Memories of the conversations with my cat – 93

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

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This is Chester. We’re getting by during the ‘stay at home’ order.

I’m doing just that, though it sometimes feels like I’m in jail, on the inside looking out.

“Now you know how I feel”, Chester tells me, after jumping up on the window ledge to look out the window, trying to see what had caught my interest.

I don’t tell him I’m basically staring into space.

Except, a car passes, not fast, not slow, but much like the rest of the traffic that passes by. Or used to. With the order to stay at home, and the fact schools are not open, there have been fewer and fewer cars passing by.

“Didn’t that car…” Chester mutters.

He’s right. The same car just went back the other way. Slow, but not too slow.

“Perhaps’s he’s looking for a house, a particular address.”

We watch and wait.

Five minutes later the car has returned and stops outside my window. A man gets out the passenger side, says something to the driver, then closes the door. He starts walking back up the street from where the car had just come.

The car drives off, then a minute later is back, and parks on the other side of the road. We can see the driver. Not the sort of person you’d want to need on a dark night. Tattoos on his arm, and smoking a cigarette, negligently stopping ask on the road below his window.

“He’s watching,” Chester says.

“He’s a lookout?”

We’re both thinking the same. A crime is being committed. They’ve scoped the street for an unattended house, a rarity for obvious reasons, though these days robbers rob the house while you’re still in it.

We wait. Three minutes later the other man comes running very quickly to the car, jumps in and they drive off very quickly before the man had closed the door.

Seconds later another man appears with a baseball bat in his hand.

“Close call,” Chester says, interest now waning. He jumps down. “Pity they didn’t catch the robber.”

Perhaps. But one thing is for sure, those robbers will not be back.

Diversion over, back to boredom. Chester has gone back to one of his hiding spots. I’m going to do another crossword.

Six months is going to be a long, long, long, long time.

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 59

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

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

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

Things are about to get complicated…

With Jan safely in custody, probably for about 15 minutes when Dobbin discovered she was in police hands, Jennifer and I were free to chase up O’Connell and maybe we would also find Anna.

It was a long shot at best.

But we had to find out more about Anna Jacovich. For that, we would have to go back to the office and talk to Joanne. I told Jennifer what I intended to do and dropped her at the safe house for some much-needed rest before we went after O’Connell.

Then, back in the car, I called the number I had for Joanne.

“Sam.”

“Memorised my number?”

“I like to know who’s calling before I answer.”

“Then this isn’t a restricted line?”

“Restricted enough.”

“I found your little toy?”

Did I hear a sigh?

“You know the world we live in Sam, trust no one not even your mother. Hard for me to trust or not trust her, she passed away when I was seven. Monica said you were good. What can I do for you?”

“A full workup on Anna Jacovich. I’m coming into the office now, and will be there in about half an hour.”

“No pressure then?”

“Not at all.”

“Try not to irritate security this time.”

I’m sure I saw a grim expression on the face of the soldier that had been there the last time I tried to run the gauntlet, and then disappointment when my card worked. I signed in and put the name of the department I was visiting down as Research.

When he asked for a name, I gave him Joanne’s. No doubt he would call her long before I got to her.

She met me at the second level of defence and then took me to a room where two folders sat at opposite ends of a table, two desk lamps shining light down on them. The rest of the room was in darkness.

When she shut the door, I said, “Please tell me there in;t a firing squad in black camouflage just waiting to shoot me.”

She smiled. “If it was more sensitive information, I’d let you read it, then have you shot. Not today.

That was a relief. Oddly, I believed that she would if the circumstances warranted it. Joanne was scary, nor scary than Jan. It’s the quiet ones you had to worry about.”

We sat.

“Read. Then I’ll answer questions.”

For the ten minutes, it took me to discover that Anna was a biochemist herself, and had worked in a not-so-secret government laboratory that had been unmasked with disastrous results, adding another dimension to the problem. I was beginning to think she might be the one who created the monster and had set her husband up to take the blame.

If that was the case, she was never going to pass it on to O’Connell or sell it to him, other than to take the money and run. If that was the case, Severin knew it was her all along, and how dangerous she was.

But and there was a big but in all of this. She needed an accomplice to get to England, which was O’Connell. Now he was no longer needed…

Yes, she would also need both Severin and Maury off her tail, and that had been taken care of.

Jan? Unless I completely misread her, it was not possible she could be the accomplice; she was doing what Dobbin requested. Or had she? Dobbin did say she was able to make executive decisions on the fly.

“The threat isn’t O’Connell. He’s just a pawn.”

“Not just a pretty face then?”

“I never regard my face as pretty.”

She shook her head. “It’s Anna. She played Severin and Maury, she played Dobbin, and she played Dobbin’s little toy soldier, O’Connell. Or Quigley I believe his real name is. I hesitate to say O’Connell played you.”

“Call a dog a dog, Joanne. If I had more experience and more information I might have seen that. You can’t keep people in the dark, and then expect miracles.”

“I’m the messenger, Sam.”

“I’ve been known to shoot messengers, just because I can.”

“Save your bullets for the bad guys.”

“How do I know you and Monica are not the bad guys?”

Another shake of the head. “OK. You’ve passed the scepticism test, Sam. Now put it away. We have to work together on this. It’s a condition for continuing to work on the case.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I don’t need to answer that. But, I get it. You’re a self-starter and will keep at it, with or without us. I can see why people like you. To me, your just another dangerous amateur.”

There were words I could say, but judging by the reek of self-aggrandisement, it would not penetrate the thick hide.

I smiled. “Not noted for your charm then.”

“No. Where is Jan?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play games, Sam. They don’t become you. You went to see Severin, but he ended up dead, and she shot him. Why?”

“You read this file?” I picked it up and dropped it on the table.

She was the sort that read the first page, the preamble, and the last page, the result or desired result.

“I did.”

“Then you know why, as for Jan, if you know I was there when Severin was shot, you’d know where Jan is.”

“She disappeared into the trees. And no doubt in the wind. You should know she’s a trained MI5 assassin on loan to Dobbin.”

Who was now in jail somewhere pending the Detective Inspectors leisure, unless she filed a report. If she did, she would be out now, and looking for O’Connell and Anna.

“Then how should I know?”

She shrugged. “I thought I’d ask. I’m not sure I like having to peel away the layers of this story one by one.”

“Be more forthcoming.” I stood. I had what I needed. “If that’s all, I’ll go on with the job.”

“O’Connell?”

“He’s probably dead by now, but I have to find him, one way or another.”

“Keep me in the loop. Monica wants to know.”

“Of course.”

…

Writing a book in 365 days – My story 38

More about my story

At the heart of the story is the fictional Coup d’état, sometimes used by nefarious elements, but in this case, it is orchestrated by a group of people who wish to rid themselves of a corrupt and brutal regime. It is useful to look at some of the elements and weave these into the story.

This is not a blueprint for executing such a process; it is merely a guide to understanding what it is and why the people in the story felt they had to resort to it.

…

The Tumultuous Path of a Coup d’état: Understanding Its Mechanics, Motivations, and Risks

The phrase “coup d’état” – a sudden, often violent, seizure of power from a government – conjures images of military might and political upheaval. While usually associated with historical events, understanding its core mechanics, the reasons behind such desperate gambits, and the factors that contribute to their success or failure is crucial for comprehending political instability and the fragility of power.

What Exactly is a Coup d’état?

At its heart, a coup d’état (French for “stroke of state”) is an illegal and unconstitutional overthrow of a government, typically by a small group, most often from within the existing state apparatus. Unlike a revolution, which involves widespread popular participation and aims for fundamental societal change, a coup is generally swift, decisive, and carried out by an elite faction – often military officers, but sometimes political figures or intelligence agencies.

Key characteristics include:

Speed and Surprise: Coups rely on catching the existing leadership off guard.
Limited Scope: They usually target the top echelons of power, aiming to replace leaders rather than dismantle the entire system immediately.
Use of Force or Threat of Force: While not always bloody, the potential for violence is inherent.
Internal Actors: The plotters are typically insiders who have access to state resources and institutions.

Why Might a Coup Be Pursued?

The motivations behind attempting a coup d’état can be varied and often deeply rooted in perceived grievances and aspirations. Some common drivers include:

Discontent with the Current Leadership: This can stem from perceived corruption, incompetence, authoritarianism, or failure to address national crises (economic, social, or security).
Desire for Political Power: Ambitious individuals or factions may see a coup as the fastest and most direct route to seizing control.
Ideological Differences: A group may believe the current government’s policies or ideology are detrimental to the nation and seek to impose their own vision.
Ethnic or Regional Grievances: In diverse nations, a particular group might feel marginalized or oppressed and attempt to seize power to assert their dominance or secure their interests.
External Influence: Foreign powers may sometimes support or instigate coups to install friendly regimes or destabilize adversaries.

What is Needed to Make a Coup d’état Work?

A successful coup d’état is a meticulously planned and executed operation that requires a confluence of specific elements:

A Committed and Organized Core Group: This is the engine of the coup. They need a clear plan, leadership, and a unity of purpose.
Control of Key State Institutions: This is paramount. Access to and control over the military, police, intelligence agencies, and vital communication networks are essential for neutralizing opposition and projecting authority.
Disruption of Communications: Cutting off or controlling communication channels prevents the existing government from rallying support or issuing counter-orders.
Neutralization of Key Leaders: The swift arrest, detention, or elimination of the head of state, key ministers, and loyal military commanders is crucial to preventing organized resistance.
Public Apathy or Support (or at least acquiescence): While coups are not revolutions, the general populace’s reaction can be a significant factor. If the public is indifferent, divided, or even sympathetic to the coup plotters’ initial message, it can significantly ease their path.
Rapid Consolidation of Power: Once the initial seizure is complete, the plotters must quickly establish their authority, issue decrees, and begin to govern to prevent a vacuum or counter-coup.
Legitimizing Narrative: Even in an illegal act, plotters often try to frame their actions as necessary for the greater good, using propaganda to justify their takeover.

What Lets a Coup d’état Work or Fail?

The success or failure of a coup d’état is a delicate balance, with numerous factors tipping the scales:

Factors Contributing to Success:

Overwhelming Military Support: If the majority of the armed forces, especially elite units, back the coup, it’s very difficult for the existing government to resist.
Weakness of the Current Regime: A government that is already unpopular, fractured, and lacking in popular legitimacy is more vulnerable.
Effective Intelligence and Secrecy: The element of surprise is a powerful weapon. If the plot is kept secret until the last moment, the government has little time to react.
Swift and Decisive Action: Hesitation or botched initial moves can give the government time to regroup and retaliate.
Lack of Coordinated Opposition: If loyalist forces are disorganized or divided, they are less likely to mount an effective counter-attack.
International Non-Intervention: If major global powers remain neutral or even tacitly support the coup, it can increase its chances of survival.

Factors Leading to Failure:

Loyalist Resistance: If a significant portion of the military or security forces remains loyal to the government and can effectively organize resistance, the coup can be crushed.
Popular Uprising: While not a direct cause, widespread popular mobilization against the coup can create significant challenges and force the plotters to overextend their resources.
Internal Divisions Among Plotters: Disagreements within the coup leadership can lead to indecision, infighting, and ultimately, collapse.
Infiltration and Betrayal: If the plot is discovered prematurely or key members betray the plan, it can lead to the arrest of the plotters.
Ineffective Planning and Execution: Poorly organized coups, marked by confusion and disarray, are easily thwarted.
International Condemnation and Intervention: Strong international opposition, sanctions, or even direct intervention can undermine a coup’s legitimacy and effectiveness.
Failure to Consolidate Power: If the plotters fail to quickly establish control over essential services and institutions, they can find themselves in a precarious position.

In conclusion, a coup d’état is a high-stakes gamble that, while seemingly decisive in its initial moments, is fraught with uncertainty. Its success hinges on a complex interplay of internal political dynamics, military loyalty, strategic execution, and the ever-unpredictable reaction of the population and the international community. Understanding these elements provides a critical lens through which to analyze political instability and the enduring struggle for power in various nations.

Searching for locations: New York, USA

After arriving latish from Toronto, and perhaps marginally disappointed that while in Toronto, the ice hockey didn’t go our way, we slept in.

Of course, the arrival was not without its own problems. The room we were allocated was on the 22nd floor and was quite smallish. Not a surprise, but we needed space for three, and with the fold-out bed, it was tight but livable.

Except…

We needed the internet to watch the Maple Leafs ice hockey game. We’d arrive just in time to stream it to the tv.

But…

There was no internet. It was everywhere else in the hotel except our floor.

First, I went to the front desk and they directed me to call tech support.

Second, we called tech support and they told us that the 22nd-floor router had failed and would get someone to look at it.

When?

It turns out it didn’t seem to be a priority. Maybe no one else on the floor had complained

Third, I went downstairs and discussed the lack of progress with the night duty manager, expressing disappointment with the lack of progress.

I also asked if they could not provide the full service that I would like a room rate reduction or a privilege in its place as compensation.

He said he would check it himself.

Fourth, after no further progress, we called the front desk to advise there was still no internet. This time we were asked if we wanted a room on another floor, where the internet is working. We accepted the offer.

The end result, a slightly larger, less cramped room, and the ability to watch the last third of the Maple Leaf’s game. I can’t remember if we won.

We all went to bed reasonably happy.

After all, we didn’t have to get up early to go up or down to breakfast because it was not included in the room rate, a bone of contention considering the cost.

I’ll be booking with them directly next time, at a somewhat cheaper rate, a thing I find after using a travel wholesaler to book it for me.

As always every morning while Rosemary gets ready, I go out for a walk and check out where we are.

It seems we are practically in the heart of theaterland New York. Walk one way or the other you arrive at 7th Avenue or Broadway.

Walk uptown and you reach 42nd Street and Times Square, little more than a 10-minute leisurely stroll. On the way down Broadway, you pass a number of theatres, some recognizable, some not.

Times Square is still a huge collection of giant television screens advertising everything from confectionary to TV shows on the cable networks.

A short walk along 42nd street takes you to the Avenue of the Americas and tucked away, The Rockefeller center and its winter ice rink.

A few more steps take you to 5th Avenue and the shops like Saks of Fifth Avenue, shops you could one day hope to afford to buy something.

In the opposite direction, over Broadway and crossing 8th Avenue is an entrance to Central Park. The approach is not far from what is called the Upper West Side, home to the rich and powerful.

Walk one way in the park, which we did in the afternoon, takes you towards the gift shop and back along a labyrinth of laneways to 5th Avenue. It was a cold, but pleasant, stroll looking for the rich and famous, but, discovering, they were not foolish enough to venture out into the cold.

Before going back to the room, we looked for somewhere to have dinner and ended up in Cassidy’s Irish pub. There was a dining room down the back and we were one of the first to arrive for dinner service.

The first surprise, our waitress was from New Zealand.

The second, the quality of the food.

I had a dish called Steak Lyonnaise which was, in plain words, a form of mince steak in an elongated patty. It was cooked rare as I like my steak and was perfect. It came with a baked potato.

As an entree, we had shrimp, which in our part of the world are prawns, and hot chicken wings, the sauce is hot and served on the side.

The beer wasn’t bad either. Overall given atmosphere, service, and food, it’s a nine out of ten.

It was an excellent way to end the day.

Plots ripped from newspaper headlines – 3

Truth is stranger than fiction

…

Beyond the Headlines: When the News Reads Like a Thriller Plot

Ever scroll through the news, jump from one headline to another, and feel a growing sense of unease that isn’t quite about any single story, but lingers in the space between them? You’re not alone. As someone who occasionally dips into the world of thriller writing, I’ve found myself looking at the daily churn of global events through a rather specific lens lately. And let me tell you, the plot points are getting interesting.

Consider just a few snippets from recent reports:

Whispers of a looming currency war.
Oil prices are set to rise, ostensibly due to production cuts.
Certain tankers are avoiding the Hormuz Strait.
A massive power outage plunged parts of the UK into darkness.
Gold prices are steadily climbing.
North Korea is launching missiles into the sea.
The USA needs more missiles for its arsenal.
Chinese survey vessels are operating in the South China Sea.
An explosion on a secret base in Russia reportedly had “nuclear implications.”
And, the ever-present shadow of a potential global recession.

Taken individually, these might seem like isolated events – economic fluctuations, regional tensions, unfortunate accidents. But what if they’re not? What if, as a thriller writer’s mind might suggest, these are individual brushstrokes on a much larger, more ominous canvas?

The Plot Thickens: Connecting the Unconnected

Let’s play “what if” for a moment.

Take that unsettling report from Russia – an explosion on a secret base with ‘nuclear implications.’ Now, juxtapose that with the massive power outage in the UK. The thriller writer in me immediately wonders: What if that Russian site wasn’t just any base, but a clandestine laboratory pushing the boundaries of miniaturized, high-yield devices? Devices designed to be easily deployed, perhaps around vital infrastructure? And what if the UK outage wasn’t just a technical glitch, but… a test run? A demonstration of capability, proving that critical systems are vulnerable? If so, should we be looking for more such “accidents” down the line?

This thought then casts a chilling shadow over the Hormuz Strait, where tankers are already facing problems, with some opting to steer clear. If small, powerful devices exist, imagine the potential for an apocalyptic event if one were to disable or detonate a tanker carrying volatile cargo in such a critical global choke point. The domino effect on global trade, energy, and stability would be catastrophic.

Meanwhile, the geopolitical chess board is equally active. North Korea is firing test missiles into the sea, a perennial provocateur. Simultaneously, the USA issues a call for more missiles to replenish its own arsenal. Is this a direct response, or is North Korea merely a convenient smokescreen? My thriller instincts twitch when I see Chinese “survey vessels” in the South China Sea. What if they’re not merely surveying? What if they’re establishing critical sub-sea infrastructure, mapping strategic pathways, or deploying advanced surveillance, all under the guise of scientific research? Are we witnessing a distraction, a proxy game, or the careful positioning of pieces before a major move?

Economic Storm Clouds and the Golden Truth

And then there’s the economy, often the underlying current of global tension. We hear that oil prices are set to rise due to OPEC cutting output. A straightforward economic decision, right? Or could it be another facet of a brewing currency war, where nations jockey for economic advantage, and the price of essential commodities becomes a weapon? Such a scenario would certainly accelerate the march towards that predicted global recession.

A crucial indicator, often flashing red before the storm, is gold. Its price is soaring. Gold traditionally goes into overdrive when currencies begin to lose value, when recessions loom or deepen, or when the drums of war beat louder. And indeed, the drums are beating: US-China tensions remain high, the Middle East is a perpetual tinderbox, the Korean peninsula is volatile, and in a recent development, India and Pakistan are once again facing off over Kashmir. Are we truly surprised that people are turning to the ancient safe haven of gold?

It’s enough to make one consider trading the daily news feed for a quiet crossword puzzle, isn’t it? To ignore the swirling confluence of events and pretend the world is a simpler, less interconnected place. Perhaps these are all indeed unconnected events, coincidences in the vast, chaotic tapestry of global affairs. Or perhaps, just perhaps, the world is penning a story far more complex and thrilling than any fiction we could devise.

What narrative do you see unfolding?

#GlobalNews #ThrillerWriter #CurrentEvents #WhatIf #Geopolitics #Economy #ConspiracyTheories #ConnectingTheDots #WorldAffairs

First Dig Two Graves

A sequel to “The Devil You Don’t”

…

Revenge is a dish best served cold – or preferably so when everything goes right

Of course, it rarely does, as Alistair, Zoe’s handler, discovers to his peril. Enter a wildcard, John, and whatever Alistair’s plan for dealing with Zoe was dies with him.

It leaves Zoe in completely unfamiliar territory.

…

John’s idyllic romance with a woman who is utterly out of his comfort zone is on borrowed time. She is still trying to reconcile her ambivalence, after being so indifferent for so long.

They agree to take a break, during which she disappears. John, thinking she has left without saying goodbye, refuses to accept the inevitable, calls on an old friend for help in finding her.

After the mayhem and being briefly reunited, she recognises an inevitable truth: there is a price to pay for taking out Alistair; she must leave and find them first, and he would be wise to keep a low profile.

But keeping a low profile just isn’t possible, and enlisting another friend, a private detective and his sister, a deft computer hacker, they track her to the border between Austria and Hungary.

What John doesn’t realise is that another enemy is tracking him to find her too. It could have been a grand tour of Europe. Instead, it becomes a race against time before enemies old and new converge for what will be an inevitable showdown.

Searching for locations – Dorrigo to Glenreagh, New South Wales, Australia

Once a bustling railway

When you pick up a document that describes tourist attractions in Coffs Harbour, there’s one about the Orara Valley, and what caught my eye was firstly the Lowanna Railway Station.

To get there, you pass through Coramba, where the current railway line runs through it, but any attempt to find the railway station will be met with disappointment.

But …

That’s not the railway story we’re trying to visualise, that is the Glenreagh to Dorrigo line, first mooted in 1906, but not getting started until 1910, then halted because of the First World War and not completed until December 1924, and ran until October 1972.

However, back to Coramba momentarily…

The North Coast railway (the primary rail route in the Mid North Coast and Northern Rivers regions of New South Wales) passes through Coramba, which had a now-closed railway station from 1922. An attempt to find the station took us to a private residence, which obviously was once the station. It was not what we were looking for.

And then to the right historic station, in Lowanna, not far from Coramba…

Lowanna was the largest of the intermediate stations. It was an attended station, with a crossing loop and siding. Most of the timber was loaded at this location.

Opened 23-Dec-1924 and Closed 20-Sep-1975

What we were really looking for was the Lowanna Railway Station, which, when we put it in the GPS, almost got us lost. We eventually found the refurbished station, a rather run-down platform, and rail tracks.

Lowanna was on the Dorrigo branch and lies on the north coast of NSW. It branches off the North Coast Line at Glenreagh and climbs up to the Dorrigo Plateau.

The Dorrigo area was settled in the early 1900s by pastoralists and tree fellers. Due to the steep terrain, it was decided to build a railway to allow products to be brought to nearby port towns. Several routes were surveyed, with the route from Glenreagh eventually chosen. The line climbs 664m over a length of 69km.

Apart from the endpoints of Dorrigo and Glenreagh, the stations on this line were very small, often consisting of a short platform with a small shelter. The major traffic on this line was timber.

More on the other stations, not that much still exists, on the line from Dorrigo to Glenreagh. At Dorrigo, there is a very big surprise…

An excerpt from “Strangers We’ve Become” – Coming Soon

I wandered back to my villa.

It was in darkness. I was sure I had left several lights on, especially over the door so I could see to unlock it.

I looked up and saw the globe was broken.

Instant alert.

I went to the first hiding spot for the gun, and it wasn’t there. I went to the backup and it wasn’t there either. Someone had found my carefully hidden stash of weapons and removed them.

Who?

There were four hiding spots and all were empty. Someone had removed the weapons. That could only mean one possibility.

I had a visitor, not necessarily here for a social call.

But, of course, being the well-trained agent I’d once been and not one to be caught unawares, I crossed over to my neighbor and relieved him of a weapon that, if found, would require a lot of explaining.

Suitably armed, it was time to return the surprise.

There were three entrances to the villa, the front door, the back door, and a rather strange escape hatch. One of the more interesting attractions of the villa I’d rented was its heritage. It was built in the late 1700s, by a man who was, by all accounts, a thief. It had a hidden underground room which had been in the past a vault but was now a wine cellar, and it had an escape hatch by which the man could come and go undetected, particularly if there was a mob outside the door baying for his blood.

It now gave me the means to enter the villa without my visitors being alerted, unless, of course, they were near the vicinity of the doorway inside the villa, but that possibility was unlikely. It was not where anyone could anticipate or expect a doorway to be.

The secret entrance was at the rear of the villa behind a large copse, two camouflaged wooden doors built into the ground. I move aside some of the branches that covered them and lifted one side. After I’d discovered the doors and rusty hinges, I’d oiled and cleaned them, and cleared the passageway of cobwebs and fallen rocks. It had a mildew smell, but nothing would get rid of that. I’d left torches at either end so I could see.

I closed the door after me, and went quietly down the steps, enveloped in darkness till I switched on the torch. I traversed the short passage which turned ninety degrees about halfway to the door at the other end. I carried the key to this door on the keyring, found it and opened the door. It too had been oiled and swung open soundlessly.

I stepped in the darkness and closed the door.

I was on the lower level under the kitchen, now the wine cellar, the ‘door’ doubling as a set of shelves which had very little on them, less to fall and alert anyone in the villa.

Silence, an eerie silence.

I took the steps up to the kitchen, stopping when my head was level with the floor, checking to see if anyone was waiting. There wasn’t. It seemed to me to be an unlikely spot for an ambush.

I’d already considered the possibility of someone coming after me, especially because it had been Bespalov I’d killed, and I was sure he had friends, all equally as mad as he was. Equally, I’d also considered it nigh on impossible for anyone to find out it was me who killed him because the only people who knew that were Prendergast, Alisha, a few others in the Department, and Susan.

That raised the question of who told them where I was.

If I was the man I used to be, my first suspect would be Susan. The departure this morning, and now this was too coincidental. But I was not that man.

Or was I?

I reached the start of the passageway that led from the kitchen to the front door and peered into the semi-darkness. My eyes had got used to the dark, and it was no longer an inky void. Fragments of light leaked in around the door from outside and through the edge of the window curtains where they didn’t fit properly. A bone of contention upstairs in the morning, when first light shone and invariably woke me up hours before I wanted to.

Still nothing.

I took a moment to consider how I would approach the visitor’s job. I would get a plan of the villa in my head, all entrances, where a target could be led to or attacked where there would be no escape.

Coming in the front door. If I was not expecting anything, I’d just open the door and walk-in. One shot would be all that was required.

Contract complete.

I sidled quietly up the passage staying close to the wall, edging closer to the front door. There was an alcove where the shooter could be waiting. It was an ideal spot to wait.

Crunch.

I stepped on some nutshells.

Not my nutshells.

I felt it before I heard it. The bullet with my name on it.

And how the shooter missed, from point-blank range, and hit me in the arm, I had no idea. I fired off two shots before a second shot from the shooter went wide and hit the door with a loud thwack.

I saw a red dot wavering as it honed in on me and I fell to the floor, stretching out, looking up where the origin of the light was coming and pulled the trigger three times, evenly spaced, and a second later I heard the sound of a body falling down the stairs and stopping at the bottom, not very far from me.

Two assassins.

I’d not expected that.

The assassin by the door was dead, a lucky shot on my part. The second was still breathing.

I checked the body for any weapons and found a second gun and two knives. Armed to the teeth!

I pulled off the balaclava; a man, early thirties, definitely Italian. I was expecting a Russian.

I slapped his face, waking him up. Blood was leaking from several slashes on his face when his head had hit the stairs on the way down. The awkward angle of his arms and legs told me there were broken bones, probably a lot worse internally. He was not long for this earth.

“Who employed you?”

He looked at me with dead eyes, a pursed mouth, perhaps a smile. “Not today my friend. You have made a very bad enemy.” He coughed and blood poured out of his mouth. “There will be more …”

Friends of Bespalov, no doubt.

I would have to leave. Two unexplainable bodies, I’d have a hard time explaining my way out of this mess. I dragged the two bodies into the lounge, clearing the passageway just in case someone had heard anything.

Just in case anyone was outside at the time, I sat in the dark, at the foot of the stairs, and tried to breathe normally. I was trying not to connect dots that led back to Susan, but the coincidence was worrying me.

A half-hour passed and I hadn’t moved. Deep in thought, I’d forgotten about being shot, unaware that blood was running down my arm and dripping onto the floor.

Until I heard a knock on my front door.

Two thoughts, it was either the police, alerted by the neighbors, or it was the second wave, though why would they be knocking on the door?

I stood, and immediately felt a stabbing pain in my arm. I took out a handkerchief and turned it into a makeshift tourniquet, then wrapped a kitchen towel around the wound.

If it was the police, this was going to be a difficult situation. Holding the gun behind my back, I opened the door a fraction and looked out.

No police, just Maria. I hoped she was not part of the next ‘wave’.

“You left your phone behind on the table. I thought you might be looking for it.” She held it out in front of her.

When I didn’t open the door any further, she looked at me quizzically, and then asked, “Is anything wrong?”

I was going to thank her for returning the phone, but I heard her breathe in sharply, and add, breathlessly, “You’re bleeding.”

I looked at my arm and realized it was visible through the door, and not only that, the towel was soaked in blood.

“You need to go away now.”

Should I tell her the truth? It was probably too late, and if she was any sort of law-abiding citizen she would go straight to the police.

She showed no signs of leaving, just an unnerving curiosity. “What happened?”

I ran through several explanations, but none seemed plausible. I went with the truth. “My past caught up with me.”

“You need someone to fix that before you pass out from blood loss. It doesn’t look good.”

“I can fix it. You need to leave. It is not safe to be here with me.”

The pain in my arm was not getting any better, and the blood was starting to run down my arm again as the tourniquet loosened. She was right, I needed it fixed sooner rather than later.

I opened the door and let her in. It was a mistake, a huge mistake, and I would have to deal with the consequences. Once inside, she turned on the light and saw the pool of blood just inside the door and the trail leading to the lounge. She followed the trail and turned into the lounge, turned on the light, and no doubt saw the two dead men.

I expected her to scream. She didn’t.

She gave me a good hard look, perhaps trying to see if I was dangerous. Killing people wasn’t something you looked the other way about. She would have to go to the police.

“What happened here?”

“I came home from the cafe and two men were waiting for me. I used to work for the Government, but no longer. I suspect these men were here to repay a debt. I was lucky.”

“Not so much, looking at your arm.”

She came closer and inspected it.

“Sit down.”

She found another towel and wrapped it around the wound, retightening the tourniquet to stem the bleeding.

“Do you have medical supplies?”

I nodded. “Upstairs.” I had a medical kit, and on the road, I usually made my own running repairs. Another old habit I hadn’t quite shaken off yet.

She went upstairs, rummaged, and then came back. I wondered briefly what she would think of the unmade bed though I was not sure why it might interest her.

She helped me remove my shirt, and then cleaned the wound. Fortunately, she didn’t have to remove a bullet. It was a clean wound but it would require stitches.

When she’d finished she said, “Your friend said one day this might happen.”

No prizes for guessing who that friend was, and it didn’t please me that she had involved Maria.

“Alisha?”

“She didn’t tell me her name, but I think she cares a lot about you. She said trouble has a way of finding you, gave me a phone and said to call her if something like this happened.”

“That was wrong of her to do that.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Will you call her?”

“Yes. I can’t stay here now. You should go now. Hopefully, by the time I leave in the morning, no one will ever know what happened here, especially you.”

She smiled. “As you say, I was never here.”

…

strangerscover9

Writing a book in 365 days – My story 38

More about my story

What is a Coup d’etat?

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