We are now up to the part where we introduce Isobel properly and find out why such a talented person is drifting in the doldrums of Rupert’s private detective agency.
Aside from being a once high-flying legal eagle, she is also a computer hacker, or perhaps that’s what she evolved into in a devil finds work for idle hands type person.
This hacking is going to be useful, but it’s also going to bring problems, especially when she starts tracking down Zoe.
And, it seemed she had struck up a dark online relationship with another hacker with the handle Tzar. What are the odds he is Russian?
She’s digging for information, and Tzar helps, and, suddenly it appears, briefly, then is gone, with a warning. Stop digging.
And if she doesn’t.
People were coming for her.
Meanwhile, in the basement, Zoe has had enough time to devise a mask that might stave of the effects of the gas long enough to affect an escape.
And, it almost works, the mask that is.
She manages to get past all of the guards, but Romanov is waiting.
He doesn’t kill her, but he does give her some information, then leaves. He knows how dangerous she can be, especially when wounded.
…
Today’s writing, with Isobel trawling the dark web, 2,583 words, for a total of 8,871.
Across a crowded dance floor, your eyes meet, and then that tingling sensation down your spine.
A girl who could be a princess, who might be a princess in any other lifetime, and a girl who might just outshine Annabel.
And then the moment is gone, and I could not be sure if it really happened.
“You seem preoccupied.” The almost whispered voice beside me belonged to Annabel, who had mysteriously disappeared and as mysteriously reappeared by my side.
“Just checking who are the pretenders and who are the aspirants.”
Annabel and her parents had a thing about people, who had money, who didn’t, who aspired to be part of society, and those who thought they were. It was a complication I didn’t need.
“Does it matter?”
Interesting observation, who was this girl, and what have you done with Annabel? I turned slightly to observe what some might call my girlfriend, but I was never quite sure what I was to her. Perfect in almost everything, I noticed one slight flaw, no two, a smudge in her make and hastily applied lipstick.
Did it have something to do with her mysterious disappearance?
“Perhaps not. We can be gracious no matter what the circumstances.” A moment, closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, as if preparing for a death-defying leap into an abyss. Then, with an enthusiasm I certainly didn’t feel myself, she said, “Let’s mingle.”
Being with Annabel could be an experience in itself, the way she carried herself, the way she radiated warmth and humility, and then sometimes when in high dudgeon, you wanted to be anywhere else. Today, she shone. I could see the write-up in the social pages of tomorrow’s newspaper, exactly where she wanted to be. Relevant.
I knew the drill, as consort, to be one pace back and one to the side, being aloof but not aloof, on hand to provide the comment that complimented Annabel’s narrative.
I had suggested that we might take to the dance floor, once around the floor to make an impression, but Annabel, being 3 inches shorter than me in heels, was reluctant. Not because she couldn’t dance, well, that’s not exactly true, it wasn’t one of her strong points, but there were more pressing things to do. She didn’t say what they were.
To her equals she was all smiles and politeness, to the aspirants she was gracious, to the pretenders, short but sweet. In political parlance, we would be pressing the flesh. In any political arena, I suspect, she would excel.
Then, suddenly, we chanced upon Mr. And Mrs. Upton, and their son Roderick. I’d seen them once before, at Annabel’s parent’s house when I had been invited to dinner and had noticed, in front of him she was quite animated. This time her expression changed, and it was one I’d seen before, one I thought was exclusively for me.
I was wrong.
Although that look disappeared as quickly as it came, and she had reverted to the usual greeting, she did take Roderick’s hand when she was re-introduced, and while to all others it seemed like the second time she had met him, I could see it was not.
He looked uncomfortable, and, as he made a slight movement, I could see a smudge of makeup on his lower jaw, and lipstick on his collar, in a place that would not normally be seen. It was simply a quirk of fate.
By the time I’d processed what I’d seen, we were meeting the next person.
The princess.
“Miss Annabel McCallister, I presume?”
Annabel, suddenly, seemed flustered. She usually knew everyone at these affairs, to the extent I thought she had a bio specially researched for her, but the princess apparently was not on the list.
“You have me at a disadvantage. Whom might you be?” The tone was slightly brittle, the cheeks slightly reddened, and she was annoyed and embarrassed. Someone’s head will roll for this.
“Frances Williams, or the Boston Williams.” An offered hand, taken and then released. When Frances saw her puzzled look, she added, “I belong to the distant branch who live across the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Crumbling castles, and once upon a time, tea plantations.”
And then I committed the ultimate crime, I spoke. “Surely you do not live in a crumbling castle?”
Annabel scowled, Frances laughed, “Oh, no. Daddy’s spending a few million to fill the cracks so it isn’t as draughty.”
Interview killed stone dead. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Frances. Perhaps our paths might cross again.” In which I read, I hope they do not.
Frances was a girl who could play Annabel at her own game, and quite likely she would win.
We did the obligatory waltz, her strongest dance, and it was one of fluid motion and great concentration, in order to shrug off the Frances factor. After that, she said she needed a few moments to get some air, and it was probably perverse of me to think that finally, someone had bested her.
I had no interest in further mingling and found a quiet corner in which to view the proceedings and contemplate where the princess had disappeared to.
Apparently not as far away as I thought. “You saw it, didn’t you?”
I guess I could feign ignorance, but the princess was all-knowing and all-seeing, and now beside me, close enough for another tingling sensation in my spine from the timbre of her voice.
“A tryst with Roderick, I suspect.”
“Handsome lad, cheeky grin, just enough nervousness that someone would suspect they’d been shagging.”
I turned to look at the amused expression. “Who are you, really. You’re definitely not one of the Boston Williams.”
“No. They’re too stuffy for me. My real name is Cherie, not French, but I can speak it if you like?”
“Probably not. Mine is schoolboy at best. How did you get in here?”
“A rather enterprising waiter, and a hundred dollar note. Most of these twits wouldn’t know the real thing even if they fell over it.”
“An attention-seeking journalist then?” She would not be the first, to try to see how the so-called other half lives.
“Perish the thought. I just love these affairs, the people, the atmosphere, the food, and the drink. And meeting people like you, a contradiction in every sense. You don’t want to be here, and yet here you are. You don’t want to be with her, and yet you are. Duty? Obligation?”
“All of the above.”
“And now you know she’s having a dalliance.”
“What rich and famous couple are monogamous? You read the papers, its musical beds. It comes down to how much pride you want to swallow for the sake of family, business, and appearances.”
She shook her head. “That’s not you. Humor me, come to the Cafe Delacrat tomorrow, 10:00 am. We’ll chat.”
I took Annabel home, and it was like nothing had happened, and she was not seeing anyone else. The girl, if nothing else, was a consummate actress, and had I not seen the evidence, I would still think I was the only person for her. But she was inordinately happy, and I had not been able to do that for her for a long time.
Perhaps it was time to move on.
I nearly decided to stay in bed and not go to the Cafe Delacrat, but the thought of seeing the princess once more was the compelling argument to go.
When I got there, a few minutes before the hour, she was not there, and I thought to myself, I had been tricked. That thought magnified when it came to a few minutes after when the waiter brought out the latte. The coffee aroma was good, so it would not be a wasted visit.
And, like the princess she was, she arrived late. Dressed in a yellow summery dress with flowers, red shoes and handbag, and the obligatory scarf and sunglasses, she looked movie star stunning. She sat down, and the waiter was there before she finished squirming into the seat.
“I’ll have what he’s having.”
“Latte.” He probably knew, but I wasn’t leaving anything to chance.
“I didn’t see you arrive, otherwise…”
“Very few people do.”
“By the way, you look amazing.”
“What? This old thing. It’s been sitting in the back of the closet since I last visited San Gimignano. Have you traveled?”
“Yes.”
“Man of few words. Compliments women. Apologetic. That girl is not for you.”
“And you might be?” I was wondering what her motives were.
“Me? No. Too old, a bit of a lush, certainly not monogamous, and frankly, you could do a lot better. In fact, you deserve better.”
“Then…”
She was watching the other side of the road, the front entrance to a rather pricy hotel in fact, as a taxi stopped and two passengers got out. When it drove off, I could see a man and a woman, and when I looked closer, I saw it was Annabel and Roderick, holding hands and looking very much in love, as they literally bounced into the hotel. No baggage, 10:00 am, no prizes for guessing why they were there.
“How did you know?”
She shrugged. “I know she is not the one for you. So, if you had but one wish, who would you wish for? I’m sure, over time, there has been a girl who stole your heart. We all have one, in my case, probably two, or three.”
Who was this woman, my fairy godmother?”
Yes, she inspired me to think, and closed my eyes to go back to a time in university when I ran into this amazing girl who spent far too much time helping others than to worry about herself. We spent a lot of time together, and yet we were not together in that sense, as much as I wanted to be. I sense though it was not the time or the place for her, and, after two years, she simply disappeared.
“Miranda Moore.”
I hadn’t realized I’d said her name out loud.
“Yes?”
I opened my eyes and looked up to see the very girl, a few years older but no less attractive than she was then, apparently a waitress at that cafe.
“Peter?”
“Miranda? Wow. I’ve been looking for you, high and low. What happened?”
“My mother died and I had to go home. It’s been a few years of hell, but, like you say, wow. Looking for me, you say?”
“High and low.”
“And now you’ve found me?”
“I’m not letting you disappear on me again. Can we…”
“I finish at noon. Come back then, and I’m yours. God, it’s so nice to see you again.”
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
I was a fool for thinking that I could help Nadia when the whole time she was playing me. There didn’t look like any tension between them, and nothing that would convince me that he had any sort of hold over her.
I cursed myself for my own stupidity.
With a shake of the head, I went over to the bar attached to the beachside restaurant and order a cold beer, then another. The bartender gave me a long measured look as if trying to gauge my age, but I was old enough and had the ID card to prove it.
It was a curse to look so young for that reason, but I suppose, like more old men, I would eventually curse being old. At least, that’s what my mother said, along with the warning I should not be so eager to start drinking booze.
At least I didn’t smoke, though that hadn’t always been the case, and, at times, it was hard not to reach for a cigarette in moments of anguish or anger, like now.
I was on my fourth bottle when I heard someone sit on the stool next to mine. About the same time I recognised the perfume wafting my way.
Nadia.
“So, this is where you’re hiding?”
I looked sideways at her. My first thought was to tell her exactly what I thought of her. That passed quickly. No telling how many of her friends were here, and the thought of facing Vince was not something I wanted to do, any time.
“What do you want?”
“I thought I saw you on the pier?”
“I like to see how the other half live. What’s your excuse?” OK, that didn’t come out exactly how I wanted it to.
I could feel her glaring at me. She knew exactly what I was talking about. At least she wasn’t going to dodge the issue.
“I do what I have to. If it means I have to cosy up to a rattlesnake, then I will.” Delivered barely above a whisper, but spat out with a great deal of venom. “What happened out there?”
“Rico got busted for having a dead body on his boat. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“I didn’t put it there if that’s what you mean.”
“Alex?”
“He hasn’t got the brains for something like that. Not in plain sight.”
That was an odd thing to say, in plain sight. Did that mean they were in full view of Rico’s boat the whole time he was not on it?
“Why do you say that?” I looked sideways at her. Slightly sunburned on the top of her cheeks. No makeup, and surprisingly, she looked very different, not as grown-up.
“The yacht was parked three bays down. Engines were not working again and Alex had to come back and just made it into the dock. Sent down a couple of divers to check the propellers or something.”
“You see Rico on his boat?”
“Briefly. He was with a couple of Benderby’s thugs. They left the boat, and about ten minutes later we left the dock. Alex said some fishing line had fouled the propeller.”
“What happened then?”
“We went down below to have lunch. The Captain took it for a run, everything seemed to be working, and we came back. That’s when I saw you and Rico on the dock and all the police. You in some sort of trouble?”
“No. The FBI has taken over the investigation, and told Johnson to let us go.”
“I’m sure Johnson is absolutely thrilled the feds took over his ticket to becoming the next Sherriff.”
“Why? Is he in the Cossatino’s back pocket?”
“You’re asking the wrong person. This will put a dent in your plan to help me out with Alex. I can’t pretend to like the bastard for much longer, and I swear if he touches me again, I’ll kill him.”
I guess it was easy, for a minute, to forget that her brother was exactly the same with other women, and, when we’d been at school, girls too frightened to say no. Perhaps it was the Cossatino blood running through her veins, that it was alright in some cases, and not in others. “That’s ironic after what Vince has done, and probably still does, don’t you think?”
The bartender stopped and put a half-full glass of straight bourbon in front of her. A nod and the bill was paid.
She looked at me, picked it up and drunk the contents straight down, then said, “You’re a bastard smidge. You know I could crush you like the insignificant bug you are, but I’m not going to. You see, I like you, no matter what you think of me. Just call me once you’ve got over your bout of smug superiority.”
A smile, or a grimace, I wasn’t sure what it was, she slid off the stool and left.
For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
——
The Standartenfuhrer checked his gun and settled his nerves for an onslaught. If they were going to die, then he was going to kill as many of them as he could.
He threw his hand pistol to Mayer. “Shoot anything that comes in the door.”
Mayer fumbled the weapon, dropping it on the floor, then finding it hard, with cold hands, to pick it up. Perhaps his life wasn’t sufficiently in danger to be more proactive.
The Standartenfuhrer shook his head. Boffins were all the same. The slightest threat and they went weak at the knees. And Mayer was no exception.
Mayer managed to get the gun into his hand.
“Don’t forget to turn off the safety.”
Mayer looked at the gun, and found the switch.
At the same time, another burst of gunfire ricocheted off the walls of the hut. It was followed by a harsh order to stop firing, and save the ammunition for the enemy. There was also a mutter about alerting the enemy, but that ship had sailed.
The soldiers seemed content to shoot randomly at the cabin, rather than check to see if anyone was inside, and soon the sounds of men, guns, and dogs were gone. The dogs had not picked up their scent, and the Standartenfuhrer had managed to cover their tracks sufficiently to keep them at bay.
Relief, but not enough to rest. The Standartenfuhrer knew they had to keep moving.
In the background, both could hear a stream locomotive at slow speed passing. In the circuitous route they’d taken to escape, they must have circled back towards the railway line which must be on the other side of the forest.
That proximity of the railway line would work in their favor because the next phase of the journey was going to be on a train.
Just not one full of soldiers, if possible.
After a half-hour, just to ensure the soldiers didn’t return, the Standartenfuhrer dragged himself up off the ground.
“We’d better move. They’re likely to come back, or had a second sweep when they don’t find us.”
“Surely we can have a rest.”
“If you want to get caught. I don’t have to tell you what they’ll do to you if they capture you.”
“Probably send me back to that hell hole.”
“Hitler is not that forgiving. The odds are you’ll be handed over to the SS and I’m sure you’ve seen what those people are capable of.”
He had, especially with the forced labor from the Jewish camps and POW camps. At times it beggared belief.
Mayer dragged himself up off the floor.
The Standartenfuhrer checked his weapon, then looked out through the crack in the door. It was dark and snowing, not too heavy, but enough to hide their movement. It was a shame their coats were dark, they would stand out against the white background, but it couldn’t be helped. That was a problem for daylight, still some hours away.
“Keep your weapon handy. You may need it.”
Mayer was worried his hands would be too cold and stiff, and instead of having it in his hand, slipped it into his pocket. He didn’t think too many people would be about at this hour.
“Once outside, head straight for the trees, as fast as you can.”
The Standartenfuhrer was in the doorway one second, gone the next, and Mayer followed. He could just see the dark figure in front of him, then almost ran into him when he stopped just past the first line of trees.
He could see lights intermittently through the trees, a train or houses along the railway line perhaps.
It was much darker in the forest, and they had to go slower, picking their way through the trees, running into low branches, and getting a face full of wet snow, often trickling down the back of their necks.
It was cold, wet, and very uncomfortable.
The Standartenfuhrer stopped. The trees had thinned and the lights became more pronounced. They could now definitely hear a locomotive close by, and a train well lit up stopped. The windows were fogged from condensation on the inside, but it was clear enough to see heads.
It was a passenger train, waiting.
A piercing whistle shattered the relative quiet, and another train coming in the other direction at speed flashed passed very loudly, the wheels of the carriages clanking on the track joints. An empty freight train with many flat cars, going back to Germany.
Then suddenly shouting, a whistle, and gunfire.
A man was running towards them,, and several soldiers were in pursuit, randomly shooting in his direction, and into the forest. A shot hit the running person and they fell.
Mayer heard a thud and a groan, then realized that the Standartenfuhrer had been hit. By the time he turned the Standartenfuhrer over, he was dead.
Mayer ducked out of sight just before torchlight shone on the spot he was crouching.
There was another shout, and the soldiers started heading towards him.
For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second worlds war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
I remained on the spot, not moving, for at least five minutes before I let out a sigh of relief. It would be relatively safe because I had heard them walk off, following the river, and Jack, as my eyes and ears, had been out and had come back,. tail wagging slightly.
I was hoping he was not in league with Jackerby.
“So,” I said quietly to him, “you think it is safe out there?” To be honest, I was not sure why I was asking the dog, or, for that matter, if he understood a word I was saying.
I took tail wagging as a good sign.
Until, all of a sudden he went quiet and very still again, ears up and listening.
Then, I heard what he had heard. The cracking sound of a foot on a twig or dry branch.
From behind me.
We both turned slowly.
An Italian man, about mid 30’s with a dated rifle in his hands, aimed at my head, not twenty feet away. I was not going to take the chance he couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn.
“Who are you?” He started with schoolboy German, obviously not his first language.
The problem I had was deciding whether he was the traitor, or with the resistance that hadn’t been betrayed.
“Not a German for starters,” I said.
I noticed Jack was standing very still with teeth bared. He didn’t like this man. Perhaps he too didn’t like the odds of rushing the man with the gun.
“Englander?”
The way a German would call an Englishman.
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Are you from the castle?”
That was a trick question if I say no, he wouldn’t believe me, and if I said yes, I’d be tarred with the German brush.
“I escaped from there, so in a manner of speaking, yes I am from the castle.”
“Name?”
It couldn’t hurt to tell him. “Sam Atherton.”
He let the gun drop, but it was still in a position to shoot me if I tried anything.
“Are you from the resistance? I mean the group that hasn’t been compromised by a traitor?”
“I don’t know anything about the resistance if there is one. I’m a farmer, trying to go about his business in the middle of a war. What are you doing here?”
It might seem to anyone rather odd to be standing around in the woods. “Hiding from two men who have come from the castle to follow me.”
He looked around. “Where are they now?”
“Supposedly following me into the village, in that direction,” I pointed to where I thought the village was, “where I’m supposed to be leading them to the resistance, which, you said, doesn’t exist.”
“I didn’t say it didn’t exist, only that I don’t know anything about it. What makes you think there is a resistance unit in these parts?”
Good question. And, depending on what side he was on, still to be determined, I was not going to give them away. “I’m acting on some sketchy intelligence we got in London, along with the possibility that the men in the castle, who are supposed to be Englanders, as you call them, but who are actually working with the Germans. Seems they were right on one count, because they caught me and put me in a cell, and possibly wrong, according to you, on the other.”
“How did you manage to get away, if you were in a cell.”
So, here comes the part that sounds totally improbable. “One of the two men following me broke me out.”
Yes, the look on his face said it all.
I shrugged. “Ask the dog. He’ll tell you. His name is Jack by the way, but I’m not sure if he understands English.”
The dog went still again and turned his head.
Another crack, another person in the undergrowth, coming from the other side of the bushes. My first thought, my two pursuers, realizing they’d lost me, had circled back to find me.
The man in front didn’t raise his gun, so it was someone he knew.
“Who is he?”
A woman’s voice. I turned my head slightly. She was older, perhaps this man’s mother. She had a pistol in her left hand.
“Claims he escaped from the castle.”
“They all do.”
I heard a soft bang, and then something in my back, like a needle.
Seconds later my heard started spinning, and few more seconds later my legs gave out, and darkness followed.
It’s been quite some years since we were in Vienna, and I remember it was a very pleasant experience, and the copious notes and photographs I took have aided in the writing of this chapter.
There is no doubting the zeal Worthington will put into the capture or assassination of Zoe, if and when she is discovered, and John would be horrified if he knew he was being used in such a manner.
At times it is going to be a bit like reading an Eric Ambler thriller, going to the hotel, getting information from concierges, and then tracking her movements. Money, as always, speaks one language, pay enough and you will find out what you want to know.
We know Zoe is languishing in a basement somewhere in Bratislava.
John is about to find out that is where she went, but searching for someone in Bratislava is going to be completely different from searching for someone in Austria.
The same rules don’t apply in Hungary.
…
As for our visit, we stayed in the Hilton Vienna Park, though the park had a different name then. It wax also when we have our first authentic Vienna Schnitzel and sampled Austrian cherries.
From there we took the train to Schonbrunn Palace, with its extensive gardens and maze, and the impressive architecture, old rooms and paintings, and at the end, so many sets of crockery.
There was also a kitchen nearby that made Apple Strudel, where we watched it being made and then had a slice to taste afterward.
We also went to a Wiener Palace which served a large and varied number of sausages.
Unfortunately, there were no music recitals or orchestral events at the time of our visit.
…
Today’s writing, sampling the best Vienna had to offer, 2,731 words, for a total of 28,973.
For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second worlds war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
I had walked quite fast in my attempt to distance myself from our pursuers if they were, in fact, chasing me. In doing so I had tried to make my escape as quiet as possible.
Now, between Jack and I, hiding in the undergrowth, the only noise I could hear was our laboured breathing, and mine in particular. I hadn’t been expecting to be doing this sort of exercise when I signed on for the job.
Now, I think, exercise was going to become a priority.
If I made it back alive.
A crack and I saw Jack go very still, ears cocked, and looking in what was the direction of the sound. He’d know, better than me, where the noise came from.
Another minute before I could hear muffled voices, then as if they had stepped into a room, I could hear them.
“So, you’re telling me you let him hit you?”
“I had to, for the sake of making it look good. I was told he was no fool.”
The voice of the man who had orchestrated my departure. I shook my head, very disappointed in myself for not seeing through what could have been a very cunning plan. It also explained why they hadn’t summarily shot me. I could see Jackerby gloating over the cleverness of his plan.
So perhaps for a few moments there, I was a fool. Not anymore.
“What do we do if we find him?”
“We’re not supposed to find him, remember. You were at the same meeting, or was that your ghost I saw with me?”
“Observe and report back.”
“Exactly.”
The voices were very close, and I could hear their boots of the rocky path until they stopped.
“Which way?”
The voice sounded very close, in fact, I thought they were just on the other side of the undergrowth, but that couldn’t be right, I could see through it in places, and no one was standing on the other side.
Sound must travel very good in this part of the forest.
“Follow the main river. He won’t be looking to deviate from his objective, which by now would be to find the other members of the resistance and organise his departure.”
“And leave alone what he saw?”
“There isn’t much he could do about it. By the time he’s reported back to London, we will have found the underground members and eliminated any threat.”
“Aha, so he’s leading us to the resistance?”
“That’s the plan.”
“And it was your idea?”
“I do have my moments, thank you. Now, let’s get on, or he’ll get too much of a start on us, and I don’t want to be the one to explain how we lost him to Jackerby in particular.”
A minute passed, then two before I heard the sound of boots receding. Johansson, or maybe Jackerby, had correctly guessed I might know where the other resistance members were, and, after escaping, go straight to them.
So there are words on paper, and three times I’ve tried to fix it, or, perhaps just make it sound better because reading it in my head, there’s too little background and too many questions.
The flow of the story isn’t working for me, so I guess it’s time to sit down and work out what it is I’m trying to say.
The notion that our main character, Graham, is a loser seems to shine through, and that’s not what I’m trying to portray him as. No, far from it, it’s been a lifetime of bad choices that have put him where he is, and he knows it.
So, in part, this is about owning your mistakes, and it’s my job to make him come across as a hero in waiting. There’s good in him, perhaps too much, but there is also that attitude that led to all those bad choices, the one that can get him into trouble, and a sort of intransigence inherited from his father, that has more or less got him ostracised from the family.
I want this character to be a chop off the old block, both of whom are the type not to back down, not to say sorry, and, to quote a rather apt allegory, would cut their nose off to spite their face.
Graham’s intransigence led to his refusal to follow his father into business, refusal to go to University despite having the necessary qualifications, and just to round out the defiance, his choice of women whom he knew would meet with family disapproval.
And these factors, over a period of time, saw him bounce from a low-paying job to jobs with no prospects, and a string of failed relationships, until this moment in time, where he was basically on his own, working the graveyard shift as a security guard. The sort of job where qualifications weren’t looked for and workmates looked like and probably were ex-cons.
There are a few more details like the older brother, Jackson, politician and schemer, the same as his father before him (the seat was passed down through the family), like the younger sister who is a highly successful surgeon, married into immense wealth. His brother had been less successful in the marital stakes but what he lacked in a wife was more than made up with a string of highly eligible and beautiful women.
And, no, he doesn’t resent the fact they’re rich, or that his parents were, too, just that they treated him with contempt.
It was almost five years since the last time he had seen any of them, that last time he attended the family Christmas in Martha’s Vineyard, the ‘Stockdale Residence’ an ostentatious sprawling fifty-room mansion that, in a drunken rage, he’s tried to burn down.
Once again, he had not received an invitation to the next, due in a few days, and it was not entirely unexpected.
Graham has his faults, but that even, five years ago, had pulled him off the road to self-destruction, helped along by a year stint in jail where he learned a great many lessons about life itself, and survival.
The four years since?
A lot of regrets, and a lot of repentance. Life after jail was a lot worse than life trying to defy the family and the system. There were two roads he could have gone down, and thankfully for him, it was not the wrong one.
So, he’s back on the path, a whole lot wiser, a whole lot tougher.
That might not have been exactly what I was thinking for him over the first three attempts. I don’t think any character really begins to shine until halfway through, as you find him meeting various challenges in ways even you, as the writer, find quite unexpected.
Is that the end result of being a pantser over being a planner?
I don’t think, even as a planner, you can create a character that’s not going to change, or even surprise you, as the story evolves.
And somehow I don’t think I’m about to change from one to the other.
For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second worlds war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
There were tyre tracks leading up to the doorways from trucks that had recently made deliveries, or taken people away, maybe.
It was a short lane leading to another narrow roadway which I could see led away towards the front of the castle and the main road. It was not part of the original castle and the track had been made recently, no doubt because of the need for secrecy.
We went across the laneway and continued into the trees where we would have enough coverage to reach the stream, it was a stream now but in winter I was sure it would be a river and able to allow a boat to navigate.
Jack seemed to know where he was going, but he, like me, probably just wanted to get as far away from the castle as we could. The undergrowth was denser as we approached the stream bank, and I had to pick my way carefully, and as quietly as I could.
It had sounded like a herd of elephants passing by.
At the stream edge, I looked at the water level. Not very deep, and in places just thinly connected pools of stagnant water. A boat could not be launched, not even a small rowboat.
I had previously committed a map of the area to memory, and I remembered the stream lead towards the village, veering off in two directions about half a mile before it got there. I wanted the right branch, which I was hoping had more water in it, and hoping I might find a house with a boat.
Jack seemed nervous, coming up to me and moving his head, as if to say, let’s get moving.
He was right. I had no doubt it wouldn’t be long before they found me missing.
I had no idea who my saviour was, or why he had helped, but I was sure he was one of the men who’d parachuted in the day before. How had my superior, if it was him, manage to get a man to infiltrate that group?
Or was it something else?
Had this been orchestrated so they could let me lead them to the other members of the resistance, and take care of that problem. I doubted, with the compartmentalisation that ? would have insisted on, that the whole resistance in this area had been caught and neutralised.
Damn.
I hadn’t thought that far, or consider the possibility.
I would have to be careful.
I stopped, and immediately Jack came over to me. His eyes were telling me, no stopping.
Unfortunately, I would have to, and, worse, might have to backtrack to test my theory.
I knelt down beside him. “Sorry. I have to go back a little to see if we’re being followed. You stay here and keep an eye open.”
He just looked at me. Perhaps he only understood German.
I started moving back the way I had come, and he followed. I stopped, he stopped. Then I heard it, a laugh, and the cracking of a dry branch. I’d been trying to avoid them.
There was a sort of track beside the stream we’d been following. It wasn’t very distinguishable because I didn’t think it had been used in years, and it was hard to say if it was one that led from the castle to the village, but if I was to guess, it probably was the means for the castle owner to take a shortcut, as the crow flies.
No point going back now, we headed in the opposite direction, with haste, until we reached a small offshoot of the stream that leads into the woods, but there was no path beside it, so obviously there was nothing of interest along it. I slid down into the stream and walked on the rocks in the water along the offshoot.
I hoped it covered my tracks.
Jack and I managed to get about twenty yards along, having in the last five, pick our way through the undergrowth, to a point where it stopped at the side of a hill. Water ran down the hillside into the stream, but not today. It was dry, but it would be a different story if it was raining, and with the rocky outcrop I suspected there might be something akin to a waterfall.
At least it proved cover and my pursuers would have to climb through the undergrowth to get to me, and then they would have to contend with Jack.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
And the perils of writing on the fly often leads to back revisions to aid moving forward, and this is one of those occasions. A few revisions were required.
Short of jumping over the side, there was no way we were getting away. And judging from the expression on Rico’s face, now very plain to see halfway along the pier, he was not happy to see us.
Boggs stepped off the deck and joined me on the pier, just as Rico made it to where we were standing, just as it started in a gentle up and down motion with the water, churned up by a passing speed boat, but it was fear rather than the pier’s motions making me feel sick.
The sound of another boat caused me to glance in the opposite direction, out towards the sandbar, where I could see another large boat coming in our direction very quickly, and by the shape of it, quite possibly a police launch or the coast guard.
Rico had seen it too. “What have you done?”
“I called the police,” I said, trying to act braver than I felt. Even with the police on their way, Rico could still do something we’d all regret.
“Why?”
Movement by the fishing store caught my eye, and I saw it was two of the men who’d left the boat with Rico earlier, retreating. They’d seen the situation and were retreating. A police car with its siren blaring and lights flashing just stopped at the entrance to the pier and two officers were getting out, guns in hand.
Those men would getaway. Rico had seen them too and looked relieved. Odd for a man about to find himself in a lot of trouble.
Boggs blurted out, “There’s a dead body in the cabin.”
Rico shook his head. “That’s not possible. I’ve been gone for an hour and it isn’t possible he put himself there.”
He looked around to see the officers coming from the land side of the pier. There was no escape for him, or for us, but this could still end up a sticky situation for us if Rico decided to shoot his way out. Boggs said he owned a gun, and if it was not on him, it might be in the boat.
Rico climbed on board and then moved to the hatch. He lifted the hatch cover and folded it back to show an opening into the cabin. It hadn’t been locked; it just looked like it was. Just as the officers made it to the boat, he stepped in, then down into the cabin.
A minute later, when he came up Rico looked visibly shaken like he’d seen a ghost.
The police launch had arrived just off the stern, kicking up the water and causing the boat and pier to rock violently, two men at either end ready to secure their boat to ours. The land-based officers also arrived, somewhat out of breath, to join Boggs and I on the pier.
I recognised the officer who appeared to be in charge, a man called Johnson, the police chief’s deputy. He was known to shoot first and ask questions later. What worried me the most, he had his gun drawn and ready to shoot.
He looked at me, Rico, Boggs, then back to me. “What’s this all about?”
“There’s a body in the cabin,” Boggs said before I could say a word, still sounding very frightened, but whether it was the body in the cabin, Rico’s fury at his meddling or the fact the police were involved was hard to say.
He switched his glare to Rico. “That true?”
Rico nodded. “I don’t know where it came from, but it wasn’t there an hour ago.” A last look back at the cabin, he stepped off the boat onto the pier.
The seaman aboard the police launch slipped a rope over the bollard at the rear of our boat and then jumped on board to secure it. Another seaman did the same at the bow. Two more jumped on board, one covering Rico and the other going into the cabin.
When he came back up on deck he was talking into his cell phone.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 