Patrick

Christopher walked in, the inevitable cigarette in his mouth. "Hi, is this where I was supposed to come?" - he asked. Sweetcherrie nodded, and Christopher settled in at an empty desk, next to that of Celina. "Any chance to get some coffee here?" - he said, while taking a cigarette from its case and lighting it with the end of the other one, puffing the smoke towards Sweetcherrie.

Since Patham is involved in Lost right now, I shall be making a new character for this. Short description follows here (I will not make a thread for him in the Piazza since I expect I shall only use him for the gazette). Christopher Malcolm Christopher is 37 years old and has done everyone involved with newspapers. In his teens he was a newspaper delivery boy, and later moved first into photographing and then writing and interviews. He had a short stint as assistant-editor for a magazine, but it did not last long, and was jobless until he heard of the One-Time-Only Pen Gazette. He has a very bad habit of smoking much too much, usually lighting one cigarette with the end of the previous one, and also drinks several coffees in one day.

As he heard Mynx's scream Patham rushed over to see what had happened. He had been just behind her when they had been sucked through the portal, but had landed some direction away. Patham had reacted quite well to the passage through the portal, and had only bumped one of his knees upon landing. "Is everything alright Mynx?" - he asked.

I'm the same as the three people above me. If it isn't too fast I can manage.

Happy Birthday to both of you!

It had now been for several hours that Patham had been preparing. Everything had to be perfect. He was wearing his best shirt, black silk trousers and a matching colour tie. Due to the warm weather he was not wearing a suit. Half showing from the inside of his shirt pocket was a single beautiful, rich-brown owl feather. He checked for one last time whether everything was ready. He had all he needed. He knocked on Arwen's room and found that she was also ready. She was wearing a fabulous red dress, in which she looked absolutely gorgeous. It highlighted her dark hair and the silvery elegant crown-like headband she wore. "You look wonderful." - Patham said, meaning it. Arwen blushed slightly and the two of them went off for their date. "So where are you taking me?" - she asked curiously. "I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise." - Patham replied with a wink. When they reached, where he was taking her it turned out to be a high-class restaurant, with a band playing melodic songs. Patham handed his reservation to the waiter and they sat at the only table, which was put out in the room. The waiter brought wine, Arwen's favourite sort, then let Patham serve her. The champagne was just perfect for the occasion, as it blended with the soft music in the background. As they waited for the hors d'oeuvres to be served Patham motioned to one of the musicians, who once the song was finished came over to their table. He handed him a list of songs, which even though they were very rarely played in the restaurant the band knew and was going to play. It had all been arranged previously. The tunes, albeit still softly in the background became harder, as electric guitars, bass and drums were added to them, and soon the songs played were metal songs. During the main course the band started playing Ghost Love Score by Nightwish. Patham stood up. "May I have the dance?" - he asked, taking Arwen's hand. She had beautiful blue eyes, which in the lighting of the restaurant's interior tingled like sapphires. The shafts of light coming from her headband bathed Patham in silver light. She accepted his invitation for the dance. During the ten minutes of the song they danced and danced, progressively coming closer and closer to each other, until they were already touching. They glanced at each other and in the glance many unsaid things passed between them. The music, the lighting they were all perfect, but for Patham it was Arwen who had made this date better than perfect. On the dying accords of the song it happened. They kissed. The taste of the kiss lingered as their mouths intertwined. It lasted only a few seconds, but to them it seemed much longer than that. The remains of the main course remained untouched and soon after the musicians retreated leaving the two of them alone...

That's what I did before and during posting, but thanks for the tip anyway.

Patham smiled at Katzaniel. The debate was finally starting. He had to pause for a moment before starting as it took him some time to gather his arguments together again. He stood up. "Dear audience, and most especially dear Judge and fellow debater." - he said. "I am here today to argue for the argument, which is 'a slug is more dangerous than a cricket'. You might think that the definition of dangerous might be ambigous or even have more than two meanings. I shall not try and give you a definition of dangerous, as in my arguments I might use it in different meanings. I hope I don't have to define either slug nor cricket. Just in case, I shall do so however." He paused surveying the reaction to his words. Everyone in the audience was quiet, waiting for him to continue. "For cricket I shall use the definition of the animal and not that of the sport, as that would be a totally different debate. Crickets are Gryllidae, with long antennae and streamlined bodies, related to grasshoppers." "Slug is also a name used to describe a category of animals. To be more precise, slugs are gastropods with no or very small shells, very similar to a snail. Their bodies are streamlined and wormlike." "My point of argument is that a slug is more dangerous than a cricket." - he said voicing it again, trying to hammer the point home. "You might ask why we compare the two animals. To start with, they are both small animals. Now they might not be dangerous for humans, but danger can not only be towards humans." "To start the comparison. Slugs are known to be predators, while crickets only eat plants. Plants can fight back much less than animals can, so in being able to take down harder opponents, the slug clearly shows that it is more dangerous." "Now to reproductive capabilities. A single slug can lay hundreds of eggs. For the case of this simulation lets suppose that a slug lays two hundred eggs. That means that after four generations theoretically from one slug we can get 1.6 billion slugs, which is a quantity which could even overrun smaller human settlements. Even supposing that each generation 75% of the slugs die to various causes (a dead slug is not lost however as slugs are known to eat their own dead) we still have 6,25 million specimen." "Another strong point for slugs is that they can easily move across any surface thanks to the mucus they produce. And heights do not daunt them either. They can lower themselves down using slimecords. And what is more they are capable of doing this silently, while crickets with their incessant chirping alert their enemies to their presence, giving them time to prepare." "Slugs are known to be garden pests. This means that they kill possibly hundreds of smaller insects in one day. What can be more dangerous than a mass murderer, who kills not caring whether the victims are young, old, male or female?" Several people in the audience nodded. He had grabbed their attention. Time to give his opponent his chance. "Now, I wouldn't want to ruin my estimated fellow debaters chances by mentioning all of my points now, so I'll let him mention a few of his." - he said and sat down.

Time to check those arguments I had once sent in to see what I can work with. I don't seem to remember much of them...

Who knows where he will have gone. - Patham thought as Vincent disappeared from the room. He had no inclination to follow him into the unknown. As per his earlier suggestion that Tanny had approved he took an item one of them had received from Sweetcherrie and in his owl form managed to detect a faint trace of her scent on it. From there it was not hard for him to follow the scent, which laid straight to the wall of wild magic. "They went through this ...err wall, portal or whatever." - he said to Tanny, and the others once he had finished smelling around, and was once again in his human form. If only we could find out where they are now, I could check whether there is a trollgate near them.

“Urgent message to all pennites!!! *sshsshsh* stranded on an unknown plane *sshshss* Help us!! *sshsshsss* beware *sssshshsh* We- *ZAP* I can’t hold them off much longer, Sweetcherrie!! *shshssssss* The Alliance of Vagabonds and Vanguards needs your help! *sshssshssh* Almost done here, Gryphon! Aaaaarggg…..Trolls!!! I hate trolls, get us out of here!! *Shsshsshshsshshsh……” Patham had just asked for translation help, when he received the message. It did not take him long to reach the halls of the AVV, which as far as he remembered Sweetcherrie and Gryphon had been renovating. I seriously hope that nothing has gone wrong. "Any news about them?" - he asked when he got there. Mynx filled him in on what she had managed to learn. "I could try in owl form to follow their scent. It might be able to tell us which way they had gone. Trouble is that I am not very familiar with their scent. Would you happen to have any objects, which come from one of them?" All the while Patham kept fingering the gift he had received from Salinye, which was in his pocket. He remembered her words, what she had said about the little rock. It’s a rock. BUT, it’s a rock that will actually come in useful from time to time, although I hope not too often. You see, if you keep it with you, say in your pocket, it will heat up whenever anyone within reasonably close proximity to you, say the area of this room for example, has ill intentions toward you. Just a little measure to help keep you safe. For the moment the rock was perfectly cool.

Is there a chance of the debates still happening?

One of the black-skinned men, who were all scarcely dressed, moved towards Patham and uttered words in a language Patham did not comprehend. All of the natives eyed him curiously, as if he were an alien from several million light years away, and to tell the truth, Patham eyed them with the same curiosity. Here were people he would never have met without the Trollgate Guide. It took at least an hour of communication by sign language until both Patham and the tribe of the Unkakas understood that they had no hostile intentions towards each other. They had to find a better method of communication. Patham explained during ten minutes that he was going to go back to the Pen Keep to ask someone for a translation device. He shifted to his owl form. This was another thing he would have to explain to them, when he could speak with them. He passed through the two trollgates he needed to go through in order to get to the Keep. Once he got to the common room he looked at those who were there and asked: "Does anyone here speak Urkaka? Or does anyone have a translation device I might be able to borrow?" OOC: I don't have anyone special in mind for this so anyone who can help Patham out is welcome.

He had already found several mistakes in the guide. It seemed that two of the guides who had been close to each other had changed places and one or two were missing. But now he was in high snowy mountains, somewhere in the north he guessed. It was nighttime here and he was in owl form, trying to see where he was going. A cave loomed in the distance and Patham went to check it out. The smell he felt as he got near the entrance was that of some predatory animal, and unknowing of what he might have to face he chose discretion and went back to the trollgate. The next trollgate he took from the main island took him to a windy grassland, where the grass reached to his chest, when he was in human form. As he flew up in his owl form he could see that the plains stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction, and all that broke the monotony of the landscape were a cluster of trees towards the setting sun and a cluster of huts not far from what seemed to be a watering hole. He approached the huts and saw several dark skinned natives staring at him with bewildered eyes.

Patham smiled as he arrived back to his room. It had cost him 25 geld, but it was definitely worth it. As he rolled out the map he tried reading the antique writing next to it, but did not understand a single word of it. Nevermind. It's with trying out things that you really get to know them. - he thought and looked over the small symbols representing the trollgates. The closest one was in the forest not far from the Mighty Pen Keep. He set out to find this trollgate. Once he reached the marked spot on the map he saw nothing. Not a single trollgate in sight. Only trees all around. Then it hit him. As an acorn fell from a tree and hit him on the head he looked up and saw the tiniest pair of eyes staring at him from the branches. At first he thought it was a squirrel. Then when it did not move even after the acorn had been thrown at it, Patham finally realised what he was seeing. Probably the trollgate had been immobile for so long that its two legs were now firmly inside the trunks of two large trees. I'm not sure whether it shall still work this way. Better try it out. And he did. But to be careful he only stuck his head through to take a look. The twin of this trollgate was standing at the top of some mountain, looking down from this with only his head stuck through the void, Patham could see several other trollgates down below. Must be their main island.

Instead of at the end of chapters I'll add the translations here to not break the flow of story. Chapter 10 Quien es? = Who is it? Me llamo Juan. La signorita me ha dicho de venir aqui. Tengo que decir a usted que para ella no esta bien esta tarde. Y tengo que dar a usted un papel donde ella ha escrito algo. = My name is Juan. The miss told me to come here. I have to tell you that it isn't good for her tonight. I also have to give you a paper where she has written something. Tu no eres Juan! Tu eres el ingles! = You're no Juan! You're the englishman! Abre me Miguel. Soy Maria. = Openthe door Miguel. It's Maria. Un momento. = One moment.

Oh and one thing I forgot about the story. I had meant to each time when there is a foreign language used (spanish and in later chapters french) to add the translations at the end of the chapters. I'll go through the story a bit later today and do this.

Guess it's back to square one, with the comma added then.

Well, I changed the sentence completely. Is it better this way?

Thanks for pointing out those errors Tanny. The sentence in chapter 11 wanted to mean that the dealers feared him nearly as much as they feared the police since he was known to send his men after them. I'll try editing it up, and I'll edit that your/you're problem. Edit: the mistakes have been (hopefully) corrected.

I appreciate any and all feedback on my poetry, knowing that I'm not very good with it. Already knowing where it doesn't feel right helps, as I then can try correcting it. I'll have another go at this poem when I feel in the mood, but that isn't right now.

Congratulations! Well deserved.

Chapter 12: Police protection The response to Stephen’s call took longer than ten minutes. With nothing better to do, he started talking with Leanne. She turned out to be quite sympathetic. She was born in London to a Chinese father and a Welsh mother. Her parents were now retired and lived in a small village not far from Coventry. She had been to university and had finished a course of Far-Eastern culture and languages. Stephen learned that she spoke fluent Japanese, Chinese and Korean and conversational Spanish, French and German along with her flawless knowledge of English. Stephen told her his Basil Nevers cover story. Before he heard anything further from McCluney he wasn’t going to tell her more than necessary. Finally the call came. But it wasn’t, whom Stephen had been expecting. “Hello Stephen. This is Ian Davis.” – the sounds on the other side of the line betrayed that Davis was now sitting in a car. “I was sorry to hear what had happened up in Edinborough. I assure you, that it was not of my doing. Now, you must be impatient and wondering when I shall get to the point. Don’t worry I won’t keep you waiting. I’ve just been on the phone with Walter McCluney, and he has told me about the situation you are in currently. I understand that you have Leanne at gunpoint, right?” “Yes.” – Stephen wondered why McCluney had agreed to Davis calling him. “Good. Keep the gun pointed at her if you want, while we are talking, if it reassures you.” “What do you want?” “Alan Johnson is in Paris. He has already killed the McNamara twins. I want you to go to Paris to get him. McCluney has already agreed. Hickley shall also be there to help, and I shall send some men over also. You need to get to Paris, but if you get off in Gibraltar, you won’t be able to travel. You are now a wanted person in the UK, and your cover of Basil Nevers shall not last long.” “You clearly have a plan.” – Stephen could sense that he wasn’t controlling this conversation. He never had. But he had to follow what Davis was saying, as it seemed that he and McCluney had somehow reached an agreement. “You get off the boat in Barcelona. From there you get to Lyon by train, and from Lyon you take a TGV to Paris. The boat gets to Barcelona in two days time, add another day for you to get to Paris, I say you meet Hickley at the Eiffel Tower at midnight three days from now. Me and McCluney shall arrange our side of things and Hickley shall have his orders.” “McCluney hadn’t wanted me to go after Johnson. He feared that I would kill and not capture him if I met him.” – Stephen wasn’t an idiot. If he noticed something, which didn’t add up, he wasn’t happy. “That’s why I’m sending Leanne with you. She should be able to control you.” “Clearly you have thought of everything. Anything else I need to know of?” “Nothing, which can’t wait until Paris.” “All right.” Davis had already hung up. Stephen looked at Leanne. “Ever been to Paris?” “Never before, why?” “Well I’ve just spoken to Davis.” – he handed her gun back. She took it, surprise on her face. “We are to get off the ship in Barcelona, then go by train to Paris, through Lyon. We need to capture Alan Johnson.” – he then filled her in on the details. Leanne nodded when he finished. “You’re Stephen Malcolm, aren’t you?” – she asked. “Yes, and don’t say that you’re sorry about my boy, because I’m getting sick of hearing people telling me that.” From the expression on her face, Stephen could tell that she was just about to say it. “I think we should just lock this cabin door, and put out a don’t disturb sign. We still have two days until we reach Barcelona.” – Leanne said, changing the subject of the conversation. “I have cabin 62, if you need to see me.” – Stephen said, and walked out of the cabin, leaving Leanne alone. He needed to be alone. And he needed to talk with Rachel. The door opened behind him. “Could you give me my phone back?” – Leanne asked, walking after him. “Mind if I keep it tonight? I need to make a call.” – he said. She motioned that he could keep it. “My cabin is cabin 29 by the way.” – Leanne said trying to get Stephen to talk, but he didn’t reply and went to his cabin. Rachel was just in the Edinborough Police Department, having finished the interview with Sergeant Kittle. “I’m pretty sure we shall be able to give you the protection. Don’t worry if you see a few plains clothes police men outside your house, Ms O’Donaghey. Oh and, I need you to sign these papers.” – he handed them to her, and she signed them. She turned to leave, just when her phone rang. Still within ear range of Sergeant Kittle, she picked it up. “Hello Rachel.” It was Stephen’s voice. Sergeant Kittle had also recognised it unfortunately and with a sudden move of his hand snatched the phone from Rachel, just as she said “Hi.” “Stephen, this is John Kittle. Don’t hang up!” – he said hurriedly as he had felt Stephen moving the phone. “Rachel has just been here to ask for protection, as you had asked her, and I recognised your voice. I just wanted to have a word with you. We have found out about the real reasons of your trips.” “Why should I listen to you? You don’t need time to trace the phone. Now that you have the number, you can probably trace it to within ten meters of where I am. That’s not what you need. What do you want, John?” Sergeant Kittle was thinking furiously. He had spoken with Stephen before. He hoped that he could get him to cooperate. “Stephen, if you come in and confess you could get less jail-time. If you confess about those who you have worked for you might get a deal, which excludes prison time, even.” “I wouldn’t betray anyone. I’m not the type.” “What about Rachel? Are you going to leave her?” – Kittle was trying to play on Stephen’s emotions. Stephen didn’t reply. “Stephen, if you told us everything, we might be able to catch the person who killed your son.” “I’m going to get that man.” – Stephen said, ending the call. Sergeant Kittle looked at Rachel and sighed, and then wrote down the number Stephen had called from. They would have to watch that number as they watched Stephen’s known cell phone. “I’m afraid we’ll have to keep your phone for a few days, Miss O’Donaghey. We shall have to have our tech people have a look in it.” She nodded. She was on the brink of tears, but didn’t want to show it. She had wanted to talk to Stephen herself. She had wanted to tell him of her decision, but he had called at the wrong time. She excused herself and went out to the bathroom. John Kittle called for Lieutenant McNeil. Stephen went from his cabin to Leanne’s. She let him in after he had knocked. She was wearing nothing, but a towel, and was still wet from a quick shower she had taken. “What is it?” “Your phone. It’s going to be traced. Get rid of it.” – he said handing the phone back. At the same time he went to the open porthole of Leanne’s room and threw out his own phone. “That’s great. So we’ll be out of touch, until we reach Paris?” “It seems very much like it.” She threw her phone after his. Rachel left the Police Station a quarter of an hour later, when she had managed to master her emotions. Luckily she did not meet Sergeant Kittle. She went home and ordered some food. Even the act of ordering some food reminded her of Stephen, and when they had eaten pizza together. At ten that evening her bell rang. It was a young policeman, who told her that he and two of his companions had been sent to protect her. She thanked him and offered them coffee, which they declined, saying that they had their own. Rachel decided to watch a film. She leafed through her collection of DVD’s and finally found one that she fancied. She fell to sleep in front of the film at midnight.

Chapter 11: Sleeping with the fishes Pieter van Huydink had moved to London with his parents, when he was a kid of seven years in 1985. The transition had been quite easy for him and in less than a year he had mastered the language, something his parents had never been capable of. His parents were killed during a mugging, when he was twelve, and by the age of thirteen he had joined one of the Chinese gangs operating in London. He would have been condemned to work for them for life, had a certain Ian Davis – who was thirty-three years old at the time – not bought him from the Chinese. Ian Davis had already then, in the early 1980’s been setting up, what would eventually become his crime empire. He had a hand in nearly every pie in London. All except drugs. He never smuggled or sold drugs. It was a question of personal pride and honour for him. He had had a big problem with drug addiction in his early teens, but had managed to come out of it by himself and didn’t ever want to see any more of them. Ian Davis took in Pieter and took care of him. He gave the boy small jobs as taking papers here or there, maybe delivering a package. He never told the boy about the bigger picture, but Pieter was a bright lad, and being close to Ian Davis figured out quite a few things on his own. It was when he turned twenty that Ian let him in on the how’s and why’s and also the not-to’s of the business. He had specifically told him, that while he was working for Ian Davis he shouldn’t touch drugs. Ian Davis was now forty-seven years old. He was the most powerful crime-lord in London, and certainly among the most powerful in the British Isles. His name was enough to induce fear in any simple thug or thief, and at times his reputation was enough to resolve certain problems. He had ties with the Chinese and the other criminal gangs in town, and in a sort controlled them. He had done them so many favours, that when he asked for something in return he always got what he wanted. What he wanted right now was to kill a man. A man, he had gotten to know as a young boy, and had saved from the Chinese. Ian Davis had just learnt that Pieter van Huydink had lately turned to importing drugs. Pieter had long been independent from Ian, but had never gotten free from his influence. After the police it was probably Ian Davis, whom the drug dealers feared most in London, since he was known to send his hit men after them, trying to free the town from what he considered the worse thing invented ever since fire. But now he wasn’t going to send his hit men. This was something he wanted to take care of alone. His men were needed to take care of the organisation van Huydink had set up under his nose. “Sean!” Sean was Davis’s liaison with the more peaceful of the IRA operating in Ireland and Northern Ireland, those who had turned away from terrorism and settled for more profitable crimes. He worked for both Davis and the Irish. “Yeah?” “Do your other bosses have anyone in Rotterdam?” “They might. What would need doing?” Sean O’Murphy was Irish, and looked it. He had red hair and a freckled face, which wouldn’t have looked out of place in any town in Ireland. “I need to take care of a few drug suppliers there.” O’Murphy’s bosses, although not directly involved in drug trafficking were probably close to some, who were, as Davis suspected, but it was a necessary evil he had to live with. If someone were flooding London with drugs as van Huydink was, then it would also be in their interest to get rid of the suppliers. “You’re taking care of the problem here?” – the Irishman asked. “Yeah.” “I’ll make a phone call.” – Sean said and left the small room. So did Ian Davis. He called his right-hand man, William Hicks, or as some in London knew him, Bill the Butcher. He had earned the nickname after a particularly vicious show down between Davis’s gang and a rival gang in the early nineties, but several years had actually passed since he hadn’t killed anyone. Davis had lifted him above the rest of his men after those clashes, to keep him from harm’s way. Since then William Hicks had solved many a situation while his boss was away. And solved them well. He wasn’t only a good fighter, but he also had brains. “Bill Hicks.” – the man simply said over the phone. From the background there came the giggles of one or several women. Women were the one weakness of Hicks. “I hope I haven’t disturbed anything.” – Davis said, with a chuckle. “Nothing I can’t get out of. You need me?” “I need something taken care of. And I want you to come with me.” “I’ll be there in half an hour.” O’Murphy knocked on the door shortly afterwards. Ian Davis actually had a large office in a modern office building. The office was that of director of Davis Wood Shipping and Handling, which was a company, who imported and treated wood from South America. It was a completely legitimate business, which brought moderate profits. It wasn’t even used for money laundering; Davis had other businesses for that. “Come in!” – Davis called. The Irishman came in. Davis had always thought that he looked awkward in a suit. He was too bulky for them. “We’ll send a few guys over to Rotterdam. Give me the names of the guys you want capped.” Davis told him, and O’Murphy left the office. Davis looked over papers of Davis Wood Shipping and Handling. Business had been good lately, with a large order from a furniture company, who it was rumoured had won the contract to refurnish the ministries in London. But this business wasn’t his. His son, Tim had taken over two months ago, and it was only nostalgia, which still brought him back. Tim Davis was in French Guyana at the moment, on some business or other to do with the company. Ian half-remembered it being about the quality of the last shipment, but wasn’t sure. He was brought out of his daydreaming by a firm knock on the door. Before he could answer Bill was in the room. “Pour yourself a stiff one Bill. This one had once been a friend.” The man did so, and then asked whom Davis was referring to. “Pieter.” – was the reply, and there was a hint of sadness in Davis’s voice. “I thought that he was one of your favourites.” William Hicks was tall and thin and could have looked like anything but a criminal. He had an honest face, which didn’t change even when he told the boldest lies, and nothing in his manner betrayed how vicious and brutal he could become if he wanted. “He was.” – and Davis put the emphasis on the past tense. “He has been flooding the Chinese quarter with imported heroine. He was bringing the drugs in through Rotterdam taking from the shipments going to continental Europe. He built on his contacts in the Chinese quarter from many years ago. I have already sent men to take care of the chinks.” “Where is Pieter?” “I’ve set up a meeting with him at a warehouse. Told him there’s a shipment he has to see.” Bill nodded. He never asked unnecessary questions. Neither did he speak when it wasn’t needed. He was measured in everything he did. Just as Davis. Hicks finished his whiskey and the two men left the building. “What if he brings a few of his men?” – Hicks asked in the car. He was driving. He always did, when he was with Davis. Not because he was a subordinate, but because he was a bloody good driver, as Davis had once said after a particularly fanciful getaway. “I have men around the warehouse. You know I always do. I must admit I did send a few extras though.” They reached the warehouse, and made towards the meeting place. They arrived first. They didn’t have to wait for long. Pieter van Huydink came with two of his men, who stopped at a respectable distance, and the Dutchman came along alone. “Ian, it’s been a long time since I last saw you! How are you? And Bill! Nice to see you too!” “Pieter, it has indeed been a long time…” – then Davis’s phone rang. It was McCluney from Glasgow. The two of them had met once, several years ago and hadn’t parted on the best of terms. McCluney was the biggest fish in Scotland and Davis hadn’t taken to it well when he had kept his territory shut to Davis. At the time he hadn’t pressed the issue, and since his anger had much lessened. It was still a surprise when he heard the Scotsman’s voice. “McCluney.” – the voice announced, and then continued. “We need to talk.” “I’m listening.” – Davis said. He didn’t ask how McCluney had gotten his number, as these things were trivialities for their like. “Does the name Leanne Hiu say anything to you?” “Yes.” “She is on the Sea’s Pearl right now, correct?” Davis frowned and walked away from Hicks and Van Huydink. “How do you know that?” “It would seem that she had the same target as one of my men. And my man has her at gunpoint right now. However he had the brains to call me asking what to do. Do you have anything to suggest?” “That depends on who your man is. If it is Malcolm, whom I happen to know left Scotland rather early by boat two days ago, then I might have something to offer to him in exchange.” Now it was McCluney’s turn to pause. Davis continued using the silence to his advantage. “I wasn’t the one, who wanted to take him down, although he has been a problem a few times in the past. I do know who the man on the scene was though. A certain Alan Johnson, if the name means anything to you.” “I’ve sent my men after him to Paris.” “If you mean the McNamara twins, then they’re dead. Was all over the Paris newspapers this morning. Two Scottish tourists murdered on the Montmartre, all of their money taken from them. Although you and I know that it wasn’t a simple robbery.” “There was one other also.” McCluney managed to mask his surprise. This was news to him. He scribbled on a paper to his man next to him to check whether Hickley was also dead, or not. “Come on Walter, let’s end all this secrecy. Clearly you need my help, and my girl on the Sea’s Pearl needs yours. Why not share information?” Grudgingly McCluney accepted. Halfway through the conversation he was whispered that Hickley had been reached in Paris. The death of the McNamara twins had been news to him also. He had agreed to wait for further orders before acting. “Right, both of us have learnt quite a lot, haven’t we Walter?” “I’ll have to agree with you.” “I’ll call Stephen. It will be better if he hears, what he has to hear from me. I’m not sure he’ll like what we’ve agreed upon.” “All right.” It was as if Davis had won an argument, when there had been nothing they had argued about. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to.” Davis hung up and walked back to Hicks and van Huydink. “Sorry about that, some business I had to take care of. I’ll need to make another phone call in a few minutes, but lets finish here first, shall we Pieter?” “Right…” – there was a certain hesitation in the Dutchman’s voice, as he clearly had no idea why he had been called here. He had seen no sign of any shipment. “So where’s the shipment?” “There is no shipment, Pieter.” It was Hicks who said this. “Why did you have to turn to dealing drugs, Pieter? Why? After all that time! For God’s sake. I warned you. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.” Davis wasn’t furious. He was disappointed. Pieter lifted his hand as if to sneeze. Upon the signal his two men reached for their guns and came running. Several silenced shots pierced the silence and van Huydink’s men fell to the ground. “Come on Pieter. We’re in my sector. Here it is I, who determines the rules. Your men could have survived if not for your foolishness.” Van Huydink spoke. His voice was calm, but his posture betrayed that he was now terrified. “Ian, you must be wrong. I haven’t been dealing drugs. It’s too dangerous.” Hicks laughed. “Dangerous? Don’t kid me! Extortion is more dangerous, and as far as I have heard you’ve been doing quite a lot of that lately. Word on the street has it, that you have extorted over half of the shop owners in Chinatown.” Van Huydink was getting desperate. “Ian, think about our friendship! Won’t you give me another chance?” “You have thrown away the friendship I once gave you, Pieter. Thrown it away for what? Some more money through the drugs? Didn’t you have enough? You could have asked me for more money if you wanted.” “You…” – Pieter stammered. “Oh, shut up!” – Davis said, and motioned for Hicks. From the suit, out came a silenced Lüger. Hicks’s favourite weapon. He had brought it at an auction, and had made the silencer himself. Although it was more than 60 years old, it was still a perfectly good weapon. Before van Huydink had the chance to say anything more Hicks pulled the trigger. “Clean up!” – Davis ordered and his men came out from among the crates and sacks, where they had been hiding. “Throw van Huydink’s body in the river. Let him sleep with the fishes!”

Chapter 10: The Sea’s Pearl When Basil Nevers boarded the Sea’s Pearl at eight p.m. in La Coruña he was one of several dozen, rich looking businessmen and women. He had no beard now, having gotten rid of it in the hotel room. He had slept through most of the day, exhausted by the events of the night, both physically and emotionally. The Sea’s Pearl was a luxurious cruise boat, with the decorations all over the passenger accessible areas showing that it wasn’t for the poor. Some people in fact lived on the ship. Rich pensioners, whose life dream had come true with this, Basil Nevers thought. He had barely set foot on the ship when waiters came, offering him cocktails. He took one, and once out of sight of the waiter threw the liquid inside the pot of a plant. He needed his mind to be clear. This time in two days the ship would be in Gibraltar, and he would be getting off it. Dinner was served shortly after they had boarded the ship. Stephen sat alone at his table and ordered seafood, as did many of the people around him. When the food arrived a band went to the stage and started playing some jazz music. From the paper on his table, Stephen could see that each night a different band played. The next night it would be a rock band. After dinner he went to his room. When he entered a man was already waiting there. “Who are you?” “Mr McCarthey had said that this was going to be your cabin, Mr Nevers.” – said the man, and then introduced himself as Abel Asevedo. He had a thick accent, one characteristic of Mediterranean people. McCarthey was the name used by McCluney at times. “What have you got for me?” “I guess you haven’t seen Mr Taylor yet. He usually stays in his cabin and has his food delivered there. He keeps to himself, as do some others on the ship. He has cabin 47.” – he handed him a snapshot of Michael Taylor. The target looked to be in his late twenties, and there was nothing remarkable about him. Then again, rarely were the high profile criminals remarkable. “What about the hardware?” “I have put them under your bed, Mr Nevers. Good luck. Kill this bastard of a drug dealer.” The security officer left his cabin. Stephen, known on the ship as Basil Nevers wondered how much he had been paid. Not that it mattered much. He had played his part and wasn’t needed anymore. It troubled him however that the security officer knew what he was going to do. Normally McCluney did not tell that much to the one-time helpers. Under the bed, Stephen found a pistol, and a sniper rifle, both of Russian make. Although they weren’t the best, they would be adequate for the job. He checked them for ammunition. The rifle only had four bullets, while the rifle two. He would manage with them. On his inspection of the surroundings of cabin 47, the following morning, Stephen found that the job wasn’t going to be that easy. The window of the cabin faced towards the water, and the door was sturdy. If Michael Taylor did not move out from his cabin, it might even prove to be impossible. That day Michael Taylor came out to have lunch. He conversed fluently in Spanish with the waiters, and to Stephen gave the impression of not being English at all. His physique and facial look also suggested that he was rather South American. When Stephen accidentally dropped his handkerchief next to his table, he had however picked it up and told Stephen in an accent-laden English that it was no problem at all. During lunch, the so-called Michael Taylor spoke with a Spanish, or South American woman, and it appeared to Stephen, sitting five tables away that they had arranged a rendezvous. He needed a plan. He spent the whole day in his cabin thinking about it, and in the end had it. He had even surprised himself. It had to build on his quite weak Spanish knowledge and a Spanish dictionary, but he was pretty sure it would work. He made his way to cabin 47, and knocked firmly. “Quien es?” – came a voice from inside. “Me llamo Juan. La signorita me ha dicho de venir aqui. Tengo que decir a usted que para ella no esta bien esta tarde. Y tengo que dar a usted un papel donde ella ha escrito algo.” A key was turned in the lock, and then the door opened slowly. Michael Taylor peeked out. “Tu no eres Juan! Tu eres el ingles!” – he exclaimed suddenly and tried to shut the door, but Stephen put his foot between the door and the wall, and with his right hand punched Michael in the face, knocking him backwards, forcing his way through the door. “And I’m also pretty sure that your real name isn’t Michael Taylor.” – said Stephen. “Who are you? Are you from the police?” – the man asked, cowering against the wall of his cabin. His accent was definitely of someone of Spanish, or Latin American origin. Stephen replied, while locking the door from the inside. “I’m not from the police.” The so-called Michael Taylor sighed in relief, but when he heard what Stephen had to say next he regretted that sigh. “I’ve been sent by McCluney.” “I guess from the fact that you have told me, who sent you that I am to die?” Stephen nodded. He could see panic on the man’s face. He didn’t enjoy seeing his victim’s suffer and so brought out his gun, with the silencer on it, pointing it at the man. He was just about to pull the trigger, when he heard a knock on the door, and a female voice came from outside. “Abre me Miguel. Soy Maria.” Stephen muttered a curse under his breath and pulled the trigger. Now he had to take care of the woman also. “Un momento.” – he shouted through the door, and went to the bathroom and flushed the toilet. He then went to the door and opened it, stepping out. He motioned for her to go in, trying to make her think he had just been visiting Miguel’s room. She took the bait and stepped into the room. He heard her intake of breath upon seeing Miguel’s corpse, but then he pushed her into the room and followed, locking the door again. She had slightly thinner eyes, and an altogether Asian look to her. “Do you speak English?” – was the first thing he asked her. “Yes.” – was the tentative reply. “Right, that makes it easier for me. Look, I have nothing against you, and don’t want to kill you, ok? You just came here at the wrong time. Do you get me? I don’t want to kill you.” He could see terror in her eyes, and it was because of this that he wanted to make sure that the message had gotten across. She nodded, and he continued. “I don’t want to kill you, but I can’t let you go either. You see I have to leave this ship before people find out about what has happened to Michael, or, as you know him Miguel here. Now, I’m getting off in Gibraltar, but I shall have to tie you up so that you only get out of this cabin about a day later, with enough time for me to make my escape. I’m not doing this to hurt you, but to ensure my escape, ok?” She nodded again, then to Stephen’s surprise spoke. And if he was surprised that she had spoken he was even more surprised at what she said. “Did McCluney send you? I’m just guessing from your Scottish accent.” – she spoke with a perfect, London accent. Stephen pointed the gun at her. She made no sudden moves, but continued speaking. “Miguel Hierra, small time Argentinean drug dealer, had gotten too big. He had even managed to bribe his way out of the Rio de Janeiro prison. He took on the identity of Michael Taylor and wanted to go to Gibraltar, and from there get back to London.” She paused waiting to see a reaction on Stephen’s face, but there wasn’t any. “He was a problem for my boss, so I was sent to get rid of him, but it seems you had gotten there before me.” “Who are you? And who the hell do you work for?” “I work for Davis, and my name is Leanne Hiu.” “Hiu?” “Chinese father.” “I see.” He still kept the gun on her, not risking anything. “You’d understand that I need to make a call?” “Go ahead.” Stephen was just about to call Walter McCluney from his phone when he realised that if the cops were after him by now then his phone would be tapped. “You have a phone?” – he asked Leanne. “Yes.” – was the reply. “Give it to me.” She didn’t ask any questions, but slowly took her phone from her handbag and handed it to Stephen. “McCluney.” It was rare for Walter himself to pick up the phone, but probably the secretary had already gone home. “This is your man on the Sea’s Pearl.” “What’s happened. Have you run into problems?” “The mission is accomplished, but it would seem that I wasn’t the only one on the job. I have someone here, who says that she was sent by Davis to kill Michael Taylor, also known as Miguel Hierra.” McCluney swore badly on the other side of the line, and then took a moment to regain control of himself. “It seems I’ll have to call Davis now. What name did she give?” “Leanne Hiu.” “I’ll call you back in ten minutes.” Stephen put the phone on the table. “Sit down on the chair, and give me your handbag.” – he said to Leanne. She did as told and handed him the handbag. Stephen placed it next to the phone on the table and then searched her with one hand, while keeping the gun on her with the other. He found no weapons on her. Then he searched the handbag, and found the small automatic among all the womanly things. He handed back the handbag without the gun. Then he settled back, waiting for the call to come.