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 and 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.
It was in darkness. I was sure I had left several lights on, especially over the door, so I could see to unlock it.
I looked up and saw that the globe was broken.
Instant alert.
I went to the first hiding spot for the gun, and it wasn’t there. I went to the backup, and it wasn’t there either. Someone had found my carefully hidden stash of weapons and removed them.
Who?
There were four hiding spots, and all were empty. Someone had removed the weapons. That could only mean one possibility.
I had a visitor, not necessarily here for a social call.
But, of course, being the well-trained agent I’d once been and not one to be caught unawares, I crossed over to my neighbour and relieved him of a weapon that, if found, would require a lot of explaining.
Suitably armed, it was time to return the surprise.
There were three entrances to the villa: the front door, the back door, and a rather strange escape hatch. One of the more interesting attractions of the villa I’d rented was its heritage. It was built in the late 1700s by a man who was, by all accounts, a thief. It had a hidden underground room, which had been in the past a vault but was now a wine cellar, and it had an escape hatch by which the man could come and go undetected, particularly if there was a mob outside the door baying for his blood.
It now gave me the means to enter the villa without my visitors being alerted, unless, of course, they were in the vicinity of the doorway inside the villa, but that possibility was unlikely. It was not where anyone could anticipate or expect a doorway to be.
The secret entrance was at the rear of the villa, behind a large copse, two camouflaged wooden doors built into the ground. I moved aside some of the branches that covered them and lifted one side. After I’d discovered the doors and rusty hinges, I’d oiled and cleaned them, and cleared the passageway of cobwebs and fallen rocks. It had a mildew smell, but nothing would get rid of that. I’d left torches at either end so I could see.
I closed the door after me and went quietly down the steps, enveloped in darkness till I switched on the torch. I traversed the short passage, which turned ninety degrees about halfway to the door at the other end. I carried the key to this door on the keyring, found it and opened the door. It too had been oiled and swung open soundlessly.
I stepped into the darkness and closed the door.
I was on the lower level under the kitchen, now the wine cellar, the ‘door’ doubling as a set of shelves which had very little on them, less to fall and alert anyone in the villa.
Silence, an eerie silence.
I took the steps up to the kitchen, stopping when my head was level with the floor, checking to see if anyone was waiting. There wasn’t. It seemed to me to be an unlikely spot for an ambush.
I’d already considered the possibility of someone coming after me, especially because it had been Bespalov I’d killed, and I was sure he had friends, all equally as mad as he was. Equally, I’d also considered it nigh on impossible for anyone to find out it was me who killed him because the only people who knew that were Prendergast, Alisha, a few others in the Department, and Susan.
That raised the question of who told them where I was.
If I were the man I used to be, my first suspect would be Susan. The departure this morning, and now this was too coincidental. But I was not that man.
Or was I?
I reached the start of the passageway that led from the kitchen to the front door and peered into the semi-darkness. My eyes had got used to the dark, and it was no longer an inky void. Fragments of light leaked in around the door from outside and through the edge of the window curtains where they didn’t fit properly. A bone of contention upstairs in the morning, when first light shone and invariably woke me up hours before I wanted to.
Still nothing.
I took a moment to consider how I would approach the visitor’s job. I would get a plan of the villa in my head, all entrances, where a target could be led to or attacked, and where there would be no escape.
Coming in the front door. If I were not expecting anything, I’d just open the door and walk in. One shot would be all that was required.
Contract complete.
I sidled quietly up the passage, staying close to the wall, edging closer to the front door. There was an alcove where the shooter could be waiting. It was an ideal spot to wait.
Crunch.
I stepped on some nutshells.
Not my nutshells.
I felt it before I heard it. The bullet with my name on it.
And how the shooter missed, from point-blank range, and hit me in the arm, I had no idea. I fired off two shots before a second shot from the shooter went wide and hit the door with a loud thwack.
I saw a red dot wavering as it honed in on me, and I fell to the floor, stretching out, looking up where the origin of the light was coming and pulled the trigger three times, evenly spaced, and a second later I heard the sound of a body falling down the stairs and stopping at the bottom, not very far from me.
Two assassins.
I’d not expected that.
The assassin by the door was dead, a lucky shot on my part. The second was still breathing.
I checked the body for any weapons and found a second gun and two knives. Armed to the teeth!
I pulled off the balaclava; a man, early thirties, definitely Italian. I was expecting a Russian.
I slapped his face, waking him up. Blood was leaking from several slashes on his face when his head had hit the stairs on the way down. The awkward angle of his arms and legs told me there were broken bones, probably a lot worse internally. He was not long for this earth.
“Who employed you?”
He looked at me with dead eyes, a pursed mouth, perhaps a smile. “Not today, my friend. You have made a very bad enemy.” He coughed, and blood poured out of his mouth. “There will be more …”
Friends of Bespalov, no doubt.
I would have to leave. Two unexplainable bodies, I’d have a hard time explaining my way out of this mess. I dragged the two bodies into the lounge, clearing the passageway just in case someone had heard anything.
Just in case anyone was outside at the time, I sat in the dark, at the foot of the stairs, and tried to breathe normally. I was trying not to connect the dots that led back to Susan, but the coincidence was worrying me.
A half-hour passed, and I hadn’t moved. Deep in thought, I’d forgotten about being shot, unaware that blood was running down my arm and dripping onto the floor.
Until I heard a knock on my front door.
Two thoughts: it was either the police, alerted by the neighbours, or it was the second wave, though why would they be knocking on the door?
I stood and immediately felt a stabbing pain in my arm. I took out a handkerchief and turned it into a makeshift tourniquet, then wrapped a kitchen towel around the wound.
If it were the police, this was going to be a difficult situation. Holding the gun behind my back, I opened the door a fraction and looked out.
No police, just Maria. I hoped she was not part of the next ‘wave’.
“You left your phone behind on the table. I thought you might be looking for it.” She held it out in front of her.
When I didn’t open the door any further, she looked at me quizzically and then asked, “Is anything wrong?”
I was going to thank her for returning the phone, but I heard her breathe in sharply and add, breathlessly, “You’re bleeding.”
I looked at my arm and realised it was visible through the door, and not only that, the towel was soaked in blood.
“You need to go away now.”
Should I tell her the truth? It was probably too late, and if she were any sort of law-abiding citizen, she would go straight to the police.
She showed no signs of leaving, just an unnerving curiosity. “What happened?”
I ran through several explanations, but none seemed plausible. I went with the truth. “My past caught up with me.”
“You need someone to fix that before you pass out from blood loss. It doesn’t look good.”
“I can fix it. You need to leave. It is not safe to be here with me.”
The pain in my arm was not getting any better, and the blood was starting to run down my arm again as the tourniquet loosened. She was right, I needed it fixed sooner rather than later.
I opened the door and let her in. It was a mistake, a huge mistake, and I would have to deal with the consequences. Once inside, she turned on the light and saw the pool of blood just inside the door and the trail leading to the lounge. She followed the trail and turned into the lounge, turned on the light, and no doubt saw the two dead men.
I expected her to scream. She didn’t.
She gave me a good, hard look, perhaps trying to see if I was dangerous. Killing people wasn’t something you looked the other way about. She would have to go to the police.
“What happened here?”
“I came home from the cafe and two men were waiting for me. I used to work for the Government, but no longer. I suspect these men were here to repay a debt. I was lucky.”
“Not so much, looking at your arm.”
She came closer and inspected it.
“Sit down.”
She found another towel and wrapped it around the wound, retightening the tourniquet to stem the bleeding.
“Do you have medical supplies?”
I nodded. “Upstairs.” I had a medical kit, and on the road, I usually made my own running repairs. Another old habit I hadn’t quite shaken off yet.
She went upstairs, rummaged, and then came back. I wondered briefly what she would think of the unmade bed, though I was not sure why it might interest her.
She helped me remove my shirt and then cleaned the wound. Fortunately, she didn’t have to remove a bullet. It was a clean wound but it would require stitches.
When she’d finished, she said, “Your friend said one day this might happen.”
No prizes for guessing who that friend was, and it didn’t please me that she had involved Maria.
“Alisha?”
“She didn’t tell me her name, but I think she cares a lot about you. She said trouble has a way of finding you, gave me a phone and said to call her if something like this happened.”
“That was wrong of her to do that.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. Will you call her?”
“Yes. I can’t stay here now. You should go now. Hopefully, by the time I leave in the morning, no one will ever know what happened here, especially you.”
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…
Wallace wasn’t the most patient of men, and after planning what seemed, to him, as the easiest of operations, was beginning to think otherwise.
First of all, he had underestimated Atherton. It was part of the plan to have London send him out, having, himself raised suspicions about the allegiances of the men who were in the castle. They were, of course, British, but only he knew of their allegiance to the Reich. That’s why he’s organized for Johannsson to be sent, and then for Jackerby to ‘stage’ a battle to consolidate London’s impression that it was being held by them, for the express purpose of repatriating defectors the allies.
Nothing, of course, could be further than the truth. Since their arrival, only a few had been processed, just to keep London’s suspicions at bay, but the truth was, about a dozen more had been repatriated back to the Reich.
Wallace had ordered Johansson to make sure Atherton never made it to the castle, and Johansson, in turn, had given the responsibility to the resistance members, to take care of the problem, telling them Atherton was suspected of being a German spy.
Getting the local resistance on side proved to be a good idea, as it was they whom the defectors were expecting to meet when they arrive in the village. And, as far as he was aware, Leonardo and his men had no idea who they were really working with.
Not that it would matter for much longer. All he had to do was collect the Reich Marshall, and then he and his men were to escort him back to Germany. He had the Fuhrers signed orders in his pocket.
There was only one wrinkle in the carefully planned operation. The man who could recognize the defector was missing.
And, then a second wrinkle, the men he sent to find the lovesick fool were taking a long time to find a single man, though he was beginning to think there was something else going on, something that Leonardo hadn’t told him.
Johansson had said he didn’t believe all of the resistance members had signed on, even though Leonardo had told him they had. Otherwise, how could Atherton disappear? It was not likely that any of the villagers would harbor any soldier whatever side he said he was on.
It was time to find out what Leonardo hadn’t told them.
He had sent Jackerby to fetch the man. That was something else he didn’t quite understand. Why were Leonardo and his men staying at the castle? Didn’t they have homes in the village? And didn’t they want to keep at arms’ length from whoever was running the castle in order to display neutrality?
Johansson had also told him he thought Leonardo was not the smart sort of person it would take to run a resistance operation, and that he believed there were some others still in the village who were once members, and who could also become a problem. One of the reasons why Leonardo was at the castle was the fact he reported the radio provided by London had become inoperable, and the only other one was now at the castle, his main reason for being there.
He heard Leonardo long before he saw him. A large bear-shaped man with a booming voice, a man who liked his wine in vast quantities, and had no qualms about emptying the cellar of the castle at any opportunity. This late in the day, there would be fewer bottles.
Jackerby came into the room first, followed by Leonardo.
“You want me to stay?” Jackerby asked.
“By the door.”
Leonardo stopped by the table and then leaned on it. “What this about?”
It was hardly a conciliatory tone, but Wallace ignored it.
“You tell me that all of the resistance members are here, but that’s not quite the truth is it?”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
Belligerent, too, Wallace thought, but that would be the wine talking.
“I could have you shot, so I suggest you use a more respectful tone. You heard the question, now I want an answer.”
To emphasize the point, he took out his handgun and put it on the table where Leonardo could see it. He could see Leonardo look at it, then back at him.
“Some of them didn’t have the stomach for it. When you arrived here, most of us realized the fight was over. Only I could see how we could be useful to our allies.”
“How many didn’t, as you say, have the stomach for it?”
“Three or four. Women and a gardener, nothing that would cause anyone a problem.”
Nothing that would cause anyone a problem. Johansson was right, the man was a fool.
“Well, it seems they are a problem, and you are going to fix it for me. We don’t need problems, Leonardo.”
“I don’t understand. They were on our side.”
“Seems they are not any longer. We are expecting a high-value defector, and it seems that the Germans have recruited them to foil our operation.”
“The Germans? There are no Germans here.”
“It seems I was mistaken about Atherton’s allegiance. It appears he’s working with the Germans and is now actively working with those women and the gardener and causing us problems. We’ve lost a man, and the three others we sent after him are overdue coming back. I need you to go down to the village and find out what’s going on.”
“Isn’t that your job. You have the soldiers and the guns.”
“We have orders to stay in the castle and wait for the defector to arrive. That leaves you and your men. Besides, you should be able to move more freely and unsuspected among your own people, and therefore make it easier than it would be for us to find this Atherton. And when you find him, I want you to bring him to me alive. Am I clear?”
It was clear to Wallace but it was not clear to Leonardo, he would do as he was told. Or perhaps he should shoot him as an example to the next man, who no doubt would do his bidding.
“Yes.”
“Now would be a good time to get going, don’t you think?”
Leonardo was going to say something to him, Wallace could almost see the cogs turning in his head, but in the end, shrugged.
“Is there a reward for this Atherton then?”
Wallace nodded. “Just bring him to me alive, and we’ll discuss it then, but I’m sure something can be arranged.” He should have guessed Leonardo’s measured reluctance was all in aid of putting a price on Atherton’s head.
When they finally left the castle, he would make sure Leonardo got what he deserved.
My next destination in the quest was the hotel we believed Anne Merriweather had stayed at.
I was, in a sense, flying blind because we had no concrete evidence she had been there, and the message she had left behind didn’t quite name the hotel or where Vladimir was going to take her.
Mindful of the fact that someone might have been following me, I checked to see if the person I’d assumed had followed me to Elizabeth’s apartment was still in place, but I couldn’t see him. Next, I made a mental note of seven different candidates and committed them to memory.
Then I set off to the hotel, hailing a taxi. There was the possibility that the cab driver was one of them, but perhaps I was slightly more paranoid than I should be. I’d been watching the queue, and there were two others before me.
The journey took about an hour, during which time I kept an eye out the back to see if anyone had been following us. If anyone was, I couldn’t see them.
I had the cab drop me off a block from the hotel and then spent the next hour doing a complete circuit of the block the hotel was on, checking the front and rear entrances, the cameras in place, and the siting of the driveway into the underground carpark. There was a camera over the entrance, and one we hadn’t checked for footage. I sent a text message to Fritz to look into it.
The hotel lobby was large and busy, which was exactly what you’d want if you wanted to come and go without standing out. It would be different later at night, but I could see her arriving about mid-afternoon, and anonymous among the clientele the hotel attracted.
I spent an hour sitting in various positions in the lobby simply observing. I had already ascertained where the elevator lobby for the rooms was, and the elevator down to the car park. Fortunately, it was not ‘guarded’, but there was a steady stream of concierge staff coming and going to the lower levels, and, just from time to time, guests.
Then, when there was a commotion at the front door, what seemed to be a collision of guests and free-wheeling bags, I saw one of the seven potential taggers sitting by the front door. Waiting for me to leave? Or were they wondering why I was spending so much time there?
Taking advantage of that confusion, I picked my moment to head for the elevators that went down to the car park, pressed the down button, and waited.
There was no car on the ground level, so I had to wait, watching, like several others, the guests untangling themselves at the entrance, and keeping an eye on my potential surveillance, still absorbed in the confusion.
The doors to the left car opened, and a concierge stepped out, gave me a quick look, then headed back to his desk. I stepped into the car, pressed the first level down, the level I expected cars to arrive on, and waited what seemed like a long time for the doors to close.
As they did, I was expecting to see a hand poke through the gap, a latecomer. Nothing happened, and I put it down to a television moment.
There were three basement levels, and for a moment, I let my imagination run wild and considered the possibility that there were more levels. Of course, there was no indication on the control panel that there were any other floors, and I’d yet to see anything like it in reality.
With a shake of my head to return to reality, the car arrived, the doors opened, and I stepped out.
A car pulled up, and the driver stepped out, went around to the rear of his car, and pulled out a case. I half expected him to throw me the keys, but the instant glance he gave me told him he was not the concierge, and instead he brushed past me like I wasn’t there.
He bashed the up button several times impatiently and cursed when the doors didn’t open immediately. Not a happy man.
Another car drove past on its way down to a lower level.
I looked up and saw the CCTV camera, pointing towards the entrance, visible in the distance. A gate that lifted up was just about back in position, then clunked when it finally closed. The footage from the camera would not prove much, even if it had been working, because it didn’t cover the lift lobby, only what was in the direction of the car entrance.
The doors to the other elevator car opened, and a man in a suit stepped out.
“Can I help you, sir? You seem lost.”
Security, or something else. “It seems that way. I went to the elevator lobby, got in, and it went down rather than up. I must have been in the wrong place.”
“Lost it is, then, sir.” I could hear the contempt for Americans in his tone. “If you will accompany me, please.”
He put out a hand ready to guide me back into the elevator. I was only too happy to oblige him. There had been a sign near the button panel that said the basement levels were only to be accessed by the guests.
Once inside, he turned a key and pressed the lobby button. The doors closed, and we went up. He stood, facing the door, not speaking. A few seconds later, he was ushering me out to the lobby.
“Now, sir, if you are a guest…”
“Actually, I’m looking for one. She called me and said she would be staying in this hotel and to come down and visit her. I was trying to get to the sixth floor.”
“Good. Let’s go over to the desk and see what we can do for you.”
I followed him over to the reception desk, where he signalled one of the clerks, a young woman who looked and acted very efficiently, and told her of my request, but then remained to oversee the proceeding.
“Name of guest, sir?”
“Merriweather, Anne. I’m her brother, Alexander.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my passport to prove that I was who I said I was. She glanced cursorily at it.
She typed the name into the computer, and then we waited a few seconds while it considered what to output. Then, she said, “That lady is not in the hotel, sir.”
Time to put on my best-confused look. “But she said she would be staying here for the week. I made a special trip to come here to see her.”
Another puzzled look from the clerk, then, “When did she call you?”
An interesting question to ask, and it set off a warning bell in my head. I couldn’t say today, it would have to be the day she was supposedly taken.
“Last Saturday, about four in the afternoon.”
Another look at the screen, then, “It appears she checked out Sunday morning. I’m afraid you have made a trip in vain.”
Indeed, I had. “Was she staying with anyone?”
I just managed to see the warning pass from the suited man to the clerk. I thought he had shown an interest when I mentioned the name, and now I had confirmation. He knew something about her disappearance. The trouble was, he wasn’t going to volunteer any information because he was more than just hotel security.
“No.”
“Odd,” I muttered. “I thought she told me she was staying with a man named Vladimir something or other. I’m not too good at pronouncing those Russian names. Are you sure?”
She didn’t look back at the screen. “Yes.”
“OK, now one thing I do know about staying in hotels is that you are required to ask guests with foreign passports their next destination, just in case they need to be found. Did she say where she was going next?” It was a long shot, but I thought I’d ask.
“Moscow. As I understand it, she lives in Moscow. That was the only address she gave us.”
I smiled. “Thank you. I know where that is. I probably should have gone there first.”
She didn’t answer; she didn’t have to, her expression did that perfectly.
The suited man spoke again, looking at the clerk. “Thank you.” He swivelled back to me. “I’m sorry we can’t help you.”
“No. You have more than you can know.”
“What was your name again, sir, just in case you still cannot find her?”
“Alexander Merriweather. Her brother. And if she is still missing, I will be posting a very large reward. At the moment, you can best contact me via the American Embassy.”
Money is always a great motivator, and that thoughtful expression on his face suggested he gave a moment’s thought to it.
I left him with that offer and left. If anything, the people who were holding her would know she had a brother, that her brother was looking for her, and equally that brother had money.
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 in the middle of a large building, sitting on a chair, a single light on above me creating a weird shadow in a circle of light. Beyond that circle was darkness.
But I was grateful there was no blindfold or gag.
It had to be one of the buildings on Benderby’s factory site. There were a number of older warehouses on the perimeter of the site, boarded up and in disrepair. I had heard rumours they were going to be refurbished or demolished, no one seemed to be able to decide what to do with them.
It was deathly quiet, but if I strained hard, I thought I could hear the sound of a generator not far away. Benderby’s had their own mini power station in case the main power grid went down, and I remembered that it was round the time for the six-monthly testing of the generators. I was definitely inside the Benderby complex.
So, did that make my captor one of Benderby’s men? Or was it Alex himself, trying to make a bold statement. I didn’t think he had that sort of aggressive behaviour in him, but he was a Benderby, and they all had violent streaks somewhere in their makeup.
“Good. You’re awake.” The distorted voice could be either male or female. I’d know more when I saw my assailant, bit it came from beside me and I tried to look in that direction. It was difficult because whoever tied me up did a good job.
There was also an echo, brought on by the emptiness of the building.
“What do you want? I’m not much good to you if you’re trying to break into the main building. I don’t have night access.”
“I’m not interested in the main building.”
“What are you interested in?”
“You.”
I had expected to hear the word treasure, not me.
“Sadly, I’m not that interesting.”
“So you say. But maybe it might have something to do with that friend of yours, Boggs.”
“Then it’s the treasure you’re after.”
“Me, personally, no. The people I work for, I guess. The word is that Boggs has a treasure map that his father left him.”
This person had to be acquainted with Rico, because only he could possibly know about that particular map, that is, if Boggs had told him, or told his mother, and Rico had overheard him.
Or Boggs had told this person, under duress, that I had the map, holding it for safekeeping. My mind started conjuring up all sorts of terrifying scenarios, all of which ended badly.
“If Rico told you that, then he was only trying to save his own skin. He’s been trying to barter a copy of something to the Benderby’s, a map he didn’t have and hadn’t been able to get off Boggs. If there is such a map, then Boggs has it.”
“I’m sure he told you about it, didn’t he?”
“What are best friends for, but whether I believed him is a different matter. He told me about a map his said his father had in his possession, and I know he’s been hunting high and low for it, but if he’s found it, then he hasn’t told me about it yet.”
I was trying to sound sincere, but fear has a way of making you sound, well, afraid.
My captor took a step forward into the fringe of the light. Dressed in black, with a mask, the body shape looked more like a woman than a man, a figure that could be disguised by the bulky outer clothing.
“Who are you?”
“That’s irrelevant. What I will do to you if you do not tell me the truth, is. Boggs told me you had the map. I believe he was telling the truth.”
So, this person had interrogated Boggs. It would not have taken much. Boggs was not the bravest soul I knew. At school, Boggs had always been the first to capitulate in any confrontation.
I wondered if they had searched him. Of course they had, and he didn’t have the map on him, which made it easier to deflect the onus to me.
But I didn’t have the map on me either. I took the precaution of hiding it away in a place no one would find except me. Now it was a matter of withstanding whatever this person decided was needed to extract ‘the truth’.
The problem was, I didn’t handle confrontation any better than Boggs had.
“And I’m telling you the truth when I tell you I haven’t got the map. But I do have one of those being peddled at Osborne’s bar. You can have that one if you like.”
I saw my captor shake their head. Disdain, or disappointment?
Two steps further into the circle of light, and the two slaps, either side of my face, very hard. The paid was instant and stinging, bringing tears to my eyes. It should have brought acquiescence, but deep down defiance was building. It surprised me.
My captor took a step back and looked down on me. “Don’t make me have to hurt you. All I want is the map.”
“I can’t give you what I don’t have.”
Closed fist this time, and aside from the teeth jarring, possible jaw-breaking, nose bleeding effect, I was starting to consider how long I could withstand this sort of beating.
“The map?” Patience was running thin, anger was building.
“I can’t…”
Several punches to the ribs and stomach, taking my breath away and making it very difficult to breathe. Pains where I’d never had pain before. I’d had beatings at school but never like this.
Once more a step back, I could now only see the black figure through blurry eyes.
Time to plead to deaf ears, “You can beat me to within an inch of my life, but I can’t give you what I don’t have. It’s as simple as that.”
And then I waited for the next round of punches.
A minute. Two.
Then a new voice, out in the void, said, “He doesn’t have it. This is a nothing but an elaborate hoax.”
“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 that 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 several small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, point to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.
Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints at 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 discovers piece by piece, damning evidence that 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 are about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?
There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?
A retired spy, well, not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.
But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.
And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.
Susan is exactly the sort of woman to pique his interest. Then, inexplicably, she disappears. That might have been the end of it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum: find her or come back to work.
Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!
A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father, who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.
When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.
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.”
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 solace after disappointment turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything 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.
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 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…
Chiara knew the moment she told Martina that one of the Germans was dead, she would be in trouble. Not only from the resistance but from the British or whoever they were, up at the castle.
The man’s name was Eric Carmichael, and he was a nice man, more of a boy really, having not suffered the full effects of a front line. He wanted to, but the Gods, as he called them, were against it.
Now he was dead.
He had come to the farm, told she was not there and had left again. The pity of it, on any other occasion, nothing would have happened. Nobody went out at night, so no one knew of their association.
Of course, if he did tell her anything, which he hadn’t so far, she would pass it on to Martina. And, perhaps the only annoying thing about him was that he kept asking about the resistance as if it was still operational. It was one of the reasons who Martina kept her at arm’s length, so she had nothing useful to tell them if they took her in for questioning.
Now it was a matter of seeing if he had told anyone about this affair, and if he did, she would not be safe at the farm. It was why she was in hiding, waiting, and watching to see if anyone came.
Along with Carlo, and the new man, Atherton.
Not far from where the soldier’s body lay in the ditch, one that no one had yet found.
Until now.
A car was coming along the road quite fast, heading towards her farm. Atherton recognised it as one of the staff cars from the castle, and as it slowed to turn the corner, Atherton could see it contained three men, the driver, and the two men who had followed him down the stream.
Suddenly the car skidded to a stop. All three got out and went over to the ditch. The driver had seen the bicycle.
It was an interesting conversation.
“The fool looks like he run off the side of the road and into a tree, fell off and hit his dead on the rocks.”
It was the man who had set me free. I’d recognise him anywhere.
“Or maybe some ‘innocent bystander’ shoved a wrench in the wheel and he went over the handlebars.”
The big man turned to him. “You have a story that implicates every member of the enemy population, don’t you? Where’s the wrench?”
“They could have tossed it away or thrown it into the bushes.”
“The kid’s an idiot. He was out for some fun and had his mind everywhere but on the job. If she’s that tempting, maybe I’ll go and have a look in myself.”
The driver took a closer look, then suddenly bolted for the bushes and threw up. I’d expected more seasoned soldiers in the group of paratroopers, but maybe they were late recruits with only half the training, and barely out of school. He didn’t look all that old. Neither had the lad in the ditch.
The tall guy yelled out, “when you finish puking, get over here and help us get him into the car. Then we’ll meander down to this farm.”
Carlo knew a quicker way across the country to their farm. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out what he was intending to do.
Three fewer Germans, three fewer problems.
I followed, trying to keep up.
“You got weapons hidden away?”
“Several rifles and a handgun.”
“It’ll do. When we get there, you say out of sight. Me and the new laddie here will take care of them.”
A look in my direction told me I’d just been recruited into the killing force. Exactly what I’d been hoping to avoid. I guess it was time to make a stand.
A few minutes later we were in the large shed out the rear of the farmhouse, retrieved the rifles, of which one was a sniper rifle, a rather interesting trophy, and not the sort of gun any soldier would leave lying around.
I was tempted to ask where she got but decided against it. I had an awful feeling the previous owner had met a gruesome if not a sticky end. Chiara was not just a pretty face.
“You know what to do with this thing?” Carlo said, holding it out in my direction.
“Vaguely, but I think I can manage.”
With it was a carton of shells, rather long and ugly and very deadly, even at long range. But this time, we were not that far from the target area so wind and external conditions would not be a factor.
Also, I was hoping the sight had been calibrated.
After getting a feel for the weapon I took up a position on top of some hay bales and could see through a large enough crack when I put the barrel, and stretching out, found a comfortable position, and aimed for the back door.
It was like putting out my hand and touching it. This was going to kick like a mule on the recoil, but I would only have time to worry about reloading for the next target. Then I realised the driver might be a problem, especially when the shooting started, so I swivelled around to the back end of the house where a vehicle might come, and, saw the blue, altered the sight, and then saw the car approaching slowly.
I was hoping it would remain in sight, so if anything happened, I would be able to pick him off. It would be all that much harder if he managed to try driving away.
I tracked the car to the point where it stopped, just pat the corner, with only the back half displayed in my sight.
Damn.
In the distance, we heard two car doors slam shut.
The driver was staying put.
Double damn.
A minute later we could hear pounding on the front door, then nothing. My guess, they kicked in the front door. There was no one at home, Chiara’s parents were away because they had no crops in the ground. Their problem was water, and the river was running low this year. Aside from the fact they were not going to feed the enemy soldiers who would simply take everything and give them nothing in return.
I heard rather than saw Carlo stiffen and resight the back door. His shots would be far more difficult than mine.
The tall man came out the back door, stood on the ground not far from the door, his head filling my scope.
“Now,” Carlo said softly.
A pull of the trigger and the man’s head exploded, at just the same time as the other man came out. A reload and another shot. I missed the head, winged him, and Carlo finished him off. Once shot at an impossible range.
Another reload, and swivel towards the car, now reversing, and making it very hard to see his face or body to get a clear shot. Back, around and driving off, in a panic. He’d heard the two shots.
“The fuel,” Carlo said, “shoot the fuel.”
I lined up where I thought the fuel tank was and squeezed the trigger.
Almost instantaneously the car exploded in a ball of fire. Just under my line of sight, Carlo was running. If the driver escaped…
I put the scope on Carli and then to the side. I saw him raise his gun and fire twice. The drive must have miraculously thrown clear of the car, only to find himself in Carlo’s sights.
Chiara had appeared behind me. “We have to go,” she said.
I picked up the gun and took it with me. It could come in handy later on.
Carlo was already heading back to the shortcut through the woods and we met him on the path about twenty yards along.
“That’s going to stir up a hornet’s nest,” he said.
More than that, I thought. Now Johannsson knew he had a real problem. There would be a price to pay for this exercise, and the villagers were the ones who would be paying it.
