Hikkaba ~ (Part 2 of 3)

Hikkaba  ~  Part 2 of 3

By Len Morgan

 “You want to be a writer Alan?” Ferlin asked.
“No.   But, these are my formative years aren’t they?”
“You're not a simplistic character Alan, you're nothing like other boys I’ve met.”
“I’m an orphan.  People who live in institutions tend to grow up fast.   Kids get squished, cry babies get something to cry about if you show weakness you get bullied.”
“That’s sad.”
“That’s life,” said Alan, “Your not much like any adult I’ve ever met, you talk to me as if your interested in what I have to say.  You treat me like a grown-up.”
Ferlin laughed and pointed his thumb towards the forever young tree.   “Next to old Hikkaba over there we’re both a little wet behind the ears.   You’re free to come and go as you please now you've been accepted as part of the family; do you have any plans?”
“That depends on what’s in it for me.”
“Well, every job has its ups and downs.”
“Tell me about it,” said Alan.
“You’ll certainly never be a millionaire but you won’t be short of money…”
“And?”
“How old would you say I am?”
“A reasonable question.”   Alan looked him up and down appraising.  “Mmm forty, forty-five?”
“The magic in these woods has a beneficial effect on health.   If you visit regularly you’ll never develop any serious illnesses.  It also retards the effects of ageing, I’ll be two hundred and twenty-eight next birthday.”   I age roughly one year for every five I live.   I age myself with makeup and every thirty years I fake my death and return as my long lost son.”
“So, when do I get to take over as guardian?”
“Not for a long time, probably never, our first priority is your education, then you can go out into the world and make your mark; with a little help from Hik and me.  With guidance from a few others, you should make the right life choices.”
“No strings?”
“No strings!”
“Mmm, There’s a lot of unanswered questions there…   Do I get to think about it?”
“As far as your concerned, the spell is broken, you can return anytime you choose,” he placed the silver leaf into Alan’s palm.   Keep this with you and Hikkaba will see what you see and be ready to offer guidance if you need it.   If you need to make contact just close your eyes, picture this glade in your mind, and talk.”

.-…-.

As he left, he thought he was going to be in trouble for getting home late, but a glance at his watch told him only thirty-minutes had passed while he was in the park, he thought he’d been there for hours.   He shook his watch, yes it was working.   He slowed his pace in case the Hansons were still loitering.   Sure enough, he saw them leaving a store in the high street.   He hung back until their paths diverged then made his way home to the Armstrong homestead, 249 Western Avenue.  He cringed at the sight of the familiar front door, window frames, fence, and front gate all painted pink & black.   He smiled at the luminous green curtains and two oversized garden gnomes – Benny and Charlie.   He recalled how the neighbourhood kids used them for target practice when Collin’s two-toned pink, black and chrome MkI Ford Cortina was absent from the drive.   Collin was his foster father, he worked as a forklift driver at the local warehouse of Hanson Transport and Logistics.  He worked swing shifts and did lots of overtime.  His love of pink and black stemmed from his lifelong fealty to the King, Elvis Presley.   Collin and Elise had been childless into their Forties, so when they finally gave up the dream of having children of their own they took up short term fostering.  They were good caring people, they worked hard, played hard, and took fostering seriously.  Alan could not have wished for kinder or more caring parents.

.-…-.

He lay on his bed fully clothed thinking about the strange waking dream he’d had the previous evening.   He could hear ‘Jailhouse Rock’ playing on the Hi-Fi downstairs.   Collin would be getting ready for work.  He sniffed and knew instantly that Elise was dishing up his usual breakfast of sausage, eggs, mushrooms, bacon, tomatoes, black pudding, and fried bread; followed by hot buttered toast and marmalade.   He would wash it down with several king-size mugs of steaming hot sweet tea.  By contrast, Elise’s own calorie intake was minimal.  Two crisp-breads thinly coated with cottage cheese and a slice of lettuce, cucumber, and the ends of Collin’s tomatoes.  She would sip weak black coffee, without sugar.  On odd occasions, she had been known to indulge herself by eating a raw carrot or two.   He smiled fondly at the thought of Collin, six foot two, ten stone two pounds, and Elise five foot six, weighing 15 stone.   She ate like a butterfly and he like a grizzly.  She was a tiger and he a teddy bear.
“Alan?  Breakfast in five minutes,” she called from outside his bedroom door.
“Thanks, mum, I’ll be right down.”
 “Are you decent? Can I come in?”
“Of course,” he replied.  
She entered with her familiar linen basket.  “It’s Tuesday again,” she said.   She always did the washing on Tuesdays.   She proceeded to pick up his cast-offs and deposit them in the basket without complaint.  Something fluttered to the floor; she retrieved the star-shaped silver leaf.
“It’s a memento full of memories, kind of sentimental,” He explained. 
She placed it in his hand, “don’t lose it then.”   A final look around to make sure she’d missed nothing then she left.
He placed the leaf in his top pocket and followed 'the whirlwind' downstairs.  
Collin had already finished.   His utensils were drying on the drainer.   First thing Alan learned about Elise was her philosophy, ‘a place for everything and, everything in its place’, she couldn’t abide clutter.
“Would you get the post for me Alan, there’s a dear.”
He went to the front door, three large, two small brown envelopes, and two white envelopes.   He scooped them up on his way to the kitchen, placing them on the table before sitting down to two boiled eggs and toast soldiers.
“Eat up dear, mmm, seven letters that’s unusual, wonder whose birthday it is?   Bill,” she said, tossing the first to one side, a circular joined it, she smiled, “One from Cousin Louise in Australia.   Alan Fry, this one is for you,” she propped an off white envelope against his glass of milk.   “Another bill,” she announced, and with a furtive glance at Collin, she deposited the final white envelope in her apron pocket, unopened.
Alan opened his surprise letter, noting the expensive embossed letterhead from, Gorton Grange (private residential school).  

Dear Alan,
   You have been awarded a scholarship to Gorton Grange.   With effect from next term, dates and joining instructions attached.  A full list of uniform requirements, books, and essential equipment is also enclosed.   

The list was long and looked expensive.   We could never afford this, he thought.   Maybe I could get a grant, it wouldn’t be fair to expect Collin and Elise to foot the bill, I’m not their flesh and blood, I’ve only been here for a year and a half.   I’ve never felt more at home anywhere but…  His mind wandered to the glade:
Alan, this offer from Gorton was no chance thing, you were proposed by one of our associates, a member of the faculty, it was however awarded on merit.
 “That’s not possible,” he said.
“What isn’t son?” Collin stood in the kitchen door a look of concern on his face.
“I’ve been offered a scholarship,” he handed the letter to Elise.  
She read it aloud for Collin, “You must go, and there’s an end to it,” she said.   “We’ll find the money, somehow, that’s our concern, not yours.   If needs must, we’ll apply for a grant from the council or, take out a loan.”
“Thank you,” he said, moved to tears, “but--”
“No buts, get yourself off to school and leave the finances to me.   I’m the accountant in this family,” she said.

.-…-.

He took care to keep well away from the Hansons, which only served to antagonize them all the more.   When he left school that evening they were waiting for him outside the school gates.
“So, you think you're too good for us,”  Jack sneered.   Alan took a step back only to find his arms restrained by Billy and Rolo.   His eyes closed and the glade came into his mind.  In trouble so soon?  You surprise me, said a now-familiar voice in his head.  Think Bruce Lee.
“No!   We need to improve relationships not wreck them,” said Alan.
Trust me I know about such things.
“No!"  His body coiled like a spring.  He released an explosive kick to Jack's chest, he fell on Billy knocking the wind out of him and kicked Roland’s legs from under him.   He looked down at them with disdain and casually walked away.   As soon as he was out of sight he ran and didn’t stop until he reached the gates of Hickory Park.  He headed straight for the glade; it was warm and balmy.   “I want a word with you!   I thought you couldn’t influence higher organisms.”
I lied.  Nice of you to drop bye…
“I need help earning enough money to get me to Gorton Grange, not lessons in Karate.
The money will not be a problem.
“Elise and Colin are proud, they won't accept charity, they would probably re-mortgage their house to pay for books, clothes and equipment.”
What if a relative were to die and leave her oh…  Say twenty-five thousand pounds?
“You can’t just arrange a death-”
When she held the leaf I was able to read her memories.   She has a recently deceased cousin, the Rev Bertrand Smythe.   A solicitor acting on behalf of the estate will send her a cheque.
She might be suspicious of such a large amount, make that five thousand and she will be happy.”   Rev Smythe, God bless you wherever you are, Alan smiled.

.-…-.

Next morning, on his way to school, Alan ran into the Hansons. Don’t run or show weakness Hikkaba’s voice warned.
Roland smiled, “Those were great moves you pulled on us yesterday Fry.”
“Yea, how do you do that twisting sidekick,” said Jackie?
“We didn’t know you do Kung Fu, maybe you would teach us some of those moves,” Billy said.
Alan smiled and blinked, you were right after all Hikkaba, “It’s all in the hip snap Jack.   Maybe we could get together in the gym after school.”
From that day, until they left Daventry school, Alan and the Hansons were the best of friends.

One week on, Alan was awakened by hysterical whoops and yells of joy.   He hurried downstairs to witness Elise, dancing up and down with delight.  
“Bless you, Bertrand!   Didn’t I say we’d get the money somehow Alan?  She brandished a cheque for twenty thousand pounds.   A legacy from my distant cousin, I’m sorry that he died but his timing was perfect.   Come on Alan, we're going shopping, go get your list!”

To be continued/...

Copyright Len Morgan

Covid-19 is not the only way to go…

Covid-19 is not the only way to go…

by Rosemary Clarke

The rush of the wind in your hair as you push the speedometer up

to the great '70s then 80s then 90s and on and on the freedom of it all,

flying faster and faster; how fast can you go beating speed, racing time,

empty road all of them cowering indoors, THIS IS YOUR TIME! 

Faster and faster no rules just speed, speed on and on. No limits...

Why stopped?  Where are you?  Who are they?  Wow! 

 Such brightness orange and yellow and black and there's a car on its' side...not yours...

this is red and who's that?

The police found your twisted body bleeding into your precious machine.

You can die of more than Covid-19.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGESE

SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGESE

NO 43 TRANSLATED

By Peter Woodgate

Why do I hate you? Let me make a list,

I hate you to the height and breadth and depth

That you can sink to when you come home pissed

With greasy hair and awful smelly breath.

I hate you to the level of every nights

Torment, when your snoring keeps me awake,

Or when you’re wrong but still insist you’re right

And when you burp out loud whilst eating steak.

I hate your ear and nasal hair, seldom cut,

And clippings round the bath from sweaty toes,

I hate you when you remark on my big butt

And that awful habit when you pick your nose.

I hate your looks and God-dam horrid smell

And, should Satan choose, I’ll hate you more in Hell.

Copyright Peter Woodgate

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 5

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 5

By Phil Miller

Chapter 5

In the Spero Private Hospital on the outskirts of North London, staff were getting ready for shift change. It was 8pm and most patients were either sedated or relaxing in their individual rooms watching T.V or reading. One patient, who had been unconscious for almost two days, blinked open his eyes and sat bolt upright in bed. He panned the room, looking left then right, then at the door.

A lead was attached to his forefinger and some other leads were stuck to his chest. The heart monitor showed a steady rhythm.  He was just about to climb out of bed when the door opened. It was the night nurse.

“Ah! Mr Burnett. Awake at last. How are you feeling?”

“Where am I? how long have I been here? Where’s my……?

“So!”, she said, as she picked up the board at the end of his bed. “You have been here at Kelsey Ward, Spero, for 2 days now.” She peered at Craig over her glasses. “Hmm! You have been poorly. If you lie back I’ll see if the Dr is available for a quick chat.” She put the clipboard back and left. Craig sat back in bed waiting. “What the hell is going on?  Need my phone.” He looked in the side drawer of the cabinet beneath the heart monitor. Nothing. Just a bible. He started to climb out of bed again when the door opened.

“Dr Nicholls.” He held out his hand. “glad to see you awake. How are you?”

“I had some kind of episode. I was talking to my boss, then I…I….”. He shook his head.

“I’m afraid you have suffered extreme trauma. Your low blood pressure along with the trauma of your loss, caused you to pass out. There is also something going on with the rhythm of your heart, which, although not dangerous does need monitoring. You can probably go home in a few day’s but we need to keep a check on you till then so just sit back and relax. The nurse will bring you some medication shortly.” Papers were shuffled and the clipboard was signed before the Dr smiled and left.  Craig disconnected the monitor, climbed out of his bed and made his way uneasily along the corridor. He walked down the fire escape stairs and broke the seal on the door at ground level. No-one about. That’s good. The area was very familiar to him. A1 Cars were just up the road. No money. No problem. Rama knew he was good for it. Craig had spent so much money on his cab service in recent years the least he could do was give him a credit note. It was getting cold. Time to pick the pace up. It took him 20 minutes. He was starting to get palpitations. When he walked into A1’s waiting room, Rama looked up, cut off his customer and sat open-mouthed staring at the in-patient in his midst.

“Do me a favour Rama.”

Twenty-five minutes later the cab pulled up outside Craig’s 2 bedroomed purpose-built Victorian flat in Hackney. He climbed up the concrete steps, punched in the code to his key safe, let himself in and made his way upstairs. It felt cold inside the empty flat. A steaming hot soaking beckoned, so he ran the bath.

                

                                                   10

Then he plugged in his laptop and booted it up. Pacing the floor now. “Shit! the bath.” Running to the bathroom, something caught his eye.

The kitchen window was wide open. A shiver went through him. He looked around and then made for the cutlery drawer and pulled out his razor-sharp fish knife. Tentatively stepping across the stone floor, he started to search each room. All ok! Just the utility and small bedroom near the bathroom now. He had his left arm up in front of him and the knife held in a fighting grip in his right hand. Just as he reached in to switch the light on in the bedroom an arm swiftly wrapped around his throat, locking him in a sleeper move, before yanking him viciously backwards. Chris dropped the knife, then frantically grabbed at the arm choking him, while trying to punch behind into his attacker’s face, but to no avail. He could feel himself losing consciousness again, his body losing all strength as he was dragged into the bathroom and forced into the bath. The face staring down at him was distorted, twisted, evil. He started to kick out but it was no use. He was being strangled, slowly, and he was drowning. His eyes were bulging as his body went limp.

Although he knew he had his man, Pepe Brown decided he wanted to play with his victim. He liked knives. The fish knife looked sharp. “This fucker looks like a fish. I wonder how easy it is to gut this stinking fish.” Pepe walked out to the hallway and picked up the knife.

“Naughty boy. I’ll show you what happens when you muck about with knives.” Craig lay motionless in the bath. Pepe stood staring down at him. Just as he thought about the mutilation of his prize catch he felt a punch to the middle of his back. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He looked down at his chest. A split second, another punch. That’s when he saw 3 inches of steel rip through his shirt. He coughed and gurgled as the blood rose in his throat. He looked down again and then dropped as the blade was twisted and pulled out, causing him to smash his mouth against the old iron bath. He looked up in disbelief before gasping his last breath as his assailant dragged the body of Craig Burnett from the bath and quickly began CPR. It wasn’t long before the young man spluttered back to life. He lay there, coughing up bath water and spitting blood. When he recovered, he looked over at the imposing figure holding his grandfather’s bloodstained prized T30 bayonet.

“Donyevsky.” Wiping the rusted blade clean on the arm of a chair. “You have nine lives. Sorry!” Moving closer to the young officer. “Seven now.”

Craig stood wearily, swaying slightly. His head was throbbing. He fell to his knees and tried to calm his breathing as he felt tightness in his chest.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to kill you.” Offering a hand out to Craig who, after a momentary pause, and a deep breath, took hold.

“I don’t know what’s going on, said Craig, as he steadied himself and reached for his robe on the back of the sofa.”

Peter seated the cleaned 16” metal blade into an old tanned and worn scabbard.

“I feel like that sometimes,”

“What?” said Craig.

“Like this bayonet. Old and worn out but still have my uses.”

“What’s going to happen now? I don’t understand. Does this have something to do with that old guy Ruberov? Moreau.  I got to talk to Moreau.”

Craig made for his laptop, but Peter was up in a flash, tutting and waving his index finger as if scolding a child. “Sit down and shut up.” He sat back down and directed Craig to a chair opposite him.

“I’m not going to hurt you. We are on the same side.” He lit a cigarette and, although Craig had given up years ago, he politely asked for one.

“Who is that bastard?” Nodding in the direction of the bathroom.

“Pepe Brown. He is….. Was, an agent of the motherland. He has been here many years.  His real name is Dostoyevsky, which is pretty ironic.  I knew he would come for you. I was dropped outside your flat. I walked around the back looking for a way in, away from prying eyes, and that is when I saw him shimmying up to your rooftop garden. Lucky for me he is not as sharp as he used to be or we would both be dead. Your security is shit.”

“What are you going to do with him,” Said Craig, as he held his head in his hands.

“Don’t worry about it. I will sort it out.”

“I need a drink. Do you want one? Scotch, vodka?

“I don’t drink.”

Craig poured a large single malt whiskey and downed it in one.

“You won’t solve your problems by drinking, comrade.”

“Drink is the least of my worries. You should try some.”

“I stopped years ago. I killed my wife and son. Long story.” The tall Russian got up and walked back to the bathroom. Craig could hear him moving the body, then a splash. He thought about making a run for it, stood up and sat back down almost immediately as Peter walked back into the living room, thumbing his way through a mobile phone.

“Do you know this place?” He turned the screen to Craig.

“Yes, it's about a forty-five-minute drive.”

“Get dressed.”

“Hang on, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you are.” Moving closer to Craig, pointing the sheathed weapon at his chest. “If you want to help Moreau, and the rest of the people on this tiny little island, then move, now.”

Copyright Phil Miller

 

You're Not to Blame

Not to Blame

By Rosemary Clark

If they put their hand upon your knee
It isn't you
If they go where none should see
It isn't you
A lover's feelings are not there, in their hard touch they do not care, when you need help they're never there
It isn't you
When they say they love you best of all
It isn't you
If you believe you're bound to fall..
It isn't you
Things like this just shouldn't be, it's their ego don't you see that's no life for you or me
It isn't you.

Copyright Rosemary Clark

THE SPIDER'S WEB (Ch 5 & Last)

THE SPIDER'S WEB (Ch 5 & Last)

 By Bob French

CHAPTER FIVE -  RIYADH, SAUDI ARABIA

Bond was met by the First Secretary of the British Embassy in Riyadh and vanished into the secure zone of the building.

          “Good to meet you, Bond. I have been fully briefed by M.  Just let me know what you want and I will fix.”

          Bond relaxed and took the cup of tea offered by one of the staff.

          “Thank you, just two things if I may. A good hacker and a guide to take me in and out of Yemen.”  The First Secretary nodded, turned to the young woman who had just delivered the tea and asked her if she would ask Warrant Officer Fellows and Yeoman Barrister to join him.

          “Fellows is out here training the Saudi Special Forces and Yeoman of Signals Kenny Barrister is on loan from the Royal Signals; he looks after my discrete comms equipment.

          Bond took the hard hand of Fellows and nodded, instantly recognizing the suntanned hard look of a man who lived and survived in the desert. A minute later Barrister entered the room.  A tall balding muscular man who clearly did not like the sun, Bond felt the firm grip of his hand and nodded. 

          “Gentlemen, this is Mr Bond from London.  He needs your help with a little project.”  With that, he nodded to Bond then left the room.

          Bond briefly explained the operation whereby three teams from the CIA, MI6 and DGSE would take out the buyers in Cuba, Madagascar and Yemen at exactly the same time, then re-route the buyer's laptop to theirs and take control of the operation so that their masters are unaware anything has changed. My part of the operation is to infiltrate Sana’a, locate the buyer, take him out and take control of his laptop.  Winston will then take overall control of all three machines thereby deceiving the person sending him instructions so they think nothing is amiss. Then get out without being noticed.  Can you do that?” Both men nodded their confirmation.

          Twenty minutes later the three of them had roughed out a plan of infill and exfil from Sana’a.  Bond, although trained, wasn’t enthusiastic about parachuting in at night and Fellows summed up by saying that once they’d reached the Red Sea, men from his training team would ferry us back up to Jeddah where he could fly back to the UK and them back to Riyadh.       

 ANTANANARIVO, MADAGASCAR

Adrian Benoit had landed in Madagascar and vanished into the suburbs of the capital, Antananarivo before anyone noticed him.  It took him just under half an hour to trace Jules Philipp Sadine, his old Lieutenant of the Paratroop Regiment of the Foreign Legion.  They had spent a year here a few years back when France had been called in to put down a rebellion. Sadine had retired from the Legion and chose to live in this paradise island in the Indian Ocean. When Sadine opened his front door he gave a yell then hugged Adrian like a long lost brother and pulled him inside to meet the family.  After a light lunch, Adrian nodded Jules to the back door.

          “You have a mission?  I had heard that you had been working for the ‘Shadows,’ the slang for the French Intelligence Services.”  Adrian nodded. 

          “Jules Mon Ami, how many of the lads retired here and can be counted on?”

          The old Lieutenant thought for a minute then said “Three and they still have their weapons,” he said enthusiastically.

          “I also need access to a really good hacker.  Do you still know that young girl we used in the old days?”

          “Ah we, but she is no longer young or pretty.”

          “Can we meet this evening?”  Jules stared at his friend and nodded slowly. 

          “This is important. Who is it, Mozambique rebels or Somali pirates?” Benoit shook his head.

          “I will explain what is to be done when we meet.   Can you call the lads in at nine tonight?  But first I want to meet our lady hacker.”

          They met at a run-down café on the outskirts of the capital and after brief introductions, Adrian explained what he wanted her to do. “Are you happy to help? I will pay you very well once the job has been done.”

          The broad grin on her face told him that she would do anything for him.

          He explained that someone called Winston of the CIA would contact her with instructions once we have taken control of the enemy laptop.  She was to comply with any messages from him.  Eve nodded.

BEIJING - CHINA

Bud Westerbrooken slammed down his phone, then stared at his team.

          “Just tell me how the hell did Emily get picked up by the MSS?” It was Abraham who spoke after a minute’s silence.

          “We think she was set up.”

          “By who?”

          “By a Triad War Lord who controls the Gansu Province. A real hard nose bastard.  He is known as ‘The Spider.’”

          “How do we get her back?”

          “We don’t.  Not unless we mount a covert Op into the heart of his domain and snatch her back.”

          Bud turned to a short stocky Texan.  “Three things Hank. One,”  He counted them off on his fingers. “Gansu province is your patch, so get your contacts out and about.  I want to know where she is being held. Two, where is the nearest SEAL team? And Three, how quickly can we spring her?” 

          Hank stood, stubbed out his cigar and left the room.

          Lee Ping Woo, unlike his elder brother Chow, had not gone to Peeking University and then been head-hunted by the State Ministry of Health.  Life was more exciting on the streets.  It wasn’t long before his talents had been noticed by the local Triad Master and invited to join them.  That was fifteen years ago.  Since then he had risen to the rank of War Lord in the movement and over the years had mapped out his own kingdom on Gansu Provence.  He chose this province because it had an outlet into the great Gobi Desert of Mongolia to the north, easy access for his gun-running, people and Heroin smuggling.

          Every Sunday Lee would meet up with Chow at their mother’s home for the weekly family meal.  It was here over a glass of beer that Chow, who looked strained, told Lee of the threat of America and Europeans sanctions over the lack of control of the virus that was affecting the world.

          “Why not give them a hand?”  Chow looked at his brother.

          “What do you mean?”

          “Look I know that the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress is meeting on Monday afternoon and…”  Chow suddenly stood up.

          “How did you know that?  These meetings are secret!”

          Lee had given up trying to explain to his brother that the Triad had infiltrated every level of government, so just shrugged his shoulders,

          “The western news is all about the shortage of protective clothing, so I was thinking, if your ministry decided to sell or donate this protective clothing, and we do have sheds full of the stuff stored in and around Gansu Province, they might look upon us with a little more kindness, besides, it may also get you promoted.”

          That evening, with the help of Lee, Chow compiled a brief detailing the number of pallets, their locations and a suggested amount of PPE the government could give to the rest of the world. Lee had been surprisingly helpful with quantities and locations and trucking companies that could move the equipment from the warehouses to the airport.

          As the senior members of the Standing Committee of the National People’s Congress assembled to discuss the epidemic, Chow quietly approached his senior legislator bowed, then passed him his brief, then slowly retired to the back row of his staff.

St. JOHNS - ANTIGUA

          It took Winston forty-eight hours to trace the exact locations of the three buyers.  He had also set up a secure link with Eve, Kenny Barrister and Felix.  Once he had sent over the locations of the buyers Winston sat back and waited.  One by one the teams came back with one word, ‘ready.’ 

          At exactly ten minutes to ten that night, Bond, Adrian and Felix covertly took control of the buyers and their operation.  They had secured bank details, dates when to bank, passwords, contacts and transmission times. The three buyers were all Russian, which did not surprise Bond, but Winston discovered that the instructions were coming from Beijing, which seemed to fit in with what Alison Wentworth had told Bond.  By two the following morning Winston had routed all traffic into and out of the three buyer’s machines to his laptop.  He was now the buyer for all three locations and when whoever made contact with him, he would act the part of the buyer.

BEIJING – CHINA

          The three of them decided to fly to Beijing and kill this operation off altogether. To their surprise, they were each met off their separate aircraft by a senior officer of the Ministry of State Security, the MSS, and taken to the Headquarters of the MSS.

          Once they had all been detained, they were ushered into a small room on the second floor to wait.  To their surprise, the door opened and Moneypenny stepped in.

          “James, Adrian, Felix.  So nice to see you boys getting along.  Please follow me.”

          They followed her down the corridor until she stopped, then pushed a heavy door open and stood aside. M, the DGSE Director, Bud Westerbrooken and a stern-looking Chinese official of the MSS stood to greet them.

          “Bond.” Was all M said.  Beniot simply nodded at his director and Felix said nothing, but stared at the Chinese official.  M spoke.

          “We have a problem which needs you three to sort out. A CIA operative who went undercover has been captured.  You need to find her and get her out.”

          Bond took out his silver cigarette case, extracted a Morland cigarette with its three gold bands and lit up.  “Do we have any leads on where or who has her?”  M frowned at Bond’s cigarette, cleared her throat.

          “Thanks to Mr Ping here, his chaps think she is being held in an electrical warehouse just outside Lanzhou, it’s in the Gansu Province.”

          Adrian spoke rapidly with his Director, who replied in English.  “Yes, heavily armed and we suspect that they are Triad.”

          Bond turned to M.  “Once we have retrieved this CIA agent, can we close down the controller of the stocks and shares operations Sir?”

          M noticed the sarcasm in Bond’s request and gave him a curt nod.

          That evening Bond, Felix and Adrian watched as hundreds of MSS soldiers noisily surrounded the electronics complex.  Adrian quietly mentioned, “So much for stealth and surprise.”

          Bond agreed and yelled “This is ridiculous, follow Me!” and within minutes they had gained access through an open window and were rushing down a dark corridor.  A figure jumped out from the shadows and Adrian brought him down with his silenced 9mm pistol.  They kept moving until they reached the back of the factory.

          Felix, who was in the lead paused, then stopped.  “According to Ping, this looks like her cell. Three guards.”  Bond brought down two before he even stopped and Adrian the last man who was startled by the sudden arrival of three men.  Felix kicked in the door and push into a dimly lit office.

          “Miss Michaels, it’s the CIA.”  Adrian pushed Felix aside and brought down a man who stood over a figure on the floor with a single shot.  Bond flicked on the light and saw the figure of Michaels lying on the floor.  She had been badly beaten.

          “Felix, stay with her. Winston told me that the controller operated from this complex.  We have to find it before our friends do.”

          Within ten minutes, Bond and Adrian had found the office on the top floor and burst in.  The Man was trying to disconnect cables from his server, but Bond brought him down with a headshot.  Fifteen minutes later, Winston had control of the network.  The mission Bond had been sent to do was over.  All that was left was to report back to London for debriefing.

EPILOGUE

          Bond straightened his tie and knocked on the door and pushed it open.  “Moneypenny, so good to see you again.”

          “James,” she smiled and stood, then the squawk box on her desk suddenly came to life. 

          “When Bond has finished, tell him we are waiting.”  Moneypenny shrugged her shoulders as Bond turned towards M’s door and quietly vanished.

          M, waved him to the seat opposite Sir Michael Scavandish and went straight into his brief.

          “I have received notification from the CIA that their end of the operation was a complete success.  The Russians haven’t as yet caught onto the fact that their control cell in Beijing and the three buyers have been replaced by our network.”

          Sir Michael nodded. “Yes Bond, you seemed to have pulled off a blinder.  Moscow continues to think that the stocks and shares they purchasing were destined for their bankers, in fact, they have been routed to Lloyds who will share them out with Washington and Paris, and this chap Winston has also deceived Moscow by getting them to pay top dollar for the shares which means that their Swiss bank accounts have taken a hammering.”

          “I’m sorry we didn’t catch The Spider Sir…..” Bond said, but was interrupted.

          “This Spider is an exceptionally cunning man. He created the smokescreen by telling everyone that there was an outbreak of a virus in the Wuhan Province and that he had taken control of it.  In fact, it was he who acquired the contaminated waste from the markets and spread it around causing the virus in the first place.  The CIA have confirmed that there was no Chinese military chemical weapons plot behind this virus.  It appears that as a result of the MERS epidemic, the Chinese stockpiled all their PPE equipment for any future outbreak in Gansu Province, which happens to be The Spiders domain. We are not sure at this moment, but The Spider seems to have bribed or blackmailed a high ranking official in the Ministry of Health to loan or sell vast quantities of PPE to those countries who were badly in need of it.  This was agreed and under the careful eyes of The Spider’s Triad movement, hundreds of pallets of the PPE were packed and prepared for shipment to those countries who were screaming for it.  Now here’s the brilliance of his plan.  For every twenty pallets destined for a country, one pallet contained thousands of packets of Heroin.  His organization at receiving airports were already pre-warned so once the RAF landed in the UK, it was his men who unloaded it and made sure that the one market pallet vanished into the shadows.  I have spoken to the French, Spanish and Italians including our Scotland Yard about the plot.  The police have now intercepted the second and subsequent shipments; he thinks that the value on the streets of just one pallet would be in the region of millions upon millions of pounds.

          “So what you are saying Sir, is that this was all a smokescreen, nothing to do with us trying to find out who had control of the virus or the vaccine? Spider knew that after the last virus scare, there would be countries screaming for PPE. With this panic, it would allow him to distribute his drugs knowing that the usual customs checks would be waived as this PPE would be urgently needed.”

          No one spoke for a minute, then Sir Michael shook his head slowly.  “It will take the Russians a little while before they realize their operation has been infiltrated, but thank you for sorting things out.  He rose, nodded to Bond and left.

          M, looked at Bond.  “Right 007.  I want you to look into the missing, possible assassination, of Kim Jong Un.  He’s not been seen for a week or two.  Some say he’s been overthrown...”

The End

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.

Open Mike By The Sea

Open Mike By The Sea

by Shelley Miller

Whelky Brooks was down in Leigh
Belting out her hits,
Will I Clam sneaked in for free,
Just to see her t***

Bon Anchovy joined him there,
They sat beside Ed Herring,
He laughed and toppled off his chair
Soon, everyone was staring.

Tuna Turner came in next,
Cod Stewart by her side,
He said "I'll send my wife a text"
So Tuna sat and cried.

They bumped into the great Skate Bush,
She looked just like a star.
She said "it's impolite to push,
Who do you think you are?"

She grabbed her coat and said "I'm off,
This joint is run of the mill"
Someone said "she's had enough,
She's running up that hill"

Catfish Stevens said "let's dance"
And jumped up on the stage,
But Whelky shouted, "not a chance!"
And locked him in a cage.

Barry Whitebait found the key
And promptly let him out,
"Well done!" said Count Sea Bassie,
"That's what I'm talking about."

The night was young and Eely Dan
Asked Whelky for the Mike,
She said "I'm singing, Mister Man,
And you can take a hike!"

Pikel Jackson shook his head
And screamed "I'm going to thrill-er,
Ice- creams are on me," he said
"Chocolate or vanilla?

Squid Vicious starting jumping,
He was feeling wild and free.
Nancy said "I'll thump him,
If he makes a fool of me."


Nat King Sole said "come on Nanc,
Don't be such a prawn,
I'm all alone, let's fancy pants
Until the break of dawn."

Bob Marley and the Whalers
Said, "the world's a concrete jungle"
They legged it from their jailers,
Zippy, George and Bungle.

Everybody joined the fun
But no one got on stage,
They tried but Whelky drew her gun
And flew into a rage.

Robert Crayfish had a go,
He said "Whelky's just a thug,"
Codley said to Creme "I know,
Let's call in young Hake Bugg."

Bugg arrived and grabbed the Mike
But Whelky beat him down,
She shouted "Bugg, get on your bike
And cycle out of town!"

Eelton John turned up just then
And offered her a can,
He said "I'm only here 'till ten
'cause I'm the rocket Man."

When Whelky finished drinking
She fainted on the spot,
Everyone was thinking
It must be 'cause she's hot.

Will I Clam was not amused
"that drink was spiked, I bet!"
Then Whelky said "my ego's bruised
But the diva's not dead yet!"

Copyright Shelley Miller