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…
Joanne let me get away far too easily.
When I got back to my car, I ran the scanner over it. One tracker was easily found, another that took a full half hour to find, and some very strange stares from people on the sidewalk.
I put them both on another car and then went back to the safe house. Knowing O’Connell was just a pawn meant there wasn’t a hurry to find him. Anna had everything she needed from him, and now he was of little use to her. The only question was whether he was still alive.
Jennifer had taken my pyjamas and my bed in the master bedroom, so I was relegated to the spare.
Not happy.
We needed a plan. In all the excitement I’d forgotten O’Connell had three places, the original apartment with Herman, his mother’s house in Peaslake, and the apartment in Bromley.
I was up before Jennifer, making coffee, when she came out.
She made my pyjamas look good. And there was the distraction factor Maury was prone to banging on about.
“How did it go at the office?”
“Turns out Anna Jakovich, the apparent seller of the USB, is a biochemist herself, one who was involved in a laboratory disaster, and discharged as part of the problem. Make of that what you will, but it looks like her husband was just the fall guy.”
“Of course, it all makes sense then. Gets the husband to steal the data on the pretext they’re saving the world, then kills him, and pins the blame on him if anything goes wrong. gets us to stump up several million pounds, then ditches O’Connell and runs with the money, and the USB, to bilk another unsuspecting government, like the Russians, or the Chinese.”
“Can you read minds?”
“No. Got a call from Dobbin, though I have no idea how he found my number since it’s a burner. Seems he finally found the file on Anna, presumably the same one you got.
“He doesn’t know you’re involved.”
“He does now. He figured you’d seek help from your classmates that were still on the books. There’s two of us, me and Miss Desirable, Yolanda.”
“Didn’t she leave the Severin School of wannabes before qualifying?”
“And went straight to the city office of the department and offered up all details on our once fearless leaders for a second chance. On the books, and back in training, training we might be able to use.”
“Possibly. The question is, of course, whether she knew what they were planning…”
“Dobbin says she was fooling about with Severin, or perhaps that was Maury…”
“Then Dobbin or Monica or both knew in advance what was going to happen and could have prevented a tragedy if that was the case. I don’t think she quite knew everything.”
“Well, what I know now is that we’re simply pawns in a much larger game, dancing to a tune that is completely out of key. Makes things all the more interesting, don’t you think. By my estimation when we complete our mission, we’re likely to end up like Severin, we just have to work out which one it is before we reach our expiry date. That coffee smells divine, by the way. We’re not going anywhere until I’ve had a cup.”
At least she hadn’t decided to go back to her old life. Not yet anyway.
We tackled Peaslake first. It was a free-standing house, and we had reasonably covered access that gave us entry to the property with minimal chance of observation.
When we were close, I was nearly run off the road by a fire engine, in a hurry. Closer still we could see a plume of smoke rising from behind the trees, and when we reached the top of the street, we could see where the fire engine was going.
O’Connell’s house was on fire.
I parled the car and we went to join the throng of nearby residents, all with nothing better to do.
“What happened?” Jennifer asked one of the residents.
“There was an explosion, a fireball, someone said they thought it was a gas tank, and then a fire started. It was fully ablaze by the time the first fire engine arrived.”
The firefighters had most of the blaze subdued, and we could see the house was destroyed.
Was it Anna or O’Connell, or both covering their tracks? The house had become compromised when Jennifer and I turned up.
Five minutes later the Detective Inspector and her Sargent arrived.
“Should I be worried now you’re here,” she asked when she saw me.
“It belonged to the mother of one of our officers who is involved in the case I’m working on.”
“He has the information?”
“No, or maybe. We don’t know. We do know there’s a woman involved who was working with our agent.”
“Oh. I’ve been told there are two bodies found inside, one man and one woman. Nothing else yet, but I’m going to talk to the forensic team waiting to see if they know any more. Don’t go anywhere, I may need to talk to you.”
“Just a question. You didn’t let Jan out, did you?”
She looked puzzled. “Jan?”
“The girl who shot Severin.”
“Oh, her. MI5 came and took her away the moment my back was turned. Why?”
“She probably did this.”
“You might have told me she was dangerous. Who is she?”
“An MI5 assassin.”
She sighed. “You people are a law unto yourselves. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back.”
We watched her stomp away.
“Well,” Jennifer said, “that just made our life a little more difficult.”
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, a place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
I have not yet had the privilege, or otherwise of being fired yet, but that meaning of the word fire is to get removed unceremoniously from your job.
Donald Trump used to use it a lot on the Apprentice, eg, “Your fired”. And, believe it or not, I used to like that show.
But…
Fire can be quite hot, something you can sit in front of on those cold winter nights, whether it be a gas fire, or a wood fire, my preference.
Then there’s a phrase, set fire to, which can be good or bad depending on what eventually gets burned.
I have on the odd occasion had someone fire my imagination, probably a good thing being a writer.
To feel the fire in the back of your throat when drinking neat whiskey, is so much better when it is an expensive brand
Then there’s the fire in your heart driving patriotism, but make sure it is for the right reasons.
If you have a gun, then when you pull the trigger you fire it. Just be sure not to be pointing it the wrong way or any anyone.
A good indication is when you hear the words, ready, aim, fire. Especially if you are in the wrong place at the wrong time. Napoleon can attest to that, it is alleged!
You can,
fire off a message, hopefully, a nice one
fire questions rapidly at someone (but not a politician, they have to have time to answer anything but the question asked)
or accidentally fire someone up by saying the wrong thing
or fire a piece of pottery, and in saying that, the best I could do was an awkward mug.
Investigation of crimes doesn’t always go according to plan, nor does the perpetrator get either found or punished.
That was particularly true in my case. The murderer was incredibly careful in not leaving any evidence behind, to the extent that the police could not rule out whether it was a male or a female.
At one stage the police thought I had murdered my own wife though how I could be on a train at the time of the murder was beyond me. I had witnesses and a cast-iron alibi.
The officer in charge was Detective First Grade Gabrielle Walters. She came to me on the day after the murder seeking answers to the usual questions like, when was the last time you saw your wife, did you argue, the neighbors reckon there were heated discussions the day before.
Routine was the word she used.
Her fellow detective was a surly piece of work whose intention was to get answers or, more likely, a confession by any or all means possible. I could sense the raging violence within him. Fortunately, common sense prevailed.
Over the course of the next few weeks, once I’d been cleared of committing the crime, Gabrielle made a point of keeping me informed of the progress.
After three months the updates were more sporadic, and when, for lack of progress, it became a cold case, communication ceased.
But it was not the last I saw of Gabrielle.
The shock of finding Vanessa was more devastating than the fact she was now gone, and those images lived on in the same nightmare that came to visit me every night when I closed my eyes.
For months I was barely functioning, to the extent I had all but lost my job, and quite a few friends, particularly those who were more attached to Vanessa rather than me.
They didn’t understand how it could affect me so much, and since it had not happened to them, my tart replies of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ were met with equally short retorts. Some questioned my sanity, even, for a time, so did I.
No one, it seemed, could understand what it was like, no one except Gabrielle.
She was by her own admission, damaged goods, having been the victim of a similar incident, a boyfriend who turned out to be an awfully bad boy. Her story varied only in she had been made to witness his execution. Her nightmare, in reliving that moment in time, was how she was still alive and, to this day, had no idea why she’d been spared.
It was a story she told me one night, some months after the investigation had been scaled down. I was still looking for the bottom of a bottle and an emotional mess. Perhaps it struck a resonance with her; she’d been there and managed to come out the other side.
What happened become our secret, a once-only night together that meant a great deal to me, and by mutual agreement, it was not spoken of again. It was as if she knew exactly what was required to set me on the path to recovery.
And it had.
Since then, we saw each about once a month in a cafe. I had been surprised to hear from her again shortly after that eventful night when she called to set it up, ostensibly for her to provide me with any updates on the case, but perhaps we had, after that unspoken night, formed a closer bond than either of us wanted to admit.
We generally talked for hours over wine, then dinner and coffee. It took a while for me to realize that all she had was her work, personal relationships were nigh on impossible in a job that left little or no spare time for anything else.
She’d always said that if I had any questions or problems about the case, or if there was anything that might come to me that might be relevant, even after all this time, all I had to do was call her.
I wondered if this text message was in that category. I was certain it would interest the police and I had no doubt they could trace the message’s origin, but there was that tiny degree of doubt, about whether or not I could trust her to tell me what the message meant.
I reached for the phone then put it back down again. I’d think about it and decide tomorrow.
Suitably warned off, and after agreeing to wait for the word to come to rescue her, one Henry feels sceptical about, they return to Henry’s hotel room and toast their good luck and savour the air conditioning.
And start making other foolish plans, like rescuing Angie and Millie, her friends, as a means of hastening Michelle’s decision to leave with them. Like any plan made without knowing all the facts, it is fraught with danger.
Radly tells Henry that his view of their world was stilted by his background, that not everyone wants to be saved, and that they just might like the life they have. Henry, of course, doesn’t get it, nor realise what he thinks and how he acts has been shaped by the world he lives in. It’s a shattering truth he still doesn’t consider possible.
Despite Radly’s reservations, that doesn’t stop them. Knowing where Angie lives, they make the assumption that Angie would want to be rescued, and suitably fortified by cold beer, they depart.
Doing something, or anything is preferable to sitting around doing nothing.
It was a mission that was destined to fail, but not for the reasons Radly postulated.
When they get to her apartment the door is open. Inside they are met with the unexpected and tragic consequences of a user that has just pushed the envelope a little too far.
They find Angie dead from an overdose.
For her, the knights in shining armour are too late.
“And tell me again,” Will said, “just why are we out here at two in the morning?”
It was not lost on him that a minute or so before they had passed a sign proclaiming they had crossed into Wild Horse Mountain territory, and moments later, a sign with a horse on it.
It explained the empty horse box they’d brought along, and the earlier statement by his friend Chad, that he was planning to catch a brumby and break it.
Chad was full of good ideas like that, especially after a dozen drinks.
“We’re on an adventure, Billy boy. Just roll with it.”
Last adventure I’d just rolled with saw us explaining to Sherriff Daley why we shouldn’t be locked up and the key thrown away.
“I’m trying, but seriously, you brought Charlene?”
Charlene was Chad’s latest girlfriend and the one, he said. So were Fergie, and Donna, and, well, I forgot the last one; she had lasted almost a week. But this one had lasted longer than the others, and I detected that same devil-may-care attitude in her. I put that down to the fact she was the daughter of the town preacher.
“She wanted to see what we get up to. The girl’s got an adventurous streak. What can I say?”
No, for starters. I doubt her family would be happily bailing her out of jail. Maybe with her along he might show a bit more common sense.
He slowed, then turning at the slip road, stopped in front of a locked gate where there was a road leading into the forest, and a sign saying that only authorised personnel could pass.
“Is this private land?” I asked.
“Forest service. Government land. The sign’s there to keep the fools out.” He held up a key. “My uncle knows a man who knows a ranger who says so long as we don’t kill anything it’s fine.”
“And you’re thinking catching a wild horse is going to be easy? I assume that’s what we’re here for?”
“I thought I explained that earlier. How hard can it be? I watched a video on YouTube and it’s easy. We’ve both been on a cattle drive and passed with flying colours. Just think of it as catching a bull, only a little larger, but no horns.”
I think trying to do that at night and in the dark might be slightly more complicated than he’s considered, and, as for having the skills necessary, back then there were a half dozen experienced cowboys there to back us up.
I shrugged; there was no changing his mind once it was made up. “What’s the worst that could happen?” I muttered under my breath.
“Exactly.” He handed me the key and I got out.
I looked back and could see Charlene acting a lot more animated than before, so maybe she was on board with this crazy scheme.
I unlocked the gate, opened it, waited until he drove through, and then closed and locked it behind me.
The discussion between Charlene and Chad was still going on when I got back in. From the part I heard it seems she thought he was taking her to a secret lookout, not go brumby hunting, and him saying they could do both. I got the impression she was not keen on catching a horse.
Whatever happened, it was going to be an interesting few hours.
Chad was the sort of person who when everything was going great and everyone was on board with his scheme, it was fine. When the hiccups in the master plan started to happen, that’s when things start to fall apart.
After an hour’s slow crawl through the forest over a track that gave the pickup and following trailer a good workout, Charlene was losing interest.
So was I, but I’d learned not to express my sentiments.
“So,” she said, “where are these horses?”
“Here. They’re everywhere, they’re always running all over the place.”
Except they were not. Not tonight anyway. And just then I remembered reading that the county administration had decided it was time to move the horses on so they could carve out a chunk of land for camping, hunting and fishing. The conservationists were up in arms, the hunters were rubbing their hands in glee, and the campers were saying fools with guns were an accident waiting to happen.
A loud bank and what sounded like a gunshot hitting the side of the horse float was enough for Chad to stop, douse the lights and kill the engine. I disabled the lights that went on when the doors opened.
Suddenly it was dead silent. I was sure I could hear my heart beating.
Then, the silence was broken by another shot, so loud we all jumped.
I was first out of the pickup, just in case they were shooting at us. That prompted, in the next breath, who was shooting at us, and why?
Chad and Charlene came around to join me.
“What the hell just happened?” Chad asked.
“Gunshots. Perhaps the hunters have decided not to wait until they got county approval. We’ll have to tell the sheriff, get on his good side. We just need to find out who they are.”
No need. A minute or so later there was yelling carried on the night air.
“What the hell are you doing. The boss said no advertising our presence.”
“I saw a car.”
“It’s the main track and there’s going to be cars. Get back to the camp, and you want to hope whoever you shot at doesn’t call the sheriff.”
I looked at Chad. “We’ll wait a few minutes then get moving again.”
“What’s going on?” A visibly shaken Charlene wasn’t too happy about what had just happened.
I could have told her that a night out with Chad provided enough excitement for a week. Things always seemed to happen around him.
“Hunting season started early,” Chad said.
“We’re not going to get shot are we?”
“No.” Chad sounded positive, but there was no way we could know what those people were doing.
I got up and checked the horse float for bullet holes and instead saw a scrape along the side made by an overhanging branch. There was no sign of a bullet hole, but it didn’t explain the loud bang we all heard.
When I came back, I said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Another half hour passed in silence until we came out of the forest into a clearing that was visible in the twilight, a cloudless sky and full moon giving the whole area a strange eerie feeling.
Chad drove on the track that skirted the open area and stopped by a dilapidated hut. Lights off and engine off, once out of the car the silence was rather strange to a person who lived in the city where there was constant noise.
Chad had a rough hand-drawn map he got from a friend of a friend, that looked a lot like the clearing with a hut exactly where we had stopped. It was as much of it as I remembered until she spread it out over the bonnet of the car.
He then switched on the light of his phone.
We gathered around like conspirators.
“We’re here.” He pointed to the X that marked the hut. His finger then followed the track around further to a point where a lake bordered the clearing, with another X. “A watering hole for the wildlife, and quite often where the horses come. This whole clearing is where they gather.”
Gather they might, but not tonight. It was light enough to see the edges of the clearing, the forest beyond, and the shimmering surface of the lake in the distance. It was enough to see nothing was stirring.
“Perhaps,” Charlene said, “they knew we were coming.” There was no mistaking the sardonic tone.
Maybe she had already been on one of his wild goose chases. This wasn’t my first rodeo.
The silence was broken by the sound of a horse, coming from the direction of the lake.
“Maybe not.”
We turned to look, and the first thing I saw was a horse, yes, but there was a rider on it. Followed by another, and another, until at least ten came out of the forest and into the open.
Nightriders?
“What the hell…” I heard Charlene mutter.
Perhaps against a dark background, they hadn’t seen us. Or they had and were ignoring us. They stopped for what looked like a short drink break then continued to follow what must have been a path across the shoreline of the lake, and within a few minutes had disappeared into the forest.
“Local tourist adventure rides up to the lookout at night where they look at the stars,” Chad said.
“And you know this…” Charlene sounded like she would have preferred that to what Chad was taking us on now.
So would I, if I had a choice.
“Is the lookout accessible by car?” I asked, now getting the feeling it wasn’t.
“A 4×4 maybe, but the most direct route and easiest is by horse. But we’re not here to look at the stars. I’m going down to the lake. You two?”
“I’m staying here,” Charles said, shivering.
I could tell she wanted to go home but was too afraid to say anything. And by her body language, I didn’t think this relationship between her and Chad was going to last much longer.
“Then stay with her Mike. I won’t be long.”
With that, he headed off towards the lake.
“He’s stark staring mad,” she said when he was out of earshot.
“Chad had some crazy ideas sometimes, but his heart is in the right place. At least with him, what you see is what you get?”
“You think? What’s your excuse?”
“Being here? He’s helped me get through some rough times. My parents were killed in an accident when I was 13. He convinced his parents I should stay with them because otherwise I’d finish up in the foster care system, and they did. I guess I’m the little brother he never had. What about you?”
“Sad story, I needed someone to teach me to line dance. He made it fun. This isn’t.”
“Why’d you agree to come?”
“I thought we were going to the lookout, at least that’s how he sold it. Not catching horses. Can he even ride a horse?”
“His uncle has a ranch with cattle. We’ve been going there mustering every year for what seems like a lifetime.”
“He asked me to go with him this year.”
“Then do. I could do with a break, go to the city, see what I’m not missing.”
The surrounding silence closed in on us as the conversation dries up. Talking to girls was not my forte.
“He’s taking a long time,” Charlene said about ten minutes later.
It mirrored my own thought. How long could it take to walk to the water’s edge, see there was nothing to be found, and come back.
A loud bang, like the sound of a rifle, punctured the stillness.
“Was that…?” She said.
“A gunshot? Sounded like it.”
I went over to the back of the car and pulled out the rifle Chad carried with him, hidden under the seat. It surprised me the first time I discovered he travelled around with a gun. It wasn’t loaded, but it didn’t take long to load. I put some extra bullets in my pocket, just in case.
“You coming?” I asked. If anything happened to her, I knew Chad would be angry. “If someone is out there shooting people, it’s not s good idea to be here alone.”
She didn’t need to be asked twice.
“You know how to use that?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Coyotes.”
We both stayed on the track skirting the open space, just to make it harder for anyone likely to be aiming at us until we reached the knoll above the lake. It was the one place where, if there was a shooter. we would be most vulnerable. Neither of us stayed there for longer than a second, perhaps two, before heading down the 50 yards to the water’s edge. A quick scan showed no sign of Chad.
At the water’s edge, she said, “Where is he? If this is one of his games, then I don’t like it.”
I knew Chad, and I also knew he was capable of pulling a stunt like this. If he was, I was going to be very annoyed.
Facing the knoll, I heard a soft splashing sound behind me and turned.
Chad.
He was not more than 20 yards out in the water, face down.
“Damn.”
I dropped the rifle and headed into the water, swimming the last few yards, but I knew, the moment I reached him, he was dead. The hole in the side of his head was unmistakable. I brought him back to the shore and dragged him above the water line, then checked for a pulse.
Nothing.
Then I realised Charlene was not there, where I’d left her, but further along the beach. She had picked up the rifle, and by the way she was carrying it, she knew how to use it. Had she heard something?
Behind her, one of the horsemen arrived with a riderless horse and stopped next to her.
“What’s going on?” I asked. I was hoping it wasn’t what it looked like.
“This has nothing to do with you, Mike. Justice has been served.”
Justice? What justice? What had Chad done to deserve a death like this?
“Amy Potterdam. Just because you own the law in this County doesn’t mean you can get away with murder.”
Amy Potterdam? All I could remember about that was a girl had died in unusual circumstances at a party he had attended, if only briefly. Someone had claimed that he had given the girl the spiked drink that eventually killed her, but witnesses and evidence had proven otherwise. The fact his father was the County Sherriff had no bearing.
I watched her climb up on the horse and take the reins. I stood and started walking towards her. “This is wrong.”
“Don’t come any closer, or I will shoot you.”
I didn’t stop. I didn’t know what I was going to do, or if there was anything I could do. I just knew I had to try.
They say you don’t hear the bullet that has your name on it.
I am constantly reminded of how curious grandchildren can be when they are not asking you what it was like to live with dinosaurs!
The second eldest who is a rather clever 15-year-old considers it interesting that I’m a writer, and having just met a ‘real’ author who came to visit them at school, asked me a few questions, some of which sounded like those that had been asked of my ‘real’ counterpart.
Like, “how old were you when you first wrote a story, and what was that story about?”
I didn’t think it was when I was at school, but sometime after that, and after a lot of reading. Perhaps it had been one of those moments when a light bulb goes on in your head, and I said to myself, I can write these stories too.
Of course, that wasn’t an answer, so she asked again, when did I start writing?
That required a little thought, and there were several triggers that gave me a date, where I lived at the time, the fact I used my mother’s old portable typewriter, and the fact I had not been long out of school. I was, in fact, about 17. It was 45 years ago; I’ll let you do the math!
What was it about; that I couldn’t tell her, but I said I had rescued a lot of old scribbling of mine and put them in a box to look at later when I had the time.
I guess that time had arrived.
And, yes, there was the book, the individually typed pages, some with corrections, unfinished.
The pages were brown with age.
The story, well, I read the first few pages, and it seems I’d started down the thriller path then, the story so far, an agent comes ashore from a trawler to a bleak and isolated village, perhaps on the Scottish coast.
Then there was the inevitable next question; “What was the first story you read that put you on the path to wanting to become a writer”.
That was easy, Alistair Maclean’s HMS Ulysses. I showed her a copy of the book.
That led to, “but this is about the British Royal Navy in World War 2…”
Perhaps I didn’t answer that correctly, it was after reading about a dozen of his novels, most of which were precursors to the modern-day thriller, perhaps more along the lines of action adventures.
The next question, understandably; “What was the first book you ever finished?”
That was The Starburst Conspiracy, the manuscript of which was in the box along with another completed novel, and quite a few short stories.
Back in those days, I remembered that I had sent some of my stories off to various publishers, and had entered a number of short story competitions, all to no avail. And for a number of years, until I because to old, used to write and enter a novel in the Vogel novel competition but never made it to the shortlist.
It’s probably why I gave up writing for a number of years, until I worked for an interesting company who had a rich history of phosphate mining in the Pacific and being given permission to look into the archives, began writing what could only be described a saga, and by the time I’d left, it was over 1200 closely typed pages long.
I showed the bulky manuscript to her, but by this time her interest had moved to something else.
For me, however, it seemed there was a lot of unfinished business.
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, 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 fase down in the river.
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.”
Henry moves into the hotel to begin the wait for the call from Michelle.
Radly turns up, having decided to join the rescue mission, and they while away the time playing chess.
Then, the call comes, and decisive action is prompted by the news of Angie’s death.
They are given the location, and it’s time to move.
They are being followed. The Turks men had Henry’s location and were on surveillance, waiting to see what he would do.
Seems the Turk never believed Michelle’s promises, and vice versa.
Radly leads them on a merry-goose chase, and then manipulates them into having an accident which ends their surveillance. Unfortunately, it also ends the protection provided by Banner, his men being caught up in the traffic disaster.
Henry’s finally at the door, only to find a woman he least expects. Michelle is also there.
They go to leave, and the Turk is standing in the doorway.
The reunion doesn’t last long. Michelle is dragged away, unconscious and Henry’s brief but futile resistance is met with extreme violence. He is taken away too but downstairs all is in darkness and there’s hesitation on the Turk’s part.
Henry escapes and finds Radly ensconced with Diana, waiting for the inevitable in another apartment. That becomes a messy last stand, Radly badly injured, as Diana and Henry escape, as far as the Turks man who sees them and deals with Henry first.
Banner arrives too late to prevent both Henry and Diana from paying a hefty price for their involvement.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 