This story has no title, no middle, just a beginning:-

​Chapter One
(Started by Desmond Harrington)


He didn't look like a hero. Heroes don't wear jeans and trainers and an odd green anorak that looked as though someone else had bought for him (which indeed they had). But hero he was and one who almost single handedly, had saved the country from ruin, anarchy and chaos. 

He was not a spy but worked with spies in one of those nameless faceless buildings in which the government sought to protect its security. In truth he was a geek, a natural interface with the cyber world and had been for years, spotted in his first year at university, he had known nothing but defending against more and more complex systems. He was supposed to think up attacks of his own but rarely had time.

When the big attack was launched he came into his own. For seven straight weeks he had darted between banks of of screens and keyboards like some demented organist from a Gothic fantasy. There were times he nearly lost but all that the country knew of this was that some bank was having problems with its online arm, or air traffic control had gone off line for an hour or two.
With little or no sleep, little food but coffee and in the end, only drugs to keep him going from doctors who knew the damage they were doing but were aware of the titanic battle he was waging on behalf of all of us, he triumphed. Others now could man the watchtower.

He was exhausted to the edge of life and demented to the edge of reason.

Weeks in the sanatorium he was brought back from the brink by a therapist with a soft Irish brogue that teased out the bits of him that he could build on to remake his personality.

Now he was much more on his own monitored from a distance with only the occasional visit, he lived alone in this cottage in the country. It was the countryside that was bringing him back to life, peaceful and slow there was no pressure and for the first time in his life exercise. His walks became the measure of his days longer and wider he went as his strength returned but he would almost always see the woman with the dog. 

At first they hurried past one another with cursory nods, anxious for different reasons but now  brief 'good mornings' had become the order of the day and he recognised in her face the same hurt and damage that may have been in his.
Today was different. Spring had come at last and with it, sun and a scurrying bright sky. The stream along the edge of the road ran slow and clear for the first time in months and the meeting was new.

'Hello, what a lovely day at last'

'Yes' he stammered in surprise and she was passed  him in a second but not before a smile. A smile that transformed her face and lit up his spirit. Someone had reached out to him in a simple open way. He was a member of the human race once again but now much stronger than he had been before. He was still standing near the place where they had passed but she had gone from sight around the corner and did not know she had frozen him with her smile.

He took a deep breath opened his stiff shoulders wide and lifted his bowed head truly for the first time in years and in so doing something glinted in the stream beside him. It was a jewel of green and white stones set in a silvery mount. He looked back towards where the woman had been but it could not be hers since she had been walking  on the other side of the road.
He stooped to lift it out of the water. With its broken chain it was a necklace but exquisitely made. If the greens stones were emeralds and the white stones diamonds it was a fabulous object.

(Continued by Peter Powell)
He stood, transfixed by the reality of the object in his hand, not knowing why; not understanding the impact it was having on him.  Maybe just wondering at the sheer beauty  of his find, the  glinting of the afternoon sun emphasising its perfect symmetry, the dripping of teardrops from its silvery scaffolding. 

After what seemed like a mere pause for thought, in reality a bit longer, he turned and made for home, oblivious to the developing chill after the warmth of the afternoon. He turned the key in his door, felt for his phone and, moving towards the hall stand, began to make his call.  A moment later he stopped, mid-dialling. Precisely what stopped him at that moment he could not later recall. Perhaps it was the desire to keep his find to himself. Perhaps – just perhaps – it was more than that .... perhaps a shifting memory. He sat, and sat, what was it? Just what was the memory deep in the cavernous jungle that had once been his mind. How could he remember what was bothering him? He found some tissue paper and carefully wrapped his troubling acquisition.  He felt suddenly hungry. Food was the answer. He would eat and then he would remember. He would.

The doorbell rang. ‘Not now’ he thought and continued with his meal. Again the irritation.  And again. Reluctantly he placed his fork carefully on his plate and rose to investigate the intrusion. He didn’t need to. Just as he reached for the handle the door was pushed open and he lurched quickly sideways to avoid contact. ‘Oh sorry’ he heard – just making out the Irish accent. ‘It’s you’ he said; ‘Why today, why just now’ he thought.

‘I was in the area’ came the reply. ‘Thought  I’d  just pop in and see how you are. How are you? You look  a bit perplexed, is everything OK? ‘
‘Just fine’ he heard himself replying. ‘Perplexed as to why you are here, that’s all. I thought your duties with me were finished. You made that all too clear at our last meeting.’  There was an awkward pause. Then another. ‘Eternity would be preferable’, he remembered thinking.

‘Well I just wanted to explain, I needed to explain....... there were issues, challenges, call them what you like. Things happened, information arose, nothing was straightforward.’

‘Nothing ever is – or was’ - he interrupted. ‘But you made some interesting observations. They still disturb me. Is that the role of a therapist – to disturb its prey? I could have reported you.’

‘But you didn’t‘ the embarrassed silence was interrupted.  ‘Why not?’

Another silence. He eventually interceded -  ‘I was eating; please leave.’

Peace at last. He finished his meal. Now just what was he thinking about?


Chapter Two (by Diana Jackett)

Despite the sleeping pills he normally took he did not sleep well. He had to admit he was excited about the contact he had made with the lady in the lane, though he knew nothing about her. The image of the fabulous jewel was burned into his mind but the visit of James Doherty was the most unsettling. Why had he suddenly turned up and in such an indecisive state alluding to secrets held either by himself are knowledge still unearthed from his own mind. In the end he decided to concentrate on the jewel. He had not had a really good look around the place he had found it perhaps there were some clues there.

So next morning found him once more walking the streams edge searching for anything that might throw some light on the mystery. Ten minutes had gleaned a small collection of items, a fine tipped pen ( the type used by artists or mapmakers), a soggy but intact railway ticket from Paddington to Taunton dated only two days previously, which in itself was odd since Taunton was over forty miles away, but most interesting was the computer memory stick that also lay in the stream. His examination of the items was interrupted by the noise of an approaching car and instinctively he thrust the items into his pocket where also lay the jewel. He did not want to leave it in the cottage.
It was a police car and it stopped. An officer got out and walked round the car to him.

'Excuse me sir could I ask what you are doing in the lane'

'Going for a walk, why'

'Do you live locally?'

'In the cottage down the the lane.'

'Have you any means of identity?' 

'I have back in the cottage. What is this all about?'

'There has been an incident locally and we believe there is someone in the area that would be useful in our inquiries. Would you mind getting in the car so we can run you back to you cottage so that we can check your identity?'

He was not sure if he had much choice and got in with a mixture of anger and irritation but also of intrigue. When they got back he quickly found his passport and one of the officers went to check on the computer in the car. PC Pendennis had never seen a security rating as high as this. This guy was trusted with more secrets than the Prime Minister! 

'I am sorry Dr Pulgar but we are having to check everybody where we can'.

Tom sensed an easing of tension so pressed on 'Whats this really all about?'

'Well there has been an incident at the big house on the top lane. Some one has been attacked and injured and we believe some property is missing. Its some sort of Company Headquarters' He finished lamely, unwilling or unable to offer any further information
The brief silence was punctuated by the woman passing the window.

'Who is that?'

'Its only a lady from the village she comes past everyday'

Nonetheless PC Pendennis was up the short drive and had asked her to identify herself.

Tom suddenly felt he needed to support this women who had a rather intimidated look as she walked towards them. 

'I can vouch for this lady' banking on his new found status 'she lives in the first cottage in the village, Stanhope Cottage I think it is called' and wondered how he knew that.

'And her name?'

'Eva Ladrillo, Mrs divorced'. She had just been near enough to hear the question.
.
Satisfied there was nothing to interest them any further with thanks for their co-operation the Police were gone.

'Thanks for that'  she said, looking away, 'police make me uncomfortable'.

'No, thank you I was stuck over your name.'

'Whats going on?'

Tom explained as best he could and nearly divulged the secret of the jewel but something held him back. What was clear was that far from discouraging them from taking an interest in the 'big house' they were both very intrigued by events there.

'Lets go and have a nose'

'Are you sure you want to?'

We can walk round the top and come down to the village on the other lane. Oh I am sorry, can you manage? I heard in the village you had been ill.'

Not that sort of ill his head said and wondered what else they said about him in the village. 'No I am alright now'.
So they set off.

After two lane junctions and a stiff climb they were on a lane running along the valley but much higher than Tom's cottage. The house itself was no grand manor but had at one time been a very very substantial farmhouse with an array of outbuildings to the side which were encompassed by  a wall. There was a front door but that only seemed to be a pedestrian access across wide lawns that separated it from the lane. The only vehicle access seemed to be through an arched gate at the side leading in to the outbuildings and as they approached the gates swung open to let a silver van emerge and in doing so momentarily revealed a courtyard of renovated buildings but what fascinated Tom most of all was the array of sophisticated antennae and dishes hidden behind the wall. He knew enough to know that this was a very sophisticated communications centre. The door closed and the van came on.

'Try and look natural' and they ambled along the lane. The van paused at the lane's edge the driver and passenger studying them intently and then only seeing a couple walking the dog turned left and were quickly lost behind the high hedge banks. Tom quickly explained the significance of what he had seen.

'Gosh.'  A slightly old fashioned response and a delight.
​
It was then that they heard another set of wheels on the gravel and the purr of a motor.
The were just past the open section by the house in a very narrow stretch of lane and so hurried to a gateway to a field on the opposite hedge bank, more to get the dog out of the way than for any other reason but they were now out of site from the onrushing black limousine. They went  unseen as the car rushed by but Tom clearly saw the passenger, James Doherty.

(continued by Jo Falcon)

They walked back towards the village and Tom was thinking about the events of the day. They didn't speak much and the dog kept them interested as they approached the stream and the spot where Tom had found the jewel. He looked around for any more clues but not wanting to give anything away simply took note of the fact that there was a piece of paper with a stone on top keeping it in place at the spot where he had found the jewel. He made a mental note to return later.

"Would you like to come round for supper?"

Eva's invitation took Tom by surprise. "What time?" he heard himself reply. He had broken his vow to have no serious social contact for the time being.

"Around half past seven would be fine, I've got some salad and some fish which I can soon cook."

"That sounds wonderful." 

He had been eating very simple food since arriving in the village and was looking forward to something  of more interest. In particular, something cooked by someone else. He wondered what sort of a cook was this rather unusual woman.

As they walked up to Tom's cottage they said goodbye and both said they were looking forward to meeting up later for supper.

The day had been quite tiring. He had not really fully recovered from the exhaustion of his previous assignment. He sat in the big old armchair beside the fireplace and began to muse over the events of the day. He wondered about the scrap of paper where he had found the jewel a couple of days ago. 

Then he thought about the memory stick in his pocket. He fished it out of his pocket and stuck it into the USB slot on his laptop. What was going to be on it? He was about to boot up his computer, but stopped himself. He would need to examine this little item somewhere where there was no way it could produce harm.

Time was passing by so he had a shower and put on some clean jeans and a clean shirt. He picked up a bottle of Chablis from the fridge and set off for an evening out. He had no idea what to expect but this was a major part of his rehabilitation.

Eva opened the door wearing a simple but elegant dress. Just the right length and it was pale green, his favourite colour. He thought; "This is going to be a very good evening".

At that moment there was the sound of a car stopping and, together, they looked out to see PC Pendennis  coming down the path.

"Good evening, Mrs Ladrillo" he said as she greeted him at the front door. "Can I come in?" "Well.." she said. "I've…"

"Oh!, I didn't expect to find you here." He blurted out as he barged in and saw our hero.

PC Pendennis was intrigued by Tom's security rating and wanted to know more about him. That had been the reason for his visit. Maybe the young lady could help.


"I,  err… wondered whether you had seen anything since I last spoke to you regarding the incident at the big house." he said rather lamely, "We haven't been able to make any progress." The two replied that they had seen nothing of note.


PC Pendennis left, thanking our two for their help and they wondered why he should have come with what appeared to be such a flimsy reason.


The meal was fantastic. Tom hadn't enjoyed himself so much for years. There seemed to be a remarkable common interest and chemistry between them.


At 3 a.m. exactly Tom got out of bed and left the sleeping Eva to go home. Several things from the evening had worried him; the mysterious visit from the police, his finds and the sudden interest in him from Eva.
It was a five minute walk back to his cottage and it was a clear moonlit night. The village looked quite different from its usual daytime beauty. 
​
He went to put the key in the lock…but the door opened. He went inside and in the big old armchair saw the shape of a man. It was James Doherty. He was dead.

Chapter Three (Continued by DC Orchard)

​Tom sat down opposite the body of James Doherty and suddenly Tom was himself again. All the damage of his previous efforts had at last cleared and he was his old questioning inquisitive self again. Why? Because he remembered. All those long hours when Doherty was counselling him trying to put his scrambled mind back together, he now remembered the gentle Irish brogue delving for the one piece of information that Tom would not give. The key to the set of sequences that would open up Tom's computer defense of the realm. The algorithm that Tom had devised as the final barrier that had not been breached. Tom was looking at an enemy not a friend.


He turned the lights out. He could not think clearly whilst under the lifeless stare of the man who had saved his sanity but only in order to defeat him. In the darkness his mind raced. He already instinctively knew that the big house with all its communication equipment was the source of the attack. Doherty was there, he had seen him driven out. Was he there under duress or a willing participant? It was clearly no accident that Doherty had found this cottage in order to further his recovery.


His reflections were interrupted by the noise of a car approaching but very quietly and as it ghosted to a halt its lights were tuned off. Feet on the path Tom barely made it behind the kitchen door before the front door was pushed open. The light of a torch circled the room.
'Damn, not home yet, I thought she was only inviting him to dinner'
The distinctive voice of PC Pendennis.


The noise of the front door being pulled shut and the car turning and moving quietly back from whence it came.


So one more to join the band of enemies, a bent copper. But what was the point of planting a dead body on him? Too many possibilities there and what to do about the body. Clearly going to the police was not an option either. The only people he could trust were his own people from HQ but even as he went to the phone he was sure that this sophisticated plan would have included a complete communication lock down with a divert to any place they wanted.\


Trapped and on his own.


Pendennis was bound to be back soon he has to do something soon.
Ten minutes later he had a plan......of sorts.

...............................
​
Eduardo Ladrillo sat patiently waiting for his plan to work.


He was a strikingly good looking man in his early forties. Born in the back streets of Quito in Peru, already streetwise by the age of four then educated by a kindly missionary couple whose identity he used as mother and father and so gained Spanish citizenship. They were much too old for him to be their child but they doted on him and gave him the education his quick brain deserved. When they both died in his last year at University he was free to exploit his full potential and disregard the piety of his saviors. Urbane and charismatic he retained the ruthlessness and pragmatism of his back street upbringing. It brought with it a total lack of moral compass.


Eduardo like Tom saw the value in the computer and the knowledge and secrets they kept so very soon he was forging a career in 'Information Handling' Firstly as an individual then as a company and then of a group of companies. A lot of what he did was legitimate but some was not and soon there were clients lining up seeking his special expertise in cyber dirty work. Some were companies some were governments. All paid well and the most recent offer was almost obscene in its fee if he could pull it off.

It had been almost two years in the planning but he had been thwarted by one man. Soon that man would be in his clutches so he waited patiently in the study of the big house on the hill and waited for the phone to ring.

Chapter Four  (by Maddie Dere)


Dear Readers, Tom executed his plan with a weary efficiency.  Along with the chopping block and chainsaw, Doherty now lay in gammon joint sized pieces in the depths of Tom's septic tank. As well as confusing Pendennis, this would also save Tom the task of chucking a dead rat in there every year to keep the anaerobic activity humming along. 


In the cottage and garden he cleaned up just as forensically as he did with his top-secret cyber work. Oh yes, Our Hero knows how to make things disappear.


And now, as he put crumpets under the grill, his mind whizzed around and around like a gyroscope. Why hadn't Eva rung?  He had after all left a note at 3 a.m. between the prettily snoring heads of Eva and her Bernese Mountain dog, Tamara-Jane. 'Going home. Lovely cooking.  Phone me.'
 
Would you ring Tom, Ladies?


And what had been the connection between Doherty and the house on the hill? Did it matter? Did Doherty's auntie live there? Or the Waltons?  When would slime ball Pendennis return? How could Pendennis complete the murder frame if there was no body? All round, it wasn't a pretty picture. 


The butter from his last crumpet dripped down his front, and he had no clean shirt.


Story of my life, he thought.  He just wanted peace and to be a campanologist. You would too, wouldn't you, Dear Reader, if you were him?  But all was not lost as his ex-therapist had taught him mindfulness. He went into the garden and throwing a cursory nod of thanks towards the septic tank in the undergrowth, he sank onto a wooden mushroom in the grass.


He concentrated on a somnolent bee which was trying to climb an etiolated blade of grass at his feet. Same colours as that bloody dog. Tamara-Jane, cramping his style.  'Let the thought gooooo. Stay in the moment', he told himself. The Tamara-Jane bee fell off the blade onto its back, legs wiggling in the air in a frenzy. Had he read Eva's fervour wrong? 'Let the thought go.'  He stayed in the moment. He listened to the siskins squabbling, he watched the pale afternoon sun begin to dissolve; he listened to the trees shivering; he felt a sweet zephyr chilling his bald patch, and his bottom going numb on the damp mushroom. 


The Tamara-Jane bee suddenly righted itself and, like a Flybe plane, lumbered heavily, up, up, through the air.  Tom lifted his head and his eyes lazily followed the creature until it dropped with a sickly buzz into the narcissi. He felt mindfulnessed. He felt calm. He saw the end of the garden.


Coming through the gate was Eva, Eva in men's clothing. Dark grey suit, black fedora, black shirt, white tie. A bright light, not an energy-saving one, came on in Tom's head. 'She's a transvestite!' thought Tom. 'What fun my love, oh my lovely Eva!"


You would think, Dear Reader, that Our Hero would be just as talented with the minutiae of the living as with the dead and cyber stuff. But such was his joy at seeing his love, his dove, he failed to see that there was no joggling bosom and no endearing scuttle until she stopped in front of him. 


He saw the shadow on her chin and he saw that it wasn't crepuscular. He stared.


"Good evening. I am Eduardo Ladrillo. I understand you know my sister, Eva. Please, come."


Without a word, Tom allowed himself to be led up the garden path, out of the gate, and into the dark interior of a black Mercedes-Benz. 'This', he thought, 'Is pants'.

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