I asked Alfie to send me a track of Francesca’s movements, yes, I cloned her phone too, because I didn’t trust her, and yes, she went to see Anna at the Burkehardt’s residence.
We had a recording of her conversation, but it didn’t amount to much and Anna finished up yelling at her and kicking her out of the house. Not literally, but if she hadn’t left the house when she did…
She was sitting at the table with her computer open. By the way she shut it quickly, I suspect it was a video call to her boss.
“Your boss not happy with progress?”
She glared at me.
“You should go and have a talk to Anna Burkehardt. Charming lady.”
Cecelia snorted almost too loudly on her way to the bathroom.
Francesca shrugged. “Where have you been?”
“Looking at vines, would you believe.”
“How is that going to help?
“It’s not. But I’ve decided you can come with me to see the countess.”
“You found her?”
“Not exactly. She’s always been here, waiting for the day to sign the documents. I was going to keep her away from your lot, now I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. You can recognise her if you see her?”
“Are you saying the woman you have is not the countess?”
“No. I’m asking if you can recognise her.”
“Of course. We have a half dozen photographs we used, and some that deliberately disguise her in case she’s trying to be anonymous.”
“Good. Tomorrow morning.”
That simple conversation was to see if she called her boss and they make arrangements to ‘take’ the countess into their protective custody, or, take her to Anna von Burkehardt.
As I said to Cecelia later, we would soon find out who Francesca and her people were working for. Because of the hostility that Anne had shown towards her, I was wondering if Anna was, in fact, the one who hired them to find the countess.
“You’re going to have a busy morning tomorrow,” I said to Cecelia. “You need to watch is leave and see if anyone follows us.”
“Do you really think they’d be that unsubtle?”
“Yes. When large sums of money are involved.”
“And what will Anna do to her?”
“Nothing. She’ll know straight away it’s not the real Countess, so I’m sure after they snatch her, the Countess will escape. She can’t afford to be unmasked. Not yet.
The fact that Cecelia didn’t tell me what I was doing was risky, told me that it was risky.
During the night, tossing and turning, with various women on my mind, I went through various scenarios, each of which had a bad outcome, the worst where Francesca became collateral damage.
This whole exercise was to see the lengths the fake Countess would go to not to be identified. Or whether she thought her cover was good enough to fool everyone.
Except perhaps Anna.
A mother knows her daughter-in-law, especially after all that time. A fake could not replicate the mannerisms, the speech, the idiosyncrasies, or a lifetime of just being together.
And I was banking on Francesca’s boss being greedy and putting money before ethics. Francesca didn’t strike me as one with ethical problems, but I had read books by their covers before and been horribly wrong.
If it all blew up in my face at the very least, I could use it as an example of what not to do, but I doubt Cecelia would thank me in a hurry.
By the time I was ready to go, Cecelia had gone out for her morning run, and Francesca was ready to go and see the countess. We had just enough time to sort out how we were going to communicate, and it was going to be amusing having Cecelia’s voice in my head.
At one point I had heavy breathing in my ear and told her it was distracting. She simply replied that I should get out and join her and get rid of some of that retirement flab.
She did not have to be so mean, even if she was right.
I finished the coffee Cecelia had made in the percolator an hour before and tasted over-brewed, then finally stopped running scenarios that ended in disaster in my head.
“You ready?” I asked her.
I’d seen the transcript of the call Francesca made to her boss after I told her I was taking her to see the countess, and I knew the answer to that question. It was rhetorical, but I couldn’t tell her that.
I just hoped the team that descended on us at the hotel was not a smash-and-grab type, not afraid to leave bodies behind.
Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.
We met the Blaines at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaines 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 had been 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 get on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds of silence, and many more gasps.
I even 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 a permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and a 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 me, 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 that 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 Blaines were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in. I didn’t ask if the Blaines 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 realised 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 realised 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 decided 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 studying 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 realised 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; she might have been 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 who recently moved into the tower a block down from us. I thought I recognised 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 wanted 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 me. I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, but it didn’t matter. If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact that I took over the dining engagement did. She knew well enough that 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, rather than tell 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, that 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: to play them at their own game, watching the deception once I knew there was one, 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 Blaines 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 and 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.
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 them.
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!
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.
…
I had hoped we’d land in daylight, but I could see the benefits of arriving at the landing strip after darkness had fallen, and a more primitive form of landing lights had been used.
Less interest from the local people and no bright lights lighting up the runway.
The only lights I could see from the air were the primitive landing lights, fires burning in used fuel drums, and a glimmer of light emanating from two of the buildings set back from the airstrip.
It did worry me, probably more than it should, that the pilots would be landing a plane of this size in virtually a paddock, flying by the seat of their pants, and all credit to them if they got the plane on the ground. I guessed they’d flown into more than one hot spot around the world, and at least at this one, they were not being shot at.
Their turn around would be quick, just enough time to take on a small amount of fuel and then leave. No one had said if it would be a fuel tanker or by drums and hand pumps.
The plane had a short distance to go from the end of the runway to what might be called terminal buildings. The moment the engines were cut, there was a flurry of movement, and after the fuselage door was quickly opened by the co-pilot, then the rear access ramp lowered and standing at the end, once it hit the ground, I could see a tanker and a Land Rover heading towards the rear of the plane, with only small headlamps on.
Monroe had joined me. Behind me was a hive of activity as the team moved the crates of camera equipment to the end of the ramp, and then the individual packs. Jacobi was escorted down on the ground by his two-man guard.
“Is this necessary,” he asked as he passed by me
I ignored him.
The Range Rover stopped just by the bottom of the ramp, and two men got out, one I assumed was Colonel Chiswick, former British Army, came over to train the local soldiers, and didn’t go home, and the other a Ugandan soldier with Sergeant stripes. Perhaps this was one of their airfields feeding supplies and troops for border patrol duties.
Monroe went down first, and I followed.
Chiswick came up to me, holding out a hand. “James, I presume?” I shook it.
I nodded towards Jill, “And Monroe.”
“Welcome to nowhere in particular.”
In the distance, another three Range Rovers were heading towards the plane and then stopped within easy distance of the ramp to easily facilitate the moving of the camera equipment into the rear. Drivers of the cars ushered them, taking their packs and putting them in the back.
I saw a meaningful look pass between Jacobi and Chiswick. They knew each other. No surprises there. If Chiswick was running this base, then he’d have to know about Jacobi whom we knew had friends in all the high places on every side of the fence.
Another car pulled up, a jeep. “For your man to get to the base. I gather he has his instructions?”
Mobley nodded, threw his pack in the back, and the jeep drove off.
“Nice night,” Chiswick said, finally, “Glad it’s not raining, or it would have been a rather sticky landing.”
“How long before the plane leave?”
“About an hour. Don’t worry. Planes come and go here all the time, so no one really cares much.”
The crates, packs and other men were loaded and taken away. Monroe had a final word to the pilot, now down on the ground and supervising the fuel loading, then joined me in the Colonel’s car.
“You’ll be leaving just before first light. Best to get away before the villagers stir. There will be one or two curious souls, but they’re harmless. The soldiers here have been informed that you are here for a training exercise, nothing unusual as we get squads from all over from time to time. As I said, your arrival will have caused little interest.”
From the locals. It was anyone else other than the locals I was worried about.
“Excellent.”
There was not much else to talk about in the few minutes it took to get to the compound at the back of the so-called terminal buildings. It consisted of about ten large barracks, an administration building, and what looked to be a mess.
Pale lights were showing from one of the barracks, and seeing the cars parked out the front, I assumed this was where we would stay until we departed.
The Colonel didn’t get out of the car. “We’ll be leaving at 04:00 tomorrow morning. Make sure you’re ready to go.”
“You’re coming too?”
“Bamfield asked me. Wants to make sure you had someone who knows the lie of the land.”
“I thought you’d delegate that to a few of the soldiers.”
“No. Can’t have them involved in an incursion or there will be trouble. This is an off the book’s operation. Looking forward to it, actually. There are a few people over there I’d like to have a talk to if we get the time.”
I shrugged. Just one more problem to deal with. The Colonel didn’t strike me as being a talker, but a man who let actions define who he was. And just because Bamfield vouched for him didn’t mean he might be not be working on his own retirement fund.
Did they know? Did Dicostini have them? He had to.
Cecilia was very disappointed she couldn’t shoot anyone. I was too, for different reasons.
Perhaps the only good thing to come out of it was that it didn’t look like Juliet was a party to the whole plan, just a part of it if Plan A didn’t work.
Cecelia packed up the rifle and I replaced everything in the hamper.
“That was fun?”
“Wasn’t it?”
“How did you guess?”
“I would have sooner if the research team had done its job properly. There was only one thing that could cause this level of trouble. Greed. It’s not what we usually deal with. I prefer power-crazy megalomaniacs trying to take over the world.”
“I could write a script. What do you think?”
“Been done to death I would think.”
“Are we going back to smash a few heads? I feel like a little gratuitous violence, especially against that lot.”
“As tempting as those sounds, no. We now have to do a search of every one of their properties, starting with those without any signs of life. Long, hard, and tedious.”
“Are you trying to make it sound exciting?”
I gave her a searching look. “You’re crazy, you know that.”
“Of course. Why do you think I’m here with you.”
We had a week, but I was hoping it would not take that long. There were less than ten other properties where the women could be located, and we started with the two closest.
The property we were on, now, would have to wait until after dark. Cecelia had noted that there were a half dozen workers tending the vines during the day, as well as office and maintenance staff. Quite a few employees for a place that wasn’t financially viable.
The nearest was another plot of vines, with a different grape variety, and I suspect possibly added from another winery that wasn’t viable. Cecelia picked them as either Trebbiano or Vermentino, using her cell phone to identify them.
That’s how boring the search was going. Three outbuildings that reeked of musty wine, quite a few old barrels, or barrels waiting to be filled, and old farm machinery that was rusting out.
There was also a vintage BMW under a tarpaulin that might be worth quite a sum of money. If it didn’t have the front smashed in. I took a photograph of the car for future reference, that thought that Anna believed Dicostini was responsible for the death of her husband.
Was that the car involved in the accident?
The second property was more of less the same as the first, but this one had a villa on it, fallen into disrepair. There were a few people working in the fields next to the property, so we had to be careful not to be seen.
It was a large house, musty, with little furniture and large open spaces. It must have been a comfortable place once. I checked for a basement while Cecelia checked for an attic, or signs of life upstairs. I found there were new locks in the doors and a room with two beds, unmade, and by the look of the dust layer, hadn’t been used in a few years.
It was an initial ray of hope very quickly snuffed out.
Day one was over, with no progress to report. I sent a message to Rodby in code, just in case his new ‘wife’ accidentally on purpose picked up his phone.
I wondered how that was going for him. It would be a situation he had not had to deal with before, and maybe this would hasten his thoughts to retiring and getting out of what was becoming a very dirty business.
On our way back to the hotel, Cecilia said, “What do you think Francesca’s been up to?”
“I’d be surprised if she didn’t go to see Anna.”
“For what purpose.”
“I’m sure her boss would like her to touch base, and assure her everything that can be done, is being done.”
“Except they’re waiting for us to do their job for them.”
“As long as we find them, it doesn’t matter. It’s going to get a little tricky if we can’t liberate them without letting anyone know. There’s no telling how much collateral damage there’ll be.”
“There never is, but I like to try and avoid it if possible. Rodby likes his ‘by any and all means possible’, but, as you know, I operate differently. You stick with me for too long you might lose your objectivity.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m here. I’m usually the exact opposite.”
I would not have pegged her for an ‘all means possible’ person, but then she was an actress and was very good at being different people. Her strength lay in being a total chameleon. Then that picture in my mind of her with the sniper rifle at Larry’s mother’s place left me with a shiver down my spine.
I would wrap this up as quickly as possible, send her home, and go back to my once quiet life.
And I don’t know how I got here. I have a sneaking suspicion that I stepped through a portal, only I didn’t recognise it as one until I reached this side.
I say this side because the world I’m in now is not the world I remember from a while back, well, perhaps a year or so. Time passes very slowly here.
Before everything made sense, China didn’t hate us, and we had just finished touring some of the most remarkable sights of that very country.
There was no coronavirus and I didn’t fear for my life, and the fact I had a compromised immune system didn’t matter a hoot, except for the constant pain in my lower back and hands, the result of psoriatic arthritis going berserk as I get older.
My grandchildren were in school, alternately loving and hating it, and every Friday I would get one from school and she would tell me how her world was hell, and I had no idea what it was like.
Another would start all her sentences with ‘basically’, and the other would end hers with ‘like’.
I would lament the fact our schools no longer teach proper English, and we could sit around and talk about the YA novel I was writing for them, and that they were the characters in this mythical kingdom. And, yes, they are princesses, if not crotchety one day, and all smiles and goodness the next.
And, in an instant, that whole world was blown away.
Am I angry? I was. A year is too long to be mad at everyone and everything.
Have I a different outlook on life? Yes, I live every day as if it was my last, because the truth is, it just might be.
Can I travel anywhere? No. There’s too much risk in a world where few people under the age of 65 care about consequences.
Is there a reason to live? You may well ask.
I have thought about this often, lying awake in bed every morning, asking myself why I would bother getting up. I can’t go anywhere, I can’t do very much.
But…
We have here an almost remarkable record in keeping the coronavirus at bay, so we have some freedom. We can’t leave the country, and every other month a state or two closes its borders, so travelling outside the state is too risky. The schools are back, and I resumed pick-up duties last Friday, and, yes, the sweetness of the complaints about school life is like music to my ears.
Have I a reason to live? Yes. There are three girls, and grandchildren, one 13, one 16, and one 19. The 13-year-old is in the first year of secondary school, the 16-year-old lamenting the fourth year of secondary school, and the 19-year-old is about to embark on the terrors of tertiary education. She can also drive herself, a shred of independence that has changed her outlook, going from a child to someone more mature.
I hadn’t realized how much their lives were in such a constant state of change. Nor had I realized how much they prefer to tell me about it rather than their parents.
So, the answer to that deep and meaningful question is, is there a reason to live?
Yes. We can have so many things we think are essential to living our lives taken away, but in the end, they are all but superficial. You can lose a car, some of your mobility, a house, or any sort of chattel, but they are insignificant. What matters most, and always will, is family. I’m lucky, and indeed, extremely grateful, to have mine so near.
Now I suppose I should be getting to bed. Tomorrow, I have just been informed, I’m rostered on in what is known as ‘poppy’s taxi’.
And ready to hear the next enthralling episode of school life these days.
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
Would you give up everything to be with the one you love?
…
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, a place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledged that something had happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive, she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realises is the love of his life.
The cover, at the moment, looks like this:
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, s place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
Investigations of crimes don’t always go according to plan, nor does the perpetrator get found or punished.
That was particularly true in my case. The murderer was incredibly careful in not leaving any evidence behind, to the extent that the police could not rule out whether it was a male or a female.
At one stage, the police thought I had murdered my own wife, though how I could be on a train at the time of the murder was beyond me. I had witnesses and a cast-iron alibi.
The officer in charge was Detective First Grade Gabrielle Walters. She came to me on the day after the murder seeking answers to the usual questions like, when was the last time you saw your wife, did you argue, the neighbours reckon there were heated discussions the day before.
Routine was the word she used.
Her fellow detective was a surly piece of work whose intention was to get answers or, more likely, a confession by any or all means possible. I could sense the raging violence within him. Fortunately, common sense prevailed.
Over the course of the next few weeks, once I’d been cleared of committing the crime, Gabrielle made a point of keeping me informed of the progress.
After three months, the updates were more sporadic, and when, for lack of progress, it became a cold case, communication ceased.
But it was not the last time I saw Gabrielle.
The shock of finding Vanessa was more devastating than the fact that she was now gone, and those images lived on in the same nightmare that came to visit me every night when I closed my eyes.
For months, I was barely functioning, to the extent that I had all but lost my job and quite a few friends, particularly those who were more attached to Vanessa rather than me.
They didn’t understand how it could affect me so much, and since it had not happened to them, my tart replies of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ were met with equally short retorts. Some questioned my sanity, even, for a time, so did I.
No one, it seemed, could understand what it was like, no one except Gabrielle.
She was by her own admission, damaged goods, having been the victim of a similar incident, a boyfriend who turned out to be an awfully bad boy. Her story varied only in that she had been made to witness his execution. Her nightmare, in reliving that moment in time, was how she was still alive and, to this day, had no idea why she’d been spared.
It was a story she told me one night, some months after the investigation had been scaled down. I was still looking for the bottom of a bottle and an emotional mess. Perhaps it struck a resonance with her; she’d been there and managed to come out the other side.
What happened became our secret, a once-only night together that meant a great deal to me, and by mutual agreement, it was not spoken of again. It was as if she knew exactly what was required to set me on the path to recovery.
And it had.
Since then, we saw each other about once a month in a cafe. I had been surprised to hear from her again shortly after that eventful night when she called to set it up, ostensibly for her to provide me with any updates on the case, but perhaps we had, after that unspoken night, formed a closer bond than either of us wanted to admit.
We generally talked for hours over wine, then dinner and coffee. It took a while for me to realise that all she had was her work; personal relationships were nigh on impossible in a job that left little or no spare time for anything else.
She’d always said that if I had any questions or problems about the case, or if there was anything that might come to me that might be relevant, even after all this time, all I had to do was call her.
I wondered if this text message was in that category. I was certain it would interest the police, and I had no doubt they could trace the message’s origin, but there was that tiny degree of doubt about whether or not I could trust her to tell me what the message meant.
I reached for the phone, then put it back down again. I’d think about it and decide tomorrow.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.
Onboard the plane shortly after it took off, I watched Monroe go to each of the team and give them a folder with their role, and, no doubt, instructions on what they had to do, and to handle the equipment they were assigned. The list I’d seen required a sound technician, a grip, a cameraman, his assistant, the director, the producer, which I took to be Monroe, and a few other production assistants.
None looked happy, and probably already knew what the cover story would be. I didn’t see or hear any objections, each just took their folder and started on their homework.
She didn’t spend much time with Jacobi, just enough to tell him he was going to be the guide. It was a role he was most suited to, and that of local liaison. At least it would explain why he was with us.
After that, she came to see me.
“Was it your idea or Lallo’s?” I asked.
“Lallo’s. I’m as surprised as you, but you have to admit it’s a great cover story.”
“For a group who wouldn’t know one end of the camera from the other.”
“Plenty of time to learn. You don’t have to worry. All you have to do is be perennially bad-tempered and yell a lot. I’m sure you can do that without having me tell you how to.”
“No. probably not. Bamfield said it all the equipment worked.”
“When we take the C4, detonators, grenades, and a few other assorted armaments out it will.”
“You know where the other stuff is,” I said, hoping she understood that it was the diamonds I was talking about.
“Somewhere in one of the boxes. It was best not to tell anyone, so if anything happens, we can’t give it away. We can worry about that once we get past the border. I suggest you get your head down. At least one of us has to be sharp at the other end when we land.”
With that, she went back to her corner, ran her eye over the team now deep in their studies, then looked like she was going to get some sleep.
After a few hours, the enthusiasm to learn had died down, and each of the team members made themselves comfortable. There would be more time to study on the other side of the fuel stop. Everyone on board got what sleep they could, not that it was the best of places in the cargo hold of a C-130. One destination we were all familiar with was that of Djibouti when we would set down to refuel at the airbase there.
It was a half-hour stop, and, as Monroe advised, we didn’t leave the plane. It was best no one knew we were aboard or what we were doing, a feat I thought quite remarkable because if it was my airbase, I’d want to know.
But, as airbases went, it was the same as the rest.
Back in the air, we were heading for Uganda. It was another 6 or 7 hours, so it was a good time to get some more rest before we landed. I had no idea when the next time would be that there would be time for some shuteye.
I’d been keeping an eye on Monroe. She appeared to be the liaison for everything, and had accompanied the pilot to the base tower, most likely to file the flight plan, one of several I imagine, and to report back to Bamfield. It explained why the pilot returned without her, and she didn’t get back until 15 minutes before we were due to leave.
Should I be worried? There wasn’t much point.
After an hour, I went up the back of the plane and sat next to Jacobi. He had been ostracised by the rest of the team; an order given by Monroe for them to leave him alone. He’d been escorted onto the plane by two burly military policemen, and his bag of equipment given to Monroe for safekeeping, so we were sure from the time he left the cell at the black site to getting on the plane he had communicated with anyone.
Even so, I was sure he had been in similar situations before, and he was still alive to tell about it. If he had a plan, whatever that plan was, we would soon find out.
In the meantime, I thought he might have an interesting story to tell, and I had a few hours to kill.
He sullenly watched me come down the fuselage, and then sit next to him, loosely putting what passed as a seat belt on just in case we hit an air pocket. The flight was not as smooth as it might be on a commercial airliner and was certainly a lot noisier.
“Have you spoken to the right people yet?” I almost had to yell in his ear.
Lallo had said he was going to get Jacobi to call his friendly General in the Congo army to smooth the way, and it would be interesting to know under what circumstances Jacobi had explained our arrival at his border. And another to tell the kidnappers we were on our way. Monroe said he had made several supervised phone calls, but not exactly who to.
We had to pray that the General would be among those to also help us locate the targets and, once the exchange was made, assist us in our departure, for a small sum to compensate them for the inconvenience.
He knew why I’d come to see him. “The captors know we are coming, and hopefully before the time limit has passed. They will kill them this time if we don’t get there in time.”
“I’m sure they’d like us to think that, but you know as well as I do they need the ransom for their ongoing operations. Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to plan f which is where they kill us, the hostages, and just take the ransom. Either way, I hate to be the one who is only going to make things worse, but I don’t get to decide what’s right or wrong.”
“It’s how it works out there. Everyone is available for a price. If it wasn’t this lot, it’d be another or another.”
“Or the military, maybe, looking to cash in because the state doesn’t pay them enough. That’s why we’re putting you at the head of the procession. If we’re ambushed, you’ll be the first to go.”
“I admire your lack of faith in me.”
“You haven’t done anything to inspire faith, Jacobi. But so long as you keep your word, and do everything right, I won’t have to shoot you.”
There was no horrified look. He knew the score of being in the ‘Mr. In-Between’ business. He would no doubt get a share of the diamonds for brokering the deal, on top of whatever Lallo offered him, and a cut of the General and his men’s fees for guaranteeing our safety. I guess his business also had its hazards, wasn’t for the faint-hearted, and for those working all sides of the fence, a particularly exciting time.
Generals, soldiers, kidnappers, rebels, practically every man and his dog had an itchy trigger finger.
“It’s not me you have to worry about.”
“How so?”
“I didn’t betray them the last time, and that person was never identified.”
A good point. “Then let’s hope no one else knows we’re coming, or what we’re bringing as ransom.”
He looked at me, a look that told me I thought he might just make a play for the diamonds himself and forget about the targets. It was a very tempting ransom.
“You know how it is. Spies are everywhere.”
“Just make sure you’re not one of them.”
I think I said it with just enough sincerity that he believed me.
“It’s not worth my while, I assure you. Once you’re involved in a double-cross, you cease to be of worth to anyone. I will not be the source of your problems if there are any.”
For a man who’d already been caught out in a raft of lies, there was nothing he could say that would make me trust him. He was going to require an escort once we landed.
I had two perfect candidates for the job. Williamson and Shurl. From what I had observed on the ground before we boarded the plane, and in the plane, they stuck together. I got the impression they knew each other.
After I left Jacobi, I told them what I wanted them to do.
It was the day for sullen responses. They didn’t want to be babysitters. Tough.
Next, I went and visited Mobley, sitting closer to the front of the plane, by himself. Monroe had sat with him for an hour or so before we reached Djibouti, and it had raised a small flag.
I staggered towards him, the pilots deciding to take the rough path through the sky, and almost fell into the seat next to him.
He didn’t look at me the whole time, even when I’d sat down. Was he pretending to ignore me, or had he decided he was above taking my orders?
“I’ve got a few hours to waste so if you think I’m going away forget it,” I said, loud enough to get his attention.
A slight flutter of an eyelid. Not asleep.
“Monroe tells me you’re in charge of this motley crew,” he said, still not looking at me.
“Not because I want to be. I’m not sure what your reason is to be here, and, frankly, I don’t care, but I really don’t want to be here. I wasn’t given a choice. I’m guessing you did from what I’ve been told. We don’t have time to debate the issue. What I want you to do is when we arrive at the base, is hang back, come up with whatever excuse will fly, and give us several hours head start. You’ll be with one of Chiswick’s men. What’s important is to check no one follows us.”
“You think someone might?” A look of almost interest.
“I’m sure of it. There’s no way we will get to the base in Uganda, no matter how far from civilization it is, and not be noticed, or worse, that someone already knows we’re coming.”
“What’s the ultimate rendezvous?”
“Over the border in the Congo.” I passed him a hand-drawn map of the area, from the landing strip to the GPS co-ordinates of the exchange point in the Congo, but not the track that we would be taking, some of which I hoped might be by the river. I think Monroe had given him as much detail of the job as she could, as she probably had all of them.
“Monroe in the loop?”
“She will be by the time we land.”
“Good.”
Eyes closed again; the conversation was over.
Time to have a talk to Monroe.
“Got some good news,” she said when I sat next to her.
“We’re turning around and going home?”
“Where is home?”
It was an interesting question. I’d been bounced around so many airbases, I don’t think I’d had a permanent fixed address from the day I signed up. Was it where I used to live? No point going back, everyone I’d known back then had either moved on or died. Technically I was now an orphan, and unlike others, I had no family of my own to go home to.
“No idea anymore, I’m afraid. So, what’s this good news.”
“We have an exit strategy. Bamfield told me to tell you everything is in place. All we have to do is liberate a plane and we’re on our way home. It’s the reason why Davies is on the mission, Bamfield says she can fly anything.”
“I’ve never heard of a plane called ‘anything’.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Any other details?”
“We’ll know exactly what the score is when we get there. That’s all I know at the moment.”
“There’s more?”
“Hopefully through the pilot’s last contact with Bamfield. Otherwise, it’s going to be just another boring day at the office.”
