Aside from the fact it is one of those necessary items to walk with, and the fact we can have two or four for most humans and animals, there are a few other uses for the word ‘leg’.
Like…
‘You haven’t got a leg to stand on’, doesn’t necessarily mean you have no legs, but that you are in a precarious position.
“the table had ornate legs’, yes, even non-living objects can have legs, like tables and chairs.
“It was the fifth leg of the race’, meaning it can be a stage of a race.
“He was legless’, meaning that he was too drunk to stand up. Some might think being legless is a badge of honour, but I suspect those people have been drinking a long time and the alcohol has destroyed most of their brain cells.
“leg it!’, meaning get the hell out of here before you’re caught.
Then, finally, ‘he’s on his last legs’, meaning that he’s exhausted, or about to die.
I’m sure there’s more but that’ll do for now.
I have to use my legs to get some exercise, of which the first leg is to the tripod to check if its legs are stable, and the second leg is to come back to the table and replace one of the legs which is broken. Then I’ll leg it to the pub where hopefully I won’t become legless.
Rupert follows Worthington and Arabella to and from the concert, and then observes them over dinner, wondering what it is that’s missing in his life until they go back to the room for the night.
To him, it seems like it’s just a sex weekend with cultural embellishments.
Until he spies Worthington on the move at two am, leaving the hotel on foot. It turns into a meeting between him and two other men in the park before Worthington returns to the hotel, business concluded.
It has to be something to do with John and Zoe, otherwise, the meeting would have been in the hotel, not the deep recesses of the park. Rupert has photographs and gives them to Sebastian for identification.
At least they now know the reason for Worthington being in Vienna. Arabella just makes it look more casual.
John breaks his plan to Zoe over breakfast, and she is surprised. It’s a good plan, and once she had dealt t=with the problems, it would be a go.
And, she added quite sombrely, if they all survive.
The bad news was she would be leaving the next morning to visit an old friend, Dominica, who probably isn’t so friendly now, to get information. And, no, she was not sure what would happen after than, but if she could, she would call him.
With the two me identified, and the danger they presented, Sebastian had to move to plan B and sets it up. He deliberately doesn’t tell either of them because he knows they would strenuously object.
The plan: sniper to shoot them from a building across the road, not to kill, but to slow them down. It would be difficult to be out plotting when in the emergency ward of a hospital.
But, as usual, things don’t quite go to plan. Worthington is hit and wounded, though not severely as Sebastian had hoped, but Arabella moved slightly just before he pulled the trigger, and he couldn’t see what happened but what he could see, it looked very, very bad.
…
Today’s writing, with Sebastian dusting off his sniper rifle, 1,882 words, for a total of 56,217.
Yes, when you are going at it like a bat out of hell, it might be an idea to take a pause and regroup.
That being a pause as an interruption to an activity.
In music, it’s a mark over a note.
Perhaps it’s a good idea to pause recording a TV show while the ads are on. Networks don’t like it, but it makes the show make more sense without the distractions of advertisements, sometimes quite inane, or annoying.
What I just said, might give pause to my opposite number in this debate.
Have you been in a conversation, someone says something quite odd, and there’s a pregnant pause?
How did the word pregnant get into the conversation? That, of course, usually means something significant will follow, but rarely does. But it can also be a conversation killer where no one says anything.
Is that a wide eye in awe moment? You did WHAT?
Then there is the word pours, sounds the same but is completely different.
In this case, the man pours water from the bucket on the plants.
Or my brother pours cold water on my plans. Not literally, but figuratively, making me think twice about whether it would work or not. Usually not.
Or a confession pours out of a man with a guilty conscience. AKA sings like a bird. Don’t you just love these quaint expressions? It reminded me of a gangster film back in Humphrey Bogart’s day.
It never rains but it pours? Another expression, when everything goes wrong. A bit like home renovations really.
Really, it means to flow quickly and in large quantities, ie. rain pours down.
And if that isn’t bad enough, what about paws?
Sounds the same again, but, yes it’s what an animal has as feet, especially cats, dogs, and bears.
One use of it, out of context, of course, is ‘get your paws off me!’
And one rabbit paw might be good luck, but having two rabbit pows, I might win the lottery.
It might not make much sense, but it can be worked on. You know how it is, the words come from nowhere, the story writes itself in your head at the awkwardest of moments, then if a free moment as soon as possible…
Write:
…
When morning came, I found myself afraid. Winifred had mentioned scarring, there were bandages on my face. I knew, but wasn’t quite sure how I knew, I wasn’t the handsomest of men before the accident, so this might be an improvement.
I was not sure why I didn’t think it would be the case.
They came at mid morning, the nurse, Winifred, and the doctor, the exquisite Chinese. Perhaps she was the distraction, taking my mind of the reality of what I was about to see.
Another doctor came into the room, before the bandages were removed, and he was introduced as the plastic surgeon that had ‘repaired’ the ravages of the accident. It had been no easy job, but, with a degree of egotism, he did say he was one of the best in the world.
I found it hard to believe, if he was, that he would be at a small country hospital.
“Now just remember, what you might see now is not how you will look in a few months time.”
Warning enough.
The Chinese doctor started removing the bandages. She did it slowly, and made sure it did not hurt. My skin was very tender, and I suspect still bruised, either from the accident or the surgery, I didn’t know.
Then it was done.
The plastic surgeon gave his work a thorough examination and seemed pleased with his work. “Coming along nicely,” he said to the other doctor. He issued some instructions on how to manage the skin, nodded to me, and I thanked him before he left.
I noticed Winifred had a mirror in her hand, and was somewhat reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the final result. The doctor said it was going to heal with very little scarring. You have been very fortunate he was available. Are you ready?”
I nodded.
She showed me.
I tried not to be reviled at the red and purple mess that used to be my face. At a guess I would have to say he had to put it all back together again, but, not knowing what I looked like before, I had no benchmark. All I had was a snippet of memory that told me I was not the tall, dark, and handsome type.
And I still could not talk. There was a reason, he had worked on that area too. Just breathing hurt. I think I would save up anything I had to say for another day. I could not even smile. Or frown. Or grimace.
“We’ll leave you for a while. Everyone needs a little time to get used to the change. I suspect you are not sure if there has been an improvement on last year’s model. Well, time will tell.”
Yes, when you are going at it like a bat out of hell, it might be an idea to take a pause and regroup.
That being a pause as an interruption to an activity.
In music, it’s a mark over a note.
Perhaps it’s a good idea to pause recording a TV show while the ads are on. Networks don’t like it, but it makes the show make more sense without the distractions of advertisements, sometimes quite inane, or annoying.
What I just said, might give pause to my opposite number in this debate.
Have you been in a conversation, someone says something quite odd, and there’s a pregnant pause?
How did the word pregnant get into the conversation? That, of course, usually means something significant will follow, but rarely does. But it can also be a conversation killer where no one says anything.
Is that a wide eye in awe moment? You did WHAT?
Then there is the word pours, sounds the same but is completely different.
In this case, the man pours water from the bucket on the plants.
Or my brother pours cold water on my plans. Not literally, but figuratively, making me think twice about whether it would work or not. Usually not.
Or a confession pours out of a man with a guilty conscience. AKA sings like a bird. Don’t you just love these quaint expressions? It reminded me of a gangster film back in Humphrey Bogart’s day.
It never rains but it pours? Another expression, when everything goes wrong. A bit like home renovations really.
Really, it means to flow quickly and in large quantities, ie. rain pours down.
And if that isn’t bad enough, what about paws?
Sounds the same again, but, yes it’s what an animal has as feet, especially cats, dogs, and bears.
One use of it, out of context, of course, is ‘get your paws off me!’
And one rabbit paw might be good luck, but having two rabbit pows, I might win the lottery.
It might not make much sense, but it can be worked on. You know how it is, the words come from nowhere, the story writes itself in your head at the awkwardest of moments, then if a free moment as soon as possible…
Write:
…
When morning came, I found myself afraid. Winifred had mentioned scarring, there were bandages on my face. I knew, but wasn’t quite sure how I knew, I wasn’t the handsomest of men before the accident, so this might be an improvement.
I was not sure why I didn’t think it would be the case.
They came at mid morning, the nurse, Winifred, and the doctor, the exquisite Chinese. Perhaps she was the distraction, taking my mind of the reality of what I was about to see.
Another doctor came into the room, before the bandages were removed, and he was introduced as the plastic surgeon that had ‘repaired’ the ravages of the accident. It had been no easy job, but, with a degree of egotism, he did say he was one of the best in the world.
I found it hard to believe, if he was, that he would be at a small country hospital.
“Now just remember, what you might see now is not how you will look in a few months time.”
Warning enough.
The Chinese doctor started removing the bandages. She did it slowly, and made sure it did not hurt. My skin was very tender, and I suspect still bruised, either from the accident or the surgery, I didn’t know.
Then it was done.
The plastic surgeon gave his work a thorough examination and seemed pleased with his work. “Coming along nicely,” he said to the other doctor. He issued some instructions on how to manage the skin, nodded to me, and I thanked him before he left.
I noticed Winifred had a mirror in her hand, and was somewhat reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the final result. The doctor said it was going to heal with very little scarring. You have been very fortunate he was available. Are you ready?”
I nodded.
She showed me.
I tried not to be reviled at the red and purple mess that used to be my face. At a guess I would have to say he had to put it all back together again, but, not knowing what I looked like before, I had no benchmark. All I had was a snippet of memory that told me I was not the tall, dark, and handsome type.
And I still could not talk. There was a reason, he had worked on that area too. Just breathing hurt. I think I would save up anything I had to say for another day. I could not even smile. Or frown. Or grimace.
“We’ll leave you for a while. Everyone needs a little time to get used to the change. I suspect you are not sure if there has been an improvement on last year’s model. Well, time will tell.”
We’re still in Bratislava with Zoe making a few repairs, having been injured in the getaway from the hotel, where bullets were flying around indiscriminately.
In a nondescript hotel near a railway station, the favorite accommodation for assassins, maybe, there’s enough time for John to get the message Zoe is not happy with him bringing along a hit squad.
And, they’re on the news, that is to say they know who it is that’s on the news, the blurry figures are too indistinct for anyone else to identify them. It was disconcerting to be called criminals fleeing the scene of a crime.
Back in London, Sebastian is about to have a set to with Worthington, who has decided Sebastian is too close and might compromise his black op, so he’s sending him to Paris.
It’s here we learn that Sebastian has both Isobel and Rupert locked up in the cells in the basement, awaiting interrogation, and Worthington orders him to send them home.
Of course, Sebastian is not going to so anything of the sort.
He knows they know where John is, and by implication, where Zoe is, and wants to know.
In the first edit, I suspect I will have to mention Sebastian ‘arresting’ Rupert and Isobel just to keep continuity, and no unfathomable surprises later on.
…
Today’s writing, with Worthington getting his ducks in a row, 1,445 words, for a total of 41,162.
I had, literally, just witnessed the end of the world on the large screen TV.
Live and on CNN.
There had been skirmishes, Russia looking to take back its satellite countries and restore the USSR, and NATO posturing when the leaders of the countries asked for help and received none. Everyone knew what would happen if they did. War.
But, the playing field changed when Russia set it sights on Poland.
Rollback 83 years, the last time a country rolled into Poland. What happened? War.
This time, threats, empty it seemed for a month, and then, yes, we were plunged back into War.
This time, however, everything was different. Yes, wars were once predominantly waged with men and machines. That type of warfare changed when Germany introduced the VI Rocket bombs, a means of remotely bombing selective targets. Hit and miss maybe, but it worked. Last time we had an atomic bomb, or two as it happened.
This time, we had guided missiles, with nuclear warheads, not a hundred, but thousands, deployed all around the world, aimed at selected targets, not necessarily military targets, but civilians.
There were some who thought they could negotiate a peace settlement.
And, in the middle of that, someone pressed the button. You know that infamous button that sends a nuclear weapon on its way.
We all saw it launch, live.
We all saw it land, dodging every defence system in its path, with devastating effect, as the camera melted, and everything just went black. Not one, but all over the world.
It was estimated that the whole world lost a third of its population in four hours, vaporised by missile strikes, and another third would be dead within a month from proximity radiation. The remaining third, when the dust settled, and those who were not in the direct line of fire, well, the weather would soon decimate them.
Us.
We all thought nuclear weapons were just a deterrent.
Now, well, it was too late to think about anything. We were, as I just heard on the TV, all going to die from the fallout. It was only a matter of time before it reached us. Then, according to the expert, we would all end up with radiation poisoning and die.
I was fortunate enough to live on one of the most southern parts of Australia, a small town by the name of Cockle Creek, Tasmania. Even though I had never heard of it until overwhelmed by the loss of my wife, I wanted to hide from the world, and Cockle Creek was just the place.
Now, for a while, it was going to be a haven.
Before the storm clouds arrived.
I switched off the TV, and most likely wouldn’t be turning it back on. There wasn’t going to be any good news, and I really didn’t want to know how long we had left. I put several bottles of red wine, some cheese, bread, and meat into a bag, and headed down to the beach.
It was part of a secluded part of the shore that backed onto a half dozen houses, and on rare occasions, the neighbours appeared, spoke briefly and went about their business. People in my street were at best recluses, at worst hermits, all of us running away from something.
It wasn’t long before Angie appeared, at the end of her evening run. I’d met her several times, and knew a little of her history, once married to a cheating bastard, once had a good job but because of him had to leave, now no longer interested in anything.
I understood her.
She stopped. I expected a wave as she passed by.
“Max.”
“Angie. How are you?”
“Usual. See the news?”
“Hard to miss it.”
“Not a lot to look forward to?”
“I came here to spend my last days in peace, there’s just fewer of them, I guess.”
“Pragmatic.”
“Realistic.
She came over and sat beside me. For some odd reason, I’d packed two glasses. Had I a premonition she would drop by?
“Red?”
“Why not?”
We sat there and drank wine, first from one bottle, then starting on the next. We didn’t say anything, there wasn’t anything to say.
“Would you believe me if I said I was once a scientist? There’s a more specific name, but the scientist will do?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“My dad refused to believe a woman could be that smart. My husband was a bit like that, never liked the idea that I might be smarter than him.”
“Some men feel threatened.”
“Would you?”
“My wife was far smarter than I was, but I loved her because she was her, not the smart part. That was just a small part of who she was. And she didn’t care if I was a dustman.”
“Were you?”
“No. I owned a bookshop, served coffee, and talked to strange people all day.”
“Lots of dusty books then?”
I had no idea if she was joking or just commenting, but it didn’t matter. It was amusing to think of it like that.
“Lots. So, what branch of science was it?”
“Snow science.”
OK, so my poker face wasn’t quite working, and it wasn’t hard to guess what I was thinking.
“Look it up, it’s real.”
“No internet anymore. Kind of got nuked along with a lot of other stuff. But, despite the scepticism I suspect there is such a thing, and, if I remember right, is that something to do with the study of snow and ice movement, possible for the prediction of similar events?”
“It had a lot to do with predicting storms, and how snow affected water supplies. There’s a whole lot more, but it’s rather irrelevant now. Like me.”
“Like all of us, I think, though if you’re feeling irrelevant, come and see me and I’ll try to think of a way to change that.”
“Could you?”
“Probably not. But I know how you feel. That’s why I’m here.”
Another few glasses of wine, enough time to consider what she said, and how to make sense of it, before she said, “My last job was for an eccentric billionaire. I never told anyone because it was the craziest two years of my life.”
“Why bring it up?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Turns out he wasn’t batshit crazy after all.
”OK, I’ll bite. Why was he crazy?”
“Because he built a huge city like complex under the ice in Antarctica. He said that man would destroy the earth sooner rather than later, and he wasn’t going to hang around and watch them do it. Space travel was too difficult, so he did the next best thing. A haven for 5,000 specially selected people. I was his snow and ice expert.”
“It’s all melting.”
“Deep in the ice. There are a few thousand years before it all dissipates, and even then, it’s below ground. We anticipated every scenario.”
“Bet you didn’t think of aliens with excavators.”
“Now you’re mocking me.”
I shook my head. “No. Ivan Rostov, an oligarch. Strange man, stranger idea, bet rich enough not to care what the world thought of him. You knew Ivan?”
“Slept with him once. Bit of a disappointment.”
“Sorry to hear that. Before or after your husband strayed.”
“After. I have principles.”
“You should be there, with him.”
“Wasn’t open for business. When I left, just before I came here, it was in the last stages of being shut up until when it would be needed. I guess that’s about now. But I don’t work for him, and he doesn’t need me, and I don’t think I could stay there anyway. How long do you think people would have to stay there?”
“From what I’ve been reading, between 5,000 and 25,000 years, but that’s very extreme and assumes plutonium has been used. A substantial amount of the northern hemisphere has been rendered radioactive, and if Chernobyl is anything to go by, a long time. People wouldn’t see daylight in this lifetime.”
“Sounds like fun then. You up for a home-cooked meal. Long time since I’ve entertained, seems like there might not be many more opportunities.”
“Why not?”
Sitting opposite a woman who I had probably seen a dozen times in a year, and spoke to here, albeit briefly, on three of those occasions, I felt remarkably at ease in her company.
Perhaps it was the fact we were all living on borrowed time, perhaps in those circumstances, we had let a lot of our guard down. Whatever it was, sitting there, enjoying the moment, I felt as though I’d known her all my life.
An odd ringing sound broke the silence that had settled on us.
She got up. “Excuse me for a moment.”
She went into another room, the ringing stopped and I could hear her muffled voice. A minute later she returned with a device that looked like a satellite phone in her hand.
She put it on the table and sat down. “You’re on speakerphone. Now, tell me what you just said again.”
A male voice, relatively old if I was to guess, and authoritative.
“We are just packing, and tomorrow we will be going to nowhere. I’m sorry I haven’t been as communicative in recent times, so much to do, so little time, but, as you are aware, the world has finally gone to hell in a handbasket, and we’re getting everything ready. I’d like you to come. After all, it’s as much your pet as it was mine.”
“Tempting offer, but I don’t think we’ll ever see daylight again.”
“That maybe so, or maybe not. We have no idea how mother nature is going to handle this swipe, but that’s in the future. Staying outside is simply a death sentence, and you’re too good for that.”
I looked at her, the look conveying the unspoken quester, ‘Is that your former boss?”
She nodded, a sign to me at least, that she could read minds. Perhaps then not a good thing.
“I have a friend here, if he wanted to, could I bring him as my plus one?”
“Certainly.”
“I need time to think about it. Can I call you back?”
“Any time. As I say we leave tomorrow and will be there in a week. I’ll be dropping in anyway, whatever you decide.”
“Ok. Thanks.”
She disconnected the call.
“Nowhere?”
We gave New Eden and name that people would never quite understand. We used to say, we’re going nowhere, when we were going to the building site. It was how we kept it secret.”
”You should go. Life is precious and you should hang on to it for as long as possible.”
“What about you?”
“I’m sure there are other more important people you could take.”
“There are none that I care about. Not anymore. Why do you think I’m here, alone, and never leave?”
I shrugged.
“You don’t know me.”
“I know enough. There’s no obligation on your part to be anything but a friend. If I go, I need to have at least one person there I know.”
“Won’t all the people who built it be there?”
“I never got to know any of them. Didn’t want to. But with you, after one afternoon, I feel as though I want, I need to know more about you. You are perhaps what some would call a kindred spirit. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but these are strange times, are they not?”
I smiled. They were. And oddly enough, I felt the same about her.
“Perhaps if we both take the week to think about it?”
She nodded. “Dinner at yours tomorrow?”
“Afternoon wine, same time, same place?”
A nod and a nod.
I saw the superyacht arrive and drop anchor about a mile offshore, and then, after a half-hour of activity on the rear deck, the launching of a tender, which then headed slowly towards our section of the beach.
It was a no brainer, in the end, we got along so well, why would I want it to end? So we had to live in a bunker for 50,000 years. It would be with her, and that’s all I cared about.
She took my hand in hers. “So, are you ready to catch the last boat to nowhere?”
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 in the middle of a large building, sitting on a chair, a single light on above me creating a weird shadow in a circle of light. Beyond that circle was darkness.
But I was grateful there was no blindfold or gag.
It had to be one of the buildings on Benderby’s factory site. There were a number of older warehouses on the perimeter of the site, boarded up and in disrepair. I had heard rumours they were going to be refurbished or demolished, no one seemed to be able to decide what to do with them.
It was deathly quiet, but if I strained hard, I thought I could hear the sound of a generator not far away. Benderby’s had their own mini power station in case the main power grid went down, and I remembered that it was round the time for the six-monthly testing of the generators. I was definitely inside the Benderby complex.
So, did that make my captor one of Benderby’s men? Or was it Alex himself, trying to make a bold statement. I didn’t think he had that sort of aggressive behaviour in him, but he was a Benderby, and they all had violent streaks somewhere in their makeup.
“Good. You’re awake.” The distorted voice could be either male or female. I’d know more when I saw my assailant, but it came from beside me and I tried to look in that direction. It was difficult because whoever tied me up did a good job.
There was also an echo, brought on by the emptiness of the building.
“What do you want? I’m not much good to you if you’re trying to break into the main building. I don’t have night access.”
“I’m not interested in the main building.”
“What are you interested in?”
“You.”
I had expected to hear the word treasure, not me.
“Sadly, I’m not that interesting.”
“So you say. But maybe it might have something to do with that friend of yours, Boggs.”
“Then it’s the treasure you’re after.”
“Me, personally, no. The people I work for, I guess. The word is that Boggs has a treasure map that his father left him.”
This person had to be acquainted with Rico, because only he could possibly know about that particular map, that is, if Boggs had told him, or told his mother, and Rico had overheard him.
Or Boggs had told this person, under duress, that I had the map, holding it for safekeeping. My mind started conjuring up all sorts of terrifying scenarios, all of which ended badly.
“If Rico told you that, then he was only trying to save his own skin. He’s been trying to barter a copy of something to the Benderby’s, a map he didn’t have and hadn’t been able to get off Boggs. If there is such a map, then Boggs has it.”
“I’m sure he told you about it, didn’t he?”
“What are best friends for, but whether I believed him is a different matter. He told me about a map he said his father had in his possession, and I know he’s been hunting high and low for it, but if he’s found it, then he hasn’t told me about it yet.”
I was trying to sound sincere, but fear has a way of making you sound, well, afraid.
My captor took a step forward into the fringe of the light. Dressed in black, with a mask, the body shape looked more like a woman than a man, a figure that could be disguised by the bulky outer clothing.
“Who are you?”
“That’s irrelevant. What I will do to you if you do not tell me the truth, is. Boggs told me you had the map. I believe he was telling the truth.”
So, this person had interrogated Boggs. It would not have taken much. Boggs was not the bravest soul I knew. At school, Boggs had always been the first to capitulate in any confrontation.
I wondered if they had searched him. Of course, they had, and he didn’t have the map on him, which made it easier to deflect the onus to me.
But I didn’t have the map on me either. I took the precaution of hiding it away in a place no one would find except me. Now it was a matter of withstanding whatever this person decided was needed to extract ‘the truth’.
The problem was, I didn’t handle confrontation any better than Boggs had.
“And I’m telling you the truth when I tell you I haven’t got the map. But I do have one of those being peddled at Osborne’s bar. You can have that one if you like.”
I saw my captor shake their head. Disdain, or disappointment?
Two steps further into the circle of light, and the two slaps, either side of my face, very hard. The paid was instant and stinging, bringing tears to my eyes. It should have brought acquiescence, but deep down defiance was building. It surprised me.
My captor took a step back and looked down on me. “Don’t make me have to hurt you. All I want is the map.”
“I can’t give you what I don’t have.”
Closed fist this time, and aside from the teeth jarring, possible jaw-breaking, nose bleeding effect, I was starting to consider how long I could withstand this sort of beating.
“The map?” Patience was running thin, anger was building.
“I can’t…”
Several punches to the ribs and stomach, taking my breath away and making it very difficult to breathe. Pains where I’d never had pain before. I’d had beatings at school but never like this.
Once more a step back, I could now only see the black figure through blurry eyes.
Time to plead to deaf ears, “You can beat me to within an inch of my life, but I can’t give you what I don’t have. It’s as simple as that.”
And then I waited for the next round of punches.
A minute. Two.
Then a new voice, out in the void, said, “He doesn’t have it. This is a nothing but an elaborate hoax.”
John has found Zoe after playing a little cat and mouse in the streets near the hotel. Back at the hotel, they just get back to the room when a member of Worthington’s hit team arrives and comes off second best.
Of course, the rest are stationed at the obvious exits, and it takes some effort to getaway.
Even that escape is fraught with danger, but with all the cunning she can muster, Zoe makes sure they get back to Vienna.
With Worthington’s hit team hot on their train, a diversion in the main railway station helps aid their departure.
By now, two things are certain:
Worthington is behind the latest attempted hit, and they are both in the firing line, and
John had to decide whether or not he wants a life always looking over his shoulder.
No prizes for guessing his choice!
…
Today’s writing, with John throwing his lot in with Zoe, 2,905 words, for a total of 39,717.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 