

Cover

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Above and Beyond

By

Tony Wilson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © Tony Wilson 2013

License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover the other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

The moral right of Tony Wilson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

Discover the rest of the titles in this trilogy by Tony Wilson

Road to Recovery

Onward and Upward

<https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/tonyymelvawilson>

http://www.tonywilson.es

ISBN: 978-1-56581-231-4

Cover designed by Tony Wilson

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Table of Contents

(Click on any chapter heading to return to the Table of Contents)

Cover

Title Page

License Notes

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

About the Author

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Chapter 1

2 × 3 = 6 – (months), and six months is only about the length of time that I seem to be able to hang on to my new girlfriends for. Following the tragic death of my lovely wife Sheila in a horrendous accident just over six years ago I became indecently rich, spent nine months in various hospitals and then almost two years getting my life back together, but as I was now the ninth richest person on the planet it wasn't quite as simple as that. I inherited a dilapidated airfield (El Campo) just outside San Miguel del Mar on Spain's Mediterranean coast, engaged multitudes of staff, from ex-SAS to protect me, to my best friend Paul, who fortunately was an architect, to turn el Campo into a place worthy of kings. As well as having assassination and kidnap attempts against me I was also learning to fly, and life was starting to get quite hectic for me so I decided to go on a Caribbean cruise, where I heard about the Lady S, my new yacht 'to be'. She was not your run of the mill four berth 'Tupperware' yacht, but a Destroyer, almost complete with guns (but she still has a sting-er (or two) in her tail), and finally, almost a year after being first introduced to her, I was able to take her on a quick trip – around Africa. On the way, first we encountered pirates (and that is when I first came to the attention of the world's press) and then, on the final leg, just after we had scooted (it's a nautical term – honest) into Gibraltar, just ahead of the 'storm of storms', I got talked into taking a couple of Royal Navy Sea King helicopters back out into the raging mid-Atlantic to rescue the crew of a stricken Tanker, accompanied by a television news crew. That was when I met Sandra, their anchor 'person', and after a 'very' public introduction we became inseparable, and for the first five glorious months it seemed that we never dined at the same table twice, we were definitely the 'in couple'. From one President in the White House to the other one in the Kremlin, from Father Christmas in Lapland to a group of very friendly kangaroos in the outback (but that's another story), we were definitely the most 'sort after', 'must have' guests on the planet, any excuse, no matter how feeble seemed to inspire an invitation. I have a Dutch deckhand on the Lady S so that warranted a state banquet in Holland, and my Filipino 2nd Chef got us the best seats in the house for a firework display that must have increased the Country's gross national debt by at least 50%, but fortunately things eventually started to slow down; at that pace I wouldn't have lasted out the year. We had all the tee-shirts and videos that we could carry, and photographs by the thousand, taken with us next to just about every other person on the planet, but finally I started to sense that Sandra might just be starting to miss her former life. It was little things - like she never started to go very far without her passport – even to the loo, and every spare minute that we had 'we just had to keep up to date with the News', then it happened; the UK Parliament decided to cock-up yet another expenses exposé - big time. She went apoplectic; of course she had no intentions of leaving me - BUT if she was over there she could definitely have done a better job of 'that' interview than Adam, and she would definitely have worn a better outfit than Kay (meow), so finally we sat down to have a 'little chat', and 'little' it was, it lasted two minutes and ten seconds, and then she was on the last stage out of Dodge (in the guise of my 'big boys toy' Grumman G450). Of course we would stay in constant touch, which we did, every hour on the hour, until the G450's wheels connected with dear old Blighty, and then it was two days, then a week, and then it was time for another 'little chat'.

'We would of course remain the best of friends (and possibly with benefits)', after all Alice (my Daughter) and Algernon (her Son) were making plans for their wedding so we would meet up there (subject of course to the political situation) 'and Mr Prime Minister when are you going to resign over this expenses debacle'.

I realised of course that the last bit had not been directed at me when a very flustered PM tried to tell me all about his latest revamp of the new 'Inner City transport policy', then I heard a very unladylike 'oh sh*t' and the microphone, nee mobile phone went dead.

Was I mortified over the loss of Sandra? Of course I was, well until I had poured three very hefty Bacardi and Diet Cokes down my throat, by the way do you know that there are no calories in alcoholic drinks if you mix them with a diet mixer, the same as there are no calories in chips (French fries for our Colonial Cousins) if they are taken from someone else's plate, and there are definitely no calories in a bar of chocolate if you can eat it all in one go without closing your eyes - but I digress, as Caroline (my Director without portfolio, and the wife of my Security Director - David) poured me my fourth almost neat diet coke I started to see her point of view. After the tragic loss of Sheila I had started to enter a black hole, emotions wise, and needed something drastic to snap me out of it, and one of the many words that you can use to describe Sandra was drastic, along with devastating, and delightful, (but definitely not dainty) so, according to Caroline, she was the right woman for me, at the right time, to 'snap me out of it'. Apparently now that I had 'tested the water' I was over the worst, and after shaking off a hangover that I was deservedly going to have in the morning 'the world was going to be my oyster', and thinking of all the subtle (and not so subtle) hints that I'd had over the past couple of years I fell asleep thinking 'so many women – so little time', or possibly not; I swapped her for seventeen Hawker Hunters (a fair swop I think), sixteen of them were for my new aerobatic display team, and one was for me. I then took a Caribbean break on the Lady S and ended up taking on some drug dealers, which proved to be bad career moves on their part, although I lost Charlie (my Deputy Director of Security) metaphorically, and his fiancé, physically, in doing so.

I, and a few others then took the Farnborough International Air-show by storm, and on return I almost bumped into the next love of my life, Sasha, which normally wouldn't have been much of a problem, except that we were both about a thousand feet above El Campo, but in different aircraft. Sasha was Aristocracy, with a capital A, but I found out that we had different blood colours when, six months later, her coven descended on el Campo in force and told me to pour the tea, so I placed a contract out on them (it seemed like a fair enough response to me at the time), but I didn't wait around to find out what happened, 'plausible deniability'.

I then hit the media headlines again when I got involved in the recovery of quite a few vintage aircraft from their desert hideaway, and when I wouldn't give some of them to a media tycoon's son (who couldn't even fly), my young grandson was almost blinded by one of his photographers, so I closed his newspaper group down and had him locked up in prison, again a fair response, I think. I was definitely getting used to having all this money.

Following that I got into miniature railways where size apparently isn't important, (well it is, but in the opposite direction) and then I met Breena that was to be the next 'love of my life' (you may have noticed that her name does not begin with the letter S, wrong, its short for Sabrina {but she was only a 34C}) and I thought she was definitely the 'love of my life' but unfortunately six months later, as we visited an art gallery in London, Breena and one of my body guards were killed, and two others seriously injured, and my entire 'being' shut down for six months, but not before I fleetingly met Sigourney, yes it starts with S, and so does her twin sister – Simone.

Now back to the maths, or the math as they say in America (ugh), 2 × 3 = 6 - (months). When I had originally playfully raised the point that she was only half my age, Sigourney had quipped back that 'if it was only a matter of mathematics, then her identical twin Sister Simone could always make up the numbers'.

'Wishful thinking' I thought, BUT, one side effect of the new medication that had got me back into the land of the living was an increase in my libido, big time, and she must have mentioned this to Simone because two months later I was having a 'dawn strike' (it's a Navy thing) with 'Sigourney' when two things happened simultaneously, one, in the half-light I noticed that her hair had grown quite significantly - overnight, and two, the short haired version returned early from her morning jog with a twisted ankle, and coitus interruptus'ed us. She didn't believe that I was an innocent bystander (well maybe I was an 'actively engaged', innocent bystander) in all of this, and took off, literally, in the G450, but I always say **'waste not – want not'** so Simone stayed on for a further two weeks. Another of my sayings is **'a bird in the hand etc etc'** , but then Simone and I started to flag (intellectually, not physically). Sigourney, not realising this, had this idea, 'she was missing it me', and it became **'two birds in the hand are worth none in the bush'** , and for a further two weeks I was blissfully happy (although I didn't know which way to turn – literally) but the twins were anything but (with each other – not me) and I was quickly reduced to passing messages between them, as I lay between them. I then received three ultimatums, the two from them were **'it's me or her,'** and the other one was from my Doctor, **'give them both up or you won't last another week'** – the mind is willing, but the flesh is weak, so it was decision time again, and as it had run the norm ('three' {months} × 'two' {persons} = 'six' {months/persons}) – I loved algebra at school - I reluctantly waved them both goodbye – in separate aircraft, although I had also factored into the equation that the Mk2 version of my medication (without the 'unfortunate' side effect) would be arriving by the next winged messenger. Perhaps I could salt a bottle or two of the good stuff away for special occasions!!!!!

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Chapter 2

Following the demise of the twins I returned to my second true love (or should that be my third?) – my Hawker Hunter Mk6D. The D was for Display – a special designation given to all my Hunters – the single seat Mk6's and the two seat Mk 7's by the CAA, and confusingly named Lady S as well - if the President of the USA can call every aircraft that he fly's in 'Air Force One' then I can go one better, everything that I am sat in/stood on (aircraft, ship, golf buggy etc.) is 'Lady S', but it now seemed that even she was starting to spurn me. The first time it was over nothing, or rather a 'zero', - on her altimeter. As my strength returned I started to return to my old habit of playing with the clouds, and then performing some minor aerobatics for the gathered throngs on a local deserted beach, but this day I spotted a cruise liner first. An acquaintance of Carol's (Lady S's Captain) told her that cruise liners were now altering course just on the off chance of seeing the 'green diamonds' at play, so it became an unwritten rule that anyone spotting a liner should give it a couple of minutes quality time, and so I decided to buzz this lucky one at fifty feet, although instead of indicating fifty feet I noticed that the altimeter read almost five hundred feet as I flashed by down its port side, which was very naughty of it. If I had gone straight from cloud chasing to aerobatics along the deserted beach I doubt if I would have noticed the difference when I set myself up for the 'grand finale' inside loop, of course using the altimeter, and I undoubtedly would have run out of 'air' before I bottomed out, and as the Hunter is not known for its amphibious qualities, the 'sea' would have been very unforgiving. After giving the liner a much reduced 'treat', I returned to El Campo trying not to look at the altimeter, although I quickly realised that it was a very 'accurate' inaccuracy.

John, my Aircraft Engineering Manager was perplexed, in all his experience he had never come across a fault quite like this one. When my aircraft had been upgraded by HHR to the 'glass cockpit' standard, a new radar altimeter had been fitted, along with the upgraded communications and GPS-aided Navigational suite, so in theory my aircraft had one of the most up-to-date cockpits in the aviation industry, although it was surrounded by a geriatric fifty year old airframe, but it had still been four hundred and ninety-five feet out, exactly, at sea level, but not throughout its entire range. Above four thousand feet it progressively became more accurate, and by ten thousand feet it was spot on, so if I had joined formation with other aircraft above that altitude I wouldn't have noticed the inaccuracy. Not only was I, John and all my pilots worried, but so was the CAA (the Civil Aviation Authority) so everything that could be, was removed from Lady S, for onward transfer, via one of the specially modified drop tanks, into Gatwick Airport (south) terminal, home of the CAA. New components were then dispatched from the manufacturers in England, fitted into the Lady S, and voilà, after a check test flight I was back in business.

Two days later I decided that again I needed some Hunter therapy so I joined her at her new outdoor home. She was now kept on a small hard-standing all of her very own at the end of the main aircraft line, when she wasn't in the hangar (I think Topsy, my new joint Director of all things Aviation, had put her there so that she wouldn't clutter up his hard-standing). In truth it was to give the passengers on my new railway a 'photo opportunity' of her (and me when I clambered into her). I quickly kicked the tyres and lit the fire and was feeling that all was well with the world - or at least my little part of it, as I was marshalled forward. I lightly squeezed the brake lever to check that the brakes were OK (well ok'ish, perhaps she needed new pads), and then I was off, straight towards the rest of the aircraft, but all was not lost, a new white line had been painted on my tarmac to protect them, (I can call it my tarmac – because it is), all I had to do was follow it, simple. I wasn't really going 'too' fast as I approached the bent strip of paint but I wasn't hanging about either, so when a Plane Captain and his helper, who had just dispatched his aircraft off into the wild blue yonder suddenly started running towards me, signalling for me to stop, I stopped, or at least I tried to. Any pilot will tell you that if anyone - irrespective of what he/she does or who he/she is \- whether he/she is the Station Commander or his/her driver, the postman/woman, or the dust cart driver signals you to stop – you stop – end of story. What I hadn't seen was that my Plane Captain (ess) had been absentmindedly watching me taxi out, and the sun had reflected off something on my starboard (right) undercarriage, that shouldn't have reflected, and it looked alarmingly like hydraulic fluid. She franticly waved to her mate (it is pointless trying to shout above an Avon), and pointed at me, with her thumb down. Chas (her mate) signalled me to stop, so I did, or rather, as I have already said, I tried to, but the brake handle, after a slight resistance, went all limp in my hand as I tried to squeeze the life out of it. I then continued serenely on towards the other aircraft, franticly shutting the Avon down as I went (unfortunately the Hunter does not have nose wheel steering). Chas's helper was carrying two very heavy wooden chocks, with about three feet (almost a meter) of substantial chain link dangling from one side (to lock the two chocks together on a wheel) and dropping one he swung the other one around by the chain and flung it in my direction, 'perhaps it was a new Olympic sport?' I thought, and I also thought that he had missed me, but suddenly I heard a metal on metal screech - I certainly heard (and felt) that above the Avon, and Lady S started to safely go around in circles, until my engine lost its oomph. The chock had indeed missed my starboard main wheel, but the chain hadn't – and it jammed itself between the brake unit and the undercarriage leg, locking everything up nicely. Once everything had been sorted out and a crane had given Lady S a lift home – into the hangar, the hard-standing was given a wash and brush-up, although strangely a blob of hardened araldite was found not too far away from the crime scene of the accident, which went into Johns desk draw. The chain had not only written off the undercarriage leg but it had also shredded a brake pipe, which everyone assumed had sprung a leak after most likely being damaged by a foreign object, probably a stone – not a Russian. FOD (surprisingly enough 'Foreign Object Damage') is not unheard of where aircraft are concerned - as with the hat that went down Arabella's intake on our first visit to Farnborough - although it had been made in Bradford (not a good example, I know).

Although a new undercarriage assembly was fitted, and functionally tested in two shakes of a gnat's tail - one of Topsy's sayings - he wasn't a very happy little bunny. He was no longer a shop floor 'maintainer'; he was now 'political', as the departure of Teddy (my previous Director of all things Aviation) had caused me to have a major shake-up, aviation wise. Teddy's job had been split into two and Natasha took on the overseeing and training of the Display team, and Topsy did the rest, organising the displays and generally viewing the 'bigger picture', which included 'co-ordinating' the two squadrons. Having one large (and getting larger by the day) squadron, was proving quite cumbersome so Natasha split it into two, promoted two Flight Leaders to Squadron Leaders, and I generally had a 'cabinet re-shuffle', but Topsy still tried to 'poke his oar in' whenever he could, and looking at the carnage on the undercarriage assembly he noticed that not only had one end of the shredded pipe been anti-locked, but the end of the locking wire had not been bent over either.

On aircraft, nuts and bolts, and all things that can vibrate undone, cannot be allowed to do so, so there is a 'belt and braces' method of stopping this happening. Nuts, bolts, pipe unions, lock-nuts, control wires, in fact anything that can come undone, are torque loaded, to make sure that they are neither too loose nor too tight, and then tied tightly together with 'locking wire'. A flexible wire, that when inserted through pre-drilled holes in the head of a nut, bolt or union, would be twisted tightly to form a stronger, more rigid wire, and then threaded through the opposite part of the union, preferably at a right angle, pulled tight (in theory pulling the nuts even tighter), and then twisted for a further half an inch, snipped off and the end folded back on itself and pushed flush with the nut. Anti-locking is the same, but in the opposite direction, trying to pull them apart, and this is where the Supervisor, or a second Independent Supervisor on control cables, comes in. When mechanics are tired, cold, ****ed off, working upside down or even working blind it is an easy thing to do, but there is no castigation, just 'oh dearie me' and do it again. It is not unheard of to have two or even three attempts to get it right, but at every attempt the end would be folded back and pushed against the nut, after-all it would most likely be his/her hand that got stabbed by the sharp end if he/she didn't. Topsy wasn't too worried about the anti-locking, he reckoned that almost every aircraft, if stripped down to its component parts would have one or two that had slipped through the net, but what you wouldn't find are unfolded ends, mechanics are a tight fisted lot, they don't like giving blood away unless there is a free cup of tea at the end of it, but it was time for him to publicly congratulate the Plane Captains and Olympian 'for preventing a very serious - and possibly fatal accident from happening', so he pushed it to the back of his mind for the moment.

At the mention of 'fatal' Topsy automatically looked at me, and I thought 'time for one of my 'one liners', so 'don't look at me' I said, 'I would have been four hundred feet away when she hit'.

'Four hundred feet?' Topsy quizzically repeated.

'Yes, four hundred feet', and I pointed a finger skywards. Another 'modification to the standard Hunter Mk6 design was a Martin Baker Mk 10(L) rocket propelled ejection seat, recommended to be retrofitted to existing RAF Hunters back in 1980, with absolutely no structural re-designing needed, but never fitted, cost before pilots lives was the mantra then.

Every maintainer present thought – Rat deserting a sinking ship.

Every pilot present thought – you and me both.

I was starting to think that Lady S was perhaps having an affair, and trying to give me a gentle hint to 'take a hike', but no, she wouldn't do such a horrible thing to me, although when I went to England a few days later, to have some quality time with Robin and family I was tempted to get David to put a concealed camera on her (and later wished that I had).

Three weeks later I was again sat in her, at the end of the runway, but pointing in the wrong direction. The wind was up so I had to take off into the wind, and then do a quick 180˚ turn. Most pilots would just circle right or left and go on their merry way, but not me, I liked to overfly El Campo at about seven or eight hundred feet and have a look around, and even try to look down the 'volcano' at Sheila, and this time was no different, until I had just cleared my lake and was heading, 'straight and level' towards the Mediterranean. I felt rather than heard an explosion and my aileron and rudder controls became useless accessories, and the elevator felt 'funny', but the Hunter being the Hunter - flew serenely on, did it give a jot – not a one. I passed Chalkie by in his 'chicken coop' and reckoned that if I shouted loud enough he might actually hear me, even above the Avon, but as this seemed to be a full blown 'emergency' I wanted everyone to know about it, not just him, so I was quickly on to 'Guard', the International Air Distress frequency (121.5MHz) channel, which was reserved for 'emergencies only', and so it was **'MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY, this is Lady S calling El Campo tower, I have just lost virtually all my flight controls, but I am at the moment in stable flight at 200knots.'** That got Chalkies attention, and after one brief interruption by a civil airport he was my point of contact. His new 'enlarged' chicken coop then earned its keep by playing host to just about every 'air-side Manager' and senior pilot that I had, and the first thing that had to be sorted out was, 'had I any control over my aircraft?'

'Only limited Elevator (up or down), and normal throttle (faster or slower)', but there was no way that I could turn my aircraft, either by using the rudder or an aileron/elevator mix'. Then I had to recount what had actually happened, and I described what I had heard and felt, and then the radio went very quiet for what seemed like a life-time. They were then back on, requesting my heading and fuel state, which I was happy to give them, I knew that I had sufficient fuel to cross the Mediterranean and reach Algeria, until they told me the bad news - I was pointed up the Med and not across it. I was on a course to nowhere.

'But what had happened to my aircraft?' I asked, and Topsy said that the consensus of opinion was that a very small device (AKA bomb) had been planted near to the control mixer unit, which transferred my control rod inputs from my stick and rudder bar, to the mechanical linkages which went to the flight controls, but it looks as though it was only partially successful as I still had 'some' elevator control, and that raised another point, 'was I in 'manual' or 'powered' controls'?

'Manual' I said, I just liked the feeling of 'being at one with the air outside', 'why, should I switch them on?' By the amount of 'No's' that came over my radio I gathered that that might not be a good idea.

I asked them how they knew that it was a bomb - 'because a portable transmitter has just been found in a skip in-between the hangars, still switched on, and the batteries still fully charged'. Apparently it was more than powerful enough to detonate a device as I flew across the airfield.

'But why?', I asked, 'if someone wanted to blow me up in mid-air, there were almost limitless places that would ensure my destruction; all this would do was cause me to eject'.

'Exactly' said Topsy, 'just like your brake failure the other week'. 'John thinks that your ejection seat has been tampered with, and if you do eject it will look like a malfunction, not murder, as any evidence will have been destroyed, both on the seat as you hit the ground, and on the aircraft as it burned, (at the first attempt) or sunk to the bottom of the sea (today).

'But why am I still breathing' I asked, still trying to get it sorted out in my head that someone actually wanted to kill me, and most likely someone that I knew.

'Because you were flying in manual, usually only idiots fly in manual if they have a choice, thank god you are an idiot'. 'If you had been in 'powered' controls everything would have happened so fast, your control surfaces would have been all over the place, giving you only a split second to react, and pull the handle, exit Andrew Michaels'.

'Thanks pal' I said 'remind me to fire you when I get back - and I'm sure that there are other IDIOT'S flying around in manual', and then we got back to the problem at hand, and my options now seemed to be:-

  1. Pray for a miracle.

  2. Fly on until I disappeared into the sunset.

  3. Eject – and probably die, the only positive point in its favour was that it would be over quicker, and

  4. Ditch in the sea, then I remembered what it said in the pilots' notes: - (A verbatim quote)

Page 98 – Item 103 DITCHING

  1. Model tests of a clean aircraft indicate that a ditching in any but ideal conditions would be very hazardous.

  2. It is recommended therefore that except in calm seas and air conditions combined with good visibility the pilot should abandon the aircraft rather than attempt a ditching.

I glanced at the four drop tanks under my wings and looked down at the very angry seas below and guessed that things were anything but 'ideal'.

I had once asked Natasha why there was no 'jumping out of the aircraft' chapter in the pilots' notes, 'because you fly a Hawker Hunter not a Hawker Hurricane, if you did manage to stand up on the seat, you would be blown off and 'around' the fin - it is very sharp'.

Just as I thought that things couldn't get any worse, a strange American accented voice came over my headset, _'Lady S, this is CVN-77- USS George HW Bush, we have been monitoring your broadcasts and may just be in a position to offer assistance you'._

I was now back to Item 1. - pray for a miracle. Was George HW Bush the older or the younger? I didn't much go for the younger, but beggars can't be chooses.

'This is Lady S' – I was frantically trying to remember her proper registration letters – 'please go ahead', anything is better than nothing.

The USS George HW Bush is an American nuclear powered aircraft carrier, and had just finished one 'joint exercise' (bombing the crap out of some poor Country or other) and was starting another one mananã, so they were just pottering about having a bit of R&R (rest and recuperation), and whilst listening to my predicament a couple of ideas had been floated around. They already knew my course and speed, _'can you slow down a bit please, it will give us more time to prepare',_ and so I eased my throttle back slightly.

'One hundred and seventy five knots, that's perfect' came the reply to the statement I was about to make, they must have even better radar that the Lady S (the floating one), and their first idea was that they would line up in front of me, and I could lower the Lady S onto their deck, and into their safety barrier, I didn't like that one little bit, 'what is the second one'.

' _An Osprey tilt wing aircraft will fly above, and in front of you, lower a cable and pluck you bodily out of your aircraft'_ **,** I thought of the fin and my family jewels.

'Tell me more about option one' I said – they had definitely watched 'Air Force One' a time to many.

As I slowly absorbed it, I started to like their plan –not a lot, but a little, but there was a slight problem, even their Radar wasn't accurate enough to place the huge 102,000 long ton aircraft carrier within a few feet of the Lady S (and yes there is a short ton, the Americans use it so it would be 114.000 short tons), and this is where Natasha butted in, 'have you tried your air brake, Arabella's turns her a degree or so to starboard every time I flip it out'.

Now the Americans were totally confused, children talking on the emergency channel about their dolls hair, but I tried it anyway, and although I felt nothing the Yanks (sorry American gentlemen) spotted a movement, apparently it knocked me about a degree to port. 'Huston I have control'.

The George Bush (HW) then took over my situation, and had obviously downloaded the F6 pilot's notes from the WWW as they now knew that I couldn't blip my belly air brake and have my undercarriage down at the same time, oops, 'but' I thought, 'if my belly airbrake can do that, what about my flaps, will they push me off course slightly as well?', so for what seemed like an age they had me doing all sorts of combinations of flaps, air brake, undercarriage, altitude and speed, until I said in exasperation 'what if I slide my hood back and put my hand out?

' _OK, try your left one first'_ , then finally 'Mildred' had apparently gotten enough information, and was ready to talk to me.

'Oh, you have lady sailors on board as well' I commented.

' _Yes we do, but Mildred is a machine, what voice would you like?'_

'Errrr'

' _How about that sexy Spanish Controller when you had the undercarriage problem'_ _._

'Big Brother, or what' I thought, and a machine, in the guise of my very sexy Spanish Air Traffic Controller took over, introduced herself, and told me to start jettisoning some fuel, and then switched to her 'professional' voice when I was down to 'almost empty'. I could now safely slow to 130knots for touchdown, which I was doing as I slid over the round-down, thinking back to 'those' buttons, and the breaking strain of cotton thread. Now about that safety barrier, I was doing 130 knots at touchdown, the Carrier itself was doing 30 (plus) knots (I could tell you the actual speed but the page would then have to self-destruct) into a wind of 25/30 knots, so that left me with about 60 knots to loose, and what with her non-skid deck and my Maxaret units (anti-skid units on my brakes) I would have needed stout walking boots to walk up to it - did I mention that the Nimitz class of 'super carriers' are the largest capital ships in the world, and as such have an overall length of 1,092 feet (or 333 meters for the metrificated) - I could have had a total brake failure and still not reached the barrier.

After I shut down the Lady S they put the safety pins into my ejection seat, but wouldn't let me get out, they kept me there to 'steer' her, as they didn't have a 'universal' steering arm to fit (I think that the real reason was that if the seat had gone bang, then they wouldn't have had to replace me, unlike one of their sailors). Even without the engine 'burning and turning' I still had enough pressure in the wheel brake accumulator for at least forty applications, which was OK - what wasn't, was that they were pushing me backwards. As I was pushed out onto the side lift (elevator), with nothing behind me but angry seas, two children with chocks in their hands beside me, about fifty sailors, of comparable ages trying to push me over the side, and my sphincter working overtime, I finally came to terms with my age, perhaps I wasn't twenty something anymore. Tying Lady S down temporarily they got me to dump the little remaining fuel in her tanks overboard (about 3½ cup fulls), the Navy (any Navy) doesn't like AVTUR (Aviation Turbine Fuel) on board, apparently it has too low a flash point (I thought that was the idea of it – to burn), AVCAT (Aviation Carrier Turbine Fuel) was the only approved aviation fuel, for safety reasons. Finally as they pushed me into a corner of the hangar (as I said, the George HW Bush is very large, and the Hawker Hunter is very small, so there was no worry about not having folding wings) a swarm of maintainers smothered her in temporary lashings, warning signs stating 'no undercarriage locks' were placed around her and then Leroy Jethro Gibbs, NCIS Special-Agent-In-Charge, surrounded her with red and white 'crime scene' tape, I had forgotten all about that small point, and apparently that was why they had kept me in the cockpit, that was a crime scene as well.

Once Lady S was put to bed – with an armed guard to watch over her slumbers, I was shown to the bridge where I met up with an old friend. Captain 'Chuck' Upp USN had been the Captain of the US Navy Cruiser that had 'escorted' me as we had skirted Somalia all those years ago, and I had provided some R & R for him and his crew, and after thanking him, and everyone else on the bridge most profusely we watched a Bell-Boeing V-22 Osprey approach from head-on, circle around and alight lightly onto the deck, very impressive I thought, but I knew that the most experienced pilots on board the ship were at its controls. They would have had eight minutes to snatch me from the Lady S if Mildred (or I) had gotten it wrong _('climb to one thousand feet, 180 knots, jettison your hood, unbuckle your harness, and wait')_ – they made no mention of 'crossing my legs'. I started to ask what 'Mildred' was an acronym for, but saw a Marine Sargent unbutton his holster and quickly changed my mind, and then we retired to Captain Upp's sea cabin (please - I am a heterosexual male, and proud of it) where Agent Gibbs ('please call me Agent Gibbs') was waiting for us. Following directions given to him by Topsy he had removed the aircraft destructor panel on the port side of the nose (aircraft destructor panel? – WHAT AIRCRAFT DESTRUCTOR PANEL?) and using a video camera with a snake lenses he found the source of my problem, it was an explosive device, and there looked to be a large amount of forensic evidence about, but as 'Abby' would not be involved in this (British registered aircraft) he just closed and sealed the panel, but he did show us the video. I did contemplate asking him what 'Abby' stood for, but nope, I remembered the Marine Sargent and though, I really don't 'need to know' that either. (NCIS followers will know WHO Abby is).

Then it was the turn of the 'Air Maintenance Boss', he knew that Lady S would be staying on board for a while ('that's more than I knew', I thought) and so he needed undercarriage locks, tie down points and a steering arm as a matter of urgency, and with that a pipe came over the ships broadcast system, _'Hands to flying stations, standby to receive yet another Hawker Hunter'_. Topsy and Natasha had been one step ahead and knew what would be needed if I successfully landed on the carrier (if - was there any doubt?) and quickly had 'portable store-room' drop tanks fitted to a Mk7D twin seater. Inside them, along with what the Americans had asked for, were a complete set of aircraft blanks and (with a bit of a squeeze) a boarding ladder.

With that the Air Boss burst in, (well knocked politely on the door) 'who is this Natasha Shladakoff', it sounds Russian to me' he demanded.

'She is, and if she is piloting the aircraft about to land' I said, 'then I can say with hand on heart that she will be the best pilot on board this ship, when it lands'.

'Not THAT Natasha Shladakoff', he said in awe, 'I wonder if I can get her autograph' and wandered away.

'How many Natasha Shladakoff's are there' I thought, 'AND WHAT ABOUT MY BLOODY AUTOGRAPH!!!'

I watched Natasha land on board from flyco (flying Control), every other vantage point was packed with rubber-neckers, most of them in flying overalls, and of course they didn't rig the Crash Barrier for her (it must be a sexist thing). I then went down to greet her, after she was given the pride of 'parking place', but she was quickly enveloped in a throng – mostly aviators, as her reputation had well and truly preceded her. When things calmed down we emptied the drop-tanks, including a bottle or two of the Captains favourite tipple, and quickly had the tie down lugs, undercarriage locks and blanks fitted by Leroy Jethro's assistants, Tony, Ziva and Tim, as we were not permitted to cross the crime scene tape, although Tony did try it on with Natasha over it – and I did like Ziva's hair, thank goodness her name didn't start with S.

After we'd had a chance to 'wash and brush up' we had lunch in the ratings mess hall (at my request) and then given a tour of the ship, giving me a chance to say thank you to everyone, and then the Meteorological Officer made a decision, 'the sea was much too rough for us to take off' (look out of the window porthole idiot – it's almost calm now).

'Oh dear' I thought, 'that means we will have to stay on board tonight, I must remember to pack a D.J. every time I go for a quick flight from now on', and after a fair attempt at impersonating Marcel, by the cooks, we watched a movie – yes 'Air Force One', 'just for you' they said, and then had a quiet night before and early start ( I say we, Natasha seemed to have a procession of drooling pilots following her wherever she went, eat your heart out Topsy), their next exercise was due to start at noon.

Next morning we sat in Llewellyn on the stern of the of the USS George HW Bush (the one that should have been Llanfair-pwllgwyngyll-gogerych-wyrndrobw-llanty-silio-gogogoch {the Hunter, not the ship}, it's a good job that I had changed it as Natasha would still be requesting permission to land on board) and I was not looking forward to what lay ahead one little bit. It wasn't because of a hangover, I hadn't had a drop of alcohol all night, US Navy ships are 'dry', it wasn't the take-off, after all I had a shorter runway at El Campo, it wasn't even the fact that at dinner in the Officers mess, one Officer had asked Natasha to give a quick display after take-off, and offered her $100 to a charity of her choice, and as other donations came in from around the table it was quickly over $5,000, and when it went ship wide, and after she had said that the charity would be 'make-a-wish foundation' it shot to $15,000. This morning she was going to give them a display that they would never forget for $56,800 (about ten bucks per head of crew) although I was tempted to double it, just for her to go straight home as I would be sat next to her, but that was where my malady was waiting for me, Marcel. As a conversation 'filler in' I had invited Captain Upp (and his crew) to stop off at El Campo for a spot of R & R on their way back home, and he had accepted my offer, Marcel would really be feeding the five thousand now, and I couldn't even blame it on the drink.

The Flight Deck Officer raised his flag above his head (he had refused a bribe of an 'almost new' sports car to let his deputy do it), waved it in circles, and Natasha opened the throttle wide, and when the Avon was at maximum RPM she gave him the thumbs up (although it should have been a salute, I think) and he dramatically dropped to one knee and pointed his body (and the flag) down the angled flight-deck (more for the benefit of the hundreds of cam-corders whirring away, than us), just like he did with the big boys on the catapults, and then he waited, and waited, and waited and then finally he glanced up at Natasha, who blew him a kiss and released the brakes. The flag was later to fetch $87.25 cents at the Christmas auction, and the C.O. of the F/A-18E Super Hornet Squadron received a reprimand later that day for blowing a kiss at the FDO instead of saluting, but what about me, well I fell off the end of the angled flight deck, not really – but about three thousand Americans thought that I did. When I finally opened my eyes I wished that I hadn't, we were **under** the bow of the Carrier, and about to shoot up in front of her, and then we disappeared into the high cloud cover, but only for long enough to collect twenty four more friends, and to get Sally patched into the flight decks broadcast system, she was circling high above in Zebedee, and then we put on the full Farnborough routine, was that worth $62,700, or what; but what was worth twice that much to me was when she cartwheeled down the deck, almost level with flyco, with me crimping my sphincter beside her.

### ~~~~

Chapter 3

We had a quick pit stop on the Riviera to replenish our depleted tanks, and the petrol pump attendant nearly had a heart attack when I taxied up to the re-fuelling point, with twenty four others behind me, raised the hood, leaned out of the cockpit, handed him my piece of plastic and said 'llenar veinticinco aviones porfavor', (fill up twenty-five aircraft please) in almost fluent Spanish, and I was quite proud of myself until Natasha pointed out that we were in France. 'Oh well, better luck next time', and as 'actions speak louder than words' he got the idea and started pumping away, after first muttering something along the lines of 'those nice people in the control tower didn't tell me you were coming, I think I will castrate them later' – but I might be wrong though - I didn't understand a word he said either. As I sat there patiently waiting for Llewellyn to be topped up I absentmindedly wondered what _Av_ he was putting in, was it avtur, avcat, avtag, avpin, ava-nice-day, ava-go-joe, then I decided that as long as it burst into flames when it got into the middle of my engine I didn't really care very much.

When we arrived back at El Campo Topsy was there to greet me, with a ping pong bat in either hand; he was stood at the side of the runway guiding me in, and I thought 'pity I can only fire you once', but it did bring a smile to my face.

As I taxied in the smile was soon removed, I was quickly surrounded by David and his finest, and bundled into a new car, that had even more armour than my Maybach, and most probably a main battle tank. I had forgotten, but he hadn't, that someone close-by wanted me dead.

When I was safely in my private quarters, which had been swept for explosive devices (and every other foreign object), and would be again regularly, I was told (this apparently was not a time for me to have an opinion) that I would not be leaving them until the perpetrator/s had been apprehended – it really had become a prison.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes I was quickly sat in my office with a mass off stony faces staring back at me, 'well, what have you found out?

The CAA had phoned and they had good news, and bad news, 'which did I want first?'

'The good news,' I think I deserved some cheering up.

'They are not going to ground every commercial aircraft in the free world' John said.

'That's good news – for them' I said, 'what's the bad news?'

'Someone is trying to kill you – big time'. I suppose that can be seen as bad news, especially if you are me.

Following my first 'incident' the CAA at Heathrow had, on receipt of the radar altimeter and all the extraneous bits and pieces, had re-assembled it on a test bench, and the same thing happened, it was out by four hundred and ninety-five feet. Then they checked every item individually and narrowed it down to the Radar Altimeters 'sensor box' that had been mounted in the new equipment bay (where the gun pack had once been). It was then checked for continuity, and other such technical things but nothing obvious was found, until some clever person, obviously with nothing better to do shone a fluoroscope at it, and the first thing that it picked up was that it wasn't my sensor box, the serial number had been changed to my units one. Then they found that one of its side panels had been replaced by an identical looking panel but not made of the same non-magnetic material, and it had been magnetized, it was as simple as that, with the right amount of magnetism and sufficient time a person could alter the reading by any amount.

'Put that to one side' John said, 'now, your brake failure – a small piece of hard araldite was found close to where you tested your brakes as you taxied out, and the more I thought about it, the less I liked it, as it sat in my draw, so I sent it for forensic analysis and this is what they discovered', and handed me a very technical looking report.

'The 'bottom line' please John,' I said, I had no intention of wading through the report at this stage.

'What it boils down to then, is that after the two parts had been mixed together and partially hardened, a small blob had been placed over one side of a pipe that had had a line of minute holes drilled in a manufactured 'dent', sealing them, and as it quickly dried a small tie-lock plastic fastener had been wrapped around it, holding it in place, and although it was virtually dry when it was tested with hydraulic fluid under pressure, fluid had impregnated it slightly – that's how we can say that it came from the pipe. Then it had been cleaned with de-greaser, sprayed with identical coloured paint and finally it had been fitted to your aircraft by someone who knew the basics of 'locking wire', but had little, if any practical experience of using it in difficult locations'.

'Surely you mechanics would have noticed the tie-wrap' I angrily retorted, 'I am placing my life in their hand, and they missed a bit of plastic'.

'Where it was on the pipe was out of their 'line of sight', and my maintainers cannot check every inch of every pipe and cable that is hidden from their view', he was not going to let me besmirch his mechanics, they were under-valued enough as it was, he thought, 'but you are missing the main point, both of these attempts were made by at least two people' and that calmed me down a bit, 'the first person with the technical knowhow, skill, money, and more importantly, with the facilities to experiment and test, prior to implementing them, which I doubt very much could have been done at El Campo – we only replace items, we don't manufacturer them, and the second person, who made stupid mistakes, to actually physically get to the Lady S'. What we think is that someone 'airside' is working with someone outside El Campo, either close by or at the other side of the world'.

That narrows it down a bit, I thought, and then Maria came in and handed John a message, and told him that 'David has a copy'.

'Excuse me one moment' he said 'this is from the George Bush' and quickly scanned the document.

'Right' he finally said, 'I asked the NCIS team to check certain areas for fingerprints (along with the CAA at Heathrow) and we have just got the results back, David I am sure will be here in a moment to tell us more', and with that he walked in.

'Jenny Wren' he said as he sat down. NCIS had checked the Equipment bay, the starboard wheel well and around the Destructor panel, both inside and out for finger prints, and there had been a lot of them, but only Jenny, one of my armourers, had fingerprints in all three areas, 'but couldn't they have gotten there legitimately' I asked?

'Starboard wheel well?' John asked, and then answered his own question, 'She would have an excuse to go into the port one if she helped with re-fuelling, but not the starboard, there is nothing in it remotely armour-ish'.

'Equipment bay', he continued 'again nothing remotely of interest to an armourer'.

'But it was a gun pack in its previous life', I put in, then I answered my own stupid statement, 'but it had been converted long before she ever met her' (Lady S).

'And finally the destructor panel, which seals her fate, her fingerprints are all around, and on it, as she removed the panel – she must have done it the previous night after the Lady S had been wiped down and polished – and only hers were found on the inside of the panel, it's called the Aircraft Destructor Panel but it was a military thing, nobody has any reason to go in there following the conversion.

David then came back into the conversation, 'I asked the CAA to have the box dusted for prints but so many people have handled it there was nothing on the 'outside' that was usable'.

'But?' I said.

'On the inside were three excellent prints'.

'Jenny's?'

'Nope – Teddy Heslop's'.

'Well bugger me with the blunt end of a rag-man's trumpet' Topsy said.

'Well put' I said, and I now knew what I had to do before I fired him.

How did David know all this, well anybody wishing to have employment within the bounds of el Campo has to, among other things, give finger and palm prints for security checks, and to give them access to various 'fingerprint controlled' access areas, if they thought it was an invasion of their privacy then they could always look elsewhere for employment. David then went off to locate Miss Wren, after first summonsing in the police, it was too delicate a situation to mess anything up on a technicality, but 'surprisingly' – or not - she was nowhere to be found.

Miss 'Jenny' Elizabeth Wren had never been in the WRNS's (Wrens), she had been an armourer (with a sub-speciality in ejection seats – the bits that went bang 'or in my case - not') in the RAF, where she met her 'partner' 'Ginger' Strachan, an airframe fitter. They never got around to tying the knot, 'perhaps if I fall pregnant' was her standard reply, and both had been in the right place, at the right time, to be taken on by me, but they had only stayed an 'item' for a short time, then they had gone their separate ways, him literally as two weeks later he took off for pastures new. The general consensus of opinion around the room was that she was perhaps a little lazy, but no worse than a few others. 'She would never set the world on fire – but would be ok in a topless bun fight' was Topsy's expert assessment. When Ginger disappeared he hadn't handed his notice in, one day he was doing his job, the next he was apparently in Scotland, and as Maria had started making enquiries (P45, final salary etc.) Teddy had come into her office and told her 'everything is OK, just give his stuff to Jenny, she will pass it on' and left it at that.

Over the next few hours, as more enquiries were made, the picture then started to become clearer, the altimeter would have been their primary attempt, but magnetism is a funny thing, and hard to predict, so Teddy had a back-up plan as well, the brake pipe. Jenny had indeed sabotaged my ejection seat - NCIS confirmed that (and it would have looked like a tragic malfunction), and she had been spotted 'late night jogging' the evening before the brake failure (according to the 'gate log'), when she must have fitted the sabotaged pipe (that Teddy had manufactured), although she wasn't sufficiently experienced with wire locking to do the 'hard-to-get-to' union correctly. It also transpired that she had rather 'out of character' volunteered to be brake number (in the cockpit) when Lady S had been towed out of the hangar that fateful day, We all doubted if she had even touched the brakes, apart from gently easing them 'on' on the hard-standing, as the hangar floor and my special hard-standing were perfectly flat. If someone else had yanked them on then that would have spoiled everything as the araldite and tie wrap were intended to fail when I did my 'quickie' squeeze on the brake lever as I taxied out. It had all held together for the hoped for length of time (perhaps even less than a second), just long enough for me to see Lady S's nose start to dip down in response in front of me, then I released them again, but they hadn't taken into account the loss of a small quantity of hydraulic fluid that let gravity take it down the undercarriage leg, the rising sun, and my inquisitive Plane Captain (ess). I hadn't noticed the pressure drop on the braking systems 'triple pressure gauge', I was too busy with things outside the cockpit, which I think they were banking on. All the evidence would hopefully be incinerated in the ensuing pyre as Lady S careered into the first plane on the main line, Avon still roaring away. If I had managed to eject in time then it was a belt and braces situation for them, they got me both ways.

After that failed attempt they obviously had to act fast as the CAA would eventually confirm the sabotage so they cobbled together the explosives plan. It wouldn't have taken them long as it wasn't a very large or sophisticated device, she had access to explosives (fireworks for use around El Campo and Natasha's 'special display') & he would have done the technical bits, it was a brilliantly simple plan for a last minute attempt, but unfortunately I was flying in manual.

The police in England went to Teddy and Beryl's cottage in the Cotswolds and found Teddy and Jenny in a large workshop at the bottom of their garden, trying to clear out the incriminating evidence, but there was just too much of it. Teddy was the sort of person that knew that he was much too clever to ever get caught (that was reserved for stupid criminals) so the police not only found physical evidence but also receipts for the specialist equipment, the replaced serviceably brake pipe, (who on earth keeps evidence like that – I bet he doesn't watch CSI Miami), and two lap tops, with all their E-mails still on them, including step-by-step instructions on how to replace the black box and brake pipe, but why had they wanted to see me dead? - Because of Beryl.

When Beryl had decided to stay on at el Campo, it wasn't all to do with her new found freedom, Teddy was a bombastic pig - out of earshot of other people of course, and she should have left him years ago, but he intimidated her, and she also literally had nowhere else to go, so she just put up with it - life in a gilded cage - and all that, so for giving her her freedom, it was the second strike against me – the first one was for sacking him in the first place - for absolutely no reason. Around that same time I had noticed that Eddy was getting through an alarming number of female assistants, more than one of them pregnant, so I'd had a brilliant idea, would Beryl like to look at the bigger picture and consider becoming the Assistant Estate Manager in her spare time (and hopefully becoming a calming influence on Eddy's hormones at the same time), which was a spectacularly failure, within a month she was pregnant.

'It's impossible' she told everyone, 'I stopped having my monthly's, months ago' (TMI, TMI) but we already had one 'Immaculate Conception' at El Campo, and that was more than enough, so Beryl becoming 'preggers' was strike three. Strike four was that he hadn't been able to get near her since he was a Squadron Leader (!!!) and strike five was when she filed for divorce, using my Solicitors (which every member of staff can use - perks) – he really did have a thing against me, but how had Jenny gotten herself involved, and we had no definitive answer to that until Sally stepped forward. One of the times that she had been piloting Zebedee, alongside Peter Frost, chauffeuring Teddy around the skies as he terrified the newly formed display team, she was 'taken short' (needed to go to the loo), but as she made her way past Teddy's 'office' she glanced in, and saw Jenny doing a' Monica Lewinsky' on him as he continued to berate the pilots. She was mortified, and too embarrassed to tell anyone – even Peter, after all what people did in their private lives was none of her business, although she wished that they had closed the door first. 'With all the rumours that are now flying around, I thought I had better come and tell someone', she told me, and _'I understood where she was coming from'_ concerning their behaviour, this wasn't the military, although I suppose I would have to have a self-closing door fitted to the 'office' - but Sally hadn't quite finished - listening to all the stories now circulating around the place, apparently Ginger had been in a foul mood the day before he disappeared, and was going to 'sort it out' that evening, and then after his disappearance he never contacted anyone at El Campo ever again, not even his very good friends from his RAF days, or even the one that owed him quite a lot of money, so no one ever found out what, or who, was to be sorted out.

I then asked Maria to come in, and asked her what she remembered about Ginger leaving, and all that she could remember was that Teddy had told her to just 'go through Jenny' about anything, and that a couple of days later she had receive a call from Scotland from Mr Strachan telling her the same thing.

'Did it sound like him?' I asked her, not liking where this was taking me.

'I had never spoken to him before; anyway it was such a terrible line I doubt if I would have recognised him even if I had, it was like he was in a workshop'.

'Did the voice sound Scottish?' I pushed.

'That's why I can remember the conversation now; although he said he was in Scotland and had a Scottish name I thought he sounded very 'English' – even over all the interference'.

'Please ask David to come in, and when he arrives, please come in with him' I asked her, and giving me a very quizzical look she disappeared into her office.

'How did Jenny get into Zebedee' I asked Sally, 'didn't you confront Teddy about a stowaway?'

'She wasn't a stowaway, anytime that we are on a trip like that anyone at El Campo is more than welcome to come along, it helps break the monotony 'up front', in fact being a maintainer she would most likely have been invited to sit in the co-pilots seat when life wasn't too hectic and try her hand at being a real pilot, not just a hangar pilot, although now that you mention it she was a bit strange, she always spent the flight with Teddy'.

'Now we know why' I thought.

With that David and Maria came in, and I recounted my fears, and then David was again contacting the police, 'although', he said before departing, 'if I was right then what are the odds that Teddy had signed out a light aircraft on the day that Ginger had disappeared'. We were now of the unanimous opinion that Jenny was the one to be 'sorted out', but she had 'sorted him out' first, and then Teddy had come along and cleaned up the mess by dumping poor Ginger way out to sea. After Teddy had left my employ she became a regular passenger on the 'dirty weekend' clipper service between El Campo and London City Airport (it was now an almost daily service), taking weekends (and mid-week - weekends) off whenever she could, so they must have continued their relationship. When Teddy had finally flipped she was either a willing participant, or blackmailed into being his accomplice, well that was my theory anyway, the police might find him happily running a 'chippie' in Elgin, and as David turned to leave my Office that evening he reluctantly said 'I suppose we will have to release you from 'house arrest', sorry, 'protective custody' now'.

### ~~~~

Chapter 4

Many years ago I came to terms with the fact that I cannot just tell people what to do, unless I am paying them loads of money of course, but there is one person in this world that I dearly wished that I could, and she works for the British Embassy in Madrid. Whilst I was still in my hotel/hospital Maria had fielded an enquiry from her predecessor in the Embassy, 'would I consider being 'His Excellency's' guest of honour at the Christmas Ball' and as I was still firmly strapped to my bed at the time, with no prospects any time soon of getting out of it, it was easy for her to decline the invitation on my behalf, but unfortunately she now had my number. At regular intervals thereafter more invitations for various functions followed and Maria's responses became more creative, 'out of bed but still in hospital', 'out of hospital but in a wheelchair', 'out of a wheelchair and out of Country' (I was choosing lady S's colour scheme - much more important), but recently the requests had started to become more persistent, and Marias excuses more desperate, it was starting to become obvious that pressure was being applied for me to attend 'something' – 'anything', and recently the voice at the end of the telephone had been changed to a much more officious one. The first young lady had been very polite and understanding, if anything hinting that she was 'on my side', and had once let slip that 'her brother, sorry 'His Excellency' would be very disappointed yet again', very intriguing, so when the battle-axe that replaced her 'demanded' for the third time in as many days to speak to me, 'not a mere minion', Maria had a major sense of humour failure and I had her put through. My sense of humour quickly followed Maria's, but after a very veiled threat that involved converting the Tower of London back to its former glory and sharpening 'the' axe I finally wilted. I knew that the day would finally come, and in truth in the beginning I did hate giving speeches, and would wriggle out of them given half a chance, but along with many other courses that I had taken since my disastrous visit to Palm Beach, I had taken 'presentation/speeches', and was now getting more relaxed about them, so I reluctantly agreed that I might look favourably on an invitation to the summer banquette six months hence, and with a curt 'I will be in touch' she hung up, with not even a thank-you, she really should work on her diplomacy skills.

Five and a half months later a battered envelope arrived at El Campo, at exactly the same time as the bomb was going off in my Hunter, give or take a few minutes, so perhaps it was not given the priority it richly deserved. Four days later Maria found it misplaced at the bottom of her 'only to be looked at when suffering from insomnia' pile, re-opened it (all mail is opened off site just in case it was of the variety that went bang as well) and found a very grand invitation to His Excellency's Spectacular Summer Banquette ten days hence – oops. As invitations go it was a very very grand one, it was gold with fancy edging and embossed writing, the only thing that let it down was my name _'A Michaels'_ in biro and a brief _'any problems ring ****66'_ scrawled on the back by a drunken spider. Maria and I looked at it for a few minutes, but it still didn't go bang, then we agreed that considering the state of the envelope it must have been around the world at least four times, but as there was no stamp on it we couldn't tell exactly when it had been sent, although I had to pay the Correos €2:95 to receive it; perhaps I would get reimbursed by the Ambassador when I finally met him. Maria flatly refused to ring the number in case it was 'that' woman (I wonder if they have finished the Tower of London conversion yet?) so I bravely dialled it – I was actually shaking.

Ring, ring, click, _'good-morning-this-is-the-British-Embassy-Madrid-and-this-is-Monica-speaking-how-can-I-be-of-assistance?,_ and I hung up, there was no way that I was going head to head with Monica again, once at the Monastery Housing Association when I was trying to contact Paul was more than enough. I definitely paid Maria more than enough to tell her what to do, so after 'pulling rank', she reluctantly re-dialled the number.

_Ring, ring, click – 'good morning, British Embassy, Julie speaking, how may I be of assistance',_ with 'all of the receptionists, in all of the world', why did I have to end up with Monica – twice, I must have upset the 'receptionists fairy' in a former life.

'Good morning I have just belatedly received my employers' invitation to the banquet next weekend. This number is written on the back of it, which he has to ring if he had any problems, he has problems, amongst them - how does he get there, and at what time, there are no instructions enclosed'.

'Oh, that is very strange' Julie replied, 'perhaps it was one of the late ones that got missed after the final tranche'. How nice to know that I was not only an afterthought - but a forgotten afterthought, I thought, as I listened to the speakerphone. 'If you can give me a FAX number I will send you a copy of the instructions that should have gone out with it'.

Maria swiftly recited the number and with a curt 'thank-you' hung up.

Julie thought, as the line disconnected, 'blast, I should have got her bosses name, never mind they always make allowances for those that haven't RSVP'd'.

'Shall I RSVP?' Maria said

'Don't bother, that should be sufficient', I said - me forgetting that Maria hadn't given her my name, and Maria forgetting that not everyone had a caller ID that was still on the secret list.

Russell had already reconnoitred the car park, and he wasn't much pleased that it was at the bottom of a hill. Someone had decided that the first impression of the Embassy should be 'spectacular' – not practical. He tried to drop me off closer, even producing a 'disabled person's badge' from the depths of the dash board, but to no avail, the non-English speaking director of all things motorised was having none of it, even after Russell tried out his passable Spanish and French. 'Pay peanuts - get monkeys, or at least Lithuanians' we both thought, although the director did seem to go a funny colour when I flashed my invitation at him. As Russell parked the Maybach in the car-park (that returned to being called 'wasteland' for the remaining 364 days of the year) it started to drizzle, and so I following the procession of underwhelmed guests up the hill huddled unrecognizably in my raincoat, and started to notice that the 'spectacular' part of my first impression was starting to wilt. First the pre-ordained 'unseasonal' rain had started to arrive, but fortunately still only sufficiently light at this time to turn all the spectacular bunting into limp soggy 'papier mache', then one by one the 'indoors only' lights began to pop, now that was fairly spectacular. Russell had of course looked up the local weather forecast and provided me with a suitable raincoat, but me being the utter gentleman I handed it to a rather rotund lady who had not looked up the local weather forecast - only for three quarters of it to be snatched away by her un-gentlemanly husband. I arrived at the portcullis/front door of the Embassy in almost total darkness and joined the rest of my travelling companions at the tail end of a very British queue, but still in the now heavy drizzle. As I debated the fact that _'as things were definitely not going to plan, perhaps I should give up and go back to my hotel'_ (I say 'my' hotel, but I only own one floor of it), I glanced through a window, across the room, and stood behind a grand table, overseeing the checking in of my fellow guests I saw my reason for being here. She was the archetypal plain Jane, complete with straggly mousey hair and she was looking right at me, 'could things get any better?' 'Yes they could', she put her hand to her mouth, went a funny colour, the same colour as the director of cars, and through the glass she frantically signalled me to enter via a small door off to one side, that led into a small office. As I stepped into the dry office, with its non-non-slip highly polished floors my 'they cost an arm and a leg' shoes decided to turn into ice-skates, and I collided with her, and we crashed unceremoniously onto an overstuffed sofa.

'We will have to stop meeting like this' I said, as she tried to remove one of my hands from her slight waist, but not very hard.

'What are you doing here' she whispered furtively to me.

' _What are you doing you slut, can't you keep your hands off anyone desperate enough to paw you'_ came a familiar voice, it could only be the 'battle-axe' from the phone - that had ordered me to come here in the first place, thank you, thank you, thank you so very much, I thought.

She continued her rant, apparently _everything that had gone wrong so far_ was her fault, including the weather _, everything that was about to go wrong was her fault,_ and _'what had she done with the Guest of Honour?_ ' Fortunately the tirade was well out of the hearing of the guests so after we finally disentangled ourselves my vision of loveliness must have decided that enough was enough and let herself go, I could tell that the battle-axe was not expecting this as it stopped her in her tracks, and not only did I thoroughly enjoy the show, but it also filled in a lot of the blanks for me. Isabel, AKA Battle-axe, was the wife of _His Excellency the Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary_ (Jeremy Paxham) (UK's Ambassador to Spain, and my recent wrestling partner was Sherri (hopefully not the ex of a recent UK Prime Minister – nope her name is spelt with a Ch not an S - phewww), Jeremy's sister. Jeremy's first wife had left him just as his career in the diplomatic service was taking off, where wives are as (if not more) important than their husbands, so being of 'independent means' Sherri stepped into the breach. For the past ten years she had carried out the duties of an Ambassadors wife - without the messy bits (although this apparently is not uncommon even with the married ones), including organising their households, and the social events, which Isabel slated her for roundly, (so she must have really excelled at them). A few years ago Isabel then appeared on the scene, obviously only attracted by his political/social standing and money, and she quickly cajoled him into marrying her, and for the past eighteen months Sherri had been trying to hand over the duties to her, but to no avail, all Isabel was interested in was the messy bits. In desperation Sherri had apparently then written out lengthy lists, procedures and hints on all the duties and social occasions that she had overseen and e-mailed them to Isabel _'but because you know best, you haven't even opened the file, I've just checked, no wonder today is turning into such an unmitigated disaster'_.

Apparently Isabel had only reluctantly taken over the reins from her when she noticed that Sherri was enjoying 'sniffing' after me, just to throw a spanner in the works _–_ _'and typical of the losers that you attract he has not had the decency to even show his face, he most likely took one look at that ghastly frock that you are wearing and ran a mile'._

'I think the dress looks very becoming on her' I sheepishly butted in, but I had my fingers crossed – it was terrible.

' _How dare you interrupt me you vile cretin, in my own Embassy'_ she continued; _'get out, before I have you thrown out',_ and with that she stormed out.

For want of something better to say I said 'Somehow I don't think that now is the time to tell her who I am'.

'I agree' she said, and then burst into tears.

Doing the man thing I wrapped my arms around her and between sobs we decided that Isabel had obviously not recognised me, 'she is so far up her own backside she would only recognise you if you were the richest man in the world, not merely number five'.

'You have been doing your homework' I said, 'I've only been there for a few months'. Although I had been steadily climbing the ladder over the past few years (thanks to Itza) I had been overtaken last year by a dastardly Spaniard (actually he is a very nice man), I was now NOT the richest person this side of the pond – however will I come to terms with that?

'Too right' she sniffled, 'hadn't you noticed that you only got invites when you were 'available'?

Now that she mentioned it, I didn't, I was just pleased with the P & Q. (peace and quiet).

'Well I'm available right now, do you like Chinese? I'm starving'.

'Yes, but only with roast potatoes' she replied.

'Funny girl' I thought as we departed through the ice rinks door, then I got it - Chinese 'persons', not Chinese 'meals', perhaps she was a cannibal'.

As we stepped outside to join the growing tide of refugees escaping from the Embassy, in the by now torrential downpour, one of my very waterlogged security detail, who was lurking outside the door, quickly threw his waterproof coat over us, and after a quick chat with his wrist watch he steered us to where Russell was now parked. Fortunately he had 'relocated' to just above the waterline of the lake that was quickly forming around (and later, over) the rest of the cars. We clambered into the Maybach and after being wrapped in blankets we were handed steaming cups of tea, 'Sugar Miss Paxham?' Russell asked through the open divider.

'How on earth do you know about Sherri?' I asked in awe.

'You've been on-air' said another of my detail (who was riding shotgun) tapping her ear piece and waving a small recording device, 'since before that Dragon entered the room', she was obviously the senior one as she was as dry as a bone.

'Please, you are talking about my beloved sister-in-law' Sherri said, and then burst into fits of laughter.

One quick look at my Senior Security Officers (SSO) face and I realised why I had given up making jokes like that to the newbies.

As we sat there waiting for the tea to hit the spot I asked Sherri 'what now, if we go to a restaurant now I think we may need life-jackets'.

'Well it depends on how desperate you are to eat', she whispered, 'me personally, I think we should go back to your hotel, get out of these soaking clothes, have a bath, make love and wait for the storm to pass – this is Madrid – it is open 24/7.

'Do we really have to have a bath?' I asked.

Someone must have raided a 24-hour boutique as when we finally surfaced, around midnight, Sherri had quite a choice of very flattering outfits to choose from, and had a lovely glow to her cheeks – which had absolutely nothing to do with the bath. Katie, the still dry SSO offered to have a hairdresser sent up and tentatively explained that she had found a twenty-four hour Chinese restaurant that 'also did roast potatoes' that we could go to if we were still hungry.

\---------------

During a brief pillow talk, Sherri had mentioned that Katie seemed 'a bit off' with her on the drive to the hotel, 'have I done something to upset her?' and I explained that I used to have a sense of humour with my new employees, but not all of them saw my funny side, and I briefly explained about the day that I changed from a 'cuddly and benevolent benefactor' to a 'totalitarian dictator' (but a very nice one), 'she was terrified that she would end up on the streets after her comment'.

' _But I agreed with her' she continued._

' _Yes, but for a split second she saw her world crumbling because of an 'inappropriate' remark'._

' _I will have to somehow let her know that I am sorry' then we forgot all about Katie as the sheet moved._

\---------------

'Is this payback time' Sherri whispered.

'YES' I mischievously said, 'and you will eat every single one of them'.

Later, as we came out of the restaurant, Katie came up to us and asked if she could give Sherri a hug, which sort of confused me, but I nodded and as she gave her the hug she said 'thank-you for eating those potatoes. Whilst you were dining I rang Mr Williams (David) (my Director of Security) to give him a routine update (at two in the morning?) but when I mentioned the potatoes he asked me 'why roast potatoes?' and I explained about the comment you made when you were leaving the Embassy. When he stopped laughing he explained the 'do you like children?' - 'Yes, but I couldn't eat a whole one' version of the joke.'

'It wasn't a joke' Sherri said with straight face – 'I'm a cannibal'.

I think Katie had kittens on the spot.

The next morning I was woken by the hotels telephone at the ungodly hour of 'before midday' and swore into it.

'Language Andrew, lady present', and turning I saw a vision of tousled loveliness, then I remembered the horde of beauticians that had descended on her before we left for the restaurant, what seemed like a few hours ago, and revealed the true beauty that lurked just below the surface, although I had noticed it sometime before (at the Embassy of course) (naughty, naughty).

Giving her a peck (and then almost forgetting all about the phone) I reluctantly said 'yes, can I be of assistance on this gloriously bright and beautiful morning' into the damn instrument.

'It's still raining, it's nearly afternoon, and the Ambassador is 'fuming' to see you in your 'duplex', David answered.

'Which Ambassador' I innocently asked, 'there are an awful lot of Ambassadors in the world you know'.

'The one that you pissed off big time last night' he replied.

'Oh that one' I answered, that narrowed it down considerably, 'and please don't swear into the phone, there is a lady present'.

'Bollox' he said, 'I will tell him that you will be there shortly', and hung up – he was getting friendlier by the year. Apparently, as things had decidedly gone 'pear shaped' I was now surrounded by the 'A' team.

'It's your brother' I said, 'back in a mo', and donning a dressing gown I started to climb the stairs to the suites duplex office.

'Wait, I'll come with you and give you some moral support'.

'Not undressed like that I hope, and it will be him that needs the moral support, not me, it was HIS wife that threw ME out', and with each stair I was getting more and more confrontational. As I have often said before 'I do not do' mornings (or stairs).

As I entered the suites office cum waiting room he jumped to his feet and glowered at me, he was obviously not a morning person either. 'Why didn't you show last night, you ruined the banquet, I will be the laughing stock of the diplomatic corps' he almost screamed, but I was ready for him.

'Let's get one thing straight right now, **I** had nothing to do with your disaster, I did show up last night, but was promptly thrown out again. The 'disaster' was caused by your wife and God, 99% your wife, 1% God'. I hoped that he/she/it wouldn't mind me dragging his/her/its name into this.

'What has my wife got to do with it? All she had been doing was frantically trying to save the day, and at the same time trying to find my sister, she was the one who had organised the whole unmitigated disaster, but apparently she was skulking away in some corner with a loud mouthed yob', and with that Sherri walked in, wearing my shirt, high heels and not a lot of anything else – a very sexy ensemble, that shut him up.

'Sit down and shut up Jeremy, it's time you had a reality check', she snapped, and he 'shut' and 'sat'. It was clear who was wearing the trousers today, figuratively speaking of course.

Apparently soon after we had left, Jeremy had had the sense to cancel the function, blaming it on the rain, as reports came flooding in to him from all departments involved in the Banquet (except the car park – the phone was flooded) that everything was going 'tits up', the caterers didn't have enough food, the wine was 'off', the ice had melted, the 'silver service' was plastic, the 'orchestra' was a part time mariachi band (and all three of them were blind drunk), the non-non-slip floor was not only causing chaos but also broken bones, and guests were wandering around the 'secure areas' unabated. When it was obvious that I was also a 'no show' he did what all good diplomats do in cases like that – and blamed someone else (God).

Jeremy was not really on board with the whole 'reality' thing, until he had listened to the audio recording, three times, then he joined the real world. Sherri gave him the short (expurgated) version of events, with a little input from me i.e. the invitation that should have been hand delivered by the Sargent at Arms, who would have explained in great detail what was expected of me (it was one of his perks), but had been sent by post instead to save an 'overnighter' expense claim from him. He would also have 'escorted' me to the banquet in the Ambassadors car and formally presented me to the Ambassador (and her husband!!).

'That reminds me – please can I have my €2:95 postage refunded'.

'No' they both said in unison, and then Jeremy reverted to type and went back to the Embassy ' **HIS EMBASSY** ' to have a 'meeting'. Even though it was Sunday he called a HOD's meeting (Heads of Departments) for four o'clock, 'could we make it?' he asked.

After the briefest of glances I said 'we wouldn't miss it for the world, will Mrs Ambassador be joining us'?

'No, she's not a HOD' he said.

'Neither am I' I thought, 'perhaps I can be the Guest of Honour'.

It quickly became clear to me that not a lot of people liked the 'First Lady', and after about a quarter-of-an-hour that included His Excellency (love/damage limitation – damage limitation/love, it was a 'no brainer' for the consummate diplomat); she had trodden on an awful lot of toes in the short time that she had been in 'residence'. We were just getting to the juicy bit (the 'social functions account', which was now controlled by Isabel) which even in its un-audited state was obviously sadly lacking in funds after some very 'dubious' items had appeared on the debit side (i.e. diamond necklace from the greengrocer and a new ball gown from the printers – she obviously didn't understand the advances in 'self-auditing' in the E-era) when a 'not quite a HOD yet' slid silently in and handed a message to Jeremy, who swore. I glanced at Sherri but she didn't bat an eye-lid, I would have to have a word with her later about this blatant discrimination. Jeremy stood and said 'this meeting is terminated, obviously the whole matter has now been taken out of my hands, I have been _'Summonsed back to London, to await the Foreign Secretaries pleasure',_ oops. As the summons skipped the _Permanent Under-Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs_ _,_ (the head of the Diplomatic Service) he was obviously in very deep doo doo indeed. Turning to the lady on his right he said 'as of this moment you are _Chargé d'affaires_ , please arrange for the 'diplomatic note' to be sent to their foreign ministry, informing them of the fact.

'They won't like that one little bit' the gentleman on his left said.

'Tough' said Jeremy (unlike an Ambassador, the host government cannot object to a 'temporary' Chargé d'affaires).

'It will certainly put the cat amongst the pigeons' lefty continued; it was obvious to all that he was angling for the job.

'Marion is my excellent Deputy Head of Mission, the fact that she is on long term secondment from the Gibraltarian diplomatic service is of absolutely no concern to me' (the decision to send her here had obviously been made way above his pay grade), 'it will give them something else to try and take their voters' minds off their Economy'. It was also clear to me that his 'number three' was almost as unpopular as his wife.

I had signed so many 'Official Secrets Acts 1989' over the past few years that I almost had 'writer's cramp' at the merest glance at one, so they didn't lock me up and throw away the key after overhearing the meeting; they gave me a cup of tea. Jeremy was obviously going around in ever-decreasing circles before his imminent departure, even though the Foreign Secretary was in China - and would be for another four days, but apparently that was a moot point, some miscreants of yore had been kept 'awaiting his pleasure' for years, even after one had inconsiderately died, but he managed to fit Sherri and I in for a quick family chat in front of the fire (in the middle of a Spanish summer? - but it was artificial) before he left, and the first thing that he did was apologise to me for his behaviour earlier that day, then he gave Sherri a cuddle and excusing themselves took her to one side for a moment – most likely for the 'family' stuff, but they were quickly back, obviously they didn't have a very big family. 'As he was being recalled to the UK for an indefinite length of time', he explained, 'it would be 'inappropriate' for his sister to remain in the residence', and before I could offer her my bed hospitality Jeremy asked if he could dump her on me at El Campo, although he put it a bit more diplomatically than that, 'and would it be too much of an inconvenience if she could chat occasionally to him on a secure line, just to keep her up to date with 'things' \- I believe your Lady S has one': now that was news to me. After bidding farewell to Jeremy (after a group 'crossing of fingers' for his trip to London) we made our leisurely way to El Campo (although the helicopter that we were 'leisurely' sat in was going like the clappers), although I couldn't shake off the feeling in the back of my mind that I was somehow being 'used', but what the hell, looking at the new Sherri I didn't mind one little bit. On arrival we did the usual 'welcome to El Campo' bit, I'm not saying that it was getting slightly 'routine' for me, but if some kind sole had suggested that I make a video, hand it out and pointing them in the right direction, I wouldn't have fired them on the spot, and not surprisingly Sherri had done her homework on the place as well, but I could not help but notice that David was not his normal cheerful self.

### ~~~~

Chapter 5

David (and Caroline) had hot footed it up to Madrid as soon as things started to turn pear shaped, and he was getting more and more perplexed by the hour. Whilst I was in the meeting he had been 'approached' (his word not mine) by a lady of indeterminate origins, not of her nationality, but her employment, and was immediately insulted, 'where do your loyalties lie'. 'With Mr Michael is of course', he had replied (which made me very happy when he told me about it much later on) but it was apparently the wrong answer, and he was then blanked by all and sundry, even the two heavies that he had helped train when they were a lot lighter. As soon as he arrived back at El Campo he started to do a bit of surreptitious digging into the background of Jeremy and his sister, and quickly his natural 'OCD' went through 'Paranoia' and into 'Conspiracy Theory'. Jeremy was clearly what it said on the label, a diplomat, who had spent most of his political career in the Middle East. He spoke two dialects of Arabic passably, with a 'smattering' of Persian and Hebrew, but his Spanish was appalling - so why had he ended up in Spain? Sherri's history was another thing altogether, as she was 'family' helping out in a crisis there was virtually nothing in official records, except for the occasional bland comment in the odd communiqué, _'took up his new post, accompanied by his sister'_ etc., so David, with the help of a few friends started to dig a little deeper, and quickly lost the majority of them, but not quite all.

\---------------

Jeremy and his first wife were inseparable, but suddenly, just as he started to find his niche in the Middle East they separated and then quickly divorced – and David could find no reason why – and then his ex-wife ceased to exist. Rumours circulated in the 'tittle tattle' press for a short while that she had moved abroad (perhaps she had dallied, it was speculated), then she just disappeared off the face of the earth. Usually divorces cost money, even uncontested ones, but the families modest fortune was untouched by it, in fact according to Itza it started to grow out of all proportion to his income (and what was Sherri living on all this time, they both thought at the same time). Then the plot thickened, he finally got a look at her passport, or rather both of them. On arrival at El Campo she had requested a 'manual safe' (that couldn't be 'electronically' tampered with), (but she didn't say anything about it not having a camera inside of it) and as the door closed it picked up a Diplomatic Passport, not only that, but it was a QUEEN'S MESSENGER – COURRIER DIPLOMATIQUE one, issued to Queen's couriers to enable them to take a 'diplomatic bag' (anything from a Tesco's carrier bag to a shipping container) safely through any airport, without it being searched, x-rayed, weighed or otherwise tampered with, then a matter of minutes later she handed him a normal passport, which of course sailed through the scan which every visitor's passport went through, and her fingerprints, which were required to enable her to get through the 'family' doors, didn't show up on any data base when he sent them off a few minutes later, anywhere in the free world, although her passport did have her date of birth in it. Not a startling discovery except that it confirmed that she was twelve years younger than her brother, who, according to an article written by him in his university magazine, described himself as 'an only child', he was twenty at the time.

\---------------

David was in a quandary, he had no hard proof that Sherri wasn't what she claimed, Jeremy might have had a tiff with his baby sister and 'disowned her' in the article, the second passport could be genuine, he knew two members of the 'Corps of Queen's Messengers' and knew that they were 'bullet proof', he wouldn't get anywhere trying to dig deeper, and would more than likely burn any remaining bridges that he still had standing, and realistically that might explain where she fitted into the diplomatic intrigue, but it didn't fit into his 'conspiracy theory', and he was an avid 'theorist' in his own time, so he would say nothing at the moment, and 'wait his time'.

Two days later, when I finally got around to introducing Sherri to Lady S (the floating one) she was suitably impressed with everything, even though she was tied up alongside the jetty, and as we wend our way along the corridors, in and out of rooms/cabins/gyms, and up and down stairs and lifts, I was starting to get 'positional dysfunctionality' (confused at where I was), but as we made our way along a rather bland corridor Sherri pointed at an innocuous door, with no name on it, and said 'that reminds me, I spoke to Robert this morning and the lines are being activated from tonight', and then she seemed to realise that she had made a boob (or two). One, even I had to think hard about what was behind the door – it was the secret 'junk room' that the Royal Navy had created when Lady S had been press-ganged, and it certainly never showed up on any plans or videos that she may have seen, and two, Robert, AKA my old First Officer, AKA 'Jimmy the One' when Lady S was transporting Royalty around the world, and now my Chief Officer – with designs on becoming her new Captain, as Carol (my Director of all things Nautical) was now doing more and more of her Director'ing on dry land. To that last end he was on one of the essential courses that he needed to have under his belt before becoming my 'permanent' skipper. He had been for two weeks – and he would be for another one, and to my knowledge nobody had mentioned his Surname, let alone his Christian name, if he had ever been mentioned at all.

'Did I mention that I met Robert, your Chief Officer, when he was in the 'Grey Funnel line' (Royal Navy), he is the key holder for the room isn't he?' she quickly added.

'Yes' I said, 'and so am I.'

'Oh,' she said, and then quickly changed the subject to something much more appealing, 'is your sea cabin mattress as comfortable as the master cabins?'

'Let's go find out, I said, and forgot all about the 'junk room'.

The next morning Sherri was up bright and early and off in her jogging gear, for two hours, and didn't even break into a sweat, although I didn't realise it, I was swiftly back in the land of the nod - but it was clear that something was going on between her and David.

'What's going on between you and David' I asked her as we sun worshipped later that afternoon.

'I think he thinks I am a spy' she said, and we both laughed.

'Well are you' I said, still LOL ('laughing out loud', not 'lots of love' Mr Cameron).

'It depends if the day of the week starts with a T' she said, and we stopped laughing, it was Tuesday.

Sherri was not a spy 'per se', she was an 'international facilitator', and according to her she used her communicative and social organisational skills to get people talking to each other, or as a last resort acting as a go between. Not being directly on the pay-role helped, along with her nondescript appearance, and the fact that she understood the 'Middle East' like no other infidel. 'I look on the region not as individual Countries, but regions, tribes and families. Just one marriage - or a death of an elder in one area can affect the thinking and decision making process over a huge swath of sand, that certainly does not respect man made borders, it could change a militant council or even a government into one open to change, almost overnight. I have the knack of sensing these nuances and fortunately certain people, in various positions and Countries have noticed this, and I am stating to make inroads into possibly something huge, if we can keep the Politicians out of it for a little while longer'.

'We' I said in disbelief, obviously she meant the 'Royal we', not me.

'Yes - me, you and David'.

### ~~~~

Chapter 6

'We' had our first meeting with the outside world in Lady S's special 'Coms Link' room that evening, but before that most of the rest of the afternoon was taken up with Sherri trying to convince David and I that she was not cuckoo.

\--------------------

' _As you have most likely guessed he is not my brother, but he is my Uncle, a couple of times removed, but unfortunately 'my Niece' in certain circles means 'my bit on the side', and my 'great niece' would therefore mean that I was 'a right good go'er in bed', so it was more socially acceptable for me to switch Daddies (and generations). It was only meant to be until Rose, his first wife, was off the scene, but it quickly became clear that it might have 'long term prospects'. Jeremy was earmarked for bigger things, but with a little digging by 'the team that does that sort of thing' it became clear that she was a closet racist, and the door was starting to open. She especially didn't like the 'towel heads' of the Middle East, but fortunately (for us) it turned out that she had leaked some very sensitive material to the press and so after a full, frank and meaningful discussion, that made the consequences clear to her what would happen if she interfered in politics this side of the equator, the divorce was a formality and she accepted a complete identity change and relocation to Australia, where she is now something very big on their political scene._

' _But why are you in Spain? David asked 'and not in the Middle East'?_

' _Because at this stage of the game, being based in one particular Middle Eastern Country would be seen as us being biased to some factions, Spain is sufficiently far away to level the playing field – and fortuitously it is also where you live'._

' _Me?'_

' _Yes, believe it or not, following your escapade off Somalia you came to certain people's attention (just a few million, I thought) and you have, through your actions, then and thereafter, established a reputation amongst them as being an 'honourable man', in circles where 'honour' is considered the highest of high complements. You are also filthy rich, which carries loads of clout with another circle, and you can pull fabulous birds, which covers the 'dirty old men brigade', so you tick quite a few of the boxes that we need'._

' _Is your passport genuine? David continued._

' _Almost, but the Queens Messenger one is, did you get a good image of it with your little Minolta, and I hope you then did the sensible thing and stopped digging once you realised what you were getting yourself into'._

' _Yes' David sheepishly said._

' _Don't worry, hopefully once things have run their course you will be back on the 'most trusted' list, but you had to be allowed to do 'your thing' unhindered, to get your credibility verified as well'. We then continued with more and more probing questions but finally we were convinced, but I still had two questions which David politely excused himself from._

' _What does your real Christian name start with? I asked tentatively._

' _Don't worry your track record is unblemished' she said, but her fingers were crossed behind her back._

' _And where does this leave us? Was there ever anything between us, or is it all part of the grand scheme?'_

After a few seconds pause she quietly said 'there are very few things that happen in a person's life that they will remember exactly where they were, until the day they die, Kennedys assassination, the twin towers, and for me when you took on those pirates. I, along with millions of other women fell in love with you instantaneously, in that Kevlar helmet and armoured vest, the difference with me is that I have never stopped loving you, and the last few days have also joined that list as well' (and her fingers weren't crossed as she said it).

\---------------

I had been in the room before, but it looked absolutely nothing like it looked now. Boxes and equipment had been moved aside to reveal a bank of screens, but most of them were still in darkness, the only ones that were active displayed the faces of Jeremy and my old friend HRH.

'Good evening Andrew' HRH said politely, 'Mummy is still talking about the Lady S, I sometimes wish I hadn't talked you into loaning her to us' as an ice breaker, and then it was down to business. Sherri had brought David and I 'up to speed' concerning the Banquet (it was all stage managed to enable Jeremy to be recalled to England for a few months without it attracting any attention – 'even the weather' she had joked – but I didn't believe that part one little bit), and then it was explained to us what parts they hoped we would play - basically they needed our reputations, and El Campo. With my agreement with the aviation authorities aircraft could fly in and out with impunity, all Chalkie had to do was give numbers on board each aircraft (for search and rescue purposes – if one crashed en-route) and my word that nothing illegal would take place; talking, to my knowledge was not illegal.

Over the next few days El Campo and its staff were given a security check second to none. Three of the security team were sent on 'routine relocation' to other properties that I had around the globe, they thought they had won the lottery, along with four of the domestic staff. All were precautionary, their loyalty to me was not in doubt – but when David looked into 'nationalities' his 'conspiracy theory' thoughts kicked in, 'better to be safe than sorry', although our first two guests were, in the greater scheme of things, little fish. They were disposable assets who were sent to test the water. They arrived in separate aircraft, which taxied into an empty hangar, and they and their attendant staff (they were limited to a maximum of two - that were on a previously approved list) disembarked, stripped naked, x-rayed, and provided with appropriate clothing of the highest quality (which would then be incinerated in front of them before they left). They could bring with them only one external hard drive, that I had previously provided (and had been tamper-proofed to the enth degree) with any information that that they may require for the meeting pre-installed – but checked by David, before he plugged it into a new laptop that I provided for them (that was his primary purpose for being here). Again they would all be destroyed in front of them before they departed. It was a process that would ensure as close to a one hundred-per-cent guarantee that I could give that all information would be secure, and surprisingly, with virtually no bickering, all parties agreed, and as each 'visit' was limited to six hours there were no 'overnighters' involved. Both parties were taken to the top floor of Mi Casa by different lifts, for no other reason than to some, it was an insult to be offered rooms/offices on the left as the exited a lift or the stairs, that is why Sherri is so good at her job, it really is the little things that make all the difference. The lift to the Control Tower offered an outstanding view of El Campo, and its facilities, and the other one, in the atrium, gave the guests a glimpse at my luxurious lifestyle. At that stage all guests were to be offered a private visit 'in better times', although I was to have my fingers crossed on several occasions. Once they had been settled in their rooms, clearly monitored visually on CCTV by David's team, they could liaise with Maria, via an intercom and hold 'joint' negotiations on the balcony overlooking the Atrium. The first round of talks were deemed an outstanding success by all concerned and over the next three weeks my aircraft (operated by the same company that had flown the Hercules during my adventure in Morocco recovering the FW 190's, Stuka's and my beloved Storch's (I had ended up keeping them both – perks of the job) were kept in regular use, each round of talks with participants progressively higher up the food chain, with a few of the principles in previous meetings relegated to support staff. David was as usual not happy with that, he didn't like repeat attendees, they knew the routine to well, so when the very first 'principle' to arrive on that test run, returned, as a 'second string' he was given more than a passing glance when he went through the screening procedure, especially as he now had a shattered arm, held together with steel pins and rods that he had sustained when a suicide bomber had blown himself up in a market close to his office: it had been so large that it was 'nightly news' globally for several days. Everyone (but David) agreed that he hadn't been the target, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, so after a more than cursory check on his arm Mustafa was soon on his way to embark in the waiting stretch limo, that would take them to their lift.

Up until today the principle, then his two assistants would embark, and sit on the huge rear seat, and when comfortable Sherri would climb into a jump seat facing them to conduct small talk, or answer any innocuous questions on the very short drive, but this time David, without telling anyone but Katie, changed the routine 'he just had a feeling in his water'. Since the restaurant episode in Madrid Katie had become a permanent fixture at Sherri's side, the same as David was at mine on these occasions, and everyone accepted this, but until now, for the short trip to Mi Casa, Katie stood on the side of the Limo, on stirrup's, and holding on to a 'luggage rack' on its roof, very 'US Presidential cavalcade' like, but this time she followed Sherri in, pushing her gently (in a forceful way) over to the other jump seat, and Sherri, sensing the change in plan complied, just as Mustafa screamed, as he wrenched the large pin from his injured arm, which parted and a revealed a stiletto type knife, and lunged at her, but as the fog of pain cleared she wasn't where she should have been, and this momentarily confused him, and in that instant Katie grabbed the blade and pulled it away from Sherri. As the blade swung safely away from her, Katie's fingers starting to drop off, surgically severed by the blade, but the last two remained attached long enough for her to throw herself onto it (and Mustafa). Russell, who was watching his passengers embark in his rear view mirror, spotted the sudden movement by Mustafa and stamped on the floor, and instantly the car was filled with an immobilising gas, but unfortunately the passenger door was still open and it didn't immobilise Mustafa instantly, he was able to force the blade into Katie before he lost consciousness.

I would have expected the assassination attempt on Sherri to bring things to a screeching halt, but if anything it speeded it up. When Mustafa regained consciousness he was mortified that he had almost killed the wrong person, and after a few moments of soul searching he resignedly explained to David and his team that he had been forced into the attempt by unknown persons. He, along with his parents, wife, their two small children and four other members of his immediate family had been kidnapped shortly after he returned from his first visit to El Campo. They were all taken to an empty warehouse in shackles, and in front of his relatives he was politely 'asked' to kill Sherri, in the name of Allah, and when he equally politely refused, he was gagged and pinned against a wall. His father was then dragged forward and given a choice, 'stab one of your brothers to death, or watch your wife raped and killed in front of you'. His hands were released and the old man slowly shuffled over to the table where a kitchen knife lay. He picked it up, and before any of his captors could react he quickly reversed it and plunged it into his own heart. Without a word being exchanged one of the captors moved over to his body, bent over and pulled the blade from his father's chest, walked over to his eldest Uncle and thrust it into his throat, and dispassionately watched him slowly bleed to death, it was as though it was all going according to a sick plan. When his Uncle stopped moving the principle 'persuader' then went along his line of relatives, explaining to him in great detail how each one of them would die, unless he 'willingly' agreed to carry out the assassination. Once the gag was removed Mustafa agreed to their demand, and was then given a worthless assurance that they would all be released unharmed once Sherri was dead (although everyone in the warehouse knew differently), but if he failed to carry it out, or informed the authorities of his mission for Allah, then his men would carry out the threats. In reality the captives' only hopes were for a quick and painless demise on Mustafa's successful accomplishment of his task, and with resignation in his voice 'he hoped that they had all died quickly', after all he had tried his best. He of course had not been in the market when the bomb had exploded, the dead were just a smoke screen - collateral damage, but the injuries to his arm were genuine, they had given him a bottle of cheap whisky to self-anesthetise himself as they repeatedly used a sledge hammer on his arm, under the direction of a dispassionate surgeon, who then fitted the rods using rudimentary DIY tools, but there was no shortage of antibiotics for him on completion, they didn't want him to die from an infection before he completed his mission. Mustafa then quite calmly forgave David, before he started, if he wished to try and extract any further information out of him, but he assured him that he knew nothing more of any use to him, and David believed him, although he also suspected that even if Mustafa did know anything, he doubted if he would give it up, just in case any of his relatives were still alive.

That particular round of talks went exceedingly well, once the others in the team, plus Sherri and Russell had regained consciousness. The whole thing seemed to spur them on, obviously the baddies were worried, and so were they – they had passed the point of no return now so the quicker the negotiations were concluded – the better it would be for all concerned. The Principal Negotiator insisted that Mustafa accompany them back to their side of the Mediterranean, despite his need for hospitalisation for his re-opened injuries, 'he would get the best treatment available' he assured us, but we all reluctantly came to the same conclusion – collateral damage.

Katie survived her ordeal, and after some miraculous re-attachment surgery she only lost the use of her little finger, 'which' she assured us a few days later when we visited her, 'wasn't of much use to her anyway, she was a size is important type of girl'.

David of course could now walk on water; he implemented new protocols, 'no repeat appearances', 'separate travel arrangements for all participants whilst they were at El Campo', 'no unexplained injuries' etc. for what turned out to be the penultimate meeting. For it, I had to provide five aircraft and rooms, with an even larger table overlooking the Atrium.

We - Sherri, David and I - always held conference calls on the Lady S, after the visits, and as things progressed, more and more of the screens became active, and several of the new faces needed no introduction (although none were given anyway) but none of them were what I would call mainstream International Negotiators, but they all seemed to be singing from the same hymn sheet fortunately, but after that penultimate round we didn't immediately visit Lady S, they would just have to wait for us, we had a conference call all of our own, on the tarmac: apparently it was now time for David and I to put our honourability to the test. The session had lasted almost eight hours and Sherri had been in the thick of it for three of them, then in the final few minutes David and I were invited to join the table. It was obvious that decisions had been reached, as when we approached they all rose as one and politely applauded us. After we were all seated they started to congratulate us on facilitating this world changing forum, the consequences of which would save thousands, if not millions of lives they assured us, and transform their countries, and due to our selfless acts the final meeting could now take place in three days' time.

As we watched the last aircraft lifted off I absentmindedly asked Sherri what 'selfless act' we had done, and her answer crimped both out sphincters on the spot, 'you have volunteered to be hostages whilst the top table meet here on Thursday – don't you remember'.

I remembered her dashing in in the last half hour of negotiations and asking me if I trusted her. When I said 'yes' she kissed me – we were still an item, despite what had gone on, and charged out again, looking for David.

Apparently the final stumbling block was that two of the invited leaders did not wholeheartedly trust what was going on, their 'conspiracy theories' were that it was all a plot to get them here so the West could 'do them in', but both had sufficient confidence in our 'honour' to overcome their natural urges, at a price. When we had some colour return to our faces we visited Lady S and every screen had a face on it, some even had split screens to squeeze them all in, and they were all brought up to speed by Sherri. When she reached the hostage bit, a couple half-heartedly suggested that we might reconsider, but the remainder of the faces said – 'you do and you will be the first ones up against the wall' – so they changed the subject - media.

For the past few years every news bulletin contained at least one, and usually more, items on the Middle East, nuclear proliferation, chemical dumps, biological manufacturing plants, genocide - the usual stuff – but over the past few weeks it had slowly started to feature less and less, other things were hitting the headlines. Gibraltar (of course), natural disasters, International Companies being held to account for bad practices, Government Leaders 're-shuffling Cabinets, the odd 'coup d'état' or two, in fact it almost became invisible, except too David and I, as the Antonov An-12 that we were sat in the back of _(or rather were going in approximately the same direction as, as with all the vibration we were 'airborne' long before the aircraft had even lifted off from El Campo)_ circled a patch of desert in the middle of it, it was its first stop on a mystery tour. Someone on the flight deck knew where we were going, but no one else had a clue (come back Air Traffic Control, all is forgiven) and the pilots eased it gently down (AKA \- controlled the crash) onto a surprisingly firm bit of sand, and I was deposited ignominiously outside into the blazing sun. The aircraft (for want of a better word) then lifted off again, with David still on board, heading to 'somewhere else'.

Once the dust settled I wandered over to a tent, the only evidence of civilisation within a thousand kilometres, and entered it, 'you Michael?' the sole occupant asked.

I could have said 'no', but how many Michael/Michaels' arrive in this throbbing international hub of human mass transit, aboard four engine death traps, unannounced, but thought better of it, after all I had a shrewd suspicion that we would be spending some time together, so I said 'yes'.

He shouted something into a handset, put it down, took a pistol out of a briefcase, put it on his desk, took a Pepsi lite out of a cool box (that wasn't), handed it to me and pointed to a collapsible chair, that was on the verge of collapse, and for the next nine hours I sat on it. Fortunately my bum went numb two hours into the adventure, and my bladder went on strike so I didn't need to ask him where the outside toilet was.

I was just about to ask my new BFF if I could borrow his pistol – to blow my 'bored to death' brain – to death, when his radio squawked. After a brief shouting match with the instrument he hung up, looked at me – with a hint of regret in his eyes - and re-packed his pistol in the briefcase. He then grunted 'out', and as we exited the tent he removed a hand grenade and tossed it back into the innocent tent, and we both ran for dear life. Half an hour later, just as it was starting to get dark, first the An-12 arrived (oops, I nearly said 'landed') with a very sleek Executive Jet almost up its loading ramp, its pilots obviously didn't have a clue where they were going, and didn't want to risk getting lost in this god forsaken country (wherever it was).

As the dust settled I started to head towards the Antonov but my new friend/radio operator/drink dispenser/would-be-executioner shouted at me and pulled his pistol back out. I quickly gathered that I could not get back into the 'state secret' relic; I was to get into the crappy luxury plane, oh dear – such disappointment, but I could live with it.

A very attractive air-person directed me up the steps, where I was greeted by the pilot, and escorted to a scrumptiously soft swivel, rocker arm chair which was identical to the one that David was sound asleep in, and the pilot whispered that he was mortified that David was not awake to greet me, but he would have been soundly whipped on his return if his landing had woken him up, so I kicked him (David, not the pilot).

David slowly came too, lazily stretched and said 'how did yours go, you know they even gave me the pick of the harem to bathe and massage me, what do you think of the togs?' - he was dressed from head to foot in the finest Arab garb - under a finely embroidered bisht (cloak), (obviously of a quality usually reserved for royalty), he wore a long flowing thawb, not the course ones of the peasants, but again of the finest quality. At either end of his oiled and pampered body he had handmade Najdi sandals on his feet and a fine Egyptian cotton keffiyeh headdress, held in place by thick black rope, heavily inlaid with gold. Once the dust-storm created by the departing Antonov cleared sufficiently the pilot begged David's permission to take off (obviously the Sat Nav could get us home from here), who graciously waved his approval, and I thought a reality check would soon be in order.

As we lifted off from the sand coloured runway, just off to one side I saw a lone figure stood beside a four by four, cradling 'I would hazard a guess', a snipers rifle, and although his face was hidden by a grubby keffiyeh I suddenly felt my sphincter relax for the first time in several days. I wonder how close the assassin had come to losing the top of his head when he re-directed me to this jet, perhaps a few ounces of Charlie's finger pressure, if that.

Following my gaze David said 'you don't really think I would let you get into harm's way do you, and sorry about that thing with the pilot, it was expected of me'.

'I understand' I said, 'just like it will be expected of me to let Caroline know how much you enjoyed your bath and massage at the hands of the best of the best – if a single word of this ever gets out'.

'Exactly' he said, and we both burst into fits of uncontrolled laughter, although it had nothing to do with the lame joke. Despite what he had said we had both been closer to 'harm's way' than anyone should ever be, and come through it unharmed, but the laughter did our 'street cred' the world of good; the pilot reported back that we were 'fearless', and joked in the face of danger.

When we landed we didn't go to Lady S's 'Com link' room, it was now just a 'junk' room again, all we got were hugs and kisses, hot baths - especially David - Caroline said that he smelled like a Persian brothel (how does she know what a brothel smells like, Persian or otherwise?) and a good night's sleep, and then, over the next few days we watched the Middle East start to hit the headlines again – but good headlines this time. An unscheduled G-20 (+ a few more) was convened – although it was surprisingly well organised for such short notice, and Presidents and Prime-Ministers started to pull agreements and accords out of hats of every conceivable shape and size, and before very long an inspection team was heading out to verify destruction of some nuclear bits, (headed by someone that I recognised from one of Lady S's TV screens), then a chemical weapons team was on its way, again headed by a star of Lady S TV, and the 'World Leaders' proudly (or was it pompously) stood in front of the cameras and told us how they had pulled the world back from the brink of disaster – surrounded in the background by yet more familiar faces – and as the world became safer with each news bulletin I whispered to Sherri, we were alone but it seemed more appropriate to whisper, 'when do we get a mention in all of this?'

'Never, **we** are diplomats. We facilitate the 'opportunities' for the politicians to take advantage of'.

'I hope you are not including me in that we' I said, not realising that it had been deliberately 'planted' in the reply.

'Why - would it be too much of a 'life style' change' she said, and six weeks to the day that I had climbed that hill in the rain, towards the Embassy, I watched an unmarked 'executive jet' lift off, taking my Mata Hari off to adventures new.

'Six weeks/six months – at least my track record was not totally trashed' I thought, 'after all there is a **six** in it, _and at least the world will be a safer place for the next few years',_ and then three smoke trails spiralled up to intercept the aircraft. Flares confused the first one, a violent manoeuvre sent the second one harmlessly out over the sea, but unfortunately straight into the path of the third, and as the debris started to fall to the ground I thought _'or perhaps not'_.

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Chapter 7

Being 'by Royal Appointment' gets you certain perks, and one of mine was Rolls Royce deciding that I was now a 'privileged customer', or rather the Lady S was. Her engines were arguably still on the secret list, but as I actually owned two of them it was a moot point, and as they had been used to pushed the monarchy around the high seas (with a Royal Navy crew on board), I was now due an upgrade. They were continually upgrading the naval ones so they decided (for a princely price of course) that it was about time they did mine as well.

I was quite fascinated that the four 'Engineers' arrived at el Campo in three piece suites, and carried brief cases, and when I asked them 'if they wanted to change first', all I got were funny looks. Two disappeared down into the engine room with a couple of small boxes, and the other two disappeared inside some computers, which was not a very rewarding 'spectator sport' so I thought 'as I own her perhaps I could have a deco at real engineers strutting their stuff', so changing into a pair of virtually unused immaculately snow-white overalls I made my way to the engine room, just in time to open the door for the two Engineers to exit out of it, one wiping the merest hint of a spec of oil off a finger with a silk handkerchief. 'I bet he will get a new box on expenses' I thought.

'Well sir, that's the hard part over with, let's see how the computer whiz kids are doing, shall we', and with that they let me show them the way.

Watching four 'Engineers' stuffing DVD's into computers is not my idea of fun, what I had expected to see was someone ripping the guts out of the engines, but no such luck, so I decided to go and have an ice cream.

After visiting my favourite heladería (ice cream stall) on the public side of the dividing harbour wall, the only place that I could actually go too on my lonesome (in one of the by now many small harbour craft bobbing about the place), without a small army of knuckle draggers (close protection specialists) in attendance, I sated myself with a tub of mora ice cream (blackberry flavour), and as I dangled my feet over the edge of the harbour wall, gazing on the tranquil scene, I idly wondered how many sniper scopes were zeroed in on the locals that wandered blissfully around me. They were not the problem, they had gotten used to me a long while ago – it was the odd grockle (Cornish for holidaymaker) that they were after. As San Miguel started to bloom again it was now getting quite a few coach trippers, and they inevitably started invading my 'quiet moments'. When this happened, after a few minutes of idle chatter, and the obligatory photos, I then dropped down into my escape craft and beat a hasty retreat, BUT if one of them happened to have an AK47 in their beach bag then I hoped that David was paranoid enough to have made preparations to counter this slight inconvenience, I must have a word with him when I get back – any AK47's withstanding.

After my comfort break, and looking at a black box that looked exactly like the last black box that had resided there, I signed the paperwork, authorised the cheque (if it had been made out to them then I would imagine that they would now be going off to retire) and had it in writing that the Lady S was even more sprightly than ever – by at least 2.4 knots, then I had an idea (I'm famous for them), 'CAROL, let's take her down to the 'measured mile' to prove it, and 'bags I' I drive.

After the scheduled visit to the 'measured mile' to verify that everything was working just fine (she could now go 2.6 knots faster – but who cares?), Alice (my Daughter), Algernon (her husband) and I sat down for a leisurely meal at the stern of Lady S, – they had something to tell me, yes – I was going to be a grandfather yet again. Robin (my son) and Emma (his wife) had already provided Mark (my first grandchild) with a sister, (Macey), and it was 'work in progress' for yet more, but as we watched the sun slowly disappear below the horizon I yet again reflected on the fact that the money was handy, and it gave our children unheard-of security, but I know that the three of us would give it all up in a flash to have Sheila (their Mother) back. Since Sherri's tragic departure I had half-heartedly dated a couple of 'friends of friends' but things weren't the same, 'perhaps I was just getting too old for that sort of thing' I melancholily thought......

'...... and when are you going to visit the Broads Daddy?' I was back to reality.

'Soon', I said, and with that the horse trading started.

### ~~~~

Chapter 8

Wroxham – 'Capital of the Broads' (but don't let Hoveton hear you calling it that) is within the Norfolk Broads, and it was the only place that both Alice and Algie agreed on after a secret ballot officiated over by yours truly. For some reason the New Forest was not suiting Alice, it must be all that grass, so they decided to move, on 'doctors orders' (well the doctor can pay then, I thought), but where to, and unfortunately when two strong willed young minds clash with the force of a thunder storm it inevitably started to complicated. The 'simple' solution was arrived at by Sandra, my 1st ex, and Algie (Algernon's) mother, but unfortunately a civil war somewhere in the world (there is always a civil war somewhere in the world, I thought) meant it was left to yours truly to sort out the nitty-gritty.

After several rounds, almost ranging from John O'Groats to Land's End, I finally produced (on-line of course) six properties that were currently available at the various favoured locations. The winner turned out to be a small (ish) cottage (only 6 bedrooms – but plenty of room to expand) off Beech Road (of course) Wroxham, with extensive moorings in a private lagoon; and I thought it was a snip until I realised that a zero had dropped of my laptop. They visited each of the properties – separately so as not to argue in public, and sent me a 'points out of ten'. Wroxham was not only the outstanding favourite by a country mile, but for an extra zero they could have all the boats, furniture and the rest of the trappings (they had never been used), and move in straight away, Alice had even talked to the next door neighbour/famous interior designer who had designed the interior – and it was absolutely ppppurfect. The only down side was that there were only three members of staff at the moment, but hey-ho as I was footing the bill, yet again, it was 'pretty please my wonderful popsy wopsy'.

The day that I arrived for my first visit to their new home coincided with the day chosen by the Gods above as 'England's summer' and either by accident or design they collected me downriver in one of their launches, and once we arrived in 'their lagoon' it soon became apparent that it was going to take a long time to get me indoors. Robin and his tribe had 'popped down for the week-end' as well, so as soon as I disembarked from the launch 'not so little' Mark commandeered Pops and we were off. Grabbing my spare hand he started showing me all the 'secret places' that he had already found on his previous visits, and as there was well over an acre of land I bet there were going to be a lot more to find. What was my other hand doing I hear you ask? It was pushing Macey along in her pushchair, and did it weigh a ton (the chair – not Macey). Eventually we all collapsed on the glorious patio overlooking the river and watched the water born traffic glide past as we sipped iced tea, one could definitely get used to this sort of life, well almost everyone, David was having a purple fit every time a boat pottered bye that was capable of toting an RPG.

Next morning, after being shamed into an invigorating swim in the outdoor pool by Mark, I vowed to jam the pool heater on its maximum setting before I ever dipped even a pinky into its frozen wastes again; my body was too used to Mi Casa's thirty degrees MINIMUM. After dodging the ice cubes coming out of the poolside shower we slipped into shorts and tee shirts and were off exploring the spectacularly manicured wilderness again, which got rudely interrupted when Clyde (one of my brace of manic Yorkies – Bonnie being the other miscreant) came charging towards me. As usual I bent my knees slightly, patted my chest and he leapt onto my thighs then ran up my chest to be caught expertly by myself, just before gravity plummeted him back to earth, and for this he reward me with sloppy kisses, it was one of our party pieces. As he started checking for ear wax I suddenly had one of my thoughts, he must be very tired after that run, he had started it in Spain, and also his tail had grown back on the way. Bonnie and Clyde were 'Spanish' Yorkshire Terriers so they came minus the majority of their tails. Despite thinking that the practice of 'docking' tails was barbaric, we had no choice but to accept it, it was fait accomplí.

'Whisky, what on earth are you doing, put that rather nice man down', said a typically English hedge row, then I spotted a pair of green eyes peering through it. Instantly I knew that (a) those eyes could wreak havoc on the uninitiated, and (b) the owner of them had a name starting with S.

As Clyde, or as it would now appear Whisky, continued to ream out my ear, the hedge row continued, 'I am so sorry, I don't know what has got into him, he has never done anything like that before in his life, he doesn't even like men'

'I hope his owner does' I thought as Whisky changed ears, 'and who on earth calls a dog Whisky anyway?' was another thought, then I though 'who calls theirs Bonnie and Clyde', end of thoughts.

'Hello Mrs Martin' chipped in Mark, and he made me jump, I had forgotten all about him, how on earth could I ever forget my first grandchild? Then I continued looking into those eyes, and forgot all about him again.

'Hello Mark, is this your infamous Pops that you were telling me all about?' and with that a slender, lightly tanned hand glided through the hedgerow, 'Suzanna Martin, your neighbour, you can call me Suzie if you like'.

Taking the proffered hand I gently shook it, careful not to break anything, and stammered (in as deep and manly a voice as I could muster) 'Andrew Michaels, and you can call me anything you like'.

The laughter that followed, I knew would be emblazoned into my brain for the rest of eternity.

From deep below a squeaky little voice burst forth 'Yes' - I think he was starting to feel out of it, surely children should be seen but not heard, then he forever redeemed himself by continuing, 'and Aunty Alice asked me to ask you if you could pop round for a cup of tea, as she would like to ask you something, if I saw you that is' (does a hand and forearm count? Obviously it does) 'and can I play with Whisky please'.

'Of course' the arm continued, 'but make sure he doesn't go anywhere near the pool, and tell Aunty Alice to put the kettle on, I will be around in five minutes'.

With that the hand disappeared, but the voice continued, 'can you wait at the quay please Andy and catch my painter', and for the briefest of moments those eyes seemed to twinkle even more.

After unloading Whisky, who seemed totally at ease with Mark, I instructed them both to be careful, and nodded to David - who just happening to be taking a constitutional in close proximity of me – to make sure that they did, and he did, perhaps he was starting to relax a teensy weensy bit.

As I headed towards the quay, first I wondered if my first impressions were way out, if she was going to throw a tradesman over the fence for whatever heinous crime that he (or she) had committed, and second, she must be built like a Sumo wrestler, perhaps wrists are very misleading, but then after the longest five minutes in recorded history a small electric boat slid quietly around the end of the adjoining fence and into my heart, it was delivering the most perfect blonde haired, green eyed, tall, slender woman into my life (I desperately hoped), beautiful did not come anywhere close to describing her.

As she primly sat behind the wheel, skilfully guiding the small craft towards me, I could not help but notice that she was definitely not dressed for messing about on the river. She wore a khaki safari dress that I imagine would, when she was standing, end just above her knees, but now, as she sat there in the shade of a Bimini, her golden legs seemed to go on forever, and on her head was a straw boater that cast a further shadow over her face, but those green eyes still seemed to blaze through. She eased the craft alongside me, killed the motor and leant forward to grasp the bow line (AKA the painter), when for some inexplicable reason the top two buttons of her dress popped, revealing, only a few feet away from my face, perfect heaven. I had never been a boob kind of guy, anything over a handful seemed to be a waste to me, and here was living breathing proof of that. As she picked up the painter and deftly threw it to me she seemed totally unaware of the problem that her dress was causing me, but fortunately I was one of those rare males that can multi-task, and managed to look at two things at once, and still catch a rope. With difficulty I located a nearby cleat and secured the vessel but unfortunately by the time that I returned my gaze to the vicinity of the buttons they were firmly back in control, and there was just the hint of a blush on her cheeks. As I gazed at her face my mind raced to try and describe it, then it came to me Elfin, with just a hint of mischief around her eyes and lips. I quickly secured the proffered stern line and as I came up for air that hand came out from under the cover and took mine again. I helped her ashore but unfortunately there were no more mishaps, but I did think that she was taller than I had imagined, then I realised that she had on high healed straw sandals that matched her boater, perfect for walking on grass, and putting our lips on a level pegging. Then it was panic stations, her lips were heading straight towards mine, then at the last moment they veered off to one side to gentle peck at my left cheek. Pausing for what seemed like a lifetime she then lifted off ever so slightly and moved to kiss my other cheek, but fortunately (for me) not far enough, and our lips ever so slightly brushed in passing, I will go to my maker remembering the feel of those soft lips and warm breath as she gently breathed out. After again pausing for a lifetime she stepped back and purred 'I think that is how they do it in Spain isn't it?

'Not without causing a population explosion of apocalyptic proportions' I thought, then tried to think of a Country that required full on snogging as the requisite form of greeting, but unfortunately the moment slipped by.

'Right, lead me to my cuppa Andy' she ordered and linking her arm in mine we walked up the garden path towards the house.

Following tea and biscuits Mark again played a blinder, 'Pops, can we go for another swim please', and looking at Suzie 'and can we take Whisky in as well?'

To absolutely no one's surprise she said 'only if I come as well', and pulled out a couple of small pieces of material from her shoulder bag, 'fortunately I've come prepared' and Alice immediately hoped that Mark was not about to be given his first biology lesson. Emma hated her even more, Robin and Algie were weighing up their chances if I didn't take the hint, and I was fervently hoping that the icebergs in the pool would dissipate my obvious approval.

Eventually we all ended up splashing around in the 'slowly getting warmer' pool, with Whisky keeping us all entertained with his antics, especially when a small body-board appeared, but eventually I cried 'old age' and sat on the top step to recover, followed almost immediately by Suzie. I was hoping that she would follow as I thought it was about time for a little chat.

'Am I being a bit OTT?' she started.

'Ever so slightly' I said with a grimace.

'Does that mean I have to stop?'

'Yes – but' but before I could get any further her face sort of crumbled, then came back to life and then she jumped to her feet and started doing a jig.

From across the pool I heard the plaintive wail of 'Oh father – you have just cost me £10,000', and swam over to me.

'What is going on' I asked her, only half jovially.

'Well' she continued 'Suzie is on the fund raising committee of a local charity, and to put it bluntly her dress sense is at best agricultural, even at fund raising events its jeans and jumper. Her socialising is non-existent, as is her love life (at this point Suzie tried it interrupt – but to no avail). She will do anything she can to help you, but if you show her the slightest kindness in return, especially if you are a male, then she freezes solid, but I know that under the surface, and below the jeans there is a beautiful person waiting to burst out, even though she vehemently believes that she is not worthy of affection. When we moved in she was the first to offer a helping hand but even though we became 'best friends at first sight', as soon as I told her who my father was she disappeared, but I persevered, and with my charm, wonderful personality (sic) and Mothers special cake mix (almost neat Brandy) she finally admitted that she had had a bit of a thing for you when you took on those nasty Pirates, but then quickly went off you again when Sandra arrived on the scene, and with every new notch in your bedpost her feelings went even further south. Well I called her bluff - and made her an offer she couldn't refuse, £5.000 to her charity if she became SEXY SUZIE for a day, and flirted horribly with you to wind you up, then yet more cake mix arrived and somehow she ended up doubling the wager if she got you to run a mile, 'she just knew you would' you could never fancy someone like her in a million years.

I was gob smacked, I didn't know what to say, so I looked up at Suzie for support but all I got was a blank stare and she walked off, and Alice began to cry.

'I've done it again haven't I Daddy, I thought you might like her, you don't have much long term luck with your women, and she is so very beautiful'.

I couldn't fault that reasoning, but I needed to sort out my head, so I said that I was going to go and have a quick siesta, and followed in Suzie's footsteps.

I presumed that Suzie had gone out of the front gate and returned home, knowing that Whisky and her boat would be safe, but as I made my way to the side entrance into Alice and Algie's home I heard sniffles coming from behind a tool shed. Peering around the corner I found Suzie squatted down on her haunches and looking really sorry for herself. She spotted me and sprang up, which caused her left breast to become detached from its totally inadequate support structure. As we both looked at the miscreant mammary, for want of something better to say I said 'I thought you had gone home'.

'How can I' she mumbled 'I am practically naked, people might see me'.

And before I could engage brain I blurted out 'and getting more naked by the minute'.

She gave a half laugh/half sniffle and said 'as if you care', but she was still not replacing the item in its holder, then something strange happened, her naked nipple sprang to life, it was like an organ stop, and it was quickly followed by something in my swimming trunks, which she couldn't take her eyes off.

'But you wanted me to stop' she snapped.

'If you had let me finish my sentence I was going to say was 'yes, but only in front of Mark. If we are going to get married then you will have to let me finish at least some of my sentences'.

Now that did stop her sniffling, so taking it as a good sign I grabbed her hand and lead her through the side door into the house, where fortunately my door was the first one that we came to. It was also fortuitous that the corridor was void of human life as bits of bikini started to litter the floor.

By common consent we decided on a shower first (all rooms are en suite of course) but halfway through she let out a scream, and I thought that I must remember that spot, but she persevered and said 'we can't, I'm married'.

Now that did grab my attention, several times in my recent past married ladies – well perhaps not quite 'ladies', had propositioned me, and as soon as it became clear that they were 'spoken for' it was 'goodnight Charlene', or Mavis or whatever – not even a mild flirt to pass the time at a boring party . I even drew a line at 'engaged'.

'You are married?' I repeated, it never even entered my mind that she might be married, no 'S' had ever been remotely married, or even engaged, and now the first one that I wanted to marry at first sight, turns out to be already married.

'Technically' she said, 'but I'm still a virgin'.

### ~~~~

Chapter 9

It was at the beginning of the month of September, in the year of our Lord 1982 - three years into the Thatcher era - the Mary Rose would see daylight in less than a month, 437 years after ignominiously sinking below the waves in the Solent, and the Country was still bathing in the reflected glory of the Falklands War (unless you were the Argentinian Ambassador that is) - and it was when Suzie met Shaun.

They met on their first day at University, she wanting to study all things related to Interior design and Architecture, so becoming the best Interior Designer on the planet, and he wanting to study anything with a zero or a one in it, typically Computers and Mathematics, and end up ruling it. What she didn't want was to let any of the grubby little cretins that were starting to make a bee line for her as soon as she stepped into the reception, get inside her knickers. Quickly getting fed up with swatting them away, she cast around for someone of the male gender that was not drooling all over her, and finally spied an acceptable looking person, reasonably dressed, and reading what looked like technical magazines on his lonesome, and was oblivious to everything going on around him. Dragging her case and rucksack behind her, she sat beside him and told him that he was now officially her friend, and that his first job in that capacity was to defend her honour against all the masses that were gathering to rape and pillage her. The first announcement went clean over his head, but after removing all magazines from within his reach she repeated the spiel and got the desired result, and they became instantly inseparable. After registration, and everything else that goes with getting 'sorted' for the next 5 years (both, it turned out were setting their sights high and going for loads of letters after their names) Shaun helped her to find her new room in the Hall of Residence, unfortunately first years had to share, but hopefully next year she would be assigned a single room she informed him. Finding the door slightly ajar she entered her new home from home and almost ran off to join the WRNS (Lady Sailors). In the middle of the room sat a person of indeterminate origins, of hugely ample proportions, covered in tattoos, wearing an off white string vest over a luminous pink bra reeking to high heaven of booze and B.O. and surrounded by its personal debris – over both beds.

'FUCK OFF BITCH' it screeched in a high pitched voice and Suzie turned and looked at Shaun in complete panic, all her plans and aspirations were about to be flushed down the toilet by this creature.

'Follow me' her new knight in shining armour (well a green woolly pulley) ordered, and they departed the Halls, never to return.

They found his car, a fairly respectable Mk2 Escort, bundled her luggage into the boot and drove off in reasonable comfort, but only for a few minutes. Pulling into the front garden of a mid-terrace town house he sheepishly admitted that he had gotten lost on his trial run and thought the University was farther away than it was.

She entered the house, which was pre-war, but had survived the blitz intact, and found that it had been recently converted into three reasonably sized student rooms, one bathroom, two loos (one upstairs and one outside), a communal lounge with a large TV and comfortable looking furniture, and a kitchen with all mod cons and three large lockable cupboards. Out back the small garden had been concreted over to allow bikes and such to be safely stored – and it was heaven.

'Who owns this place'? She asked him.

'I do, well not exactly me, but my parents. They had a few bob to invest in property so they got it for me, so that I don't have to live in the Halls of Residence; I can study in peace and pick my own tenants'.

'Who lives here at the moment' she tentatively asked.

'I have the front bedroom, you can have the middle one if you want it, it's bigger than the back room, and we can look for someone else later'.

'How much' she asked, her parents were going to help towards the dorm in the Halls but she seriously doubted that she could really afford this luxury.

'How about we split the bills and see where we go from there' – she couldn't believe her ears, and that was the start of the best years of her life (so far).

Shaun never got around to finding a 'third' to share, but that posed no problem as the 'bills' were only shopping, electricity and the phone, his parents covered the rest, either knowingly or otherwise, although Suzie did take on the cleaning, at first out of guilt, then because she found it very therapeutic, quite the little housewife she thought – I THINK NOT, and they both found common enjoyment in cooking.

They both agreed that their first priority was to be studying, so no wild parties, then to find part time jobs to support themselves. Shaun easily found one in a recently opened electronics/computer shop and Suzie in an upmarket haberdasher.

By 'year two' everybody assumed that they were an item, in exasperation they had given up denying it almost from day one, but on its first mid-term break a situation arose. They both had individual friends both male and female (But nothing like that of course) and a growing number of joint friends, and it was one of these that invited them down to her family's home for the break. Without even pausing she showed them into a double bedroom and as the door closed behind her they sat there for a minute, stunned, then burst into laughter. Although nothing 'happened', by the end of the second day they were both completely at ease with each other's nudity, and on the final day, amid all the panic to get away on time they even showered together, soaping each other and generally bumping into each other's bits and pieces.

After that both of them would wander around the place naked, or almost, and quiet often they would shower or bath together, especially when in a rush to get out or when there was a water shortage.

By 'year three' even their parents accepted that they were 'at it' and regularly gave contraceptive advice to both of them as they visited their families' homes together, (and of course being allocated double bedrooms).

When Suzie's parents came to stay for a few days during a cold spell, 'to do a couple of shows' it was simpler for her to just move in with Shaun and let them use her room (the spare bedroom was now Shaun's computer workshop) rather than try and explain their lifestyle, and when they left, as if on que it started to snow, so without even making a conscious decision they just stayed in his room, cuddling together for extra warmth. Winter and Spring passed and in early Summer the temperature unseasonably rocketed and they took to sleeping naked, with just a sheet at the bottom of the bed just in case - then it happened - they went to sleep on their sides and Shaun somehow ended up spooned tightly into Suzie's back and nature started to interfere. The first thing that Suzie became aware of was a pain developing in her backside, in took a few seconds to gather her thoughts and realise what was happening, then she shouted 'SHAUN' and tried to pull away. Shaun, still asleep, but fully aroused, grabbed her tightly and plunged fully inside her rear. Her scream woke not only Shaun but also the neighbours. Shaun was mortified and was still sobbing when the police arrived, but Suzie although still in considerable pain managed to explain it away as a horrible nightmare. Neither of them spoke of the incident again and Suzie put it down as her first sexual experience, although not a very pleasant one, 'well at least she was still a virgin'.

As Shaun's room boasted the only ceiling fan in the property they perhaps unwisely decided to remain sleeping together, but with Shaun facing the other way, then several weeks later, as the outside temperature returned to normal Suzie cuddled up to him for a bit of extra warmth and in her half asleep state inadvertently allowed her hand to brush his penis, it wasn't the first time that this had happened and they always made a joke about it - until now, now it was fully erect. Still half asleep she continued to move her hand and fingers gently around and they both became fully awake, but neither stopped the other. Finally the inevitable happened and he rolled away and again cried himself to sleep.

The next morning was a Sunday so they decided to have a 'Duvet Day' and sort things out. Suzie was already a stunner to look at and Shaun had more than his fair share of admirers, but neither considered that they were very 'sexual', but unfortunately their bodies were now starting to tell them something different. As they lay there they both genuinely agreed that although they were not IN LOVE with each other 'per se', they loved each other as special friends, but how special – Suzie certainly didn't mind occasionally fooling about with him 'if it kept it away from her derriere' (embarrassing pause), 'surly that is what friends are for?', but what else might come up (figuratively speaking) in the future was the real question, so for the rest of the day they explored the possibilities, and tried to find out the boundaries, although most of the time when they started 'going any further' they just ended up collapsing in stitches. Half way through the second bottle of wine they started a play fight, Shaun knew all her ticklish spots so it wasn't long before she was on her back and pulled him on top of her to stop the tickling, then her legs wrapped around his back, and just as the thought 'is there really any point in being the oldest virgin in town' entered her head, Shaun leapt of the bed as if electrocuted – they had found a boundary.

'Year four' was a good year for both of them, their 'friendship' if anything grew even stronger, they both now knew the boundaries, and were more than happy to accept them. Their studies were going ahead in leaps and bounds, and their 'part time' jobs were turning into money mills. Although Suzie had not got the requisite qualifications yet, everyone knew that she was a star in the making, and working in the up-market haberdashers lead to invaluable introductions into the 'rich and famous' set. Her first foray into pure interior design came when a conversation with one of her Uni friends was overheard by a customer in the shop, 'are you an interior designer?' the smartly dressed middle aged lady asked when her friend left.

'Not quite yet, I finish the extended course next year'. She truthfully replied.

'Well, I have a small problem, it's not worth spending an absolute fortune on the big guns, but perhaps you could give me a few hints to help me solve it. I will make it worth your while'.

Suzie realized that she was being used 'on the cheap', but it would be good practice for the future, and she was assured that it would only take a few hours.

The next day (Sunday) she arrived at the appointed time and the BUTLER showed her into the drawing room. After being introduced to her husband – who she instantly recognised as a very senior member of Mrs Thatcher's cabinet – client number one showed her the problem, and it took her a lot longer than two hours, but that evening she and Shaun sat in the spare room to give the computer programme that he had written as part of his course, but with her in mind, its first real test.

\---------------

Several months earlier whilst they had been visiting her parents he had been chatting to her father about an idea that he had about making portable computers (the term laptop had not been coined yet) more portable. Up until that moment her father had been slowly succumbing to his desire to drift off into the land of nod, but when Shaun mentioned that he might send his ideas off to one of the big companies, to seek their advice, suddenly he was wide awake. Daddy was a Lawyer that specialised in trademarks, copyrights, patents, and all things in-between, so when Shaun finally sent his idea off they bought the shop that he worked for part time with part of the proceeds.

\---------------

The following Wednesday Suzie had a spare couple of hours so she proudly rang her first client and told her that she had completed the task and could she come round and show her the results. To say the least her client was not impressed – but invited her around anyway. As a puzzled Suzie laid out her designs it became clear why her client had not been impressed over the phone, she had contacted three of the leading interior designers of the day in London, who had eventually submitted quotes for half of what Suzie had laid out in front of her, of considerably inferior presentational qualities, and TOLD her that it would take them six to eight weeks to do it, at least.

A hour later Suzie had three new clients, who were more than willing to wait a few days, and then client numero uno (she had a Spanish friend) asked the fateful question 'and what is the damage' and that stopped her in her tracks, she hadn't given it a thought.

'Err, I will have to get back to you on that' she said.

Realising that Suzie had indeed not given it a thought she looked at the designs, and taking in all the small print on the bottom of the pages (thanks Dad), she made Suzie an offer.

'As you are unqualified, and if you promise not to let my friends know, how about 50% of the average quote from the professionals?'

'75%', my designs are still better than theirs, AND you have them now'.

'Alright, but on condition that you never tell a sole that you haggled with the wife of the Chancellor of the Exchequer - and won'

'Done', and to her surprise she then received a hug along with 'you are going to go far young lady'.

Suzie was still in a daze when she found Shaun deep inside a computer programme in the library and handed him the cheque for £4,655:27p.

'Year five' was a problem, they had to make big decisions, they both had more than enough credits to collect the minor qualifications but they had always had their sights on the top ones, so they agreed to complete their fifth years, which really surprised everyone as when they finally left the hallowed portals for the last time Suzie and Shaun were already millionaires, between them they had almost a thousand employees and had offices in four Countries, but they still padded around naked in their student digs, although they could now pad naked twenty-four hour a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, it now boasted central heating and air conditioning, but eventually they relented and moved into the penthouse flat on top of a rather flash skyscraper, but they could still walk to Uni work, their offices took up several of the floors below.

Although their businesses were independent of each other, their lives weren't, and it started to get complicated, not for them, they had never been happier, but for the people around them. Both sets of parents were starting to talk wedding bells and grandchildren, and not for the first time had the subject of 'living in sin' been raised, even by the legal beagles. They were both well into their twilight years (according to their parents), and almost getting too old to have children, and slowly the constant bombardment was starting to have the desired effect. For Suzie's twenty-fifth birthday Shaun flew her off to Las Vegas and booked them into the honeymoon suite at the newly opened MGM Grand, it was the only suite available at such short notice and it bothered Shaun not a jot - but the effect on Suzie was cataclysmic. She had been quiet all the way across the pond, but as soon as she stepped into the scrumptious suite she burst into tears and threw herself onto the huge bed. The hotel staff beat a hasty retreat and Shaun tried to console her, but he didn't know where to start, this had never happened before, and finally, as the sun started to set over the strip it all finally came out.

\---------------

She had been living a lie for the past seven years, YES she agreed that they were not 'in love' when they set up home together, they only 'loved' each other as very special friends, and YES sex in the conventional way was not important – even now, BUT now, as I look forward hopefully to the rest of my life with you, I cannot bear to be without you, not even for a single night. When you are away making your deals, or I am off doing my thing in far off places, I cry myself to sleep at night, wishing for you to walk through the bedroom door. To me the distinction between 'in love' and 'special love' has become blurred – I just don't want to be without you - ever, and the sex thing, I don't need or want a physical relationship, god knows I have enough offers, I just want your baby – and that shook them both to the core – there - it was out in the open.

\---------------

Shaun was the first to recover, 'how about A.I.?'

'Artificial Intelligence' I don't want one of your robots'. She knew that this was one of Shaun's pet projects, on the back burner of his mind so to speak, but both knew that what he really meant Artificial Insemination.

She threw her arms around him and kissed his tear soaked cheeks; lips were another one of the boundaries.

Suddenly he jumped up off the bed, 'give me your watch', which she gave him. It was a very expensive 'state of the art' model that he had given her on the plane as it entered 'today', his birthday present to her, and she loved it. He walked over to patio doors, slid them open and threw it over the edge of the balcony.

As it disappeared from sight she thought 'now I have really pissed him off'.

As he walked back inside, heading for the door, he grabbed her hand, yanked her off the bed and said 'now let's go and get you a birthday present you will really remember'.

Two hours later, as they settled down to watch the hotels late stage show she couldn't help but glance down at the plastic ring on her finger and give a little chuckle, she would indeed be remembering the look on her husband's face when he was told to 'kiss his bride' for the rest of her life, and her lovely new watch was returned, unharmed, to her the next morning after it was found in a flower pot on the balcony of one of the rooms below.

It took a lot of doing but finally they convinced their parents that their wedding was in fact legal, but they were still mortified at missing the event 'even if it was held in the middle of a dessert', so to console them they held a belated reception at the Ritz six weeks later, and yet again they reduced their parents to tears. The first attempt at A.I. had gone swimmingly, so to speak, and all indications were that everything was fine, so unable to contain herself she blurted out that she may also be pregnant – which she was – but from then on she was never able to look at a milk bottle again without blushing.

Shaun never even attempted to bond with Simon, he supported her 'in a fashion' during her pregnancy, which was perfectly normal, due in no small part to Lightning, her horse. She may be a virgin but due to him she was no longer 'intacto'.

After the birth, which he failed to attend, (important business meeting) they for the first time since that winter in year three, slept in separate rooms, 'only temporary' he said, 'until the wailing during the night is over', but he never moved back.

They still happily co-existed - when Simon was not around - so it became the norm for their nanny to disappear with him whenever Shaun arrived home, and then when he was old enough he was 'shipped off' to boarding school, although Suzie didn't quite see it that way, she was piggy in the middle and wore blinkers to perfection. She just blamed it on her career.

Despite the situation life progressed surprisingly well, they were wealthy, healthy, popular and content with life (unless Simon was around), but then the dreaded mid-life crisis struck, although it arrived a trifle early. First it was gambling, Shaun began betting on anything, and all he would say when the subject was broached was 'I can afford it' (what happened to the 'we'?), and to be truthful they 'could' afford it, at the moment, but then his parents were involved in a car crash, his father died instantly and a few hours later his mother, on her deathbed, made him promise to seek help and give up the gambling, which he did, but unfortunately that help involve Nigel, an orderly at a residential facility which specialised in treating those bitten by the gambling bug (no - he was not addicted, he just needed a little help re-adjusting). Whilst in a drug induced sleep Nigel 'outed' him, and after almost a quarter of a century of fighting the inevitable Shaun saw the light, and it shone brightly – for three weeks, until Suzie found out, then Nigel was history, albeit with a handsome 'severance package' provided by herself, to ensure that he disappeared from her husband's life forever.

Suzie knew that things would never be the same again, but still she couldn't bear to be without him, so whilst he finished his re-hab, now surrounded by nurses of the female persuasion, she made plans to drastically change their life style. London took part of the blame (she took the rest) for his 'distraction', gambling was rife, and it was almost obligatory to be gay so she decided to relocate them both to the Broads.

\---------------

Wroxham was where Lightning was stabled, it was close to where their lovely Nordic Folkboat was moored, but more importantly it was where their wedding present from Shaun's parents was. When they first saw it they were not overly impressed to say the least, it was a derelict Phoenix 'prefab', circa 1947, in the middle of a desolate field. His father said 'think of the bigger picture', his mother said 'it should scrub up quite nicely', which it did, and to be truthful they bother liked the view of the river. Originally it was their bolt hole, somewhere away from the hustle and bustle, but finally they realised what his father had meant and relocated, then converted the prefab into a very comfortable stables for Thunder (Shaun's horse), and Lightning; much to the disgust of the local historical society. They then had the plot landscaped, and had a very fine bungalow built – which had prospects to enlarge - which over the years it did - but what really made the difference was what they did with their river bank. When it was finished it was huge, and absolutely to die for, and the envy of all around.

\---------------

Suzie quickly had two of the bedrooms rooms converted into offices, it was blatantly obvious that no more little Simons were going to come along, and with the aid of some bright young geeks in Shaun's firm it was as though they were sat in their old offices, but unfortunately not their old apartment. On release from the facility Shaun never returned to their London penthouse, and for the first few weeks it was hell on Earth in the bungalow, but inevitably, with time, things slowly settled back down. More and more they took Halcyon - their Folkboat out, and went for long early morning rides, but neither of them wanted to get involved with the neighbours, or the local community as a whole, until they met Charlotte and Franklin. She was seriously involved with the local Animal Rescue Centre and Franklin had just become Area Manager for their bank. Both Suzie and Shaun had started to let standards slip, Suzie especially, putting on a few pounds, living in baggy jeans and jumpers and with not a hint of make-up, but their new friends didn't seem to mind one little bit, in fact they seemed to relish in the fact that they were now BFF with the 'odd couple', after all Franklin knew exactly how much they were worth.

As she walked around the spotlessly clean kennels for the first time, with her new friend as her guide, Suzie couldn't help but fall in love with all those doleful eyes and instinctively knew that this was for her, and she even brought a small memento of that visit back with her – Whisky – although Shaun didn't bond with him either.

Whilst the girls did the rescue thing, Shaun and 'Frankie' started to 'mess about on the boat' together and Frankie found an unexpected release in varnish; marine varnish to be precise and 'Halcyon' began to sparkle as never before. She was a small (25 foot 'ish') all wood clinker built boat, sloop rigged, with an open cockpit and a 'very compact' cabin. She had been built by a reputable Swedish builder in 1962 so her pedigree was impeccable, and although not the largest boat on the pond she certainly turned her fair share of the heads. As 'the boys' started to spent more and more time together Suzie started to get twitchy, was this another Nigel in the offing? But after paying them a surprise visit at the small marina close to Great Yarmouth where Halcyon was kept, after surreptitiously observing them from afar for two hours, and not observing even the merest hint of a 'man hug', she started to relax, perhaps it had been a passing phase after all.

### ~~~~

Chapter 10

'For the next few years we were as happy as could be expected under the circumstances' Suzie continued, still covered only in a fluffy bath towel, as we lay on the bed, touching – but not 'touching' (just like the good old days she thought), 'then he started to take his frustrations out on Whisky, not too seriously, but enough for me to start joining the real world, my 'special' love was finally on the wane, then you took on those blasted pirates, how on earth can anybody in their right mind fall in love with a flak jacket and tin helmet' she said in exasperation.

'Please, it was a very expensive Kevlar one' I said, and we then had our first kiss – no messing about, straight on the lips', then she continued.

'Three years this November they struck Halcyons mast, stripped her of everything removable and motored her up to Wroxham, only running her aground once, as fully laden she draws almost four feet, which is getting close to the maximum for some parts of the river. A local boatyard then lifted her out and put her undercover, and then for the next six months they both nigh on lived on the damn thing, apparently she was not getting any younger and was in desperate need of a good seeing to – it would apparently put years on her - just like me', then the towel slipped, again revealing her golden globes, but this time I did not stop staring. 'It quickly became obvious that the restoration was to be a 'man thing' so we, Charlotte and I, continued to spend our spare time pooper scooping and following your antics on television - god how I hate that Sandra woman, and the rest of them come to think of it. Anyway in April they took her back down to Yarmouth, even managing to take the mast with them this time as she was now lighter, and the rains had arrived with a vengeance - so the water levels were high. They then re-fitted the mast and waited for a suitable day for a test-sail. They missed a few good days through their day jobs but finally, just before a prolonged period of stormy weather was due to arrive they took her out, apparently 'they just couldn't wait any longer'. That evening Charlotte and I both received phone calls from them saying that they had a small problem so were overnighting off Mundesley – about twenty nautical miles from Yarmouth, but didn't go into any details as they both had weak signals on their mobiles. That was the last we ever heard from them, they just disappeared of the face of the earth'.

Now I understood the word 'technically'.

'What happened after that?' I asked.

'When they didn't turn up the next day we started to get worried and that evening Charlotte rang the Coast Guard, and they started to get worried, but not a lot. Unfortunately there were several other boats in their area that were in 'actual' distress as the storm had now arrived with a vengeance, all they could offer at the moment were words of comfort and 'please let us know when they make contact with you'.

'The following day we drove down to the Maritime Rescue Co-Ordination Centre (MRCC) at Great Yarmouth in the driving rain and found out why their response the previous evening had seemed less than enthusiastic, they were in the midst of closing the place down. An Assistant District Officer (a two ringer), the duty officer, assured us that this was not the case, many calls come in from anxious family members when storms strike, and 99% of the vessels turned up safe and sound after a day or so, their crew tucked up in a marina somewhere off the beaten track, with their hands wrapped around a 'hot toddy'.

'Patronising prick', I thought, and then Charlotte started to lose it, and finally, after a combination of tears and threats we were shown into an Inspectors (four rings) office and they then started to take out plight seriously, 'thanks in no small part to you'.

'Me?' I said.

'Yes you. They were not overly impressed when we told them who our husbands were, but as soon as I told them that the famous Andrew Michaels was my very good friend they seemed to put it up a notch – well it wasn't really a lie was I?, we are, now – I was just a teensy bit premature'.

I let that one go, 'then what happened?'

'The storm was still too bad to start a search, even by air, all their aircraft were grounded because of the high winds, but they did start to do a phone search of all the marina's, yacht clubs and landing points within a fifty mile radius, do a beach search, and contacted the local radio and television stations. Simon was home on one of his rare visits so he 'Whisky watched' whist we relocated temporarily into a local hotel – I don't think either of them had been happier in their lives, SORRY that was an awful thing to say, but things really had deteriorated to that level'.

They had stayed at the hotel for ten days but finally accepted reality when nothing was found, not even a piece of wreckage, and then it became a police matter.

'Police matter' I said 'they suspected foul play?'

'No, they had to get involved as they were now classified as missing persons'.

'And?'

'A heavily pregnant detective, about to go forth and multiply was handed the routine task of making a report to be sent to the Coroner, so that they could eventually be pronounced dead, and we could then get on with our lives, BUT NO, out of boredom, or in a fit of pique at not being given a juicy murder, she went to town on it. She went through all the paperwork relating to the refit but found no inconsistencies, nothing that indicated that they had been 'upgrading' and planning to sail off into the wild blue yonder. There had been no mysterious financial transactions carried out in either of their bank accounts, both were in responsible jobs with not a hint of impropriety, she could find no hint of hidden mistresses (or others I thought) and everything unfortunately looked hunky dory UNTIL somebody THOUGH that they recognised them in a Supermarket on the day that they set sail, stocking up with vast amounts of provisions, far more than SHE thought was required for a couple of days bobbing about on the 'oggin (her husband was in the Navy).'

'That was it' the detective'ess cried, 'it's a conspiracy (or something else equally as illegal)' then her waters broke. Quickly grabbing a pen she wrote _INCONCLUSIVE_ across the file and went off to pop her sprog (her husband was in the Navy too).

'Inconclusive, what does that mean?'

'It meant that there was the slightest hint that they may still be alive, so we could not get a court order directing the registrar to issue a death certificate, but all would not have been lost if we had all been living in Scotland, we could then wait seven years to have them declared legally dead, which incidentally is slightly better than in Italy, which is twenty years, but in England it is a nightmare, there is nothing 'legal' that we could do unless we come up with the bodies or can prove foul play, if you REALLY loved me you would go to the police and confess!!!'

I skipped that one. I had more important things on my mind; I knew that I had strong convictions about the sanctity of marriage, but this situation was testing them to distraction and I needed to get my head sorted out quickly, before another part of my anatomy overruled it.

Suzie realized that I was in a dilemma as I was starting to pull away from her, not traveling in the opposite direction, and she was mortified.

'What is the matter Andrew' she asked, tears starting to form in her eyes.

'You are still married' I quietly said.

'But it was over, it never really started, I'm still a virgin: and for god's sake I've even got you your own landing strip'.

'Pardon' I said.

'When Alice told me that you were her father I knew that eventually you would end up here, and despite what I have said about you in public I just knew that deep down I was head over heels in love with you, it was way passed a crush. You are without a doubt the only person I want to be with physically, emotionally and carnally – especially carnally, so the next day I booked into to the most expensive health spa on the Country and let them loose, and it was worth every ache and pain of it. Three days ago, as I was having my final pamper and waxing session one of the girls asked me if I wanted my bikini line 'adjusted', apparently I was now looking 'divinely' fit and bronzed after all their (and my) hard work, and sun bathing top and more lately bottom-less, did I have someone special that would appreciate a different 'style', perhaps a heart, European, Brazilian or even a landing strip. Up until the Brazilian I was at a loss at what she was talking about, and then the landing strip lost me again so she removed a plastic sheathed sheet of A4 from the shelf behind her, and on it there were a dozen photo's of just the 'private' parts some very attractive ladies, each with a different style surrounding their 'privates' – or not, ranging from 'Au-naturel' to 'the playboy strip'. For a second I thought that you were a bit of a playboy – but there again I was going to put a stop to that within the next few days, and then I thought 'you are a bit of a pilot – perhaps you would appreciate your own landing strip', and with that the towel was history and it was obvious that I was expected to go on my first solo.

'A bit of a pilot' I said, trying to find a way out of the situation, then I engaged mouth before brain and said 'and I already have my own runways', and that was nearly the end of a beautiful relationship.

She burst into full blown tears and slapped me hard on the side of my face, I well and truly deserved it, but it still hurt like hell.

She tried to roll away but in desperation I grabbed her and she almost fought me off but finally her tears subsided and her legs locked behind my back, but fortunately my aeroplane was as confused as I was and was refusing to take off.

'What is matter' she pleaded, 'I so want you'.

'And you will, but we have got to sort this out first'.

'The marriage thing?' she almost screamed.

'Yes, I thought I was the luckiest man on the planet when I married Sheila, most people then and now would have thought it stupid for us to wait until after the ceremony, but she was a virgin until that first night, and we both remembered every second of it, and I want to be lucky enough to have the first 'memories' of my second wife to be the same, but that's the only 'boundary', I promise.

An hour later Alice walked into my room, screamed, and fled – Sheila and I were constantly warning her about the consequences of not knocking first, and now she realised why, and if we were ever to let her in on our secret about the virgin bride thing, there was no way on Gods little green Earth that she would ever believe us.

### ~~~~

Chapter 11

The marriage thing (hers, not ours) was swiftly becoming the main topic of conversation whenever we were all gathered together, and it started to gather even more legs when my legal beavers in London started getting involved – but unfortunately they ended up reluctantly agreeing with what Suzie had said.

A few days later, as the sun started to settle in the sky, Sue and I –we decided to drop the Sexy Suzie bit, except in private - were in her electric launch and I slowed it down to almost stationary, and the silence, except for the gentle lapping of the river on the bow was totally relaxing and I quietly wanted to kill David.

Sue, who was stretched out on the bench seat with her head on my lap, her long legs raised up over the gunwale and almost disappearing from sight quietly said 'well what do you want to talk about?' 'You have been trying to get me alone all day'.

Taking the bit between my teeth I said 'Shaun, I just have this feeling that we don't have the full picture, perhaps I have been reading to many novels but something is not sitting quite right with me'.

'What can we do about it?' she said, I am destined to the oldest virgin bride in history'.

'David is in desperate need of a break; remember that thing in the art gallery?'

'Remember it – it almost turned me into a nun', she interrupted.

'Well David took it hard, he wasn't actually there but he is my Director of Security and therefore felt totally responsible for Brenna's death whilst under the protection of his team, along with James and Kurt, and almost losing his friend Pierre – he feels that he shouldn't have let him talk him into being part of the team in the first place, and last but not least what happened to me.' What do you mean almost turned you into a nun?'

'I'll show you later, it will be nice to re-visit the church'.

This was starting to get complicated, but I continued 'what he needs is a break from it all, a real break; he is turning into a regular 'old woman'. Sure he has had his vacations, but I think that what he needs is not to have to worry about work for a while, and he is also missing Charlie'.

'Who's Charlie?'

'His friend from school, he died in Sweden'.

'How?'

He jumped off a cliff to commit suicide after losing his fiancé in that drugs thing in Florida'.

'How tragic', she said quietly.

'Not really' I said, 'he was wearing a parachute'.

'Are you going to tell me what is going on in that pea brain of yours, or am I going to have to drag it out via your testicles'?

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions.

### ~~~~

Chapter 12

Charlie Watkins, sorry 'Mr Smith', was waiting for us when I landed my latest toy at El Campo and Sue took to him at first sight; he was soooooo cuddly.

'Tell that to the Zoomer twins and their friends' I thought.

David and he had been busy in the last few days, they had already amassed a mountain of paperwork, with the prospects of more to come so they commandeered a large room close to Charlie's suite, after all he was dead, and un-wanted eyes might not believe in ghosts, and set up shop. Maria willingly became their I.T. specialist and Caroline the gofer, and quickly they all stopped thinking that I was on a wild goose chase to impress my new bird and became 'maybe's'. Charlie was the first to spot something, it was an item on the boat yards final invoice, which, all things considered, was 'fairly' reasonable when taking into account the age of the vessel and the added re-sale value, overall everyone considered it VFM (value for money) - it was a small thing – _'install and connect new_ _MTM_ _fresh water tank'_ – what's an MTM he asked, half bored and half slightly intrigued, and a quick phone call to the boat yards bosun and they were told that it was his slang for ' _made to measure_ ', 'and a very nice stainless steel tank it was to, very top of the range'. The rest of them had all thought that MTM was a type of cheap plastic container, 'now show me the receipt for this very expensive item' he said, and there were blank looks all round. That got them really looking - the new electrical system, whilst the norm for a larger yacht with loads of gadgets and a large on-board generator was way OTT for a small, sparsely equipped Folkboat, 'and', the boson added 'he had been instructed to put in spurs all over the place – just in case they might one day be needed – it was their money after all'.

'Was there anything else that he had though had been a bit odd?' David asked.

'Loads' he said, 'but we have three sayings in this profession, 'the owner is always right', 'they always know best' (as long as they pay up at the end I'm a happy little chappie), and then there is the standard 'Universal Tradesman's one – 'if the authorities start digging, just answer the question', don't volunteer anything, it might end up costing you, but being as you aren't the Taxman or Police – well let's see, the biggest thing was my hardest job, they had me remove the half decent inboard diesel engine, along with its propeller, shaft and stern gland, repair the rudder and hull, remove the water intake and exhaust, remove the fuel tank, steam clean the whole engine bay to get rid of all the diesel wiffs', tart up the whole area - and replace it with a dinky little outboard on the arse end. They said that they would appreciate the extra room, which in a way I agreed with – if they were going to sail around the world. My next largest job was stripping her bottom, and I did a fair to middling job of that if I do say so myself, but then they must have got this anti fouling on the cheap, mucky red it looked like, to me it was no better than undercoat. Then they had me build in a couple of 'secret' lockers, 'just in case they wanted to bring a few extra fags back', it's not illegal to build them for it, just to use them for it – and neither of them smoked, and the only other biggish thing was the loo. Most boats that size make use of a bucket and a piece of rope or a porta loo from the local chandlers if they want to go posh, but they had me fit a really flash electrically operated one in the bow, that would be hidden away for the majority of the time under the bow bunk, if I had spent that amount of money on it I would mount it pride of place in the centre of the cabin and charge anyone to use it'.

Individually these items didn't amount to much but 'looking at the bigger picture' it started to get them all thinking, and Caroline thought that the word 'they' that the Boson kept on using didn't seem right, after all Shaun was the owner, Franklin was only his friend.

'Let's look at this from a different perspective' David said, after bringing Sue and I up to speed (ugh). I had just given Sue the quickie guided tour of El Campo, the grand tour would have to wait until mananã, although she had insisted on going into the volcano on her own, it was 'women's business' apparently.

Sue was looking forward to seeing if David had made any progress, but deep down she seriously doubted it, then she spotted a sheet of paper in front of David, headed DELIBERATE DISAPEARANCE, and she almost fainted, perhaps she wasn't really ready for this after all.

'It's only a hypothesis, one of several' David quickly said after following her gaze, 'we have no proof that it is, but it might help us if we approach the whole thing from a different angle'. Then he started making different sub-headings, WHY? WHEN CONCEIVED? HOW TO VANISH? MONEY? FINAL DESTINATION? HOW TO GET THERE? and finally PRIOR UNUSUAL INCIDENCES?

'I think we can play around with most of the headings ourselves' he continued, 'but we do need your help on the last one, can you think of anything out of the ordinary that happened, in let's say, the year prior to the removal of the Halcyon from the water'.

'Why go back a year from then' she shakily asked.

'Because' David said, 'if it is indeed a deliberate disappearing act then by the time the boat came out of the water then all the planning, preparations and special acquisitions would have been made, all they were doing after that was putting the plan into action. Have a think about it and try and let me know in the next few days if you can think of anything, however trivial you may think it is'. With every step David was becoming more and more of a believer.

Over the past few years El Campo had evolved into a micro City, with me as its unelected mayor so it took me more than just a couple of hours to show her everything, but as we happily did the rounds, and doing or watching something 'really interesting' she would pause and scribble something in a small notebook 'just something for David' she would say.

Three days after our inaugural meeting we were back in the conference room, along with a very distraught Charlotte, but unfortunately David didn't have 'that' sheet of paper in front of him – he had a pile of them, and they all had an extra sub title - PRO'S AND CONS.

Just to prove that they had been earning their keep, except for Charlie that is – ghosts don't eat, David went through each of them, but fortunately majority of entries were the same:-

WHY? – To start a new life, most likely 'together'. Most other choices i.e. 'running from the Mafia, mother in law etc. had been discarded after making a few enquires.

WHEN CONCEIVED? - Most likely a lot longer than a year ago – see MONEY.

HOW TO VANISH? – Obviously by using the Halcyon, why waste time and money on her if she was not an integral part of the plan.

MONEY? – This was a multiple choice answer. Undisclosed lottery win, Left mega amounts of money in a will, ill-gotten gains, third party benefactor, and a few other equally plausible answers, but nothing concrete – the only thing they all agreed on was that there must undoubtedly be a very large amount of untraceable 'cash' available to them. Setting several 'investigating agencies', that had different 'skill sets' to work, they hoped to be starting to see some results quite soon, 'and Itza apparently was well up for it' he said, and Sue was even more confused than ever.

FINAL DESTINATION – Somewhere that would be difficult to find i.e. off the beaten track, somewhere where they would not stand out, and no extradition treaty would be a bonus, warm – they were both sun worshipers, somewhere that would give them a good quality of life – neither of them had ever 'slummed it' and everyone agreed that they would not be about to start now.

HOW TO GET THERE – Halcyon, for a significant portion of the way at least.

UNUSUAL INCIDENCES – and this was blank – 'over to you Sue'.

The first thing that Sue had done after the first meeting was ring Charlotte, and admitted to her that she didn't have a clue what they were on about', 'I am totally at a loss'.

'I think that I might have an answer to that' she said, 'you may not have noticed, but my living standards haven't dropped since Franklin 'disappeared'. About six months after they set sail (and just before the bank was 'reluctantly' about to start slashing his salary cheques) a very nice gentleman rang me from a very prestigious investment management group, which was of course long after that bitch had stopped investigating us all, and asked me _'if I wanted my dividend payment as a lump sum or as a regular monthly income'?_ I assure you that I didn't have a clue what he was talking about. When I told him that, I heard him shuffling some papers, and then he came back to me and explained that _'it looked like the initial moderate investment had originated via a solicitor many years ago, 'probably a bequest' that he had received, and had invested it for a rainy day – 'it was so long ago, perhaps you have forgotten about it.' Because it was a high risk, fixed term investment, over a considerable period of time etc., etc., wisely invested etc. etc. it had now reached maturity, and although it was 'a joint account' it was also an 'either/or, 'either of you can claim it', he said. He explained that I could have a lump sum of 'oh my god' or a monthly income of 'Jesus H Christ', and if I took the monthly income (which he strongly recommended), I would still be eligible for lumps sums periodically._ I chose the monthly income, it would more than compensate for Franklins reducing salary cheques, so he took my new 'single name' bank account number – you will never guess the amount of problems I am having with any 'joint' accounts – and within days my first cheque arrived'.

'What a wonderful surprise' Sue said 'clever Franklin, I bet it was a weight off your mind'.

'Surprise, yes, wonderful, I'm not so sure - last month I rang the group up and explained that I would like to explore the possibility of taking a small lump sum – to get 'Arthur?' a new car - well the receptionist said that there was no 'very nice gentleman' employed there, and she had never heard of that type of investment, I must have the wrong company. Panic or what – then an hour later the nice young gentleman rang me back, apologised for the that idiot of a receptionist, 'she's new' he said, as if to say that explains it all, 'and how much was I considering taking as a lump sum?' When I told him he said 'is that all?' Then he asked me if I wanted a new car as well – and perhaps a holiday, 'as it would hardly affect the monthly income – in fact I was due to have my annual increase shortly and that would more than cover it', and lo and behold the money was in my account in two days'.

'I still don't understand why you are worried?' She asked her friend.

'Well, I was still a bit worried so I rang the Company back again with the same spiel, but first I asked the receptionist (it was a different lady) how long she had been working there, 'nine years' she said. I received the same reply as before. I then said that I was becoming senile and please don't tell a sole that I have called, and she promised that she wouldn't, all she had to do was fill out a telephone enquiry slip, 'company policy', but it only went on the computer, 'it's a statistics thing', she said.'

'Computers hate me' I screamed, and started to cry (thanks to my amateur dramatic training).

The receptionist's Aunt was fortunately in a nursing home (fortunate for me, not for her Aunt) she said, with 'rapidly progressive dementia' so she fully sympathised with her and promised 'not too this time', 'and it is a lovely nursing home' she finished with, although Charlotte thought that her Aunt most likely didn't realise that.

'What should I do Suzie?'

'Absolutely nothing at the moment' she said, 'and don't tell a sole. Would you like to come out here for a quick flying visit – in a private jet, I would like you to meet some very nice people'.

'When' she asked.

'Tomorrow' Sue said - I had told her about El Campo's 'clipper' service from London's City Airport in the docklands and Charlotte suddenly grasped the urgency of the situation.

Charlotte had a few other items on her list, but nothing really conclusive, most of them could be put down to 'good housekeeping management' on Franklins part, updating insurance policies (but nothing dramatic that would draw attention to them), minor adjustments to direct debit methods of payment etc., showing a sudden interest in the house maintenance – like having the gas boiler changed to a D.B's one (if you don't know what that means – don't ask) when it hiccupped once, engaging a gardener – as he was far too busy, what with his new job and the boat. There was nothing unusual about any of them – if they had been spread out over years – but they all happened within six months, then she remembered that he had also suggested 'separate bank accounts' to 'simplify things' he said, but when she vehemently refused to even discuss the suggestion he dropped it. 'That was definitely the road to ruin, marriage wise' she said.

Sue's list was shorter, at the same time as the 'little' things were going on in Charlottes household, Franklin apparently had told Shaun that his bank was advising larger account holders to tidy up their 'affairs', and were providing bright young things to advise them how best to do this, although apparently he had added that the said bright young things did have a sheaf of policies and other bits and bobs in front of them (that required extra charges) at the same time. You don't get 'owt for nowt' in the banking industry, 'but I will do it for you for 'gratis', and according to Shaun, the first thing that he suggested was 'separate' bank accounts.

Their business accounts were separate, but in the good old days, just after the wedding they did the 'final' commitment and became as one, finance wise, but even the dastardly Detective couldn't fault their decision for changing this arrangement, if there was ever a marriage heading for the rocks it was theirs, it just looked like her husband had arrived on them first. Sue said that she was past caring at that time and just signed everything that he put in front of her, just giving the papers a cursory glance to make sure that she was not signing away anything significant, although a month or so later he had realised that he may have been a tad inconsiderate and offered to make a standing order from his personal account into hers, 'to cover household expenses.'

'I don't want or need your blasted money' she had said, which was more than true, so the matter was dropped.

There were a few small matters that again could have been deliberate timing or just coincidence, and as they discussed these Charlotte contacted Franklin's ex-secretary and whispered quietly to her for a few minutes then hung up. When they finished with Sues small list Charlotte interceded, 'I've just had a word with Laura, Franklins Secretary, no directive from above and no bright young things. She was starting to become a believer as well, but she was dreading where that might lead her, especially as she was now firmly in a relationship with Arthur, 'and what about the money, was it legal?'

David finally asked them both if there was anything else, however insignificant that they could remember, what they had come up with so far was of great help, especially Charlottes new income – Itza would definitely be getting his teeth into that (who on earth is this Itza that I keep hearing about, she thought, perhaps it is a paper eating Alsatian) he said, but was there anything else that they could think off, 'any odd bits of behaviour, or anything out of character.

Sue hesitated for a second, and David quickly picked up on it, 'anything - however insignificant you may think it is'.

'Well there was the matter of my first car' she said.

'Now that is really going back some time I thought' as she continued, 'one day, just before they bought Halcyon up to Wroxham he (Shaun) had been whispering down the telephone in the hall, - nothing new in that, that is why I was getting paranoid - whilst I was in the kitchen feeding the dishwasher, and I saw, in the reflection of a mirror, him write something on the pad that we keep by it, and then tear it off and put it into his wallet. Bearing in mind my paranoia I found a pencil and lightly rubbed the side of the point across the next page in the pad, just like they do in the movies and it revealed quite clearly the 'plus' sign then the numbers 960 (+960), nothing dastardly, just the registration number of my first car – SUE 960, I will never forget it, she rambled on, not realising that no one was listening to her, it was one of the early mini's, the ones with the doors that had sliding windows, a cable that you had to pull down on to get out of the damn thing, a pocket in the door designed to take a bottle of Gordons Gin and I used to call it......'.

'Maldives' Maria shouted.

'No, Lady Penelope because she was pink', then she realised that they were not all captivated by her reminiscences. What on earth had the Maldives got to do with her car?

David grabbed a piece of paper; it was the list of places that either Shaun, or both of them together had ever visited during their time together (he had asked for it earlier), and they had visited there once, just after they completed University, a celebratory holiday, but she hadn't been overly impressed, it was too flat for her liking – and he circled the name.

He then grabbed another one, Charlotte's list – again he circled the name.

After a bit of hunting he found a printout of a web page headed **'the best non-extradition countries to become invisible in'** – a tongue in cheek web site, but beggars cannot be chooses - searched around for a few seconds, found what he was looking for and circled it as well.

Then, as we all watched in fascination (and as we had nothing better to do) he headed to the thick pile of DELIBERATE DISAPEARENCES and started to search through, but Caroline slapped his hand away and went straight to the requisite page and handed it to him, saying 'alphabetical', and looking to the skies for divine intervention.

Charlie then looked at Sue and said 'a bottle of Gordons Gin?

She almost gave him a big fat kiss, on his cheek of course, and said to the rest of the table, 'at least one person listens to a lady when she is talking, and what's this about the Maldives, and Charlie looked to the skies for divine intervention.

'+960, that's the international dialling code for the Maldives', David said, it might mean something or nothing' then quickly scanned the sheet of paper that his wife had handed him. After a few seconds he said 'it certainly ticks a few of the boxes, a lot more than most, let's keep it out. We are going to have to start somewhere soon, and this is now one of the front runners', and then Sue put it to the top of the pile.

'That reminds me - he called Whisky a stupid Mutt, he's not - he is a pure pedigree, I just don't have his papers', and the rest of the table looked for divine intervention. Sensing their pregnant pause she continued, 'around that time we were having a very rare evening in, and to save us having to actually communicate in anything other than grunts we decided to watch a quiz show, I quite like them – they improve you knowledge' she said.

'And may very well shorten your life if you don't get to the point' I thought.

Well, Whisky and I were doing fairly well, definitely better than 'him', when the question _'what is the National Currency of the Maldives_ was asked. Well I had no idea, so I asked Whisky if he knew. I had been there, albeit a very long time ago, and am pretty good at remembering those sorts of things, but Shaun believes that the US Dollar is the only currency worth taking abroad, so I was most surprised that before Whisky could even try and answer the question, he said _'how do you expect that stupid mutt to know that it is the Maldivian Rufiyaa'_ then he went even more quiet than usual, as if he wished that he had kept his mouth shut.

'Are you sure he said _'the Maldivian'_ Rufiyaa? David asked.

'Yes I am sure, I was totally gob smacked (I think that's the word isn't it?) that he knew the answer, but even if I had remembered, I would have only said 'the Rufiyaa'.

'Exactly' David said, 'that's Banker talk', and placed the piece of paper squarely in front of him.

Sue and Charlotte then looked at each other and nodded, and Sue quietly said to me 'please don't think us rude but if there is nothing else, can we both be excused. We have decided that neither of us wants the stress of what is going on. If you find out anything, either way, please let us know, but other than that please keep us blissfully ignorant'.

I could see where they were coming from, to us it was a glorious mystery/adventure but to them it was a major part of their lives, they had gone through enough in the past few days.

David reiterated that there was still no positive proof either way, it was all circumstantial at the moment, but he thought that it was a wise decision to make, and he would keep me informed every step of the way if either of them got curious.

I stood, to leave with them but Sue put a hand on my shoulder and said, 'you stay darling, I think some major decisions are about to be made, anyway I want to take Charlotte for a ride on the railway'.

'Just as long as you don't get one of those blasted tee shirts', I shouted after them.

An official gift shop had been set up in the 'Grand Central Station' selling 'approved' merchandise, but outside several 'entrepreneurs' were selling other items, including tee-shirts with my photo superimposed over a steam engine, and **I've just been 'pulled' by 'Randy Andy'** on the front of them, and **and the Doctor says that it will take weeks to get my knees back together again** on the back. 'Please, my name is Andrew!'

Due in part to the rising demand from the general public to see what was going on behind the walls of El Campo (the other part was to give Marcus something else to do) a huge length of 15inch gauge miniature railway track had been laid around the place. There were kilometres of tracks, an engine shed, a picnic area with a small amusement park, a signal box (AKA the Airfields Control Tower), and a raised spur the wound its way high above, and out of the way of flying balls, from the golf course, all watched over by David's beady eyes (and hundreds of camera's). The miniature railway engines (exact replicas of the real things – and not so miniature) had a huge amount of track to play on so they built up surprising speeds, especially the steam loco's, although for safety reasons, and so as not to distract me if I was playing a round of golf, only electric trains were allowed over the golf course. It was proving to be a huge tourist attraction, bringing valuable grockles into the surrounding areas, but it could all be bought to a grinding halt if I appeared in the grand central station, unless I was covered from top to toe in oil and soot (driving one of the 'shielders' – my favourites). Even hopping on at one of the other halts was now causing problems so the only way for Sue and Charlotte to indulge themselves (at a subsidised rate of course) was by themselves, almost.

### ~~~~

Chapter 13

Itza finally tracked down Charlotte's 'investment dividends', and not surprisingly despite what she had been told her payments originated from an account set up less than a year prior to her receiving her first payment, and it had originally been funded by a 'Certified Cheque' issued by Franklins bank, although his team had been meeting serious difficulties finding out any further information about its origin, until another 'Certified Cheque', issued by another Bank arrived into the account, giving Charlotte regular payments (and quite a few lump sums) for many years to come, and Itza finally had his first real clues to work on, both cheques were made out by different banks – but from the same banking group, and they were for amounts that were fractionally below amounts that would automatically trigger alarms in certain types of accounts. That was the good news, the bad news was that the group was one of the largest in the banking world, truly global, if whoever was behind this went international they would be impossible to track down, irrespective of the amount of funds that he had at his disposal. Fishing around, not always 100% kosher, he then found a cash withdrawal that had taken place several months before Halcyon came out of the water, from a branch in Birmingham for a very similar amount, and again a 'Certified Cheque' had been used. It had been done 'by appointment', and not surprisingly the branches entire video system had gone down 'for routine maintenance' that very same day, so there was no video images of the transaction, although they did have a name, Mr Michael Leigh. He had produced his Passport to obtain the cash but had declined to let them photocopy it, infringement of his civil & personal liberties – as covered by section X, paragraph Y, Line Z in the Banks own rules and regulations.

David and Charlie were on a flyer, they still did not have a lot to go on, and they may well be chasing two sets of individuals going about their own business, but the origins of Charlotte's payments were no above board, and they suspected highly illegal, the route by which she received them told them that. The actual payments to her did originate from the investment group, but they doubted that any legitimate person within the group actually knew anything about them, it was all being done electronically, and they also suspected that the 'very nice gentleman' had at least one contact very close to the receptionists. 'Although', Itza said 'through some very fancy computer work Charlotte was not doing anything illegal', she had all the correct paperwork, (computer generated by the company), was declaring the payments to the tax man and to all intent and purposes everything was above board, the setup verily impressed Itza and his crew.

'Right' said David, 'ready for a road trip?'

'At last' Charlie said, he had never unpacked.

Caroline and Maria were left to hold the fort, and to chase up any leads that they may generate, and they both thought that David was looking better than he had done in a long time.

They started at the beginning of the trail, at the Marina in Great Yarmouth, and at first the owner was a bit reluctant to answer any questions, but after Detective Sargent Smythers produced his warrant card and explained that they were on the 'cold case' section at the 'local nick' he became more helpful, and to help smooth the way they then ripped that 'other Detective' to bits for a few minutes – it was a 'man thing', 'she had been a right snotty cow', the owner said.

'Still is' Charlie – oops D.S. Smythers said, and then out came the notebooks, but not for long. He confirmed everything that had happened pre and post refit, confirmed the physical description of the boat, agreed that all their photos – of the Halcyon, Shaun and Frankie were accurate images of them, except that the Halcyon now had 'that' very small 2 stroke outboard on her stern. 'Old' he said 'it was an actual an antique, mid 1930's 3.3 'horse' Johnson. Beautifully restored and very 'in keeping' with the age of the boat, but I had to have a serious chat with them, it was OK to be 'historically accurate' on the broads, but if they were thinking of going out into the North Sea, in anything but flat calm conditions, it was woefully lacking in the power department - 'it was more than likely a contributing factor in what happened to them'. 'The only thing that spoiled it for me was that huge hydraulic mounting bracket that it was clamped to – very twenty-first Century, I think you could clamp an actual 'horse' to it, and 'no he didn't see any extra supplies being loaded on board', but he did admit that he had been in his local at the time that 'that other one' had estimated that they might have arrived. 'I always am' he said, with not the slightest hint of embracement.

'His liver' David thought, and glad to see that though they may both be 'brainiacs', they were still capable of making the simplest of mistakes.

Climbing back into their rental car they joined the traffic on the A12 and made their way over the water, and then quickly branched off onto the A143 and found a place to park close to Breydon Water, and this is where their flight into the realms of make believe started. They had all 'hypothesised' until the cows came home, but finally they started to convince themselves that how 'they would have done it' was:-

=

**Leave the marina** in broad daylight, making sure not to raise any suspicions.

**Disguise** the Halcyon.

**Prepare her for a long sea voyage**.

**Cross the North Sea and English Channel** making for the French Waterways.

**When in the Mediterranean** traverse the Suez Canal then Red Sea, Gulf of Aden, Arabian Sea, fighting off pirates as they went.

**Arrive in Maldives** and set up home.

=

'Easy peesy lemon squeezie', Charlie had said, 'I'll go and give Thomas Cook a ring', but they both knew that they were on a wing and a prayer, the whole thing was a long shot at best.

Shaun and Frankie had successfully completed the first stage, **leave the marina**. A very 'under equipped, even for a short trip' Halcyon and crew had departed from the marina in broad daylight, leaving not a hint of suspicion behind them (apart from the groceries and oversized outboard mounting bracket - but they didn't know that).

Now they were on to stage two, **disguising the Halcyon**. Just because they had said they were off into the North Sea it was highly unlikely that they were not, and the entrance to Breydon Water was well out of the view of the marina staff, so no prying eyes would see them disappear down it, but before the storm arrived they had to have changed her appearance, and the quickest way seemed to be to change her colour.

Caroline overnight became an expert on marine varnish and after a surprisingly short time she found out that if you applied a particular brand of quick drying paint directly onto marine varnish, without rubbing it down first, it would start peeling off again within a matter of weeks, so they started to comb the river bank to see if they could 'get lucky'. They had scoured maps and satellite images of the area and spotted a couple of short strip of bank that 'they would' tie up to if they wanted to carry out some 'out of the way' maintenance.

At their first stop Charlie 'got lucky'. He spotted, stuffed well into the bracken a little distance away from the bank, and fortunately for them, but not fortunate for him, surrounded by very sharp thorns, a bundle of faded green canvas, and he remembered that Halcyon, in a few of her photographs had a green canvas main sail cover, faded by time.

He pulled out the rotting, mouldy, slug covered bundle and opened up his treasure trove. Calling David over they gingerly went through the rusty, sodden, very whiffy contents. There was nothing in the trash to say from whom, or where it had come from, but as 'circumstantial evidence', it was a gold mine. After a quick phone call back to base everyone agreed that the sail cover had 'most likely' come from the Halcyon. It had the right dimensions and had the right fastenings but unfortunately there were most likely thousands of them fitted to similar sized yachts scattered around the world (but not within a couple of miles from Yarmouth they all thought). In the centre the sodden mess was a plastic bag – full of masking tape and brown, paint marked paper, the type used for covering large areas when painting – and two empty tins of paint that were from the right manufacturer, and again they came to a unanimous decision – if you wanted to stand out in a crowd, PURPLE was a good colour to use. Another colour was Dark Blue, which was printed on a sticker on the polythene bag, which was coincidentally of the right strength and dimensions to have contained a replacement sail cover, which could easily be bought on-line. Another interesting find was a small plastic bag that had attached itself to a clump of the sticky tape, with a manufacturers name on it, along with a parts number. It took Maria ten minutes to find out that its former occupants had been the 'Mast mounting hardware' for a very sophisticated, but very lightweight 'broadband' Radome. Via a conference call they puzzled over this for a minute until 'smarty knickers' Caroline, who was also becoming quite an expert on anything to do with the Folkboat ('David - when you come back can we get one – pretty please') said 'fractional sloop'.

'Qué' said Maria, lapsing into her native tongue.

'The Folkboat's jib, that small triangular sail in front of the mast, unlike most modern day sloops has a 'fractional' jib, it does not go all the way to the top of the mast. In 1942 when the Folkboat had been designed they decided that crew comfort outweighed the slight loss in overall performance (there were no high powered winches in those days), and so it only goes about three-quarters of the way up, above that is the ideal place to locate a modern lightweight 'broadband' radome (that was another item on her wish list).

Charlie, who had done his fair share of recreational sailing at the JSSC (joint services sailing centre) at HMS Hornet at Gosport aboard the Armies Nicholson 55's asked 'is there any mention of a Bosun's chair in any of the paperwork?

'Yes' came back Maria a few seconds later (apparently everything was still in alphabetical order). _'One replacement Bosun's chair'_ , I wondered why he could have one, but not the rest of the crew?

Charlie explained that a person would sit in the Bosun's chair then the mainsail halyard (the bit of string that pulled the big main sail up the mast) would be clipped onto it, and then a crew person would winch the first person up the mast (very P.C. everyone else thought), 'it was definitely the worst ever 'brown trouser' experience that I had ever volunteered for', but then he continued, 'if you wanted to quickly alter the 'long range' silhouette of a boat, fitting a radome would be an easy option, especially if all the screw holes were pre-drilled.

'Wouldn't it be very 'hairy' going up the mast of a small boat' David said after he had bid his wife and Maria a fond fair well and hung up, 'the poor bloke would be swung from pillar to post'.

Charlie started to closely inspect the branches of the only stout tree in the vicinity, 'there', he said, pointing to a fork in the branches, 'see that old scar, 'if' a person during a mast refurbishment attached an additional 'halyard' to the top of the mast (he doubted that anyone would notice it) then ran it around a stout object i.e. this fork, in this tree, then pulled the whole boat over slightly, it would stop the swing, I've watched 'grotty yachties' doing it loads of times.

'But the radar wouldn't work' David said, just knowing that he had just said something really stupid, but not quite knowing what.

'So what, it's just to change the look of the boat at this time, not to take them around the world, mind you my guess is that the cable to it had already been inconspicuously pre-installed onto the mast during the refurbishment, and it would only take a second to connect it. Connecting the other end though might be another problem though'.

Taking photographs of the 'crime scene' and plainly marking the site they took the 'evidence' back to the hired car and sealed it as best they could, but it still stank to high heaven.

They were now onto the third stage, **prepare her for a long sea voyage** , and they had previously contacted every boat yard and marina with a maintenance facility between Breydon Water and Lowestoft to see if they had worked on any Folkboat, of any colour just before/just after that fateful storm. Most remembered the storm but none had worked on any Folkboat's around that time, although they could not contact four of them.

They rented a boat (boatyards are meant to be easily accessible by water – but they are usually a nightmare to find by land) and quickly checked out the first one. A telephone number stuck to the gate was quickly contacted and they drew a blank, the second one was empty but a neighbour said the owner had died, that was very inconsiderate of him they thought, and set Maria the task of tracking down any relatives. The third one showed no sign of life, or useful telephone numbers but as they turned to head back to their boat they heard a tool drop in the closed up workshop. Trying the small side door they found it unlocked and inside they found the ex-owner repairing his car. He had finally retired 'through ill health' so although he was not open for business he still used the workshop occasionally as it was his, 'lock stock and barrel', 'why, do you want to buy it?' he asked hopefully.

David described Halcyon, with and without the disguises, and Old Tom, as he introduced himself as, said, 'you mean 'Sabre', lovely little boat, pity about the owner.

As they settled down to a nice cup of tea Old Tom filled in a few cracks, 'Mr Mycroft, not sure about his first name, booked Sabre 'in' in April, over the phone, but said he wasn't sure when he could bring her down, but it was really important that when he arrived that I could start right away, no excuses about weekends, holidays, family commitments and so on – he said it should be within the next three or four months, and would give me a 'weekly retainer' to ensure this, so I agreed, I like getting money every week for doing nothing, and lo and behold every week there was an envelope in the letter box with Sabre on the front of it and a pile of fivers inside, so no need to bother the tax man eh!

Was the envelope hand written? Charlie asked.

'Nope, typed'.

Charlie was thinking 'handwriting analysis' but he doubted if any of the envelopes had survived anyway.

'Would you like to see them' he asked, 'I have a touch of OCD and collect all sorts of odd things' he added, and looking around they both thought 'touch???'

'They were indeed typed, not printed by a computer, and the letter r was twisted on all of them, 'who on earth typed anything in the world of computers', David though, then spotted a bank logo in the corner, and he thought 'banks, for old legal documents'.

'The evening before he arrived' Old Tom continued, 'he phoned me to tell me that he would be arriving about ten o'clock the next morning, that a transit van would be in the car park, and its ignition keys would be in the letter box, very James Bond'ish, would I please unload it and start unpacking what was inside.

'Can you remember what was in it' David asked?

'It was a bloody Aladdin's cave, it was, and it was all top of the range stuff. A new 9'9 HP Mercury Four stroke outboard, with all the gadgets on it, a state of the art self-righting life raft, Honda generator with flexible exhaust pipe, loads of electronics, you know, sat navs, integrated navigation and auto pilot system, radar, fathometer, radio – even a flat screen television. Then there was new foul weather gear for both of them....'

'Both of them' David asked.

'Yeh, there was definitely stuff for two, but I never met the other gent – the gear was definitely for two gents', then he was off again, as if reading from a list, 'two lots of clothing for each of them - stuff for around here, warm stuff, and stuff for the warmer climates – lucky devils, and god knows what else.

'It must have weighed a ton' Charlie said.

'Not really' Old Tom said, 'apart from the new donkey and life raft the rest was all very 'state of the art', miniaturised and lightweight, there was even a wireless wind transducer to go on top of the mast.

'The power consumption for that lot must have been phenomenal' David interrupted.

'Nope' it was all the latest low consumption stuff as well, besides they had a pair of those new lithium-ion batteries to keep it all ticking, it fair gave me a heart attack when I saw it all, after all I'm a grease monkey not a computer geek'.

'Did you have to get any geeks in to help you' Charlie asked?

'Nope, that was the funny thing; right in front of me when I opened the van up was a computer printout of what I had to do – literally from unloading the boxes to presenting my invoice. Except for the heavy bits – I used my son, Young Tom to help me with them – I was just following the dotted lines, which incidentally were already marked out when I had to cut anything. Then all I had to do was bung the stuff in, weather proof it, connect the wires and cables that were already there and Bob's your Uncle - it was 'plug and play', lovely bit of stuff, it all was. The hard work was hi pressure hosing the hull down and applying their new 'warm waters' anti-fouling, it stank like a skunk as it went on but dark blue was a much better colour than that mucky red undercoat.

### ~~~~

Chapter 14

That was stage three completed.

The Halcyon/Sabre had quietly lain up for ten days whilst its surrounding area had gone wild, first with the storm then the air and sea search for them, and David had wondered why the coastguards hadn't contacted Old Tom, until he mentioned that the grumpy old sod had hardly ever left 'his' office. He almost never spoke, mostly just nodding and pointing, and all he ever did, apart from constantly checking up on him, was work on his computer and answer the phone, 'it must have been his mate, it was hardly ever for me'. David thought, a voice is just a voice on the phone, especially when stuffed full of cotton wool, or whatever the Amateur Dramatics Society used to disguise their actors. When shown a photo of Franklin he had said 'it's a bit like him, but not very much. He had a bloated face, was a lot heavier, and had different coloured hair, and did I tell you that he had a limp that kept on changing legs: he must have been ambifooterous'.

They were almost certain that they were on the right track, but they still had no irrefutable proof that Shaun and Franklin were still alive, but at least they now had a solid description of Sabre, purple coach roof and all. The day before completion, whilst waiting for the last few things to dry Old Tom had a touch of guilt. It was Sunday and Mr Mycroft had taken the day off – from 'what' he didn't have a clue – and he had started preparing his invoice, which was, as expected, ever so slightly 'padded', so to ease his conscience he rang the local 'seven days a week' chandlers and had them send round the correct top and undercoat paint for the coach roof, he had noticed it starting to peel, it had been a right 'bodge job', and the chandlers must have been relieved to see the back of those tins because they never charged me 'delivery', they were caked in dust. I had all the gear to hand so it took me next to no time to peel off the original paint, it literally came off in strips, sand the varnish smooth and spray on the new stuff, and it was a proper neat job, paintings my speciality. I thought it might at least put a smile on that buggers face, but no, as he got out of his taxi the next morning I told him, and he almost had a heart attack there and then, and said that he couldn't leave me alone for five minutes, he never spoke to me again for the rest of the time that he was there. He just checked the last few things, plugged his laptop in and when he was satisfied that everything was working – for the 'enth time, he came and snatched the invoice out of my hand. I had told him what it was likely to be a couple of days earlier so he just went below for a couple of minutes and then returned with a brown paper envelope stuffed with 'fifties', it fair made my eyes water, but I still checked it all, and it was correct to the last penny, so as he got ready to cast off I couldn't resist it, I shouted 'what, no tip' and he shouted back 'don't jump off a moving bus': and his teeth fell out.

They returned the hire car, hopped onto a passing helicopter and hitched a ride to the Calais-Dunkerque airport (it was definitely the comfortable way too **cross the North Sea and English Channel** ) After apologising to Aaron for lumbering him with the smelly sail cover and its contents, after all it might be needed for evidence in the future, they disembarked and dumped their bags in David's 4x4, which Russell had waiting for them, and 'no' he could not drive them through France, neither of them liked travelling 'in the back'.

A master Mariner had used the departure date from the boatyard, tide tables and weather and wind records and predicted which day they would have arrived in Dunkerque (Dunkirk to the older generations), which in his opinion was the best place to start from if 'he' was going to travel the 'Canals'.

After leaving a disgruntled Russell with Aaron ( _he didn't like travelling in the back seat of a car either, but he did like travelling in the front seat of an Executive helicopter –it was the ultimate boys-toy)_ they hired a high speed RIB inflatable (a large zodiac type boat with a solid hull and a brace of very powerful outboards) and started to scour the port. It was a very large port, hence the very large outboards and after a couple of days of 'cold calling' they were starting to doubt their hypothesis, although it was helping Charlie's French no end. His new home base was a secluded farm in French speaking Quebec, Canada, which by a quirk of zoning laws was split down the middle by the Canadian – US border, although it didn't seem to bother anyone.

David was at the helm so it was Charlie that spotted a small public jetty that had a crane hanging above it. They had checked with the Harbour Master and the private marinas but there was no record of Sabre or any similar sized boat arriving on or about their date, that really would have been too easy, so they guessed that they were trying to keep a low profile.

David eased the cumbersome rib into the gap below the crane and switched off the engines, and as if by magic a disgruntled crane operator appeared and started castigating them in fluent French, but his tone slowly calmed down with every twenty Euro note that Charlie peeled off. When the requisite number had been reached he then became very amiable, and after he told them that he might just be able to remember such a yacht about that time, and the number doubled. After they relocated to a nearby café and ordering cognacs all round – he didn't think that 'drinking and driving' a crane was a crime hereabouts – he continued. 'If it was the same boat then one of them had booked his services over the phone a couple of days earlier – which was a bit unusual, boats usually just turned up, but he needed a good mast transport company, they obviously didn't want to travel the canals with it overhanging the bow and stern, one thing less to worry about in the locks, 'did I know of a good one'. The one that I like is from Port Napoleon at the mouth of the Rhône, their drivers always have short shorts and bit t*t's. I remember giving him the number and their pickup and trailer was waiting when they arrived, they must have really motored it up from the Med, although it was a very nice pickup/trailer/t*t's combination, if you know what I mean (Charlie didn't think that yachts were his favourite 'objet dʹart'), and I think I will remember that purple coach roof coming towards me for years. Surprisingly they were pretty good at preparing the mast, especially for a pair of woofters, usually they just look at me and wait for me to do it all – I'm a crane driver not a friggin boat rigger – and it was soon on the trailer, although they nearly flattened the radome, 'I don't think they were used to it being there'.

No, he didn't remember any names or have any paperwork; he ran a 'cash in hand' sort of operation, 'simplifies things for the taxman', he said, ('what taxman' they both thought), but he did have the business card of the mast transporters; they would have records for insurance purposes.

It took another day to get the information out of the Company, Maria thought that 'client confidentiality' must run a close second to 'state secrets' in France, but after promising to sleep with the accounts clerk the next time she was in the area – she had a really nice voice and Carol was being a right bitch lately – they had six new pieces of information.

1)-Halcyon/Sabre was now Petra, a very nondescript name, easily forgotten they all agreed. It was lucky for them that Old Tom had fiddled the invoice, if he hadn't, then they would have peeled the paint off at sea and she would have become a nondescript boat as well.

2)-A Mr M Leigh had signed the paperwork for the mast transportation, and it was the same signature that Mr Michael Leigh had used when cashing the Certified Cheque in Birmingham.

3)-Mr P Mycroft had signed for its fitting back on board Petra.

4)-It had taken them ten weeks to travel between Dunkerque and Port Napoleon, it usually took between 24 and 34 days, depending on which routes they took, they were obviously getting into serious 'holiday mode'.

5)-They were now 'coming out' in public.

6)-They both had new Passports, they knew that Mr Leigh had had one, and up until now assumed that the other one also had one but still they could not put a face to a passport, and that was another thing to go on the list, how did they get their passports, it's not easy for law abiding citizens to obtain forged papers.

David and Charlie almost went into holiday mode as well, trying to connect Mr Mycroft and Mr Leigh to Shaun and Franklin, they followed the waterways asking questions as they went but got no response to any of them, and they were not surprised, there were to many routes that they could have taken, - via Paris or the Champagne trail – and the myriad of interconnecting canals, mind you it was doing wonders for their tans.

At Chalon-sur-Saone in southern area of France David decided to switch mode of transport and signed up for a river cruise, he wasn't going native, now that all the different routes had merged into one river perhaps he would pick up on something from the water whilst Charlie persevered ashore.

The next morning, whilst the rest of the passengers were off learning all about Burgundy wines (red wine gave him a headache) he quizzed the crew and nearby boats, but to no avail, then retired to the sun deck to partake of some horizontal motivational exercises, the type that he usually carried out with his eyes closed and to the accompaniment of gentle snoring, 'and he was being paid for this' he thought as he gently drifted off, well almost.

'There is a God' Charlie would have said if he had been there, as June and John plonked down on the loungers next to him. Of the hundred or so empty ones on the sun deck they chose to sit next to the only one that was occupied.

'Mind if we join you?' June asked.

'I didn't realise I was coming apart' he almost said (or words to that effect).

'Burgundy wines give John terrible gas' she continued, 'and as this is the fourteenth time we've done this trip we thought that we would give it a miss this time'.

David partially opened one eye as he picked up on 'fourteenth time' and resisted the temptation to tell them to 'go get a life' and thought 'back to business': Charlie would be pleased.

The 'seasoned travellers' prattled on for a good twenty minutes before he managed to get a word in edgeways, followed quickly by thirty more before they could interrupt, 'I am not on a holiday 'per sé' (he liked that saying) it's a working trip, I am trying to find two men who might have travelled this way three years ago, I know it's.........'.

'Are they 'bum bandits' her husband asked, obviously he was not the P.C. one of the duo.

'I strongly suspect that they may be in a relationship of some sort', David tactfully said.

'I would try the 'Puffda Palace' then, if I were you', he continued 'I don't know its proper name but it's a couple of miles downriver from here, you can't miss it – it's pink, and always packed with blokes holding hands, terrible, got loads of photos of them: would you like to see'. David doubted if they even noticed him leaving as they happily ooh'd and ahh'd at the photos of obviously the highlight of their cruise.

When David informed the purser that he was leaving after only one day he went ballistic. The day before, when he had come on board this same gentleman had informed him that the only cabin available was the super deluxe suite –although the boat seemed half empty to him – charged him the full 'per person' amount, as a single person supplement, and ten per cent on top of that as a 'late booking' fee. Quietly, and for the first time in his life, for personal gratification that is, he opened his jacket and revealed his secret weapon. With his total refund in his pocket, and 'next time please bring your wife – or mistress – or both' (he was French after all) ringing in his ears he went to find Charlie.

John was right, they couldn't miss it, the 'Carnival Hotel' was anything but inconspicuous, what they couldn't do was get into it without a reservation, or so the guards on the gate informed them. The guards obviously pulled steam rollers uphill for a hobby, and both of them had seen less secure gates protecting maximum security prisons, but they were no match for Charlie's wallet. Producing the appropriate documentation Charlie said 'Inspector Smythers and Detective Sargent Williamson, New Scotland Yard – attached to Interpol, we would like to see the Manager 'now' – please. David just opened his jacket slightly; it was business, although he didn't like only being the Sargent.

Parking the car at 'Réception' they entered the hotel, although it had obviously been a very fine Châteaux in its previous life, and started to walk across the vast reception area towards the desk, where a 'very nice' gentleman was waiting for them. They noticed that the décor and furnishings were top quality, that the maids and female members of staff were wearing superb, made-to-measure uniforms – although they were perhaps a 'little' short, and there were several couples walking hand in hand around the place. The only thing that the place lacked was the feminine touch – like a living, breathing feminine female.

Charlie was the first to speak, as they reached the half-way point he jokingly whispered 'Quick, give me your hand; we are too conspicuous'.

What came out of David's mouth Charlie hadn't heard since their early days in the Army, and that was only the morning after several gallons of home brewed 'Scrumpy' had disappeared down their throats. He looked sideways at his best friend and knew instantly that 'he was way out of his comfort zone', big time.

\----------------

The Queen, the Prime Minister, Parliament, the Chief of the General Staff, his Colonels, the Majors, the Captains, the Lieutenants and even the snotty nosed Subalterns could all tell him what he could and could not say to, do to, or how to treat – or not - 'Homosexuals' or the myriad of acronyms that they went under. What they could not do, not one single one of them, was tell him how to feel inside his head, they could control his mouth and actions, but not his thoughts, and he always knew that if he was ever to be 'kicked out', it would be in connection with one of 'them'. Fortunately his line of work kept him clear of them the majority of the time, and somehow 'touchy feely' rag heads didn't seem to bother him too much when he was on assignments, 'it was normal for them', but when a Captain started to 'touchy feely' him in the Black Mountains he had to be airlifted off, in a critical condition, apparently he had 'fallen down a slope' he had said when he finally regained consciousness, although the medical evidence didn't back it up. His Colonel had met him personally when he had finally finished the exercise, and far away from prying eyes - and ears he had a 'full, frank and meaningful' with him. The Captain was going to resign his commission 'for personal reasons', 'and it was only because he (David) was of more use to him than a mediocre reservist that it would go no further, but unfortunately if anything like it ever happened again he might not be able to protect him', but it was clear to David that 'the Colonel' had his own thoughts as well, although he doubted that he gave a damn what the Majors and below thought.

\---------------

Charlie had heard the rumours, and had asked him about them once, but he would never ask again; it had nearly cost him their friendship.

They reached the Reception Desk and were greeted by an extremely camp Manager(ess), 'please darlings call me Wilfred', and David wasn't too bothered by his OTT (over the top) behaviour, he knew that it was most likely for effect, but after 'identifying' themselves he slid the two professionally digitally altered photographs of Shaun and Franklin, that matched their last known descriptions (minus the 'Am Dram' props of course) in front of him and he almost fainted. Collecting himself he asked 'who are they, are they dangerous criminals?'

Thinking on his feet David realised that Wilfred knew them both and said, 'they haven't done anything wrong, they are not going to be in trouble, we are hoping that they can help us with a cold case.'

The Manager, now back in his stride minced 'oooh do you know Harry Bosch then'.

David was confused but Charlie had read most of Michael Connelly's books about the fictional detective that had ended his time working 'cold cases' in L.A., so he said 'know him, he taught us everything we know' and with that Wilfred limply tapped Charlie's wrist and said 'you are awful, but I like you'.

David thought that 'if you had done that to me sunshine, you wouldn't have liked me - after I had decked you'.

David continued, 'they came down the waterways about three years ago, we don't know their names but they may have unknowingly have witnessed something, but they are not in any danger, and they might even be in for a substantial reward – can you or any of your staff remember seeing them, and maybe even remember a name'?

'We can do better than that Chief Inspector' (David was now happy – he was senior again), said the first genuinely female voice that they had heard since arriving at the gates, 'we have records and videos going back five years', and an elderly lady, who must have been a stunner in her heyday, came out of the office behind Wilfred, and he was not a happy little bunny, he glared at her and tried to usher her back inside.

'I will handle this Madame Beauchamp' Wilfred said.

'I believe NOT Wilfred' she said, 'I am in charge of the files and the security videos', then she dropped her voice, stroked his arm and purred 'I will only show them the bare necessity', and escorted them into her office. Wilfred tried to follow but Charlie blocked his way and said 'I'm sure you are sooooo busy sweetie, we can manage', and closed the door.

They sat around her table and Adéle introduced herself, and as they made small talk she furiously wrote on a pad, then showed it to David,

Walls have ears

He nodded that he understood, and so as Charlie and she had a fairly drawn out, but mundane conversation, eventually ending with her giving them a photocopy of the important pages from Shaun and Franklins new passports, Adele and David had a conversation by notepad.

Are you really policemen?

Taking a gamble David showed her his correct business card, identifying him as David Williams - Director of Security - and his telephone number, but he quickly added Maria's e-mail address, hoping she was on-line, and they were almost instantly talking electronically, and after David received 'a 'routine' call from the office', Maria confirmed who he really was.

Are they in trouble?

_Not sure – but I doubt it, how did you know that we are not the police?_ He wrote.

Body language, a Sargent is not senior to an Inspector – but you are.

I've watched you on CCTV since you arrived.

Do you hate them as much as I do?

' _Them'_ _not_ _Michael and Paul?_

_With a vengeance_ _._ He wrote.

We are sole mates (as I think you English say)

I have cancer and will be dead in six months,

if I give you something will you promise to protect my Daughter and her family.

Yes – Mr Michaels is behind us 100%.

She quietly slid some files aside, lifted a panel up and removed large eternal hard drive, the size of a thick book, along with its power cable and handed it to him, and he quietly placed them inside his brief case.

She then transferred data from a DVD, that she took from a shelf behind her, onto a small USB Flash memory stick, and David slipped it into his jacket pocket.

This will show you why Wilfred remembered them.

He fell in love with Michael.

I hate them but can now do nothing, they have me on tape and said they might even hurt my baby.

I will send Maria a long E-Mail explaining everything but she must not reply, they might see it first.

Ok, anything else? He wrote.

Yes - please don't look at the Hard Drive – I don't think you are strong enough.

Please try and help Michael and Paul.

XXX

David nodded then she stood up and said 'sorry you cannot take that with you', to the wall and shredded the notes.

They then politely thanked her and left, Charlie clasping the proof in his hand. On the way out Wilfred glanced surreptitiously at the piece of paper, and purred 'it's been a pleasure to be of help to Interpol, and please give my very best regards' to the Secretary General, he is sooooo dashing'.

As they made their way towards the exit a 'typical' businessman entered, spotted his equally typical 'friend', dropped his briefcase and ran squealing over to him, They then 'lip locked' of gargantuan proportions, and nobody around them batted an eyelid.

David froze; THIS was what caused him grief, the blatant public display between two 'supposedly normal' people (he didn't even find two women doing it a turn-on). What they did behind closed doors he couldn't care less about, 'out of sight – out of mind' but in public, especially in front of children repulsed him, and 'church weddings' threw him into a frenzy, if they must 'confirm' their relationship then enter into a civil partnership – again behind closed doors, but not in a place of family worship. To him weddings in a church were for heterosexual sex couples who wanted to bring children into the world 'in the eyes of God', not for 'same' sex couples to publicly flaunt their life style choice, not caring a damn about onlookers - and allowing them to adopt children, when so many caring heterosexual couples were being turned down for ridiculous reasons: God knows how it would affect the kids in the long run. One evening, when Andrew and he had been recovering in Hospital they had been watching television and two men had kissed on screen, it had even been before the 'watershed' time, and both of them had been revolted.

'Freedom of expression' Andrew had said resignedly.

'Blatant sexual deviancy', he had replied, and Andrew realised how much it disgusted him.

The next day Andrew has called Itza and instructed him to go through his portfolio and remove any investment that promoted homosexuality, whether it be broadcasting companies airing programmes that contained it, advertising companies that publicly displayed it or holiday groups that provided 'get away' deals for the 'more discerning' client, and it had cost him a surprising number of 'safe' investments, but he 'put his money where his mouth was'. That was another reason why he would willingly 'take the bullet' for him.

Charlie grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the Hotel. Sitting him in the passenger seat, he knew that his friend was in no state to drive, he quickly started the heavy vehicle and headed towards the gates, hoping that some 'person' would step in front of him, not that 'they' unduly bothered him, live and let live was his mantra, it would be for what 'they' were doing to his friend.

As they drove off David's mind was racing, and as the gates opened up in front of them it had reached the bit 'in there' about 'why can't normal people nowadays give open shows of affection to same sex friends, without the risk being labelled something that they are not', and glancing at his best friend he realised just how lucky he was to have had him in his life, and how much he genuinely missed having him around, and instinctively he reached across and patted his friends arm and gave it a squeeze. He knew that he was indeed a very lucky man.

Charlie glanced into the rear-view mirror, watching as the 'Puffda Palace' disappeared from view and thought 'I wonder if it's contagious?' and then drove nonstop to El Campo, the Hard Drive needed to be checked out by a computer geek to make sure that it was safe to go in to, and mostly they travelled in silence, lost in their own thoughts, the only time they really chatted was concerning the photo copy of the passports that Adéle had given them, they now knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that Shaun was 'Michael Leigh' and Franklin was 'Paul Mycroft', against all odd the Gods had shone down on them.

### ~~~~

Chapter 15

David and Charlie arrived at El Campo in the early hours, and after they had a couple of hour's kip we all assembled in the conference room, but if they were expecting any sympathy then they were fresh out of luck. They had alternated driving and sleeping every two hours as they cut across the Southern France, through Avignon and Perpignan and then down the AP-7 and into our neck of the woods, so half the time they were actually sleeping on the job. 'I' on the other hand had been dragged out of bed before the dawn chorus had even begun to tune up: as I repeatedly say, I am definitely not a 'morning person'.

First on the agenda was Adéle's E-mail to Maria, but just looking at it gave me a headache so we put it aside. Then it was the external hard drive, but that was frustratingly winging its way to a geek somewhere, we would have to wait until it was checked out (and several backups of its contents made) before we could access its files, 'well perhaps not the faint of heart amongst us' David said, which left us with the memory stick.

Maria provided us with one of her 'DayGlo orange – one-time use only' laptops, and it looked like any other lappy (apart from the colour), except than it had no wireless capability, and a built in aversion to allowing itself to be connected to another computer or network, although it did have its own dedicated printer. It was pre-installed with word processors, spread sheets and every anti-virus programme known to man (and woman), so if there was a virus or Trojan horse embedded in the memory stick, that Caroline was gingerly inserting into its USB port (half expecting it to explode) then nothing bad was going to happen to the rest of my network, and within minutes we were in stitches. Adéle had obviously created the original DVD as a labour of love as it showed Shaun and Franklin AKA Michael and Paul arriving, and Wilfred fawning all over them, but especially Shaun. There were then different scenes, from different angles (and occasionally different speeds, making it like an old Charlie Chaplin movie), and spread over a week or so, judging by their quick change acts, but what became clear was that:-

Wilfred was besotted with Shaun.

Shaun was not besotted with Wilfred.

Franklin was quickly becoming very pee'd off with Wilfred - and it all culminated in a classic 'handbags at dawn' showdown.

Shaun and Franklin 'entered stage left', approaching the reception desk and Franklin said something to another receptionist – there was no sound, just security video – and Wilfred came flouncing out of Adéle's office and a shouting match of epic camp proportions ensued, with much flouncing and limp wrist-ing, but finally Shaun and Franklin got fed-up with his antics and tried to 'exit stage right', but Wilfred wasn't having any of it and minced after them. He then tapped Franklin on the shoulder (as a sort of challenge) who turned, and then Wilfred starting flailing away, bouncing up and down, and jumping back and forth and even pirouetting once, and generally giving a good impression of Muhammad Ali – on speed, but the only thing that was in any fear of being hit was a passing mosquito, then Franklin decided that he had really had enough and delivered one straight right to Wilfred's jaw (and 'not a very good one', 'it wouldn't have knocked the skin of mi' grannies rice puddin' Charlie reliably informed us - just enough to poleaxe him), and the last view they had was Wilfred spread-eagled on his back, and someone frantically waving a paper serviette above his face. No wonder they remembered Michael and Paul.

They then settled down to Adéle's E-mail, and that took the rest of the morning to work through.

\----------------

She had joined the hotel as its new 'secretary/security' (a newly created position) during its latter days as a normal(ish) hotel, it was neither AC nor DC, and with the advent of new technology she quickly became 'virtually irreplaceable', 'and such a sweetie' so they kept her on after the 'transformation' to DC only (and also because they both had their tapes). She was such a sweetie because her one ambition was to 'cure' every pervert that she could lay her hands on, her father had 'caught' the problem late in life and left the family to fend for its self. The then Manager knew a little about the hi-tec (for its day) system and managed to record her during some of her 'therapy sessions', but unfortunately not before she had done the same to some very 'influential guests'/ members of staff, and hidden the tapes away. They had then co-existed fairly amicably, just as long as her 'curing' didn't involve the more 'special' guests, but then Senior Staff changed and things started to turn nasty, and recently threats were starting to be made against her daughter and her family - and to put a cap on it - she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Realising that her mission in life was doomed to failure she started to collect all her tapes, cassettes, CD's, DVD's and finally computer files together and install them (along with a short note i.e. names, dates, who and/or what with etc.) in her little black box – the external hard drive, in the hope of 'doing something' with it, but a few weeks ago she was told 'six months maximum'. She then started to panic, as her remaining time on Earth was disappearing fast, and she wanted to spend it with her grandchildren, and when a kindred spirit, in the form of David arrived she took the plunge, 'please make this all worthwhile, 'wiki-leaks' has nothing on some of these files', and then she gave the details of her family. 'They will have Maria's E-Mail address, and I will tell them to let her know at the end, then you must do with them (the files) what you must. People think they are so 'quaint' – but some are so vile'. XXXX

\---------------

They reconvened that evening when the Hard Drive arrived, and it had a note stuck to it – 'You would have had it back sooner, but I was sick all over it when I opened a file to check everything was OK': they (as in 'NOT ME') drew lots on who would be handling it. The files were explosive, metaphorically not physically, but of absolutely no use to them in their current quest (but they were definitely going into 'pending') so David and Charlie (after Charlie burned his 'Interpol' identification, and all the cloths that he had been wearing the day before – whilst wearing two pairs of surgical gloves, 'just in case 'it' was transmittable by touch') embarked on what turned out to be the final leg of their mission.

### ~~~~

Chapter 16

They arrived in the Republic of the Maldives on a commercial flight, after staging through Singapore, with return tickets dated thirty days hence and a wallet full of US Dollars (both conditions of entry), and found a suitable hotel ('suitable' as in expensive, as they were on expenses) with adjacent rooms – David's idea not Charlie's – and set about trying to find a needle in a haystack. Our team of experts had been busy contacting every investigative service, marina, hotel and government agency that they could in the Maldivian yellow pages and on the WWW., following the conformation of Shaun and Franklins new Surnames at Dunkerque, and also Halcyon's new name, Petra, but to no avail. They knew the date that the Petra and the pair had left Port Napoleon, but the search had then gone cold, any colder and they would have been in thermals, but they 'kept the faith' and headed for the Maldives, 'they had acquired one set of forged papers' Charlie said, 'why not two', 'I have at least six' he finished with. TMI we all told him.

'Let's start at the beginning' David said, after they had settled in and met in the bar half an hour later, 'where would they arrive, assuming they still had Halcyon?

'At a marina?' Charlie said stating the obvious.

'Which one?' David continued.

'Don't know'.

'If you had unlimited funds and wanted to make an impression – after all I think that they intend to set up home here, they cannot afford to be seen as destitute or furtive' David added, he had been 'thinking' on the plane, as Charlie had snored beside him.

'The most expensive one' he said, finally seeing where David was heading, so they went over to the reception desk and asked them where it was.

The young lady pointed out of the glass doors and said 'that one', and across the road were hundreds of boats bobbing about in the sunshine.

They looked at each other and thought, 'this is to easy' and they almost ran out of the hotel.

It wasn't, they asked everyone that they saw if there was a Folkboat in the marina, and the usual answer was either a blank look or 'what's a Folkboat', then they asked them if they had seen a boat named Petra, again blank looks or 'no', so they took to walking the boards, and it was getting very hot.

Just as they were getting close to collapse they spotted a clinker built boat, but both its hull and coach roof were painted white, and it had an aluminium mast and spar, but it did have a radome three quarters of the way up its mast. They looked at each other, as if to say 'they could identify virtually any weapon at a hundred paces, but a Folkboat at one, not so sure? They peaked through a clear panel in the white spray dodger that enclosed the cockpit and spotted a myriad of gauges and dials, 'it was getting better' they both thought, and then Charlie went to its stern and said 'what bloody stupid plonkers'.

David went to see what had caused this unusual profanity to escape from Charlie's mouth (they were usually unprintable) and there on the stern in beautifully hand painted gold lettering was HALCYON.

After taking a series of photographs on their phones they sent them off to El Campo and then made their way to the Marina main office to enquire about the boats owners.

'Mr Granger, lovely man – if you know what I mean (nod and a wink), and so's his friend Frankie'.

'You wouldn't be able to give us an address or telephone number would you?' David asked, but unfortunately it was against company policy – 'more than his job was worth', 'but he often saw them coming out of that funny looking building over there', and snatched the C-note ($100 note) out of David's hand.

It was indeed a funny looking building, they both agreed that the owner would have to pay them rent to move into it, but inside the entrance it wasn't all that bad, 'quite funky in its own way', they agreed, although neither of them had any idea what a funky building looked like. They went up to a large polished board that displayed the names of the Companies that the owners had bribed to move in, and surprisingly there were quite a few, along with their floor and office numbers. Nothing caught their eye, no name or Company title gave them even the slightest hint of a connection to Shaun or Franklin, or even the mysterious Mr Granger, and just as they were about start digging deeper Charlie grabbed David's arm and dragged him behind a potted plant: frantically hoping that David would not get the wrong idea.

'What's the matter' David said.

'It's Shaun' he whispered 'he might see us'.

David gave him one of his 'dick head' looks and said 'he's never met us, he wouldn't recognise us if we jumped up and down in front of him'.

As they watched Shaun escort a client (presumably) to the door, shake his hand and bid him fair-well they realised why the searches had not provided any recent hits, Shaun was now Shaun, short blonde hair and designer stubble and all.

Shaun headed towards the lift so David followed him, and once inside Shaun pressed the third floor button and politely asked David 'which floor?'

Gambling that there was more than one company on the third floor David said 'same as you'.

'Oh you are coming to see us, are you a new client?'

David calmly said 'no, but a friend of mine might be interested, he asked me to call in, as I was in the area, and see if you have any literature about yourselves', as his sphincter went into spasm.

'Loads' he said, as the doors glided open, 'what section is he interested in?'

'I'm not sure' David said, deciding that saying as little as possible was now his best policy.

Shaun then went around the rather grand reception area gathering up a small pile of glossy brochures and magazines, and reluctantly a rather crumpled business newspaper, and handed them to David and said 'there's a rather nice article about us on page two'.

It was obviously the last copy that they had of that newspaper so David said 'would you like me to drop it back when he's read it?'

They were now friends for life as Shaun blushed slightly and admitted that it was indeed their last copy, 'would it be ungracious of me to have it photocopied for you'.

'Not at all' David said, and Shaun handed the paper to the 'reception person' and told him to make a copy of the article. The reception 'person' was the only thing slightly out of kilter since they had first seen him in the foyer, but any 'normal' visitor would most likely assume that the Company was just a very good 'equal opportunities employer'.

Shaun then collected two business cards from the counter, handed them to David and said 'we usually drop into the Shamrock Bar for a quick snifter before we go home, usually between six and seven, most weekdays, you and your friend are always welcome to join us' and David felt the kilter, kilt even more.

When David arrived back in the foyer Charlie asked 'get anything useful?'

'Everything but his inside leg measurement' David cheerfully replied, more than pleased with the outcome.

'I think I'll move rooms' Charlie thought.

### ~~~~

Chapter 17

The Shamrock Bar was a very small, very expensive and extremely discrete 'Gay Bar', and as I walked in two days later, with David and Charlie now back at their 'day jobs', well not Charlie – he was still a ghost, the place fell deathly quiet, obviously my fame had precedeth me, or at least my image on the telly.

'Good evening' I said, to know-one in particular, and walked over to Shaun and Franklin, they were back to using their Christian names but not their surnames, and politely asked them if I may join them, and the look of confusion on their faces was complete.

Shaun had not only recognised me but also his new 'friend to be' AKA David behind me, and now guessed correctly his profession, 'Err, yes of course' he said, and I sat down opposite them as David and Charlie 'assumed their positions', and not a customer in the establishment had yet to speak a word, or even take a breath for that matter, since I had entered.

Placing my forearms on the table in front of me, I intertwined my fingers and looking squarely at Shaun I said – 'Let's get straight to the point shall we, can I marry your wife?', and if I had given them a million guesses each, I doubt if either of them would have come up with that opener, and it totally ruined his 'street cred' in the bar.

I took the absence of a reply as good news, they were both probably in shock, so I suggested that it might be more prudent to retire to a quieter place, 'perhaps your offices?', and continue our conversation away from prying eyes and ears: they both nodded benignly, and they almost had to be led by the hand (your job David, Charlie would have thought) as we made our way to them. Using the literature that Shaun had most helpfully provided I now knew that they had captured a 'niche' market which combined both of their skill sets. After an 'initial investment' which Itza easily tracked down to a 'Certified Cheque' they had combined their talents and not only created, but then kept the market, giving them a 'very impressive capital turnover' Itza said. Despite what David and Charlie's opinions were, they had set up business in a newly opened, superbly situated, award winning architecturally designed building – which they rented for an eye wateringly annual sum, easily the highest 'per square meter' rental on the whole Island, and they had the whole floor. Finally, after we had all seated ourselves comfortably around their huge glass table in the conference room, the sight of familiar surrounding started to sink in and they both slowly 'engaged brain' again.

'Are we going to prison' Franklin asked.

'Does Suzanna know I'm alive' Shaun asked.

'I don't know yet' I said in answer to the first question, not only to Franklin, but to Shaun as well, 'it depends on many things, and it won't help your case if you try and lie your way out of your situation, we know too much. Come clean with everything, and I mean everything, and we might just all end up happy', and to Shaun in particular I said 'no, but she now has her doubts, but nothing more than that at the moment, both your wives have asked to be kept in the dark until something concrete comes up.

'So you going to tell them now?' they both said in unison.

'That really depends on what transpires here, and now', and we all settled in for a long night, although I for one was not bothered by that prospect, my body clock was still on UK +1 time.

'How did you find us, we thought we had covered our tracks pretty good?' Shaun asked us.

'Not good enough' I said, and started with the thing that started the ball rolling, the groceries, 'if you hadn't been spotted in the supermarket buying them, then the police would have signed off on the investigation and Sue and Charlotte could have gone to the Coroner and asked him to perform an inquest, _(who would have then had to ask the Secretary of State for permission to 'carry out an inquest without a body', and once they had his report they could then make an application to the courts for a 'court order' compelling the registrar to issue a death certificate 'in the absence of a body and a doctor's medical death certificate')_ \- it would have been a long winded and complicated procedure, but at least there would have been 'a light at the end of the tunnel' and they could have got on with their lives acordingly.

They were both mortified that a little thing like going into a supermarket could result in 'you being here today'. 'We only went in for a couple of things, we already had loads of tins and dried stuff in the van, but when we saw all the things that we would miss on the trip we sort of 'got carried away' and had a silly half hour, we were so 'up tight' with everything that was going on, that we just needed to unwind a little, and to cap it all, on the way back to the Halcyon we thought we might get spotted taking the bags on board and had a 'reality check' and dumped them beside a wheelie bin, perhaps some needy person would find them'.

Then we explained about the unexplained items on the re-fit that started to cast doubt on their disappearance, then the outboard mounting, the sail cover, Old Tom fiddling their invoice and the mast transport company.

'But what pointed you to here? Shaun asked.

'Two things, when you answered a quiz question on TV about the Maldives currency, if you hadn't insulted Whiskies intelligence then it might have slipped by Sue, and you made a note on the notepad beside your phone, she was getting paranoid and 'rubbed' it and came up with +960'.

'How on earth did she remember that number for all that time, it could have been in connection with anything'?

'One, you were secretive, and two her first cars registration number was SUE 960'.

'I remember that one' he said 'it was pink I think, and......' but nobody was listening.

'At that time it was all circumstantial but it was still compelling, and our gut instincts told us all that you were not dead, so we all sat down and asked ourselves the same question 'how would we go about it if we were in your shoes, and we just followed out instincts', and then I told them the string of events that led David and Charlie here, finishing with, 'you might still have gotten away with it if you hadn't changed Halcyons name back, we still didn't have any solid proof that you were here, and David and Charlie would have only given the Maldives a little while, then they would have been off to the next best place.

'We fell in love on the Halcyon, and both loved the name, this far from home we didn't think it would matter': TMI.

'Why do you think so many white collar criminals get caught? I asked, and received a matching pair of blank looks, 'because they think that they are cleverer than the Police that are chasing them (which they usually are) so they will never get caught, and despite their higher I.Q's they end up making very stupid and very basic mistakes, that no self-respecting dumb criminal (or police series fan) would ever make'.

'I think you have just insulted us' Franklin said in a resigned voice, 'but I think we deserve it'.

'When did you finally realise that we were definitely alive' Franklin continued (Shaun was obviously the silent 'partner')'

'We got the definitive proof because you had decked Wilfred' David said.

'That raving poofter deserved it' he almost shouted'.

'Kettle calling the pot black' David thought, and the rest of us just nodded in agreement.

Once we had answered their questions, including how their families were coping (I skipped the bits about Arthur, and Sue's bath towel), I needed to fill in our gaps, after again explaining the consequences of lying or prevaricating. It finally dawned on them that they might not come out of this covered in doggy doo doo, so we ordered in Pizza's and I started with the biggy 'where did the money come from'. With Itza's help we could now make a fairly educated guess, but it would be nice to see if my threats had had the desired effect.

'I might as well tell you the whole story' Franklin said, and as you might have already guessed we fell in love when we started boating together, Shaun had been caught by Suzanna once before, and that had shaken him up more than being 'outed', so he was paranoid about anyone seeing us', I'd had a few experiences at University so I wasn't too hard to 'catch' and we started to just have a nice time, then we started day dreaming about 'what if', you know what if we could run away and live together, what if we won the lottery etc., then things just sort of fell into place. First, in my capacity as a mere Bank Manager I caught a con man red headedly trying to get some money out of a dead account, you know the type of account that has had no transactions in it for years, but had loads of cash just sitting there. I had him fair and square, but with not a lot of solid evidence (although he didn't realize it), so I held off having him prosecuted, but on the clear understanding that this 'very nice gentleman' was now mine, and then had a word with Shaun, who quickly found out that the dead accounts were very well protected against illegal withdrawals – at a local level – then I was promoted.

It was a little while after the financial crash of 2008, and heads were starting to roll left, right and centre, so when I was summoned by 'the head' head office, I thought that I was for the push as well, but no - I was being promoted – big time, as several layers of my superiors had disappeared 'almost overnight', I think someone on high must have fancied me, he joked ('most likely' I thought), but during my 'induction' I was given the wrong security portfolio, it was obviously meant for someone way, way higher than me. Remembering my 'very nice gentleman', on impulse I copied it. It was photocopier proof, but not proof against my latest gadget, an iPhone 3G smart phone. It was my birthday a few days before and Shaun, the big sweetie, had camped out all night to get me one, when Apple released them the previous week. The 3G had the new built in camera, and after a visit to the toilet I returned the portfolio, and they crapped themselves big time.

'We will all loose our jobs' they moaned, but I magnanimously agreed not to mention it 'this time', and of course they didn't either.

With the portfolio's help Shaun wrote a programme that enabled me to scour every dead file in every bank within the group, and now knowing the 'trigger' amounts that would signal an automatic warning, it was easy to arrange for Certified Checks to be issued, and with all the passwords at my disposal 'we are 'flame proof', no one (including Itza) can trace us' he said, almost proudly.

Itza had made a tentative connection with the dead accounts and Certified Cheques, but it was nice to fill in those blanks.

'Now that we had unlimited funds at our disposal we started to think seriously about our future, and one night we did a 'what if' search for 'which countries do not have extradition treaties with the UK' on line ('the same one as us' I thought) and spotted the Maldives, we had both loved it, both our wives hated it, and after a lot of research ('including what currency' I though) we plumbed for it, it is perfect'.

'After Shaun withdrew the first load of money out we were committed, and started to make serious plans, Shaun created programmes for everything, even Halcyons second re-fit.'

'I know' I interrupted, 'I've seen the printout', and he just shook his head, 'and everything went smoothly, or so we thought'.

We researched The Maldives immigration policy and realised that it could create a problem if we just arrived by plane (you and us both we all thought) they needed all sorts of things, so we thought 'let's arrive by sea', we both love the Halcyon and we could have a lazy sail here, after all Folkboats are sailing around the world all the time, that's why we had that bulky engine removed ('I know that to' I thought) and we could just keep extending our stay until the authorities realised that we were really nice people that could contribute to their economy, by the way our Company, after the initial set up costs of course, is 100% legal. Initially it was just to get us into the country permanently but we are now really enjoying working together'.

'Duly noted' I thought.

'What were those secret compartments for' Charlie asked, it had puzzled us all for some time, forged passports and cash didn't take up that much room, and then we got an answer that we didn't expect.

'For the machine guns' he said matter-of-factly, 'we thought we would have to sail past Somalia, they have pirates you know.'

'Yes I know' I said 'it was indirectly through them that I met Sue'.

'You know that she has a photograph of you hidden away in her underwear draw, you dressed in your flak jacket and tin helmet and all' Shaun interjected.

'Please, it was a very expensive Kevlar one, and what were you doing in her underwear draw anyway'? I thought, and then I thought 'please God please erase that thought from my thoughts - forever'.

Franklin blithely continued on, 'we had a customer at my old branch, he was a thug and made no bones about it, so I searched his address and we sat outside his house until he went to his pub, it took us three evenings of watching but we passed the time quite nicely,' (EEEW we all thought) and then Shaun, he was so very brave, went in to try and talk to him, and he turned out really nice. He dropped his phone on the floor just as Shaun entered and it fell apart, but Shaun quickly fixed it for him, and before long they were talking about guns and forged passports' ('as one does with a total stranger in a pub' I, and undoubtedly David and Charlie thought). He finally got us two sets of 'original' passports, two AK47's and a long sniper thingy, with loads of magazines and boxes of bullets, more than we could ever get into the compartments, but I think we paid over the odds for them as he threw in a Glock 20 (it was almost new he said, it had only been used once) and two flak jackets for free, but they were only green, not like your nice blue one, and one even had a hole in it'.

'Christ' I thought 'they would clash terribly with your Bermuda shorts'.

'Sh*t' David and Charlie though, 'they could start a small war', followed by 'perhaps a SWAT team or two will be paying your friendly neighbourhood arms dealer a visit sometime soon.'

'But we didn't need them, when we got to the entrance to the Suez Canal we found a half empty cargo ship that could lift Halcyon on board and take us to Singapore. We told the Captain that if we were attacked we would scare them off for him, but I don't think he believed us because it took him two days to stop laughing (I wonder why?????). Just before we arrived here we threw them all over the side, although we did have some fun with them first,' (pity you didn't shoot yourselves first' Charlie though, he was starting to have a major 'sense of humour' failure).

Just as the sun started putting in an appearance Shaun finally plucked up enough courage to ask me about Sue and the 'marriage thing' and I told him a little of the expurgated version, and he seems genuinely upset at the trouble he had caused, and pleased for her, 'We thought that we had thought of everything,' he said, 'and I thought she would be glad to see the back of me'.

'She was' I almost snapped. I was now getting tired, my body clock was switching to Maldivian time and I was ready for a McMuffin and then bed, which was waiting for me at the airport, ready to start its engines, but instead I diplomatically said 'I don't know about her but I will be, the pair of you have almost destroyed the lives of two lovely ladies, and you did it without giving it a second thought, just so that you can cavort around here in the sun,' and I stood and indicated to David and Charlie to start collecting up all our bits and pieces, and then started to panic, 'do they have a Ronald McDonald in the Maldives?'

They both looked at me in amazement, 'but what are you going to do with us?' Franklin asked.

'Nothing, YET'. 'I want to get some sleep, have a think about it all, talk to some people and then make a decision, **and only then** , unlike the pair of you, I or someone representing me will be back - just get on with your lives for the time being and await my decision'.

'Will you be telling Suzanna and Charlotte?' Shaun asked.

'Most likely, but it really depends on if they 'want' to know, at the moment they have open minds on whether you died at sea, perhaps they would like to keep it that way', and I turned to head for the door, but then I remembered something 'do you still have your real passports?'

'Yes, they are in a box in the company safe, in the main office, it's safer than at home', Franklin said (but not safer than a bank vault you dickheads', although it would have only put off the inevitable for a few hours – I was now really ready for my bed)

'Show me' I said, and he led us to the safe. Opening it up he reached in and removed a large heavy box with a combination lock on it. Opening it he went to reach inside but David slammed it closed again, he had memorised the numbers and he picked up the box, 'anything not relevant we will send back to you' he said brusquely.

'But it has all our 'stuff in it' Franklin pleaded.

'Welcome to the real world' David snarled.

'You can't leave us here like this 'Shaun whined 'you've got to tell us what is going to happen to us, are we going to prison?'

I had finally had enough of their self-centred whinging, and turning to them I said 'now you know how your wives have felt for the last three years, they have been in a prison of sorts, not knowing where you were, and not able to get on with their lives'. 'If it was solely up to me I would throw you in one myself, and throw away the key, but I suspect that you may just enjoy it in there'.

As I disappeared through the door Shaun, true to form burst into tears and David, tired and drained just looked at him with total disgust on his face, and Charlie looked at David's face and knew that all was well with their little world.

### ~~~~

Chapter 18

On the flight home, even before we had a good day's sleep David opened the box and we sorted through it. It contained not just their original passports but their first forged ones as well, the wallets that they must have had on them when they had set sail, with their driving licences, credit cards and the usual things that men lug around 'just in case', two Certified Cheques – ready for cashing, two envelopes crammed with cash (one in pounds sterling, one in US Dollars) and a pile of blown up photographs of the security portfolio's codes. We pondered whether they had taken copies of the copies, but all three of us came to the same conclusion, between the two of them they had an alarmingly high I.Q. count – so we doubted it very much. Just before I snuzzled up in the fresh Irish linen an idea began to form in my overtired brain so I quickly contacted five people, made some quick arrangements, and was sound asleep before my head hit the pillow.

When we touched down at El Campo I was met by my three new visitors Itza, Vicente and Sandra, who, along with Sue and Charlotte were the idea that had formed in my sleep deprived brain just before I entered the land of nod. Sue and Charlotte were still in residence (somewhere?), 'they weren't going anywhere' they said 'until I got back' (oh to be so popular), Itza hopped on a plane as soon as I told him that I had the answers to the 'Maldives situation' but 'it was too 'complicated' to discuss over the phone', and he had landed three hours before us, Vicente came running as soon as I mentioned that I might soon be going to prison and last, but not least, was a call to Sandra, and she was soon on her way, being as there were no pressing wars on at the moment (and I promised her something that she couldn't resist), but Sue and Charlotte weren't there to greet me, Sue had locked herself in a spare bedroom as soon as Sandra had set foot inside Mi Casa, and Charlotte was giving her friend 'moral support'.

First things first, sort Sue out.

Knock, knock -'Go away you 'bar steward'' (I think that is what she called me) she screamed 'how dare you bring THAT woman into our home' (I liked the 'our home' bit).

'She's going to help us get married' I shouted through the door, and with that it flew open and she launched herself at me, wrapping her legs around my waist and started smothering me in kisses: 'if only all my problems were this easy to solve' I thought.

I left Itza and Vicente in the capable hands of David, to 'bring them up to speed' (ugh), left Sandra peeling off her clothes by the pool ('memories' I thought) - she was definitely here on a 'need to know' basis only, the less she knew about Shaun and Franklin the better I would feel, then I took Sue and Charlotte to visit Sheila (using Aaron and the helicopter rather than prolonging their agony by going by boat), it was the solemnest place on El Campo, and by the time we arrived they were both quietly crying into my shoulders, one each.

After we sat down I said 'I'm sorry to have to talk to you together but the decisions that you have both got to make now must be totally unanimous, there are no 'individual' solutions.

'They are alive' Sue said, it was not a question but a statement.

'That depends on the both of you' I said, 'here and now you have to decide whether they are 'alive', in which case things must take their course'.

'Vincente', Sue said.

'Yes', 'or they died in that storm'.

'Sandra?' she said.

'Yes, but she must never know the truth, after all she is a reporter, her only reason for being here is to enable us to get married because they 'did' die at sea.'

'If either one of you, wants either one of them, to be alive - to face up to their responsibilities, to punish them, or for whatever reason, I must warn you that 'things will never be the same again', for them, and for you, especially for you Charlotte,' and turning to Sue I continued 'If it is what you want Sue, then we will still be married, but after your divorce, but not in your lovely church, you would be a divorcee'. At this moment in time I am ninety-nine point nine per-cent certain that I can make them 'disappear', but if you make that decision, then you must promise me that once we have left this island then you will never, under any circumstances discuss this with anyone, not even between yourselves, or even with me, ever again, they will have unfortunately 'died at sea', and we will take it from there.'

'Is Charlie a hit man?' Charlotte said, with a hint of panic in her voice: but only a hint.

'Not on this side of the Atlantic' I said, before engaging brain,'

'If they are 'dead', will they be punished?' Sue asked, it was an odd question to ask, but I saw what she meant

'Oh you have got to believe it' I said, and in unison they said 'Itza'.

'Where are they, what are they doing' Charlotte asked.

'I am not going to answer those sorts of questions until after you have made your decision', they are irrelevant at the moment, and I won't be going into any great detail either.'

'That is cruel' she said.

'Maybe, but some answers may cloud your judgement, others I may not be able to answer for whatever reason, it really does hinge on you decision. I think that you should both stay in here and talk it over. I will wait outside - and take your time - I still have a lot of ZZZZZeds to catch up on.

They looked at each other, nodded and Sue said 'don't bother, they have both been 'dead' to us for a long time, we have no wish to resurrect them. What do you think we have been talking about whilst you lot have been gallivanting around the globe?'

'Perhaps _'what I would say when I saw your tee shirt'_ , I said.

On the front was **I've just been 'pulled' by 'Randy Andy'** and on the back **'and hopefully my knees will never meet again'.**

They both decided that they wanted to know 'everything', warts and all, or as much as I could tell them without involving others, and most of the time I talked to them both together, but there were a few private aspects of the investigation that I thought would be prudent to keep the other one in the dark about, so I spent a little time with each of them separately, and Charlotte's first question to me was 'What about my 'dividend payments?'

'I think that from now on they best come under the heading of 'never to be discussed again', but I promise you that they will continue for as long as you want them, and you might even get your annual increases if you need them, but I seriously doubt if you will get any seriously large 'lump sums' unless you fall on hard times, but at least what you get will be 100% legal.

'Via Itza' she said.

'Yup' I said.

'From you' she asked, with a frown on her face.

'Nope, from whom they should come from, but don't be too enthusiastic with your demands, they now have to work very hard for a living, but Itza will always be there to advise you'.

My final act before we left the island was to light a brazier, and when it was well alight I handed both of them an envelope, and inside were their respective 'late' spouses real passports and wallets, 'I thought this might give you some sort of closure', I said.

Charlotte opened up Franklins wallet and looked longingly at the strip of credit cards, 'I don't suppose I could keep one, or maybe two or three, for old times' sake' she said impishly, knowing quite well that they all had to be consigned to the flames.

'Afraid not' I said with a smile 'but now you can have as many as you want in your own name', and she flicked them, one at a time into the fire.

Sue opened her envelope and tossed the wallet straight into the flames, without a second glance, but kept hold of Shaun's passport. In deathly silence she eventually managed to tear the page with his photograph on, out of the booklet, and tossed the rest into the flames. She then started to try to shred the page, but because of its reinforced plastic coating she caused little damage to it. Still in total silence she took it to a nearby flat stone, knelt down, and holding it steady she started to pound it with a second rock, not even flinching when it caught her fingers. Finally she stopped and started to sob uncontrollably; her whole body heaving and I went over to her and helped her to her feet and picking up the now battered, disfigured and blood smeared page we walked over the fire and I held it out to her.

'I never want to touch another thing that he has ever touched', she said with venom; please throw him away so that we can start our new life'.

I tossed it into the flames of Hades and the three of us watched until it was totally consumed, and Sue, now cuddled into my chest as though she were freezing cold, whispered into my ear 'is he really a hit-man - Charlie'?

'Darling we are not even going there, least of all because if ever something ever did happen to Shaun, totally unrelated to us, then it might come back to haunt us.

'But ..'

'No buts, you have had your closure, now let's go home and start our new life'.

'Tonight?' she whispered hopefully.

'Yes, tonight, you are now 'almost officially' a widow' and we made our way back home.

When we arrived back at 'Mi Casa' ('my house', although I had visited smaller palaces) I sent the girls off to play 'but no more tee shirts – promise' as it was now their 'ignorance is bliss' time, and I decided to leave Sandra 'cooking on grass' as there was no news flash strip on the bottom of Sky News, informing us of a new war somewhere in the world.

I had kept Vicente 'in the loop' from the very beginning, half the time asking legal advice, and the other half covered by attorney/client privilege, although 'TMI' was his favourite cry (although I doubted if it was the same in Spanish) (it isn't – 'demasiada información'). David was also covered, but Charlie was a different kettle of fish altogether. I had finally convinced Vicente that he had seen a ghost after he had 'seen' him around Mi Casa (when I was in the coma), even though they had spent two hours at my bedside quietly talking to each other, but he had finally conceded that he was in his 'private' time, not 'abagado' time, when he had visited my sick bed so his vision was most likely blurred, but I had to agree that if a ghost, any ghost, were to ever reappear at El Campo again then I would make sure that he was in a different Province, or preferably Country at that time, and he was deadly serious, but unfortunately I couldn't arrange it this time so Charlie, to save an embarrassing situation arising suggested that he remain on board the aircraft when we arrived, until it was moved into the hangar, then he could say his goodbyes to the rest of those in the know and then embark on his jet black jet, with no identification numbers or letters on it (they must have washed off in the rain - Officer) and wing his way home, a job well done (or so he thought), and as I made my way to the conference room I could not help but grin at Charlie's parting dig at David. I had picked up 'dribs and drabs' of what had transpired in France; just enough to appreciate what was going on as we taxied in.

\----------------

Charlie hoped that he could make other 'special appearances' in the future, after all if 'Pam can bring Bobby Ewing back in a shower' in 'Dallas' - then perhaps Marie could do it for him in 'El Campo – the movie', and then, as we came to a halt and shook hands, he added 'making up in some small way for what I had done for him and his 'special' friend in the past', and blew David a kiss, then continued, 'anyway, hopefully I will be seeing you all again soon at the wedding, but only if I can be your 'Maid of Honour'

David's face had been a picture, and he nearly fell down the aircraft steps when Charlie moved in to give him a 'goodbye kiss', undoubtedly thinking, as he landed on the tarmac 'Puffda Palace!' - 'I wonder if it was contagious?' He never saw the evil grin that Charlie gave me.

\----------------

I was still smiling as I entered the conference room and took my rightful place at the head of the highly polished table. All the chaos of the hunt had been cleared away, replaced by order and calm, and overseen by Maria, now back to being my P.A. (perhaps 'ex gratia payments' should be added to _'_ **any other business** _'_ I thought as I glanced at Marie, Caroline and David (I also thought of Charlie – but ghosts don't need money), right, down to business.

We had all had ample time to create our own **'what if** ' list, what if **'they had drowned at sea'** , although we had started them after we had known that they were still alive and kicking, and it had continued - **'how can we punish them.'**

Vincente had agreed to wear 'selective' ear muffs for the meeting; and promised that he would hear only what was relevant to him as an abagado (solicitor), and nothing that would violate his Oath.

**David's list was short** , 'castrate them'.

I thanked him for his valuable contribution, and asked for volunteers to carry out the punishment, it was close – six to zero – although Vicente thought we were voting on who wanted tea or coffee, then, after we had all stopped laughing (who's laughing David thought), we got down to the serious business, and again it was fairly short and we ended up with:-

**Confiscate all funds related to the Certified Cheque withdrawals.** _Itza now knew how much had been taken from the dead accounts, so he deducted the cash that had been in the two envelopes in the box from it – they were obviously un-spent withdrawals, or not –nobody was that bothered, along with the two un-cleared Cheques. He then added up Charlottes total 'dividends and loan' that she had received, and deducted that, and what they had actually used was surprisingly low, considering, just over one point six million pounds. He then went into their business and private bank accounts in the Maldives and after making allowances for living/business expenses (after all we did not want them to go out of business – I wanted the rest of my money back) he 'removed' another four hundred thousand, leaving one point two million pounds unaccounted for._

I wrote – £1.2 mil to Itza, get it back from them over 20 years.

**Close down the dead account scam and return all the money** _, and Itza promised to arrange it without creating a storm. (In the near future the whole banking group would mysteriously shut down for an hour, giving Itza's geeks more than enough time to insert their geeky stuff - that would not only return the fraudulently removed funds to their rightful accounts, but ensure that the scam could never happen again)._

**Just in case they had made copies of the codes and passwords: render them useless** _. In the very near future photocopies of the photos would be 'found' in a cupboard by a cleaner at the bank. The bank would never find out who had taken the photos, but they would obviously change the codes post haste._

**Deprive them of their 'love boat'** _,_ _but how?_

**I thought** – return it to Sue – but I doubted if she would ever step inside the cabin again, visualisations, ewwwww, and then I thought 'dick head', it could never re-surface – it had 'sunk'.

**David thought** \- 'C4.'

**Caroline thought** , after glancing at David – I could make nice pretty curtains for 'our' love boat, and think of a new name for it, and then she thought of that cabin – nahhhhh.

**Vincente said** 'who owns it?' he must have had 'selective' ear muff failure.

**Marie said** ''I know', and went over to the boxes of papers that had so recently cluttered my table. 'Aquí lo tienes' she said (I think she said – 'here it is'), holding up the registration papers for Halcyon, it had been in a 'let's bring it along just in case' file, and she said 'Joint, ¿por que?

**Vincente** , who understood Spanish – as he was Spanish, **said** , 'well Shaun is now 'dead' so it is now Suzanna's - has she a spare key?' Maria held up an envelope with 'spare keys for Halcyon' written on it, and shook it – it rattled, 'So if she gave them to someone', he continued, 'then they would become the agent of the legal owner, Shaun (as he is dead of course) could not stop them from doing anything that they wanted to do with it'.

'Radio Charlie to turn back, he will love this' **I said** to David.

'Who's Charlie?' **Vicente said**.

I felt reasonably happy about the list, they would not be gaining financially from the scam, although I would be out of pocket (slightly) until the loan was paid back, and I considered that the loss of the Halcyon to them would compensate Sue and Charlotte 'the harlot', as I now called her (Arthur!!), for 'pain and suffering'.

Charlotte would now receive all insurance settlements due to her, including a handsome 'death in service' payment from the bank, and due to Franklins 'foresight', her mortgage would be paid off and all payments received after the storm refunded. Although these companies should not have had to cover these payments that I was putting on them, mine was a 'victimless crime' as they say, I would arrange for Itza to make sure that future investments in those companies would more than cover their additional outgoings, and as Arthur was quite 'comfortable' Harlots life now looked quite rosy, but I would still have someone checking on her from time to time, to see that she was still O.K.: although if I had to add her proposed new lifestyle costs to the 1.2 million, then I guess it would bankrupt them.

David would be paying her 'very nice gentleman' a visit, to explain the error of his ways to him (and that **we** could prove it), and whilst he was at it he could show him his 'secret weapon' to further ensure his silence: he could put that one down to 'business'.

Sue had never been dependent on Shaun, some relatively minor things would be put in order, but the main thing was that we could, with a little luck, now marry in church (although she would have to cross her fingers when answering some of the questions) which more than made up for any 'out of pocket' expenses that I might incur.

'Now back to Sandra' I thought, she be done to a turn by now, but I would flatly refuse to rub in any 'after-sun': I had fallen for that one, more than once before. My idea was to bribe her with another 'fly on the wall' documentary, but a more up to date one, she had been plaguing me for a while as a lot had happened in my life since we parted, and her answer was 'I would love to, but what's the catch, has it got anything to do with the meeting you have just had?'

'What meeting?' I said, with my fingers crossed, and the ground rules were set: ignorance is bliss.

Sandra was not only a media icon, but also had considerable clout within the industry (she knew were the bodies were buried), and my idea was that if she created enough interest in Sue and Harlot's plight (husbands missing at sea, no bodies, antiquated laws etc.) then perhaps it could hasten up a favourable solution, 'can I mention your involvement in it' she purred: I should have taken notice of that purr.

'Yes, if you think it might help', I said.

\---------------

Within three days PMQ's (Prime Ministers Question Time) was virtually dedicated to their plight. The following day the PM had lunch with the Home Secretary, who later that afternoon asked the Commissioner of Police to pop in for a chat. The next morning the Chief Constable of Norfolk Constabulary had a 'working breakfast' with the Commissioner of Police, and then stormed into his Chief Superintendents office, who then went and reamed a Chief Inspector a 'new one'. By lunch time 'that' detectives waters had broken for a second time whilst on the job, and she left vowing never to return, she much preferred the peace and quiet of screaming kids and the delicate aroma of dirty nappies, but not before she re-submitted 'that' file, but this time there was no hint of an 'inconclusive' on it, and that evening the Lord Chief Justice rang me 'just to let you know that the paperwork will be fast tracked through his Courts')

\----------------

But why should I have been wary of Sandra's purr? In the photograph of Sue that had accompanied her article she was wearing her **'I have just been pulled'** tee shirt (meowww), and I understand that a second one, of her walking away, was vetoed by the editor. Sue had been chatting amicably to Sandra when I came into view, but what I didn't realise was that a few seconds earlier she had taken a step back to let Sandra take a quick photograph of her, 'just to show my son what you look like' she had said (you live next to him you dilliewat), and when she spotted me she ran over (click, click, click) and said 'Sandra's quite nice really, despite what Sheila says'; I was getting used to her new 'best friend' putting in her two penneth.

I left them to 'girlie chat' (or more than likely to compare notes) and returned to my other guests, Vicente was just finishing sifting through 'anything that could be used as evidence against him', and couldn't wait to vanish from El Campo, most likely to establish a cast iron alibi, preferably on another planet, so after a few words he clambered aboard 'Twinkle' and was whisked away by Aaron, wishing that he could fly the helicopter himself, 'one less witness'. Itza was going to stay on for a few days - relaxing – but I very much doubted it, as he was more than likely now going to be having two new clients.

### ~~~~

Chapter 19

Charlie spent only a few seconds back at El Campo with me, before he disappeared off to the Maldives again, but this time with Halcyons keys in his pocket; and it was like a relay race. His plane screeched to a halt, the door opened, he raced down the steps (Vincente was long gone), grabbed the keys from me and was back inside in the blink of an eye – well almost - with me shouting over the engines (compared to Avon's - they were pussy's) about 'extra expenses'.

'He would willingly pay me for the pleasure that he was shortly going to be experiencing' he screamed, with a broad grin all over his face, and on arrival back in the Maldives he went in search of an owner of a fast boat, any fast boat, just as long as they wouldn't mind going for a quick trip into 'international waters', and could keep their trap shut. He then visited Halcyon, and after removing the padlock that firmly secured her to the jetty (the key was on his new key ring, although he had a universal key (bolt croppers) tucked in his belt, just in case) and quickly prepared her for sea. Just as he was contemplating leaving he noticed another key on a hook above the chart table with the tag 'storage locker 28', and the marina's logo on it, 'it might be worth a visit' he though, and it was, inside was the large outboard (the smaller one really did look quite 'dinky' on the arse-end he thought), the oversized life-raft, several sails, the generator and a load of other goodies – including several cans of fuel, Charlie immediately thought 'ballast', except for the fuel - 'accelerant'. Finding a willing helper and a trolley they emptied the store and transported its contents to the Halcyon, and once the ballast had been evenly distributed throughout the boat he slipped his helper $50 US and asked him to return the key to the office 'I don't think it will be needed any more', he said.

There was a nice breeze blowing so he decided not to 'faff about' fitting the large Mercury, instead he would sail out to meet his new friend (bringing back fond memories of his time on the 'Broadsword', 'there can't be much difference, after all Halcyon is only thirty feet shorter, and sadly lacking in helpers') and started the tiny vintage Johnson to let it warm up. Slipping the lines he let the breeze blow the Halcyon away from its jetty for the last time, but just before he knocked the outboard into gear Shaun arrived, breathless and in a 'flat panic'. He assumed that Shaun must have seen him pull the jib up, and then let it flap uselessly in the breeze, in preparation for when he got under sail.

'What are you doing?' he screamed.

'Going for a quick potter', he said.

'You can't, it's my boat and I won't let you' he stupidly shouted, as Halcyon drifted further away from him.

'You can't stop me, I have the owner's permission' Charlie replied, with a wicked grin on his face and waving the 'spare' keys in his general direction, at the same time thinking that he hoped that he would try and stop him, 'I would take great pleasure in snapping his scrawny little neck'. He then engaged forward gear, but before revving the engine he shouted back at Shaun 'and both of you had better be in your office when I get back' and gunned the motor. When clear of the Marina he had no problems hauling up the main, and killing the motor for its last time he sailed off towards the horizon.

He had no problem locating his new friend either, using the state-of-the-art Radar, which Caroline had asked him to slip into his hand luggage on his way back, 'you can get a new one, or two, now you are getting your ex gratia payments' he laughingly told her, 'what ex gratia payments?' she said: 'bang goes Andrews's surprise' he thought.

After the cans of fuel were emptied, inside and out, Charlie jumped aboard the RIB and fired a flare into the cabin. The fire took hold immediately and they slid away to a safe distance and then hove-to, he didn't want any brave sole coming to the rescue and try and put the fire out. Vicente had assured Andrew that as long as they were in International Waters they could do whatever they liked to Halcyon, just as long as she didn't leave a large oil slick behind. Charlie had worried that the hull wouldn't sink when the fire and water met, but with the last of the fuel he had soaked the gold lettering on her transom and it helped with her demise, that and the wooden planking.

As they watched her slip below the slight swell the RIB's owner turned to Charlie and said 'It's a pity you didn't tell me it would take this long, I could have brought a couple of steaks along and we could have had a nice barbie', and then seriously continued 'that it was sad to watch such lovely little boat end its days like this'.

Charlie glanced at him and he knew that it was 'end of conversation, even with his friends in the bar'.

He dropped Charlie off in front of their Office block, but he still hated it, no matter how high the rents were, and went inside. They were waiting for him as instructed and the first thing that Franklin said was, 'Have you got the envelopes?'

'What envelopes?'

'That were in the box', he said in exasperation.

'Why' Charlie asked.

'Because they had nothing to do with the scam money, we were keeping it safe from, sorry for, the tax man'.

Charlie couldn't help but chuckle, 'poetic justice he thought', although Itza had had an inkling. Apparently his parting comment to Andrew when he had left the conference room had been 'do you mind if I 'cold call' them, they have a nice little thing going, with plenty of room to expand (with the right advise of course) and it would mean you will get your 'investment back all the sooner.'

'Consider them the first instalment of your 'pay-back' package.

Shaun glanced at the floor and whispered 'what has happened to the Halcyon, we love that boat'.

'I know, that is why I have just taken great pleasure in setting it ablaze and sending it to the bottom of the sea. Taking the money back only hurts you in your wallet, Andrew wanted to hurt 'you' as well, to give Suzanna and Charlotte some measure of revenge I would imagine' (but he guessed that neither of them would ever know what really happened today), and Shaun started to cry.

'Good' he thought, and then Franklin asked their first sensible question, 'are we going to prison?'

'No' he reluctantly said 'but there are some non-negotiable conditions attached'.

They sat around the table and Charlie laid out my plan, they had noticed with some trepidation the disappearing funds from their various accounts that very morning, and had correctly guessed that I was behind it, and also realised what 'clout' I had in the real world.

'But that was illegal' Shaun whined.

'Oh, I agree with you one hundred per-cent, about as illegal as stealing it from the dead in the first place I would imagine', he replied, and they quickly continued on to the next item on the list.

Sliding a slip of paper over to them he said 'ensure that this amount is paid into that account on the last day of each month, starting this month, then after twelfth payment double it, and then continue paying it for a further nineteen years. You will notice that it is in pounds sterling, you had better hope that the exchange rate is good to you'.

'We won't be able to afford it, especially after the first year' Franklin said.

'Yes you will, they have no intentions of destroying you or your Company, in fact the happier that you are out here, the happier that they will be back there. I have been reliably informed that this enterprise of yours is quite the little money spinner, and even after you have paid your dues to the Taxman and Mr Michaels it still has the potential to achieve great things, possibly even globally, and to that end a gentleman called Itza will be contacting you in the near future to give you some advice on 'expansion plans', trust him, because whilst most of us disagree, he thinks that you have been punished enough, but he is scrupulously honest so don't try to cut any corners. He predicts that with the right motivation i.e. you now have nothing to fall back on, you will knuckle down and repay Mr Michaels 'loan'' within five years, or even less, but, and they are big buts, on the conditions that the two of you become 'recluses', as of this instant, all photographs of you will be removed from all advertising, both printed and on-line, you will shy away from all publicity, you will have no Facebook, twitter or any other social media accounts, and Itza will not only be you and your company's financial advisor, but his people will be your go-betweens as well. If Wonga can be represented by group of puppets then I'm sure you can think of something suitable.

'But Wonga are 'payday lenders', we are in another league altogether' Franklin said, obviously his feelings were well hurt.

'A rose by any other name,.....' Charlie quoted, then that was the end of that particular point on the list as well.

He then went through the other items, like the trashing their real passports, and 'you will not apply for new ones, in a short while you will be officially dead, and that is how you will stay, capisce?' and a word of advice, don't try to use your false ones either, the UK and US Border Agencies have already 'red flagged' those names. If you do try and travel to the US, UK or anywhere in the EEC then the next time you see me I will not be so nice and friendly, stay in this part of the world, and out of the lime light, and we will all be happy, oh and just to let you know 'certain people here-abouts, both in business, and private individuals, will be sending us regular reports on the both of you for the foreseeable future, 'please don't give them something to write about', and finally, there will be no contact with either of your ex'es (no short phone calls to hear their voices, no mystery post cards from far off places), or any old friends or acquaintances for that matter, however innocuous, do you fully understand and agree with those conditions?'

'Yes, fully' they mumbled.

'Well live long, and prosper, as Mr Spock would say', Charlie said, and then he stood and walked over to the refrigerator and removed a small bottle of water.

'Deduct it from the loan' he said.

'On the house' Franklin said, 'I wouldn't want to inadvertently overcharge you and you have to come and pay us another visit'.

Charlie chuckled, and as he left the room he thought 'I like that – he is staring to grow on me, not a lot – but a little'.

### ~~~~

Chapter 20

Just before we left for Spain Sue had taken me to the local 18th Century church in Wroxham to explain about her 'nun' comment. We walked up to the blue Norman doorway (it looked like 12th Century to me – and Wikipedia) and of course it was locked, aren't they always when you feel like a spontaneous prayer or two (or to clean out the donations box) but reaching into her shoulder bag she took out a rusty old key, not 12th century I thought, more like 19th, but I digress, and opened it. Taking hold of my hand she lead me into the fine grade one listed building, through a modern glass protective screen and made our way towards the Altar, which was overlooked by a beautiful stained glass window.

'Let's sit here' she said, 'this is my favourite row, the vibes are better' and we sat down, still holding hands. She paused for a moment then knelt down, and I followed, either that or have my arm wrenched out of its socket. She did not pray 'per se' (I love that phrase), it was more like having a chat with an old friend (I wonder what Gods first name is? – or perhaps it is his first name – God Jones esq. – I wonder if that is blasphemy?). First off she introduced me, then thanked him for sorting me out and then they had a short question and answer session, although I could not for the life of me hear his answers, perhaps I had a wax problem. We then sat back up and we had a chat. She explained that she was not very religious (?) but when I had switched off in that art gallery she started to visit St Marys to pray for me, but found that as they only opened for business on Wednesdays and Sundays she found it a bit limiting, she felt that she needed to nag 'him up there' at least once a day, lest he forget. Then she heard about the lead roof, 'it was only the small one, thank God' she said.

'Thank him now, as we are here' I said, but it was lost to her.

'And it only cost me an arm and a leg to have it repaired', she continued 'on condition that I have my own key, so I could visit 24/7'. Over time we have become great friends and he has advised me on loads of things, as I have him of course, but we have kept clear of the 'religious stuff', you should never discuss religion or politics with friends, it's the easiest way to end the friendship, but once, just before he sent that **obnoxious little brat** , (his words not mine) Mark, to wake you up I asked him 'if 'converting' to a nun might help your plight' but he said 'no it was almost over, and being a nun would only mean that I would have to break my vows later on, so I didn't, thank God'.

'That's two thanks that you owe him now' I thought, and then I thought 'how on earth does she know about Mark? Alice and I had, to my knowledge, never mentioned what I had actually said to anyone else, Emma my daughter–in–law would have knocked me straight back into a comma again. This was getting spooky; I would have to ask Alice if she had disclosed our 'family secret' to her over iced tea. We then thanked him (or in this world of equal opportunities possibly 'her') for saving me (for her), then stood to make our way home.

'I think you should drop the key off now' I said as she locked the door and went to slip it into her bag.

'You must be joking, the amount of money it cost me I almost have shares in this place. I think that I will hang on to it just in case anything else happens to you'.

'Have you had any other conversations about me with your 'friend,' I thought.

Alice swore on her unborn child's life that she had not told Sue, or anyone else for that matter, then screamed and said, 'we weren't going to tell anyone until after the first scan'.

'Not another obnoxious little brat' I said, hugging her tightly, forgetting all about the iced tea: for the moment at least.

When we arrived at El Campo a few days later I took her to meet Sheila and George & Millie, but I was left outside, 'she wanted to have a chat with her in private', and I was starting to get more than a little worried, then that evening, as we entered my/our boudoir she turned to me and said 'you lied to me'.

Racking my brain, for the life of me I couldn't think of a single instance that I had lied to her (well perhaps once, but that had only been a white lie), did you know that there are three types of lies, the first ones, the harmless ones are – white lies – they do not intentionally hurt anyone, they just get you out of a jam, in fact they usually save hurting someone else's feelings, like 'of course he loves your cooking mother, he always vomits after eating fish pie'. Then there are the second, more serious ones, the harmful ones – blatant lies – that are deliberately told to hurt or damage someone or something, like 'of course they don't make your bum look huge darling, it must be the lighting', and finally there are the third type, the worst ones of all – 'statistics', but yet again I digress, so I said 'when'?

'When you said that Sheila was a virgin when you got married, she lost it to you the day she started at your fathers firm, in the stock room when you were showing her around, she said it had been love at first sight and if you hadn't made the first move then she would have, and she never got the ink out of her 'best' nickers when you both trashed the gestetner machine, AND you were engaged to Myrtle Scoggings at the time'.

'Well it was only a 'white lie' I said, 'nobody got hurt, except perhaps Myrtle Scoggings, but she did go on to become Mother Superior at the Abbey, and dad did replace the gestetner machine with a Xerox 914 plain paper copier, it was a giant leap 'technology wise'.

'Yes', she continued, 'but not very far, you then broke the glass trying to photo copy her bum, and your father then had to go out and buy reinforced glass for the machine as it wasn't covered by the guarantee'.

'That was it, I was a believer – in what I didn't have a clue, but I was definitely a believer'. I knew that we had never told a soul about the glass, my dad would have killed us, although I may have mentioned something about the stockroom during my stag do (which was repeated by my best man during his speech), 'but my father did deduct the full cost of the machine from our wages, after the wedding', I said in mitigation.

### ~~~~

Chapter 21

One of my worries, as I built up El Campo was that there was no natural successor to me when I finally departed this worldly place, I didn't want it to die with me, or worse, be turned into a hotel/theme park. Robin was happily reproducing in Coventry, he was obviously 'not being sent to Coventry' as they were now on their third, and Alice was following in hot pursuit on the Norfolk Broads – but hopefully not on a boat – she is a terrible swimmer, but a possible solution reared its head when I visited Wroxham that first time. I must admit that I did fall in love with the Broads the day before I fell in love with Sue, so later, when the timing was right I started to tentatively discuss the possibility of moving in with her in the summer months. Holiday makers from the cooler climes flock to coastal Spain from mid-July to early September, but if they were to venture just a few kilometres inland they would find the pueblos (villages or small towns) deserted, their inhabitants fleeing to their campo's - their 'families' country homes - to escape some of the heat. Whilst parking and driving may be a nightmare in Torrevieja during that time, Crevillente, just a few miles inland would be deserted - it is the only time you can have the pick of the parking spaces. It had always been a veritable ghost town as and the bars and smaller shops took it in turns to shut down for two weeks (or more) for 'vacaciones', but because of global warming it was now getting hotter and longer.

'Let's rename your pad 'finca Coola', and escape from the sun?' I suggested.

'But the temperatures can go well into the mid-twenties, or even higher' she said.

'Shear bliss' I said 'I've had Christmas dinner on the patio when it's been even hotter', it was a slight exaggeration, but not by much, and I 'was' on my veranda earlier this year - in my tee-shirt, when Robin rang me to say that they were 'snowed in' yet again, apparently it was very unseasonal, but it was still snow, and he had joked that they might just become 'snow birds' – people (usually retired) from UK, Germany and Holland that spend the winter months in Spain, usually in Motor-homes or Caravans.

Alice had made it clear on several occasions that Mi Casa was not her 'favouritest' place in the world, 'it was like a prison', with only the staff to keep them company - a slight exaggeration but I took her point - so I went and dug out some of Pauls (my long-time friend, and Architect to El Campo) plans: I had a plan.

\---------------

Just after I had moved into El Campo I'd (I'd as in, those with big guns on their hips, at the front gate) had a visit from the 'Police Local', apparently someone had seen one of my snakes on my beach, 'and could I please ensure that it didn't happen again'. Vicente had got back to them post haste and told them that what I allowed on my beach was up to me, so go and prosecute the trespasses, or words to that effect, but it didn't change the fact that apparently I not only owned at least one snake – but I also owned a beach. El Campo was on a plateaux, raised above the surrounding area, but unfortunately Mother Nature is not symmetrical so it was neither a perfect square nor a circle, it had a very 'odd' footprint, and one of the odd features was were my snakes and beach were situated. On its western perimeter, the plateaux, just before it reached the sea veered off to the left, cutting off the corner. It didn't look much on the 'bigger picture', but if you looked really closely, my actual boundary line did not veer off; it made a bee line for the sea.

_Many, many years ago, whilst it was still a military base there must have been a problem, perhaps with squatters or gypsies, and their solution on how to get rid of the problem was to plant a long row of very, very large concrete blocks, running from the cliff face (it wasn't a very large cliff face, but it was my cliff face) to the sea, enclosing a large triangle of waste land, and a fairly presentable portion of a very beautiful beach along with it, and between the two sections was a very dilapidated red and white (or it used to be) pole that could be hinged up to let the traffic through, what traffic? Fire Engines, I was reliably informed, that came through one of several CRASH GATES in El Campo's fence, and down a dirt track to it, I certainly didn't want any 'crashes' off the airfield, for the gates to be used for, but unfortunately the Aviation Authorities said that I did: so end of story. When somebody found a 'universal key' to fit the 'universal crash gate lock', I - that is me, Paul and Uncle Tom Cobbly and all, went to have a look, but I stayed on the public side of the blocks, I prefered the view from there, unlike the rest of the 'wusses', who hoped that the snake/s respected the boundary:_ I _they obviously don't 'do' snakes. It was the only time that I have ever seen Charlie 'toting' his gun in public, he said it was for my protection 'just in case' – but he didn't put it away when I was safely in the Land Cruiser._

My solution at the time was to have the waste land cleared, it was several meters high in places, relocate any snakes that they found, preferably onto another planet – in another solar system, treat the ground so no fauna or flora would return, and replace the lock on the pole. The nice policeman had apparently thrown that one in, over his shoulder, as a parting gesture. I also had a wooden landing stage built on my side of the blocks so that I could motor around to it and let Bonnie and Clyde go ballistic on the sand.

As time progressed, each time I visited the beach it became more cluttered with litter, and the waste land looked more like a BBQ recycling plant. People could walk between the concrete blocks carrying picnic paraphernalia, but apparently the blocks wouldn't allow litter back out, and once I almost came to blows with a local Brit who insisted that I remove Bonnie and Clyde as 'no dogs were allowed on the public beaches'.

I told him that this was a private beach.

' _Who's' he said, squaring up for a drunken brawl._

' _Mine' I said, and produced five gentlemen dressed in black, and carrying pump action shot guns that could verify that fact._

' _OK' he said, and left - most likely to change his shorts._

\---------------

The moral to that story was that I was getting fed up with having to fork out to have the area cleaned up behind inconsiderate people, so I now thought 'sod them, let's wall it all in and plant a few houses for my kids, so they can become 'snowbirds'.

It had only been a 'throw away' comment by Robin but the next time we 'facetimed' on iPad, to gaze in awe at yet another tooth that was to be despatched to the tooth fairy, I dropped it in the conversation, as one does, 'You know that bit of land and beach by the crash gate, well, how about I turn it into a walled estate and plant a couple of houses for you and your sister, to 'overwinter' in, and I'll even put central heating in for that one cold day of the year'.

I almost dropped the iPad when his reply came back 'just as long as you put Air Con in, for the summer, as well', he was definitely not happy at being sent to Coventry all the time.

We then had a chat with Alice and Algie, and Sue explained to her that we would most likely be using her home (Sue's, not Alice's) as our base throughout the hot season next year, but 'how about your Dad getting you a beach front villa, in a lovely area in Santa Cristina. It's away from fortress Mi Casa so you can have sun, sand and visitors to your hearts delight, and it might make a lovely warm retreat for baby if it gets too cold in the winter, I've seen the broads freeze over you know,' but I looked at her fingers – they were crossed. Santa Cristina was the other Pueblo that also bordered El Campo, by the crash gate.

'Is it that bit of land by the beach?' she said sulkily.

'Yes' Sue said, suddenly seeing our plans going down the toilet.

'Great' shouted Algie from the background.

'I don't know, I will have to think about it, I'll get back to you'.

'Sorry I asked' I thought, but decided to put my plan into action anyway, if she didn't want to take up residence then I could always rent it out to some passing millionaire.

### ~~~~

Chapter 22

Sue settled in well at El Campo, she made it perfectly clear that at the moment she was more than happy to be away from her old home, 'it still reminds me of Shaun, but by the time we move there next summer I doubt if I will recognise the place'.

David had come up with some half decent ideas on how to fortify it, 'and shall I 'do' Alice's place at the same time?, it is much cheaper to buy RPG proof glass in bulk' he had said, only half-jokingly, as she had let me into a little secret, she had wanted to do a major refurbishment on the place for a while, but was waiting to make sure that Shaun would not be returning first.

Whilst we waited for the paperwork to be 'fast tracked' through the courts Sue started to integrate herself into the local community, and she was a natural, it was nice to see. She was a genuine caring sharing sort of person, 'and Sheila really liked her', although it was yet another nightmare for David, but at least it was not the old David. The hunt for Shaun and Franklin had done him the power of good, as had Caroline and his holiday in Canada ('how come we landed in the USA, but didn't have to go through Canadian customs to get here?' she had asked Charlie – 'juste de la chance, je suppose' he replied – 'qué' she said, and left it at that) and he was also becoming quite the little Master Mariner with their new boat. Caroline had finally settled on a Contessa 32, as it had a remote greaser for the stern tube **and** more windows: no contest.

Once a week, when we were at home, Sue started to do her thing with the local W.I., she had been an active member in the UK so she wanted to continue in Spain. The local coven was organised almost totally by ex-pats, but benefitted the local community as a whole, and Sue was not too proud to get her hands dirty (although she was now in designer jeans) so she readily volunteered to deliver food parcels to the needy, although she hated all the 'fuss' that David (and I) insisted on. In exasperation we had listed all the things that had happened around me, so in the end she finally, if not a tad reluctantly, agreed, although 'if push came to shove' both she and I could afford to pay for it all to be hand delivered from Harrods, but it was her 'feel good factor'. On her regular route was a dear sweet old lady, who they all enjoyed delivering to, she was a 'needy' sole if there was ever one, and she ticked all the boxes that were needed to be ticked to receive the weekly hamper, except one, it was the 'savings' box. Where she had ticked 'none', she should have ticked 'loads', she was arguably the richest 'con-person' in the Province, with aspirations of moving into the kidnapping and blackmail market.

Carmen lived in an old 'Apartamento' block, for tax, benefits, and food parcel purposes, (but the rest of the time in a grand villa) her motto being 'if I don't claim it then some needy person might end up with it', and was surrounded by her dysfunctional family, so when Sue first started visiting she did not think 'food – thank you very much' she saw an 'opportunity to diversify'. Her son Raoul had the apartment opposite hers and they devised a cunning plan, which had to be postponed twice because of a dastardly surprise cruise that I had the audacity to plan for my beloveds' birthday, but she thought 'third time lucky' when she saw Sue arriving in the parking lot below, and she signalled Raoul and his partners in crime to get ready. The first part of their plan was to separate the majority of Sue's minders from Sue, and in the ancient block this turned out to be relatively easy. Once Sue had passed her in the narrow corridor, Raoul's second best'est girlfriend blocked the corridor with here pram, complete with baby, and for added effect she jabbed it with a pin.

Sue glanced back and saw the commotion behind her, but thought that the woman was coping well with the poor child, but as the box that she was carrying was getting quite heavy (and the squawking brat was starting to give her an headache) she carried on for a few more steps and made to enter the apartment of the 'dear sweet old lady', but the door slammed closed shut in her face. From behind, a large hood was pulled over her head and she was dragged bodily backwards into the apartment opposite. The minders behind her saw what was happening to their charge so they 'subdued the suspect' (poleaxed his spare girlfriend on the spot), then hurdled the pram, but by the time they arrived at the apartment doors they were already too late, Raoul's mothers plan had worked to perfection as the door slammed shut a milli-second before they arrived.

People should really stick to what they are good at, because from then on their plan went south, because when the flimsy door slammed shut three bullet holes appeared in it. One of the problems with flimsy doors is that they are flimsy, and do not slow bullets down very much. The first bullet that exited it hit the first minder in his right shoulder, the second bullet got the second minder in his left shoulder (they were shoulder to shoulder) and the third bullet missed everybody in the passageway, but went through Raoul's mother's equally flimsy door, and got her just above her right ear. Because of the very gradual reduction of the projectiles speed it unfortunately didn't kill her outright, it took her three seconds, and I say unfortunately because in that time she pushed the knife that she was holding at the leading security minders chest, with the clear intention of killing him – stone dead. Since his arrival in the apartment (and after quickly being subdued by Carmen and her kitchen knife) Norman started mentally going through the 'minders manual' and had just arrived at page five, the bit about how to kill a very nice little old lady – without actually hurting her, and was just about to put paragraph six, line three into effect when the hole appeared in her flimsy door and the bullet entered her head, and Carmen pushed the knife towards his heart. He thought 'gotcha – I'm wearing my stab vest', and then he thought again 'oops it was too hot this morning so I left it off, in strict violation of standing order 37.95, sub section D', and he died.

David got the call a few seconds later but didn't call the police, he didn't want them cluttering up the place whilst he put plan 'K' (for kidnap) into action.

\---------------

When I first arrived at El Campo one of the first decisions that Paul made me take was in relation to the 'bomb dump', did I want to keep it?, and after a split seconds thought about the state of the world I said 'dump it, it was so ugly'. Which he did, BUT LATER, as an excavation machine was excavating away for my new golf course its bucket bumped into something solid, very solid. Paul and I led the charge (well we ambled across) to find out what the mysterious find was. It was a sub-terrainian room, quite a large sub-terrainian room, and it was surrounded by very thick reinforced concrete, top, bottom, sides and one end-wall. In the other-end wall we found a very large and extremely rusty armoured door, with an even rustier padlock on it, and in Pauls' humble opinion it looked like a mudslide of sorts had partially blocked the entrance to the door, and the rest had then been filled in, totally burying it, 'it was most likely empty, and at the time that the Base was closing down, so it wasn't worth them digging the entrance out'.

' _Thank you for your humble opinion, Paul' I said, and then I said,' can't we just cover it back up and pretend that it's not there?_

' _Certainly we can' he said, and we turned to go back, it was time for lunch, BUT Charlie had to put in his two-penneth, 'I haven't blown up anything for an absolute age, can I have a go on the door?_

' _Why?' I asked, Charlie didn't usually volunteer for anything._

' _I'm intrigued' he said 'why padlock an empty store?'_

I didn't know that Charlie had any words like 'intrigued' in his vocabulary, 'chaos and mayhem' yes, but not intrigued, so as a reward I said 'OK, but don't break any windows with the blast'.

Just as I was starting on my sponge pudding and custard David came up to me and said 'Charlie's in, and he says that he has found something 'interesting' (another big word – perhaps he'd had a dictionary for Christmas?)

Charlie was ever so slightly disappointed that no explosives were needed, one good hit with a sledge hammer and the lock disintegrated, but the hinges on the door were another thing altogether, so he 'borrowed' the excavator, its driver having gone off for his lunch as well. Attaching some chains he revved it up and charged away. It was a close thing but the door gave way first in the battle of the titans, just before the Titan mk3 excavator lost its rear end, but it would never be the same again. Charlie ventured inside, shone his trusty torch around and called David.

We - David and I, entered, and the first thing that I noticed was that the room wasn't damp or musty; 'it must have been only just below, below the ground', I thought.

The first things that David noticed were the crates of heavy machineguns and loads of boxes of ammunition.

We finally came to a consensus (that's my word. not Charlie's) that this had been a 'ready use' store in case of civil unrest, but then the personnel 'in the know' had been relocated as the shutdown of the base grew imminent, and it had just been forgotten about.

They had a heyday, David and Charlie, not only had the store been hermetically sealed, but so were all the heavy weapons (and a few lighter ones to). It didn't take them long to find out that they had a find of apocalyptic proportions (both David's words), but what to do with them, what they should do of course was to notify the authorities and let them take care of the find, but David thought that he could offer them a better home, in that little secret room at the arse-end of Lady S (Charlie's words, not his), and once it was almost empty he turned the store into his own 'ready use' store, just in case of his emergencies.

\---------------

Training, training, and more training was the way to keep David happy, but unfortunately not all his trainees agreed with him, until today. They descended on the store from every direction and within fifty minutes he was looking up Sues skirt ('thank god it wasn't Tuesday' I thought when he told me later), he wasn't a pervert, he was using a very high tech piece of technology from his store, it scanned through the thin floors of the old apartment block with ease. On a wider scan he determined that there were only three people in the apartment, Sue, who was sat on a chair which had been placed against a wall, Raoul, who was pacing about and shouting at his mobile, surely even he must eventually realise that his mother was indisposed, and finally an unidentified person, who was stood against the opposite wall from Sue. They were also wired for sound so he knew that Sue was very calm, her breathing was even, Raoul was unstable, and the third guy (it was a male voice) was obviously the 'heavy'.

\---------------

_As Sue went to follow Norman into that nice Carmen's apartment (although Sheila didn't like her one little bit) the door slammed in her face, everything went black and she was dragged backwards into the opposite apartment. She heard the door slam and then three shots rang out right next to her. She heard muffled screams from the other side of the door and then silence. It was time to remember her training; she judged where her assailant was, took a step back and then flung her head back,_ _David said it would hurt_ _, and it did, but when she dragged the bag off of her head and turned around Raoul was out cold, blood pouring from a broken nose, but unfortunately there was the wrong end of a very large gun looking at her, time to remember another lesson, and she raised her hands in the air. The owner of the gun (whose name was Roderigo she later found out) glanced down at Raoul, sneered at him and signalled her to sit in an old arm-chair against the wall, and then he duct-taped her arms and feet to the chair,_ _'don't fight this if he has a gun, especially if he has already used it, but slightly bend your hands and ankles 'like so'._ _Roderigo then rang a number on his smart phone ('pity he wasn't', she thought) and she heard a faint ringing from across the corridor, but both phones 'rang out'. He tried twice more, and the same thing happened as before, except that the final time there was no ringing, then Raoul started to regain consciousness. After staunching the flow of blood from his nose, using a shirt that was lying on the floor, he stood up and slapped her, so she played the female card and started to cry,_ _'it confuses them, and they cannot interrogate you if you are sobbing, but unfortunately they might hit you again to shut you up',_ _he didn't, 'he was going to be the unstable one' she thought. Raoul then repeated what Roderigo had done with his phone, but without the ringing in the distance, and Sue was pleased, they were not only wasting time, but obviously their plan had gone to pot, with no back-up. They then had a nice shouting match with each other, to waste yet more time, and then finally Raoul took charge and sent Roderigo over to the wall to watch over her from a distance, and then she relaxed a little as she thought that there may have been something 'sexual' in some of Rodrigo's ranting's '_ _so no provocative moves, no eye contact'_ _. Raoul came and stood in front of her and started ranting at her in fluent Spanish, and eventually learned another valuable lesson in life, 'if you kidnap a foreigner, and you intend to communicate with them, then make sure that at least one of your gang speaks their language'. Sue was at the 'Spanglish' stage of her lessons with Caroline and she genuinely missed 99% of what he ranted, so the look of confusion on her face was genuine. He eventually realised this and went over to confer with his accomplice again._

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'BLAST said David', he had had three green lights. Surrounding the 'pipe' were four pads, each sending up a very intense scan of one particular area in the room above, roughly half a meter square, and Raoul had just stepped out of it, but hopefully he would soon be back in front of Sue. The two had a quick conference and Roderigo had an idea, and it must have been 'give her a phone and let her speak to her boyfriend, he can most likely speak Spanish'. Raoul removed the tape that bound one hand, but left the other one firmly secured and handed her the phone, pointed at it and said 'Su novio'. She knew the word for 'boyfriend' and was about to say that 'he is my fiancé, not my boyfriend', but skipped it as she received an urgent message from Sheila, 'don't move from the chair'.

She gingerly took the phone from him, sat back and started to press some buttons, any buttons, and Raoul took a pace back and waited for her to make the call.

Her 'really really special friend' then contacted her and said 'close your eyes and don't open them until you are out of the room', and David thought 'four greens'.

The military use depleted uranium in, among other things, their armour-piercing rounds in tank and aircraft ammunition, and of course mere civilians cannot get that material for that purpose, they can use it as trim weights in aircraft (it is extremely heavy for its size) and a few other mundane things but definitely not in weapons, so as the fourth light came on it automatically sent a signal to the pneumatic discharger to send a projectile up the tube (which had been secured between the floor and a specific point on the ceiling) and it penetrated the polystyrene ceiling tiles and a smidging of plaster. It then went through a thin layer of terracotta, through a void, through another layer of terracotta, and then the floor tiles of the apartment above (missing the reinforced concrete beams as it went – although they would not have been much of a problem), and the manufacturer said later that the 'spike' had performed better than they had ever expected 'you did use the type 3E spike didn't you?'

'Something like that' David had replied, with his fingers crossed.

What he didn't tell the manufacturers was that the 'spike' type 3E (Modified) continued on its journey up between Raoul's legs, entered his anus (definitely not Charlie's word) dead centre, continued up close to his spine, speared his larynx, entered his brain and exited the top of his skull a split second after starting on its journey. The tip then stopped dead in its tracks one foot (30.48cm) above him, nobody wanted the spike to go on and hit something hard and then ricochet off and hurt someone, now did they?

At the same time two sections of wall, either side of Sue dissolved and two black, dust covered figures stood in their place, and they sent two brief streams of lead into Rodrigo, and before he hit the wall behind him the hinges on the flimsy door disappeared and Carlos rushed in and covered Sue. Once certain that the situation was under control he freed her other arm and feet and then led her out of the room: Sue didn't open her eyes until she was safely in my arms, which was a good thing as it took Carlos two weeks to get the picture of Raoul stood 'hanging' there, out of his mind, just long enough for him to get some sleep.

Thirty minutes later the 'Police Local' finally responded to a 112 call and found three bodies and loads of claret, but after a thorough investigation, that lasted nearly half an hour, it was put down as a 'domestic'.

Norman unfortunately was involved in a RTA (road traffic accident) a short while later, and his next of kin received a very handsome 'death in service' grant, and the two minders with bullet holes in them were treated by my Doctora (Doc Martin) Matrinez Goña as gardening accidents, and the owners of the holes, and their families spent a very nice convalescent period in a resort of their choice. David's only comment was 'a message well sent to any other wannabe kidnappers'. Sue took the whole experience surprisingly well, which she graciously put down to her training (David) and support network (God and Sheila). Whatever it was, within a few days she was 'as right as rain', but agreed that from now on if she wanted her 'feel good factor' to feel good, then it would have to be from within the confines of the W.I. office; no more field trips.

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Chapter 23

Wedding – what wedding? – Oh! that one.

Of course I gave her the chance to change venues for it; I could just imagine Presidents and Millionaires sat on plastic chairs amongst the headstones, and watching us live on a big screen, although at least I was guaranteed a place indoors if it was raining, but 'no', she had already told her 'friends' and they had both said that they would be there, so that was two of the indoor seats taken up, and I tried to visualise them at the 'top table' at the reception, now that would get us on the front page of Vogue (again).

We (Sue) agreed on a spring wedding, it would give everyone a chance to look at their calendars and make their plans, but one RSVP that I didn't expect was a call in person from a certain President from over the pond, 'it's OK Andrew, Michelle and I will be there, we wouldn't miss it for the world, all I had to do was change the date of the G8: by the way have you got a few spare seats for Presidents ....... &........... & Prime Minister....... ', fortunately they were already on the list.

The big day arrived and even the weather played its part, it was spectacular – perhaps having 'him' as guest of honour had its benefits - and Wroxham and the surrounding area entered into the spirit of the occasion, although Mrs Bradleys B&B would never be the same again – she had two Presidents, a Prince & Princess and a Lord and Lady staying in her four roomed establishment.

My decked out Riva Aquarama (or should that now be 'our?'), resplendent in satin ribbons collected Sue from our 'summer house', of course with Bob the Bosun at the helm, and he wend his way slowly through the cornucopia of river craft, resplendent in huge quantities of bunting for the occasion - twice. Arriving at a public landing stage she was greeted by crowds of well wishes, TV cameras and Russell – with his own Rolls Royce, my crappy Maybach apparently was not good enough for her 'special day' today. He then drove her – complete with motorcycle outriders, their 'white helmets' flashing in the sun, up to the church of St Mary the Virgin, now resplendent in its new lead roofs, well perhaps not the little one, it still had a few years left in it, and it was wall to wall dignitaries, but one of the front rows was reserved for El Campo staff, there had to be a draw for the seats, and it was rumoured that guns had even been drawn during it, but fortunately no one was hurt. The glass screen that divided the congregation from the draughty main door had been opened out to squeeze a few more soles in, and there was a live 'big screen' outside, but no plastic chairs amongst the grave stones, 'sorry - Health & Safety', apparently one slip and you could join your ancestors – literally.

The service was of course a tear jerker, but I stopped long enough to say 'I do' and to 'slap a lip lock' on the bride, then it was outside for the photos, a quick ride in a horse drawn carriage – no it wasn't the one from the Coronation – it was the other one, (much to Russ's disgust) and then back into the Aquarama for a sprint around the river, with Sues veil streaming in the slipstream, then my phone rang and I went as white as her veil, it could only be Maria, all other calls were on divert, and the only reason she would ring us was Alice.

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Alice had a tough time with her first born, Holly, and the doctors, in desperation, put it down to the pollen count in the New Forest, and the birth had its moments of trauma as well, that is why they quickly relocated to the Broads, not much grass and loads of water, but this pregnancy was if anything even worse than her first, but she struggled gamely on and had even spent the week prior to our wedding in hospital, on a voluntary basis, 'just to sort herself out', and it looked as though it had worked, she looked 'blooming', but when we arrived at the hospital, with Sue still in her wedding dress, we found out that her previous stay had not been 'voluntary', and she had discharged herself for the wedding. Once Sue and I were safely on the Aquarama she started to go downhill fast, and it turned into a race of who could get to the hospital first, her or us. It was close, but Alice had a helping hand from Aaron, who had been 'hovering around' ready to whisk us away on our honeymoon. By the time we arrived Alice was already in theatre so we sat around drinking coffee, trying not to talk about anything slightly medical when a young nurse (she looked about twelve, so she must have been quite senior) asked Sue if she could have a photograph with her in her wedding dress, I think her boss had a heart attack on the spot, but recovered enough to be in the second photo. By the third every staff member on the floor was in on it and the last one, before Alice came out of theatre, I think they were dragging them in off the streets. It did take our minds off what was going on next door, but we were quickly brought back down to earth, Alice lost her baby, a surgeon later told me in confidence that 'it was a blessing', there were so many 'complications', and for a while it had been 'touch and go' for her as well, but my 'tough little cookie' pulled through'.

A few days later, with her well on the mend, the Surgeon returned, myriad tests completed, and 'in his opinion' Alice was allergic to England, her 'bodies or aunty bodies or her white, pink, green or blue sells' (or however you spell them) were fighting each other whenever she shivered, she needed to move to a place that had a low pollen count, a lot less rain and a warmer climate'.

I couldn't have put it better if I had bribed him to say it myself, honest I didn't - I cannot type with my fingers crossed – wekl nob vewy weel.

When she saw the makings of a grin on my face she said 'Not that bloody beach front place?', but there was definitely the beginning of a twinkle in her eyes.

' _Language Timothy' I said, then 'afraid so, but I will buy your old place from you, we can extend the two into one'._

' _But you already own it Daddy, but you can give me a 10% finder's fee if you like'._

That's my girl, getting better all the time, but if I remembered rightly I FOUND IT FOR HER.

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As soon as I'd had the idea I set plans in motion, I have never been one to 'let the grass grow beneath my feet' and Robin and Emma entered into the project with mucho gusto, finally settling on a very modern looking wooden home that fitted in beautifully with the beach front look, and Alice had reluctantly said 'whatever,' but Algie was if anything even keener than the other two. There would be more than enough land left over to plant two or three more properties, but for now they had the pick of the litter – location wise. Mid way between the properties there was now a fully operational funicular lift that can whisk them almost up to airfield level. At its top there is a sub-terrainian garage where their new eco-friendly cars eagerly await them, to whisk them silently along to us in Mi Casa, sorry Nuestra Casa (our home), whenever the urge takes them, and the new spur road, from the garage to the taxi-track even has its own railway crossing gates: complete with flashing lights. I had briefly considered constructing 'their very own' railway station but I then thought 'a bit O.T.T.; perhaps as a Christmas present next year'. Security was of course a high priority but between modern technology, armed guards and land mines, oops sorry I had eventually been overruled on them, they could live a fairly normal life without living in 'splendid isolation' as Alice called El Campo. Even though their homes were even larger than their UK ones they flew up (I think the pools took longer to fill), and they had the benefit of a world class, 'on site' interior designer to advise them on the inside bits. They were now both ready for occupation so perhaps I should consider renaming 'El Campo' (the field), 'Tenedor del Sur' (Southfork); but only if I can be Jock Ewing, not J.R.

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About the Author

I spent twenty-two years in the Fleet Air Arm (Royal Navy) as an Aircraft Mechanic, most of my time as a Maintenance Supervisor.

Following a brief time driving heavy goods vehicles I then spent a further fourteen years as a Housing Officer for a Local Authority/Housing Association before being medically retired.

I have two children (and a growing number of grandchildren) from my first marriage, and following my retirement, met, married, and relocated to Spain with Melva.

This is the third book in my Andrew Michaels trilogy, and hopefully you will have already read the first two, Road to Recovery, and then Onward and Upward, but if not, then perhaps a journey back in time will fill in a few blanks.

Connect with me Online:

<https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/tonyymelvawilson>

http://www.tonywilson.es
