Category: Fiction

The first case of PI Walthenson – “A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers”

This case has everything, red herrings, jealous brothers, femme fatales, and at the heart of it all, greed.

See below for an excerpt from the book…

Coming soon!

PIWalthJones1

An excerpt from the book:

When Harry took the time to consider his position, a rather uncomfortable position at that, he concluded that he was somehow involved in another case that meant very little to him.

Not that it wasn’t important in some way he was yet to determine, it was just that his curiosity had got the better of him, and it had led to this: sitting in a chair, securely bound, waiting for someone one of his captors had called Doug.

It was not the name that worried him so much, it was the evil laugh that had come after the name was spoken.

Doug what? Doug the ‘destroyer’, Doug the ‘dangerous’, Doug the ‘deadly’; there was any number of sinister connotations, and perhaps that was the point of the laugh, to make it more frightening than it was.

But there was no doubt about one thing in his mind right then: he’d made a mistake. A very big. and costly, mistake. Just how big the cost, no doubt he would soon find out.

His mother, and his grandmother, the wisest person he had ever known, had once told him never to eavesdrop.

At the time he couldn’t help himself and instead of minding his own business, listening to a one-sided conversation which ended with a time and a place. The very nature of the person receiving the call was, at the very least, sinister, and, because of the cryptic conversation, there appeared to be, or at least to Harry, criminal activity involved.

For several days he had wrestled with the thought of whether he should go. Stay on the fringe, keep out of sight, observe and report to the police if it was a crime. Instead, he had willingly gone down the rabbit hole.

Now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, several heat lamps hanging over his head, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry’s fear was at the highest level.

Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied, literally, it made it impossible to clear it. The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament. He cursed and then shook his head trying to prevent a re-occurrence. It was to no avail.

Let the stinging sensation be a reminder of what was right and what was wrong.

It was obvious that it was the right place and the right time, but in considering his current perilous situation, it definitely was the wrong place to be, at the worst possible time.

It was meant to be his escape, an escape from the generations of lawyers, what were to Harry, dry, dusty men who had been in business since George Washington said to the first Walthenson to step foot on American soil, ‘Why don’t you become a lawyer?” when asked what he could do for the great man.

Or so it was handed down as lore, though Harry didn’t think Washington meant it literally, the Walthenson’s, then as now, were not shy of taking advice.

Except, of course, when it came to Harry.

He was, Harry’s father was prone to saying, the exception to every rule. Harry guessed his father was referring to the fact his son wanted to be a Private Detective rather than a dry, dusty lawyer. Just the clothes were enough to turn Harry off the profession.

So, with a little of the money Harry inherited from one of his aunts, he leased an office in Gramercy Park and had it renovated to look like the Sam Spade detective agency, you know the one, Spade and Archer, and The Maltese Falcon.

There’s a movie and a book by Dashiell Hammett if you’re interested.

So, there it was, painted on the opaque glass inset of the front door, ‘Harold Walthenson, Private Detective’.

There was enough money to hire an assistant, and it took a week before the right person came along, or, more to the point, didn’t just see his business plan as something sinister. Ellen, a tall cool woman in a long black dress, or so the words of a song in his head told him, fitted in perfectly.

She’d seen the movie, but she said with a grin, Harry was no Humphrey Bogart.

Of course not, he said, he didn’t smoke.

Three months on the job, and it had been a few calls, no ‘real’ cases, nothing but missing animals, and other miscellaneous items. What he really wanted was a missing person. Or perhaps a beguiling, sophisticated woman who was as deadly as she was charming, looking for an errant husband, perhaps one that she had already ‘dispatched’.

Or for a tall, dark and handsome foreigner who spoke in riddles and in heavily accented English, a spy, or perhaps an assassin, in town to take out the mayor. The man was such an imbecile Harry had considered doing it himself.

Now, in a back room of a disused warehouse, that wishful thinking might be just about to come to a very abrupt end, with none of the romanticized trappings of the business befalling him. No beguiling women, no sinister criminals, no stupid policemen.

Just a nasty little man whose only concern was how quickly or how slowly Harry’s end was going to be.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2024

Writing a book in 365 days – My story 37

More about my story – the use of sleeper agents

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Back to the Cold War: Inside the Shadowy World of Soviet Sleeper Agents

“The only thing that keeps a spy from being discovered is the distance between his secret and the world’s indifference to it.” – Anonymous

When the iron curtain fell in 1991, the headlines celebrated the end of a decades‑long standoff between the United States and the Soviet Union. Yet, even as the superpowers signed arms‑reduction treaties, another, quieter battle was winding down behind the scenes: the covert war of sleeper agents—deep‑cover operatives who lived ordinary lives while waiting for a moment to strike for Moscow.

In this post we’ll:

  1. Trace the origins of the Soviet sleeper‑agent program.
  2. Dissect how it worked—recruitment, training, and long‑term maintenance.
  3. Showcase the biggest successes that altered technology, policy, and public perception.
  4. Examine the spectacular failures that exposed the whole enterprise.
  5. Reflect on the legacy of these hidden players in today’s intelligence arena.

Grab a cup of coffee (or a glass of vodka, if you prefer a period‑appropriate touch) and let’s travel back to the era when a quiet neighbor could have been the most dangerous weapon in the Soviet arsenal.

1. The Birth of a “Sleep‑Tight” Strategy

1‑2‑3… why “sleepers”?

The concept of a sleeper agent is not uniquely Soviet—British intelligence had its “fifth column” operatives during WWI—but the KGB’s systematic, state‑sponsored approach made the practice a hallmark of Cold War espionage.

Key DriverExplanation
Strategic DepthUnlike “spot” agents who gathered intel in plain sight, sleepers could infiltrate the most secure circles (government, academia, industry) and stay undetected for years.
Ideological LeverageThe Communist Party’s promise of a “world revolution” attracted idealists, disillusioned Westerners, and even financial opportunists.
Technological RaceThe arms race demanded early warnings on missile development, nuclear physics, and computing—fields where a single insider could change the balance of power.

The official Soviet term was “ILLEGALS” (illegal residents), a reference to the fact that these agents operated without diplomatic cover. Their existence was first codified in the 1950s under the direction of Vladimir Semichastny, then head of the KGB’s First Chief Directorate (foreign intelligence). By the 1970s, the program had grown into a global network of about 5,000–7,000 deep‑cover assets.

2. How a Soviet Sleeper Was Made

  1. Recruitment – Often started at university or through left‑leaning political groups. The KGB’s “Illegals Program” looked for technical talent (physicists, engineers) and politically pliable individuals (students, journalists, expatriates).
  2. Training – A grueling 18‑month curriculum at the KGB school in Moscow’s “Dzerzhinsky” academy covered:
    • Tradecraft (dead drops, cipher use, covert photography)
    • Language & Culture (perfecting the “cover identity” language and customs)
    • Psychology & Counter‑Surveillance (how to stay calm under interrogation)
  3. Insertion – Agents received “legit” passports—often forged from real Soviet documents or forged using stolen identities. They would then emigrate to their target country, sometimes as children (the “Kompromat children” used as future assets).
  4. Life as a Civilian – Most sleepers took ordinary jobs: university professor, businessman, diplomat, or even a stay‑at‑home parent. Their espionage duties were triggered only by “activation” via radio, dead‑drop letters, or later, encrypted emails.
  5. Maintenance – The KGB’s “Case Officers” maintained regular contact, paying allowances, providing new instructions, and ensuring loyalty through blackmail material (the infamous “Kompro-Mat”).

3. Success Stories: When the Sleeper Woke Up

3.1. The Cambridge Five – Ideological Idealists

AgentCoverWhat They Gave MoscowImpact
Kim PhilbyBritish intelligence officer (MI6)Access to British war plans, U‑2 program detailsCompromised NATO’s early Cold War strategy, forced the West to rethink its counter‑espionage tactics.
Guy Burgess & Donald MacleanDiplomatic serviceSecret documents on NATO, atomic researchCreated a crisis in the UK foreign service and led to the 1956 “Cambridge Spy Scandal.”
Anthony BluntArt historian & Surveyor of the Queen’s PicturesInsight into elite British cultural circlesThough his betrayals were less operational, the scandal tarnished the UK’s reputation for aristocratic “innocence.”

Why it mattered: The Cambridge Five proved that high‑level ideological recruitment could bypass many traditional security checks. Their revelations spurred the United States and Britain to overhaul security vetting procedures, laying groundwork for the modern polygraph and background‑check regime.

3.2. The Atomic “Mole” – Klaus Fuchs

  • Cover: Physicist at the Los Alamos Laboratory (Manhattan Project).
  • Leak: Detailed designs of the U‑235 plutonium‑based bomb and later the hydrogen bomb.
  • Result: Accelerated the Soviet Union’s first atomic bomb test in 1949 by an estimated two to three years.

Key takeaway: Technical insiders could compress decades of research into a handful of microfilm rolls. Fuchs’ case also demonstrated how ideology (anti‑fascism, communism) could outweigh personal gain.

3.3. The “Illegals” of the 2010s – A Modern Echo

In 2010, U.S. authorities arrested ten deep‑cover Russian agents (the Illegals Program). Among them:

  • Marina and Victor Cherkashin (pseudonyms “Mikhail” and “Nina”) – Worked as a married couple in New York, gathering intelligence on U.S. political lobbying.
  • Jack Barsky – An American who grew up in West Germany, later recruited to spy on NATO and the U.S. Air Force.

Their arrests re‑ignited public fascination with sleeper agents and highlighted how digital communications (encrypted emails, burner phones) had revived old‑school tradecraft for a new era.

4. The Flops: When the Sleeper Was Uncovered

4.1. The Hollow Nickel Case (1953)

  • What Happened: A nickel with a tiny cavity was found in a Chicago laundry. Inside was a microfilm containing Soviet cipher instructions.
  • Outcome: Led to the arrest of KGB operative Morris “Moe” Cohen, who was later exchanged for U‑2 pilot Francis Gary Powers.
  • Lesson: Small operational errors (a misplaced microfilm) could unravel entire networks.

4.2. The Rosenberg Trial (1951)

  • Who: Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, American citizens convicted of passing atomic secrets to the USSR.
  • Result: Their execution sent a chilling message to potential Soviet assets and hardened U.S. anti‑communist sentiment.
  • Impact: Though some historians argue that the actual technical value was limited, the political fallout was massive—fueling McCarthyism and a culture of suspicion that hampered legitimate academic exchange for decades.

4.3. The “Burglar” Who Wasn’t – Aldrich Ames (1994)

  • While Ames was a CIA double agent for the Soviets (not a sleeper), his case exposed KGB tradecraft: the use of compromising material and cash payments. The FBI’s ability to track his suspicious wealth highlighted a critical weakness in the Soviet sleeper system—overreliance on monetary incentives that could be audited by Western financial watchdogs.

4.4. The Failed “Operation Cedar” (1975)

  • Goal: Insert a Soviet mole into the U.S. National Security Agency (NSA).
  • Result: The operative was caught during a routine polygraph test.
  • Takeaway: As technical security (polygraphs, background checks) improved, human‑factor vulnerabilities (ideological loyalty) became the limiting factor for sleeper recruitment.

5. The Ripple Effect – How Sleeper Agents Shaped the Cold War

  1. Accelerated Arms Race – Leaks like Fuchs’ designs forced the West to invest heavily in counter‑intelligence and protect classified research, spurring a feedback loop of secrecy and espionage.
  2. Policy Shifts – The Cambridge Five scandal led the British government to create the Security Service (MI5) “Double‑K” unit, tasked exclusively with rooting out internal betrayals.
  3. Cultural Imprint – Sleeper‑agent stories fueled a new genre of spy fiction, from John le Carré’s The Spy Who Came in from the Cold to the TV series The Americans. Even pop culture icons like James Bond adopted the notion of a “double‑life” operative.
  4. Legal & Ethical Debates – The Rosenberg executions sparked ongoing debates about due process, civil liberties, and the morality of using coercive interrogation (the “enhanced interrogation” methods that later resurfaced in the War on Terror).
  5. Technological Legacy – The Soviet focus on cryptography (the “One‑Time Pad” system) forced the West to develop its own public‑key encryption methods—technology that underpins today’s internet security.

6. The Modern Echo: Are Sleepers Still Sleeping?

While the Soviet Union no longer exists, its tradecraft DNA lives on in Russia’s SVR (Foreign Intelligence Service) and even in China’s Ministry of State Security (MSS). Recent indictments in the United States (the “Nigerian hack‑and‑sell” scandal, 2021) reference “illegals” as a template for modern covert operations.

Key differences today:

Cold WarToday
Physical dead drops (microfilm in hollow objects)Encrypted digital drops on the dark web
Cover via long‑term residencyCover via freelance tech work / remote “consultancy”
Ideology-driven recruitmentFinancially‑motivated recruitment (crypto‑wealth, corporate espionage)
State‑run training facilitiesPrivate “mercenary” training schools & online tutorials

The principle remains the same: hide in plain sight, wait for the moment, then strike. The only thing that has changed is the medium of the strike.

7. Takeaways for the Reader

  • Sleeper agents were not just spies; they were long‑term influencers who could shape scientific progress, diplomatic negotiations, and public opinion from behind a kitchen counter.
  • Successes often hinged on ideology and technical expertise, while failures usually involved operational sloppiness or improved Western security measures.
  • The legacy of the Soviet sleeper program endures in today’s cyber‑espionage and intelligence‑gathering practices. Understanding this history helps us see why modern governments invest heavily in counter‑intelligence, background vetting, and digital forensics.

‘Sunday in New York’ – A beta reader’s view

I’m not a fan of romance novels but …

There was something about this one that resonated with me.

This is a novel about a world generally ruled by perception, and how people perceive what they see, what they are told, and what they want to believe.

I’ve been guilty of it myself as I’m sure we all have at one time or another.

For the main characters Harry and Alison there are other issues driving their relationship.

For Alison, it is a loss of self-worth through losing her job and from losing her mother and, in a sense, her sister.

For Harry, it is the fact he has a beautiful and desirable wife, and his belief she is the object of other men’s desires, and one in particular, his immediate superior.

Between observation, the less than honest motives of his friends, a lot of jumping to conclusions based on very little fact, and you have the basis of one very interesting story.

When it all comes to a head, Alison finds herself in a desperate situation, she realises only the truth will save their marriage.

But is it all the truth?

What would we do in similar circumstances?

Rarely does a book have me so enthralled that I could not put it down until I knew the result. They might be considered two people who should have known better, but as is often the case, they had to get past what they both thought was the truth.

And the moral of this story, if it could be said there is one, nothing is ever what it seems.

…

Available on Amazon here: amzn.to/2H7ALs8

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An excerpt from “Echoes from the Past”

Available on Amazon Kindle here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

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With my attention elsewhere, I walked into a man who was hurrying in the opposite direction.  He was a big man with a scar running down the left side of his face from eye socket to mouth, and who was also wearing a black shirt with a red tie.

That was all I remembered as my heart almost stopped.

He apologized as he stepped to one side, the same way I stepped, as I also muttered an apology.

I kept my eyes down.  He was not the sort of man I wanted to recognize later in a lineup.  I stepped to the other side and so did he.  It was one of those situations.  Finally getting out of sync, he kept going in his direction, and I towards the bus, which was now pulling away from the curb.

Getting my breath back, I just stood riveted to the spot watching it join the traffic.  I looked back over my shoulder, but the man I’d run into had gone.  I shrugged and looked at my watch.  It would be a few minutes before the next bus arrived.

Wait, or walk?  I could also go by subway, but it was a long walk to the station.  What the hell, I needed the exercise.

At the first intersection, the ‘Walk’ sign had just flashed to ‘Don’t Walk’.  I thought I’d save a few minutes by not waiting for the next green light.  As I stepped onto the road, I heard the screeching of tires.

A yellow car stopped inches from me.

It was a high powered sports car, perhaps a Lamborghini.  I knew what they looked like because Marcus Bartleby owned one, as did every other junior executive in the city with a rich father.

Everyone stopped to look at me, then the car.  It was that sort of car.  I could see the driver through the windscreen shaking his fist, and I could see he was yelling too, but I couldn’t hear him.  I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and he drove on.  The moment had passed and everyone went back to their business.

My heart rate hadn’t come down from the last encounter.   Now it was approaching cardiac arrest, so I took a few minutes and several sets of lights to regain composure.

At the next intersection, I waited for the green light, and then a few seconds more, just to be sure.  I was no longer in a hurry.

At the next, I heard what sounded like a gunshot.  A few people looked around, worried expressions on their faces, but when it happened again, I saw it was an old car backfiring.  I also saw another yellow car, much the same as the one before, stopped on the side of the road.  I thought nothing of it, other than it was the second yellow car I’d seen.

At the next intersection, I realized I was subconsciously heading towards Harry’s new bar.   It was somewhere on 6th Avenue, so I continued walking in what I thought was the right direction.

I don’t know why I looked behind me at the next intersection, but I did.  There was another yellow car on the side of the road, not far from me.  It, too, looked the same as the original Lamborghini, and I was starting to think it was not a coincidence.

Moments after crossing the road, I heard the roar of a sports car engine and saw the yellow car accelerate past me.  As it passed by, I saw there were two people in it, and the blurry image of the passenger; a large man with a red tie.

Now my imagination was playing tricks.

It could not be the same man.  He was going in a different direction.

In the few minutes I’d been standing on the pavement, it had started to snow; early for this time of year, and marking the start of what could be a long cold winter.  I shuddered, and it was not necessarily because of the temperature.

I looked up and saw a neon light advertising a bar, coincidentally the one Harry had ‘found’ and, looking once in the direction of the departing yellow car, I decided to go in.  I would have a few drinks and then leave by the back door if it had one.

Just in case.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

newechocover5rs

“Uncanny good luck shines upon me…” – a short story

I never did take advice very seriously.  Especially when they were issued by old man Taggard, a man of some mystery that we all, adults and children alike wanted to know about.

Everyone in the street knew him as he had lived in the almost derelict mansion at the end of the cul-de-sac forever, way longer than anyone else in the neighbourhood had.  In fact, it was rumoured he had owned all the land around and sold it off bit by bit over time, the reason why there were so many houses of varying age in the estate.

Ours was one of the older houses, a few doors up from it.  We were close enough to observe Taggard’s habit, like sitting on the porch on an old swing chair in the afternoons, to the late-night wanderings in the street.  Some said he was accompanied by the ghost of his long-dead wife, which led to stories being told of the house he lived in being haunted.

As children, we had been brought up on a diet of TV shows such as ‘The Munsters’ and ‘The Addams Family’, and had invented our own make-believe show called ‘The Taggard Mansion’, the house with ghosts, and the neighborhood center for strange goings-on.

And as children were wont to do, we had to ‘investigate’.

There was a ‘gang’ even though we didn’t refer to it as such, about seven of us who lived in nearby houses, and all of whom had very active imaginations.  We also met in the cubby house out the back of our house to plan forays to find out whether the rumours were true.  The thing is we never got very far as he seemed to know when we were sneaking in and scared us off, so for years, the rumours remained just that, rumours.

But as grown-ups, and by that I mean, middle teens, our plans became bolder and more sophisticated, based on a whole new breed of TV shows, where the seemingly impossible was no longer that.  And Andy Boswell, my older brother’s best friend, his father was a private detective, or so he told us, and he had managed to ‘secure’ some of his father’s tools of the trade; a camera on the end of a wire that could connect to a cell phone, a listening device that could hear through walls, and in-ear communicators.  We could now, if we were close enough, see under doors, and hear if anyone was in.  We could all keep in touch, though I couldn’t see how this would help.

But a plan was formulated.  All seven of us had a role to play.  My brother Ron and Delilah, his girlfriend, were taking point, whatever that meant, Andy and I were going to take point, while Jack, Jill, and Kim were going to run distraction.  The theory was, they’d make enough noise to keep the old man occupied chasing them.  No one had been inside the house, ever.  Andy and I were going to be the first.

Andy had drawn up a plan and it was up on the wall.  He had charted the house, and had a very accurate picture of the house’s footprint, where doors and windows were, likely entrance points, including a hatchway down into what he assumed was a basement, though he preferred to call it the dungeon, and a layout of the grounds.  Apparently under the undergrowth were paths and gardens, even a large fountain that once graced the grounds of the three-story mansion made of sandstone, and built sometime during the middle of the 1800s.

Andy had done some research, mostly from old newspapers, and also discovered that the old man had once been married, they had a half dozen children, three of whom had died, the others scattered around the world.  It explained why no one ever visited the place.

The distraction team would be going in through the front gate, easy enough because it had come off its hinges and just needed a shove to open.  The old man usually emerged from the house via the driveway, or what was once a drive where cars could enter one side of the property, stop under a huge canopy, and emerge onto the road further along.  But it’s overgrown stare, the width of the pathway was now about six feet.  The fact it was once an amazing feature was the roadside lights, now all but disappearing behind the undergrowth.

Andy had found a photograph in the paper of it, and it had looked magnificent, as had the gardens, the overhanging canopy, and all the lights.  To think such magnificence was now lost.  And having seen it for what it once was, it was not hard to imagine any number of scenarios, my favourite, rescuing a damsel in distress from the tower.  Yes, it even had a tower, two, in fact, at each end of the house.  My brother always said I had an overactive imagination.

Andy and I would be going in by the less-used car exit, and heading for the left side of the building where Andy said were several floor-to-ceiling windows that looked to him like French doors.  Of course, none of us knew what French doors were, and my brother cut Andy short when he tried to explain.

Failing that, there was a door at the rear that seemed to be open, and we’d try that next.  We would get into position, advise the distraction team, and the operation would be a go.  The only debate was about what time of the day were we going to do it.  My brother preferred late in the afternoon.  Andy said it was better at dawn, or soon after if we were looking for maximum confusion about the target.

Dawn, confusion, tactics, target, Andy was in his element.  He was going to be a spy when he grew up.  My brother said he would never grow up, but then, my brother said I was a dreamer and would never amount to anything.  We ignored his advice, well, we pretty much ignored everything he said.

We were going in at dawn.

At 5 a.m. on Saturday morning, we gathered at the cubby house ready for action.  We all took a communicator and put it in our ears, and then had fun saying stupid stuff, and hearing it through the earpieces.  It was weird but added an exciting element to the adventure.  I know my heart was beating faster in anticipation.  Andy was pretending to be cool and failing.  I suspected my brother and Delilah had other plans when we left them alone in the cubby house.  The distraction team was ready to go.

Shortly after the sun came up, it was cool and the air still.  It was going to be a hot day, and in that first hour, everything was almost perfect.  It seemed a waste to do anything but let the early morning serenity settle over us.  Not today.  Andy and I went to our position, slowly feeling our way through the bushes, taking bearings from the light poles, and every now and then seeing the guttering and what looked to be a concrete path.  Beyond that was once a garden, and I tried, more than once, to imagine what it was like.

In my ear I could hear the others in the distraction team setting up at the start of the driveway, ready to go.  We reached our position, about twenty feet from the so-called French windows, the view into the house blocked by curtains, but beyond that, what we could see was darkness inside the house.  Taking in the whole side of the house, there were no lights on behind any of the windows.  If we didn’t know better, we could have assumed the house was empty.

I heard Andy say, “Ready.  Start making noise.”

A minute later we could both hear the distraction team in the distance and through the communicators.  It took two minutes before we heard the old man, yelling, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  Their job done, getting him out of the house, all they had to do was retreat.

Time for Andy and I to go.

Working on the basis that no one else was at the house, and the fact we had no evidence there was, we were not overly worried about making a stealthy approach.  I could hear in my earpiece, the gasping of those in the distraction team, having just made it outside the gate, and to tell us the old man had stopped them at the gate.  I doubt he had been running, but his yelling was just as effective.

That had stopped, and a sort of silence fell over the area.

We were now at the French doors, and Andy produced another tool that he’d forgotten to tell us about, a lock pick.  The fact it didn’t take long to unlock the door told me he was either very talented, or the lock was old and presented no problems.  Either way, he opened the door and ushered me in.

I brushed the curtains aside for him to follow, then moved in as he followed, closing the door behind him.

I’d taken five steps before I heard a woman’s voice say.  “Uncanny good luck shines upon me.  My knights in shining armour.  You’ve come to rescue me, no?”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2023

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 51

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…

Once out of the elevator I could see another security desk halfway up the corridor.  There were no doors before the desk, only after, so my destination was past the desk.

I pulled out my card in readiness, and as I approached, a woman came out of a door behind the desk and joined the security guard.

She spoke to the guard, then looked at me.  “My name is Joanne, I have been assigned to help you, and in accordance with security measures in place on the floor, I will be accompanying you.  One of the conditions of access is to not be anywhere on your own.”

“Except in the restroom, I hope.”

A momentary frown, “Common sense applies, you know.”

OK, try not to be flippant.

She handed me a form, I read it, ticked several boxes, and signed it.  I gave the guard my card and he scanned it.  Logging my movements, was not unexpected.  Having a shadow was.

But, there was nothing I was going to look at, that I didn’t want anyone not to know about.

“Good,”: she said when I handed the form back.  She in turn passed it to the guard, then said, “Follow me.”

A gate opened to let me through, then jolted shit behind me.  Either the mechanism was broken, or the thud was just to remind people going through it, it was not a toy.

We went three doors up the corridor where she stopped, opened the door, and ushered me in.

It was a reasonable-sized room with a desk, a computer with three screens, and two chairs, one I guess for me, and one for her.

We sat.

I thought I’d ask a couple of questions first.  “Do you always look after incoming researchers?”

“Yes.”

“And when there is none?”

“I work in with the research team, creating or updating breeding papers for agents in the field.”

“Do agents normally come in to look stuff up?”

“No.  Generally, they request it through secure channels.”

“Secure channels?”

“Usually, one of our consulates or embassies scattered all over the world.”

Good to remember.

“You’re just going to sit there?”

“Yes.”

I shrugged.  So be it.

I logged in and typed in Severin’s original name David Westcott.

The search engine brought back over a million hits, the first dozen relating to a violinist who seemed to be having a relationship and drug problems.

To narrow that search down, I added ‘Military service” in the hope that he may have been in the military before joining the intelligence services.

He was.  I did the same for Bernie Salvin and found the two of them had served roughly at the same time, in the same places, and were among the last people out in 2014.

When I added “Intelligence” to the search, the computer sent me on a side mission, bringing up documents relating to both men’s service in various branches of the intelligence services, for 5 years, after which it seemed they had just up and left, their service sheet marked ‘retired’, which could have meant anything, but I think it was a euphemism for ‘dead’.

I thought about asking my shadow, but that would lead to too many other questions that I didn’t want to answer.  As it was, I could see she was very interested in the two names I’d just searched on.

It explained how both men were so knowledgeable about the operations and facilities.  A quick search on the training facility we had used showed it had been closed, and abandoned, 6 years before.  I’d always thought it had that abandoned feel about it, and we were using it for the atmosphere value.

Then came searches on Severin and Maury and Arche Laboratories, and that too brought up the Security profiles of both men, but their prior history had been manufactured, though no doubt based on their real experience, being in the military in Afghanistan, and in a branch of the intelligence services, though not mentioning the specifics.

There was information on several security breaches and the computer systems being hacked reportedly by a foreign country, but nothing had been taken, a story perhaps to allay the fears of people who might think dangerous material might have fallen into the wrong hands.

At the very least, it was reported the facility would be shut down, due to its age and everyone being reassigned to a new more secure facility.  The fact Severin and Maury didn’t transfer told me they had either been caught, or they ad jumped before the fingers of accusation were pointed at them.  Either way, both had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Until I and others have become their unwitting recruits.

Everything O’Connell said was true, and it was all there, so Dobbin was as well versed on the pair as I now was.  And, now I had some background before I met Severin later in the day.

When Joanne finally plucked up the courage to ask me about my searches, I told her I had been reading up on a lot of old laboratories that used to contract government research and had narrowed the place where the information came from to several candidates and struck it luck the first search.  Arche Laboratories.

Previously I had got a list of the security staff from half a dozen labs that had closed unexpectedly, looking for possible matches to Severin and Maury, because I thought they would have a military and intelligence background, but the two I’d used, didn’t seem to fir the profile.  Their photographs, those that were posted for Arche Laboratories looked nothing like the Severin and Maury today, but I’d expected that.

She didn’t need to know that and looked satisfied with my answers.

Now it was time to look at some CCTV feeds.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

Writing a book in 365 days – 248

Day 248

Some pointers for reviewing your work

…

Sharpen Your Words: Simple Tips for Better Writing

Ever finish writing something and feel like it’s just… not quite right? We’ve all been there. Polishing your writing is key to making sure your message shines through. Here are a few handy tips to help you review your work and make it stronger.

Keep it Concise

Don’t write long sentences. Shorter sentences are easier to follow. They pack a punch.

Each sentence should make a clear statement. Get straight to the point. Avoid rambling. Every sentence needs a purpose.

Watch Your Vocabulary

Don’t use big words. Choose words that everyone understands. Simple language is powerful language.

Never use words whose meanings you are not sure of. If you’re second-guessing a word, swap it out. Clarity is king.

Be Concrete

Avoid the abstract. Stick to what you can see, hear, touch, taste, and smell. Give examples. Paint a picture with your words.

What Else?

These are great starting points, but what else can help you make your writing shine?

  • Read it aloud: This is a game-changer. You’ll catch awkward phrasing and sentences that are too long. Your ears will tell you what your eyes miss.
  • Get a second opinion: Ask a friend or colleague to read your work. They’ll see things you’re too close to notice.
  • Take a break: Step away from your writing. Come back with fresh eyes.
  • Focus on flow: Do your ideas connect smoothly? Are your paragraphs logically ordered?
  • Check for repetition: Are you saying the same thing over and over? Find different ways to express your ideas.

Reviewing your writing doesn’t have to be a chore. By keeping these simple tips in mind, you can transform your drafts into clear, engaging pieces that truly connect with your readers. Happy writing!

What I learned about writing – Where the hell do I start?

Beyond the Spark: Laying the Foundation for Your Literary Masterpiece

That brilliant novel idea just hit you, didn’t it? It’s a lightning bolt of inspiration, a fully formed world, or a character whispering their story in your ear. The urge to sit down and pour it all onto the page is intoxicating, exciting, almost overwhelming. You can already see your name on the cover, taste the triumph, imagine the world devouring your words.

Hold that thought. Just for a moment.

Because before you dive headfirst into crafting the next blockbuster novel that’s going to take the world by storm, there are things to do. Essential groundwork. A foundation to lay. Think of it not as delaying the inevitable, but as strengthening the very ground your literary edifice will stand upon.

We’re talking about the critical “Where,” “How,” and “When” of your writing journey. As for the “Why”? You already know that. The burning desire to create, to tell this story, is your fuel. So, let’s focus on the practical necessities, before even one word is written.

The “Where”: Crafting Your Creative Sanctuary

Your physical and digital environment play a monumental role in your ability to focus and produce. This isn’t just about having a desk; it’s about optimizing your space for creativity.

  • 1. Your Dedicated Writing Space:
    • Physical Location: Whether it’s a quiet corner of your spare room, a dedicated office, or even a specific table at your local coffee shop – designate a primary writing spot. This helps train your brain to enter “writing mode” when you’re there.
    • Ergonomics & Comfort: Invest in a comfortable chair and a desk setup that supports good posture. You’ll be spending hours here. Back pain is a creativity killer.
    • Minimize Distractions: Clear clutter. Turn off notifications. Let family/housemates know your boundaries when you’re in this space. Consider noise-canceling headphones.
  • 2. Your Digital Arsenal:
    • Reliable Hardware: A computer or device that runs smoothly and won’t constantly crash. Nothing kills momentum faster than technical issues.
    • Writing Software: Choose your weapon. Word processor (Microsoft Word, Google Docs), dedicated writing software (Scrivener, Ulysses, Novelflow), or even just a text editor. Understand its features and how it can aid your specific process (outlining, character sheets, research integration).
    • Cloud Backup System: This is NON-NEGOTIABLE. Dropbox, Google Drive, OneDrive, iCloud – pick one and use it religiously. Imagine losing hundreds of hours of work. Don’t let it happen.
    • Internet Access (and Discipline): Necessary for research, but ensure you have strategies to avoid its inherent distractions (website blockers, dedicated writing apps).

The “How”: Your Strategic Blueprint

This is where the magic of planning happens. Before you write a single scene, you need to understand the world you’re building and the journey you’re taking your readers on.

  • 1. Solidify Your Core Concept (The Logline): Can you summarize your novel in one compelling sentence? This is your North Star. It helps you stay focused and reminds you of the story’s essence.
  • 2. Outline & Structure:
    • Plot Arc: Will you follow a three-act structure, hero’s journey, Snowflake Method, or something else? Decide on a general framework.
    • Chapter Breakdown: Even if it’s just a rough idea of what happens in each key section, having a skeletal outline gives you direction and prevents getting lost.
    • Key Plot Points: Identify your inciting incident, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution.
  • 3. Character Development:
    • Protagonist & Antagonist: Go deep. What are their motivations, fears, desires, backstories, quirks? What is their character arc?
    • Supporting Characters: Understand their roles, relationships, and how they contribute to the plot and theme.
    • Character Bibles: Create detailed profiles for your main players.
  • 4. World-Building (If Applicable):
    • Rules & Logic: For fantasy/sci-fi, establish the laws of your world. Magic systems, technology, societal structures, history, geography. Consistency is key.
    • Sensory Details: What does it look, sound, smell, feel like? Start sketching out the atmosphere.
  • 5. Research Strategy:
    • Identify Needs: What do you really need to research? Historical facts, technical details, cultural nuances?
    • Resource Gathering: Create folders for articles, books, images, and links. Don’t go down endless rabbit holes yet, but know where to find the answers.
  • 6. Goal Setting:
    • Overall Word Count Target: What’s a realistic length for your genre?
    • Milestones: Break down the big goal into smaller, manageable chunks (e.g., Act 1 complete, first half done).

The “When”: Carving Out Your Creative Time

Even the most brilliant idea and the most detailed plan are useless without dedicated time. This isn’t about finding time; it’s about making time.

  • 1. Establish a Consistent Writing Routine:
    • Time Block: Identify the best time of day for you to write – when you’re most alert, least distracted, or most creative. Block it out in your calendar.
    • Consistency is King: Try to write at the same time every day, or at least every writing day. This builds a habit and signals to your brain that it’s “work time.”
  • 2. Set Realistic Deadlines:
    • Draft Completion: When do you want to finish the first draft? Break it down into weekly or monthly goals.
    • Accountability: Share your deadlines with a trusted friend, writing group, or mentor.
  • 3. Prepare for Your Session:
    • Clear the Decks: Before your writing time, handle urgent emails or small tasks that might nag at you.
    • Fuel & Hydration: Have water, coffee, or a healthy snack ready.
    • Review Your Plan: Briefly revisit your outline or what you intend to write during that session to get your mind oriented.

These aren’t obstacles; they’re launchpads. By investing time in these pre-writing essentials, you’re not just preparing to write a novel; you’re setting yourself up for success, minimizing roadblocks, and ensuring a smoother, more productive creative journey.

So, take a deep breath, savor that brilliant idea, and then roll up your sleeves. Your masterpiece awaits its well-laid foundation.

Inspiration, maybe – Volume 1

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:

lookingdownfromcoronetpeak

And the story:

It was once said that a desperate man has everything to lose.

The man I was chasing was desperate, but I, on the other hand, was more desperate to catch him.

He’d left a trail of dead people from one end of the island to the other.

The team had put in a lot of effort to locate him, and now his capture was imminent.  We were following the car he was in, from a discrete distance, and, at the appropriate time, we would catch up, pull him over, and make the arrest.

There was nowhere for him to go.

The road led to a dead-end, and the only way off the mountain was back down the road were now on.  Which was why I was somewhat surprised when we discovered where he was.

Where was he going?

“Damn,” I heard Alan mutter.  He was driving, being careful not to get too close, but not far enough away to lose sight of him.

“What?”

“I think he’s made us.”

“How?”

“Dumb bad luck, I’m guessing.  Or he expected we’d follow him up the mountain.  He’s just sped up.”

“How far away?”

“A half-mile.  We should see him higher up when we turn the next corner.”

It took an eternity to get there, and when we did, Alan was right, only he was further on than we thought.”

“Step on it.  Let’s catch him up before he gets to the top.”

Easy to say, not so easy to do.  The road was treacherous, and in places just gravel, and there were no guard rails to stop a three thousand footfall down the mountainside.

Good thing then I had the foresight to have three agents on the hill for just such a scenario.

Ten minutes later, we were in sight of the car, still moving quickly, but we were going slightly faster.  We’d catch up just short of the summit car park.

Or so we thought.

Coming quickly around another corner we almost slammed into the car we’d been chasing.

“What the hell…” Aland muttered.

I was out of the car, and over to see if he was in it, but I knew that it was only a slender possibility.  The car was empty, and no indication where he went.

Certainly not up the road.  It was relatively straightforward for the next mile, at which we would have reached the summit.  Up the mountainside from here, or down.

I looked up.  Nothing.

Alan yelled out, “He’s not going down, not that I can see, but if he did, there’s hardly a foothold and that’s a long fall.”

Then where did he go?

Then a man looking very much like our quarry came out from behind a rock embedded just a short distance up the hill.

“Sorry,” he said quite calmly.  “Had to go if you know what I mean.”

I’d lost him.

It was as simple as that.

I had been led a merry chase up the hill, and all the time he was getting away in a different direction.

I’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book, letting my desperation blind me to the disguise that anyone else would see through in an instant.

It was a lonely sight, looking down that road, knowing that I had to go all that way down again, only this time, without having to throw caution to the wind.

“Maybe next time,” Alan said.

“We’ll get him.  It’s just a matter of time.”

© Charles Heath 2019-2021

Find this and other stories in “Inspiration, maybe”  available soon.

InspirationMaybe1v1

First Dig Two Graves

A sequel to “The Devil You Don’t”

…

Revenge is a dish best served cold – or preferably so when everything goes right

Of course, it rarely does, as Alistair, Zoe’s handler, discovers to his peril. Enter a wildcard, John, and whatever Alistair’s plan for dealing with Zoe was dies with him.

It leaves Zoe in completely unfamiliar territory.

…

John’s idyllic romance with a woman who is utterly out of his comfort zone is on borrowed time. She is still trying to reconcile her ambivalence, after being so indifferent for so long.

They agree to take a break, during which she disappears. John, thinking she has left without saying goodbye, refuses to accept the inevitable, calls on an old friend for help in finding her.

After the mayhem and being briefly reunited, she recognises an inevitable truth: there is a price to pay for taking out Alistair; she must leave and find them first, and he would be wise to keep a low profile.

But keeping a low profile just isn’t possible, and enlisting another friend, a private detective and his sister, a deft computer hacker, they track her to the border between Austria and Hungary.

What John doesn’t realise is that another enemy is tracking him to find her too. It could have been a grand tour of Europe. Instead, it becomes a race against time before enemies old and new converge for what will be an inevitable showdown.