Although I’m struggling through
the Blogging from A to Z tail end/aftermath, I’m about to follow WRiTE CLUB 2019.
Just what is WRiTEClub? In short, it “started
off as a modest competition loosely derived from the movie FIGHT CLUB, and from there it has
grown into a writing community sensation…”
Monday April 29th is
the start of the competition and hard work/thought for us reader-followers:
WRiTE CLUB Calendar
“Over the course of the next eight weeks, we’ll hold daily bouts (M-F) right here on this blog – randomly pitting the anonymous 500-word writing samples against each other. The winners of these bouts advance into elimination rounds, and then playoffs, quarter-finals, and then ultimately a face-off between two finalists to determine a single champion.”
There were a record-breaking 189 WRiTEClub entries from 137 writers!
They received writing samples from writers around the globe that
represent 40+ different genres and sub-genres. The twenty clever and avid slush
pile readers have narrowed the entries down to the 30 contestants for the daily
bouts.
Now it’s our turn. Anyone who
visits the WRiTEClub blog during the contest can vote for
the sample that resonates with them the most – leaving a critique to help
writers hone their craft.
So, if you are tempted to read and vote for some great pieces of short writing, visit WRiTE CLUB 2019 from Monday April 2019. You might even pick the WRITE CLUB Champion or be a reader/voter winner.
[Don’t miss the Music treat at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
XANTHIPPE – Wednesday Mid-morning
Xylitol, xerostomia, x-rays, xerosis? I’m confused by the
medical jargon. Wiley’s unconscious, and his skin is yellow and dry. Xanthic xerosis?
“Doctor, without the medical jargon, how is our
colleague?”
He glances at his watch. It’s an hour since we brought Wiley
into the A&E at Ysbyty Gwynedd, Bangor – and another squad car took Vivian,
restrained, to Porthmadog.
“He is unconscious but breathing. All his vital signs
are acceptable. The x-rays show nothing is fractured. I cannot detect the
supposed toxin – yet. There are more tests I need to run.”
I try to breathe steadily. Hope Wiley’s okay. He has to be.
“So, his pallor? His skin. What’s that from?” asks
Kama.
“Xerosis or abnormal dryness can occur in the eyes – xerophthalmia
– on the skin – xeroderma – and in the mouth – xerostomia. Of these, he
exhibits the latter two. So, we will test for asialism, ichthyosis and other causes.
Also-“
“Keep us updated via our PCSO,” I say, smiling as
the same female officer who helped before.
Protection for one of our own? In a coma? But not with a
gaff. An unknown toxin? Is that what’s in the canisters? A biological or chemical
weapon?
Shivers set off my tattoos.
A for Abnormal and Avenger. B for Breathing and Biological. C
for Coma and Chemical. D for Dryness and Death. V for Victim and Vigilante. I
for Intent and Identify.
BAD? DIVA?
Vivian or Pia? We need answers.
WEDNESDAY – Midday
“ Njörðr Hämnaren is moored at Liverpool Marina?”
Uthyr answers on speakerphone in Ffion’s office.
“Yes, within a short walk of the city. But we are ready
to stop them unloading.”
“If the canisters are biological or chemical
hazards,” says Ffion. “The Swedes can release them from the boat –
into the air or the harbour. I’ve alerted NaCTSO, but we need more
evidence.”
The National Counter Terrorism Security Office will rely on
us to keep them informed so they can co-ordinate the appropriate units. But we
are acting on suspicions. My gut feelings.
“Has your rogue officer said anything helpful?” asks
Uthyr.
“She’s evasive and shrewd. Playing with us. But she’ll
talk.”
“I pray it’s in time to stop whatever the Swedes have schemed.”
“It will be, Uthyr. You know my dynamic-duo and rate
them suitable for your unit.”
I wonder who leaked that. Have they discussed our future?
Ffion rings off and motions for us to follow to an interview
suite – our only one with a two-way mirror. CPS approved.
“Suggested questions? I’ve tried the vigilante angle
and DC Utkin wanting to dispense her own justice.”
Utkin. Xander. That triggered her reactions.
“Ask what drove her brother Xander to commit arson. And
what divine law guides her.”
Ffion motions to the viewing room as she steps into the main
interview suite along with the police sergeant who was inside guarding the
door.
Vivian is sitting with the defence lawyer she has requested.
Ffion switches the recorder on.
The lawyer plays his hand. “My client will only answer
questions that relate to her arrest.”
“The attempted murder of two officers. The canisters on
the yacht. Why she’s put another officer in hospital. So – everything.”
“Circumstantial associations,” says Vivian.
“Evidence massaged by two officers that resent me and my colleagues.”
“Officers that arrested your brother Xander for arson.
Valid? Or tampered evidence?”
Vivian stares hard at the mirror. Eyes burning into ours.
Accusing.
” I know this room and that ridiculous mirror. They’re
listening – your pet officers who arrested him. Yes, he deserved to be put away
for his crimes. But they drove him over the edge.”
Ffion opens a file. Xander’s case?
“By ‘they’ you mean his ex-wife Dinah Quinlan and her
partner Aerona Ogilvy? What did they do to pervert the law?”
Vivienne hesitates. Her lawyer shakes his head, then
whispers to her. Does he suspect what she might admit? Vivian glares at him, at
Ffion, at us. Anger triggered.
“The Lord’s Law. 1 Corinthians 6:9 – ‘Or do
you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be
deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor men who
have sex with men’. This is a Christian country and I respect that.”
“So, your fellow officers become legitimate targets – even if they attend chapel like Sparkle. Or Wiley Yates who is as heterosexual as you.”
Vivian shakes her head. “He agrees with your dike pets and does nothing to correct their delusion. Unlike my friends. Their belief is firm.”
Ffion pauses and flicks through the file. Page by
page. Vivian shuffles and sweats.
“Who is next? Me, another Christian who believes in her officers? This vendetta won’t end with two or three dead colleagues. What’s in the canisters, DC Utkin? Or are you as immoral as your brother? A criminal and not one of my officers?”
Fists on the table, Vivian shakes her head.
“And if I help, what do I get? I only did this to
correct what our system failed to do – protect people. Without the police
presence, vigilantes are dangerous. I can stop that. With me involved, they will
help us.”
“Help us do what? Do we need the containers? Do we want
them?”
“Xanthippe, they called me – confrontational. The
Swedes thought I wasn’t to be trusted. I challenged their aims too much. But I
know the best way to deal with misfits not them. This was my chance.”
“Now I’m offering you the chance to stop this – earn
respect.”
My mobile rings. The PCSO at the hospital.
“DS Yates is recovering. The doctor says there was no
venom. Just a heavy sleeping draught. When he is well enough to talk, I’ll get Wiley
to call.”
A bluff. Vivian is the fraud spinning a yarn.
R for Respect and Revenge. Y for Yacht and Yarn. A for
Abnormal and Avenge. D for Death and Duplicity.
YARD. A railway goods yard?
I message Ffion. “Wiley okay. Say he died. Not her intention. So will break her.”
Ffion sits back, shakes her head and cries.
“Wiley. Why him? Didn’t he love you enough?”
Vivian claws her head, body shuddering.
Another red herring.
C for Casualties and Cons. K for Kisses and Kudos. O for Opportunists and Objectives.
[Don’t miss the Music treat at
the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge
for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
WHIPLASH – Wednesday
Dawn
Wounds washed by waves, we lie waiting. Bodies wrapped around each other in what remains of our splinter-lacerated wet-suits. The wind carries the sound of an outboard motor approaching.
A boat draws near to the rock
island in Aberdaron Bay. Seabird residents watch our rescuers – the two detectives
investigating our deaths.
“Thank God,” says
Wiley in English as he rushes forward. “We were on the Llŷn when control
alerted us.”
“Some locals reported
glimpsing bodies out here on Ynys Gwylan-bach.” Vivian stares at us, eyes
wide. The rips and gashes? “Actually, the two guys that found your wrecked
boat. Helpful.”
I wriggle from Kama’s
embrace. Wiley lifts me and Vivian assists.
“If you can walk, we’ll
get you to the boat. Then we’ll return for you, Kama.”
I stagger. Feign weakness but
drag myself upright. Wary, but there’s a witness. Padrig watches from the boat
and hoists me as I struggle aboard.
“Welcome back. I feared
my lessons had been wasted when we found your boat.”
While Wiley and Vivian retrace
their steps to Kama, Padrig continues in Welsh.
“They show concern, but I’d
watch out. They’ve been asking strange questions.”
Subtle tingling. A for Alert.
W for Warning.
“Like what?”
“For one, how we found the boat and where? That was okay until today. They asked about this rock island – Ynys Gwylan-bach. Why here so far from the wreckage? Currents should have carried you and the wood from the hull in the same direction.”
“We swam towards the
bay.”
He nods as our detective
allies return. A for Allies. W for Weasel.
“We need to get those
wounds treated,” says Wiley. “Splinter slashes might get
infected.”
Once aboard, Vivian sits
beside Wiley, knees touching as Padrig heads to Aberdaron.
“We have your belongings
from the B&B in our squad car,” she says. “We went to Penrhos
yesterday – in case you had both returned there.”
I shiver, apprehensive but
not from the cooler air. E for Evidence.
Ashore, Padrig says, “I’ll be in the bar if you
need me, genethod. Dywed yn dda am
dy gyfaill, am dy elyn dywed ddim.”
Do our English colleagues understand? ‘Speak well of your friend; of your enemy say nothing.’ It doesn’t
matter. He verifies the tremors – our quarry is near.
In the National Trust car park, Wiley opens the white Ford
Focus’s tailgate, and nods at two suitcases with stickers promoting Patagonia.
“Apologies.” He
palms his forehead. “We should have collected more suitable gear at your
home. But nobody knows the codes –”
“–for our weird security
doors,” says Kama. Not exactly true as Ffion does have them. “I’m
okay with these colours – for a few hours.”
We change in the pub’s
washroom. Wearing pastels instead of black is an acceptable price if we expose
the vigilante. I repeat Padrig’s warning on the island to Kama – in Tamil. Public
toilets have ears.
Outside, Wiley leads us back
to the car park. “DI Baines wanted us to get you checked by a doctor. So
were going to Tremadog – as it’s near the station.”
But with minimal facilities. Why are no paramedics here? No A&E arrangements? Ffion knows our injuries are superficial. But who cancelled routine medical response?
O for Orders. M for
Misdirection.
Wiley hands Vivian the keys
to the Focus, then climbs into the backseat beside Kama.
Are we being separated? I’m motioned
to the front passenger seat by an unsteady Wiley.
“All this messing around in
boats is exhausting.”
Vivian laughs and fastens her
seatbelt. Then drives off along the B4413 towards Pwllheli.
“How long were you
swimming before you reached the island? All night?”
Suspicious of our story. Both
of them or just Vivian?
S for Suspect and Swimming.
I smile back. “Most of
Tuesday night. We tried to land but there were rocks and cliffs. Hard to find anywhere
at night.”
“Ynys Gwylan-bach was
the first place we saw where we could land. By then it was light,” says
Kama. “We slept for hours. Until you found us.”
“Keeping each other warm
seems – strangely sensible.”
Our secret relationship is
illicit in her eyes. AMOURS or ARMS?
Time this right. Wrangle it
out. Wary.
“Basic survival. Our
wetsuits were useless in the cold air.”
Silence. Vivian seems
satisfied. Wiley is dozing.
Sweat on her forehead. She’s
thinking. Plotting? Remembering?
The case that convicted her brother for arson?
“Have you seen your brother
recently?”
She grits her teeth. Blinks
but stares at the road. “He took me to the races at Chepstow on a recent day-off.
Backed a few winners. He’s taking me to Ffos Las for Ladies Day later this
month.”
Intentional evasion. She’s
talking about her brother Quincy the goading polo player.
“And Xander?”
“Deservedly locked up –
unlike the women that put him there.”
Her fingers grip the steering wheel tighter, turning white. Hate. Kama and me? Xander’s ex-wife and her queer partner? All of us?
“He set fire to the stables
and poisoned their horses. Unprovoked and the jury found him guilty.”
“And ignored what drove him
to breaking the law. You and your partner were the arresting officers. You
ignored the provocation. Failed to report all the facts. Scorned divine law. I
can’t forget, but enough said – for now.”
Impassive but sweating.
So, divine law makes me guilty. I’ve been a sinner for years – in chapel eyes. Even if I attend – when crime allows. Guilty. Vigilantes against Gay Pride? Unreal and yet too possible.
West of Mynytho, Vivian
throws a left onto the smaller B4415. We’re thrown to off-balance as she weaves
to straighten up down the lane between two stone walls.
Wiley is sound asleep. Trees
close in.
“Where are we
going?”
“Bangor – the A&E.
Or aren’t you really injured?” She smirks as she accelerates. “You
two are such fakes – except for your disgusting perversion.”
I try to grab the steering wheel,
but she just wrenches it to the side again, scraping the stone wall.
“This time, I’ll dispose
of you properly – and Wiley.”
A belt whips around her neck and I wrest the wheel from her, steering us onto the rain-soft verge where the wall ends.
“Never let an officer
sit behind you with a whip for a belt. Wisdom 101.”
I blow a kiss at my colleague
as I cuff Vivian, then drag her onto my side of the squad car.
“What did you give
Wiley? A sleeping draught?”
Another sick laugh. “Nothing so inept. Diluted weever fish toxin sweetened with xylitol – no known antidote. But he knew the risks of not punishing criminals. Death.”
“Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.
Why? Pric pwdin.”
“I don’t have to say
anything. Not to you two dikes. To our DI, Ffion Baines – perhaps. Then, I will
mention everything that I will rely on – if this ever gets to court. If anyone
survives to witness this.”
A warped version of our
police caution. Do we need to warn her officially? Yes.
Kama does as she secures Vivian
inside the squad car.
X for Xylitol and Xenial. A
for Amours, Arms and Alert. N for Nervous and Names. D for Directions and
Deception. E for Envenom and Embittered. R for Retaliation and Revenge.
XANDER. How is he connected
to murder? Is he the real threat?
[Don’t miss the Music treat at
the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge
for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
VENDETTA – Tuesday 1 p.m.
Vague visions vex me as they
vanish. Memories return as Kama kisses me.
“You fainted, cariad. You need more time to
recover.”
She’s kneeling on the grass
with my head in her lap. She caresses my face.
“No. We haven’t got time. I fear what Lagens väktare means.” I look up at Ffion and Uthyr, their brows creased. “I need to go online. On my sister Gwawr’s computer.”
We sprint to the house and I
sign to my deaf sister.
Upstairs in her room, the
four of us squeeze behind Gwawr as she types Lagens väktare into
Google Translate.
“Guardians of the Law”
“Above the law.
Vigilantes. That’s their motivation. And my hyper-active tattoos are screaming
Arms.”
“Explosives?” asks
Ffion. “Like they used on your boat? Or guns?”
“The canisters were not
tall enough for long weapons,” says Kama. “But disassembled ones,
handguns, or components would be a viable guess.”
Uthyr waves me to the
doorway. I trust my sister, but guessing she can lip read, Uthyr asks, “Should
we talk outside?”
“Gwawr’s my trusted
researcher – and my late tad knew
that – as does Ffion. She knows more than mam-“
“-About you and Kama as well?” His smile eases my racing pulse. “Yes, I suspected when I arrived. You make a great couple and my unit would validate that.”
As they look over at us, we call
the others over and suggest grabbing tea or coffee and sitting outside.
Drinking as we sit on the
wooden bench overlooking the farm, I attempt to relax. This is almost home –
this working farm. The sound of sheep. The glistening water where Kama and I
swam before not making love. Better to dive in again to banish the nightmare.
Utkin. Xander Utkin.
“Ffion, does Vivian’s
personnel file show any relationship to Xander Utkin, the guy Kama and I put
away for arson, earlier this year?”
Our DI closes her eyes. A
long pause when I wonder if this thread is coincidence.
“Vivian admitted Xander
was her brother when she applied to join CID, three months ago. However, she
was estranged from him and said he deserved to be locked up.”
Connected. Disapproval.
“Any sign that she feels
that we are too soft on crime?”
“None. Like all of us
she sympathizes with the victims. Works tirelessly to resolve cases. I suspect
that’s one of the reasons that Wiley-“
“-Obsesses about
her,” says Kama. “Those two are inseparable. Perhaps another
team.”
Perhaps vigilantes. Or are
they virtuous?
“Their follow-up on your
deaths,” says Ffion, “has been exacting and sensitive.”
V for Vigilantes or Virtuous.
E for Exacting and Explosives.
A mobile phone rings. Uthyr’s.
“Varley.” He listens,
one hand rubbing his neck. “On the move? Which direction?” He nods then
glances at his watch. “I’m forty minutes away at least. Follow them and
keep me informed.” He snaps his phone closed.
“ Njörðr Hämnaren has cast off?” I ask. “Heading where?”
“East. Possibly towards
Liverpool so outside the NWP’s operational area. But not my Marine Unit’s. If necessary,
I’ll contact our colleagues at Merseyside Police. We’ll continue monitoring the
transponder signals. Ffion, your team must find the vermin that think they are
above the law.”
M for Merseyside and Monitor.
Uthyr leaves us strategizing
beside the llyn.
“If we’re to draw them
out,” says Kama. “Sparkle and I are the prime bait and-“
“-Your usual jeopardy
approach,” says Ffion. “Last time nearly got you both killed.”
“Nearly is not stopping
me. Fainting was just a memory recall device – that worked.”
Like my tingling tattoos.
W for Weapons. A for Arms. E
for Explosives. S for Strategy.
V for Vendetta. Ours.
WAVES. Staggering ashore
having survived the watery nightmare. Where?
“Sparkle and I must
return to Aberdaron Bay and drown again.”
[Music treat at
the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge
for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
UNDERMINE – Tuesday Midday
Unarmed, unaware and useless. My decisions. Why come here?
Unsound understanding of my tattoos.
Kama’s tongue traces the heart where only she goes. Licks
her way inside. Inviting me inside her.
I’ve betrayed her. Making love is impossible now. Even if my
brain wasn’t scrambled.
“You’re distracted, cariad. Why? Your grandparents’
disapproval? They don’t know. Adjoining rooms don’t mean we’re lovers – even if
we are.”
Peaceful sounds. Sheep. A tractor.
But nothing is normal now.
“My grandparents suspect – but don’t want to know. But
I’m doubting myself. Stupidly blaming my tattoos–”
” -which have always led to the right conclusion.”
Shake my head. Crush her pillows.
“Only when I unscramble their weirdness.”
Each tattoo is a watershed moment in my life – becoming a
goth, my first girlfriend, that first heartbreak. Culminating in our secret
hearts. But upheavals – always.
Passion postponed, I dress in black – jeans, T-shirt and Doc
Martens. Focus on positives. Ignore the pounding in my head.
Undetected. We can still thwart the Swedes and their NWP
informer.
Outside, an ultramarine Land Rover Discovery draws up. We go
downstairs and greet Uthyr Varley.
“Glad you got the coded message, sir.”
“Uthyr, please. Especially as this is unofficial – and
you two are presumed dead. ‘Unacceptable fatalities’, the Chief Constable
stated to the media.”
“Best if Sparkle and I remain dead until we’ve
outwitted the suspects. Undercover and unseen beyond here. How much has the
Marine unit uncovered so far?”
Without the involvement of the North West Police Underwater
Search and Marine Unit, I know that NWP is in an unwinnable situation.
We sit on the wooden bench outside, overlooking a view I
will always love. Mountains speckled with sheep.
“Forensics identified the explosive used from the
wreckage recovered by Messrs. Thomas and Pugh as untagged Semtex – used
primarily in blasting.”
“Traceable?” I suspect not, even if the Chief
Constable is alerted.
“No resources, I’m afraid.
We’re tracking the cargo you raised and tagged. The four containers are still
on the yacht Njörðr Hämnaren in a
marina between Llandudno and Conwy. No attempt has been made to unload them.
What do you suspect is in them?”
Our dilemma. My unease. “Unsure at present.”
A white Peugeot 308 pulls into the farmyard and parks by the
new farmhouse built for my grandparents and mother.
Uthyr looks at his watch. “Ffion Baines on time as
usual.”
Our DI points down to the
llyn – the lake that gives the farm its name: Tyn-y-llyn. The lake where I
learnt to swim – and we still do.
“Coffee, tea and gossip can wait. Today it’s urgent
that we unmask whoever betrayed my officers. Ugly prejudice taken to
unacceptable lengths. But why?”
“Money,” says Uthyr. “usually the ulterior
motive.”
M for Money. P for Prejudice. Unlikely. We are missing the
reason.
“Anyone behaving unexpectedly?” asks Kama.
“The team must be devastated – or should be.”
“When officers die, everyone pulls together. United –
as we are in Porthmadog. Wiley Yates and Vivian Utkin volunteered to
investigate your murders. I gave them access to some – but not all – of your
files.”
Who do we trust? Wiley knows our secret and understands.
Vivian is an unknown.
U for Understands and Unknown.
Her surname Utkin is familiar. From where? Another case? A
chill. My stomach seethes. Like my mind. Shredded, ever since the explosion.
“Pia Pilkvist said something in Swedish before
attempting to kill us. Kama?”
“It sounded like ‘larger victory’ as if they had
accomplices elsewhere acting underhand–”
“–like in other police forces,” says Uthyr.
Silence. Even the sheep are unvoiced.
“Or it was another attempt to undermine us – sow
doubt.” I shake my head. “But it makes no sense killing us
then.”
K for Kill. V for Victory and Volunteers. A for Accomplices
and Anxious. T for Traitor and Threats.
KVAT means nothing. My tattoos are failing us.
“We have grounds to arrest the Pilkvists,” says Ffion, tensing
her shoulders. “I’m desperate as they intended to kill you both. But I can’t
until we’ve uncovered their informer and other accomplices.”
Our safety requires uncertainty. Remaining hidden. Blood
from chewing my lips. Gritted teeth instead. Not inactive if we want to lure
them out. Think. Untangle my mess.
“Thwarted.” Uthyr clasps his hands behind his head. “I’ve
asked HMRC if they have grounds to seize the canisters, but they were inside UK
waters when raised. Nothing to point conclusively to their overseas origin. Too
circumstantial. But we’re primed to respond.”
“And if they contain drugs or worse?” My skull
vibrates. Just tight. Weak. “Time was imperative, they said. Why?”
T for Time. V for Victims.
VAKT.
Head spinning. Brain swamped. As my knees fail, I remember.
“Väktare. Pia said Lagens väktare.”
[Music treat at
the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge
for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
TREACHERY – Tuesday 1 AM
Tossed. Tumbling through turbulent water toward treacherous
rocks. Thunder in my head. Eyes seared by the explosion. Nothing, not even
stars.
Dead. That was their intent. Arms around me, tugging me. Kama towing me.
“Don’t thrash.” A shout penetrates the storm that
tramples my mind. “I can see. I’ll get us ashore.”
“Where? A cove? I remember only rocks and cliffs.”
“There has to be one nearby. I glimpsed Bardsey Island
from the yacht.”
Doubt. Before we sailed to the dive site. Then cliffs. Cold
and tired.
“Relax, cariad.
We’re a team – survivors.”
“If you can see, I’ll swim behind. I can hear – sense you ahead. Swimming will keep me warm – alert. Please, thozhi.“
Kama fastens a tether strap around my wrist. “I’ll
attach the other end to my ankle. Safety 101.”
Tremble and smile. Warmth. Her ankle with a rose tattoo that
matches mine. Our eternal love.
We swim together. Trust.
A sound. Waves slapping on a clinker-hull. A voice – robust.
Welsh.
“There. Alive and swimming.” Guto Thomas, and he shouts at us. “Genethod, we heard the explosion – muffled but definite. What happened?”
“Rescue us and we’ll tell,” Kama says. “But
officially we are dead. In reality, wounded. Sparkle was blinded – still
is.”
Arms pull us aboard. A second voice says, “Back to Port
Meudwy then.”
“Padrig. We must vanish,” I say. Smiling in the total
darkness.
“Your new secret is safe with me,” he says.
“Just as your earlier ones were – cousin. Us Pughs are a smart
family.”
Even if I feared his kinship, he’s true. Not every Pugh is
as prejudiced as my thaid, my
grandfather Hywel Pugh.
Plan. Move ahead of the Swedish smugglers – and the traitor
in NWP. Lure them out.
In front of the fire in Guto and Padrig’s cottage, we eat
bowls of Cawl – lamb and vegetable stew. Warmth, and with my eyesight
returning, we devise tactics.
“First, messages to our DI, Ffion Baines and to
Inspector Uthyr Varley to activate tracking of our concealed transponders.”
Kama writes the coded message. “Officially, we have to be missing or
dead.”
“We can retrieve some of the wrecked boat,” says
Guto. “Evidence – your people will know what sort of bomb.”
“Forensics will come.” Kama anticipates what I
suspect. “Then some detectives – perhaps even the one that betrayed
us.”
“Kama and I can’t stay here. We have to get to
Tyn-y-llyn.”
“Ivor Pugh’s farm,” Padrig says. “I’ve been
there a few years ago. I’ll take you. Covert?”
We all laugh.
“My family are used to my weird ways. So, if we turn up
at the Pugh farm hidden in some trailer – no surprise.”
N for Nightmare and Nemesis. K for Killed and Kinship. P for Pugh and Protection. U for Unseen and Uncle. I for Ivor and Intent. C for Covert and Code.
UNPICK. Unscramble the tangled threads hiding our traitor.
Writing Wings 