Category: Thriller

An excerpt from “The Things We Do For Love”; In love, Henry was all at sea!

In the distance he could hear the dinner bell ringing and roused himself.  Feeling the dampness of the pillow, and fearing the ravages of pent up emotion, he considered not going down but thought it best not to upset Mrs. Mac, especially after he said he would be dining.

In the event, he wished he had reneged, especially when he discovered he was not the only guest staying at the hotel.

Whilst he’d been reminiscing, another guest, a young lady, had arrived.  He’d heard her and Mrs. Mac coming up the stairs, and then shown to a room on the same floor, perhaps at the other end of the passage.

Henry caught his first glimpse of her when she appeared at the door to the dining room, waiting for Mrs. Mac to show her to a table.

She was about mid-twenties, slim, long brown hair, and the grace and elegance of a woman associated with countless fashion magazines.  She was, he thought, stunningly beautiful with not a hair out of place, and make-up flawlessly applied.  Her clothes were black, simple, elegant, and expensive, the sort an heiress or wife of a millionaire might condescend to wear to a lesser occasion than dinner.

Then there was her expression; cold, forbidding, almost frightening in its intensity.  And her eyes, piercingly blue and yet laced with pain.  Dracula’s daughter was his immediate description of her.

All in all, he considered, the only thing they had in common was, like him, she seemed totally out of place.

Mrs. Mac came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.  She was, she informed him earlier, chef, waitress, hotelier, barmaid, and cleaner all rolled into one.  Coming up to the new arrival she said, “Ah, Miss Andrews, I’m glad you decided to have dinner.  Would you like to sit with Mr. Henshaw, or would you like to have a table of your own?”

Henry could feel her icy stare as she sized up his appeal as a dining companion, making the hair on the back on his neck stand up.  He purposely didn’t look back.  In his estimation, his appeal rating was minus six.  Out of a thousand!

“If Mr. Henshaw doesn’t mind….”  She looked at him, leaving the query in mid-air.

He didn’t mind and said so.  Perhaps he’d underestimated his rating.

“Good.”  Mrs. Mac promptly ushered her over.  Henry stood, made sure she was seated properly and sat.

“Thank you.  You are most kind.”  The way she said it suggested snobbish overtones.

“I try to be when I can.”  It was supposed to nullify her sarcastic tone but made him sound a little silly, and when she gave him another of her icy glares, he regretted it.

Mrs. Mac quickly intervened, asking, “Would you care for the soup?”

They did, and, after writing the order on her pad, she gave them each a look, imperceptibly shook her head, and returned to the kitchen.

Before Michelle spoke to him again, she had another quick look at him, trying to fathom who and what he might be.  There was something about him.

His eyes, they mirrored the same sadness she felt, and, yes, there was something else, that it looked like he had been crying?  There was a tinge of redness.

Perhaps, she thought, he was here for the same reason she was.

No.  That wasn’t possible.

Then she said, without thinking, “Do you have any particular reason for coming here?”  Seconds later she realized she’s spoken it out loud, had hadn’t meant to actually ask, it just came out.

It took him by surprise, obviously not the first question he was expecting her to ask of him.

“No, other than it is as far from civilization, and home, as I could get.”

At least we agree on that, she thought.

It was obvious he was running away from something as well.

Given the isolation of the village and lack of geographic hospitality, it was, from her point of view, ideal.  All she had to do was avoid him, and that wouldn’t be difficult.

After getting through this evening first.

“Yes,” she agreed.  “It is that.”

A few seconds passed, and she thought she could feel his eyes on her and wasn’t going to look up.

Until he asked, “What’s your reason?”

Slight abrupt in manner, perhaps as a result of her question, and the manner in which she asked it.

She looked up.  “Rest.  And have some time to myself.”

She hoped he would notice the emphasis she had placed on the word ‘herself’ and take due note.  No doubt, she thought,  she had completely different ideas of what constituted a holiday than he, not that she had actually said she was here for a holiday.

Mrs. Mac arrived at a fortuitous moment to save them from further conversation.

Over the entree, she wondered if she had made a mistake coming to the hotel.  Of course, there had been no possible way she could know than anyone else might have booked the same hotel, but realized it was foolish to think she might end up in it by herself.

Was that what she was expecting?

Not a mistake then, but an unfortunate set of circumstances, which could be overcome by being sensible.

Yet, there he was, and it made her curious, not that he was a man, by himself, in the middle of nowhere, hiding like she was, but for very different reasons.

On discreet observance whilst they ate, she gained the impression his air of light-heartedness was forced and he had no sense of humor.

This feeling was engendered by his looks, unruly dark hair, and permanent frown.  And then there was his abysmal taste in clothes on a tall, lanky frame.  They were quality but totally unsuited to the wearer.

Rebellion was written all over him.

The only other thought crossing her mind, and rather incongruously, was he could do with a decent feed.  In that respect, she knew now from the mountain of food in front of her, he had come to the right place.

“Mr. Henshaw?”

He looked up.  “Henshaw is too formal.  Henry sounds much better,” he said, with a slight hint of gruffness.

“Then my name is Michelle.”

Mrs. Mac came in to take their order for the only main course, gather up the entree dishes, then return to the kitchen.

“Staying long?” she asked.

“About three weeks.  Yourself?”

“About the same.”

The conversation dried up.

Neither looked at the other, rather at the walls, out the window, towards the kitchen, anywhere.  It was, she thought, almost unbearably awkward.

Mrs. Mac returned with a large tray with dishes on it, setting it down on the table next to theirs.

“Not as good as the usual cook,” she said, serving up the dinner expertly, “but it comes a good second, even if I do say so myself.  Care for some wine?”

Henry looked at Michelle.  “What do you think?”

“I’m used to my dining companions making the decision.”

You would, he thought.  He couldn’t help but notice the cutting edge of her tone.  Then, to Mrs. Mac, he named a particular White Burgundy he liked and she bustled off.

“I hope you like it,” he said, acknowledging her previous comment with a smile that had nothing to do with humor.

“Yes, so do I.”

Both made a start on the main course, a concoction of chicken and vegetables that were delicious, Henry thought, when compared to the bland food he received at home and sometimes aboard my ship.

It was five minutes before Mrs. Mac returned with the bottle and two glasses.  After opening it and pouring the drinks, she left them alone again.

Henry resumed the conversation.  “How did you arrive?  I came by train.”

“By car.”

“Did you drive yourself?”

And he thought, a few seconds later, that was a silly question, otherwise she would not be alone, and certainly not sitting at this table. With him.

“After a fashion.”

He could see that she was formulating a retort in her mind, then changed it, instead, smiling for the first time, and it served to lighten the atmosphere.

And in doing so, it showed him she had another more pleasant side despite the fact she was trying not to look happy.

“My father reckons I’m just another of ‘those’ women drivers,” she added.

“Whatever for?”

“The first and only time he came with me I had an accident.  I ran up the back of another car.  Of course, it didn’t matter to him the other driver was driving like a startled rabbit.”

“It doesn’t help,” he agreed.

“Do you drive?”

“Mostly people up the wall.”  His attempt at humor failed.  “Actually,” he added quickly, “I’ve got a very old Morris that manages to get me where I’m going.”

The apple pie and cream for dessert came and went and the rapport between them improved as the wine disappeared and the coffee came.  Both had found, after getting to know each other better, their first impressions were not necessarily correct.

“Enjoy the food?” Mrs. Mac asked, suddenly reappearing.

“Beautifully cooked and delicious to eat,” Michelle said, and Henry endorsed her remarks.

“Ah, it does my heart good to hear such genuine compliments,” she said, smiling.  She collected the last of the dishes and disappeared yet again.

“What do you do for a living,” Michelle asked in an off-hand manner.

He had a feeling she was not particularly interested and it was just making conversation.

“I’m a purser.”

“A what?”

“A purser.  I work on a ship doing the paperwork, that sort of thing.”

“I see.”

“And you?”

“I was a model.”

“Was?”

“Until I had an accident, a rather bad one.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

So that explained the odd feeling he had about her.

As the evening had worn on, he began to think there might be something wrong, seriously wrong with her because she didn’t look too well.  Even the carefully applied makeup, from close up, didn’t hide the very pale, and tired look, or the sunken, dark ringed eyes.

“I try not to think about it, but it doesn’t necessarily work.  I’ve come here for peace and quiet, away from doctors and parents.”

“Then you will not have to worry about me annoying you.  I’m one of those fall-asleep-reading-a-book types.”

Perhaps it would be like ships passing in the night and then smiled to himself about the analogy.

Dinner now over, they separated.

Henry went back to the lounge to read a few pages of his book before going to bed, and Michelle went up to her room to retire for the night.

But try as he might, he was unable to read, his mind dwelling on the unusual, yet the compellingly mysterious person he would be sharing the hotel with.

Overlaying that original blurred image of her standing in the doorway was another of her haunting expressions that had, he finally conceded, taken his breath away, and a look that had sent more than one tingle down his spine.

She may not have thought much of him, but she had certainly made an impression on him.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

lovecoverfinal1

An excerpt from “The Devil You Don’t”

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

…

By the time I returned to the Savoie, the rain had finally stopped, and there was a streak of blue sky to offer some hope the day would improve.

The ship was not crowded, the possibility of bad weather perhaps holding back potential passengers.  Of those I saw, a number of them would be aboard for the lunch by Phillippe Chevrier.  I thought about it, but the Concierge had told me about several restaurants in Yvoire and had given me a hand-drawn map of the village.  I think he came from the area because he spoke with the pride and knowledge of a resident.

I was looking down from the upper deck observing the last of the boarding passengers when I saw a woman, notable for her red coat and matching shoes, making a last-minute dash to get on board just before the gangway was removed.  In fact, her ungainly manner of boarding had also captured a few of the other passenger’s attention.  Now they would have something else to talk about, other than the possibility of further rain.

I saw her smile at the deckhand, but he did not smile back.  He was not impressed with her bravado, perhaps because of possible injury.  He looked at her ticket then nodded dismissively, and went back to his duties in getting the ship underway.  I was going to check the departure time, but I, like the other passengers, had my attention diverted to the woman in red.

From what I could see there was something about her.  It struck me when the light caught her as she turned to look down the deck, giving me a perfect profile.  I was going to say she looked foreign, but here, as in almost anywhere in Europe, that described just about everyone.  Perhaps I was just comparing her to Phillipa, so definitively British, whereas this woman was very definitely not.

She was perhaps in her 30’s, slim or perhaps the word I’d use was lissom, and had the look and manner of a model.  I say that because Phillipa had dragged me to most of the showings, whether in Milan, Rome, New York, London, or Paris.  The clothes were familiar, and in the back of my mind, I had a feeling I’d seen her before.

Or perhaps, to me, all models looked the same.

She looked up in my direction, and before I could divert my eyes, she locked on.  I could feel her gaze boring into me, and then it was gone as if she had been looking straight through me.  I remained out on deck as the ship got underway, watching her disappear inside the cabin.  My curiosity was piqued, so I decided to keep an eye out for her.

I could feel the coolness of the air as the ship picked up speed, not that it was going to be very fast.  With stops, the trip would take nearly two hours to get to my destination.  It would turn back almost immediately, but I was going to stay until the evening when it returned at about half eight.  It would give me enough time to sample the local fare, and take a tour of the medieval village.

Few other passengers ventured out on the deck, most staying inside or going to lunch.  After a short time, I came back down to the main deck and headed forward.  I wanted to clear my head by concentrating on the movement of the vessel through the water, breathing in the crisp, clean air, and let the peacefulness of the surroundings envelope me.

It didn’t work.

I knew it wouldn’t be long before I started thinking about why things hadn’t worked, and what part I played in it.  And the usual question that came to mind when something didn’t work out.  What was wrong with me?

I usually blamed it on my upbringing.

I had one of those so-called privileged lives, a nanny till I was old enough to go to boarding school, then sent to the best schools in the land.  There I learned everything I needed to be the son of a Duke, or, as my father called it in one of his lighter moments, nobility in waiting.

Had this been five or six hundred years ago, I would need to have sword and jousting skills, or if it had been a few hundred years later a keen military mind.  If nothing else I could ride a horse, and go on hunts, or did until they became not the thing to do.

I learned six languages, and everything I needed to become a diplomat in the far-flung British Empire, except the Empire had become the Commonwealth, and then, when no-one was looking, Britain’s influence in the world finally disappeared.  I was a man without a cause, without a vocation, and no place to go.

Computers were the new vogue and I had an aptitude for programming.  I guess that went hand in hand with mathematics, which although I hated the subject, I excelled in.  Both I and another noble outcast used to toss ideas around in school, but when it came to the end of our education, he chose to enter the public service, and I took a few of those ideas we had mulled over and turned them into a company.

About a year ago, I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse.  There were so many zeroes on the end of it I just said yes, put the money into a very grateful bank, and was still trying to come to terms with it.

Sadly, I still had no idea what I was going to do with the rest of my life.  My parents had asked me to come back home and help manage the estate, and I did for a few weeks.  It was as long as it took for my parents to drive me insane.

Back in the city, I spent a few months looking for a mundane job, but there were very few that suited the qualifications I had, and the rest, I think I intimidated the interviewer simply because of who I was.  In that time I’d also featured on the cover of the Economist, and through my well-meaning accountant, started involving myself with various charities, earning the title ‘philanthropist’.

And despite all of this exposure, even making one of those ubiquitous ‘eligible bachelor’ lists, I still could not find ‘the one’, the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.  Phillipa seemed to fit the bill, but in time she proved to be a troubled soul with ‘Daddy’ issues.  I knew that in building a relationship compromise was necessary, but with her, in the end, everything was a compromise and what had happened was always going to be the end result.

It was perhaps a by-product of the whole nobility thing.  There was a certain expectation I had to fulfill, to my peers, contemporaries, parents and family, and those who either liked or hated what it represented.  The problem was, I didn’t feel like I belonged.  Not like my friend from schooldays, and now obscure acquaintance, Sebastian.  He had been elevated to his Dukedom early when his father died when he was in his twenties.  He had managed to fade from the limelight and was rarely mentioned either in the papers or the gossip columns.  He was one of the lucky ones.

I had managed to keep a similarly low profile until I met Phillipa.  From that moment, my obscurity disappeared.  It was, I could see now, part of a plan put in place by Phillipa’s father, a man who hogged the limelight with his daughter, to raise the profile of the family name and through it their businesses.  He was nothing if not the consummate self-advertisement.

Perhaps I was supposed to be the last piece of the puzzle, the attachment to the establishment, that link with a class of people he would not normally get in the front door.  There was nothing refined about him or his family, and more than once I’d noticed my contemporaries cringe at the mention of his name, or any reference of my association with him.

Yet could I truthfully say I really wanted to go back to the obscurity I had before Phillipa?  For all her faults, there were times when she had been fun to be with, particularly when I first met her when she had a certain air of unpredictability.  That had slowly disappeared as she became part of her father’s plan for the future.  She just failed to see how much he was using her.

Or perhaps, over time, I had become cynical.

I thought about calling her.  It was one of those moments of weakness when I felt alone, more alone than usual.

I diverted my attention back to my surroundings and the shoreline.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the woman in the red coat, making a move.  The red coat was like a beacon, a sort of fire engine red.  It was not the sort of coat most of the women I knew would wear, but on her, it looked terrific.  In fact, her sublime beauty was the one other attribute that was distinctly noticeable, along with the fact her hair was short, rather than long, and jet black.

I had to wrench my attention away from her.

A few minutes later several other passengers came out of the cabin for a walk around the deck, perhaps to get some exercise, perhaps checking up on me, or perhaps I was being paranoid.  I waited till they passed on their way forward, and I turned and headed aft.

I watched the wake sluicing out from under the stern for a few minutes, before retracing my steps to the front of the ship and there I stood against the railing, watching the bow carve its way through the water.  It was almost mesmerizing.  There, I emptied my mind of thoughts about Phillipa, and thoughts about the woman in the red coat.

Until a female voice behind me said, “Having a bad day?”

I started, caught by surprise, and slowly turned.  The woman in the red coat had somehow got very close me without my realizing it.  How did she do that?  I was so surprised I couldn’t answer immediately.

“I do hope you are not contemplating jumping.  I hear the water is very cold.”

Closer up, I could see what I’d missed when I saw her on the main deck.  There was a slight hint of Chinese, or Oriental, in her particularly around the eyes, and of her hair which was jet black.  An ancestor twice or more removed had left their mark, not in a dominant way, but more subtle, and easily missed except from a very short distance away, like now.

Other than that, she was quite possibly Eastern European, perhaps Russian, though that covered a lot of territory.  The incongruity of it was that she spoke with an American accent, and fluent enough for me to believe English was her first language.

Usually, I could ‘read’ people, but she was a clean slate.  Her expression was one of amusement, but with cold eyes.  My first thought, then, was to be careful.

“No.  Not yet.”  I coughed to clear my throat because I could hardly speak.  And blushed, because that was what I did when confronted by a woman, beautiful or otherwise.

The amusement gave way to a hint of a smile that brightened her demeanor as a little warmth reached her eyes.  “So that’s a maybe.  Should I change into my lifesaving gear, just in case?”

It conjured up a rather interesting image in my mind until I reluctantly dismissed it.

“Perhaps I should move away from the edge,” I said, moving sideways until I was back on the main deck, a few feet further away.  Her eyes had followed me, and when I stopped she turned to face me again.  She did not move closer.

I realized then she had removed her beret and it was in her left side coat pocket.  “Thanks for your concern …?”

“Zoe.”

“Thanks for your concern, Zoe.  By the way, my name is John.”

She smiled again, perhaps in an attempt to put me at ease.  “I saw you earlier, you looked so sad, I thought …”

“I might throw myself overboard?”

“An idiotic notion I admit, but it is better to be safe than sorry.”

Then she tilted her head to one side then the other, looking intently at me.  “You seem to be familiar.  Do I know you?”

I tried to think of where I may have seen her before, but all I could remember was what I’d thought earlier when I first saw her; she was a model and had been at one of the showings.  If she was, it would be more likely she would remember Phillipa, not me.  Phillipa always had to sit in the front row.

“Probably not.”  I also didn’t mention the fact she may have seen my picture in the society pages of several tabloid newspapers because she didn’t look the sort of woman who needed a daily dose of the comings and goings, and, more often than not, scandal associated with so-called celebrities.

She gave me a look, one that told me she had just realized who I was.  “Yes, I remember now.  You made the front cover of the Economist.  You sold your company for a small fortune.”

Of course.  She was not the first who had recognized me from that cover.  It had raised my profile considerably, but not the Sternhaven’s.  That article had not mentioned Phillipa or her family.  I suspect Grandmother had something to do with that, and it was, now I thought about it, another nail in the coffin that was my relationship with Phillipa.

“I wouldn’t say it was a fortune, small or otherwise, just fortunate.”  Each time, I found myself playing down the wealth aspect of the business deal.

“Perhaps then, as the journalist wrote, you were lucky.  It is not, I think, a good time for internet-based companies.”

The latter statement was an interesting fact, one she read in the Financial Times which had made that exact comment recently.

“But I am boring you.”  She smiled again.  “I should be minding my own business and leaving you to your thoughts.  I am sorry.”

She turned to leave and took a few steps towards the main cabin.

“You’re not boring me,” I said, thinking I was letting my paranoia get the better of me.  It had been Sebastian on learning of my good fortune, who had warned me against ‘a certain element here and abroad’ whose sole aim would be to separate me from my money.  He was not very subtle when he described their methods.

But I knew he was right.  I should have let her walk away.

She stopped and turned around.  “You seem nothing like the man I read about in the Economist.”

A sudden and awful thought popped into my head.  Those words were part of a very familiar opening gambit.  “Are you a reporter?”

I was not sure if she looked surprised, or amused.  “Do I look like one?”

I silently cursed myself for speaking before thinking, and then immediately ignored my own admonishment.  “People rarely look like what they are.”

I saw the subtle shake of the head and expected her to take her leave.  Instead she astonished me.

“I fear we have got off on the wrong foot.  To be honest, I’m not usually this forward, but you seemed like you needed cheering up when probably the opposite is true.  Aside from the fact this excursion was probably a bad idea.  And,” she added with a little shrug, “perhaps I talk too much.”

I was not sure what I thought of her after that extraordinary admission. It was not something I would do, but it was an interesting way to approach someone and have them ignoring their natural instinct.  I would let Sebastian whisper in my ear for a little longer and see where this was going.

“Oddly enough, I was thinking the same thing.  I was supposed to be traveling with my prospective bride.  I think you can imagine how that turned out.”

“She’s not here?”

“No.”

“She’s in the cabin?”  Her eyes strayed in that direction for a moment then came back to me.  She seemed surprised I might be traveling with someone.

“No.  She is back in England, and the wedding is off.  So is the relationship.  She dumped me by text.”

OK, why was I sharing this humiliating piece of information with her?  I still couldn’t be sure she was not a reporter.

She motioned to an empty seat, back from the edge.  No walking the plank today.  She moved towards it and sat down.  She showed no signs of being cold, nor interested in the breeze upsetting her hair.  Phillipa would be having a tantrum about now, being kept outside, and freaking out over what the breeze might be doing to her appearance.

I wondered, if only for a few seconds if she used this approach with anyone else.  I guess I was a little different, a seemingly rich businessman alone on a ferry on Lake Geneva, contemplating the way his life had gone so completely off track.

She watched as I sat at the other end of the bench, leaving about a yard between us.  After I leaned back and made myself as comfortable as I could, she said, “I have also experienced something similar, though not by text message.  It is difficult, the first few days.”

“I saw it coming.”

“I did not.”  She frowned, a sort of lifeless expression taking over, perhaps brought on by the memory of what had happened to her.  “But it is done, and I moved on.  Was she the love of your life?”

OK, that was unexpected.

When I didn’t answer, she said, “I am sorry.  Sometimes I ask personal questions without realizing what I’m doing.  It is none of my business.”  She shivered.  “Perhaps we should go back inside.”

She stood, and held out her hand.  Should I take it and be drawn into her web?  I thought of Sebastian.  What would he do in this situation?

I took her hand in mine and let her pull me gently to my feet.  “Wise choice,” she said, looking up at the sky.

It just started to rain.

…

© Charles Heath 2015-2023

newdevilcvr6

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 39

Here’s the thing…

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

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

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

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

 

A shiver went down my spine, and I took it for the omen it was.

Nothing good came of being in a place where you were not supposed to be.

I shook it off.

“Does that look like someone we knew, once?”

He looked at the mannequin, then shook his head.  “No, should it?”

“Seems odd they didn’t come back to collect their stock.  I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as this when the cracks first appeared.”

“Here it was.  Walls crumbled, and in places the roof collapsed.  Two shop staff got hit by a falling beam.  One later died.  There was a long court battle over that.”

I did not remember much of what happened.  My mother said it was just another tragedy brought on by greed.  It was probably why I had such contempt for the rich.

Boggs did a rotation with his light, and in the direction of the marina, there was a central square over which was a skylight, only it was dirty and little light was getting through.  It was just enough to see that the plants had all overgrown and taken over, and it was strange to see pylons covered in creeper, and shrubs growing through seats.

There had been a pond in the middle of that square, but it was probably empty now, and if it had water, it would be contributing to the smell.

In the other direction, there was darkness, the mall heading towards the front entrance.

Boggs started walking towards the square.

That was when I realized he had brought an old map of the shopping center and had been looking at it when I joined him.

From the square, there were elevators and steps up to the second level where there were restaurants and entertainment areas, as well as the entrance to the multiplex cinemas.  The stairs went down to the carpark.

There were two levels of carpark under the main building, and it was the lower car park that had occasionally flooded.

When we reached the square, it seemed lighter than I first thought, but that had to do with the fact my eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness, making objects clearer.  We had to brush past some of the tree branches to reach the pond.

I was wrong.  There was water in it, and it was reasonably clear.  I guess without man to pollute it, nature had taken over.  Here the aroma was more like a park after the lawns had been mowed.

Boggs had turned off his light as we approached the pond, and it was fortunate he had.  We both heard the sound of a brick, or rock hitting the floor, and a moment later, the faint glow of torchlight.

Other people exploring the wilderness.

“How many people know about that entrance?”

It sounded to me like they were coming back from the marina.

“I don’t know.  I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here if that’s what you’re thinking.”

It wasn’t.  Not my first thought, anyway.

He headed towards the stairs next to the elevator lobby, remarkably clear of rubble and undergrowth, and started walking down the stairs, into the darkness. I followed, reluctantly, and inwardly sighed in relief when he stopped on the first landing.  There was a rumor there were ghosts down on the car park levels.

We went just far enough down to be hidden from the other visitors.  Unless they decided to use this particular staircase.

The light was less intense as it approached the square, and then we saw two figures.

At least one was a male, tall, and smoking a cigarette.

“God knows why the boss wanted us to check this hell hole.  There’s no one here but us.”  It was the tall man speaking.

He waved his torch around, including once in our direction.  At the distance they were from us, the light had no effect.

“You know the boss, he has an active imagination.  Perhaps if he hadn’t buried the bodies down here, it wouldn’t be an issue.  Come on, this place gives me the creeps.”

Another man, and, now, I could see they were dressed in what looked like security guards’ clothes.  Why on earth would anyone want to keep an eye on this place?  And who was their boss?

Another wave of the torches and they continued their way towards the front of the mall.

“So,” Boggs said with a curious inflection in his tone, “there are bodies buried down here.”

“A figure of speech,” I said.  “No one would be that stupid to bury bodies down here.”

“Why not.  No one comes here, except adventurers like us, so it’s a perfect place for either the Cossatino’s or the Benderby’s to hide stuff down here.  How many people do you think either of them has killed over the years?”

Allegedly quite a few.  It was, when I thought about it, quite a good place to hide a body.  I just hoped we didn’t find one.

We waited another five minutes, just in case they came back, but they didn.t.  I followed Boggs up the stairs and we headed towards the center of the square.

“Where are we going?”

“To the Marina.  Got to check something first.”

© Charles Heath 2020

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.

A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?

A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.

A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.

After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.

From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.

It is available on Amazon here:  http://amzn.to/2CqUBcz

The A to Z Challenge – 2023 — F is for fake

…

“Love is simply a tenuous attachment looking for a reason to break.”

As a twice-widowed, twice-divorced cynic of marriage, I could have expected no less from my mother.

I’d just explained the latest reason for Marigold’s non-appearance at lunch, without having to tell her the truth, that Marigold hated my mother.

At times, so did I.  This was one of them.

I also hated the fact that we had become rich from my mother’s plotting and scheming, what she called strategic marriages and fortuitous deaths.

It left me a target, or so my mother said, and her opinion of Marigold was so low she had said from the outset that she had married me for my money.  Hardly, because of a watertight prenuptial she had to sign, one that only a woman who loved the man, not the money would sign.

For that reason, I believed I was the luckiest person alive.

“Let’s face it, you don’t like her.”

“She’s a schemer Rodney, mark my words.  She’s up to something, I can feel it.”

I shook my head.  “Not accepting your lunch invitation doesn’t mean she’s up to anything.  She had a prior engagement, and you always ask at the last minute.”

“My plans are nebulous.  I could be anywhere, anytime.  Right now, I’m here.”

I shrugged.  It was not an argument I was going to win.

I went back to my office after lunch, dejected.

Perhaps there might be something in what she said because Marigold had become a little distant over the past few weeks and oddly secretive about her movements.  I thought she was planning a surprise party or weekend away.

Candice, the PA who’d been with me ever since I’d made junior management ranks, followed me into the office.

“I can tell you lunch went swimmingly.”  Sarcasm wasn’t her strongest asset, and it dripped off every word.

She hated my mother, too, particularly in the way it affected me.

“She should have been living it up in the south of France with the rest of the meddlers.”

I could just see Marigold in my peripheral vision, and when I looked up, I could see her almost stomping her way towards my office.

Others were familiar with her visits and used to her moods.  I wondered what had happened.

Candice left as she came in.  She stopped in front of my desk and literally threw her cell phone at me.  I caught it just before it caused an injury.

“What the hell is that?”  I could see now she was extremely agitated.

“What?”

“On the phone, it was attached to an anonymous message sent to me.”

I swiped the screen, once again lamenting her lack of implementing security on her phone, and a still from a video was sitting on the screen.  I pressed the play icon and watched.  Three minutes of what appeared to be me with another woman, in bed, in a hotel room.  It certainly looked like me.  It had a date and time stamp, 9:53, three days ago, when I was in Salt Lake City.

“It’s not me, Marigold.”

“Sure as hell looks like you, Rodney. You care to explain where you were and who you were with, if not with that woman?”  It was accompanied by a belligerent look, daring me to have a cast iron alibi.

The thing is, I did.  But it was not one I could explain to her.  But what was more concerning was the fact there was a video and quite obviously a fake, and that it had found its way to her.

“I’ll go one better, Marigold.  I’ll give the phone to the IT tech department, and they’ll tell me who sent the anonymous message and verify whether or not it’s me.  You do want me to prove it’s not me, don’t you?”

Judging by the expression on her face, she did not, and it took a few seconds to realize why.  My mother’s iron clad prenuptial had only one failing, and it was null and void if I was caught cheating.  My mother had told me enough times.

“Of course.”  Less bluster now.  “I’ll leave it with you.”

Candice watched her leave before coming back into my office.

“What did you do?”

“More like what didn’t I do but apparently did.”  She sat down, and I handed her the phone.  “Have a look at the video.  It’s quite interesting.”

She did, and I watched her fascination turn from surprise to wide-eyed amazement.  Then she gave me a look that may have been misplaced in awe.  “If that’s you, then you’re leading a secret life.”

“Did you see the date and time stamp?”

“Yes.  It’s definitely not you.  But it begs the question, do you have a brother or twin you know nothing about.”

“Would you like to ask my mother that question?”  Her change of expression told me she didn’t.  “That leaves the tech guys down in IT.”

“Oh, lucky you mentioned IT.  I got a report this morning about the unauthorised use of the mainframe computer.”

“We know what those guys get up to, using it to run simulations, within acceptable limits.  They know that if they break the rules, it’s their loss.”

“This is different.  It was only reported because, apparently, while you were practising your sexual skills, you were also down in the computer room.  Your pass card was used, albeit an older one that you reported as lost about a month ago.  It was supposed to have been deactivated, and it wasn’t.”

“Then I guess I’d better go down to security and find out what it all means.”

Going down in the elevator, I had a few moments to ponder on how quickly my mind had set on the idea Marigold was hatching a scheme that would bypass the prenuptial agreement.  Perhaps the continual verbal battering that I could not trust her.

Of course, it didn’t help that she turned up with a so-called anonymous video file of me cheating, just the evidence she needed.  Perhaps I would more readily accepted her innocence had she not subtly changed in the last month or so.  I put it down to the conversation about children, the fact my mother wanted to become a grandmother, and Marigold’s reluctance to be a mother, a sentiment fuelled by a very bad experience with her own mother.  My mother wasn’t exactly a role model either.

And if it was a scheme, why would she readily hand over her phone with the evidence?  Perhaps I needed to have an open mind.  That meant definitely not telling my mother, though she seemed to have spies everywhere.  If I had been even thinking of cheating, she would have sent Boris, her fixer, to stop it before it started.

IT was one of three departments under my jurisdiction, and the current manager was one of my recruits.  I’d read about Gabrielle some months before when she was arrested for hacking several government computer systems to prove their vulnerability to foreign hackers and instead of being applauded had been vilified, and sent to computer Coventry.  No one would hire her.  I tracked her down, spent a few days talking about computers, hackers, and stupid people, and then hired her.

A computer genius of this calibre was impossible to find, and if I did manage to find one, it would cost far more than we could pay them.

“Rod, what brings you to the dungeon.”  Gabrielle was always pleased to see me.  I had wondered a few times if something else might have developed between us, but I was a married man and it never crossed my mind.  There was also a chance her open and friendly manner could be misinterpreted.

“It seems I’m in trouble.”  I held up the phone.  ” This has images of me, only I know it’s not me because I was somewhere else.”  I passed it to her.  “I believe this is the first time I’ve seen a deep fake video.”

She looked at the video, with similar facial expressions to Candice.  “It can’t be you.”  She’d also seen the time and date stamp.  “We both know where you were.  Let me check it out, and I’ll get back to you.”

When I arrived back in my office, Eric Dorning, the head of security, was waiting for me.  Candice simply nodded her head in his direction and shrugged, telling me Eric had not told her why he was there.

“Close the door, Rod.  It’s a delicate matter.”

And Seriously, he wanted the door shut?  I closed it and sat behind the desk.  “What can I do for you?”

“A key card that was believed missing was apparently used to gain access to the computer department.  Two issues, one that was not deactivated, and the other, that it was yours, and had an all-access clearance attached to it.  That it was lost is, at the very least,8 a suspension, while aspects of how and where it was lost are undertaken.  At worst, it could cause dismissal depending on the damage caused to the company.  As you are…”

I put my hand up to stop him right there.  The fact that my mother was a substantial shareholder and was in some small part responsible for my position in the company, I never asked for special treatment.  “I know what you are going to say, and don’t.  I am no different from any other employee, and if the course of action on your part is to suspend me while you investigate, then do so.”

“We don’t have to do that.”

“You do.  This can’t be kept under wraps, and everyone needs to know that no one in this company should expect or be given special treatment.  A short truthful statement about why I’m missing will suffice.”

“Your mother will not approve.”

“It’s not her call.  Am I being suspended?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should escort me to the front door and remove my key card and phone.” I put the card and the phone and company car keys on the desk, and stood.  I could see Candice observing, and she knew what it meant.  She made a face, then headed for the elevator.  I deduced that it meant she wanted to see me at the cafe up the street.

It was clear Eric did not want to suspend me because when I was unavailable, he had to report to my immediate superior, Victor Wellman, a man who was bitterly opposed to my appointment.  With this crisis, he would have all the ammunition he needed to get rid of me.  Eric had said as much on the way down.  He said he would call when the investigation was complete.

Candice had two cups of coffee waiting and a puzzled expression.  “What did you do wrong?”

“Losing a card key without adequately securing it at all times is a cardinal sin, and in certain circumstances, a stackable offence.  I’m guilty as charged.”

“What about the fact that after reporting it missing, they didn’t deactivate it?  If there’s blame, Eric is the one who should take responsibility for the current incident.”

“I hardly think any of that matters.  Wellman will use this to have me removed.  And he’s well within his right to do so.”

“You think he’s brave enough to take on your mother?”

“He’s the only one who is, but it may have unintended consequences.  But I’m not going to fight it.  I’ve had enough of politics and everything else.  I asked for no special treatment.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take a few days off, see what’s bugging Marigold.  I have been missing lately, so perhaps we can catch up.”  If she was home.  To be honest, I had no idea what she did with herself lately.

I had expected to come home to an empty house.

After leaving Candice to contemplate her future, I took the subway, something I hadn’t done in a long time.  Then, it was a reasonable walk to our apartment.  I spoke the James, the only building concierge I knew, who was on a rare day shift.  It was odd to see the foyer in daylight on a weekday.

Then I went up to the apartment and let myself in.  I had expected to be alone, but after I shut the door, I heard subdued voices, followed by laughter.  Marigold.  And she was not alone.

I followed the sounds up the corridor to the end, our bedroom.  I put my head in the door and saw her naked, sitting on a man I didn’t recognise.  It was not hard to see what they were doing.

“Revenge sex, Marigold.  I can’t say I’m surprised.”

She squealed in surprise, or was it shock?

“When you’re done, pack your bags and leave.  You better not be here when I come back.  Goodbye, Marigold.”

I left, knowing she would not be able to catch me or follow me.  Whether she left or not didn’t matter.  I was never going back to that apartment again.

…

It took a week to unravel the conspiracy and see the reality.

The man with Marigold was one of Mellman’s recruits in a plan to get rid of me.  He had also recruited Marigold, who had tired of me because I was never home, and it was she who had taken the card key. 

Her ‘boyfriend’ was a graphics expert and had been the one to transplant my body and that of a random woman over a recording of him having sex with Marigold.  It took Gabrielle a week to work out how he did it and was more appreciative of his talent than she should be. 

He had used the card key to get in and was the one responsible for the unauthorised use of the mainframe.  He has also erased all the CCTV footage for the time of the transgression.

Wellman was silly enough to send the video to Marigold, thinking it would be untraceable and anonymous.  It may have seemed so to a novice like him, but it was easily unmasked by an expert like Gabrielle.

I never did understand why Mellman wanted to destroy my life because it couldn’t just be because my mother had used her influence to get me that job.  Not for a few months, anyway, when Eric had told Gabrielle that he had discovered that there had been another candidate for that role, a relative of Mellman’s.  Still, to me, it seemed over the top.

I could understand Marigold.  Perhaps if she had told me she didn’t want to be married to me anymore, I would have been disappointed, but I would have been sure she got a decent settlement, rather than what she ended up with.

But, in the end, I did get to do something I’d always wanted to do, and that was to try my hand at being a private detective.  Gabrielle had brought it up in one of our late-night conversations, the fact we were well suited to handling cases where people were wronged by deep fake videos and anonymously released revenge tapes.

We were both surprised but the number of people who called, texted, or emailed in the week after I posted an advertisement.

…

© Charles Heath 2023

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 42

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

The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

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

Chasing leads, maybe

…

A second later the light came on and I was temporarily blinded.

The woman had to be on the other side of the door, and coming into the room, I must have passed her. Her voice sounded quite old, so it must be the mother.

“Turn around, slowly.

I did. By that time my eyes had readjusted, and I could see a woman, still dressed, with what looked to be an Enfield WW1 rifle. Just as dangerous now as it was then, particularly at this close range.

“Mrs Quigley, I presume,” I asked. Remain polite and conversational and keep her from getting nervous.

“Who are you?”

“Sam Jackson.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Why would you presume to think it wasn’t?”

“You’re breaking into my house which means you’re a criminal, and criminals by nature are also liars. Why would I think you any different to the rest?”

Good question. “I knew your son.”

“Which one?”

“Adam.”

“He’s not here. He hasn’t been around since he gallivanted off overseas a few years back.”

“I saw him only a few days ago, in London. Not gallivanting, by the way, but with feet firmly planted on the ground.”

“He’s not here.”

“Do you know where he is?”

She didn’t know he was dead, and I didn’t think it was my business to tell her. That was Dobbin’s job, and I was surprised he hadn’t. Or, I only had her word for it he hadn’t.

“Are you hard of hearing.” Get into the middle of the room.”

I moved slowly into the middle, watching her edge slowly towards the writing desk while keeping the gun aimed at me. If I tried to run for it, and if she was any sort of shot, I’d be dead before I got three, possibly four paces. If I could get a shred of surprise.

I hadn’t seen the phone on the desk, and watched her pick up the receiver, and, with the same hand, started dialing a number.

“Put it down.” Another voice, another woman, coming from the doorway.

Jennifer.

With a gun in hand, pointed at the woman.

“What if I shoot him, or you?”

“You’ll be dead before either scenario happens. Just put it down. I’m not here to shoot anyone if I can help it.”

Of course, this was just like one of those scenes out of a comedic spy film. Guns pointing in all directions.

And, true to form, a click, and a voice. “You put your weapon down.”

He appeared out of the shadows and had the gun pointed straight at Jennifer’s head at very short range.

Adam Quigley, aka O’Connell, and very much alive.

Jennifer dropped her gun, but Adam didn’t take his gun off her.

“Hello Sam. How did you find me?”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

The A to Z Challenge – 2023 — G is for Gatecrashers

…

It was a cold, overcast, wet day.  Everywhere was wet from the last downpour, which made it difficult to take the shortcut across the grass in the park.  More rain was imminent.

I was, as usual, running late for the appointment, having not factored in train cancellations and unseasonal weather.

It was not far from where I entered the park, and I could see the bench was empty, which meant my contact was also running late.  Perhaps I might be saved a bollocking today.

For the last forty yards, the direct line of sight to the bench would be lost for a short time, and when I finally got it back in sight, someone was sitting on it, and it definitely was not the person I was meeting. It looked like a young girl, a university student, or a clerk.  Definitely not the usual contact. Not any more.

Protocol said that if there was a stranger at the meeting place, we were to walk away and reschedule.  I was not one for following the rules.

When on the final few yards, I felt my cell phone vibrate and pulled it out.  A message.  “Substituted contact with replacement given a very tight timeline.  She will brief you, her name is Heather Knowles, and the codeword for authentication is 1 spark.  The mission starts at the end of the briefing.  Play nice.”

I had no idea the department was recruiting so young, or perhaps I was used to working with many older people.

I sat down at the other end of the bench and could feel rather than see her looking at me.  I turned to look at her, a serious expression on her face.  No humour today, then.

“Heather?”

“Are you the bright spark?”

“Twenty years ago, maybe, but not today.”   She made it sound like an intended, thinly disguised insult.

“Let’s walk.”  She stood and inclined her head in the direction we would be going. 

I wondered if she had the same thought I did, a man walking in the park with a girl half his age.  It was odd that Charmaine, my usual handler, would make a meeting such as this look so out of place.  Perhaps she thought it might look like a father-daughter meeting.

“Charmaine told me you were one of her best operatives.”

Start with a compliment, that meant something a whole lot worse than I could imagine was about to happen.

“One of many, I wouldn’t say one of the best.  Not after the last operation.  Just to warn you, this call-up was unexpected.  My last mission went south, and I wasn’t expecting a recall so soon.”

Everything would have been fine if we had not been subject to on-the-spot oversight in the name of transparency, a new initiative by what we used to call ‘the powers that be’.  The person I was assigned to protect had been betrayed and had been killed, and I nearly died in the escape.  The sole survivor, just, I’d spent a month in the hospital and another three recuperating.

“As you are all too well aware, situations develop quickly, sometimes too quickly.  We have been given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, if the intel is correct, and we have no reason to believe it isn’t.  You are along for the ride because of your expert knowledge, but just a heads up, you are also being assessed for ongoing participation or retirement.

“You the assessor?”

“Me, no.  I’m relatively new, and this will be my first major operation.  Charmaine tells me that having you along will teach me very valuable lessons.”

As I assumed, babysitting.  Every now and then a senior officer was allotted a new recruit and told not to get him or her killed.  I’d managed to dodge that bullet, but not any more.  I just hoped it was something easy.  I remembered my first operation.  No one to guide me, just a jump into the deep end and you either sank or swum.  I shrugged.  “The message said the operation starts at the end of whatever this is.  What is it?”

“Let’s find a Cafe.  I could do with a coffee.”

“I read up on your case file notes for the last operation, that one where Jackson got the drop on all of us.  Crosschecked with other Intel, it seems that you were deliberately set up to fail.  Of course, while the evidence points to one particular person, we have no proof, and, of course, that person can find any number of excuses to dodge responsibility.  I’m sure you think you know who it is too.”

“I have one or two candidates in mind.”

She smiled when the waitress came over with the coffee and a small banoffee pie.  She’s offered to get me one, but my taste, boring as it was, ran to apple pies which they didn’t have.  Then, after she had gone, and Heather had tasted the coffee, she turned her attention back to me.

“The operation has two objectives, to draw out the mole, we’ve decided to call this person a mole, and to surprise Jackson in a place where he thinks he is totally safe.  Yes, a bold move on a slippery son-of-a-bitch, but this time, he’s not going to get away.”

Young and naive, I thought.  Jackson was always a slippery customer, and always when we just about had him on the hook.  Going back into the fray, up against him, the man with a thousand eyes and ears everywhere, so soon, was a little daunting.  And he would be expecting us.

“Few have tried, many have failed, myself included.  My specialist knowledge will only be how to escape alive when he turns the tables on us, yet again.”

She smiled.  “Oh, ye of little faith.  I come from a new generation of agents, we’re meaner, sneakier, and for this mission at least, we can shoot first and ask questions later.”

“Oversight?”

“Yes, well, he’s in for a treat, isn’t he when he finds out, well after the clock has struck twelve.  We’re going old school, and involving the need-to-know principle, and oversight just doesn’t need to know.”

“He’ll find out.  Everyone is a snitch looking for a favour these days.  Our service is looking more and more like the Stasi.”

Another of her winning smiles.  “All those who need to know, know, now.  That’s three.  The boss isn’t going to tell anyone, I’m certainly not, and I doubt you share anything with anyone.  What does the G, middle name, represent?”

“Need to know, and you don’t.  When is this operation taking place?”

“Tonight.  You have about 6 hours to fortify the nerves, and then there will be a briefing.  There are three others who will be along for the ride also, and I think you will approve.  Now, I’m afraid I can’t let you out of my sight until then, so tell me what you’d like to do.”

I had a suggestion, but I kept it to myself.  If she didn’t trust me, she should say so, but it didn’t bother me.  I had a trusty book of cryptic crosswords and an addiction to coffee.  Maybe I might even ask her to tell me more about herself.”

Six hours passed quickly, and when the time came, we were picked up in a plain white van and taken to a disused factory.  It seemed an odd place to have a team briefing.  But she was right about the support team.  They were well-known to me and were the best extraction team the department had.

The fact that we were using an extraction team told me the mission was going to be difficult if not very dangerous.  Anything regarding Jackson was.

“The plan is simple, Jake, your team covers the exits.  There are three.  We’re not stepping on eggshells this time. Just shoot anything that moves.  Given the location, there will not be any innocent bystanders to worry about.  Ken and I will go in and take the targets.  Once secure, we bring them back here for interrogation.  We all have a reason to bring Jackson down, but remember, we need him, and the person he’s meeting is alive.”

“Where is this happening?” I asked.

“Patience.  N9 one has a cell phone on them if you have to leave it behind.  No one is on their own until the op starts. It’s not a lack of trust, it’s keeping it all under wraps until we strike, every other time he’s seen us coming.  Not this time.  Let’s go.  I’m driving.”

I got it.  This was so secret, no one was supposed to know before we got there.  Charmaine must have thought long and hard about how every other operation had been compromised and brought it a fresh face to run it. What did bother me was the ‘we all have a reason to bring Jackson down…”

I guessed soon find out.

As darkness fell, we drove out of the city and towards the hills that surrounded the city, and it looked like we were heading to the haven of the rich, a community of cabins nestled in the woods, each with privacy, and security guards that kept it so.  I had been there once before to pay Jackson a visit and didn’t get past first base.  This was going to get interesting.

An hour later, very dark, very quiet, we were half a mile from the gatehouse on the one road in or out.  The van was parked, we changed into dark coveralls and black beanies, took two guns and spare ammo, and finally put in the comms devices.  Heather then gave the extraction team each a device.  “You can now see where the security guards are.  These guys are mercenaries, so don’t treat them with kid gloves.  We don’t need any of them interrupting the part.  Ken, let us know when you out have the gatehouse.”

Seconds later we were alone, the others disappearing into the forest.  The darkness was almost complete, any moonlight blocked out by the trees.  Heather also had a device and switched it on.  Immediately, eight blips came up on the screen, evenly spaced over what looked like a wide area.  The guards on patrol.

A crooked line came up also, with a different blip, what I thought must be us, and a path to the cabin where our targets were.  She pushed a button, and another blip appeared.  “The traitor,” was all she said before she headed into the forest. 

Over the next fifteen minutes, Ken reported the gatehouse was secure, and six of the eight blips disappeared from the screen.  I didn’t ask what that meant.

Then we came out of the forest into a clearing that had a cabin, with two cars parked out front.  “There are two personal guards for Jackson, one inside, one out.”

A quick scan located the outside guard over by the cars having a cigarette.  Obviously, they did not think that anyone was going to bother their boss tonight. Wrong. By the time he realised there was going to be trouble, he was down, trussed, and silenced.

“You take the back, I’ll go in the front.  Let me know when you’re ready to go in.”

Five minutes.  As I was about to step onto the porch, the other guard came out, totally unprepared, and I took him down, quickly and quietly the moment he stepped off the porch, and in the process of lighting a cigarette.  Smoking kills was very apt.

I told her I was ready.

“Now.”

We stepped into the cabin at the same time.  Jackson had a gun, but Heather shot it out of his hand before he could use it.  The other man, the traitor, was exactly who I thought it was.

He glared at me, then switched to Heather, the surprise turning to shock.

“Heather.”

“Hello, Daddy, fancy meeting you here.”

…

© Charles Heath  2023

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 1

I’d been on the starship for almost three hours when…

…

The captain was coming up from the earth station by transport, not wanting to trust the transporters, and I’d just finished the orientation of the ship by the second officer, and had arrived on the bridge to see various crew members hunched over their consoles.

The captain had told me, before stepping onto the transport, that we would be leaving the dock shortly after he arrived.

Nothing I’d seen so far had led me to believe it would be going anywhere, anytime soon.

Nevertheless, the crew briefing had run smoothly, the second officer assigned to correlate the complaints/problems list, and everyone else had taken their assigned positions. 

I was waiting for the captain, standing beside the ‘chair’, ready to hand over.  In any other situation, we would be off to an illustrious start.

Until the dulcet tones of the Chief Engineer rang through the bridge, uttering those fateful words, “the warp coil has had a catastrophic failure”.

This was at odds with another statement he had made earlier when I was in Engineering, and given I was told the Chief Engineer was prone to hyperbole; his statement ‘they just don’t make warp coils like they used to’ hadn’t exactly filled me with confidence, but I had been expecting we would be ready to depart.

I had been looking at the screen, an overlay of the window that looked out over space, or at this moment, the space dock, where there was a representation of the planets that were ‘out there’.

I had been curious about M75, but the helmsman, a rather taciturn chap who seemed to resent the fact he was assigned to this ship, just shrugged and said, “it’s something, somewhere, but not of much interest,” then went back to his console.

If this was Star Trek, we’d be ejecting the warp coil by now, but in the space dock, that didn’t seem to me to be a viable option.

“How long before we can get this bucket of bolts moving,” I ask the Chief.

“I’m going as fast as I can.”

Yes, words ripped right out of the script of a Star Trek episode, I thought. A sad case of life imitating art.

A strange whistling sound emanated from the speakers, then the whoosh of the elevator just before the doors opened. OK, new ship, squeaky doors, another item to be put on the ‘look at’ list after the shakedown cruise.

The Captain had arrived.

“Why are dock workers still on the ship, Number One.”

For a moment there, I thought I was talking to John Luc Picard.

“Faulty warp coil. You know how it goes, save a billion by outsourcing to the cheapest supplier.”

The captain didn’t appreciate my sardonic humour, or my apparent disdain in outsourcing what we had once built ourselves.

He gave me a frown, a slight shake of his head, then said, “I’ll be in my quarters. Let me know when we’re about to leave.”

He didn’t wait for acknowledgement and disappeared through another squeaky door. More repairs.

The Chief’s voice then came over the speaker. “I can give you impulse speed, warp speed will take a little longer.”

“Doesn’t that refer to miracles over the impossible,” I ask.

“Perhaps.  But in the meantime, I need a specific spanner and the replicators are down. So, now we have to fix them first, before moving on. Might take a while.”

I look around the crew, seeing their expectant faces drop with disappointment.

Outer space was going to have to wait a little longer.

…

© Charles Heath 2021

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 40

Here’s the thing…

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

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

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

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

 

The passage heading towards the marina was littered with fallen rocks, timber beams, and roofing material. Much of the damage was in this wing, where the marina had started falling apart.

It was a problem with the foundations. A long and costly investigation had found that the marinas foundations had been inadequately built on a shifting base, made worse by the seasonal water flow.

It was interesting to learn that the event that caused the start of the problems had not occurred in a hundred years, but had been noted in an early newspaper report, and only that it was a phenomenon, 

No one at the time had any interest in building there, and it was understood when the navy built its marina, there was no mention of anything untoward happening that would preclude the construction.

And, over the life of the project, nothing had happened. It was why, when the mall was being touted, no one really knew anything about flooding because it hadn’t happened in living memory.  That only came later, after the damage was done.

We reached the end of the passageway and found the stairs leading up to the walkway around the marina was closed off. Someone had pulled a board away and we could peer through the crack.

There was daylight beyond, and we could see the large cracks in the staircase, and along the walls either side.  There were two sets of stairs up both at the end of a mall passageway, and, in between, there were steps down into the carpark.  To one side of that was an elevator lobby, but the elevators would not be working.

But, just out of curiosity, I pressed the button.  The light came on, but nothing happened, and, a second later, it went out again.

I looked up, but Boggs had not moved from the top of the stairs.

These steps were not blocked by a barricade, but there would be some difficulty stepping over masonry that had fallen from the roof, which now had a gaping crack and a few pieces of concrete missing.  I could see the steel reinforcing and it was rusting.

A few years, all of it would eventually come down.

“You sure this is safe,” I asked.

“Been here a few times.  I reckon it hasn’t changed much in years.”

He was looking at the map again, and I peered over his shoulder.  The stairs were there but looking down we could only see as far as the landing.  There were cracked and broken tiles everywhere, and the handrail had been bent severely out of shape by a boulder now wedged in the rail.

Boggs put the map in his back pocket and said, “Follow me.”  He started walking slowly down the stairs, flashing his cell phone light ahead so we could see if there were any hazards.

At the landing, we looked further down the stairs, and these were cleaner.  Also, the wall which kept the marina out had a crack in it, and it was damp which meant water was seeping in.  The smell was of mold, and I wondered if that could be good for our health.

I followed him down to the first level of the carpark.  In the distance, looking back towards the front entrance of the mall, way in the distance was the slatted entrance gates, light seeping in through the cracks. 

Between us and those gates were several cars, crushed by a huge concrete beam that had fallen on them.  I remembered, then, that there had been a husband and wife in one of the cars at the time and they’d been killed.  Their children had been luckier, the youngest had to go to the restroom, and that minute delay had saved them.

Still, it would not be good seeing your parents killed in front of your eyes.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” I said and shuddered. 

They said there were ghosts, and I now believed them.

“What are we looking for?: I asked.

“Evidence of the underground river.”

“That would be long gone by now, since they built this lot over it, and some of it falling into it.”

“We shall see.” 

He then went down the next flight of steps to the bottom carpark, and I followed.  There was less debris on this level, but it was much darker down here, and with only Boggs’ cell phone light, we couldn’t see much else.

“That’s strange,” Boggs said, having taken a dozen or so steps to the right.

“What is?”  I wondered what his definition of the word strange was.

“There’s supposed to be an open section here where the wall fell away, pushed by the water flow last time it flooded.  The report said that a section here wasn’t anchored properly with formwork, hence the ease in which it was moved.”

I looked at the wall.  It seemed to be still intact to me.

Boggs pulled out a pocketknife and tapped it against the surface.

The false concrete chipped and fell away, and a closer inspection showed stippled plaster over plywood, very damp plywood.  Boggs extracted a knife and worked on the wall, clearing a foot square, the damp plaster easily peeling away.

A false wall, one that no one would think twice about if they were not looking for it.

Boggs then scraped sideways until the blade hit metal, then he scraped around it until a gate-type bolt was exposed.  It didn’t have a lock.  It was rusted shut, so Boggs found a rock and hit it a few times, shaking it loose.  He opened it, then tugged on it.

Was he expecting a door to open?

“Give us some help here.”

We both pulled on it, and it gave way, showering us in plaster pieces.  At least we weren’t smothered in dust.

As it opened, light flooded in, almost blinding me.

I let Boggs open it the rest of the way while my eyes adjusted.

Then I tentatively looked out.

From where we were standing, we could see the two levels of the marina walkway, broken away at this end above the doorway, and a big hole in the side wall of what was the marina pool.  We could see, and smell the seawater, and beyond, the ocean.

Looking down, there was a sheer drop of about 30 feet, and under us, there was an opening.  At that 30 feet was flowing water, and through the water, I thought I could see clothes.

“Is that a body down there?”

It looked like one.

“No.  Don’t think so.  Someone probably threw a clothed dummy down there for fun, once when this was open.  I’d say it was closed up to make the place safer. Anyway, we’ll soon find out.  We’re going down to have a look.”

© Charles Heath 2020