Tag: Story

Writing about writing a book – Day 20

It is a day of rest although writers are ready and able to work on any given day at any hour of the day or night when an idea or thought comes to them.

I’m trying not to think, but that’s not working.

I’ve been going over the reasons for writing the first draft of the book 30 odd years ago and it had something to do with the fact I was working with personal computers and local area networking when both were in their infancy, and I wanted to blend this knowledge into a story.

Of course, I’d always wanted to write thrillers, and this presented the opportunity to use computers as a basis for a worldwide conspiracy.  How easy it is these days to do just that, but back in those days, it was a lot of hard work.

I remember sitting in a meeting when the company I was working for at the time had just implemented a network and personal computer to replace the mainframe and dumb terminals, also looking to leverage the new technologies of spreadsheets and word-processing, effectively making accounts staff more productive, and removing typists and moving into the world of centralized word processing.  It was not a new idea with Wangwriter, but using PC’s was.

One of the departmental managers got up to give his take on the new technology, this about six months after implementation, and after a lot of teething troubles caused mainly by people who were vehemently resisting change, and his message was, it should not be called ‘networking’, but ‘not working’, in reference to the number of times the network went down.

But this is a digression.  Computers are only a part of the story.

The story also goes back to a time when there was a clear demarcation between the management levels.  Management offices were oasis’s whereas the staff worked in a stark desert-like environment.  When one came to work for such an organization, it was with the belief that you start at the bottom, and over time, you work your way up the ladder.  There was, very definitely, class distinction, and the various management levels never mixed, at work or socially, except within their own level.

There were Managers, Assistant Managers, and Manager’s Assistants, a typing pool, a secretary, that young, or old, lady who did so many jobs for their boss, that these days it would be considered demeaning.  They were dedicated to their jobs and irreplaceable.  There was no such person as a Personal Assistant.

Nor was such a thing as sexual harassment.  One company I worked in where one of the Assistant Managers was sexually abusing an office girl, her complaints didn’t get a prosecution as it would now, it just had him transferred to another branch.  Reprehensible, yes, and thankfully no longer a problem, except of course, in Fifty Shades of Grey which apparently condones such behavior.

There were department heads, General Managers, and Board Members.  The upper management level and participants were in a world of their own, one few could ever aspire to.  This is the world in which Transworld, my fictitious (but based on a very real) company lives.

I have to work on my company structure to make sure it is right.

Now I have two charts.  A timeline, for both Bill, and the story, and a hierarchy for the office management and staff.

This is beginning to be more complicated than I thought.

 

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

In a word: Might

We might have to use some might to beat the mite.  Confused?

Might is force, so expending might is much the same as what Thor does with his hammer.

We might expend some force, we this might is a maybe.  You’re never quite sure when someone uses the word might, whether or not they will actually do it.

I might do a lot of things, but somehow I never seem to get around to actually doing them,

Of and just for the record, it’s the past tense of the word may.  You know, you may do something, or you might not.

You might also use the word might when being polite, which seems to be a rarity these days because everyone is terse, tense, and it a hurry.

So might I go to the movie will aways get a resounding no if it means you get home late at night.   And you’re only 10 years old.

I might be interested, but I don’t think so.  Let me think about it.  Which also means no.

Of course, if you’re slack in doing homework, you might want to try a little harder next time.

What might have been if only you tried harder?

Then there’s that little pest called a mite, though it goes by a lot of other names, one of which is everywhere, a termite.

Or a dust mite.

It also could be used slangily for a child in distress, that is, look at that poor little mite, he looks so tired.

Or another word for slightly, for example, the girl seemed a mite embarrassed.

 

 

Writing about writing a book – Day 19

I’m still working on the sequence of flashbacks for the story, filling out the back story to how Bill became associated with a man called Colonel Davenport.

It is important to remember that while Davenport may have begun with good intentions, it was not difficult to go slowly mad given the conditions.  This character, Davenport, runs a multitude of operations within the war zone, turning a huge profit and setting up a business for when the war ended.

Bill meets his Davenport’s cronies and then the man himself.  Life is not what it seems, and working for him is not a guarantee of safety, so Bill not only has to watch out for the enemy but also those with whom he also works.

 

Part 3 – In the Service of Davenport

Davenport and punishment

Busted mission, the first threat to Davenport

Manilow’s death – and how he got there

More on Manilow, the night before his death

Taken to rendezvous with Davenport’s boss

Identify Davenport by ‘sniveling morons’

Sniper – killing Ellen’s father – set up

Sniper – Killing Ellen’s father, execution

Planes and death

 

Bill gets to meet an interesting cast of characters, not the least of which is Davenport’s right-hand men, and a very unlucky lad who was supposed to see through his tour in the command station far from the war zone, and who is connected to a person close to him.

He was also unwittingly involved in a murder, one set up by Davenport, and one designed to keep his silence.

 

Part 4 – The Lead up to Capture, and in a POW camp

The object that Davenport is seeking

After R & R revoked, retrieved by Davenport for the last mission

Capture by Cho’s forces, delivered by Davenport’s men

In the POW Camp, and the arrival of Cho

Day of Rescue from Cho

Ellen and Jacobson after rescue in the hospital

 

Bill’s safety may have been assured had he simply toed the line, but, while on a secret mission with Davenport’s men, he sees an opportunity to take some evidence of Davenport’s activities, as an act of self-preservation.

Of course, he doesn’t reckon with the ruthlessness of Davenport and ends up in a camp where Bill is handed over to the chief interrogator, a friend of Davenport’s.  There is no doubt what Cho’s mission is.

But, like all seemingly simple plans, it doesn’t go the way Davenport wants, Bill does not talk, and is eventually rescued.

 

Part 5 – Post Rescue and Transworld

Employment at Transworld, then first interrogation via Collins

In hospital immediately after being shot

Davenport in my hospital room, post being shot

Recognize Jorgenson

 

Davenport discovers Bill was rescued, and that is has lost his memory of all the time in his service, so just in case Bill does, one day, remember, he will be there to get the answers, and the missing information.

It is almost a story within a story, and maybe one day will be published as such.

At least now I have some idea of how to work the much larger story into the flashbacks, as a prelude to what happens to Bill once he realizes who is behind everything that is happening at Transworld.

 

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

What happens after the action packed start – Part 34

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, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.

…

I had hoped we’d land in daylight, but I could see the benefits of arriving at the landing strip after darkness had fallen, and a more primitive form of landing lights had been used.

Less interest from the local people and no bright lights lighting up the runway.

The only lights I could see from the air were the primitive landing lights, fires burning in used fuel drums, and a glimmer of light emanating from two of the buildings set back from the airstrip.

It did worry me, probably more than it should, that the pilots would be landing a plane of this size in virtually a paddock, flying by the seat of their pants, and all credit to them if they got the plane on the ground.  I guessed they’d flown into more than one hot spot around the world, and at least at this one, they were not being shot at.

Their turn around would be quick, just enough time to take on a small amount of fuel and then leave.  No one had said if it would be a fuel tanker or by drums and hand pumps.

The plane had a short distance to go from the end of the runway to what might be called terminal buildings.  The moment the engines were cut, there was a flurry of movement, and after the fuselage door was quickly opened by the co-pilot, then the rear access ramp lowered and standing at the end, once it hit the ground, I could see a tanker and a Land Rover heading towards the rear of the plane, with only small headlamps on.

Monroe had joined me.  Behind me was a hive of activity as the team moved the crates of camera equipment to the end of the ramp, and then the individual packs.  Jacobi was escorted down on the ground by his two-man guard.

“Is this necessary,” he asked as he passed by me

I ignored him.

The Range Rover stopped just by the bottom of the ramp, and two men got out, one I assumed was Colonel Chiswick, former British Army, came over to train the local soldiers, and didn’t go home, and the other a Ugandan soldier with Sergeant stripes.  Perhaps this was one of their airfields feeding supplies and troops for border patrol duties.

Monroe went down first, and I followed.

Chiswick came up to me, holding out a hand.  “James, I presume?”  I shook it.

I nodded towards Jill, “And Monroe.”

“Welcome to nowhere in particular.”

In the distance, another three Range Rovers were heading towards the plane and then stopped within easy distance of the ramp to easily facilitate the moving of the camera equipment into the rear.  Drivers of the cars ushered them, taking their packs and putting them in the back.

I saw a meaningful look pass between Jacobi and Chiswick.  They knew each other.  No surprises there.  If Chiswick was running this base, then he’d have to know about Jacobi whom we knew had friends in all the high places on every side of the fence.

Another car pulled up, a jeep.  “For your man to get to the base.  I gather he has his instructions?”

Mobley nodded, threw his pack in the back, and the jeep drove off.

“Nice night,” Chiswick said, finally, “Glad it’s not raining, or it would have been a rather sticky landing.”

“How long before the plane leave?”

“About an hour.  Don’t worry.  Planes come and go here all the time, so no one really cares much.”

The crates, packs and other men were loaded and taken away.  Monroe had a final word to the pilot, now down on the ground and supervising the fuel loading, then joined me in the Colonel’s car.

“You’ll be leaving just before first light.  Best to get away before the villagers stir.  There will be one or two curious souls, but they’re harmless.  The soldiers here have been informed that you are here for a training exercise, nothing unusual as we get squads from all over from time to time.  As I said, your arrival will have caused little interest.”

From the locals.  It was anyone else other than the locals I was worried about. 

“Excellent.”


There was not much else to talk about in the few minutes it took to get to the compound at the back of the so-called terminal buildings.  It consisted of about ten large barracks, an administration building, and what looked to be a mess.

Pale lights were showing from one of the barracks, and seeing the cars parked out the front, I assumed this was where we would stay until we departed.

The Colonel didn’t get out of the car.  “We’ll be leaving at 04:00 tomorrow morning.  Make sure you’re ready to go.”

“You’re coming too?”

“Bamfield asked me.  Wants to make sure you had someone who knows the lie of the land.”

“I thought you’d delegate that to a few of the soldiers.”

“No.  Can’t have them involved in an incursion or there will be trouble.  This is an off the book’s operation.  Looking forward to it, actually.  There are a few people over there I’d like to have a talk to if we get the time.”

I shrugged.  Just one more problem to deal with.  The Colonel didn’t strike me as being a talker, but a man who let actions define who he was.  And just because Bamfield vouched for him didn’t mean he might be not be working on his own retirement fund.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2021

Writing about writing a book – Day 19

I’m still working on the sequence of flashbacks for the story, filling out the back story to how Bill became associated with a man called Colonel Davenport.

It is important to remember that while Davenport may have begun with good intentions, it was not difficult to go slowly mad given the conditions.  This character, Davenport, runs a multitude of operations within the war zone, turning a huge profit and setting up a business for when the war ended.

Bill meets his Davenport’s cronies and then the man himself.  Life is not what it seems, and working for him is not a guarantee of safety, so Bill not only has to watch out for the enemy but also those with whom he also works.

 

Part 3 – In the Service of Davenport

Davenport and punishment

Busted mission, the first threat to Davenport

Manilow’s death – and how he got there

More on Manilow, the night before his death

Taken to rendezvous with Davenport’s boss

Identify Davenport by ‘sniveling morons’

Sniper – killing Ellen’s father – set up

Sniper – Killing Ellen’s father, execution

Planes and death

 

Bill gets to meet an interesting cast of characters, not the least of which is Davenport’s right-hand men, and a very unlucky lad who was supposed to see through his tour in the command station far from the war zone, and who is connected to a person close to him.

He was also unwittingly involved in a murder, one set up by Davenport, and one designed to keep his silence.

 

Part 4 – The Lead up to Capture, and in a POW camp

The object that Davenport is seeking

After R & R revoked, retrieved by Davenport for the last mission

Capture by Cho’s forces, delivered by Davenport’s men

In the POW Camp, and the arrival of Cho

Day of Rescue from Cho

Ellen and Jacobson after rescue in the hospital

 

Bill’s safety may have been assured had he simply toed the line, but, while on a secret mission with Davenport’s men, he sees an opportunity to take some evidence of Davenport’s activities, as an act of self-preservation.

Of course, he doesn’t reckon with the ruthlessness of Davenport and ends up in a camp where Bill is handed over to the chief interrogator, a friend of Davenport’s.  There is no doubt what Cho’s mission is.

But, like all seemingly simple plans, it doesn’t go the way Davenport wants, Bill does not talk, and is eventually rescued.

 

Part 5 – Post Rescue and Transworld

Employment at Transworld, then first interrogation via Collins

In hospital immediately after being shot

Davenport in my hospital room, post being shot

Recognize Jorgenson

 

Davenport discovers Bill was rescued, and that is has lost his memory of all the time in his service, so just in case Bill does, one day, remember, he will be there to get the answers, and the missing information.

It is almost a story within a story, and maybe one day will be published as such.

At least now I have some idea of how to work the much larger story into the flashbacks, as a prelude to what happens to Bill once he realizes who is behind everything that is happening at Transworld.

 

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

What happens after the action packed start – Part 34

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, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.

…

I had hoped we’d land in daylight, but I could see the benefits of arriving at the landing strip after darkness had fallen, and a more primitive form of landing lights had been used.

Less interest from the local people and no bright lights lighting up the runway.

The only lights I could see from the air were the primitive landing lights, fires burning in used fuel drums, and a glimmer of light emanating from two of the buildings set back from the airstrip.

It did worry me, probably more than it should, that the pilots would be landing a plane of this size in virtually a paddock, flying by the seat of their pants, and all credit to them if they got the plane on the ground.  I guessed they’d flown into more than one hot spot around the world, and at least at this one, they were not being shot at.

Their turn around would be quick, just enough time to take on a small amount of fuel and then leave.  No one had said if it would be a fuel tanker or by drums and hand pumps.

The plane had a short distance to go from the end of the runway to what might be called terminal buildings.  The moment the engines were cut, there was a flurry of movement, and after the fuselage door was quickly opened by the co-pilot, then the rear access ramp lowered and standing at the end, once it hit the ground, I could see a tanker and a Land Rover heading towards the rear of the plane, with only small headlamps on.

Monroe had joined me.  Behind me was a hive of activity as the team moved the crates of camera equipment to the end of the ramp, and then the individual packs.  Jacobi was escorted down on the ground by his two-man guard.

“Is this necessary,” he asked as he passed by me

I ignored him.

The Range Rover stopped just by the bottom of the ramp, and two men got out, one I assumed was Colonel Chiswick, former British Army, came over to train the local soldiers, and didn’t go home, and the other a Ugandan soldier with Sergeant stripes.  Perhaps this was one of their airfields feeding supplies and troops for border patrol duties.

Monroe went down first, and I followed.

Chiswick came up to me, holding out a hand.  “James, I presume?”  I shook it.

I nodded towards Jill, “And Monroe.”

“Welcome to nowhere in particular.”

In the distance, another three Range Rovers were heading towards the plane and then stopped within easy distance of the ramp to easily facilitate the moving of the camera equipment into the rear.  Drivers of the cars ushered them, taking their packs and putting them in the back.

I saw a meaningful look pass between Jacobi and Chiswick.  They knew each other.  No surprises there.  If Chiswick was running this base, then he’d have to know about Jacobi whom we knew had friends in all the high places on every side of the fence.

Another car pulled up, a jeep.  “For your man to get to the base.  I gather he has his instructions?”

Mobley nodded, threw his pack in the back, and the jeep drove off.

“Nice night,” Chiswick said, finally, “Glad it’s not raining, or it would have been a rather sticky landing.”

“How long before the plane leave?”

“About an hour.  Don’t worry.  Planes come and go here all the time, so no one really cares much.”

The crates, packs and other men were loaded and taken away.  Monroe had a final word to the pilot, now down on the ground and supervising the fuel loading, then joined me in the Colonel’s car.

“You’ll be leaving just before first light.  Best to get away before the villagers stir.  There will be one or two curious souls, but they’re harmless.  The soldiers here have been informed that you are here for a training exercise, nothing unusual as we get squads from all over from time to time.  As I said, your arrival will have caused little interest.”

From the locals.  It was anyone else other than the locals I was worried about. 

“Excellent.”


There was not much else to talk about in the few minutes it took to get to the compound at the back of the so-called terminal buildings.  It consisted of about ten large barracks, an administration building, and what looked to be a mess.

Pale lights were showing from one of the barracks, and seeing the cars parked out the front, I assumed this was where we would stay until we departed.

The Colonel didn’t get out of the car.  “We’ll be leaving at 04:00 tomorrow morning.  Make sure you’re ready to go.”

“You’re coming too?”

“Bamfield asked me.  Wants to make sure you had someone who knows the lie of the land.”

“I thought you’d delegate that to a few of the soldiers.”

“No.  Can’t have them involved in an incursion or there will be trouble.  This is an off the book’s operation.  Looking forward to it, actually.  There are a few people over there I’d like to have a talk to if we get the time.”

I shrugged.  Just one more problem to deal with.  The Colonel didn’t strike me as being a talker, but a man who let actions define who he was.  And just because Bamfield vouched for him didn’t mean he might be not be working on his own retirement fund.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2021

Writing about writing a book – Day 18

It’s time to go back to working on Bill’s backstory now that we’ve filled in some of the gaps.

Like some TV shows and books, some of the action sometimes takes the form of flashbacks.

In Starburst, Bill has a complete backstory, of a time that he had mainly forced into the deep dark part of his memory, waiting for something or someone to trigger it.

This whole back story, from the moment he entered the war zone, to the moment his war ended, and those that participated throughout that time, will be in the form of flashbacks, the first of which is triggered by the painkiller Bill is given after being shot in the Aitcheson incident.

These flashbacks will not necessarily be in any sort of order, but I have been thinking about this part of the story and produced an outline of the sequences I will require, give or take.  There may be more, or less, depending on how the story progresses.

Part 1 – From arrival in the war zone to being assigned to Davenport’s squad

Being sent to, and the first patrol in Vietnam

Death and mayhem some months after sent to Vietnam

First meeting Barry in army mobile hospital

R and R in Saigon, with the first of the Vietnamese girls

Psychiatric help, time in the stockade

No soldier who trains for war, nor can they have a real idea what war is like, and certainly a war in the jungle, on the enemy’s terms.  Bill is like any other soldier, happy to go into service, but soon the reality, and death becomes apparent.

Endless rain, endless heat, endless and sometimes needless death, and a deep mistrust of those whom you are supposed to protect, start to work on the mind of a person young enough not to understand what is going on.

Then, when trying to blot out the memories of death, enemy and friend alike, something has to give.  Of course, the last place you want to end up in the stockade.

Part 2 – A lifeline, and a pass into the so-called Davenport Operation

Training as a spy?

Colonel, calling Bill into a briefing on the Davenport operation

Talking to the Commanding officer in Stockade, as a preliminary to Davenport service

Was Bill sent to the stockade because he committed an act of folly, or his incarceration a part of a much larger plan, a plan to have an inside man to report on Davenport?

It’s not the first time someone higher up the chain of command has had ideas of trying to find out what Davenport is doing, and where only rumors abound of his ‘interests’.  Agents had been sent in before, and those agents had disappeared.

Was Bill about to be the next, or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

There is more, but I’m still working on it.

© Charles Heath 2015-2021

Searching for locations: The Erqi Memorial Tower, Zhengzhou, China

A convoluted explanation on the reasons for this memorial came down to it being about the deaths of those involved in the 1923 Erqi strike, though we’re not really sure what the strike was about.

So, after a little research, this is what I found:

The current Erqi Tower was built in 1971 and was, historically, the tallest building in the city. It is a memorial to the Erqi strike and in memory of Lin Xiangqian and other railway workers who went on strike for their rights, which happened on February 7, 1923.

It has 14 floors and is 63 meters high. One of the features of this building is the view from the top, accessed by a spiral staircase, or an elevator, when it’s working (it was not at the time of our visit).

There seems to be an affinity with the number 27 with this building, in that

  • It’s the 27th memorial to be built
  • to commemorate the 27th workers’ strike
  • located in the 27th plaza of Zhengzhou City.

We drive to the middle of the city where we once again find traveling in kamikaze traffic more entertaining than the tourist points

When we get to the drop-off spot, it’s a 10-minute walk to the center square where the tower is located on one side. Getting there we had to pass a choke point of blaring music and people hawking goods, each echoing off the opposite wall to the point where it was deafening. Too much of it would be torture.

But, back to the tower…

It has 14 levels, but no one seemed interested in climbing the 14 or 16 levels to get to the top. The elevator was broken, and after the great wall episode, most of us are heartily sick of stairs.

The center square was quite large but paved in places with white tiles that oddly reflected the heat rather than absorb it. In the sun it was very warm.

Around the outside of two-thirds of the square, and crossing the roads, was an elevated walkway, which if you go from the first shops and around to the other end, you finish up, on the ground level, at Starbucks.

This is the Chinese version and once you get past the language barrier, the mixology range of cold fruity drinks are to die for, especially after all that walking. Mine was a predominantly peach flavor, with some jelly and apricot at the bottom. I was expecting sliced peaches but I prefer and liked the apricot half.

A drink and fruit together was a surprise.

Then it was the walk back to the meeting point and then into the hotel to use the happy house before rejoining the kamikaze traffic.

We are taken then to the train station for the 2:29 to our next destination, Suzhou, the Venice of the East.

“What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

David is a man troubled by a past he is trying to forget.

Susan is rebelling against a life of privilege and an exasperated mother who holds a secret that will determine her daughter’s destiny.

They are two people brought together by chance. Or was it?

When Susan discovers her mother’s secret, she goes in search of the truth that has been hidden from her since the day she was born.

When David realizes her absence is more than the usual cooling off after another heated argument, he finds himself being slowly drawn back into his former world of deceit and lies.

Then, back with his former employers, David quickly discovers nothing is what it seems as he embarks on a dangerous mission to find Susan before he loses her forever.

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whatsetscover

That helicopter story that kept me awake – Episode 33

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, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.

Onboard the plane shortly after it took off, I watched Monroe go to each of the team and give them a folder with their role, and, no doubt, instructions on what they had to do, and to handle the equipment they were assigned.  The list I’d seen required a sound technician, a grip, a cameraman, his assistant, the director, the producer, which I took to be Monroe, and a few other production assistants.

None looked happy, and probably already knew what the cover story would be.  I didn’t see or hear any objections, each just took their folder and started on their homework.

She didn’t spend much time with Jacobi, just enough to tell him he was going to be the guide.  It was a role he was most suited to, and that of local liaison.  At least it would explain why he was with us.

After that, she came to see me.

“Was it your idea or Lallo’s?” I asked.  

“Lallo’s.  I’m as surprised as you, but you have to admit it’s a great cover story.”

“For a group who wouldn’t know one end of the camera from the other.”

“Plenty of time to learn.  You don’t have to worry.  All you have to do is be perennially bad-tempered and yell a lot.  I’m sure you can do that without having me tell you how to.”

“No. probably not.  Bamfield said it all the equipment worked.”

“When we take the C4, detonators, grenades, and a few other assorted armaments out it will.”

“You know where the other stuff is,” I said, hoping she understood that it was the diamonds I was talking about.

“Somewhere in one of the boxes.  It was best not to tell anyone, so if anything happens, we can’t give it away.  We can worry about that once we get past the border.  I suggest you get your head down.  At least one of us has to be sharp at the other end when we land.”

With that, she went back to her corner, ran her eye over the team now deep in their studies, then looked like she was going to get some sleep.

After a few hours, the enthusiasm to learn had died down, and each of the team members made themselves comfortable.  There would be more time to study on the other side of the fuel stop.  Everyone on board got what sleep they could, not that it was the best of places in the cargo hold of a C-130.  One destination we were all familiar with was that of Djibouti when we would set down to refuel at the airbase there.

It was a half-hour stop, and, as Monroe advised, we didn’t leave the plane.  It was best no one knew we were aboard or what we were doing, a feat I thought quite remarkable because if it was my airbase, I’d want to know.

But, as airbases went, it was the same as the rest.

Back in the air, we were heading for Uganda.  It was another 6 or 7 hours, so it was a good time to get some more rest before we landed.  I had no idea when the next time would be that there would be time for some shuteye.

I’d been keeping an eye on Monroe.  She appeared to be the liaison for everything, and had accompanied the pilot to the base tower, most likely to file the flight plan, one of several I imagine, and to report back to Bamfield.  It explained why the pilot returned without her, and she didn’t get back until 15 minutes before we were due to leave.

Should I be worried?  There wasn’t much point.

After an hour, I went up the back of the plane and sat next to Jacobi.  He had been ostracised by the rest of the team; an order given by Monroe for them to leave him alone.  He’d been escorted onto the plane by two burly military policemen, and his bag of equipment given to Monroe for safekeeping, so we were sure from the time he left the cell at the black site to getting on the plane he had communicated with anyone.

Even so, I was sure he had been in similar situations before, and he was still alive to tell about it.  If he had a plan, whatever that plan was, we would soon find out.

In the meantime, I thought he might have an interesting story to tell, and I had a few hours to kill.

He sullenly watched me come down the fuselage, and then sit next to him, loosely putting what passed as a seat belt on just in case we hit an air pocket.  The flight was not as smooth as it might be on a commercial airliner and was certainly a lot noisier.

“Have you spoken to the right people yet?” I almost had to yell in his ear.  

Lallo had said he was going to get Jacobi to call his friendly General in the Congo army to smooth the way, and it would be interesting to know under what circumstances Jacobi had explained our arrival at his border.  And another to tell the kidnappers we were on our way.  Monroe said he had made several supervised phone calls, but not exactly who to.

We had to pray that the General would be among those to also help us locate the targets and, once the exchange was made, assist us in our departure, for a small sum to compensate them for the inconvenience.

He knew why I’d come to see him.  “The captors know we are coming, and hopefully before the time limit has passed.  They will kill them this time if we don’t get there in time.”

“I’m sure they’d like us to think that, but you know as well as I do they need the ransom for their ongoing operations.  Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to plan f which is where they kill us, the hostages, and just take the ransom.  Either way, I hate to be the one who is only going to make things worse, but I don’t get to decide what’s right or wrong.”

“It’s how it works out there.  Everyone is available for a price.  If it wasn’t this lot, it’d be another or another.”

“Or the military, maybe, looking to cash in because the state doesn’t pay them enough.  That’s why we’re putting you at the head of the procession.  If we’re ambushed, you’ll be the first to go.”

“I admire your lack of faith in me.”

“You haven’t done anything to inspire faith, Jacobi.  But so long as you keep your word, and do everything right, I won’t have to shoot you.”

There was no horrified look.  He knew the score of being in the ‘Mr. In-Between’ business.  He would no doubt get a share of the diamonds for brokering the deal, on top of whatever Lallo offered him, and a cut of the General and his men’s fees for guaranteeing our safety.  I guess his business also had its hazards, wasn’t for the faint-hearted, and for those working all sides of the fence, a particularly exciting time.

Generals, soldiers, kidnappers, rebels, practically every man and his dog had an itchy trigger finger.

“It’s not me you have to worry about.”

“How so?”

“I didn’t betray them the last time, and that person was never identified.”

A good point.  “Then let’s hope no one else knows we’re coming, or what we’re bringing as ransom.”

He looked at me, a look that told me I thought he might just make a play for the diamonds himself and forget about the targets.  It was a very tempting ransom.

“You know how it is.  Spies are everywhere.”

“Just make sure you’re not one of them.”

I think I said it with just enough sincerity that he believed me.

“It’s not worth my while, I assure you.  Once you’re involved in a double-cross, you cease to be of worth to anyone.  I will not be the source of your problems if there are any.”

For a man who’d already been caught out in a raft of lies, there was nothing he could say that would make me trust him.  He was going to require an escort once we landed.

I had two perfect candidates for the job.  Williamson and Shurl.  From what I had observed on the ground before we boarded the plane, and in the plane, they stuck together.  I got the impression they knew each other.

After I left Jacobi, I told them what I wanted them to do.

It was the day for sullen responses.  They didn’t want to be babysitters.  Tough.

Next, I went and visited Mobley, sitting closer to the front of the plane, by himself.  Monroe had sat with him for an hour or so before we reached Djibouti, and it had raised a small flag.

I staggered towards him, the pilots deciding to take the rough path through the sky, and almost fell into the seat next to him.

He didn’t look at me the whole time, even when I’d sat down.  Was he pretending to ignore me, or had he decided he was above taking my orders?

“I’ve got a few hours to waste so if you think I’m going away forget it,” I said, loud enough to get his attention.

A slight flutter of an eyelid.  Not asleep.

“Monroe tells me you’re in charge of this motley crew,” he said, still not looking at me.

“Not because I want to be.  I’m not sure what your reason is to be here, and, frankly, I don’t care, but I really don’t want to be here.  I wasn’t given a choice.  I’m guessing you did from what I’ve been told.  We don’t have time to debate the issue.  What I want you to do is when we arrive at the base, is hang back, come up with whatever excuse will fly, and give us several hours head start.  You’ll be with one of Chiswick’s men.  What’s important is to check no one follows us.”

“You think someone might?”  A look of almost interest.

“I’m sure of it.  There’s no way we will get to the base in Uganda, no matter how far from civilization it is, and not be noticed, or worse, that someone already knows we’re coming.”

“What’s the ultimate rendezvous?”

“Over the border in the Congo.”  I passed him a hand-drawn map of the area, from the landing strip to the GPS co-ordinates of the exchange point in the Congo, but not the track that we would be taking, some of which I hoped might be by the river.  I think Monroe had given him as much detail of the job as she could, as she probably had all of them.

“Monroe in the loop?”

“She will be by the time we land.”

“Good.”

Eyes closed again; the conversation was over.

Time to have a talk to Monroe.

“Got some good news,” she said when I sat next to her.

“We’re turning around and going home?”

“Where is home?”

It was an interesting question.  I’d been bounced around so many airbases, I don’t think I’d had a permanent fixed address from the day I signed up.  Was it where I used to live?  No point going back, everyone I’d known back then had either moved on or died.  Technically I was now an orphan, and unlike others, I had no family of my own to go home to.

“No idea anymore, I’m afraid.  So, what’s this good news.”

“We have an exit strategy.  Bamfield told me to tell you everything is in place.  All we have to do is liberate a plane and we’re on our way home.  It’s the reason why Davies is on the mission, Bamfield says she can fly anything.”

“I’ve never heard of a plane called ‘anything’.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Any other details?”

“We’ll know exactly what the score is when we get there.  That’s all I know at the moment.”

“There’s more?”

“Hopefully through the pilot’s last contact with Bamfield.  Otherwise, it’s going to be just another boring day at the office.”

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2021