Category: blogging

A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2025 – X

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X is for — Xanthic.  It’s the password, and to guess it, you have to know it’s yellow.  The one person who knew the code was murdered

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I stood in front of the vault door, recently installed, that, when opened, led to what we called ‘Aladdin’s cave’.

It was, in reality, just that; the gateway to a new technology that was going to change the world, the brainchild of Augustus Beatony.

We were not exactly sure what that brainchild was, except that it was going to be the next evolution in artificial intelligence, and the company, or more to the point, the consortium of public and private enterprise entities, investment of nearly a trillion dollars had diligently paid for.

The launch would be in three days, where everyone would learn what it was.

My guess, after spending the last five years handling the accounts, with almost as much secrecy surrounding them as the project itself, was that it was a computer, but not just any computer.

Many had speculated, some said they knew but wouldn’t tell, but the truth was, no one was sure.  And Augustus Beatony was nowhere to be found to ask.

This development, discovered last evening when a delegation of reporters had arrived at the hall where Augustus was going to tantalise them, and us, with some non-specific details of what to expect, and found he had failed to arrive.

A search was instituted, people going to his residence, this university office, his work office, even his mistress’s residence, but no one had seen him.

The last anyone had was me.  Two days ago, outside this very door, he had a special password that he was not going to share with anyone.

Including me, his most trusted friend.

Apparently, I like everyone else, could not be trusted.

And rather alarmingly, he stated that he was the only one who knew the password.

No one else.  No one.

Aloysius Magreve, the man the government had appointed to oversee their interests in the project, and probably the only other person in the universe capable of understanding the technology, was standing next to me.

He had just expended a lot of energy and anger at the situation.  I was not the prime target this time. It was Major General Fitzwilliam, head of the security detail, who was on the end of this tirade.

“How hard can it be to keep an eye on one man, given the resources at your disposal?”

It was a common misconception that the Major General had a whole army to throw at the problem.  The truth was he did not.  He was limited to six men and two women in rotation.

Augustus, on the other hand, was the Houdini of subjects being guarded, was as slippery as an eel, and was known to shake his bodyguards as easily as a bartender made cocktails

It’s not my analogy.

Major General Fitzwilliam was out looking for him.  Well, not the Major General himself, but his men and women.  They all thought the other was watching him.  Yes, Augustus was very good at pitting them against each other.

“What does it matter,” I said. ” He will be back to open the door, and then the games will commence.”

“Games?”

“Figure of speech.  He will tell us how it works.”

“You know what it is?”

“No.  But we will find out soon enough.”

“You seem quite blasé about a one trillion dollar funded and unseen project that could turn out to be a glorified Atari console.”

The fact that Augustus had likened his project to just such an item was worrying in the extreme.  And having heard Augustus refer to it as the world’s most expensive Atari console? I was more than a little worried that I’d given him too much attitude.

“He will turn up, don’t you worry.  The man had one other fault: he loves the limelight.”

I barely made it back to my office before my cell phone rang.  Major General Fitzwilliam.

“We’ve found him.  I’m texting you the address.”

When I received it a minute later, I typed the address into the maps app and zoomed in on the location.  An industrial estate on the edge of town.

Another quick search found that it had once been a thriving place with all manner of business, as well as a shopping mall, but a fire some years back turned the whole area into a ghost town.

Some said it was haunted, and others said it was where the drug addicts and homeless ended up, with a drug-related death at least once a week.

Our offices, the warehouse used to be there, but we moved five years ago when this new project started.

It was a twenty-minute drive, and I was the last one there.  Fitzwilliam had brought a platoon of troops, and they were being deployed.  What for, I was not sure, but it seemed to me they were prepping for action.

Magreve was standing beside the command truck.

“What on earth is going on?” I asked.

“Betoney’s cell came back on, and is in that building.”

He pointed to the one that had a faded sign on the wall above the door, our company name.  What was he doing in our old building?

Two soldiers stood cautiously on either side of an open door, weapons ready.  Five more were finishing kitting up.

“What are they doing?”

“Infra-red scan says there are three people inside.  They’re going in armed and ready.

“Has someone told them they’re not to shoot him?”

“Don’t panic.  The Major General has got this.”

The leader raised a hand, and when it stopped, the two men at the door went in.  The other five followed.  I just hoped they didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.

Seven minutes.

For seven minutes, there was nothing, and then the sound of Magreve’s communicator made a noise.

“Magreve, you there?”  The commander of the team wasn’t the best at communication with civilians.

“I am.”

“You need to see this.”

“Is it bad?”

Silence then, “Get in here.”

I followed Magreve inside, where we were met by one of the soldiers, who had obviously come back to take us.

We went down several passageways towards the back of the building, the smell of waterlogged carpet, and something else.  Death.

We came out into a large room, which had been a breakout area where tables and chairs had been stacked against the wall, and then in the middle of the open space, a single chair.

In it was Aloysius.

Dead.

He had died a very painful and horrific death, one that was very recent.

“We think the perpetrators are still here,” the officer whispered, “and the body is still warm.”

My God.  Aloysius was dead.  Just the true notion sent a chill down my spine.  And the obvious question was on the tip of my tongue.  “Why?”

“Because whoever kidnapped him wanted the secret technology. This is the result when a person refuses to give away his secret.”

I hadn’t realised I’d spoken the question out loud.

“Has he been…?”

“Tortured.  Yes.  And my guess is that he didn’t tell them anything.”

“It’s a bit late to be asking any questions or finding out what happened from him.  If they got what they wanted…”

“He was kidnapped, brought here, a bit poetic, by some people who wanted to get their hands on the tech.  Heart attack, by the look of it, and unexpected by the interrogators.”

“You can tell that how?”

“I recognise the work.”

I didn’t ask him to elaborate.  I was a numbers man, not versed in the machinations of espionage.

A shot rang out very near to us, and then, shouting, followed by a volley of shots, one of the bullets clanged into a metal wall not far from us.

Both Magreve and I ducked.  The officer headed towards the shooting.

This went on for several minutes until silence returned.  Not long after that, major General Fitzwilliam returned.

“We have two suspects.  It is time to clear the scene and bring in the investigators.  This is a bad business, very bad indeed.”

That’s when Magreve and I were escorted out of the building, just as the first police and ambulance personnel arrived.

He was right.  It was indeed a bad business.  Questions were going to be asked, including the one trillion dollar question.  How were we going to find out what Augustus Beatony did with the money?

If, in fact, he had not given up the password, and he was the only one with it, and the vault was set to self-destruction if it was opened any other way than with the password, we may never know.

And I knew who was going to get the blame.

Back at the office, a meeting was convened to discuss the situation. The situation was clear to me: Beatony was dead, no one had come near the vault, so he hadn’t given it up.

That meant that there was no one alive who could open the vault, so we would have to break in and hope the self-destruct didn’t work

But, knowing Beatony as I did, it would have been the first thing he made sure to work.

So…

We were up the proverbial Creek. My overtures to various people he had worked with brought up nothing new and verified that everyone hated him equally.

It was the shortest meeting for the project we had.  Mangreve was given the job of approaching the vault builders to see if they had kept a back door.  It was a possibility but unlikely.

My suggestion was, failing everything, I was going to wait and see if the door opened itself.  It was the mother of all Hail Marys, but knowing Beatony as I did, nothing could be ignored.

For the man who thought of everything, he must have devised a day to make his work visible, even in the event of his death.

An hour before the appointed time of the reveal, Beatoney had set up nearly three months before, I sat outside the vault.

In my imagination, the night before, I’d worked through any number of possible scenarios, all of which seemed impossible because he was dead.  A dead man can not get up and do stuff.

Then I went through all of the possibilities of what it might be, trying to discard the expensive Atari console type computer and then factor in all of the materials that I’d purchased.

I’d done that once before, trying to work out what it might be, but it wasn’t until the very end that I discovered he had two suppliers, both unknown to each other.

It was just another method of keeping his project results secret.

A half hour later, I was joined by Magreave and the Major General.  They had been told I was hanging around the vault door, so they thought they should be there too.  All the while, several technicians were studying the blueprints, the manual, the alarm schematics, looking for a way in.

At the appointed time, nothing happened.

Perhaps I’d been wrong about him.  Or maybe…

From within, there were a few weird sounds that, if I were to hazard a guess, the door going through an unlocking process.

Five minutes later, the sound of the warning almost drowned out all other responses, an action designed to make people aware of the vault door opening.  Getting hit by a hundred tons of metal door was going to hurt.

We stood back beyond the arc and watched the door slowly open.  When it had, and the smoke had cleared, another door opened, and then…

…Beatony walked out and stopped, several paces from us.

I think, to a man, we were all just simply gobsmacked, and definitely speechless.

“Great to meet the three of you, finally.  I am Augustus Beatony version two.  A fully functional, lifelike Android that is faster, stronger, smarter, and able to live, work, and function indefinitely in any circumstances.”

“You do realise Augustus Beatony version one is dead.”  I finally found my voice after getting over the initial shock of seeing a perfect replica of Augustus.

He had made a lifelike robot of himself. I’m not sure it was worth the trillion dollars.

“Yes.  Unfortunately, but he knew his time was limited and had prepared for it.  It’s why I’m here, now, to complete his work.”

“Are you not his work?”

“A small part of it. I have all the knowledge that went into building me so that we can make more and finally start exploring space.  Humans can’t survive. We can.”

“So the project…”  The Major General found his voice, too.

“Was to build the people and the spaceships to travel into the outer reaches of the galaxy.  I have it all in my head.”  The robot tapped his head.  “Now take me to the briefing, and I will tell everybody how this is going to work.”

“Isn’t there a convention where robots are not supposed to be human-like?”  Magreave had finally got over his astonishment.

“And you know the backers didn’t agree with that stipulation.  We don’t have time for semantics.  The briefing.”

I looked at Magreave and the Major General.

Both shrugged, Magreave saying, “Lifelike Robotics and artificial intelligence.  Why am I not surprised?”

“Because this was what they wanted all along,” the Mahor General added.  “Super soldiers.”

He turned to Augustus Beatony version two.  “We can’t switch you off, can we?”

“Nor destroy me.  Not without very serious consequences.  Shall we go?”

He warned me, and I realised the truth in that moment.  Three days before his disappearance, he said that if anything happened to him, there would be consequences.  “You’re in charge now, Magreave.  My involvement ended when he stepped out of the vault.  May God have mercy on all our souls.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Writing a book in 365 days – My Story 13

More about my story

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Sleeping with the…

The devil takes many forms, and our protagonist has met quite a few. In his line of work, there are few opportunities to snatch a little rest and recreation between life-and-death missions.

Coming back from a mandatory rest period, to recover from the worst of disasters that nearly cost him his life, there is time for the mortality aspect to start doing a number in his head.

It is inevitable.

And as inevitable is the slow breaking down of those beliefs in his invincibility. 

But worse than that, his handler started to think he was losing his edge, enough to send a backup just in case.

And why does it have to be an enigma wrapped up in a mystery?  It’s not as if to say she is there for any other reason than help in the mission, but after getting shot, and taking a cocktail of drugs and alcohol, his mind wanders.

The woman in white, that apparition that appears to be too good to be true, is dancing on the edge of his memory.  Who is she?  Well, in a moment of finally doing his job, keeping a watchful eye over the conference delegate, a woman from his past, he sees them together, and their chemistry together tells him it is a daughter or a special relative. 

It doesn’t explain why the woman in white is there.

It is a question for another day.

Searching for locations: Queenstown Gardens, Queenstown, New Zealand

Queenstown Gardens are not far from the center of Queenstown.  They are just down the hill from where we usually stay at Queenstown Mews.

More often than not we approach the Gardens from the lakeside during our morning walk from the apartment to the coffee shop.  You can walk alongside the lake, or walk through the Gardens, which, whether in summer or winter, is a very picturesque walk.

There’s a bowling club, and I’m afraid I will never be that sort of person to take it up (not enough patience) and an Ice Arena, where, in winter I have heard players practicing ice hockey.

I’m sure, at times, ice skating can also be done.

There is a stone bridge to walk across, and in Autumn/Winter the trees can add a splash of color.

There is a large water feature with fountain, and plenty of seating around the edge of the lake, to sit and absorb the tranquility, or to have a picnic.

There are ducks in the pond

and out of the pond

and plenty of grassed areas with flower beds which are more colorful in summer.  I have also seen the lawns covered in snow, and the fir trees that line the lake side of the gardens hang heavy with icicles.

NANOWRIMO – April 2025 – Day 28

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The Fourth Son

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I have to say that just writing about Queen Isobel sent shivers down my spine.

At tome my hands were shaking over the keyboard, and I had to try very hard to find the words that might express some of that feeling and felt the despair of never being able to act on it.

In my mind, they were sharing a dance, a waltz, one where they could br together and apart when they could gaze into each other’s eyes.

I could feel that depth of feelings because it’s the same o have with the love of my life who’s been there for nearly 50 years.  All it takes is a look, a nuance, a simple touch that sends an electric shock through you.

And how hard it is not to show it when out in public.

It’s why Ruth is perceptive enough to see what there is and clever enough to realise that it was not a threat.  Their pact of telling the truth, no matter what, had given her his perspective, what had happened, and what it meant in a world that she could never imagine.

I’m still trying to reconcile those feelings because I’ve never quite experienced anything like it, so I could never say for sure what I would have done in similar circumstances.

Men are usually weak.  Perhaps I want this king to be sometimes more than his father, who certainly would have acted on what he would have assumed was an implied offer.

And just to be clear, I never expected there would be weighty moral issues arising in this simple tale of a fourth son rising to be king.

An excerpt from “If Only” – a work in progress

Investigation of crimes doesn’t always go according to plan, nor does the perpetrator get either found or punished.

That was particularly true in my case.  The murderer was incredibly careful in not leaving any evidence behind, to the extent that the police could not rule out whether it was a male or a female.

At one stage the police thought I had murdered my own wife though how I could be on a train at the time of the murder was beyond me.  I had witnesses and a cast-iron alibi.

The officer in charge was Detective First Grade Gabrielle Walters.  She came to me on the day after the murder seeking answers to the usual questions like, when was the last time you saw your wife, did you argue, the neighbors reckon there were heated discussions the day before.

Routine was the word she used.

Her fellow detective was a surly piece of work whose intention was to get answers or, more likely, a confession by any or all means possible.  I could sense the raging violence within him.  Fortunately, common sense prevailed.

Over the course of the next few weeks, once I’d been cleared of committing the crime, Gabrielle made a point of keeping me informed of the progress.

After three months the updates were more sporadic, and when, for lack of progress, it became a cold case, communication ceased.

But it was not the last I saw of Gabrielle.

The shock of finding Vanessa was more devastating than the fact she was now gone, and those images lived on in the same nightmare that came to visit me every night when I closed my eyes.

For months I was barely functioning, to the extent I had all but lost my job, and quite a few friends, particularly those who were more attached to Vanessa rather than me.

They didn’t understand how it could affect me so much, and since it had not happened to them, my tart replies of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ were met with equally short retorts.  Some questioned my sanity, even, for a time, so did I.

No one, it seemed, could understand what it was like, no one except Gabrielle.

She was by her own admission, damaged goods, having been the victim of a similar incident, a boyfriend who turned out to be an awfully bad boy.  Her story varied only in she had been made to witness his execution.  Her nightmare, in reliving that moment in time, was how she was still alive and, to this day, had no idea why she’d been spared.

It was a story she told me one night, some months after the investigation had been scaled down.  I was still looking for the bottom of a bottle and an emotional mess.  Perhaps it struck a resonance with her; she’d been there and managed to come out the other side.

What happened become our secret, a once-only night together that meant a great deal to me, and by mutual agreement, it was not spoken of again.  It was as if she knew exactly what was required to set me on the path to recovery.

And it had.

Since then, we saw each about once a month in a cafe.   I had been surprised to hear from her again shortly after that eventful night when she called to set it up, ostensibly for her to provide me with any updates on the case, but perhaps we had, after that unspoken night, formed a closer bond than either of us wanted to admit.

We generally talked for hours over wine, then dinner and coffee.  It took a while for me to realize that all she had was her work, personal relationships were nigh on impossible in a job that left little or no spare time for anything else.

She’d always said that if I had any questions or problems about the case, or if there was anything that might come to me that might be relevant, even after all this time, all I had to do was call her.

I wondered if this text message was in that category.  I was certain it would interest the police and I had no doubt they could trace the message’s origin, but there was that tiny degree of doubt, about whether or not I could trust her to tell me what the message meant.

I reached for the phone then put it back down again.  I’d think about it and decide tomorrow.

© Charles Heath 2018-2020

Searching for locations: Queenstown, New Zealand, from the top of a mountain

You take the gondola up to the Skyline and get some of the most amazing views.

Below is a photo of The Remarkables, one of several ski resorts near Queenstown.

You can see the winding road going up the mountainside.  We have made this trip several times and it is particularly frightening in winter when chains are required.

theremarkables3

In the other direction, heading towards Kingston, the views of the mountains and the lake are equally as magnificent.

theviewfromthegondolaquwwnstown

Or manage to capture a photo of the Earnslaw making its way across the lake towards Walter Peak Farm.  It seems almost like a miniature toy.

‘What Sets Us Apart’ – A beta readers view

There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?

A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.

But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.

And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.

Susan is exactly the sort of woman to pique his interest.  Then, inexplicably, she disappears.  That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.

Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!

A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.

When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.

I’ve been told there’s a sequel in the works.

Bring it on!

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The book can be purchased here:  http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

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Writing a book in 365 days – My Story 13

More about my story

…

Sleeping with the…

The devil takes many forms, and our protagonist has met quite a few. In his line of work, there are few opportunities to snatch a little rest and recreation between life-and-death missions.

Coming back from a mandatory rest period, to recover from the worst of disasters that nearly cost him his life, there is time for the mortality aspect to start doing a number in his head.

It is inevitable.

And as inevitable is the slow breaking down of those beliefs in his invincibility. 

But worse than that, his handler started to think he was losing his edge, enough to send a backup just in case.

And why does it have to be an enigma wrapped up in a mystery?  It’s not as if to say she is there for any other reason than help in the mission, but after getting shot, and taking a cocktail of drugs and alcohol, his mind wanders.

The woman in white, that apparition that appears to be too good to be true, is dancing on the edge of his memory.  Who is she?  Well, in a moment of finally doing his job, keeping a watchful eye over the conference delegate, a woman from his past, he sees them together, and their chemistry together tells him it is a daughter or a special relative. 

It doesn’t explain why the woman in white is there.

It is a question for another day.

The story behind the story: A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers

To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.

But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.

That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.

It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and although I finished it last year, it looks like the beginning to end will have taken exactly 30 years.  Had you asked me 30 years ago if I’d ever get it finished, the answer would be maybe?

My private detective, Harry Walthenson

I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.

But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modelled Harry and his office on it.  Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.

Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life.  I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breathe life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.

Then there’s the title, like

The Case of the Unintentional Mummy – this has so many meanings in so many contexts, though I imagine that back in Hollywood in the ’30s and ’40s, this would be excellent fodder for Abbott and Costello

The Case of the Three-Legged Dog – Yes, I suspect there may be a few real-life dogs with three legs, but this plot would involve something more sinister.  And if made out of plaster, yes, they’re always something else inside.

But for mine, to begin with, it was “The Case of the …”, because I had no idea what the case was going to be about, well, I did, but not specifically.

Then I liked the idea of calling it “The Case of the Brother’s Revenge” because I began to have a notion there was a brother no one knew about, but that’s stuff for other stories, not mine, so then went the way of the others.

Now it’s called ‘A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers’, finished the first three drafts, and at the editor for the last.

I have high hopes of publishing it in early 2021.  It even has a cover.

PIWalthJones1

In a word: Pause

Yes, when you are going at it like a bat out of hell, it might be an idea to take a pause and regroup.

That being a pause as an interruption to an activity.

In music, it’s a mark over a note.

Perhaps it’s a good idea to pause recording a TV show while the ads are on.  Networks don’t like it, but it makes the show make more sense without the distractions of advertisements, sometimes quite inane, or annoying.

What I just said, might give pause to my opposite number in this debate.

Have you been in a conversation, someone says something quite odd, and there’s a pregnant pause?

How did the word pregnant get into the conversation?  That, of course, usually means something significant will follow, but rarely does.  But it can also be a conversation killer where no one says anything.

Is that a wide eye in awe moment?  You did WHAT?

Then there is the word pours, sounds the same but is completely different.

In this case, the man pours water from the bucket on the plants.

Or my brother pours cold water on my plans.  Not literally, but figuratively, making me think twice about whether it would work or not.  Usually not.

Or a confession pours out of a man with a guilty conscience.  AKA sings like a bird.  Don’t you just love these quaint expressions?  It reminded me of a gangster film back in Humphrey Bogart’s day.

It never rains but it pours?  Another expression, when everything goes wrong.  A bit like home renovations really.

Really, it means to flow quickly and in large quantities, ie. rain pours down.

And if that isn’t bad enough, what about paws?

Sounds the same again, but, yes it’s what an animal has as feet, especially cats, dogs, and bears.

One use of it, out of context, of course, is ‘get your paws off me!’

And one rabbit paw might be good luck, but having two rabbit pows, I might win the lottery.

If only….