Tylywoch ~ 01

 Tylywoch ~ 01  The Travellers

By Len Morgan

   Aldor awoke.   He knew it would rain.    He could feel it, taste it, hear it spattering in the dust.   He could smell the quick damp earth, for sure, it would rain!   Except the day was dry and arid; like hundreds that had gone before!

‘But, It was a good day to be alive,’ he thought.   Then, his nostrils twitched and dilated, it was imminent.

The world was on hold; waiting.   Ancients foretold of a turning tide changing everything irrevocably; whether for good or ill depending, as always, on your perspective.  

   He was aware of his companions, waiting expectantly beside their tents, with jugs, bowls, hats, and water skins, to hand.   They knew not, how he did it, but they had faith.

His childlike face was animated, as he peered tentatively beyond the tent flaps, his eyes widening in expectation.    “Now!” he whispered. 

 Taking it as a sign, the heavens darkened, clouds banked, and life sustaining rain oozed from a grudging sky.   Slowly, little more than a mist to begin with, then the droplets grew in size and quantity.   Aldor listened appreciatively licking dust-laden moisture from his lips. 

Turning his face to the sky, he whispered, “thank you!”

What they collected would last until they reached their next destination, in a day or so, a small border village known simply as Weilla.

.-…-. 

Fifteen miles suth-ard a priest prayed with fervour, to Asgath, for rain to save the crops and livestock of his flock.   He prayed in vain; his perspective was wrong! 

.-…-. 

The alarm was raised by a seven-year-old perched in a tree.  They came from the nor-west, he should have been looking nor-east, but as boys do he became bored.   His eyes and his mind wandered.   Even so, there was barely time for the villagers to hide their food children and valuables, below ground before the visitors arrived. 

Every year at harvest-in, local bandits would sweep down from the hills, carrying off food, valuables, and livestock.   Each autumn the villagers left enough to satisfy their visitors, whilst hiding sufficient to see them through the winter, replace livestock, and buy seed for planting next season.

 This year, however, the bandits would not be coming.  Their bloated and blackened corpses were providing a late, and unexpected, banquet for the carrion-eating population of the province.  They had been wiped out, together with a number of the towns and villages to the nor-west.

Instead - hordes of mounted warriors - the Huren; rumoured to spend their whole lives in the saddle; had descended upon them.  Like locusts, they destroyed plundered and ravaged everything in their path.  Sleepy rural towns and villages had never known their like, and would never do so again.  They killed the old, the young, and any who attempted to defend themselves, enslaving those who did not.  They tortured survivors to reveal where their food and valuables were hidden.  They took everything, poisoning the wells, and water holes behind them, firing buildings, and any crops still remaining in the fields.  The Huren were ruthlessly efficient, none of their victims escaped to give warning to others.   They might evade the horses but they could not outdistance the foot soldiers; who relentlessly ran them down.

.-…-. 

Two days passed, before the band of itinerant players arrived, to set up a carnival in the village.  Their sense of unease grew as they drew nearer; the smell of death was in the air.   They would have skirted the village but, they urgently required fresh water again for themselves and for their livestock.   Then, on viewing the carnage, they knew the wells would be poisoned.   Fortunately at least one of them was a healer, skilled with medicines poisons and panaceas.  Well able to identify the agent used and provide an antidote.   All members of this band were expected to learn and practice arts, crafts, and skills that would provide extra income, and improve their chances of survival. 

General Aldor, was saddened by the passing of friends.  The inhabitants of Weilla had always been supportive and generous patrons; other villages were less so and moved them on.  Even in bad times, Weilla had provided them with support.   In gratitude and recognition of that past generosity, Aldor ordered their dead to be buried.   It was a melancholy but necessary task.   Only when the bodies were beneath the ground would the gods accept their souls into the after-world.  Souls of the unburied were destined to wander the earth as disembodied spirits until their remains were eventually interred.   The sad task took most of the day, but they were rewarded by unearthing several caches of food, and valuables.   They also uncovered a newborn child, barely alive but strong of spirit, with a single-minded will to live.  She suckled hungrily at the breast of a woman who had recently weaned a child, whose milk had not yet dried up.  She agreed to wet nurse the child in return for an extra portion of the food and coin discovered with her.

The child was named in memory of her people, henceforth she would be known as Weilla. 

The band drew and purified water sufficient for their needs, and moved swiftly on, thus avoiding the attentions of evil spirits commonly drawn to such sites of violence and carnage.

When next they passed, it would be as though the village had never existed:   Its perspective had changed forever. 

.-…-. 

   The small band acted with military precision, moving swiftly on to their next venue, only to find it too had been pillaged and raised to the ground.  They picked up their pace, moving with increased urgency, fearing the whole country might be laid to waste by the Barbarians.   Despite their haste, it took them five days to run the Huren down.  Then, barely a mile distant, they could see a village in flames.   Dark black smoke rose high into the air, its acrid taint mingling with the smell of blood, sweat, and horses.   Even at this distance, they could plainly hear the sounds of slaughter.   Aldor sent runners, to skirt the carnage, and warn any unsuspecting villages, hamlets, and towns in the immediate path of the Huren.   The message was to flee for their lives with everything they could carry that wouldn’t slow them down, to bury what they couldn’t take, and to spread the word.   Aldor also sent messengers to the two nearest Imperial Garrison Forts, using his official seal.   He sent with each, a profile of the attacking Huren force, numbers, weapons, tactics, speed & direction of travel.   With details of the action his band, the Tylywoch, would take to harry and slow them down.   In addition, he noted likely places to spring an ambush and other known defensible positions of which he had knowledge.   Local commanders were likely to know the area more intimately anyway.   So the most important part of his communication was probably the credence given by his seal of office.   The late Emperor, Daidan III, had bestowed upon him the office of General of Internal Security.  The seal would guarantee an instant response from any Cheilin officer receiving it.  Just a simple device, known throughout the periphery of the Empire - the letter ‘A’, partially eclipsed by a supine Tylywoch feather.

Daidan III had returned unexpectedly to the wheel of life, months earlier.  He went peacefully in his sleep, naming his successor in a script to the ‘Knod’ weeks before.  His appointee would be the first Empress in living memory.

Aldor and his small band of travelling performers, just 36 in number, were far more than they seemed.   They were an elite intelligence gathering, and counter insurgence unit, members of the unofficial 13^th Clan of the Cheilin Empire.  They were pathfinders, bringing order and justice, to the border provinces and disputed outlying territories.   They carry out covert operations to aid and win the trust of the local inhabitants; usually by example.  Though not above the law, they were the only law in existence for hundreds of miles. 

    Whenever there was trouble, they would appear, though none would ever suspect their connection to the travelling carnivals.   

Aldor had learned from his scouts that the invading force comprised of 2000 warriors.   Mainly light cavalry, without armour, ideal for hit and run operations.   Half would assault a position, leaving one in ten of their number behind to protect supplies and the slaves taken in their previous actions.  The remainder, some 1000 warriors would encircle the target town or village, on foot, prior to the attack.   Only closing in when the attack was pressed home.   They were easily able to capture and punish any who attempted to flee.   At the conclusion of a conflict, sixty or so would carry their spoils back, ten to fifteen miles, to their supply train. 

Aldor and the Tylywoch, now heavily camouflaged, travelled parallel to the returning group picking off stragglers with blowpipes, arrows, poisoned shuriken, and knives.   They kept to the shadows, whittling down the larger force until only a handful remained, then they struck.   Survivors were interrogated with ruthless efficiency and killed quickly if they co-operated.   The raiders were confirmed as being Huren from the nor-west, they’d made their way through the Sabre Tooth mountains, during the long arid summer and drifted down into the outlying districts looking for easy pickings.   Their leader was a renegade known as Shapp, an evil and ruthless butcher, whose nose had been bloodied in a similar but unsuccessful raid two years earlier.   Aldor had crossed swords with his kin, probably his grandfather, in his far distant past.   However, this was most certainly their furthest incursion into Cheilin territory; without retaliation.  

Aldor knew they came for easy pickings and, was determined they would never live to tell.

 The liberated villagers were sent to seek the protection of the nearest friendly garrison.  They met up with an exploratory Garrison force within a day, and passed on further despatches from Aldor to their unit commander.  Aldor was confident that his orders would be carried out to the letter. 

.-…-. 

They skirted the camp, noting the disposition of their guards.   As night fell they moved in closer.  When the guard was changed they eliminated the old guard before they could return to their blankets and disturb those still sleeping.   Then they disposed of the new guard before they made the mental transition from off duty to on.    There was then nothing to prevent them moving silently from tent to tent methodically despatching the occupants in their sleep.  By morning, it was over.   The prisoners were roused, fed, watered, and sent in the direction of the nearest garrison.  Aldor released pigeons to carry word of the incursion back to the Eternal City, the Capital of the Cheilin Empire, and to his home base - a small mountain village far from the established trade routes - which served as a refuge, training camp, and home, for the Tylywoch.  The old, the sick, and the young remained there and farmed, in order to ensure there would be food and winter shelter for the travelling bands.  In addition, they defended and trained the young Tylywoch, who would continue their work.  

There were children barely able to walk, as ruthlessly efficient as fully trained warriors; Tylywoch in body, mind, and spirit.

  At mid-day 6 Huren scouts returned to find out why the supply train had not yet caught up with them.   They were eliminated quickly and efficiently.   The bodies were stripped, searched, and relieved of anything useful weaponry, valuables, and clothing.   The horses were sent on to the garrison, loaded with spoils.   One was returned, riderless to the still smouldering ruins of the village below, which had the desired effect.  An hour later several hundred Huren came charging up the hill.   After consultation, the main group followed the obvious trail, whilst three were sent back to report.   The three were killed and their horses herded back down the hill.  Aldor and two thirds of his force followed the main body of Huren down the now well beaten path, fully aware that a more substantial force would soon be in pursuit.   An hour later, they saw the tell-tale dust clouds rising behind them.

Three miles on, the track narrowed affording room for only two horses to ride abreast. Here they took to the slopes on either side.  The narrow pass was about thirty yards long; even so, two thousand of Shapp’s picked cavalry rode through it without reducing speed. 

Aldor was ecstatic; Shapp had split his force a classic misjudgement!   The Tylywoch now hid above the narrow defile, watching the brash cock-sure Huren negotiate the bottleneck.

Shapp’s orders to the force commander had been, “Go after them, and bring them back!”  Whoever the commander was, he had little finesse and precious little respect for the local forces; this would soon be remedied.   They rode on for a further two miles, where a well trained and rested Garrison of Imperial troops waited in ambush.   Those at the rear were being whittled down, by the Tylywoch on either side of the track, long before they entered the box canyon and headed for the second bottleneck, where four good men could hold off an army.   There were considerably more than four men waiting for them.   Others waited at the top of the steep scree slopes on either side, raining arrows down upon them, decimating them without redress.  Several determined attacks on the bottleneck failed to punch a way through.

Having already lost a third of his force under withering fire, their leader decided to retreat.  Back, to the narrow section, where the Tylywoch were waiting to deny them any means of escape.   More withering fire built a barricade of Huren bodies to further frustrate their attempts to break out.  They abandoned that tactic and tried to scale the slopes, but were unable to establish a foothold.   They weren’t even aware of the Garrison troops moving up behind them until they attacked.   For the first time in their campaign, the Huren were sensing the bitter taste of defeat.

The Garrison troops attacking from the rear threw them into disarray.   Though they fought like cornered rats, asking and giving no quarter, in less than twenty minutes it was all over.   The Garrison lost less than two hundred men, the Tylywoch only two, with six serious but non fatal injuries.   Of the raiders, a force of almost 800, not one would greet the dawn.   Women & children searched the killing fields, slitting the throats of the wounded, and the purse strings of the dead; it was done as an act of charity. 

The remainder of Shapp’s Northern Raiders briefly occupied the ruins of the sacked town.  This afforded them little comfort, since they had burned all the buildings, and had only the food and supplies remaining on their persons, supplemented by what they had scavenged from the ruins.  Their mounts had no fodder, because they had indiscriminately fired the fields.   They were surrounded by the combined strength of two Garrisons, 2000 well trained battle hardened troops.   Their half hearted attempts to break out were ruthlessly punished.   The Imperial troops played the waiting game intent on starving them out.   In a week they would be eating the raw flesh from their own horses. 

By that time the small band of itinerant performers would already have played to packed audiences at two, maybe three additional venues.   There would be time to visit seven or eight more before the frosts sharpen the morning air, and it became necessary to return to their mountain sanctuary where they would wait out the winter in comfort amongst friends.  Aldor looked forward to seeing his wife Meillo once more, it had been a long absence.  But she well understood the responsibilities that fell on his shoulders.

(To be Continued) 

Copyright Len Morgan

RAYLEIGH LIBRARY WRITERS GROUP

RAYLEIGH LIBRARY WRITERS GROUP

Minutes of meeting held on Thursday, 27 January 2022.

Those present: Janet Baldey, Jane Scoggins, Sis Unsworth, Len Morgan and Richard Banks. (The presence of Mr Woodgate was sensed when we all held hands but he was no nearer than Crewe where the spirits were in full flow.)

Subs: £5.

Cake excellent;   (Espesh Bread Pudding)

Next two meetings: 2.30pm,Thursday, 10 Feb at Rayleigh Lodge;

                                7.00pm, Thursday, 24 Feb at Sis's. 

Homework: 'Everything Must Go'.  (But what is everything and what happens when it goes?)

End of minutes.

Personal Wellbeing ~ 20

 Personal Wellbeing ~ 20 Heart attack - self CPR

By Barefoot Medic

Driving home at 7pm, tired and frustrated after a hard day.  You suddenly experience severe chest pains, radiating out into your arm and up into your jaw.

You’re about 5 miles from the nearest hospital and you don’t think you could make it that far.

You are trained in CPR but were not taught how to perform it on yourself:-

How to survive a heart attack

Most people will be alone when they suffer a heart attack.  When your heart is beating irregularly and you begin to feel faint, you probably have about ten seconds before losing consciousness. 

However, you can help yourself by repeatedly coughing vigorously while breathing deeply every two seconds until your heartbeat returns to normal; or until help arrives.

 

Explanation:

Deep breathing gets oxygen into your lungs, and coughing movements squeeze the heart to keep blood circulating, the effect is similar to CPR and helps the heart to regain its normal rhythm.  In this way, a heart attack victim can get to a hospital, and maximize their chance of survival.  

If you tell your friends it could save their lives. 

I have not tried it on myself so cannot say it is true.  But, if you are in that situation what have you got to lose?  

If you pass it on and it saves a life; you are a hero.  If it fails who will know?

 

   

 Mother Nature

Jane Scoggins

Lynette was furious. She strode out of her cottage banging the door behind her. The collar of her jacket turned half in and half out as she hurriedly pulled it on as she walked. She swept out of the garden gate, turning right down the lane, striding purposefully along the narrow path. Within minutes she was in sight of the cottage that was her intention to visit. The few minutes walk had not softened her resolve or her anger. The cottage, long since without a front garden gate was in poor repair and the garden full of weeds and wildflowers. The owner Mr Jack Stone had said for years he preferred his garden to be more or less left to nature for the birds and bees to enjoy. He knew this antagonised his tidy neighbours with their neat front gardens, but he didn't care. In fact he enjoyed it. He thought it harmless fun and they should be less straight laced and have a bit more humour. On one occasion two representatives from the village gardening committee had called on him to tell him they were entering the best kept village competition.  They asked him if he would be so kind as to tidy up his front garden and remove the tractor tyre and rusty car door from his old Capri. He smiled benignly at them and said he would think about it. They all knew he probably wouldn’t. That was more than two years ago. The car door was still resting drunkenly against the tractor tyre as Lynette walked up the path towards the back door of Jack’s cottage. He came to the door almost immediately when Lynette knocked. He was drying his hands on a kitchen towel and beamed at her.

 ‘Hello Lynny, what's up?’

 ‘Don’t you Hello Lynny me, Jack Stone!’

 ‘Your Tom has been at it again, putting it about no end, and this time it's my Suzy!’ she retorted irritably.

  Jack, a charismatic wiry man in well fitting Levi jeans and checked shirt, gave a slow smile and tossed the towel nonchalantly behind him onto a kitchen chair.

‘Now now Lynny, what’s this all about? Come on inside.’

‘No thanks, I’m OK on the doorstep’ was her terse reply.

 Lynette and Jack had known each other most of their lives. They had been at school together. Jack had been two years ahead of her and the local terror on two wheels. He had also been quite popular with the girls in his late teens. He had been cheeky, flirty and a bit of a lad. Good looking too with blue eyes and a flop of soft brown curls nearly to his shoulders. His way with the girls gave him kudos with his male friends. He had chased a beauty of a girl from the next village for months as a bet before she succumbed to his charms. Within months of dating Jack, she was pregnant, so they got married. It only lasted a few years before she took their little boy and went off to live with another man who could offer her a better life. He had not shown his emotions when she left but he took to drinking and womanising again for a while and never remarried. His son visited for occasional weekends and holidays during his early years and then reappeared on the scene as a more permanent fixture aged eighteen. A handsome taller replica, of his father, with the same blue eyes flop of curls and cheeky grin. They settled into a partnership collecting and selling on scrap metal, tyres and wood. The large back garden that was once been planted with vegetables now made way for a different spread of greenery; a tarpaulin under which some of their booty hid. Their van and trailer, usually out and about all day during the week, rested every evening and Sundays on the grassy driveway. The younger man just as charismatic as his Dad accompanied him to the pub on Saturday evenings and soon became known and well liked by the local girls with whom he flirted.

 ‘Not much I can do about it Lynne, I can’t keep him from going out can I?’Jack said leaning against the door frame.

 ‘He goes around the village making a nuisance of himself and you know it. More people than me have told you that. You should take some responsibility’

 Jack smiled his slow smile and shrugging his shoulders, apologised.

  ‘Sorry Lynny, I’ll tell him off. What else can I do?’

 ‘You know very well what you can do!’

Jack winked. Lynette considered there was no more to be gained from the conversation so she turned on her heel and headed back home. By the time she had put on the kettle and brewed a cup of tea, she had decided what to do.  A couple of days later she invited Tom into the house, put something into his drink, and made a phone call. When he was drowsy she helped him into her car and drove the eight miles to Malvern. Mr Price was prepared for her appointment. Afterwards, the drive home was uneventful. Back at her cottage, she left him to sleep before giving him a meal and then sending him on his way. Suzy gave birth to three beautiful kittens and despite being a young first time mother managed very well to care for them. The randy Tom began to show signs of being less so, and fewer kittens were born in the village. He seemed to be as happy curled up at home with Jack of an evening as out and about prowling gardens looking for love. He held no animosity towards Lynette. In fact, his selective memory was focused on the meal that she had given him previously. He would sometimes walk down the lane to see her. She would bend down to stroke him before offering him a few of Suzy’s crunchy biscuits.

Copyright Jane Scoggins

Get Switched On

Len Morgan

All around us is a force, that’s wondrous and strange

To be used by us all like the air that we breathe

We can use it to aid us to bring about change

In our lives and our thoughts if we’d only believe

 

A top range sound system, that we never switch on

Gives nobody pleasure so what use does it serve?

If we simply exist, all our motive force gone

Watching life pass us by, then that's all we deserve

 

Each moment is precious, to be lived to the full

Give a hundred percent to each task that you do

You can draw your own luck from the force, it’s a pool

deep tranquil and healing, let the force be with you!

Copyright Len Morgan

 Mary’s Christmas

By Sis Unsworth

Mary had a great Christmas, the best of food and wine,

they all enjoyed the dinner; the day went off just fine.

The children were delighted, that Santa came to call,

as all the gifts they’d asked for, were piled up in the hall.

The champagne was expensive, but it put them in the mood,

and the table in the evening, was ladened down with food.

A pantomime on Boxing Day, they all then did attend,

all the fun and feasting, now it would all end?

No, there was the New Year, she thought that would be fun,

to have another party so all their friends could come.

But now the season was over, it made her feel so down,

it wasn’t that it all fell flat, that made poor Mary frown,

it seemed that she was not alone, with the January blues,

Others also were depressed, when they received the news.

Now it was all over, and they’d all had their fill,

The cost and debts were falling due, and they couldn’t pay the bill…

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth  

Cheilin Saga ~ 34

Cheilin Saga ~ 34  Suspicions  of Sloans
 

By Len Morgan 

‘It’s over sprout, it may be time for you to move on.   The Tylywoch are wondering why you do not age.   While Sloan now suspects you are an enemy of Cheilin.’

Aldor heard the voice in his head but could not believe what he was hearing.

‘That is not a valid reason to abandon my work here,’ Aldor replied. ‘I have plans to age gradually; I’ll start to implement them now.’

‘The wheel has turned, they now concentrate their efforts on Freeport, this is no longer the battleground.  You are needed in the Meyam States!’

 

‘But only a short time past you were advocating that I should remain here for decades yet…’

 

‘Ah but that was then.   Now is different.   Now they are infiltrating the Mayam States and planning to attack through the mountains.   If they attack on two fronts the Empire is done for.   You cannot allow that to happen,’ said Orden.

 

‘I will think on it,’ said Aldor.

‘Think fast, there is little time to lose; I am needed elsewhere,’ said Orden, and was gone.

‘Aldor, you need to come to the Portal now, but be cautious, there are visitors at the front door.’

.-…-. 

“How long has he been here?” Aldor asked.

“About half an hour, he jumped me as I opened the Portal and fell unconscious as you see the moment we arrived,” said Brother Ignatius.

 

‘He is stirring,’ said Aldor, ‘are you certain he will not awaken?’

‘We have only ever had two intrusions by standards, both incidentally connected to you.   ‘We have underestimated the resilience of humans on both occasions’ said the Portal.

 

‘You are saying he could awaken’ asked Brother Ignatius.

‘He might just as well be awake, his dreams are an uncanny mirror of reality, it is most strange.   He is constructing reality out of his imaginings.   Already he suspects that he is dreaming; how could he possibly know…’ said the Portal.

Aldor made tentative contact with the periphery of Sloan’s mind and was immediately struck by the familiarity of the Dream Portal…

‘Do you wish for your senses to be awakened,’ the Portal repeated.

‘I do not know,’ said Sloan.

‘You must realise we cannot allow you to leave here with the knowledge you now possess.’

‘What do you intend to do then,’ Sloan asked.

‘You will be returned to the outside without your memories of this place.   If, in the future, you have a change of mind your palm will work the touchpad on the outside wall.’ 

‘Ah!   But if I cannot remember, how could I know to try it,’ Sloan asked. 

‘If you have a genuine change of demeanour you will know’ the voice in his head replied.

  “We need to get him out of here,” said Aldor.   “There is a guard on the main entrance; I had to enter through the ‘Sacred Grove’ beyond the west gate.   Take his arm” said Aldor and they walked, supporting him between them, along the blue line to the exit. 

.-…-. 

  Sloan awoke with a vicious hangover, at an inn on the west side.    His mind harboured remnants of a half-forgotten dreams, of freaks, mind reading devices, and an overlying sense of disquiet, as though something important was hidden just below the surface of his consciousness.

 He recalled a few drinks, as a last farewell to his lost friend, then waking up in his present unfamiliar surroundings.   He suspected he had been drugged; his purse was empty.   He sent word, to the nearest guard post, requesting means of identification and sufficient funds to settle his lodging. 

  Even as he waited, Aldor was making his final visit to their mutual friend Dan.   Just about the time, he was settling the recconing; Aldor and Dan were discussing Lomax as his successor and their new contact.   The sergeant on the East gate smiled knowingly, and nodded sympathetically to Sloan, thinking his own thoughts; just as Aldor left the city, through the West Gate, heading for the 'Sacred Grove' along the Central Highway.  

The beggars Sloan questioned, at the East Gate, were wealthier than he remembered but, they had seen and heard nothing.  A puzzle indeed but, he was a patient man, eventually he would get to the bottom of it; he always did.  

(Not the End) 

                                                                                                            Copyright Len Morgan                                                                                

 THE KOSTENIUK’S DOUBLE BLUFF – Part 2 & Last

By Bob French

After forty minutes of wandering in different directions, White Beard moved to one of the benches and removed her straw hat indicating that she thought that she was safe. In the meantime, Marco had hired a two-seater dune buggy and was meandering across the dunes.  He checked his watch then slowly made his way over to the blind side of a small dune where White Beard was waiting. It was the perfect cover; they were mobile, could talk freely and would be ignored by everyone as they roamed the dunes. 

Marco approached the subject with care, allowing White Beard to open up and explain what has caused her to possibly compromise herself and all the good work she had done over the past few years.  

The next morning Marco explained to Bazyli that White Beard was frustrated about being past-over for promotion as the next head of the cypher and crypto team. 

“I told her that whilst we had no influence in her workplace, we were prepared to increase her money.” 

“Did she buy it?” 

“Yes, and wanted $600 a month, transferred to her numerous Swiss bank accounts.” 

Bazyli thought for a minute, weighing up the value of the intelligence she had been secretly passing to them over the years, and nodded.” 

The following Tuesday, Bazyli had arranged to meet Freddy Baxter for their usual monthly update meeting, in the lounge of the Castelli Hotel on Ouzounian street in the centre of Nicosia. He had just finished his second coke when Freddy quietly sat down opposite him. Bazyli was about to greet him when a woman eased herself in next to Freddy and sat down. 

“Greeting my dear Bazyli, may I introduce Hillary Milcovitch. She has replaced Bill Worthing who has been recalled.” 

Bazyli quickly gave the young brunet the once up and down and thought that she was too attractive to be a CIA agent, then nodded his approval. 

After some polite chit-chat, Hillary tilted her head back and looked at Bazyli from the bottom of her rimless glasses. 

“Not sure what Freddy here has told you about me, but I sure as hell don’t feel that your team is pulling its weight out here, so if you are thinking that just because I’m the new guy on the block you can change my opinion about sharing intel with you, then you are very much mistaken.  Do we understand each other?” 

Bazyli felt as though he was being lectured at by his old headmaster, but smiled.  He understood the American mentality and quickly shrugged it off.  Then, ignoring her completely, turned to Freddy. 

“I was going to inform you that we have picked up some traffic from Dubai that there is to be an incident here on the Island to coincide with the arrival of a United States warship in October.” 

Before Freddy could respond, Hillary Milcovitch blurted out “And where the hell did you get that from?" 

Bazyli stared at her, then looked at Freddy.  “Sorry Freddy, if we are to hold these meetings in a quiet and calm environment, then I suggest we do it without the young and inexperienced CIA apprentice here.”  He then turned and smiled at the white face of Milcovitch, who was seething with anger at being put down. 

“I will keep you briefed once I glean more intel on the operation.”  With that, he stood, nodded to them both, then left.  Smiling to himself that he had scored an important point on the way to getting access to the intel he so badly needed. 

Aware of the shortage of time, Toni had hired a camera crew from one of the many small companies on the Island, explaining that he wanted to put together a short film about the culture and history of the Island.  He called a meeting a few days later where he had sat down with the camera crew and Nancy and gone over the programme.  He expected her to dress up in various costumes of Cypriot and Turkish village people, tourists from many European countries and the young set. The backdrop was to be the historical buildings, temples, market places, including touristy places of interest.   Bazyli made sure that money was not a problem for Toni and his part of the operation. 

A week later, Marco reported that White Beard had been summons to the Head of Personnel to talk about the incident in Kyrenia. White Beard explained that she told the Personnel Officers that she was depressed; wanted to do something different with her spare time rather than sit in the station bar and drink. The Personnel Officer said that he would get back to her, but in the meantime, she was to take a few days off. 

It was the morning of the first of October when Benni strolled into Bazyli’s office.   “Got a minute Boss?”

          “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

          “I don’t know, I get the feeling that I’m being ignored.  I know there is something big coming down, but I am out of the loop.  Anything I can do to get involved?”

          Bazyli thought for a moment, then nodded his head. “Yes.  Now, this is important and highly classified. Toni is making a tourist film for a British company.  He’s using a well-known actress as his leading lady.  Your job is to chaperone her. Toni and the camera crew will be unaware of your part in the operation, so you must hide in the shadows, but be on hand to protect her at all times.  The most important thing is that no one must know you exist.  Do you understand?  Your performance will decide the outcome of the operation.”

          With a huge smile on his face, Benni left the building.  His first task was to get some form of disguise ready for his covert operation, then track down where Toni and his crew were operating.

          For the next five days, Benni did exactly as he was briefed and Toni or Nancy went about their work without knowing that Benni was close by.

          White Beard had made contact with Marco and informed him that as part of her rehab programme organised by the Personnel Officer, she had been assigned to the British and American Ship Visiting Programme where Expats meet and greet Allied ships and their sailors visiting the Island.

It was Monday the seventh of October when Toni sat down with Nany and the crew and explained that tomorrow, they were going to recce the last day's shoot to the famous Thursday Market in Famagusta. As it was a dry run for the final day’s shoot, Nancy was to be made up and dressed as an Arab woman, complete with hijab and headscarf and was to catch the bus into town.  To avoid the possibility of compromise, the crew were to conduct a recce at mid-day and later, Lucy would make her way into the centre of the market, to arrive at the centre by five o’clock. 

The camera crew’s task was to choose the best spots to cover her as she wandered through the market.  That evening the camera crew would point out to her on the map of the market area where she had to wander. 

          It was near four in the afternoon of Tuesday the eighth, when Bazyli met with Freddy in a Hookah Bar in downtown Nicosia.  He was secretly pleased that Miss CIA was not present.       

          “Sorry it is at short notice, but I can now give you hard intel about the young woman who is planning on blowing up the centre of the Thursday Market in Famagusta.  It will be at five o’clock in the evening on the tenth of this month.”

Freddy Baxter quickly worked out that the American ship would dock at three and by five, the docks and the marketplace would be packed. 

Bazyli then slid across a photograph of Nancy dressed in her Arab costume.  “I should point out that she’ll have a minder close by.”

          Freddy took the picture and studied it for a minute, then nodded. “I shall have our boys pick her up before she gets to the centre of the market, and thank you.”

          White Beard had caught the mini-bus down to Famagusta docks early on Thursday morning, along with several of the British and American staff of the Troodos Signal Station.  They were all eager and excited at a couple of days off entertaining the sailors and to do a little shopping.  As White Beard stepped off the bus, her Personnel Officer called her over.

          “Can you help on the drinks stall at four for a couple of hours?”

          “Of course, anything to help and thank you for allowing me to come, I really do appreciate it.”

          On the outskirts of Famagusta, Toni and his team were going over the last details of the day’s shoot.

          “Now listen.  The marketplace is going to be heaving today.  We have an American frigate just docked so we can expect a lot of partying which I hope will not interfere with the shoot.  Lucy, I want you to catch the bus, just as you did on your dry-run on Tuesday, and wander into the market.  You’ve heard where the crew want you to be and remember, they will be invisible so just do your own thing and remember you need to pace yourself so that you reach the centre of the market at five.”  He paused… “Any questions?”       

          Benni had followed Lucy when she had undertaken her dry-run a few days earlier to Famagusta market and noticed that she paid particular attention in arriving at the centre of the market at five, a few hours after the American ship had docked, so he decided to wait at the market place for her rather than tail her from outside town.  After an hour of waiting in the hot afternoon sun, he decided he needed a drink, but the pub across the courtyard was packed with sailors.  He then caught sight of a make-shift bar set up by some welcoming committee for this ship’s visit and moved towards it.

“Hello, do you fancy a drink?” 

 

“Yeh, thanks.  It’s certainly hot today.  I’ll have a beer if you got one.” 

As he eased himself onto the barstool, he studied the British woman with the short blond hair as she handed him an ice-cold beer.  Benni seemed to have lost track of time because when he glanced at his watch again it was ten to five.       

          Lucy had taken her time wandering through the hundreds of stalls at the market, glancing every now and then at her watch. She was a little early as she approached the centre of the market when of a sudden, she felt a tug on her gown. A small local boy with huge brown eyes stared up at her.  He called to her.

          “Do not waste your time looking at these clothes, come across to my father’s stall, he will give you a very good discount, come, come”

          As she allowed herself to be guided across the courtyard, there was a huge explosion.  She felt the heat of the blast as it threw her and the little boy to the ground.  People began screaming and suddenly there was chaos all around her.  She dragged herself to her hands and knees, shaking her head to try and clear it and wondering where the little boy was.   When she got to her feet she staggered, then stumbled away from the smoke and the screaming.  As she straightened up, she saw Toni rush towards her.  She couldn’t understand what he was yelling at her as everything seem to be muffled.  Then he grabbed her shoulders and ushered her roughly away from the chaos. Within five minutes they were climbing into the mini-bus and heading for the outskirts of town. 

          At a hurried meeting an hour later, Toni paid off the film crew and handed Lucy an airline ticket for Athens, along with a letter of introduction to the Libris Academy of Dance and Performing Arts which Bazyli had organised as part of the extraction plan.  By eight that night he had taken Lucy to the airport, put her on the plane for Athens, then spent the rest of the evening ensuring that everything regarding the operation was deleted or destroyed. 

          It was near nine in the evening when Bazyli received a phone call from Freddy suggesting that they meet at the old Crusader fort on the Paphos seafront in an hour’s time. 

          Freddy was sitting at one of the benches facing the sea, with a tall glass of iced lemon.

          “So glad you could make it. I wanted to thank you for the tip off about the young woman bomber who…..”

          Bazyli interrupted him.  “Sorry but I don’t understand.  I spoke to the port and the local Police.  They both claim that the bomber got clean away, so who was responsible for the explosion in the market?  They say that two people were killed.”

          “Ah. Yes.  Sorry about that.  You see I had to make a judgement call. I could do as you asked and attempt to arrest your bomber and run the risk that her minder would detonate her bomb remotely, killing possibly hundreds of people, or use the situation to solve one of my own problems. You see my security bods had discovered that we had a leak at the Troodos Signal Station.  Apparently, a woman had been supplying valuable intelligence to an unknown power for nearly two years.  Once I had identified the leak, I had to remove her so to speak.  That’s when I came up with the idea of detonating my own bomb just before five o’clock so that the local police and the CIA would think it was your bomber.”        

          Bazyli sat and stared at Freddy in semi shock.

“As it worked out, my judgement call was correct.  My bomb scared off your bomber, thus saving many lives and at the same time removing a spy within my classified area. 

“Who was the other person killed?”

          “Some local chap.  I think his name was Skassoss, Benni Skassoss, a bit of a bar fly by all accounts.  It would seem that he arrived at the market around four and propped up the bar organised by the welcoming committee. A case of wrong place – wrong time. I want to thank you Bazyli for your intelligence work on this.  I can assure you that both Her Majesty’s Government and the CIA are in your debt.  If you’d like to pop over to the Embassy for tea on Monday around four, I feel sure there are a couple of files that you may find interesting.

The End

 Copyright Bob French

 

 THE KOSTENIUK DOUBLE BLUFF – Part 1 of 2

By Bob French

The small windowless room was hot and stuffy. A tall elegant woman sat cradling an ice-cold bottle of water.  She said nothing for a few minutes as she stared at the short muscular man with Grecian features, who stood against the air-conditioning unit that hung on the wall, its best days long past.

“So let me get this right Bazyli, the British were not interested in hearing your side of the story regarding your last two performances, and as such were not prepared to share the intel from them or the CIA?”

Bazyli Demetriou, Head of Station for the KYP; the Greek Central Intelligence Service for Cyprus, shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head, but said nothing.

The woman quickly glanced down at her notes.

“The explosion aboard the Italian millionaire’s yacht…. caused by the incompetence of Benni, who accidentally set fire to the galley and the death of the Egyptian tourist, who you were certain was part of a Hamas hit team sent onto the island.”

Still, Bazyli said nothing. She was right.  If only Benni had followed orders. He thought.

The woman slowly stood and moved around the desk to stand directly in front of Bazyli. As he looked into her eyes, he caught the smell of her flowery perfume.

“Who is your contact with the British?”

“Freddy Baxter, Chargè d’affaires at the British Embassy. He’s been out here for years and knows everyone.”

“Then I suggest you start to impress him with how brilliant you and your team are so that he and the American’s think that the KYP out here is capable of not only being a useful ally in the fight against terrorism but is worthy of being a partner to the sharing of intel that goes on. Do I make myself clear?”

“You ask a lot, especially if I have to baby-sit that arrogant little shit, Benni Skassoss.  Is there any way you can replace him?”

The woman smiled at him and he noticed that it never reached her eyes.

“No.  You know that it was part of the deal made with the Director.  His son gets to play at James Bond; we get our funding.  So, fix it Bazyli or you will end up as a stationery clerk in Kazakhstan.”  With that, she left.

That evening as Bazyli sat on the roof garden of his apartment contemplating the day, Uri, his Comms Officers called to see if he was going for a run.

“No thanks, but I could do with having a chat tonight if that’s possible?”

Within minutes Uri, a very fit young woman who wouldn’t look out of place in an Olympic athletics team quietly closed the door to the roof garden and headed for the fridge, took a beer, then came and sat down opposite her boss.

“So Bazyli, how did your chat with Adda Galanos, our illustrious deputy director of EYP go?”

“It would appear that our leaders at National Intelligence Service Headquarters think we are incompetent.”

“Don’t tell me. It’s because of Benni’s screw-ups.”

He nodded and took another swig of his beer.  “I have a plan that will impress not only the Brits but the Americans as well, but only a few of us will need to be in on it.”

“As long as it does not include Benni, I’m listening.”

“What if we tipped off the Brits that there was going to be a suicide bomber in the heart of Dhekelia?”

Uri stared at her boss.  “Did Marco give you this?  Did he get it from White Beard?” There was concern in her voice.

“No.  I just started to think about the plan tonight. There is no way Marco would ever expose his agent White Beard, He’s been running her out of the RAF Signals Station at Troodos for a couple of years now.  No, we groom a young person, pretend that we are from Hamas and then plan the event, but at the last moment, we tip off the Brits about the bomber’s time and place.  They will be on hand to intercept and arrest the bomber and give us the credit for saving many lives.

Uri finished off his sentence. “And we are given access to the intel from the Brits and the CIA, clever Boss, very clever.”

The following morning, Benni was sent off to the docks in Famagusta to meet a shipment of supplies.  After he had left, Bazyli summoned those who were going to be part of his plan.  A man in his twenties called Toni who had infiltrated the young and rich scene on the island, Uri who would run covert comms throughout the operation, and Marco, who was an expert at running agents and be on hand with advice and support.

After the briefing, the room emptied leaving Marco and Bazyli alone.

“What do you think, will it work?”

Marco glanced back at the open door, then spoke quietly. “It would be good if you could move the site to Famagusta instead Dhekelia to coincide with the arrival of an American frigate.  That way you kill two birds with one stone as the saying goes.”

“When is it due?”

“According to White Beard, the tenth of October.”

“Umm, that doesn’t give us much time, but I take your point.  It is best to involve both parties rather than just the Brits.  OK let’s do it.”

“There is a problem though. White Beard is getting restless and is talking about retiring and going back to England. And to compound this bit of a bombshell, she has started to drink.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was staying up at Kyrenia last weekend when I heard a rumpus in the bar opposite my hotel.  When I looked down into the street, I saw the owner of the pub forcibly ejecting her from the place.  Before I could get down there, the owner had sent her on her way, and yes, White Beard was drunk.”

“Has she done this before?”

“Not to my knowledge, but I don’t watch or get close to her as you know. We only meet up when we have something of importance.”

“When are you meeting her next?

“I have put a request in her dead letterbox for a meet next Sunday.  I will get to the bottom of what’s bugging her and report back.”

It was Friday night and the seafront down at Paphos was crowded with the young set.  The beer and wine was flowing and the loud music was dragging everyone out onto the streets to dance.  Toni had recalled Bazyli’s briefing.  He was given a free hand to set up things for his part of the operation. 

As he sat outside the Blue Dolphin Bar supping his beer, he went over his plan again and worked out how to get the person needed for Bazyli’s plan, but persuading them was going to be another matter. After about an hour he approached a group of youngsters from the University of Nicosia who he knew well.  Using his Southern American drawl, he joined them by sitting down between two of the bikini-clad beauties on the beach.

“Yo, How youal’ doing?”

His arrival brought a cheer of ‘Hay Toni.’ In response. After his usual quick-fire round of jokes, he notices that the conversation was a little subdued.

“Nothin’ happenin’ then huh?  Come on guys, it’s Friday night, there must be a party goin’ on somewhere?”

Nancy, a young local girl studying Performing Arts at the University stood up.  Toni looked up at her with admiration; her rich black hair and eyes to die for always made his heart miss a beat.

“Yeh, Over at The Boat Yard.  Andreas is launching his latest boat.  Come on, guys, let’s move it.”

Within twenty minutes they had gate-crashed the party which was heading for an all-nighter.

It was around two in the morning when Toni and Nancy found themselves on the bow of the new yacht.

“You still doin’ your acting course Hun?”

“Yes, but the chances of me getting on screen here on the Island are virtually zero.”

Toni leant against her, smelling the cocoa perfume in her hair. “What if I told you that my boss wants me to make a short tourist film for a Brit company. Think you cun do it?” 

Nancy slowly stared up into his eyes. “What’s it going to cost me?” 

Toni lent down and kissed her gently. “Nothin at all Hun.  If yo’are good as you say yo’are, you got yerself a job and maybe a ticket off the Island.” 

“When do I get started?” 

“All in good time Hun, all in good time.” 

Sunday was an overcast day and Marco had stood at the bus stop waiting for the bus. Hopefully, White Beard would be on it and they could start their clandestine meeting. 

It arrived ten minutes late. ‘not bad for a Sunday’ he thought as he climbed onto the busy bus and came and sat behind a woman with short blond hair, in her forties wearing dark glasses. He did not speak to her as the bus trundled through the countryside. 

The bus stopped opposite the seaside attractions at Paphos Beach, and they both stood to get off the bus.  White Beard stepped into the aisle in front of Marco and touched her left ear.  This was the warning that she thought that she was being followed. Macro knew that they would now have to meet at the second meeting point forty minutes later.  All of a sudden their innocent meeting was starting to look dangerous.

 

Copyright Bob French