Month: May 2023

First Dig Two Graves – The Final Draft – Day 25

The second Zoe thriller.

…

In all of the goings-on, with Zoe chasing down old acquaintances in Bucharest, then moving on to  Yuri, then Olga, we forget that Isobel and Rupert are on her trail, with Sebastian in tow.

It’s not so much Sebastian in charge anymore, not after going rogue and shooting his boss and John’s mother, an act that Rupert witnesses after following Sebastian on the hunch that he was up to something.

Rupert realizes that Worthington still presents a major problem, and on the basis that Worthington was going to realize it’s not Zoe shooting at him, Worthington had to be taken off the chessboard.

Unfortunately, he has to enlist Sebastian to get a crew together to kidnap him and take him to a safe house.

Meanwhile, Isobel, with a computer in hand, takes up vigil at the hospital with John’s mother, pretending she is her daughter.  There she tracks Zoe via her cell phone to an address in Zurich.

Then, miraculously John’s cell phone reappears and is active long enough for her to get a location, and see that a 96-second phone call is made to a phone in Zurich, Zoe’s.

Then it disappears again.

Isobel then calls Zoe and gives her the address.  It’s a short call.

Calls to Sebastian and Rupert mobilize them, and everyone is on their way to John’s location.

…

Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon waiting for a white knight, 2,011 words, for a total of 61,922.

Motive, means, and opportunity – Episode 14

…

Detective Worthey investigates a car crash

…

Detective Worthey had some experience with arguments and death.

It was a simple scenario and it happened more than one thought.  Only recently there had been a case where a husband and wife had an extreme argument, a number of residents in the apartment block attested to it, and to the fact the husband left in a fit of pique, and not thirty minutes later was killed in a car crash caused by his inattentiveness.

For all intents and purposes, it was an open and shut case.

The case notes before him were anything but an open and shut case, even though the investigating detective had considered it so.  On the surface it was.

The son was a recovering drug addict.  His mother refused to accept that the boy was an addict, that he had a problem that could easily be overcome and was being handled.  According to her statement, the son had told her it was not a problem, as it was being made out to be.

The father knew the extent of the problem and had been working with the medical team to look after his son, and the considered opinion of the medical team and the father was for an extra period in rehab.  The problem: the treatment was working but the son was not strictly adhering to the program.

It was that old story, the son didn’t think he had a problem and had fallen off the wagon.

And, of course, the program was not like jail.  The participant was not obligated to stay if they didn’t want to, and the son had considered he was sorted and signed himself out.

Only to go and visit his old friends, and, that mistake made, he was convinced just a little wouldn’t harm him.  Define ‘just a little’.

Another statement had the son returning home, clearly under the influence, and a meltdown ensues.  The wife takes the son’s side, not acknowledging the son was back on drugs, the father tries to convince them that the son needed to return to rehab, and while the parents are fighting, the son takes the car and leaves.

Not twenty minutes later the son was involved in a car accident, failing to stop at a red light, and cleaned up by a car who had a green light.  The son is severely injured, and the car is wrecked.  The other car is also disabled, but the driver just got out and ran.

There were seven witness statements covering the crash and aftermath.

Each was different.

Each said the son’s car ran the red light and the other car had nowhere to go.

Each said the driver of the car that hit the son’s car got out and simply walked away.

Seven descriptions of the fleeing driver were basically the same in that it was a man, he was wearing a dark blue suit, and he had short reddish hair.

That was it.  Two said he was tall, two said her was short, and the rest of average height.

Three said he was a black man, and the others said he was Mexican.

Four said the man stopped to look in the car that he’d hit, saw the driver, and completely changed expression, to one of recognition followed by shock.

The others said he looked in the car, shook his head, and then walked off.  The detectives’ notes said the car was registered to a man named…

Phillip Megarry.

Worthey re-read the paragraph again, and then shook his head.

The report then went on to say that Megarry had been contacted, did not match the description of the man who had ran not the son’s car, and then reported the fact the car was stolen, having not realised that it was not in the garage where it should be.

That man showed the Detective the garage where the car was stored and provided the registration papers for the car.  The Megarry then, was not the Megarry aka Bergman now.

But, that Megarry was short, slight, and spoke with a German accent.  The Bergman Megarry was American with no sign of any accent.

Worthy made a note: Follow up interview with Megarry the owner of the car that hit the son’s car.

But, if the Megarry that did hit the son’s car was the Bergman alias, then the killing of the son was from the very person Wendy was having an affair with, whom she had known for a long time, and was the cause of all Anderson’s problems.

What are the odds of it being such a small world? Worthey asked himself.

This was adding a new level of complication that he was sure none of the family knew about.

The accident wasn’t James Anderson’s fault.  Whether or not he could have prevented his son taking the car, that could also be applicable to the mother.  That accident was always going to happen, one way of another, because the son’s ability to do anything was impaired by drugs.

And Worthey was curious what the mother would say when she learned who it was driving the car that caused the death of her son.  No, that was Bryson’s problem to sort out as the lead detective on the case.

But there was one lingering possibility, had James Anderson known it was his best friend who had virtually killed his son, and did he kill him because of it?

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2023

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 48

A meeting of department heads

…

First impressions, I was told, were everything.

Back on earth, before this mission, before I had been selected for the crew, we had to spend time learning diplomacy.

I didn’t mind it because I was used to working with multiple nationalities as crew members aboard the cargo ships I worked, some often at odds with each other, and I had to broker peace.

But this brand of diplomacy was more about meeting aliens from other worlds and what to do, even though those running the sessions really had no clue.  The problem was, we would have no idea of what their customs and rules were, much like on earth where the same applied, but you could look them up before going to an ‘alien’s destination.

I could say that now I had experienced one encounter.  And nothing we did in any of those sessions gave me any help or guidance on what I should do.  Yes, we may have learned a little about their culture, but that was never going to be enough, not in the time I had in front of them.

What needed to happen was for us to set up something similar to the old-time embassy where we could exchange information and prevent the problems of new travellers before they got here.  And there would be more travellers now we had the spaceships and not everyone was going to be a positive influence’ ad the Russian example quite clearly illustrated.

But, getting someone or some people to stay with unknown people on a relatively unknown planet, was going to be a difficult ask.

It was one of a dozen topics on the head of department meeting I had called immediately after being transported back to the ship’ joined by the Princess’ whom we had agreed to return to her people.

I suspect that the aliens who had all but incarcerated her did not want to wear the wrath of her people.  Perhaps we would be treated better and hopefully, we would be able to engage in meaningful diplomatic discussions.  It was a subject I had raised with the Princess when escorting her to her transit quarters. Accommodation befitting a Princess.

She was hateful to come aboard but she seemed apprehensive to go home.  That was something else that would fuel another conversation. Because there was definitely more to that story. I didn’t quite trust our so-called new friends.

The next task was to ensure the princess had a private security detail, and dampeners installed to prevent her being transported off the ship.

After that my first call was to the diplomatic unit where I gave them five minutes of my thoughts on the subject before heading back to my quarters to freshen up, and get down the bare bones of the report I was eventually hoping to send on our first encounter, one that I doubted was over yet. 

I will still be getting over the fact they knew of our existence, lived among us, and we had no idea.  And they didn’t believe we were worthy yet to be told.  Sadly, given my knowledge of humankind, I was not really surprised, but others like the Admiral would be shocked and offended and it was their reaction I was worried about.

It was also not so much of a surprise there were others out there, places and people, we knew nothing about because our telescopic technology still wasn’t up to see beyond the limits of our known galaxies and we were the first well technically the second to go beyond it.

And now we proved we could get to that theoretical barrier, set at Pluto, perhaps a telescope launched from there might help us see what was beyond in the first instance because they did hint at a number of civilisations with their own galaxy.

My idea would be to suggest caution and not hit them with a flood of ships but to spend time building a space station at the edge, and then launch exploratory forays from there, when it was complete.  It would take time ten or more years, but the aliens weren’t going anywhere.

But I knew it didn’t matter what I thought.  That was up to the Admiral and the rest of the Space Alliance, and they would want to be out there getting as many aliens on side, much the same as the others would.

The Russian ship had stayed long enough to offload the prisoners and get ready for the return trip.  That was going to be some homecoming because the Space Alliance was going to want answers long before it hit Earth’s outer limits.

Stolen technology, an unannounced foray into space that could have ultimately destroyed any chance of relations with our nearest space neighbours, I wouldn’t want to be the captain of that vessel, at home, or in front of an international jury.

It highlighted just how easy it was to make mistakes, or how badly everything could go wrong very quickly over a nuance.  His background hadn’t helped him either but that shoe could also have fitted elsewhere too.  I had been lucky, he had not.

I walked into the conference room packed with both relevant and interested parties, all eyes on me.  It was, to say the least, uncomfortable.  Whatever noise there was had subsided into silence.

There was one seat remaining.  Mine.

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2022

What do these mean?

I’ve been reading the latest headlines and picked out a few:

The seems to be a currency war,

Oil prices are set to rise in line with a cut in production,

Some tankers will not be plying the Hormuz strait,

There was a massive power outage in the UK,

Gold prices are rising,

North Korea is shooting missiles into the sea

The USA needs more missiles,

There are Chinese survey vessels in the South China Sea,

In Russia there is an explosion on a secret base with nuclear implications, and,

There might be a global recession coming.

What do all these events mean?  Nothing really when taken individually, but when you start combining them, then the thriller writer in me starts to see all sorts of conspiracies and plotlines for stories.

For instance

Take that explosion in Russia, and the fact the word nuclear is attached to it, and then look at the massive power outage in the UK.  What if that site was a laboratory, working on small,  powerful bombs that can easily be carried, installed, in or around vital infrastructure, and in that quest for smaller and more powerful something goes wrong.

After all, isn’t that what testing is for?

And the fact there’s been one major event involving vital infrastructure, should we be looking for more?  Then there are a few problems with bombs being attached to tankers in the Hormuz Strait.  Does anyone see the potential for an apocalyptic event coming on?

Then the North Koreans are firing test missiles, and the US calling for more missiles to add to their arsenal.  Are they using North Korea as an excuse?  Or is there something more sinister going on with Chinese survey vessels in the South China Sea?  What if they’re not survey vessels?

Then there’s a small matter of rising oil prices.  Whilst the same report might say that the rise is due to OPEC cutting output, there could be other reasons, such as the currency war that’s about to erupt, and will this pre-emp a global recession.  A good indicator of impending disaster, wars, and other maladies is the rising price of gold.

The gold market goes into overdrive when currency starts to lose value, recessions are coming or have arrived, or there is about to be a war, or there is one.  The US and China are facing off, the US and half the middle east are a disaster waiting to happen, and, hang on, North Korea is being provocative, and in a late development, India and Pakistan are facing off over Kashmir.

Are we surprised people are turning to gold?

Maybe I should go back to doing the crossword, and ignoring the news.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 88

Here’s the thing…

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.

…

I really am leaving, really

…

A lot can happen in a week.

After leaving the mall carpark, we drove past a scene that could have been right out of a movie, it seemed that surreal.  There were 6 police cars, lights flashing, and officers everywhere.

Cossatino was up against his car, with two officers standing over him.  Both the sheriff and Charlene were not far away, and I had no doubt Charlene’s career was about to take a huge leap, bringing down members of both crime families.

His two bodyguards were on the ground, looking like they’d just gone ten rounds against the reigning heavyweight boxing champion.

Nadia didn’t slow down when passing, and unless he recognized the car, Cossatino would not have seen us, so dense was the tint she had on the car windows.

One of the other cars had both Alex and Vince in the rear, both looking very forlorn.  At that moment in time, I felt like Boggs would get the justice he deserved, in a manner that didn’t require bloodshed, and had to admire the planning and forethought Nadia had put into the operation.

We didn’t go back to her hotel, she suspected the arrest of her father, brother and Alex would not go unnoticed, along with her part in it, despite Charlene assuring her she’d try to keep it under wraps.  Instead, we headed out of town to a small motel that few knew about, and an owner who wouldn’t recognize her, or me.

The room was dingy, with a musty aroma that comes from lack of use, but the sheets were clean, the water in the bathroom hot, and the company perfect.

We didn’t speak, there was no need to, and in the end, everything was just perfect.

Of course, expecting the serenity to last was a forlorn hope.

It wasn’t just the thunderstorm that passed through around midnight, but more a sense of foreboding left hanging in the air.

We were woken, firstly by the rhythmic sound of light rain on the roof, which in a way was quite soothing, but then by the sound of the TV news, part of an early morning show that I had only seen a few times, and disliked because of the presenters.

This morning they sounded positively garish, one reporting, in a tone that might have been used to report an end-of-world event,

“This morning we are waking to the news that the two largest crime families in the county have been finally brought to justice.”

It was a tag team event.

“Yes, John.  We are learning that the head of the Cossatino clan has been charged with conspiracy to murder and that his son Vincent, had been charged over the murder of a local boy, Anton Boggs.”

To the other presenter,

“Yes, Alice.  We understand that the Boggs family has a rather infamous connection to the search for Captain X, long believed to have stashed a large cache of his plunder somewhere along the coastline.  This treasure hunt was first started in earnest by another local identity, X Ormiston, who, like the victim’s father, disappeared mysteriously, some years ago.”

Back again,

“We also understand that the son of businessman and long believed to be involved in a number of suspect activities, none of which gave been proved I might add, Alexander Benderby, has also been arrested as an accomplice in the murder of Anton Boggs.”

There was a momentary break, time enough to turn on the TV in our room, and just as the picture came on, “Just a moment,” as the man held a hand to his ear, no doubt listening to someone updating the situation, or that something more important was happening.

Then, “we have breaking news, and we’re crossing to the Sheriff’s office where he’s about to make an announcement.”

The picture changed, coming live from outside the sheriff’s office, with a row of microphones and more standing in front, waiting.

“This is not looking good,”  Nadia said.

I think she thought the same as I did, and exactly what I’d told Charlene a few days before, that money trumps justice.

“You think the sheriff’s sold out and will recant the charges?”

“Given how much money both of them have funneled one way or another his way, I wouldn’t be surprised.  I honestly thought that Charlene was different “

“She means well, but you have to remember she is subject to the will of the sheriff’s first, and her father second, though those lines may be blurred at times.  Had it been anyone else, justice would prevail.”

No time for any more discussion, the sheriff came out to address the media pack.

“At 5:45 am this morning Vincent Cossatino was found deceased in his cell, along with a suicide note asking for absolution for his crimes.”

“Here it comes,” Nadia muttered.

“The note also stated that he alone was responsible for the death of Anton Boggs, the Alex Benderby had taken no part in it and therefore has been released from custody all charges dropped.”

Nadia turned off the TV.  “There’s no way in hell Vincent committed suicide or wrote such a note.  He was made the scapegoat. So all the others could go free. Something had to be done about Vince and this was dad’s way of cleaning up the mess he left behind.  Bastard.”

Deals were done, there was no doubt about it.  I wondered what Charlene thought about it?

So did Nadia, who had her phone in her hand, and no doubt calling her.

If I were Charlene, I would not answer, but she did.

Nadia put it on speaker, and put it between us.  “What the fuck was that all about?”

“I was taken off the case, for obvious reasons.  Is Sam there?”

“Yes,” I said.

“You were right.  A deal was done last night, but I had no idea what the outcome was until the same time you just heard.  This isn’t justice.”

“Nor what we agreed,” Nadia said.

“And for that, I’m sorry, but I stupidly thought that the law was the law, but apparently it isn’t.  I’m about to hand in my resignation but that won’t change anything.  Alex will get away with it, despite the confession.  Apparently, the recording was damaged when it came to anything he said.”

“Alex might like to think he has, but justice has a way of catching up with the guilty.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Nadia.  They’ll be expecting you to do something.”

“Yes, I guess so.  Maybe Sam and I will just leave.  This place no longer has anything to keep me here.  I’m sure my father will get off with lesser charges, and seek to make my life hell for what he perceives as disloyalty.”

“Like I said, I was deliberately sidelined.  There’s not a lot I can do, and even if I tried, I’m sure they’d do something about it and then ruin my chances of getting another job.  I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is,” Nadia said, then disconnected the call.

She sat still for a minute, maybe more before she looked at me.  “How long will it take you to pack a bag?”

“Italy?”

“Anywhere but here.  Unless you have a compelling reason to stay?”

I thought about it for all of a minute.  There was nothing.  If my mother was staying with Benderby, then she would be acquiring a new husband and losing a son.  There was no way I was going to be associated with the Benderby’s, and less so, a stepbrother to Alex.

“None that I can think of.  I just have to go home and collect a few things.”

“You do have a passport, don’t you?”

Since I had never traveled out of the country, and never looked like I ever would, a few months ago the answer to that question would have been an emphatic no.  But my mother had floated the idea of going to England, where her ancestors came from, and, having mentioned a recent death of a relative I had not heard of before, decided that we might take the first step, and get passports, essential items if one wanted to travel.

The plan had not been mentioned again, not since getting the job in the warehouse, and the treasure hint started with Boggs, but the passport had arrived a few days before we disappeared, and she left it on my bedside table.

I was not sure how I was hoping to pay for my airfare, but that was a bridge to cross later.

“I do, as a matter of fact, all shiny and new.”

“Good.  I’ll pick you up at your place when you’re ready.  Just send me a text.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

An excerpt from “What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

See the excerpt from the story below, just a taste of what’s in store…

http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

whatsetscover

McCallister was old school, a man who would most likely fit in perfectly campaigning on the battlefields of Europe during the Second World War. He’d been like a fish out of water in the army, post-Falklands, and while he retired a hero, he still felt he’d more to give.

He’d applied and was accepted as head of a SWAT team, and, watching him now as he and his men disembarked from the truck in almost military precision, a look passed between Annette, the police liaison officer, and I that said she’d seen it all before. I know I had.

There was a one in four chance his team would be selected for this operation, and she had been hoping it would be one of the other three. While waiting for them to arrive she filled me in on the various teams. His was the least co-operative, and the more likely to make ad-hoc decisions rather than adhere to the plan, or any orders that may come from the officer in charge.

This, she said quite bluntly, was going to end badly.

I still had no idea why Prendergast instructed me to attend the scene of what looked to be a normal domestic operation, but as the nominated expert in the field in these types of situations, it was fairly clear he wasn’t taking any chances. It was always a matter of opinion between us, and generally I lost.

In this case, it was an anonymous report identifying what the authorities believed were explosives in one of the dockside sheds where explosives were not supposed to be.

The only reason why the report was given any credence was the man, while not identifying himself by name, said he’d been an explosive expert once and recognized the boxes. That could mean anything, but the Chief Constable was a cautious man.

With his men settled and preparing their weapons, McCallister came over to the command post, not much more than the SUV my liaison and I arrived in, with weapons, bulletproof vests, and rolls of tape to cordon off the area afterward. We both had coffee, steaming in the cold early morning air. Dawn was slowly approaching and although rain had been forecast it had yet to arrive.

A man by the name of Benson was in charge. He too had groaned when he saw McCallister.

“A fine morning for it.” McCallister was the only enthusiastic one here.

He didn’t say what ‘it’ was, but I thought it might eventually be mayhem.

“Let’s hope the rain stays away. It’s going to be difficult enough without it,” Benson said, rubbing his hands together. We had been waiting for the SWAT team to arrive, and another team to take up their position under the wharf, and who was in the final stages of securing their position.

While we were waiting we drew up the plan. I’d go in first to check on what we were dealing with, and what type of explosives. The SWAT team, in the meantime, were to ensure all the exits to the shed were covered. When I gave the signal, they were to enter and secure the building. We were not expecting anyone inside or out, and no movement had been detected in the last hour since our arrival and deployment.

“What’s the current situation?”

“I’ve got eyes on the building, and a team coming in from the waterside, underneath. Its slow progress, but they’re nearly there. Once they’re in place, we’re sending McKenzie in.”

He looked in my direction.

“With due respect sir, shouldn’t it be one of us?” McCallister glared at me with the contempt that only a decorated military officer could.

“No. I have orders from above, much higher than I care to argue with, so, McCallister, no gung-ho heroics for the moment. Just be ready to move on my command, and make sure you have three teams at the exit points, ready to secure the building.”

McCallister opened his mouth, no doubt to question those orders, but instead closed it again. “Yes sir,” he muttered and turned away heading back to his men.

“You’re not going to have much time before he storms the battlements,” Benson quietly said to me, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “I’m dreading the paperwork.”

It was exactly what my liaison officer said when she saw McCallister arriving.

The water team sent their ‘in position’ signal, and we were ready to go.

In the hour or so we’d been on site nothing had stirred, no arrivals, no departures, and no sign anyone was inside, but that didn’t mean we were alone. Nor did it mean I was going to walk in and see immediately what was going on. If it was a cache of explosives then it was possible the building was booby-trapped in any number of ways, there could be sentries or guards, and they had eyes on us, or it might be a false alarm.

I was hoping for the latter.

I put on the bulletproof vest, thinking it was a poor substitute for full battle armor against an exploding bomb, but we were still treating this as a ‘suspected’ case. I noticed my liaison officer was pulling on her bulletproof vest too.

“You don’t have to go. This is my party, not yours,” I said.

“The Chief Constable told me to stick to you like glue, sir.”

I looked at Benson. “Talk some sense into her please, this is not a kindergarten outing.”

He shrugged. Seeing McCallister had taken all the fight out of him. “Orders are orders. If that’s what the Chief Constable requested …”

Madness. I glared at her, and she gave me a wan smile. “Stay behind me then, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Believe me, I won’t be.” She pulled out and checked her weapon, chambering the first round. It made a reassuring sound.

Suited up, weapons readied, a last sip of the coffee in a stomach that was already churning from nerves and tension, I looked at the target, one hundred yards distant and thought it was going to be the longest hundred yards I’d ever traversed. At least for this week.

A swirling mist rolled in and caused a slight change in plans.

Because the front of the buildings was constantly illuminated by large overhead arc lamps, my intention had been to approach the building from the rear where there was less light and more cover. Despite the lack of movement, if there were explosives in that building, there’d be ‘enemy’ surveillance somewhere, and, after making that assumption, I believed it was going to be easier and less noticeable to use the darkness as a cover.

It was a result of the consultation, and studying the plans of the warehouse, plans that showed three entrances, the main front hangar type doors, a side entrance for truck entry and exit and a small door in the rear, at the end of an internal passage leading to several offices. I also assumed it was the exit used when smokers needed a break. Our entry would be by the rear door or failing that, the side entrance where a door was built into the larger sliding doors. In both cases, the locks would not present a problem.

The change in the weather made the approach shorter, and given the density of the mist now turning into a fog, we were able to approach by the front, hugging the walls, and moving quickly while there was cover. I could feel the dampness of the mist and shivered more than once.

It was nerves more than the cold.

I could also feel rather than see the presence of Annette behind me, and once felt her breath on my neck when we stopped for a quick reconnaissance.

It was the same for McCallister’s men. I could feel them following us, quickly and quietly, and expected, if I turned around, to see him breathing down my neck too.

It added to the tension.

My plan was still to enter by the back door.

We slipped up the alley between the two sheds to the rear corner and stopped. I heard a noise coming from the rear of the building, and the light tap on the shoulder told me Annette had heard it too. I put my hand up to signal her to wait, and as a swirl of mist rolled in, I slipped around the corner heading towards where I’d last seen the glow of a cigarette.

The mist cleared, and we saw each other at the same time. He was a bearded man in battle fatigues, not the average dockside security guard.

He was quick, but my slight element of surprise was his undoing, and he was down and unconscious in less than a few seconds with barely a sound beyond the body hitting the ground. Zip ties secured his hands and legs, and tape his mouth. Annette joined me a minute after securing him.

A glance at the body then me, “I can see why they, whoever they are, sent you.”

She’d asked who I worked for, and I didn’t answer. It was best she didn’t know.

“Stay behind me,” I said, more urgency in my tone. If there was one, there’d be another.

Luck was with us so far. A man outside smoking meant no booby traps on the back door, and quite possibly there’d be none inside. But it indicated there were more men inside, and if so, it appeared they were very well trained. If that were the case, they would be formidable opponents.

The fear factor increased exponentially.

I slowly opened the door and looked in. A pale light shone from within the warehouse itself, one that was not bright enough to be detected from outside. None of the offices had lights on, so it was possible they were vacant. I realized then they had blacked out the windows. Why hadn’t someone checked this?

Once inside, the door closed behind us, progress was slow and careful. She remained directly behind me, gun ready to shoot anything that moved. I had a momentary thought for McCallister and his men, securing the perimeter.

At the end of the corridor, the extent of the warehouse stretched before us. The pale lighting made it seem like a vast empty cavern, except for a long trestle table along one side, and, behind it, stacks of wooden crates, some opened. It looked like a production line.

To get to the table from where we were was a ten-yard walk in the open. There was no cover. If we stuck to the walls, there was equally no cover and a longer walk.

We needed a distraction.

As if on cue, the two main entrances disintegrated into flying shrapnel accompanied by a deafening explosion that momentarily disoriented both Annette and I. Through the smoke and dust kicked up I saw three men appear from behind the wooden crates, each with what looked like machine guns, spraying bullets in the direction of the incoming SWAT members.

They never had a chance, cut down before they made ten steps into the building.

By the time I’d recovered, my head heavy, eyes watering and ears still ringing, I took several steps towards them, managing to take down two of the gunmen but not the third.

I heard a voice, Annette’s I think, yell out, “Oh, God, he’s got a trigger,” just before another explosion, though all I remember in that split second was a bright flash, the intense heat, something very heavy smashing into my chest knocking the wind out of me, and then the sensation of flying, just before I hit the wall.

I spent four weeks in an induced coma, three months being stitched back together and another six learning to do all those basic actions everyone took for granted. It was twelve months almost to the day when I was released from the hospital, physically, except for a few alterations required after being hit by shrapnel, looking the same as I always had.

But mentally? The document I’d signed on release said it all, ‘not fit for active duty; discharged’.

It was in the name of David Cheney. For all intents and purposes, Alistair McKenzie was killed in that warehouse, and for the first time ever, an agent left the Department, the first to retire alive.

I was not sure I liked the idea of making history.

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

Searching for locations: From Zhengzhou to Suzhou by train, and the Snowy Sea Hotel, Suzhou, China

For the first time on this trip, we encounter problems with Chinese officialdom at the railway station, though we were warned that this might occur.

We had a major problem with the security staff when they pulled everyone over with aerosols and confiscated them. We lost styling mousse, others lost hair spray, and the men, their shaving cream.  But, to her credit, the tour guide did warn us they were stricter here, but her suggestion to be angry they were taking our stuff was probably not the right thing to do.

As with previous train bookings, the Chinese method of placing people in seats didn’t quite manage to keep couples traveling together, together on the train.  It was an odd peculiarity which few of the passengers understood, nor did they conform, swapping seat allocations.

This train ride did not seem the same as the last two and I don’t think we had the same type of high-speed train type that we had for the last two.  The carriages were different, there was only one toilet per carriage, and I don’t think we were going as fast.

But aside from that, we had 753 kilometers to travel with six stops before ours, two of which were very large cities, and then our stop, about four and a half hours later.  With two minutes this time, to get the baggage off the team managed it in 40 seconds, a new record.

After slight disorientation getting off the train, we locate our guide, easily found by looking for the Trip-A-Deal flag.  From there it’s a matter of getting into our respective groups and finding the bus.

As usual, the trip to the hotel was a long one, but we were traveling through a much brighter, and well lit, city.

As for our guide, we have him from now until the end of the tour.  There are no more train rides, we will be taking the bus from city to city until we reach Shanghai.  Good thing then that the bus is brand new, with that new car smell.  Only issue, no USB charging point.

The Snowy Sea hotel.  

It is finally a joy to get a room that is nothing short of great.  It has a bathroom and thus privacy.

Everyone had to go find a supermarket to purchase replacements for the confiscated items.  Luckily there was a huge supermarket just up from the hotel that had everything but the kitchen sink.

But, unlike where we live, the carpark is more of a scooter park!

It is also a small microcosm of Chinese life for the new more capitalistic oriented Chinese.

The next morning we get some idea of the scope of high-density living, though here, the buildings are not 30 stories tall, but still just as impressive.

These look like the medium density houses, but to the right of these are much larger buildings

The remarkable thing about this is those buildings stretch as far as the eye can see.

An excerpt from “The Things We Do For Love”; In love, Henry was all at sea!

In the distance he could hear the dinner bell ringing and roused himself.  Feeling the dampness of the pillow, and fearing the ravages of pent up emotion, he considered not going down but thought it best not to upset Mrs. Mac, especially after he said he would be dining.

In the event, he wished he had reneged, especially when he discovered he was not the only guest staying at the hotel.

Whilst he’d been reminiscing, another guest, a young lady, had arrived.  He’d heard her and Mrs. Mac coming up the stairs, and then shown to a room on the same floor, perhaps at the other end of the passage.

Henry caught his first glimpse of her when she appeared at the door to the dining room, waiting for Mrs. Mac to show her to a table.

She was about mid-twenties, slim, long brown hair, and the grace and elegance of a woman associated with countless fashion magazines.  She was, he thought, stunningly beautiful with not a hair out of place, and make-up flawlessly applied.  Her clothes were black, simple, elegant, and expensive, the sort an heiress or wife of a millionaire might condescend to wear to a lesser occasion than dinner.

Then there was her expression; cold, forbidding, almost frightening in its intensity.  And her eyes, piercingly blue and yet laced with pain.  Dracula’s daughter was his immediate description of her.

All in all, he considered, the only thing they had in common was, like him, she seemed totally out of place.

Mrs. Mac came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.  She was, she informed him earlier, chef, waitress, hotelier, barmaid, and cleaner all rolled into one.  Coming up to the new arrival she said, “Ah, Miss Andrews, I’m glad you decided to have dinner.  Would you like to sit with Mr. Henshaw, or would you like to have a table of your own?”

Henry could feel her icy stare as she sized up his appeal as a dining companion, making the hair on the back on his neck stand up.  He purposely didn’t look back.  In his estimation, his appeal rating was minus six.  Out of a thousand!

“If Mr. Henshaw doesn’t mind….”  She looked at him, leaving the query in mid-air.

He didn’t mind and said so.  Perhaps he’d underestimated his rating.

“Good.”  Mrs. Mac promptly ushered her over.  Henry stood, made sure she was seated properly and sat.

“Thank you.  You are most kind.”  The way she said it suggested snobbish overtones.

“I try to be when I can.”  It was supposed to nullify her sarcastic tone but made him sound a little silly, and when she gave him another of her icy glares, he regretted it.

Mrs. Mac quickly intervened, asking, “Would you care for the soup?”

They did, and, after writing the order on her pad, she gave them each a look, imperceptibly shook her head, and returned to the kitchen.

Before Michelle spoke to him again, she had another quick look at him, trying to fathom who and what he might be.  There was something about him.

His eyes, they mirrored the same sadness she felt, and, yes, there was something else, that it looked like he had been crying?  There was a tinge of redness.

Perhaps, she thought, he was here for the same reason she was.

No.  That wasn’t possible.

Then she said, without thinking, “Do you have any particular reason for coming here?”  Seconds later she realized she’s spoken it out loud, had hadn’t meant to actually ask, it just came out.

It took him by surprise, obviously not the first question he was expecting her to ask of him.

“No, other than it is as far from civilization, and home, as I could get.”

At least we agree on that, she thought.

It was obvious he was running away from something as well.

Given the isolation of the village and lack of geographic hospitality, it was, from her point of view, ideal.  All she had to do was avoid him, and that wouldn’t be difficult.

After getting through this evening first.

“Yes,” she agreed.  “It is that.”

A few seconds passed, and she thought she could feel his eyes on her and wasn’t going to look up.

Until he asked, “What’s your reason?”

Slight abrupt in manner, perhaps as a result of her question, and the manner in which she asked it.

She looked up.  “Rest.  And have some time to myself.”

She hoped he would notice the emphasis she had placed on the word ‘herself’ and take due note.  No doubt, she thought,  she had completely different ideas of what constituted a holiday than he, not that she had actually said she was here for a holiday.

Mrs. Mac arrived at a fortuitous moment to save them from further conversation.

Over the entree, she wondered if she had made a mistake coming to the hotel.  Of course, there had been no possible way she could know than anyone else might have booked the same hotel, but realized it was foolish to think she might end up in it by herself.

Was that what she was expecting?

Not a mistake then, but an unfortunate set of circumstances, which could be overcome by being sensible.

Yet, there he was, and it made her curious, not that he was a man, by himself, in the middle of nowhere, hiding like she was, but for very different reasons.

On discreet observance whilst they ate, she gained the impression his air of light-heartedness was forced and he had no sense of humor.

This feeling was engendered by his looks, unruly dark hair, and permanent frown.  And then there was his abysmal taste in clothes on a tall, lanky frame.  They were quality but totally unsuited to the wearer.

Rebellion was written all over him.

The only other thought crossing her mind, and rather incongruously, was he could do with a decent feed.  In that respect, she knew now from the mountain of food in front of her, he had come to the right place.

“Mr. Henshaw?”

He looked up.  “Henshaw is too formal.  Henry sounds much better,” he said, with a slight hint of gruffness.

“Then my name is Michelle.”

Mrs. Mac came in to take their order for the only main course, gather up the entree dishes, then return to the kitchen.

“Staying long?” she asked.

“About three weeks.  Yourself?”

“About the same.”

The conversation dried up.

Neither looked at the other, rather at the walls, out the window, towards the kitchen, anywhere.  It was, she thought, almost unbearably awkward.

Mrs. Mac returned with a large tray with dishes on it, setting it down on the table next to theirs.

“Not as good as the usual cook,” she said, serving up the dinner expertly, “but it comes a good second, even if I do say so myself.  Care for some wine?”

Henry looked at Michelle.  “What do you think?”

“I’m used to my dining companions making the decision.”

You would, he thought.  He couldn’t help but notice the cutting edge of her tone.  Then, to Mrs. Mac, he named a particular White Burgundy he liked and she bustled off.

“I hope you like it,” he said, acknowledging her previous comment with a smile that had nothing to do with humor.

“Yes, so do I.”

Both made a start on the main course, a concoction of chicken and vegetables that were delicious, Henry thought, when compared to the bland food he received at home and sometimes aboard my ship.

It was five minutes before Mrs. Mac returned with the bottle and two glasses.  After opening it and pouring the drinks, she left them alone again.

Henry resumed the conversation.  “How did you arrive?  I came by train.”

“By car.”

“Did you drive yourself?”

And he thought, a few seconds later, that was a silly question, otherwise she would not be alone, and certainly not sitting at this table. With him.

“After a fashion.”

He could see that she was formulating a retort in her mind, then changed it, instead, smiling for the first time, and it served to lighten the atmosphere.

And in doing so, it showed him she had another more pleasant side despite the fact she was trying not to look happy.

“My father reckons I’m just another of ‘those’ women drivers,” she added.

“Whatever for?”

“The first and only time he came with me I had an accident.  I ran up the back of another car.  Of course, it didn’t matter to him the other driver was driving like a startled rabbit.”

“It doesn’t help,” he agreed.

“Do you drive?”

“Mostly people up the wall.”  His attempt at humor failed.  “Actually,” he added quickly, “I’ve got a very old Morris that manages to get me where I’m going.”

The apple pie and cream for dessert came and went and the rapport between them improved as the wine disappeared and the coffee came.  Both had found, after getting to know each other better, their first impressions were not necessarily correct.

“Enjoy the food?” Mrs. Mac asked, suddenly reappearing.

“Beautifully cooked and delicious to eat,” Michelle said, and Henry endorsed her remarks.

“Ah, it does my heart good to hear such genuine compliments,” she said, smiling.  She collected the last of the dishes and disappeared yet again.

“What do you do for a living,” Michelle asked in an off-hand manner.

He had a feeling she was not particularly interested and it was just making conversation.

“I’m a purser.”

“A what?”

“A purser.  I work on a ship doing the paperwork, that sort of thing.”

“I see.”

“And you?”

“I was a model.”

“Was?”

“Until I had an accident, a rather bad one.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

So that explained the odd feeling he had about her.

As the evening had worn on, he began to think there might be something wrong, seriously wrong with her because she didn’t look too well.  Even the carefully applied makeup, from close up, didn’t hide the very pale, and tired look, or the sunken, dark ringed eyes.

“I try not to think about it, but it doesn’t necessarily work.  I’ve come here for peace and quiet, away from doctors and parents.”

“Then you will not have to worry about me annoying you.  I’m one of those fall-asleep-reading-a-book types.”

Perhaps it would be like ships passing in the night and then smiled to himself about the analogy.

Dinner now over, they separated.

Henry went back to the lounge to read a few pages of his book before going to bed, and Michelle went up to her room to retire for the night.

But try as he might, he was unable to read, his mind dwelling on the unusual, yet the compellingly mysterious person he would be sharing the hotel with.

Overlaying that original blurred image of her standing in the doorway was another of her haunting expressions that had, he finally conceded, taken his breath away, and a look that had sent more than one tingle down his spine.

She may not have thought much of him, but she had certainly made an impression on him.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

lovecoverfinal1

First Dig Two Graves – The Final Draft – Day 25

The second Zoe thriller.

…

In all of the goings-on, with Zoe chasing down old acquaintances in Bucharest, then moving on to  Yuri, then Olga, we forget that Isobel and Rupert are on her trail, with Sebastian in tow.

It’s not so much Sebastian in charge anymore, not after going rogue and shooting his boss and John’s mother, an act that Rupert witnesses after following Sebastian on the hunch that he was up to something.

Rupert realizes that Worthington still presents a major problem, and on the basis that Worthington was going to realize it’s not Zoe shooting at him, Worthington had to be taken off the chessboard.

Unfortunately, he has to enlist Sebastian to get a crew together to kidnap him and take him to a safe house.

Meanwhile, Isobel, with a computer in hand, takes up vigil at the hospital with John’s mother, pretending she is her daughter.  There she tracks Zoe via her cell phone to an address in Zurich.

Then, miraculously John’s cell phone reappears and is active long enough for her to get a location, and see that a 96-second phone call is made to a phone in Zurich, Zoe’s.

Then it disappears again.

Isobel then calls Zoe and gives her the address.  It’s a short call.

Calls to Sebastian and Rupert mobilize them, and everyone is on their way to John’s location.

…

Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon waiting for a white knight, 2,011 words, for a total of 61,922.

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.

A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?

A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.

A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.

After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.

From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.

It is available on Amazon here:  http://amzn.to/2CqUBcz