I’m back to writing, sitting at the desk, pad in front of me, pen in hand.
The only thing lacking, an idea.
It’s 9:03 am, too early to start on a six pack.
I need a distraction.
Blogging, web sites, twitter and facebook, all of these social media problems are swirling around in my mind.
The more I read the more it bothers me that if I don’t have the right social media presence, if I do not start to build an email list, all of my efforts in writing a book will come to nought.
Then I start trawling the internet for information on marketing and found a plethora of people offering any amount of advice for anything between a ‘small amount’ to a rather large amount that gives comprehensive coverage of most social media platforms for periods of a day, a week or a month. I don’t have a book so it’s a bit early to be worrying about that.
I move onto the people who offer advice for a cost on how to build a following, how to build a web presence, how to get a thousand Twitter followers, how to get thousands of email followers before the launch. The trouble is I’m writing a novel not a non fiction book, or have some marvellous 30 page ebook on how to do something, for free just to drive people to my site.
I’m a novelist not a handyman so those ideas while good are not going to help me.
Yet another problem to wrestle with along with actually creating a product to sell in the first place.
Except I’m supposed to be writing for the love of it without the premeditated idea of writing for gain or getting rich quick.
What am I missing here?
So should l be writing short stories and offering them for free to drive people to my site? These would have to be genre specific so it needs time and effort and fit into a convenient size story that will highlight or showcase my talent.
Or should I create a web site for the novel and set up pages for the characters an get some interaction going that way?
It will be difficult without giving the whole plot away so if I do it will have to be carefully managed.
I don’t think I will have a good night’s sleep again with all of these social media problems I’m going to have.
Oh well, back to the book. It’s time to have a nightmare of a different sort!
Down here, it is summer, and the last few days have been rather hot, well, it is summer after all, but tonight it is particularly hot.
So, as I can’t sleep, I’m lying on the couch staring at the ceiling, otherwise known as the cinema of my dreams.
Where am I?
Well, the location is in keeping with the weather, hot, humid, and cold drinks are mandatory.
I’ve got one now!
…
A sleepless night did nothing to make the idea of going on a treasure hunt and more palatable. I couldn’t say I didn’t see it coming, because Boggs had been hinting he’d found something of his father’s when poking through his old stuff.
I was hoping it was money.
And visiting the bar, I thought that he had found a lead in his quest to find some information about his parents, two people he realized now, he knew very little about.
In that quest, I was only too willing to help.
When he finally told me about the treasure, I didn’t think he was the sort to believe in fairy tales, because everyone knew it was little more than that.
I didn’t flat out debunk the myth, but I could see I was going to have to carefully get him off this track. Real or not, we were hardly equipped, mentally or physically, to deal with whatever this quest might throw up.
Yes, in my mind’s eye I had a Raiders of the Lost Ark scenario running through my head, from large rolling stones, through to a snake pit. I hated snakes too.
In fact, with the addition of Boggs uncle Rico in the mix, it seemed to me we would be better off spending our time looking for work rather than using any excuse to not, but that was the problem with our neighborhood, too many people looking for work and not enough jobs. Prosperity seemed to be everywhere else.
“No lounging around in bed, Sam.” My mother’s voice came from the kitchen where she would be throwing food into a container for her lunch.
She was suffering from the lack of employment too, being a qualified accounts clerk, but for the time being, working check out at the local supermarket.
A job was a job, but it barely paid the bills.
I made it to the kitchen just as she was about to leave.
“You need to try harder,” she said. “Walter said they’re looking for people in the warehouse again. Promise me you’ll go see them.”
I could see the strain of the odd shifts she worked, the fact she didn’t want to be there, but unlike my father, she accepted responsibility, no matter what it cost.
“I promise.”
A kiss on the forehead and she was gone.
The jobs at the warehouse were little more than slave labor, minimum pay, very hard work, and ungratefully supervisors. Most of those like Boggs and I lasted a week, or less because that way they didn’t have to pay you for the few days you worked.
Worthington was in a state, now realizing that he had become a target, and immediately assumes it was Zoe on the end of the sniper rifle.
He considers calling John and telling him what just happened, but if Zoe was there with him…
No, better to attend to the problems at hand. Arabella wasn’t dead, but it had come very close. And, he suspected, it was because he had asked her to get a drink for him, and if she had not moved, the damage would be far less.
It was important then to go to the hospital with her and make sure he was then when she woke up to explain what just happened. If she would ever speak to him again, that is.
Meanwhile, John is ‘collected’ at his hotel, and taken to Olga. When he wakes up in a rather quaint bedroom or what seems to be a house in the countryside, he only remembers being in the hotel, then nothing.
When he is escorted to the meeting room, it is not the sort of interrogation he was expecting but is fascinated with the old Russian woman who claims to be Zoe’s mentor and teacher, and says that she has no interest in harming him, she only wants Zoe back.
John works out that the woman is in fact Alistair’s mother and presses her for more information about Zoe.
…
Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon waiting for a white knight, 1,771 words, for a total of 57,988..
This is countryside somewhere inside the Lamington National Park in Queensland. It was one of those days where the rain come and went…
We were spending a week there, in the middle of nowhere on a working macadamia farm in a cottage, one of four, recuperating from a long exhausting lockdown.
It was not cold, and we were able to sit out of the verandah for most of the day, watching the rain come and pass over on its way up the valley, listing to the gentle pitter-patter of the rain on the roof and nearby leaves.
But as for inspiration:
This would be the ideal setting for a story about life, failed romance, or a couple looking to find what it was they lost.
It could be a story about recovering from a breakdown, or a tragic loss, to be anywhere else but in the middle of dealing with the constant reminders of what they had.
It could be a safe house, and as we all know, safe houses in stories are rarely safe houses, where it is given away by someone inside the program, or the person who it’s assigned to give it away because they can’t do as they’re supposed to; lay low.
Then there’s camping, the great outdoors, for someone who absolutely hates being outdoors, or those who go hunting, and sometimes become the hunted.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.
The hut was a barracks, with bedding and ablutions for twenty men. Since this was one of two, I assumed the other hut housed the twenty soldiers that the Colonel had alluded to. There would be no more than one or two others including the Captain.
Hopefully, there were not more in Nagero.
The two hostages had been taken to the Captain’s office where I assumed there was probably a brig for them to be locked in. Not quite what I was expecting, but no plan was ever perfect.
I went to the rear and sat down at a table that could accommodate about ten.
Davies and Shurl joined me.
I looked at Shurl. “Good work, and glad they didn’t shoot you.”
“So am I. Monroe had joined the others. I had to make a lot of noise before they found me, so I don’t think this is a crack troop.”
“The Captain, or whatever he is, looks sharp,” Davies said.
“New command perhaps. Can’t believe his luck, I’m guessing. Did you get a look at the plane?”
“As much as I could without looking like I was looking at it. It’s been well maintained, and I have no doubt we can get it off the ground. It just depends if we need help to get the engines started. It’s possible they don’t, though it’s not usual for this type of plane. We shall see when the time comes.”
“Can you take off at night?”
“It’s a bit dangerous without lights. I see they have a lighting system, so I suggest, if and when we break out of here you get someone to find the switch.”
“Noted.”
“Any idea when that’ll be?”
“I’m sure we have people working on that as we speak.”
The door at the entrance to the hut opened and the Captain stood next to his officer, with a gun pointed loosely in our direction, just in case we got the idea we could escape.
“Mr. James. Time to tell me all about your escape plans.”
“I’m not so sure they could be called that, now.”
His tone hardened. “Don’t keep me waiting. I have people waiting for my report.”
I shrugged and got up. “Just make sure everyone is ready to move when the time comes. Tell Baines that I expect him to find the generator and get the lights working.”
The Captain’s impatient look told me not to keep him waiting any longer.
The Captain led the way, and his officer kept the gun pointed at me, just in case of what I’m not sure. Inside his office, rather spacious, and with a door which likely led to some form of accommodation and the brig where the hostages were being held. The door was closed so I couldn’t see, so it had to be an assumption.
The officer remained in the doorway, while the Captain sat behind a large desk, and gestured for me to sit the other side. It didn’t look like a comfortable chair.
I thought I’d start the ball rolling. “I’m assuming that there isn’t always an army guard on this airstrip?”
“No. When we heard you were coming for the prisoners, a detachment was sent. Fortuitous wouldn’t you say?”
“For who.” Time to sow some seeds of discontent.
“What do you mean Mr. James?”
“Your mate back at the militia camp just pocketed two million US dollars’ worth of diamonds for those two men. What was your cut?”
A shocked look, one that eased back into benign slowly. No cut from that look, I’d say.
“We pride ourselves on being above bribery. That was the old way of doing things.”
“Clearly the militia don’t agree. Are you going to give them back to the commander so he can raffle them again?”
The Captain didn’t seem to understand the word ‘raffle’.
“Sell them back to us for another two million. Maybe you should talk to your superiors and see what they think. If you left us go, I can arrange for five million, for you and your friends to share.”
Disdain, or disappointment.
“What did I just say about bribery.”
“That it’s not the way things are done. Maybe not in the capital, but this is the boondocks, and you’re the man in charge. Five million can go a long way, but I suspect if you tell your superiors, you won’t get to see any of it. Or perhaps you should take a few men over to the Militia commander’s camp and demand your share, or just take it. After all, Captain, who is in charge of this sector, him or you?”
At least he was thinking about it. Five million was a lot of money, but in US dollars, that could take him anywhere.
I remembered my old instructor saying, one, ‘every man has his price’.
I just had to find the Captains.
“Aside from trying to bribe me, Mr. James, what were you hoping to achieve here?”
“A rescue. I know we tried once before and not succeeded, but you know how it is, if you at first don’t succeed, try, try, try again.”
“That it failed before should be a warning that we are not as weak as you might think we are. The US Army is not necessarily the best in the world.”
“So I’m beginning to discover. Did we train you?”
“No. I spent some time in England, training with the British Army.”
So that was where he got his accent and ramrod stiff never a crease out of place posture.
“But,” he said, “this not about me, but you. And your so-called film crew. How did you expect top escape through this airstrip, flights are restricted, and you can’t possibly fly in a Hercules? The runway is not long enough.
“No, we were hoping for something a bit smaller than that, but we’ll find out tomorrow what it is. I’ll be standing on the patio looking as surprised as you are when it arrives. Now, let me ask you a question. Do you know who those men are that you have in detention?”
“Militia prisoners.”
“For doing what?”
“I don’t ask questions. I obey orders.
“Then I’ll tell you. They were trying to set up a trade agreement for some precious metal you have in abundance here. Good for the country for income, and employment. Might even help you get on better terms with the rest of the world. Unless of course, you don’t want to.”
“I am a soldier, not a politician. That’s their problem. I was told to hold you until my superiors arrive.”
“Who told you?”
“The Colonel. He’s based in Ada.”
So, we had a leak. Surprising given the limited circulation of the plan. It might be down to Jacobi, but somehow, I didn’t think it was him. He had several opportunities to turn on us and he didn’t.
“So, you’re saying we basically drove into a trap?”
“Yes. So much for the smart Americans who have all the technology and answers.
I could understand his contempt, especially when the attempt had failed so badly. Pity then he didn’t understand what was about to happen to him.
It was odd having a voice in your head, well, not really in your head as such, but in your ear, and sounding like it was in your head.
You could truthfully say you were hearing voices.
It was the next step after going through some very intensive training, having someone else as your eyes and ears when breaching a secure compound, and avoiding the enemy.
I’d signed on for this extra training thinking one day it would land me in the thick of the action. Some of the others thought I was mad, but someone had to do it, and the fact it was quite dangerous added just that extra bit to it.
But as they say, what you learn in training, and practise in a non-hostile environment, is nothing like being in that same situation in reality.
Now on was on my first assignment, part of an elite team, packed and taken to what was to everyone else, an unspecified location, but to us, it was the point of incursion.
The mission?
To rescue a government official (that was how he was described to us) who had been illegally detained in a foreign prison.
Our job?
To break him out and get out without the knowledge of the prison staff, or anyone representing that government. Yes, what we were doing was highly illegal, and yes, if we were caught it was more likely than not we would be executed as spies.
…
We were under cover in an abandoned farmhouse about three miles from the prison. We had been brought in under cover of darkness, and had only a few hours to set up, and then wait it out until the following night.
It was now or never, the weather people predicting that there would be sufficient cloud cover to make us invisible. Two of us were going in, and two remaining strategically placed outside to monitor the inside of the prison through a system of infrared scanners. We also had a floor plan of the building in which the prisoner was being held, and intelligence supplied, supposedly, by one of the prison guards who had been paid a lot of money for information on guard movements.
To me, it was a gigantic leap of faith to trust him, but I kept those thoughts to myself.
We had been over the plan a dozen times, and I’d gone through the passageways, rooms, and doors so many times I’d memorised where they were and would be able to traverse the building as if I had worked there for a lifetime. Having people outside, talking me through it was just an added benefit, along with alerts on how near the guards were to our position.
I was sure the other person going with me, a more seasoned professional who had a number of successful missions under his belt, was going through the same motions I was. After all, it was he who had devised and conducted the training.
There was a free period of several hours before departure, time to listen to some music, empty the head of unwanted thoughts, and get into the right mindset. It was no place to get tangled up in what-ifs, if anything went wrong, it was a simple matter of adapting.
Our training had reinforced the necessity to instantly gauge a situation and make changes on the fly. There would literally be no time to think.
I listened to the nuances of Chopin’s piano concertos, pretending to play the piano myself, having translated every note onto a piano key, and observing it in my mind’s eye.
My opposite number played games of chess in his head. We all had a different method of relaxing.
Until it was 22:00 hours, and time to go.
…
“Go left, no, hang on, go right.” The voice on my ear sounded confused and it was possible to get lefts and rights mixed up, if you were not careful.
It didn’t faze me, I knew from my study of the plans that once inside the perimeter fence, I had to go right, and head towards a concrete building the roof of which was barely above the ground.
It was once used as a helipad, and underneath, before the site became a prison, the space was used to make munitions. And it was an exceptionally large space that practically ran under the whole of the prison, built above ground.
All that had happened was the lower levels were sealed, covered over and the new structures built on top. Our access was going to be from under the ground.
Quite literally, they would not see, or hear, us coming.
The meteorological people had got it right, there was cloud cover, the moon hidden from view, and the whole perimeter was in inky darkness. Dressed in black from head to foot, the hope was we would be invisible.
There were two of us heading to the same spot, stairs that led down to a door that was once one of the entrances to the underground bunker. We were going separate ways in case one of the other was intercepted in an unforeseen event.
But, that part of the plan worked seamlessly, and we both arrived at the same place nearly at the same time.
Without the planning, we might easily have missed it because I didn’t think it would be discernable even in daylight.
I followed the Sergeant downstairs, keeping a watchful eye behind us. I stooped at the point where I could see down, and across the area we had just traversed.
Nothing else was stirring.
As expected, the door was seamless and without an apparent handle. It may have had one once, but not anymore, so anyone who did stumble across it, couldn’t get in.
Except us. We had special explosives that were designed to break the lock, and once set, would not make a lot of noise. Sixty seconds later we were inside, and the door closed so no one would know we’d broken in.
I was carrying a beacon so that the voice in my head could follow my progress. The sergeant had one too, and he led.
“Straight ahead, 200 yards, then another door. It shouldn’t be locked, but it might be closed.”
In other words, we had no way of knowing. Our informant had said no one had been down in the dungeons, as he called them, since the munition factory closed, and had been sealed up soon after the prison building had been handed over for use.
We were using night goggles, and there was a lot of rubbish strewn over the floor area so we had to carefully pick our way through which took time we really didn’t have. It looked as though our informant was right, no one had been down there for a long time. We were leaving boot prints in the dust.
We reached the door ten minutes later than estimated. Losing time would have a flow-on effect, and this operation was on a very tight time constraint.
“Once you are through the door, there’s a passage. Turn left and go about 50 paces. There should be another passage to your right.”
“Anyone down here?”
“No, but there is a half dozen prison officers above you. Standard patrol, from guardhouse to guardhouse. Unless they can hear you through five feet of solid concrete, you’re safe.”
My instincts told me five feet of concrete were not enough, but I’ll let it ride for the moment.
The door was slightly ajar and it took the two of us to pull it open so that we could get past. Behind it was the passage, going left and right. Trusting my invisible guide was not getting mixed up again, I motioned right, and we headed down the passage.
Despite the fact we should be alone, both of us were careful not to make any noise, and trod carefully.
At 50 or so paces, the passage came into sight. The sergeant went ahead. I stayed back and kept an eye in both directions. The passage before us was the one that would take us under the cell of the captive we were sent to retrieve.
There would be no blasting our way in. The floor to the cell had a grate, and when removed, a person could drop down into the ‘dungeon’. Currently, the grate was immovable, but we had the tools to fix that.
The sergeant would verify the grate was where it was supposed to be, then come back to get me.
Five minutes passed, then ten. It was not that far away.
I was about to go search when the voice in my head returned, but with panic. “We’ve been compromised. Get the hell out of there, now. Quickly…”
Then I heard what sounded like gunshots, then nothing.
A minute later there was a new voice. “I don’t know who you are, but I’d strongly advise you give yourself up to the guards. Failure to do so within one hour, I’ll execute the two men I now have in custody.”
Ahead of me there was a sudden explosion, followed by a cloud of dust and fine debris.
Hand grenade, or mine, it didn’t matter. The sergeant wouldn’t be coming back.
Queenstown is as much about skiing in Winter as it is hiking in Summer or any other time. It is, in fact, the ideal place for a holiday any time of the year.
We have stayed there simply to relax, though with all that scenery, and stuff to do, it’s nearly impossible to stay indoors all the time.
Usually, we stay in a place called Queenstown Mews, not far from the lake, and it gives us the perfect opportunity to walk down to the lake and follow the shoreline around to the town, and have coffee and cake as a fitting reward for the exercise.
Along the way, there is the view of the Remarkables:
And, further around, behind the park and gardens, a spectacular view across the lake towards Walter Peak farm:
To get to the farm you can either drive a very, very long way or take the T.S.S. Earnslaw, otherwise known as the ‘Lady of the Lake’.
This vessel plies Lake Wakatipu from Queenstown to mostly Walter Peak Farm but has been known, on occasions, to go to Kingston or Glenorchy.
Here it’s sitting at the pier at Queenstown, ready to depart for Walter Peak Farm.
And this is it returning to Walter Peak Farm to take the visitors back to Queenstown.
We have been to Walter Peak Farm for Afternoon Tea and Dinner, and both occasions were an amazing experience. You can also get up close and to the animals
There are other experiences to be had in Glenorchy. and the views whilst driving there are every bit as spectacular, especially as late afternoon settles in:
And in visiting the Lord Of the Rings filming locations.
Then there is Kingston, where the road follows the lake and you are literally between the mountains and the lake:
Kingston used to have a train running, which then became a tourist attraction, but for the moment does not seem to be running currently.
But for me, the real experiences is travelling on the vessel.
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 back on the treasure hunt.
…
“Who the hell is that horrible man?” I asked, still staring after the car, long after it had gone.
I knew trouble when I saw it, and that man was serious trouble.
And the fact he believed there was a treasure map…
“My uncle Rico, he was the one my mother always credited leading my father astray. Whatever they had been doing back then, it was never anything legal.”
So, he knows about the treasure map?”
“He knows nothing. He thinks he knows something, he thinks I know something, but he’s not going to get it out of me.”
“What if he comes after me next?”
It was a daunting prospect, and just looking at Rico was enough to scare me. If he had a machete to back up his insistence I tell the truth? I shuddered.
“You tell him the truth. We have a map, we bought it at the bar like everyone else.”
He was right.
“Boggs?”
His aunt yelled out his name in a manner that meant he was in trouble.
He motioned to keep quiet and follow him.
He took one step before she added, “You take one more step away from this house, and you’ll have more than Rico to worry about.”
A shrug, a wan smile, and then he turned back. “Nothing more today. See you at the Bar tomorrow, and we’ll start the search.
“Surely you don’t think that map is real?”
“Real enough, with missing pieces, we have to track down. Tomorrow.”He turned and went back into the house, the wooden screen door slamming shut behind him.
Followed by the raised voice of an angry Aunt. “What is all this malarkey about a treasure map, and what the hell were you doing in a bar? I bet it was that Johnson kid leading you astray again.”
Never, according to her, Boggs’ fault, and always mine.
Every time I went out with friends, no one ever asked my opinion about anything, and I never really ventured one, and it had been that way all my life.
It came from learning at a very young age that I should listen not prattle and speak only when spoken to.
All through school I spent most of my time studying alone, or with one or two others who wanted to help with their schoolwork, and I think that after a while I’d become a definitive nerd.
Things changed a little when I went to university and found there were quite a few just like me, and we sort of gravitated towards each other.
After that, getting a job, I still found myself more or less keeping my own company though from time to time one or other of my contemporaries would ask I’d I was going to the drinks after work on Friday night, which usually I avoided.
My contemporaries were a little too outgoing for a self-confessed boring person.
Then things changed, a promotion to a different branch in an office in the next state, with new people and a different atmosphere, fuelled a desire to break the mold I’d created for myself.
It was time to be more outgoing.
…
What kicked off the new attitude was a meeting of department heads. I found that the company had brought together a group of people, hovering in the middle management group, of which I was only one of about a dozen of similar age, experience, and qualifications.
It was an interesting meeting because it was addressed by the current CEO, a man who was rarely seen out of head office, on the other side of the country. We were, he said, the up-and-coming future of the company, and our time in this particular branch would determine our trajectory.
So much easier then to crash and burn.
I was last to leave the room, with much to ponder.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” One of the female attendees had been talking to several others, then turned her attention to me.
“Two weeks on Thursday, but yes.”
I’d see her at various times during the last week, in different parts of the building, leaving me to think she had some sort of managerial role. It was no surprise to learn she was in sales.
“Jennifer Eccles.”
‘Daniel Wells.”
We shook hands, which was a surprise.
“New to the city then?” She asked.
“I am. I’m still working on what I want to see, but there’s plenty of time for that. I have a mountain of reading to get through.”
“You know the saying, all work, and no play…”
She had a look about her that suggested she might be the life of the party, certainly if the meeting was anything to go by, the center of attention.
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
…
I had made our acquaintances in the first week, Oliver Birtwhistle, another introvert like myself, a candidate settling into research and development, right down to the white coat and pencil pack in the pocket.
He had also been at the meeting, and had Bern at the company for three months and had been giving me the drill, who to avoid, who had nuisance value, and how to get ahead if I was that way inclined.
The thing is, he had said, you were sent to this place to prove your boss’s faith in your potential. Each manager of each branch hot to pick the brightest candidate. I had been my manager’s choice, odd because there were others who would have appreciated the opportunity more than me.
He had to go past my office to get to the laboratory and dropped in, flooding into the lounge chair along the sidewall, a remnant of the last office owner who used to sleep on it overnight while going through a messy divorce.
“I see you were ambushed by the incorrigible Jennifer Eccles.”
“You say it as if it’s a bad thing.’
“That’s because it is. You would be well advised to steer clear of her. The last three people like you she selected as work partners all left broken from the experience. She sucks novices dry of all their knowledge, claims it as her own, and moves up another rung.”
“She seems quite nice “
“So does a rattlesnake until it bites you.”
“Well, forewarned is forearmed. She doesn’t have anything to fear from me, I’m not the ambitious sort.”
“That’s not how it works here. You need to be competitive just to stay here. There are no free lunches. Next meeting you’ll be required to make a pitch, and if the boss doesn’t like it, you go back home.”
“You’re still here?”
“That’s more because I have an incompetent manager. It’s easy to create cost/benefit savings when his methods ate all last century. All I’m saying is watch your back.”
…
I never gave Oliver’s advice another thought, as the days passed, and Jennifer was just a shadow on the horizon.
Until she dropped into my office, on her way to somewhere else. Another person, also wary of her, had said she burned shoe soles faster than a spendthrift spent money.
“How are you settling in?”
She sat exactly where Oliver had been a month before.
“Feels like home.”
“See anything of the place?”
“I bought a car, moved into company-assisted accommodation, just haven’t had the time to get out and about.”
“OK. Tell you what, I’m free this weekend, come by my place and I’ll show you around. And, Friday night, drinks in the bar off the cafeteria. You should come, meet the competition.”
“Do I want to?”
“Of course, you do. You want to at least meet the people who are most likely going to stab you in the back.”
“Is that what you do?”
“Me, no. I’m a woman. We use poison. Much more efficient “
…
So, curiosity got the better of me, and on the way out, I had a last-minute change of heart, thinking about what the harm could be.
When I arrived most of the staff cafeteria was already there, and underway, and by the look of it, for some time.
As I’d surmised, Jennifer was the Queen bee surrounded by her drones. Crossing the room, I tried to pick of the ones she had picked up and spat out. Probably all of them, hence her interest in me.
She stopped mid-sentence when she saw me, and then abandoned the group, to come over and give me a kiss on the cheek, and a hug. It did not go unnoticed.
Then we went back to the group with several new faces, and she introduced me. I was ‘the new guy in marketing’ who was ‘working on a huge new concept’. Of course, I had no idea what she was talking about, but let it ride. It was a close approximation of the truth.
This informal get-together was much like a brainstorming session, but to me, with one purpose in mind. Run, clearly, by Jennifer, for the purpose of mining their ideas.
I was encouraged to talk about my huge ideas, but in reality, they were just pie in the sky clouds, there was nothing to talk about. And that seemed to annoy her. It wasn’t for the want of gentle prodding, down to outright asking me, but I generally ignored her, and it was noticed.
Then she manicured us to be alone at the bar. Was this going to be the big push?
“Haven’t forgotten about tomorrow, have you?” She said, sliding a Millers across to me.
She was a beer drinker, a tick in a box if I was ticking boxes.
“No. Looking forward to not talking shop.”
“Oh, you never stop living a breathing work at this level. It can be all-consuming for some. Just as a matter on interest, had any of the orders spoken about me?”
There was that fraction of a second hesitation that could be construed in a dozen different ways. I tried covering it, but she knew, so I tried walking carefully through the mindfully.”
“I suspect that most of the guys I’ve spoken to consider you just a little out of their league. I should be so lucky to be spoken of so highly.”
I had always dreamed of following my father into diplomacy, but there was little on offer these days. The old days had long since been replaced by the new generation who considered diplomats anachronisms of a colonial empire.
She smiled. She was smart enough to see what I was doing. But I was still treading water.
“So, what do you think of me?”
Direct.
“That’s a question of whether you want me to tell you what you want to hear, or tell you what I think, which is something entirely different.”
“What you really think, of course.”
I could see that she didn’t, but this was rapidly leading up a one-way street to the firing squad.
“Here’s the thing. I learned a long time ago that opinions count for nothing, and more often they cause more grief than anything else. You don’t need other people’s opinions of you to validate who you are, and what you want to do with your life, especially not from me.
“I have no opinion. As for me, I am not ambitious, and truth be told I don’t belong here. If the powers that be thought I’d play the competition, there wrong. Actions speak louder than words, and I will do my job to the best of my ability, but I won’t depressive someone else of an opportunity because I think I’m better than them. I’m not.
“I like you, and I’m happy to be your friend or something else if it ever comes to that, but don’t expect me to play the game, or be something I’m not.”
There, I said it, and it was what I intended, and perhaps if she was to read the subtext, would realize I was subtlety telling he she didn’t need to screw everyone over to better herself, but the truth is, she was, and perhaps she didn’t really know it.
Judging by the look on her face, I was blindfolded up against the wall in front of the firing squad, and then we’d just received the ready, aim, and about to say fire.
“Friend, you say.”
“There’s a lot of wiggle room with a word like that. It’s all in the individual interpretation.”
“Wow. For not giving an opinion…”
“I’m sorry it was not what you were expecting.”
It was interesting if not strange in a way to watch her expression change with each new thought pr reaction. I wondered for a moment if any of the other men spoke to her in such a manner
Perhaps not, because they would not want to sully their chance of getting a date with what was a woman that had both brains and beauty. As for me, I hadn’t been thinking of her in that way, but only in terms of how we could work together.
Perhaps that would be regarded as strange also.
Then she smiled, or perhaps it was a smirk, I was not quite sure, but it seemed she had come to a conclusion.
“You do realize no one has ever spoken to me in that manner, especially the men here. I can see now that asking me on a date, or the preliminaries before that are not on your immediate agenda, and, in fact, I suspect you did that to some of the other women here, you’d get a very cold shoulder. I’ll admit now, that you intrigue me, and I want to know more about you. You still want to go touring tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“Then you can take me home, so you know where to pick me up. But, for now, we’d better get back to the others before we become the subject of tomorrow’s water cooler gossip.
My take: Perhaps I could refine what is and isn’t opinion before I actually did upset someone.
Rupert follows Worthington and Arabella to and from the concert, and then observes them over dinner, wondering what it is that’s missing in his life until they go back to the room for the night.
To him, it seems like it’s just a sex weekend with cultural embellishments.
Until he spies Worthington on the move at two am, leaving the hotel on foot. It turns into a meeting between him and two other men in the park before Worthington returns to the hotel, business concluded.
It has to be something to do with John and Zoe, otherwise, the meeting would have been in the hotel, not the deep recesses of the park. Rupert has photographs and gives them to Sebastian for identification.
At least they now know the reason for Worthington being in Vienna. Arabella just makes it look more casual.
John breaks his plan to Zoe over breakfast, and she is surprised. It’s a good plan, and once she had dealt t=with the problems, it would be a go.
And, she added quite sombrely, if they all survive.
The bad news was she would be leaving the next morning to visit an old friend, Dominica, who probably isn’t so friendly now, to get information. And, no, she was not sure what would happen after than, but if she could, she would call him.
With the two me identified, and the danger they presented, Sebastian had to move to plan B and sets it up. He deliberately doesn’t tell either of them because he knows they would strenuously object.
The plan: sniper to shoot them from a building across the road, not to kill, but to slow them down. It would be difficult to be out plotting when in the emergency ward of a hospital.
But, as usual, things don’t quite go to plan. Worthington is hit and wounded, though not severely as Sebastian had hoped, but Arabella moved slightly just before he pulled the trigger, and he couldn’t see what happened but what he could see, it looked very, very bad.
…
Today’s writing, with Sebastian dusting off his sniper rifle, 1,882 words, for a total of 56,217.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 