Celby, Guardian of the Portal.

Celby, Guardian of the Portal.

By Len Morgan

I am Celby, I'm eight, but kinda small for my age. I have a yella comb on my head, bright and fluffy. Moma says that means I have a special talent. My little sister Souli is only five but is far ahead of me at writin an sums, that's her talent because she has a purple comb.  I am a mind speaka like Ganpa.  Moma is purple like Souli, Popa has a black comb his talent is for building stuff.  Ganpa now has a fuzzy white comb with no fur on it. Moma says that's because he's old and wise, and should always be heeded.

 

On my seventh birthday, I received my speaka's medal when Ganpa tested my talent.

Ganpa took me through the portal, "now young Celby, I want you to tell me what that snail is thinking."

"You mean the funny shellikie thing with horns?"

"That's the one."

"She's looking at the leaves on the wild lettuce, they looked so tasty, but the plant is so far away, and she moves so slowly.  She wishes she had legs like the field mouse or wings like a bird."

"And what is the field mouse thinking?"

"He wishes he had a fine shiny shell to live in, like the snail, then he wouldn't have to build a nest."

"Very good.  You have shown me you are a true mind speaka, now I would like you to plant an idea in the mind of miss snail."

I thought very hard, then told her there are lots of tasty leaves much closer if you just look for them. She stopped and sampled a daisy leaf. "Did I do good Ganpa?"

"Excellent!  There are two rules you must promise to obey before you will be allowed to stand guard on the Portal to our world.

One, never look into the eyes of a Slowgie, If you do you'll let them into our World, then all kindsa mischief will follow. 

Two, never venture beyond the walls on either side!  If you do you will be trapped in the Slogie world and may never be able to return.  Do you hear my words boy?" 

I nodded, "yes Ganpa."

"Heed my words!" He sounded real serious.

Soon my life changed forever cause I disobeyed one of his rules.

.-...-.

Emily was nine years old and went to St Winifred's Junior School. Each day Janice, her minder, took her along the same route to school: along the A13, passing under the viaduct between Stamford Hill and Tilberry. The A13 is a dual carriageway; the two concrete walls supporting the viaduct protected a hidden garden, unlike any existing outside. There were shrubs, grasses, flowering plants, and ferns even in winter. Each day as they drove past, the wind would bounce off the walls, bringing a sweet-scented balmy perfume into the car, but they would whizz by so fast. They went past in a fraction of a second, so Emily always wound the window down before they reached the viaduct, just to enjoy it. Then, one day they were caught in traffic and crawled slowly past that tiny hidden place. Emily saw dragonflies, shrews, and a feral cat lounging on a rock by a small pool, it was waiting for small creatures and birds it could pounce on. She thought it was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. 

.-...-.

Ganpa was the guardian of the Portal.  It was his job to see that nothing disturbed the peace beyond the entry point.  I had been assisting him for a few weeks.  I went to call him at home one morning and found him still abed.

"Celby, I am feeling unwell, you will have to stand guard alone today."

"Of course Ganpa," I felt proud to be asked.  It is a ceremonial office but I was still looking forward to my first duty alone, as guardian of the portal between the Paece and the Slowgie worlds.  I had assisted Ganpa, as part of my training, but never before stood guard alone.  But, as I entered the Slowgie world I sensed something had changed, something was wrong.  I had been on duty for thirty minutes. Usually, the cars would pass from right to left in that time.  Cars are silly slow-moving boxes with Slowgies sitting like statues inside them. We can see them but, they are in another time slice, and we move too fast to register on their senses. They don't even know that we exist. But, today the cars were not moving at all. 'It can't harm' I thought, 'just a quick peek' so I looked into the open window of the nearest car.

It was dark inside, and it took a while for my eyes to adjust. Then I saw them.  A pair of bright blue eyes, 'No,' I thought and looked away. But it was too late! Our eyes met and our minds synched. Her memories and experiences flooded into my mind... 

.-...-.

"Oh my goodness," said Emily seeing a shock of stark yellow hair. The tawny eyes gazing back at hers held a look of foreboding. The small creature looked like an elf from one of her school books. 

"I'm not an elf, I'm Celby, guardian of the portal." I backed away from the door as she opened it and stepped out.  She was real tall, about four feet, twice my height, and her hands head and body were all larger than mine.

"My name is Emily." 

"Yes, I know you, Emily Rushmore." 

"You know?" she said.  "How do you know, and how can you talk without moving your lips?  What are you?" 

"I'm a Paece, and you're a Slowgie!"

"No, I am not!  I'm human." 

"We call you Slowgies..." 

"Why?  That sounds rather rude." 

"Look!" I pointed to the statue-like figure in the front seat of her car. 

Emily opened the passenger door expecting Janice to turn and scold her for getting out on the dual carriageway. But, she sat silent and stiff. Emily reached out to touch her face, it was cold and hard. "Janice, are you ok?" 

"See?" I said in triumph. "She's okay but time goes slower for her, and would have for you if I hadn't broke Ganpa's first rule. I'm sure gonna get it for that!" 

"Don't tell him about it, how would he know anyway?" 

"Oh! He will know, he always does; he was once a yella like me." 

"It's so nice here; would you show me around your garden Celby, please?" 

She took my hand in hers and squeezed it gently, "then I'll return to the car, and drive off to school.  What harm would it do?" She walked over to the pool, made to stroke the cat, it didn't move, it felt like stone. Then she turned to the tiny shrew and picked it up, it was like a plastic model, she looked into its eyes, they were glazed, she placed it back where the grass still bore its imprint.  Then seeing the cat, ready to spring, she moved it to safety.

"Were not supposed to interfere like that," I said. 

"It's only one meal, and that tiny shrew may have a family to feed."

"The cars are moving again," I said. 

"Does that mean I'll have to go back to the car?" 

I nodded, "our time doesn't extend beyond that wall, if you let the car go you may never get back inside." 

"Will I be able to visit you again?" 

"If you leave your window open, and I am the guardian on that day, I could let you back in." 

"Do we still have a little time?" 

I nodded, "we have about ten minutes." 

She gazed at the dark patch in the centre of the glade and moved towards it. "Is this the portal to your world?"

"You can't go there!" I said. 

"Why not?" she asked, moving closer. "It seems to be a pale misty space, then it changes into a tunnel of light, but I can't see through it."

"Please!" I threw my arms up in front of her pushing on her waist. "They will know I broke the rules if you enter. I'll talk with Ganpa and maybe on another visit..." 

"When I leave here it will seem like a dream. How will I know your world truly exists?" 

I took my Speaka's medallion from around my neck and slid it onto her wrist, it was a perfect fit. "Look upon this and you will remember." 

Emily bent down and kissed me on the cheek, so I smiled and gave her a hug. A small tear formed in her eye. "It's been so nice visiting Celby."

"We'll meet again Emily, I promise." I helped her into the car, and closed the door.

"Don't forget your promise Celby." 

 "Just time for one more thing," I said opening the front passenger side door.  Right at the top of Janice's purse was a bright red lipstick. "I've done this before," I said, painting a bright red blob on the tip of Janice's nose.  I closed the car door, and smiled when I heard Emily's giggling in the rear, she'd seen my trick through the rearview mirror. 

I gazed deep into her eyes, blinked, and looked away.  The link was broken; she froze. 

But, I could see she was still a gigglin.  "heh heh!"

Copyright Len Morgan

A Breathing Space Part 2 & Last

A Breathing Space Part 2 & Last

By Janet Baldey

Every Saturday, Sue visited her Mum. Fran had lived in London all her life and refused to leave her tiny two-up, two-down even though Kate continually nagged her to sell up.

‘London prices would pay for a lovely little cottage near us. You know your chest is bad, the fresh air would do you the world of good.’

But Fran always refused, ‘I’d be lost amongst all those fields. London suits me, I was born here and I’ll die here.’

Sue was torn between the two. She loved her Mum and liked having her nearby but she realised her sister was right. The Cornish wind would buy her Mum extra years. Especially now, she thought as she boarded the 205 bus.  Like the ticker-tape parades her Mum had told her about, snippets of news whirled into her living room whenever she switched on the box. The devil now had a name. It was called Coronavirus, or COVID-19 and there was no cure.  It began with a dry cough and high temperature and in many cases ended in death with the elderly being most at risk.

The world was gripped by panic The Diamond Princess, a huge cruise ship was quarantined just off the coast of Japan and heartrending ‘help us’ messages from its passengers flooded the internet. Britain recalled all its nationals as countries hunkered down; airports were closed and aerial views showed planes littering the runways like discarded toys.

As Sue rang her mother’s doorbell, she wondered if she would be able to persuade her mother to leave the city.  Her expectation was low. Fran could be as stubborn as a mule super-glued to the floor on occasions. As she prepared lunch, she practised her opening salvos.  Fully occupied, she was slicing tomatoes when a loud squawk made her knife slip. “Damn,” she muttered, sucking her finger.

“What’s up, Mum?”  Abandoning the salad, she returned to the living room where both Maisie and her Mum was staring at the television.

“Did you know all the schools are closing? An’ we’ve all got to self isolate for three months. Three months….” Her Mum’s voice trailed away as she took in the implication. “Does that mean you won’t be allowed to come and see me?”

Sue swallowed.   Her Mum had clearly left it too late to leave London and it was her 80^th birthday soon.  She tried a weak joke. “Happy Birthday, Mum,” she said. Nobody laughed.

They stared at the screen as the briefings continued and more facts emerged.  The first cases had occurred in England.   All pubs and restaurants were to be closed with only essential shops remaining open. Millions of people would lose their jobs and the Treasury was working on schemes to help those in need. Grave- faced politicians warned of dire consequences should self-isolation be ignored. Non-cooperation could result in thousands of extra cases. The NHS would be overwhelmed and people would die in corridors.

Sue felt her Mum’s arm slide around her. “Best have a cuddle while we still can” she said.

As they huddled together Sue looked at the shining crown of Maisie’s head. With panicking mothers in mind, the government had taken pains to emphasise that children were the least affected, with the exception of those with underlying health issues. Sue thought of Maise’s asthma and fear twisted her stomach.  She couldn’t wait to get home and bar the door behind them.

After Maisie had gone to bed, Sue looked around her tiny flat that threatened to become their prison for the next three months. She had no idea how to keep her lively seven year old occupied. Four small rooms and no balcony.  Even at this early stage, she felt its walls closing in on her.  Just then her mobile vibrated and a picture of Kate flashed onto its screen.  Warily, she picked it up.

‘Kate….is anything wrong?’

         ‘Not at this end. We’re fine; I just wanted to talk about Maisie.’

Sue’s pulse quickened. Kate rarely phoned and if she was concerned it was not good news.  It wasn’t just her being worry-guts.  Maisie really was at risk.

‘I’m worried Kate. London is at the epicentre,’ her voice wobbled.

‘That’s why I’m ringing, love. Pete and I have had a chat. How would you feel about Maisie coming to stay with us for a bit? She’d be safer here.’

Sue almost dropped her phone and for a moment, couldn’t speak. She’d not expected this.  With Kate’s metallic voice quacking in her ear, she struggled to think.  Eventually, she realised her main emotion was one of relief.

‘Are you sure?’ she said at last.

‘Absolutely, and I think we’d better come and pick her up as soon as possible.  They might start stopping long-distance travel.’

After Kate rang off, Sue went into Maisie’s room and stood looking down at the small figure sprawled across the bed. As usual, she had kicked off her covers and Sue’s hand shook as she re-arranged them. Would Kate think to do that tomorrow night?  Kate wasn’t used to children; would Maisie’s incessant chatter get on her nerves? Would Maisie be homesick?  Tears threatened as she bent down and brushed her daughter’s cheek with her lips. She longed to hold her tight but knew she mustn’t wake her. When she finally crawled into bed she lay staring into the dark, her brain a hamster’s wheel endlessly circling with questions, the uppermost being ‘had she done the right thing’?

The flat seemed dead after Maisie left. Although full of furniture, its rooms echoed.  Sue picked things up, put them down again and ended up slumped in her chair, staring at the telly, waiting until she could escape into sleep.

The days limped by as she tried to keep herself busy; she turned out cupboards, re-arranged furniture and cleaned and polished until surfaces dazzled.  All the time, her heart ached for her former routine,  all the old familiar tasks that formerly she’d considered chores.  She yearned for the past. She didn’t like the ‘new normal’. Even her job gave her little satisfaction.  Like thousands of others, she was now working from home, staring at a screen all day, with only the occasional tinny ‘phone call breaking the room’s sterile silence.

Although she telephoned Maisie every evening, her feelings were mixed when she rang off. She was truly glad Maisie was happy but deep down in her darkest thoughts an imp prodded her with jealous fingers, ‘she doesn’t miss you a bit,’ it said. It also plagued her with thoughts about Kate. ‘Maybe your sister’s life was not as perfect as you thought. Maybe she had always wanted a little girl like Maisie and now she has one.’  Sue did her best to ignore that imp and during the day she succeeded but at night her dreams turned into nightmares. 

Outside, April taunted the incarcerated by turning spring into summer.  Sunny days followed sunny days until Sue could bear it no longer. Throwing a coat over her melancholy she decided to go for a walk. One hour she was allowed and one hour she would take.

As soon as she stepped outside she felt her spirits lift and by the time she reached the park she was almost happy.  A breeze, soft as baby’s breath, soothed her skin and when she saw bare branches being clothed by blossom she remembered that life was worth living.  After all, her mother was well, she still had a job and Maisie was happy. There were lots worse off and she felt ashamed of her misery, the shreds of which were now being blown away by the warm spring wind.

She turned her face up to the sky amazed by its brilliance. Emptied of droning planes, it was so quiet.  And so blue, pre-plague its colour had never been this intense.  There was also birdsong where before there’d been the grinding of gears. The air smelled sweeter too.  Maybe this was the upside of the virus. Maybe this was what the planet had been pleading for - a breathing space.

Suddenly, something hard smashed into her and she fell to the ground, her face a rictus of agony. Hot blood poured from her nose and into her mouth threatening to choke her. Its cloying taste sickened her and she started to retch.

‘Are you all right?’

Strong hands pulled her upright and held her steady. Through eyes blurred by pain she saw a man’s face, close to her own, and she gasped in horror.

Immediately he stepped back and held up his hands.

‘It’s OK. I’m not contagious.’ He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t leave you lying on the ground. You walked into that thing with a hell of a thwack.’

‘I did what?’  She followed his gaze and saw a lamp-post smeared with her blood. Instantly, her pain was forgotten as shame took its place. ‘Oh, my Lord…..’

‘I saw you walking straight towards it but was too late. You’d better get home. Do you live far away?’

‘Not far,’ she mumbled.

‘Okay. Well I think I’d better follow you to make sure you make it. Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker.’

As she turned towards home, she was conscious of him keeping pace with her. She thought of her rat’s tails and bloody face. ‘I must look a wreck! How could I have been so stupid?’

After that, she saw him often in the park. Usually, they just smiled and waved but sometimes, at a safe distance, they walked side by side and chatted.  She learned his name was Terry and also discovered that she liked him and that every time they met, that feeling grew. She wondered if he was married and caught herself searching his hand for the glint of gold. When alone, she thought of him often, remembering the slant of his smile, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he laughed and the sound of his voice.  Sometimes she caught him looking at her and wondered if he felt the same. 

As the weeks passed she learned more. Terry was also a widower with a young son called Joe and that he did feel the same way.  Whenever they parted, she thought of the old wartime song…We’ll meet again….’ It seemed to fit somehow.

Months went by and at last, her deepest wish was granted.  Scientists, slaving away unseen, discovered an antidote and Coronavirus slunk back into its lair. Maisie returned and Sue married her man in the park. They bought a house in the suburbs where they raised their family and began the long sweet journey towards a gentle death.

***

My story should have ended there for I am sure you will have realised that I am Sue. But as is so often the case, when you think you have everything, it’s snatched away.

 Mankind has a short memory and greed is a powerful tool, the pillage of the planet continued and the virus came back. Not the same but even more deadly, with an estimated mortality rate of 98%

This morning, Terry died and the stink of death is everywhere. All communication is down so I can’t contact Maisie. She was visiting her Aunt Kate but I doubt if Cornwall will save her this time.

While I still have strength, I will post my story in a bottle, for there will be survivors and maybe they will take notice of its message.

MOTHER NATURE IS A JEALOUS MISTRESS. SHE NURTURES THE PLANET AND CARES NOT FOR MANKIND.

Copyright Janet Baldey

MICROCOSM

MICROCOSM

By Peter Woodgate

Barry studied the moon. It was in the third quarter, partially lit by the sun, it’s craters were highlighted magnificently by the shadows that swept across its surface.

    Barrie’s mind began to wander. He thought about the planet he lived on, the moon, the star that gave life to it all and indeed, out beyond the Solar System to the vastness of space. “How strange,” he thought, “everything was designed around circles or circles within a circle.”

How vast was The Universe? And was there an end to it? How small was the tiniest particle and could we know there was not something even smaller? He thought back to when the tiny atom was assumed to be the smallest particle and, when this was subsequently split, the chaos it caused. Barry then thought about subatomic particles, the nucleus and the electrons and how that made up a tiny solar system of its own then, deciding it was becoming incomprehensible.  He moved the telescope 70 degrees to the left to study some stars in the Milky Way.

    Browsing through this sector, Barry paused as the star Betelgeuse came into view. “That’s odd,” he thought, as he drew back from the eyepiece and rubbed his eye, “must be something on the lenses. He carried out an auto-clean of the lenses that formed part of the giant mirror telescope and took another look through the eyepiece. It was still there, a big red glow just to the left of Betelgeuse.

    Barry turned to his wife Angela who was busy on the spectrometer. “Come and have a look at this Darling,” he shouted excitedly, “there is something really strange here.”

Angela sighed, stopped what she was doing and sidled over to where Barry was, once again, peering through the giant scope.

“I hope this is not one of your ploys to get me over for a cuddle,” Angela laughed as she stroked the back of Barry’s neck, “after all,” she continued playfully, “you are a married man.”

    Angela and Barry were both astrophysicists and, since marrying two years previously had decided, literally, to spend the rest of their lives together. It was for this reason they had volunteered to work together at the isolated observatory on the summit of Mount McKinley.

The work was often tedious and boring but they managed to spice things up a bit by pretending they were illicit lovers.

    “No Darling,” Barry remarked, “I’m serious, have a look at this.” He stepped aside to allow Angela to look through the eyepiece.

“What am I looking for exactly?” queried Angela.

“Look to the left of Betelgeuse,” replied Barry, “what do you see?”

“Looks like a red smudge,” Angela hesitated, “perhaps there is something on the lens.

“No there isn’t Ange, I’ve had them auto-cleaned, and that red mist or whatever is definitely cosmic. 

Angela stepped back from the eyepiece, “how long has it been there? The Astronomical Federation will have to be informed.”

“I carried out a full survey on this quadrant three days ago,” Barry replied, “it certainly wasn’t visible then. I will send a report to them straight away.

    Barry forwarded all the data and awaited the reply. It didn’t take long and he read it to Angela. “It seems they will be making an independent investigation but want us to continue monitoring the situation.”

“What do you think?” Angela asked anxiously as she gave Barry a hug, “is it anything serious?”

“I don’t know,” Barry spoke softly, “but we will need to monitor this continually.” Angela sighed disappointedly as she made her way to the kitchen to fetch refreshments. She hated sleeping alone and was not looking forward to the sessions that lay before them. Angela returned shortly after with a meal courtesy of the auto chef and sat down opposite Barry.

“It’s going to be awfully lonely,” she looked at Barry with sadness in her eyes; Barry shook his head, “sorry darling there’s not much else we can do, hopefully, it won’t be for long.”

    The next few days were rather traumatic as they slept and observed in eight-hour shifts sharing only the occasional meal together. Earth’s Astronomical Federation had sent a couple of messages through saying that they believed it to be a distant Supernova which would dissipate in time. Barry, however, was not convinced. Not only was it spreading in all directions, it appeared to be heating up the atmosphere at an alarming rate. The external thermometer had shown a rise in temperature of two degrees in three days. He knew that this could not be normal as at this time of the year it should be decreasing.

    It was at their next meal together that Barry looked at Angela and whispered, “you do know that I will always love you Darling, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” replied Angela, “what’s brought this on?” she sighed as she gave Barry a big hug. “I think we are going to face Armageddon darling, that red mist or whatever will swallow us up. It’s getting larger and hotter by the day.” Angela did not say anything; she just looked at Barry with a tear in her eye.

    It was another three days before the Federation of Astronomical Affairs acknowledged that a problem existed. Unfortunately, it was now far too late for any evacuation from Earth.

The red cloud had, by now, swallowed up Betelgeuse and the rest of the stars in that quadrant and calculations had revealed their own Solar System would be obliterated within a week.

They would, of course, die of oxygen starvation before being vaporized.

    Barry and Angela lay on their bed naked, their arms around each other. Their mouths were open but no breathing was heard, their eyes wide and staring saw nothing.

Their faces were the last thing each had seen before darkness overcame them and were now oblivious to the fiery blast that swept their planet and everything on it into eternity.

11

God looked at the charred remains of the galaxy he had just destroyed and shook his head.

“I had great expectations for this creation,” his voice thundered with minatory authority.

“Why oh why had mankind defied and ignored what I had placed in front of them?”

“Why had they fragmented my laws with individual autonomy and taken my name in vain?”

“They gave me no choice; I had to end it before they destroyed themselves.”

God reached out and discarded the charred remnants of the Milky Way leaving a miasmatic vapour in its place. Then, turning his attention to the Horsehead nebula, where he commenced his next creation.

“It should only take a few billion years,” he muttered to his son who was seated by his side, “so prepare yourself.”

God’s son did not reply but took note of the destination of his next assignment, thinking,

“I hope my father's next creation is not made in his own image.”

Copyright Peter Woodgate

Too late Tommy

Too late Tommy

By Rob Kingston

Pull down the shutters for it's not nice to see

This man in the gutter was not meant to be 

He had the misfortune to be born in the wrong hands

His father was a foot soldier not a lord in this England

Now dad was a proud man enlisted when young

He needed an escape from his riverside slum

His father before him had trod the same line

All efforts intended to avoid a life filled with crime

Now we fast forward where not much has changed

Though life is more awkward more people deranged

Gone are the soldiers gone are real jobs

Gone are the houses bought up by the slobs

Stability is slipping, Humanity too

This world is becoming a capitalist zoo

The pensions are present though just for the old

For the coinage is rusting, for they've sold off the gold

The young they are grafting much more than before

It’s proving more difficult to rise up from the floor

Copyright Robert Kingston 

THE SPIDER’S WEB Ch 4

THE SPIDER’S WEB Chapter 4

By Bob French 

CHAPTER FOUR - LONDON, ENGLAND

Bond paused, straightened his tie, then knocked and eased open the door.  His nostrils quickly took in the smell of Channel Number 5, Moneypenny’s favourite perfume and smiled.

          “James, it’s so nice to see you.  How was Oman?”  He leant forward and took her hand and gently kissed it.  He saw the pleasure in her eyes, then the squawk box on her desk shattered the moment.

          “When you’ve finished Miss Moneypenny, tell Bond we are waiting.”  Bond shrugged his shoulders, kissed her hand again, turned and vanished through the secret door where the Head of MI6 kept the United Kingdom safe.

          “007, I want you to meet Sir Michael Scavandish of Lloyds.”  A tall lean man with a pale face and soft female hands stood and shook Bond’s hand.

          “Nice to meet you, Bond.”

          M, dispensed with the formalities and went straight to the point.“

          We have been aware for a few days now that a virus is causing some countries a bit of a headache.  It would appear its source is China again.”  M shook his head in disbelief. “This virus is starting to cause the stock markets around the world to fall.  Now Sir Michael’s head of intelligence has advised him that someone is buying up all the shares once they’ve reached rock bottom, so when they rise again, this someone is going to be a very wealthy person, more to the point, they may have enough financial clout to control things.”

          The briefing lasted just over an hour with Bond asking several questions.  When the briefing seemed to come to an end, Bond asked if Llyods knew what route the funds were taking.

          “God, your guess is as good as mine.  My intelligence staff thinks that someone out in the middle east or somewhere and is using the Swiss as their bankers.”

          “Would it be possible to meet with your Intelligence Chief Sir Michael?”

          Sir Michael handed Bond his business card.  “Call that number after three and ask for Alison Wentworth.  She’ll brief you.”

          Bond arrived early and was ushered to the foyer lift, that rose quickly to the tenth floor and as the lift doors opened a young woman with flaming red hair, pale complexion and deep green eyes stepped forward.

          “Mr Bond?”  Her eyes smiled as she took in Bond’s tall, well-built frame and tanned face.

          Bond noticed her surprise. “Don’t tell me, you were expecting a balding, fat and out of shape man from the Treasury?”

          He took and felt the firmness of her hand as she laughed.

          “As a matter of fact, I was. Please follow me.” She ushered him along the corridor and into a plush outer office and invited him to sit, then offered him a coffee.

          He was just about to say yes when the inner door opened.  A plain looking, grey-haired women stood in the doorway of the inner-office.

          “Mr Bond, do come in.  I have been expecting you.”  With that, she turned her back on him and vanished into the office. Bond felt the snub, rose and followed her.

          “Please sit,” she nodded towards the spare seat at the small conference table where three other people sat.  She didn’t introduce him or them.

          “Sir Michael has asked me to fill you in on what we have discovered about this latest situation regarding the world’s stock markets and the consequences if things continue.” They talked for over three hours, then broke.  As her team members were leaving Alison Wentworth’s phone rang and she broke away from her farewells to take the call.  Bond wanted to thank her so waited behind and as he did, a picture on her wall caught his eye. It was of a group of people standing outside the Bank of England.  In the back row was Vesper Lynd, the woman he had loved and lost and suddenly felt sorrow. Her voice cut into his mind like a sharp knife.

          “I see that you have recognised a very good friend of mine.”  Bond turned and stared into her cold eyes.  Then nodded, instantly clearing his mind of any feelings he had for Vesper.  She guided him to her office door, but then held his elbow and spoke quietly.

          “I don’t know what you do Mr Bond, but I would be grateful if you would kill the person who took away such a dear friend.”

          It was late when Bond arrived at Blades, his club, just off St James’s Street and ordered a thick rare steak with a Raspberry vinegarette salad with a half bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild 1947.  As he ate, he mulled over his plans for the morning.

          By ten the following day, he had telephoned Felix Leiter of the CIA, then asked Moneypenny to book him on the midday flight to St John’s, Antigua.

          Bond smiled as he caught sight of his old CIA friend at the arrivals gate.

          “James, you old son of a gun.”  Before Bond could respond, Felix ushered him straight out of the terminal and into a clapped-out dirty Honda Civic.   The car swiftly filtered into the evening traffic.

          “James, this is Winston.  I think he’s the man to get you started.”

          Felix could see the apprehension on Bond’s face.  “Don’t worry James, Winston works for me and has done for several years.  He’s probably the best hacker I have ever known.”

          Darkness had fallen by the time Winston pulled up outside a bungalow on the outskirts of St John’s.  “This is it, gents.  Grab your gear man and follow me.” That evening Winston cooked Fungie, the local delicatessen and served several bottles of Wadadli beer, the local brew.

          Bond briefly went over the gist of the Lloyds meeting and explained that he wanted to track down the buyers, where they operated from and who was bank-rolling the operation.  Winston stared at him in disbelief. “Man, that is some heavy shit.  You for real?”

          Early the following morning Winston crept down into his basement and spent several hours manoeuvring his way past firewalls and security systems, then yelled up to Felix that he was ready.

          “Bond listened to him as Winston explained what he had achieved.  “Thank you Winston.  This is a list of Blue Chip companies that trade on the major stock markets around the world. Is it possible to find out when their shares were bought, for how much and by who?”

          Winston looked at the list and quietly whistled.  “Take me a day or two man.” Bond nodded his thanks and followed Leiter up the stairs to the sitting room.

          “What’s your plan, James?”

          “The money is coming from somewhere.  Once I know who is doing the buying I can trace them back and interrupt their operations and then intercept the bankers cash flow.”

          Two days later, a jubilant, but tired Winston sat down with Bond and Leiter.

          “You were right, there seems to be three buyers operating out of Cuba, The Yemen and Madagascar.  They’re clever man.  They receive their instruction about which stocks to buy in a coded e-mail.  Not sure where from.  I’ll get back to you once I know.  Then using international telex, they contact a designated trader, somewhere in Europe, who makes the purchase.  The trader then e-mails back the banking details in code to the buyers who go down to their local banks and make the payment. If you ask me, someone doesn’t want to be found man.”

          Felix nodded towards Bond.  “I can help you with Cuba.  I understand you Brits still have a little influence in Yemen and I know a good agent, Adrien Benoit, an ex-paratrooper from the Foreign Legion, he can take on the Madagascar end for you.  Do you want me to contact him?”

          Bond shook his head. “I think I met him last year on the Moroccan job.  A very handy chap by all accounts.  No, I’ll get Moneypenny to arrange things with the DGSE.”

          Bond and Leiter talked most of the night on how to go about the plan. By three in the morning Bond had contacted Moneypenny, who had confirmed that Benoit would meet him at Heathrow at 2pm on the following afternoon.

          They met at the coffee shop in Terminal 3, and after a cup of coffee, they took a casual walk through the hundreds of passengers rushing to their various gates.

          “It is good to see you again James.  Have you been busy?”  Bond smiled and nodded. 

          “As have you. I read the transcript you acquired at the meeting at the Le Richemond.  If these political nutcases get their way and purchase this virus and introduce a cull of some sort, then God help us.  I understand that your DGSE and the German MAD are tracking down those who attended the meeting?”

          “Yes. They will be silenced.” 

          After nearly forty-five minutes of aimlessly walking around the terminal and chatting as though they were waiting for their flights, they arrived at two questions: Why would a Triad War Lord hold the world to ransom with this virus knowing that it would make him an international target. Secondly; The Triads are well known for their particular type of racketeering. Dabbling in the stock markets isn’t one of them.  They shook hands, fully briefed on what they and the CIA had to do, then caught their flights to Madagascar and Yemen...

          Bramavitch strolled up to his Directors office and was instantly permitted to enter.

          “What news?”  The gruff voice of his Director always put Bramavitch on edge.   The Director snatched the messages from him and read them, then called through to Nikki and asked her to get the Deputy Director of the SVR and the Section Chief of Section 7.

          Within minutes the three of them sat in the conference room.

          “Just an update Comrades. He nodded to the Deputy Director of the SVR  I’m pleased that your agents in Beijing have managed to get an American woman,” he glanced down at the messages, “Emily Michaels, probably CIA, arrested by the Chinese State Police.  We, as yet, have not been able to confirm if this virus was man-made or simply an accident, but you will have seen the numbers of deaths related to this virus around the world is catastrophic.  I shall keep you informed.  We have set up a network of buyers and agents to take control of the world’s stock markets.  We have already seen some very favourable results.  In addition, we have asked the NYK Shipping Company of Japan, probably the largest in the world, to offer their services as our ghost agents, to the Americans as a storage facility for the oil they can’t sell or store.” The Director of the SVR raised his eyebrows.       

          “We have reached a deal with the Japanese Comrade, 60% to us 40% to them.  They are more than pleased.  The Deputy Director of the SVR nodded.

          “And their military?”

          “As you know Comrade, European armies continue to squabble between themselves and the need for NATO.  The British, now outside the EU, are still a threat, but once they start to impose their austerity measures, their military will be the first to suffer….they will probably disappear.”

          “What about the American’s?”

          “We flew our four routine sorties of three Tu95’s Bear around the West.  The Norwegian’s, Canadian’s, the British and the French sent up their usual interceptor aircraft, but the  Americans…. nothing. No one came up to shadow us.”  The Director nodded again.  He was pleased that the gradual destruction of the west had begun.

Copyright Bob French

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A Breathing Space Part 1 of 2

A Breathing Space Part 1 of 2

By Janet Baldey

         “Hold my hand tightly Maisie, and don’t let go until we’ve crossed the road.”

Sue felt a small, warm hand creep into hers as they stood at the kerb waiting for a gap in the traffic.  As the long line of buses, cars and lorries lumbered by, their exhausts panted fumes into the air and she glanced down at the fragile face of her daughter.

         “Now don’t forget. If you feel you can’t breathe, your inhaler’s in your bag. Whatever you’re doing just take a few puffs and you’ll feel better. Mrs Price won’t mind, I’ve told her about your asthma.”

         Listening to her own voice she hoped it sounded reassuring, she found it so hard not to let her anxiety show.  The memory of that last medical emergency, when Maisie had been blue-lighted to hospital, would always be with her.  No parent could ever forget the harsh rattle in their child’s throat and the convulsive pumping of their chest as they struggled to breathe. And then the collapse, when Maisie had lain limp and unresponsive, her face white as any lily. She really thought she’d lost her then.

Ever since she’d been scared to let Maisie out of her sight but she had to go back to school.  And, of course, Mrs Price was kind and, of course, she would do her best but she had other children to look after. What if she didn’t notice that Maisie was in trouble? What if Maisie was too timid to ask for help?  She drew in a deep breath and tasted diesel.  If only they didn’t have to live in this overcrowded city with its narrow winding streets clogged with traffic from dawn till dusk.  If only she lived in the country, near the sea like her sister, Kate. Gifted, clever Kate, whose life was painted in gold - unlike hers which had been coloured shit brown so far. She made herself stop. She shouldn’t be jealous of Kate who’d always been kind to them.

         Every year they travelled to Cornwall to stay in her cottage close to the sea.  Maisie loved it. She adored her little attic bedroom with its skylight that brought stars into her room. She adored the view from the sitting room window showing wave upon wave of grassy moorland rolling towards the sea rippling in the distance.  She adored chasing around the garden with Chester, the gentle-eyed lurcher, petting Kate’s cat and feeding Kate’s chickens.  Her health improved as well. Pale and wan when she arrived, by the end of the two weeks she was morphing into the rosy-cheeked child Sue had always wanted.

But they always had to come back to London where Sue worked hard to pay rent on a first floor flat.  It would have been different if David had lived.  Together, they could have scraped together enough for a little house in the suburbs.  Her eyes began to sting as she watched the crossing lady plant herself in the middle of the road and beckon Maisie across. Immediately, Maisie pulled away and it was through a blur of tears that Sue watched her run by the line of waiting traffic towards the school gates.

There were no more serious asthma attacks that winter and it was just when Sue was beginning to hope for the best that the first hints of trouble began their slow infusion.  It was early January, she’d got soaked on the way home and to compensate, was treating herself to a glass of wine while curled up on the settee, half watching the flickering blur of the television.  The word ‘Wuhan’ was mentioned several times and her forehead creased.  Where was that?  She turned up the sound as grainy pictures of white-clad figures appeared on-screen.  Around 17 people had died during an outbreak of pneumonia in a remote Chinese city.  Another unfamiliar word was also mentioned,’ lockdown’, a word that previously she’d only related to prisons.  Wuhan was in lockdown. In order to prevent further infection, its citizens were not allowed to leave their homes.  She watched stupefied as Chinese police in full plague gear, used their batons mercilessly as they bundled resistant inhabitants into their homes, barring their doors behind them.

‘Have you got enough rice?’ one yelled through the letterbox. 

There were surreal images of a city with empty motorways, streets and shops. Of its one million inhabitants, there was no sign - it was as if they had become extinct. But it still didn’t worry her. China was a long way away and surely this was an over-reaction by the Chinese government?  Sad for the relatives of course, but in a country that counted its citizens in billions, it seemed a fuss over not much at all.  She switched off, drank the rest of her wine and went to bed.

But as January merged into February, it dawned on Sue that it was not a fuss over nothing but something much more serious. Every time she switched on the television the news was dominated by further updates.  There were pictures of long queues of masked people having their temperatures taken by tiny Oriental girls. Sue’s vision blurred at the speed at which the girls worked. Were they even looking at the results?

A new hospital was thrown up in a few days and all the schools were closed. The situation was clearly grave. Not pneumonia at all, but a virus of unknown origin that spread rapidly and nobody knew where it came from.  Dark suspicion focussed on the live animal markets where domestic and exotic species were crammed together, waiting to be consumed by the Chinese maw.  Wasn’t that where SARS came from?  Will people never learn?

Copyright Janet Baldey

WRITE ME A LOVE STORY Ch 4

WRITE ME A LOVE STORY

By Janet Baldey

CHAPTER 4

I stood, frozen with horror, a pile of spilt grain at my feet.   There were bodies everywhere.   Pathetic clumps of sodden feathers, they no longer looked like chickens.   And it was all my fault; I’d noticed the gale had loosened some fence posts and had meant to do something about it but I’d been so tired.   Now it was too late.    A hungry fox, competing with humans for his dinner, had seized his chance and was now probably holed up somewhere nearby, peacefully digesting his meal.

I squeezed my eyes shut and stood quivering.   It wasn’t just the loss of the eggs.    I’d grown fond of my birds.   It brightened my morning to see them run towards me, lurching from side to side on their trousered legs, looking for all the world like wind-up toys.  Very early on I’d realised each had its own personality and I’d named them all.  I ground my teeth.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Whatever made me think I could manage on my own?’

I found the cockerel hiding inside the coop.   Somehow, he’d managed to flap out of reach and had escaped the carnage.   Charlie clung to his perch and stared down at me from out of dull eyes.   He’d lost his tail feathers and was no longer his strutting self.  I looked at the pathetic creature drooping in front of me.   Beaten and dejected, he looked as I felt.

As I stuffed the carcasses into a sack, I thought of the telephone number Frank had scrawled on a piece of paper.   It was still where he’d left it.   I’d ‘phone the camp from the village. 

Copyright Janet Baldey