Category: Thriller

“Echoes From The Past”, the past doesn’t necessarily stay there


What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

…

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

The Cinema of My Dreams – It ended in Sorrento – Episode 60

One less enemy to worry about

…

There was no doubt at that point that Vittoria and the fake countess were working together, and Vittoria knew who she was.

I helped Juliet sit up against the wall and fetched her a wet towel to put on the back of her head.  After a minute or so she seemed better.

“Did you know the countess wasn’t the countess?” I asked her.

“I just did as I was told.  I think we’re both being used in one way or another, Evan.”

I was beginning to think that too.

Vittoria, of course, had to protest, “What do you mean the countess is a fake.  She is not.  If anyone would know it would be me.”

“Can I shoot her now?” Cecelia asked.

“Do something with her, but don’t leave a mess.”

Cecelia hit her with the gun butt, and she slid to the floor, unconscious.  She was not going to be of any use to us, so it would be a call to Alfie to get the cleaners.

“What the hell was that for?” Juliet was upset.

“Did you go to a farm when Vittoria and the fake Countess went to talk to a man called Dicostini?  Think long and hard before you answer.”

She did.  “I can’t say for sure, I was told to stay in the car.”

“At a farm, another vineyard?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think they made you stay in the car?”

Another moment to consider the question.  It wasn’t hard, even for her.  So I couldn’t tell you who it was we saw.  They didn’t trust me.  It seems everyone I meet or know doesn’t trust me.”

“Do you honestly think that woman is your mother?”

“Honestly?  No.”

“Well, I don’t think she is either, but I’ve got people working on it.  And, like it or not, you’re working with us now.  Please don’t let me down.”

She sat there for a few seconds or perhaps it was a minute, during which I found I was holding one of her hands.  It was an odd feeling that went through me.

Not the time to get distracted.

“Why are you giving me a chance?”

“Let’s just say I’m hoping you’ll find a way to redeem yourself before I have to hand you over to the authorities.”

“And if I do?”

“I might give you a ten-minute head start.”

I tied up Vittoria so she couldn’t get free or make a noise, then called Alfie and told him we had a package to pick up.

Cecelia tidied up the room so it wouldn’t look like there’d been a kidnapping, and then we put Vittoria in one of the beds and set her out like she was asleep/

If the housemaids came they’d be none the wiser.

Juliet recovered and I cleaned the wound.

It was then she worked it out.  “So, if that other countess was fake, where’s the real countess?”

“Being held where you went yesterday, or another place owned by that man.”

“When did you make this discovery?”

“After speaking to Anna.  She doesn’t know the real countess is missing, nor does anyone else know there is another person also missing, which is basically why Cecelia and I are here.”

“What do expect me to do?”

“Help me find them.  There will be two teams and a few properties to search.  And now that we’re finished here, we’re leaving.”

I helped her to her feet.  “Can you walk?”

“I got hit on the head, not shot in the leg.”  She sounded a little annoyed.  I was not surprised.

“Good.  Save that anger you’re feeling.  You’re going to need it.”

© Charles Heath 2023

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 14

It’s still a battle of wits, but our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

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 the enemy if it is the enemy, doesn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

 

It was the smell, all hospitals seemed to smell the same.  Antiseptic.

And the first face I saw was Breeman’s.

How?

If  I could speak, which for some reason I knew I couldn’t, the first question would be, ‘Where am I?’

“Welcome back,” Breeman said.  “You gave us a few days of grave concern at the crash.  You’re in the base hospital, and lucky to be alive.”

OK, a few days missing, but lucky to survive?  I got out without a scratch, or did I?

I looked sideways and down.  Nothing but bandages, and, yes, plaster.  Broken bones?

“How you survived being thrown from the wreckage is anyone’s guess.  A search party found you last night, almost dead.  Broken legs, shattered shoulder, ribs, even a skull fracture.  The doctors are astonished.  So am I.”

She was holding my hand, a very unlike commanding officer thing to so, and it looked like a tear in her eye.  Perhaps our so-called casual fling was a little more than that.

“But you rest.  I’ll come back later when you’re better.”

Last I remember, except for some sore ribs, I’d been intact, and unharmed from the jump out of the helicopter.

Now, it appeared, I was the very epitome of a crash victim.  What the hell had happened to me from the time I was in the cell, getting that injection, and now?

Clearly, the people in the other camp didn’t want me to die.  But, surely they realized I would tell Breeman about my experiences at the camp.

Or not.  If anything, what I would have to tell them would be considered the ramblings of someone in very bad condition, mind wandering in the desert while fighting for his life, and then on return, ramblings fuelled by very high doses of painkillers.

And the fact none of it could be corroborated.  It was unlikely any flyover would locate the base if anyone was foolish enough to fly in the no-fly zone.

And, pushing the paranoia limits, I guessed that they would have someone in the base who was feeding them information, that’s how they knew so much about what was going on here.

I would have to lie low and choose my friends carefully.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 46

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

It was all over in the blink of an eye.  The swat team had secured the scene, zip ties, and shoved me into a corner with two burly men standing over me, guns ready in case I tried to escape.

Before the next wave, I had time to consider what just happened.  Obviously, Dobbin or Jan had set the scene.  She lied about being able to track Maury, they found him, brought him back to the room, tortured him, and then killed him.  The few seconds I had to look at the body showed signs of intense interrogation.

A side benefit was to stitch me up for the crime.  The fact the police were at the door a minute after I’d arrived meant they had been waiting for me to come back.  That pointed to Jan as the informant.

But to what end.  If they considered I was the only one who could find the USB, why let me get caught by the police.

Jennifer would be safe.  She had been in the foyer a full ten minutes before I arrived, and was sitting in a corner when I passed her.  If they knew she was involved, she would have been missing.  Hopefully, she would have seen the swat team arrive, and leave.

A few minutes after the swat leader spoke into his two-way radio, a middle-aged woman and a young man in his late 20’s arrived, the woman first, the young man behind her.  A Detective Chief Inspect, or Superintendent, and Detect Sergeant.  He was too well dressed to be a constable,.  One old, one new.

The young man spoke to the swat leader, the woman surveyed the scene, looked at the body, then at me, shaking her head slightly.

I tried to look anonymous if not invisible.  The fact they had found no ID on me would not count well for my situation, or so I had been told.  Nor was the fact I preferred not to speak.

Never volunteer information.

A nod from her and the two swat guards took several steps back.  She pulled a chair over from the side of the bed, and once three feet away, sat down.

“I’m told you are refusing to answer any questions.”

“Refusing to answer and simply not talking is not the same thing.”

“You do speak.”

“When appropriate.”

“What are you doing here?”

“This is my room, along with a young lady, who as you can see, is not here.  That much you should have gleaned from the front desk.”

She pulled a card out of her pocket.  “Alan, and Alice Jones.  Not your real names I suspect., nor very original.  Do you know who the man on the bed is?”

“He told me his name is Maury, not sure of his first name, but that wasn’t his real name.  His other name was Bernie Salvin, but that might also be a fake.  He was one of two men who were in charge of my training.”

“For what?”

“I suspect it might be above your pay grade.”

If she was shocked at that statement she didn’t show it.  In fact, I would not be surprised if she had suspected it was likely it had to do with the clandestine security services.  Torture victims were not an everyday occurrence, or at least I hoped for her sake they weren’t.

She gave a slight sigh.  “And who do you work for?”

“There’s the rub.  I have no idea.  I’ve just been caught in the middle of a bloody awful mess.”

The second rule is always to tell the truth, or as close to it as possible so you don’t have to try and remember a web of lies, and trip yourself up at later interviews.  And keep it simple.

“So, no one I should be calling to verify who you are?”

“No.  Not unless you can revive the man on the bed.  I’m only new, been on the job after training for about a week.  I was part of a team running a surveillance exercise when a shop exploded and the target disappeared.  I’ve been trying to find out what happened.”

Her expression whanged, telling me she was familiar with the event.

“Do you find out anything?”

“Only that the would be a body in the shop, a journalist, that was trying to hand over some sensitive information.   I have no idea what it was, or who he was.  The target, whom I suspected was there for the handover, is now also dead. So, quite literally, two dead ends.  Do I look like someone who could do that to a man?”  I nodded in the direction of the body.

“You’d be surprised who was capable of what.  Do you have a real name?”

“I do, but I won’t be telling you.  You have my work name, that’s as much as I can volunteer.”

“A few days in a dank hole might change that.”

“A few days in a dank hole would be like a holiday compared to the week I’m currently having.”

She smiled, or I thought it was a smile.  “I daresay you might.”

There was a loud noise and some yelling coming from outside the door.  A man burst into the room, two constables in his wake.

A man I didn’t recognize.

She stood.  “Who are you?”

“Richards, MI5.”  He showed her a card, which she glanced at.  She’d no doubt seen them before.

“We’ll be taking over from here.”

“This person?”  She nodded her head in my direction.

“Leave him.  We’ll take care of him.”

“Johnson, Jacobs, let’s leave the room to them.  We’re done here.  Places to be, gentlemen.”  She nodded in my direction.  “Good luck, you’re going to need it.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

First Dig Two Graves – the editor’s final draft – Day 12

This book has been sitting in the ‘to-be-done’ tray, so this month it is going to get the final revision.

…

Today we are in Vienna, at the hotel where Zoe was staying trying to get information out of the hotel staff. This leads to a contact on a riverboat that goes from Vienna to Bratislava in Slovakia.

Yes, we’re off to Bratislava, chasing Zoe down.

In the background, we have the shadowy Worthington, pulling endless strings, gathering information on her whereabouts for John. He had deduced that if John can find her, she will pause long enough for Worthington’s hit team to get there.

John does not realize he has ulterior motives, but, then John doesn’t fully understand the spy business.

John also tasks his newfound private investigators to track her down, and Isobel doesn’t disappoint.

Then, a photo of her from Worthington arrives, she is discovered, and, as you can surmise, all hell breaks loose.

I’ve always wanted to go to Bratislava, ever since I saw it in a James Bond movie. That showed it had trams, and I’m one of those people who love trams, trains, buses, and anything that reeks of travel.

I would also like to hop a boat and travel up the river, perhaps from Vienna to Bratislava, or beyond.

One day.

…

Monday has long since disappeared

Well, it’s official, I don’t like Mondays.

I’ve been procrastinating since last Thursday, telling myself I have to get the next part of one of my stories written, but I keep putting it off. I have to go to Africa, the Niger Delta to be exact. It can wait, I’m not ready for the steaming jungle and hostile villagers yet.

I didn’t do anything on Sunday, and, as a writer, I guess that’s not very good. I’m supposed to be writing a page, or a hundred or thousand words a day, just to keep the juices flowing.

And, suddenly, it’s now Thursday again, or is it Friday – the days are all one big blur.

I’m not in the mood. I sit and stare at the computer screen, and nothing is coming. Is this the first sign of writer’s block?

I dig out several articles on how to overcome it, and start putting their suggestions into action. No. No. Maybe.

No. I don’t think it’s writer’s block.

Perhaps I need some inspiration so I go to my tablet playlist, spend 10 minutes trying to find the headphones carelessly discarded by one of my grandchildren the last time they were here.

And, yes, the tablet was left in the middle of playing a Minecraft video which has drained the battery. Now I can’t find the charger!

Back at the computer, holding a dead tablet, and a pair of headphones, inspiration is as far away as the mythical light at the end of the tunnel. Today it is an oncoming express train.

Perhaps a pen and paper will work.

An idea pops into my head ….

Is it possible the passing of a weekend could change the course of your life? An interesting question, one to ponder as I sat on the floor of a concrete cell, with only the sound of my breathing, and the incessant screams coming from a room at the end of the corridor.

It was my turn next. That was what the grinning ape of a guard said in broken English. He looked like a man who relished his job.

What goes through your mind at a time like this, waiting, waiting for the inevitable?

Will I survive, what will they do to me, will it hurt?

The screaming stops abruptly, and a terrible silence falls over the facility.

Then, looking in the direction of where the screams had come from, I hear the clunk of the door latch being opened, and then the slow nerve-tingling screech of rusty metal as the door opens slowly.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, no.

No writer’s block. But I have to stop watching late-night television

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

First Dig Two Graves – the editor’s final draft – Day 11

This book has been sitting in the ‘to-be-done’ tray, so this month it is going to get the final revision.

…

We are now up to the part where we introduce Isobel properly and find out why such a talented person is drifting in the doldrums of Rupert’s private detective agency.

Aside from being a once high-flying legal eagle, she is also a computer hacker, or perhaps that’s what she evolved into in a devil finds work for idle hands type person.

This hacking is going to be useful, but it’s also going to bring problems, especially when she starts tracking down Zoe.

And, it seemed she had struck up a dark online relationship with another hacker with the handle Tzar.  What are the odds he is Russian?

She’s digging for information, and Tzar helps, and, suddenly it appears, briefly, then is gone, with a warning.  Stop digging.

And if she doesn’t.

People were coming for her.

Meanwhile, in the basement, Zoe has had enough time to devise a mask that might stave of the effects of the gas long enough to affect an escape.

And, it almost works, the mask that is.

She manages to get past all of the guards, but Romanov is waiting.

He doesn’t kill her, but he does give her some information, then leaves.  He knows how dangerous she can be, especially when wounded.

…

“The Devil You Don’t”, she was the girl you would not take home to your mother!

Now only $0.99 at https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.

Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.

If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.

At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.

newdevilcvr6

The cinema of My Dreams – It ended in Sorrento – Episode 58

It goes exactly as planned

…

We were monitored from the moment we left the hotel.  Cecelia had taken up her vantage point, and watched as we came out the front door.  Two minutes later she said, quietly, “You’ve got two, man and woman.  The woman is in communication with someone.  Be careful.”

Francesca didn’t seem to have a care in the world.  I suspected she had her phone on so those following us could keep track of when they lost us, but I wouldn’t be dodging and weaving this morning.

“What do you think our chances are of getting snatched off the street in a white van,” I asked her, after about 10 minutes.

“Why?”

“I’ve seen a few.  Of course, they might just be delivery vans, and white is a common colour.  Perhaps I’m just being paranoid.”

“Perhaps you are.”  She gave me a curious look, enough to make me think she might think there might be trouble.

“What happened to Cecelia?”

Juliet was outside the hotel, coming back from a café not far up the road.  I noted she had not bought coffee for the other two women.

“Out on a run.  She’s one of these fitness freaks, or perhaps it has something to do with keeping in shape for the movies.”

Juliet looked Francesca up and down with the eye of a jealous woman, or so I wanted to believe.  It could be that she simply viewed her with suspicion, much the same as I would in her place.

She knew me well enough to know Francesca was not there simply as a visiting friend.  But just how curious would she be.

“Another actress friend of yours?”

Francesca views Juliet with a similar look of contempt.

Francesca looked at me.  “Who is this woman and what is she talking about.  You obviously know each other.”

“Is it that recognisable?  This is Juliet, and ye, far back in a long-forgotten past we did spend some time together.  And lately, for some strange reason, we keep running into each other. Other than that, she’s staying with the countess and her mother.”

“You brought her to see the countess?   Is that wise?”

“No.  But I’ve had a long talk to Francesca, that’s her name by the way, and she’s working with people who have the same goal as I have, protecting the countess and making sure she gets to the signing.”

“Who are her people?”

“Need to know Juliet.”

“Well, this is going to be a cat amongst the pigeon’s moment, Evan.  You’re up to something, I know it.”

Francesca looked at her, then me, and went to say something, then didn’t.  I wished, at that moment, that I could read minds.

In my ear, I could hear Cecelia.  “They’ve stopped at the café just up from the hotel and the woman is talking earnestly into the phone.  She is probably calling for reinforcements.”

“A white van, no doubt,” I said.

Francesca was beside me.  “What about a white van?  Did you see one?”

“No.  Just muttering to myself.”

Juliet went first as we went into the hotel, over to the elevator, and then up to the room floor.  The short distance to the room was slow, running into several other guests who were going down to the lobby.

Juliet was on first-name terms with them.

Cecelia was back.  “As you said.  A white van went down the alley to the back of the hotel.  The two are staying put at the café.  It’s either a delivery or your ride.  What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing.”  Alfie’s voice came on.

“What are you doing here?”

“Joining the party.  Leave the van to me.  If it is involved, we’ll be on it.  If they take any one of the three, and they take their phones, we’ll have a trace.  At any rate, I’ve got a car, and will follow the van, if necessary.”

“Ever been told about a party, and then not get an invite,” I asked no one in general.

Juliet gave me a strange look then unlocked the door, went in, I followed, and Francesca came in last and closed the door behind her.

The countess was sitting at the table and looked up.  She didn’t recognise Francesca or if she did, she was a good actress.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“A woman who claims she has been hired to protect you too.  There seems to be a few of us.”

“Protect or kill?”  She stood and backed away.  “Why did you bring her here?”

“The old adage, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.  She’s better here than out there,” I waved my hand in the general direction of the street.

Francesca didn’t move, and, better still, didn’t produce a gun from her handbag.

“Who do you work for?” the countess asked.

“Anna von Burkehardt.  She is very keen for you to make it to the signing alive.  She also told us that she would like to have a chat about what you’re going to be doing with the property once the documents are signed.  She would like to make you an offer.  One, I believe, you can’t refuse.”

It sounded reasonable to me.  What wasn’t was that she hadn’t moved from the door.  That was a bad sign.

Cecelia again.  “I’m on the floor, three hostiles heading to your door.  Do you want me to stop them?”

“No.”

Francesca looked at me.  “What do you mean no?”

“No, she can’t refuse it, like you said.”

The countess didn’t look particularly impressed with either of us.  “That hag has no interest in making any offers other than putting a bullet in the back of my head.  Take her away, Evan.  She had no interest in protecting me.  And, because of your incompetence, now Anna knows where I am.

I saw Francesca turn the handle of the door and quickly step to one side as it burst open.  Standing on the side expecting such an entry, I saw the men come in weapons in hand, yelling for us to get on the floor.

Cecelia was in my ear again.  “What do you want me to do?”

“Wait.  But be ready.”

In the confusion, Francesca was too busy acting the part of a hostage, with adequate parts of fear and cringing on the floor.

One of the men pointed his gun at me.  I was not the target.

I just realised that Vittoria was not in the room, so she was outside.

“Watch out for Vittoria,” I said.

Teo men grabbed the countess and gagged her.  The one pointing the gun at me went back to the door and looked out.  He waved his gun to say the coast is clear, and they quickly went out.

“Let them go.  Alf, you better not lose them.”

“I won’t.”

Three minutes and it was over. 

I got up and sat against the wall, and watched Francesca slowly raise her head and look around.

When her eyes reached me, she didn’t see my angry face looking at her, she saw a silenced gun pointed at her head.

“What the hell…”

The door opened again, and Cecelia came in, gun aimed, ready to shoot anything that moved.  It too, ended up on Francesca.

“One chance.  The next thing you tell me better be the truth or I will shoot you dead where you lie.  Am I clear?”

© Charles Heath 2023