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.
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, bit 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 his 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.”
For a long time, I had always been afraid of making a mistake, after I had done exactly that. They said our mistakes didn’t define us, but that one had. I had lost the trust of everyone, from my parents to friends.
It was only a small lie, or so I told myself, but it had far reaching ramifications, and almost cost someone their life. But whilst I believed it was not all that bad, and the police had agreed that anyone who had been put in the same position would have done the same, there were those who didn’t agree.
It was a moment in time I often relived in my mind, over and over, and eventually led to several outcomes.
The first, I left home, the town where up till then I’d lived all of my life, walking away from family and those who used to be friends, knowing that what they said and what they felt were two entirely different things. For all concerned, it was better that I left, cutting all ties, and make a fresh start, away from those whom I knew would never forget, even though they forgave me.
The second, and most dire, I changed my name, and my history, even how I looked. Today, I was a very different person to that of thirty years ago.
The third, I moved to another country, and vowed never to return, always looking constantly over my shoulder, expecting someone from the past to find me. I instinctively knew that I would never escape, that one day a stark reminder would come back and destroy everything.
I picked the one occupation that would keep me both occupied and invisible.
Journalist.
I had started at the bottom, literally writing death notices, and worked my way up to what is ubiquitously known as ‘foreign correspondent’, going to places where no one else would go, those hotbeds of unrest, and war zones, reporting from both sides.
Perhaps it could say I had a death wish, a statement my editor had once said when he came to see me in hospital back in London after I’d been caught up in a rocket attack and repatriated. He had come to offer me a job back home, to tell me my tour was over.
I declined the opportunity, and he left, shaking his head.
But that was not the only visitor that came to the hospital that day. The other visitor was an elderly man, immaculately dressed in a pin stripe suit and bowler hat. It screamed public servant, and the moment I saw him wandering up the passage, a chill ran down my spine.
Although he looked like he was looking for someone else, I knew he would eventually finish up in my doorway.
Five minutes after I first saw him.
When he appeared at the door, I thought about ignoring him, but realised that wasn’t going to change anything. Besides that, I guess I wanted to know why he would want to see me.
“James Wilson?”
“Would it make any difference if I said no?” Well, it didn’t mean I couldn’t spar with him, just a little. “Who are you.”
“Do you mind if I come in?”
I got the impression he would do it anyway, irrespective of what I said. I said no, and as I suspected he came in anyway, closing the door behind him, then took a minute or two to make himself comfortable in the visitor’s chair, what was an impossible task.
Then, settled, he said, “I understand you have just been repatriated from Syria.”
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
It wasn’t common knowledge where I’d come from, so this person knew something about me, which was immediate cause for concern.
“The bane of a reporter trying to cover a dangerous situation,” he said, with just the right amount of levity in his tone. “I get it, by the way. I once had that devil may care attitude you need to get the story. I was chasing a Pulitzer, believe it or not, and used a few of those nine lives in the process. Which one are you up to?”
I was going to say that awards didn’t matter but among those whom made up the press pack in those God forsaken places, there was an unwritten desire to be rewarded other than by pay. For me, though, it was not a defining factor.
“Lost count. But why would that interest you, or whoever it is you represent? By the way, just who do you represent?”
Second attempt at finding out who this man was. If he was dodging and weaving, it would suggest a clandestine organisation.
“People who would like to use your unique talent in getting into trouble spots around the world. We’re not asking you to come work for us exclusively, rather piggyback on the job that you already do so well.”
An unnamed man from an unnamed organisation. What he was offering wasn’t unheard of, and I had been warned, more than once, that jobs like he was suggesting were more often than not offered to people like me. With that came one line of advice, turn around and run like hell.
But, with nothing to amuse me in hospital, I was curious. “Doing what exactly?”
The fact his expression changed indicated my response had taken him by surprise. Perhaps he was used to being told where to go. Not yet. I had this fanciful notion in the back of my mind that what he might offer might get me closer to the story.
“Keeping your eyes and ears open. We’ll tell you what to look for, all you’ll be doing is looking for evidence. There will be no need to go looking for trouble, if there’s evidence we ask you to report it, if not, no harm done.”
Not so hard. If that was all it was. The trouble was, if something sounds simple, which that did, but inevitably, it was going to be anything but. I’d heard stories, and the consequences.
“You’re presuming that my editor will send me back. He just offered me a job at home.”
“I think both of us know you’re not interested in domesticity. If he isn’t willing to adhere to your wishes, I’m sure we could find someone else who would be willing to take you on. You have had several offers recently, have you not?”
So, without a doubt, he knew a lot about me, especially if he asked around. I had had several offers, but I was happy where I was. I liked the no questions about your past that my current employer had promised.
Yes, looking at the determination on this man’s face, I had no doubt they or he could do what he said. No one comes to a meeting like this without holding all the cards. Also, not that I wanted it to be so, It told me that my agreement was not necessarily going to be optional.
But I was happy to dither and find out. “Since I’m not sure when the hospital is going to discharge me, and the fact I’m not exactly very mobile at the moment, can I consider the proposal. Right now, as you can imagine, getting back to work is not exactly a priority.”
“Of course.” He took a card out of his coat pocket and put it on the bedside table. “By all means. Call me on that number when you’ve decided.”
He stood. “It will be a great opportunity. Thank you for your time.”
Of course, the two impressions I was left with were, one, he had me mixed up with someone else, and two, that I would never see him again.
It was an impossible task, for me at least, because I did not have a poker face, and could rarely carry a lie. I would be the last person they’d want for the job.
And thinking that, I rolled over, put it out of my mind, and went back to sleep.
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…
——
Mayer was woken by the abrupt jolting of the guard van, and for a few moments was disorientated. It was no longer dark, and the light was coming in through the cracks of the windows, and he could see now the van was quite old and battered.
And that odd smell was the residue of many fires in the potbelly stove, that presumably kept the guard warm in winter. There were a few scattered coals on the floor.
Then he remembered he was in the van and it felt like it was being connected to a shunting loco.
That, and the sound of voices outside the van.
“How long has this lot been sitting here?”
“Three weeks, the shunting crew seem to have just forgotten about these wagons. They were supposed to be sent back south months ago.”
Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps on the stones outside.
Mayer slipped down off the bunk, taking the blanket with him, and looked for somewhere to hide. There was a door in the panel under the bed; he opened it and saw an empty space.
It was not very big, and in places, daylight could be seen through cracks in the outside wall. It was smelly but manageable, and he wriggled into the space and jammed the door closed so if they tried to open it, it would not, and they would assume it had not been used in a long time. Or he was hoping that’s what they’d think.
Just in time, steps on the ladder, and the door bang open.
“Ghastly, it’s ready for the scrap heap.”
“It’s for the war effort, even scrap is good. You staying?”
“Until they hook it up, but outside. This place feels like someone died in it.”
Mayer squirmed until he was in a more comfortable position, thankful that the space was large enough to stretch out, though cold.
He could see through the cracks, back up the track where another train was waiting.
His watch said it was near seven in the morning, and that mean he had slept for about four hours. He had intended to get off before anyone would notice, but it was too late for that now.
At least he would be going in the right direction, it was just a matter of where the wagons would end up. Maybe he would get lucky, and that would be Florence.
But, the chances were he would be discovered before then because if the man who had boarded before was going to stay with the train, the chances were he’d come back to the van, it would very likely he’d explore out of sheer boredom, and that would include that space behind the door.
For now, though, the two men were still outside beside the van, waiting for the signal to get aboard.
Another hour passed before there was more clanking and jolting as another engine connected to the wagons. It was only a matter of time before the men came back.
A minute passed, two, five, ten, then the shrill sound of the whistle of a steam engine, followed by the stretching of wagon joiners and the slow movement forward. The men had not returned, but, Mayer knew, they were aboard the train somewhere.
For the moment, it didn’t matter. With each passing minute, he was closer to his objective, Florence.
It was slow progress, with a stop nearly once an hour, shunted aside while a more important train raced by. People going about their business as if there was no war. Mayer had time to lament his foolishness of being swept up inthe fervor of restoring the Reich to its rightful place in the world.
It had also sounded legitimate, but, as it wore on, the news that they were winning the war and it would all be over soon, turned to disenchantment. They could not have so many victories and not have won already.
Several of his friends had private said they believed the war was going badly, hence the pressure on his group to create better weapons so they could turn the tide. Of course, no one would openly say things were going bad, that would invite the Gestapo on your doorstep, but people were beginning to suspect.
Mayer was not the first to consider turning himself over to the other side before it was too late.
The sporadic stop-start motion of the train went on all day, and into the night, after passing through several large rail yards, and cities. He couldn’t be sure, but he believed they had passed through Verona, and then hours later, Bologna.
At Bologna, the stay was protracted, and once again the men came to the wagon, and this time, as he feared, they had a look around, rattled the door that he had barricaded, and at least they didn’t stay, one of them saying it had probably rusted with age.
Still, he didn’t breathe again until they left.
Nighttime, and very cold, he tried to get comfortable, and finally fell into a fitful sleep.
For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
The new leader of the resistance was the woman, Martina, best if I didn’t know her last name. Fair enough. There had been a necessary restructure after the infiltration, and untimely deaths of over half their number.
When I asked what happened to the former leader, I learned that he, and all but five other members were captured and taken to the castle. They were now, for all intents and purposes, double agents, working for the Thompson at the castle.
The remaining five, of which Giuseppe and Martina belonged, had been forced to hide, dodging the men sent from the castle to hunt them down and kill them.
It was both the lack of reporting from the castle, followed by a message received regarding a possible traitor inside the resistance we had received in London, that set everything in motion, including my arrival to ascertain what was happening within the resistance group, and also at the castle. Until that information reached us, there had been no reason to suspect that anything was wrong, and that the plans set in place to facilitate the defection of useful German scientists and, in some cases, high ranking officers, or that it had been infiltrated and to put it bluntly, original members had been killed and replaced.
I hadn’t realised who was in charge until the paratroopers had arrived and I’d become a prisoner. Part of my brief had also been to verify the layout of the castle in accordance with old plans we had found using my archaeology background as a front, and Id managed to explore certain areas before Thompson had become suspicious and basically stopped me. I’d searched part of the lower levels of the castle, but hadn’t got as far as the dungeons, where I eventually discovered becoming one myself, they were keeping many more prisoners.
I hadn’t long enough in the dungeons to discover whether any of the prisoners were part of the original team sent, whether there were any defectors being still held there, except for two that I’d seen, and definitely one I talked to, but there had to be more.
And, now that I’d found the remaining members of the resistance, it was my intention to return to rescue then, and retake the castle. What was going to make it difficult, if not impossible, was the fact there were only five, and they were all busy trying not to get caught. Still, I had to try, and I asked Martina if it was possible to get everyone together for a meeting.
Martina just laughed. Whether it was my request or my plan to retake the castle was the cause of her mirth.
“With what?” she said incredulously, “there are only five of us left, and we spend most of our time keeping one step ahead of the turncoats.”
“How many of them are there?”
“Too many, led by that bastard Francesco. He didn’t like taking orders from a woman, thought we’d picked the wrong side, especially when the Germans killed about fifty of the villagers when we refused to give ourselves up. They killed his wife and mother after he refused to send them away.”
That didn’t seem right to me, to align yourself with that sort of enemy, not after what they had done. Except there was no telling what anyone might do in the face of such an adversary, or circumstances. But I had to ask, “Why would they?”
“They’ve got hostages from the village up there, in the dungeons. That’s how they turned them.”
Damn. I was not going to be able to turn them back, not when the lives of their friends, even family, was being threatened.
“Is that the case for those who didn’t surrender?”
“No. Our relatives left when we could see what was going to happen.”
“So, the problem we have is, freeing the hostages, freeing the soldiers if there are any of the original group, retake the castle, and get the pipeline working again.” And, I thought to myself, pull off seven miracles in fifteen minutes.
I was putting forward what was for all intents and purposes impossible.
“There’s more,” she said. “There is a high-value scientist coming, last advice was that he was in transit from Germany to here. We know, and they know, courtesy of Francesco. They want him captured; we want him safely delivered to the submarine waiting to take him to England. He’s due in three days, and he doesn’t know the castle’s allegiances have changed.”
“Then we’ll have to intercept him.”
“Yes, but we don’t know what he looks like, but we do have a code name. Francesco and the castle don’t have that, only his real name.”
A name I saw on a highly confidential document on Forster’s desk the day he briefed me on my current mission. Blackfoot. I thought it was an operation. I think that was the code name for the defector.
“Blackfoot?”
“How did you know?”
“A lucky guess.”
The question I had was, why didn’t he tell me about it? Did he think I was going to get captured and tortured?
“Well, you’re right. But it means Francesco and his men are going to be looking extra hard for us, because without that codename, as soon as they fail to confirm their identity to him, he will kill himself rather than go back, which I’m guessing will be their least preferred option. And to make matters worse, London’s orders are quite specific, this man must be delivered alive. He has critical information they need, and which will hasten the end of the war”
“Then I think we should tell London the nature of our situation and see what they come up with.”
Sydney to Beijing – Qantas A330-200 Boarding 11:45, everyone on board by 12:02, for a 12:10 departure. Pushing back 12:12 Take off 12:27
Lunch Airline food is getting better but the fact they serve it up to you in a metal tray with a thick aluminum lid does nothing for the quality of the food inside. I get what the chef is trying to do but often there is too little of one thing and too much of another and what you finish up with is slop in a tray. Sometimes it’s edible sometimes it’s not. Sometimes the meat is tender and other times it’s like boot leather. As it is today. I think it’s pork, I should have had the chicken. Or perhaps it was chicken. I hate it when you can’t tell what it is that you’re eating. But, the drinks were good.
Rest or Sleep, maybe It’s going to take 11 hours and 20 minutes from Sydney to Beijing, a long time to sit in a plane with nothing much to do other than crosswords, read a book or newspaper or magazine, listen to music on your own device, or the in-flight entertainment, watch a movie again by the in-flight entertainment – if it works – or try to get some sleep. I started with the crosswords but got bored quickly. I fiddled with the in-flight entertainment, looked at the movies and tv shows but none really interested me, not then at least, so I set it to the flight path. Not exactly stellar entertainment, but it’s always interesting to know where the plane is. Or is it? If we crash, what good would it do me to know it’s somewhere over the ocean, not far from Manila, or somewhere else. It’s not as if I could phone someone up, on the way down, to let them know where we are. But, just after dinner, we still haven’t left Australia
However, by the time I’ve finished fiddling with and dismissing all of the entertainment alternatives, it’s back to the flight path and now we are…
Somewhere approaching the Sulu Sea, which I’ve never heard of before, so it looks like I’ll have to study up on my geography when I get home.
OK, Manila looks like somewhere I’ve heard of, so we have to be flying over the Philippines. Not far left of that is Vietnam. Neither of those places is on my travel bucket list, so I’ll just look from up here and be satisfied with that.
Working, or not Chronic boredom is setting in by the time we are just past halfway to our destination. We are over 6 hours into the flight and there no possible way I’m going to get any sleep. I brought my Galaxy Tab loaded with a few of my novel outlines, and planning for missing chapters, thinking I might get a little thinking time in. Plane rides, I find, are excellent for getting an opportunity to write virtually unhindered by outside interruptions, if, of course, you discount the number of times people brush past, knocking your seat, the person in front lowering the seat into your face, or people around you continually asking you to turn off your light because they’re trying to sleep. Sorry, I say, but you can suffer my pain with me. It’s one of the joys of flying with over two hundred others in a claustrophobic environment. Besides, aren’t the lights supposed to be slanted so only I get the rays of light? Except, I guess when the fixed light doesn’t line up with where the airline has fixed the seat (usually so they can squash more people in).So, sorry, not sorry, take it up with the airline.
Back to work, and I put in some quality time on a part of the story that had been eluding me for a while. I knew what I wanted to write, but not how I was going to approach it, so that blissfully quiet and intense time worked in my favor, something that would not have happened back hope. I won’t bore you with the synopsis, just suffice to say it’s finally down on paper, digitally that is, and it’s a huge step forward towards finishing it. There is, of course, the end play, the reading of the will but not before there’s a few thrusts and parry’s by some of the players, but all in all the objective was to showcase a group of people with their strengths and weaknesses pushing their characters in various directions, some at odds with what is expected of them. But enough of that. A quick check of our position shows we’re still over water but closer to our destination, so much so, we might start the pre-landing rituals, starting with food.
Dinner 7:00 – Dinner is served, well, the lights go on and a lot of tired people try to shake the sleep, and sleeplessness, out of their systems. Then flight attendants that are far too cheerful, and must have beamed in from somewhere else, serve another interesting concoction that says what’s in it but you can’t really be sure of the ingredients. It comes and it goes.
9:10 – We begin our descent into Beijing, you know, that moment when the engines almost stop and there’s a sickening lurch and the plane heads downward. 9:56 – We touch down on the runway, in the dark and apparently it has been raining though from inside the plane you’d never know. 10:10 – the plane arrives at the gate, the usual few minutes to open the door, and, being closer to the front of the plane this time, it doesn’t take that long before the queue is moving.
Early or late, it doesn’t matter. After clearing customs and immigration, we have to go in search of our tour guide, waiting for us somewhere outside the arrivals terminal.
Today we are in Vienna, at the hotel that Zoe was staying trying to get information out of the hotel staff. This leads to a contact on a riverboat that goes from Vienna to Bratislava in Slovakia.
Yes, we’re off to Bratislava, chasing Zoe down.
In the background we have the shadowy Worthington, pulling endless strings, gathering information on her whereabouts for John. He had deduced that if John can find her, she will pause long enough for Worthington’s hit team to get there.
John does not realize he has ulterior motives, but, then John doesn’t fully understand the spy business.
John also tasks his newfound private investigators to track her down, and Isobel doesn’t disappoint.
Then, a photo of her from Worthington arrives, she is discovered, and, as you can surmise, all hell breaks loose.
I’ve always wanted to go to Bratislava, ever since I saw it in a James Bond movie. That showed it had trams, and I’m one of those people who love trams, trains, buses, anything that reeks travel.
I would also like to hop a boat and travel up the river, perhaps from Vienna to Bratislava, or beyond.
One day.
…
Today’s writing, with John desperately trying to find Zoe, 2,525 words, for a total of 36,812.
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 not sure what to make of Nadia. It would have been better if she hadn’t said she liked me. Perhaps she was just toying with my emotions.
Whatever she said, she was right about one thing, that it put a spoke in the works with my plan to get her the map and ease her problems with Alex. Of course, I knew that wouldn’t be the end of her issues with Alex, he was not the sort to let a fish off the hook.
And despite her protestations to the contrary, she looked very much at ease in his company. Had she told Alex what my plan was, and got Rico out of the way so he could set his sights on me?
Had Alex something to do with Rico’s current predicament? Based on the information that Nadia had given me, the proximity of his boat, and the divers, what were they for? I suspect it was not to remove fishing line from the propeller shaft.
No, this had the smell of the Benderby’s all over it.
I finished my drink and left. Once outside, I could see there was still activity on Rico’s boat, and two men from the coroner’s office were just removing the body from the cabin. I could see a group of white jump suit clad people waiting to board, the crime scene investigators.
I thought about going back to the boat, but there was a policeman standing on the start of the pier making sure only those with a legitimate reason were let through.
Enough excitement for one day. It was time to go to work. I had just enough time to get home, change, and get to the warehouse.
When I stepped into the office, Alex was waiting by my desk and that could only mean one thing, I was in some sort of trouble. Usually, he just ignored me, unless there was something no one else wanted to do like taking inventory.
“A few minutes in my office Smidge.”
Trouble it was. He only called me Smidge when he was annoyed with me.
I followed him in and closed the door. His office was the same as his father’s, in the main building, only smaller.
He didn’t invite me to sit down. He sat on the edge of his desk, facing me. It brought back bad memories of being in the principal’s office at school.
“What were you doing talking to Nadia?”
How could he know? Knowing Alex, he, or more to the point, his father, had spies everywhere.
“She came and sat next to me, Alex, not the other way around. She was reminding me of how insignificant I was, and then she was asking questions about Rico. I was there when they found a body on his boat, Alex. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
I watched his expression change for just a moment. He didn’t have the same set in granite features as his father, a man who could lie to your face and stab you in the back at the same time.
“Why would I? I was out testing Dad’s boat, and all I could see what police everywhere. I wouldn’t put anything past Rico.”
Then I had an idea that might rattle Alex’s cage a little.
“There’s a rumour going around that Rico had a copy of a more detailed treasure map. I mean, Boggs seems to think his father had a more detailed treasure map than the one doing the rounds, and maybe Rico had got his hands on it, and perhaps that man on the boat was a treasure hunter who was trying to buy it, or steal it, and got on the wrong side of an argument with someone, and not necessarily Rico. To be honest, Alex, I don’t think Rico is that stupid he would murder someone on his boat.”
There was a definite interest in his eyes, one that sparked whenever I mentioned the treasure map, and it was more than a passing phase.
“You and I both know that Boggs is little more than a brainless idiot who’s always trying to make out his father wasn’t the world’s worst treasure hunter. Those rumours are just that, Smidge, rumours. There is no treasure and there is no map. And it’s debatable whether Rico had anything other than a quick temper. If I were you, I’d go looking for a better class of friend, and forget about this so-called treasure.”
Put as casually as he could, the problem was Alex could not keep the veiled threat out of his tone. He was definitely telling me to back off. But, then I had another thought, just to stir the pot a little more.
“Funny thing Alex, that was what Nadia told me too. What if the Cossatino’s think the exact opposite, that the rumours are true. She could have been sizing me up as a potential source for the map, seeing how Boggs and I are such good friends.”
Mentioning the Cossatino’s made Alex uncomfortable. I could see it, and feel it. The tension in the room was rising.
“You should keep well away from the Cossatino’s, and particularly Nadia. They are very, very dangerous people. If she’s talking to you, then I’d been running away as fast as I could.”
“Because you’re interested in her?”
“Are you, I mean seriously Smidge, what would she see in you?”
That, of course, was a good question, and from his perspective, quite a valid point. I had nothing that he knew of to offer.
“Everyone has something someone else wants, Alex. I’ll admit, at the moment, I don’t have anything to offer a woman like that, and she is way above my pay grade, but if you like, I’ll try to find out what it is she does want. I work here, so perhaps she thinks I might be able to get some dirt on you unless you are good friends and she’s just trying to make my life more miserable than it already is.”
Yes, I could see the wheels turning, the Alex that didn’t trust anyone, no matter who they were.
“If she tries, you tell me.”
“Of course. Now I’d better get back to work. Your dad is supposed to be coming over for an inspection.”
It had been one of those days, you know, the sort where you hoped, when you woke up again, it would be a distant memory if not gone altogether. Everything had gone wrong, the handover from my shift to the next, longer than usual, I got home late to find the building’s security system malfunctioning, and after everything that could go wrong had, I was late getting to bed, which meant I was going to be tired and cranky even before my shift started.
But what topped it all off was that the alarm didn’t go off. It was not as if I hadn’t set it, I remembered doing it. There was something else in play.
I rolled over and instantly noticed how dark it was. It was never this dark. It was why I chose an apartment as high up as I could, there would always be light coming from the advertising sign on the roof of the building over the road at night, or direct sunlight not blotted out by surrounding buildings.
I also left the curtains open, deliberately. I liked the notion of being able to see out, sometimes looking at the stars, other times watching the rain, but mostly to see that I was not in a dark place.
Not like now.
I got out of bed and went over to the window. Yes, there were lights, but they were all the way down on the street level. Everywhere else, nothing. It had to be a power blackout. Our first in a long time. I should have noticed the air conditioning was not on, and it was almost silent inside the room.
The apartment had windows that opened, not very far, but enough to allow some airflow, and the room feeling stuffy, I opened one in the bedroom. Instantly, sounds drifted up from street level, and looking down I could see the flashing lights of police cars and fire trucks, as well as the sounds of sirens.
The cold air was refreshing.
It took a few minutes before I realized the elevators would not be working, and I remembered the only pitfall of having a high-up apartment, it was a long way down by the stairs, and even longer going back up.
In the distance, I could see other buildings, about ten blocks away, with their lights on. It had to be a localized blackout, or perhaps a brownout. We had been having problems across the city with power supply caused by an unexplained explosion at several power stations on the grid.
Some were saying it was a terrorist attack, others were saying the antiquated infrastructure had finally given out.
My attention was diverted from the activity below by the vibration of my cell phone on the bedside table. I looked over at the clock and saw it was 3:10 in the morning, not a time I usually got a phone call.
I crossed the room and looked at the screen, just as the vibrating stopped. Louis Bernard. Who was Louis Bernard? It was not a name I was familiar with, so I ignored it. It wasn’t the first wrong number to call me, though I was beginning to think I had been given a recycled phone number when I bought the phone. Perhaps the fact it was a burner may have had something to do with it.
About the go back to the window, the phone started ringing again. The same caller, Louis Bernard.
Curiosity got the better of me.
“Yes?” I wasn’t going to answer with my name.
“Get out of that room now.”
“Who….” It was as far as I got before the phone went dead.
The phone displayed the logo as it powered off, a sign the battery was depleted. I noticed then though I’d plugged the phone in to recharge, I’d forgotten to turn the power on.
Damn.
Get out of that room now? Who could possibly know firstly who I was, and where I was living, to the point they could know I was in any sort of danger?
It took another minute of internal debate before I threw on some clothes and headed for the door.
Just in case.
As I went to open the door, someone started pounding on it, and my heart almost stopped.
“Who is it?” I yelled out. First thought; don’t open it.
“Floor warden, you need to evacuate. There’s a small fire on one of the floors below.”
“OK. Give me a minute or so and I’ll be right out.”
“Don’t take too long. Take the rear stairs on the left.”
A few seconds later I heard him pounding on the door next to mine. I waited until he’d moved on, and went out into the passage.
It was almost dark, the security lighting just above floor level giving off a strange and eerie orange glow. I thought there was a hint of smoke in the air, but that might have been the power of suggestion taking over my mind.
There were two sets of stairs down, both at the rear, one on the left and one on the right, designed to aid quick evacuation in the event of a calamity like a fire. He had told me to take the left. I deliberately ignored that and went to the right side, passing several other tenants who were going towards where they’d been told. I didn’t recognize them, but, then, I didn’t try to find out who my fellow tenants were.
A quick look back up the passage, noting everyone heading to the left side stairs, I ducked into the right stairwell and stopped for a moment. Was that smoke I could smell. From above I could hear a door slam shut, and voices. Above me, people had entered the stairwell and were coming down.
I started heading down myself.
I was on the 39th floor, and it was going to be a long way down. In a recent fire drill, the building had been evacuated from the top floor down, and it proceeded in an orderly manner. The idea was that starting at the top, there would not be a logjam if the lower floors were spilling into the stairwell and creating a bottleneck. Were those above stragglers?
I descended ten floors and still hadn’t run into anyone, but the smell of smoke was stronger. I stopped for a moment and listened for those who had been above me. Nothing. Not a sound. Surely there had to be someone above me, coming down.
A door slammed, but I couldn’t tell if it was above or below.
Once again, I descended, one floor, two, three, five, all the way down to ten. The smoke was thicker here, and I could see a cloud on the other side of the door leading out of the stairwell into the passage. The door was slightly ajar, odd, I thought, for what was supposed to be a fire door. I could see smoke being sucked into the fire escape through the door opening.
Then I saw several firemen running past, axes in hand. Was the fire on the tenth floor?
Another door slammed shut, and then above me, I could hear voices. Or were they below? I couldn’t tell. My eyes were starting to tear up from the smoke, and it was getting thicker.
I headed down.
I reached the ground floor and tried to open the door leading out of the fire escape. It wouldn’t open. A dozen other people came down the stairs and stopped when they saw me.
One asked, “Can we get out here?”
I tried the door again with the same result. “No. It seems to be jammed.”
Several of the people rushed past me, going down further, yelling out, “there should be a fire door leading out into the underground garage.”
Then, after another door slamming shut, silence. Another person said, “they must have found a way out,” and started running down the stairs, the others following. For some odd reason I couldn’t explain, I didn’t follow, a mental note popping up in my head telling me that there was only an exit into the carport from the other stairs, on this side, the exit led out onto an alley at the back of the building.
If the door would open. It should push outwards, and there should also be a bar on it, so when pushed, it allowed the door to open.
The smoke was worse now, and I could barely see, or breathe, overcome with a coughing fit. I banged on the door, yelling out that I was stuck in the stairwell, but there was no reply, nor could I hear movement on the other side of the door.
Just as I started to lose consciousness, I thought I could hear a banging sound on the door, then a minute later what seemed like wood splintering. A few seconds after that I saw a large black object hovering over me, then nothing.
It was the culmination of a bad night, a bad day, and another bad night. Was it karma trying to tell me something?
When I woke, I was in a hospital, a room to myself which seemed strange since my insurance didn’t really cover such luxuries. I looked around the room and stopped when I reached the window and the person who was standing in front of it, looking out.
“Who are you?” I asked, and realized the moment the words came out, they made me sound angry.
“No one of particular importance. I came to see if you were alright. You were very lucky by the way. Had you not stayed by that door you would have died like all the rest.”
Good to know, but not so good for the others. Did he know that fire door was jammed? I told him what happened.
“Someone suspected that might be the case which is why you were told to take the other stairs. Why did you not do as you were told?”
“Why did the others also ignore the advice.” It was not a question I would deign to answer.
They didn’t know any better, but you did, and it begs the question, why did you take those stairs.”
Persistent, and beginning to bother me. He sounded like someone else I once knew in another lifetime, one who never asked a question unless he knew the answer.
The man still hadn’t turned around to show me his face, and it was not likely I’d be getting out of the bed very soon.
“You tell me?”
He turned slightly and I could see his reflection in the window. I thought, for a moment, that was a familiar face. But I couldn’t remember it from where.
“The simple truth, you suspected the fire was lit to flush you out of the building and you thought taking those stairs would keep you away from trouble. We both know you’ve been hiding here.”
Then he did turn. Hiding, yes. A spot of trouble a year or so before had made leaving Florida a necessity, and I’d only just begun to believe I was finally safe.
I was not.
They had found me.
And it only took a few seconds, to pull the silenced gun out of his coat pocket, point it directly at me, and pull the trigger.
Two stabbing pains in the chest, and for a moment it was as if nothing happened, and then, all of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe.
The last thing I saw and heard, several rounds from at least two guns, voices yelling out on the passage, and people running.
As I lay dying, my last thought was, it had been a good run, but no one can run forever.
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…
——
Mayer fought the urge to panic, and then consider giving himself up. He remembered what the Standartenfuhrer said, and knew that it was not an option.
He slid back into the forest, then far enough back, stood, and ran, the thick snow not only hampering his speed but also covering the sound of his flight.
He stopped and listened for the sound of the following soldiers, but all he could hear was the sound of a locomotive and his breathing. His heart was pounding, not used to such exercise or fear.
The soldiers must have stopped where the running person had fallen, and then on the verge of the tree line when the Standartenfuhrer had been shot.
He kneeled down and struggled to catch his breath. He had the bad the Standartenfuhrer had thrust upon him as they got out of the car, and hoped it had a map, but it was too dark to look now.
From earlier, he remembered the other side of the railway tracks had trees too, and the road that led to the border, the village, if there was one, and the railway station. There would also be a small shunting area, freight sheds, or something else to hide in, maybe even a signal tower.
Somewhere warm, and with some light, so he could plan his next move. He was not sure what the Standartenfuhrer Had planned, but it certainly could not be by car the whole way, and they would not make the rendezvous by walking.
The plan had to include going by train.
Brenner pass was along the main track from Austria to the south of Italy, and from an earlier look at a map, the train would go through F, Verona, Bologna, to Florence where he would find the next guide.
Details of that guide hopefully were in the bag, a bag that he would have to hide or lose if he was captured because it would give away the escape route and resistance members who helped those fleeing Germany.
If he had the time or could think straight. The cold was making that very difficult. And there was the shock of losing the Standartenfuhrer.
It took five minutes to regain a certain amount of calm and be able to think.
First, he had to get back to the tree line and see where he was, in proximity to the village, and the railway tracks.
That took about ten minutes carefully picking his way through the trees. There was no path, it was dark, and he kept hitting low branches and getting covered in snow. There was enough down the back of his neck to make him very uncomfortable.
When he reached the tree line he looked back from where he had been, about a kilometer, and he could see the torches of the soldiers milling around where he and the Standartenfuhrer had been. The train was still there, the locomotive’s light blazing in front, lighting a short distance of the track in front of it, almost blindingly bright.
He was not sure why it was waiting on the track.
Looking the other way, there were two sets of tracks, a wide clear area, then another track with several flat cars and a guards van sitting in darkness, all of which were covered in snow. They were not being used, so the van might provide some shelter.
He just had to get over there, about 100 meters distant. The problem was there were lights, not very bright, at regular distances, but short enough that a man might present a shadowy outline if anyone was looking.
If he stayed low and run fast, it might just work.
A train whistle in the distance, coming from Italy caused him to shrink back into the cover of the trees. Another train was coming. It was oddly busy at a very late hour.
The locomotive also had a bright light that lit up the edge of the tree line, so he had to go further back to get away from it, and wait until the train passed. It had a lot of flat cars with tanks and troop carriers on it, going back to Germany. There were no soldiers so perhaps the equipment was needed elsewhere, maybe that final push to England he kept hearing about.
Once that train passed, the one that had been waiting finally restarted itsjourney south and slowly rumbled past him. It was almost like a passenger train with no priority had had to wait until essential war trains passed.
When that train had gone, the surrounding area descended into a quiet, also silent field. The snow had begun to fall heavier, which would be advantageous, and after several long looks in both directions, he ran, crossing the tracks, the empty space, and then to the guard van where he hid between it and the freight car until he caught his breath.
And see if anyone had seen him, expecting whistles and shouting coming from up the track.
Another look showed that only two torches remained back where there had been frenetic activity. He hoped they considered they had caught the people they were looking for.
He went down the side of the guard’s van to the door, climbed the ladder, and tried the door. It was unlocked. There was no reason why it would be locked.
He went in and shut the door, and immediately it was warmer, and certainly dryer. IT was impossibly dark inside, so he felt around in the bag and found a torch. Someone had been clever enough to add a torch, some first aid equipment. The papers included a map.
He checked the cabin for windows and found the shutters were closed, so he didn’t have to stifle the torches light. A further check showed a bed at the end of the cabin, with a blanket, musty but dry.
There was a stove, a kettle with water, and a tin of tea leaves. He wasn’t going to start a fire, so no tea. There was no food, so the hunger would have to remain for a while longer. The water tasted alright, but he could melt some snow if he needed more.
A place to stay, at least until daybreak when it would be wise to get into the forest on the roadside, and head towards the village, or perhaps wait for a train and see if he could hide on it for the trip south.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 