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 gave one time or another.
For the the main characters Harry and Alison there is others 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 come 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.
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 her knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, who 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 one, 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 the 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.
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 with what happened during the second world 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…
——
The Standartenfuhrer checked his gun and settled his nerves for an onslaught. If they were going to die, then he was going to kill as many of them as he could.
He threw his hand pistol to Mayer. “Shoot anything that comes in the door.”
Mayer fumbled the weapon, dropping it on the floor, then finding it hard, with cold hands, to pick it up. Perhaps his life wasn’t sufficiently in danger to be more proactive.
The Standartenfuhrer shook his head. Boffins were all the same. The slightest threat and they went weak at the knees. And Mayer was no exception.
Mayer managed to get the gun into his hand.
“Don’t forget to turn off the safety.”
Mayer looked at the gun, and found the switch.
At the same time, another burst of gunfire ricocheted off the walls of the hut. It was followed by a harsh order to stop firing, and save the ammunition for the enemy. There was also a mutter about alerting the enemy, but that ship had sailed.
The soldiers seemed content to shoot randomly at the cabin, rather than check to see if anyone was inside, and soon the sounds of men, guns, and dogs were gone. The dogs had not picked up their scent, and the Standartenfuhrer had managed to cover their tracks sufficiently to keep them at bay.
Relief, but not enough to rest. The Standartenfuhrer knew they had to keep moving.
In the background, both could hear a stream locomotive at slow speed passing. In the circuitous route they’d taken to escape, they must have circled back towards the railway line which must be on the other side of the forest.
That proximity of the railway line would work in their favor because the next phase of the journey was going to be on a train.
Just not one full of soldiers, if possible.
After a half-hour, just to ensure the soldiers didn’t return, the Standartenfuhrer dragged himself up off the ground.
“We’d better move. They’re likely to come back, or had a second sweep when they don’t find us.”
“Surely we can have a rest.”
“If you want to get caught. I don’t have to tell you what they’ll do to you if they capture you.”
“Probably send me back to that hell hole.”
“Hitler is not that forgiving. The odds are you’ll be handed over to the SS and I’m sure you’ve seen what those people are capable of.”
He had, especially with the forced labor from the Jewish camps and POW camps. At times it beggared belief.
Mayer dragged himself up off the floor.
The Standartenfuhrer checked his weapon, then looked out through the crack in the door. It was dark and snowing, not too heavy, but enough to hide their movement. It was a shame their coats were dark, they would stand out against the white background, but it couldn’t be helped. That was a problem for daylight, still some hours away.
“Keep your weapon handy. You may need it.”
Mayer was worried his hands would be too cold and stiff, and instead of having it in his hand, slipped it into his pocket. He didn’t think too many people would be about at this hour.
“Once outside, head straight for the trees, as fast as you can.”
The Standartenfuhrer was in the doorway one second, gone the next, and Mayer followed. He could just see the dark figure in front of him, then almost ran into him when he stopped just past the first line of trees.
He could see lights intermittently through the trees, a train or houses along the railway line perhaps.
It was much darker in the forest, and they had to go slower, picking their way through the trees, running into low branches, and getting a face full of wet snow, often trickling down the back of their necks.
It was cold, wet, and very uncomfortable.
The Standartenfuhrer stopped. The trees had thinned and the lights became more pronounced. They could now definitely hear a locomotive close by, and a train well lit up stopped. The windows were fogged from condensation on the inside, but it was clear enough to see heads.
It was a passenger train, waiting.
A piercing whistle shattered the relative quiet, and another train coming in the other direction at speed flashed passed very loudly, the wheels of the carriages clanking on the track joints. An empty freight train with many flat cars, going back to Germany.
Then suddenly shouting, a whistle, and gunfire.
A man was running towards them,, and several soldiers were in pursuit, randomly shooting in his direction, and into the forest. A shot hit the running person and they fell.
Mayer heard a thud and a groan, then realized that the Standartenfuhrer had been hit. By the time he turned the Standartenfuhrer over, he was dead.
Mayer ducked out of sight just before torchlight shone on the spot he was crouching.
There was another shout, and the soldiers started heading towards him.
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.
Today we are in Vienna, at the hotel that Zoe was staying trying to get information out of the hotel staff. This leads to a contact on a riverboat that goes from Vienna to Bratislava in Slovakia.
Yes, we’re off to Bratislava, chasing Zoe down.
In the background we have the shadowy Worthington, pulling endless strings, gathering information on her whereabouts for John. He had deduced that if John can find her, she will pause long enough for Worthington’s hit team to get there.
John does not realize he has ulterior motives, but, then John doesn’t fully understand the spy business.
John also tasks his newfound private investigators to track her down, and Isobel doesn’t disappoint.
Then, a photo of her from Worthington arrives, she is discovered, and, as you can surmise, all hell breaks loose.
I’ve always wanted to go to Bratislava, ever since I saw it in a James Bond movie. That showed it had trams, and I’m one of those people who love trams, trains, buses, anything that reeks travel.
I would also like to hop a boat and travel up the river, perhaps from Vienna to Bratislava, or beyond.
One day.
…
Today’s writing, with John desperately trying to find Zoe, 2,525 words, for a total of 36,812.
Pick a mountain, and hike over it. The harder the trail, the better it was.
There were five from the original group of eight, from thirty years ago, brought together by the first Gulf War, and kept together as support for each other as we tried, and sometimes failed, to reintegrate into civilian life.
It had saved me.
It had not for Benny, Jack, and Roland, and as hard as they tried, and as hard as we tried to save them, it was as sad as it was tragic, not only for us but for those they left behind.
Over the years we added, and lost, new recruits.
This year there would be six, the original five, and a new recruit, a woman that Wally had recommended, and though there were no rules barring women, it just never seemed to be a potential candidate.
Until now. Josephine or Jo had seen service in Iraq and was known to Justin, who worked off and on in a veteran’s hospital as a counselor. He could see the signs of a deteriorating soul and asked her if she would like to join a bunch of fools tackling a trail sensible people would leave alone.
A girl joining five guys in the forest, I could see how that might look, especially when he told me. Both of us were surprised when she agreed to come along. The only hitch, she would be coming with me to base camp.
I just hoped it was not another pathetic attempt on his part to matchmake. In all that time, since returning, I had not had a successful, or long-term relationship, simply because I didn’t want to share the burden.
The others were more successful in varying degrees, but rarely mentioned it when we got together. I was happy for them, but it was not for me.
Josephine arrived, precisely at the time she said she would, in a vintage Mustang that sounded like it had a V8. Josephine was once a mechanic, and according to Justin, had rebuilt the car from the ground up after finding it in a hayloft.
It looked brand new,
I was out front tossing stuff into an SUV when she pulled into the drive. From there I watched her extricate herself from the driver’s seat, a tall thin girl with long blonde hair, and that Scandinavian look about her.
Nothing about what I saw in front of me screamed battle veteran.
“Ken, I presume?”
I was not sure whether we should shake hands, hug, or what. Instead, I just stood back and nodded.
“Josephine, or Jo?”
“My real name is Betty, but I hate it, so either will do.”
How do you break the ice with what appeared to be an ice maiden?
“Justin said you were looking for some excitement. I’d hardly call our little group exciting, but you never know. There might be a few bears to wrestle.
“I hope not.”
“Don’t worry. These bears are not all that dangerous if you leave them alone. Have you heard of the expression, ‘don’t poke the bear’. Very apt in this case. Want to toss your kit in the back? I’ll get off the driveway and you can park your car in the garage. Nice car, by the way. Always wanted one, could never afford it. Still, a man can have dreams.”
She smiled, but I think my prattling was a sign of being nervous in her presence, a common complaint of mine. I just never did understand how to talk to women about normal stuff.
I wondered, for a moment, if the bears were all we would have to worry about, because as we were going inside, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a large black SUV parked just down from the front of my house, window down and a man, smoking a cigar, looking directly into my yard.
It was not the first time, I’d been in a few scrapes and on the end of some surveillance, but this felt different.
I guess I’d soon find out.
…
It was a two-day trip and we would be stopping in Iowa City on the way. There was a light conversation for the first half-hour, as we both realized, we were not conversationalists. Perhaps if we had more in common.
But the silence that fell over the cabin was not an uneasy one. She closed her eyes and appeared to sleep. I drew the straw to drive the first leg, she the second.
I’d not noticed the black SUV, but that didn’t mean it was not somewhere behind us. I deliberately parked around the back of the diner, then told her I needed to look at the engine to check if we were leaking oil, which it did sometimes, and watched her go inside.
I knew surveillance tactics. Put a tracker on the car, and then you can follow at leisure.
I felt around all the spots a tracker could be hidden, and after almost believing there wasn’t one, I found it, tucked under the driver’s side door in a slot meant for the car jack, then attached it to another car.
Black SUV would be out there somewhere. It was moot whether he would fall for the trick.
Jo was sitting in a booth with two cups of coffee.
“I hope you like fried chicken.”
“My favorite, but then, anything fried is my favorite.”
She smiled, but I could see the sadness. I wonder what had happened to her, but I was sensible enough to know not to tug at that string.
“Up for the next leg?”
“Yep, but it’s going to be a little more sedate than I’m used to. Unless, of course, you want to get there early.”
“No, slow and steady is fine with me.”
How do you keep an eye on what’s behind you without looking like you’re keeping an eye on what’s behind you?
Jo never looked in the rear vision mirror, except if she was changing lanes, or passing another vehicle. Other than that, she looked to me like she was pouring her whole soul into the job at hand.
It wasn’t until we were almost to Iowa city before I thought I saw the black SUV and then lost it as she turned to go into the motel. On the way, I changed the reservation for two adjoining rooms, and dinner to be brought in. I used the excuse that it would be better not to go out, that way we could get an early night, and start the next morning.
I wanted to be the first at the base camp so I could bring her up to speed on how things worked. And the quirks of the rest of the hikers.
Then, after dining in her room, I left her with a six-pack and some awful TV show.
Back in my room, I dug out my laptop and did a search on her name, on the off chance the internet might yield some answers.
There were a lot of Josephine Littleton’s oddly enough, and over 15,000 hits. I had to scroll six pages before a single line caught my attention. Local Deputy Sherriff has assault charges dropped.
A click on the URL led me to a newspaper article, the Rio Grande Sun, dated six months ago, with a photo of a man in a Deputy’s uniform, who looked something like the man in the SUV, and a woman that was definitely Jo.
Married before she went to the war when she came back, he found it difficult to handle her and like most spouses who have no understanding of the problem, react. Some leave, after trying to reconcile the spouse they now had versus the one before and failing, very few resort to more direct action. Deputy Grady reportedly assaulted her. Her word against his, and against the law in a small county where they would close ranks, she had only one option.
Drop the charges or leave. She left, no doubt hoping to get away from him, but he would have contacts, and no trouble tracing her. Did she know he was following her?
It might be a subject for conversation tomorrow.
I was woken by the sound of a thump, something hitting the wall between our rooms, and raised voices.
I got the adjoining rooms just in case I needed to get in to see her if she was having the nightmares we all had. I unlocked the door and stepped into the room.
There was a man on the floor, groaning, and Jo, in pajamas, sitting on the end of the bed, tears flowing down her face. There were also red welts on both cheeks, from being slapped.
The man looked up at me. “Walk away. This is none of your business.”
I glared down at him. “Too late, I’ve seen your face, Deputy Grady. Now it is my business.”
I looked at Jo. “Are you alright?”
She shook her head, no.
“What happened here?”
Grady rolled over and stood up, flexing his body as if to tease out the aches and pains. I assumed it was he who hit the wall.
“We were having a conversation, and she unaccountably shoved me into the wall.”
“Before or after you hit her.”
She raised her head and looked at me. “Leave, like he said. There’s nothing you can do for me.”
“Save yourself a whole world of pain, too,” Grady added, with the sort of gloating tone only a small-town cop could do so well. The big man in a small world.
“I’m not leaving until I get the truth, Grady. But I will give you a little information for free. Be thankful you can get up off the floor. I know something about the pain Jo is going through. You don’t, you could never understand. When you assaulted her, she could have retaliated, but instead, she cared enough about you to leave before she did. Right now, you just got the reprieve of your life. To be honest, I expected to see you slit from groin to throat and your heart tossed in the trash can, and she would have done that eyes closed and without a second thought.”
I was laying in on a bit thick, but this fool really didn’t know how lucky he was. When I lashed out, I hurt five people, badly, and I hadn’t realized what I was doing until Justin told me to stop.
Jo looked at him, the look of surprise on his face, then me, then back to Grady.
“You never understood, and you didn’t care. Get the fuck out of my life, and don’t come back, or I will kill you.”
He glared at her.
“What the hell is wrong with you? We were fine until you went away. I told you not to go. You didn’t have to go.”
“You were smothering me. You, your mother, and that awful sister. I thought a few months away would clear my head. It did far worse than that, and I need help, not you.”
“You were fucked in the head before you went away. God, to think I wasted my time trying to make something out of your pathetic life.”
He looked at me. “You’re welcome to her. I’m done.”
He picked up his cap off the floor and jammed it on his head, then headed for the door. I opened it for him. “Don’t let me see you again, or you will feel the full force of the US military machine rolling right over the top of you.”
“Fuck you too, asshole.”
I closed the door after him and leaned against it.
She looked at me. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ve been there and done a lot worse. But I think you just took the first step on a long road to recovery, you admitted you need help.”
“I did, and you have no idea how that feels.”
There were still two bottles of beer left so I opened them and handed one to her. “Here’s to the first day of the rest of your life.”
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.
I was not sure what to make of Nadia. It would have been better if she hadn’t said she liked me. Perhaps she was just toying with my emotions.
Whatever she said, she was right about one thing, that it put a spoke in the works with my plan to get her the map and ease her problems with Alex. Of course, I knew that wouldn’t be the end of her issues with Alex, he was not the sort to let a fish off the hook.
And despite her protestations to the contrary, she looked very much at ease in his company. Had she told Alex what my plan was, and got Rico out of the way so he could set his sights on me?
Had Alex something to do with Rico’s current predicament? Based on the information that Nadia had given me, the proximity of his boat, and the divers, what were they for? I suspect it was not to remove fishing line from the propeller shaft.
No, this had the smell of the Benderby’s all over it.
I finished my drink and left. Once outside, I could see there was still activity on Rico’s boat, and two men from the coroner’s office were just removing the body from the cabin. I could see a group of white jump suit clad people waiting to board, the crime scene investigators.
I thought about going back to the boat, but there was a policeman standing on the start of the pier making sure only those with a legitimate reason were let through.
Enough excitement for one day. It was time to go to work. I had just enough time to get home, change, and get to the warehouse.
When I stepped into the office, Alex was waiting by my desk and that could only mean one thing, I was in some sort of trouble. Usually, he just ignored me, unless there was something no one else wanted to do like taking inventory.
“A few minutes in my office Smidge.”
Trouble it was. He only called me Smidge when he was annoyed with me.
I followed him in and closed the door. His office was the same as his father’s, in the main building, only smaller.
He didn’t invite me to sit down. He sat on the edge of his desk, facing me. It brought back bad memories of being in the principal’s office at school.
“What were you doing talking to Nadia?”
How could he know? Knowing Alex, he, or more to the point, his father, had spies everywhere.
“She came and sat next to me, Alex, not the other way around. She was reminding me of how insignificant I was, and then she was asking questions about Rico. I was there when they found a body on his boat, Alex. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
I watched his expression change for just a moment. He didn’t have the same set in granite features as his father, a man who could lie to your face and stab you in the back at the same time.
“Why would I? I was out testing Dad’s boat, and all I could see what police everywhere. I wouldn’t put anything past Rico.”
Then I had an idea that might rattle Alex’s cage a little.
“There’s a rumour going around that Rico had a copy of a more detailed treasure map. I mean, Boggs seems to think his father had a more detailed treasure map than the one doing the rounds, and maybe Rico had got his hands on it, and perhaps that man on the boat was a treasure hunter who was trying to buy it, or steal it, and got on the wrong side of an argument with someone, and not necessarily Rico. To be honest, Alex, I don’t think Rico is that stupid he would murder someone on his boat.”
There was a definite interest in his eyes, one that sparked whenever I mentioned the treasure map, and it was more than a passing phase.
“You and I both know that Boggs is little more than a brainless idiot who’s always trying to make out his father wasn’t the world’s worst treasure hunter. Those rumours are just that, Smidge, rumours. There is no treasure and there is no map. And it’s debatable whether Rico had anything other than a quick temper. If I were you, I’d go looking for a better class of friend, and forget about this so-called treasure.”
Put as casually as he could, the problem was Alex could not keep the veiled threat out of his tone. He was definitely telling me to back off. But, then I had another thought, just to stir the pot a little more.
“Funny thing Alex, that was what Nadia told me too. What if the Cossatino’s think the exact opposite, that the rumours are true. She could have been sizing me up as a potential source for the map, seeing how Boggs and I are such good friends.”
Mentioning the Cossatino’s made Alex uncomfortable. I could see it, and feel it. The tension in the room was rising.
“You should keep well away from the Cossatino’s, and particularly Nadia. They are very, very dangerous people. If she’s talking to you, then I’d been running away as fast as I could.”
“Because you’re interested in her?”
“Are you, I mean seriously Smidge, what would she see in you?”
That, of course, was a good question, and from his perspective, quite a valid point. I had nothing that he knew of to offer.
“Everyone has something someone else wants, Alex. I’ll admit, at the moment, I don’t have anything to offer a woman like that, and she is way above my pay grade, but if you like, I’ll try to find out what it is she does want. I work here, so perhaps she thinks I might be able to get some dirt on you unless you are good friends and she’s just trying to make my life more miserable than it already is.”
Yes, I could see the wheels turning, the Alex that didn’t trust anyone, no matter who they were.
“If she tries, you tell me.”
“Of course. Now I’d better get back to work. Your dad is supposed to be coming over for an inspection.”
“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.
When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.
From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.
There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.
Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.
Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?
Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?
Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?
It had been one of those days, you know, the sort where you hoped, when you woke up again, it would be a distant memory if not gone altogether. Everything had gone wrong, the handover from my shift to the next, longer than usual, I got home late to find the building’s security system malfunctioning, and after everything that could go wrong had, I was late getting to bed, which meant I was going to be tired and cranky even before my shift started.
But what topped it all off was that the alarm didn’t go off. It was not as if I hadn’t set it, I remembered doing it. There was something else in play.
I rolled over and instantly noticed how dark it was. It was never this dark. It was why I chose an apartment as high up as I could, there would always be light coming from the advertising sign on the roof of the building over the road at night, or direct sunlight not blotted out by surrounding buildings.
I also left the curtains open, deliberately. I liked the notion of being able to see out, sometimes looking at the stars, other times watching the rain, but mostly to see that I was not in a dark place.
Not like now.
I got out of bed and went over to the window. Yes, there were lights, but they were all the way down on the street level. Everywhere else, nothing. It had to be a power blackout. Our first in a long time. I should have noticed the air conditioning was not on, and it was almost silent inside the room.
The apartment had windows that opened, not very far, but enough to allow some airflow, and the room feeling stuffy, I opened one in the bedroom. Instantly, sounds drifted up from street level, and looking down I could see the flashing lights of police cars and fire trucks, as well as the sounds of sirens.
The cold air was refreshing.
It took a few minutes before I realized the elevators would not be working, and I remembered the only pitfall of having a high-up apartment, it was a long way down by the stairs, and even longer going back up.
In the distance, I could see other buildings, about ten blocks away, with their lights on. It had to be a localized blackout, or perhaps a brownout. We had been having problems across the city with power supply caused by an unexplained explosion at several power stations on the grid.
Some were saying it was a terrorist attack, others were saying the antiquated infrastructure had finally given out.
My attention was diverted from the activity below by the vibration of my cell phone on the bedside table. I looked over at the clock and saw it was 3:10 in the morning, not a time I usually got a phone call.
I crossed the room and looked at the screen, just as the vibrating stopped. Louis Bernard. Who was Louis Bernard? It was not a name I was familiar with, so I ignored it. It wasn’t the first wrong number to call me, though I was beginning to think I had been given a recycled phone number when I bought the phone. Perhaps the fact it was a burner may have had something to do with it.
About the go back to the window, the phone started ringing again. The same caller, Louis Bernard.
Curiosity got the better of me.
“Yes?” I wasn’t going to answer with my name.
“Get out of that room now.”
“Who….” It was as far as I got before the phone went dead.
The phone displayed the logo as it powered off, a sign the battery was depleted. I noticed then though I’d plugged the phone in to recharge, I’d forgotten to turn the power on.
Damn.
Get out of that room now? Who could possibly know firstly who I was, and where I was living, to the point they could know I was in any sort of danger?
It took another minute of internal debate before I threw on some clothes and headed for the door.
Just in case.
As I went to open the door, someone started pounding on it, and my heart almost stopped.
“Who is it?” I yelled out. First thought; don’t open it.
“Floor warden, you need to evacuate. There’s a small fire on one of the floors below.”
“OK. Give me a minute or so and I’ll be right out.”
“Don’t take too long. Take the rear stairs on the left.”
A few seconds later I heard him pounding on the door next to mine. I waited until he’d moved on, and went out into the passage.
It was almost dark, the security lighting just above floor level giving off a strange and eerie orange glow. I thought there was a hint of smoke in the air, but that might have been the power of suggestion taking over my mind.
There were two sets of stairs down, both at the rear, one on the left and one on the right, designed to aid quick evacuation in the event of a calamity like a fire. He had told me to take the left. I deliberately ignored that and went to the right side, passing several other tenants who were going towards where they’d been told. I didn’t recognize them, but, then, I didn’t try to find out who my fellow tenants were.
A quick look back up the passage, noting everyone heading to the left side stairs, I ducked into the right stairwell and stopped for a moment. Was that smoke I could smell. From above I could hear a door slam shut, and voices. Above me, people had entered the stairwell and were coming down.
I started heading down myself.
I was on the 39th floor, and it was going to be a long way down. In a recent fire drill, the building had been evacuated from the top floor down, and it proceeded in an orderly manner. The idea was that starting at the top, there would not be a logjam if the lower floors were spilling into the stairwell and creating a bottleneck. Were those above stragglers?
I descended ten floors and still hadn’t run into anyone, but the smell of smoke was stronger. I stopped for a moment and listened for those who had been above me. Nothing. Not a sound. Surely there had to be someone above me, coming down.
A door slammed, but I couldn’t tell if it was above or below.
Once again, I descended, one floor, two, three, five, all the way down to ten. The smoke was thicker here, and I could see a cloud on the other side of the door leading out of the stairwell into the passage. The door was slightly ajar, odd, I thought, for what was supposed to be a fire door. I could see smoke being sucked into the fire escape through the door opening.
Then I saw several firemen running past, axes in hand. Was the fire on the tenth floor?
Another door slammed shut, and then above me, I could hear voices. Or were they below? I couldn’t tell. My eyes were starting to tear up from the smoke, and it was getting thicker.
I headed down.
I reached the ground floor and tried to open the door leading out of the fire escape. It wouldn’t open. A dozen other people came down the stairs and stopped when they saw me.
One asked, “Can we get out here?”
I tried the door again with the same result. “No. It seems to be jammed.”
Several of the people rushed past me, going down further, yelling out, “there should be a fire door leading out into the underground garage.”
Then, after another door slamming shut, silence. Another person said, “they must have found a way out,” and started running down the stairs, the others following. For some odd reason I couldn’t explain, I didn’t follow, a mental note popping up in my head telling me that there was only an exit into the carport from the other stairs, on this side, the exit led out onto an alley at the back of the building.
If the door would open. It should push outwards, and there should also be a bar on it, so when pushed, it allowed the door to open.
The smoke was worse now, and I could barely see, or breathe, overcome with a coughing fit. I banged on the door, yelling out that I was stuck in the stairwell, but there was no reply, nor could I hear movement on the other side of the door.
Just as I started to lose consciousness, I thought I could hear a banging sound on the door, then a minute later what seemed like wood splintering. A few seconds after that I saw a large black object hovering over me, then nothing.
It was the culmination of a bad night, a bad day, and another bad night. Was it karma trying to tell me something?
When I woke, I was in a hospital, a room to myself which seemed strange since my insurance didn’t really cover such luxuries. I looked around the room and stopped when I reached the window and the person who was standing in front of it, looking out.
“Who are you?” I asked, and realized the moment the words came out, they made me sound angry.
“No one of particular importance. I came to see if you were alright. You were very lucky by the way. Had you not stayed by that door you would have died like all the rest.”
Good to know, but not so good for the others. Did he know that fire door was jammed? I told him what happened.
“Someone suspected that might be the case which is why you were told to take the other stairs. Why did you not do as you were told?”
“Why did the others also ignore the advice.” It was not a question I would deign to answer.
They didn’t know any better, but you did, and it begs the question, why did you take those stairs.”
Persistent, and beginning to bother me. He sounded like someone else I once knew in another lifetime, one who never asked a question unless he knew the answer.
The man still hadn’t turned around to show me his face, and it was not likely I’d be getting out of the bed very soon.
“You tell me?”
He turned slightly and I could see his reflection in the window. I thought, for a moment, that was a familiar face. But I couldn’t remember it from where.
“The simple truth, you suspected the fire was lit to flush you out of the building and you thought taking those stairs would keep you away from trouble. We both know you’ve been hiding here.”
Then he did turn. Hiding, yes. A spot of trouble a year or so before had made leaving Florida a necessity, and I’d only just begun to believe I was finally safe.
I was not.
They had found me.
And it only took a few seconds, to pull the silenced gun out of his coat pocket, point it directly at me, and pull the trigger.
Two stabbing pains in the chest, and for a moment it was as if nothing happened, and then, all of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe.
The last thing I saw and heard, several rounds from at least two guns, voices yelling out on the passage, and people running.
As I lay dying, my last thought was, it had been a good run, but no one can run forever.
It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.
John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.
So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?
That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.
What should have been a high turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point every thing goes to hell in a handbasket.
He suddenly realises his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.
The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.
All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.
