F is for — Fishing for information. Without sounding like you are fishing
…
What does it feel like when you answer all of their questions, and they don’t believe you?
Like I felt now.
In a very bad place, because no matter what I said, it didn’t fit their narrative.
The main interrogator, Jake, no surnames provided, had a story. He told me that story, over the last three days, a story that painted me guilty of a crime that I didn’t commit, couldn’t commit, wouldn’t commit.
My problem?
I could not prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was where I was at the time with someone who could never be named.
Ever.
So my guilt was circumstantial, and it would not be the first or the last person to spend a lifetime in jail for a crime they did not commit.
I guess that was the penalty for a stolen night with the woman I could never be with, never be seen with, and never spend the rest of my life with.
I was glad that this country did not partake in torturing confessions out of their suspects, but then, even if they did, I would die long before I said one word. I’d been there before and had only just survived that interrogation.
I wondered if Jake knew that.
He had been pacing around the small room like a caged tiger. We’d been at it for six hours. While he looked thoroughly exhausted, I had remained cool and collected despite the exaggeratedly warm room.
It was their version of sweating answers out of you.
I was denied cold water, and water to a thirsty man was like gold to a fossicker. He knew I needed a drink.
He stopped pacing, turned, and glared at me.
“Let’s go over this again.”
Of course, keep repeating the same story over and over until it becomes fact, until you give a nuance that gives that story credibility, that first chink in the armour that can be exploited.
When you’re tired, when you try not to give in, to waver, to give an expression that can be construed as a confession or agreement.
“The timeline tells us you were at your office until 3 pm. We have CCTV footage of your departure by the front foyer. You take an Uber to the Cyber Cafe, getting there at 3:54 pm. There you stay until 6:17 pm where you take another Uber to the Hotel Jackson, arriving at 7:24 pm. Your cell phone confirms these times, along with CCTV evidence. Why did you go to the hotel?”
Here’s the tricky part. Firstly, the hotel is a special hotel in that there is no CCTV surveillance anywhere inside or out. They could only confirm my presence there by my phone’s GPS. Secondly, they could not get confirmation of any guest within that hotel because the government used it to house ‘special’ guests. Thirdly, by using the hotel, I was bound to an NDA to never divulge why I was there.
It didn’t stop Jake from fishing.
“You know I can’t tell you that. And you are fully aware of the reasons.”
“It’s not helping your alibi.”
“Keep going. So far, you have my movements.”
“You claim you stayed the night at the hotel, going to your room and staying there until 8:03 am the next morning.”
“That is correct.”
Except it wasn’t, technically. I was in the hotel, on the same floor, but in an adjoining room from 8:00 pm to 7:00 am. It didn’t matter, I didn’t leave the hotel.
However…
Jake contends that it was ten minutes if I hurried down a back alley under cover and out of sight of any CCTV coverage to another hotel where someone that looked like me was caught on tape going in the back entrance of a seedy hotel, carefully avoiding looking at any camera, both inside and outside, up to a room on the fourth floor by the rear stairs, murdered a man named Joseph Flines and then returned just as expeditiously being caught on CCTV on the way out not ten minutes later.
That was inconclusive, but there was a kicker…
I had an argument with an unnamed man outside my work building several hours before I left, at times heated, and where Flines had a swing and a miss, after screaming he was going to kill me, adding that the world needed to know what kind of heinous criminal I was. He said quite loudly and openly that my reputation and livelihood would be over once everyone knew the truth.
I had no idea who he was, and I was even more mystified at why he believed I was a heinous criminal. It was the last time I saw him until the police arrested me. All I could think of was that he had mistaken me for someone else.
“How do you explain the confrontation outside your workplace earlier?”
“He has confused me with someone else. I had never seen him before.”
“And yet he knows you by name.”
“I’m not exactly anonymous in this city. A lot of people who know who I am, and can recognise me. It’s not the first time some stranger had walked up to me to have words, sometimes disparaging. I’m sure you have found these instances and realised that I have nothing to do with them either. My job is not exactly one people see eye to eye with, so there’s bound to be some dissenters.”
A lot, perhaps, because it was left to me to make the hard decisions because those who were supposed to didn’t and hid behind me and blamed me when the media was looking for a scapegoat.
I was not sure how Flines was affected by any decision I’d made, but it was a possible link. Jake hadn’t made that connection yet. Neither had I.
“So you admit…”
“Nothing, and it would serve you well not to start jumping to conclusions without a shred of evidence.”
“We’re close, very close. People like you have the ability to hide in plain sight, but not this time.”
Smug, the first time he let any emotion into his tone. That told me a great deal. There was a connection. It would have to be obscure, very obscure, one that I’d never guess existed.
He took a drink from his water bottle and glared at me, daring me to ask for a sip so he could deny it. Yes, he looked like the man who held all the cards.
“How long has it been since your fiance died?”
What did that have to do with anything? I said as much.
“Just answer the question.”
If this was court, my lawyer would be asking for relevance.
“Three years.”
“Her killer was never found.”
“I was in Hong Kong at the time if that’s what you are implying.”
Yes, they did try to pin that on me as well, but there was sufficient evidence to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt I didn’t do it or have anything to do with it.
“I was not. But, can you explain why your wife met with the victim, Joseph Flines, several times, about weeks before she died.”
Could I? No. Did I know? I did not. Did I know exactly what she did? Other than that, she was a corporate lawyer charged with keeping high flying executives out of jail when they committed so-called human errors in their business transactions.
Smoothing the waters, she said. She never passed moral judgments, just found loopholes. Did she care about those who were unjustly wronged? No. Not her problem. If they hired good lawyers, her job would be so much harder.
I loved her, not her job. I wanted to investigate her death. I was not allowed to. Orders from above.
But as for Flines…
“If you say so. I know nothing about her business or anyone she dealt with.”
“Three years you were together. Very close. And you claim…”
Fishing again. Pushing buttons. Get a reaction, and then run with it.
“It’s a situation you would have no understanding of. After all, you haven’t had a relationship last longer than nine months, and one that had you suspended for three months. There are lines that you do not cross, and both Margret and I knew where those lines were. Clearly, you don’t.”
There was a pounding on the door, not unexpected. It was only a matter of time before Jake crossed a line. The door opened a fraction, a whispered conversation, heated, then, “This isn’t over.”
He then left, closing the door loudly behind him.
I had time to think about what sort of relationship Margaret may have had with Flines. From what I knew of him, he had more enemies than friends, the result of a background check after he confronted me.
A seedy private investigator that swam down in the sewer of nasty divorce cases, there were upwards of fifty disgruntled husbands he had outed, and yet Jake and his team could not find one eligible perpetrator from that list.
I’d found ten, and that was just at first glance.
What would Margaret want with the likes of him when she had one of the best teams of investigators in the country at her disposal?
I didn’t have time to come to any sort of conclusion before the door opened, and an elderly woman came in and, after closing the door, leaned against it
She reminded me of the librarian at high school, the same severe expression, severe hairdo, and severe suit.
“You are going to be a proper pain in the proverbial backside, Mr Jones. I know who you are, I know what you do, and I know that damnfool head of department you work for. I apologise for Jake. The man doesn’t understand discretion or when to keep information to himself.”
“Flines association with Margaret. I didn’t kill the man, no matter how you try to stitch a timeline together.”
“Sadly, I have to agree. I so wanted to wrap this up, but you don’t always get what you want. You tell Jimmy hello from Betsy. He’ll know who it is. Oh, and by the way. Anything you hear in this room stays in the room. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly.”
“Very good. You may go.”
Jake had overstepped his brief. It would not be the first time someone in his position made a mistake in disclosing information that could queer a case.
But that was always a risk when you had to go on a fishing expedition. What staggered me was the connection between Flines and Margaret, which on the surface could have circumstantially sealed my fate.
It still didn’t tell me why Flines had come after me, unless he thought I was working in concert with Margaret, and at a guess, she had caused him grief over a case. Maybe he was not working for her, but for someone opposed to her, and she had to discredit him.
I hadn’t been able to investigate and still couldn’t, so perhaps I’d never find out. And there was that one other small problem. I was not supposed to know about my wife and Flines’s connection.
E is for “Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining” – Just a romantic story ala Hallmark
…
I was once told that there are five ways of doing something,
The right way
The wrong way
My way
Your way, and,
The way it should have been done!
For the better part of my life, I always believed my way was the right way, and that was fine while I was responsible only for myself.
Once you add someone else to the equation, then suddenly, everything you do becomes far more complicated.
So, how did that happen?
The first tendrils of light were flickering through the window, between the cracks on the curtain.
I couldn’t sleep, not so much because the bed was uncomfortable, but because of the decisions I had made.
I looked at the calm, serene expression on the face of the woman I tried ever so hard not to fall in love with. In my line of work, there was no room for such sentimentality.
Being a lone wolf was a necessity.
Those words rolled around in my head, over and over I heard Rawlings speech the day we began, that first day of the rest of our lives.
Do not get attached to anyone, anywhere, anything. Do not live in one place, do not have a regular pattern of movement, do not stay in one particular hotel more than once, do not drive the same car.
If you believe you’ve been compromised, go off-grid.
Where we were was as off-grid as you could get.
It wasn’t so much that I had dragged Penelope into this mess. It was more that she had invited herself along for the ride.
Two nights before, I sent a message to say I needed to see her. She suggested dinner and picked a restaurant, small and easy to blend in and at the same time keep an eye out for trouble.
She had recognised my preferences. That should have been a red flag, but I let feelings into that equation.
I arrived first, doing the mandatory check outside for anything unusual, then going inside, assessing the threat level and exits, and then sitting at a table near the rear.
It was the first time I wondered if there would be a time in my life when I could stop looking over my shoulder.
Penelope arrived ten minutes later, knowing I didn’t like arriving late, dressed plainly so that few people registered her arrival. Those that did, I noted.
She saw me, smiled, and came over after a brief word with the waitress who had ushered me to the table.
The waitress followed with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, poured, and left us alone. A quick glance around the room didn’t identify any problems, but with Penelope sitting next to me, my judgement was compromised.
She took a sip and did that little shiver thing every time she first sipped her champagne, and then said, “What is so urgent I had to drop everything?”
She had one of those mesmerising voices that could take you down a rabbit hole and never want to come back.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. It didn’t work.
The speech I had rehearsed in my head sounded appropriate … in my head. Now, in front of her, it sounded ridiculous.
“I have to go away.”
“So. You’ve done that before.”
“Permanently.”
Expression change, not happy. When she frowned, it was like the darkness setting in. “Where?”
“England.”
“Why?”
“It was always a possibility, but I didn’t think it would be this soon.”
“When?”
“Tonight. It was just sprung on me.”
“So …”
“I can’t do long distance, and I couldn’t ask you to come with me. You have your aspirations, and that promotion is just around the corner …”
“We should break up?”
It’s definitely not a happy face now.
“I don’t want to, but there’s practicality in play. I don’t want you to lose what you have worked so hard for “
“Then don’t go.”
It wasn’t an option, and I couldn’t explain why. And if I did, she would be out the door so fast her feet wouldn’t touch the ground.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
And whilst that might be true, I was not going to get the time to argue the point. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement by the door.
Two men, scanning the room, stopped on me.
I sighed. If I was on my own, it would simply be a matter of sliding down and getting out the rear entrance, not six feet from where we were sitting.
An extra body, not sitting closer to the door, and now a target, just proved Rawlings statement. The thing is, she was not going to become collateral damage.
Not today.
They, like me, had stopped to assess the damage, knowing that I was not going to go quietly, and that people were going to die. Their issue was that other diners had looked up at them and would now remember their faces. It added just enough of a hesitation factor.
Penelope and I not so much, but if the restaurant had CCTV, that was all moot. Camera over the front door, camera over the door to the kitchen.
“We have to go,” I said quietly.
She, too, had seen the two men and had instantly recognised trouble. Textbook thugs, the way Hollywood portrayed their bad guys.
“Who are they?”
“Trouble.” I had a gun, but using it in this confined space was a recipe for disaster. I could shoot them, but between me and them was a dozen unpredictable humans.
They hadn’t moved. A waitress was moving towards them.
I grabbed her hand and, in one fluid motion, slid out of the booth and pulled her to her feet, and then dragged her through the kitchen doorway.
Movement by the door, one shoved the waitress whilst the other drew his weapon, and three shots thwacked into the closing door.
Seconds later, we were through the back door, and the men were in pursuit until I turned, pulled out the gun, and shot the both of them as they came out the doorway.
Not to kill. It was never my first choice unless I had no choice.
I didn’t give her time to think. I just pulled her along, up another alley to the main street and plenty of foot traffic to blend in.
She had not pulled her hand away. Yet.
“What just happened?” She spoke quietly, but not with a hint of hysteria, just breathlessness.
“The reason why I wanted to break up. I have a past, and it’s about to catch up with me. Those men would shoot the both of us dead, without hesitation. Chances are you still have a degree of anonymity, but it won’t last long if you stay with me.”
“What did you do?”
“I tried to save a friend and failed. He was in trouble, and I thought I could fix it.”
“And made it worse?”
“Things tend to go sideways when I get involved. Wrong people, bad intelligence, or just plain bad luck.”
I wasn’t going to add it was one of our own people who was trying to find me. I unmasked him quite by accident. No one knew he was playing on both sides of the street, and he wanted to keep it that way.
“Then I guess you’re stuck with me. Tell me you have a plan.”
“You won’t like it.”
“I don’t like the life I have, and I was about to go back home. Believe me, you’ve saved me from a fate worse than death.”
I was not that sure she had traded up. I could see the bright look in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, and adrenaline flowing through her. When that subsided, everything would be different.
It was a case of damned if you do or damned if you don’t. I shrugged. “OK. Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life.”
D is for — “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t”. Between the devil and the deep blue sea
…
There is always that one person.
Always there. Nothing is too much trouble. Always happy to help even when they know it will not be acknowledged. Always the ones overlooked because they are, basically, invisible.
That one person had a name.
Deanna Wilkinson.
I met her on the first day at my new school, having moved from another state. It was my fourth school in three years, and with different education systems, I was finding it harder to catch up and keep up.
Deanna Wilkinson made that easier because having lived in Dantonville all her life and more interested in learning than boys, she made a very good tutor.
And that being the case…
Over the years, from the last two of grade school and through middle school, we became friends while keeping me on track scholastically.
However, being a boy and easily distracted, especially after the try-out for the football team, and later the role I played in bringing success to a team that always fell short, I found myself popular in ways I never imagined.
The most improbable in that last year of school was being brought into the orbit of Sandra Oliphant.
Before I arrived in town, the Dantons and the Oliphants were two of the main families who had been in the district since before God, or so Archie said, and they all owned everything between them. Why else, he said, would the town be named after them?
Nearly everything. My father had seen a parcel of land up for sale and bought it. A property that had been given to one of the other Dantons, who wanted to quit town because of the old man, and put it up for sale.
The recipient knew if he sold it back to old man Danton, he’d get nothing for it, hence the sale to my father. When Danton heard about it, he offered to buy it back, cheaply, but my father refused.
Thus began hostilities.
The land belonged to the Dantons, Sandra Oliphant belonged to the Dantons, and everything else belonged to the Dantons, apparently.
Including the football team, the Dantonville Raiders. A team that never won a championship. Before I realised that no one with any talent joined the team. I made the mistake of trying out.
The coach then asked me to play, and that first game, we won. Then another, and another. Then I realised why no one joined the team. It was all about Archie. And his father.
I tried to quit. My father said I couldn’t. The coach said I couldn’t, and old man Danton made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. He’d stop giving us grief over that piece of land.
He was right, I couldn’t refuse.
Then Sandra Oliphant decided I’d make a better boyfriend than Archie. I told her I wouldn’t, then told Archie that I was not making a play for his girlfriend. After telling her I was flattered but I was not interested.
What worried me was that she was too easily convinced. Something else was in play, and I was going to end up in the middle of it.
I learned some very valuable lessons that year.
One. Never volunteer for anything, whether you might be good at it or not.
Two. Men like Archie’s father and boys like Archie and his friends used wealth and power to manipulate and bully those around them simply because they are allowed to.
Three. Men like Dalton and my father never liked to lose and would do anything it took to win
Four. I would never understand girls or women, and that any expectation or level of understanding I might have or thought I had could be undone or changed unexpectedly at any time.
When everything became too difficult, I would saddle up Joey, the placid horse Deanna had loaned me, and ride up to the hilltop cabin. It was a halfway point when moving cattle from the hills to the Plains.
I planned to stay there for a day or two before the last game of the season, the championship. That would be followed by graduation, the Prom (though I wasn’t going), and then I would be leaving to go to college.
My father said football scouts would be at the game and had frequently told anyone who would listen that I was big city team material.
Archie Danton might be, but I certainly wasn’t. Anyone could catch a ball and run with it.
But as many times I said I didn’t care that my chances of being seen, let alone drafted into the major football league, it was as remote as my chances of being Prom King and going out with Sandra, something my mother held great stock in.
She, like my father and my sister, just didn’t listen.
I just hoped my father wasn’t the one who called the scouts, knowing that it was exactly the sort of thing he would do to bug me. But then, that was Archie’s father, too, and there was a rivalry going on between them.
And the subject of yet another argument before I left in a huff.
I could see another horse and rider in the distance, and it wasn’t hard to tell who it was.
Deanna.
I sat on the swing seat on the front veranda and waited. Like always, she was in no hurry. Olivia, my pugnacious sister, must have told her where I was despite the fact I had told her not to tell anyone.
It was just like her, presuming that after all this time, Deanna and I had known each other and having spent so much time in each other’s company, we would get together. It wasn’t as simple as that, but Olivia was not up to the stage of complicated relationships.
Deanna tied up her horse, came up the slight incline leading to the steps, gave me her usual cursory glance, and then negotiated the stairs before sitting at the other end of the seat.
As I watched her get off the horse, hitch the reins to the post, then walk the short distance to the stairs, it wasn’t hard to notice the changes from the precocious seven-year-old I first met all those years ago to the beautiful eighteen-year-old grown-up woman she had become.
I wished I could say I had grown up, too.
“Olivia said you were hiding up here.”
“If I were, you wouldn’t find me.”
“Things that bad?”
“You once said I was the master of my destiny. You were right. I should not have turned up to the tryouts. You said not to.”
“When did you ever listen to me?”
“When you tutored me enough to pass my exams. Never thanked you, but then, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for everything you’ve done for me.”
“No need. It was a pleasant way to spend my spare time.”
“You could have done something more important than waste it on me.”
She gave me one of her annoyed looks and then shook her head. “I’m not going to dignify that with a retort.”
I took a moment to give her a sidelong glance. She could ride a horse better than any cowboy I’d seen; I’d worked with her chasing strays, and she had participated in several girls’ events at rodeos. She had even taught me to ride a horse.
If I ever became a rancher…
“What are you going to do come graduation?” We had talked around the edges of what the end of the year might bring.
“College, maybe, but more likely look after Mom. The fall she had a few months back; she is not getting any better.”
I was there when it happened. We both knew her mom should not have been on that horse in the first place, but it was difficult to tell someone who’d been doing it all their life.
“And college?”
“It’ll have to wait. Besides, you’re going to become this big-time footballer. You’ll be far too busy settling in.”
“I’m not that good, and a lot of people are going to be disappointed.”
“Your father thinks you are. So does the coach.”
“The coach wouldn’t dare say that in front of old man Dalton. There is only one player on the team worthy of selection for the big time, and that’s Archie. For once, I actually agree with them.”
“You have to admit, until you joined the team, they never looked like winning.”
“Coincidence. I’m not going to accept if it’s offered. I want to be a journalist and report the games, not play in them. Or get mixed up with those cheerleaders. Archie and the rest of the team can have them. My five minutes with Sandra was a nightmare. Please tell me he’s been elected Prom King.”
“I can tell you Sandra is the Prom Queen, and your mother has been pleading your case. She seems to think Archie has got everything else, someone else should be selected.”
I shook my head. My mother was trying to curry favour with the heavyweights, both Mrs Dalston and Mrs Oliphant, and I wished her luck. There was no room in that group for another.
“Those two have been together since they were born, would be perfect together at the Prom, which I might add I’m not going to if I can avoid it, and they will be the perfect couple when they get married.”
“If only.”
“And Archie? Are they going to make him the king? I mean, really, he is the only choice, given his parents’ standing in this town.”
She shrugged. “Everyone is talking about the new hometown hero. You’d better play badly so he can shine.”
“That’s ridiculous. I had nothing to do with winning that last game.”
“Didn’t you? Drawing the defence left Harry open. It was brilliant.”
“I was trying to minimise my involvement. Get them to win without me.”
She smiled. “Not how the coach saw it. But, if you’re so adamant you don’t want the king, just tell the organisers to take your name off the list. I’m sure Archie will be on it already for you.”
If I knew anything about Archie, he would have found a way to make sure I didn’t win. In a sense, it should have annoyed me, but in another, it was a certain relief. Having to put up with Sandra would be simply too much.
“So,” she said with just a hint of a wistful smile, “by the way, just who are you interested in?”
Good segway. She looked at me with those piercing blue eyes, the eyes that could see into your soul.
I took her hand in mine. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I looked into those eyes, and that was my first mistake.
“Emily?”
I shook my head.
“Andrea?”
I shook my head and squeezed her hand gently.
She was going to say another name, then didn’t. Instead, I could see her eyes moisten.
“It could never work.”
“I know.”
“We are friends.”
“Very good friends.”
“Special friends. When did you come to this conclusion?”
“About a year ago, maybe a bit less. You were so angry with me; I was sure you were going to punch my lights out. I wanted to hug you.”
C is for — “Can you please just listen?”. Someone who doesn’t like to be told
…
There were four of us in the room, aside from the technical team, who were monitoring all the phones in the house.
Josephine, my daughter, the headstrong, ‘I can handle anything, Dad’, type, two members of the FBI, a man and a woman team who specialised in kidnapped children, and myself.
How did we get here?
It was a combination of things, not just one element. It was never going to be as simple as that.
Josephine would say that had I told her before the event what I thought, it would not have happened.
That, of course, discounted the fact I tried, on several occasions, culminating in the last time she spoke to me when I said, as my last parting shot, ‘Can you please just listen to what I have to say.’
She would not. No one was going to tell her how to live her life or how to bring up her daughter.
No one.
Fair enough.
Again, with the benefit of hindsight, I could have done more, but her parting shot that it was a bit rich for someone who hadn’t spent any time with his children to be telling them what to do, I figured she was, perhaps, right.
But, for all intents and purposes, it was now water under the bridge. An elegant and apt expression that was not going to assuage the pain.
I looked at the phone that brought in the first message, the message that arrived at 6 pm precisely on a Monday evening.
Distorted to try and hide the caller’s identity, but I knew who it was.
Danny Trevino. Smooth, handsome, beguiling, sophisticated, and too good to be true. He had swept Angelica off her feet.
I met him once and saw right through him. I didn’t like him and he knew it. That amiable smile turned into something else, and I knew then we were in trouble.
I tried to warn Angelina. She was not interested. There was too much of her mother’s obstinance in her, and sadly, we had never bonded. Again, there was too little contact when it mattered.
I tried to warn Josephine. Well, you know how that went. When she called, and I came, the best she could say was, ‘I’m sure you’re going to say I told you so, so get it over with’.
And, now we were here.
Waiting.
The great thing about being me is that people would look at me and then keep going.
I was the sort of person who other people didn’t give a second look. Ordinary, unassuming, invisible.
I learned that when I was younger, I was treated as if I were invisible. Then, I met a man who taught me that invisibility was an asset.
Just think, no matter where you go, no one will ever notice, and he was right. No matter where I went, anywhere on the world, no one bothered.
Except Monique, who, for a French woman, defied all the tropes and was equally invisible. We met in a Parisian bar, both trying to get a drink, and the bartenders simply ignored us.
It was the perfect match. We travelled together, here, there and everywhere, until one night after telling me she had a friend to see, girls turf, she said, she came back with a rather nasty bullet hole.
Three years we’d been together before I discovered she was an assassin. And three months before I became one too.
Three children and thirty years later, Monique had died in an accident trying to escape a fast closing net of police, and I retired the next day.
Monique’s mother had raised our children, and by the time I’d retired, they’d all moved on. Was I selfish? Yes. Do I regret what I did? Sometimes, like now.
Could I do something about the current situation?
Pierre was Monique’s brother and the only one of her family who knew what she did. As a consultant to any police force who needed him, in his downtime, he was one of these people who looked for missing persons.
He didn’t do it for the money. Rather, the clients would pay the so-called reward to a relevant charity.
I had called him a few weeks back when I realised that Angelina’s romantic attachment to Danny was getting serious, but disturbingly, his influence over her was the controlling kind and not in a good way.
It was good to see him again when I picked him and his team up from the airport. That and the cloak-and-dagger stuff that went with it.
So, for the last four weeks, they had embarked on round-the-clock surveillance, everywhere he went, everyone he saw, everyone.
I had a portfolio of photos of Danny and Angelique together, and Pierre wanted to kill him. He could, if he wanted to, but later. Danny was not the driving force in this kidnapping. Someone else was, and he was still working on that when Danny pulled a surprise manoeuvre.
Pierre’s cover was blown, and she was taken. All he said was that Danny was too stupid to organise something as sophisticated as this, and, what was more unsettling, it was someone who knew who I was or had been.
The ransom was going to be big. And there was no way Angelique would be returned alive.
The phone rang, and everyone jumped.
My cell phone vibrated in my hand five seconds later and flashed a message: “Got him.”
When I told Pierre we were about to get a call from the kidnappers, he said the usual tactic was to have a person from their team outside reporting on who was there and sometimes pick up conversations inside.
He was right.
Agent Laraby, the male, as he looked at Josephine, said, “Ready. As we discussed.”
She nodded.
He pushed the answer button. In the background, we could hear Michael Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’ playing. It was one of my favourites.
It was also a clue. The kidnapper was enjoying playing games.
“10 million dollars, you know the drill. Within 24 hours, I will call with the delivery address. 24 hours, or she dies.”
The phone went dead.
Of course, the kidnapper knew they would be tracing the call. The kidnapper also knew the FBI were there, and more importantly, I was there. The only surprise was how little they’d asked for.
Josephine looked like she had been hit by a bus. “That’s ridiculous. I haven’t ten dollars to my name, let alone ten million.”
Agent Laraby looked at me.
“I suppose I’d better go and make some phone calls.”
“We don’t pay ransoms, Mr Jones.”
“With what you have, are you going to be able to rescue her before 24 hours are up?”
“We are following several positive leads.”
“Then, just in case, I’d like to have options available to us.”
Josephine looked over at me. “Where are you going to get ten million from?”
It surprised me that she had taken so long to ask the question. None of the children had known what their parents did, and all had been told we were not the richest people in the neighbourhood. Telling them we had money would only have made them self-indulgent and lazy.
It didn’t quite work as we expected.
“I have friends.”
She shook her head. “You’ve got nothing. Why are you here anyway?”
“You called me.”
“Well, it’s too late. We ain’t got any money, and she’s going to die. Somehow, this is all your fault. Go. And don’t come back. Ever.”
B is for — Behind the green door. A game show with a difference
…
It was the anniversary of my mother’s death and a day when my father usually just remained in bed and refused to get up.
He had never quite coped with it, and now, quite a few years later, he was still struggling. The pity of it was my birthday was the same as the day she died, and I guess it was why for years he had not celebrated it
However, this year was different. I was looking forward to turning 30, a milestone and something of an achievement in our community, considering what we had all endured.
But it was what it was. We were alive, reasonably well, and looking forward to the time when we could once again go outside, though no one really knew what that meant.
We had photographs of how the planet looked before the cataclysmic seismic events of 2031. Overnight, volcanoes erupted, and huge fissures appeared. And poisonous gas filled the air. It happened so suddenly and so quick that most of the planet’s population died.
So much smoke and dark particles got into the atmosphere it drowned out the sun, and after that, it didn’t take long for everything that wasn’t killed by the sulphuric acid to die from lack of light.
Fortunately, my family was one of the lucky groups that were given a ticket to the huge underground facility built for just such an event, one of thousands all over the world, a completely self-contained microcosm of human life.
Waiting for the air to be clear and for life to reappear. We had been waiting 400 years.
That was as much as we knew or cared to. We all had other things to worry about, like getting through the day with the cheerful disposition my mother brought to everyone who knew her, and in her stead, by me. Everyone had said how much I was like her, and that perhaps didn’t help my father’s disposition.
It was also the day I was being brought into my father’s circle of friends. I mean, I knew them already and frequently met them when we all got together as a group of families. But this, he had said, was something different, and I would have to swear on a bible, of all things, that I would keep it a secret, a secret that I would take to the grave.
It had me intrigued. There were no secrets among the people. Everyone basically knew everyone else’s business, not hard in a place that only houses 25,000 people, roughly the size of a small town.
This group, he said, had people from all of the work groups, like medical, sanitation, engineering, communications, and community services. There were about 50 in all, and now that I was a detective, I was going to be confirmed as the newest member of the team, adding a new field and expertise.
It was a team I didn’t know until he first told me, but being formally introduced to all of them was going to be exciting. These people, I discovered were basically the ones who made our community work.
It also meant my father wouldn’t be wallowing in self-pity today. He would have better things to do.
I was surprised to discover the meeting place was a gymnasium. It was reasonably large and looked rather old and worn out. A new one had been built not far away, but people still preferred to use this one. The reason I discovered later was that there was no surveillance.
Yes, that was just one of the things about our existence that was a nuisance. It was everywhere and you had to be on your best behaviour at all times.
The other 48 members had already arrived, and my father and I were the last two. I had to sit up at the main table until the others voted to formalise my addition to the team.
My father rang a bell, and silence took over from the low roar of my simultaneous conversations.
“Welcome, fellow members of the brains trust. For the edification for what I hope will be our newest member,” A glance in my direction followed by 39 other sets of eyes, “we are a group of experts in our fields and when there a problem the brains trust will come together and brain storm a solution.”
“Our main business today is to formalise the inclusion of my son, Michael, as a member. He will bring the expertise of a Detective and the use of his skills as one to help us find resolutions to future problems. If anyone has an objection, make it known now.”
We waited for a minute of so, then he continued, “As there are no objections, it is now time for the oath.”
He motioned me to stand as he took a musty looking volume off the table where he was standing. I’d seen it before but never took much interest in it. Now I knew it was a bible, one hardly of any use because religion, though not banned, was frowned upon
Equally, neither of my parents was interested or showed any interest.
He held the book in his hand and asked me to put my right hand on it. I did.
“Do you swear to work with and help in every way possible as a member of the brain’s trust.”
“I will.”
“Do you swear never to tell anyone else, no matter what relationship you have with them?”
What sort of a secret society was this?
“I do.”
“Do you swear that no matter what duress you are under, you will never tell anyone what you have observed, heard, or performed for the group?”
OK, now it was getting a little scary. Being a detective, I knew the rules by heart, and if this group was doing anything illegal, I was going to have to break the oath I made to become a detective.
What was more important?
“I will.”
“Then welcome to the brain’s trust.”
He shook my hand, and then everyone of the others did likewise. It was like swearing an oath to each one of them.
That was the business out of the way. Now, it was time to celebrate, and the wives and daughters had made food and set it out for all to partake.
There was one woman there who was different from the rest. When I asked one of the other girls who she was, she said her name was Elsie and a friend of another of the girls.
She also said she was new to the community, having come with her mother from one of the other communities nearby.
I was curious. My father had been at me to find a nice girl and settle down but having been to school with and known most of the girls of my age since we were young children, I had not been able to form a rapport with any particular one.
There was only one reason why a woman came from another community, and that was to marry one of our men. There were rules around marriage, and everyone had to be careful whom they married.
Not that I was thinking about that right then, but it did occur to me that she would be automatically eligible.
I picked a moment when she was alone and went over. She saw me coming and I thought she might disappear, but she didn’t.
“Hello,” I said in a slightly breaking voice, nerves almost getting the better of me, “my name is Michael.”
She held out her hand, and I took it in mine.
“Hello, Michael. My name is Elsie.”
“I have not seen you around.”
“I have only just arrived here with my mother. She is ill at the moment, and I’m staying with my prospective stepfather’s relative.”
“How do you like this community?”
“It is exactly the same as the one I came from, just different people and different rules, but more or less the same. Have you lived here all your life?”
“Yes.”
She took her hand back, but not in a way that made me think she didn’t like me.
“What do you do?”
“Science, mostly geology. I study rocks. Lately, it’s been monitoring seismic activity. All numbers and lines, boring stuff. What do you do?” Then she smiled, and it was transformational.
“Of course, silly me, you’re a detective. What do you detect?”
“Not a lot because I’m only new, but one day, murders or missing persons. We didn’t have many murders or deaths, but we do have minor crimes. Boring stuff, actually.”
“Well, I’m sure we’ll see each other again. I must go now.”
I saw a man at the door looking sternly at her, perhaps for talking to me. She walked quickly but not hastily towards him, and then they left.
My father appeared at my side. “Interesting, young woman. Do you know who she is?
“Someone from another community. I believed her mother had come to marry one of us.”
He frowned and shook his head.
“That man at the door was a relative of the prospective groom,” I said.
“Then I suggest you keep your distance from them. They’re trouble.”
That sounded ominous. There were not many people my father didn’t like, so there was going to be a problem if, in the unlikely event, we met again.
For the next month or two, I worked on improving my skills as a detective and kept an eye out for Elsie. When I didn’t see her again. I put my missing person skills to good use and tried to track her down.
I learned very quickly that what I thought was good work was nothing of the sort. I told myself that I was not going to be much of a detective if I couldn’t find someone who was not even missing.
It never occurred to me that she might be hiding or keeping away from the general public for private reasons. Whatever it was, I gave up trying because I assumed if she wanted to see me again, she would come and find me.
Then suddenly, she reappeared, at my favourite cafe and was ordering a takeout coffee. I joined the queue behind, then touched her on the shoulder. She both jumped and squealed but was genuinely surprised to see me again.
“Did you go back to your community? I have been keeping an eye out for you,” I said
She hesitated, what I might have called confused, then said, “Yes, I had to go back. Mother married and stayed here. Now I’m back for good. I didn’t get your last name, so I couldn’t find you.”
Although pleasant, I sensed something reticent in her manner. Twice, she had been looking around but trying not to. As if someone was watching her.
“Are you alright?”
She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “A relative is somewhere near here. I’m just waiting for him. So that I can find you again, can you give me your last name?”
I gave it to her along with my address, which she carefully folded and put in her bag.
Then she caught sight of the person she was looking for. “Got to go. Sorry. We will talk again, I promise.” And then she was gone.
Cloak and dagger were words I read in a book that I’d found in a suspect’s residence, a book from a long time ago, one that was banned and shouldn’t exist.
Instead of submitting it as evidence, evidence I knew would disappear, and to be told I should not speak of it again, I kept it. It also told me there must be a cache of such volumes somewhere in the facility and added it to my secret mission list.
I didn’t tell my father, knowing it would set him off on another rant, that we were kept in the dark, that we were being manipulated by an unseen group of pf murderous people who didn’t care about us. The death of my mother by them had turned him into a bitter old man.
But the courtship, if you could call it that, with a woman named Elsie Myers, was every bit of a cloak and dagger operation. We would both sneak away to various locations we knew of that rarely saw other people. At first, we talked about my community and about her community, how much she didn’t like ours and wished she could go home.
It wasn’t long before I realised that her community was the same one my mother came from. Did she know this? I knew she couldn’t be related to my mother because she’d know the rules about inter-community relationships. And if there was, the recording of any relationships would be investigated.
But, whether or not I was supposed to know this, I decided not to speak of it. She didn’t seem to want to be forthcoming.
Whatever it was we were doing, it proceeded to the point where I took her home to meet my father. He was now in the twilight of his years and thinking about Rule 71, the one that decreed that everyone turning 65, took a last trip to the community headquarters, spent a week being debriefed ready for the next person to take over their job, and they move into the next phase of their life.
In other words, put bluntly, you reach 65, and you die. It was an arbitrary age, the beginning of the end, and that age where everything went wrong. The thing is, in 400 years, medicine had not improved to the point where we could sustainably live past 65 and be useful
We were told it had something to do with having to live under a mountain, the lack of fresh air and sunshine, and the processing of our food.
Besides, I got it. Who would want to live longer than that?
My father had got a reminder of his human frailty that morning in a card from the administration advising him that he was due for a check-up.
It was a bad choice to pick the same day to introduce Elsie. It wasn’t until we were outside the door that I remembered what he had said about her all those months ago.
I unlocked the door and ushered her in. Once, we didn’t have to lock the doors, but there had been a growing discontent between the haves and have-nots. He was in his favourite chair, reading the newspaper.
“Dad, this is Elsie.”
Rather than him becoming the polite host, he simply glared at me and said, “I told you what thought ages ago. Take heed or don’t, I don’t care.”
Thus began a long-running and strained relationship between the two of us, and perhaps I should have heeded his advice from the beginning. It never improved from that day.
When I should have considered what was behind his attitude I didn’t and on top of the indifference he had for everything since mother had died, I decided to strike my own path, neither participating with the brains trust, and continuing to be disappointed with my workplace, not realizing that it might have had something to do with Elsie.
It wasn’t until sometime after I married her and I was complaining about yet another missed opportunity that one of the other detectives intimated that I should wonder how it was a woman like Elsie had deigned to marry someone so inferior to her station.
She had never mentioned anything about her station, but it was about the time when I started to get better cases, and we moved into better accommodation, and then, she had apparently got a promotion, more and important work.
Perhaps that might never have mattered. I had not seen her out and about with another man, not behaving in the manner I would have expected. I knew she was a flirt as at some of the parties we were invited to, I saw her being friendly with her fellow workers, but I put that down to her manner.
And while I might have dwelled on it longer than I should, it soon became equally apparent that the new cases I was being allocated were leading me down a dark path whether intentionally designed to distract me from questioning her behaviour, or whether I was meant to discover there was a whole other side to our community that no one else could see.
Had Elsie facilitated that, or was I just imagining it?
Whatever the reason, my life took a very different path, for a period a very intense relationship with Elsie as if we only had a very short time left together, I had uncovered a series of missing persons and subsequent deaths that were linked, something I could not report because there was a possible link between them and my father and other members of the brains trust.
Then my father’s time was up, and I took him to the judiciary, trying to make up for those years since I chose Elsie over him, only for him to cryptically tell me that things happened for a reason, and I would soon learn what that reason was. He was not bitter, not anymore, and was glad to move on.
Then, in one stultifying moment, Elsie was gone. I had, on occasion, followed her out and about, seeing who she met, who she was more friendly with, and finding out who they were. It was interesting that they were all top-level scientists and the sort of men she should have married.
And then, it was one of them that killed her in a jealous rage. It was not the story they told me, a bunch of shadowy men in black calling, explaining, and then leaving with the ominous threat that I should accept the findings of the investigation and get on with my life. A CCTV video gave me the real answer much later, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
In the end, I got to my retirement date, rather satisfied in the end that I had done my job to the best of my ability, I had met and lived with the woman I believed I was meant to be with and that I was probably the only one of the 25,000 inhabitants in our community who knew what had happened over the last 400 years that got us to the point where we were now.
“You are asking for trouble,” Jennifer, my sister, said with the usual condescending tone.
She hated the fact I was footloose and fancy free, unlike her, shackled to a bad husband and three demanding and bratty children.
It had been an idyllic marriage until she decided she wanted children, and Mike, her husband, didn’t. Not until they had secured their future. She went off the script, and everything had gone downhill since then.
She looked tired and, as a result, sounded irritable.
“It’s been cleared by the government, and it’s not the first one. They’ve run it successfully for two years now without incident.”
We were talking about my latest holiday destination, a safari that ventured across three African nations, one of which had recently been in the news after an unsuccessful coup.
The last safari had been cancelled as a precaution, but the particular nation had said everything was now settled, and the safaris could restart.
It was no surprise that the revenue from the tours was much-needed income for the government.
“I thought you were going ice fishing in Alaska and camping out in an igloo. That would be safer.”
I had thought about it, but that I could do anything. A safari sounded a lot more interesting, especially when a lot of the animals they had in the wild could basically only be seen in Zoos.
“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing, Jen. My mind is made up.”
“When do you go?”
“Next Tuesday. It takes about a month, give or take, depending on the weather.”
“I can’t talk you out of it?”
“It’s booked, and I’ve cleared my calendar. Don’t worry, I’ll report in every day.”
I took the train to Heathrow to avoid the hassle of driving. I was travelling light and following the tour guide documentation.
Arriving with a few hours to spare, I found a cafe and had a late breakfast and coffee, and whiled away the time researching the countries and animals likely to be seen.
There was an obscure news article filed the day before by a neighbouring country’s national newspaper on a matter of civil unrest in one of the provinces, but it was nowhere near where the tour would be passing through
I also looked at the tour company’s Web page for an update on the tour conditions, where they advised whether there were any problems, and all there was was a nod to the weather, which might turn bad for a day or two.
There was nothing about civil unrest.
About a half hour before boarding commenced, I went to the gate and spent the time evaluating who of the two hundred or so passengers would be my fellow safari travellers.
Until my cell phone vibrated, signalling an incoming message. I was expecting one from work, but the number it was from was not familiar.
“Jennifer has got it into her head she needs a break from us. She was muttering something about a safari you were going on. If this is so, please talk her out of this silliness and tell her to come home.”
What the hell? Jennifer had never shown any inclination for adventure, so it was difficult to believe she would join me on a safari or anywhere else. And I was not surprised that Brian had messaged me. Their home would not survive without her.
I sent back, “If she does come here, you have my word. I will do my utmost to convince her to go home.”
I hope she was not trying to make a point at my expense. Brian disliked me enough as it was.
A few minutes later, the message I was waiting on arrived. These two words had great significance, and after going through the presentation, I got the feeling the answer would be no.
I opened the message. “Operation approved. Settling wheels in motion.”
I took a deep breath. It was going to make the time away just a little more interesting if anything happened, although my assessment at the time had been it could take weeks, even months.
Perhaps I should just enjoy the safari and the time away while I could.
Boarding commenced forty minutes before the scheduled departure time. In my experience, there was no plane I’d ever been on from any airport in the world left on time.
Having opted to pay more for a better seat in business class, I was allowed to board with the first class and frequent fliers with those cards I’d never attain.
It was a refined group for first class, with one exception: a family who looked like they’d stumbled upon the billion ff miles needed for the upgrade, and a more motley group in business class. I had dressed for the occasion, but some hadn’t.
I think they were university types because they both looked like the lecturers I had, and they had no dress sense either.
The seat next to me was empty, though I expected someone would eventually fill it because I was told the plane was full. It took the full forty minutes to get everyone on, including a late straggler, the occupant of the seat next to me.
And I was not surprised to see my sister Jennifer.
Perhaps she had left her boarding to the last minute and presented a fait-accompli as the door was closed behind her. That showed a deliberate intent to come with me.
I frowned at her as she sat, as well as shake my head.
“Don’t look at me in that tone of voice, Jeremy.”
I shrugged. “What are you doing here?”
“Simple. I needed a break. I don’t want to go anywhere by myself, so I chose to go on your safari.”
“You don’t do adventure,” I said, remembering the one and only time she was forced to go on such a holiday. It didn’t end well.
“Perhaps that’s what’s missing in my life.”
“Brian sent me a message to tell you to go home.”
“To be his and those wretched children’s slave. No, I’m done with that for a month. They can either choose to go in without me or perish.”
The steward came past to hand out a drink, orange juice, water, or champagne. Jennifer picked the champagne. I had water.
There was a shudder through the plane, and then we started moving back. For better or worse, we were on our way.
“So, you’re determined to do this?”
“I am.”
The look on her face, of determination tinged with despair, told me all I needed to know. I was not going to enjoy this holiday.
It was odd because when I had gone to bed the previous evening, it had been quite warm, after one of those balmy autumn days. We had all been basking in what seemed to be an endless heatwave and finally getting some relief, and the last thing I’d seen was storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
It had been the strangest of summers, unprecedented, and as some of the more radical climate change so-called experts said, the beginning of the end.
The more rational scientists, the people the government relied on to advise them, had said that changes were occurring though not in a manner that rang ring alarm bells, but it was not part of the normal weather patterns.
Storms like that being predicted were normal, what was not normal, was feeling cold.
Also, I’d woken to an eerie darkness because there didn’t seem to be any lights on in the room. A few minutes later, that darkness had given way to a murky light as dawn broke, and I shivered.
Something was not right.
I looked at the clock, and it had stopped. I checked my phone, and it had a seventy per cent charge where it should be full. The charger was not working. A few seconds later, I tried the light switch.
Nothing. There was no power.
Another shiver went through me, but this time, it was generated by fear. I was being drawn to the window, and then when I looked out, what I saw took my breath away.
What in hell’s name had happened?
Outside, there was nothing but snow as far as the eye could see.
I’d gone to sleep after spending a few hours on a warm balmy night with Tricia, the waitress from the flat above, over a cold bottle of white wine.
Over the last few weeks, we had talked about this, about that, about nothing at all, slowly discovering that spending these few hours together relieved the boredom and inanity of our mundane lives.
For me, it had given me the hope of something else in the future than of being nothing of consequence and going nowhere.
That landing we had sat on only a few hours before was now deep in snow. If it was January, I wouldn’t give it a second thought, but this was September.
I threw on some warm clothes, buried in the bottom drawer and smelling of mothballs because I wasn’t supposed to need them for a few more months. It looked bleak outside, and I wanted to see just how bad it was close up.
After another look out the window to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, I went downstairs where there were a dozen or more people in the foyer and more out on the sidewalk, most of whom had looks of stunned disbelief.
As I descended the stairs it got colder, and with the door open, we could all feel the breeze swirling the lightly falling snow outside and in through the opening. The building supervisor was rugged up, standing by the door, making sure it closed after someone entered or left.
I knew most of those downstairs. I also recognised the looks on their faces.
Fear.
“What’s happening,” I asked. “Aside from the obvious.”
Mr Jacobson, the oldest member of our little enclave and the most educated, peered out the door and then looked at me. “It seems winter has come early this year.”
There was a hint of irony in his tone. The previous day had been in the low seventies, and the weather forecast had been for rain. Instead of rain, we got snow. How was that possible? I’m sure he would tell me if I asked, but I was not sure I’d understand him. He was a scientist in his previous life before forced retirement.
“Or, if it isn’t that…” I said, perhaps expecting him to complete the sentence. I knew he had a thing about climate change, even though everyone else had dismissed it when it seemed the planet’s climate appeared to have readjusted itself a few years back.
Some said it was a miracle. Some said we were all worried about nothing, but some said it was a sign, one last chance to stop going down the path we were on. If it was a reprieve, we ignored it.
Mr Jacobsen had told everyone that adjustment was only temporary, but he’d been saying the same thing for the last few years, and nothing had happened. Now he was simply the man who cried wolf.
“Mother Earth has been waiting patiently to take her revenge, and because we preferred to be complacent, this is just the beginning.” Mr. Jacobson wasn’t saying it out of spite, I believed he knew what was happening but couldn’t explain it in words any of us would understand.
But Harry Johnson, the man who knew everything but knew nothing, threw in his two cents worth. “You scientists have been banging on about this nonsense for decades, and nothing has happened. This is an aberration. Something had to give after an abnormally hot summer. It’ll be gone in a day or two. Mark my words.”
Mr Jacobson shook his head, but he said nothing more. There was no point. No one was going to believe him now. “There’s no power,” he said to me. “And it’s going to get colder. They should have insulated the power stations when they had the chance, but they didn’t. My advice, to everyone, get some extra blankets.”
“Or head south,” someone yelled out.
“You think it’s going to be better there?” Someone else asked.
“Out in that cold.” Another resident, one from a few floors above me, came in from outside shivering as if to emphasise his point. “You wouldn’t get far. The police are saying it only goes as far south as Washington, but everyone has the same idea, and the roads are clogged with people trying to get out of the city. They also say we’re actually not as badly off as those further north.”
“I didn’t see any police outside,” Harry Johnson said, and I’ve been out a few times.”
“They’re moving from building to building, telling people to stay indoors and keep warm until the power is back on. There is only limited transport options and office buildings and shopping centres are closed due to the blackout. They say we should tune into the radio for further information. Didn’t any of you take notice after the last disaster when we were told to be prepared in case it happened again?”
“That was different,” Harry muttered.
“How? This is worse. Then they rationed power, but we had power, and trucks and transport could move. This time, we have no power at all, and nothing can move because of the snow and icy conditions. This is going to take a while for the authorities to fix. If the weather changes out there, and it doesn’t look like it will change any time soon. Go to your apartments and keep warm. Find a radio and keep yourselves informed.”
There was murmuring, and a few complaints about people telling them what to do, but within five minutes, they were all trudging back up the stairs. With nothing more to see, I went back up the stairs myself. When I got to my apartment, Tricia was outside the door, dressed in her ski gear.
“What happened? Where’s the heat. I just woke up freezing.”
“Mr Jabobson says it’s Mother Nature taking revenge on us horrible humans.”
“The mad scientist?”
It was one of several names the residents gave him.
“I don’t think he’s as mad as we want to believe he is. He says it’s going to get colder and we need extra blankets.”
“I could get mine, bring them down, and we could share if you like. I know you’d like to be with me as much as I would like to be with you. It’s as good a reason as any. I am assuming you like me as much as I like being with you.”
I hadn’t expected whatever we had to move quickly, but I had thought my feelings towards her were not fully reciprocated. I didn’t want to take advantage of the situation, but it was a sensible idea.
“I do, and I’m happy if you’re happy. I don’t think the heat or the power will be back in a hurry, so we are not likely to be going far.”
“Then let’s go up and fetch the blankets.”
It was coincidental that recently, I had been reading about doomsday events. The oil crisis was not likely to happen again, and someone had thought about that Hormuz bottleneck, built alternative pipelines, and considered a lot more scenarios again after the recent mini-crisis. Then there was the possibility of a meteor crashing into the earth and knocking us out of orbit, but that was a bit more extreme and unlikely.
Nor was it because I was one of those prepper types who were hoarding necessities in an underground bunker, but because for a few months, about a year ago, the Middle East went up in flames and the oil supply briefly stopped, again.
It just proved that we should never put politicians in charge of trying to de-escalate a potential war. For those few months, it began with anarchy until the order was restored, and everything was rationed until common sense prevailed.
We saw what could happen, and it wasn’t pretty.
This, however, was a different problem. What could be a prelude to the next ice age had just arrived on our doorstep, and it would be interesting to know what was happening, even get a weather report that could tell us it was temporary. If we had learned anything from the past, people needed to be kept informed.
Even if they told us a lie, that everything would get better soon, it would be better than nothing. After the last crisis, everyone was aware that there had been precious little truth spoken as time passed, and inaction was met with unrest. It came very close to martial law, and no one wanted to see that again.
After that, I bought a small battery-operated radio, knowing there would be a designated radio station that had its own power supply to advise people of what was happening and what to do in a crisis like this; once Tricia and I were comfortable and warm, we tuned in to the station. It wasn’t confidence-inspiring, and the deadpan announcer’s voice only added a sense of the sinister to the news.
It definitely wasn’t good.
What we did learn; the snow basically blanketed the whole of the northern hemisphere from the north pole to the latitude below Washington, though there were snowy conditions for a further hundred miles south past that point. It was similar to the southern hemisphere, where it reached as far up as the bottom of Tasmania, an island south of mainland Australia.
And it wasn’t predicted to stop snowing for a few days at the very least. The poles were apparently clouded over and in a similar situation to being fogged in. There, the temperatures were a lot, lot colder.
No one was commenting on why it was happening, only that it was an unexpected turn of events that was not expected to last, and that the city’s services would be soon operating on a reduced scale, predicted to be within 24 hours, and that people, unless they were designated as working for essential services, should stay home until advised otherwise.
They acknowledged that power stations had been temporarily disabled by an abnormal amount of snow. The drifts had also caused problems in the substations and along the feeder lines, whatever that meant.
Then, the message looped after saying to stay tuned for any change in the situation. At the very least, they would advise the latest weather report on the hour. That was twenty minutes away.
We both listened to the weather report, and we both agreed that the wording was a signal. Not necessarily to us, but to others, and that was most likely to say things were not going to get better in the short term and to prepare for trouble.
The announcement underlined the necessity that we all stayed in place, the conditions would soon improve, and, shortly after that, another announcer said there would be limited power returning in a matter of hours.
A specific number wasn’t mentioned. It was as close to saying that no one knew definitely.
After several minutes of a rather sombre symphony playing softly in the background, both of us agreed it was weird because New York was never this quiet, ever. Tricia said to no one in particular, “What are they not saying?”
She was right. The announcer had spoken for nearly half an hour and told us nothing we already didn’t know. In words we really didn’t understand.
“My father always said that when people start using big words, they’re trying to hide the truth.”
“It’s not getting better, is it?”
“We don’t know. Mr Jacobson, the man you call the mad scientist, said that winter had come early, and while he made it sound like a joke, I don’t think he meant it that way. I’m going to see him and ask him what he’s going to do.”
“Don’t you think he’s crazy?”
Everybody did. Especially after he lost his job after telling anyone who would listen that exactly what happened was going to happen. Maybe if it had been five years ago, someone might have listened.
“No.”
Outside the door, we could hear raised voices. Had Harry decided to tell Mr Jacobson to keep his theories to himself. “I’d better go and see what’s happening.”
By the time I got the door open, it was to see Jacobson being escorted by two policemen. I ran up to them before they descended the stairs, yelling out, “He’s not mad, just concerned like all of us.”
He stopped and turned to me. “It’s fine, Alex. I’m going to have a talk with the meteorologists. They requested I go and meet with them. Remember what we talked about a few months back?”
For the moment, I couldn’t, but I had made a note of it on my phone.
“No matter. When you do, it’s Z. Do you understand? Z.”
I repeated it, and he nodded. Then they continued down the stairs, a few of the residents following.
On the way back to my apartment, I tried to remember what it was we were talking about. He had been, I remembered now, rather disjointed, as though he was having a hard time articulating what he wanted to say. He’d been more distracted than normal, but I had put it down to the anniversary of his wife’s death. It had hit him very hard, and I could only imagine what it would be like for him.
I went in and closed the door behind me. Tricia was still under the blankets. “What was it?”
“Jacobson, your mad scientist, was being taken away by the police. He says he’s been taken to see the meteorologists.”
“Or the loony bin. I heard Harry say more than once Jacobson was a loose cannon.”
“Harry wouldn’t know his ass from his elbow. Jacobson reminded me of something we talked about a few months ago. It might not be relevant; he was rambling more than usual at that time. He asked me to write it down, so all I have to do is find the notes on my cell phone.”
Which then took the next two hours to go through. I hadn’t realised that I’d accumulated so much junk over the years, nor so many photographs of New York all through the year, a visual reminder of what it was like before the snow.
“We will have to think about food soon,” Tricia said. “I usually only cater from day to day, like everyone.”
It was probably what a lot of people inside and outside the building were also thinking about, and given what happened the last time food supplies were interrupted, it could get ugly very quickly.
That was why I stocked up on some essential long-life items like milk, canned meat, vegetables, and fruit. Enough for two people to last a month.
“The thing I do remember from talking to Jacobson several months ago was to store up some essential items in case the oil stopped again. He said it was prudent these days to have supplies because of how things are in the Middle East.”
Tensions never die down there, and rockets were always flying about threatening to extend the current conflict between Israel and the Palestinians into a wider war with Lebanon, Syria, and Iran.
Who knew we’d have something else to worry about.
“For you, perhaps.”
“For two. I have always included you in my disaster plan.”
“Then believe me when I say you are the first.”
“I know how that feels. But only if you want me to. I don’t want you to feel obligated or have to do anything in return.”
She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I know. Now, what was the mad scientist trying to tell you?”
I found the relevant document file and scrolled through the pages, a whole mass of disjointed and in places almost unintelligible notes. Jacobson had been reciting stuff so fast that I could hardly get it down. His wife had been an expert on shorthand, and he forgot that I was not her.
But then I got to the section that had a ‘Z’ on it, in capitals and bolded so that it stood out. He must have slowed down by then.
“It says that Plan Z was to get ready for an ELE event.”
“ELE, what is that?”
“Can’t remember, hang on.” I scrolled through a few more pages and then stopped reading. It was not on the page, but I suddenly remembered what it was.
An apt description of what happened when the meteor struck Earth and killed all the dinosaurs. I said, “It’s what is known as an Extinction Level Event.”
“I thought that was when meteors were coming.”
“It could also be a deadly virus like Covid, or an ice age, though that wouldn’t kill everyone, but it would make things very difficult to survive. Maybe that’s not what he specifically meant. Perhaps it’s just some of the suggestions he made if such a thing happened.”
“He did say z, plan z.”
“No, just Z, but he did say it was what we had been talking about, and that was the only z I can remember, or made notes on. And if they’re pulling him back to be an advisor after scoffing at his ideas, then what they’re not telling us is quite telling if you ask me. If you don’t mind the irony of it all.”
It was met with a wan smile from her. “What did you think we should do?”
I shrugged. “If It was just me alone, I’d probably head south. There’s no transport, so I’m not sure what I’d use.”
“And go where?”
“Always wanted to go to California, and that’s past the current freeze line. Somewhere where there’s power for starters, though.”
“I’ve got a car. It’s not a very good one, but I used to hang out in my dad’s workshop, and I pretty much know everything there is about cars and trucks.”
“And you waitress?”
“Girl mechanics don’t get far, just hit on. Lasted a week before I hit one jerk with a spanner. They’re very useful for teaching jerks lessons. Do you have any hidden talents?”
“Aside from washing dishes, not really. I can read, not comics, but textbooks and learn from them. Very good at trivia questions. I can program computers, and I have a funny little program running at the moment collecting every digitised book on the planet. Useful, of course, to no one but me.”
“Every book?”
I shrugged. “That can be freely downloaded, yes.”
“Why?”
“The usual reason, because I can.”
“How about speaking other languages, like Russian, or German?”
“Yes, several. Why?”
“Another quirk, I guess, that I have too. I can speak about six or seven different languages. I just can for some reason. Helps to talk to the customers at the diner when their English is kaput.”
Interesting. But time for a change of subject. “Does the car have petrol?”
“Diesel.”
“Spare fuel?”
“Some. So, we have a car, we have food, we have blankets and warm clothes. Still might not be enough. We certainly will not get on the roads with the stay-at-home order in place, but when things get better, it’s a possible plan.”
Another announcement had just been made, that if you had no reason to be on the street, stay at home, until further notice. There was also a specific reference to looting and the fact that perpetrators would be apprehended. This time, they were not waiting until everything went to hell.
“The question is, and don’t take this the wrong way if I was to consider going anywhere, I would not want to leave you here, not while this is all going on. And if it does pass, I would consider going south, but again, I don’t want to leave you unless…”
“I have something better to do with my life, or I have a secret boyfriend or ex-husband, or maybe I just don’t like you. What you see is what you get, Alex. I don’t want to be alone, and yet that’s what always happens. The type of guys I get to meet, well, you’re not one of them. Let’s see what happens in the next few days when we are so close; bad habits are bound to surface. I’m not perfect.”
“Neither am I. Nor do I have many dates. Talking to you on the fire escape has been the highlight of my life. Make of that what you will.”
It was hard to tell what she was thinking, though, at times, it was easy enough to gauge her mood. At the moment, with everything, there was an element of fear, tinged with something else. But the fact she wanted to stay with me and see what happened was a good sign.
She took my hand in hers and held it with both of hers. “I’m not sure if I should curse or thank this weather. But one thing is for sure, it brought us together in a way I never expected, though part of me was hoping something might develop. Lives such as ours don’t give scope for much, but it doesn’t mean we can’t try. Plan for two. I think soon, we’re going to be in for a hell of a ride if we can get in front of it. That said, in the meantime, what have you got to eat?”
“What the hell?” Amelia asked her grandmother, somewhat exasperatedly, after suddenly waking, and finding her missing.
Despite any misgivings that briefly passed through her mind, Amelia threw on some clothes and went looking for her. If this was home, she would not be caught dead outside without the proper preparation, a half-hour system at the very least for makeup application and clothes selection.
Her instructions from her parents were quite clear. Don’t let her grandmother out of her sight. It was not that she couldn’t be trusted. It was just that she didn’t see the evil in people, and Italy was a whole different world than she was used to.
“Breakfast. I did give you a shake, then tell you where I was going?”
“You should have tried harder.”
Her grandmother gave her one of those looks, one that bordered on disdain with a tinge of incomprehension, one she was getting used to because of the generation gap, and things were getting lost in translation
“Who was he? Some rando imposing on you?”
There was that look again. “What is a rando?”
“Some guy who comes up and tries it on.”
“In the restaurant over coffee? I should be that lucky a guy would be interested in me that way. I think your imagination is a little too fertile, young lady. He’s just another tourist, and I imposed on him, not the other way around.” She looked her granddaughter up and down. “You look a mess.”
“Well, I was worried you might have gotten into trouble.”
“Your father has so little faith in me, I see. This isn’t going to work if you’re going to stress out every time I go for breakfast and you’re still asleep. You need to change your habits and be ready when I am. I’ll wait here until you get yourself together. And now you’ve enlightened me about randos; I’ll try to avoid them if possible.”
Amelia simply shook her head. She was between that proverbial rock and a hard place and regretted volunteering to chaperone her grandmother. Of course, the alternative was equally impossible.
She needed to get away from her so-called friends and that weasel of an ex-boyfriend. The idea of enduring the summer holidays with any of them was painful enough, but this gig was probably going to be worse.
She compromised on her morning routine, going with the minimal makeup look and a summery dress that she wouldn’t wear back home. It was not likely she was going to run into anyone she knew.
Back down in the foyer almost fifteen minutes after she left her grandmother in one of the lounges, she spilled out of the elevator and quickly strode into the foyer where … no one was sitting in any of the chairs.
“Damn,” she muttered under her breath. “Now, where is she?”
Her grandmother was going to be a nightmare to supervise. Her father said as much, not exactly denigrating a woman for being independent and also having a mind of her own, but he seemed to be bordering on a man who had definite ideas about a woman’s place. She was surprised her mother put up with it.
The one conversation she had with her grandmother on serious stuff like her life, was about how she had spent more of her time trying to fight against the strict social norms of her day, that she be a dutiful wife and mother, and not entertain any of those nonsensical ideas of going to work or going places, and worse still doing it on her own.
It was everything that Amelia had now without questioning how it came to pass; just that it was a right she had. Like most girls her age, she knew nothing about how hard it had been just to get some of those rights.
She went over to the door and looked out. Out by the dock where the Vaporetto came to collect and drop them off, she saw her talking to that same man and an Italian woman in a very smart suit.
She dashed out and almost ran into several people who made an unpredictable turn outside the entrance.
…
“Ah,” her grandmother said, “just in time. Jay, this is one of my four granddaughters, Amelia. She was the one I was telling you about.”
I looked at her, making out the similarities between the generations. Same eyes, same amusement lurking there. “I’ve never been called a rando before, but in any case, it has a slightly different meaning in my generation, which I was just telling your grandmother about.”
Amelia glared at her grandmother. “Did you have to mention that? Really?” Scratch that idea she was not going to suffer embarrassment.
The grandmother added, “She generally speaks in riddles, and I can never understand a word of it. This new teen language…”
“Oddly enough, I know what you mean. I have a few teens and a few older grandchildren who, as you say, talk in riddles if they talk at all.”
“Gran, we should be getting on the boat. We have places to see.”
The Vaporetto was just pulling into the dock.
“About that, Jay here has a private guide, and it seems to him overkill for just one person to benefit. He thinks we might benefit from Conchetta’s experience and knowledge. I’m inclined to agree, just for today, until we get our bearings. Unless, of course, you want to do battle with the guidebook and impress me with your Italian language skills?”
Put that way, how could Amelia refuse. Her Italian was awful, and the last thing she wanted was to take charge of going to see old buildings and boring museums. And don’t get her started in the number of churches…
“Just for today then, as you say.”
Rather than take the hotel’s vaporetto, Conchetta had arranged for a private water taxi that also had catering. It was going to be a warm day, and we would need water.
I was right when I suggested that having such a knowledgeable guide all to myself was almost criminal, and when I’d ascertained from Millie that she had no other plans than getting the Vaporetto to St Mark’s Square and wandering around, it seemed simple.
To me, anyway. I hadn’t factored in the possibility of a somewhat truculent granddaughter, but then I got the impression she had been sent against her will. It was a surprise she was not at home with her friends.
It seemed there was a little tension between the two, which made me think that the granddaughter might have been co-opted as a nursemaid, and this trip was punishment.
Or perhaps she was a little suspicious of me and whatever my motives were. There were none, but given time to think about it, it did seem like a pickup line, though given my age, that would be almost ridiculous.
But that notion of being called a rando did bring the matter back to a level of reality. A foreign country and a foreign tourist, was anyone really safe?
I assured them both that I had no other intentions other than to share my good fortune, and she seemed to accept it. After all, it was never my intention to seek out a female company or anything like that. I was quite content to be on my own.
We took a roundabout route and covered a few canals and sightseeing points, which Conchetta was quite happy to mark on the map, along with a chart of the route we were taking.
She also gave us a history lesson, because nearly everything was as old as the hills, as my mother used to describe old stuff. Of course, my idea of questions, when prompted, was more relatable to the topic.
Amelia had a more fertile imagination, like I’d expect of a teen, and asked about how many bodies were fished out of the canals and did the mafia run everything in Venice. I was sure they didn’t, but it was not a question Conchetta was going to answer definitively. In fact, she seemed amused at how Americans and the English thought.
She was very patient without being condescending. In her place, I might have been more so. It was just another painful reminder of how our children had abandoned their responsibility to bring their children up properly.
After the canal exploration, the morning was spent in St Mark’s Square, and then the Palace of the Doges. My highlight was the Whispering Bridge and the story behind it. Along with a lot of very old paintings. Amelia, predictably, was bored witless.
When it came to lunch, I politely suggested they might like to join me, though, at the time, I was not sure what Concetta had organised.
To Amelia, it signified the end of a morning of looking at boring stuff and asked if we could have lunch at a real Italian restaurant, and I could see Conchetta roll her eyes, slightly before her grandmother did, so in a quiet moment I asked Conchetta if such a venue existed given the touristy nature of the island, and melting pot of cuisines and visitors tastes.
Fortunately, she did, and I paid her extra to be our culinary host.
It was a divine lunch for many reasons, to have the authentic food, completely dissected and described with the history behind it, the authentic wine to match the food, and the company despite the youthful brashness.
At the end of the day, when the taxi was taking them back to the hotel, Millie was sitting in the cabin looking like she was having a nap, not very far away from Amelia, who seemed lost in thought.
“A penny for those thoughts, Am.”
The girl turned and smiled. “It was not as bad as I thought, even if I had to endure all that old stuff.”
“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, dear. Tomorrow, we’re going to visit churches.”
“Really?”
“You might not be interested, but I am. And the food and wine. It certainly pays to have someone like Conchetta along for the ride.”
“We could never afford that. This guy must be very wealthy.”
Millie looked back into the cabin. Not in the normal sense perhaps, she thought, because not once did he make mention of anything that gave an indication he was rich, unlike so many of his compatriots. Big, loud, brash, and demanding.
There was more to that story, but this was a one-day thing. She had been reluctant at first to agree to his proposal, perhaps a little suspicious of his motives, but as the day progressed, it was clear to her there were none.
“Perhaps, but it is none of our business.”
The girl came back to sit next to her grandmother. “Perhaps,” she said in almost a whisper, “you could cosy up to him, and we could ride his coattails around Europe.”
Millie put on her most shocked expression. “I thought you said he was a rando trying it on.”
“I might have been a little hasty. I don’t mean, you know, just if he offers, I’m sure it would be better than us two trying to muddle through.”
“I won’t ask you to explain ‘you know’, but I don’t think we can impose on him. If he suggests it, I’ll think about it, but this is about you and I going on what your father described as the trip of a lifetime.”
“Yeah. Dad says a lot of stuff, but none of it belonging to this century. As you wish.”
I woke when the boat gently bumped against the dock, and Conchetta gently shook my shoulder.
“We are here,” she said.
“My goodness. What did I miss?”
“Nothing of any consequence. It has been a long day, even for me.”
“Perhaps less formal clothes tomorrow?”
“If only I could.”
At the front of the boat, Millie and Amelia were about to get off. I looked over time the pontoon and gasped.
A surprise. Jasper, second son to my daughter Samanthan was waiting, that usual lopsided grin and shock of red hair making him stand out.
That and the fact he was wearing a suit and looked every bit the formal figure like his father.
I could see that Amelia had seen him too and had that effect he had on women of any age.
I came up behind them. “I see you’ve seen my grandson, Jasper, though why he’s here is a surprise, and hopefully not because something has gone wrong.”
“You have to be kidding, he’s your grandson? He’s like in every magazine on the planet. He is that guy that does those ads isn’t he?”
The red hair sometimes gave it away, but yes, his mother was one of those stage mothers. The movie world shunned him, but the advertisers didn’t.
“Sometimes. He has better things to do with his time.”
We were helped off the boat, and he came over and gave me a hug. I then introduced him to the two women. Amelia all of a sudden couldn’t speak.
“Dumb question,” I said to Jasper to break the moment, ” but why are you here?”
“I had to get away from mom. She was making all these plans, none of which included my input, so I got on a plane and came here. Boring churches seemed so much better than modelling gigs.”
“Then just in time. That’s our tomorrow. Oh, sorry, Millie, if you want to that is.”
“We’d love to, “Amelia said before her grandmother could take a breath.
I looked at her, and she smiled. “Of course, we’d love to.”
In that moment both Jasper and Amelia were heading towards the hotel looking almost like they’d been together forever.
Millie watched them with an amused expression, then headed up the ramp towards the hotel. “This morning, Amelia was telling me this was going to be the most boring month of her life.”
“That might also be the case for Jasper. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, but my daughter pretends to worry about me. You’ll be glad to know Jasper is the sanest of the seven. Perhaps I am glad he’s here. And I don’t mean to put you in an awkward position. If you have other plans for tomorrow…”
“I have not, and today was a good day. One day at a time, I’ve been saying for a while. I’m sure it’s a philosophy you can understand.”
She smiled, and I held out a hand to assist her in going up the ramp. “Very much so. Now, any particular churches you want to see?”
I had damning evidence, and he would ponder why I didn’t play that card back when he was trying to stop the publication of that first story, which was essentially a parody of his discovery.
It was true that Antoine had been totally discredited, not in small part by Aristotle Jamieson himself, and when he had died in the so-called accident, any controversy that had been lingering died with him.
It was almost too convenient, and I didn’t want to think that my investigation of the Jamiesons had anything to do with his death, but I guess it had, and it wasn’t hard to guess who did it. Jamieson may not have personally killed him, but he was not above paying someone else to do it for him.
What had precipitated that critical interview was Antoine himself, having read an article I’d written about the Jamieson find, and thought I would be interested in what he had to say. I knew before that interview his reputation was tarnished, but to me, it seemed he would be exactly the sort of person Jamieson would go to if he wanted to fabricate artifacts.
What Antoine had to say and show me was a revelation. He was doing the interview because Jamieson had short-paid him quite a considerable sum of money, and it was the old story, thieves fall out. He said that he would have one more attempt at getting his money before giving me the OK to publish, and it was the last time I saw or heard from him.
It wasn’t a surprise to read about his death in the papers some days later. The fact it was believed to be an accident got my interest and set my investigative journalist persona into overdrive. I didn’t relax until I found the evidence it was not an accident, but convincing the police became an uphill battle because they were more interested in closing the case.
It would keep. One day, his death would be avenged. Just not today.
Elizabeth asked me why I’d been so long, and I think she may have suspected I’d gone to see Jamieson.
She didn’t press the matter as she was in a hurry to leave for her dig site and was ready to depart the moment I walked in the door. I was also ready. The quicker we got away from the hotel, the less chance of Jamieson, or his odious son, coming to see me.
I hadn’t taken the time to consider the consequences of confronting Jamieson and should have realised just how unpredictable they could be, particularly Jackson. He would be very annoyed that I had any sway over their activities. It made me wonder whether Aristotle had told his son exactly what was going on, and if he hadn’t, I could understand why.
I looked over at Elizabeth from time to time and could see the confrontation earlier had shaken her. I found it difficult to understand why the Jamiesons would be interested in a minor investigation like Elizabeth’s. Pirates were never high on the glamourous archelogy list.
Perhaps it held that certain amount of exotic appeal and that in moving from the Egyptian discovery, now losing its shine due to the way they were marketing it, it would be good to have something new to divert the archaeological world’s attention.
Then there was the revelation from Jamieson that she had let the permits for her dig expire. The Elizabeth I knew was a stickler for details and would never let it happen. Perhaps the loss of funding had something to do with it, but she had not said anything about it. Why?
This whole episode was beginning to take on elements that would, in other circumstances, become the makings of one of my novels. In fact, I found my mind starting to write the outline, starting with the mysterious appearance of a renowned archaeologist suddenly coming back to an old flame, looking to renew their relationship, with the plan to convince him to fund one of her projects, one that if it played out the way she hoped, it would be the next big archaeological event.
Step in the evil Dr Blob, a notorious villain who made a handsome living out of stealing sites and plundering their treasures for personal gain and glory. Who will win the battle?
Was it fiction or was it fact.
It seemed to me the catalyst for the real saga was the loss of funding from the university. Jamieson might have had some influence on the decision, after all, he provided a grant to the university archaeology department and enabled graduates to gain some practical experience at his dig site. That would enable him to swoop in.
It would not be the first time I’d based the evil archaeologist on him, and Jackson made a perfect belligerent henchman.
And what if they had, and expected the Dean to pass on the news in the hope it would drag her away long enough for them to step in and take over, perhaps hoping she might not return until after they had found what she had been looking for. After all, ad hoc funding for speculative projects like hers was not easy to arrange.
There were just too many questions that I should have asked before embarking on this odyssey, and perhaps I should not have allowed my feelings for her to get in the way of making the proper decision.
We’d been driving for nearly two hours when she suddenly said, “You went to see Jamieson, didn’t you?”
I glanced sideways at her, and I could see she had been thinking about it. It was a logical conclusion.
“What makes you think that?” I’d try to deflect it if possible. I was not quite sure how she would react, which was why I didn’t say anything.
“Your haste to leave. You’ve never been that enthusiastic about anything in your life.”
“I could see the distress this whole affair was causing you. You needed to see if he really has stepped in. Yes, I did drop in and we had words. I basically told him to leave your site alone.”
“And what did he say to that?”
“He would think about it. The problem was, he told me you had let the permits expire. Did you?”
Another glance told me it was true.
“I was going to renew them but the fact my funding had been cut made that a little difficult. I was hoping I could find replacement funds and sort that out. He renewed the permits, didn’t he?”
“You made it easy for him to swoop in.”
“How could he possibly know any of this?”
“Jackson. You know he was obsessed with you. He would have been watching your progress with a keen interest, especially if it meant he could use any trip on your part against you. And the fact your ex-assistant called him, or perhaps the other way around…”
I’d been looking for a way and forgot about Jackson. He was not the sort to forgive and forget. Especially when she preferred another struggling archaeologist instead of one who was rich and famous, well, handing onto the coattails of one who was rich and famous.
“Well, if nothing else, you’ve got the makings of a very good story here.”
“We have the makings of a very good story here. I’m not averse to collaborating with a real archaeologist.”
I reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. I could see a tear or two escape and felt the enormity of the loss. Seven years of hard work was about to disappear, and someone else would take the kudos. It wasn’t fair, but it wouldn’t be for the first time.
Ten miles out from our destination, according to the latitude and longitude coordinates she had given me, we passed a convoy of trucks going in the opposite direction. Earth moving equipment, generators, portable huts. It might have been from Jamieson’s dig, it might not. I wasn’t getting my hopes up.
She had noticed it but said nothing.
Then, we were upon the very edge of the area she had set as the exploration site. There was a portable wire fence set up with a gate, and in front a car with a man sitting in it.
“What do you think he’s waiting for?” she asked.
“Us. Wait here, and I’ll see what’s going on. This is part of the area you based your permit on isn’t it?”
“We’re on about the middle. It’s where I would set up camp. We had two years ago while we branched out in both directions. Our camp was about to be moved to the new site.”
“OK.”
I got out of the car and went over to the SUV. He watched me come over and when I got there, he would down the window.
“You Alan?”
“I am.”
“I was asked by Mr Jamieson to tell you the site is yours. For what it’s worth, we did an extensive radar search and found nothing. We covered the whole site. The pirate didn’t exist, and the treasure doesn’t exist. I’d leave while I had the chance.” He handed me an envelope. “The permits, his gift to you. He still expects you to keep your end of the arrangement.”
“I will. He has my word.”
“Good. My work is done. Good luck, you’re going to need it.”
With that, he wound the window back up and drove off.
It didn’t surprise me Jamieson would do a radar survey. If there was any treasure it would not be buried too deeply and would be found quite easily. Of course, radar searches were very expensive and would never get funding from the university, and Elizabeth could never afford it.
I watched the car until it disappeared, shrugged, and went back to my car.
“What was that about?”
“Jamieson has given you the dig site back.” I held up the envelope. “The permits, pain in full.”
“Ehat else did he say?”
“That Jamieson ordered a radar survey on the whole area, and they found nothing. They were here long enough to do that. They found nothing, which is why they have gone.”
“Or they did and have already taken it with them. Take me to the coordinates and we’ll soon see.”
Indeed, we would.
It was about a half mile, after turning off the main track to a lesser one defined by two distinct tracks where cars had been before. It was overgrown and the trees brushed the side of the car continuously.
At the end of the track, or what seemed to be the end, we stopped at a wall, just ragged enough to look like it was natural, but on closer inspection under the headlights of the car, showed it had been man-made.
I turned off the engine and we got out.
“This the site?”
“No. This way.” She had a flashlight and switched it on.
The beam was quite powerful and cut through the night like a beacon. In the distance I could hear the ocean, waves crashing on shore. Had the pirates tramped up here, set up camp, and buried their treasure?
With my own flashlight, I checked the ground. There had been a second set of tyre marks on the ground, and there were footsteps, recent, everywhere. They had definitely been here.
I followed her as she made her way along the wall, then down a track that looked hazardous. Luckily it was dark, or I might have suspected it was on the side of a cliff. There was nothing but inky darkness surrounding us.
All the time we were getting closer to the sound of the waves.
Then we stopped. It was a small clearing, and to one side the rocky outcrop of the cliff face behind one very dense underbrush, the other, a view of the ocean at night. It was not that far down, the beam of her light showing the water below.
“How did you find this place?”
“I actually got lost going around in circles. This is where I believe they made camp. Below the lagoon is reasonably deep and it’s where I think they repaired their ship after a battle with one of the King’s navy ships. I’ve found a variety of objects here.”
“But no treasure.”
“Not in the clearing, no. But here’s the surprise.” She went over to the underbrush and did a quick search until she found a spot where the undergrowth was not as thick, then beckoned me over.”
She held a branch back and shined her torch. Just discernible in the light was an opening, and not much further back from that, a doorway.”
The veritable entrance to Aladdin’s cave.
“How could they have missed it?”
“Easy. If you’re not looking for it. It wasn’t until I heard noises coming from within the trees. Imagine my surprise when I found it.”
“Have you investigated it yet?”
“No. For a long time sitting there, it’s still very strong. The hinges are rusted, but intact, and the door is made of oak, and not rotted as you would expect. It was another reason why I needed to go home. I needed more sophisticated tools. I was hoping no one would find it while I was gone, but this is a very remote part of the coastline. The cove has changed a lot in 400 years, and I doubt anyone could see it from the ocean now. Ideal to hide in. So, let’s set up camp, and tomorrow, see what we’ve got.”
It was a find in a million, I thought.
I also wondered if Jamieson would have given up so easily had he not done the radar survey. It was a moot point. He was gone, we were here, and time would tell.
She came over to me and took my hand in hers.
“Thank you for being my guardian angel. If it is what I think it is, then the find will be as much yours as it is mine.”
“My pleasure.”
With that, and for the first time in my life, I felt that thrill of being on a real dig, hoping that we would make a discovery. Even if we didn’t, nothing was going to take that feeling away, that sense that finally, all that study was going to pay off.”
Christmas was a time of surprises, some of them not always pleasant. In fact, I don’t think I could remember one that was what I expected, and I had a very low level of expectation.
And, being that magical time of the year, once again, I had received my gilt-edged invitation to come visit my parents. What filled me with trepidation was the address.
They had this knack of finding places, anywhere in the world, that were, well, different.
Last year, it was a haunted Scottish castle. The year before, they had found a dilapidated mansion in Louisiana that was once a slave owner’s residence and hadn’t been lived in for years.
This year?
A recently refurbished three-story mansion that once belonged to a railway magnate, had been a boarding school, then a bed and breakfast, and now was a billionaire’s retreat.
It was also rented out for those times the billionaire wasn’t there, which apparently was most of the time, a fact my parents seized on and most likely the reason why they took the place for Christmas.
It was going to be fun; snow, Santa and his sled, and the quaint celebrations of the small town nearby, a town which I don’t think would be quite ready for the eccentrics that made up the family members.
Good thing, then, I only had to see them once a year.
Eleanor had her bags packed, and we were waiting for the driver to pick her up and take her to the airport. She, too, was going home for Christmas, only she had sane parents who lived in a normal town in a normal house and did normal things.
We had been together for a few months, and it was still a work in progress, getting used to a life living with someone else. After so long on my own, it was a big adjustment. She had just come off a bad breakup, and we were taking it slow.
I knew the last thing needed was her to meet my parents, and although the subject of family came up, more than once, I told her she was better off not knowing them. I told her, when she asked, to think of the Addams Family and then multiply it by a hundred.
As I said, early days. This girl was big on the sanctity of family.
Just before the arrival time of her driver, there was a phone call. If it was me, I would not have answered it because it had ‘ominous’ written all over it.
She answered, listened for a minute, said a few words, and then hung up.
“They’re snowed in, worst blizzards in a century. No one in or out for a week, maybe more. Change of plans. I’ll be coming with you.”
I considered objecting but inevitably knew two things were going to happen, no matter what I said. The first, that snippet in the paper’s star sign forecast, “unsettling news will cause a deep rift in a relationship” was as true as it was going to get, and the second, come New Year’s Day, I would be single again, though that was an optimistic assessment.
I just shook my head. By the calendar, there were, at best, twelve days left, and I had better make the most of them.
On the plane, I tried to give her a rundown of the family members. They were, to outsiders, very different to those who didn’t know them and those who did wisely kept their distance.
It’s why I worked and lived on the other side of the country, and overseas whenever there was an opportunity. But, sometimes, I had to go and see them. This was one of those occasions. It was a matter of getting in and getting out as fast as possible. By myself, it would be easy, with Eleanor, it would be impossible.
Only once before had I taken a girlfriend with me, the first time, and I vowed after that, never again.
I started with my father. Inherited a fortune and kept it, unlike a lot of people who inherited fortunes and lost them. He was brilliant but completely crazy. He wears crazy coloured suits, dressed as a clown because he once wanted to be a circus clown, even running away as a child.
He was always interested in what I was doing with my life, and endlessly disappointed I was not married like my two brothers and sister. His over-enthusiastic ministrations on that occasion were enough to never bring another.
Eleanor didn’t seem fazed.
Next was my mother, who once worked briefly at a circus as a trapeze artist. I never quite got the story of how my parents met, only that she was over the top with everything she did. That was makeup, clothes, speech, and flamboyance. She made entrances and then commandeered the floor, extinguishing every other light in the room.
She regularly was in a story about her or something she was doing, so I was always up to date. The latest project was a cancer wing at a hospital somewhere in Africa.
Leo, brother number one, the heir apparent, was a lazy indolent ass if ever there was one, who treated me very badly as a child and got away with it. He was the chosen one who could do no wrong.
His wife, Maisie, was a mouse, and sought as little time with him as possible, making it what I would have called a marriage of convenience. He often forgot he was married and featured with some socialite or starlet in the news or in what we called the ‘scandal sheets’.
I asked her once why she stayed, and the non-answer told me. Some people could sacrifice a lot for a life that could hardly be imagined. It was not every day you could mingle with royalty.
A word of warning, Leo would try his darnedest to take her off me. He always had, and another reason why I didn’t bring anyone.
Younger brother Tom didn’t care about anything and just did his own thing. He was an amazing painter, and one of his murals graced my lounge room wall.
The youngest sister, Francine, aspired to be a trapeze artist like her mother and actually got an audition at a circus but fell. There was a safety net, but somehow, it collapsed on one side when she landed, spilling her onto the ground and ending any aspirations. Now she had a slight limp, and a chip on her shoulder, but was my closest ally.
That relationship was forged over the six months I stayed with her in the hospital while the doctors put her back together. I gave her the nickname Humpy Dumpty, which in hindsight was in very poor taste, but she loved it.
There were eccentric aunts and uncles, some of whom were egregious, some innocuous, others not so much, but I just avoided them. By the time we touched down at the airport, if you could call it that, she knew as much about my family as I wanted to.
It was no surprise that Francine was at the airport with a card that said World’s Best Brother in that calligraphy hand that looked amazing.
So was the smile, and her general demeanour that for a long time had been sad.
Eleanor recognised her before I did.
Then I got the biggest hug, and right after that, Eleanor got one almost as big. What she whispered in Eleanor’s ear I couldn’t hear, but the smile said it was probably about me.
“Just when I was beginning to think all of his family were crazies,” Eleanor said.
“We are. Just some less so. Did he tell you about the last time he brought a friend?”
“Only that it went badly.”
“‘And then some. Just keep away from Leo. He’s a serial pest. The rest, well, I’ll make sure I’m with you at all times, and everything should be fine.”
Eleanor looked at me with a face that I recognised as ‘what have you got me into’. I shrugged. “Maybe being stuck in a blizzard had its advantages.”
“No. It had to be done. If we are going to spend the rest of our lives together, it is best to get it over and done with.”
Francine gave me the look. “Who is this girl, and where did you find her?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Good. Log fires and hot chocolate will never be the same.”
Of course, it was 20 questions plus another 200 during the drive to the mansion, another of those reputed to have a lot of paranormal activity, also famous for being used as a film set.
How my father discovered this little-known fact outside the film and paranormal investigators’ world was beyond me, but not unexpected.
“You’re going to love it. Footsteps on the creaky stairs, noises from the attic, we’ve had a couple of blood-curdling screams.”
Turning off the road and onto the driveway, the arch formed by overhanging trees made it darker than usual, and with a noticeable change in atmosphere.
I shivered, half expecting to see a couple of headless ghosts crossing in front of us. Then we came out into a clearing and the house before us bathed in sunshine.
“Well, there’s something I haven’t seen before. Usually, it’s dark and dismal with snow falling. Today was one of the few days we’ve been able to get up the driveway. The gods must know you were coming, Alex.”
She stopped just short of the portico, and we got out. It was freezing cold, sun out or not.
“Is it going to be the usual circus?” I asked.
That circus, it was tradition that the visitors already there would line up to greet the new arrivals. No one was spared the meet and greet session, which was why I’d left it as late as possible to arrive.
I had warned her of what to expect, and again, I was surprised it didn’t seem to faze her.
“Leave the bags. We’ve got house staff to help. Dad took the all-inclusive package.”
“Including the fright night show?” Eleanor chose that moment to show she had a sense of humour.
“Especially the fright night show.” Francine laughed. Perhaps it was a joke of sorts passed in whispers earlier.
I braced myself. This was going to get ugly very quickly.
Just past the hallway and where the building opened out into a very large entertaining area, perhaps the size of a ballroom, the family were spread out in a line, parents first, children and their children, uncles, aunts, and finally special guests. There were about thirty in all, and I could see we were the last to arrive. Francine stayed with Eleanor.
My father decided to play it reasonably straight, having a matching Christmas jumper with my mother, the sort no sane person would wear.
It was one of those traditions, and I was sure there was one waiting for me in our room. Francine didn’t wear one, but Leo and Tom would have to.
He ignored me and looked straight at Eleanor. “I’m glad to see my son has finally decided to bring one of his friends. How are you?”
“Why do you ask? Do you think I’m ill?”
It was not a response he expected, nor I.
“No. It’s just a normal response when you greet someone.”
“Your son told me you and everyone else are anything but normal. I hope you haven’t changed just to please me.”
He looked confused. Finally, some who was not afraid to speak their mind. And to me, it was a surprise that she would be what I would have said, annoyed.
“We are normal people, I assure you,” he said.
I shook my head. “This isn’t going to be a very long visit, Dad, so don’t spare the horses.”
“Why, are you not staying for Christmas day?” My mother decided to chime in.
“After the last time, what do you expect. I doubt much has changed in ten years. I expect that by the time I get to Leo and punch his lights out, you’ll be asking me to leave.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that.”
“Perhaps, then I suggest you talk to your favourite son. The one I really feel sorry for is Tom. He has to endure the bastard all year round.”
I could see Tom skulking in line, but there was no sign of Leo. Probably he forgot I was arriving and was trying to make out with one of the staff. Maisie was there, waiting, anxiously looking for her miscreant husband.
“Well, even if you are not pleased to see us, we are pleased to see you. We would like it to be more than once a year though, now you have a friend.”
“It remains to be seen if she still is at the end of this circus.”
I felt an elbow in the ribs and looked to see that it was Eleanor, not Francine. “Play nice, Alex. I can stick up for myself.”
As we stepped sideways to greet Maisie, Leo came dashing in looking dishevelled, then slowed and smoothed out the wrinkles before stopping in front of Eleanor.
Leo at his best worst self. Maisie groaned.
“Well, what have we here, Alex?” he gushed.
All smiles, he reached out to give her a hug. She stepped back slightly and said, “You would be well advised not to invade my private space, Leo.”
He stopped almost crashing into her. “I’m sorry.” The urbane affable mantle slipped slightly at the rejection, but if I knew anything about him, it was just a minor setback, a challenge to be overcome. “You are Alex’s friend?”
“Girlfriend, yes. Alex’s girlfriend, are you that stupid that I need to spell it out slowly for you so you can understand me.” She said the last words very slowly like she was talking to the village idiot.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Francine grinning like a Cheshire cat.
The whole group had stopped what they were doing, and all eyes were now focused on Leo. He was used to being the centre of attention, but not like this.
“I am not stupid.”
“Fine. Let’s run with that. Who am I?”
“You are Alex’s girlfriend.” He said it quietly.
“Louder, much Louder, Leo. Who am I?”
“You are Alex’s girlfriend.”
“I am.” She looked up and down the line. “Everyone get that?”
She had their unfettered attention. It was a side of her I’d not seen, but it was one I liked. I was hoping to punch Leo’s lights out, but this had kyboshed my moment. She had them all in the palm of her hand.
Everyone nodded.
Then it was back to Leo. “Whoever you were schmoozing before you arrived late, late, I might add to greet your brother, was just simply rude. It’s not the sort of behaviour I would expect from a brother-in-law, so from today, it stops. You can now tell everyone and, particularly, your wife that you will no longer be sleeping with other women.”
“I was…”
“Are you going to add liar to the list of your misdemeanours, Leo?”
She had that look of a woman who didn’t like men who lied or slept around, and I’m guessing that had something to do with her last breakup.
“No.”
“Then…”
He made his apology and promise. It was the biggest humiliation I’d seen him take. I doubted whether it would have any impact on his behaviour, but it was a highlight, nonetheless.
She came back to where I was standing next to my mother, who had been astonished more than anything else.
She looked my hand in hers and I looked at both my father and mother.
“Despite what either of you might think, Alex is not a failure. If you’re looking for utter failures, try Leo. You have spent far too much time pandering to a complete idiot, and in the process, you have ignored the three other children in your lives. I expect this will be the year you address that issue. Yes?”
They got a disapproving glare in their direction, so they agreed. Loud enough that everyone could hear.
“Excellent. Now let’s get on with this meet and greet.”
I saw the meaningful look between Francine and Eleanor and just put two and two together. Eleanor knew far too much about my family for her to pick that up from my briefing, so there was only one other explanation.
“When did you and Francine first meet?”
She smiled. “What gave it away?”
“I belatedly realised the hug at the airport was a little more effusive than a first meeting?”
“It was the first time we met in person, not the first time we talked. She called, I answered your phone, and we clicked. You’re her hero, you know, and would do anything for you. She wanted to shoot Leo, and I had to talk her out of it.”
“I want to kill him too.”
“I know. Now you won’t have to go needlessly to jail over a worthless piece of shit.”
“He won’t change you know.”
“He will. There’s a clause in the will that drives the inheritance. Maisie has filed for divorce, and if it goes through, he’s no longer the heir.”
“Who is?”
“You. But it won’t come to that. Unless he really is that stupid. So let’s not dwell on that loathsome creature. There are so many eccentrics and so little time. Who is that guy that looks like Uncle Fester?”
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 