Looking for something to suit my mood.
I’ve been reading the headlines and it seems that nothing else is going on except COVID 19, bar a plane crash, and residual fallout from the explosion in Beirut.
All bad news unfortunately, so I need to find something uplifting.
There’s nothing like a walk in the park on a bright sunny day.
Is there?
What could possible happen?
Tag: $amwriting
The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 30
Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in.
At the end of the discussion, which began to get quite heated, I was escorted from the room and taken to another interrogation room.
Fresh from his intimidatory success with Jacobi, Lallo was, no doubt, going to try and press on his advantage with me though I was not quite sure what it was he thought I could help him with, other than to dissuade him from his current plan.
I had to wait an hour in that small, stuffy room considering the possibilities. Surely he wasn’t expecting me to join his band of merry men.
When he finally came, he arrived with a folder and two bottles of cold water, one of which he gave to me before he sat down.
I took a sip of water out of the bottle, after checking the seal hadn’t been broken. I still didn’t trust him, and with good reason considering the trick he’d played on me.
“Now, I’m sure you saw and heard everything that happened with Jacobi.”
I nodded.
“He’s the reason your mission failed. He met the other team on the ground and was supposed to lead them to the building where the targets were hiding. Instead, he told the Government forces, Bahti, the plan for their rescue and their location. It was a double-cross brought on by greed.”
“It always is. But he’s more than likely right about the fate of the two prisoners.”
“Half dead, yes, pressed into working on a prison farm, but neither has been cracked yet. After the last attempt at rescuing them, we cultivated new agents on the ground. Their advice has led to us being able to formulate a new attempt to rescue them.”
Had they asked my opinion long before the first attempt, I would have told them to have more than one source, and particularly if they were paying handsomely for information. It was always an opportunity for double-cross.
There still was, but I don’t think that eventuality was factored into Lallo’s thinking.
“Who’s the fool you have in mind to lead this disaster.”
“You.”
Good thing I’d braced myself for the bad news, and it came as no surprise. In that hour of considering possibilities, they all seemed to come back to one person. I was the only one left who’d been there, if only for a few hours.
It had also given me time to work on an excuse not to go.
“I don’t think so…”
Lallo put his hand up to stop me. My protestations might have worked on a reasonable man, but Lallo wasn’t reasonable.
“Well, you, too, have a choice. Stay and be court marshalled for your failure to follow orders in the last attempt or redeem yourself and volunteer to lead the next.”
“I did nothing wrong the last time.”
“Not according to the investigation I’ve just completed, the one that I intend to submit to the JAG if you are unwilling to follow orders.”
And there it was. All the time I’d been in Lallo’s hands he had been compiling a feasible case against me, just so that I could be induced to do his bidding. I was stupid not to connect the dots long before this and shut my mouth. Everything I had denied, was the same evidence he could use against me.
n typical military-style, someone had to shoulder the blame for the previous mess.
And to be given a choice, one that made me as expendable as Jacobi, was, as far as Lallo was concerned, a masterstroke.
If I went and was killed in action, he would have a scapegoat he needed. If I didn’t go, I would be court marshalled and thrown in a cell for the rest of my life. And if I went, and succeeded, he would become the golden boy in the intelligence services, and the same fate as any other scenario would befall me. It was lose-lose.
“You’re not throwing out any bones?”
“Don’t have to. But you get to pick the team you want to go with you.” He tossed a file across the table to me, and I opened it. Several pages, with photos attached.
A who’s who of the military types that spent more time in the stockade than on the battlefield. Men who would do anything to stay out, men who had nothing to lose. Men who were expendable.
“You’re kidding?” I looked up at him, but his expression told me he wasn’t.
“Are you sure any of these will obey orders?”
“You have my assurance they will. We’re sending an observer, just to make sure everyone stays on mission. You have three days to pick a team of four men, establish command, and prepare to leave.”
Something else I thought about in that hour, other than it was probably the last time I would have for reflection, was that it would have been better to die in the helicopter crash.
I waited until he left the room before I reopen the file.
© Charles Heath 2019
Memories of the conversations with my cat – 99
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester.
Not everything is fine in la-la-land, as he now calls it.
Not happy that I didn’t tell him about the second week of child invasion.
He should consider himself lucky that the school week started on Tuesday, and only one was staying home to do schoolwork.
The other has been able to return to the classroom.
One less tormentor, I heard him mutter as he slinked past the room where the homeschooler was working.
But a more sinister problem had arisen.
He’s stopped eating his food. I first thought this was part of a two-week standoff, where he cuts his nose off to spite his face.
This is not the first time we’ve been through this.
So, just to see if it is a fit of pique, I get him his absolute favorite food. Fresh Atlantic Salmon cut into small pieces just the way he likes it.
Yes, the aroma reaches him in his hiding spot, along with the call-out that I’d bought him salmon, but when he goes to the bowl, he takes a sniff, or two, then wanders away.
He doesn’t even look at me.
Very, very unusual.
I will be keeping an eye on this.
The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 30
Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in.
At the end of the discussion, which began to get quite heated, I was escorted from the room and taken to another interrogation room.
Fresh from his intimidatory success with Jacobi, Lallo was, no doubt, going to try and press on his advantage with me though I was not quite sure what it was he thought I could help him with, other than to dissuade him from his current plan.
I had to wait an hour in that small, stuffy room considering the possibilities. Surely he wasn’t expecting me to join his band of merry men.
When he finally came, he arrived with a folder and two bottles of cold water, one of which he gave to me before he sat down.
I took a sip of water out of the bottle, after checking the seal hadn’t been broken. I still didn’t trust him, and with good reason considering the trick he’d played on me.
“Now, I’m sure you saw and heard everything that happened with Jacobi.”
I nodded.
“He’s the reason your mission failed. He met the other team on the ground and was supposed to lead them to the building where the targets were hiding. Instead, he told the Government forces, Bahti, the plan for their rescue and their location. It was a double-cross brought on by greed.”
“It always is. But he’s more than likely right about the fate of the two prisoners.”
“Half dead, yes, pressed into working on a prison farm, but neither has been cracked yet. After the last attempt at rescuing them, we cultivated new agents on the ground. Their advice has led to us being able to formulate a new attempt to rescue them.”
Had they asked my opinion long before the first attempt, I would have told them to have more than one source, and particularly if they were paying handsomely for information. It was always an opportunity for double-cross.
There still was, but I don’t think that eventuality was factored into Lallo’s thinking.
“Who’s the fool you have in mind to lead this disaster.”
“You.”
Good thing I’d braced myself for the bad news, and it came as no surprise. In that hour of considering possibilities, they all seemed to come back to one person. I was the only one left who’d been there, if only for a few hours.
It had also given me time to work on an excuse not to go.
“I don’t think so…”
Lallo put his hand up to stop me. My protestations might have worked on a reasonable man, but Lallo wasn’t reasonable.
“Well, you, too, have a choice. Stay and be court marshalled for your failure to follow orders in the last attempt or redeem yourself and volunteer to lead the next.”
“I did nothing wrong the last time.”
“Not according to the investigation I’ve just completed, the one that I intend to submit to the JAG if you are unwilling to follow orders.”
And there it was. All the time I’d been in Lallo’s hands he had been compiling a feasible case against me, just so that I could be induced to do his bidding. I was stupid not to connect the dots long before this and shut my mouth. Everything I had denied, was the same evidence he could use against me.
n typical military-style, someone had to shoulder the blame for the previous mess.
And to be given a choice, one that made me as expendable as Jacobi, was, as far as Lallo was concerned, a masterstroke.
If I went and was killed in action, he would have a scapegoat he needed. If I didn’t go, I would be court marshalled and thrown in a cell for the rest of my life. And if I went, and succeeded, he would become the golden boy in the intelligence services, and the same fate as any other scenario would befall me. It was lose-lose.
“You’re not throwing out any bones?”
“Don’t have to. But you get to pick the team you want to go with you.” He tossed a file across the table to me, and I opened it. Several pages, with photos attached.
A who’s who of the military types that spent more time in the stockade than on the battlefield. Men who would do anything to stay out, men who had nothing to lose. Men who were expendable.
“You’re kidding?” I looked up at him, but his expression told me he wasn’t.
“Are you sure any of these will obey orders?”
“You have my assurance they will. We’re sending an observer, just to make sure everyone stays on mission. You have three days to pick a team of four men, establish command, and prepare to leave.”
Something else I thought about in that hour, other than it was probably the last time I would have for reflection, was that it would have been better to die in the helicopter crash.
I waited until he left the room before I reopen the file.
© Charles Heath 2019
Memories of the conversations with my cat – 99
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester.
Not everything is fine in la-la-land, as he now calls it.
Not happy that I didn’t tell him about the second week of child invasion.
He should consider himself lucky that the school week started on Tuesday, and only one was staying home to do schoolwork.
The other has been able to return to the classroom.
One less tormentor, I heard him mutter as he slinked past the room where the homeschooler was working.
But a more sinister problem had arisen.
He’s stopped eating his food. I first thought this was part of a two-week standoff, where he cuts his nose off to spite his face.
This is not the first time we’ve been through this.
So, just to see if it is a fit of pique, I get him his absolute favorite food. Fresh Atlantic Salmon cut into small pieces just the way he likes it.
Yes, the aroma reaches him in his hiding spot, along with the call-out that I’d bought him salmon, but when he goes to the bowl, he takes a sniff, or two, then wanders away.
He doesn’t even look at me.
Very, very unusual.
I will be keeping an eye on this.
NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 9
First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.
…
That tangled web being woven by Sebastian’s boss, Worthington, is getting more sticky by the moment. After reading the John is not given any other option other than to get on a plane and head off to Zoe’s last known location, with Worthington peering over his shoulder waiting to pounce.
Sebastian knows something is up, because he has people watching John and knows he’s on the move, strategically calling the moment John leaves Worthington’s office.
John is getting into spy mode, and lies to Sebastian, not for the first time, and it was something he was going to have to get used to.
Meanwhile, Zoe comes face to face with Romanov, and it’s not the person she thought he was, and hardly the sort she would associate with Alistair’s mother or top KGB.
But he had got her profile and has taken all the necessary countermeasures so that she does not escape, or if she does, will not get very far.
There’s torture but no answers, she’s been here before, and in-between time to consider her options.
This might be a more interesting situation to get out of.
…
Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon once again black and blue, 3,989 words, for a total of 26,242.
The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 29
Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in.
I had to wonder if Lallo had already called the number on the phone he had handed Jacobi, and then considered, if that was the case, there would be no need for Jacobi to call anyone. Or Lallo had got an answer, just not the answer he was expecting.
Jacobi looked at the phone, and I got the impression he was weighing his options. The first was how long Lallo would hold him in custody. That I think we could both assumed to be forever if necessary. There was, no doubt, a cell at a black site with his name on it already. The second, if he did call his contact, would that contact co-operate, though it was hard what it was Lallo was expecting Jacobi’s co-operation for.
But there was no doubt Lallo had a plan.
Jacobi took a moment to consider any further options I hadn’t thought of, and then made the call. We were only going to get one side of the call.
A raised eyebrow indicated Jacobi had an answer on the other end.
“It’s me.”
Why did everyone say it’s me when asked to identify themselves, or as in the case announce themselves?
“No. An unfortunate set of circumstances, and a gross breach of our agreement. I am supposed to have autonomy of operations at home. These bumbling idiots may have blown my cover.”
Somehow, the fact he was sitting in a small room told me his cover was more than likely a myth. If this was our supposed point man in the failed operation I’d been on, then I could see why it cost a lot of good men their lives.
He had been playing both sides of the fence and sold us out.
“You would have to ask them.”
A moment later he handed the phone to Lallo. “Prepare to die,” was all Jacobi said.
It didn’t move Lallo in the slightest,
He took the phone and asked, “Whom am I speaking to?”
The expression change told me that it was most likely none of his business.
“This man is responsible for the deaths of a good many men.” A minute’s silence, then, “I doubt that would be the case considering the number of phones and their credentials. He had been playing you, and perhaps many others.”
The silence was a lot longer, but the expressions changing by the minute told me that Lallo was not going to get what he wanted.
“No, that is not going to happen, not in the circumstances you describe. I will be sending him back, yes, but for another mission. I think it’s time you realized he’s been feeding you false intel for some time.” Silence again, then, “By the time you do, he will no longer be here, there. I’m sorry.”
He disconnected the call and put the phone back in the plastic evidence bag.
Then he sat, and gave Jacobi a long, hard stare.
No effect.
“What is happening,” Jacobi finally asked.
“You’re going home.”
“Good. I expect once I get back there you will leave me alone.”
“On the contrary, Mr Jacobi, you will not be going back alone. In fact, I’m sending you back with my team, and we are going to extract the same people you were supposed to help us extract the last time.”
“I had nothing to do with that. It was simply your incompetence.”
“Be that as it may, you will do as I ask.”
“You are a fool. Why would I do anything for you, and especially since they are both probably dead now, or, if not, past the point of saving.”
“You will then want to hope that isn’t the case, simply because if they are, then three members of your family will be executed. You can say goodbye to them before you leave, or tell them you will see them again, it’s your choice.”
Lallo, it seems, was no fool, and had ensured he had the necessary leverage. There was no mistaking the shock on Jacobi’s face.
“You lie.”
Lallo got up from his seat and knocked on the door. It opened and two men brought in a large screen connected to a computer on a trolley. They moved it to the vacant wall and left. Lallo pressed several keys and a picture came up on the screen. A woman and two small children, and judging from the expression on Jacobi’s face, exactly who he was hoping he would not see.
There were two hooded soldiers either side with guns loosely pointing in their direction.
“One word from me, and they will be shot. Considering the treachery you have perpetrated, it’s taking a great deal of restraint for me not to give the order to kill them.”
He took a few seconds to regain his composure. “This serves no purpose,” Jacobi said in a rising pitch, “your people are most likely dead. It has been a long time.”
“I don’t think so. We have word from a different source, a more reliable source, that they are still alive. Barely, but alive, serving a life sentence for treason. And helping the General with information. All you need to do is get a small team of mine in and assist them to effect an escape. They come home alive and, well, your family lives. They don’t come back alive, well, I don’t think that’s an option, is it?”
Jacobi was in an invidious position of being damned if he did help us, or damned if he didn’t. Either way, it didn’t guarantee his co-operation or assistance. Painted into a corner, sometimes people like Jacobi chose the easy road, sacrificing everything to stay alive. No doubt, until this predicament, he was well in favour with Bahti, and from what I’d heard, Bahti was not a man to cross. There was a graveyard in the prison that was full of the remains of his enemies. And people who were once his friends.
I knew firsthand what it was like to be between the proverbial rock and a hard place, and unfortunately, there was no upside. No doubt the team leader of this new folly would have orders to shoot Jacobi once his work was done. Lallo would not be able to leave a man in his position alive because of what he knew.
And from my perspective, I felt sorry for the team Lallo had selected to go on what could quite possibly be another suicide mission.
© Charles Heath 2019
NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 8
First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.
…
Having discovered that the person who had ordered the contract on her head had a code name of Romanov, and was last known to be in Bratislava, Zoe heads off to track the person down. She suspects it is one of the groups she had trained with at one point, but it could be anyone.
Back home, John discovers who Sebastian’s boss is, having been whisked away by limousine to an undisclosed location, where he is told that Zoe/Natasha and a host of other identities is not the person he thinks she is, and is told that it would be in his best interests to tell them where she is.
John gets to read a very illuminating file on her, which in turn does not put the fear of God into him as was hoped, but makes him more determined than ever to find her.
Wilt the help of the new investigator friends Rupert and a reluctant Isobel.
This story is a tangled web of pursuers who all have different agendas, people who are highly skilled in tracking and killing.
John needs to find her more than ever because of whom he believes is the one who wants her dead.
Sebastian is about to be caught up in a situation he never envisaged, his desire to find and recruit her, to tell her to stay away from John, and ordered by his boss to capture her for interrogation.
…
Today’s writing, with John facing off against Sebastian’s boss, 4,192 words, for a total of 22,247.
“Sunday in New York”, a romantic adventure that’s not a walk in the park!
“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.
When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.
From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.
There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.
Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.
Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?
Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?
Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?
As they say in the classics, read on!
Purchase:
http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-SundayInNewYork
The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 28
Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in.
…
I was escorted to a small room that adjoined the interview room, and I was separated from the main event by a one-way mirror.
It was a cliché, but not surprising.
The interrogation room was much the same as an office, with a table, two chairs, and on the side, a cabinet, closed up, an interesting addition to what might be called a boring room.
It was currently empty, and I was the only one in this small room, sitting at a counter, looking in. In front of me was a stack of writing pads, pens and pencils. I wondered if I was the only party that was about to observe Lallo and the new arrival.
Five minutes passed before the door to the room next door opened and a hooded man was led in. His hands were cuffed, and his legs had chains, standard prisoner gear.
From the man’s manner and body language, it appeared to me as though he was surprised he was being treated so badly, and was not forcefully resistant, but wasn’t making it easy for his captors.
He was asked to sit, and when he didn’t he was forced to sit, with some force, and then his hands were locked onto the metal bar at the table. His legs were locked to a lower bar. A precaution in case he decided to attack his interrogator.
One thing I knew for sure, this man would not give up information willingly.
Once he was secured, one guard took up station inside the door, and the other left. That’s when Lallo made his appearance. He came in, put a file on the desk, nodded to the guard who remove3d the hood, and then he sat.
I’d expected to see Lallo in full uniform. He was not. He was, if anything, dressed casually. The man on the other side was in a cream suit, very crumpled and slightly stained as if he had not changed during the entire journey from capture to this room.
No doubt part of his conditioning.
“Mr Jacobi, that is your name isn’t it?”
The man stared at him sullenly. I got the impression he was usually the one asking the questions, not the other way around.
The man lifted his head and stared straight at Lallo. It was not a look I’d want to be on the end of, but Lallo, I suspect, had been on the end of a lot worse. And a closer inspection of his face, and features, I noticed that someone had already started the harsher form of interrogation.
“You know this already. I am an employee of the United States Government, your Government, and you will regret treating me like this.”
“That may be so, but you have failed to define what part of the Government it is you work for. Is it the CIA?”
Another withering stare, followed by, “You people are so incompetent, the left-hand does not know what the right hand is doing. I require a telephone so that I can contact my liaison, and this farce will stop, and you will be reprimanded very severely.”
“I seriously doubt anyone knows you are missing yet. Maybe after a week or so, but we know you keep to yourself, and very few people know your business, a situation, I assure you, benefits us more than it benefits you. So I will assume you are Jacobi.”
There was a knock on the door, and Monroe came in with a small box, handed it to Lallo, and then left again.
Lallo looked in the box, then pulled out a plastic evidence bag with a mobile phone in it, and put it on the table. “This is the phone you use to call General Bahti, your contact inside the current government. It seems it is not registered with a telephone network in your country, but another, shall we say neutral, country.
He reached into the box and pulled out another plastic evidence bag also with mobile phone in it. “This phone,” he held it up, “is the one you use to talk to the, shall we call them the local resistance. It’s so much nicer than calling them rebels.”
The man’s eyes followed each bag from the box to the table. He was almost expressionless.
Then Lallo pulled out another bag, with another phone, “This is the phone which you make and receive calls from your American contact. It is what we call a burner phone, and was given to you, we think, on a recent visit to this country, by that contact. I am assuming this is the person you wish to call and who will stop this farce.”
If Lallo was expecting the man to break down there and then, he was sadly mistaken. There was little if any movement in his expression, perhaps just enough for Lallo to assume he’d got the men behind the phones correct. That he was basically unmoved at Lallo’s revelations told me this man had a resolve Lallo was going to find hard to shake.
Lallo took the third phone out of the evidence bag and pushed it across the table towards the man. “You can call your contact now, and you can tell him I would like to speak to him.”
…
© Charles Heath 2019-2022
