Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
When I woke the next morning, it was to the sound of voices in the front of the house. One of the voices was my mothers. The other I had trouble placing, and I initially thought it was Benderby, calling in on the way to work.
When I threw on some clothes and came out, still a little bleary-eyed, I found it was the Sherriff. It seemed, all of a sudden, my mother had become the most popular girl in town.
The thing is, I knew little of the history of what went on in my mother’s time in a city where she had been born, raised, and remained. Married and divorced her high school sweetheart, there was talk of her being one of the popular girls at school, coincidentally the same school I went to, and there was evidence everywhere of her there.
I had not lived up to the family name.
Not that she expected me too, nor did she acknowledge those wild and hazy days where she had not been weighed down by a useless drunken husband, and struggle to pay the bills, hold onto the house, and both work and be a mother. Life had not gone the way she had expected.
But curiously those times were also those of Sherriff Johnson, in the same grade, along with Benderby, a few years ahead, and both Boggs’ mother and father who were contemporaries along with others including Nadia and Vince’s mother. They had been friends once until she married Cossatino and she ‘changed’.
Now they were an ocean apart on the social or any scale.
“Ah, Sam. How are you now?”
“Better. I’ll be more careful next time. Got any leads on who it was?”
“Ghosts. We have a few. Some of them are Cossatino’s, the others Benderby. Pity no one is willing to name names.”
“I didn’t see them, Sherriff. They wore masks.”
“Of course.”
“Is there anything more about the Frobisher case?”
“You seem very interested in police matters Sam.”
“He was an antique dealer, according to the papers, and there’s a lot of talk going around about the infamous treasure maps and you can’t help but put two and two together. Especially when Rico is related to Boggs whose father was the one responsible for creating those treasure maps. You think Rico was trying to get some answers out of him?”
“Hardly the sort of thing that any sane man would kill for, don’t you think?”
I doubted he would tell me if he knew anything, but he had taken more interest in what I was saying. It was stuff he’d know, or at least should know, since he had been the one to investigate Boggs’ father’s disappearance.
“Who said Rico was sane. He was a terrifying sort of guy when he lost his temper which I’ve seen him do in front of Boggs. But you have to agree, Rico had to know about Boggs’ father’s role in creating the maps for the Cossatino’s.”
The sheriff shook his head.
“Those are not the sort of rumors you want to be spreading around town, not unless you want an army of Cossatino’s layers on your doorstep. They are just that, rumors. Nothing was ever proven, and there was no evidence that the Cossatino’s had anything to do with Boggs’ father’s disappearance.”
“And Rico?”
“Rico is a harmless fool who talks big and that’s all. He did his time for running a map scam that he claims was run by Boggs senior. No one could prove it so he copped it sweet. Now, he should know better. But I will say this, Frobisher was not here to see Rico, but Benderby. Benderby apparently had some old coins he’s scooped up off the ocean floor on a dive and thought they might be worth something. Frobisher took them to be assessed and valued but got no further than Rico’s boat. And the coins are now missing.”
“Sounds to me like there’s going to be another treasure hunt.”
There’d been another some years before fuelled by news an authentic treasure map had been found, showing the location of Captain Markaby’s plunder stashed away for another day somewhere on our shores.
It all ended with Boggs senior’s disappearance.
“It might, but we can only hope what happened to the father in the last one, doesn’t happen to the son in this one. It’s why I called in. Your mother tells me you have some influence on young Boggs. Please tell him to stop stirring the pot with this notion he has the real map. He doesn’t. No one does. The plain truth is, there isn’t one. Someone needs to get through to him before something really bad happens to him. He’s already had one close shave. I’ll deal with the Cossatino’s and the Benderby’s. I expect you to deal with Boggs. Am I clear?”
Put to me in that authoritarian voice, it was very clear. But to Boggs, it was going to be like a red rag to a bull.
I nodded and went back to my room.
How did I manage to get in the middle of this mess?
I had gone over a number of different ways I could run into Juliet, but most seemed staged, and I got the impression from her most recent conversation with Larry, that she was not silly.
In fact, in my mind, a second meeting, coincidental or not, would send up a red flag. This was where spycraft bordered on Hollywood, we needed to set the stage, and for that, we needed extras.
And that meant a phone call to Alfie. I told him what I needed, and he asked for 24 hours to set it up, and true to his word, I was in the arrival hall of Venice Airport, waiting for the newest member of the team.
Cecilia Walker was an aspiring actress, an ideal cover for her so-called part-time profession as an agent at large. We all had cover stories, with both personal and legitimate reasons for being in places that we’d not normally be expected to be. And in her case, she was never the same person twice, quite literally the master of disguise.
For Cecilia, there was a film festival in Venice she would be attending. Timing in this case was everything.
As for me, I had a background in archaeology and journalism and was actually employed to write articles for a number of publications, a job I kept up after I left the service, along with the idea of writing a book, which became the object of a long-standing joke between Violetta and I.
One day I would finish it
But ironically, Cecilia had the perfect cover, being able to slip into any role without having to work too hard on the finer details.
Alfie had sent a photo of her, and even though I did spend a few moments wondering if I might recognize her from some part she may have played, it didn’t stir up any recollection. Of course, there was always a vast difference between studio poses and real life, and the woman that came out of the gate was quite different from the one I was expecting.
Although the few paparazzi that were loitering in the terminal just in case a celebrity did suddenly arrive, didn’t recognize her, that might be due to the fact she was dressed casually and had changed both hairstyle and color, and, as I had learned from the woman I’d spent a lot of time with, nuances in make-up could make all the difference.
But there was one photographer that was interested, perhaps he had seen her before, and I waited until she had spoken to him before wandering over. She had scanned the gate area, both to familiarise herself with the layout and people there, as well as locate me, all without looking like she was doing anything other than immediately disembarking the plane.
It showed experience, and preparedness, not her first, as they say, rodeo.
She had been tracking me the whole time, so once I was in her direct line of sight, anyone observing us would assume we were old friends.
There was a hug before words were spoken, the sort that made me realize what I had been missing for some time, warm personal contact.
“You haven’t aged a bit,” she said, a smile lingering.
“It’s the wine, excellent preservative. You, on the other hand, have grown up.”
The script called for old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a year or so.
She performed a pirouette and then burst into giggles. “Sorry, it’s just when I did that for one of my grandmothers, she said I was acting like a tart.”
“Grandmothers can be like that,” I said, remembering Violetta used to use the same word for her sister’s grandchildren.
“My house is a renovator’s disaster at the moment, so we’re staying in a quaint hotel on the edge of the main Canal, and some interesting restaurants.”
Alfie had booked us adjoining rooms on the same floor as Juliet, which, when she learned I would be staying there too, would give me the surprise element I was looking for.
“I am so looking forward to this week. If we get the time, you’ll have to show me everything.”
In that short distance from the airport terminal to the water taxi berths, there was time enough to discover what had exactly been missing in my life since Violetta had died.
Yes, there was a period of mourning, a period where there had been no point in getting out of bed, a period where I felt completely lost without the one person who made my life make sense.
But in those few short minutes, there it was again, and with it the belief that perhaps there was someone else out there who could fill that gap, but never replace her because there would never be anyone else like her. Cecilia was not the one, but she was part of the process.
I had to remember, also, she was a consummate actress, that she was playing a role, and it was totally believable.
Once we were on the water taxi and away from prying eyes and ears, I had to ask, “how did you end up on Rodby’s roster, especially in light of how good an actor you are?”
“You think so, why thank you. But the duality, accidentally. I got caught in the crossfire, and thinking at the time, someone had changed the script and forgot to tell me, sort of kicked some ass. Delusions of becoming a female version of Liam Neeson. Instead, I was offered a recurring female James Bond, in real life.”
Good to know I could depend on her in a scrap.
“This might not come to that, in fact, it might be quite boring.”
She smiled. “A free trip to Venice, a film festival pass to everything, working with a legend, what’s not to like?”
What had Alfie told her? Legend I was not, perhaps slightly more successful than the average agent, but I was just doing my job until I didn’t want to do it anymore. How many of us could say we preferred to sacrifice everything for the love of the one?
“I assume you are up to speed with what’s required of you in the first instance?”
“A role is a role, Evan, and I love a good role. This woman you’re supposed to be cozying up to, and the guy using her, it’s almost like a plotline in a B grade movie.”
I hadn’t thought of it like that, but now that she mentioned it, it felt a bit like exactly that.
“Should I make her jealous?”
“It’s not like that, or at least that’s the impression I got when I ran into her. Depends on what Larry’s intentions are. Chances are when we get to the hotel we might see her again, and you might get an idea. I’m not the best person reading women’s minds.”
“No man ever is. We have to have that element of surprise to keep you interested, but if I was in her position, and I saw you with a woman like me, and I was supposed to get close to you for whatever reason, I might be forced into making a move I didn’t want to. The fact she’s here with you in her sights generally means one thing.”
The question was, how desperate would she be? That would depend on the motivation, or what leverage he had. Pushing the envelope might, as Cecilia said force her hand.
So much for a softly, softly approach.
And it might force Larry’s hand as well
“So, is it your first time in Venice?”
“No, I used to come here when younger with my mother who was I guess a Venetian. After she died, not so much.”
“No other baggage?” It had surprised me she had only one carrying bag.
It was always excess baggage when traveling anywhere with my ex.
“Only emotional. I was told to pack light, anything I needed you’d get for me.”
The accompanying wicked smile was enough. I’d have to make sure the expense account was big enough.
After a pleasant forty-five-minute grand tour of the canals going the long way to the berths not far from St Mark’s Square, we jumped off as soon as the taxi came alongside.
The hotel wasn’t far from the bronze equestrian monument to Victor Emmanuel IIstatue, which she took a moment to look at, almost causing several strollers to walk into her.
That element of careless tourist didn’t make her stand-up as much as if she had purposefully walked from the berth to the hotel, a small detail in a studied persona, the role of an extra perhaps in a film.
It was the part of the day, for late summer that I liked the best, and in a week or so, the weather would slowly get colder until Christmas, and winter, was upon us.
Then, she did the complete 360-degree turn just taking it all in. “Some things never change, I remember all of this.”
Perhaps living off and on for so long here had made me a little immune to the charm of the place, but it was hard not to get caught up in the moment.
“Your hotel awaits.”
For a few seconds the reality of the situation faded into the background, and I could push all the nastiness of Larry and his machinations aside, but then the reality came back, I remembered who I was and what I’d been, and how important it was not to lose sight of the objective.
It had not been easy while Violetta was still alive, nor was hiding the real truth of my past from her. Yes, I had told her a version of my precious life, and the possible dangers it could present, which was why she suggested we live in a number of different places, never the same in a single location, but with Venice, it had been different. It had a profound effect on her, and it was where she chose to spend her last days.
It had not held the same effect on me. Not since she passed, and I had been looking to leave, find somewhere new, and different to stay, more so since I learned of Larry’s plans.
Now it just made me angry.
“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly next to me, “do we need to be someplace?”
“What, no, sorry.”
“You looked annoyed, I hope not with me.”
“No, never. Just thinking about Larry. And Juliet, I guess I’m lamenting the nuisance the pair of them are in intruding on my solitude. Something to note, you don’t ever get the luxury of retirement in this business, except in death.”
Aside from the fact it is one of those necessary items to walk with, and the fact we can have two or four for most humans and animals, there are a few other uses for the word ‘leg’.
Like…
‘You haven’t got a leg to stand on’, doesn’t necessarily mean you have no legs, but that you are in a precarious position.
“the table had ornate legs’, yes, even non-living objects can have legs, like tables and chairs.
“It was the fifth leg of the race’, meaning it can be a stage of a race.
“He was legless’, meaning that he was too drunk to stand up. Some might think being legless is a badge of honour, but I suspect those people have been drinking a long time and the alcohol has destroyed most of their brain cells.
“leg it!’, meaning get the hell out of here before you’re caught.
Then, finally, ‘he’s on his last legs’, meaning that he’s exhausted, or about to die.
I’m sure there’s more but that’ll do for now.
I have to use my legs to get some exercise, of which the first leg is to the tripod to check if its legs are stable, and the second leg is to come back to the table and replace one of the legs which is broken. Then I’ll leg it to the pub where hopefully I won’t become legless.
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…
Rolf Mayer had always had a dream to travel to other planets, and when he heard that the government was putting together a team of scientists with the express intention of building rockets, he gathered up his few belongings and traveled to Pennemunde to join the group being led by Werner von Braun.
At first, he had been turned away, but a chance meeting with von Braun changed his fortune.
But, when Adolf Hitler came to power, it seemed that quest to reach the other planets became a quest to build a military weapon that would devastate an enemy city. He had expressed his opposition to the project, but that was silenced when some Nazi party officials came from Berlin to give those scientists with reservations an ‘attitude readjustment’.
From then on all of the scientists knew when their allegiances lay and that there would be no time for traveling to the stars, even though, secretly, he drew on the experience and knowledge of the rockets they were building and testing to design his own rocket. One day.
Then, as if only weeks had passed, the war had been declared, and the scientists had to work harder on creating a weapon which, in its first instance became known as the V1 flying bomb. V, of course, stood for vengeance.
Later, when the enemy had bombed Pennemunde out of existence they moved to Nordhausen. This place was different, underground where it could not be bombed, but there was something rather sinister about it. Slave labor, prisoners from a local concentration camp were forced to work there, and the souls that he saw were not fit for work, or for anything else.
At Nordhausen, they worked on the V2 rockets, rockets in the true sense of the word, and it was abhorrent to him that they should be used for wholesale murder rather than their true purpose. A promotion to Haupsturnfuhere in the SS and making him responsible for the horrific crimes being committed against humanity was the last straw.
He had enough information to create his own rocket based on the success of the V2, and it was time to leave, get away from this place before it killed him too. There was only one problem, the real SS was watching, everyone and everything. They trusted no-one, not even their own fellow officers.
Mayer was one of the scientists lucky enough to get a billet to the town nearby. It was quiet enough, but he believed everyone living there knew what was going on, and worse, they knew about the concentration camp and the evil that went on inside. Worse still, he knew everyone was watching everyone else, and reporting back to the SS anything out of the ordinary, including newcomers.
One such man came into the town, dressed as Obersturnfurer with one other SS officer in a car. Everyone knew how impossible it was to get fuel, or if you had a car, a permit to use it except for essential services, or if it was requisitioned.
They were SS, so no one questioned why they were there. But that didn’t mean that whispers of their presence didn’t filter around the town. Just the very mention of the SS gave most people cold shivers.
Mayer heard about the two mysterious visitors when he arrived downstairs where he was lodging.
“They were asking about the people staying here and wanted to see their papers. I think they’re looking for someone, someone from the factory.”
“Nonsense. They’re probably here to see some of their friends up at the camp.”
With that, he dismissed the visitors from his mind and went up to his room. He unlocked the door and went in. A moment later he realized his room had been thoroughly searched, and the mess left as a warning. Had someone told the SS of his discontent. He hadn’t said as much, but attitude and body language would have told a different story.
Then the door closed behind him with a bang, and the moment a hand touched his shoulder he jumped in fright.
There’s been a man behind the door.
“I suggest you do not speak or do anything that might bring attention to us. Am I clear?”
Mayer nodded.
“Good.”
Another man, dressed in the uniform of a SS Standartenfuhrer, stepped out of the shadows in front of him holding a folder, the folder that contained his drawings and specifications for a more advanced V2 rocket,
Condemning evidence of him being a traitor to the Reich unless he could put a different spin on it. He waited to see what the Standartenfuher had to say.
“This is damning evidence of your traitorous behavior. We received information that you were stealing secrets from the Reich? For whom, Mayer? The British or the Americans?”
“I did not steal anything. I work on the plans here in my spare time, away from that place.” He realized the moment he said it, it might not be the best idea to be critical of anything, because it was always taken as a criticism of the Reich itself.
“Are you displeased with your working environment. No one else has raised such issues.”
“No, no,” he added hastily, “it was not what I meant. It’s just difficult to think clearly on problems when we’re under so much pressure.”
The Standartenfuhrer shook his head. “Enough Mayer. You are coming with us to explain yourself.”
“You need to clear this….”
“We don’t need anyone’s permission, Mayer. We walk out of here, into the car, and not a word to anyone. Any trouble I will not hesitate to shoot you. Understand?”
Mayer nodded.
This wasn’t good. Arrested by the SS. There could be only one outcome. It wouldn’t matter what he said, it would be the cells and then the firing squad. He’d heard the rumors.
The other SS officer went first, the Mayer, then the Standartenfuhrer, down the stairs and past the owner of the boarding house. The Standartenfuhrer stopped, and said, “This man’s papers, now.”
The owner stepped back into a room and came out a minute later and handed the Standartenfuhrer the document.
“No one is to be told what happened here. Not unless you want us to come back and arrest your family.”
“Yes sir,” the owner said, very scared.
The proceeded to the car, got in, Mayer in the back with the Standartenfuhrer, and they drove off. Only two people saw the whole event, and because it was by the SS, they were not going to tell anyone.
“Where are we going?” Mayer asked.
“Headquarters. You will be wise to sit, be quiet and say nothing under any circumstances.”
Headquarters was in Berlin, at least that’s where he went to be made an officer of the SS, as a Hauptsturmfuhrer to give him the necessary authority to take charge of certain aspects of the production process of the V2 rockets.
And that included work on improving the guidance system.
But, he noticed they were not going north, but south.
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.
There’s a saying, no good deed goes unpunished, and it’s true.
Perhaps when I had the time to sit down and think about the events of the previous week, I might strongly consider minding my own business, but there is that strong sense of obligation instilled in me by my mother all those years ago that if we ate on a position to help someone, we should.
The fact this person didn’t want help, even where they clearly did, should have been a warning sign. It would be next time.
…
I was working late, as usual. Everyone had left the office early to partake in a minor birthday celebration for one of the team members, and I said I would get there after I wrapped up the presentation, due in a day or so.
That, of course, everyone knew, was the code for not turning up. To be honest, I hated going to parties, mingling, making small talk, and generally being sociable.
For someone who had to standing in front of large crowds making sales presentations, that sounded odd and it probably was. I couldn’t explain it, and no one else could either.
When I finally turned the computer off it wasn’t far off midnight. I brief gave a thought to the party, but by that time everyone would have gone home. Time for me to do the same.
Sometimes I would get a cab, others, if the weather was fine, I would walk. It had been one 9f those early summer days with the promise of more to come, so I decided to walk.
There were people about, those who had been to the theatres or after a long leisurely dinner and were taking in the last moments of what might have been a day to remember, each for different reasons.
When I stopped at the lights before crossing the road and making the last leg of the walk hone, a shortcut through central park, and yawned. It had been a long day, and bed was beckoning.
Perhaps if I had been more alert, I would have noticed several people acting strangely, well I had to admit it was a big call to say they were acting strangely when that could define just about everyone including myself.
Normally I would walk through central park after midnight, or not alone anyway. But there were other people around, so I didn’t give it a second thought.
Those other people disappeared one by one as I got further in, until it got to the point where I was the only one, and suddenly the place took on a more surreal feeling.
Sound was amplified, the bark of a dog somewhere nearby, the rustling of branches most likely being brushed against by animals like squirrels, and a few muted conversations, with indistinguishable words.
Until I heard someone yell ‘stop’.
I did.
I was not sure what I was feeling right then, but it was a frightening sensation with a mind running through a number of different scenarios, all of them bad.
I turned around.
No one.
I did a 360-degree turn, and still nothing, except, the voice again, that of a female, “Look, no means no, so stop it.”
I couldn’t quite get a fix on what direction it was coming from, so I waited.
A man’s voice this time, “You should not have led me on.”
“I said nothing of the sort. I said I would walk home with you, there was nothing else implied or otherwise.”
Got it. I heard a rustling sound to my left, abs an opening between shrubs, and crossed the lawn.
On the other side about 20 yards up the path, a man and a girl, probably mid 20s were sitting close together.
She said, “stop it,” and pushed his hand away.
I saw him grab, and twist it.
She yelped in surprise, and pain.
I took a dozen steps towards them and said, “I don’t think she wants or needs the attention. Let her go.”
He did, then stood. Not a man to be trifling with, he was taller and heavier that I was, and suddenly I was questioning my bravado.
“This is none of your business. Take a hike or you’ll regret it.”
I looked at the girl, who just realised I was standing there, a look of terror on her face.
“Is this man assaulting you?”
She said nothing, just glanced at the man, and then away.
“There is no problem here. Keep walking.”
I asked her again, “is this man assaulting you?”
She looked at me again. “No. Please go away.”
“There. You should be minding your own business. There’s no problem here.”
I could see from her expression there was, and it might have something to do with the man she was with.
I had done what I could, so it was time to leave. I just had to hope there was not going ti be an addition to the crime statistics overnight.
“As you wish.”
I turned and retraced my steps to the other side of the shrubbery but instead of moving on, I stayed. The was something dreadfully wrong with what was happening, and I couldn’t let it end badly. Of course, if or when I interfered, it could end worse than that.
He spoke again. “You were smart not to cause trouble. You’d be smarter to just give me what I want.”
“You’re nothing but a disgusting pig.”
The sound of was might have been a slap in the face reverberated on the night air, assaulting of a different kind.
I went back.
The girl was on the ground, and the man was leaning over her, going through the contents of her bag.
“Hey,” I yelled, catching his attention.
Enough time to make the short distance between him and and expect a running tackle, rugby style. Mt momentum would counterbalance his excess size and weight.
But I hadn’t considered my next move, had I. Or the fact for his size he was very agile.
I did see something that had been in his hand as we tumbled, and that was a gun, small but lethal. This guy had to be a criminal picking off lone women in the park.
The gun had been jolted from his hand in the tackle and he and I were roughly the same distance from it, but he had the added knowledge that it existed whereas I was still processing the information.
He reached it first, I got to it, and him a second later, as he was raising it to aim at me. I had microseconds to think, react, and consider whether the next second or so was going to be my last.
I got my hand on the gun, not thinking to pull it away from him because that might help pull the trigger but push it towards him in the hope if he did pull the trigger, the bullet wouldn’t hit anyone.
Too late. There was a loud explosion as the gun went off, and I closed my eyes and waited for the seating pain, and possible death. Mt life did not flash before my eyes, not like some said it would.
One second, two seconds, three.
I was still alive.
But any sign of resistance had gone, and the man had slumped backwards on the ground.
I rolled off him and could see the blood seeping through his shirt in an area near where his heart would be. I felt for a pulse but there was none.
His face was stuck on a permanent look of surprise.
Behind me the girl had come back to life and was on her knees, staring at the man, and then me. “What have you done?”
“I didn’t do anything. He had a gun and was trying to shoot me.”
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. This is, oh my God.” She scrambled to her feet, hurried tried to put everything back in her bag. “Get out of here, now. Run, and don’t look back.”
“Why. The police should be told he was assaulting you.”
“You fool. He is the police, and when they get here, we’re both going to die.”
She grabbed her bag, took a last look, and then ran.
A few seconds more to consider just how bad this looked, not that I had put together the pieces yet, I could see what she meant.
A dead cop.
I got up and started heading back to the other path.
“Stop.”
Not this again.
I turned.
Two police in uniform, guns drawn. A dead police office on the ground and a suspect leaving the scene.
I was heading back to the Vaporetto station just a short distance from St Marks square when my phone vibrated, an incoming message.
Alfie requesting a meeting.
I had suspected he might be somewhere in the square keeping an eye on proceedings. I had that itch at the back of my neck, that one you couldn’t scratch, an old but reliable indicator I was under observation.
My old mentor was anything but a trusting soul, and he no doubt was giving Alfie enough rope, much the same as he did to me early on, until he learned the errors of his mistrusting nature.
People like Rodby never changed, and it was one of many reasons I walked away. He was going to have to do better if he wanted me back.
Alfie sent instructions as to where he was, a small park further along the promenade, not far from where a huge cruise ship had docked. Even from where I was standing, it was impressive, but only one of about five I’d see in the last day or so.
Oddly, I never had the inclination to get on one.
It took about fifteen minutes, maybe more because of the tourists and general foot traffic, to reach the park, then locate Alfie looking very anonymous on a bench overlooking the water.
In another corner what looked to be a television crew was setting up or cleaning up an open set, involving about a dozen or more people all looking harassed.
He saw me coming but made no visible acknowledgment until I sat at the other end of the bench, purposely not looking in his direction.
“Nice view,” I said.
Well, it would be if the day was not overcast, and with the definite prospect of rain.
“Your friend made a call not long after you left.”
OK. Straight down to business. “How do you know that?”
“We put a small app on the phone we gave you that clones other phones.”
Without telling me. Yes, welcome back to the lies and subterfuge. I just shook my head. What else weren’t they telling me?
He put his phone on the bench between us and played the conversation.
It was obvious that Larry had called her, and that Giuseppe wasn’t happy about being discovered. And it was proof that Larry was monitoring her movements and conversations. Another mistrusting soul.
“What just happened?” I recognized Larry’s voice immediately, and the tone suggested he was far from happy.
“What do you mean?” Her surprise was genuine. It meant she didn’t know he was listening in, but that might not be for much longer.
“Your first meeting.”
Silence. Then, after a long minute, she said, “it was my phone, the one you gave me, that was relaying our conversation. It would be nice if you told me what you were intending to do.”
He brushed that comment aside with, “It’s a matter of trust, and, quite frankly, I don’t trust you.”
It was not exactly how I would have spoken to her. Any normal person would react indignantly to that response.
There was a telling moment of silence while she digested that piece of information.
Her response, “Then you will not be surprised if I don’t respond, as you say, immediately, because now I know you have the phone, So long, of course, I decide to take it with me.”
“You will…”
She cut him off, not by yelling, but in what could only be described as a very icy tone. “You make demands, you make threats. I gave you my word that I would do this for you. My way. Instead, you overplay your hand and you’ve sent him to ground. If he is who you think he is, then he knows now something is wrong. You can thank you’re own insecurity and that fool Giuseppe for that.”
“That’s…”
“Don’t interrupt, that’s just rude. If you want me to continue, which by the way, I think is going to be a waste of time, I will, but you have made it almost impossible by taking away the advantage we had. And if that is the case, then no more of your idiotic antics. A simple yes or no will suffice.”
“If you think…”
The call was disconnected.
I looked at Alfie. “Does she know she’s dicing with death?”
“There’s more.”
Twice, anincoming call to her phone went to the voice message. The third time she answered.
“A simple yes or no will suffice.”
“Yes.” A tone bristling with anger.
“Good. You listen in, and I will call you when there is news.”
The call was disconnected.
“She has gumption,” Alfie said.
“Or a death wish. You know he’s not going to sit around and wait for her.”
“No. He’s replaced Giuseppe with someone with a little more talent to keep an eye on her, so she won’t be so obvious next time you run into her.” He slid a grainy but recognizablephoto of a woman who could easily be mistaken for a tourist.
“You have a plan.”
“We have her tour itinerary, courtesy of the hotel.”
“A little convenient, don’t you think. I take it you have an idea where Larry is right now?”
“Of course, Sorrento, visiting his wife’s sister.”
“Perhaps we might pre-empt all this nonsense, and pay him a visit. I might be able to convince him he’s barking up the wrong tree.”
“Wouldn’t that alert him to the fact we have him under surveillance?”
“I think he knows that’s the case anyway, and not only by us, but by any number of law enforcement agencies. Maybe I should just drop a hint that I have to make a trip to Sorrento, and take Juliet with me. But I would like a jamming app installed on this device,” I held up the phone he’d given me, “first.”
“Rodby said you were a wild card operative.”
“Did he? I always thought he was the wild card, and I was the voice of reason.”
“He says a lot of stuff, how things were different in the old days.”
“A lot of people died needlessly in those so-calledold days, and I’m only here now because I retired before I got killed. And because I believed him when he said I could disappear. Obviously, he was lying.”
“You can’t disappear these days, not with the means of tracking everyone via the digital network available. 20 years ago, maybe. Not now. No one can truly disappear.”
No, probably not. For that to happen, I would have had to go live on a desert island and have had no contact with anyone for at least a generation. A new name, identity, and, and minor changes to my persona had made me invisible for long enough to have had a normal life, and, at the very least, Larry had waited until then.
How many others were there, out in the world, also seeking revenge? I had taken down a number of so-called ‘bad’ people, but their families somehow never quite saw it the same as we had. No matter how legitimate the reasons.
“Give me a day to fix the phone, and then you can make the first move. Try not to make it too hard to keep eyes on you, if only for your own safety.”
“Say hello to the boss, and tell him I didn’t miss him for one moment.”
Alfie stood. “Try and keep out of trouble, and keep me informed if anything out of the ordinary happens. Just create a draft message in the email app, save it, but don’t send it. I’ll let you know if Larry makes any unpredictable moves.”
I watched him take a look around, then walk off, all as if he hadn’t realized there was someone else on the same seat. It wouldn’t fool anyone, especially the woman pretending to minister a child in a pram, three seats along from us.
How many mothers of babies had earplugs?
Or was I just being paranoid? It didn’t take long to slip back into that dark and murky world I tried so hard to get away from.
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…
While waiting for Carlo and Chiara to return with the villagers, and taking some time to consider the plan that had almost formed in my mind, I went back to my room, which, I was guessing was once used for wine storage, because now that I had taken a moment to stop and consider my surroundings, I could smell the aroma of spilled wine.
With a little more light, I could see the arches within which the bottles would be stacked. I’d also noticed while I’d been outside, that there were vines everywhere, albeit in bad shape as the people who tended them had either left, or been taken away, or shot.
Red grapes if I was not mistaken, though I had no idea what the variety might be.
If the war dragged on much longer, it would do a lot of damage to the wine-growing districts, and I doubted, when the Germans were here, they had any interest in tending the vines, but just drink the wine, and then probably not with the appreciation it deserved.
That had certainly been the case up at the castle before fate turned against me. Perhaps that was where all of the wine from this cellar had been taken for safekeeping, once the locals thought the Germans had gone forever. Maybe that was the reason why Leonardo spent so much of his time at the castle, the free wine.
Jack had returned from what I assumed was an inspection of our new quarters and was sitting on the ground next to me. I wondered what he made of everything he had seen. It was certainly not a dog’s life being caught in the middle of a war.
“It’s a fine mess we’re in,” I said to him, and he looked back with uncomprehending eyes. I would have to brush up on my German. Or maybe Italian. It only just occurred to me that he was probably someone’s dog from around here. We’d only run into each other a few miles away.
“Yes, and I’m sure if you spoke English you could tell me a thing or two. But, alas, you can’t, so a piece of advice. Try to keep out of trouble, and by that, next time I go out, you might want to stay here.”
I shrugged. Things must be bad; I’m talking to a dog.
Martina stopped outside the entrance. “I heard voices. Who are you talking to?”
“The dog. He’s the only one who’s making any sense at the moment.”
“Are you sure he’s not a German spy. Or, in fact, it’s a he?”
“You probably know as much as I do. Anything happening?”
“Carlo’s back with a dozen or so of those who want to stay alive. Chiara has a few more. The rest have other places to hide if they need to. We’ve told them to expect a raid. Leonardo and a few of his men have been out looking for you and told everyone that you are a German spy and that he’ll pay them a lot of money for information about where you are or who’s hiding you. He doesn’t understand everyone hates him, they always have.”
“Good to know if I run into him, he won’t be happy to see me.”
“This plan of yours?”
“Wallace will be getting edgy about the men he sent out, those men we ambushed at Chiara’s place. It depends on who he sends, and where they go, but I was thinking we could prepare another ambush at Chiara’s. All we have to do is wait because I’m sure they’ll get there eventually.”
“And if I know Leonardo, he’ll send them straight to my farm. He knows that both Carlo and I, and the other two you’ve met were the other four who refused to join him in going up to the castle to make peace. It seems he’s made a bad choice.”
“Wallace didn’t. He needs someone like Leonardo to find us. You’re probably right. I was thinking Carlo and I could go. No sense sending all of us, and if anything happens, there will be someone left to carry on.”
“You don’t sound too confident. You are a soldier, aren’t you?”
“In a manner of speaking. But I was not trained to be a commando, and not necessarily on the front line, or in this case behind enemy lines.”
“You’re not one of those rich kids whose father bought a commission, so you didn’t have to fight?”
Interesting the ideas foreigners had about elements of the army. I was not sure if that was done anymore, at least not in this war.
“I have poor parents, that is if they have survived the bombs falling on London. Refused to give in to Hitler’s aggression.”
I tried to convince them to go to the countryside, just to be safe, but one of the places they thought of going, had also been bombed, so as far as they were concerned, nowhere in England was safe.
“But yes, they did teach me how to shoot, and I know my way around several different types of gun.” My mind flicked to the sniper rifle and the damage that could do.
I’d be definitely taking that with me.
I saw her turn her head, and then heard the sound of new arrivals. Chiara had returned.
“Time’s up for planning.”
I told the dog to stay, but as usual, he ignored me. We went back into the main cavern where a dozen more people were settling in various places along one wall. They looked as though they’d packed for a reasonably long stay.
But what worried me was the way they looked at me. Those rumors Leonardo spread, I was hoping no one believed him. Above the sound of voices, I could hear Marina speaking to them in Italian, hopefully, to tell them I was not a threat.
I found Carlo.
“I have a small job to do. After our last exercise at Chiara’s my old commander will no doubt send someone down to the village to seek answers, and I’m hoping you’ll come with me so we can convince them of the error of their ways.”
He smiled. There was no mirth in it, and I knew I didn’t have to say anything more.
I saw movement coming from a group of people, and among them the boy I’d met earlier, Enrico. He had jumped up off the floor when he saw me and came over.
“What are we going to do now. I mean, we’re not going to sit here and do nothing.”
Boyish enthusiasm. He had not been shot at yet, and to him, it was all a bit of a game. I remembered back to the start of the war, and the number of boys who lied about their age, hardly waiting for the war to be declared. They had no idea what a real war was, and if they had known, they would not have been so recklessly enthusiastic.
“You’re going to stay here and protect your family and all the others here.”
“No. I want to be useful, fight the bastards.”
Carlo gave him one of his dark stares. “You will stay here and help others if anything goes wrong. Out there,” he pointed towards the entrance, “out there, if you’re not careful, you will die.”
Martina had seen him talking to us and came over.
“Enrico, we’ve talked about this. Go back to your family.”
A last pleading look in case we changed our minds, then he reluctantly returned to his group.
Carlo handed me the sniper rifle and a pistol, a luger, probably captured from a German earlier, when they were in occupation.
I had heard that word workaholic twice in the same week and had I listened carefully, I would have realized the people using it were referring to me.
The problem was, I was so focused on work that it was to the exclusion of all else.
Of course, it hadn’t been my choice to get ill, but, sitting in front of the doctor, a man whom I rarely saw because I was rarely ill, I was still trying to come to terms with his explanation.
“You’ve been working too hard, forgetting to eat or sleep, and the toll it has taken has weakened your immune system to the point where that last bout of influenza nearly killed you.”
Yes. There might be some truth to that statement, because for the last three weeks I was told I was hovering between life and death, and, at one stage, there had been grave fears I was not going to make it.
No, it wasn’t COVID 19, like a good many others in the hospital, it was just simply influenza.
“I didn’t think it could happen to me,” I said lamely, now realizing it could, simply because of my own stupidity.
At least it didn’t affect anyone else, well, except perhaps my sister, Eileen, who was devastated to learn I was gravely ill, and had been called with the news I was likely to die. Sitting in the chair beside me, she was still incredibly angry with me.
“He has always been a moronic fool that never listens to anyone. Thinks he’s invincible.” The statement was delivered along with a suitable look of disdain and annoyance.
The doctor transferred his admonishing stare to me. “It’s time you started taking care of yourself. I’ll be sending a report to your company telling them that you have to take two months off work to recover. Going back to work is not an option.”
“But there is so much to do.” I could practically see the pile of folders on my desk waiting for my return.
“Then someone else will have to do it.”
“Don’t worry,” my sister said, “I’ll make sure he does as he’s told.”
…
I had been fiercely independent ever since I left hone when I was just 18. I’d had a bitter argument with my father over working in the family business, a profession I had no interest in and certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of my life doing.
It had kept me from going home after returning once, some months later, in an attempt to appease him, but only making matters worse. It had affected my mother more than my sister, but that hadn’t stopped her from trying to resolve our issues.
But it was not to be. About five years later he died of a heart attack, brought on by the same work ethic I’d inherited from him. I came home from the funeral at a bad time, the end of a relationship that I thought was the one, and at a time where heavy drinking and drugs had made me a horrible person.
In the end, my sister sent me home, and, because of my bad behaviour, my mother stopped speaking to me.
Ten years ago, my mother died, Eileen said it was from a broken heart, and it was the first time I’d returned home since my father’s death. Not much had changed, it was still the town that a lot of my generation and since wanted to leave on the belief there was something better out there.
That time, because of my bad behaviour, being inconvenienced by another funeral at a time when I had been working hard towards a promotion, this time Eileen’s daughters sent me away after seeing how much I’d distressed their mother.
I could see now how bad my history was, and it was shameful. Perhaps my first words to all of them would be to apologise, but sadly, it would be too little too late.
Yes, happy families indeed.
Going home was, Eileen said, the best place for my recovery. Away from the rat race, her oft used expression for New York, and back to the tranquillity and peaceful town where I was born, went to school, and lived half my life.
The people were not the same as those indifferent city dwellers who would happily step over your dying body without a care to help or even call for help. She had read the newspapers, seen what happens, people dying all the time, in the streets, of drug overdoses, and at the end of a knife or a gun.
She was surprised I’d lasted so long, given my alienating disposition, all of this homily delivered as I packed a few belongings for the road trip. She was however momentarily distracted by the opulence of the lot apartment, and the fact I owned it. I refused to tell her how much it cost when she asked. Twice.
But it was too remote, too sterile, and not a place to recover. And it needed the ministrations of a good cleaning lady.
No, the best place for me to recover was home and home was where we were going. After the hospital had agreed to send me home, she had made the decision I would be staying with her.
That might have held a great deal of trepidation had her husband still been there, but he wasn’t. In keeping with the Walton family tradition, marriages and relationships didn’t last, and Eileen’s was no exception.
I’d thought Will, the man she’d met at school, known all her life, and who was her soul mate, had been the one, but whatever I and Eileen may have thought, he didn’t agree.
Now, she lived in the old family home, left to both of us after out parents passing, with her two children, twin girls. I’d met them a few times, and though they projected this air of daintiness, they were pure evil.
But I guess that opinion was fuelled by the lack of understanding children or wanting to know. That notion of being a father, at any time in my life, was not something I aspired to. Besides, I was never going to find a suitable woman who would be willing to put up with me, children, or no children.
…
It was a thousand plus mile drive from New York to our hometown in Iowa. My first question had been why she would drive and not get on a plane, but that was tempered by the realisation my sister was not a rich woman.
She had borne the brunt of both our parents passing and having to manage the sale of the business and home. She hadn’t complained, but I could feel the resentment simmering beneath the surface.
I had dumped it all on her, and she was right to be resentful. It was another of my traits, inherited from my father, selfishness.
The first few hours of that drive were in silence. It was not surprising, I had said something stupid, also another thing I was prone to doing. I apologised three times before she would speak to me again.
“You’re going to have to improve your manners. The girls will not put up with your attitude or behaviour, not again.”
The girls. My worst fear was meeting them again after so long. I had no doubt they hated me, and with good reason.
They were now out of the troublesome teens and had found jobs that saw them able to spend more time at home, as well as pursue a career in their chosen fields.
“I’m surprised they agreed to let you bring me home.”
“They are not the same children as they were the last time you were here, what is it, nine, ten years ago. It was an impossible time, and you were not exactly the ideal or understanding uncle, but Itold them you were more like our father and he was a horrid man at best. They were lucky they don’t remember him. I also told them, both times you were here, that you were not yourself then, not the brother I once knew before you got those delusions that made you leave.”
“Delusions?”
“Why would anyone want to leave a beautiful place like our hometown. It has everything.”
“Except high paying jobs and be able to meet lots of diversely different people.”
“We have diversity.”
Yes, there I go again, unable to reign in the small-town resentment factor, even after all the intervening years. It was a chip on the shoulder that would need to be surgically removed, if I was ever going to get past it.
I let another half hour pass before I said, ” I’m sure your daughters are every bit as remarkable as you are, Eileen. You were always going to be a wonderful mother, whereas I don’t think I’d make any sort of father a child would want.”
I could feel rather than see the sideways glance.
“It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“I have the same genes my father had. I always said I was nothing like him, but if I’ve learned anything over the last 20 years, I’m exactly like him.”
“Then think about that statement. The fact you realise that is just the first step.”
That made two very large assumptions, that I knew how to change, and that I wanted to. Climbing the hill of success had robbed me of a lot of things because to succeed you had to be ruthless. And I had taken it to a whole new level.
Another hour passed, and we stopped for lunch. My phone rang, and as I went to pick it up off my car seat, Eileen got there first. I just managed to see it was the VP of Administration calling, another problem to be resolved.
“I thought I said no phones, computers, means of communicating with work. They know you’re ill and the agreed to give you time off.”
She killed the call, then threw the phone in the first rubbish bin we passed.
“No phone, no calls, no work. You keep answering, they’ll keep calling.”
A shake of the head, a look of disdain. She might yet regret volunteering to rehabilitate me.
…
We stayed overnight it a quaint hotel, it being too far to go the whole thousand plus miles in one day.
It was a wise decision because although I would profess otherwise, I was not very well. It was another wise decision to get a room where she could keep an eye on me, no doubt on the advice of the doctor, who, I suspected, had given her a fuller briefing on my condition that he gave me.
And because I wasn’t well, we delayed leaving. It gave me pause the think of what it was I wanted out of life. It would be truthful to say that until I tried to drag myself out of bed, telling myself that this was just a blip on the radar, I was treating this whole episode too lightly.
Maybe it wasn’t, but I hadn’t quite got the message yet.
When I sat down in the dining room for breakfast, suddenly, a tiredness came over me, and it finally hit home. Maybe what I was doing with my life wasn’t as important as I thought it was.
“You’re looking pale, should I be worried?”
It was about the sixth time she asked, and the concern was genuine. I guess I had to ask myself why after all those years of being a bad brother, she would really care. Maybe she understood the value of family where I didn’t and it was bothering me that after saying I was never going to be like my father, it was exactly who I was.
“Long day yesterday. Longer night. The battle will be not so much getting through this, whatever it is, But changing a lifelong mindset.”
“The first step is always the hardest, they say.”
“Have you met any of the infamous ‘they’?”
“That’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”
…
The rest of the road trip was in silence, except for the odd comment or question, until we reached the outskirts of town, and the memory kicked in.
Some things never changed, but where once I would have said that was exactly why I left the place 20 years ago, it was now what some would say was one of its endearing qualities.
There were mixed feelings, that I’d said more than once, with conviction, that I would have to die before I came back, to why had I waited so long. It was an odd reaction.
“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” she said.
“Did you swallow a book of idioms?”
“I can read, you know. I went to the same schools as you did.”
And got higher grades and was the smarter of the two of us. Yet she never did anything with it, that was my biggest disappointment with her. Our father had considered her place was at home, that old fashioned 1950s thinking, and whenever he had said it, she snorted in derision and told him to drag himself into the twentieth century.
He didn’t, wouldn’t or couldn’t was a question without answer but she never stopped trying.
“And never stopped interfering in my life.”
“You needed help because you didn’t know what to do. Marjorie was always the one, you know it, and she knew it. It was just you and the desire to leave that screwed everything up.”
I was wondering how long it would take to get to Marjorie. I did think of her, from time to time, but not as the one that got away. That had been on me, not her. But it was not going to go anywhere because she was the prom queen and I was the geek suffering from unrequited love, despite what Eileen thought.
“She was out of my league Eileen. You know as well as I the she and the future NBA draft pick were always going to be together.”
I could see her shaking her head.
“You never thought to ask, did you?”
I did as it happened and had picked a moment when I thought she would be alone, only it wasn’t. Sean’s friends had been waiting and I never made it. I could still remember, in nightmares that beating.
“You do understand what the word humiliation means?”
The house was in the other side of town so I got the tour of main street, and inverting else, what some might call a trip down memory lane. Even outer once family business was still there, exactly as it was before except a new coat of paint and proprietor name. Dougal. He had his own rival business but was never a threat. I guess he was a happy man when Eileen sold it to him.
Then, in the blink of an eye 8 was back home, and it was as if I had never left. The house, the street, everything was as it had been, which if one thought about, was almost impossible. Things do change, constantly. We were, we had to be in a time warp.
She pulled into the driveway, switched off the engine, leaned back in the seat and sighed. “Welcome home, Daniel.”
I closed my eyes and opened them again just in case this was a dream.
It wasn’t.
The front door opened and a tall, lanky young girl who looked unmissable like her mother when she was that age, came out, down the stoop to the car. Eileen got out and the girl hugged her.
It made me feel jealous that she had someone there to greet her in such a fashion. When I got home it was to an empty loft.
The girl looked over at me, now that I’d got out of the car too.
“Hello again.”
There was not a lot of warmth in it, and a look of wariness.
“I’m sorry to cause your family do much inconvenience.” It wasn’t what I should have said, but that’s what came out.
“It’s not. If mom thinks you should be here, then this is where you should be.”
“Your mom was always smarter than me.”
I plucked my overnight bag, as we’ll as Eileen’s suitcase, from the back of the car and shut the trunk. I saw another person come out the door and thought it was the other girl.
As twins I hadn’t been able to tell them apart previously, so I hadn’t used a name. One was Elise, the other Eliza.
The person was not the other twin.
I had gone around to give Eileen her case. It was then I recognised the woman.
“Oh, by the way, your doctor told me I should have a nurse standing by in case you had a relapse, but more to make sure you took your meds. He apparently has the same faith in you I have. None. But I got you the best. You might remember her.
I did. The frenetic increase in my heart rate was testament to that. She had always had that effect on me.
She smiled. “It’s good to see you again Daniel.”
It was the only person I would have expected from a meddlesome sister, even 20 years later.
I waited until her surveillance disappeared from view, then considered what to do next, or whether I’d created a problem for Juliet. I had no doubt she would be informed of my intervention, so it would probably be better for me to chance upon her than the other way around and take it from there.
After watching her sip her coffee and take in the passing tourist traffic for a few minutes, I headed toward her.
And, with the right amount of surprise in my tone, I said, as I reached her and she turned to see who it was, “I recognize you, you’re Juliet, the doctor.”
She seemed genuinely shocked to see me, and immediately cast a glance over to the table where Giuseppe had been sitting, then, not seeing him, frantically looked around to see if he had moved.
“If you’re looking for a creepy-looking guy, I sent him packing. I saw him watching you, so I threatened to get the police onto him. I’m sure I could convince them he was part of a team of kidnappers.”
“You’re joking.”
She sounded horrified, which was either the result of very good acting, or she was in fact horrified that I’d tackle him.
“May I sit?” I was starting to feel a little self-conscious standing in full view of everyone.
“Of course. This is a pleasant and very unexpected surprise.”
I sat. Clearly, she was not going to say why she was really in Venice, but a few harmless questions were in order, just to see how far she would bend the truth.
A waiter came and I ordered black coffee. After he left I threw out the opening gambit. “So, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like Venice?”
Her expression changed to one of bewilderment. “How do you mean?”
“I’ve heard from so many visitors that this place is easy to get lost in, and you appear to be alone. Just over-active curiosity.”
I realized that she might be offended, whether referring to her as a ‘nice girl’ or that she might get lost.
“I could ask the same.” A frown, and brittle tone. Perhaps it was better this way, and she would have to work harder in getting us together, though insulting her, if that was what she thought it was, hadn’t been my intention.
“That’s easy, I’m living here at the present time.”
“Living here?” Brittle turned to astonishment.
“Yes, I have apartments in a few different cities, and I like to keep moving. Venice is my current choice of city.”
“Then you’re not likely to get lost.”
Yes, a little dig, probably deserved. “Not often but I have a few times in the past.” But, back to the interrogation, “here for a visit, on a cruise ship passing through, or with purpose?”
With a subtle look up and down, and a moment’s silence, I had enough time to think about what she was making of my sudden appearance, and how fortunate, or unfortunate, it might be.
Time enough to throw away the bad thoughts, and move on.
“I’m staying in a quaint hotel overlooking the Canal.”
I bit my tongue before I could say ‘I know’.
“It can be a bit busy along there at times, but you’ll be close to a few good restaurants. I can recommend a gondola ride if you get the right man. And if you want to go anywhere, take the Vaporetto, the water taxis are very expensive.”
My coffee arrived, and while I thanked the waitress, she digested the information, and its intent, that I was not going to show her around.
I also took out the phone with the gadgets and put it on the table. A few seconds later it vibrated, and rippling rings showed on the screen, a sigh there was a transmitter nearby. Her phone was not far away.
She saw the blue rings. “That’s an unusual ring tone.”
“Oh, that. Not a ringtone. A friend of mine is paranoid his wife’s tracking him, so he’s got all this stuff on his phone to track the trackers.” I looked around at the others sitting nearby. “Someone’s got a transmitting device nearby.”
“Wouldn’t a normal microphone set it off?”
She was remarkably calm for someone whose phone was setting it off. Had Larry given her a phone and not tell her of its significance. Knowing him, he probably didn’t trust her to report seeing me. And it would be better if she didn’t know, she could react to any accusation just as she was now.
“I asked him that but apparently if the phone is recording data and relaying it, it will set it off.”
She looked around also. There were at least five people nearby on their phones, some even with others sitting at the table. Smartphones literally were conversation killers.
Then she simply shrugged. “Why would you need to know if someone was relaying information?”
Good question. There was no indignation in the question, just curiosity.
“That’s my security chief, he is the sort of man who suspects everyone of something until proven innocent.”
“You need a security chief?” More surprise.
“You never know who’s lurking in the shadows, and I am worth a fair bit, so I can only travel with security. They’re out there, on the perimeter where even I can’t see them.”
“Wasn’t that what you did once, when I first met you?”
“Me? No, At that time I was running a desk and made the mistake of going into the field to follow a hunch. Always in the background, never in the line of fire. Anyway, after that, I quit and moved into software development. My family always had money and I had to do something with it, and, luckily, I backed a winner. Happily married until Violetta died recently, and now, trying to move on. How about you?”
Another chance for her to tell me the truth, or a version of it.
“A doctor until I wasn’t. I didn’t cope well with long shifts and a thankless work environment. I made a few bad choices. This is the new me, past that chapter. I thought I’d lose myself in Europe to celebrate my sobriety, and, here I am.”
My phone beeped twice, the result of an alarm I set earlier, to remind me to call Alfie.
She looked at it, and then at me.
I shrugged. “Business, even when I retired. I have to go, but maybe we’ll run into each other again.”
I stood. “Nice seeing you again.” I gave her no option to join me.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 