Stranger’s We’ve Become, a sequel to What Sets Us Apart.
The blurb:
Is she or isn’t she, that is the question!
Susan has returned to David, but he is having difficulty dealing with the changes. Her time in captivity has changed her markedly, so much so that David decides to give her some time and space to re-adjust back into normal life.
But doubts about whether he chose the real Susan remain.
In the meantime, David has to deal with Susan’s new security chief, the discovery of her rebuilding a palace in Russia, evidence of an affair, and several attempts on his life. And, once again, David is drawn into another of Predergast’s games, one that could ultimately prove fatal.
From being reunited with the enigmatic Alisha, a strange visit to Susan’s country estate, to Russia and back, to a rescue mission in Nigeria, David soon discovers those whom he thought he could trust each has their own agenda, one that apparently doesn’t include him.
The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.
My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.
Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.
So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.
So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.
I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.
And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.
There was motivation. I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample. I was going to give them the re-worked short story. Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’
Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.
But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself. We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.
One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.
It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected. I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.
I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.
Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.
The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party. I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble. No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.
Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?
But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.
I had damning evidence, and he would ponder why I didn’t play that card back when he was trying to stop the publication of that first story, which was essentially a parody of his discovery.
It was true that Antoine had been totally discredited, not in small part by Aristotle Jamieson himself, and when he had died in the so-called accident, any controversy that had been lingering died with him.
It was almost too convenient, and I didn’t want to think that my investigation of the Jamiesons had anything to do with his death, but I guess it had, and it wasn’t hard to guess who did it. Jamieson may not have personally killed him, but he was not above paying someone else to do it for him.
What had precipitated that critical interview was Antoine himself, having read an article I’d written about the Jamieson find, and thought I would be interested in what he had to say. I knew before that interview his reputation was tarnished, but to me, it seemed he would be exactly the sort of person Jamieson would go to if he wanted to fabricate artifacts.
What Antoine had to say and show me was a revelation. He was doing the interview because Jamieson had short-paid him quite a considerable sum of money, and it was the old story, thieves fall out. He said that he would have one more attempt at getting his money before giving me the OK to publish, and it was the last time I saw or heard from him.
It wasn’t a surprise to read about his death in the papers some days later. The fact it was believed to be an accident got my interest and set my investigative journalist persona into overdrive. I didn’t relax until I found the evidence it was not an accident, but convincing the police became an uphill battle because they were more interested in closing the case.
It would keep. One day, his death would be avenged. Just not today.
Elizabeth asked me why I’d been so long, and I think she may have suspected I’d gone to see Jamieson.
She didn’t press the matter as she was in a hurry to leave for her dig site and was ready to depart the moment I walked in the door. I was also ready. The quicker we got away from the hotel, the less chance of Jamieson, or his odious son, coming to see me.
I hadn’t taken the time to consider the consequences of confronting Jamieson and should have realised just how unpredictable they could be, particularly Jackson. He would be very annoyed that I had any sway over their activities. It made me wonder whether Aristotle had told his son exactly what was going on, and if he hadn’t, I could understand why.
I looked over at Elizabeth from time to time and could see the confrontation earlier had shaken her. I found it difficult to understand why the Jamiesons would be interested in a minor investigation like Elizabeth’s. Pirates were never high on the glamourous archelogy list.
Perhaps it held that certain amount of exotic appeal and that in moving from the Egyptian discovery, now losing its shine due to the way they were marketing it, it would be good to have something new to divert the archaeological world’s attention.
Then there was the revelation from Jamieson that she had let the permits for her dig expire. The Elizabeth I knew was a stickler for details and would never let it happen. Perhaps the loss of funding had something to do with it, but she had not said anything about it. Why?
This whole episode was beginning to take on elements that would, in other circumstances, become the makings of one of my novels. In fact, I found my mind starting to write the outline, starting with the mysterious appearance of a renowned archaeologist suddenly coming back to an old flame, looking to renew their relationship, with the plan to convince him to fund one of her projects, one that if it played out the way she hoped, it would be the next big archaeological event.
Step in the evil Dr Blob, a notorious villain who made a handsome living out of stealing sites and plundering their treasures for personal gain and glory. Who will win the battle?
Was it fiction or was it fact.
It seemed to me the catalyst for the real saga was the loss of funding from the university. Jamieson might have had some influence on the decision, after all, he provided a grant to the university archaeology department and enabled graduates to gain some practical experience at his dig site. That would enable him to swoop in.
It would not be the first time I’d based the evil archaeologist on him, and Jackson made a perfect belligerent henchman.
And what if they had, and expected the Dean to pass on the news in the hope it would drag her away long enough for them to step in and take over, perhaps hoping she might not return until after they had found what she had been looking for. After all, ad hoc funding for speculative projects like hers was not easy to arrange.
There were just too many questions that I should have asked before embarking on this odyssey, and perhaps I should not have allowed my feelings for her to get in the way of making the proper decision.
We’d been driving for nearly two hours when she suddenly said, “You went to see Jamieson, didn’t you?”
I glanced sideways at her, and I could see she had been thinking about it. It was a logical conclusion.
“What makes you think that?” I’d try to deflect it if possible. I was not quite sure how she would react, which was why I didn’t say anything.
“Your haste to leave. You’ve never been that enthusiastic about anything in your life.”
“I could see the distress this whole affair was causing you. You needed to see if he really has stepped in. Yes, I did drop in and we had words. I basically told him to leave your site alone.”
“And what did he say to that?”
“He would think about it. The problem was, he told me you had let the permits expire. Did you?”
Another glance told me it was true.
“I was going to renew them but the fact my funding had been cut made that a little difficult. I was hoping I could find replacement funds and sort that out. He renewed the permits, didn’t he?”
“You made it easy for him to swoop in.”
“How could he possibly know any of this?”
“Jackson. You know he was obsessed with you. He would have been watching your progress with a keen interest, especially if it meant he could use any trip on your part against you. And the fact your ex-assistant called him, or perhaps the other way around…”
I’d been looking for a way and forgot about Jackson. He was not the sort to forgive and forget. Especially when she preferred another struggling archaeologist instead of one who was rich and famous, well, handing onto the coattails of one who was rich and famous.
“Well, if nothing else, you’ve got the makings of a very good story here.”
“We have the makings of a very good story here. I’m not averse to collaborating with a real archaeologist.”
I reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. I could see a tear or two escape and felt the enormity of the loss. Seven years of hard work was about to disappear, and someone else would take the kudos. It wasn’t fair, but it wouldn’t be for the first time.
Ten miles out from our destination, according to the latitude and longitude coordinates she had given me, we passed a convoy of trucks going in the opposite direction. Earth moving equipment, generators, portable huts. It might have been from Jamieson’s dig, it might not. I wasn’t getting my hopes up.
She had noticed it but said nothing.
Then, we were upon the very edge of the area she had set as the exploration site. There was a portable wire fence set up with a gate, and in front a car with a man sitting in it.
“What do you think he’s waiting for?” she asked.
“Us. Wait here, and I’ll see what’s going on. This is part of the area you based your permit on isn’t it?”
“We’re on about the middle. It’s where I would set up camp. We had two years ago while we branched out in both directions. Our camp was about to be moved to the new site.”
“OK.”
I got out of the car and went over to the SUV. He watched me come over and when I got there, he would down the window.
“You Alan?”
“I am.”
“I was asked by Mr Jamieson to tell you the site is yours. For what it’s worth, we did an extensive radar search and found nothing. We covered the whole site. The pirate didn’t exist, and the treasure doesn’t exist. I’d leave while I had the chance.” He handed me an envelope. “The permits, his gift to you. He still expects you to keep your end of the arrangement.”
“I will. He has my word.”
“Good. My work is done. Good luck, you’re going to need it.”
With that, he wound the window back up and drove off.
It didn’t surprise me Jamieson would do a radar survey. If there was any treasure it would not be buried too deeply and would be found quite easily. Of course, radar searches were very expensive and would never get funding from the university, and Elizabeth could never afford it.
I watched the car until it disappeared, shrugged, and went back to my car.
“What was that about?”
“Jamieson has given you the dig site back.” I held up the envelope. “The permits, pain in full.”
“Ehat else did he say?”
“That Jamieson ordered a radar survey on the whole area, and they found nothing. They were here long enough to do that. They found nothing, which is why they have gone.”
“Or they did and have already taken it with them. Take me to the coordinates and we’ll soon see.”
Indeed, we would.
It was about a half mile, after turning off the main track to a lesser one defined by two distinct tracks where cars had been before. It was overgrown and the trees brushed the side of the car continuously.
At the end of the track, or what seemed to be the end, we stopped at a wall, just ragged enough to look like it was natural, but on closer inspection under the headlights of the car, showed it had been man-made.
I turned off the engine and we got out.
“This the site?”
“No. This way.” She had a flashlight and switched it on.
The beam was quite powerful and cut through the night like a beacon. In the distance I could hear the ocean, waves crashing on shore. Had the pirates tramped up here, set up camp, and buried their treasure?
With my own flashlight, I checked the ground. There had been a second set of tyre marks on the ground, and there were footsteps, recent, everywhere. They had definitely been here.
I followed her as she made her way along the wall, then down a track that looked hazardous. Luckily it was dark, or I might have suspected it was on the side of a cliff. There was nothing but inky darkness surrounding us.
All the time we were getting closer to the sound of the waves.
Then we stopped. It was a small clearing, and to one side the rocky outcrop of the cliff face behind one very dense underbrush, the other, a view of the ocean at night. It was not that far down, the beam of her light showing the water below.
“How did you find this place?”
“I actually got lost going around in circles. This is where I believe they made camp. Below the lagoon is reasonably deep and it’s where I think they repaired their ship after a battle with one of the King’s navy ships. I’ve found a variety of objects here.”
“But no treasure.”
“Not in the clearing, no. But here’s the surprise.” She went over to the underbrush and did a quick search until she found a spot where the undergrowth was not as thick, then beckoned me over.”
She held a branch back and shined her torch. Just discernible in the light was an opening, and not much further back from that, a doorway.”
The veritable entrance to Aladdin’s cave.
“How could they have missed it?”
“Easy. If you’re not looking for it. It wasn’t until I heard noises coming from within the trees. Imagine my surprise when I found it.”
“Have you investigated it yet?”
“No. For a long time sitting there, it’s still very strong. The hinges are rusted, but intact, and the door is made of oak, and not rotted as you would expect. It was another reason why I needed to go home. I needed more sophisticated tools. I was hoping no one would find it while I was gone, but this is a very remote part of the coastline. The cove has changed a lot in 400 years, and I doubt anyone could see it from the ocean now. Ideal to hide in. So, let’s set up camp, and tomorrow, see what we’ve got.”
It was a find in a million, I thought.
I also wondered if Jamieson would have given up so easily had he not done the radar survey. It was a moot point. He was gone, we were here, and time would tell.
She came over to me and took my hand in hers.
“Thank you for being my guardian angel. If it is what I think it is, then the find will be as much yours as it is mine.”
“My pleasure.”
With that, and for the first time in my life, I felt that thrill of being on a real dig, hoping that we would make a discovery. Even if we didn’t, nothing was going to take that feeling away, that sense that finally, all that study was going to pay off.”
I have reworked the first part of the story with a few new elements about the characters and changed a few of the details of how the characters finish up in the shop before the policewoman makes her entrance.
This is part of the new first section is the one that involves Annalisa, and her boyfriend, Simmo:
Annalisa looked at the two men facing her.
Simmo, the boy on the floor, had told her that the shopkeeper would be a pushover, he was an old man who’d just hand over the drugs, rather than cause trouble for himself.
Where Simmo had discovered what the shopkeeper’s true vocation, dispensing drugs to the neighborhood addicts, she didn’t know, but it was not the first place like this they had visited.
She had always known Simmo had a problem, but he had assured her he had it under control. Until a month ago, when he had tried something new.
It had changed him.
The breaking point came earlier that day when, seeing how sick he was, she threatened to leave. It brought out the monster within him, and he threatened to kill her. Not long after he had changed into a whimpering child pleading with her to stay, that he hadn’t meant anything he’d said before.
All he needed was one more ‘score’ to get his ‘shit’ together, and he would do as she asked, and find help.
She believed him.
He said he knew a place not far from the apartment, a small shop where what he needed was available, and said he had the money.
That should have been the first sign he was not telling the truth because she had been funding his habit until her parents cut off the money supply. She suspected her father had put a private detective on to find her, had, and reported back, and rather than make a scene, just cut her off so she would have to come home or starve. Her father was no better than Simmo.
And, as soon as they stepped into the shop, Simmo pulled out the gun,
Instead of the shopkeeper cowered like Simmo said he would, he had laughed at them and told them to get out. Simmo started ranting and waving the gun around, then all of a sudden collapsed.
There was a race for the gun which spilled out of Simmo’s hand, and she won.
That was just before the customer burst into the shop.
It had been shortly before closing time. Simmo had said there would be no one else around.
Wrong again.
Now she had another problem to deal with, a man who was clearly as scared shitless as she was.
This was worse than any bad hair day, or getting out of the wrong side of bed day, this was, she was convinced, the last day of her life.
She heard a strange sound come from beside her and looked down. There was a trickle of blood coming out of his mouth and Simmo was making strange sounds like he was choking.
Any other time she might have been concerned, but the hard reality of it was, Simmo was never going to change. She was only surprised at the fact it took so long for her to realize it.
As for the man standing in front of her, she was safe from the shopkeeper with him around, so he would have to stay.
“No. Stay.”
Another glance at the shopkeeper told her she had made the right decision, his expression said it all. Gun or no gun, the moment she was alone with him, he would kill her.
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…
“You’re not a target. Yet.”
“Severin?”
“A loose end who was a rather bad blunt instrument, like his friend Maury. They learned of a plan to steal some military secrets, tried to stop it and in the end almost destroyed 12 months of painstaking undercover work. O’Connell had it within his grasp, and therefore in safe hands when those two wrecked a perfectly good retrieval. Four potential agents dead and then there’s you, persistent I will admit, and one other, Jennifer, I believe her name is.”
“But you don’t have O’Connell, do you?”
“My, you have been working hard. My first mistake was to trust O’Connell. My second was to underestimate you, Jackson. I don’t intend to make a third. You don’t trust me, do you?”
Was it possible I’d get some version of the truth?
“Apparently he didn’t for some reason.”
“You found him. Jan said you were being all secretive. There was something you found in that flat in Peaslake.”
“No. He told me that in the alley.”
I sensed he knew way more than I did, but I had a missing piece, and he was going to play nice to get it. The thing is, I didn’t know what that was. Not the whole truth from me.
“Yes. Of course, he did.”
“Perhaps it was self-preservation, not that it did much since someone did shoot him.”
“Not with the intention of killing him. It was all arranged.”
“You knew he would be at that alley?”
“One of three escape routes. Neither of us anticipated you would be good enough to follow him. Severin got lucky with you, probably why he made you the lead.”
Severin hadn’t said as much when he told the group before the exercise began, that I would take point. I thought it was simply because in the prior five tests, I’d only failed one. Everyone else had varying results.
“Have you seen the CCTV footage of the explosion?”
“Several times. It must have been harrowing for you to relive that and see how close you came.”
“It did. But it did afford a view that I missed while preoccupied. McConnell and the wife of the scientist I believe stole the formulas.”
“Yes, Anna. What do you make of her?”
“From a single glimpse?”
“A good agent doesn’t need much to form an opinion. As you know, that opinion could be the difference between life and death.”
He was starting to sound like Severin. He said we had to be able to judge a book by its cover and make the right decision based on it. What did I think of Anna?
“Capable, determined. She survived an explosion that might well have been directed at her. Not your average scientist’s wife. “
“Did you check her out?”
“Not yet. I had this thing with Severin.”
“What did he want?”
“I don’t know. Jan killed him before he could tell me.”
“A guess?”
“He wanted to come in from the cold before he ended up like Maury. He knew his days were numbered. It also means that he knew something that someone didn’t want to be repeated. You, perhaps? I mean, you can help make the connection. Your idea for Jan to get his confidence?”
“Hers. She’s a good agent, so don’t worry about her. Find O’Connell. When you do, you will find Anna, and perhaps, a copy of that USB.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then the department has lost five million pounds.”
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 been a long, hard day, and working on both the A to Z blog challenge, and writing this book is taking its toll.
I’m surprised one lot of writing hasn’t impinged on the other.
Meanwhile, back on novel land where Jack is still reeling from the threats being issued by his real father, and torn between the idea of hunting him down, and getting to know more about him, he feels he should be more interested in knowing how and why his mother got involved with a man who eventually went to prison.
To try and further enlist Jack’s help in procuring the diary back, for the forces of good, she is taking him to see her handler, who maybe can shed some light on what is in the diary and how it can help them.
The trouble is, he still doesn’t trust her, and is worried that it might be a ploy to take him into ‘protective’ custody as leverage to get Marjorie to hand the diary over. That’s why he insists it’s in Trafalgar Square, a large open space where rules will have to be observed.
Tomorrow will bring about the rescue of Jack’s mother, some investigation gives rise to a lead that could be the possible place where she is being held.
But is she being held by McCallister, her twin sister, Jacob, or a cabal of all three?
This morning started with a visit to the car rental place in Vancouver. It reinforced the notion that you can be given the address and still not find the place. It happened in Washington where it was hiding in the back of the main railway station, and it happened again in Vancouver when it was hidden inside a hotel.
We simply walked straight past it. Pity there wasn’t a sign to let people know.
However…
We went in expecting a Grand Jeep Cherokee and walked out with a Ford Flex, suitable for three people and four large suitcases. It actually seats 7, but forget the baggage, you’d be lucky to get two large suitcases in that configuration.
It is more than adequate for our requirements.
Things to note, it was delivered with just over a quarter of a tank of gas, and it had only done about 11,000 km, so it’s relatively new. It’s reasonably spacious, and when the extra seats are folded down, there is plenty of baggage space.
So far, so good.
We finally leave the hotel at about half-past ten, and it is raining. It is a simple task to get on Highway 1, the TransCanada Highway, initially, and then onto Highway 5, the Coquihalla Highway for the trip to Kamloops.
It rains all the way to the top of the mountain, progress hampered from time to time by water sprays from both vehicles and trucks. The rain is relentless. At the top of the mountain, the rain turns into snow and the road surface to slush. It’s 0 degrees, but being the afternoon, I was not expecting it to turn to ice very quickly.
On the other side of the mountain, closer to Kamloops, there was sleet, then rain, then nothing, the last 100kms or so, in reasonably dry conditions.
Outside Kamloops, and in the town itself, there was evidence of snow recently cleared, and slushy roads. Cars in various places were covered in snow, indicating the most recent falls had been the night before.
We’re staying at the Park Hotel, a heritage building, apparently built in the later 1920s. In the style of the time, it is a little like a rabbit warren with passages turning off in a number of directions, and showing it is spread across a number of different buildings.
It has the original Otis elevator that can take a maximum of four passengers, and a sign on the wall that says “no horseplay inside the elevator” which is a rather interesting expression that only someone of my vintage would understand. And, for those without a sense of humor, you definitely couldn’t fit a horse in it to play with.
The thing is, how do you find a balance between keeping the old world charm with modern-day expectations. You can’t. Some hotels try valiantly to get that balance. Here, it is simply old world charm, which I guess we should be grateful for because sooner rather than later it’s going to disappear forever.
In my writer’s mind, given the importance of the railways, this was probably a thriving place for travelers, and once upon a time, there were a lot more hotels like this one.
It’s not Adria or her daughter. No one could be more distressed at the turn of events than both of them.
It’s not Genevieve, though there is a long-standing jealousy that could have been construed as a motive, but there was no means or opportunity.
It’s not either of the personal assistants.
It’s not any of the board of trustees.
It might be one of the workers, but their sentiments were not enough to deem them viable murderers.
This was a long and calculated attack, aimed at disabling not killing the victim. This was someone close to her and had been given cause to embark on such an operation. Or perhaps for some other reason, quite unrelated, on someone else’s behalf.
The police are still chasing the most convenient suspects.
Michael on the other hand was not looking at those close to her.
Howard Joffs, her father, and her personal staff in her London residence, because the only other place the poison could be administered was at home.
To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.
But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.
That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.
It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and although I finished it last year, it looks like the beginning to end will have taken exactly 30 years. Had you asked me 30 years ago if I’d ever get it finished, the answer would be maybe?
My private detective, Harry Walthenson
I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.
But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modelled Harry and his office on it. Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.
Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life. I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breathe life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.
Then there’s the title, like
The Case of the Unintentional Mummy – this has so many meanings in so many contexts, though I imagine that back in Hollywood in the ’30s and ’40s, this would be excellent fodder for Abbott and Costello
The Case of the Three-Legged Dog – Yes, I suspect there may be a few real-life dogs with three legs, but this plot would involve something more sinister. And if made out of plaster, yes, they’re always something else inside.
But for mine, to begin with, it was “The Case of the …”, because I had no idea what the case was going to be about, well, I did, but not specifically.
Then I liked the idea of calling it “The Case of the Brother’s Revenge” because I began to have a notion there was a brother no one knew about, but that’s stuff for other stories, not mine, so then went the way of the others.
Now it’s called ‘A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers’, finished the first three drafts, and at the editor for the last.
I have high hopes of publishing it in early 2021. It even has a cover.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 