How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.
In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.
I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.
Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.
There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.
Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.
It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.
For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.
It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!
So, as we all know, a key is used to lock or unlock a door, gate, or something else. It’s either made of shiny metal, brass, or rusty iron, it can be small, or very, very big, as is the key to a dungeon.
We can have one key or we can have many or even a master key that unlocks everything, very handy if you have a house full of locked rooms.
People always seem to want to steal them, especially in crime shows.
There is also an item called a key card. Not the metal thing, but a plastic thing, that opens doors. Odd that it’s called keyless entry!
Then there’s what is known as the key to something, i.e. you might have the key to his or her heart, metaphorically speaking.
And in that metaphorical sense, it opens up pandora’s box with a plethora of different meanings.
He had the key to the puzzle.
I wish sometimes I had the key to be able to write better, that that one particular key eludes me.
There are keys on a keyboard, the ones you use on computers and calculators. They were originally on typewriters. You can also find keys on a piano, or an accordion, and some other musical instruments.
A key can also be a master index field, or unique identifier, in a database, particularly those kept on computers.
And,
there’s a host of other uses for the word key, such as
roughening a surface
describing the shooting area on a basketball court
“No. She spoke on the phone about an hour ago and didn’t look happy. Who is she?”
“Someone you might have to shoot, so don’t get attached. Wait till I call you first, then invite yourselves in. Does it look expensive?”
“She does, and yes. It’s very posh. Why?”
“Curiosity.”
We were back in the hotel room. Francesca was working her way through a bottle of red wine.
“I can go now if you like. Cecelia told me the countess was dead. My work is done,” she said morosely.
“Not yet. Can’t have you telling people information I don’t want them to know yet. We still have people to catch.”
“OK. Does your current squeeze realise this one has feelings for you?” She nodded in Juliet’s direction, stopping her in her tracks.
“It’d be misplaced affection. Right now, she’s at the top of my shoot first and asks questions later list.”
“You know, if you don’t want to end up grumpy and lonely, you are going to have to work on your small talk. I don’t think women go for this shoot first thing. Whatever; just thought you ought to know.”
I glared at Juliet. “Is that what this is about, you being here?”
“Why on earth would you think that. You’re probably the snarkiest person I’ve ever met. She’s right, you need to work on your small talk.”
Then proceeded to turn around and go into one of the rooms, slamming the door.
“Exactly,” Francesca said.
13 minutes after that the call came.
Male voice, distorted.
“You are looking for an Englishwoman, Martha Rodby, yes.”
“Yes.”
“We know where she is, and once the money is transferred, we will tell you.”
“Nice try. You get the money, in a duffle bag, when I see her with my own eyes. No mirrors, no magic, no obstacle courses, and multiple phone booths and time limits. You tell me where and when and I’ll be there.”
“Alone?”
“If you’re not stupid, and I don’t think you are, there will be plenty of people around. Dark alleys and dank tunnels are not my thing.”
“I’ll call you back soon with the details.”
It was a quick call, so he was worried about me tracing it. I was not, or at least I wasn’t, but Alfie might.
A message popped up, after making a dinging sound. “Call came from Rome, can pin it down to a half kilometre square.”
I typed in, “Don’t bother. I know who it is.”
He couldn’t help himself. “Who?”
I ignored it.
“Your kidnapper?”
“A concerned citizen.”
“Your kidnapper. Do you ever say anything that means anything?”
“I try not to. You do know my shadowy world consists of nothing by lies and deception, and smoke and mirrors?”
“Do you actually get anything done?”
“Mostly not, but at least this time I haven’t got to kill anyone. Yet.”
“You should tell your girlfriend that?”
“Which one, according to you?”
“Juliet. You want to tell her you don’t have feelings for her.”
“Are you trying to annoy me?”
She gave me one of those looks, yes, I’d known her long enough to be able to classify them.
“How did your wife actually put up with you all those years?”
“I’m sure it made interesting reading?”
“What?”
“My file.”
She smiled. “It did. My boss thought if I stuck close enough, I might learn something. I did. Stick to Art History. By the way, I like you too, but I’m not going to compete with those other two. Oh, and I assume you have a plan or will have a plan by tomorrow, on how to take this guy down?”
“You assume correctly.”
“Good. Do I get a gun?”
“No.”
“Just when relations were improving. Do you want anything from room service? I’m getting some pasta.”
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in.
…
Lallo delivered that statement with deceptive calm, and I didn’t miss the inference. That is if he was trying to say that anyone associated with that operation was likely to end up dead sooner rather than later.
Food for thought indeed, and suddenly it explained the reason for this interrogation. And though I didn’t want to believe it, or even think it possible, Breeman might be in some way connected with that operation. Or someone involved in it.
Suddenly I found my mid connecting dots, real or imaginary, that led back to Breeman requesting my transfer, knowing who I was, and then becoming closer in a way that was not expected, or could be explained, which had consequences if it came to light.
That was what Bamfield was alluding to in the desert camp.
But even Lallo had to admit it would be stretch at best to tie what was a random event being selected for what was basically an off-book training flight to being shot down, and link to a failed operation, and a suspicious suicide by Treen.
Especially when it was Bamfield’s own men who shot the helicopter out of the sky because we had so-called encroached the no-fly zone. Yet, by extension, if those people knew the proximity of the helicopter to the ground, and how thorough my survival training had been, that posed a whole new raft of questions, which, right then, I didn’t want to think about.
No, it was utterly ridiculous. My thoughts were simply the manna which drove conspiracy theories. Lallo was jumping to conclusions, and even I was guilty of the same offence.
Time to put it out of my mind, and answer the question, even if it sounded rhetorical. “It was the Colonel who tried to kill me, not the person who sent me on that operation. Are you trying to tell me Bamfield is involved in more than one conspiracy?”
Lallo simply shook his head, made a note in his notebook, and turned the page.
“Let’s go back to the day you were assigned to the ill-fated exercise. How many of your number at that particular base, are available for helicopter duty?”
“Four.”
“Who assigns the missions?”
“Operations.”
“Not the commanding officer?”
“No.”
“And in this particular case, when you were sent on the fatal mission?”
“I had to countersign the order. I didn’t see her name on the form.”
“But she would know, or be able to make suggestions.”
There was a group who made those decisions, not any one person, and it was possible anyone of that group could make a suggestion. But, as for Breeman, I doubt she was interested in that level of micromanagement.
Yet there was a suggestion I’d been moved off the active roster, and that it was possibly on her orders. Perhaps it would be best not to say anything about that. It also begged the question of why. Had she known something might happen to me? Or did she have an idea what might happen for another reason?
“Anything is possible, but I’m not privy to the machinations of command. I just do as I’m ordered.”
He smiled thinly. “I’m sure you’d say that even if it wasn’t true.”
Lallo was becoming an annoying little gnat, so I decided to treat him like one. “Is there an actual point to these questions, other than to dredge up past history, make erroneous accusations, and base all your conclusions on conjecture?”
“I simply deal with the facts before me.” It was almost a childish response.
A face hovered outside the ward door, and he noticed it.
“Excuse me.” He put down the notebook and headed out the door. Monroe remained, looking menacing.
Was someone else listening, and didn’t like the turn of events?
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…
I thanked the CCTV operator and left with Joanne to go back to the third floor and Monica’s office. Joanne had called her the moment we made the discovery, and she was there to make sure I made it.
It was a passing thought I leave, but I would not get past the soldier at the front door.
We waited for a few minutes in the outer office where an efficient personal assistant was typing faster than I could think.
A buzzing sound broke the steady keyboard sounds, and she said we could go in.
I could imagine another page and a half being entered in the time it took for us to get from the chairs to the door.
Inside, the office had wooden panelling, shelves lined with books, a minibar, benchtops covered in trinkets picked up in many travels, and strategically placed in a corner, four chairs and a coffee table.
Monica was sitting on one, and she motioned for us to sit in two others.
Was a fourth person expected?
If there was we were not waiting for them. As soon as I was seated, she asked, “What did you find?”
She already knew, via Joanne, but perhaps this was a test.
“There were two people at the café, or perhaps one, the intermediary that O’Connell was looking for inside, and another nearby, like out the back of the café.
“I’d been too wrapped up in surviving the aftermath of the bomb to see O’Connell head for an alley near the café. I thought it might be to check on the intermediary, but apparently, it was to meet someone else who obviously survived.”
“Anna Jacovich.”
Of course, Joanne had briefed her. No secrets among friends.
“What do we know about her?”
Joanne answered that one, “She’s a fugitive, and Interpol is looking for her, as are the local police.”
“And she’s here?”
“If she hasn’t run. A bomb nearby can do that. She has to know people are out there actively trying to kill her like they did her husband.”
“He originally created the USB?”
“It looks like it. And my guess, Dobbin was using O’Connell to act as a journalist and buy the information off her before it went to the highest bidder. If we were to throw hypotheses out there, it’s not a stretch to believe Severin and Maury, as Westcott and Salvin, supposedly ex-department, were charged to get inside the lab and investigate the data breach, found out who it was, followed them here, and then set up an off-book surveillance group to watch the players culminating in the botched operation I was just on. Severin wasn’t working for Dobbin but someone else, which means someone else in this department has an active interest in the breach, and who was running his or her own operation. That wouldn’t be you would it?”
“That would be someone in a corner office. I can barely see daylight here. In other words, not high enough up in the food chain. Like you, I’m staggering around in the dark. Dobbin has a corner office.”
“Who’s in charge of matters concerning biological weapons?”
“The MOD. Not us.”
“But you have experts. You must come across credible threats from time to time, and I doubt you just hand it over.”
“We’re supposed to. There is a chain of command you know. It’s not like the movies.”
The way this operation had been running, that was exactly what I thought.
“That’s what I think I know. Still no indication O’Connell is alive, but I suspect Dobbin does know, and just not telling. Might also know where he is. Perhaps while I’m trying to find him, you go over Dobbin’s head and find out.”
“Easier said than done. You need help?”
“No. Everyone I work with has their own axe to grind, so I’m better off alone.”
“That Jan woman?”
“Especially her.”
“OK. Keep me, via Joanne, informed. If you need anything, tell Joanne.”
This book has been sitting in the ‘to-be-done’ tray, so this month it is going to get the final revision.
…
We’ve reached the point where it’s time to take Worthington’s desire for revenge and turn it into a homicidal obsession, particularly after the last ‘easy’ exercise of killing her at the railway station failed so spectacularly.
Worthington is about to become a ‘by any means necessary’ person who will use anyone or anything at his disposal, and is about to use the one person John will least expect to appear on his horizon, one who will make him think twice about keeping Zoe from him.
However, our intrepid trio of Sebastian, Isobel, and Rupert, is also on the trail, who when leaving the airport just happened to see Worthington with this particular person, and realize what is about to happen. Sebastian also discovers why he is being sidelined and is not determined to stop Worthington.
Oblivious to all of this is John who has hired a car and is heading to Lucern where he is going to rendezvous with Zoe and hopefully get a briefing on what she intends to do next.
Needless to say, no matter what she says, he will be ignoring all that good advice and do his usual arrival in a nick of time to rescue the damsel in distress.
Of course, there are only so many times he can do this before he is actually killed for real.
It’s a place to go and spot the movie stars, or perhaps their dogs.
It’s a place to go for long walks on idyllic spring or autumn days
It’s a place to go to look at a zoo, though I didn’t realize there was one until I made a wrong turn.
It’s a place to go for a horse and carriage ride, although it does not last that long
It’s a place to go to look at statues, fountains, architecture, and in winter, an ice skating rink
I’m sure there’s a whole lot more there that I don’t know about.
I have to say I’ve only visited in winter, and the first time there was snow, the second, none.
Both times it was cold, but this didn’t seem to deter people.
But…
We decided to go visit another part of the park, this time walking to West 67th Street before crossing Central Park West and into the park where Sheep Meadow is.
Once upon a time sheep did graze on the meadow, but these days it is designated a quiet area inspiring calm and refreshing thoughts, except for a period in the 1960s where there was more than one counter-culture protest, or love in, going on.
And, there’s the sign to say it was Sheep Meadow,
and that’s the meadow behind the sign,
Well, I don’t see any sheep, but of course, that’s not why the meadow is named or should there be any sheep on it. That greenery that can be seen, restoring for the spring, was a very expensive addition to the park.
As a matter of fact, there is nothing was on it, because signs were up to say the meadow was closed for the winter, a new and interesting variation on the ‘Don’t Walk On The Grass’ signs.
I’m sure I could climb the fence, or, maybe not. I’m a bit old to be climbing fences.
So, unable to walk on the grass, we tossed an imaginary coin, should we go towards West 110th Street, or back to West 59th Street.
West 59th Street won.
and, just in case we had any strange ideas about walking on the grass, the fence was there to deter us. Perhaps if we had more determination…
One positive aspect of the park is that you could never get lost, and the tall buildings surrounding the park are nearly always visible through the trees, more so in winter because there is no foliage, maybe less so later in the year.
There is also a lot of very large rocky type hills, or outcrops where people seem to stand on, king of the mountain style, or sit to have a picnic lunch, quickly before it freezes.
Yes, it is cold outside and seems more so in the park.
I wondered briefly if it ever got foggy, then this place would be very spooky, particularly after the sun goes down.
It’s like working in two offices, one uptown, and one downtown.
I have two blogs, this one, and another which is purely for writing, and generally, a lot of starts and not a lot of finishes. I get ideas, and it’s a place to store them, and give a few people some amusement at my, sometimes, improbable situations and far-fetched stories.
Here I try to be more serious.
I have the ceiling, the cinema of my dreams. Here anything is possible, like jumping from a helicopter about to explode, and survive, and get out of a sinking ship, like Houdini. Of course, there is always one time when it doesn’t work, and Houdini knows that all too well.
Over there, I have a series which I started here, long ago, where I take a photograph and write a story inspired by it. The interesting thing about that is I could probably use the same photograph over and over, and it would inspire a different tale.
I know, if I was running a writing class, everyone would see that photograph differently.
But what amazes me sometimes is the fact the story is not directly related to the theme. It got me thinking about how we view our experiences, and what triggers memories. I’ve discovered that it doesn’t necessarily happen by correlation, say, for instance, a memory of being in New York might be triggered by a visit to a cafe in Cloncurry.
I try to do one of these every day, but sometimes it’s hard work. Writing itself can be some days, particularly when the words are lurking there, behind that invisible, impenetrable, rock wall.
OK, so I’m stuck in the middle of writing a piece over there, and I’ve come over here to whinge.
But, enough. I’ll let you know what the cinema of my dreams is showing, later.
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.
To start with, we first joined this tour at stop number 6.
We had to find it first and that meant some pedestrian navigation, which took us first to the City Hall, a rather imposing structure, which we found later had a profound effect on Philadelphia sports teams.
According to the map, stop number 6 is Reading Terminal Market, Convention Centre, on 12th street on Filbert. This was where we bought the tickets and boarded the bus that had a rather interesting guide aboard.
His favorite says was “And we’re good to go.”
Soon we would discover that his commentary was more orientated towards a younger audience, not that it bothered us.
Given the time restraints, we had, this was always going to be about looking and learning.
Stop number 7
City hall, Love Park.
This we had seen on our walk from where we left the car at the Free Library, near the Swann Memorial Fountain in Logan Park, the landmark that Rebecca had remembered from her last visit to Philadelphia. Of course, then, it was not quite so frozen.
Love park, of course, was only notable to us in that it had a sculpture in place with the word Love rather stylized. Apart from that, you’d hardly know it as a park
The city hall, well, that was something else, and when we looked at it, before going on the tour, it was a rather magnificent stone edifice.
After, well the guide filled us in, tallest building, highest and largest monument on William Penn, you get the gist. 37 feet tall, when eclipsed, the Philly sports teams all suffered slumps of one kind or another, until the problem was rectified. Interesting story.
Stop number 8
18th Street and the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, or Logan Circle
This is the location of the Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul. A place where the Pope decided to give an audience and sent the city into a spin.
The same church has very high windows for the reason in the early days there was a problem with people wanting to throw Molotov cocktails through the windows. A bit hard when they’re so high up.
Benjamin Franklin Parkway, of course, is interesting in itself as an avenue, not only for all of the flags of many nations of those who chose to live in Philadelphia. We found ours, the one for Australia
This was also the stop where we needed to get off once the tour was finished, and time to head to the car, and go home, but that’s another story.
Stop number 10
Is that the stature of the Thinker, made famous, at least for me, from the old Dobie Gillis episodes, of God knows how many years ago?
Or, maybe it’s just the Rodin Museum on Benjamin Franklin Parkway.
There’s a whole story to go with that Statue and the fact it is one of many all over the world.
This one was made in France, cast in 1919 in Bronze, and is approximately 200cm x 130 cm by 140cm.
Stop number 11
Eastern State Penitentiary. NW corner of 22nd Street and Fairmont Avenue.
This had a rather interesting story attached to it and had something to do with ghosts, but I wasn’t listening properly to the guide’s monologue.
But, later research shows, the fact it was once the most famous and expensive prison in the world. Many also think it is haunted and is a favorite for visiting paranormal visitors.
Built around 1829, it was the first prison to have separate cells for prisoners. It held, at various times, the likes of Al Capone and Willie Sutt
Stop number 18
The Philadelphia Museum of art, where we stop for a few minutes and look at the steps which were immortalized in the movie Rocky, yes he ran god knows how far to end up on the top of these steps.
Sorry, but I’m not that fit that I would attempt walking up them. The view is just fine from inside the bus. Of course, they might consider cleaning the windows a little so the view was clearer, but because it’s basically Perspex and scratched so that might not be possible.
Stop number 17
Back at Logan Circle, or Square if you prefer, but on the other side, closer to the Franklin Institute. Benjamin Franklin’s name is used a lot in this city.
After that, it’s a blur, the Academy of Music, the University of the Arts, Pennsylvania Hospital, South Street, Vietnam Veterans Memorial, the USS Olympia, Penn’s Landing, and past the National Liberty Museum. I’m sure somewhere in that blur was the intention of seeing the Liberty Bell, but I think I heard that it was not on show, and only a replica could be seen.
So much for the getting as an opportunity to see the real liberty bell, crack and all..
We get off and stop number 27, or Number 1, I was not quite sure.
What were we after? The definitive Philly Cheese Steak.
