It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t.  It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…

She sighed and came away from the window and looked around the room.  It was quite large and expensively furnished.  It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.

Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917.  At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.

There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.

She was here to meet with Vladimir.

She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.

All he knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, whose life both at work and at home was boring.  Not that she had blurted that out the first tie she met, or even the second.

That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.

It was a celebration, honouring one of the Embassy officials on his service in Moscow, and the fact he was returning home after 10 years.  She had been there once, and still hadn’t met all the staff.

They had talked, Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and of course what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.

It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords if this was a fencing match.

They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity.  She knew the signs of a man who was interested in her, and Vladimir was interested.

The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery, and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined.  After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.

Then, it went quiet for a month.  There was a party at the American embassy and along with several other staff members, she was invited.  She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.

A pleasant afternoon ensued.

And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.

By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends.  She had broached the subject of being involved in a plutonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy.  Normally for a member of her rank, it would not be allowed, but in this instance it was.

She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something that might be useful.  In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open and file a report each time she met him.

After that discussion, she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit.  She also formed the impression that he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.

It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine.  She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.

A Russian friend.  That’s what she would call him.

And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue.  It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.

Even so, she had made him promise that he remain on his best behaviour.  It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.

So, it began.

It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one where she had expected to be reprimanded.

She wasn’t.

It wasn’t until six weeks had passed when he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country.  It would involve staying in a hotel, that they would have separate rooms.  When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution; keep her wits about her.

Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report.  After all, her reports on the places, and the people, and the conversations she overheard, were no doubt entertaining reading for some.

But this visit was where the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report.  She had realised at some point before the weekend away, that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.

It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen.  Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, and it just happened.

And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.

She took off her coat and placed it carefully of the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room.  She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.

Then, after a minute or two, she went to the mini bar and took out the bottle of champagne that had been left there for them, a treat arranged by Vladimir for each encounter.

There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit.  She picked up the apple and thought how Eve must have felt in the garden of Eden, and the temptation.

Later perhaps, after…

She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.

A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival.  It was if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality.  A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.

The doorbell to the room rang, right on the appointed time.

She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.

A smile on her face, she opened the door.

It was not Vladimir.  It was her worst nightmare.

…

© Charles Heath 2020

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:

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.

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!

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

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

A meeting with Nadia’s father

…

I’d met Nadia’s father once, but had seen him often on the streets.

He was a man to be feared, and never went anywhere without two of his foot soldiers beside him.  Perhaps that was the downside of being a crime boss, you could not be out by yourself.

Benderby was the same, but he was better at disguising them as almost normal people.  Cossatino’s henchmen looked exactly what they were, armed gorillas in cheap suits.

Vince was like his father, but with younger versions, the hangers-on from school days.  It crossed my mind more than once how Nadia had separated him from his minders, but I imagine she was more resourceful than he was.

We said little on the way back to the car, there was little to say.  I might have disagreed with her course of action, in fact, they needed to be taught a lesson, but I knew in doing so, it put a target on her back.

And, if anything happened to Vince, she have her father to answer to.  In that, I don’t think that bothered her, because, unlike Vince, she could stand up to him.  It would have taken more courage than I had for her to up and leave the way she had.

Of course, it didn’t take a lot to see why.  As far as her father and Vince were concerned, she was dispensible, if or when a situation warranted it.  Like working with Boggs and I had no doubt prompted Vince’s reaction.

Not far from the car was another, and as we approached, a man got out of the rear.  Two others got out from the front.  In the receding light, it was difficult to see who it was, but since the man had two minders it had to be either Benderby or Cossatino.

I looked at Nadia, and from her expression, she knew who it was.  She stopped just short of the car, and I joined her.

“It’s my father,” she said.

“How did he know where you’d be?”

“A tracker on my car.”

So, she had intended he find her, but was it her intention that he find Vince?  I doubted he would be interested in what happened to Alex.

She held up her hand, and said, “I wouldn’t come too close, Dad, not if your help wants to scrape what’s left of Vince off the side of the container.”

I looked closely at her hand, and it was her mobile phone.  Would that convince him she meant what she said?

“You’re not that clever Nadia.”

He took two steps, his two minders pulled out their guns and were aiming them at us.

I saw her finger move, and a second later there was a sharp bang coming from the direction of the mall.

“The next one will go off next to Vince.  Unlike what he did to Sam and I, he won’t have time to think about his death.  Tell your goons to put away their guns and get back in the car, or else.”

Cossatino stopped and motioned to his men to lower their weapons.  They did not put them away, nor did they look like they were going back to the car.

A test of wills.  Who would crack first?

I wondered if she had wired an explosive in the container.  I didn’t know much about electronics, but the steel walls of the container surely would have interfered with a cell phone signal.  I guess it didn’t have to be in the container.

“I get it,” he said.  “I should not have told Vince to take care of the problem.  I didn’t consider he would take it literally.  I’m sorry.  We don’t have to do this.”

“Just the fact you think I’m a problem is bad enough, but getting Vince to deal with it?”

“That was a mistake.  The solution was never to hurt you, or your friends.”

“He murdered Boggs, and for what?  There never was any treasure, was there?”

“Maybe once, but no.  The real treasure was the maps.  People will pay a small fortune for them if they believe there’s a chance of finding a trove.  We couldn’t have anyone upsetting the apple cart, but killing him wasn’t what I asked for.  Vince and that fool Alex took it too far, and that’s on me.”

“Literal or not, you’ve made it very clear I don’t fit into this family.  I never did, did I?  You only tolerated Alex because it was a way of uniting the Cossatino’s and the Benderby’s, not because you wanted me to be happy.”

“There will always be a place for you, Nadia.”

“Not while Vince is alive.  He won’t let it go, no matter what you tell him.”

“You leave Vince to me.”

“No.  I can’t trust you either.  So, here’s the deal.  Sam and I are going back to Italy.  I want no part of the family.  But if I see you, Vince, or anyone else I don’t like hanging around, then Isobel and the twins will pay it.”

“What are you talking about…”

At that precise moment, his phone rang, a rather odd ring tone, like one specially set for a particular person, and he answered it without hesitation.

A few seconds later, the call ended.

“You have my word nothing will happen to you, or Sam, as long as I’m alive.”  He motioned to his men to go back to the car.  “Have a nice life Nadia.”

He glared at her for a few seconds then followed his men to the car.  The car then drove off, leaving the two of us standing alone in the increasing twilight.

I had a hundred questions, but it didn’t seem to be the right time.  I went with the most obvious, “What just happened?”

“My father thought he could clean up the mess he made using me as the scapegoat.  Instead, he just confessed to, and confirmed Vince and Alex’s role in Boggs’s death.”  She held up her phone.  “Charlene was listening in to the confessions.  The sheriff should have the two boys by now, and…”

In the distance we could hear the sirens of the police cars and see the flashing lights.  Cossatino had driven into a trap.

“Isobel and the twins?”

“My father’s mistress.  He’s been seeing her since before my mother disappeared.  He cares more for them than me, even Vince if truth be told.  It’s his one weakness and guarantees our safety.  We are going to Italy?”

It might not have been the thought at the top of my list at that very moment, but it was almost a definite yes. There was nothing left here for me, and the last thing I wanted was Benderby as a proxy father.

The sirens had stooped, and the flashing lights become static.  Nadia looked tired, perhaps more than a little sad at the way everything had turned put.  I know I was.

As for what just happened, Nadia had surprised me.  I think for a moment back at the mall she really was going to leave them to die, which I might have considered no better than her brother or Alex’s actions, but she really wasn’t like any of them, and I put that down to her mother.

Something else I hadn’t realized was that she had a different mother, but a memory from a long distant past came back when she had mentioned her to her father, something my mother had said, more or less to say she couldn’t understand what a woman like Francesca could see in a man like him.

Perhaps she had simply up and left when she finally realized the monster she married, but it didn’t explain why she left her daughter behind.  Perhaps her father was guilty of that crime too.

“I think we both need a change, and I’ve never been out of the country.”  I took her hand in mine, then gave her a hug. 

She was shaking, whether it was the cold or the enormity of what just happened was debatable, but for the moment it was over. There would be new storms to face tomorrow, not the least of which would be to face my mother.

“Let’s go back to the hotel.  You need to get some rest.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second worlds war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

I had walked quite fast in my attempt to distance myself from our pursuers if they were, in fact, chasing me.  In doing so I had tried to make my escape as quiet as possible.

Now, between Jack and I, hiding in the undergrowth, the only noise I could hear was our laboured breathing, and mine in particular.  I hadn’t been expecting to be doing this sort of exercise when I signed on for the job.

Now, I think, exercise was going to become a priority.

If I made it back alive.

A crack and I saw Jack go very still, ears cocked, and looking in what was the direction of the sound.  He’d know, better than me, where the noise came from.

Another minute before I could hear muffled voices, then as if they had stepped into a room, I could hear them.

“So, you’re telling me you let him hit you?”

“I had to, for the sake of making it look good.  I was told he was no fool.” 

The voice of the man who had orchestrated my departure.  I shook my head, very disappointed in myself for not seeing through what could have been a very cunning plan.  It also explained why they hadn’t summarily shot me.  I could see Jackerby gloating over the cleverness of his plan.

So perhaps for a few moments there, I was a fool.  Not anymore.

“What do we do if we find him?”

“We’re not supposed to find him, remember.  You were at the same meeting, or was that your ghost I saw with me?”

“Observe and report back.”

“Exactly.”

The voices were very close, and I could hear their boots of the rocky path until they stopped.

“Which way?”

The voice sounded very close, in fact, I thought they were just on the other side of the undergrowth, but that couldn’t be right, I could see through it in places, and no one was standing on the other side.

Sound must travel very good in this part of the forest.

“Follow the main river.  He won’t be looking to deviate from his objective, which by now would be to find the other members of the resistance and organise his departure.”

“And leave alone what he saw?”

“There isn’t much he could do about it.  By the time he’s reported back to London, we will have found the underground members and eliminated any threat.”

“Aha, so he’s leading us to the resistance?”

“That’s the plan.”

“And it was your idea?”

“I do have my moments, thank you.  Now, let’s get on, or he’ll get too much of a start on us, and I don’t want to be the one to explain how we lost him to Jackerby in particular.”

A minute passed, then two before I heard the sound of boots receding.  Johansson, or maybe Jackerby, had correctly guessed I might know where the other resistance members were, and, after escaping, go straight to them.

Pity, I was going to disappoint them.

© Charles Heath 2019

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, 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.

Chasing leads, maybe

“Who’s coming?” snapped Maury.

“Some nice men in white coats, to take you away to a dark and dank hole somewhere in this city where you may tell us what you know, or you might not survive the experience. You got one shot at the easy way, now it looks like it’s going to be the hard way.”

I had to admire her. She had gone all gung-ho on him and, frankly, it was a frightening side to her that you wouldn’t normally see, or even guess that she had.

“This is a big mistake, Jackson. I suggest you call Severin and get this straightened out very quickly.”

“I’m going to call him, eventually. After I find the USB and see what’s on it. What it is that you seem to be so desperate to get to first?”

“That’s a matter of national security.”

“I suspect it’s a matter that involves you and Severin. O’Connell was working for a man called Nobbin. He runs another department, it’s starting to sound like there are wheels within wheels, who’s part in all of this I’m yet to understand.”

“He’s after the USB too?”

“Of course. If it’s evidence against you, and or others conspiring to do God knows what, he probably needs to know so he can put a stop to it. Apparently, since no one has heard of you or your operation, I’ve been transferred to his department.”

“How do you know the information is not about him? It’s not unheard of for an agent to discovered irregularities against his commander.”

“Then let’s hope I find the USB first. And, just out of curiosity, why did you kill O’Connell. Wouldn’t it be a better idea to capture him and make sure he had the USB before you did anything irrational.”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

“That’s what most of the Nazi’s said at Nuremberg.”

There was a knock on her door.

Jan went over and opened it. It was, I thought, the wrong thing to do when we had a man as dangerous as Maury in the room.

Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, I could say it was the wrong thing to do, but at the time, even I didn’t think Severin would know what was happening to his attach dog.

Apparently, he did.

The door crashed open sending Jan into a fall that saw her head hit by the swinging door. Three men with guns came bursting in, followed by a fourth, Severin.

Severin took in the room with a single sweep, then glared at me. “You need to pick a side, and soon, Jackson.”

One of the other men cut the ties and helped Maury to his feet. He also glared at me as he left with the other two. “You’ll keep,” Maury muttered as he went past, then was gone.

Severin looked at Jan, now a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Don’t play with MI5. They never see the big picture. Maury doesn’t forget, Jackson, so there will be a reckoning later. I suggest you find a way of redeeming yourself in his eyes. Perhaps it would be better if you cut ties with Nobbin and disappeared for a while. This matter is too big for a newbie like you.”

I heard a groan by the door, Jan waking.

“Just keep out of the way, Jackson. And her, if she knows what’s good for her.”

He left, closing the door behind him.

I went over to Jan and checked to see what injuries she had other than to her pride. A gash on the side of the head, with a little blood. It would give her a huge headache though.

“I’ll get a wet towel,” I said, helping her into a sitting position.

She still looked groggy.

“What happened?”

“You answered the door before finding out who was on the other side.”

“Maury?”

“Gone. He must have signaled Severin somehow that he was in trouble, or they were tracking him. Either way, they got here rather quickly to rescue him.”

“My people?”

“Not here yet.”

I left her to find a towel and run water over one end.

When I came back, she was on her phone, having got up off the floor. She still looked quite shaken.

“Yes, sir.” was all I heard of the conversation before she disconnected the call.

“Did you call off the collection team?”

“They weren’t coming. They said apparently I had rung back to say it was a false alarm.”

“And they believed that?”

“Whoever called had my special code, so yes, they did.”

Call finished, she sat down in one of the chairs and pressed the wet part of the towel against her head.

“Next time you might consider looking first before opening the door,” I said, realizing that it was not the advice she would be looking for.

“It’s a mistake I won’t make again, I can assure you,” she said. “but, we haven’t lost him yet.”

“How so?”

“I slipped a tracker onto his clothes, not one he’ll easily recognize or find, and as we speak, he’s being tracked through outer London. We’ll soon know where he’s going, and perhaps second time lucky.”

She was more resourceful than I would normally give anyone credit for.

Now it was a matter of waiting. Would he lead us to the heart of Severin’s operation? Only time would tell.

© Charles Heath 2020