Tag: Thrillers

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 35

Here’s the thing…

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.

 

It was an understatement to say I was dreading going to Boggs’ place.

In fact, in the hour it took to get through the morning chores I had time to consider how and why I was in this position.  Boggs was a friend.  We were friends at school and as best we could we had each other’s back when the bullies came out to play.

At times that didn’t amount to much because as everyone knows, bullies hunt in packs.  Six against two wasn’t much of an equation.  And it those days, the teachers spent more time hiding from the students than being in front of them.

It was simply a case of what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

It didn’t feel like that, not for a very long time.

But, in the end, misfortune can make strange bedfellows, and in a town that depended on a single industry, it soon became apparent that there were more people against the Benderby’s and the Cossatino’s than for, and in small-town politics, that was more than an evening up.  Out of school and separated from their acolytes, both Alex and Vince found that whatever influence they had once, was now gone, and all that was left was a grunt, and we were basically left alone.

Boggs was the dreamer.

He had idolized his father and when he went missing it broke him.

This map thing was the first signs of Boggs finally coming back to life, but the problem was, it was all pinned on false hopes.  The Sherriff was right.  Boggs was in over his head, playing with the two most vicious families from around here, and it was bad enough that his father had fallen foul of them, the Sherriff was not about to see his son go the same way.  I was going to try and talk Boggs out of it.

Yet, on the other hand, it was people like us who needed a win, just to show there was still hope in this place.  With threats every day that the factory might have to close, there were dark clouds hanging over everyone’s head.

If the factory closed, there was going to be a very large hole in the local economy and a lot of people in financial trouble.  I’m not sure how finding the treasure might solve all of that, but I suspect Boggs’ had something up his sleeve.

I knocked on the door and his mother answered.  She looked harried.  She was a nurse and looked as though she just got home from the night shift at the hospital.  

“Boggs is in his room.”

“How are you this morning?”

“Tired.  And an afternoon shift, which I might not get to if I don’t get some sleep.  You know where he is.  Try not to make any noise.”

“Will do.”

I came in and closed the door, watching her dash off down the passage to the other end of the house.

She could not work endless double shifts for much longer, but like all of us, it was not out of desire but necessity.  She had implored Boggs to get a job and help, but he seemed oblivious to the problem.  I’d tried to speak to him, but he had that insufferable way of just not listening.

Boggs was in his room, sitting on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

I looed up too, but there was nothing there.

“Don’t tell me,” I said, “but you’ve suddenly discovered you’ve got X-Ray vision.”

“If only.  I could use it right now to find something that’s missing>”

“Your cell phone?”  Boggs was always misplacing something, of forgetting it.  I’d lost count how many times he’d misplaced his phone.

“No.  An underground river.”

OK.  That was out of left field.  I had no idea any rivers were missing, or, in fact, they could actually go missing.

Apparently, they could.

“There’s two,” he said.  300 years ago five or take this part of the coastline had several rivers that ran down from the mountain range.  What we now call the hills on the edge of the coastal plain.  There was also a lake, not very large, but it used to have several streams flow into it all year round and had an aqua flow that came out along the coastline.”

“And you figured all of this out from what?  A copy of the treasure map.”

The moment he started quoting rivers, streams, and lakes, I remembered each of those geographical features appeared on several of the map versions.  I had suggested, rather comically, that it would be funny if the treasure was buried in the lake.

It wasn’t all that funny.  It was also possible.

“Imagine this.  Drop anchor out to sea, in other words on the other side of the natural sandbar that formed at the seaward side of the river, get in the longboats and row inshore to the lake, across the lake, up another river to the base of the hills.  Then do a little exploring, north or south, and find a cave.  I reckon the treasure was buried in a cave.  We know there are caves up there, not many, but I think there used to be more.”

“Someone already did a survey with some rather fancy electronic equipment with the same idea in mind.  He found three, not very long, and certainly without treasure.  Two had substantial falls inside, which is why they were buried.”

“There’s more.”

He jumped up off the bed and went over to the robe and opened the door.  Tacked on the back was a copy of an ordnance survey map of this part of the coastline, and a tracing of the treasure map, to the same scale on top.

“As you can see, I think ‘I’ve found the correlation between the real, and what was real 300 years ago.”

Except there’s no rivers and no lake.  And no sand bar as I recall.  There was a small marina in what might have been where the river met the sea, but that’s gone.  They filled it in and build a shopping mall on it.  A huge, now half empty, shopping mall.  A modern wonder 40 years ago that was supposed to bring business and shoppers to the town.  For a few years it did, until another town 50 miles away got the same idea, sold the land for half the price, and made the rents a quarter of what they were here.

They called it progress.

We called it piracy.

“Then we can hardly row our boat inshore and up the stream, if it’s not there.”

I hated to state the obvious.

“But,” he said, looking like the cat who’d swallowed the canary.  “What if it is still there, but we just can’t see it?”

© Charles Heath 2020

Searching for locations: Gollums Pool, New Zealand

Tawhai Falls is a 13-meter high waterfall located in Tongariro National Park.

It is located about 4 km from the Tongariro National Park Visitor Centre, on State Highway 48.

An easy walk takes just 10-15 minutes to reach the waterfall’s lookout.

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The top of the falls.  There was not much water coming down the river to feed the falls when we were there in May

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Tawhai Falls is also the filming location of Gollum’s pool where Faramir and his archers are watching Gollum fish.

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It’s a rocky walk once you are down at ground level, and it may be not possible to walk along the side of the stream if the falls have more water coming down the river from the mountain.

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The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 34

Here’s the thing…

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?

© Charles Heath 2019-2020

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 35

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.

 

04:00 in Africa was an interesting time of the morning, especially after a few hours of intense rain during the night.  I could see what the Colonel meant if it had been raining because outside the barracks it was very wet.

Whilst the others appeared to get some sleep, in a much better environment than the back of an aircraft, I lay awake, at first waiting for the sound of the aircraft leaving, and then listening to the rain that started an hour or so later, followed by the sounds that came afterward.  It was never silent, and there was always that suspicion of being attacked when you’re at your most vulnerable.  I had a weapon ready, just in case.

Outside the cloud cover had gone and it looked like it would be a fine day.

When I did the headcount, I noticed Mobley was missing as agreed, and by the time we had assembled, the cars had arrived.  We would be driving ourselves in a convoy behind Monroe and the Colonel, who was no longer dressed in army fatigues, along with Jacobi and one of his guards.

For the trip, we had been supplied with the western notion of jungle wear, safari suits, that identified us not only garrulous visitors, but typical tourists hardly prepared for what was to come.  It made a good cover for a group of ‘fools’ making a documentary.  

All we had to do was get to the location for the exchange of the hostages reportedly between Aba, a town in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and somewhere on the outskirts of the Park.  It was going to be an easy drive from Uganda to Aba, then the situation might change.

I was going to be in the rear vehicle, with Leslie Davies.  The more I thought about her being assigned to this mission, it seemed she was here solely for her ability to fly anything with wings.  It was the part that was missed on her resume, perhaps for a reason, but whatever that reason was, it would become clear eventually.


We left at 04:05.  Monroe had a slight problem starting her car.

Other than exchanging a few words before getting on the plane and then getting off the plane, Davies and I had not spoken.  After half an hour of driving in silence, I decided to break the ice.

“What did you do to get nominated for this mission?”

A glance sideways gave me no indication of her thoughts, or what look was hidden behind the aviator sunglasses.  I hadn’t seen her smile, or talk to any of the other team members other than a few brief words with Monroe, likely because she was the only other female.

Even then, I didn’t get the impression they were going to be best friends.

“Best you don’t know.”

Her reply came about three minutes after I’d asked, and at a point where I assumed she was going to ignore me.

“Let’s say I’m curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“I’m not a cat.”

Another two minutes of silence, then, “Disobeyed a direct order.”

Not as bad as killing your immediate superior because you didn’t like him.  And I could sympathize.  Some orders were utterly ridiculous.

“Not a bad thing.”

“Not what the court-martial thought.”

I noticed she didn’t use sir.  I could live with that.

“You volunteer?”

“In a manner of speaking.  You?”

She raised her glasses slightly and gave me a sideways glance.

“In a manner of speaking.  Been here before, not that it was for very long, and in a different part of the country, but the powers that be deemed my experience adequate for the mission.”

“I take it the mission isn’t to take pictures of animals?”

It might.  Just not the animals you’re expecting.”


It was our lucky day.  At the Vurra customs post we were met by a Ugandan official who had been forewarned of our arrival, and whom I expect was well compensated for his work, and after going through a half-hour of paperwork, we were taken to the Congo counterpart with whom Jacobi weaved his magic.

I say lucky because the border crossing was often closed, either because of the weather, the road conditions, or the fact neither country was talking to the other, though it was more to do with the Congo villagers and their dispute over lands that stretched into Uganda.

We arrived with a number of trucks, to join a long line waiting to cross, and included were several United Nations vehicles.

Everyone seemed to take the delays and administrative diligence in their stride.

We were moving again, behind several tracks, almost an hour and a half after arriving.  All of the crates of equipment had been opened and inspected, as had our packs, and the raft of documents Monroe had been supplied.  She had a satellite phone at the ready in case we needed to make any calls, though I was not sure what Bamfield would have been able to do.

But, after a few tense moments, everyone lost interest in the documentary crew and moved onto the next vehicle.

Jacobi said it was the easiest crossing he’d made.

About a half-hour, after we had driven on our way, then my radio crackled, and Mobley reported in.  He had just crossed over and was behind us, and a number of trucks.

I got a strange look from Davies.

“Insurance,” was all I said.  “Which no one else needs to know about.”

The road was not exactly in the best of condition in places and having four-wheel drives was a help.  The lie of the land was quite flat, and we passed a lot of small villages and curious looks from the villagers.  Some parts of the road were quite bad, and we had to drive very slowly, especially where it was damp, but for the most part, it was reasonably dry and the roads were navigable.

Other times, Jacobi said, after the rains, those same roads were impossible to drive on and would often see villagers out trying to help the truck drivers keep moving.

I had expected to run into a number of soldiers, but for the first few hours after leaving the border, there wasn’t a lot to see other than flat land, villages, and people on the side of the road, along with the occasional vehicle, belying the fact it was a major road between the border and a town called Aba, a distance that was measured at about 170 kilometers.

Anywhere else in the world it would have taken about an hour and a half, but here, it was early afternoon and finally on a stretch of reasonable road into Aba.  A refuel and we’d be on our way quickly.  The first of the kidnappers appointed times was 16:00 hours and I was hoping the roads would get us there by that time.

 

© Charles Heath 2019-2020

Searching for locations: An old country homestead, Canungra, Australia

Or to be more precise, the homestead at what is now O’Reilly’s vineyard, where there is a pleasant lawn out back running down to the river for picnics, an alpaca farm next door, and the homestead plays host to functions, and wine tastings.

My interest was that we had assumed there was a restaraunt, and we were going to have lunch. There might be one, but not the day we visited, it was just cafe food or a picnic available.

I was more interested in the old homestead, because it was a fine example of the homesteads built in the ‘outback’.

…

Today we are having lunch in the Platypus room, in the O’Reilly’s vineyard farmhouse, which, if you close your eyes and let your imagination run free, could see it as the master bedroom of a homestead.

Certainly the building is old, made completely of timber, inside and out, with the traditional high ceilings to keep the heat at bay.

At one end, a large bay window, which would be ideal to sir and view the outside, past the sweeping verandah.  There is a small lawn and a rotunda, but beyond that what might have been extended gardens, is the vineyard.

The homestead is in an ideal position midway between the main road and the river, has the traditional surrounding verandah, and shows signs of being extended on almost all sides.

On the other side of the wide corridor that leads you to the bar, and, coincidentally, down the centre of the house, is a smaller bedroom, also used as a dining room, and ubiquitously named the library.

It may be small but it does have a fireplace.  Which the assumed master bedroom does not, but now I’m thinking that room might have been the morning room.

Behind the room we’re in is another bedroom, or perhaps this might be the master, because it does have a fireplace and is quite large.  And a name, the Ambassador room.  Now it serves as the pick up place for picnic baskets.

There is another room on the opposite side of the corridor called the Drawing Room, but is not open to the public.  But, going into the room with the fireplace adjacent to it, you can sell the aroma of pizzas, so it’s probably an extension of the kitchen, and, walking around the outside that side of the house proves it to be case.

After all, they do catering for weddings and need a very large food preparation area which I discovered runs down the whole of that side of the house.

At the end of the corridor I’d the bar and spare space, and running off that and behind that is where there is a large dining area, perhaps prior to COVID, the restaurant.

It’s not hard to imagine that area as a very large entertaining area, either for very large dinner parties, or dancing.

As for the food, it’s either a picnic basket, or pizzas.  We chose the latter, not realising the bases were not home made, but bought in.  

The toppings however were both plentiful and tasty.  It could have been hotter, because it was a cold day, and it was cold in the room.

As for something to do other than taste the wine, and buy a few bottles, you can get up close to the vines, which, at this time of the year gave been pruned back and look quite dead, look at or walk an alpaca, even feed it, or all of them, or go down to the river and see if you can spot a Platypus.

Perhaps next time we’ll have a picnic down by the river.

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 31

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

 

Was she insinuating that Alex Benderby killed Jacob Stravinsky?

“Alex is a bully but he’s not a murderer,” I said, and wondering, at the same time, if he had finally graduated to a full-blown bad guy.

“He wouldn’t do it.  Like his old man, they get others to do their dirty work.  I’m sure the significance of Alex being out on his father’s boat was not lost on you.  You asked the questions, and now that I’ve thought about it, it’s possible those divers could have planted the body on Rico’s boat.”

It’s one thing to come up with theories, but it was entirely another to suddenly realize they might be true.  Until this point, I was happy to let Boggs have his dream that one day we might uncover a treasure trove, thinking that it was more fiction than the truth.  It made a good story, one of hope for a person who had had very little of it in the past.

Now, it was becoming horribly true.  What might amount to proof there might be treasure buried somewhere along this coast, an expert being interrogated and then killed, and a pair of what could only be described as gangsters about to start fighting over the spoils and not afraid of killing anyone who got in their way, these were omens, omens not to be ignored.

“Then don’t you think this is far too dangerous to get involved in?  Look what happened to Boggs and I.  We got off lightly if what you say is true.  I’m surprised if this Stravinsky is dead, then why isn’t Boggs?  He had the map, there’s no doubt Vice would assume he had made a copy.  What to stop him from doing the same to Boggs and Benderby did for Stravinsky?”

“Vince is not a clever as Alex.  Vince will never take over the Cossatino clan.  Alex, on the other hand, is the next generation of Benderby thugs.  But I suspect the older Benderby doesn’t know what’s going on.  Not yet anyway.”

My bottle of beer was empty.  Now I think I needed something stronger.  A lot stronger.

There was a knock on the door, which caught us both by surprise.

Are you expecting anyone?” I asked, and in the next second suspected it might be Vince, and I’d been led down the garden path to a place where I really didn’t want to be.

“No.”  She went over to the door and peered through the peephole.

“Damn,” she muttered.

Another, more demanding, knock.

She turned to look at me, “It’s Vince and my father.  I didn’t ask them to come here, and no, I didn’t tell them anything, whatever you might be thinking.”

All I was thinking right then was the coincidence of their arrival and being very afraid.

She opened the door.

Vince barged in almost pushing the door into his sister and stopped when he saw me.  At a more sedate speed, Giuliano Cossatino, Nadia’s father came into the room, and also stopped when he saw me.

There was no mistaking the malice on Vince’s face.   Nadia was right.  He was all muscle and no brain.

The older Cossatino spoke first.  “I see you have a new friend, though I would have thought you’d have better taste in men.”

“Your days of telling me what I can do and not do were over the moment you sent me away.”

“And yet you come back, slinking about like a thief in the night.  Your mother was most upset when you didn’t tell her.”

“The fact I have to, as you call it, slink back, should tell you a lot.”

“That you’re still the idiotic child you were before you went away.”

OK, now I was in the middle of a domestic family standoff.  I was waiting for the order for Vince to throw me out, quite possibly over the balcony for good measure.

“I should leave,” I said standing, “and let you two work it out.”

Vince took another step forward and was now only two paces away.  I’d have to go through him to leave.

“Stay,” Cossatino said.  “I have nothing against you.  Yet.”

“If you’re thinking this is anything but reminiscing about the old days, Mr Cossatino, then you’d be wrong.  There’s nothing between your daughter and I but air.  And,” mustering more bravado than I felt, “call your attack dog off.”

“Or what?”

“You don’t want to find out.”  Where was this coming from?  I was saying the words, but they were not my words.

“I hardly think…”

“That’s probably your biggest fault,” Nadia said, in a tone that suggested she was rapidly losing patience with her father.  

It was clear to me now, she had a hard time of it as a child, not unlike the rest of us, but for different reasons.  The bullying didn’t have to happen at school, but I could see why she had been like she was back then. 

“You never gave me any attention except to treat e like garbage, no, worse than garbage.  I can see nothing has changed.”  Then she switched her attention to Vince.  “And look at you, daddy’s little attack dog, as Sam says.  I’d start worrying Vince, because one day someone’s going to beat the crap out of you, and then you’ll be nothing, just like me.”

Vince only had one expression, so it was difficult to tell if he was worried or not.

Back to her father, “Why are you here?”

I doubt anyone had spoken to him like Nadia just did, and he looked angry.  If I hadn’t been there, I was not sure what would have happened to her.

“Your mother would like to see you.”

“You tell her to grow a backbone first, then when she does, I’ll think about it.  Now get out of my room, or I’ll call the sheriff.  At least he’s not in your back pocket.”

She picked up her phone and made ready to call.

A flick of his head got Vince to back up to the door and open it.

“You will regret this, young lady.”

“And don’t you forget I know where the skeletons are buried, so I’d leave now before some of them start rattling.”

A look of suffused anger flashed across his face, and he took a step forward.  I was not sure what to expect, but Nadia did take a step back.  She knew what he was capable of.

“We need to talk.  Don’t make me wait too long or there’ll be consequences.”

A glare at me, another for his daughter along with a shake of his head, then he left closing the door quietly after him.

I sat down before I fell down.  Nadia visibly wilted.

“I’m sorry about that.  You might have thought twice about threatening Vince.  You know he’ll come after you now.”

“Let him.  I always thought you were close to your father.”

“Daddy’s girl I was not.  Daddy’s biggest disappointment, maybe.”

“You didn’t ask him to come?”

“No.”

“But he didn’t come here to ask you to visit your mother.  It sounded like a last-minute invention.”

“It was.  My real mother is dead, and my stepmother was the reason why I was sent away.  Among other things.  No.  He was here to tell me to get closer to Alex.  It means only one thing.  This treasure hunt is about to get very, very ugly.”

 

 

© Charles Heath 2019

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 32

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.

We flew out of an unnamed base in an unmarked aircraft, heading for Africa.  It would be my second visit.  The first didn’t quite go as expected, but there was a chance of redemption this time around.

I was the only one who had been there before, other than our two-faced guide, Jacobi, who by now would be working out how he could double-cross us and save his skin.  I had no illusions about a man who would turn in his own mother if he had to.

We were going to need a plan b and a plan c going in with him because I had no doubt plan a had already been sent to the relevant people, who were awaiting our imminent arrival with bated breath.  Pity we would not be landing anywhere near that location.

In fact, none of us would know where we would be dropped, until minutes before it happened.  Security, this time, was going to be formidable.  Lallo explained why it was a matter of need to know, and all I had to say was, I didn’t need to know.  I suspect Monroe knew, but she was the sort who could keep a secret.

As for the rest of the team, they were a motley crew, but within the group, there was an odd sort of camaraderie between them.  Perhaps Lallo had told them that if they stepped out of line, Monroe would shoot them.

Aside from the passengers in the C47 transport, there was a pack for each of us, and enough weapons to start a war.  Since we would not be calling at any recognisable airport, I doubted we would be having any customs or immigration problems.  No one was travelling with any identification papers.  It was that sort of mission.

Bamfield met me at the airport before we took off.  Monroe had come over and told me there was a visitor in one of the rooms, the one with Operations crookedly glued to the door.  She opened the door, ushered me in, then stepped back out closing the door after her.

Mental note: the door to that room would not withstand a good kick.

There was a table, two chairs, and one of them had Bamfield sitting, looking up expectantly when I entered the room.  His eyes beckoned me to the other chair, so, after a look around the room, nothing else other than the table and chairs were in the room I casually made my way to the chair and sat.

We glared at each other over the tabletop.

”I’m guessing this is the last place you expected to be?”

“You have a funny way of issuing invitations?”

“Would you have come along if I asked you politely.”

“Probably not.”

Another minute’s silence while he looked for the words that would be anything other than an apology for coercing me into a corner.  I’d come to realise that Bamfield was far from the sort of officer I’d first thought him to be.

An excuse could be made that because he needed to find people to do a particularly dangerous and covert operation, nothing was off the table, including blackmail, in order to get the job done.  How he was justifying it using armed services personnel was anyone’s guess, but it would have been kicked higher up the food chain before approval was given.

These operations weren’t just conceived by military commanders, just the CIA on a good day, allowing the armed services to tag along.  But make no mistake, this would be a CIA operation, and the CIA to take the credit if it worked out, and the army would take a hit if it didn’t.  Either way, it would never reach the newspapers.

“You don’t need me to tell you how important this is, and that we’ve only got one shot at it.  If you get caught, any of you, we cannot acknowledge you, so you will be on your own. Your team will obey orders.  Monroe is there to maintain discipline if it’s needed.”

“So she’ll be shooting first and asking questions later?”

“Something like that.  She’s a tough officer, and worthy of your respect.”

“And the rest?”

“Good soldiers who just got into trouble.  They’re being given an opportunity for redemption, and this mission will count towards lessening their sentences.  At any rate, Monroe will have your back.”

Good to know.

“You’ll be going to a new destination, after stopping over in northern Uganda.  We’ve arranged for the plane to land at a disused airstrip when you’ll be met by Colonel Chiswick.  He’ll be arranging you and your teams travel arrangements from there.  I can’t tell you any more at this time for security reasons.”

“I have only one question.”

“Only one?”

“There is another 999 but I figure none of those will get answered.  It was the same question I asked the last time, who are these people we’re supposed to be rescuing?”

A long and thoughtful look.  Could he trust me?

“Two CIA operatives, meddling in DRC affairs without authorisation.  They were originally sent to clean up the child soldier problem but somehow got in the middle of the war between government forces and rebels, if you could call them that.  They’re mostly militia groups, and the situation was too fractured for them to do much good.  Problem is, they made promises, and now we have to bail them out.”

“Another CIA stuff up then.”

“It had good intentions, but in Africa, good intentions are often mistaken for something else entirely.  This is, however, one other possible problem you may have to deal with.”

Of course, there always was.  Nothing covert operations was involved in didn’t have a wrinkle or three.

“Good or bad?”

He shrugged.  “They might not want to go with you.  We now suspect they may have had something to do with the last fiasco, and it wasn’t entirely Jacobi’s fault.  But, that doesn’t necessarily mean he might not be working with them.  You’ll be travelling with a small fortune in diamonds as payment for their release, but it may not necessarily be what it seems.  I tell you this, so you don’t get any surprises.”

“Good to know, but I suspect there’s more to the story that you’re not telling me.  I’m sure Monroe will keep you in the loop.”

I stood.

Was I expecting a handshake or a good luck, maybe, but I don’t think that was his style?  He was probably used to sending men to senseless deaths, so another few would stir his conscience.  I shrugged, and walked out of the room, not looking back.

…

© Charles Heath 2019

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 31

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.

…

The folder had half a dozen single-page sheets with a photo attached to each with a standard-issue army paper clip.  There was no top secret in pale red ink diagonally scribed across any of the pages which somehow diminished the exercise.

I guessed this was the hand-picked team selected for me to take on our suicide mission.  It didn’t have the officer overseeing the mission, or the go-between Jacobi.  Not exactly a useful man to have along in a firefight, because he would be too busy working out who would pay the most if or when he survived.

It still astonished me that we hired people like Jacobi, fully knowing that they would sell out their own mother if the price was right.  I was going to reserve one bullet in my gun to execute him the moment he even looked the wrong way.

Trust him, I did not.

Nor any 0f the six members of that hand-picked team.

Sergeant Barnes.  Tall, wide, deadly, that last attribute courtesy of a line in his resume that said he killed three soldiers of the army we were supposed to be training and supporting.  No meaningful reason was given as to why he did, only that he’d just finished serving a five-year sentence, cut short by a month so he could join this force.  Hand to hand combat, and a handy man to have if you’ve got a handheld rocket launcher handy.

Private Williamson.  Had been a Corporal, but considered that too much of a burden, having men look up to him, and having to give orders.  He decided to go AWOL instead.  Used to be a butcher before signing on to see the world, and as described very handy with a knife.  Refused to use a gun, and refused orders too, which was the reason why he was in the stockade, with his friend, the next man on the list.

Private Shurl.  If we needed a man who excelled at sword fighting, he was our man.  A very accomplished swordsman, but I doubt we were going to need a man of his talents because enemy swordsmen seemed only to exist in the old movies.  I guess Lallo was expecting the three musketeers or something.  Other than that, he was a useful radioman and would be handling the communications once we were on the ground in enemy territory.

Corporal Stark.  His claim to fame was reading maps.  He was also an expert on the ground in the country whose borders we were about to violate.  He lived in the country for several years with his wife, who came from there, and who’d been killed by the dictator in a case of mistaken identity.  Stark would have to be carefully managed.

Staff Sergeant Mobley.  A man who had been up and down in ranks for a long time, suggesting a bad attitude, his latest bout leaving him fresh from a stint in the stockade.  He had no valid reason to be in on this disaster and yet had volunteered.  That took courage, to apply for a suicide mission with little hope of return.  I suspect he had an agenda that no one else knew about.

And, lastly

Lieutenant Lesley Davies.  A woman marine, no longer a lieutenant but just another soldier who obviously didn’t understand the concept of taking one step back when everyone else steps in another direction.  It didn’t say what it was she did wrong, but my guess there were a few men out there frightened of meeting her on a dark night.  Some women are dainty, some women are large, and then there’s Davies, a powerhouse that could be dangerous if out of control.

Out of all of that team, she was the one who interested me the most.

There was a knock on the door, interrupting my thoughts.  I called out, “Enter”, surprised the person outside hadn’t just shoved their way into the room.

The door opened, Monroe walked in and closed the door behind her.

“Let me guess,” I said.  “You’re running point.”

“And save your sorry ass from those recruits.  Not a brain between the lot of them, and we need people who can think, given the nature of the forthcoming exercise.  The brains trust has decided the rescue team reports to us.  I didn’t ask for it by the way.  This is one of Lallo’s sick jokes.”

Maybe he had a problem with her too and was hoping she wasn’t coming back.

“You and me both,” I said.

She threw another folder on the table.  “Operational orders, wheels up at 0600 tomorrow.  Make sure you get a hearty meal before we leave, it might be your last for a while.”

I shrugged. 

“Suit yourself.”  She went back to the door, gave me a curious look, and left.

I opened the file and looked at the one piece of paper in it.  It was marked Top Secret in red diagonally across the page, probably specially done by Lallo to make me feel important.  It had departure time, the weather, the flight time, how long the stopover would be before going on to the target.

Tightly planned, no room for missing connections, though this was the army, not an airline taking us, no room for errors.  New intel said that we had five days before the prisoners were to be executed.

No pressure then.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2021

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 30

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in.

At the end of the discussion, which began to get quite heated, I was escorted from the room and taken to another interrogation room.

Fresh from his intimidatory success with Jacobi, Lallo was, no doubt, going to try and press on his advantage with me though I was not quite sure what it was he thought I could help him with, other than to dissuade him from his current plan.

I had to wait an hour in that small, stuffy room considering the possibilities.  Surely he wasn’t expecting me to join his band of merry men.

When he finally came, he arrived with a folder and two bottles of cold water, one of which he gave to me before he sat down.

I took a sip of water out of the bottle, after checking the seal hadn’t been broken.  I still didn’t trust him, and with good reason considering the trick he’d played on me.

“Now, I’m sure you saw and heard everything that happened with Jacobi.”

I nodded.

“He’s the reason your mission failed.  He met the other team on the ground and was supposed to lead them to the building where the targets were hiding.  Instead, he told the Government forces, Bahti, the plan for their rescue and their location.  It was a double-cross brought on by greed.”

“It always is.  But he’s more than likely right about the fate of the two prisoners.”

“Half dead, yes, pressed into working on a prison farm, but neither has been cracked yet.  After the last attempt at rescuing them, we cultivated new agents on the ground.  Their advice has led to us being able to formulate a new attempt to rescue them.”

Had they asked my opinion long before the first attempt, I would have told them to have more than one source, and particularly if they were paying handsomely for information.  It was always an opportunity for double-cross.

There still was, but I don’t think that eventuality was factored into Lallo’s thinking.

“Who’s the fool you have in mind to lead this disaster.”

“You.”

Good thing I’d braced myself for the bad news, and it came as no surprise.  In that hour of considering possibilities, they all seemed to come back to one person.  I was the only one left who’d been there, if only for a few hours.

It had also given me time to work on an excuse not to go.

“I don’t think so…”

Lallo put his hand up to stop me.  My protestations might have worked on a reasonable man, but Lallo wasn’t reasonable.

“Well, you, too, have a choice.  Stay and be court marshalled for your failure to follow orders in the last attempt or redeem yourself and volunteer to lead the next.”

“I did nothing wrong the last time.”

“Not according to the investigation I’ve just completed, the one that I intend to submit to the JAG if you are unwilling to follow orders.”

And there it was.  All the time I’d been in Lallo’s hands he had been compiling a feasible case against me, just so that I could be induced to do his bidding.  I was stupid not to connect the dots long before this and shut my mouth.  Everything I had denied, was the same evidence he could use against me.

n typical military-style, someone had to shoulder the blame for the previous mess.

And to be given a choice, one that made me as expendable as Jacobi, was, as far as Lallo was concerned, a masterstroke.

If I went and was killed in action, he would have a scapegoat he needed.  If I didn’t go, I would be court marshalled and thrown in a cell for the rest of my life.  And if I went, and succeeded, he would become the golden boy in the intelligence services, and the same fate as any other scenario would befall me.  It was lose-lose.

“You’re not throwing out any bones?”

“Don’t have to.  But you get to pick the team you want to go with you.”  He tossed a file across the table to me, and I opened it.  Several pages, with photos attached.

A who’s who of the military types that spent more time in the stockade than on the battlefield.  Men who would do anything to stay out, men who had nothing to lose.  Men who were expendable.

“You’re kidding?”  I looked up at him, but his expression told me he wasn’t.

“Are you sure any of these will obey orders?”

“You have my assurance they will.  We’re sending an observer, just to make sure everyone stays on mission.  You have three days to pick a team of four men, establish command, and prepare to leave.”

Something else I thought about in that hour, other than it was probably the last time I would have for reflection, was that it would have been better to die in the helicopter crash.

I waited until he left the room before I reopen the file.

© Charles Heath 2019

It all started in Venice – Episode 7

A new team member

…

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 II statue, 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.”

“Then let’s hope it doesn’t happen.”

…

© Charles Heath 2022