Kenneth Lawson: Crown Orders

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Crown Orders

Kenneth Lawson 

The 603 was late.

I didn’t blame them one bit. The sudden, unexpected winter snow had played havoc with everything.

But I’d made it. The train pulled up to the station and slowed down, and I scanned the driveways to the station, looking for a dark green Land Rover. 

As I stepped onto the platform, trying to get my bearings, I saw lights flash on and off quickly. Looking closer, I noticed it was the Land Rover. I didn’t do anything stupid like wave or shout. I pulled my coat tighter around me, buried my hands in my pockets, half marched, and half plowed through snow and wind to the car. As I reached the passenger side, the door opened.  

My job in security meant I often had to meet people in strange places. Usually, these meetings were set up well in advance, and the person I was meeting was vetted, and I knew who I was meeting and why. However, occasionally, I met people at the last minute with little or no preparation. The handwritten note in my daily briefing pages suggested that meeting Lieutenant Gray at the Lancaster station at 5:56 p.m. and taking the 603 train there would be advantageous. I should look for a dark green early model Land Rover. That was all it said. It did not indicate the matter of which it would pertain to or who Lieutenant Gray was.  I made a short note about the meeting on my daily page and left in time to get the train.

In my travels among the many branches of government up to the King and his inner circle, whom I’d dealt with a few times, I had heard rumors of personal Requests by the King to do certain things that bypass normal channels. It was said they were called Crown Orders, but only in hushed tones and in confidence. No one had admitted to getting one or that they were real, much less saying what the orders were or if they carried them out. But several unusual things that could be attributed retroactively to Crown Orders had happened over the years.

“Lt. Gray?” I asked as I shut the door, cutting off the fall of light snow following me into the car.

 He nodded yes and started the car. We drove silently for a minute while the heater warmed the cold air I’d let into the car.

“Your note said that you had information that would benefit me?” I pushed a little.

 “I was asked to give you this and get your response.”

He reached behind the front seat, pulled out a long, thin wooden box, and laid it on the console between the seats. There was a gold inlaid seal on top of the polished wood. A closer inspection revealed that it was the King’s Seal. I sucked in a breath when I realized these must be Crown Orders.

Throughout my entire life in His Majesty’s Service, first as an army officer and then as a civil servant, I never dreamed I would ever receive such a thing. It was rumored that a few empty boxes suspected to be Crown Orders vessels had been discovered in the belongings of several high-profile political types after they passed.  All assumed that only people in a high political place would receive such things.

So here I was, sitting in a green Land Rover with a chap who called himself Lieutenant Gray, but I doubted it was his real name or rank. But I didn’t push it. 

He motioned to a thermos resting on the floorboard and said there was coffee if I wanted it. I did. I poured about a half cup and waited for the steaming liquid to cool while I took a closer look at the box.

It was long and thin, made of light wood, and the top was fitted to the box inset with edges on the top. I traced the contours of the seal with my fingertips, still shocked. Four red and blue ribbons wrapped around the box and were sealed to the box on all four sides, making it impossible to open the box without breaking the wax seals.   

Lieutenant Gray spoke. “If you open that, you’ve accepted whatever orders are there. You can hand the box to me, and I’ll return it unopened and take you back to the train. No questions asked. It will be understood you refused the Order, and no one will mention this again.”

I sat back in my seat and thought about what he’d said. I could refuse to take the box and thus the Crown Orders, but what would the ramifications of that be?  Would it make a difference later if I refused them? Or would it not matter one way or the other? I knew the answer to that. I wouldn’t have been given them if there wasn’t a specific thing that only I could do. I thought about my daily routine and the people I encountered and tried to think of any reason the King would want me to do something for him. He could easily reach out to anyone and, through a mediator or a PM, get word to them that he wanted to see them.  No, that wasn’t it.

There was only one way to find out.

I pulled my small penknife from my jacket pocket and fiddled with it until I opened the tiny blade. I glanced at Gray, who had pulled off the road while I opened the box. I felt guilty about destroying the wax seals, but I had to know what the Crown Orders were.

Carefully slicing the ribbon, I then sliced each of the four small wax seals that sealed the lid to the box. The cover was a tight fit, and I had to pry them apart slightly with the blade of my knife. On the top was a letter bearing Crown’s Seal embossed into the fine linen paper.  

Carefully extracting the letter from the box, I unfolded it and began to read.

Dear Ian Fleming:

The box you have in your hand is a personal request from your King to execute certain actions that I feel that you alone are in a position to do.

It is understood that these are only requests, and you are not compelled to do the tasks requested. However, if you fail to do them, there could be ramifications far beyond what you imagine for King and Country.

If you carry out my request, certain allowances will be made in the future regarding your future and that of your family. If you try and fail, for whatever reason, I will have no choice but to deny any knowledge of your actions or this letter. 

The importance of your mission cannot be overstated.  Below, you will find the particulars and any relevant information and documents you need to complete the request.

Charles R

Laying the letter to one side, I reached into the box for the file folder marked Top Secret and slipped several papers from the files. A glance revealed each page was marked Top Secret, the highest level of security in the British government.

The first page was a summary of his Order, listing three people with a brief description of each and a small picture. The brief said that each of the three individuals was under pressure to cast votes against their beliefs, and in doing so, the results would be averse to the country’s best interest. My remit was to remove the threatening influence from their lives so that they could serve the county’s needs. The orders indicated a timeline that I needed to accomplish the task.

I was warned not to mention the King or my orders or to present myself in any official capacity. That I already knew. Having run such operations before, I knew how it should work, and sometimes it didn’t always go according to plan.

The document indicated that Lieutenant Gray was to be at my disposal and service for any help I should require. It was the last line that grabbed my attention.

You are hereby authorized to use any force necessary.

A shoot-to-kill order told me all I needed to know.

The rest of the papers provided detailed information on each person in question.  I scanned the documents to get an idea of what I had to work with. 

All three targets were Members of Parliament. Penelope Porter, who had ruffled feathers in a variety of circles, and Edward Crandell were members of the House of Commons. The third target was Lord Robert Duncan, a member of the House of Lords.

The matter in question was scheduled for a week from today. They all had made public statements in support of a new proposal to fund lower-income housing and strengthen the support system for single parents and those in very low-income brackets so they could find work and have the childcare and help they needed. 

I read about the proposal up for debate in the papers and watched a few debates on television.  No one denied the need for the support. However, the discussion of how to pay for the plan and where the money would come from had been a topic for heated debate in parliament and the public media. All three of the people listed had come out in favor of the bill and had made recommendations on how to pay for it. 

However, from what I am reading in these documents, it now seems that behind the scenes, there had been more than the usual political pressure to vote one way or another. Things had gone from pressure to threatening and violence. The Metropolitan police had been notified, had the incident reports, and tried to sort it out. However, their hands were tied in ways that mine weren’t. When threats of major violence in the UK were issued by groups opposing the bill, the King felt that matters had become too violent for regular channels and had issued a Crown Order.

I read through the detailed documents and then returned the papers to the folder. I turned to Gray, who had spent the time tapping lightly on the steering while I read.

“Well, Lieutenant Gray, how do you feel about kicking some ass?” 

He grinned and started the Rover. “Where to sir?”

***

We started with Penelope Porter. According to the intel included in the dossier, she felt her house was being watched. Gray drove to her London residence, located in Belgravia. Fortunately, she lived in a townhome on a street with parking, and even more fortunately, he found a parking place.

Five minutes after we arrived, a man exited the house and left in a car parked in front of the house.  From our records, the man was Porter’s husband. Before he was out of sight, a man got out of an old Renault, ran across the street, and put a long pipe into the mailbox. 

I yelled at Gray. “Stop him.” He floored the car and blocked the Renault as it tried to pull out of the parking space. We jumped out and pulled the man out of the vehicle.

“Do you want me to retrieve what he put in the mailbox?

“And get your arm blown off?  No, call 999 and tell them you just saw a man put a pipe bomb in a mailbox at her address. Meanwhile, we’ll take this gentleman for a ride in the country.”

“How’d you know to wait?”

“Because that’s exactly what I would have done. Wait for the targets to leave and then plant the bomb.”

We drove in silence for about an hour.  Every so often, there would be the sounds of kicking and grunting from the back of the car, but we ignored it. The longer we went, the more uncomfortable he would be. There wasn’t enough space for him to stretch out back there, and I knew his legs and arms would be cramping up, and he’d probably have to piss too. I hoped he’d wait until we got to where we were going. Thinking back to the old days, he wouldn’t be the first to piss while in transit. 

I knew this wasn’t the boss, just another flunky. Someone was out there calling the shots, but hopefully, our bomber would give us something.

We arrived at Southend-on-Sea, a resort town on the Thames Estuary. A trusted former colleague retired five years ago and now lives here.  I needed this guy on ice, whether he spilled what I needed to know or not. I called Harry and quickly told him what I needed. He had the garage door up when we arrived.

Harry pulled the garage door down behind us, and Gray and I tugged our guest out of the Land Rover and tossed him onto the floor. He rolled over, moving his legs, trying to get feeling back.

“Done?” I asked as he settled down. He nodded yes. Harry untied his feet, and we helped him stand up. Then I hit him. Hard. He went back down, almost hitting the door of the rover. 

We picked him up again, followed Harry to a room at the back of the house, and pushed him inside. Gray rummaged through his pockets and found his ID. One Dexter Edwards, Slough.

“Well, Edwards, you picked the wrong mailbox to stick a bomb in, but that’s the least of your problems.”  I handed the wallet to Gray, who stepped out of the room to make a phone call. 

“I know you’re just a funky, doing what you’re told. So, who told you to put a bomb in MP Porter’s mailbox today? This is the only time that I am asking nicely.”

He grunted at me and pulled away, flopping down on the narrow cot.

“Fine, I’ve got all day.” I walked out and locked the deadbolt. Gray was just getting off the phone.

“Well?”

“I’ve got the info on our friend in there and who he works for. 

He showed me the screen on his phone.

“How long would it take to go get him?”

“Couple of hours. Probably a little more. Oh, and I have a care package for you.”

He led me back into the garage and pulled a big cooler case out of the Rover. A shoulder holster lay on top, holding a Walther PPK, .380. I slipped it out and dropped the magazine. And reinserted it into the butt of the gun and ran the slide chambering a round.

“Thanks,” I shrugged off my jacket and slipped on the holster.

“This goes with it, and he pulled out a set of earplugs and several loaded magazines. “There are two thermoses of coffee and some food and extra blankets in there.”

“How’d you know I’d take the job?”

“It was a hunch. I also read your file and knew you played rough.” He pulled a battered old baseball bat from the rear floorboard and smiled.

“Go get his boss and get back here.”

“You going to be okay here?”

“Yeah. Harry is one of us, just retired. He bought this place but didn’t want out of the game, so we use it as a safe house, and we do some interrogation here as well. I’ll be fine.”

Harry and I had spent some quality time with our prisoner, who never stopped swearing but said nothing. I hadn’t used the baseball bat—yet. He yelled for water and food, but we locked him in the safe room. He wasn’t going anywhere. He could wait.

We then caught the news, which was abuzz about the pipe bomb found in the postal box at MP Porter’s house. The media was all over the fact that she was a proponent of the poverty relief proposal coming before Parliament. The police were looking for our friend. He’d been stupid enough to use his car, and after we grabbed him, they found it, and his prints were all over everything. I knew what the procedure would be. They would tear his place apart and probably find where he made the bomb, but would they find who set him up?

It was three hours later and almost dark by the time Lieutenant Gray returned with his new passenger. Lt. Gray opened the back of the Rover, pulled a male out, and dropped him to the ground.

“I see you have our friend.”

“Yeah, he put up a good fight, even had to stop once and quiet him, but he lost every time.” 

He was awake now, and the cussing and squirming coming from the floor between us confirmed that. I took the same swing at him that I did at Edwards, but this one managed to steady himself. That told me a lot.

Gray told me his name was Micheal James and how he had to strongly persuade him to get him in the Rover. This one was a tougher customer than the first one. 

I had ignored Edwards the entire time we’d been here, which hopefully made him even madder. I was pushing him mentally to see how far he’d go. He’d probably break easily if he got hungry and thirsty enough.  

Gray needed to make a phone call, so Harry and I dragged Micheal James into the safe room. I watched Edwards closely as we brought James in. His eyes widened, and I knew if James didn’t talk, Edwards would.

Harry had everything I needed in this room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were constructed of concrete. There was a cot, toilet, overhead light, spotlight, and floor drain. Harry was quite serious when I asked about the drain. Easier to hose off the blood, he had answered. I was really hoping for no blood tonight.

Harry forced Edwards to sit in a chair in the center of the room directly under the spotlight. Circling him, I noted the bespoke suit with all the right touches. A fancy watch and the details that had until a few hours ago made him look the part of a respected lawyer serving as an MP in Parliament. But now his suit was wrinkled and dirty, the tie hanging loose, and his neatly styled hair was a mess. His hands were tied behind him, and he watched me warily.

“Michal James, recently, you have been applying pressure to the Prime Minister and several members of parliament to stop passing a bill that would fund and provide low-income housing and other support services for indigent and low-income, single-parent households.  This pressure has been more than the usual political crap you guys do all the time. Threats have been made, even a bomb planted, and there are reports of stalking and harassment to get members of Parliament not to pass this bill.”

He turned his head, refusing to look at me—a sign of guilt.

“I have to question why this is such an important matter to you and your colleagues who do not support helping the people who need it the most. This matter has become so visible that the police have visited you several times and all but arrested you for harassment.  I fortunately don’t have the legal constraints that the police do.  I need to know why this bill and its financing are so important to you.”

I stopped my circling and stood in front of him.  

Michal James leaned back and looked up at me. The arrogance on his face made me want to take the baseball bat to him out of general principle.

“And who the hell are you? I’m a member of Parliament. You can’t do this. I’ll have your head for this.”

“I can, and I am. I can do anything I want. My job is to get you to stop the harassment and threats you have been making and let Parliament do its job unhindered. Tell me why you are doing this.”

He continued to glare at me, and I picked up the bat. “I need to know the big deal about that bill, the financing, or something else.” I whacked the bat against the floor, pleased to see him flinch. “Tell me.”

Lieutenant Gray stuck his head in the door and motioned me to join him outside.

“It seems our Michal James has some problems of his own. From what I can tell, without getting too deep into it, sources say he owes money to some big gamblers here and in the States. And it seems he’s been funneling money to pay them from some of his committees. Committees that fund the same programs that the bills up for a vote. None of it has been confirmed, but it makes sense if he has been stealing from his committees and covering it up. When an audit is down to reallocate funds, well….”  Gray shrugged.

Now I had something. That all of this was because this fool had a gambling problem that angered me. I returned to Michal James.

“How much do you owe?” 

“Owe?”

“To gamblers and loan sharks both here and in the States. What funds have you been stealing money to pay them?  That’s why you opposed the bill. You knew if they passed it, your creative financing would come out, and you’d be exposed as the crook you are.  Right now, you call off your dogs and stop the threats so they can vote as they choose. After that? Who knows?” I slapped the bat against my leg.

Michal James looked down at his feet and sighed.

“I’ll call them off, but you have to let me go.”

“I’ll be happy to let you go. I don’t want the Metropolitan Police to be denied the pleasure of arresting you.  It’ll come out as soon as they start auditing your accounts. However, you’re staying with us until after the vote.”  I handed him a burner phone. “Start making the calls.”

“What do I tell them?”

“Tell them to leave people alone, or we will come after them.”

It took several phone calls, some of which got heated, for him to tell his cronies to lay off the members of Parliament and the Prime Minster.  I took the phone from him.

“There. I did what you asked. I called off the dogs, and those fools are free to vote as they wish. Now, what about us?”

“You are staying right here until the vote is over.”

Michal James quieted down after the phone calls. He knew his fate was sealed.  Edwards, the bomber with pages of form, continued to swear and was miserable to deal with.

We spent the next few days watching the news closely for any more threats. According to Lieutenant Gray’s sources, all the people James called had been placed under surveillance.

The vote in Parliament went off without a hitch, and the bill was easily passed with some minor modifications about financing.

We were all ready to call it quits. We tied up and gagged our prisoners and put them in the back of the Rover with a tarp. Michal James was released in a busy part of London, looking like he’d been on a week-long drunk. Edwards was left tied up outside a local police station, along with a thumb drive detailing Micheal’s activity.

Lieutenant Gray dropped me off at the train station just in time to catch the 603. It’s time to return to my real life and my real covert job.

I never saw him again or learned his real name and who he worked for, but he left me with a phone number. If I ever needed anything, I was to call.

When I got home, I burned the Crown Order documents and kept the box. 

Please visit Kenneth on his blog: http://kennethlawson.weebly.com
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D. A. Ratliff: Courier to Paris

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month, Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Several Writers Unite! members and guests post their writing on Vocal Media. Please visit Vocal Media for more of this author’s work. Check below for links.

Courier to Paris

D. A. Ratliff

I leaned against a storefront, its awning shielding me from the heavy snowfall, my eyes glued to the antique bookshop across the street. In the warmly lit interior, an older man stood behind a counter talking to a younger woman. The man slipped three books into a kraft paper shopping bag and handed it to her. She nodded and left the shop.

A text appeared on my phone. Confirmed. Package is in bag.

The operative inside the store had eyes on the package we were seeking. Now, it was up to me. I adjusted my knapsack and followed her, aware of the black sedan that pulled away from the curb behind me. I kept my distance while keeping her in sight, which was difficult in the increasingly heavy snowfall. Progress was fortunately slow as she was wheeling a suitcase with her. She would head for the train station if she stayed true to past couriers. So far, that was the direction she was going in, and I was glad of that.

We walked two blocks and turned left toward the train station. My cohort, Niko, parked the car and dropped in behind me. Paris was the usual destination, but he was following in case there was a change of plans.

The Gare de Cornavin was busy in the middle of the afternoon. The woman paused at the departure board and then headed for the platforms to Paris. A glance at the board said the next train left from Platform 8. I nodded for my companion to keep her in sight while I bought a ticket from the kiosk, then hurried to the platform, where I paused. I never allowed distractions from my task, but this train had a special place for me. The train company painted it green for some French festival years ago. Its beautiful soft green color, vert in French, was pleasing to the eye, but it was also the location of my first assignment, the first time I followed someone on the train. Now called the Vert train, it was my beginning.

Shaking off old memories, I continued to the platform and boarded behind my target. As I sat across the aisle from the woman, Niko texted me.

Sent word to Moreau in Paris. Agents will be waiting.

As the train pulled away from the station, the full force of the falling snow floated past the window. Fond memories of fallen snow in all its childhood wonder floated through my thoughts, but once again, I forced them back. Childhood was over, and I had a job to do.

Although over a decade older, I could pass as a college student, so I slouched in my seat, inserted my AirPods, and swayed ever so slightly as if listening to music. My target had pulled out a fashion magazine and sat quietly leaning against the window, reading.

I waited for the right moment to make contact. Over the years of being a covert operative, I learned that the first few words said to anyone determined whether they chose to trust you. I had also learned patience, and I had three hours and thirteen minutes before we reached Paris—plenty of time.

The opportunity arose forty-five minutes into the trip as the train braked sharply and slowed. While not a hard enough stop to cause injury, it did cause the bag of books sitting on the seat next to her to fall forward and into the aisle. What was I to do but assist her in picking up the books?

“Oh, my, that was quite a jolt. Here, let me help you. I think one book went underneath this seat.” I got on my knees to retrieve the book and handed it to her. “What a beautiful book. It looks like an antique.”

She tucked the two errant books back into the bag with the one that didn’t escape. “They are. Lovely bindings and quite old, I believe.”

“You collect antique books?”

“Oh no, I just… well, I went to the bookshop to buy an antique fountain pen for my sister’s birthday. She teaches philosophy at Saint-Louis University in Brussels and loves fountain pens. I mentioned to Mr. Schmid, the owner, that I was traveling to Paris to meet her for a birthday weekend, and he asked what date. He needed to get these books to an anxious buyer in Paris, so he asked if I would pick them up on my way to the train and deliver them to the gentleman in Paris. I saw no reason not to, and he offered me a nice discount on the pen for my efforts.”

“Nice of him and you.”

She smiled, and not wanting to overdo talk of the books, I suggested I get us coffee from the dining car. She accepted, and I headed for the dining car several cars away. Once out of her sight, I texted Moreau.

Made contact. Confirmed acting as courier. Maybe a pawn.

His response.

Confirm package.

That man wanted everything.

I returned with our coffees, and she asked about my destination. “I’m returning to the Sorbonne. There are only two more classes, and I will graduate.”

“What are you studying?”

I gave her my rehearsed spiel. “I am an art major. I want to be a curator.”

“That sounds so romantic, dealing with works of art.”

“I have always thought so.” I decided to take a chance. “Would it be okay if I took a closer look at the books? I am very intrigued by the leather covers and tooling.”

“Of course.” She handed me the bag. “They are beautiful.”

I took the books out and laid them on the seat beside me. I picked up the first book, pretending to admire the intricate designs on the cover. But I was looking for something tangible. I ran my fingertips along the spine of the second book and felt a small bump. The microdrive we sought with the stolen NATO data. I continued to examine the third book, then placed it back into the bag and handed it to her.

“Thanks. Beautiful artistry. And allow me to apologize for not introducing myself. I’m Sofia Accola from Onex.”

“Louisa Vogel, I live in Geneva. It is nice to meet you.”

“And you.” Good, I got her name. My phone dinged, and I shrugged, holding up the phone. “My boyfriend. I should talk to him.” I took a photo of her while holding my camera up.

The text was from Moreau.

Update.

Can confirm, microdrive located under third segmented section on book spine, Collibus, author Hippolyt von Colli. Courier named Lousia Vogel, Geneva. Photo attached.

Good work. Claude will meet you at the station.

Tell him to act like my boyfriend.

You made his day. Will check out Vogel.

I continued for a bit, pretending to chat with my boyfriend while Vogel settled into reading her magazine. The Vert train would arrive at Gara de Lyon in an hour. I leaned against the window, head turned toward the view, and pretended to be asleep. Sleep was not possible as adrenaline pumped through my body. A microdrive containing stolen intel from NATO Headquarters was less than three feet from me. My instructions were to let it slip through my fingers and into the hands of the person who ordered it stolen.

That did not sit well with me.

I gazed out at the snow-covered farmland through the heavy snow, lines of trees winding through the fields like piped icing on a cake. Perhaps I took my job too seriously. My life changed after Moreau recruited me while I studied law at University Panthéon-Assas. Assas was full of innocence—a bastion of naivete in the real world. Academia will have that effect. But I did not recognize that young Erka Blasi, for the world I now lived in, was anything but naïve, and neither was I.

The International Global Polity was an ultrasecret organization that answered to a handful of political leaders, the Tribunal. No one in the organization knew who they were, but we suspected they were past heads of state who had become concerned about the political climate for the last thirty years. The leaders of IGP met with the Tribunal members, their identities disguised, only on rare occasions. An Englishman known only as Mr. Parker handled all communication.

IGP monitored issues beyond the capability of covert services from other countries, such as MI-6, the CIA, and EU INTCEN (the EU Intelligence and Situation Centre). They came to us for help and then stayed out of our way. This time, the theft pushed the Tribunal into high alert.

As the train glided across snow-covered tracks, I went over all the intel we had, and unfortunately, it wasn’t much. When the train was nearing Paris, I pretended to rouse. Vogel slept as well. Ten minutes out, I woke her.

“Louisa. Sorry to wake you, but we are close to Paris.”

“Oh, thank you. I didn’t realize I was so tired.”

We gathered our belongings. It was easy for me with only my knapsack, but she had a large purse, a suitcase, and a bag of books. She seemed harried.

“I’m not sure why I agreed to deliver this, but Schmid also gave me taxi money. I have to take the books to a gentleman waiting at Shakespeare and Company.”

“Oh, I love that bookstore. Spent many a weekend afternoon there and at the café.”

“My sister is not arriving until nine p.m. So, I have….” Her phone rang. “Sorry, my sister.”

I smiled and hurriedly texted Moreau the drop location. I wished her luck as the train slid to a stop. I rushed off the train with a friendly wave goodbye.

Claude was waiting for me, and I wasn’t surprised that he swept me into his arms and kissed me. He was supposed to be my boyfriend, but his hand on my rear was too much.

“Please remove your hand if you wish to keep it. Do you have people in place to follow her?”

“Yes, Erka. Just pretend that your passion for me is overwhelming, at least, until she exits the train. Then Wilhelm and Jorda are picking her up.” We remained embraced until he said. “That her?”

I chanced a side glance. “Yes.”

He spoke into his mic. “Target, black slacks, blue parka, gray toque, keep your eyes on the paper sack.” To me, “Car is this way.”

Wilhelm and Jorda were in a dark sedan at the taxi stand, waiting to follow the cab. We got into Claude’s car and waited as well. Claude handed me a radio and wireless earbuds. I clipped it under my shirt, and with the earbuds in place, I spoke to Moreau.

“Moreau, what about Vogel?” As I asked, Vogel’s cab pulled away, and we followed, heading for Shakespeare and Company.

“She is a banker in Geneva, has no criminal record, is unmarried, and not in a relationship. Fits the profile of the others Schmid has used for couriers.”

“Not surprised.”

“Other operatives will pick her up after the drop and maintain surveillance until we feel she is not involved.”

“Do we have eyes on the bookstore?”

“Peter tapped their security cameras as soon as we knew where she was going, and Shauna was close. She’s inside.”

The heavy snow in Eastern France had spared Paris, but a blanket of white covered the city. I checked my weapon and ammo as we crossed the Seine and turned onto the Quai de Saint-Bernard. Claude laughed.

“You expecting trouble?”

“I like to be prepared.”

“The perfect little spy.”

I glared at him. “Don’t forget it.”

Claude parked at the end of the block, and we jumped out of the car. I removed my coat, grabbed an extra jacket he had thrown in the back seat, and tucked my hair under the knit cap I wore. We were ahead of them, so we slipped behind a screen at the restaurant on the corner and waited. Three minutes later, the cab carrying Vogel turned onto Rue de la Bûcherie.

We followed the cab down the short street, stopping again behind the windscreen of another restaurant, catching Vogel as she hopped out and entered the bookstore.

Shauna, inside the store, spoke. “Contact made. Goods delivered.”

That quickly, Vogel was in the cab and on her way. I heard Moreau order another surveillance team to follow her and Wilhelm and Jorda to pick up the courier with the books. We would follow as well.

“He is exiting now. Gray parka, black pants, sunglasses, knit cap.” As I listened to Shauna’s description, the man emerged from the bookstore, and my heart stopped for a second. I knew him.

I whispered on the radio. “Moreau, that’s Valero Romanesque. He’s Albert Jensen’s second in command. Eyes sharp, there may be more of Jensen’s men here.”

“The arms dealer?”

“Yes.”

A car pulled up, and Romanesque got in and pulled away, our team picking them up as they turned onto Quai de Montebello. We were about to follow when Moreau ordered us back to headquarters. Claude shrugged. “I guess we go back to the office.”

The building, a two-story building nestled among taller structures, sat a block from the Eiffel Tower. Claude turned in, and sensors opened the driveway gate, allowing us access to the courtyard parking. Mr. Parker spared no expense to provide us with accessible quarters. Unknown faces coming and going in the neighborhood would not attract attention due to all the tourists wandering the area.

Miles Bannister was in the reception area. “Good afternoon. He is waiting for you in the lounge.” He pushed a button under his desk, and a wall panel slid open, revealing an elevator.

As the doors shut, I thought about the poor, unsuspecting souls who plotted to storm this office. Although he looked like a student late for a philosophy class at Oxford, Miles was British Special Forces and a deadly sharpshooter. We were well protected.

The “lounge” was two stories below ground and served as a bunker in case of attack. Enormous, containing numerous rooms and labs, the central area, known as the situation room, consisted of banks of monitors for global surveillance, a large screen for communications, and a conference table. I once asked Moreau if the chairs were like the ones used by villains in James Bond movies—ones ready to send us to our deaths if we didn’t perform. He had only glared at me. I sat down gingerly.

Moreau conducted his customary gaze about the room, checking the monitors before he began. “Ambassador Francisco Montenegro and General Adam Stevens will join us shortly. Please fill me in on the events at the bookstore.”

We complied, Moreau waiting until we finished to ask questions. He tapped the table as he did when thinking.

“Erka, what do you know of Albert Jensen and the man who took possession of the books today?”

“Only what was in the briefing on Jensen as part of our ongoing efforts to curb the arms trade. I participated in a few surveillance operations at his nightclub when we suspected he was doing business to see who was coming and going. As for Romanesque, I was part of a surveillance team working with the Agenzia Informazioni e Sicurezza Esterna. The AISE was monitoring an Italian arms dealer, and Romanesque showed up. The Italians were concerned about Jensen’s involvement. They had not tied any Americans to their case but could not make a connection then.”

Claude added. “I know of Jensen from briefings but have not been active on any operation concerning him.”

Moreau nodded. “Then we must….” He stopped as a soft tone rang sounded. He immediately picked up a receiver embedded into the table. “Thank you. Send them down.”

The elevator doors opened, and two men arrived. Moreau made the introductions. “These gentlemen are from NATO, and they have information for us.”

The general spoke. “Monsieur Moreau, Mr. Parker will join us and has asked that your agents remain.”

Claude and I exchanged glances. We had never seen Mr. Parker. Seconds later, another tone sounded, and a large monitor at one end of the table displayed Stand By. We waited. I noticed Moreau sat up just a tad straighter in his chair as a man appeared on the screen.

Mr. Parker could have easily passed for Miles’s philosophy professor at Oxford—impeccably dressed, his voice cultured, and he minced no words.

“I will get right to the point. The General and the Ambassador are NATO representatives. We have a very grave matter and an unexpected one. Monsieur Moreau, these gentlemen will fill you in. Understand that the Tribunal is most concerned and requires expedience in resolving this situation. I expect an action plan and regular updates to begin within the hour.” The screen went blank.

General Stevens spoke first. “We have made a mistake. As Mr. Parker said, a very grave one. We requested that IGP handle the theft of sensitive data from NATO. By not involving ourselves, we felt we would insulate ourselves from retaliation created by any fallout.”

Moreau interrupted. “The fallout that you expected us to create for you and then take the blame.”

Montenegro glared at our boss. “You must understand the diplomatic repercussions if we were seen to be involved in your activity.”

I held my breath. The ambassador needed to tread carefully on such dangerous ground.

Moreau ignored him. “General, continue.”

“As you know, we have been aware of an internal threat to our security and data systems. By placing invalid data into the system, we allowed them to steal and transmit it. That tactic is working. We are beginning to see the data turn up and trace back to the source.” He paused. “However, our firewalls to keep the hackers out of our most sensitive data failed.”

“How badly?”

The general glanced around the room. “The data transported today—data we thought was information we planted—was not. On that microdrive are the codes for all military satellites currently in orbit. Whoever has that data can destroy the populated areas of Earth.”

We were professional enough not to react but human enough that the news was stunning. Moreau voiced what I am sure Claude was thinking because I certainly was.

“You want us to retrieve the data you ordered we allow to be delivered?”

General Stevens nodded. “Yes.”

Moreau escorted the NATO representatives to the elevator and then rejoined us. “Our operatives say Romanesque entered Jensen’s nightclub building and remained inside. Jensen entered an hour later. He nor any known staff members have left since then. Erka, you have never met either of these men?”

“No.”

“Then we go in and get that drive.”

~~~

Albert Jensen’s entertainment complex, L’excitation, had quickly become the place to go in Paris if you were well-heeled and connected. The multi-floor complex held three restaurants, a lounge, and a club, all a front to launder the money he makes running arms to Africa and the Middle East.

I had to make an entrance to gain his attention. Jensen was a player with a soft spot for redheads. Through the magic of Valentine Caprise, our resident makeup artist who created our disguises, I became Aimée Toussaint, heir to many European real estate holdings. My credentials online say so on all my social media accounts, conveniently created by the IGP computer gurus.

So, a grand entrance I made. With Claude as my chauffeur, I arrived at L’excitation at ten p.m. in a dark red Rolls Royce. Two doormen/bodyguards were at the entrance, and I had their attention as soon as I stepped out of the Rolls. Val had transformed me from a reasonably attractive brunette into a femme fatale. A long, natural hair red wig, makeup contours that change my face, vivid-blue contact lenses, and five-inch platform heels that made me five-nine, not my normal five foot-four inches. If that wasn’t dramatic enough, I wore a floor-length white fox coat covering a copper satin slip-style gown. The diamond necklace I wore glinted in the bright spotlight above the door.

Claude escorted me to the double glass door entrance. I dismissed him with a curt “I’ll text you when I am ready to leave,” then smiled at the doormen. Texting wasn’t necessary. I was wearing earbuds. He could hear everything, and I could listen to him. I knew there were operatives inside and outside the building as well.

“Gentlemen, I am here for a good time.” They opened the doors, and I entered the grand foyer of the complex.

Opulent is not an adequate work for the décor. A broad grand staircase sat in the center, leading to the upper and lower floors. The Club was on the lower level, and though muffled, I could feel the vibration of the music on the floor. One of the three restaurants was to my right, but my destination, the Lounge, was to my left.

Serpentine blue and green rope lighting glowed softly throughout the large, multi-level bar. Plush velour couches and leather chairs in shades of sapphire and emerald filled the space not taken up by the massive stainless steel and glass bar. A jazz band played from a stage in the corner, a cozy dance floor in front of them.

Intel said that Jensen always sat on the highest level between the bar and the band, so I made my way to that end of the bar, getting a bit of attention on the way, which was good. The more attention that I received, the more Jensen would notice.

I found an empty stool, ordered a Dirty Martini, and waited. It took less time than I thought. I had barely sipped my drink when a man tapped me on the shoulder.

“Madame, the proprietor, Monsieur Jensen, would like to invite you to his table.”

I picked up my drink and smiled. “Lead the way.”

Jensen, youthful looking in his fifties, sat on a couch with a woman, and two men sat in chairs. The location provided him with a view of the entire bar. He made introductions, and then, as I was about to introduce myself, he surprised me.

He lifted his drink and turned to his guests. “May I introduce Madame Aimée Toussaint.”

“I am flattered that you know me, Monsieur Jensen.”

“It is shameful, but I am addicted to social media and have seen you there.”

I chuckled internally. Those posts went up two hours ago, so I knew he was checking me out. “I don’t know why there is such a fuss about social media when it gives me the pleasure to meet new men.”

I slipped off the fox coat and watched his eyes trail over my body. He was living up to expectations. We chatted a bit about Paris, jazz, and the export business owned by his companions. I knew Claude heard their names, would check them, and inform me of whatever I needed to know. Jensen focused on me, and I made sure to respond in a manner that he realized I enjoyed the attention.

It wasn’t long before he suggested the woman with him leave. She rose with a glance toward me but a blank expression. She appeared accustomed to dismissal. Jenson motioned for me to sit next to him.

“Ah, that’s better. It was difficult to hear that lovely soft voice from a distance.”

“I must say, this is a more comfortable spot.”

We chatted, and two women joined the men who were with us. I slipped closer to Jensen so that my thigh touched his. He responded by touching my knee and smiling when I did not pull away.

“My dear, would you like a private tour of L’excitation?”

“I would love one.”

“Good, I will even take you behind the scenes.”

I grabbed my coat, indicating to him that I wasn’t intending to return to the bar. We exited The Lounge, and I noticed Romanesque sitting on a couch near the door, always nearby. In the grand hall, Jensen began to tell me about the architecture and the designer who did the décor. We descended the sweeping staircase and poked our heads into The Club. The noise was overwhelming, and I expressed a dislike for the music. He agreed that he didn’t like it as well.

We returned to the grand foyer. Jensen swept his arm toward the upper levels. “There are two more restaurants, boutiques, and offices on the two upper floors, but I have a suggestion. My apartment is in the building, and I have artwork I think you would enjoy seeing. And I make a delicious French 75 cocktail. Shall we?”

I gathered as much lust as I could fake and looked him in the eyes. “We shall.”

After the opulence in the rest of the building, the apartment was more understated and elegant than I expected. I tossed my fur onto the couch and wandered the room, looking at the gallery of his collected artwork.

“Impressive collection, Monsieur Jensen.”

“It is, and please, call me Bert.”

“And you may call me Aimée.” He was fussing at the bar, and I joined him as he made the French 75. He put gin, lemon juice, and simple syrup into a shaker, mixed it well, and poured it into champagne flutes. He opened a bottle of Perrier Jouet Belle Epoque Brut, an expensive bottle of champagne, topped off the drink with a twist of lemon, and handed me the glass.

“A toast to a most beautiful woman.”

“Merci.” I sipped the drink. “Delicious.” I wandered through the room, continuing to look at the art. But I wasn’t interested in art. My quest was to find the book. The couch sat away from the wall with a low bookcase and artwork behind it. I stepped into the opening, and there was the paper bag from the bookstore. Why was it not locked away? I pretended not to see it and walked into it, stumbling.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see the bag.” I bent down to pick it up and smiled at him. “Are these antique books? Are you a collector? My grandpapa was one.”

Before he could reach me, I pulled the book with the drive out of the bag. I quickly ran my finger along the spine. The drive was still under the leather. He approached and took the book from me.

“I am keeping those for a friend. He could not pick them up today.” He put the book back and slipped his arm around my waist. “My dear, I do not think you came here only to look at my etchings.”

I pulled away and headed for the hallway leading from the living room. “Your restroom? I need to freshen up.”

He grinned lecherously. “Through my bedroom, last door on the left.”

I leisurely walked down the hallway, knowing he was watching. Taped inside my thigh was a tiny syringe filled with tranquilizer. Once in the bedroom, I slipped it out, tucked it under the pillow, then ran water in the bathroom to cover my time.

When I exited the bathroom, he was exactly where I expected him—standing next to the bed, undressing. He leered at me. “Join me.”

I grinned back, and as I started to undress, the window exploded into shards of glass. A started expression covered Jensen’s face as a large hole appeared in the center of his chest, blood rapidly spreading across his unbuttoned shirt. He fell onto the bed as intense frigid air rushed into the room. I had to think quickly as an alarm was going off. His security would arrive any minute.

Claude’s voice startled me. “Erka, report.”

“Jensen down. Target here. Call the gendarmes. We need cover.”

I could hear pounding on the front door. So, I started screaming as I pulled my dress off to make it appear we were about to have sex. It was Romanesque who broke the door down and entered the bedroom, rushing to his dead boss.

“What happened here.?”

“I—I don’t know. He was standing there, and then the window exploded, and he….”

I didn’t get any further as another shot rang out, and Romanesque’s head burst as a bullet struck his skull, scattering brain matter. I had to get out. I grabbed the syringe and my dress and rushed to the living room. I put on the coat, grabbed the bag of books, and fled into the hallway. Hiding around the corner from the apartment, I put on the dress, followed by the coat, and folded the bag of books, tucking the package underneath the coat.

“Claude, I’m coming out. Romanesque is down.”

I waited until a few men who had rushed up the stairs disappeared into the apartment. I hurried down the hall, pressed the elevator button, and held my breath as the door opened. No one was inside. I pressed floor two and stepped out, mingling with restaurant guests. I descended the grand staircase and noticed two IGP operatives I recognized in the lobby. As I reached the first floor, one of the two exporters with Jensen earlier stopped me.

“Aimée, have you seen Bert?”

“No, I left him about twenty minutes ago. He said he had a call to make.” I smiled and walked away.

Calmly, I passed through the front doors unnoticed by the doormen, distracted by the arrival of the police. The two IGP agents shadowed me as I left the building. Claude had parked just past the hotel and waited next to the Bentley. He opened the door for me. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. Someone killed our only leads.”

~~~

Claude handed me a cup of coffee, and absently, I grabbed a pain au chocolat from the box of pastries on the conference table. I sank back against the padded back of the chair as a wave of exhaustion swept over me. I sure hope chocolate helped.

“You sure don’t look like you did when you entered L’excitation.”

I scoffed, ticked at his comment. “Saying I look better with a red wig and a slinky dress? Not to mention a coat made of dead animals that I despised wearing.”

“No, I think you look better now. At least, after you washed the brain and blood off.”

My hair was in a ponytail, and although I was wearing leggings and a sweatshirt, looking into Claude’s eyes, I had never felt more beautiful. Where did that come from?

Thankfully, the elevator arrived, and Moreau exited, only nodding at us. He grabbed a pastry and read a report on his pad before he spoke.

“First, before Mr. Parker joins us, NATO confirmed the drive recovered from the book contained the data feared stolen. Excellent job.”

I was worried about the courier from the train. “Is Vogel safe?”

“Surveillance is with her and will remain after she returns to Geneva until we are certain she is not in danger.”

“Good. I fear whoever killed Jensen and Romanesque might also like to tie up that loose end.”

“What’s going on here, Moreau?” Claude vocalized the confusion he and I felt.

Moreau said nothing for long enough that my pulse quickened. His voice was monotone and cold.
“I don’t know.”

Before we could react, the tone sounded, indicating Mr. Parker was about to appear. This time, I sat more upright. We all did. It was four in the morning, yet Mr. Parker appeared impeccably dressed and wide awake.

“Good morning. First, let me say that the Tribunal is pleased with the rapid resolution of this situation. The recovery of the stolen data is paramount to the security of all nations. However, the Tribunal is in possession of intelligence that this theft is only the beginning of a concerted effort to undermine the countries of the world. We do not know for what purpose, economic or political. We believe that the theft of the satellite codes was a warning. A warning we would best heed, Moreau.”

“Can you elaborate on the intelligence?”

Parker paused. “No, I cannot.”

“At least, do we know who the leak is at NATO Headquarters?”

“We know it is one of two people, but we are choosing to observe versus arrest for now. Suffice it to say that we have added additional safeguards to direct whoever is hacking the system to what we want them to see.”

“What does the Tribunal wish IGP to do?”

“They are most pleased with Ms. Blasi’s work and that of her team. We want her to return to Geneva and pursue the bookstore owner, Mr. Schmid. We know he sends couriers out regularly, but we are not convinced they are all concerned with stolen information from NATO. It’s time we learn what he’s doing and stop him, but first, we can trace his contact back to NATO headquarters. Time is of the essence. Notify me when the operation is underway and report regularly.”

The screen went blank, and we sat silently, absorbing what Parker had said. Moreau took a huge bite from a pastry before he spoke. “Erka, assemble your team. We have work to do.”

~~~

Forty-eight hours after leaving Geneva, I was returning. Arriving at Gare de Lyon, I smiled when I saw that our train was the beautiful green train. Claude accompanied me, now posing as Lucas Allard, a fellow art student, and my boyfriend. Some of my team had traveled before us, and two were onboard this train. There was much work left, and the Tribunal wanted results.

As the Vert train pulled out of the station, I gazed out the window at the snow, which had begun to fall in huge flakes and would soon be deepening the snow cover. The criminals we were seeking hid behind their brand of cover, but we would find and expose them. That’s our job. 

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Lisa Criss Griffin: Sand, Snakes and Surprises

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month, Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Please note: This story by Lisa Criss Griffin is one in a series of stories about the Cabal and the Guardians. Please search for Lisa’s stories with the blog and enjoy the full scope of this continuing story.

Sand, Snakes and Surprises

Lisa Criss Griffin

Enrique leaned nonchalantly against the small dilapidated stone structure located in a highly remote area of the deserts of Region One. Not many people found their way to his so-called souvenir shop, and that was fine by him. He was actually part of a clandestine mission critical to the success of the Guardian rebellion against the worldwide Cabal. If he and his cohorts were discovered, their fate would be worse than death. Although…he believed watching the agonizing death of his beloved wife from the nefarious jab rolled out during the recent pandemic was most likely much worse than his own possible demise. 

His rage towards the Cabal still roiled relentlessly through his soul. Even so, Enrique was somewhat relieved he was now single and grateful he had nothing further to lose, which made him a very dangerous man. He had not been given details in his recent communication with his Guardian contact, but the urgency in Rance’s voice betrayed how critical it would be for this part of the overall mission to go well. 

He sucked in the cooling desert air, watching in awe as the horizon displayed an overwhelming palate of intense colors before slowly fading over the vibrantly striped cliffs rising beyond the endless prairie of sand and cacti. As harsh as the desert was, there was a captivating beauty here for those who took the time to notice. Eventually, the indigo-blue sky glittered with billions of stars sparkling like diamonds overhead. Enrique reveled in the comforting warmth radiating from the stone building as he anxiously waited for the arrival of the Guardian entourage. 

Caught up in the majestic beauty, he unexpectedly shuddered as the distant purr of a motorcade reached his ears. There was no turning back now. Enrique was all the way in, committed to snatching their freedoms back from the cruel reign of the global Cabal elitists. In a few moments, he would either be dead, hoping to die or become a part of the greatest fight for freedom in his lifetime.

Three dusty black sedans quickly rolled to a stop in front of his building. A couple of large men dressed in military desert camouflage popped out of the lead car. The taller man grabbed Enrique, pressed him firmly against the warm stone wall, and searched him for weapons. The other man entered the building. He emerged a few moments later, pronouncing the premises clear. Enrique’s captor turned him around to face the vehicles but maintained a firm grip on his arm.

The back door of the second car opened, allowing a tall man and a young lady who appeared to be his secretary to emerge. Enrique’s old friend Rance and another man stepped out of the third car. Enrique realized he had been holding his breath and slowly exhaled in relief.

“Enrique! Good to see you, amigo mio.”

The tight grip on Enrique’s arm immediately released, and the man in camouflage stepped away. The guard’s hardened blue gaze drilled a silent warning towards Enrique as Rance shook his friend’s hand warmly.

“Good to see you too, Rance. This sounded urgent.”

“Indeed. We need your assistance. Where can the five of us talk privately?”

Enrique scanned the desert horizon all the way back to the guards and his storefront. One could not be too careful these days. He silently motioned to Rance and his companions to follow him inside the dilapidated souvenir shop. Two more guards in camouflage exited the cars and followed the group into the store, leaving the original guards posted outside. Enrique’s eyes narrowed.

“No one but the five of us will be allowed where we can talk freely. Please have your guards leave the building. The entrance must remain a secret, even to them.”

Enrique nodded towards the guards, who began to protest. The tall man’s deep voice rumbled an authoritative command. The guards instantly adjusted their earbuds while they strode out of the store and faced the cars. He nodded at Enrique, a hint of intrigue flashing across his aristocratic features.

“After you.”

Rance nodded an affirmation to his friend, his excitement tangible. Enrique lowered the front window shade before walking behind a glass display case containing various rocks, gemstones, crafts, and trinkets. Several varieties of cacti decorated the shelf on the wall behind the display case, lending an air of prickly authenticity to the souvenir shop. The group gasped as he nonchalantly thrust his fingers behind a particularly wicked-looking cactus and depressed a large spine. The entire display case swung aside, revealing a staircase leading to a dimly lit elevator. 

Once the group was on the elevator, Enrique nudged a nondescript stone built into the base of the staircase with the toe of his worn leather boot. The display case swung back over their heads, culminating in a soft but final thud. Enrique closed the door to the elevator, pressing a sequence of small turquoise buttons located next to the door. The dim light did nothing to relieve the sensation of the elevator quickly slipping down into a great gaping maw of quicksand.

The elevator slowed, then stopped. To the horror of more than one occupant, the sound of shifting sand continued to dribble down the exterior sides of the elevator. Keying in a different sequence on the turquoise buttons, Enrique smiled reassuringly. Something attached itself to the elevator and clicked into place. The door swung open.

A soft golden light and the sweet aroma of unbelievably fresh air flooded the elevator. The group piled out of their cramped, stuffy ride, through a short decontamination chamber and into a lush, fragrant garden covering most of an enormous cavern. The sound of an underground stream burbled softly somewhere in the distance. Leaves of gigantic plants thought extinct eons ago created a delightful canopy, offering smatterings of shade for the understory flowers and fruits.

Rance, Melanie, her twin brother Max and Dr. Greg Zimmerman looked around in astonishment. Enrique smiled. Only a few trusted people knew of this place. And he trusted The Guardian, founded by Melanie and Max after the shocking murder of their billionaire father by the Cabal. He always enjoyed the initial reactions to the Secret Garden, and this was no exception.

“Enrique, allow me to introduce you to the founder of The Guardian, Melanie. This tall fellow here is her twin brother Maxwell and the face of the organization. Dr. Greg Zimmerman recently discovered the only living specimen known as The Treasure of The Ancients. He found an unusual anomaly in her venom, which we believe may be effective against the nonhuman part of the members of The Cabal. As you already know, we have an elixir developed by the late Dr. Nutter of The Cabal that removes the ability of human beings to make decisions. It is a horrendous tool, and The Guardian was extremely fortunate to have obtained it before it fell into the wrong hands. It is absolutely effective on humans, but only partially effective on Cabal members, since they are not completely human.”

Enrique nodded his head with sincere enthusiasm, never dreaming the rebellion had made such progress against the monstrous Cabal.

“How can I be helpful to the Guardian?”

Dr. Zimmerman cleared his throat nervously, glancing at Rance before speaking.

“Although I was able to isolate the anomaly in The Treasure of The Ancient’s venom, it appears we need a catalyst to activate it once it is present in the body of…our unwilling test subject.”

Enrique’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“You have a member of the Cabal for this?”

“Yes, indeed. A very angry one. He can be surprisingly devious. He almost killed one of our people recently before his human part obeyed the commands given to release the man he unexpectedly grabbed and throttled through the bars of his cell. He has unknowingly received several doses of my venom serum in his food. Since there have been no obvious effects, even with higher dosages, it occurred to me that perhaps a catalyst was necessary to trigger the desired effect. Having done some research on the ancient viper’s primeval environment, we believe it could be something that might also be thought to be extinct…or at least extremely rare.”

“I see. And you think the unknown catalyst might be here?”

“We certainly hope so. I would like to obtain some small samples of a variety of these ancient edible plants, fruit, and fungi to use for testing for possible interactions with the venom serum back in the Guardian’s lab.”

Maxwell noticed the hesitancy flash across Enrique’s weather-worn face as he looked towards Rance. He stepped forward slightly, capturing Enrique’s attention.

“We would be deeply grateful if you would be willing to help the Guardian in this way. In fact, any suggestions you might have regarding which specimens to choose would be of immense value to us. The decision is yours, of course. Either way, the Guardian will honor your choice on whether or not to allow us the samples for testing.”

“Do I have your personal guarantee that the location…and even the very existence of this Secret Garden will not be revealed to anyone other than yourselves?”

“Yes, of course. We all expected that would be part of the agreement. The Guardian has no desire to tamper with such a pristine piece of living history. In fact, if you give your permission for this venture, would you like to personally choose and harvest the samples for us to minimize the impact in this lovely place?”

Relieved, Enrique felt his entire body relax as he shook hands with Maxwell to seal the deal. It took him a couple of hours to meticulously harvest and label the specimens he felt might have a synergistic effect with the ancient viper’s venom. On impulse, he selected a few of the phosphorescent fungi lining the ceiling and walls of the cavern. He carefully wrapped and sealed his selections, placing them in the double-walled, solid black baggies designed by the Guardian to prevent direct exposure to sunlight and the atmosphere above ground.

His assignment finished, Enrique handed Dr. Zimmerman the sample bags with great care. The rest of the team had enjoyed their short respite from the horrors that awaited them above ground. The group reluctantly reentered the decontamination chamber and filed back into the elevator. Enrique hesitated before pressing a sequence on the turquoise buttons. He turned to face the group.

“I have some unexpected news. We will be taking a detour. I cannot allow any of  you to return the way you came. I recognized one of your security personnel. You have been infiltrated by the Cabal. I do not know to what extent, but I feel that it is my duty to give you another option to leave here safely.”

The ominous sound of shifting sand began to scrape against the walls of the elevator. Rance had the distinct impression they were traveling sideways instead of upward towards the dilapidated souvenir shop.

“Who did you recognize, Enrique?”

“The driver of the third car is a mole. She ran a human trafficking ring through this area before she was promoted.”

“But the driver of the third car is a man. His name is Danny Rodriguez. He came highly recommended by an associate of ours.”

“Well then, Rance. It seems like the infiltration may be worse than you thought. A covert genetic test will show that Danny Rodriguez is actually the notorious Danielle Sandoval-Rodriguez. Don’t be fooled by the disguise. She is as dangerous, evil, and corrupt as anyone else in the Cabal. I had an unforgettable personal experience with that monster years ago, although I doubt she would recall me from the large group she enjoyed torturing.”

A wave of genuine revulsion played across Enrique’s features as he felt the growing horror burgeoning within the group. He would never forget being trapped with the others on that frigid train as it barreled northward through the ice and snow on their way to a place that still occupied his nightmares. The bile rising in his throat burned as familiar tentacles of PTSD from that experience wormed their way out of his subconscious and into his body. Oh God…how he wished he could unsee the depraved, inhumane murders of those poor children by that monster and her cohorts! He steadied himself against the wall with the turquoise buttons, trembling as a cold sweat enveloped his body. The sound of sand scraping against the walls seemed amplified due to the shocked silence in the elevator. Enrique’s voice was hoarse as he continued.

“I’ve activated a program to cause the old souvenir shop to erupt in flames within five minutes. The distraction will allow you to leave unnoticed from our current destination and destroy access to the Secret Garden from the store site. I hope one of you can pilot a helicopter. I wish you all well and pray for your success with this project.”

Rance put a hand on his childhood friend’s shoulder.

“But what about you, amigo mio? What will happen to you if you stay here? Why don’t you come with us?”

“My sanity lies in caring for the garden. Surely you know me well enough to realize I have created many options for myself out here, carefully hidden beneath the desert sand. My concern is for all of you and the success of this project.”

“I’ll let you know when we are successful…when we finally rid ourselves of these evil tyrants.”

“And if I don’t hear from you, I will be content to enjoy the rest of my days in the Secret Garden.”

The elevator lurched upward. The occupants felt the release of the drag of the sand as it broke through the surface. The door opened, revealing a black helicopter situated between two rocky outcrops. Camouflage netting stretched over the top of the aircraft.

“Get in and get going!”

Enrique pressed a remote. The netting released and slid down to the base of one of the outcrops. The sound of clamps securing it in place was almost unnoticeable as the Guardian team scrambled to get inside the helicopter. The enigmatic elevator disappeared before the engine fired up. Maxwell worked feverishly at the helm, activating a location scrambler as the rotors began turning in earnest. Zimmerman clutched the precious black sample bags tightly to his body, like small children in danger of falling.

Melanie’s brother skillfully guided the aircraft up and out of the outcroppings. A fiery orange glow was visible about a mile away. The black helicopter rose and banked into the night sky, away from the fiery flames burning below. 

Maxwell glanced into his twin sister’s eyes, his breath catching in his throat at the rock-hard, cold determination drilling into his gaze. It reminded him of her reaction when their father had been brutally murdered by The Cabal. Any form of betrayal within the Guardian was unacceptable, intolerable and was dealt with swiftly out of necessity. There was going to be one hell of a merciless housecleaning when they reached headquarters! He nodded in agreement with Mel, as the black aircraft deftly disappeared into the vast darkness of the cold midnight sky, their destination…a mystery.

Copyright 2024 ©️ Lisa Criss Griffin
All rights reserved

Please visit Lisa on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorlisacrissgriffin

Images are free use and require no attribution. Image by Kanenori from Pixabay. 

Colleen Mitrano: Abyss Cove

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month, Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

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Abyss Cove

Colleen Mitrano

Carrie shook her head and blinked as she woke up. A loud thud followed by what she was pretty sure was a mumbled curse from another passenger as they dropped their IPAD across the aisle awakened Carrie from her slumber. She glanced down at her watch. It was a quarter past three. Carrie couldn’t believe she had slept for over an hour, yet she still had about two and a half hours left before the train pulled into Abyss Cove Station. 

Her stomach rumbled. Carrie grabbed her water and took a few sips. This would have to do for now, she wasn’t in the mood to make her way to the dining car, and she didn’t want any of the chocolates she brought along for the ride. Carrie watched the snow-covered landscape pass by through the window. It had been a particularly cold January with a few early storms that left everything looking like a winter wonderland. “What a deception”, she thought to herself. 

Where Carrie was headed was anything but a wonderland. She envied the other passengers on the train. Most looked enthused, happy to be traveling. Carrie imagined they were probably going to be reunited with family they haven’t seen in a while with warm hugs and laughs to be had. 

A strong feeling of resentment ran through Carrie. She despised that she was summoned back to Abyss Cove. Knowing that her time outside was over made Carrie long for the moment when she got permission to go and explore the world. Although now that felt like a lifetime ago, she still remembers it like it was yesterday. The day her father told her she could go up and live like everyone else. Experience life to its fullest, it was the happiest Carrie had ever been, and today was now the saddest. 

Carrie looked around her car. It wasn’t full, but there was a decent number of people on it. A range in ages, which was a bit surprising to her. She wondered if the other cars had similar travelers. 

“I’m from Fort Worth, Texas,” said the woman sitting in front of Carrie. She had auburn hair with a little grey piece here and there. She looked to be in her early fifties. The woman had struck up a conversation with the young man sitting directly across from her. He had dusty blonde hair and hazel eyes. He looked like he had a tan. Carrie got the impression he liked being outdoors, especially by the water. 

“I have two dogs. Lanna, my Terrier mix, and Grace, my Pitbull.” She pulled up a picture on her phone to show the young man. He smiled. “My cousin is going to take care of them for me. I’ll miss them for now, but I’ll see them again.” She said. Carrie noticed a tinge of melancholy in her voice. Hearing the woman talk about her dogs made Carrie almost excited to see her family dog Spark. Although she was sure Lanna and Grace were a lot cuddlier than Spark was.

“We used to have a family dog,” replied the young man. “His name was Petie. He was a Lab. He passed away a few years back; Petie was an old guy, and he lived a good life.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Answered the Auburn-haired woman. “I’m sure you’ll see him again.”

“Yeah.” The young man said with a half-baked smile.

The train’s whistle blew. Then a voice came over the loudspeaker, “Next stop, Abyss Cove. Please gather all your belongings as this is our final destination.” People started moving around. Putting away anything they were doing or eating. Bags began being zipped and snapped. A sense of excitement and anxiousness could be felt in the air. Carrie felt more of the latter. She wasn’t overjoyed about going home. 

The train began to slow up. Carrie looked out the window, the station was now in view. It was rather busy, but then again, this was it. A knot grew in Carrie’s stomach as the train came to a full stop. The doors opened, and voices started clambering in from all directions. As passengers began to disembark, people began running to one another, their faces lighting up as they were reunited. There were of course, a few people like Carrie who didn’t have friends or family meeting them. Like her they seemed to slowly walk towards the steps leading to the exit. 

Carrie ignored the taxis lined up, looking for those lost souls who needed a lift. She didn’t need a ride; it wasn’t far, and she knew exactly where to go. As she walked by the last cab, the driver tipped his hat to her. She smiled. Carrie couldn’t believe he still drove for Charon after all these years and, most of all, still recognized her. Carrie then put her head down, continued walking and a little smile grew across her face.

It was twilight. There was a crimson hue cast over the sky. The streets were bustling with a few riders stopping by pubs and shops before heading to wherever their eventual end would be. Most travelers took advantage of their time in Abyss Cove before departing. Although it was a busy place at times, it was rarely an actual final destination for anyone stopping here. Most found their way to other places beyond the Abyss to spend their time.

Carries’ travels took her farther out of the village. The streets got darker, the buildings less inviting. There was practically no one around now. She wasn’t surprised, people didn’t tend to head this way.

“Hey,” she heard a familiar male voice call to her. Carrie turned around to see that young man with the dusty blonde hair from the train running towards her. It startled her a bit, as Carrie really wasn’t expecting to see anyone.

“Yes.” She answered.

“I think I’m lost.” Said the man, a little winded as he ran up to her. “I was under the impression my grandparents would be meeting me at the station, but they weren’t there. I’ve tried to get a hold of them or anyone, and I keep getting nothing. Is service bad here?”

Carrie’s apprehension about heading home lessened as a bit of sorrow crept in. “Service is really bad here. Unless you have the right connection.” She replied. The young man looked at her, confused. Carrie saw the puzzled look on his face and quickly continued before he could question her. “Anyway, were you positive your grandparents would be here? 

Again, he looked at Carrie, a bit bewildered. “Of course, I was positive. They are my grandparents. Who else would want to see him when I arrived?” He answered vehemently. 

“Okay. Okay.” I wasn’t implying you were lying or something. I was clarifying so we could figure out where to look. Carrie responded, trying to ease the tension that was rising. “This guy was definitely a bit high-strung strung,” she thought.

“Sorry. My name is Marc. I’m just anxious to get where I need to be, that’s all.”

“It’s okay. I’m Carrie. So are your grandparents permanent residents of Abyss Cove, or were they just meeting you?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before.”

“Well, most people haven’t,” replied Carrie with a slight laugh. Marc smiled a little.

“You have, though. Haven’t you?” Marc asked with intrigue.

“Yes.” Carrie replied uneasily. She squirmed in her jacket. She figured her all too relaxed attitude and familiarity with the place gave her away.

“But you came back?” he asked.

“You could say that.” She answered with a bit of relief. Marc’s thought process was headed in a different direction than she anticipated. “Do any of these houses look like something your grandparents would live in? Or do any of these houses just draw you to them? Like you’d want to stay here for a bit?”

Marc glanced around and shook his head. “No. Not for me and not for my grandparents. These houses are all kind of depressing looking. My grandparents were full of life, they would have something that reflects that.” 

Carrie wasn’t surprised none of these houses would be occupied by his grandparents. Most of them were just rentals. His grandparents probably weren’t Abyss Cove resident types. People who stayed here did so until they figured things out. Decided which direction they were headed in or got the calling to move on that sort of thing. 

“Do you have family here?” Marc asked.

“Yeah. We are just a few blocks away.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll probably get you settled before then. It’s okay I wouldn’t want to meet them either if I didn’t have to.” They both let out an awkward laugh.

“You’re not looking forward to seeing them?”

“Not really. We’re not the warm and fuzzy type. Our family is complicated. Although I am sort of excited to see Spark. She’s our dog.”

Sort of excited?” questioned Marc, looking a bit puzzled. “Is she a beast or something?” He continued with a chuckle. Carrie awkwardly smiled back.

“Ha, that’s one way to put it. Let’s just say she is a hellish of a hound.” 

“Eh, wouldn’t want to meet her on a bad day I guess?” Marc responded lightheartedly.

Carrie tried to keep the upbeat tone of the conversation going. “Nope. She’s a feisty one.” They continued walking and the world just kept getting more desolate. The sky still had that crimson overcast but it appeared darker. The trees seemed to be less alive. Birds no longer sang, there just seemed to be nothing. Carrie hoped Marc would find who he was looking for, but he didn’t. She knew he wouldn’t. That initial pin of sorrow she felt when they met up a few blocks back told her everything.

“Woah, did you hear that?” Marc jumped.

“You can hear it?” replied Carrie somberly. She was hoping he wouldn’t be able to hear them, that never boded well.

“Yeah. Those are the loudest dogs I’ve ever heard.”

Carrie felt a knot in her stomach. She knew what it was. They were close now. The hounds could sense them, and they were alerting her family.

“Are they your dogs as well?” Marc seemed a little nervous.

“Kind of. Family dogs. They are all a bit fiery.” Carrie answered.

“Fiery. They sound downright demonic.” Carrie let out a huge laugh. Marc just looked at her with a sense of bewilderment and panic. She could tell he was starting to figure things out.

“Well, if the shoe fits,” she answered. Carrie just continued walking, leaving Marc to his thoughts. They finally came to the end of the block. In front of them stood a large Victorian house. If anything looked like it belonged in a scary story, it was this. They stopped in front. There was a locked gate. Carrie took out an old key.

“Wait, is this your stop?” asked Marc.

“Yeah, of course. Where else would I go? This is the end of the block.” Carrie replied. She unlocked the gate and walked through. Marc just stood there staring. “Aren’t you coming?” 

Marc, still a bit uneasy, followed her. He looked around as they walked up the pathway. The house was old, you could even see gravestones off in the distance. They climbed the stairs. Carrie stopped on the landing before opening the door. She looked at Marc. 

“I shouldn’t feel sorry, but I do. I’m sorry you didn’t realize this is where you were going when you got off at Abyss Station. Most people know. I’m not sure what you did, but they must have thought you had some chance of redemption in you, or they wouldn’t have let you walk with me. Normally, one of Charon’s drivers picks you up and gets you here, but I guess your scales weren’t in place yet. I’m sorry they didn’t fall in your favor, and your grandparents weren’t called to get you.”

Marc didn’t reply. He just stared at her stone cold. There was a shift in his eyes though. The kindness that she saw on the train and when they walked completely vanished. A vicious demeanor came through, one that she often saw here. It saddened her. That’s why she liked being on the other side so much more. There is always a chance the scales could balance differently. There is so much promise in humanity, and she loved seeing the good win over the bad. 

Carrie turned away from Marc and opened the door. She looked at it, there engraved on it, “Porta Inferi” as if she could forget. Carrie walked in and then motioned for Marc to follow “C’mon, Marc. Go Down the hall to the first office on the left. My dad’s waiting.”

Marc didn’t look at Carrie as he passed her and headed down the hall to his fate. Carrie walked through the long corridor towards the living room. She could feel the heat of the fires below and hear the loud rumbling snores from her Hellhound Spark, who was probably curled up in her normal spot by the living room entryway. Yes, she was home.

Please visit Colleen on her sites:
Website: www.uniquelyindividuallyme.com 
Facebook: facebook.com/uniquelyindividuallyme
Vocal Media: https://vocal.media/author/colleen-mitrano

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Calliope Njo: My New Home

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month, Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

My New Home

 Calliope Njo

I glanced at the time on my phone. It was three-thirty. With any luck, Mr. Graham would still be in his office. I texted him, and he agreed to a last-minute meeting because someone brought something to his attention. I also wanted to know how much money was left or how I could find out.

I had a stray twenty-dollar bill in my pocket that I decided to keep there. Instead, I used my debit card to arrange for transport. I found something that I didn’t have to be eighteen to use and used that. Once there, I walked all the way down the hall and into his office. He was bent over, talking to his assistant. He turned his head towards me. “There you are,” he said as he stood. “I have something for you.”

He went to his own office and came out with a green bag. “I promised to keep this safe for her and to only give it to you when I thought you needed it. What’s in here may not answer all of your questions, but it might answer some.”

“What’s in it? You said someone brought it to your attention.”

He smiled. “Something very magical and I said that to get you in here.”

“From Mom?” She never showed any interest in magic.

He walked to me and put the bag in my hand. “It is time, I think. If you need anything, I’m here. Don’t worry. Your mother and I had a special arrangement. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Just one more thing. Can you tell me how much money is left? I don’t remember if we discussed it.”

“When you turn eighteen, all will be given to you. What’s in that bag is a key of sorts.” He left me in the middle of the office.

Uh. Yeah. But. I looked at his assistant. Then that picture of a pitcher on his wall by the door before I left.

I had no idea what was in it. It sort of clunked and had weight to it. I stepped into a local pizza place. The aroma led me right to the counter. They had a stone oven that was right behind the counter, with people using a large wooden platform to retrieve pizzas. When I got mine, I savored each and every morsel.

I was about to get on a bus to go home, but I recognized the car that came in my direction. That black Audi Q8 e-tron could only belong to one person. I smiled as he parallel parked. JohnPaul poked his head out the window. “Get in.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I opened the door and got in. “Oh boy. Am I glad to see you. So how’ve you been?”

“Same here. Same there.”

“Are you still with Liesel?” Why don’t you get to the point?

“The queen of my realm is doing very well. She will be off to Oxford soon. How about you?”

“I’m doing fine.” Liar.

“Sure you are. And that weighted bag?”

Here we go. “JohnPaul, my life is a mess. Mom dies because of a car accident. I went to a lawyer’s office who gives me this green bag full of something. I haven’t even opened it yet. I don’t even know how much money she left me. Besides you, I don’t have a family.”

“I am so sorry. Was there anywhere you’d like to go?”

I looked at the clock on his dashboard. I loved expensive cars and his was so fine on top of being electric. My problem was I didn’t have the money to buy one.

“I think I need to go home. Find out what’s in here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t have any other place to go. That’s why my life sucks rocks.”

“How about this? I take the bag. I’ll take inventory and photograph whatever is in there. Let me make a few phone calls and I will get together with you tomorrow. Probably around nine-thirty in the morning.”

“Yeah. OK. I’ll leave this in the car then. Since you’ll be calling Sergio, tell him I’ll reimburse him for my bills. Thanks.” It was now or never, or as Mom always told me, sometimes things couldn’t wait. “I know it’s late, but… thank you and your dad for helping with the funeral.”

“That’s not an issue. As long as you’re OK.”

“Kay.” I patted his hand.

He pulled into the driveway. “Here we are.”

“And how you know where everybody lives is beyond me. Even before computers were installed into cars.”

“Magic.” He laughed.

I got out and went into the house without a reason. I stood in the kitchen, expecting her to come in. Of course, that didn’t happen. I turned right around and left with what I came in with.

There was a small motel not that far away. About five blocks from the house. One girl I knew from math, her family ran it. It gave me a place to go.

Maybe sleep would come to me. It eluded me for a while. The lady from the front desk dropped by to give me a plate. I couldn’t accept it. Then I remembered Mom once told me that sometimes it’s rude to refuse a gift.

“It’s a boloni sandwich with cheese, mayo, mustard, lettuce, and pickles on rye bread. A bowl of homemade chicken soup.” The woman smiled.

Oh God. It looked good. I nodded my head and she turned around and put it on the table. “Don’t worry about the bill.”

“Thank you.” The door closed. I dropped on the bed and cried. I had a chance to let everything out and did that. I didn’t know how long I was on the bed and only guessed that it had been a while. The sun went down. I reached for a light and hit a switch. I wished Mom was there.

I finished the tray and got cleaned up. Boy, I needed it. It did more than clean off the dirt. It cleaned the stress away from my body. It was the only chance I had to clean my shirt and panties so that was done as well.

I pictured black water going down the drain. Things were lighter when I got out. I didn’t have any nightshirts so I lay towels down on the bed and slept on top of them.

The sun rose at some point. I hadn’t been sleeping through the night for a while. I’ve been surviving on two or three hours sleep max. When the clock in the room read eight-thirty I thought it was my imagination.

I got ready and grabbed the tray. I left it at the front counter with a little thank you note.

I still had my phone, but it was running low. I went back inside and noticed the tray was gone. I looked around the lobby and noticed a phone for public use. I called JohnPaul to ask him to pick me up.

When he got there, he dialed someone on the phone. He handed it to me.

“Yes?” he said.

“Sergio?”

“Yeah. Go shopping. No don’t worry about anything.”

“But Sergio… .”

“Not buts. Look, Mi Sol, go ahead and get what you need. Give me a little bit of time to work things out. All right?”

“OK. And thank you.”

“Of course. I’m Sergio Ramon De la Vega, and I will always be there for the family.” He hung up.

We ended up at Wiffle’s Waffles. I had to admit I was hungry. When the food came, I dug in and cleaned up every crumb on that plate.

He paid the bill, and we left the restaurant. “Tabitha, I looked in the bag, and there was a carved wooden box in it with a woman’s face on top. I couldn’t open it and there was writing on the bottom. I had it translated and I taped it onto the box. It’s on the floor behind you.”

“JohnPaul. Thanks. I honestly have no idea what to do. I tried going back, but I can’t stop expecting her.”

“Don’t worry. Dad will think of something.”

“It seems weird that you’re still talking to me. People always say that after a break up they stop talking.”

He looked at me. “First of all, it wasn’t us. It was them. Next, I think Dad always had a thing for your mother. I remember seeing tear streaks on his face when we got back.”

“Mom too.”

We stopped at a boating yard and parked the car. We got out and kept going until we got to a gate. He opened the gate with a key and held it so I could get in.

Every boat in every dock had bikini-clad women on it. Some not wearing anything. We kept going, and I had to stop to laugh. “Neptune’s Kelp?”

JohnPaul shrugged. “It was Dad’s idea.” He climbed on board and held his hand out. I grabbed it and climbed on board. “You’re gonna stay here until I hear from Dad. The boat’s yours. Liesel will be leaving tomorrow. I’ve got a little while before I have to do anything. So this is it.”

I couldn’t get over how big it was. It looked like a ship. I turned around, and JohnPaul left. I had to do some shopping because I didn’t have anything. First, though, I had to charge my phone. Luckily, I always brought my charger with me.

I plugged that in and sat down looking over the water. It wouldn’t finish any time soon. My life was a mess. I had no idea what to do at that point.

“Excuse you, bitch,” a woman said. “What are you doing on JP’s yacht?”

I had no energy to deal with it. I guessed she didn’t know him. She called him JP.

“Blondie, I have neither the time nor the willingness to deal with you. Take yourself , your silicone breasts, and the only brain cell you’ve got and get off. What I’m doing here is none of your fuckin’ business.”

“My dad knows the police commisioner. He’ll lock you up forever if I say so.”

“Be my guest.”

“Fine, I will.” She left the boat.

I sat down and my head felt like it weighed a ton. I must’ve fallen asleep because the sun changed position. I looked at my phone and it was charged. I unplugged it and put the charger in my purse.

I went to an online store to buy the basics and had it sent to JohnPaul. I found the address from one of Liesel’s letters. I took advantage of the situation and spent the day zoning out on the water.

“Yoo hoo.”

Huh? I opened one eye and saw JohnPaul standing over me. “Oh. I’m sorry. The waves put me to sleep I think.”

“It happens to Liesel too.” He laughed. “I brought back some food. You’re too skinny.”

The wonder blonde returned. “JP? Did you want me to take care of the trash?” She looked at me.

“I have no idea who you are or who this JP person is. Whatever it is you are referring to, I will take care of it myself. All right? We have a private matter to discuss.”

“I was talking about that thing on your yacht.” She pointed at me as she tried to grab him.

JohnPaul’s jaw tensed and pushed her away. “There are many things here. If you are referring to the lady, she is my sister. Now please go before I call security. I only ask once.”

I wasn’t sure what she was trying to do, but she slipped and fell flat on her butt. I couldn’t help but laugh. JohnPaul looked at me and he laughed too.

The woman got up, stomped her foot, broke her heel, and screamed as she left. After she left, I told him, “John Paul, I did a little shopping and bought some underwear. It’s supposed to be delivered by tomorrow to your house.”

“Oh. OK. That’s fine. I’ll bring it along with us. Dad got a hold of me and he is sending you to an out of the way private school. They do have a high rating. It’s the Pinigree Falls Private Boarding Academy. You’ll be there until you graduate.”

“A private school? Is he nuts? You know how expensive that is? Gee manee.”

“A private school, yes. His mental status has been asked before without a conclusion. I have no idea how much it is, because he wouldn’t tell me how much.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

“Good. I will be here around nine-thirty to pick you up. Sleep wherever you feel comfortable. I’ll clean up when I get back. Don’t worry about it. Take any room you want. It doesn’t matter. Stay safe, huh.” He left.

There were times I thought life sucked. Then there were times when everything was so good. This was a combination of both.

I pulled the container closer to me and opened the cover, Cheese ravioli in marinara sauce. The small container had salad. I inhaled the aroma, and yup, it was Caesar. Tall glass of iced tea with lemon and sweetener on the side. Did he forget the garlic bread? No, he didn’t. It was in a smaller bag on the bottom.

I ate everything, and it was so good. I realized at that point that I should’ve bought more than underwear. We were going on a trip. Well, with any luck, there was a shop not that far from the school.

I grabbed the bag, the trash, and brought both with me. I could take care of both in the morning. The thing I wanted to see was the box.

I couldn’t help but look at the carved woman. The face, hair, and eyes were colored somehow, maybe watercolor. It wasn’t a glossy shine, but it had a shine of its own depending on the light. The lid didn’t open, and there wasn’t a keyhole either. A scan of the bottom didn’t show anything, except some words I had no idea how to translate.

I knew English and Spanish and it was neither. I remebered JohmPaul told me he translated it already and he taped it to the box. I must’ve been tired because it stared right at me.

“To awaken me, only the life blood from the disheartened one will release the seal.”

That had to be me, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to open it yet. I put it back in the bag and brought it along with me as I went through to search for a bed. It was a long and skinny bed but it was overnight. Mom always told me to be grateful, not picky. I turned on the phone and found Netflix. That entertained me until I fell asleep with that box by my side.

A McDonald’s breakfast sandwich later, JohnPaul and I walked into the Amtrak station. It would be about an eighteen hour trip.

We went into a room, and JohnPaul, closed and locked the door behind us. “All right. This is going to be our transport. Yeah, it might’ve been quicker to take an airplane, however, there’s a long portion that we would have to drive and it can be tricky. No, you’re not a kid. However, this train service says no one unaccompanied under the age of eighteen. When we get to our final stop, we’ll change trains to a local commuter train. Again, no one allowed unaccompanied under eighteen. After that, I help you get registered and that’s it.” He held out a manila envelope. “This is for you to read.”

I couldn’t help but watch him. “How much is this going to cost me?”

He smiled. “Dad said your mother gave him more than money could ever buy. So in response, this is only pennies compared to that. So don’t worry about a thing. Just promise him you will do your best, and get at least a three point five grade point average from now until you graduate.”

“I can do that.”

“Good. Now, enjoy the ride.”

I heard an old man say no one rides a train because they’re in a hurry. The train was there to enjoy the journey. So I sat down and watched the scenery go by.

It was refreshing to watch the mountains and waterways go by. JohnPaul waved for me to follow him. It was time to eat.

It wasn’t an extensive menu consisting of only pasta, cheeseburger meal, and a fish plate. He got the fish while I got the cheeseburger. It wasn’t bad though. I expected it to have a cardboard texture, but the patty was tender and juicy.

When we got back, I opened the envelope and started reading. That was when the cost of going to that particular school came to my attention. Holy Moly, it was three hundred, I had to gulp, three hundred and sixty thousand dollars. Per year. Sergio said don’t worry about it but, I couldn’t help but feel about the size of an ant.

Granted we were about three hours late, however, JohnPaul said don’t worry about it. The train station we stopped at had rooms. He reserved two so we had a place to stay. Since the train left at eight thirty in the morning, it would be perfect.

When we stepped into the room, it felt like I went through time to the good ol’ days. There was a water pitcher and basin on a round table with a rocking chair in the corner. Bar soap and towels were on that table. The bed didn’t bounce instead it sort of sat there covered with a quilt. It wasn’t hard. It only felt weird.

I looked around for a shower and they had one. They were able to fit a toilet, sink, and a shower in one small space. All one had to do was turn around and see the entire bathroom.

JohnPaul had the room next to mine. He told me he would come and get me at seven-thirty in the morning. It only took five minutes before he returned to my room to pick me up for dinner. I was hungry and was curious what they offered.

A rather small menu but they had beef stew. It couldn’t be all bad. It didn’t sound like anything that anybody could goof up. They wouldn’t offer it otherwise. Maybe if I told myself that enough times, I’d believe it.

I was shocked about how good it was and my stomach was happy. We went back to our rooms to rest. There were sliding glass doors that looked over the tracks. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of a swing my life took.

If Mom were here. I looked up at the sky, closed my eyes, and almost saw her looking down at me. She could’ve been transfixed at what was going on.

Trains passed by back and forth. Nothing went on after eight, so I went back inside and closed the door. I opened the bag and stared at the face. I could’ve done it then but the timing didn’t feel right. Mom always told me there was no such as the right time, but it didn’t feel right. Then something banged out in the hallway.

Some blonde sort of trampled over herself as she made her way somewhere. I could only guess she was drunk. However she got her liquor.

We left the room and lined up at the gate the next morning. Everybody in the line was headed for the same place. The train made enough noise to wake anybody up if they were still sleeping. A sort of green box with wheels with a sign on the front that read Pinigree Falls let out some steam. That was it.

A group of people carrying cleaning supplies went inside. I didn’t notice until then that there was a sign. The train had been in operation since 1856. It traveled the same route all this time even during the wars. The train had some improvements done but it was still the same as it was all those years ago.

“OK,” JohnPaul said. “Your assigned seat is the first letter of the your surname or the surname of your guardian should it be different. While it can’t be considered a meal, they will be serving a sort of breakfast snack once we get moving.”

“Sounds basic. How long is this supposed to take?”

“They said, from this point, it’s another two hours and forty five minutes barring any delays.”

The cleaners left and the doors opened.

As we boarded, “Lovely.” I sat back and let the good times roll, so to speak. It was a bumpy ride. Not hard enough to jar the kidneys, but hard enough.

People snored around us. I thought about taking a nap, but it couldn’t be that long. I spent the time looking over the contents of the envelope. I liked the pictures. The beds were a room all in themselves. A double extra long bed on top with three drawers on one side, three bookshelves on the other, and a desk underneath the bed. One closet on either side of the room. It was up to the roommates to decide who got which bed.

Two people of the same sex per room, no exceptions. I stopped reading at that point, because we stopped to let a cargo train pass. It didn’t take that long and we started up again. I put everything away and watched the scenery.

We seemed to get closer to the tops of the trees as the train went up the hill. Things went back to normal again. There were ranches with cattle and some with horses. I always pictured myself riding a horse.

At some point, a man announced we were fifteen minutes away. That despite the wait, we were on time. He sort of laughed as he went on to say that the town wasn’t going anywhere so hang in there. No need to push.

JohnPaul went ahead of me and handed a man two pieces of paper. He nodded and kept going.

When we stopped outside, “OK. Now what?”

“From here, we follow the signs to the exit. We keep going and then go up a set of stairs labeled 3B. From there, we turn right and keep going until we get there.”

“Excuse me for saying this but—”

“—but am I sure we’re going the right way? It’s what Dad said, and it’s what the map showed that came along with the rest of the stuff in the envelope. I hope it’s a recent map not something that was made up about a hundred years ago.”

I had to laugh.

“Come on. Let’s follow the crowd. I’ve taken so many naps it’s unreal. I have to take the same way back only in reverse.”

“I’m so sorry, but you can take the plane on the back. Right?”

“Eh. Such is life and I thought about it, but no.”

Sure enough, at the end of this long trip there was a building surrounded by an iron gate. There were guards posted at the entrance. It was a three story red-brick building with shiny wooden doors on the front. JohnPaul talked to them about something. A group laughed in my ear during that time so I no idea what happened.

“OK. We go to the Administration Building and then to the Registration Office. After that, I leave and you stay.”

“Uh, JohmPaul.” I held out the green bag. “Could you take this back with you? And it’s been a trip.”

 He grabbed the bag. “You’re telling me. Dad said it would be fun. It would be great. I’m still waiting for the fun part to start.”

Somewhere in between me laughing he registered me. He held my arm and pulled me outside. “All right. Here’s how things are going to work. Today is registration day. That means all of your records get recorded and put into a file. You get shown your room and the rest of the day is yours. Tomorrow is when everything starts through the rest of the week. The schedule is posted in the dorm. As for the expenses, don’t worry about it. Like he said, just worry about your studies. I’ll be seeing you for Christmas break. I don’t think Thanksgiving break, but that’s not here yet. Enjoy yourself.” He left.

I stood outside and watched everything. This was going to be my new life. “Oh, Mom, I wish you were here. I love you.”

All of the tall green trees, a velvety carpet of green grass, surrounded by a variety of color. It looked like paradise. I don’t know how he did it, and chances were I wouldn’t be able to find out, but this was going to be my new home.

I went inside to look around. I could’ve sworn I smelled the locker room. I had to laugh.

A lady approached me. “Oh, good. You haven’t left yet. Your name has been registered. Your ID picture will also be done tomorrow. The ID will be attached to a clip that is attached to a piece of string. Please don’t lose it, and it must be worn at all times.” She opened my hand and put something in it. “This is your key. The room number and the location are attached. If you can’t find it, one of the proctors can help. Have a pleasant day.”

“Thank you.” I guessed that was it. It was time. Whether or not I was ready wasn’t the point. I hoped my roommate and I cohabitate.

There was a wall of photos, and one of them was that train. It brought me here to my new life. Almost a twenty-four-hour journey. This black and white picture seemed to keep looking at me. Yeah, it was an inanimate object, but I could’ve sworn I felt a heartbeat that wasn’t mine.

Please visit Calliope on her blog: https://calliopenjosstories.home.blog

Images are free use and require no attribution. Image by Kanenori from Pixabay. 

Fran Connor: The Cherry Blossom Special

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month, Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

The Cherry Blossom Special 

Fran Connor 

The train rolled into the station like a long green dragon, its clickety-clack echoing through the platform. Mitsuko’s heart raced as the brakes brought the train to a halt with a loud squeal. Although she was used to the sound, it still scared her, reminding her of a tragedy.  

More than a decade had passed since a tsunami hit her village near the Fukushima nuclear plant. The awful noise the sea made would not go away, nor would the vision of people being dragged into the ocean by the retreating wave. Guilt at surviving still ate away inside her. What a day. Even after all that time and having moved three hundred and fifty kilometres south and away from the coast, it still lingered in her mind. Her many visits to the Jinja to ask the kami who dwelt in the shrine had not helped even though she brought offerings of rice and fish. The loss of her parents and siblings on that tragic day left her with no-one close with whom to share her fear.

Mitsuko eased her way along the platform. She found a seat in the third carriage opposite a European man. The advantage of getting the train at this second stop on the line meant she would get a seat. Further on into the city it would be standing room only. With a lurch, the train set off. Fields, villages, and orchards whizzed by. The first signs of cherry blossom peaked out, awakened from their wintry slumber. Soon the train would live up to its nickname of the Cherry Blossom Special. Tourists from around the world and all over Japan would travel the line from terminus to terminus during March and April for the spectacular displays.

Lifting a copy of Pride and Prejudice from her shoulder bag she opened it at the page kept by her silk bookmark. This was her second reading of the Jane Austen masterpiece in English. Her first was a long time ago at university as part of her degree. If only there could be a happy ending for her, but her Mr Darcy had yet to appear, and she was approaching thirty-five. A glance at the man opposite, whom she decided was about her own age, almost made her smile but shyness prevailed, and Japanese culture had instilled into her propriety and not to stare at strangers, particularly at such a person.

One thing was for sure, Toshiro-San was not and never would be her Mr Darcy. He was the Deputy Assistant chief of the Sako Tourist Company and her line manager with a habit of getting too close. Today he had a conference at the British Consulate and had instructed her to accompany him. He spoke good English, so taking her as translator seemed superfluous, except she had an inkling why! Well, she decided he would be disappointed. Her longing for love had its limits. How to deny him was still worrying her.

A shudder and then a howling screech of metal on metal made Mitsuko drop her book, screw her eyes tight shut and grab the arm rest while her heart thumped so hard, she feared it wanted to break out of her body.  A sudden loss of momentum catapulted her into the lap of the European.

Mitsuko slowly opened her eyes. “Oh! Gomen’nasai!

The man blinked. “Sorry, what did you say?”

At a complete loss of how to react sitting on the man’s knee she muttered: “Sorry. You’re English. I said I’m sorry!”

“You’re trembling? Are you all right?” The man helped her off his knee and back into her seat. He picked up her book and handed it her.

“Er. . . yes, thank you.”

“Don’t worry. There’s probably just some technical fault. It’s time they replaced this old model. Harry Carpenter. I suppose you could say we have been introduced.” A laugh spread across what Mitsuko thought a kind if rather pale face.

Should she introduce herself? No, not really. She didn’t know him even if she had sat on his knee!

A voice in Japanese came over the speakers in the carriage.

“What did he say?” Harry Carpenter raised his blond eyebrows.

“He said there is a fault in the braking system, and we should not be held up for long.”

“Thank you Miss. . .?”

Mitsuko lowered her eyes to her book.

A lurch and the train pulled away. Mitsuko kept her eyes down to her book for the rest of the journey now travelling much slower. It trundled into the city station twenty minutes late. Stuffing her book into her shoulder bag and offering a slight bow to the man who said his name was Harry Carpenter, she hurried from the carriage, along the platform and out onto the bustling city street.

Why oh why couldn’t I talk to him? What’s the matter with me? I have to stop being so. . .so. . . what? Polite? Traditional? Shy? Maybe.

***

“Ah there you are!” said Toshiro-San as Mitsuko hung her jacket over the back of her chair and placed her shoulder bag on her desk.

She made a slight bow. “I’m sorry I’m late. The train had brake trouble.”

“Not to worry.” He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “We’re leaving at ten. The meeting starts at eleven and may go on all day with a break for lunch. I’ve made arrangements for our lunch. I doubt the British one is worth having.”

Mitsuko sat in her chair, logged on to check her incoming emails, and tried not to imagine what Toshiro-San may have in mind for lunch. He had an apartment near the consulate. Why me? After nine years at the company and glowing annual appraisals from the Deputy Chief she deserved better than to be the subject of such unwanted attention from Toshiro-San. If she complained nothing would be done. In her opinion, this male dominated company like many in Japan was misogynist. Few women were in positions of authority. Perhaps the new company chief would change it as some other companies were doing but her hopes were not high. The women in the office looked to her for leadership though she held no leadership role. Perhaps they recognised hidden under her outward façade of conformity and tradition she had a rebel heart. Or more likely it was her empathy. Mitsuko wished she could unleash that rebel to talk to strangers! That morning on the train she had failed.

A glance at a digital clock on the office wall showed 09:55. Without any enthusiasm she closed her desktop, slipped on her jacket, and lifted her shoulder bag.

Toshiro-San breezed into the office. “Ready?”

Mitsuko nodded.

Her hopes that he would sit in the front of the cab were soon dashed when he climbed in the back with her ‘accidentally’ brushing his hand over her leg making her wish she had worn her business suit with the pants rather than the black skirt that came just above her knee.

Security at the consulate ran with quiet professionalism and soon Mitsuko and Toshiro-San were in the conference room with lots of other people; a few she recognised from their visits to her company’s offices. She sniffed as an air-conditioning system pumped out a clearly artificial fragrance pretending to be cherry blossom. It irritated her nostrils.

“Take notes,” said Toshiro-San guiding Mitsuko to a chair. He sat next to her with his leg against hers.

She moved her leg away and slipped a notepad from her shoulder bag. And then she saw him come to sit on the stage to the left of the lectern. The man from the train. Their eyes met. She lowered her eyes to her notepad.

The first speaker extolled the historic sites of the United Kingdom. Mitsuko had never been and imagined it may be an interesting place though she would never have enough money to go. The second extolled the virtues of cruise lines based in the UK. Harry answered questions when the speaker turned to him for help. A vacation on a cruise ship she would never have. Not with her fear of the ocean.

The British Consul brought the first session to an end and invited the delegates to lunch.

“We’ll go round to my place and have something,” said Toshiro-San with what he may have considered a smile but what Mitsuko regarded as a leer.

“I think we ought to join the other delegates, sir. It may not be appropriate to refuse their hospitality.”

“No! No! No! I insist we go to my apartment where we can rest before the next session.”

Mitsuko sucked in a deep breath. This was it! Did she have the courage to stand up for herself? Yes! She would not go with him. His intentions were clear, and he had taken advantage of other women. About to open her mouth and make a stand a voice interrupted.

“Hello again.”

“Hello!” Mitsuko found her voice. “Er. . . Harry, sorry I forgot your last name.”

“Harry Carpenter.”

“Mr Carpenter this is Toshiro-San the deputy assistant chief of my company.”

Harry made a slight bow. Toshiro-San returned it losing inscrutability and replacing it with a glare.

“Mr Carpenter, I’m so looking forward to seeing what you British provide for lunch,” said Mitsuko surprising herself at her sudden influx of confidence or was it self preservation against her boss?

“Then I would be most honoured if you would both join me,” said Harry.

“I’m so sorry,” said Toshiro-San. “We have a previous engagement.”

Mitsuko gave him a slight bow. “You don’t really need me for that appointment Toshiro-San. Thank you Mr Carpenter I would be delighted to join you for lunch.”

They left Toshiro standing in the conference room. The twitch under his left eye that appeared when he was angry was volcanic. Mitsuko expected retribution but not here. Today was Friday so he would wait until he had her in the office on Monday.  And a strange thing happened. She didn’t care!

***

As they strolled through the corridors of the impressive building Harry said: “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“Mitsuko Watanabe.”

“Hello Mitsuko Watanabe.”

“Hello Harry Carpenter!” Mitsuko couldn’t help but smile.

A buffet awaited the guests in a dining room with portraits of Queen Elizabeth II and King Charles III and a grand chandelier hanging from a ceiling painted like the Sistine chapel. Mitsuko had only seen photographs of Michelangelo’s masterpiece in brochures she prepared for tourists visiting Italy.

“What is this?” said Mitsuko after swallowing a piece of sausage roll.

“Sausage roll. Do you like it?”

“Erm. . .”

Harry laughed.

“So, what do you do, Mitsuko? Is it all right if I call you Mitsuko?”

“Yes, you may. I’m a translator at our company’s main office. Sako Travel if you know it.”

“Yes, I know it. You arrange visits for our cruise ships.”

“And what is your role?”

“I work for Seascape Cruising. They sent me here to check on our systems to make sure we are providing a quality service to our customers at a competitive price.”

“But you don’t speak Japanese.”

“Actually, I do. That’s why they sent me. I did Economics and Japanese at university.”

“Oh. I thought you didn’t speak the language after the train incident.”

“I confess. You’ve caught me out. I asked you to translate because I wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

“And I didn’t.”

“No. I got the message when you went back to your book but I’m glad you are talking to me now.”

Mitsuko may have found her confidence after defying Toshiro-San, but she still blushed. The lunch was all too quickly over. Harry escorted her back to the conference room.

“How long will you be in Japan?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not sure how long it will take me to complete the project.”

“And then you go back to England?”

“Probably not. Another posting to somewhere our cruise ships visit.”

“It must be fascinating visiting other countries. I only see them in brochures.”

“You should take one of our cruises. I could get you a good deal. The Mediterranean is a great place to cruise with so many historical sites and culture to enjoy.”

“I don’t think I would like a cruise.”

“Oh! Why?”

“I think I had better go to my seat. Toshiro-San is staring at me.”

Harry Carpenter took his seat on the stage while Mitsuko with great effort managed to avoid showing her reluctance as she sat next to Toshiro-San. He huffed but said nothing and didn’t try to put his leg against hers. The volcano had subsided but still twitched.

Two speakers droned away on stage, but Mitsuko was far away in her head. Not in the trauma of the tsunami but sitting under the cherry blossom in her garden.

A man came on stage and whispered in Harry’s ear. Harry moved off stage in a hurry.

***

Mitsuko woke early on Saturday even though there was no need to get ready for work. Outside, a Japanese bush warbler sang to a potential mate somewhere nearby. It made her smile and wonder if it was happy like her. Spring had arrived. The feeling of amazement at her performance yesterday remained in the form a warm glow. Could she really shake off her shyness and the doom that resided deep within her from the tsunami disaster? Perhaps today was a new beginning!

With her breakfast of grilled sea bream, rice and nori, Mitsuko took her plate out to her small, enclosed garden to enjoy the bright though chilly morning. The cherry tree she planted five years ago had grown to almost two metres. More sheltered than its cousins out in the orchards, the tree was already a riot of pink blossom. As she sat on the single chair at her marble topped table for one, she gazed at the blossom and imagined the kami who may live in the tree. She liked to think her parents and siblings inhabited this tree or ones like it.

The bush warbler still sang his sweet tune though he hid from view.

Her breakfast finished she leaned back in her chair and contemplated what had happened on the train and then at the consulate. What did she really feel about Harry Carpenter? Well, she wasn’t sure. Certainly, he was an attractive man and had an affable manner. But he was English and so different from her own culture.

After carrying her plate into her small kitchen, she sat at her electronic piano, put on her headphones so she wouldn’t disturb the bush warbler’s attempts at finding a mate and to not annoy the neighbours, she played her second favourite piece; Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 2.

***

Mitsuko rolled off her tatami mat and shikifuton mattress and pulled open the sliding door that led to the garden. The bush warbler sang his song making her wonder how long he would keep it up. And then she realised he would keep going until he won his mate. Would that someone would pursue me with such ardour, she mused. She filled her lungs with the fresh air of morning and the scent from her cherry tree so different from what came out of the air-conditioning at the consulate. Mondays usually came round too quickly for Mitsuko. Not this Monday. Would she see Harry Carpenter on the train? She hoped so. He hadn’t come back to the conference room after leaving so abruptly and she hadn’t seen him again.

With its clickety clack, clickety clack the train matched Mitsuko’s heartbeat but not from fear. With a tinge of apprehension and huge dose of hope she boarded the third carriage. Harry Carpenter sat in the same seat he occupied on Friday.

Don’t be too obviously happy to see him. Keep it cool. Remember propriety, said the little voice in her head. Oh, shut up!

“Good morning, Mitsuko!” Harry stood and made a slight bow.

“Good morning, Harry.” Mitsuko returned the bow and took her seat opposite with an imagined gag around the little voice.

“Sorry I missed you on Friday. Emergency on one of our ships. Someone had a heart attack and I had to arrange to have him collected by helicopter and flown to hospital. Everyone had left when I got back.”

“Oh! Is he all right?”

“I believe so.”

“Do you take this train every day?”

“Most days. Sometimes I must stay in the city overnight if I have a late meeting or an early one the next morning.”

Pride and Prejudice stayed in Mitsuko’s shoulder bag as she enjoyed a conversation about literature and Japanese art. The orchards had a little more blossom on this sunny day.

***

After she parted from Harry at the terminal she strolled along the busy street to her office with a smile and a spring in her step. Whatever Toshiro-San had in mind for her she knew she could cope.

Taking her place at her workstation she logged on to her desktop. A glance around the open plan office failed to locate Toshiro-San.

Time ticked by on the office clock. Still no sign of Toshiro-San. The sooner he came and berated her about what he probably thought was her disgraceful behaviour in going to lunch with the foreigner rather than himself, the better to get it over with.

She looked up to see the new chief’s secretary coming through the office heading in her direction. Mitsuko’s heart gave a little flutter of apprehension.

“The chief wants to see you, now, Mitsuko.”

“Oh!” Mitsuko stood, slipped on her jacket, and followed the secretary to the stairs and up to the next floor. “Why does he want to see me?”

“Don’t know.”

But Mitsuko had an idea. Toshiro-San would have done something to show her in a bad light or accused her of impropriety. The hypocrisy! 

Both the chief and the deputy chief sat in a plush office with an ikebana display on a black lacquered chest under a wide window. As a teenager, Mitsuko had taken lessons in ikebana, the Japanese art of flower decoration that emphasizes the simplicity, balance, and harmony with nature. She expected no harmony in the next few minutes. Where was Toshiro-San?

“Come in, sit down Mitsuko,” said the Deputy Chief. He pointed to an antique chair to the side of a grand desk.

Mitsuko sat and put her hands in her lap. No histrionics, she would listen to their tirade and let it drift over her head. Just like her visits to the dentist, she would let her mind drift away to sit under her cherry tree.

“I have reports about you,” said the chief.

Mitsuko made no reply. She was far away offering food to the kami who lived in her tree.

“So, there is the matter of Toshiro-San,” said the deputy.

Still Mitsuko sat quietly.

“For reasons I do not wish to disclose, Toshiro-San has been dismissed from the company with immediate effect,” said the chief.

That brought Mitsuko back from her garden and into the room. “Oh!”

“We have many good reports about your work here. It has been noticed how you help other employees, particularly but not only the female ones,”

“I don’t know why but they come to me,” said Mitsuko.

“Because you have something that marks you out. You have empathy Mitsuko, and that is in short supply these days or in the old days to be honest,” said the deputy.

“There is a dreadful shortage of women managers in this company and others,” said the chief.

Mitsuko wondered what was happening. She had come into the office expecting at best to be harangued and at worst to be dismissed.

“I have discussed you with the chief and we have agreed that we would like you to replace Toshiro-San as the Deputy Assistant Chief, if you are willing to accept the position,” said the deputy chief.

Mitsuko could not help her mouth dropping open in surprise.

“Please understand we are not promoting you because you are a woman. You have been chosen because you are the right person for the job,” said the chief.

At a loss what to say, she managed: “Thank you.”

“We are trying to improve equality in the company, so your salary will be the same as Toshiro-San received,” said the chief.

Mitsuko carried out a quick maths calculation in her head. More than twice her current salary!

***

Clickety clack, clickety clack the train came to halt with a squeal of brakes but this time it rekindled no fears.

He was on the train.

“I’ve been promoted!”

“Really, that’s good news.”

“Yes, the man I was with at the consulate, Toshiro-San, he’s been fired. I don’t know why. They have given me his job. I’m now the deputy assistant chief.”

“Congratulations!”

On Wednesday and Thursday that week she met Harry on the train. He told her all about his travels raising a desire to see more of the world now she had the income to allow her foreign holidays.

On Friday morning he sat in his usual place.

“I must stay overnight in the city. I have a meeting with staff very early tomorrow so I will be staying in a hotel.”

“You have to work Saturdays?”

“Cruise ships don’t take a day off!”

“Oh, poor you.”

“I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me this evening if you don’t have to rush back home.”

“Nothing to hurry home to. Yes, I would like to have dinner with you.”

“I will be staying at the Johinna. Do you know it?”

“I know of it. It’s very expensive. Some of the VIPs who use our company stay there.”

“One of the perks of my position. The company pays! I’ll meet you in the roof-top bar at say eight, is that okay?”

“Yes.”

Mitsuko parted from Harry at the station. The train, she knew, would go on to the coast. Someday, she hoped, she would take the train all the way to the coast to see if she could finally rid herself of her fears. So much had happened to her recently. It had to be possible.

For most of the morning she fretted about what to wear for her dinner date. Was Harry just a friend or was there something more? Mitsuko wasn’t sure. He was a nice guy but was a romance with him likely or even wanted by her, or by him? She could not make up her mind.

Taking advantage of the lunch break and the prospect of her next month’s salary being far more than her previous one, she toured the downtown shopping area and found a modest black cocktail dress. The afternoon dragged.

***

A commissioner in a long brown coat and peaked cap greeted her at the revolving glass doors of the Johinna Hotel. Butterflies took off in her tummy as she saw the elevator and stepped out towards it with a click of her heels on the hard floor.

“Good evening, may I say how good you look.” Harry slipped off a bar stool to make a slight bow.

He looked handsome in his dark blue jacket and his light blue pants that Mitsuko saw were the same colour as his eyes.

“Good evening, Harry.”

He led her to an alcove, summoned a waiter and ordered a bottle of champagne.

“You do drink champagne?” said Harry as the waiter trundled off towards the bar.

“Not often.” Mitsuko felt her hands clammy. Something wasn’t right. Why was he trying to impress her so much? This hotel was way outside her comfort zone, and she knew enough to realise that a bottle of champagne here could cost more than an office worker’s weekly pay if it were vintage.

“You all right?” said Harry.

“Yes, just a little tired after a long day at the office.”

She glanced over at woman in a red silk dress who had taken a seat at the bar. Why was she glaring at Harry?

“So, what is it like being a boss now, Mitsuko?”

“I like it. I have more of a say in how the office works and I’m better equipped now to help the staff.”

“They are lucky to have you.”

“Thank you. Harry, I think that woman at the bar has a problem with you.”

He shook his head. “Don’t know her.”

The champagne arrived. With a flamboyant gesture the waiter popped the cork, poured a little into a flute for Harry to approve and then filled two.

“Well, here’s to your climb up the greasy pole,” said Harry raising his glass.

The phrase wasn’t lost on Mitsuko, but she raised hers too.

Over many delicate and delicious courses Mitsuko still had a feeling that something was not right.

“I’ve been transferred. I’m off to Athens on Sunday. I need to hand things over to my replacement tomorrow.”

“Oh!” So that is why he is different tonight.

I’ll miss our conversations on the train,” said Harry.

“Me too.”

The meal over, Harry said: “We can finish with a coffee in my room if you wish.”

And there It was. In my limited experience, a man invites you to his bedroom for only one reason, she mused. And Mitsuko was tempted. But then she shook her head. There was no future with Harry Carpenter. Just one night.

“Thank you, but I must go. I must catch the last train.”

“Oh! Are you sure? I don’t expect I will see you again.”

“Probably we won’t meet again, but I wish you good fortune.”

“If you ever decide to take a cruise. Contact me through Seascape Cruising.”

“Thank you for the dinner.” She kissed him on the cheek and walked out of the hotel wondering if she had made the right decision.

Outside on the sidewalk with the city’s neon lights flashing and traffic hurrying by she dithered. A one-night stand? It was something she had never done before. What kind of woman would I be if I did go back and spend the night with him? Why didn’t he try harder to get me to go to his room? Such a gentleman. I can’t blame him for trying and I respect him for not pressing me. For goodness sake you know you want to go back! Go! The little voice in her head piped up.

So, she walked back into the hotel, took the elevator up to the roof top bar and saw Harry sitting in the alcove where they had been before dinner. Now he was with the woman she saw at the bar glaring at him. She was laughing, drinking champagne and up close to him. He had his arm around shoulders.

Mitsuko turned and left thankful that they had not seen her.

***

On Sunday she decided to take the Cherry Blossom Special all the way to the coast. It was time to face her fears about the ocean and the only way she could do that was by going there. Much to her surprise she did not feel upset at what happened at the hotel.

Boarding the train, she sat in her usual seat with an empty one facing her. Now the cherry orchards were in full bloom. She took her Pride and Prejudice from her shoulder bag. At the city station she stayed on the train. Many more people filled the carriage with a mother, father and child taking the seats opposite Mitsuko. Oohs and ahhs came from the passengers as the train clickety-clacked through the orchards.

At last, it arrived at the coast.

With her hands clammy and butterflies in her tummy, she made her way to the seaside and found a bench facing out over the beach to the sea. A few white horses crested the small waves bringing the tang of salt to Mitsuko’s lips. What a difference to the tsunami that had taken so much from her.

Sitting with her book open in her lap she looked out to sea. Were her parents and siblings out there as kami now? A feeling of calm spread over Mitsuko. Her fear had gone as if carried away on the breeze.

“Mitsuko? Mitsuko Watanabe?” said a voice.

She looked up to see a man standing by the bench. Did she know him? She didn’t think so. And then he smiled. A smile with a slight gap between his two front teeth. He was a lot older than the last time she saw him.

“Kaito?”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t seen you since you went to university. I’m so sorry about your parents. I was with your sister at the refuge centre after the tsunami.”

“I remember her telling me. You lost your parents, your brother and two sisters.”

“Yes, I don’t know how I survived. I can’t remember how, and I don’t want to.”

“My sister was lucky being further away when it struck. Sorry, if talking about his brings back such bad memories.”

“I have to face it. This is the first time I have been to the ocean since it happened. I want to overcome my fears.”

“I can’t imagine what you went through. I was at uni when it happened. I came back and everything was gone.”

Kaito sat on the bench.

To change the subject Mitsuko said: “Look at you now! You were a horrible and annoying child! You put a frog down the back of my dress, and I got into trouble from the teacher for screaming!”

“And you didn’t tell on me.”

“I’m not a snitch!”

Mitsuko thought back over the years to when they were teenagers. Kaito was the first boy she kissed. There were others since but not many.

“So, do you have a family, Kaito?”

He took the book from Mitsuko’s lap and turned it over in his hands. “No, I’m waiting for my Elizabeth Bennett to come along.”

Please visit Fran’s blog for more stories: https://connorscripts.com/short-stories

Images are free use and require no attribution. Image by Kanenori from Pixabay. 

Marian Wood: A Train Journey in Time

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month, Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

A Train Journey in Time

Marian Wood

Running for a train

Grabbing my favourite blue hoodie and jacket, I ran down the stairs and out of the house.  I can’t be late, not enough time and too much to do. Running to catch the train was a daily event, and today was no exception. Needing to be at London Victoria by 9.30, I really should have got up earlier, but my lazy self wouldn’t allow that.

As a journalist, I spend most of my day racing around places before finishing the day in the newsroom. Today I had to meet with old Mrs Franks and her beloved St Bernard, William.  Being sent to London for the interview was not something I appreciated, but writing is my job, and I am sent to where the stories are.

Reaching the station, I got my ticket and stood panting on the platform. As the train pulled in, I felt relief that I hadn’t missed it.  Finding a seat, we were soon moving, and I started to watch the people around me.  The young couple holding hands across from me, the mum with a baby, and the thin man with a walking stick.  The lad with shorts and the girl with a big pink bow on her head.  I couldn’t help but think she looked ridiculous. I often wondered what news stories were around me if I got into more conversations with people.  Instead, I often say nothing, but pink bow girl might be more interesting than Mrs Franks and her big sloppy dog.

Watching the world

As the train started to gather momentum, I watched the world race by. Then realising that everyone was unnecessarily quiet, I felt uneasy.   The carriage was silent. I looked around. We were all here, but something wasn’t right. Were we all feeling it? As the trees outside vanished and the world turned white, I knew something had happened.  The gasps around the carriage told me it was not only me seeing this.  As the train slowed down, I knew the driver was also struggling with this phenomenon. The day had been sunny, now we were driving through thick heavy snow.  Were we still heading to London?

Hearing the cries from someone further down the train, I knew this wasn’t normal. Where were we? Feeling the train slowing and then the screech of the brakes, we were stopping. Why? As the driver announced that he had been told to stop, he stammered and asked for people to not get off.  Looking at my watch, the time was now 9.00. Seeing the date, my head started to race.  Turning to the man next to me, I asked,

“What date does your watch or phone say?”  He looked at me confused and then looked,

“Oh my god, it’s 2034, how is it 2034?”

I knew that I was now not meeting a St Bernard. What was today? And how do we get back to 2024?

2034

As everyone started to find out the current year, the ripple of hysteria filled the train.  This was a good news story if we ever get home. Now, walking up the train, I wondered what had caused this. Was there someone on the train who had done something? This was all very weird.  Seeing a small child approach me, I couldn’t help but smile.  Not prepared for what happened next, I jumped.

“Jessica Freelley?”

“Yes?”

“My dad knows you and, err, my mum.”

“Who is your dad?”

She took my hand and led me to a man sitting alone. He looked up and smiled, looking relieved. What was this?

Chris

We were on a train in the middle of nowhere, and it was snowing.  Two weeks ago, my partner, Chris, of six months, left me.  He just stopped phoning and answering my messages, I had thought it was me again, driving away the good guys.  Now, I was sitting on a train in 2034, and he was sitting right here with a small girl.

“Jess, I didn’t think I would see you again. This is all a bit mad, you won’t believe me.”

“Try me. We are sitting in 2034. I am meant to be in London seeing a lady about a dog.”

“Two weeks ago, I left your house and think I fell into some sort of void. When I woke, I found Trudie here, sitting with me. She told me that she has seen the past and the future, and she knows that you die today.  If you died, then she would cease to exist”.

“What is happening? What is all this?”

“Back in 2024, if you had met with the St Bernard, you were destined to be murdered by Mrs Franks’s son.  If you had been murdered, then we would never get married, and Trudie would not exist. 

“Married? You and me married? I hardly know you.”

“I think murder is what you should be more shocked about, and then the snow and the fact we are in 2034.  Who do you think made all this happen?”

“But how? If I’m supposed to die today, then how did Trudie happen to come back and save me?”

Michael

Hearing a man’s voice behind me, I was even more stunned by his news.

“I am the Angel Michael. We have been here before many times, and this time, all three of you are still alive.”

“Why 2034 and why the snow?”

“I needed to stop the train and 2034 because it’s ten years from 2024, and Trudie is here”.

“And why am I important? Why save me?”

Trudie

“Without you, there is no Trudie. She is crucial to the future.”

“So, Chris fell into a void? Why today? Why here and now? Couldn’t you have told me two weeks ago what you know now?”. As Trudie interrupted, I could hear that though small she was clever.

“I need to be born, and you and daddy need to marry. You must not go to London.”

“Jessica, in your own timeline, Trudie is not born because you die.  We need Trudie in the future.”

“Why?”

“Jessica, I can’t say. Anything I tell you could influence the timeline. We have spoken with Chris, and he was told to stay away, now, the two of you just need to talk. Tell your editor you are not meeting the lady with the St Bernard. The future is too important.”

“But we are still in 2034. Where is Trudie?”

Chris took my hand, “Don’t be scared. I also found all this hard to believe, but Jessica, I do really like you. I hated staying away and following Michael’s plan.”

“Why here? And why now? Why on a train to London?”

The future

“Jessica, more important is you are still here, and you are not and never meeting Mrs Franks. I will see to the son as he is dangerous. You just need to talk with Chris and live your lives. The future will then write itself.  I have seen it as it should be. We need you in it”.

Looking at Chris, I could see that he believed in all this. As I felt the train move, I realised that Trudie and Michael were no longer here. The day had turned sunny again with no signs of snow, and the people around me were talking as if nothing had happened.  Feeling my phone vibrate, I now found messages and voicemail. I hadn’t arrived in London, and Stanley Franks was demanding to know why I had let his mum down.  Grumbling, I wondered what really was important about this dog. I guess I will never know.

Phoning the newsroom, I advised that the train had broken down and nobody was to visit Mrs Franks.  I knew it was best to be cautious and trust Michael, who ever he was, Angel or time fabricator?

Rumours

A week later, I wrote a piece for our magazine about the snow train, time travel, and angels.  Then the rumours started around the newsroom. Stanley Franks had been arrested for murder. Why had I really not gone to meet them? Was there any truth to my story? I was telling no one they were unlikely to believe me anyway.

Two months later, I finally agreed for Chris to move in. If Michael was telling the truth, then this was meant to be. Though, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to my daughter and why she is so important. We will just have to live our lives and find out then.

Please visit Marian on her blog: https://justmuddlingthroughlife.co.uk/2024/01/14/a-train-journey-in-time

Images are free use and require no attribution. Image by Kanenori from Pixabay. 

Lynn Miclea: Train Ride

Welcome to Write the Story! Each month, Writers Unite! will offer a writing prompt for writers to create a story from and share with everyone. WU! wants to help our members and followers to generate more traffic to their platforms.  Please check out the authors’ blogs, websites, and Facebook pages and show them support. We would love to hear your thoughts about the stories and appreciate your support! 

Train Ride

Lynn Miclea

I looked out over the audience, their faces gazing up at me expectantly. Then I quickly glanced at the clock. My presentation was almost over, and I thought the speech had gone well. My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I ignored it. I would check it later, after my lecture was done.

Returning to my speech, I wrapped it up, summarizing the high points, and then opened it up for questions. There were a few, and answering them helped me feel more competent. It had gone better than I expected, and I was glad it was over.

After smiling and thanking everyone for coming, and enjoying their enthusiastic applause, I made my way off stage. I felt excited, riding a high after being in the spotlight. Now it was time to leave, and I looked forward to the train ride back home. I thanked the few people in the back and I put on my coat, hoping the snow that was predicted wouldn’t be too bad.

As I turned to leave and pulled the phone from my pocket, I checked my messages, wondering who had called earlier. I gasped and my blood ran cold. My husband had been taken to the hospital. A possible heart attack. No!

Panic gripped me. Grabbing my purse and my few belongings, I pulled on my hat and ran outside and down the block to the train station. Fat snowflakes fell from the sky, and anxiety flooded my system. Was he okay? Was he still alive? At the station, fidgety and unable to stand still, I paced back and forth as more people arrived, waiting for the train. I needed to be with my husband. I couldn’t stand being stuck this far away from him when he needed me.

I looked around at the people waiting. They looked bored. Worry consumed me, and I felt desperate. I had to get home as quickly as possible. What if my husband didn’t make it? What if … No, I couldn’t think that. I had to stay positive.

The snow kept falling, and I fervently hoped that would not affect the train schedule. I needed to get to my husband, and my uneasiness kept growing.

As I glanced to my right at people just arriving at the station, I noticed one man in a dark sweatshirt lean in close to an elderly woman. The woman’s eyes opened wide as she reached into her purse and handed money to the man. As the man pulled back, I noticed a flash of dark metal — a gun — in his hand. He had just robbed her!

I quickly brought up my phone to take a picture. Just as I was about to click, the man turned toward me. I clicked and took the picture. It was a clear picture of him. His eyes narrowed. He had seen me take the picture.

I quickly turned around and moved forward, trying to lose myself in the crowd. Hurried footsteps sounded, and I tried to move deeper within a group of people, keeping my head down, hoping to hide and blend in. I kept willing the train to come as soon as possible.

Within a few minutes, the train sounded its whistle and came barreling into the station, as thick snowflakes flew all around. I kept my head down and stayed with the crowd near me as the train came to a stop and the doors slid open. I bustled into the train with the group and made my way up a few cars to a fairly crowded car toward the front, and I grabbed an empty seat by the window. I hoped the man did not see where I went.

Thinking to change my appearance even a little bit, I took off my hat, and then let my hair down, hoping I would look different enough that he would not recognize me. My nerves on edge, I kept looking out the window, not wanting to draw any attention to myself.

The doors finally slid closed, and the train jerked and then moved forward, picking up speed as it went. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps walking through the car. My nerves on edge, I continued looking out the window.

A man’s voice said, “Excuse me?”

Without thinking, I glanced toward the voice. It was him. He was scanning faces, and his eyes bored into mine. I gave a slight smile as though nothing was wrong, and then I turned to look out the window again, trying to look relaxed and casual. I hoped he would go away, but I could sense him standing there, not moving, still staring at me. My heart pounded in my chest and my hands felt icy cold.

Finally, after a few more minutes, I heard his steps move away. I was not sure if he left the car or if he stayed nearby and was keeping an eye on me. I did not turn around. What would he do to me after I got off the train? I had to be careful.

About forty minutes later, the train slowed down and came to a stop at my station. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. Grabbing my few belongings, I stood up and nervously looked around. He was back there, watching me. Terror gripped me. I eased my way to the nearest door, and I exited as soon as the doors opened.

As I stepped onto the platform, I immediately moved into a group of people, hoping maybe I could stay somewhat hidden and lose him. I then scanned the area and saw a cop standing toward the back. I made a beeline for him, and speaking in a quick jumble, I explained to the officer what I had seen at the previous stop. I showed him the picture of the man, and then, per his instructions, I forwarded the picture to his phone. I gave the cop my contact information, and he said he would be in touch.

Relieved that was done, I glanced around. Within moments, I saw the man intently scanning the crowd of people. His eyes zeroed in on me. “That’s him,” I said softly to the cop.

The officer nodded. “I see him. Thank you. I got this.”

As the cop rapidly approached the man and started questioning him, I took off. I was now free, and I needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible.

I raced to my car and then drove as fast as I could to the hospital, as worry overwhelmed me. I hoped I was not too late. “Please let him be okay, please, please, please,” I kept whispering to the air.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour but was probably only about twenty minutes, I rushed into the hospital and went to the information desk.

A middle-aged man looked up from a computer. “Can I help you?”

Afraid to even ask, I finally spoke. “Um, yes. My husband is here. Aaron Gibson.”

The man clicked a few keys and then nodded. “Yes, he’s here, in the Cardiac Care Unit. That’s on the second floor, and the elevators are just down this hall and on the right.” He handed me a visitor’s badge. “You will need to keep this on while you’re here visiting.”

“Thank you.” I put the badge on my blouse, went to the elevators and pushed the button. Why did everything seem to take forever? Finally the elevator arrived, and I went up to the second floor.

After looking around, I followed the signs to the Cardiac Care Unit and approached the nursing station. At first, my voice stuck in my throat and would not even come out.

After a few tries, I was able to speak. “My husband … Aaron … Aaron Gibson … he … is he …”

“Oh yes,” the nurse said, nodding. “Aaron Gibson. He’s doing well. You’re his wife?” I nodded, and the nurse continued. “He had a mild heart attack, and the doctor performed a coronary angioplasty and put in a stent. The procedure went very well. He’s in recovery now.”

“Can I see him?” My voice was shaky.

“Yes, of course. I’ll show you where he is.” She got up and started walking. “Follow me. He’s right over here.” She led me to a partitioned area and then brought over a chair. “I’ll get the doctor to come talk to you. He’s with another patient at the moment, but he’ll be with you shortly. He’ll explain everything and answer all your questions. As long as your husband does well and keeps improving, he will probably be able to go home tomorrow.” The nurse smiled and then walked off, returning to the nurse’s station.

I looked at my husband. His eyes were closed and he looked pale. Tubes and IVs seemed to be everywhere.

“Aaron,” I whispered, reaching for his hand and feeling the coolness of his skin.

His eyelids fluttered open, and his eyes focused on me. His face instantly broke into a smile. “Hey, honey.”

Overcome with emotion, I finally let the tears flow. He was alive. He was still here. Everything would be okay.

—————————————–

Copyright © 2024 Lynn Miclea. All Rights Reserved.

Please visit Lynn’s blog and follow her at – https://lynnpuff.wordpress.com/
Please also visit Lynn’s website for more information on her books – https://www.lynnmiclea.com/
And please visit her Amazon author page at – https://www.amazon.com/Lynn-Miclea/e/B00SIA8AW4

Images are free use and require no attribution. Image by Kanenori from Pixabay.