John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
It was odd because when I had gone to bed the previous evening, it had been quite warm, after one of those balmy autumn days. We had all been basking in what seemed to be an endless heatwave and finally getting some relief, and the last thing I’d seen was storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
It had been the strangest of summers, unprecedented, and as some of the more radical climate change so-called experts said, the beginning of the end.
The more rational scientists, the people the government relied on to advise them, had said that changes were occurring though not in a manner that rang ring alarm bells, but it was not part of the normal weather patterns.
Storms like that being predicted were normal, what was not normal, was feeling cold.
Also, I’d woken to an eerie darkness because there didn’t seem to be any lights on in the room. A few minutes later, that darkness had given way to a murky light as dawn broke, and I shivered.
Something was not right.
I looked at the clock, and it had stopped. I checked my phone, and it had a seventy per cent charge where it should be full. The charger was not working. A few seconds later, I tried the light switch.
Nothing. There was no power.
Another shiver went through me, but this time, it was generated by fear. I was being drawn to the window, and then when I looked out, what I saw took my breath away.
What in hell’s name had happened?
Outside, there was nothing but snow as far as the eye could see.
I’d gone to sleep after spending a few hours on a warm balmy night with Tricia, the waitress from the flat above, over a cold bottle of white wine.
Over the last few weeks, we had talked about this, about that, about nothing at all, slowly discovering that spending these few hours together relieved the boredom and inanity of our mundane lives.
For me, it had given me the hope of something else in the future than of being nothing of consequence and going nowhere.
That landing we had sat on only a few hours before was now deep in snow. If it was January, I wouldn’t give it a second thought, but this was September.
I threw on some warm clothes, buried in the bottom drawer and smelling of mothballs because I wasn’t supposed to need them for a few more months. It looked bleak outside, and I wanted to see just how bad it was close up.
After another look out the window to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, I went downstairs where there were a dozen or more people in the foyer and more out on the sidewalk, most of whom had looks of stunned disbelief.
As I descended the stairs it got colder, and with the door open, we could all feel the breeze swirling the lightly falling snow outside and in through the opening. The building supervisor was rugged up, standing by the door, making sure it closed after someone entered or left.
I knew most of those downstairs. I also recognised the looks on their faces.
Fear.
“What’s happening,” I asked. “Aside from the obvious.”
Mr Jacobson, the oldest member of our little enclave and the most educated, peered out the door and then looked at me. “It seems winter has come early this year.”
There was a hint of irony in his tone. The previous day had been in the low seventies, and the weather forecast had been for rain. Instead of rain, we got snow. How was that possible? I’m sure he would tell me if I asked, but I was not sure I’d understand him. He was a scientist in his previous life before forced retirement.
“Or, if it isn’t that…” I said, perhaps expecting him to complete the sentence. I knew he had a thing about climate change, even though everyone else had dismissed it when it seemed the planet’s climate appeared to have readjusted itself a few years back.
Some said it was a miracle. Some said we were all worried about nothing, but some said it was a sign, one last chance to stop going down the path we were on. If it was a reprieve, we ignored it.
Mr Jacobsen had told everyone that adjustment was only temporary, but he’d been saying the same thing for the last few years, and nothing had happened. Now he was simply the man who cried wolf.
“Mother Earth has been waiting patiently to take her revenge, and because we preferred to be complacent, this is just the beginning.” Mr. Jacobson wasn’t saying it out of spite, I believed he knew what was happening but couldn’t explain it in words any of us would understand.
But Harry Johnson, the man who knew everything but knew nothing, threw in his two cents worth. “You scientists have been banging on about this nonsense for decades, and nothing has happened. This is an aberration. Something had to give after an abnormally hot summer. It’ll be gone in a day or two. Mark my words.”
Mr Jacobson shook his head, but he said nothing more. There was no point. No one was going to believe him now. “There’s no power,” he said to me. “And it’s going to get colder. They should have insulated the power stations when they had the chance, but they didn’t. My advice, to everyone, get some extra blankets.”
“Or head south,” someone yelled out.
“You think it’s going to be better there?” Someone else asked.
“Out in that cold.” Another resident, one from a few floors above me, came in from outside shivering as if to emphasise his point. “You wouldn’t get far. The police are saying it only goes as far south as Washington, but everyone has the same idea, and the roads are clogged with people trying to get out of the city. They also say we’re actually not as badly off as those further north.”
“I didn’t see any police outside,” Harry Johnson said, and I’ve been out a few times.”
“They’re moving from building to building, telling people to stay indoors and keep warm until the power is back on. There is only limited transport options and office buildings and shopping centres are closed due to the blackout. They say we should tune into the radio for further information. Didn’t any of you take notice after the last disaster when we were told to be prepared in case it happened again?”
“That was different,” Harry muttered.
“How? This is worse. Then they rationed power, but we had power, and trucks and transport could move. This time, we have no power at all, and nothing can move because of the snow and icy conditions. This is going to take a while for the authorities to fix. If the weather changes out there, and it doesn’t look like it will change any time soon. Go to your apartments and keep warm. Find a radio and keep yourselves informed.”
There was murmuring, and a few complaints about people telling them what to do, but within five minutes, they were all trudging back up the stairs. With nothing more to see, I went back up the stairs myself. When I got to my apartment, Tricia was outside the door, dressed in her ski gear.
“What happened? Where’s the heat. I just woke up freezing.”
“Mr Jabobson says it’s Mother Nature taking revenge on us horrible humans.”
“The mad scientist?”
It was one of several names the residents gave him.
“I don’t think he’s as mad as we want to believe he is. He says it’s going to get colder and we need extra blankets.”
“I could get mine, bring them down, and we could share if you like. I know you’d like to be with me as much as I would like to be with you. It’s as good a reason as any. I am assuming you like me as much as I like being with you.”
I hadn’t expected whatever we had to move quickly, but I had thought my feelings towards her were not fully reciprocated. I didn’t want to take advantage of the situation, but it was a sensible idea.
“I do, and I’m happy if you’re happy. I don’t think the heat or the power will be back in a hurry, so we are not likely to be going far.”
“Then let’s go up and fetch the blankets.”
It was coincidental that recently, I had been reading about doomsday events. The oil crisis was not likely to happen again, and someone had thought about that Hormuz bottleneck, built alternative pipelines, and considered a lot more scenarios again after the recent mini-crisis. Then there was the possibility of a meteor crashing into the earth and knocking us out of orbit, but that was a bit more extreme and unlikely.
Nor was it because I was one of those prepper types who were hoarding necessities in an underground bunker, but because for a few months, about a year ago, the Middle East went up in flames and the oil supply briefly stopped, again.
It just proved that we should never put politicians in charge of trying to de-escalate a potential war. For those few months, it began with anarchy until the order was restored, and everything was rationed until common sense prevailed.
We saw what could happen, and it wasn’t pretty.
This, however, was a different problem. What could be a prelude to the next ice age had just arrived on our doorstep, and it would be interesting to know what was happening, even get a weather report that could tell us it was temporary. If we had learned anything from the past, people needed to be kept informed.
Even if they told us a lie, that everything would get better soon, it would be better than nothing. After the last crisis, everyone was aware that there had been precious little truth spoken as time passed, and inaction was met with unrest. It came very close to martial law, and no one wanted to see that again.
After that, I bought a small battery-operated radio, knowing there would be a designated radio station that had its own power supply to advise people of what was happening and what to do in a crisis like this; once Tricia and I were comfortable and warm, we tuned in to the station. It wasn’t confidence-inspiring, and the deadpan announcer’s voice only added a sense of the sinister to the news.
It definitely wasn’t good.
What we did learn; the snow basically blanketed the whole of the northern hemisphere from the north pole to the latitude below Washington, though there were snowy conditions for a further hundred miles south past that point. It was similar to the southern hemisphere, where it reached as far up as the bottom of Tasmania, an island south of mainland Australia.
And it wasn’t predicted to stop snowing for a few days at the very least. The poles were apparently clouded over and in a similar situation to being fogged in. There, the temperatures were a lot, lot colder.
No one was commenting on why it was happening, only that it was an unexpected turn of events that was not expected to last, and that the city’s services would be soon operating on a reduced scale, predicted to be within 24 hours, and that people, unless they were designated as working for essential services, should stay home until advised otherwise.
They acknowledged that power stations had been temporarily disabled by an abnormal amount of snow. The drifts had also caused problems in the substations and along the feeder lines, whatever that meant.
Then, the message looped after saying to stay tuned for any change in the situation. At the very least, they would advise the latest weather report on the hour. That was twenty minutes away.
We both listened to the weather report, and we both agreed that the wording was a signal. Not necessarily to us, but to others, and that was most likely to say things were not going to get better in the short term and to prepare for trouble.
The announcement underlined the necessity that we all stayed in place, the conditions would soon improve, and, shortly after that, another announcer said there would be limited power returning in a matter of hours.
A specific number wasn’t mentioned. It was as close to saying that no one knew definitely.
After several minutes of a rather sombre symphony playing softly in the background, both of us agreed it was weird because New York was never this quiet, ever. Tricia said to no one in particular, “What are they not saying?”
She was right. The announcer had spoken for nearly half an hour and told us nothing we already didn’t know. In words we really didn’t understand.
“My father always said that when people start using big words, they’re trying to hide the truth.”
“It’s not getting better, is it?”
“We don’t know. Mr Jacobson, the man you call the mad scientist, said that winter had come early, and while he made it sound like a joke, I don’t think he meant it that way. I’m going to see him and ask him what he’s going to do.”
“Don’t you think he’s crazy?”
Everybody did. Especially after he lost his job after telling anyone who would listen that exactly what happened was going to happen. Maybe if it had been five years ago, someone might have listened.
“No.”
Outside the door, we could hear raised voices. Had Harry decided to tell Mr Jacobson to keep his theories to himself. “I’d better go and see what’s happening.”
By the time I got the door open, it was to see Jacobson being escorted by two policemen. I ran up to them before they descended the stairs, yelling out, “He’s not mad, just concerned like all of us.”
He stopped and turned to me. “It’s fine, Alex. I’m going to have a talk with the meteorologists. They requested I go and meet with them. Remember what we talked about a few months back?”
For the moment, I couldn’t, but I had made a note of it on my phone.
“No matter. When you do, it’s Z. Do you understand? Z.”
I repeated it, and he nodded. Then they continued down the stairs, a few of the residents following.
On the way back to my apartment, I tried to remember what it was we were talking about. He had been, I remembered now, rather disjointed, as though he was having a hard time articulating what he wanted to say. He’d been more distracted than normal, but I had put it down to the anniversary of his wife’s death. It had hit him very hard, and I could only imagine what it would be like for him.
I went in and closed the door behind me. Tricia was still under the blankets. “What was it?”
“Jacobson, your mad scientist, was being taken away by the police. He says he’s been taken to see the meteorologists.”
“Or the loony bin. I heard Harry say more than once Jacobson was a loose cannon.”
“Harry wouldn’t know his ass from his elbow. Jacobson reminded me of something we talked about a few months ago. It might not be relevant; he was rambling more than usual at that time. He asked me to write it down, so all I have to do is find the notes on my cell phone.”
Which then took the next two hours to go through. I hadn’t realised that I’d accumulated so much junk over the years, nor so many photographs of New York all through the year, a visual reminder of what it was like before the snow.
“We will have to think about food soon,” Tricia said. “I usually only cater from day to day, like everyone.”
It was probably what a lot of people inside and outside the building were also thinking about, and given what happened the last time food supplies were interrupted, it could get ugly very quickly.
That was why I stocked up on some essential long-life items like milk, canned meat, vegetables, and fruit. Enough for two people to last a month.
“The thing I do remember from talking to Jacobson several months ago was to store up some essential items in case the oil stopped again. He said it was prudent these days to have supplies because of how things are in the Middle East.”
Tensions never die down there, and rockets were always flying about threatening to extend the current conflict between Israel and the Palestinians into a wider war with Lebanon, Syria, and Iran.
Who knew we’d have something else to worry about.
“For you, perhaps.”
“For two. I have always included you in my disaster plan.”
“Then believe me when I say you are the first.”
“I know how that feels. But only if you want me to. I don’t want you to feel obligated or have to do anything in return.”
She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I know. Now, what was the mad scientist trying to tell you?”
I found the relevant document file and scrolled through the pages, a whole mass of disjointed and in places almost unintelligible notes. Jacobson had been reciting stuff so fast that I could hardly get it down. His wife had been an expert on shorthand, and he forgot that I was not her.
But then I got to the section that had a ‘Z’ on it, in capitals and bolded so that it stood out. He must have slowed down by then.
“It says that Plan Z was to get ready for an ELE event.”
“ELE, what is that?”
“Can’t remember, hang on.” I scrolled through a few more pages and then stopped reading. It was not on the page, but I suddenly remembered what it was.
An apt description of what happened when the meteor struck Earth and killed all the dinosaurs. I said, “It’s what is known as an Extinction Level Event.”
“I thought that was when meteors were coming.”
“It could also be a deadly virus like Covid, or an ice age, though that wouldn’t kill everyone, but it would make things very difficult to survive. Maybe that’s not what he specifically meant. Perhaps it’s just some of the suggestions he made if such a thing happened.”
“He did say z, plan z.”
“No, just Z, but he did say it was what we had been talking about, and that was the only z I can remember, or made notes on. And if they’re pulling him back to be an advisor after scoffing at his ideas, then what they’re not telling us is quite telling if you ask me. If you don’t mind the irony of it all.”
It was met with a wan smile from her. “What did you think we should do?”
I shrugged. “If It was just me alone, I’d probably head south. There’s no transport, so I’m not sure what I’d use.”
“And go where?”
“Always wanted to go to California, and that’s past the current freeze line. Somewhere where there’s power for starters, though.”
“I’ve got a car. It’s not a very good one, but I used to hang out in my dad’s workshop, and I pretty much know everything there is about cars and trucks.”
“And you waitress?”
“Girl mechanics don’t get far, just hit on. Lasted a week before I hit one jerk with a spanner. They’re very useful for teaching jerks lessons. Do you have any hidden talents?”
“Aside from washing dishes, not really. I can read, not comics, but textbooks and learn from them. Very good at trivia questions. I can program computers, and I have a funny little program running at the moment collecting every digitised book on the planet. Useful, of course, to no one but me.”
“Every book?”
I shrugged. “That can be freely downloaded, yes.”
“Why?”
“The usual reason, because I can.”
“How about speaking other languages, like Russian, or German?”
“Yes, several. Why?”
“Another quirk, I guess, that I have too. I can speak about six or seven different languages. I just can for some reason. Helps to talk to the customers at the diner when their English is kaput.”
Interesting. But time for a change of subject. “Does the car have petrol?”
“Diesel.”
“Spare fuel?”
“Some. So, we have a car, we have food, we have blankets and warm clothes. Still might not be enough. We certainly will not get on the roads with the stay-at-home order in place, but when things get better, it’s a possible plan.”
Another announcement had just been made, that if you had no reason to be on the street, stay at home, until further notice. There was also a specific reference to looting and the fact that perpetrators would be apprehended. This time, they were not waiting until everything went to hell.
“The question is, and don’t take this the wrong way if I was to consider going anywhere, I would not want to leave you here, not while this is all going on. And if it does pass, I would consider going south, but again, I don’t want to leave you unless…”
“I have something better to do with my life, or I have a secret boyfriend or ex-husband, or maybe I just don’t like you. What you see is what you get, Alex. I don’t want to be alone, and yet that’s what always happens. The type of guys I get to meet, well, you’re not one of them. Let’s see what happens in the next few days when we are so close; bad habits are bound to surface. I’m not perfect.”
“Neither am I. Nor do I have many dates. Talking to you on the fire escape has been the highlight of my life. Make of that what you will.”
It was hard to tell what she was thinking, though, at times, it was easy enough to gauge her mood. At the moment, with everything, there was an element of fear, tinged with something else. But the fact she wanted to stay with me and see what happened was a good sign.
She took my hand in hers and held it with both of hers. “I’m not sure if I should curse or thank this weather. But one thing is for sure, it brought us together in a way I never expected, though part of me was hoping something might develop. Lives such as ours don’t give scope for much, but it doesn’t mean we can’t try. Plan for two. I think soon, we’re going to be in for a hell of a ride if we can get in front of it. That said, in the meantime, what have you got to eat?”
I have reworked the first part of the story with a few new elements about the characters and changed a few of the details of how the characters finish up in the shop before the policewoman makes her entrance.
This is part of the new first section is the one that involves the Jack, the girl, and the shopkeeper
Jack exchanged a look with the shopkeeper, who in return gave him a slight shrug as if to say he had no idea what this was about.
He could see the girl was not strung out on drugs; if she was it would be a good bet both would be shot or dead by now. She was just the unfortunate partner of a boy who was on drugs and had found herself in a dangerous position.
Beth, his wife, had told him she didn’t like nor trust the shopkeeper and that her friend in the same apartment block had told her he had been seen selling drugs to youths who hung around just before he closed. She had warned him it would not be safe, but he had ignored her.
It was a bit late to tell her she was right.
He took a half step towards the door, judging the distance and time it would take to open the door and get out.
Too far, and he would be too slow, his reward for running; a bullet in the back.
Perhaps another half step when she wasn’t looking.
The shopkeeper changed his expression to one more placatory, and said quietly to the girl, “Look, this is not this chap’s problem.” He nodded in the direction of the customer. “I’m sure he’d rather not be here, and you would glad of one less distraction.”
He could see she was wavering. She was not holding the gun so steadily, and the longer this dragged on, the more nervous and unpredictable she would become.
And in the longer game, the customer would sing his praises no matter what happened if he could get him out of the shop alive and well.
This could still be a win-win situation.
The girl looked at Jack. The shopkeeper was right. If he wasn’t here this could be over.
But there was another problem. It didn’t look like Simmo was in any shape to getaway. In fact, this was looking more like a suicide mission.
She waved the gun in his direction. ‘Get out now, before I change my mind.’
As the gun turned to the shopkeeper, Jack wasn’t going to wait to be asked twice and started sidling towards the door.
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…
The Detective Inspector came back twenty minutes later.
“Latest news that I can tell you, is both the bodies belong to older people, we think the owner and one other. They were not in the fire, but some distance from the house.”
“Murdered?”
“People don’t shoot themselves in the back. They were trying to escape.”
The mother and a friend perhaps. Anna or someone else cleaning up? Was she getting ready to leave or gone already?
“No other body?”
“You think someone else was here?”
“Our agent, male, mid-thirties. He was here the last time I saw him.”
“Not so far, but I’ll tell them to widen the search.”
Had O’Connell escaped, or was he with her, and he was not simply a means to an end? The facts, as I knew them, didn’t seem to fit that scenario.
What worried me was that Dobbin hadn’t shown up yet. Could it be he was finally one step behind? I could only hope so. I didn’t want to run into him if and when I found Anna.
If Anna and O’Connell were about to leave, it would be reasonable to assume they’d go home, pack then leave. O’Connell’s flat at the same block where Josephine lived.
When we arrived at the front entrance to the block I had that sensation of being watched. It was possible Dobbin had the place under surveillance and I cursed myself for not checking to see if there was a back entrance.
I tried to see where the surveillance would be, places I would hide, if not in plain sight, but nothing was readily apparent. Of course, it could be the paranoia setting in.
If this was what the spy’s life was like, I was beginning to like it less and less. There were so many lies told by so many people it was impossible to tell what the truth was any more.
But it beat being a clerk in an office any day of the week.
And I didn’t get to work alongside people like Jennifer either.
“You sure we can get into this place. I’m starting to feel exposed out here.” She was shivering, because of the cold.
The temperature had dropped considerably in the last half hour.
I entered the code and the door opened. “Yes.”
I ushered her in and followed, taking a last look outside. Yes. Just caught a glimpse of a man on the corner almost out of sight. He was on his phone, so that would mean we would have minutes rather than enough time to do anything before someone arrived.
Would it be Dobbin, Jan, Monica or Joanne?
The list of interested parties was getting longer.
We almost jogged up the three flights of stairs, then on the landing, I went first, and Jennifer stayed back, gun in hand, ready for anything.
At least I hoped she was.
We were taught how to pick almost any lock in the shortest [possible time. Of course, in practice, when not under pressure, you could do it in seconds.
Now, because of the cold, my hands were slightly numb, and the pressure was mounting so things didn’t quite work the way they should, it took longer. A minute whereas in practice, seconds.
I drew my gun and opened the door carefully.
Nothing but darkness.
We had prearranged that Jennifer would wait outside until I gave her an all-clear, or if I didn’t come back in two minutes she should come in after me.
I went in but left the door ajar. Closed, fumbling to open it in a panic would get me killed. Little details.
Silence.
There didn’t appear to be anyone in the flat. Remembering the layout, I headed towards the passage leading to the bedroom, and about half way across the room, I kicked my foot into something.
This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.
…
This month has been exhausting, because not only have I been trying to get the NaNoWriMo project completed, which involves writing about 1,800 words a day, every day, I have been keeping up the A to Z blogging challenge with a new story every day bar Sunday.
You have no idea how much I looked forward to each of the Sundays.
Of course, a plan is needed if anyone is contemplating to do something similar.
It also requires you to be able to come up with a new idea every day for the story and try not to get caught up in a crossover.
And, try not to hit the wall.
This is exactly what happened yesterday, when I got halfway through the story, and the equivalent of deleting the file rather than saving it happened.
So few yards from the finishing line and kaput, I’m sitting there in front of a blank screen wondering where the next 2,5000 words for the story are coming from.
On the way to the Hall of Fame, we found an ice-skating rink
The Hockey hall of fame
The hockey hall of fame is a very large exhibition which would take a whole day to see everything. We sat through a very informative history of the game and the origins of the NHL, which for people who do not have hockey as a sport in their country, is saying something.
We follow the Maple Leafs, coincidentally Toronto’s franchise in the NHL, and we have been here before for a game, which they lost. It didn’t matter, I was staggered by the energy and enthusiasm both the players and the fans put into making it a memorable experience.
I’m hoping for a repeat experience.
…
St Lawrence Market
We walked 1.8 km to the market and it was closed which is about right for us as we have a knack for turning up and the place is closed, for instance, the Canadian Club Distillery in Windsor, Canada.
Perhaps tomorrow, before or after the game.
…
Red Lobster
Ok, we’ve been here before and it was beyond any expectations anyone could have for a restaurant chain.
This was no different from the last.
What more could you want, scallops, shrimp, and a fried lobster tail all drowned in a superb garlic butter sauce.
Add a side of mash potatoes, and a 20oz glass of beer, and there is the definition of heaven on a plate.
…
St Lawrence Market, again
Snowing, but not heavily
St Lawrence market, everything is very expensive, crab legs $120 per kg, lobster, $50 to $80 per kg. Oddly everything is quoted per pound, and it’s a good thing that we can convert lbs to kg.
It is, to say the least, a disappointment.
…
Ice Hockey at the Scotiabank Arena
There was a definite buzz in the air, and heading towards the stadium was both us, and many other Toronto supporters. Blue Maple Leaf jerseys were in abundance.
We’ve been before, and the last time the Leafs lost.
What else is new?
They have had a very good season so far, and are second on the ladder overall, so it was not without the expectation that they might win this one.
Never have an expectation.
They lost.
But…
It was an incredible game that was none stop action. It seems to me that you require a lot of skill and skating talent to play this game. I certainly couldn’t, and freely admit that I’d probably last about five minutes.
The score didn’t reflect the play, but in the end, the Leafs lost 4 – 3, at the end of the three periods.
…
Souvenir hunting and other stuff
I woke tired and exhausted, not looking forward to walking around Toronto.
Got up early to do the walking.
Oh, did I tell you, this hotel has a laundry and it is the bugbear of staying in major hotels, not being able to wash clothes?
Breakfast is included, but it is the main meal of the day so we feast. The selection is incredible.
We had to go back to the Maple Leafs franchise shop to exchange a Maple Leafs Jersey, which was no trouble.
So near to the CN tower, we go in to shop for souvenirs, of which there were plenty. I liked the stuffed mooses and beavers.
We’ve been up the tower so it’s back to the Union Station and a short stay upstairs, a little bar overlooking the Toronto Pearson train line.
Time for tasting some Canadian ales, the first a Mill Street tank house ale, the second a Mill Street hopped and confused. Seriously, that’s what they were called.
The drinking mood music was old hits like Queen and a little bit of country and western.
We had a good view of the trains, too.
Union Station
Like all main stations very large very tall ceilings and openings that lead to the tracks of which there are about 24, and an underground system
Much the same as all large railway terminals and probably far busier in times gone by.
…
Dining, but not necessarily dinner
Not far from the station, and opposite to clock tower belonging to the old city hall was a restaurant called Bannock.
There I had a Moosehead Cracked Canoe lager, a light ale, and a house special since 1929, a chicken pot pie, and it was very good.
As accomplished as we can be at putting words on paper, what is it that makes it so difficult to sit in a chair with a camera on you, and saying words rather than writing them?
Er and um seem to crop up a lot in verbal speech.
OK, it was a simple question; “What motivates you to write?”
Damn.
My brain just turned to mush, and the words come out sounding like a drunken sailor after a night out on the town.
The written answer to the question is simple; “The idea that someone will read what I have written, and quite possibly enjoy it; that is motivation enough.”
It highlights the difficulties of the novice author.
Not only are there the constant demands of creating a ‘brand’ and building a ‘following’, there is also the need to market oneself, and the interview is one of the more effective ways of doing this.
If only I can settle the nerves.
I mean, really, it is only my granddaughter who is conducting the interview, and the questions are relatively simple.
The trouble is, I’ve never had to do it before, well, perhaps in an interview for a job, but that is less daunting. That usually sticks to a predefined format.
Here the narrative can go in any direction. There are set questions, but the interviewer, in her inimitable manner, can sometimes slide a question in out of left field.
For instance, “Your character Zoe the assassin, is she based on someone you know, or an amalgam of other characters you’ve read about or seen in movies?”
That was an interesting question, and one that has several answers, but the one most relevant was; “It was the secret alter ego of one of the women I used to work with. I asked her one day if she wasn’t doing what she was, what she would like to do. It fascinated me that other people had a desire to be something more exotic in an alter ego.”
Of course, the next question was about what I wanted to be in an alter ego.
McCallister was old school, a man who would most likely fit in perfectly campaigning on the battlefields of Europe during the Second World War. He’d been like a fish out of water in the army, post-Falklands, and while he retired a hero, he still felt he’d more to give.
He’d applied and was accepted as head of a SWAT team, and, watching him now as he and his men disembarked from the truck in almost military precision, a look passed between Annette, the police liaison officer, and I that said she’d seen it all before. I know I had.
There was a one in four chance his team would be selected for this operation, and she had been hoping it would be one of the other three. While waiting for them to arrive she filled me in on the various teams. His was the least co-operative, and the more likely to make ad-hoc decisions rather than adhere to the plan, or any orders that may come from the officer in charge.
This, she said quite bluntly, was going to end badly.
I still had no idea why Prendergast instructed me to attend the scene of what looked to be a normal domestic operation, but as the nominated expert in the field in these types of situations, it was fairly clear he wasn’t taking any chances. It was always a matter of opinion between us, and generally I lost.
In this case, it was an anonymous report identifying what the authorities believed were explosives in one of the dockside sheds where explosives were not supposed to be.
The only reason why the report was given any credence was the man, while not identifying himself by name, said he’d been an explosive expert once and recognized the boxes. That could mean anything, but the Chief Constable was a cautious man.
With his men settled and preparing their weapons, McCallister came over to the command post, not much more than the SUV my liaison and I arrived in, with weapons, bulletproof vests, and rolls of tape to cordon off the area afterward. We both had coffee, steaming in the cold early morning air. Dawn was slowly approaching and although rain had been forecast it had yet to arrive.
A man by the name of Benson was in charge. He too had groaned when he saw McCallister.
“A fine morning for it.” McCallister was the only enthusiastic one here.
He didn’t say what ‘it’ was, but I thought it might eventually be mayhem.
“Let’s hope the rain stays away. It’s going to be difficult enough without it,” Benson said, rubbing his hands together. We had been waiting for the SWAT team to arrive, and another team to take up their position under the wharf, and who was in the final stages of securing their position.
While we were waiting we drew up the plan. I’d go in first to check on what we were dealing with, and what type of explosives. The SWAT team, in the meantime, were to ensure all the exits to the shed were covered. When I gave the signal, they were to enter and secure the building. We were not expecting anyone inside or out, and no movement had been detected in the last hour since our arrival and deployment.
“What’s the current situation?”
“I’ve got eyes on the building, and a team coming in from the waterside, underneath. Its slow progress, but they’re nearly there. Once they’re in place, we’re sending McKenzie in.”
He looked in my direction.
“With due respect sir, shouldn’t it be one of us?” McCallister glared at me with the contempt that only a decorated military officer could.
“No. I have orders from above, much higher than I care to argue with, so, McCallister, no gung-ho heroics for the moment. Just be ready to move on my command, and make sure you have three teams at the exit points, ready to secure the building.”
McCallister opened his mouth, no doubt to question those orders, but instead closed it again. “Yes sir,” he muttered and turned away heading back to his men.
“You’re not going to have much time before he storms the battlements,” Benson quietly said to me, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “I’m dreading the paperwork.”
It was exactly what my liaison officer said when she saw McCallister arriving.
The water team sent their ‘in position’ signal, and we were ready to go.
In the hour or so we’d been on site nothing had stirred, no arrivals, no departures, and no sign anyone was inside, but that didn’t mean we were alone. Nor did it mean I was going to walk in and see immediately what was going on. If it was a cache of explosives then it was possible the building was booby-trapped in any number of ways, there could be sentries or guards, and they had eyes on us, or it might be a false alarm.
I was hoping for the latter.
I put on the bulletproof vest, thinking it was a poor substitute for full battle armor against an exploding bomb, but we were still treating this as a ‘suspected’ case. I noticed my liaison officer was pulling on her bulletproof vest too.
“You don’t have to go. This is my party, not yours,” I said.
“The Chief Constable told me to stick to you like glue, sir.”
I looked at Benson. “Talk some sense into her please, this is not a kindergarten outing.”
He shrugged. Seeing McCallister had taken all the fight out of him. “Orders are orders. If that’s what the Chief Constable requested …”
Madness. I glared at her, and she gave me a wan smile. “Stay behind me then, and don’t do anything stupid.”
“Believe me, I won’t be.” She pulled out and checked her weapon, chambering the first round. It made a reassuring sound.
Suited up, weapons readied, a last sip of the coffee in a stomach that was already churning from nerves and tension, I looked at the target, one hundred yards distant and thought it was going to be the longest hundred yards I’d ever traversed. At least for this week.
A swirling mist rolled in and caused a slight change in plans.
Because the front of the buildings was constantly illuminated by large overhead arc lamps, my intention had been to approach the building from the rear where there was less light and more cover. Despite the lack of movement, if there were explosives in that building, there’d be ‘enemy’ surveillance somewhere, and, after making that assumption, I believed it was going to be easier and less noticeable to use the darkness as a cover.
It was a result of the consultation, and studying the plans of the warehouse, plans that showed three entrances, the main front hangar type doors, a side entrance for truck entry and exit and a small door in the rear, at the end of an internal passage leading to several offices. I also assumed it was the exit used when smokers needed a break. Our entry would be by the rear door or failing that, the side entrance where a door was built into the larger sliding doors. In both cases, the locks would not present a problem.
The change in the weather made the approach shorter, and given the density of the mist now turning into a fog, we were able to approach by the front, hugging the walls, and moving quickly while there was cover. I could feel the dampness of the mist and shivered more than once.
It was nerves more than the cold.
I could also feel rather than see the presence of Annette behind me, and once felt her breath on my neck when we stopped for a quick reconnaissance.
It was the same for McCallister’s men. I could feel them following us, quickly and quietly, and expected, if I turned around, to see him breathing down my neck too.
It added to the tension.
My plan was still to enter by the back door.
We slipped up the alley between the two sheds to the rear corner and stopped. I heard a noise coming from the rear of the building, and the light tap on the shoulder told me Annette had heard it too. I put my hand up to signal her to wait, and as a swirl of mist rolled in, I slipped around the corner heading towards where I’d last seen the glow of a cigarette.
The mist cleared, and we saw each other at the same time. He was a bearded man in battle fatigues, not the average dockside security guard.
He was quick, but my slight element of surprise was his undoing, and he was down and unconscious in less than a few seconds with barely a sound beyond the body hitting the ground. Zip ties secured his hands and legs, and tape his mouth. Annette joined me a minute after securing him.
A glance at the body then me, “I can see why they, whoever they are, sent you.”
She’d asked who I worked for, and I didn’t answer. It was best she didn’t know.
“Stay behind me,” I said, more urgency in my tone. If there was one, there’d be another.
Luck was with us so far. A man outside smoking meant no booby traps on the back door, and quite possibly there’d be none inside. But it indicated there were more men inside, and if so, it appeared they were very well trained. If that were the case, they would be formidable opponents.
The fear factor increased exponentially.
I slowly opened the door and looked in. A pale light shone from within the warehouse itself, one that was not bright enough to be detected from outside. None of the offices had lights on, so it was possible they were vacant. I realized then they had blacked out the windows. Why hadn’t someone checked this?
Once inside, the door closed behind us, progress was slow and careful. She remained directly behind me, gun ready to shoot anything that moved. I had a momentary thought for McCallister and his men, securing the perimeter.
At the end of the corridor, the extent of the warehouse stretched before us. The pale lighting made it seem like a vast empty cavern, except for a long trestle table along one side, and, behind it, stacks of wooden crates, some opened. It looked like a production line.
To get to the table from where we were was a ten-yard walk in the open. There was no cover. If we stuck to the walls, there was equally no cover and a longer walk.
We needed a distraction.
As if on cue, the two main entrances disintegrated into flying shrapnel accompanied by a deafening explosion that momentarily disoriented both Annette and I. Through the smoke and dust kicked up I saw three men appear from behind the wooden crates, each with what looked like machine guns, spraying bullets in the direction of the incoming SWAT members.
They never had a chance, cut down before they made ten steps into the building.
By the time I’d recovered, my head heavy, eyes watering and ears still ringing, I took several steps towards them, managing to take down two of the gunmen but not the third.
I heard a voice, Annette’s I think, yell out, “Oh, God, he’s got a trigger,” just before another explosion, though all I remember in that split second was a bright flash, the intense heat, something very heavy smashing into my chest knocking the wind out of me, and then the sensation of flying, just before I hit the wall.
I spent four weeks in an induced coma, three months being stitched back together and another six learning to do all those basic actions everyone took for granted. It was twelve months almost to the day when I was released from the hospital, physically, except for a few alterations required after being hit by shrapnel, looking the same as I always had.
But mentally? The document I’d signed on release said it all, ‘not fit for active duty; discharged’.
It was in the name of David Cheney. For all intents and purposes, Alistair McKenzie was killed in that warehouse, and for the first time ever, an agent left the Department, the first to retire alive.
I was not sure I liked the idea of making history.
All the worries we thought we might have in getting from Lake Louise to Calgary, in the end, it was just like driving to work, only a little longer.
When we left the Fairmont, the car had two frozen bottles of water and a frozen donut, left in the car for the two days we were there, so hiding in the garage might not be a good idea.
At the garage where we refueled, it was so cold I could barely clean the windows and glad to get back into the warmth inside the car.
Thankfully as we got closer to Calgary, it got warmer.
We bypass the city going to the airport, but, as it turns out, we would not have had much time to look around anyway.It’s nice to go to an airport and actually find the car rental returns first go with adequate signing to get there.
Returning the car took a few extra minutes because we were at the end of a dozen or so others who turned up at the same time. All good, they remembered giving us a half full petrol tank.
At the check-in, it is very smooth sailing, the kiosk working and once the booking reference was entered, it spat out the desired number of boarding passes and baggage tags.
Then to baggage drop, through customs where I managed to lose my jacket, which is amazing that you would be allowed to leave anything behind.
So…
We have an hour and a half to kill, so a long soda and two long island teas settle the pre-flight nerves if we had any to start with.
Time to consider the vagaries of the flight.
Today we’re on an Airbus a320, and we are seated in the very last row, row 33. It’s always a bad thing to look up planes on seatguru.com, because it has painted them as the worst on the plane.
What’s the downside, sometimes the seat pitch is less than further up the plane, the seats don’t recline and you get the seat in front in your face, and you get the constant flushing of the toilets. And my major bugbear there’s no overhead luggage space.
What’s the reality?
To begin with, the seats recline, but not very much. We’ll wait till the plane is cruising before judging how far the seats recline in front of us.
The seat pitch is good and it doesn’t feel like were cramped into a small space, but again this is relative to what happens with the seat in front.
Overhead baggage space, none whatsoever, so if you don’t get on first you are basically screwed. We were almost first to the rear of the plane so I suspect others also know about the lack of overhead bin space.
Being at the read most part of the plane affords you a view of how the baggage handlers treat your baggage, and it’s interesting, to say the least. They smile a lot, so I suspect that a few bags might get the ‘treatment’.
Enough already.
We’re now backing out of the bay ready to leave.
We’re getting endless announcements in foreign languages so when next I fly with Air Canada I should at least learn French.
Or not…
Ah, the smell of kerosene floods our end of the plane. So much for air quality, which so it happens is being covered in the safety video at the exact same time.
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
