In keeping with the new travel plan, we are picking places in Australia, where we can exchange our timeshare week.
Some people consider timeshares as a waste of time and money, and the process of getting one is very painful, which it can be.
Certainly, in some of the places we have gone, they tried hard to sell you another which can be a downside to staying, but the fact we get to stay in a three-bedroom fully kitted apartment of bungalow for $200 for the week far outweighs the small inconveniences.
Previously, we stayed at Coffs Harbour, but this time, we decided to stay at Port Macquarie.
Our bungalow, as they are called, is on the edge of the lagoon, which has an island and has been stocked with fish, though I doubt we would be allowed to go fishing in it.
For the more adventurous, there are canoes. I think I would prefer the BBQ, and watch the planes taking off and landing at the airport just on the other side of the tree line on the other side of the lagoon.
At least they are only smaller planes like the De Havilland Dash 8.
And, knowing the airport was only minutes away, we dropped in for a quick photo op and got the following
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
All in all, this is just the place I was looking for to write a story. A perfect blend of fact and fiction could make this into something else, or just plain hiding in plain sight.
If you are not skiing, not hiking, not horse-riding, and have come for the fishing, this is the place to be.
Except…
There is something about a summer resort town in the middle of winter.
Or maybe it’s like this all the time. After all, I have been here in Spring and Autumn, and it was just as deserted on the main street.
And not just deserted, it is almost like a ghost town, and I suspect the few people that are here are the few hapless tourists wandering about, wondering where everyone else is.
It’s about 2 pm and we are heading for the local Coffee club for lunch and coffee. It might be past lunch, but I don’t think that’s the reason why there are so few customers
There is just no one here.
Perhaps it’s probably a different story on weekends when the city people come down for the snow and are passing through.
But essentially, Taupo is a holiday town, and if you take a closer look, all you will see is cafes, dining establishments and motels. A quick tour of the shopping centre shows more shops are closed or vacant than are open.
It’s not surprising that a lot of businesses cannot survive, because to stay in business, you need a steady stream of customers all year round, not just in Summer.
Unlike their winter counterparts, the ski resorts that seem to have a different working model take as much as they can while you can; they only must operate a few months of the year, use non-permanent seasonal workers, and can adjust if there’s no snow.
An indication of just how much custom there is in Taupo in winter is trying to organise horse riding. Admittedly, it is cold for both humans and horses, but not every day is a loss. We sought out the local Taupo horse riding establishment and found it closed for Winter. Understandable, but the more telling point was the fact that it had a big sign up “Business for Sale”
I don’t fish, and aside from water sports, a summery thing to do, there is precious little to do there in winter, which could have its benefits.
Hmm.
Hang on, if I really want to disappear and can’t be bothered doing anything else except a walk to the nearest cafe for a cup of coffee to be away from all the distractions long enough to finish a book, this is the place to go.
On the other side, there was another door, but before we went through it, I was ‘decontaminated,’ which meant being sprayed with a gas of some sort. It didn’t have a bad smell.
Then another invisible door, or archway, opened, and beyond, it was a large open space with blue skies, trees, flowers, what was once parkland, because we had something similar in what was called a ‘public space’, but on a smaller scale. Life, such as before me, was still not possible on the outside, but it was improving.
Or so we were told.
It was a world within a world. It was warm, there were creatures, and people tended it.
“It’s a pity we have to die before we get to see what we once had,” I said. She had slowed down to match my movement.
She was what we called a power walker.
“There is much to explore over the coming week.”
It was large and a long walk. There was a lake, and there were small row boats. The only rowing I’d done was in a gym. Perhaps I’d get a chance to go on a boat.
We walked for half an hour. We reached a row of bungalows built along the water’s edge. At the third bungalow, she said, “This will be your residence for the next week.”
She led the way. As we approached the door, it opened. She went in, and I followed. It was far better than anything I’d lived in my whole life, the sort of place we speculated management lived in.
“You have everything you need for the next week.”
“Am I free to explore that world outside my door?”
“With me, yes. I will be staying here with you.”
Interesting. “And interaction with any others who are staying here.”
“Of course. This is not a prison. But as I said, I will be with you.”
It was beginning to feel like it was a prison.
She sat down at the table. “Please join me, and we’ll go over the rules.”
Was I disappointed? No. I could think of worse ways to live the last week of my life. It was just so unexpected that places like this existed, and my last week would be an endless reminder of what I had, in more ways than one.
About ten minutes into what seemed to be a well-rehearsed speech, I made a discovery. Well, it was not so much a discovery as it was confirmation of a theory I once had.
About a year before, I was given a case that involved a missing woman who had not turned up for work that morning. Normally, people had to be missing several days before we investigated, but I got the impression she was important.
And a surprise because crimes involving people were far and few between, and anyone committing crimes that killed or seriously injured others and was found guilty was summarily terminated.
In a small community, it was an effective deterrent.
And being such an important case, I was surprised my superior dropped the file on my desk with the warning, discretion was paramount, that I was to report results to him directly and only him, and if anyone came to me for information, I was to direct them to him.
It was an odd case, one where I should have got a similar story from everyone, especially in her block where she lived, but no two stories were the same. Similar, perhaps, but always a key detail amiss.
Only one of the thirty-odd people I spoke to had a completely different story. He had been missing the week she arrived, and when he came back, he discovered her living next door.
And when he tried to talk to her, she simply ignored him. Another strange thing was that she had a visitor who turned up late at night, and they would leave together, return in the early hours, and the visitor left before anyone else in the block woke.
And then, that very morning, neither returned.
When I asked why he didn’t report the events, he, like many others, said they didn’t want to get involved. I knew he knew more than he was telling me, but I also recognised fear.
I took my findings to my superior, and he told me it was imperative that I find her as soon as possible. He didn’t say why.
But I knew what it was he wasn’t saying.
A lot of my job involved discretion; one of only a few who were privy to information that was restricted. Yes, we had security levels, and due to seniority and my ability to keep secrets, I’d advanced to the highest level.
It was a privilege and also a curse.
It was where I discovered the people above my pay grade had a different life and privileges, which most people, if they knew, would be surprised. It was, someone once said, a case of don’t do as I do, do as I say.
Very apt.
It led me to the conclusion that she was having an illicit relationship with a man she worked with. I could go to her workplace to ask embarrassing questions, but instead visited the more exclusive hotels where illicit relationships played out.
There were seven I knew about, one near the block where she lived. I went there first, and when I told them who I was and what I was doing there, I was taken to the manager’s office, and then to a room where, very carefully laid out, the body of the missing woman.
They had known someone would come for her, and that it was better they did not report it via the usual means.
There were no visible signs of violence, so no harm had been inflicted on her. I asked who had booked the room and received a blank stare. No names were ever used, and there was no CCTV footage.
In certain circumstances, of which this was one. It told me that management was, or could be, involved.
I dismissed the manager and made a cursory inspection of the room and the body. Fully dressed, she looked as though she were asleep. It was not my job to determine the cause of death, but the skin under my fingers when determining if there was a pulse was odd.
She was perfect in every way, not exactly the norm.
Examination completed, I reported back and was told to leave, my job done. As I went through the foyer, I could see that someone had spoken to the manager; he looked a deathly shade of white.
I remained at a cafe not far from the hotel to see what happened next, and within ten minutes, two black cars and a van arrived, men in black uniforms from the cars, and men in white suits from the van.
Ten more minutes, and they were gone. I didn’t see the body being removed.
Nothing more was said, but seeing Miranda in front of me, now, she had all the same characteristics.
Watching the body language of both husband and wife, it was hard to tell who was in charge, but if I had to make a guess, Angelina was in front by a nose.
Who had the most clout in that room, that was Angelina, via her father, Benito? He might have retired and passed the reins onto his eldest son, but in terms of respect, he had it from all the crime families and syndicates, and was, for all intents and purposes, still a force to be reckoned with.
That was even after he and his eldest son, the heir apparent, decided to go straight. It was a surprising turn of events for a crime family that had been notorious in its heyday. Now the family were more involved in banks, shopping malls, casinos, and bearer bonds.
As for their illegal activities, those were shared out among the other three major crime syndicates equally so as to avoid a turf war. It also led to the marriage of convenience between Fabio Latanzio and Benito’s eldest daughter Angelina, mutually profitable for both sides.
At that time, Fabio had just been promoted to understudy his father, the heir apparent for that syndicate. Fabio was ambitious but respectful, until his father was killed in a suspected hit, which led to a few months of tit for tat killings until Benito brokered an uneasy peace.
That meant Fabio became head of the family, and instead of sitting back and letting others do the work for him, he chose to be hands on. And three suspicious murders later this he had privately said was to avenge the death of his father, here he was, on the brink of a long jail sentence.
And the fact that he had allowed himself to be broken free of custody was a tell take sign that he knew he was both guilty of the crime, and that he was looking at a long sentence in jail.
Then there was the other undeniable fact, he had sent in a team to kill me. If he was innocent, why would he bother?
Amy had been watching the family reunion with interest. She too, saw the signs of a rift which she could use against him.
She sat down when they went onto silence each on a separate side of the room, the air between them could be cut with a knife. Benito, no doubt would be very angry at the turn of events, and of Fabio’s behaviour. It was common knowledge that Benito thought him too big for his boots.
“Happy families, eh,” I said.
“That’s the trouble with absolute power, you tend to think after a while that you are untouchable. He’s about to find just how wrong he is. And, if we’re lucky we might yet get to find out who his high-level police contact is.”
That of course was something else I learned very quickly that a few, a very few cops were corrupt, and one in particular, the one that ratted me out.
It was a bit of a shock to discover that your safety really couldn’t be guaranteed, particularly when a high-profile criminal was involved, like Latanzio.
It was a can of worms she really didn’t want to open, but those who had helped Fabio stay free as long as he had, it was her intention to find out who it was and make sure they were punished.
It was determination I had seen only intensify since the attacking the hotel, and an escape after seeing several colleagues either killed or injured.
To me, sitting there watching the man who had ordered a hit on me and very nearly succeeded, and being able to observe the whole operation around his capture was, to say the least, fascinating.
It would be interesting to see how Latanzio reacted.
The least expected reaction was a steady pounding on the door, accompanied by yelling, Latanzio wanted to speak to the person in charge.
We watched him for a few minutes, and it looked like Amy wanted him angry, very angry, before she had him taken to an interview room.
She was expecting trouble, because he was not cuffed now, with two men collecting him, and two in the shadows with instructions to shoot a tranquilizer dart into him if he misbehaved.
The passageway was also set up so we could watch him, and there was definite proof he was seriously considering tackling the escort and making a break for it. Amy could see the signs, but watching his escort, there were very aware of what he might do.
But in the end, he didn’t try to escape.
Not yet.
He was sent into the room, one guard outside, the other inside the door. He kept what looked like a truncheon visible so the Latanzio would think twice about considering his odds against one rather than two.
For me, I might get past the first but not the second. Any sensible person could see the odds stacked against them.
Amy stood up. “Time to have a first pass at him. Wish me luck.”
She didn’t need luck. So far her plan was working.
Two minutes, perhaps three, passed before I saw her enter the room. Latanzio has stopped pacing and had finally sat. I could see him evaluation the possibility of using her as leverage to escape.
Whatever happened, the guards were instructed to kill him, irrespective of hostages. It was a hard call, but everyone in the team chose to be there.
She sat but did not speak. It was up to him to make the first move.
It didn’t take long.
“Just what exactly is going on here? Who organised this?”
She took a moment to look him up and down, the sort of look that could make another, more ordinary person, squirm. Latanzio was unmoved.
“The who, as I said before, is irrelevant. The what is because we are putting the rest of your journey together, and it’s taking some time. With one person it’s easy, with four it is more difficult.”
“Then forget about the family. They’re safe. No one will dare touch them. I should be your most pressing case.”
Interesting that, if politely put, the rat thinks only of himself.
“You should realise that your wife and children will suffer the consequences of your actions if you leave them behind, so according to my instructions, you all go, or no one goes.”
“What does that mean?”
I thought it was obvious, but I was beginning to think Latanzio was not as clever as I thought he was.
“You don’t want to find out.”
“Is Benito behind this? This smells like something he would do. More about saving his daughter than worrying about me. He needs me.”
From what Amy’s sources had learned in the last few hours, the opposite was true. Benito had put a contract out on him. It hadn’t helped Fabio’s cause that she had leaked the fact Fabio was cheating on his daughter.
“Not since he was told about Gabrielle. It is why we had to bring her in, too. So, Benito is not your benefactor, he had, in fact, put a contract out on your head. You should be thankful we got you out of jail, or you’d be dead by now.”
I could see his mind working, taking in what she had just told him and processing it.
Amy decided to add another variable. “You have to decide who you want to go with you, Angelina or Gabrielle. It can’t be both.”
There were a few seconds delay like a conversation being conducted from the earth to the moon
The he said, ” What will happen to those left behind?”
“I’m sure you know exactly what will happen. The problem is, if you hadn’t shot that fool in the street in front of a witness, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“That witness is dead. There is no witness.”
She shook her head. ” No, Mr Latanzio, he is not dead. You had to take on a very resourceful man, not your average Joe, nor by a long shot. Special forces, or marines, or something I’m told, and he hasn’t taken it very well that you sent in a team to kill him. It’s another mess were going to have to clean up. All in all, you were given a simple job to do, and instead, let your ego and stupidity get us to this point. You should realise my first instruction was to get you out and then put a bullet in your head. I might still do it. My people have been instructed to shoot you if you try anything. That also means if you die, so does Angelina, Gabrielle, and your children. My instructions are very clear.”
She stood, signalling the interview was at an end.
“You now have to make a decision. Who would you like to see now?”
“Gabrielle.”
Angelina was going to be very impressed with her husband when Amy told her.
It was no one fault that Melinda’s parents died in the accident. It just happened.
The day after she turned fifteen, and faced with losing her brothers and sisters in an unforgiving foster care system, she packed a bag for each and told them that they could take one toy and left.
Joey was 13, Annabel was 11, and Gertie was 9. The two youngest didn’t understand what had happened to them and wanted to know where Mom and Dad were.
There was no simple answer.
Instead, Melinda had to tell them in no uncertain terms that their lives had changed, and they had to leave. Otherwise, bad people would come and take them away.
It was emphasised by the four cars, lights flashing starkly against the dark night, the police and others coming to take them away.
After that, it was just a trial, sleeping during the day and walking at night.
It took three months. The plan if anything ever happens to their parents. Left with the eldest daughter, whom they charged with the responsibility to save their children and go to what Mom had called a safe house.
In Canada.
Three months and seven near misses, knowing everyone was looking for them. And not all of them with good intentions.
During those three months, Melinda had turned 16. Her mother had been looking forward to her 16th birthday; they were going to have a celebration.
That morning, after the other three went to sleep, failing to remember the day, Melinda cried. It felt like it was the end of the world.
Perhaps it was, in a sense.
Now, on the eve of her 18th birthday, the family was safe with their grandparents she had never met or knew about. It was almost like it had been before.
Except she knew it wasn’t.
She would always be looking over her shoulder. Even after the adjustments, like the change of names, the change of appearance, the learning of a different language and accent, German, to disguise who they had been.
It was time for the others to go back to school and resume their childhood.
For Melinda, watching the sun set behind the trees of her long-gone childhood, life would never be the same.
“You are sad, my child?”
Her grandmother, Heidi, was a kind and gentle soul, the one who had nurtured and home-schooled them as a mother would. Adolf, the grandfather, was gruff and angry but sympathetic to their situation. It was he who had toughened them up by teaching them to survive.
“I never got to experience all those things a young girl does, love, a broken heart, dancing, parties, just being a child, I guess.”
“There is an English expression. Youth is wasted on the young. The English have an expression for everything. You may think you have missed those golden years, but you have not. You simply spent them differently, much better than your contemporaries. As Adolf would say, come the apocalypse, who do you think will survive it?”
“Do you think there will be one?”
The sun had set, and darkness was closing in.
“Take a look around, smell the aromas of Mother Nature, savour the cool breeze as it rustles gently through the trees. This will always be here, despite the humans’ efforts to destroy it.”
It was a question she had never dared to ask, and she had impressed upon her siblings that certain questions must never be asked but now seemed to be the time.
“What really happened to my mom and dad?”
The old lady put her arm around her shoulder and hugged her. “It is not for me to say. It can only be a matter of speculation. Your grandfather went to your home some months after you arrived and obtained the police report on the accident. It read like an accident, but details are missing. There may be reasons why there may not. I think it’s best not to dwell on the past, Leisl.”
It took a while to remember who she now was, a name she selected herself, from a movie she one saw that made her happy, The Sound of Music. She used to go around the house and sing that song Sixteen Going on Seventeen while doing her chores.
Now, it was just another distant memory.
“As you wish. Do you think it’s wise that I leave now? I mean, the others seemed reconciled, but I will miss them.”
“As they will miss you, but it is not forever. You must continue your education, and you will be returning during the semester breaks. It is what your parents wanted for you.”
She had read the letter they had written, one for each of the children. It explained who the grandparents were and what was going to happen. It was part of a plan, and she had often wondered if it would have been the same if they had lived.
All in all, this is just the place I was looking for to write a story. A perfect blend of fact and fiction could make this into something else, or just plain hiding in plain sight.
If you are not skiing, not hiking, not horse-riding, and have come for the fishing, this is the place to be.
Except…
There is something about a summer resort town in the middle of winter.
Or maybe it’s like this all the time. After all, I have been here in Spring and Autumn, and it was just as deserted on the main street.
And not just deserted, it is almost like a ghost town, and I suspect the few people that are here are the few hapless tourists wandering about, wondering where everyone else is.
It’s about 2 pm and we are heading for the local Coffee club for lunch and coffee. It might be past lunch, but I don’t think that’s the reason why there are so few customers
There is just no one here.
Perhaps it’s probably a different story on weekends when the city people come down for the snow and are passing through.
But essentially, Taupo is a holiday town, and if you take a closer look, all you will see is cafes, dining establishments and motels. A quick tour of the shopping centre shows more shops are closed or vacant than are open.
It’s not surprising that a lot of businesses cannot survive, because to stay in business, you need a steady stream of customers all year round, not just in Summer.
Unlike their winter counterparts, the ski resorts that seem to have a different working model take as much as they can while you can; they only must operate a few months of the year, use non-permanent seasonal workers, and can adjust if there’s no snow.
An indication of just how much custom there is in Taupo in winter is trying to organise horse riding. Admittedly, it is cold for both humans and horses, but not every day is a loss. We sought out the local Taupo horse riding establishment and found it closed for Winter. Understandable, but the more telling point was the fact that it had a big sign up “Business for Sale”
I don’t fish, and aside from water sports, a summery thing to do, there is precious little to do there in winter, which could have its benefits.
Hmm.
Hang on, if I really want to disappear and can’t be bothered doing anything else except a walk to the nearest cafe for a cup of coffee to be away from all the distractions long enough to finish a book, this is the place to go.
It was no one fault that Melinda’s parents died in the accident. It just happened.
The day after she turned fifteen, and faced with losing her brothers and sisters in an unforgiving foster care system, she packed a bag for each and told them that they could take one toy and left.
Joey was 13, Annabel was 11, and Gertie was 9. The two youngest didn’t understand what had happened to them and wanted to know where Mom and Dad were.
There was no simple answer.
Instead, Melinda had to tell them in no uncertain terms that their lives had changed, and they had to leave. Otherwise, bad people would come and take them away.
It was emphasised by the four cars, lights flashing starkly against the dark night, the police and others coming to take them away.
After that, it was just a trial, sleeping during the day and walking at night.
It took three months. The plan if anything ever happens to their parents. Left with the eldest daughter, whom they charged with the responsibility to save their children and go to what Mom had called a safe house.
In Canada.
Three months and seven near misses, knowing everyone was looking for them. And not all of them with good intentions.
During those three months, Melinda had turned 16. Her mother had been looking forward to her 16th birthday; they were going to have a celebration.
That morning, after the other three went to sleep, failing to remember the day, Melinda cried. It felt like it was the end of the world.
Perhaps it was, in a sense.
Now, on the eve of her 18th birthday, the family was safe with their grandparents she had never met or knew about. It was almost like it had been before.
Except she knew it wasn’t.
She would always be looking over her shoulder. Even after the adjustments, like the change of names, the change of appearance, the learning of a different language and accent, German, to disguise who they had been.
It was time for the others to go back to school and resume their childhood.
For Melinda, watching the sun set behind the trees of her long-gone childhood, life would never be the same.
“You are sad, my child?”
Her grandmother, Heidi, was a kind and gentle soul, the one who had nurtured and home-schooled them as a mother would. Adolf, the grandfather, was gruff and angry but sympathetic to their situation. It was he who had toughened them up by teaching them to survive.
“I never got to experience all those things a young girl does, love, a broken heart, dancing, parties, just being a child, I guess.”
“There is an English expression. Youth is wasted on the young. The English have an expression for everything. You may think you have missed those golden years, but you have not. You simply spent them differently, much better than your contemporaries. As Adolf would say, come the apocalypse, who do you think will survive it?”
“Do you think there will be one?”
The sun had set, and darkness was closing in.
“Take a look around, smell the aromas of Mother Nature, savour the cool breeze as it rustles gently through the trees. This will always be here, despite the humans’ efforts to destroy it.”
It was a question she had never dared to ask, and she had impressed upon her siblings that certain questions must never be asked but now seemed to be the time.
“What really happened to my mom and dad?”
The old lady put her arm around her shoulder and hugged her. “It is not for me to say. It can only be a matter of speculation. Your grandfather went to your home some months after you arrived and obtained the police report on the accident. It read like an accident, but details are missing. There may be reasons why there may not. I think it’s best not to dwell on the past, Leisl.”
It took a while to remember who she now was, a name she selected herself, from a movie she one saw that made her happy, The Sound of Music. She used to go around the house and sing that song Sixteen Going on Seventeen while doing her chores.
Now, it was just another distant memory.
“As you wish. Do you think it’s wise that I leave now? I mean, the others seemed reconciled, but I will miss them.”
“As they will miss you, but it is not forever. You must continue your education, and you will be returning during the semester breaks. It is what your parents wanted for you.”
She had read the letter they had written, one for each of the children. It explained who the grandparents were and what was going to happen. It was part of a plan, and she had often wondered if it would have been the same if they had lived.
Given the time we had from getting off the helicopter and the pickup of Latanzio, Amy had managed to collect his wife Angelina and her two children, and Gianna and her son, Latanzio’s mistress whom very few knew about.
It transpired Amy’s people had only discovered the mistress by accident during a surveillance mix-up. It was, in Amy’s opinion, pure gold if it came to needing leverage, though she didn’t say what she might need leverage for.
Both were kept in separate rooms in different parts of the underground complex, each with their own guards.
And, what’s more, the wife had no idea her husband had a mistress, and even though she doubted his fidelity, it was not something a woman in her position could talk to anyone about because there was no knowing who she could trust, or whether it would get back to her husband with disastrous consequences.
Trust in anyone when being married to such a man, was non-existent. To a degree, I felt sorry for her, though she had to know what she was getting into because he’d been a part of the family crime business from a very early age. And, for that matter, so had she, but in her case of my was unfortunate in that she had very little chance of picking who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
It seemed that being a Latanzio caused a great deal of grief for anyone who knew him or got in his way.
Both rooms were set up with CCTV cameras, and we were recording everything. Amy wasn’t expecting much from their conversation, if there was any, as it was well known that Angelina was kept out of the loop deliberately.
As I sat in front of the monitors, set up in a room well away from the holding rooms, I could see Amy over on one side talking earnestly to a man I had not seen before, but the suit told me he was some sort of law enforcement, perhaps a superior and they were planning the next move
I slipped on the headphones at just the right moment, Latanzio being escorted into the room where Angelina was being kept.
She watched him come in, the door closed, but I could see him gesture for her not to speak.
In a few seconds, he had summed up the room, the two cots provided for the children who were asleep, a state Amy had arranged to spare them the memories of being there, and then a glance at his wife which didn’t spark much of a reaction.
There was still a degree of residual anger in his manner, still trying to come to grips with the manner of how this escape was being run.
The lack of any outside communication. Or news on what was happening might become a concern at some point so it would be interesting how Amy handled it.
I had seen the surveillance reports and it seemed that for a married couple, they spent a lot of time apart, but that was mainly due to the fact she had insisted he not bring his work home, and that gave her plausible deniability.
And, because of that position, there was no surprise it had led to the affair. Although Angelina had not mentioned it to anyone, whether she knew about it or not, there was no doubt in my mind she did but may have not known who it was.
When she did, it was going to be a very interesting few minutes.
He knew the room was bugged, but may not necessarily suspect he was on CCTV given the time frame in getting this together. Perhaps he had been looking for obvious cameras as he came in, and during the time the guards removed the cuffs and shackles and saw none.
I hadn’t either until she showed me.
Not even a close inspection would find any cameras, but there were several obvious points where microphones were placed so he’d find them, enough that after he had discovered them, he would believe the room was clean.
As with most parts of the underground complex, it had been made over by a team of very experienced set decorators. I had seen the before and the after and it was difficult to believe it was the same place.
I watched him systematically search and find four devices, and after the last, the triumphant expression.
“So, why am I here?” Angelina asked after he had finished his search.
“I was told that we would be removed to a safe location “
“But you don’t think so?”
“This whole operation doesn’t feel right. If Benny had arranged this, we would not be languishing in a dump like this.”
“Who then?”
“Either one of the Carmichaels or the cops.”
“Why would the cops kidnap you? They already had you in custody.”
He didn’t answer, but I could see he was weighing the possibilities, and in his position, given he hadn’t been executed, which by my understanding of the rivalry between the two families, the only option if they had been responsible for his liberation.
So that left his own people or in his mind, the police. It seemed to me if it had been his brother, another of our guests, he would not be languishing in that small room, and Benny would be there to greet him.
I wondered briefly whether we had been too clever.
From what I understood of the operation, no one knew what we had been planning and then executed it, and outside the world we had created, all hell was breaking loose. It had to be done this way for realism and having a legitimate reason to scoop up all of the necessary parties associated with him, operations that would have failed without the right background.
To every media outlet, he had been taken in a daring raid on the prison transfer convoy. That in itself had been a carefully staged scene, right down to the last detail including ambulances for the injured guards. But it wouldn’t take long before questions would be asked.
But, for now, he was the subject of a city-wide manhunt, and it was also noted that both his brother and his family were also missing, and the Carmichaels were top of the police department list of suspects.
“Frankly,” he said, I have no idea what’s going on, but if this is Benny’s doing, he’s not doing a very good job of it. We should be a long way away from here.”
“You might think so, but I’d say we’re lucky we’re still alive. Do you have any idea what’s going on outside? Did you ever consider that it’s your actions that have brought this on? Benny told me you killed someone, which can’t be true because you promised me you would not be like your father.”
“I’m nothing like my father, and you don’t want to believe everything Benny tells you.”
“This isn’t the first time, is it? I told you I didn’t want to know about your business, and I trusted you to keep your word. Trust, I’m afraid, that was misplaced. I listened to your lies when the police accused you of murdering some rival not wanting to believe it was true, and now, on top of that, the police say you’ve either kidnapped or killed some guy who witnessed that murder. I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt, now it’s time to tell me the truth.”
“It a frame-up. The cops have been accusing me of everything they can’t solve, and none of it’s true. I swear. But this isn’t the time or the place to be talking about such matters.”
“No, perhaps not. But tell me this, if you’ve got Benny to break you out of custody, that doesn’t strike me as the actions of an innocent man. An innocent man would stay and take his chances in a court of law.”
“A court of law that’s stacked against me. All they have is circumstantial evidence. All they’ve ever had is circumstantial evidence.”
“Because all the so-called witnesses either disappear, recant their testimony, or turn up dead. This has to end, if only for the children’s sake.”
Angelina, then, was no fool. She knew exactly who it was she married, and I suspect she had, until now, overlooked the lies. And in saying what she had, she was taking a very big risk.
“Like I said, this is neither the time or the place to be discussing such matters, so you will stop talking or there will be consequences.”
Even from where I was viewing the discussion, and in particular Angelina, I could plainly see he had hit a raw nerve.
I felt a hand on the back of my chair and looked up. Amy had returned and was looking at the monitor. She had put on the other headphones but left one ear uncovered.
I did the same.
“What have I missed,”
“A joyous reunion, not. I think Angelina is about to wring a confession of sorts out of the bastard.”
We both went back to the screen.
“Is that a threat, Tony?”
Her voice had changed, not the sound of a wife who was disappointed, or was tired of her husband’s lies. This was different.
“What do you mean? No. I wouldn’t threaten you, or anyone.” Slightly apologetic.
There was a change in the atmosphere in that room, and he had lost some of that bravado.
“Then you’d better remember that. When we get out of here, you will be having a discussion with my father. He had been taking a keen interest in your recent activities, and he tells me you have been indiscreet. He wouldn’t tell me what it’s about, but I will find out, and you better not have broken your promise.”
With that, the conversation was over. Perhaps there was more to Angelina than I first thought.
Perhaps before the advent of computers and spell checkers and grammar checkers, and the vast array of writing helpers available, our writing was our own.
You know, getting sheets of paper, drawing lines on them, filling up the ink well and having a supply of ink available, then with your feather, or purposely made pen and nib, got stuck in.
What came out of your head went down on paper, the nib scratching its way along the lines, and thoughts tumbled out.
It may not have made any sense, but it was your own.
Except, of course, you decided deliberately or otherwise that you would copy someone else’s wprl either verbatim or very thinly disguised. Yes, there have always been lazy cheats.
I like to think that it was the exception rather than the rule.
Nowadays, you don’t ever have to write at all. Just a few plot points, and the story is written for you.
No effort, no putting it in your own words. And unfortunately, it is probably eminently readable.
What is the point?
I will never surrender to AI. I use spell checkers, but they have very strange ideas sometimes. It simply means you need to know how to spell. It can’t be that hard. We all went to school and learned the rudiments of our language.
Or maybe not. Not if the rumours about students and teachers’ abilities are remotely credible. I mean, spend half an hour in a crowded pub after the end of the word day, and the conversational language used is terrible.
It seems no one can string a sentence together without at least three or four profanities. And our regard for others?
Perhaps a story about ordinary people would be very uninteresting, and we would all have to migrate to a fictional world where respect and conversation without profanities still exist.
So much for the modern youth writing in their own words.
But I digress…
I’m sure that on some level, we all like the idea of picking up a book or reading one using an e-reader that doesn’t have that language or disrespect.
After all, books are what take us into a different world than our own, into the imagination of the writer who has, hopefully, toiled long and hard to put his or her masterpiece down on paper in their own words.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 