Category: blogging

“The Enemy Within” – a thirty-day revision – Day 23

This book has also been written for some time, like The Document, and the manuscript was also sitting in a box with half a dozen others gathering dust and not quite as complete, so this month it is going to get the makeover, a first draft for the editor.

And so it begins…

…

A rum cast of characters

…

It is always a bad turn of events when a mission fails, and there is a search for the guilty.

It’s an even worse turn of events when the search for the guilty goes utterly array. Secret organisations are supposed to conduct secret operations, operations that no one but themselves is aware of.

That generally means leaving no loose ends.

In this case, we have two, Jack and Evelyn. Wally is dead, and Luigi is missing and presumed dead.

Because there are two loose ends, suddenly there are six more, a doctor, two interrogators, a fixit man, an actress, and a deputy director.

All have a story to tell, or perhaps not, but one way or another, Jack is going to get to the bottom of the affair.

And when he discovers who instigated everything, he is utterly astonished.

In a word: Angle

We all know this to be an intersection of two lines like a crossroad is at a 90-degree angle

But…

It’s an angle bracket that keeps the shelf up, hopefully with books on it.

Did you know that it was something someone did in order to get something?

She began to angle for an invitation to a party that she would not normally be invited to, or he has angled his answers to the prospective employer in a bid to be more likely to be selected for the position.

It can also refer to a position, or judgement, so that someone might say, try and see it from my angle, or another angle.

Or that it refers to fishing, and the fisherman or woman is known as an angler.

It can be a position from which something is viewed, or in crime parlance, the CSI people will work out the angle of the bullet’s entry do they can locate the position of the shooter.

Angle can refer to people of Germanic origin, such as an Anglo Saxon

And, here’s something even I didn’t know, in Astrology, it is each of the four cardinal points of a chart, from which the first, fourth, seventh, and tenth houses extend anticlockwise respectively.

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

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.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

 

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

 

“Follow that cab…” – A short story

Nothing ever good comes from eavesdropping.

Or, so my mother said, once, with such feeling that I suspect she had some experience of having done so. It might explain the enmity between her and her older sister, the aunt we never saw.

Except all that changed when I received an odd email from a woman who claimed to be that very aunt.

We had all been warned about scams that came from dubious sources online, and this initially struck me as one. I would need more information before I answered.

That meant poking the bear, that is, asking my mother about her sister.

And coming right out with the words she hoped she’d never heard.

“Aunt Guenivere sent me an email, asking if we could meet. It seems she wants to meet the nephew she hasn’t seen since I was born. What happened to you two?”

It brought a look of total hatred in return.

“You would be wise not to respond. That woman is just plain evil.”

“You do realize that a statement like that makes it even more imperative that I should meet her. If you’re not going to tell me what happened, I’m sure she will.”

“Then if you must, you must.”

It wasn’t resignation but suppressed rage. Whatever had happened, it was something she believed no one would believe her, or understand, least of all me.

With that, she stood, and walked out of the room, leaving me with the ominous feeling that it would be the last time I saw her.
After verifying that my so-called aunt was Aunt Guenivere, I arranged a meeting in a public place, a tea room in the next town to where I lived. And it wasn’t going to be hard to recognize her, she would just an older version of my mother.

I knew this because I had found a photograph of my mother and her two sisters, all of who looked very much alike. I’d know about the younger sister, she had died in an accidental car crash many years before, and what my mother regarded as a wasted life.

I saw her about the same time she saw me.

And she just made it to the table when her cell phone rang. She smiled, put a hand up and asked for a moment, and then went back outside. I watched her walk up and down, slowly at first, but I could see the conversation was getting heated.

After a few minutes, I went outside to see if I could be of any assistance.

Apparently not. One look was enough, and I knew what it meant. At least her sister and my mother shared the same facial expressions when angry.

Then the conversation ended. I thought, for a moment, she was going to throw the phone on the ground, and only just managed to stop herself.

Instead, she came over and said. “I’m sorry but something has come up and I have to go. I’ll call you.”

With that, she waved down a taxi, one stopped, and she jumped in.

Another pulled in behind her taxi and on the spur of the moment, and said with a flourish, “Follow that cab.”

The driver turned to look at me, and then said, “You’re kidding.”

I held up a hundred dollar note and said, seriously, “This is yours if you don’t lose them.”

Incentive enough.

It was a lot easier to follow that taxi than I thought. We caught up and the first set of lights and then proceeded to miss every second intersection as if the universe knew I needed to keep her in sight.

All the way to the upper west side and a very expensive apartment block. I paid the cabbie and jumped out, just in time to see a very familiar figure join my aunt.

My father.

And they didn’t look like people who didn’t know each other, or who were at war.

They remained outside the apartment block, and I could see my father had arrived by cab, and it was waiting for him.

I got as close as I could, hidden effectively behind the bushes that lined the building entrance. They were speaking loudly, which surprised me

“What the hell were you thinking,” he said, not angrily, but I could tell he was agitated.

“I was thinking it was time someone told him the truth.”

What truth?

“You know what Evelyn thinks of that, and I do too. You made an agreement.”

“I’ve changed my mind. After all, he is my son, not hers.”

—–

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

What’s that coming out of left field?

Why is it ideas come at the least expected and most inconvenient time?

I thought I’d trained my thoughts to assemble when I was having a shower.

Then there’s that quiet spot down in the lounge, by the window, away from everything.  But now it seems that will not work all that well because the telephone rings regularly with scammers, threatening to cut off my internet, my telephone, just about every wire that comes into the house.

Don’t you hate that?

I wasn’t considering a new idea for yet another book; I have so many on the go already.  But, the sad truth is, you have no control over it.

When I sit down, listening to Ravel, or some other classical music, I close my eyes and drift along to the music, waiting for the imagination to kick in.

Can’t force it, can you?

But, five minutes to three, after a frantic call announcing yet another storm in a teacup, I’m racing out the door, setting the alarm, locking the door, and …

… bing …

The idea is there, out of left field, in front of me.

Good thing my phone is now a recording device enabling me to speak and drive and solve all manner of crises on the go.

Try and best that superman, batman, spiderman…

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 37

Could it be an alien spaceship?

…

“We’re being hailed,” the communications officer said in her matter-of-fact tone.

“Not an alien then?”

The moment I said it, it sounded inappropriate.

“Definitely human, with an accent.”

I was not sure what I was expected to make of that.

“On screen.”

A bridge, not dissimilar to ours appeared, with the captain, or the person I assumed to be captain, standing in front of his chair.

“Whom am I addressing?” He asked.

I gave him my name, the ship, who we were, standard name, rank, and serial number stuff as per regulations.

“Where is the previous Captain?”

He seemed to have information about us, if not recent.

“Dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

OK, I didn’t think he was coming just to make small talk.

“Ship slowing, no signs of weapons charging,” I saw pop up on the screen.  In situations like this, best not to communicate when there’s an open communication session.

Then, a new notice, “second ship following the first, moving at the same spot, arrival time 18 minutes.”

I looked at the inset on the master screen, and even at that distance and low-quality magnification, it definitely didn’t look like anything in our fleet.

It begged the question, were they running away?

“Are you alone?”

“No.  But it’s not one of our ships.”

Not very helpful.

“I suggest you turn around and go back,” he added.

I saw him turn, as if someone beside him had spoken, or gestured.

“Sorry.  We have to go.  Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

“Who are they?”

“People you don’t want to meet.”

The screen went back to being a window, and the vessel we’d just been in communication with came clearly into view, then vanished.

It was larger than our ship, but more streamlined, my first thought, like a sleek racing car.

“It seems we’re about to have our first encounter.  Number one, stay on the highest alert, the rest of the crew, battle stations, quick as you can.”

To the navigator, “Did we get anything on that ship, scans, personnel, weapons, engines, anything?”

“A little.  We can go through it later.  If we’re still in one piece.”

If the oncoming ship was alien, it was an unknown quantity, and the navigator could be forgiven for thinking we might not be able to defend ourselves.  Questions we should have asked the other ship were plentiful, and the surprise it caused caught us all offside when I should have been the exception.

There would be time later to analyze everything we did wrong, what I did wrong

Hopefully.

The alien ship was no longer a blurry blob in the distance, but an oddly shaped ship that bore similarities to our own.

I could only guess at the lifeforms aboard if there were any.  It was a moment of thrill, fear, and intense expectation.

Those last few minutes of waiting disappeared as though they were seconds, and suddenly it was opposite us, in space, on station maintaining its distance.  I had us brought to a stop after the other ship left, but in a state of instant readiness to depart just in case we were fired upon.

I was banking on the fact the aliens might be as curious about us as we were about them.

“Can we communicate with that vessel,” I asked, turning the senior communications officer, now on the bridge at the comms station.

“You can speak to them; we have all means of external communication open.”

He didn’t add that they might not understand what I said.

I shrugged.  “We are from the planet Earth on a voyage of exploration and discovery with no other agenda other than to meet and talk to other civilizations.”

It sounded quite strange listening to a somewhat stumbling and unrehearsed greeting that was to be our first words to an alien species.  I hoped that our credibility didn’t rest of those words.”

Silence.

“Any detectable activity aboard their ship?”

“Our scanners can’t penetrate their hull.  Nothing noteworthy outside the hull, but, then, if we don’t know what we’re looking for…”

“We know where you are from and who you are.”

It was a crackling rendition, the sort of sounds I’d expect from a vintage radio broadcast.”

I looked at the comms officer.

“An ancient radio frequency once associated with AM radio, sir, 812 megahertz.”

Did that mean we were more advanced than them?  I didn’t think so.

“Who am I addressing?”

This time the silence was broken by crackling, and what sounded like a tape recorder fast-forwarding.  This went on for about five minutes.

Then, much stronger, and clearer, “Who I am is irrelevant.  If you have similar intentions as the vessel before you, I strongly suggest you turn around and go back to your own galaxy.”

“They’ve moved to FM sir, not sure why they’re using such old technology”, the comms officer said quietly.

Two things popped into my head; from that proverbial left field, I once heard a language professor once pontificate on. The first, was from a scientist at the space training facility on what an alien race mighttry to communicate with us on, and that in his opinion would be the band waves we had been sending out into space for years. AM and FM in that context made perfect sense.

The second: how did an alien speak such good English?

“We have not, though I suspect that will not allay your fears.  All humans, which is what we call ourselves, are not the same.”

“Yet your ship carries weapons.”

“For defense.  If we are attacked, we will respond.  I would expect no less from you.”

There was a minute or so of silence, time I was guessing for my counterpart to formulate his next move.

It came sooner than I expected.

A humanoid form appeared, not exactly like us, but much the same as the early humanoid robots we created at the start of our foray into robotics and for that matter AI.

“We have had much interaction with your kind, one way or another, and it has always ended badly.  If you have no ill intentions towards up, will you accompany me back to my ship?  I assure you, and your crew I have no ill intentions.”

It would be a huge leap of faith.

 Number one, you have the ship.  I’m going to take a short trip to the other vessel.”

“You should take a crew member, as per protocol.”

Yes, the instruction. If we were to were to meet an alien, it was not to go with them without one or more crew members.

“Unfortunately, he’s a stickler for regulations.  I must go with another crew member, just in case.”

I didn’t add the ‘harm cones to me, and retribution will be meted out.’  I didn’t think at this delicate stage that would fly.

“No weapons then.”

“No weapons.  Nancy Woolmer to the bridge immediately.”

She arrived within five minutes, and the moment she was in proximity, we were, I assumed, beamed aboard his ship.

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2022

“The Enemy Within” – a thirty-day revision – Day 24

This book has also been written for some time, like The Document, and the manuscript was also sitting in a box with half a dozen others gathering dust and not quite as complete, so this month it is going to get the makeover, a first draft for the editor.

And so it begins…

…

Are we no better than them?

…

At what point do you tell yourself that

  • You are doing this for King and country
  • The end justifies the means
  • You are on the right side of justice
  • Bad people get what they deserve

Can you truly tell yourself that doing to them what they did to you is morally justified?

I’m not sure Jack is fully across what it is he has to do in order to find out what he wants to know.

It’s fine to tell yourself it’s what they do to you when the roles are reversed, but the question had to be, is there another way?

Well, the first interview went as expected. No information told that they know nothing, they are just foot soldiers told to act on orders, not question them, and no they don’t know who the person is that sent on your mission other than the operations officer.

The fix-it men, those who are little more than thugs in cheap suits are a case in point. They dish out the violence to achieve an end or carry out an assassination when asked.

He tried to do it the easy way. He soon learns there is no easy way.

Searching for locations: A trip to New Jersey

That meant we had to make the journey from New York to New Jersey, by train.  It involved the underground, or as New Yorkers call it, the subway, from Columbus Circle which by any other name was really, 80th street, to 34th street which apparently was the New Jersey jump-off point for us to get overground, well a lot of it was overground. So, were we going uptown or downtown?

Apparently, it was downtown, and to 34th Street on the A train.

You would not think this to be a difficult task, but for people not used to the subway, and where they were going other than some internet derived instructions, but without the help of a man at the station, just getting tickets may have stopped us dead in our tracks.  With his help, we determined the return fare for three of us and then get through the turnstile onto the platform.

We get on the A train, but soon discover it was not stopping at all stations.  There was for a few minutes, a little apprehension we might just simply bypass our station.  Luckily we did not.

Now, finding your way to the New Jersey transit part of Penn station might appear to be easy, on paper, but once there, on the ground, and mingling with the other passengers which all seemed to be purpose going somewhere, it took a few moments to realize we had to follow the New Jersey transit signs.

This led to a booking hall where luckily we realized we needed to buy more tickets, then find the appropriate platform, and then get on the right train, all of which, in the end, was not difficult at all.

Maybe on the return trip, it might be.

At Newark Penn station it was momentarily confusing because the exit was not readily in sight, so it was a case of following the majority of other passengers who’d got off the train.

This led us to exit onto the street under the train tracks.  Luckily, having been before to Prudential Stadium to buy the tickets, we knew what the stadium looked like and roughly where it was, so it was a simple task to walk towards it.

We were early, so it was a case of finding a restaurant to get dinner before the game. So was a great many others, and we passed about 6 different restaurants that looked full to overflowing before we stopped at one called Novelty Burger and Bar.

It looked inviting, and it was not crowded.

It was yet another excuse to have a hamburger and beer, both of which seemed to be a specialty in American.  I could not fault either.

And soon after we arrived, this restaurant too was full to overflowing.  Thankfully there were other Maple Leaf fans there because being in a room full of opposition teams supports can be quite harrowing.

That was yet to come when we finally got to the stadium.  I was not expecting a lot of Maple Leaf fans.
We went to this game with high hopes.  New Jersey Devils were not exactly at the top of the leader board, and coming off the loss in Toronto, this was make or break for whether we would ever go to another game.

It’s remarkable in that all the Ice Hockey stadiums are the same.  Everyone has an excellent view of the game, the sound systems are loud, and the fans passionate. Here it seems to be a thing to ride on the Zambonis.
At the front door they were handing out figurines of a Devil’s past player, and it seems a thing that you get a handout of some sort at each game.  At Toronto we got towels. And, finally, we were in luck.

The Maple Leafs won.

And it was an odd feeling to know that even though their team lost, there did not seem to be any rancor amount the fans and that any expectation of being assaulted by losing fans was totally unfounded, unlike some sporting events I’ve been to.

Perhaps soccer should take a leaf out of the ice hockey playbook.

That also went for taking public transport late at night.  I did not have any fears about doing so, which is more than I can say about traveling at night on our own transport system back home.

Oh, and by the way, there are train conductors who still come to every passenger to collect or stamp their tickets.  No trusting the passenger has paid for his trip here.  And, if you don’t have a ticket, I have it on good authority they throw you off the train and into the swamp.  Good thing then, we had tickets.

It was, all in all, a really great day.

On renovations and editing

There are a lot of words in the English language that can strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest of men and women.

Two are renovations and editing.

We are currently deep in the first and it’s running something like this:

Firstly, we are updating the ensuite, and this has been relatively painless.

Secondly, we are fixing up the outside of the house.  The intention was to put in a retaining wall and build a stone garden with succulents.

Ah, the best-laid plans!

This led to, let’s render the walls, get rid of the unsightly bricks.

Fine.

But before that, we need to repaint the roof an appropriate colour to match the walls.

Fine.

Got the roof done, got the walls rendered.

Now we need a carport.  Fine.

Back to the garden, and so on, and so forth.  Much is still to be done.

It’s like editing, a chore that I’m beginning to like less and less because it’s taking on the dimensions of a renovation.

It isn’t a matter of correcting spelling mistakes, sentence structure errors, or badly place punctuation.

It’sd a matter of weeding out the superfluous text, cutting and more cutting, taking out anything that does not propel the story to a logical and unexpected end, let alone having to rewrite at the beginning because of an afterthought later on.

Starting to sound like the garden, rendering, roof scenario?

It’s harder editing than writing.

So many words, so much brilliance, ending up on the cutting room floor.

Perhaps it’s time to go back to the renovations.  They seem more fun than editing.

No?

 

 

The cinema of my dreams – It all started in Venice – Episode 5

A chance meeting with Juliet

…

I waited until her surveillance disappeared from view, then considered what to do next, or whether I’d created a problem for Juliet.  I had no doubt she would be informed of my intervention, so it would probably be better for me to chance upon her than the other way around and take it from there.

After watching her sip her coffee and take in the passing tourist traffic for a few minutes, I headed toward her.

And, with the right amount of surprise in my tone, I said, as I reached her and she turned to see who it was, “I recognize you, you’re Juliet, the doctor.”

She seemed genuinely shocked to see me, and immediately cast a glance over to the table where Giuseppe had been sitting, then, not seeing him, frantically looked around to see if he had moved.

“If you’re looking for a creepy-looking guy, I sent him packing.  I saw him watching you, so I threatened to get the police onto him.  I’m sure I could convince them he was part of a team of kidnappers.”

“You’re joking.”

She sounded horrified, which was either the result of very good acting, or she was in fact horrified that I’d tackle him.

“May I sit?”  I was starting to feel a little self-conscious standing in full view of everyone.

“Of course.  This is a pleasant and very unexpected surprise.”

I sat.  Clearly, she was not going to say why she was really in Venice, but a few harmless questions were in order, just to see how far she would bend the truth.

A waiter came and I ordered black coffee.  After he left I threw out the opening gambit.  “So, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like Venice?”

Her expression changed to one of bewilderment.  “How do you mean?”

“I’ve heard from so many visitors that this place is easy to get lost in, and you appear to be alone.  Just over-active curiosity.”

I realized that she might be offended, whether referring to her as a ‘nice girl’ or that she might get lost.

“I could ask the same.”  A frown, and brittle tone.  Perhaps it was better this way, and she would have to work harder in getting us together, though insulting her, if that was what she thought it was, hadn’t been my intention.

“That’s easy, I’m living here at the present time.”

“Living here?”  Brittle turned to astonishment.

“Yes, I have apartments in a few different cities, and I like to keep moving.  Venice is my current choice of city.”

“Then you’re not likely to get lost.”

Yes, a little dig, probably deserved.  “Not often but I have a few times in the past.”  But, back to the interrogation, “here for a visit, on a cruise ship passing through, or with purpose?”

With a subtle look up and down, and a moment’s silence, I had enough time to think about what she was making of my sudden appearance, and how fortunate, or unfortunate, it might be.

Time enough to throw away the bad thoughts, and move on.

“I’m staying in a quaint hotel overlooking the Canal.”

I bit my tongue before I could say ‘I know’.

“It can be a bit busy along there at times, but you’ll be close to a few good restaurants.  I can recommend a gondola ride if you get the right man.  And if you want to go anywhere, take the Vaporetto, the water taxis are very expensive.”

My coffee arrived, and while I thanked the waitress, she digested the information, and its intent, that I was not going to show her around.

I also took out the phone with the gadgets and put it on the table.  A few seconds later it vibrated, and rippling rings showed on the screen, a sigh there was a transmitter nearby.  Her phone was not far away.

She saw the blue rings.  “That’s an unusual ring tone.”

“Oh, that.  Not a ringtone.  A friend of mine is paranoid his wife’s tracking him, so he’s got all this stuff on his phone to track the trackers.”  I looked around at the others sitting nearby.  “Someone’s got a transmitting device nearby.”

“Wouldn’t a normal microphone set it off?”

She was remarkably calm for someone whose phone was setting it off.  Had Larry given her a phone and not tell her of its significance.  Knowing him, he probably didn’t trust her to report seeing me.  And it would be better if she didn’t know, she could react to any accusation just as she was now.

“I asked him that but apparently if the phone is recording data and relaying it, it will set it off.”

She looked around also.  There were at least five people nearby on their phones, some even with others sitting at the table.  Smartphones literally were conversation killers.

Then she simply shrugged.  “Why would you need to know if someone was relaying information?”

Good question.  There was no indignation in the question, just curiosity.

“That’s my security chief, he is the sort of man who suspects everyone of something until proven innocent.”

“You need a security chief?”  More surprise.

“You never know who’s lurking in the shadows, and I am worth a fair bit, so I can only travel with security.  They’re out there, on the perimeter where even I can’t see them.”

“Wasn’t that what you did once, when I first met you?”

“Me?  No, At that time I was running a desk and made the mistake of going into the field to follow a hunch.  Always in the background, never in the line of fire.  Anyway, after that, I quit and moved into software development.  My family always had money and I had to do something with it, and, luckily, I backed a winner.  Happily married until Violetta died recently, and now, trying to move on.  How about you?”

Another chance for her to tell me the truth, or a version of it.

“A doctor until I wasn’t.  I didn’t cope well with long shifts and a thankless work environment.  I made a few bad choices.  This is the new me, past that chapter.  I thought I’d lose myself in Europe to celebrate my sobriety, and, here I am.”

My phone beeped twice, the result of an alarm I set earlier, to remind me to call Alfie.

She looked at it, and then at me.

I shrugged.  “Business, even when I retired.  I have to go, but maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

I stood.  “Nice seeing you again.”  I gave her no option to join me.

…

© Charles Heath 2022