross the border, being escorted by a platoon of Ugandan soldiers, you will be coming from the Murchison Falls National Park, and before that the Mathenik Game Reserve.  Your passports have all been stamped appropriately and Monroe has all the documentation.  She’s the Production Manager.  There’s two large crates with all of the photographic equipment you’ll be taking with you.”

“We can shoot, but I don’t think that includes cameras.”

“Then you have a long flight and a lot of time to study up.  I doubt it will come to that, but you must be ready if the Congo army decided to get nosey.  The equipment, I’m told, works, but it the greater scheme of things it doesn’t have to come back.  Monroe will work out who does what.  You’ll be in overall charge.”

“The Director?”

“Whatever.  Any questions?”

“I have only one question.”

“Only one?”

“There is another 999 but I figure none of those will get answered.  It was the same question I asked the last time, who are these people we’re supposed to be rescuing?”

A long and thoughtful look.  Could he trust me?

“Two CIA operatives posing as trade negotiators, looking to get a deal for some mineral that’s used in mobile phones.  I don’t know the details, but it’s apparently more lucrative than gold.  They managed to get caught in the middle of a three-way bidding contest but finished up in the middle of the war between government forces and rebels if you could call them that.  They’re mostly militia groups who have been attempting to take over the mines for themselves, resulting in the crossfire.  Apparently, they made promises they couldn’t keep, and now we have to bail them out.”

“Another stuff up then.”

“Everyone had good intentions, but in Africa, good intentions are often mistaken for something else entirely.  This is, however, one other possible problem you may have to deal with.”

Of course, there always was.  Nothing covert operations did, didn’t have a wrinkle or three.

“Good or bad?”

He shrugged.  “They might not want to go with you.  We now suspect they may have had something to do with the last fiasco, and it wasn’t entirely Jacobi’s fault, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he might not be working with them.  You’ll be travelling with a small fortune in diamonds as payment for their release, so it may not necessarily be what it seems.  Only you and Monroe know about them and they’re hidden in with the photographic equipment, so make sure you hang onto those crates until the exchange.  I tell you this, so you don’t get any surprises.”

“Good to know, but I suspect there’s more to the story that you’re not telling me, but I’m hoping Monroe will keep me in the loop.”

“Oh, and there’s one other little problem which we hope to have sorted out by the time you’re on the ground in Uganda.  We haven’t secured all the elements of the exit strategy yet, but I’m confident it’ll all come together.  One way or another.”

I stood.

Was I expecting a handshake or a ‘good luck’, maybe, but I don’t think that was his style?  He was probably used to sending men to senseless deaths, so another few would stir his conscience.  I shrugged, and walked out of the room, not looking back.

We flew out of an unnamed base in an unmarked aircraft, heading for Africa.  It would be my second visit.  The first didn’t quite go as expected, but there was a chance of redemption this time around.

I was the only one who had been there before, other than our two-faced guide, Jacobi, who by now would be working out how he could double-cross us and save his skin.  I had no illusions about a man who would turn in his own mother if he had to.

No doubt Monroe would have a suitable role in our documentary making crew, perhaps a guide.  I was looking forward to hearing what he thought of our cover story.

Even so, we were going to need a plan b and a plan c going in with him, because I had no doubt plan a had already been sent to the relevant people, who were awaiting our imminent arrival with bated breath.  Pity we would not be landing anywhere near that location.

In fact, none of us would know where we would be dropped, until a few hours before it happened.  Security, this time, was going to be formidable.  Lallo explained why it was a matter of need to know, and all I had to say was, I didn’t need to know beyond the fact it was somewhere in Uganda, and near the Uganda/Congo border.  I suspect Monroe knew, but she was the sort who could keep a secret.

As for the rest of the team, they were a motley crew, but within the group there was an odd sort of camaraderie between them.  Perhaps Lallo had told them that if they stepped out of line, Monroe would shoot them.

Aside from the passengers in the C130 transport, there was a pack for each of us, and enough weapons to start a war.  The so-called two large crates turned out to be four, no so large, but certainly I would be looking in them before we landed, just in case I had to know what was inside.  But, since we would not be calling at any recognisable airport, I doubted we would be having any customs or immigration problems.  No one was travelling with any proper identification papers, only the passports and visas required to enter the Congo. 

It was that sort of mission.

© Charles Heath 2019

In a word: Rabbit

Have you ever heard of someone rabbiting on, you know, endlessly rattling on about nothing?

That’s just one use of the word rabbit.

The most obvious is the animal, a rabbit.  You know, that burrowing, plant-eating, long-eared, short-tailed animal that goes by the name of Bugs Bunny, maybe.

Nearly every child has a stuffed, cuddly one.

Of course, it’s of some significance at the moment because its Easter, and that there are countless chocolate versions of the so-called Easter bunny.

Then there is that 6-foot high invisible rabbit called Harvey, or not necessarily a rabbit, but a pookah.

We use the expression rabbit ears to describe those old interior television antennas.

There’s rabbit stew, rabbit pie, and white rabbit beer.

But my favourite is when the magician pulls the proverbial rabbit out of a hat.  It’s an expression we also use for someone who pulls off an impossible task.

Writing about writing a book – Day 7 Continues – Jennifer

Jennifer again.

From Bill Chandler’s perspective,

She was a good worker, but extremely private.  Her path had been clear; work, no play, and avoid everyone.  I’d seen her deal with executives and office boys alike, and put up barriers that no one could penetrate.  She made herself deliberately unattractive and unapproachable for reasons unknown.

Over time I tried to penetrate that steely exterior with moderate success, trying to get to know her better.  And, in doing so I discovered she apparently had a bad experience early on in life with someone, and it had affected her deeply.

Of course, it didn’t progress much more than that one admission, not until the divorce.  It was long and problematical because Ellen had chosen to go the hard route rather than just call it off, perhaps to make me realize just what I had put her through.  The sad fact was, there was nothing I could do to make it right, now or in the future.

But because of that, and because it seemed to Jennifer that I needed someone to ‘lean’ on in my time of trouble, she became the only person I could talk to.  It wasn’t difficult.  We were both working long hours in each others company, and neither of us had a desire to go home.

Then three months ago, something happened and everything changed. 

Well, it changed between us, but to the outside world, no one would ever know.  That didn’t mean we hadn’t been friends of a sort before that, it was just we were, well, I don’t think I could describe it.  All I know is I knew my feelings for her had changed, or perhaps they were the same, and she had changed.  Whatever it was, I was glad.  Ellen had been dragging me down for so long; just being with Jennifer was like a breath of fresh air.

I found I could pour out the details of my sad and undistinguished life to her.  She was the one and only person to whom I could talk freely.  And, all of a sudden, apparently I was the only one she could talk freely to too.  From that point, we had become a different sort of friends, and, in the last week or so, a little more than that.

Our last encounter had been interesting to say the least.  I was still not sure of what I said, or how it ended, other than I had apologized to her the Friday night before we parted.  I hadn’t exactly wanted any vacation days, they were thrust upon me, but perhaps it was fortuitous in that it would give us both time to consider our relationship.

After Ellen, I hadn’t thought about getting involved in a relationship, or anything else for that matter, but it seemed that was where Jennifer and I could finish up, despite the fact neither of us were realistically looking for anything other than a friendship.

That very subtly changed on that Friday night.

Now I’d been thrust back into the fire, and I wondered just how I would feel seeing her. 

 

Jennifer is an important character in several ways, as a friend to Bill, and in a way, connected to him in a way he doesn’t yet know.  She will also have some impact when his past finally catches up with him.

I’m still working on her character background, but more will follow soon.

She is about to change, especially in the eyes of Bill.

 

© Charles Heath 2016-2019

If only something made sense…

It seems rather fortuitous that we have a holiday at the end of the year.

I mean, who sat around a table however many years ago and decided that holidays like Christmas should be at the end of the year.  And who decided one half of the world could freeze to death on their holidays, and the other half burn?

At the end of a long year at that, you know, 52 weeks, 12 months, 365 days, where even when some of us get a weekend off once in a blue moon, it still seems like we’re working 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year.

So, who decided a week would have seven days, a year would have 12 months, and while we’re at it, who decided to give each month a different name?  And who named names?

Was it Father Time.  As children, we all learn about father time, or has political correctness stepped in and we now call ‘father time’, ‘person time’.

Anyway…

Who do we blame for this mess, we have to blame someone.  It’s not our fault.  If it were up to me I’d have Christmas in September when there’s more temperate weather in both halves of the world.

And who decided that Christmas should be attached to Winter and not Summer?

It’s like the whole mess was designed by a group of academics majoring in philosophy sitting in a back room and fed Coca Cola and Pizzas until they came up with an answer, which was probably to send it all to a parliamentary committee made up from candidates from Bellevue Asylum.

The same people, by the way, who are responsible for coordinating traffic lights.

And then there’s that other mystery I’ve never quite understood.

If you work for the FBI your first name suddenly becomes ‘Agent’.  Everyone gets that name change whether you like it or not.

Which is much the same as all Russians once upon a time calling each other ‘comrade’.  Beats the hell, I suppose, out of remembering peoples first names, especially in Russia where, to us, they’re unpronounceable.

Sorry.

You can tell it’s getting close to Chrismas.

I’ve become a gibbering idiot.

What’s said cannot be unsaid

You know the moment the words leave your mouth that you have said the wrong thing.

It might be exactly what you were thinking, it might be said before you had time to process what you were going to say, but it’s the look on the face of the recipient that tells the story.

Oh, my God, I shouldn’t have said that!

Your initial reaction is to try and say it’s not what you meant.

Generally, these horrible mistakes come at a point where emotions are running high, and there is an element of truth in the statement, and one that the recipient is aware of, and doesn’t need reminding of.

Not by their best friend, partner or closest relative.

Would it be better if you were not one of those three?

Maybe.

But it isn’t.  Anger, followed by tears, followed by silence.

This is where the statement, time heals all wounds, is brought into play, and you hope that it is true.

Interesting subject, is it not, for the opening gambit of a story?

 

In a word: Keep

Yes, this is an easy one.

I want to keep the car.  Especially if it’s a Lamborghini and it didn’t cost $500,000.

This form of the word simply means to hang on to something, or the proper definition, to have or retain possession of

Paring it with other words is where it gets complicated.

For instance,

Keepings off, make sure that the ball doesn’t get into someone else’s possession.

Keep it to yourself, yes, here’s your chance to become the harbinger of secrets and not tell anyone else.  Not unless a lot of money is involved, or a Lamborghini.

You guessed it, the car is the running joke on this post.

How about, keep a low profile, been there tried that, it’s a lot harder than you think.

What about keeping your cards close to your chest, yes, this had both a literal and figurative meaning which makes it sort of unique.

That might follow the second definition, to continue, or cause to continue a particular state.

Another way of using keep is by delaying or stopping someone from doing something or getting somewhere; ie, I was kept waiting at the doctor’s surgery because he was late.

There are any number of examples of using the word keep in tandem with other words

One that specifically doesn’t relate to all the former examples, is simply the word keep.

What is it?

Usually the strongest part of the castle, and the last to fall in an attack.

At least, that was the theory.

Writing about writing a book – Day 7

Even God got to rest of the seventh day perhaps to admire his handiwork, but for a writer there is no rest.

I have to go to lunch with an old friend who is concerned that I have locked myself away in a garret and will wither and die, the same as not admitting myself it was time to move on.  There is the woman you marry, and your one true love, the one you can say anything to and is taken.  Marilyn is that person.  I’m not sure how this lunch will go.

Perhaps a little more work on the plot, and a few drinks to settle the nerves.

 

Still working on the characters (and all need a lot more work, particularly Davenport, oh, and by the way, he’s new):

 

Richardson – Vanilla Office worker in the wrong place at the wrong time

Gator, Inspector – Jaded policeman not far from retirement, overlooked for promotion, and always on the fringe.  Will this be his big case before he retires?

Halligan – General Manager, also a field agent who failed to complete his mission.  More on what that mission was is coming.

Bill Chandler, we seem to have him under control, except for one small detail, his memories will return.

Jennifer, Chandler’s friend, sister to Manilow, not all she appears to be.  Spoiler alert!  Manilow is another new character who will appear in Bill’s dreams (nightmares)

Benton, Chandler’s immediate superior, yes man, and eternal pessimist.

Aitchison, security chief, aka Colonel Warburton, Manilow’s old commanding officer, repatriated home after making some discoveries about wartime activities.

Wiesenthal – US management employee of Transworld

Giles – Chandler’s hardware assistant

Kowalski – executive promoted to head of security, also new, the cast is getting longer

Andy Collins –from the US, worked with Chandler around at the inception of the network installation, working with Chandler recently when updates were carried out

Davenport, aka Alphonse DeAngelo, Chandler’s old nemesis, ex-Army Colonel, and he will be a piece of work

 

The plotline continues but I’m not sure if this will be the eventual direction it will go.  There will be a lot of writing before now and then:

 

Chandler thinks he now has time for some private investigation because a lot of things about the recent events didn’t add up.  However, in the meantime, the perils of domesticity close in around Bill, the first morning with Jennifer.

A visit to the office, unscheduled, by Bill, brings to light a number of changes; new security and monitoring of movements, making it difficult for Bill to do anything.  Kowalski has replaced Aitchison as head of security, and Bill must pay him a visit.

Kowalski is full of sympathy and advises Bill that he has a lot of leave to be taken in order to get better, and a bonus as well.  He should not return until fully recovered, and then to a promotion.  In other words, Bill reads this as –’Stay Away’.

Giles gives more information of the network problems, and the disaster surrounding the backup tapes, with information that had been requested by Gator.  Of course, there was no information of the backup tapes provided, because they had been destroyed.  Was it on purpose or by accident?

Another dream and Brainless looms large and lifelike in their first meeting.

At his home to finish collecting his clothes and gear, he wakes up and remembers why he’s there.  He had removed a tape from a little-used system he’d installed for another purpose, and had brought it to his own PC to see whether there was any evidence on it – given that every other tape either proved Aitchison and Halligan guilty or had been destroyed by well-meaning but apparently incompetent consultants.  His tape has interesting information, which he notes, then hides the tape.

 

Dear God is that the time?  I’m late.

 

More tomorrow!

© Charles Heath 2016-2019

Inspiration, maybe

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

lookingdownfromcoronetpeak

And the story:

 

It was once said that a desperate man has everything to lose.

The man I was chasing was desperate, but I, on the other hand, was more desperate to catch him.

He’d left a trail of dead people from one end of the island to the other.

The team had put in a lot of effort to locate him, and now his capture was imminent.  We were following the car he was in, from a discrete distance, and, at the appropriate time, we would catch up, pull him over, and make the arrest.

There was nowhere for him to go.

The road led to a dead-end, and the only way off the mountain was back down the road were now on.  Which was why I was somewhat surprised when we discovered where he was.

Where was he going?

 

“Damn,” I heard Alan mutter.  He was driving, being careful not to get too close, but not far enough away to lose sight of him.

“What?”

“I think he’s made us.”

“How?”

“Dumb bad luck, I’m guessing.  Or he expected we’d follow him up the mountain.  He’s just sped up.”

“How far away?”

“A half-mile.  We should see him higher up when we turn the next corner.”

It took an eternity to get there, and when we did, Alan was right, only he was further on than we thought.”

“Step on it.  Let’s catch him up before he gets to the top.”

Easy to say, not so easy to do.  The road was treacherous, and in places just gravel, and there were no guard rails to stop a three thousand footfall down the mountainside.

Good thing then I had the foresight to have three agents on the hill for just such a scenario.

 

Ten minutes later, we were in sight of the car, still moving quickly, but we were going slightly faster.  We’d catch up just short of the summit car park.

Or so we thought.

Coming quickly around another corner we almost slammed into the car we’d been chasing.

“What the hell…” Aland muttered.

I was out of the car, and over to see if he was in it, but I knew that it was only a slender possibility.  The car was empty, and no indication where he went.

Certainly not up the road.  It was relatively straightforward for the next mile, at which we would have reached the summit.  Up the mountainside from here, or down.

I looked up.  Nothing.

Alan yelled out, “He’s not going down, not that I can see, but if he did, there’s hardly a foothold and that’s a long fall.”

Then where did he go?

Then a man looking very much like our quarry came out from behind a rock embedded just a short distance up the hill.

“Sorry,” he said quite calmly.  “Had to go if you know what I mean.”

 

I’d lost him.

It was as simple as that.

I had been led a merry chase up the hill, and all the time he was getting away in a different direction.

I’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book, letting my desperation blind me to the disguise that anyone else would see through in an instant.

It was a lonely sight, looking down that road, knowing that I had to go all that way down again, only this time, without having to throw caution to the wind.

“Maybe next time,” Alan said.

“We’ll get him.  It’s just a matter of time.”

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Find this and other stories in “Inspiration, maybe”  available soon.

InspirationMaybe1v1

 

 

“The Devil You Don’t”, be careful what you wish for

Now only $0.99 for a short time at  https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

 

John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums.  Looking for new opportunities, prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.

Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.

If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.

At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follows.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.

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