Month: April 2024

A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2024 – L is for Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

…

Sometimes, you don’t realise how fortunate you are until you make the mistake of taking it all for granted.

That, of course, begged the question of how dangerous it might be if you were to simply ask, what if….

My problem was that everything came too easy, not that I’m complaining, but it seemed to me that those who struggled were better equipped to deal with problems.

Again, I’m not complaining, but…

It was just a statement in the middle of an innocuous conversation with my sister, who had what seemed to be the perfect life

A husband she had known since middle school, the perfect 2.4 children, the perfect job, and the perfect life.

I, on the other hand, never found the right girl, relationships would last about a year, sometimes longer, then peter out, and there was no likelihood of children, but I did have the perfect job, running my own bookstore

It was all I ever wanted to do.

Oh, sorry, and write.  But although I could sell books, and I always had a million ideas for writing a book, I could never sit down in front of a blank page and put those million ideas down on paper.

And until I could, I would never be happy.

“And that’s why you’re a hopeless case,” Jenny said, smiling at me over the table.  “Now, pass me the salt.”

Sunday evening dinner at her apartment, with the perfect partner and perfect children, eating dinner prepared by the perfect cook.

I had just lamented again my inability to find the right one and be able to return the dining favour.

“I should learn to cook myself.”

“The day that happens, Jay is the date the works as we know it will end.  You need to get a hobby, play a sport, or go to places where you might find that special someone.  It is clear dating sites and singles bars are not the way to find Miss Right.”

I was beginning to wish that I hadn’t told her about my last disaster.

“Perhaps the girl of your dreams will walk into your bookstore and sweep you off your feet.”

Larry, the perfect husband, had that ingratiating manner of making a perfectly normal comment sound like a sarcastic retort.

To counter his thrust, I parried with, “Well, there was this dreamy young lady who came in the other day and had the most exquisite accent.  She was probably a Russian spy,”

Jenny shook her head.  “How is the next best-selling spy thriller going?”

“The same as usual.  Can’t put words on paper.”

“Perhaps you should try and act it out in real-time.  Some places can fulfil a wish, up to a certain point, for a price.”  Larry was also full of good ideas, just never remembered where he got them from.

“There you go,” Jenny said.  “Problem solved.  Now, who wants my famous Apple pie?”

It was an interesting notion that Larry raised, and one I thought about, on the way back to my apartment.  It did make me wonder how the perfect husband knew about what was essentially a fantasy-fulfilling business.

And when I searched high and low on the internet for it, or anything like it, I couldn’t find anything.  Except when I used the actual words fantasy fulfilment and came back with two women who were quite literally mind-boggling.

That I didn’t need.

That notion of acting out my story stayed in my mind and was the last thought I had before dropping into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning was the same as any other.  I got up, dressed, and went down to the cafe next to the bookstore and got a coffee and croissant.  And said hello to my sister who owned the cafe.

The two shops were part of the building that housed the shops, our apartments, and five other businesses, left to us by our parents as our inheritance.  Our little slice of New York in Brooklyn.

“How’s that search for a fantasy going?” She asked as she handed me the coffee.

“How did you.. “

“Your eyes lit up.  I could tell it made its mark.”

“I didn’t find anything.  I looked.  How does Larry know about it?”

“He knows lots of stuff about lots of stuff.  You’ll find it.  You’re just not using the right search words.  Now, be off with you. This is the rush hour, you know.”

I took the croissant from another girl and nodded, but she was already onto the best three customers, the line out the door.  Three years on a tow shed won the best cafe in the neighbourhood.

I went next door and opened the door.  I was not expecting a lot of customers because these days most people buy their books online.

My store had lots of obscure titles, out of print and first editions.  People only came. I’d they were specifically looking for something rare or hard to find.  I also sold books written by my favourite fiction authors and one day hoped to have a book signing.

That was a hope that would have less chance than my desire to write a book.

Three customers, three books each sought out at this particular obscure bookshop.  Three more five-star reviews on the internet, which probably wouldn’t mean anything in the greater scheme of things.

I didn’t need to work. The way my father had structured our inheritance gave us both a very adequate income, but Henny had insisted we didn’t become idle.  She wasn’t going to stop working, as much as Larry wanted her to because she wanted somewhere to go and something to do other than being a mother.

I liked the idea of having somewhere to go, I had several assistants who came and spent their days rearranging the shelves and keeping the dust at bay.  There were not a lot of sakes, but they didn’t care.  They had the same reverence for books as I had. We were all fighting the digital revolution in our own way.

Perry, a kid who tried to steal a book on his first visit, came from out back with a laptop in his hand.  “Found a place.”

It didn’t take long to find out he needed money for his family, so I offered him a job.  He said he knew nothing about books, I said I didn’t either when I started.

I’d told him what I was looking for and he said to leave it with him.

“Just what are you looking for.  If it’s a woman, I know if a few places, if it’s something else, there are places you just don’t want to go.”

Unlike Larry, I knew Perry knew what he was talking about.  “I have no idea what I want or what I would like.  I was hoping they might set up a few scenarios so I can do some writing.

He shrugged, then left the laptop on the desk and went back to the shelves.

Another customer came in and interrupted my search, and it took some time before we found the book he was seeking, filed in the wrong spot.  It was, I thought, an attempt by the universe to distract me from finally finding a way to start writing.

It didn’t.

I went through the list that Perry had made, and there was one place that seemed familiar, a name had heard once before in a conversation, the one time I went to the local writing group gathering at a nearby Cafe, one that wasn’t Jenny’s.

I called them.

It was an odd conversation because I had expected the person who answered the phone to announce the name of the company.  Instead, it was a simple “Hello.”.

Which left me asking if I was speaking to a representative of the StoryTime organisation.

The answer was a tentative yes as if the person on the other end of the phone wasn’t quite sure who they were working for, or it was one of the answering services who answered for a dozen different places.

Then she asked for my name and phone number and the times I would be available to talk. I gave her the information and hung up, not expecting to hear from them again.

At the end of the day, I locked the door and went up to my apartment.  Jenny had long since shut the door and had gone to collect her children from the friend who collected them from school.

Larry rarely got home before six at night, if he was not working back.

I had a container with leftover dinner from Jenny who knew I didn’t cook, often ate takeout, which was not very healthy, and insisted I eat with them most nights.  Tonight, it was chicken something.

As I got another Budweiser from the fridge, my phone buzzed, and it was an incoming message from StoryTime.  A list and a short description of the ‘products’ they were offering.

One, the romance package, where the customer meets up with a prospective target in an unusual manner, and then plays out any one of a dozen different scenarios.  Each of the scenarios will be provided, but it doesn’t necessarily need to run to the script.

Two, the romance with adventure package, where there is danger involved, and similar to the adventure package, there are a dozen different scenarios that can play out.

Three, the thriller package, is not for the faint-hearted or those with heart conditions.  Some hard work and full-on exercise will be needed.  There can be a romantic element to this, too.

A questionnaire is attached which you will be required to fill in as much as possible so we can have a good idea of what to set up as a mission biography and parameters.

It was strictly prohibited once the mission started for it to stop except for very exceptional reasons.  To date, no mission has been terminated mid-way through.  Our actors are also using these experiences to enhance their talents and sign on for the duration.

The fee paid is not refundable and covers all costs, including any necessary paperwork such as identity information required to participate.

Then it stated the price, and I nearly fell off my chair.  But if I wanted the experience, it would be worth it, or at least I hope it would be.

A quick scan of the multipage questionnaire that set the parameters of the adventure showed the level if detail they required, but not only that, was basically the level of planning I needed to do for writing the book.

Perhaps by the end of filling it out, I wouldn’t need to participate, I would have the plan I’d need meaning to do for a long time.

Of course, I picked the thriller with a touch of romance.  Running through my head at the time were the countless noir Hollywood movies of the 30s, 49s and 50s, about hardnosed private detectives like Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe, and a hankering to recreate that era, but in this day and age it was not possible

I had to pick a name and that had never been a problem, the first name of a great, great grandfather, and the last name of my mother, Alphonse Burgoine, and the theme, the search for a missing person, which I would leave to them to decide who it would be.

Various other details made up the character, a series of ticks in boxes, the most interesting, languages spoken, of which I could speak French and German like my mother who ensured I was fluent in both, and a smattering of Russian and Spanish, after my father who preferred only English to be spoken.

Other than that, It took three days to fill out that form and another seven before I sent it back and paid the fee.

The next day, I received an email that simply said,

‘Your fantasy is being constructed.  The next email will be the first instructions when you assume your character, and from then on, immerse yourself completely.

‘Everyone else associated with this construct will be in character and will ignore any comment or behaviour outside the construct.

‘You will be observed, and if there are more than three infractions, the fantasy will end.  At times, various parts of the fantasy may seem real, but they are not.  Also, always remember that other people are playing roles, and their words and actions are not to be mistaken as real.

It is important to remember that you requested this and that you should make the most of the opportunity.’

Like a Hollywood movie, I thought.

I heard nothing for a month.  I was beginning to think that it was all an elaborate scam when a new message arrived.

‘Pack for a week.’

It gave an address, the office of Bellevue Investigations, and the apartment above the office where I would be staying.  Everything I would need was there.  There were other pieces of information like the names of several others participating.

I told Perry he was in charge.  It was not for the first time.  I told Jenny the people had called and told me my adventure was about to start and packed for the week.

With no idea what was about to happen, I took a long look at the apartment, took a deep breath, stepped outside, and locked the door.

The next time I stepped through that door, I hoped I had a story to write, and not that I should have been content with what I had, and let the proverbial sleeping dogs lie.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

…

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 93

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

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This is Chester.  We’re getting by during the ‘stay at home’ order.

I’m doing just that, though it sometimes feels like I’m in jail, on the inside looking out.

“Now you know how I feel”, Chester tells me, after jumping up on the window ledge to look out the window, trying to see what had caught my interest.

I don’t tell him I’m basically staring into space.

Except, a car passes, not fast, not slow, but much like the rest of the traffic that passes by.  Or used to.  With the order to stay at home, and the fact schools are not open, there have been fewer and fewer cars passing by.

“Didn’t that car…” Chester mutters.

He’s right.  The same car just went back the other way.  Slow, but not too slow.

“Perhaps’s he’s looking for a house, a particular address.”

We watch and wait.

Five minutes later the car has returned and stops outside my window.  A man gets out the passenger side, says something to the driver, then closes the door.  He starts walking back up the street from where the car had just come.

The car drives off, then a minute later is back, and parks on the other side of the road.  We can see the driver.  Not the sort of person you’d want to need on a dark night.  Tattoos on his arm, and smoking a cigarette, negligently stopping ask on the road below his window.

“He’s watching,” Chester says.

“He’s a lookout?”

We’re both thinking the same.  A crime is being committed.  They’ve scoped the street for an unattended house, a rarity for obvious reasons, though these days robbers rob the house while you’re still in it.

We wait.  Three minutes later the other man comes running very quickly to the car, jumps in and they drive off very quickly before the man had closed the door.

Seconds later another man appears with a baseball bat in his hand.

“Close call,” Chester says, interest now waning.  He jumps down.  “Pity they didn’t catch the robber.”

Perhaps.  But one thing is for sure, those robbers will not be back.

Diversion over, back to boredom.  Chester has gone back to one of his hiding spots.  I’m going to do another crossword.

Six months is going to be a long, long, long, long time.

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 42

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on the back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, 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.

Chasing leads, maybe

…

A second later the light came on and I was temporarily blinded.

The woman had to be on the other side of the door, and coming into the room, I must have passed her. Her voice sounded quite old, so it must be the mother.

“Turn around, slowly.

I did. By that time my eyes had readjusted, and I could see a woman, still dressed, with what looked to be an Enfield WW1 rifle. Just as dangerous now as it was then, particularly at this close range.

“Mrs Quigley, I presume,” I asked. Remain polite and conversational and keep her from getting nervous.

“Who are you?”

“Sam Jackson.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Why would you presume to think it wasn’t?”

“You’re breaking into my house which means you’re a criminal, and criminals by nature are also liars. Why would I think you any different to the rest?”

Good question. “I knew your son.”

“Which one?”

“Adam.”

“He’s not here. He hasn’t been around since he gallivanted off overseas a few years back.”

“I saw him only a few days ago, in London. Not gallivanting, by the way, but with feet firmly planted on the ground.”

“He’s not here.”

“Do you know where he is?”

She didn’t know he was dead, and I didn’t think it was my business to tell her. That was Dobbin’s job, and I was surprised he hadn’t. Or, I only had her word for it he hadn’t.

“Are you hard of hearing.” Get into the middle of the room.”

I moved slowly into the middle, watching her edge slowly towards the writing desk while keeping the gun aimed at me. If I tried to run for it, and if she was any sort of shot, I’d be dead before I got three, possibly four paces. If I could get a shred of surprise.

I hadn’t seen the phone on the desk, and watched her pick up the receiver, and, with the same hand, started dialing a number.

“Put it down.” Another voice, another woman, coming from the doorway.

Jennifer.

With a gun in hand, pointed at the woman.

“What if I shoot him, or you?”

“You’ll be dead before either scenario happens. Just put it down. I’m not here to shoot anyone if I can help it.”

Of course, this was just like one of those scenes out of a comedic spy film. Guns pointing in all directions.

And, true to form, a click, and a voice. “You put your weapon down.”

He appeared out of the shadows and had the gun pointed straight at Jennifer’s head at very short range.

Adam Quigley, aka O’Connell, and very much alive.

Jennifer dropped her gun, but Adam didn’t take his gun off her.

“Hello Sam. How did you find me?”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Mistaken Identity – The Final Editor’s Draft – Day 7

This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.

…

What’s the best way to recover from being shot by the police? Go on an all-expenses paid holiday.

Within reason, of course.

Of course, he was on holiday, not quite all expenses paid, but for the duration of the conference. Getting shot and having a prolonged stay in hospital put paid to that, but there is an upside.

The police, in exchange for silence and an indemnity, are happy to send our intrepid conference goer on a tour of Italy. There are benefits on either side, the police don’t get a lawsuit, and he gets to spend a few days touring.

Of course, Maryanne decided to tag along. She had been filling in for him at the conference, unbeknownst to him, and lined up a couple of free venues. In exchange for favourable reviews.

But what is the real reason Maryanne is along for the ride, or she might put it, ‘carry the bags’?

That saying ‘if it’s too good to be true, it probably is’ sticks in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t discourage her from coming with him.

Is he lucky, or is he cursed?

More tomorrow.

Searching for locations: Salzburg, Austria

Along with My Fair Lady, another of my favorite musicals was Sound of Music and having seen it a number of times over the years, it had conjured up a number of images of Salzburg in my mind, and with them a desire to go there.  We had been to Salzburg once before, an overnight train stop between Vienna and Innsbruck, an afterthought, but what we saw then was reason enough to come back later and spend several days.

A pity then the day we arrived, and for much of our stay, it rained.  But, like hardened travelers, very little stops us from doing anything, and particularly sightseeing.

We stayed at the Crowne Plaza – The Pitter in a very well-appointed room.  Breakfast included, it was a great way to start the day.  The afternoon we arrived we went for a short walk to the old city passing through the Mirabelle gardens with the Pegasus Fountain, Rose Garden, and Dwarves Garden.  Later we discovered that the archway had been used in part of the filming of Sound of Music.

We took the Festungsbahn funicular railway up to the Fortress Hohensalzburg, dating back to 1077, and the largest fortress still standing in Europe.  We spent a pleasant afternoon wandering through the rooms and exhibits and then had lunch at a café, the Salzburg Fortress Café, that overlooked the countryside.  This was where we were introduced to Mozart Gold Chocolate Cream added to our coffee.

It led us to search for the product which we eventually found in a confectionary store, Holzemayr in the Alter Markt.  Not only sis we find the Gold liqueur there was also a dark chocolate variety as well.  We bought a whole box to bring back with us, as well as a number of other chocolates including Victor Schmidt Austrian Mozart Balls, a delicious chocolate and marzipan combination.

With another afternoon to spare we visited the Salzburg Residence which previously housed Salzburg’s ruling prince-archbishops.  We visited the reception rooms and living quarters, as well as the Gallery.  It is as ornate as any of the palaces in Austria, resplendent with furnishings and paintings.  After that, the visit to Mozart’s birthplace was something of an anticlimax.

But, what we were in Salzburg for, the Sound of Music tour, and the places we visited:

The Mirabelle gardens, where Maria sang Do Re Mi in front of the gates to the gardens.  We spent some time here before and after the tour, and also has a look inside the Mirabelle Palace, which is not open to the public as it is the city administrative offices.

Leopoldskron Palace where the boating scene was filmed as well as exteriors.  They were not allowed to film inside the place and were only allowed to use the exterior.  An interesting tidbit of information, one of the children nearly drowned.

Heilbrunn palace is now home to the gazebo where Rolf and Leisl sang their song, ‘16 going on 17’.  The interesting part of this was the fact the Gazebo used to film the scene was much larger than the actual Gazebo on display.

The walkway from the fortress back to the old city passes Nonnberg Abbey where Maria was a novice, and where the opening scenes were filmed.  A number of scenes were filmed here, including the song ‘Maria’ in the courtyard.  The tour only showed the exterior of the Abbey.

Salzburg lake district where panorama and picnic scenes were filmed.  Even on the dullest of days, during which throughout our tour in continually rained, the scenery was still magnificent.

Mondsee church, where the wedding scenes were filmed.  It was surprising just how small the church really is.  It was also a stop to have afternoon tea or some ‘famous’ apple strudel.

Needless to say, we watched Sound of Music straight after the tour and managed to pick out all of the places we had been to.  The only downside to the tour, singing along to the songs.  I’m sorry, but I do not sing, and some of those that were, well, I say no more.

NANOWRIMO – April 2024 – “The One That Got Away” – Day 12

As one day ends, another begins

…

Here’s the thing…

What happens when the planets line up, and everything goes wrong.

Howard calls at Agatha’s residence for an early morning meeting only to find that she has finally succumbed to her illness.  He is completely shattered and it will take time to gather himself and work out what to do.

There are people to notify.  Firstly Adria.  Secondly, the authorities.  Thirdly, those on a list they had created for just such an eventuality, though her incapacity was not expected to be death.

Fourthly, her parents, but that was not the most expedient.  Just before he called her father he sent a message to Monte, telling him to find Michael, the man she had never divorced, as an absolute priority.

He was hoping her faith in Michael would come to fruition.  For the future of her charity, and for the future of their children.  And that was the last of his priorities, informing the children, a job he wished he could pass to someone else.

How will those at her charitable organisation react?

…

Words today, 1,578, for a total of 21,653

“Echoes From The Past”, the past doesn’t necessarily stay there


What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

…

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

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newechocover5rs

Searching for locations: Innsbruck, Austria

On this occasion, we drove from Florence to Innsbruck, a journey of about 500 kilometers and via the E45, a trip that would take us about five and a half hours.

We drove conservatively, stopped once for lunch and took about seven hours, arriving in Innsbruck late in the afternoon

The main reason for this stay was to go to Swarovski in Wattens for the second time, to see if anything had changed, and to buy some pieces.  We were still members of the club, and looking forward to a visit to the exclusive lounge and some Austrian champagne.

Sadly, there were no new surprises waiting, and we came away a little disappointed.

We were staying at the Innsbruck Hilton, where we stayed the last time, and it only a short walk to the old town.

From the highest level of the hotel, it is possible to get a look at the mountains that surround the city.  This view is in the direction we had driven earlier, from Florence.

The change in the weather was noticeable the moment we entered the mountain ranges.

This view looks towards the old town and overlooks a public square.

This view shows some signs of the cold, but in summer, I doubted we were going to see any snow.

We have been here in winter, and it is quite cold, and there is a lot of snow.  The ski resorts are not very far away, and the airport is on the way to Salzburg.

There is a host of restaurants in the old town, and we tried a few during our stay.  The food, beer, and service were excellent.

On a previous visit, we did get Swiss Army Knives, literally, from a small store called Victorinox.

And, yes, we did see the golden roof.

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…

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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

Mistaken Identity – The Final Editor’s Draft – Day 6

This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.

…

It’s around about now, coming to the end of the first week when we should be settling into the edit.

For the pantsers, the ideas run really well, and then the magnitude of the job kicks in, and the words dry up, and that terrible piece of paper staring at you, begging to be written on, becomes a nemesis. When editing, evidence of that shines through, because the continuity may suffer, and the writing might be disjointed. So far, it is not so evident.

But…

I’ve learned over the years that writing a 50,000-word novel needs a degree of planning, and once the day’s allocation has been written, get some ideas down for the next, or for the next few.

Any ideas, whether they fit or not, that flesh out the story in outline form. I do this at the end of the writing session most times, but, sometimes when I’m in the middle of a piece, an idea will pop into my head.

It’s a good distraction.

Unless, like me, you suddenly find yourself writing that piece because the story is pouring out like water from a tap.

Today is another good day, and I’m lost in the relationship between two of our characters, and they are sparring. He suspects she is not what she seems, and she is trying to allay his fears, each trying not to be too conspicuous about it.

I’m also getting to travel myself, even if it is in an armchair, and it’s great that I can go almost anywhere in the world, but I’m settling for some islands off Italy. One day I might actually be able to visit them in person.

…

More tomorrow.