An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

Mistaken Identity – The Final Editor’s Draft – Day 25

This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.

Planning was the order of the day, and I needed to see where this story was going.

Firstly, a meeting with Maryanne’s handler will give some perspective on what might be in the mysterious diary.

After rescuing Jack’s mother, Jack has a host of questions; about his biological father, who he was, and what happened to him when he was sent to prison.

Jack makes further contact with his biological father, now that his mother is free, and considers a meeting, but he has to be careful where and when.

This meeting, if it happens, is to get some insight into who is after the diary, and for Jack to possibly mediate a resolution between all of the people who are after it.

It’s naïve of him to think he can tread a path between them and not get hurt in the process, but people do foolish things.

Remember that Rosalie is still out there with the diary and there might be/will be a concerted effort to find her. McCallister, the people who want the diary, Jack’s mother (now regretting dragging Jack into her problems), Maryanne, and Jacob are looking for her.

There might be a possibility that Rosalie might read the diary, and then tell Jack – an eventuality that might cause more trouble.

Jacob is out there, very close, watching Jack, thinking Jack will lead him to the diary. Jack is going to ask McCallister to tell him about Jacob, though I’m not sure whether I want him to consider the possibility of talking to him about the past.

Where is Jack’s mother’s twin (Her name is Chloe), and what is she doing? The last time Jack saw her, she was tied up in the empty apartment building. The conversation with her didn’t go so well.

Now, possible outcomes:

Jack’s mother isn’t Jack’s mother but Chloe masquerading as her,

Rosalie does in fact get caught, because she foolishly decided to find Jack and tell him what’s in the diary,

Jack’s meeting with McCallister is interrupted by both Maryanne and Jacob, bullets fly, and people get injured,

Jack’s mother is not the innocent she pretends to be,

Jack’s life is far from what he thought it was.

This story is going to be finished within the time limit, and the estimated 60,000 words.

“Trouble in Store” – Short stories my way:  Jack, the girl, and the shopkeeper

I have reworked the first part of the story with a few new elements about the characters and changed a few of the details of how the characters finish up in the shop before the policewoman makes her entrance.

This is part of the new first section is the one that involves the Jack, the girl, and the shopkeeper

 

Jack exchanged a look with the shopkeeper, who in return gave him a slight shrug as if to say he had no idea what this was about.

He could see the girl was not strung out on drugs; if she was it would be a good bet both would be shot or dead by now.  She was just the unfortunate partner of a boy who was on drugs and had found herself in a dangerous position.

Beth, his wife, had told him she didn’t like nor trust the shopkeeper and that her friend in the same apartment block had told her he had been seen selling drugs to youths who hung around just before he closed.  She had warned him it would not be safe, but he had ignored her.

It was a bit late to tell her she was right.

He took a half step towards the door, judging the distance and time it would take to open the door and get out.

Too far, and he would be too slow, his reward for running; a bullet in the back.

Perhaps another half step when she wasn’t looking.

 

The shopkeeper changed his expression to one more placatory, and said quietly to the girl, “Look, this is not this chap’s problem.”  He nodded in the direction of the customer.  “I’m sure he’d rather not be here, and you would glad of one less distraction.”

He could see she was wavering.  She was not holding the gun so steadily, and the longer this dragged on, the more nervous and unpredictable she would become.

And in the longer game, the customer would sing his praises no matter what happened if he could get him out of the shop alive and well.

This could still be a win-win situation.

 

The girl looked at Jack.  The shopkeeper was right.  If he wasn’t here this could be over. 

But there was another problem.  It didn’t look like Simmo was in any shape to getaway.  In fact, this was looking more like a suicide mission.

She waved the gun in his direction.  ‘Get out now, before I change my mind.’

As the gun turned to the shopkeeper, Jack wasn’t going to wait to be asked twice and started sidling towards the door.

 

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

The Cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 61

This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.

The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Things are about to get complicated…


The Detective Inspector came back twenty minutes later.

“Latest news that I can tell you, is both the bodies belong to older people, we think the owner and one other.  They were not in the fire, but some distance from the house.”

“Murdered?”

“People don’t shoot themselves in the back.  They were trying to escape.”

The mother and a friend perhaps.  Anna or someone else cleaning up?  Was she getting ready to leave or gone already?

“No other body?”

“You think someone else was here?”

“Our agent, male, mid-thirties.  He was here the last time I saw him.”

“Not so far, but I’ll tell them to widen the search.”

Had O’Connell escaped, or was he with her, and he was not simply a means to an end?  The facts, as I knew them, didn’t seem to fit that scenario.

What worried me was that Dobbin hadn’t shown up yet.  Could it be he was finally one step behind?  I could only hope so.  I didn’t want to run into him if and when I found Anna.

If Anna and O’Connell were about to leave, it would be reasonable to assume they’d go home, pack then leave.  O’Connell’s flat at the same block where Josephine lived.

When we arrived at the front entrance to the block I had that sensation of being watched.  It was possible Dobbin had the place under surveillance and I cursed myself for not checking to see if there was a back entrance.

I tried to see where the surveillance would be, places I would hide, if not in plain sight, but nothing was readily apparent.  Of course, it could be the paranoia setting in.

If this was what the spy’s life was like, I was beginning to like it less and less.  There were so many lies told by so many people it was impossible to tell what the truth was any more.

But it beat being a clerk in an office any day of the week.

And I didn’t get to work alongside people like Jennifer either.

“You sure we can get into this place.  I’m starting to feel exposed out here.”  She was shivering, because of the cold.

The temperature had dropped considerably in the last half hour.

I entered the code and the door opened.  “Yes.”

I ushered her in and followed, taking a last look outside.  Yes.  Just caught a glimpse of a man on the corner almost out of sight.  He was on his phone, so that would mean we would have minutes rather than enough time to do anything before someone arrived.

Would it be Dobbin, Jan, Monica or Joanne?

The list of interested parties was getting longer.

We almost jogged up the three flights of stairs, then on the landing, I went first, and Jennifer stayed back, gun in hand, ready for anything.

At least I hoped she was.

We were taught how to pick almost any lock in the shortest [possible time.  Of course, in practice, when not under pressure, you could do it in seconds.

Now, because of the cold, my hands were slightly numb, and the pressure was mounting so things didn’t quite work the way they should, it took longer.  A minute whereas in practice, seconds.

I drew my gun and opened the door carefully.

Nothing but darkness.

We had prearranged that Jennifer would wait outside until I gave her an all-clear, or if I didn’t come back in two minutes she should come in after me.

I went in but left the door ajar.  Closed, fumbling to open it in a panic would get me killed.  Little details.

Silence.

There didn’t appear to be anyone in the flat.  Remembering the layout, I headed towards the passage leading to the bedroom, and about half way across the room, I kicked my foot into something.

A body?

I went back and switched on the light.

A body indeed.

O’Connell.

Dead, a bullet to the head.

© Charles Heath 2020-2023

Mistaken Identity – The Final Editor’s Draft – Day 26

This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.

This month has been exhausting, because not only have I been trying to get the NaNoWriMo project completed, which involves writing about 1,800 words a day, every day, I have been keeping up the A to Z blogging challenge with a new story every day bar Sunday.

You have no idea how much I looked forward to each of the Sundays.

Of course, a plan is needed if anyone is contemplating to do something similar.

It also requires you to be able to come up with a new idea every day for the story and try not to get caught up in a crossover.

And, try not to hit the wall.

This is exactly what happened yesterday, when I got halfway through the story, and the equivalent of deleting the file rather than saving it happened.

So few yards from the finishing line and kaput, I’m sitting there in front of a blank screen wondering where the next 2,5000 words for the story are coming from.

And questioning my sanity.

Tomorrow, hopefully, will be a new day!

More tomorrow.

Mistaken Identity – The Final Editor’s Draft – Day 26

This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.

This month has been exhausting, because not only have I been trying to get the NaNoWriMo project completed, which involves writing about 1,800 words a day, every day, I have been keeping up the A to Z blogging challenge with a new story every day bar Sunday.

You have no idea how much I looked forward to each of the Sundays.

Of course, a plan is needed if anyone is contemplating to do something similar.

It also requires you to be able to come up with a new idea every day for the story and try not to get caught up in a crossover.

And, try not to hit the wall.

This is exactly what happened yesterday, when I got halfway through the story, and the equivalent of deleting the file rather than saving it happened.

So few yards from the finishing line and kaput, I’m sitting there in front of a blank screen wondering where the next 2,5000 words for the story are coming from.

And questioning my sanity.

Tomorrow, hopefully, will be a new day!

More tomorrow.

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

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 realizes 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.

Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

“Trouble in Store” – Short stories my way:  More on the policewoman

I’ve been looking at the role of the policewoman, and her interaction with the shop’s participants.

I’m still working on whether she needs more or less of an introduction, but, for the time being, this is what I’m going with:

It had been another long day at the office for Officer Margaret O’Donnell, or, out in the streets, coping with people who either didn’t know or didn’t care about the law.

People who couldn’t cross the road where there were crossings and lights to protect them, silly girls shoplifting on a dare, and boys who thought they were men and could walk on water.

The one they scraped of the road would never get to grow up, and his mother, well, she was not doing another call on a family to give them the bad news.

That was her day.

So far.

At the end of the day, she was glad to be getting home, putting her feet up, and forgetting about everything until the next morning when it would start all over again.

Coming around that last corner, the home stretch she called it, she was directly opposite the corner shop, usually closed at this hour of the night.  It was not.  The lights were still on.

She looked at her watch and saw it was ten minutes to midnight, and long past closing time.  She looked through the window, but from the other side of the road, she could only see three heads and little else.

Damn, she thought, I’m going to have to check it out. 

She was aware of the rumors, from her co-residents and also her colleagues down at the station, rumors she hoped were not true.

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 60

This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.

The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Things are about to get complicated…


Joanne let me get away far too easily. 

When I got back to my car, I ran the scanner over it.  One tracker was easily found, another that took a full half hour to find, and some very strange stares from people on the sidewalk.

I put them both on another car and then went back to the safe house.  Knowing O’Connell was just a pawn meant there wasn’t a hurry to find him.  Anna had everything she needed from him, and now he was of little use to her.  The only question was whether he was still alive.

Jennifer had taken my pyjamas and my bed in the master bedroom, so I was relegated to the spare. 

Not happy.

We needed a plan.  In all the excitement I’d forgotten O’Connell had three places, the original apartment with Herman, his mother’s house in Peaslake, and the apartment in Bromley.

I was up before Jennifer, making coffee, when she came out.

She made my pyjamas look good.  And there was the distraction factor Maury was prone to banging on about.

“How did it go at the office?”

“Turns out Anna Jakovich, the apparent seller of the USB, is a biochemist herself, one who was involved in a laboratory disaster, and discharged as part of the problem.  Make of that what you will, but it looks like her husband was just the fall guy.”

“Of course, it all makes sense then.  Gets the husband to steal the data on the pretext they’re saving the world, then kills him, and pins the blame on him if anything goes wrong. gets us to stump up several million pounds, then ditches O’Connell and runs with the money, and the USB, to bilk another unsuspecting government, like the Russians, or the Chinese.”

“Can you read minds?”

“No.  Got a call from Dobbin, though I have no idea how he found my number since it’s a burner.  Seems he finally found the file on Anna, presumably the same one you got.

“He doesn’t know you’re involved.”

“He does now.  He figured you’d seek help from your classmates that were still on the books.  There’s two of us, me and Miss Desirable, Yolanda.”

“Didn’t she leave the Severin School of wannabes before qualifying?”

“And went straight to the city office of the department and offered up all details on our once fearless leaders for a second chance.  On the books, and back in training, training we might be able to use.”

“Possibly.  The question is, of course, whether she knew what they were planning…”

“Dobbin says she was fooling about with Severin, or perhaps that was Maury…”

“Then Dobbin or Monica or both knew in advance what was going to happen and could have prevented a tragedy if that was the case.  I don’t think she quite knew everything.”

“Well, what I know now is that we’re simply pawns in a much larger game, dancing to a tune that is completely out of key.  Makes things all the more interesting, don’t you think.  By my estimation when we complete our mission, we’re likely to end up like Severin, we just have to work out which one it is before we reach our expiry date.  That coffee smells divine, by the way.  We’re not going anywhere until I’ve had a cup.”

At least she hadn’t decided to go back to her old life.  Not yet anyway.

We tackled Peaslake first.  It was a free-standing house, and we had reasonably covered access that gave us entry to the property with minimal chance of observation.

When we were close, I was nearly run off the road by a fire engine, in a hurry.  Closer still we could see a plume of smoke rising from behind the trees, and when we reached the top of the street, we could see where the fire engine was going.

O’Connell’s house was on fire.

I parled the car and we went to join the throng of nearby residents, all with nothing better to do.

“What happened?” Jennifer asked one of the residents.

“There was an explosion, a fireball, someone said they thought it was a gas tank, and then a fire started.  It was fully ablaze by the time the first fire engine arrived.”

The firefighters had most of the blaze subdued, and we could see the house was destroyed. 

Was it Anna or O’Connell, or both covering their tracks?  The house had become compromised when Jennifer and I turned up.

Five minutes later the Detective Inspector and her Sargent arrived.

“Should I be worried now you’re here,” she asked when she saw me.

“It belonged to the mother of one of our officers who is involved in the case I’m working on.”

“He has the information?”

“No, or maybe.  We don’t know.  We do know there’s a woman involved who was working with our agent.”

“Oh.  I’ve been told there are two bodies found inside, one man and one woman.  Nothing else yet, but I’m going to talk to the forensic team waiting to see if they know any more.  Don’t go anywhere, I may need to talk to you.”

“Just a question.  You didn’t let Jan out, did you?”

She looked puzzled.  “Jan?”

“The girl who shot Severin.”

“Oh, her.  MI5 came and took her away the moment my back was turned.  Why?”

“She probably did this.”

“You might have told me she was dangerous.  Who is she?”

“An MI5 assassin.”

She sighed.  “You people are a law unto yourselves.  Don’t go anywhere.  I’ll be back.”

We watched her stomp away.

“Well,” Jennifer said, “that just made our life a little more difficult.”

© Charles Heath 2020-2023