For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
Jackerby came back and sat down. It was clear he was annoyed his lunch was interrupted.
“Atherton’s not among those Leonardo brought back.”
Johannsen silently breathed a sigh of relief. While he was still outside there was hope he would not get hurt. If he had the sense to keep his head down. Anyone else, Johannesen would not have cared.
“Who did Leonardo bring in?”
“Some woman called Martina, the one he says is in charge of the resistance. He said he raided their last stronghold, killed everyone except the three people he knew were in the resistance. They’re now in the dungeons.”
“We should be down there asking questions.” A pointed glare from Wallace carried the message, what are you doing here?
“No use. He nearly killed them, and it’ll take a while for them to recover.”
“To find out where Atherton is?”
“It seems that was the least of his concerns. Apparently, she apparently humiliated him so he was more interested in payback.”
“It wouldn’t be hard to humiliate a fool like him,” Johannsen muttered.
Wallace glared at him. “You should have more faith in our Italian friends, Richard.”
“My faith in him extends only to the fact he will drink the cellar dry.”
Wallace shrugged. “Once he’s served his purpose…” and left it at that. “Have you got onto London and asked them for further information on Mayer?”
“I think, by now, they would have tumbled to what’s going on here. Especially after I saw Atherton come out of the radio room just before Jackerby arrived. I asked the operator, and he gave me a coded message, but it’s not like any code I’ve seen.”
“And you’re telling me this now?”
“At least he didn’t smash it, which is what I would have done. We haven’t heard any more from High Command other than to say the traitor was thought to be heading for Innsbruck and coming over the mountains near the Brenner Pass. They’ve got people looking, but nothing as yet.”
“Now we’ve lost Carmichael, do we have a description of him?”
“Yes.”
“Good. At least something is happening.”
After lunch, Johannsson went down to the dungeon to check on the prisoners. Wallace had assigned their ‘welfare’ to him. It was a difficult assignment seeing they arrived both exhausted, weak, and then subjected to an initial interrogation that determined whether or not they got medicines or food.
Most were left to starve. Any women were sent to the soldier’s barracks, where they were out of his control. None had ever come back, and he was ordered not to go check on them.
All told, there were 12 still in cells, with three due to be executed later that day. All had worked in an armaments factory and had admitted to having information about the bombs that were being dropped over England.
Another six had yet to say what information they had, and had been subjected to severe torture, the handiwork of two of Jackerby’s men, and who Johannsen thought had been trained by the Gestapo. In fact, he believed they were Gestapo, and that Jackerby, though he didn’t have the uniform, was a ranking SS officer.
Not a man to cross. Leonardo would find that out soon enough.
The most recent three, the resistance fighters were put in separate cells next to each other. The guards had been told to listen to any conversations they had, and report. As yet, none of them had spoken.
Considering the condition they arrived in, that was no surprise.
He stood outside the cell holding the woman they called Martina.
The leader.
She hadn’t moved from the moment she had been dropped there.
A guard appeared beside him.
“Nothing yet?” Johansson asked him.
“I doubt they’ll speak again. If that’s what Leonardo does to his so-called countrymen; I’d hate to see what he does to his enemies.”
“You let me know if she says anything.”
The soldier nodded, then went back to his station.
The other two were men, one old, one younger. An odd group to be part of the resistance. The woman he could understand and was the key.
He now believed Atherton would come to rescue her. Like any good British soldier, his empathy would be his downfall.
A long time ago, when I was 17 or 18, I used to do a lot of reading. It was a long ride in on the train from home to work, and back again, and I did, then, have the time to read.
Having my own money, I was able to buy my own books, and these generally ran to mysteries and thriller, and naval stories. The later took my interest for a while because I had notions of becoming an Ensign until I realized I needed better educational qualifications and a higher level of fitness.
So much for those aspirations, so I just read about what it would be like.
However…
I worked with a number of interesting characters, including one, a chap who was about 25, really old and wise to a 17-year-old, who deplored my reading choices.
It seemed Agatha Christie, Ngaio Marsh, Brian Callison, Hammond Innes, and Alistair Maclean didn’t quite fit the reading profile he thought I should follow.
Well, I hadn’t been to university, and I hadn’t realized there was such a thing as English, or any other, literature. He was adamant that if I wanted to call myself a ‘man of books’ I had to read ‘proper’ books.
So, what eventuated, was a reading list.
If I wanted to converse with him on literature, I had to read every book on the list.
And I wanted to appear, at least, slightly more sophisticated, that the reader of penny dreadfuls. I didn’t know what that meant, and in those days there was no internet, so it remained for a long time a phrase of mystery.
But, the reading list,
‘Hard Times,’ and ‘Bleak House’ by Charles Dickens
‘Seven Pillars of Wisdom’ by T.E. Lawrence, yes, that famous man who was better known as Lawrence of Arabia
‘Tess of the D’Urbervilles’ by Thomas Hardy, which fuelled a desire to read most of Hardy’s books
‘The Day of the Triffids’, by John Wyndham, a rather strange addition to the list since it was science fiction. I suspect he was a closet Trekker.
‘To the Lighthouse’, by Virginia Wolff
‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen
‘And Quietly Flows the Don’ by Mikhail Alexandrovich Sholokhov. I had great fears that I would have to learn Russian, but that wasn’t the only shock, so was the size of the book
‘War and Peace’, talking about long books, by Leo Tolstoy
‘One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich’ by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, and thereby concluding the Russian classics
Of course, your definition of literature can change, and as a result of reading all of these books, and it took quite some time, and this led to selecting a more interesting collection of books to read, which he, in some small measure, took the credit for.
I discovered R.F Delderfield, and the trilogy, ‘A Horseman Riding By’, which led to ‘The Headmaster’, ‘The Avenue’, and ‘God is an Englishman’
C.S. Forester and the Hornblower series, but who also wrote several mysteries
F. Scott Fitzgerald and ‘The Great Gatsby’ as well as several other classics
Eric Ambler, master of thrillers from the ’30s and ’50s, particularly spy novels, and was probably the one who introduced me to the world of espionage
and last but not least, Dashiell Hammett’s ‘The Maltese Falcon’.
I don’t think anyone can predict the future, not anymore, and definitely, now it is a distinct possibility that someone can create a virus that will in essence shut down the whole world, and quite possibly destroy it
This is patently clear after the recent troubles with COVID 19 and although a remedy has been found, it is not a perfect solution, or a means of eradicating it. It has shown that while we might be able to combat one version of it, it’s the mutations that will throw up questions about ever getting back to some sort of normal.
And that begs the question, what is, or was, normal?
It’s been a year or more, and I think we’ve forgotten. What we have discovered, though, is the disparate states of the various nations and ethnic groups, and how they have fared in the wake of the pandemic.
It has highlighted systemic problems the world over, problems that have always been there but simmering below the surface. Problems that could be resolved, but perhaps will not.
But as a first-world nation, we have not been immune to external forces, forces that have tried to break us while reeling from the ravaging of a virus that was brought here, and through no fault of our own.
But from the outset, we seem to have been in a different bubble here.
I will admit that I live in a country with about 26 million people whereas the United States has about 330 million, there is a significant difference in numbers, whereas the US is only 1.3 times larger in size.
All this means that the US has a much larger problem in containing the COVID 19 virus, and probably why, down here, we are having a lot more success in getting the infection rates under control.
One thing we have all learned in the last month or so is that lockdowns, such as those hated by, and rallied against in the US, do actually work when you have much less population to deal with. This is why the actions taken by smaller populated countries such as Australia and New Zealand have been so successful.
Yes, we have had outbreaks, but it has been proved these can be contained. We have rigidly been adhering to the science, and the advice of our medical specialists without political interference, to keep the infection rates down.
Yes, we have limited freedom, but nearly everyone, except those from overseas who came here as immigrants and refuse to accept any form of ‘control’, has adhered to the medical-based requests. Those that don’t, those that have railed against the rules, they are predominantly people who have come here from other countries.
I’m happy for anyone to come here and get away from whatever horrors they leave behind, but only on the condition they leave those horrors behind and try in some small way to assimilate with us, without having to give up their cultural and religious beliefs. When they use that as an excuse for their bad behavior, they should be sent home. Obviously, this country isn’t good enough for them.
We are an island, so it is much easier to guard our borders. No one can get into this country without going through quarantine, and that who try to lie their way in are promptly returned on the next plane out. We cannot leave without a valid reason, and if we do, when we come back, we have to spend a fortnight in quarantine, guarded by the defense force personnel.
For countries like the US, it is so much harder to maintain borders. There will be problems in the future with travelers coming from overseas, especially if the science behind the vaccines being touted doesn’t stand up to a very high standard. I suspect that anyone claiming to have a vaccine and using it as an excuse to re-enable overseas travel will find their pleas falling on deaf ears.
That’s because, as we are learning, vaccines are not infallible, there will be the transmission, and not everyone will be willing to have a vaccine, so even here, as anywhere else, we will not be rid of the scourge for a long time. Travel might be possible, but who will want to take a risk going to another country where it’s not completely under control?
I guess, at this time of our lives, our chance to see the rest of the world is over, and it’s time to tour our own country.
Whether we live long and prosper, well, that’s a story for another day.
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 installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
There was a clock tower not far from the hotel, and I heard it strike 12 midnight. It was time to go home before I turned into a pumpkin. Or perhaps I didn’t quite have it right. It didn’t matter. I needed sleep and it wasn’t going to happen here.
Nadia was being a temptress and not even realizing it.
“You need me on your team. I know the inside of the mall like the back of my hand.”
It didn’t surprise me. She used to run with a group of girls who could give Alex and Vince a run for their money in being cruel. I was positive now that she was in the mall at the same time we were, and quite possibly following us. After what Alex said earlier, there were going to be a lot of people following each other.
“You know where the bodies are?”
A slight hesitation before she said, “I might.”
The question was whose bodies. Missing girls, Benderby’s enemies. Certainly not the archaeologist, but if there was a torture chamber down there, maybe some clues that would point the police in the right direction.
“Well, tempting as that sounds, but no.”
“What if I told you I think I know where they tortured that archaeologist guy.”
“Why would they, in fact, it’s the one thing in all of this that puzzles me. Rico might have had a reason simply because he’s little more than a blunt instrument, not an extractor of information, that required a little more refinement than he’s, and the Benderby’s, what on earth could he know that they needed it from him.”
“Try the exact contents of this so-called treasure.”
“No one could possibly know what that pirate, whatever his name was, actually had?”
Not unless he was with the captain when he buried it, which, of course, unless he was a time traveler, he wasn’t and therefore couldn’t know.
“No one could possibly know that.”
“I beg to differ.”
She knew something we didn’t. This was turning out to be a very interesting day.
“How?”
“Say for instance the pirate had a journal, a ship log I think it’s called, and in that journal, he noted everything he pillaged from all of the ships they attacked.”
“You’ve seen it?” I asked, slightly incredulously. This was the first I’d heard of one, and I doubted Boggs had either unless it was something he was not telling me.
“No.”
“How do you know about it?”
“Vince.”
“He’s pulling your leg. There’s no such journal or log in existence.”
“Oh, there is. That’s what the archaeologist had. And that’s what both Alex and Vince were trying to buy. And when he wouldn’t sell it to Alex, his men went a little too far with their persuasion tactics.”
“I bet Vince wasn’t happy.”
“No. He thinks Alex does know where it is, so they’re playing their games of cat and mouse. But it’s a waste of time. My source tells me the archaeologist never gave up the location of the journal. Both the Benderby’s and the Cossatino’s have been to his house but it was nowhere to be found.”
And if that was the case, then there would be no interior to the house left, one of the other would have stripped the walls in their search. But, if it was true and there was such a journal, two questions came to mind. The obvious was, where was it? The less obvious was why didn’t the archaeologist go looking for the treasure himself?
There was an answer, that he didn’t have the right map.
I cast my mind back to the only time Boggs showed me what he called the real map. It had been folded, and you could see the fold marks that had been there for a long, long time. Was it possible at some point the map was separated from the journal?
Had someone known about the map, and stolen it and rather than the journal?
“I can see the cogs ticking over in your head Smidge. You are going to need me, in the end. Especially if you find the treasure. You’ll want to know what both Vince and Alex are up to, and little old me with be right there between them.”
“You think that Alex doesn’t know what you’re up to?”
“You already know more than you did when you walked in the door. Either of them finds the treasure, I get nothing. You and Boggs find it, maybe I’ll get something. I don’t care what they think.”
She was dangerous, deceptive, and beguiling sometimes all at the same time. This was one of those moments.
“I think Boggs doesn’t entirely trust you, or anyone,” she said.
“That couldn’t possibly surprise you. Look what’s happened to him over the years. No one knows what happened to his father.”
“Maybe we can find out. How about you and I pay the mall a visit. I guarantee it will be a lot more interesting than finding a mannequin.”
It was not for the first time, but this time was significant because he had basically agreed in principle to vote for both sides.
And, when he realized what had happened, he had, depending on how you looked at it, been tricked.
Not good for someone who was well respected by both sides, and whose vote would count towards picking up those who were undecided.
That was just pointed out to him by Amy, his personnel assistant, the moment he arrived back in the office.
He leaned back in his chair and stared at a point just past her head, a copy of a painting by one of the old masters, still an object of beauty.
“So, when did Cheney change sides?” He asked, dragging his attention back to the problem in hand.
He suddenly realized what had happened, and it was a well thought out scheme. Cheney had always been on board with the Board’s recommendation until he accepted Kane’s invitation to come to a meeting that would attempt to explain why the board’s recommendation was wrong.
He should have been skeptical of Cheney’s sudden change of mind, and then of the discussions he had attended with Cheney’s allies, with the objective of changing their minds too. In fact, he had left with the impression he had persuaded them, saying, in essence, they should all vote against.
Seeing Cheney that morning with the leader of the group agreeing to vote for the motion, should have set off alarm bells. The phone call from Williams, the head of the group voting for the board’s recommendation, saying he was pleased that Kane had finally seen ‘the light’ as he called it, had been interesting, to say the least, especially when he mentioned in passing, how very much the board appreciated Kane’s confidence in them.
He had done no such thing.
Instead, Cheney had put him on the spot, and his words were now being taken out of context.
“This morning. I just got word from Ellie, who told me he had a breakfast meeting with Jacobs and Meadows. She said he came back looking very pleased with himself.”
Jacobs was the chairman of the board and Meadows was the CEO who was pushing the new plan, which would break up, and sell-off, or disband, the underperforming divisions of the company. By having Meadows in attendance, Jacobs could basically offer Cheney anything he wanted.
And top of his list was my division.
“Yes, and I think we can guess why. He wants this division. Of course, if they gave it to him, it would not be the magic bullet he thinks it will be. Nor would it line the shareholders, and therefore the board members pockets as it has in the past.”
“Is this situation the proverbial double-edged sword?”
“It depends. I doubt you could quit out of dissatisfaction with a crappy board decision. I doubt anyone could in the current financial climate. But you won’t have to worry. It might mean going back to the pool for a while if you don’t want to work with Cheney.”
“No problem there. Ellie had already told me my days are numbered.”
Understandable. Ellie and Amy had put themselves forward for the role of Jake’s personal assistant, and Ellie had tried very hard to convince him Amy was not suitable for a variety of reasons, none of which he found valid, and appointed her. Ellie was not one who forgot or forgave easily.
Although he didn’t like denigrating anyone, he had said more than once to Amy, both Ellie and Cheney suited each other. Neither cared who or what they destroyed to get what they wanted.
“Then it looks like you and I are heading for the scrap heap.”
“Sounds like an excuse for a long lunch.” She smiled. For a woman who was about to lose a dream job, she was in remarkably good spirits.
“Ask me again in an hour. I have a few things to do.”
“Call in some favors, maybe?”
People didn’t rise in a company over several decades without making friends, making enemies, and stumbling over information which may or may not be used depending on circumstances at the time. He had a few interesting tidbits in his arsenal, but whether he would use them or not wasn’t uppermost in his mind.
“We’ll have to see.”
Jake watched her leave, and, not for the first time, he wondered what life with her might be like. He had never married, but had, for a number of years had a more or less relationship with the Chairman’s daughter, before she broke it off. He suspected the Chairman had instigated it given the number of times she had tried to contact him since parting.
That door had closed. As for Amy, she had a husband who was a member of the armed services and had been killed in Afghanistan. She had weathered that event and finally come out the other side of some very dark days, some of which he had witnessed personally, and tried to help where he could. But was she up to dipping her foot into the dating thing. He wasn’t prepared to ask. Not yet.
He sighed and picked up the phone. It was time to call Jacobs. It was the day I knew he would be in his office, not at the factory site where we all were housed, but in the top floor of a prestigious building in the city, twenty miles away You could call it an ivory tower, but the board did oversee the functioning of seven different and diversified companies.
Some time ago they had called for ideas on how to integrate a lot of the similar processes of those diversified companies, but in the end, they had paid a ‘crony’ a million dollars for an unworkable plan, and it had not gone any further. Now, the conglomerate was bleeding cash, someone had come up with a new, knee jerk, plan.
Jacobs was surprised to hear from him.
“I was told,” he said, “everyone is now on board.”
“They probably are. It’s just that it is no longer a problem for me. You’ll have my resignation on your desk by close of business.”
That statement was met with silence. Stunned, or was it smug satisfaction. He had always viewed Kane as a thorn in his side.
“Is that really necessary?”
“I think you know why, and whatever the plan was, it has backfired. I don’t need the job, nor do I need the aggravation of scheming and plotting.”
“I think you’re making a mistake, but let’s be very clear about this, you leave, there’s no coming back. If I were you, I would consider my position very carefully.”
Interesting reaction. The only conclusion from his reaction was that the thorn was now removed.
I expected just such a reaction.
Now, for the next job. Kane went down to the factory floor and called in all the production managers. Like himself, he knew most of them didn’t really have to stay, some could retire, some could go into business by themselves, most could walk into another job, even a better job, the next day.
Kane left that meeting a half-hour later, telling them the decision to stay and work under Cheney, a man none of them liked, was their decision but he was moving on.
He called Amy, asked if she had sent his resignation letter, which she had, and to pick the restaurant for lunch, the more expensive the better, and that he would pick her up outside the front of the office block.
For Kane, it was the 107th day of what he called the rest of his life. He was woken by the sun streaming in through the window of his hotel room. He had reached Singapore and had been told that Raffles Hotel was the place to stay.
He agreed. Old but new, the place just reeked of nostalgia.
The figure beside him stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled.
“Good morning, Amy.”
“It is a good morning, isn’t it Kane?”
Over lunch that fateful day 107 days ago, he took the chance of asking her if she would be interested in dating him. Nothing heavy, no strings, he would understand if she thought it inappropriate.
She didn’t think it was inappropriate, just wanted to know why it had taken him so long.
The had got married in Rome, 42 days ago, in a quaint little church, and after a week, moved to Venice for the honeymoon. They hadn’t set a limit on how long it should be. There was no reason to go back.
Of course, just when it’s least expected, the phone would ring. His cell phone. It was the first time in months.
“Hello?”
He was surprised it was Jacobs. He’d followed the fortunes of the company he had abruptly left, as it tried to implement the plan that Cheney and his ‘friends of the board’ had voted for. One problem after another; in three months the stock value of the parent company had lost 90% of its value. As Kane had expected, every one of his management team resigned the day after, knowing full well, once Cheney was installed as manager, the transition would fail.
Now, faced with hostile shareholders, a corporate watchdog investigation, someone had to turn around the company’s fortunes or it would slide into liquidation before the week was out.
“It seems that we have serious problems implementing the restructure. We have made some mistakes, but I think if I could tell the receivers that we have a plan and you would be heading up a new management team, we could save the company and all of the employees.”
The 2,500 left. They should have left well alone, and the whole 8,000 that had been there the day Kane left would still be employed.
The Board and upper management would do well out of the company going under. The staff, well, they always lost.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Now, if you don’t mind, I have business to attend to. Goodbye.”
I turned the phone off and put it back on the bedside table.
“Who was that?”
“Someone from another lifetime. Now, where were we?”
A long time ago when I spent time at a newspaper, I wondered what it was like to get to write what essentially was an opinion piece. Did it have to tow the newspaper owners’ point of view?
I was idealistic then. I believed in freedom of the press, and that cornerstone of democracy, freedom of speech.
I did not realize then that freedom of speech also meant the freedom to spread ‘plausible’ lies, dressed up to be the truth, to achieve a particular result. In just one instance, and editorial, and the editorial line of a newspaper had the opportunity to influence an election, favoring one party over another.
With age came wisdom? Perhaps it was more cynicism because now I tend not to believe anything I read in the papers, when I deign to buy a paper which isn’t often, or read online, or listen to on the television or radio.
What happened to factual reporting?
What happened to opinion pieces being labeled as such so that we know that it is not a representative opinion, just the columnists?
What we all tend to forget is that everyone makes mistakes. Whether they’re deliberate, or stupid, they happen, and they can cause a large number of casualties, or cost a lot of money.
What’s lost in all the screaming and yelling is the fact we should be looking for answers so that it doesn’t happen again, not blame every man and his dog, or those in opposition, for everything that is wrong in the world, and, quite likely, your own mistake.
What’s also lost is the truth.
In every ten tons of rubbish that are coming out of the media, so-called reported directly from the horse’s mouth, there are just a few grains of truth. That’s what we should be listening to.
But, drowned out in all the lies, half-truths, and outrageous statements that on the surface doesn’t make any sense, we get to a point where we no longer know what the truth is.
Or do we?
We all have one thing in spades, common sense.
Unfortunately, we sometimes suspend it, because we all have our biases and idiosyncrasies, and beliefs and these can sometimes get it not the way. Now is not the time to forget that common sense or the fact we should be using it to filter out what is not relevant and get to what is.
And what is relevant?
You.
You matter.
Your life matters.
The life of others, whether you like them or not, those lives also matter.
And when we all realize we are in this together, and then rise above the petty and stupid lies and fear-mongering that is being peddled, will the world, yes, the whole world, finally overcome the worst assault on it ever devised.
For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
Leonardo was a happy man.
It was quite a by coincidence that they had run into Chiara, and it hadn’t taken long to break her. He had thought of taking her to the castle to let Jackerby extract the information, but he was tired of them telling him what to do.
He would get the information, and then act, taking the ringleaders of the remnants of the resistance back to the castle, and expect to get that well-earned pat on the back for a job well done.
He’d said he would take care of the rabble, and he had.
Until Wallace had asked him where Atherton was.
And there was that small problem of Carlo, too, though he was not going to mention that in his report to Jackerby.
Francesco had softened the three leaders of the resistance up before taking them to the castle, taking particular pleasure in attending to Martina himself. The three could barely walk and were almost dragged up to the castle.
The first question Jackerby asked was why he had beaten them when he’d expressly been told to bring them to the castle alive and in a fit state to be questioned. None of the three was in any sort of state to do anything other than collapse.
Jackerby’s men took them to the dungeons.
The second question Jackerby asked was where Atherton was.
“That was basically the whole point of the exercise,” he yelled at Leonardo, who, by this time was getting annoyed himself.
“He’s still out there, and you can be assured he will be causing us trouble. Those three you dragged back, whilst a nuisance, hardly compare to what Atherton can do.”
“There’s only one of him. There’s no way he’s going to be able to break into this castle, by himself, and do anything.”
Jackerby shook his head. It would not matter what he said, Leonardo was just a fool, a petty little thug who quite rightly had been ostracised by the rest of the village. And when this exercise was over and Mayer was recaptured, he was going to take extreme pleasure in killing Leonardo and his followers.
“Go get something to eat, rest, then get back out there. I want Atherton found. Surely there is nowhere left where he can hide.”
There was a dozen, or more, places, Leonardo thought but he wasn’t going to tell Jackerby that. Instead, he had made up his mind to do as Jackerby asked, rest, then take a few hours the check all the entrances and exits to the castle before going back out to find Atherton.
Or at least that was what he was going to tell Jackerby.
In reality, he had had enough of these interlopers, and it was time he removed them from the castle. It was time he took over. The war was not going to end any time soon according to his sources further north, and there were worse places than a castle to hole up in until the war ended. Especially considering how much wine was being stored in the cellars.
Wallace was in the dining room and had been in the middle of lunch when Leonardo came back. Rather than talk to him, he sent Jackerby to deal with it.
Johannsen was sitting at the other end of the table, contemplating the wine. It was not a good idea to be drinking wine in the middle of the day when trouble could arrive from any number of quarters.
In fact, he was surprised that the other resistance hadn’t made an all-out attack on them. It seemed unlikely to him that those that hadn’t followed Leonardo up the hill, were of little consequence.
If anything, and of his experience of the resistance in France, one resistance fighters was worth 10 or more enemy soldiers. They had a reason to fight, for their country, and liberation for the Nazis.
Of course, Leonardo and his men were oblivious to the fact that they were working for the Germans, not the British, but to them, he thought, anyone other than an Italian was worth working for if they were prepared to pay.
Leonardo and his men were mercenaries. Guns for hire. They didn’t care who they worked for. But there was something else. Leonardo hated the villagers, and it wasn’t difficult to convince him they needed to be kept in line and report any newcomers to the castle.
Adding the reward was a bonus.
“Atherton’s not going to come and present himself at the front door, you know that,” he said to Wallace.
Then he decided to have some wine. It’s not as if the war would be arriving any time soon.
“You know him best. A fighter, an organizer, or office boy.”
“Paper pusher, by all accounts. I’m not sure why Thompson would send him other than he was desperately out of good agents. You saw how much resistance he put up.”
“Jackerby seems to think there’s more to him.”
“Jackerby sees shadows where there are none. Where did you say he came from?”
“North Africa.”
“Then he’s had too much sun.”
“A little advice then. I wouldn’t say that to his face.”
China is renowned for its exquisite silk, so naturally, a visit to the Silk Spinning Factory is part of today’s tour.
After that, we will be heading downtown to an unspecified location where we’re getting a boat ride, walk through a typical Chinese shopping experience, and coffee at a coffee shop that is doubling as the meeting place, after we soak up the local atmosphere.
The problem with that is that if the entire collective trip a deal tourists take this route then the savvy shopkeepers will jack up their prices tenfold because we’re tourists with money. It’ll be interesting to see how expensive everything is.
So…
Before we reach the silk factory, we are told that Suzhou is the main silk area of China, and we will be visiting a nearly 100 years old, Suzhou No 1 Silk Mill, established in 1926. Suzhou has a 4,700-year history of making silk products. It is located at No. 94, Nanmen Road, Suzhou, Jiangsu, China.
Then we arrive at the Silk Factory, another government-owned establishment with a castiron guarantee of quality and satisfaction.
The look and feel of the doona cover certainly backs up that claim
And the colors and variety is amazing (as is the cost of those exquisite sets)
We get to see the silk cocoon stretched beyond imagination, and see how the silk thread is extracted, then off to the showroom for the sales pitch.
It isn’t a hard sell, and the sheets, doonas, pillows, and pillowcases, are reasonably priced, and come with their own suitcase (for free) so you can take them with you, or free shipping, by slow boat, if you prefer not to take the goods with you.
We opt for the second choice, as there’s no room left in our baggage after packing the Chinese Medicine.
A lot of writers, particularly those who write murder mysteries or conspiracies, used to be either law enforcement or journalists.
A lot of writers have a background in journalism like I have. Some work for major newspapers or did, and after the first bestseller retired to write more.
But reading newspaper accounts of events, no matter what the subject, somehow takes on the persona of a good story. It has to if it wants to engage the reader.
There are elements of truth, there are elements of conjecture, and all the while you have to wonder, can this all possibly be true?
What’s that old journalistic adage my editor once told me? Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.
My aspirations of a Pulitzer prize died right there.
Perhaps it’s true.
But for just one minute, let’s examine a possibility or two about the news. Does it depend on the journalist’s personal feelings, or if not, the view of the editorial staff, who sometimes rewrite a piece to suit a certain editorial slant?
Let’s say we don’t like the current President. Nothing that is written will be positive, though it will generally stick to the facts, and make them work towards a particular end.
Let’s say we like the current President, and what he’s doing. We will take the facts and write a glowing piece about all the good he is doing. There is no doubt that the story will ignore certain facts that might seem detrimental.
But that works for both sides of the fence. No one seems to want to sit on the fence.
I once watched a show called Braindead when alien ants from outer space came to earth and started eating parts of brains. It happened to be in Washington, it happened to eat politicians brains, and it exacerbated the animosity between the Democrats and the Republicans. It was very funny, but who knew it was dead right about the parties, and it’s leaders, brains half eaten or not.
They should air it again in this current political brinkmanship climate to show everyone just how Washington politics works, or in reality, doesn’t work.
Then there’s fake news. What is fake news exactly?
Using the wrong facts? Painting a white sheep black? Or just reporting one side of the story?
As a writer, I now view the newspapers as the number one resource for finding plots, conspiracies, and just plain oddities, mainly because the truth, if it is the truth, really is stranger than fiction.
**Please don’t assume that you have to, nor would I ever expect you to, read any or all of these books. You don’t.**
Everyone, it seems, will publish what they call the top 100 books that you should read. Some are voted on, some belong to the opinion of the editor of the book review section of a newspaper, and, as you know, there are a lot of newspapers, a lot of editors, and a lot of opinions.
I’m not a newspaper, I’m not an editor, but I have a list, based on personal experience, and many, many years of reading.
It’s in no particular order.
41. The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, as well as a host of other Sherlock Holmes stories
42. The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad, one of Conrad’s later political novels, set in London in 1886 and deals with anarchism and espionage. In those days spies were called anarchists.
43. The Ipcress File by Len Deighton, introducing us to Harry Palmer, who was personified by Michael Caine and led to Horse Under Water, and Funeral in Berlin. More of Len Deighton later on in the list
44. The Remorseful Day by Colin Dexter introducing the somewhat enigmatic detective, Morse, his first name not revealed for a long time but oddly, Endeavour. John Thaw brought him to life
45. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, hard to pronounce and even harder to read, but perhaps worth it in the end. By the time I read this I was wishing for a Russian writer had could use an economy of words
46. Dr. Zhivago by Boris Pasternak wasn’t it. A vast and lengthy dissertation on lost love, I felt very sad for Zhivago in the end. I saw a stage play of the same name, and I’m sorry, but it’s a few hours of my life I will never get back
47. Casino Royale, the first of the James Bond novels by Ian Fleming. I have to say these are among my favorite spy books. I must say I preferred the new James Bond in Casino Royale, though Sean Connery still rules!
48. The Day of the Jackal by Frederick Forsythe, a fascinating story about an assassin
49. Anything written by John Le Carre, but in particular, the George Smiley collection. Finally unmasking his nemesis the Russian spymaster made it all so satisfying.
50. The Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlam, inspiring a long series by both Ludlam and Eric Lustbader makes entertaining reading, but the first, the man who did not know who or what he really was, was excellent. Matt Damon didn’t harm his persona either.
51. Murder Must Advertise by Dorothy Sayers, whose detective is Lord Peter Whimsey, a 1933 mystery novel that’s eighth in the series
52. Gorky Park by Martin Cruz Smith. You have to admit that his Russian detective Arkady Renko is up against it when his investigation goes in a direction that uncovers corruption and dishonest in his superiors
53. The Way of All Flesh by Samuel Butler, a semi-autobiographical novel written between 1987 and 1884, and published in 1903. The story of the Pontifex family.
54. Howards End by E. M. Forster, first published in 1910, is an interesting insight into the behavior of the, and between the classes, with the Schlegels acting as the catalyst.
55. Washington Square by Henry James, originally published as a serial, and covers the conflict between daughter and father. I must say I prefer The Ambassadors to Washington Square.
56. Ulysses by James Joyce, a day in the life of an ordinary man, Leopold Bloom, why could it not be the 7th June rather than the 16th, for obvious reasons
57. The Go-Between by L. P. Hartley is a view of society at the end of the Victorian period through the eyes of a young boy. I read this while still at school and had no clue why, but later, when I read it again, I understood the meaning
58. Atonement by Ian McEwan, I saw the film and then read the book. Never a good idea. Basically, a young girl makes a bad mistake and tries to atone for it.
59. Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell, the War and Peace of Americal novels, and as long by comparison. The only book written by Mitchell, and the second most read book by Americans. The film was interesting but awfully long.
60. The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje, with a man with severe burns and the effect he had on three others. Colin Firth is villain one day and hero the next, this time in the cinematic version, an out and out cad.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 