In Beijing Hutongs are formed by lines of traditional courtyard residences, called siheyuan. Neighborhoods were formed by joining many hutongs together. These siheyuan are the traditional residences, usually occupied by a single or extended family, signifying wealth, and prosperity.
Over 500 of these still exist.Many of these hutongs have been demolished, but recently they have become protected places as a means of preserving some Chinese cultural history. They were first established in the Yuan Dynasty (1279-1368)Many of these Hutongs had their main buildings and gates built facing south, and lanes connecting them to other hutongs also ran north to south.
Many hutongs, some several hundred years old, in the vicinity of the Bell Tower and Drum Tower and Shichahai Lake are preserved and abound with tourists, many of which tour the quarter in pedicabs.
The optional tour also includes a visit to Shichahai, a historic scenic area consisting of three lakes (Qianhai, meaning Front Sea; Houhai, meaning Back Sea and Xihai, meaning West Sea), surrounding places of historic interest and scenic beauty and remnants of old-style local residences, Hutong and Courtyard.
First, we had a short walk through the more modern part of the Hutong area and given some free time for shopping, but we prefer just to meander by the canal.
There is a lake, and if we had the time, there were boats you could take.
With some time to spare, we take a quick walk down one of the alleyways where on the ground level are small shops, and above, living quarters.
Then we go to the bell and drum towers before walking through some more alleys was to where the rickshaws were waiting. The Bell tower
And the Drum tower. Both still working today.
The rickshaw ride took us through some more back streets where it was clear renovations were being made so that the area could apply for world heritage listing. Seeing inside some of the houses shows that they may look dumpy outside but that’s not the case inside.
The rickshaw ride ends outside the house where dinner will be served, and is a not so typical hose but does have all the elements of how the Chinese live, the boy’s room, the girl’s room, the parent’s room, the living area, and the North-south feng shui.
Shortly after we arrive, the cricket man, apparently someone quite famous in Beijing arrives and tells us all about crickets and then grasshoppers, then about cricket racing. He is animated and clearly enjoys entertaining us westerners.
I’m sorry but the cricket stuff just didn’t interest me. Or the grasshoppers.
As for dinner, it was finally a treat to eat what the typical Chinese family eats, and everything was delicious, and the endless beer was a nice touch.
And the last surprise, the food was cooked by a man.
Rupert follows Worthington and Arabella to and from the concert, and then observes them over dinner, wondering what it is that’s missing in his life until they go back to the room for the night.
To him, it seems like it’s just a sex weekend with cultural embellishments.
Until he spies Worthington on the move at two am, leaving the hotel on foot. It turns into a meeting between him and two other men in the park before Worthington returns to the hotel, business concluded.
It has to be something to do with John and Zoe, otherwise, the meeting would have been in the hotel, not the deep recesses of the park. Rupert has photographs and gives them to Sebastian for identification.
At least they now know the reason for Worthington being in Vienna. Arabella just makes it look more casual.
John breaks his plan to Zoe over breakfast, and she is surprised. It’s a good plan, and once she had dealt t=with the problems, it would be a go.
And, she added quite sombrely, if they all survive.
The bad news was she would be leaving the next morning to visit an old friend, Dominica, who probably isn’t so friendly now, to get information. And, no, she was not sure what would happen after than, but if she could, she would call him.
With the two me identified, and the danger they presented, Sebastian had to move to plan B and sets it up. He deliberately doesn’t tell either of them because he knows they would strenuously object.
The plan: sniper to shoot them from a building across the road, not to kill, but to slow them down. It would be difficult to be out plotting when in the emergency ward of a hospital.
But, as usual, things don’t quite go to plan. Worthington is hit and wounded, though not severely as Sebastian had hoped, but Arabella moved slightly just before he pulled the trigger, and he couldn’t see what happened but what he could see, it looked very, very bad.
…
Today’s writing, with Sebastian dusting off his sniper rifle, 1,882 words, for a total of 56,217.
Melanie had jumped out of the bed and wad in the middle of throwing on warm clothes, and considering what she could take, that constituted as little as possible.
I was less panicked because I suspected it was just an unscheduled evacuation drill, but I quickly and quietly dressed. I didn’t have much to carry.
“I doubt it. This might be a re-enaction of the Titanic voyage, but hitting an iceberg is not one of the things on the list.”
“Stupid hour of the morning to be running a drill, though.”
She wasn’t wrong. Three in the morning wasn’t my idea of a good time for a drill.”
“I told you going on a Titanic cruise was a bad idea. The very name is cursed.” It had been a battle talking her into coming on it with me, even right up to walking up the gangway.
The ship was almost an exact replica of the Titanic, except this one didn’t have the faulty bulkheads. It was not unsinkable, but it would take a lot more than an iceberg.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
Dragged out of bed, still half asleep, disheveled. She looked utterly adorable.
“As I’ll ever be. After this, no more ships. It’s dry land and airplanes after this.”
…
We joined the throng of passengers heading up to the main deck. There were two thousand plus on the ship. At least there were enough lifeboats for everybody this time.
Everyone was as bewildered as we were, except there were snippets of conversations from others trying to make sense of it.
“I’m sure I heard a thump, then we slowed down,” said one.
“We started turning, or at least I thought we were. I had the oddest sensation,” said another.
“We were definitely turning,” another agreed.
I thought back to the timeline, of what I could remember lying in bed, still trying to get to sleep. There was more going on than just trying to relax after a very long yes, that was plagued with extreme difficulties that had sent the company to the brink.
Then, last night, before the cruise ball, I got the email I’d been dreading. The company had shut its doors, and everyone was now redundant.
On top of our own financial problems with Melanie getting ill and unable to work for nearly a year, it could be the last straw that breaks the camel’s back.
I did hear a thump, but there was something that reverberated through the hull. Yes, it seemed like the ship had slowed down, and yes it might have turned, but ships were always changing course.
I knew that from standing at the stern and watching the wake we left behind, and it was never straight.
But I don’t think any of us realized, as we came up on deck that the ship had stopped, nor that it was as still and calm as it was.
I would have said it was unnatural. Even surreal. Enough that hush went over those who had arrived on deck, where if anyone spoke it was in a whisper.
It was dark, very dark in the distance, the moon behind us, spreading a surreal bluish tinge over the ship.
We were utterly alone.
The silence was shattered by a male voice through a handheld loudspeaker, “please move quickly and orderly to your designated lifeboat area.”
A glance up and down this side of the ship saw two crew members by each boat, adding authenticity 5o the fact we might be leaving the ship.
Melanie and I were on the other side and took the shortcut through the cabin. One part of it was a huge saloon where some of the passengers were sitting, having a drink, tea, and coffee, treating the evacuation as though it was an optional distraction.
The fact they were sitting in their life jackets was the only concession to acknowledging there was a drill.
And it was not yet an order to abandon ship.
Coming out to the throng of people assembling beside their boats, there were two things I was looking for; whether the sip was listing, fore or any, port or starboard, and it was not, or whether there was smoke, that the ship was on fire. It was not.
Why had we stopped?
What had happened?
I saw the first officer, a man called Briggs, after a turn at the Captain’s table, when the Captain delegated the first officer to take his place. He was taciturn at best, but he looked more animated now, three crewmen and a junior fighter in tow heading towards the bow.
“Excuse me,” I said as he was striding past us.
I thought he would ignore me, but he stopped, turned, and saw me.
“Wolverhampton, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Can you tell me what’s happening?”
It was clear he was of two minds to speak about it. “It’s just a precaution. We’re having a minor difficulty in the bow, nothing to worry about. There will be an announcement soon. Just wait by your boat.”
“Are we sinking?” Someone else asked.
“No.”
Emphatic. Decisive. Reassuring.
Enough chit-chat with the passengers, he continued on his way to the bow.
…
We stood on the deck until dawn exploded on the horizon, and light slowly seeped from that point, until a surreal orange glow surrounded up.
Regular updates told us that, firstly, the steerage machinery had broken down and was being prepared, that we could not move with steerage.
Then, a minor mishap had seen the anchors dropped and the retractor motors break down, and these too were in the process of being repaired.
Slowly.
No one could understand why we needed to be on deck for these two mishaps to be overcome, since they didn’t seem to be life-threatening. In fact, about a quarter of the passengers, tired if strafing around, had gone back inside.
Melanie wanted to as well, but a premonition of a pending disaster had come over me when we came on deck. I don’t why or where it came from, but suddenly it was like I was trapped, and drowning. When I told Melanie, she admitted she had the same sort of feel, but for a different reason.
And suddenly she said, “We’re in big trouble, aren’t we? I think you just got the email from your company, didn’t you?”
But, as it happened, I didn’t have time to respond. There was a huge explosion at the big and we could feel the tremor of the ships shake, like a death throe.
“This can’t be happening,” I heard a voice behind me say.
I didn’t realize at that meant until a few minutes later there was very load creaking and groaning, the sound of rending metal, and then a gentle lurch, followed by a slight dip at the bow end
We were taking water.
Five minutes later we got the order, “Abandon ship!”
Melanie summed it up succinctly, “just when you think it couldn’t get any worse, it does.” Then, once we were on the lifeboat and moving away from the ship, “If we survive this, we can survive anything.”
A look and a squeeze of the hand told me, it might have been the worst week of my life, but it was also going to be the best.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
Whilst Boggs took the time to get over his assault, I went back to my job at Benderby’s because there was no reason not to. Benderby himself had checked several times on how I was, and I was beginning to think he called just to see my mother.
And the notion of those two together was not painting a pretty picture, knowing who he was. But we were being treated better than we had and that was a good thing, or so my mother said. She too was surprised at Benderby’s interest, but she was not writing anything into it. She had a different perception of him that most others had.
I was careful to avoid Alex, not that it was difficult because he was rarely in the warehouse office, or anywhere on the factory site most days, except for a few hours in the morning, and to close up at night. No one else seemed to miss his presence, but I was a little more suspicious as to what he was doing with the rest of his time, to the extent that once I went looking for him.
The only conclusion I’d come to, now that he had his own map, it had to have something to do with the treasure.
Getting a version of the treasure map to Alex via Nadia had been a logistical nightmare, and constantly fraught with the expectation that Alex might think he was being set up. The fact it was Nadia doing it was not lost on me and I realized later we had played right into her, and her family’s, hands in fitting the ongoing feud between the families. Nor was it lost on me the enthusiasm which she showed in carrying out the plan.
If it wasn’t for the fact both Boggs and I benefited from it, I would have had second thoughts about employing her. And Boggs was right, a girl like that could never like a boy like me. She would always be the province of the likes of Alex Benderby, and I told myself that it was going to be business only from now on.
She set up the meeting with Alex and arranged for me to be nearby to witness the transaction, though what her reason was for that I had no idea and I really didn’t want to be there. For some reason, I didn’t like the idea of Nadia getting close to Alex, but it was necessary, she decided, in order to sell the story.
She had cajoled him into believing firstly his map was the real map mainly because she had used her feminine wiles on Boogs, talking him into showing her the real map, and, then, while he was away for a few minutes, she had copied it.
Then it was a matter of keeping the map a secret because firstly it would ruin the rapport she supposedly had with Boggs should they need him again, and as far as she was aware, Vince thought he also had the real map and which Boggs said was not, and to mess with Vince would immediately make him suspicious about the authenticity of his map and that would be the last thing Alex would want.
It was a treat to see how manipulable Alex was when she was making offers she knew she’d never keep. Or at least not in front of me. I didn’t expect that I meant very much to her and watching her with Alex was much like how she handled me, so I guess we were all manipulable in her hands. She was a Cossatino, and in that regard, no end of trouble.
With Alex handled, she left him with so much promise and so little substance I was surprised he fell for it. But, there again, even in school, Alex wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box. I think the notion that he could pull off the treasure hunt might just get the monkey on his back his father had put there many years before.
Then there was Nadia.
Seeing her in action put her in a different light. Whilst those midnight rendezvous at the motel may have given me a sense of false bravado, seeing her with Alex, and playing her games, I had to wonder if my feelings were just an infatuation. Did I like Nadia all that much? I guess I must a little, to be feeling angry when Alex touched her.
I had to remind myself that I could never live in her world, that her first and last instinct would always be to lie and manipulate. She was, after all, a Cossatino, and leopards, as they say, never changed their spots. She might want to escape from her family, but saying it and doing it were two entirely different things,
I doubted her father, no matter how much he liked or hated her, should ever let her go, simply because as a beautiful woman, she could do so much for the family business.
Whether she wanted to or not.
I left once he agreed, and before she did anything with him. Clearly, Alex was expecting them to work as a team, but she had declined on account of her father, who was as mad as a hatter, and might just start killing Benderby’s if he found out she was working with him.
Best to leave well alone and appear to go their separate ways.
Until the treasure was found.
I didn’t hear from Boggs for a week. I’d decided that I was going to leave him alone until he called or sent a text. Boggs and idle time were a bad mix so I knew when I next heard from him, he would have formulated a half-baked grandiose plan for us to go on our treasure hunt.
And I was busy working out how I was going to tell him he had to take a step back and watch and wait till the Benderby’s and the Cossatino’s had launched their campaigns. It wouldn’t take long. Both sons of self-made men, Alex and Vince had a lot to prove to their fathers, and there was no doubt they were going to use the lost treasure as the means of getting back into favor.
That brought a problem to the table, not immediately, but down the road, when neither would be able to find it. Their first port of call would be Boggs, the one who had supplied them with ‘faulty’ maps. It would never be their fault, that they were too stupid to realize they were being played, or, even if it was the right map, still couldn’t follow the instructions.
But even I had that problem. I’d seen quite a few variations with notations, diagrams and cryptic messages. I was not sure how they were going to fare. Perhaps he had been thinking of just that because I received a text message, asking me to come over the next morning.
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 her knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, who life both at work and at home was boring. Not that she had blurted that out the first tie she 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 one, 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 the 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.
There’s a saying, no good deed goes unpunished, and it’s true.
Perhaps when I had the time to sit down and think about the events of the previous week, I might strongly consider minding my own business, but there is that strong sense of obligation instilled in me by my mother all those years ago that if we ate on a position to help someone, we should.
The fact this person didn’t want help, even where they clearly did, should have been a warning sign. It would be next time.
…
I was working late, as usual. Everyone had left the office early to partake in a minor birthday celebration for one of the team members, and I said I would get there after I wrapped up the presentation, due in a day or so.
That, of course, everyone knew, was the code for not turning up. To be honest, I hated going to parties, mingling, making small talk, and generally being sociable.
For someone who had to standing in front of large crowds making sales presentations, that sounded odd and it probably was. I couldn’t explain it, and no one else could either.
When I finally turned the computer off it wasn’t far off midnight. I brief gave a thought to the party, but by that time everyone would have gone home. Time for me to do the same.
Sometimes I would get a cab, others, if the weather was fine, I would walk. It had been one 9f those early summer days with the promise of more to come, so I decided to walk.
There were people about, those who had been to the theatres or after a long leisurely dinner and were taking in the last moments of what might have been a day to remember, each for different reasons.
When I stopped at the lights before crossing the road and making the last leg of the walk hone, a shortcut through central park, and yawned. It had been a long day, and bed was beckoning.
Perhaps if I had been more alert, I would have noticed several people acting strangely, well I had to admit it was a big call to say they were acting strangely when that could define just about everyone including myself.
Normally I would walk through central park after midnight, or not alone anyway. But there were other people around, so I didn’t give it a second thought.
Those other people disappeared one by one as I got further in, until it got to the point where I was the only one, and suddenly the place took on a more surreal feeling.
Sound was amplified, the bark of a dog somewhere nearby, the rustling of branches most likely being brushed against by animals like squirrels, and a few muted conversations, with indistinguishable words.
Until I heard someone yell ‘stop’.
I did.
I was not sure what I was feeling right then, but it was a frightening sensation with a mind running through a number of different scenarios, all of them bad.
I turned around.
No one.
I did a 360-degree turn, and still nothing, except, the voice again, that of a female, “Look, no means no, so stop it.”
I couldn’t quite get a fix on what direction it was coming from, so I waited.
A man’s voice this time, “You should not have led me on.”
“I said nothing of the sort. I said I would walk home with you, there was nothing else implied or otherwise.”
Got it. I heard a rustling sound to my left, abs an opening between shrubs, and crossed the lawn.
On the other side about 20 yards up the path, a man and a girl, probably mid 20s were sitting close together.
She said, “stop it,” and pushed his hand away.
I saw him grab, and twist it.
She yelped in surprise, and pain.
I took a dozen steps towards them and said, “I don’t think she wants or needs the attention. Let her go.”
He did, then stood. Not a man to be trifling with, he was taller and heavier that I was, and suddenly I was questioning my bravado.
“This is none of your business. Take a hike or you’ll regret it.”
I looked at the girl, who just realised I was standing there, a look of terror on her face.
“Is this man assaulting you?”
She said nothing, just glanced at the man, and then away.
“There is no problem here. Keep walking.”
I asked her again, “is this man assaulting you?”
She looked at me again. “No. Please go away.”
“There. You should be minding your own business. There’s no problem here.”
I could see from her expression there was, and it might have something to do with the man she was with.
I had done what I could, so it was time to leave. I just had to hope there was not going ti be an addition to the crime statistics overnight.
“As you wish.”
I turned and retraced my steps to the other side of the shrubbery but instead of moving on, I stayed. The was something dreadfully wrong with what was happening, and I couldn’t let it end badly. Of course, if or when I interfered, it could end worse than that.
He spoke again. “You were smart not to cause trouble. You’d be smarter to just give me what I want.”
“You’re nothing but a disgusting pig.”
The sound of was might have been a slap in the face reverberated on the night air, assaulting of a different kind.
I went back.
The girl was on the ground, and the man was leaning over her, going through the contents of her bag.
“Hey,” I yelled, catching his attention.
Enough time to make the short distance between him and and expect a running tackle, rugby style. Mt momentum would counterbalance his excess size and weight.
But I hadn’t considered my next move, had I. Or the fact for his size he was very agile.
I did see something that had been in his hand as we tumbled, and that was a gun, small but lethal. This guy had to be a criminal picking off lone women in the park.
The gun had been jolted from his hand in the tackle and he and I were roughly the same distance from it, but he had the added knowledge that it existed whereas I was still processing the information.
He reached it first, I got to it, and him a second later, as he was raising it to aim at me. I had microseconds to think, react, and consider whether the next second or so was going to be my last.
I got my hand on the gun, not thinking to pull it away from him because that might help pull the trigger but push it towards him in the hope if he did pull the trigger, the bullet wouldn’t hit anyone.
Too late. There was a loud explosion as the gun went off, and I closed my eyes and waited for the seating pain, and possible death. Mt life did not flash before my eyes, not like some said it would.
One second, two seconds, three.
I was still alive.
But any sign of resistance had gone, and the man had slumped backwards on the ground.
I rolled off him and could see the blood seeping through his shirt in an area near where his heart would be. I felt for a pulse but there was none.
His face was stuck on a permanent look of surprise.
Behind me the girl had come back to life and was on her knees, staring at the man, and then me. “What have you done?”
“I didn’t do anything. He had a gun and was trying to shoot me.”
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. This is, oh my God.” She scrambled to her feet, hurried tried to put everything back in her bag. “Get out of here, now. Run, and don’t look back.”
“Why. The police should be told he was assaulting you.”
“You fool. He is the police, and when they get here, we’re both going to die.”
She grabbed her bag, took a last look, and then ran.
A few seconds more to consider just how bad this looked, not that I had put together the pieces yet, I could see what she meant.
A dead cop.
I got up and started heading back to the other path.
“Stop.”
Not this again.
I turned.
Two police in uniform, guns drawn. A dead police office on the ground and a suspect leaving the scene.
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
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.
After arriving latish from Toronto, and perhaps marginally disappointed that while in Toronto, the ice hockey didn’t go our way, we slept in.
Of course, the arrival was not without its own problems. The room we were allocated was on the 22nd floor and was quite smallish. Not a surprise, but we needed space for three, and with the fold-out bed, it was tight but livable.
Except…
We needed the internet to watch the Maple Leafs ice hockey game. We’d arrive just in time to stream it to the tv.
But…
There was no internet. It was everywhere else in the hotel except our floor.
First, I went to the front desk and they directed me to call tech support.
Second, we called tech support and they told us that the 22nd-floor router had failed and would get someone to look at it.
When?
It turns out it didn’t seem to be a priority. Maybe no one else on the floor had complained
Third, I went downstairs and discussed the lack of progress with the night duty manager, expressing disappointment with the lack of progress.
I also asked if they could not provide the full service that I would like a room rate reduction or a privilege in its place as compensation.
He said he would check it himself.
Fourth, after no further progress, we called the front desk to advise there was still no internet. This time we were asked if we wanted a room on another floor, where the internet is working. We accepted the offer.
The end result, a slightly larger, less cramped room, and the ability to watch the last third of the Maple Leaf’s game. I can’t remember if we won.
We all went to bed reasonably happy.
After all, we didn’t have to get up early to go up or down to breakfast because it was not included in the room rate, a bone of contention considering the cost.
I’ll be booking with them directly next time, at a somewhat cheaper rate, a thing I find after using a travel wholesaler to book it for me.
As always every morning while Rosemary gets ready, I go out for a walk and check out where we are.
It seems we are practically in the heart of theaterland New York. Walk one way or the other you arrive at 7th Avenue or Broadway.
Walk uptown and you reach 42nd Street and Times Square, little more than a 10-minute leisurely stroll. On the way down Broadway, you pass a number of theatres, some recognizable, some not.
Times Square is still a huge collection of giant television screens advertising everything from confectionary to TV shows on the cable networks.
A short walk along 42nd street takes you to the Avenue of the Americas and tucked away, The Rockefeller center and its winter ice rink.
A few more steps take you to 5th Avenue and the shops like Saks of Fifth Avenue, shops you could one day hope to afford to buy something.
In the opposite direction, over Broadway and crossing 8th Avenue is an entrance to Central Park. The approach is not far from what is called the Upper West Side, home to the rich and powerful.
Walk one way in the park, which we did in the afternoon, takes you towards the gift shop and back along a labyrinth of laneways to 5th Avenue. It was a cold, but pleasant, stroll looking for the rich and famous, but, discovering, they were not foolish enough to venture out into the cold.
Before going back to the room, we looked for somewhere to have dinner and ended up in Cassidy’s Irish pub. There was a dining room down the back and we were one of the first to arrive for dinner service.
The first surprise, our waitress was from New Zealand.
The second, the quality of the food.
I had a dish called Steak Lyonnaise which was, in plain words, a form of mince steak in an elongated patty. It was cooked rare as I like my steak and was perfect. It came with a baked potato.
As an entree, we had shrimp, which in our part of the world are prawns, and hot chicken wings, the sauce is hot and served on the side.
The beer wasn’t bad either. Overall given atmosphere, service, and food, it’s a nine out of ten.
This case has everything, red herrings, jealous brothers, femme fatales, and at the heart of it all, greed.
See below for an excerpt from the book…
Coming soon!
An excerpt from the book:
When Harry took the time to consider his position, a rather uncomfortable position at that, he concluded that he was somehow involved in another case that meant very little to him.
Not that it wasn’t important in some way he was yet to determine, it was just that his curiosity had got the better of him, and it had led to this: sitting in a chair, securely bound, waiting for someone one of his captors had called Doug.
It was not the name that worried him so much, it was the evil laugh that had come after the name was spoken.
Doug what? Doug the ‘destroyer’, Doug the ‘dangerous’, Doug the ‘deadly’; there was any number of sinister connotations, and perhaps that was the point of the laugh, to make it more frightening than it was.
But there was no doubt about one thing in his mind right then: he’d made a mistake. A very big. and costly, mistake. Just how big the cost, no doubt he would soon find out.
His mother, and his grandmother, the wisest person he had ever known, had once told him never to eavesdrop.
At the time he couldn’t help himself and instead of minding his own business, listening to a one-sided conversation which ended with a time and a place. The very nature of the person receiving the call was, at the very least, sinister, and, because of the cryptic conversation, there appeared to be, or at least to Harry, criminal activity involved.
For several days he had wrestled with the thought of whether he should go. Stay on the fringe, keep out of sight, observe and report to the police if it was a crime. Instead, he had willingly gone down the rabbit hole.
Now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, several heat lamps hanging over his head, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry’s fear was at the highest level.
Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied, literally, it made it impossible to clear it. The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament. He cursed and then shook his head trying to prevent a re-occurrence. It was to no avail.
Let the stinging sensation be a reminder of what was right and what was wrong.
It was obvious that it was the right place and the right time, but in considering his current perilous situation, it definitely was the wrong place to be, at the worst possible time.
It was meant to be his escape, an escape from the generations of lawyers, what were to Harry, dry, dusty men who had been in business since George Washington said to the first Walthenson to step foot on American soil, ‘Why don’t you become a lawyer?” when asked what he could do for the great man.
Or so it was handed down as lore, though Harry didn’t think Washington meant it literally, the Walthenson’s, then as now, were not shy of taking advice.
Except, of course, when it came to Harry.
He was, Harry’s father was prone to saying, the exception to every rule. Harry guessed his father was referring to the fact his son wanted to be a Private Detective rather than a dry, dusty lawyer. Just the clothes were enough to turn Harry off the profession.
So, with a little of the money Harry inherited from one of his aunts, he leased an office in Gramercy Park and had it renovated to look like the Sam Spade detective agency, you know the one, Spade and Archer, and The Maltese Falcon.
There’s a movie and a book by Dashiell Hammett if you’re interested.
So, there it was, painted on the opaque glass inset of the front door, ‘Harold Walthenson, Private Detective’.
There was enough money to hire an assistant, and it took a week before the right person came along, or, more to the point, didn’t just see his business plan as something sinister. Ellen, a tall cool woman in a long black dress, or so the words of a song in his head told him, fitted in perfectly.
She’d seen the movie, but she said with a grin, Harry was no Humphrey Bogart.
Of course not, he said, he didn’t smoke.
Three months on the job, and it had been a few calls, no ‘real’ cases, nothing but missing animals, and other miscellaneous items. What he really wanted was a missing person. Or perhaps a beguiling, sophisticated woman who was as deadly as she was charming, looking for an errant husband, perhaps one that she had already ‘dispatched’.
Or for a tall, dark and handsome foreigner who spoke in riddles and in heavily accented English, a spy, or perhaps an assassin, in town to take out the mayor. The man was such an imbecile Harry had considered doing it himself.
Now, in a back room of a disused warehouse, that wishful thinking might be just about to come to a very abrupt end, with none of the romanticized trappings of the business befalling him. No beguiling women, no sinister criminals, no stupid policemen.
Just a nasty little man whose only concern was how quickly or how slowly Harry’s end was going to be.
I was heading back to the Vaporetto station just a short distance from St Marks square when my phone vibrated, an incoming message.
Alfie requesting a meeting.
I had suspected he might be somewhere in the square keeping an eye on proceedings. I had that itch at the back of my neck, that one you couldn’t scratch, an old but reliable indicator I was under observation.
My old mentor was anything but a trusting soul, and he no doubt was giving Alfie enough rope, much the same as he did to me early on, until he learned the errors of his mistrusting nature.
People like Rodby never changed, and it was one of many reasons I walked away. He was going to have to do better if he wanted me back.
Alfie sent instructions as to where he was, a small park further along the promenade, not far from where a huge cruise ship had docked. Even from where I was standing, it was impressive, but only one of about five I’d see in the last day or so.
Oddly, I never had the inclination to get on one.
It took about fifteen minutes, maybe more because of the tourists and general foot traffic, to reach the park, then locate Alfie looking very anonymous on a bench overlooking the water.
In another corner what looked to be a television crew was setting up or cleaning up an open set, involving about a dozen or more people all looking harassed.
He saw me coming but made no visible acknowledgment until I sat at the other end of the bench, purposely not looking in his direction.
“Nice view,” I said.
Well, it would be if the day was not overcast, and with the definite prospect of rain.
“Your friend made a call not long after you left.”
OK. Straight down to business. “How do you know that?”
“We put a small app on the phone we gave you that clones other phones.”
Without telling me. Yes, welcome back to the lies and subterfuge. I just shook my head. What else weren’t they telling me?
He put his phone on the bench between us and played the conversation.
It was obvious that Larry had called her, and that Giuseppe wasn’t happy about being discovered. And it was proof that Larry was monitoring her movements and conversations. Another mistrusting soul.
“What just happened?” I recognized Larry’s voice immediately, and the tone suggested he was far from happy.
“What do you mean?” Her surprise was genuine. It meant she didn’t know he was listening in, but that might not be for much longer.
“Your first meeting.”
Silence. Then, after a long minute, she said, “it was my phone, the one you gave me, that was relaying our conversation. It would be nice if you told me what you were intending to do.”
He brushed that comment aside with, “It’s a matter of trust, and, quite frankly, I don’t trust you.”
It was not exactly how I would have spoken to her. Any normal person would react indignantly to that response.
There was a telling moment of silence while she digested that piece of information.
Her response, “Then you will not be surprised if I don’t respond, as you say, immediately, because now I know you have the phone, So long, of course, I decide to take it with me.”
“You will…”
She cut him off, not by yelling, but in what could only be described as a very icy tone. “You make demands, you make threats. I gave you my word that I would do this for you. My way. Instead, you overplay your hand and you’ve sent him to ground. If he is who you think he is, then he knows now something is wrong. You can thank you’re own insecurity and that fool Giuseppe for that.”
“That’s…”
“Don’t interrupt, that’s just rude. If you want me to continue, which by the way, I think is going to be a waste of time, I will, but you have made it almost impossible by taking away the advantage we had. And if that is the case, then no more of your idiotic antics. A simple yes or no will suffice.”
“If you think…”
The call was disconnected.
I looked at Alfie. “Does she know she’s dicing with death?”
“There’s more.”
Twice, anincoming call to her phone went to the voice message. The third time she answered.
“A simple yes or no will suffice.”
“Yes.” A tone bristling with anger.
“Good. You listen in, and I will call you when there is news.”
The call was disconnected.
“She has gumption,” Alfie said.
“Or a death wish. You know he’s not going to sit around and wait for her.”
“No. He’s replaced Giuseppe with someone with a little more talent to keep an eye on her, so she won’t be so obvious next time you run into her.” He slid a grainy but recognizablephoto of a woman who could easily be mistaken for a tourist.
“You have a plan.”
“We have her tour itinerary, courtesy of the hotel.”
“A little convenient, don’t you think. I take it you have an idea where Larry is right now?”
“Of course, Sorrento, visiting his wife’s sister.”
“Perhaps we might pre-empt all this nonsense, and pay him a visit. I might be able to convince him he’s barking up the wrong tree.”
“Wouldn’t that alert him to the fact we have him under surveillance?”
“I think he knows that’s the case anyway, and not only by us, but by any number of law enforcement agencies. Maybe I should just drop a hint that I have to make a trip to Sorrento, and take Juliet with me. But I would like a jamming app installed on this device,” I held up the phone he’d given me, “first.”
“Rodby said you were a wild card operative.”
“Did he? I always thought he was the wild card, and I was the voice of reason.”
“He says a lot of stuff, how things were different in the old days.”
“A lot of people died needlessly in those so-calledold days, and I’m only here now because I retired before I got killed. And because I believed him when he said I could disappear. Obviously, he was lying.”
“You can’t disappear these days, not with the means of tracking everyone via the digital network available. 20 years ago, maybe. Not now. No one can truly disappear.”
No, probably not. For that to happen, I would have had to go live on a desert island and have had no contact with anyone for at least a generation. A new name, identity, and, and minor changes to my persona had made me invisible for long enough to have had a normal life, and, at the very least, Larry had waited until then.
How many others were there, out in the world, also seeking revenge? I had taken down a number of so-called ‘bad’ people, but their families somehow never quite saw it the same as we had. No matter how legitimate the reasons.
“Give me a day to fix the phone, and then you can make the first move. Try not to make it too hard to keep eyes on you, if only for your own safety.”
“Say hello to the boss, and tell him I didn’t miss him for one moment.”
Alfie stood. “Try and keep out of trouble, and keep me informed if anything out of the ordinary happens. Just create a draft message in the email app, save it, but don’t send it. I’ll let you know if Larry makes any unpredictable moves.”
I watched him take a look around, then walk off, all as if he hadn’t realized there was someone else on the same seat. It wouldn’t fool anyone, especially the woman pretending to minister a child in a pram, three seats along from us.
How many mothers of babies had earplugs?
Or was I just being paranoid? It didn’t take long to slip back into that dark and murky world I tried so hard to get away from.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 