Month: August 2025

In a word: Loose

We’ve all heard of the expression, he’s playing it fast and loose, or more interestingly, he’s fast and loose with the truth.

I’ve never really got a proper definition of that expression, but it sounds good, and people have to use their imaginations and put their own interpretation to it.

And if this was the 1930s, and Clarke Gable was playing opposite Jean Harlow, it’s exactly how the posters would describe the blonde bombshell.

Loose, however, in a more literal sense means not tight, so a loose nut on a bolt might be the cause of a catastrophe.

And speaking of catastrophes, there’s a fox loose in the hen house.  Sadly it would be very difficult to catch and tie up.

Of course, in hot weather, you’d rather be wearing something loose, to keep cool.

Women, in particular, can wear their hair loose, as distinct from ‘up’, or in a ponytail or braids.

Some people make a loose interpretation, which inevitably creates grey areas, and loose lips, well, they’ve been known to sink ships.

This word can sometimes be confused with lose, which means something else entirely.

Like, lose a watch, lose your head, in more ways than one, lose your life, as if it was one of nine when it isn’t, and lose everything, perhaps, in the 1930’s stock market crash.

Quite literally, it means to be deprived of, or cease to gain or have.

You can lose weight, have a clock that loses time, or you can lose your temper.

Sometimes I lose the plot.

An excerpt from “Strangers We’ve Become” – Coming Soon

I wandered back to my villa.

It was in darkness.  I was sure I had left several lights on, especially over the door so I could see to unlock it.

I looked up and saw the globe was broken.

Instant alert.

I went to the first hiding spot for the gun, and it wasn’t there.  I went to the backup and it wasn’t there either.  Someone had found my carefully hidden stash of weapons and removed them.

Who?

There were four hiding spots and all were empty.  Someone had removed the weapons.  That could only mean one possibility.

I had a visitor, not necessarily here for a social call.

But, of course, being the well-trained agent I’d once been and not one to be caught unawares, I crossed over to my neighbor and relieved him of a weapon that, if found, would require a lot of explaining.

Suitably armed, it was time to return the surprise.

There were three entrances to the villa, the front door, the back door, and a rather strange escape hatch.  One of the more interesting attractions of the villa I’d rented was its heritage.  It was built in the late 1700s, by a man who was, by all accounts, a thief.  It had a hidden underground room which had been in the past a vault but was now a wine cellar, and it had an escape hatch by which the man could come and go undetected, particularly if there was a mob outside the door baying for his blood.

It now gave me the means to enter the villa without my visitors being alerted, unless, of course, they were near the vicinity of the doorway inside the villa, but that possibility was unlikely.  It was not where anyone could anticipate or expect a doorway to be.

The secret entrance was at the rear of the villa behind a large copse, two camouflaged wooden doors built into the ground.  I move aside some of the branches that covered them and lifted one side.  After I’d discovered the doors and rusty hinges, I’d oiled and cleaned them, and cleared the passageway of cobwebs and fallen rocks.  It had a mildew smell, but nothing would get rid of that.  I’d left torches at either end so I could see.

I closed the door after me, and went quietly down the steps, enveloped in darkness till I switched on the torch.  I traversed the short passage which turned ninety degrees about halfway to the door at the other end.  I carried the key to this door on the keyring, found it and opened the door.  It too had been oiled and swung open soundlessly.

I stepped in the darkness and closed the door.

I was on the lower level under the kitchen, now the wine cellar, the ‘door’ doubling as a set of shelves which had very little on them, less to fall and alert anyone in the villa.

Silence, an eerie silence.

I took the steps up to the kitchen, stopping when my head was level with the floor, checking to see if anyone was waiting.  There wasn’t.  It seemed to me to be an unlikely spot for an ambush.

I’d already considered the possibility of someone coming after me, especially because it had been Bespalov I’d killed, and I was sure he had friends, all equally as mad as he was.  Equally, I’d also considered it nigh on impossible for anyone to find out it was me who killed him because the only people who knew that were Prendergast, Alisha, a few others in the Department, and Susan.

That raised the question of who told them where I was.

If I was the man I used to be, my first suspect would be Susan.  The departure this morning, and now this was too coincidental.  But I was not that man.

Or was I?

I reached the start of the passageway that led from the kitchen to the front door and peered into the semi-darkness.  My eyes had got used to the dark, and it was no longer an inky void.  Fragments of light leaked in around the door from outside and through the edge of the window curtains where they didn’t fit properly.  A bone of contention upstairs in the morning, when first light shone and invariably woke me up hours before I wanted to.

Still nothing.

I took a moment to consider how I would approach the visitor’s job.  I would get a plan of the villa in my head, all entrances, where a target could be led to or attacked where there would be no escape.

Coming in the front door.  If I was not expecting anything, I’d just open the door and walk-in.  One shot would be all that was required.

Contract complete.

I sidled quietly up the passage staying close to the wall, edging closer to the front door.  There was an alcove where the shooter could be waiting.  It was an ideal spot to wait.

Crunch.

I stepped on some nutshells.

Not my nutshells.

I felt it before I heard it.  The bullet with my name on it.

And how the shooter missed, from point-blank range, and hit me in the arm, I had no idea.  I fired off two shots before a second shot from the shooter went wide and hit the door with a loud thwack.

I saw a red dot wavering as it honed in on me and I fell to the floor, stretching out, looking up where the origin of the light was coming and pulled the trigger three times, evenly spaced, and a second later I heard the sound of a body falling down the stairs and stopping at the bottom, not very far from me.

Two assassins.

I’d not expected that.

The assassin by the door was dead, a lucky shot on my part.  The second was still breathing.

I checked the body for any weapons and found a second gun and two knives.  Armed to the teeth!

I pulled off the balaclava; a man, early thirties, definitely Italian.  I was expecting a Russian.

I slapped his face, waking him up.  Blood was leaking from several slashes on his face when his head had hit the stairs on the way down.  The awkward angle of his arms and legs told me there were broken bones, probably a lot worse internally.  He was not long for this earth.

“Who employed you?”

He looked at me with dead eyes, a pursed mouth, perhaps a smile.  “Not today my friend.  You have made a very bad enemy.”  He coughed and blood poured out of his mouth.  “There will be more …”

Friends of Bespalov, no doubt.

I would have to leave.  Two unexplainable bodies, I’d have a hard time explaining my way out of this mess.  I dragged the two bodies into the lounge, clearing the passageway just in case someone had heard anything.

Just in case anyone was outside at the time, I sat in the dark, at the foot of the stairs, and tried to breathe normally.  I was trying not to connect dots that led back to Susan, but the coincidence was worrying me.

A half-hour passed and I hadn’t moved.  Deep in thought, I’d forgotten about being shot, unaware that blood was running down my arm and dripping onto the floor.

Until I heard a knock on my front door.

Two thoughts, it was either the police, alerted by the neighbors, or it was the second wave, though why would they be knocking on the door?

I stood, and immediately felt a stabbing pain in my arm.  I took out a handkerchief and turned it into a makeshift tourniquet, then wrapped a kitchen towel around the wound.

If it was the police, this was going to be a difficult situation.  Holding the gun behind my back, I opened the door a fraction and looked out.

No police, just Maria.  I hoped she was not part of the next ‘wave’.

“You left your phone behind on the table.  I thought you might be looking for it.”  She held it out in front of her.

When I didn’t open the door any further, she looked at me quizzically, and then asked, “Is anything wrong?”

I was going to thank her for returning the phone, but I heard her breathe in sharply, and add, breathlessly, “You’re bleeding.”

I looked at my arm and realized it was visible through the door, and not only that, the towel was soaked in blood.

“You need to go away now.”

Should I tell her the truth?  It was probably too late, and if she was any sort of law-abiding citizen she would go straight to the police.

She showed no signs of leaving, just an unnerving curiosity.  “What happened?”

I ran through several explanations, but none seemed plausible.  I went with the truth.  “My past caught up with me.”

“You need someone to fix that before you pass out from blood loss.  It doesn’t look good.”

“I can fix it.  You need to leave.  It is not safe to be here with me.”

The pain in my arm was not getting any better, and the blood was starting to run down my arm again as the tourniquet loosened.  She was right, I needed it fixed sooner rather than later.

I opened the door and let her in.  It was a mistake, a huge mistake, and I would have to deal with the consequences.  Once inside, she turned on the light and saw the pool of blood just inside the door and the trail leading to the lounge.  She followed the trail and turned into the lounge, turned on the light, and no doubt saw the two dead men.

I expected her to scream.  She didn’t.

She gave me a good hard look, perhaps trying to see if I was dangerous.  Killing people wasn’t something you looked the other way about.  She would have to go to the police.

“What happened here?”

“I came home from the cafe and two men were waiting for me.  I used to work for the Government, but no longer.  I suspect these men were here to repay a debt.  I was lucky.”

“Not so much, looking at your arm.”

She came closer and inspected it.

“Sit down.”

She found another towel and wrapped it around the wound, retightening the tourniquet to stem the bleeding.

“Do you have medical supplies?”

I nodded.  “Upstairs.”  I had a medical kit, and on the road, I usually made my own running repairs.  Another old habit I hadn’t quite shaken off yet.

She went upstairs, rummaged, and then came back.  I wondered briefly what she would think of the unmade bed though I was not sure why it might interest her.

She helped me remove my shirt, and then cleaned the wound.  Fortunately, she didn’t have to remove a bullet.  It was a clean wound but it would require stitches.

When she’d finished she said, “Your friend said one day this might happen.”

No prizes for guessing who that friend was, and it didn’t please me that she had involved Maria.

“Alisha?”

“She didn’t tell me her name, but I think she cares a lot about you.  She said trouble has a way of finding you, gave me a phone and said to call her if something like this happened.”

“That was wrong of her to do that.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.  Will you call her?”

“Yes.  I can’t stay here now.  You should go now.  Hopefully, by the time I leave in the morning, no one will ever know what happened here, especially you.”

She smiled.  “As you say, I was never here.”

…

© Charles Heath 2018-2022

strangerscover9

A long short story that can’t be tamed – I never wanted to be an eyewitness – 3

Three

There was no going back down the stairs, or using the elevator, because there was nothing down below but people who wanted to kill me, and there were no other means of leaving the building other than by the helicopter that just landed.

And there was a distinct possibility that those down below were slowly moving upwards, to join those who had just arrived, a move designed to make sure I would never leave the building.  Except they had no way of knowing their team upstairs had been eliminated.

That left us with one and only one way of getting away from the building.

“We’re going.  Now,” I said, heading towards the open door where the pilot had just got out.

She seemed surprised.  “How?  In that?”  She was pointing at the helicopter.

“Come on.”  I climbed into the pilot’s seat, ran a quick check, then started the take-off procedure.

She came over just as the main rotor started spinning.  She climbed in and was about to close the door.

“Toss your phone,” I said.

“What?”

It was getting noisy.

I picked up one of the two guns I had and pointed it at her.  “Toss your phone.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Stopping them from tracking us.  Toss it.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“We’ll see.”

She tossed the phone out the door the closed it.  I put my gun down, and now ready for take-off, I took a deep breath and lifted the craft off the pad.

Amy looked furious.  But she had a gun and she could have used it to stop me leaving and she didn’t.   Not yet anyway. She put on a headset and glared at me.  I could feel her glare boring into me.

“Where are we going?”

Fortunately the pilot conveniently left the flight plan in the side door panel, and listed the takeoff and landing as the Downtown Manhattan Heliport, a training flight for a new pilot, but it had been anything but that, a quick hit and run landing and take off from a prohibited rooftop helipad, though how they obtained permission was a question no doubt answered when I called up control.

But it was going to be where I imagine I was to be taken if captured, the least likely scenario after my hotel had been stormed with the only outcome possible, and where my assailants would be picked up after a successful kill.

It made going there not an option, but I would have to appear like I was heading there until I came up with an alternate plan. At the very least I could head for the river.

Before I answered Amy, I had the aircraft controllers to deal with because I hadn’t notified them, I was departing the building, and was, momentarily an unidentified flying object.

I managed to convince them I was the pilot, but there were a few tense moments where I had to explain what had happened in what the previous pilot had been an emergency, and that he had to set down or crash.  I told them it had something to do with the tail rotor and if they were tracking me, they’d pick up the erratic flight we were taking.

After another few tense moments, they told me to return to the take-off point and then asked me for the reassurance I’d make it back, and that we were heading for Downtown Manhattan which was part of the flight plan, but stumbled over the reason for leaving early.  From the tenor of the controller’s voice, I got the impression we would be landing in trouble, so I needed another landing site.

“Somewhere other than where they’re expecting us.  If we’re lucky and I don’t crash into the river.”

“Do you really know how to fly this thing?”

Admittedly the way I was struggling to keep the craft under control, the controls required deft handling and that was difficult considering the shakes I’d acquired back at the hotel.

“For both our sakes, let’s hope I can.  We can’t go back to Downtown Manhattan where they will be waiting for us.  Any ideas about an alternative?”

“If you hadn’t thrown my phone away, I might be able to help you.”  She was still angry with me.

I had noticed when I got in that the pilot had left his phone on the console and had seven missed calls.  No doubt those waiting were getting anxious as to how their mission was running.

I handed it to her.  “Use this, its owner won’t be needing it.”

By her expression, and after an attempt to unlock it, it wasn’t looking good.  But, if she was as clever and resourceful as I thought she was, then that phone wouldn’t present a problem.

Then it started ringing or vibrating instead.  Somehow from disconnecting the call, she was able to break in and get the dialing screen.  From there she was able to get the internet, and a minute later said, “There’s a landing on the river, off West 30th street.  You’re heading in the right direction.”

Directions given, she made another call, to her superior.

There were no introductions.  “Yes, we got out, using the helicopter that brought in a kill squad.”

The next question would be where we were, and this would determine how much I could trust her, or that her mission priority was keeping me alive.

“Not sure, sir.  We’re kind of flying by the seat of our pants, but at least it’s over the water, and the control tower is not happy.”

Silence while she listened, then, “Not a good idea.  They’ll be watching you, and it’s best we remain footloose for as long as we can.  I’ll let you know when we land.  What happened in court?”

I saw a faint smile.  “Bet he wasn’t happy about that.  See you soon.”

I didn’t ask.  I just saw the helipad, and now had to make out that we still had problems, which might be a little difficult because I’d been ignoring the controller’s request for me to head towards Downtown Manhattan.  I had told him once that I was having difficulty maintaining level flight, but I was staying over the river, just in case.  But, a helicopter in trouble would get emergency services mobilized, so wherever we landed, we were going to have a reception party and unwanted guests.

Latanzio’s people would be looking and listening intently for our whereabouts, and that of an errant helicopter that would not be going back to where it should.  They’d know how many landing sites there were, how close, and how much pressure we would be under to land.  For all we knew, there might be a sniper waiting at each of the heliports.  Fanciful thinking maybe, but this was a very well-organized hit, and there would be contingency plans in place.

I could see the teleport landing and headed towards it, trying to make it look like it was going to be a difficult landing.

I didn’t have to try very hard.  There was a gusty wind making the craft pitch and had under light hands on the controls.

I could see an ambulance and fire truck just back from the landing site, lights flashing.  The controller had predicted there might be a problem, which meant if we touched down there were going to be awkward questions.

“That was quick,” Amy said.  She too had noticed The reception committee.

Oddly, I didn’t see a police car, or that is to say, a car with blue flashing lights.  Would the FBI be there?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of light, and instinctively pulled the stick sideways and went into a deep sideways descent, just as a loud pinging noise came above the whine of the turbine.

A bullet, which if I hadn’t gone into evasive mode would have hit the engine, or worse, one of us.

“What the hell was that?” She yelled, looking around, thinking it was a problem with the helicopter.

“Someone is shooting at us.  Hang on.”

I pulled the stick in the opposite direction, at the same time getting away from the shooter as fast as possible.  The turn had a ghastly effect on my stomach, and I thought, for a moment, I was going to be violently ill.  Amy had also turned a shade of white too.

We were finally out of range, skimming about 100 feet above the water’s surface, slowing down after the panic, and looking for a spot, any spot, to put down and get away.

There, in the distance a car park blocked off and being repaired, but enough space to land.  I could hear the controller screaming in my ear demanding an explanation for my rapid and dangerous departure, but I didn’t have time to explain, nor would he believe me, not if he hadn’t heard the shots fired in our direction.

There were several workmen standing to one side, watching the arrival of a concrete truck as I came in low over their heads and set the craft down about fifty feet from them.

I shut the engine down and waited a minute before opening the door and jumping out, keeping low under the still-spinning rotor blades, and Amy joined me.

One of the crew started coming towards us, two others were taking photos of the helicopter with their cell phones and another was making a call, either to friends or the police.

“We have to go,” I said.  “No time to talk to the locals.  What you need to do is find someone who can hide us until we think of a next move.”

We ran towards the road and then dodged traffic to get to the other side.  We didn’t have time to wait for lights, or the traffic to stop.  Twice I was nearly hit by a moving car, instead, the squeal of rubber on tar.

On the other side, and temporarily safe, Amy was on her phone.

“Calling for backup or a ride?”

“Actually no.  I have a friend or a friend, you know the sort.  I think he can help us, but you might not like it.”

What was not to like if he could save us from the Latanzio’s.

“Call.  Anything is going to be better than acting as a live target.”

The call connected.  “Joe, are you busy at the moment?  No?  Good.  I need you to bring Hollywood to New York.  Today.”

…

© Charles Heath 2024

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 43

As some may be aware, but many are not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mouse catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some years 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…

20161004_162739

This is Chester, he’s just reminded me that it is International Cat Day.

I ask, are you really an international cat, because you live here, and haven’t travelled anywhere.

A studious glance at me, then at a map of the word, he then tells me I haven’t taken him anywhere, but he’s been with me in spirit.

Yes, and while I’m away, well, you know how it goes…

Again apparently that was my fault, I didn’t leave strict instructions on what he could or could not do.

I thought we’d set those boundaries a long time ago.

I’m old, is the quick retort,  Memory is failing.  I’m lucky if I can remember what I was doing yesterday.  You’ll have to remind me.

Every morning.

And even then I might still have trouble remembering.

Anyway, don’t you humans have a saying, respect your elders?

OK.  Now we’re back on the age thing.  And, by the way, I don’t think my granddaughter gave you permission to sleep on her pillow.

Seems it’s my turn to eave in a huff!

International cat day?????

 

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 9

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a 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 prioritising.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

An interrogation and a revelation.

…

I think I just about reached that same conclusion just seconds before she uttered it.  But, I didn’t think this was the time to air my own thoughts on the matter.

The question I did ask was, “It appears our service has been compromised.”

She glanced at me almost condescendingly.  “It appears so.  Have you got your cell phone?”

I had it with me and gave it to her.  I had it ready because I knew they would ask for it.  It had a record of orders given, and phone conversations made, before, during, and after the operation.

For a review, or in this case, a search for the guilty.

I watched her put in the passcode, and go to the messages, and bring up the one sent to me, to attend the briefing.  It was all in order, no different to the previous five, with all the right designations and protocols.

“There was no reason to suspect it was anything but a real callout.”

Another glance at the screen, she put it on the desk next to the file.  “No, it looks real enough.”

Thought best kept to myself; how the hell did someone outside our organisation, know so well our inner workings?  I wanted to ask the question but refrained from doing so.

It also explained, now that I thought about it, the reason why the target had said he was one of us.  We had been hunting him so someone else, and enemy organisation perhaps, so they could kill him.  The question was, why?  Had he made a discovery, the evidence he was referring to that a certain Alfred Nobbin might have.

Perhaps a good idea, for the time being, to keep that snippet of information to myself.  After all, this new person in front of me could be one of Severin’s people.

Where I was sitting was not a familiar place to me, though I had been to the building before, which is why I knew where to go for this interview.  AS for the people, everyone I’d met so far, other than the other team members, bar one, I’d known from training.

So, now another expected question from me, or at least, if I was on the other side of the table, it’s one I’d expect to be asked.  “Just who was I working for, if it was not for us?”

Assuming she was one of us.

“That’s what we intend to find out.  Who was the target?”

I gave her the description we’d been given, and a copy of his photograph that had been circulated at the briefing.  I’d kept one of them, and luckily no one noticed it missing.  It was fortuitous that’s I’d copied the photo before I had to give it to her, which was right then.

There was not a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

“So, not one of us?” I asked.

For an interrogation, she wasn’t asking many relevant questions.

She looked up.  “Why would you say that, if your mission was to keep him under surveillance?”

“Which we now know was not sanctioned, so we have to assume that we had been persuaded to find and track one of our own agents.  You look as though you didn’t recognise him?”

“I don’t try to remember every agent we have in the field, here and overseas.  There a few too many for that.  But I’ve got a request out for his identity.  He didn’t say who he was?”

“No.”

“Anything at all that might be useful?”

“That he was one of us, who’d made a mistake, and feared we’d set the dogs on him.”

“Yes.  Someone definitely did that.”

© Charles Heath 2019

Writing a book in 365 days – 206

Day 206

Learn your craft before bending the rules

…

When we go to school, we learn to write.  It’s all part and parcel of learning the alphabet, then learning simple words to show how the letters of the alphabet are used, and then we learn to string those words together into sentences

Not in a jumble, but according to rules, requiring such things as a subject, nouns, verbs, adverbs, adjectives, predicates, until it all becomes so complicated that we all but give up.

Of course, in grade three, at eight or nine years old and with another two or so years to go, giving up is not an option.

I learned English, and my biggest enemy was the school books written by Rideout and McGregor, two authors whose ears must have burned until the day they died.

From elementary or primary school, we move to secondary or middle school, and there it is assumed we know everything going there is to know about writing good English.

Wrong.

Our essays come back drowned in red or green ink, scrawls almost illegible, but the teachers whose frustration levels are off the charts.

Judging by how most people speak these days, it’s probably a blessing we don’t write each other letters anymore.  And texts, the new communication method, I do not understand at all.

So, if we are hoping to become writers, then we need to have learned the Lagrange and all its nuances, even though those who read it might have trouble understanding.

Just be glad the editor at the publishers is old enough to have been around when schools were actually teaching good English.

I know my teachers tried and tried and had some measure of success.

But in this day and age, we have spell checkers, grammar checkers, and this thing called AI.  You would think that a robot would have the language down pat, but sadly, it’s only as good as the programmer who invented it.

But here’s the rub.  It’s all we’re going to have in the future because no one wants to learn; they just want what the phone and computer manufacturers offer because it’s easy, and they don’t have to think.

People are even writing books using AI.  Where does that leave us who are doing the hard graft?

But I digress, like I always do….

We can not get rid of teaching our language, and we must insist that checkers of any sort should be used with caution.

Otherwise, like many languages from the past, it will become extinct along with who we are and where we come from.

Searching for locations: Mount Ngauruhoe, New Zealand

Mount Ngauruhoe is apparently still an active volcano, has been for 2,500 years or so, and last erupted on 19th February 1975, and reportedly has erupted around 70 times since 1839.

The mountain is usually climbed from the western side, from the Mangatepopo track.

This photo was taken in summer from the Chateau Tongariro carpark.

In late autumn, on one of our many visits to the area, the mountain was covered with a light sprinkling of snow and ice.

On our most recent visit, this year, in winter, it was fully covered in snow.

It can be a breathtaking sight from the distance.

This is beginning to sound a lot like…

It’s odd how art sometimes imitates life, but it’s much, much worse when life imitates art.

I mean, in a sense, it’s good that life imitates Star Trek because we need lasers to ward off unfriendly aliens when they finally arrive, as well as having intergalactic warp-speed vessels.

But it’s very, very bad when a contagion pops up, and the scenario that follows is right out of the script for the movie Contagion.

Or Outbreak, not that any President would ever nuke a US City, which was the premise in that film.

Or follow along the lines of The Omega Man, where a virus turns everyone into a zombie-like creature, with the last surviving human finally running out of luck.

There’s been quite a few doomsday scenario films, the most interesting one involving walking plants (The Day of the Triffids) but scary as they might be, what’s happening now is equally scary.

And the thing is, with the benefit of hindsight, the COVID pandemic was predicted, so it seems sci-fi writers, and screenwriters knew long before us what was going to happen.

So, what’s the next thing sci-fi writers have in store for us?

Time travel?

It’s been getting a lot of reports, and photographs of people in the 1930s or 1940’s supposedly with mobile phones in their hands.

Were they just ‘visiting’ or were they there to change the course of history.  It doesn’t seem like there have been any changes so maybe it’s just about interpretation.

How about travelling through portals, one minute you’re in Sydney, and the next you’re in New York, on the other side of the planet.  That would be good, but then we’d be upsetting the plane manufacturers, so if there was such technology, wouldn’t they buy it and shelve it?

It’s what the oil people did every time someone invented a car engine that ran on water.

What else is there that people with vested interests have shelved – a cure for cancer maybe?

I guess that’s why we have science fiction, and how some authors’ ideas become reality.  I’m guessing somewhere in a laboratory there is a spaceship with a warp engine capable of travelling at the speed of light.

And there might be colonies of humans living on the moon, or on Mars – we just don’t know about it yet.

Or that aliens from other worlds live on earth, or that a select group of people on earth have met people from other planets, not necessarily in this solar system, because we know there are livable planets out there.

But the thing is if they told us the truth, would we believe it?

Another excerpt from ‘Betrayal’; a work in progress

…

My next destination in the quest was the hotel we believed Anne Merriweather had stayed at.

I was, in a sense, flying blind because we had no concrete evidence she had been there, and the message she had left behind didn’t quite name the hotel or where Vladimir was going to take her.

Mindful of the fact that someone might have been following me, I checked to see if the person I’d assumed had followed me to Elizabeth’s apartment was still in place, but I couldn’t see him. Next, I made a mental note of seven different candidates and committed them to memory.

Then I set off to the hotel, hailing a taxi. There was the possibility the cab driver was one of them, but perhaps I was slightly more paranoid than I should be. I’d been watching the queue, and there were two others before me.

The journey took about an hour, during which time I kept an eye out the back to see if anyone had been following us. If anyone was, I couldn’t see them.

I had the cab drop me off a block from the hotel and then spent the next hour doing a complete circuit of the block the hotel was on, checking the front and rear entrances, the cameras in place, and the siting of the driveway into the underground carpark. There was a camera over the entrance, and one we hadn’t checked for footage. I sent a text message to Fritz to look into it.

The hotel lobby was large and busy, which was exactly what you’d want if you wanted to come and go without standing out. It would be different later at night, but I could see her arriving about mid-afternoon, and anonymous among the type of clientele the hotel attracted.

I spent an hour sitting in various positions in the lobby simply observing. I had already ascertained where the elevator lobby for the rooms was, and the elevator down to the car park. Fortunately, it was not ‘guarded’ but there was a steady stream of concierge staff coming and going to the lower levels, and, just from time to time, guests.

Then, when there was a commotion at the front door, what seemed to be a collision of guests and free-wheeling bags, I saw one of the seven potential taggers sitting by the front door. Waiting for me to leave? Or were they wondering why I was spending so much time there?

Taking advantage of that confusion, I picked my moment to head for the elevators that went down to the car park, pressed the down button, and waited.

The was no car on the ground level, so I had to wait, watching, like several others, the guests untangling themselves at the entrance, and an eye on my potential surveillance, still absorbed in the confusion.

The doors to the left car opened, and a concierge stepped out, gave me a quick look, then headed back to his desk. I stepped into the car, pressed the first level down, the level I expected cars to arrive on, and waited what seemed like a long time for the doors to close.

As they did, I was expecting to see a hand poke through the gap, a latecomer. Nothing happened, and I put it down to a television moment.

There were three basement levels, and for a moment, I let my imagination run wild and considered the possibility that there were more levels. Of course, there was no indication on the control panel that there were any other floors, and I’d yet to see anything like it in reality.

With a shake of my head to return to reality, the car arrived, the doors opened, and I stepped out.

A car pulled up, and the driver stepped out, went around to the rear of his car, and pulled out a case. I half expected him to throw me the keys, but the instant glance he gave me told him was not the concierge, and instead brushed past me like I wasn’t there.

He bashed the up button several times impatiently and cursed when the doors didn’t open immediately. Not a happy man.

Another car drove past on its way down to a lower level.

I looked up and saw the CCTV camera, pointing towards the entrance, visible in the distance. A gate that lifted up was just about back in position and then made a clunk when it finally closed. The footage from the camera would not prove much, even if it had been working, because it didn’t cover the life lobby, only in the direction of the car entrance.

The doors to the other elevator car opened, and a man in a suit stepped out.

“Can I help you, sir? You seem lost.”

Security, or something else. “It seems that way. I went to the elevator lobby, got in, and it went down rather than up. I must have been in the wrong place.”

“Lost it is, then, sir.” I could hear the contempt for Americans in his tone. “If you will accompany me, please.”

He put out a hand ready to guide me back into the elevator. I was only too happy to oblige him. There had been a sign near the button panel that said the basement levels were only to be accessed by the guests.

Once inside, he turned a key and pressed the lobby button. The doors closed, and we went up. He stood, facing the door, not speaking. A few seconds later, he was ushering me out to the lobby.

“Now, sir, if you are a guest…”

“Actually, I’m looking for one. She called me and said she would be staying in this hotel and to come down and visit her. I was trying to get to the sixth floor.”

“Good. Let’s go over the the desk and see what we can do for you.”

I followed him over to the reception desk, where he signalled one of the clerks, a young woman who looked and acted very efficiently, and told her of my request, but then remained to oversee the proceeding.

“Name of guest, sir?”

“Merriweather, Anne. I’m her brother, Alexander.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my passport to prove that I was who I said I was. She glanced cursorily at it.

She typed the name into the computer, and then we waited a few seconds while it considered what to output. Then, she said, “That lady is not in the hotel, sir.”

Time to put on my best-confused look. “But she said she would be staying here for the week. I made a special trip to come here to see her.”

Another puzzled look from the clerk, then, “When did she call you?”

An interesting question to ask, and it set off a warning bell in my head. I couldn’t say today, it would have to be the day she was supposedly taken.

“Last Saturday, about four in the afternoon.”

Another look at the screen, then, “It appears she checked out Sunday morning. I’m afraid you have made a trip in vain.”

Indeed, I had. “Was she staying with anyone?”

I just managed to see the warning pass from the suited man to the clerk. I thought he had shown an interest when I mentioned the name, and now I had confirmation. He knew something about her disappearance. The trouble was, he wasn’t going to volunteer any information because he was more than just hotel security.

“No.”

“Odd,” I muttered. “I thought she told me she was staying with a man named Vladimir something or other. I’m not too good at pronouncing those Russian names. Are you sure?”

She didn’t look back at the screen. “Yes.”

“OK, now one thing I do know about staying in hotels is that you are required to ask guests with foreign passports their next destination, just in case they need to be found. Did she say where she was going next?” It was a long shot, but I thought I’d ask.

“Moscow. As I understand it, she lives in Moscow. That was the only address she gave us.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I know where that is. I probably should have gone there first.”

She didn’t answer; she didn’t have to, her expression did that perfectly.

The suited man spoke again, looking at the clerk. “Thank you.” He swivelled back to me. “I’m sorry we can’t help you.”

“No. You have more than you can know.”

“What was your name again, sir, just in case you still cannot find her?”

“Alexander Merriweather. Her brother. And if she is still missing, I will be posting a very large reward. At the moment, you can best contact me via the American Embassy.”

Money is always a great motivator, and that thoughtful expression on his face suggested he gave a moment’s thought to it.

I left him with that offer and left. If anything, the people who were holding her would know she had a brother, that her brother was looking for her, and equally that brother had money.

…

© Charles Heath – 2018-2025

Searching for locations: Chateau Tongariro, New Zealand

This chateau was built in 1929 and was originally intended as a hostel for hikers.

It is now near the  Whakapapa skifield on the slopes of Mount Ruapehu and within  the boundary of the Tongariro National Park

chateautongoriro

We had afternoon tea in the lounge several times, and it is very pleasant in winter with the log fires burning.

togariro2

The interior is still as ornate as it had been in the 1930s.  The chairs are very comfortable, and the atmosphere pleasant.

Mount Ngauruhoe can be seen through the window of the lounge.  This was used a backdrop in the filming of Lord of the Rings.

mount-nz

But…

This place is the ideal setting for a murder, and I can see a story being written very much in the mold of Agatha Christie, with a couple of amateur sleuths who are staying there, trying to solve the crime.

Given the sort of shows being produced in New Zealand currently, for Acorn and other streaming services, this could be turned into a very pleasant two hour diversion with some very unique New Zealand, and foreign, characters.

Or just send the Brokenwood detective crew there!