question stringlengths 14 1.69M | answer stringlengths 1 40.5k | meat_tokens int64 1 8.18k |
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What Goes Into Making An Herbicide?
Imagine you have two plants - one is a plant you'd like to keep around, like a crop, and the other is a pest of some kind that interferes with the growth of your crop. Now, imagine synthesizing 30,000<|fim_middle|> the development of selective herbicides, where only the weed is targeted and the crop spared, since their enzymes differ.
Enzymes aren't the only possible targets for herbicides. Other genes, such as those that encode proteins essential for transducing signals or those that supply regulatory functions, could also be lethal to a plant were they turned off. Unfortunately, even a fully sequenced genome provides no clues at all to the function of each individual gene. The solution to this problem is to use the variety of new techniques for silencing genes, such as RNA interference, to turn off selected genes, identify those which greatly contribute to growth, determine their exact function, and find a way to inhibit them.
This targeted approach provides huge advantages over the chemical based approach. In addition to creating more targeted (and therefore, possibly safer) herbicides, the gene identification techniques may lead to a much more complete understanding of other processes which govern plant behavior. And it's definitely better than a one in 30,000 chance. | different candidates for an herbicide and spraying each one on a different plant - and only finding one that effectively kills the weed while preserving the life of your crop. Until recently, this incredibly inefficient method was the only way for the agrichemical industry to find new herbicides. Now, thanks to the boom in biological technology during the last 15 years or so, agrichemical companies are able to come up with far better predictions about the results of spraying an herbicide on a particular plant - adding a huge degree of elegance to the previous guess-and-check method.
According to William Dyer of the Department of Plant Sciences and Plant Pathology at Montana State University, U.S. farmers spend approximately 58% of the $11 billion a year in pesticide sales on herbicides - chemicals designed to kill pest plants, like weeds, as opposed to insecticides or fungicides. The large majority of herbicides on the market now were discovered using the cumbersome guess-and-check method. Scientists would spray chemical mixes on different plants and observe the results, slowly narrowing down the group through a series of trials to a few lead chemicals until one was determined to be the most effective.
This approach to herbicide development is dubbed the "chemical approach," meaning that scientists start with the chemical and see what eventually works. The chemical approach has worked surprisingly well and has been helped along recently by biotechnological advances such as quantitative structure-activity relationship analysis, which quantitatively relates chemical structure to a biological response and allows certain trends of biological activity to be discovered. However, new technologies may soon allow the old system to be updated.
For instance, the ability to sequence the genes of pest plants could lead to new targets for herbicides. Only a few enzymes are currently targeted by herbicides - those which are affected by the chemicals already developed. With a completely sequenced genome, additional enzymes revealed by the sequencing could be targeted with inhibiting chemicals specific to those enzymes. This approach, where the enzyme is targeted first and the chemical developed later, Dyer has called the "targeted approach," and it could lead to far more refined herbicides. It could also assist in | 435 |
Q: Custom Flutter widget to<|fim_middle|> MyCustomSliverGrid(...)
...
],
),
MyCustomTitle extends StatelessWidget and in the build method returns a SliverToBoxAdapter widget, and the MyCustomSliverGrid widget extends StatelessWidget and in the build method returns a SliverGrid widget.
How can I implement a single Widget (MyCustomSliverGridWithTitle) that returns both the custom title and the custom SliverGrid? From the build method of a StatelessWidget I can only return a single Widget, not two.
A: You can bundle MyCustomTitle and MyCustomSliverGrid into one widget with MultiSliver.
class MyCustomSliverGridWithTitle extends StatelessWidget {
@override
Widget build(BuildContext context) {
return MultiSliver(
children: <Widget>[
MyCustomTitle(...),
MyCustomSliverGrid(...),
],
);
}
}
| return two widgets for use with CustomScrollView / slivers I have a Flutter CustomScrollView with the following structure:
body: CustomScrollView(
slivers: <Widget>[
MyCustomTitle(...),
MyCustomSliverGrid(...)
MyCustomTitle(...),
MyCustomSliverGrid(...)
MyCustomTitle(...),
| 67 |
A Tribute to Bob Ebeling and Andrew S. Grove
Written by IEEE | March 24, 2016 | Updated: December 15, 2020
This week, the engineering community is mourning the loss of two important engineers, Bob Ebeling and Andrew S. Grove. We take a look back at their accomplishments and how they shaped the progress of technology.
Bob Ebeling
Bob Ebeling<|fim_middle|> he took ideas and research about chips and turned them into actual products. These products sparked the personal computer age and was instrumental in positioning Intel as one of the world's leading semiconductor companies.
STEM | 1 month ago
How an old teddy bear reminds me of home
Climate Change | 2 months ago
Connecting on Climate Change | was a booster rocket engineer for NASA and worked on the Challenger shuttle. He is best known for trying to stop the Challenger from launching in 1986 due to complications from temperature. He had warned that the shuttle might explode since the cold temperatures that morning would stiffen the seals causing rocket fuel to leak out of the booster joints. His assessment was correct, and shortly after its launch,the Challenger exploded, killing all seven crew members.
Ebeling left NASA shortly after the disaster, and was interviewed by NPR this past January on the 30th anniversary of the shuttle explosion. The story on NPR caused a huge outpouring of letters, emails and phone calls to Ebeling praising his efforts. One email in particular removed the burden of the disaster off of Ebeling's aching heart, and came from a former astronaut, Charlie Bolden, who called Ebeling's efforts that night courageous.
Andrew S. Grove
Andrew S. Grove was a Hungarian refugee who survived the Holocaust and the Hungarian uprising in 1956, and later immigrated to the US. Grove became an acclaimed engineer and eventually, the chairman of Intel Corporation.
Grove started the semiconductor revolution and developed the memory chips and microprocessors that we use in most of our technology today. At Intel, | 262 |
It's Sunday night, and I'm sitting in Dozen Street bar in Austin, TX, listening to the beautiful sounds of the self proclaimed "drunk piano open mic". I am simply in love with this city. Every single time I'm here, I just don't want to say goodbye.
I'm road worn, but FULL of energy. We played so much music over the last few days... Thursday and Friday were long van drives of trying to keep the van moving, moving, moving to San Antonio from Augusta, GA, sliced up with vignettes of gas station yoga, and a blurry few hours on Bourbon St, where Luke is convinced vampires reside.
So here I am - Lukes at the bar, the band's back at Duggans house, and Ila is crashed out on the couch near the front door - finally broken down from the absolute insanity of the last few days - a midnight set in Houston, followed by a 10 AM set in Austin, a three hour van drive, and two hours of anxious sleep (don't miss that alarm Chad). I'm sad that this leg is coming to a close - Robbie takes an early flight home on Tuesday, Ila heads back to San Antonio, and Duggan stays in Austin, while the rest of us head north to Fort Worth for<|fim_middle|> new cousin, so and so moved, Shane is on tour this time but Josiah says hello... and don't forget to swing by Evans work on the way out of town. | our final Texas stop.
I am so grateful to have connected with so many wonderful people on the road - each town is becoming a strange family reunion of sorts... old faces you haven't seen, hurry hurry, so little time to catch up, time to meet your | 53 |
This landmark DNA case revealed the inadequacy of New<|fim_middle|> lawyers can follow Legal Aid's successful approach when challenging questionable DNA. New York v. Hillary highlights the need for unbiased data interpretation in forensic science.
Dr. Perlin will present this case at the Legal Aid Society conference on "Questioning Forensics" on October 27 in New York City. He will discuss DNA mixture interpretation and how to challenge unreliable genotyping software. | Zealand's STRmix software. The program gave inconsistent match statistics for the victim's fingernail. Subjectively choosing some of the data suggested Hillary's DNA might be on the fingernail, but using all the data showed he wasn't there.
"I am so pleased for Nick Hillary and his family," said Dr. Mark Perlin of Cybergenetics. "It was unfortunate that the state pursued this case without physical evidence, proffering nonviable DNA. Fortunately, science triumphed in the end."
The STRmix loss gives a roadmap for keeping unreliable DNA mixture evidence out of the courtroom. Trial | 122 |
I enjoy "reading" cartoons. Friends say that<|fim_middle|> more culturally universal or at least literally translatable. James Geary delightfully explores aphorisms in his book The World in a Phrase: A Brief History of Aphorisms. Here he is in his own words.
Here is a translation from English to Lithuanian.
Žmogus, kuris neskaito knygų neturi nei žmogui, kuris negali jų perskaityti pranašumą.
Kitap okumaz adam bunları okuyamaz adam üzerinde hiçbir avantajı vardır.
Człowiek, który nie czyta książek, nie ma przewagę nad człowiekiem, że nie może ich odczytać.
El hombre que no lee libros no tiene ventaja sobre el hombre que no puede leerlos.
And, for my Chinese whispers telephone game test, here is the resulting translation from English to Lithuanian to Turkish to Polish to Spanish and back to English. I'll leave to my students the challenge of investigating all the possible differences with different orders of translation. | I am often "funny" and have a good sense of humor. Alas, I've never been good at telling jokes (except about me).
I am toying with revisiting my academic interests in the psychology of humor when I teach the Research Seminar next semester. What makes something funny? Is the same thing funny across cultures?
I am quite impressed with the accuracy of recent dictation software (that converts my speech into text), and I've recently been interested in comparing the accuracy of different language translation software apps and browser extensions. Here is one of many situations where I can be helped immensely by my international students and friends.
I thought about attempting to tell a joke in English and then seeing how well it "translated" across languages—without emoticon smiley support. Alas, the Muse of Funny Jokes Appropriate for Cross-Cultural Sharing and Language-Translation-Software Bench-marking (just TRY Googling that!) did not appear to me tonight when I called upon her. So, I 'll try using some aphorisms which might be | 215 |
FieldEZ's Attendance and Leave management feature. And now, with FieldEZ's mobile attendance tracking feature, tracking your field staff's movement too is now a no-brainer. FieldEZ pro ensures that your field-staff manager is empowered with real-time insight into his field staff's activities on the move.
A standard feature with easy punch-in and punch-out capabilities, your FieldEZ mobile app helps your field technician to capture his/her movement and offers your field-staff manager a bird's-eye view into your field staff's movement. No more schedule-related, or location-related excuses as the mobile application captures data offline at times when there's no internet connection available.
The FieldEZ app works with the field user mobile device to capture GPS coordinates for location tracking additionally. While this data can be used to automatically calculate the distance covered by the field staff for the particular day, the feature also comes in handy to calculate other relevant staff compensation details like travel allowances, Fuel reimbursement, etc.
FieldEZ's leave management system has made application and<|fim_middle|> users to easily apply for leaves in advance, where one even can choose the type of leave and duration of the leave. The mobile app even allows Managers to apply for a leave on your behalf in urgent scenarios. Managers furthermore can easily see all the pending leaves at one place, with all the relevant information like leave type, duration of leave, reason and the status of leave.
Attendance & leave records are updated real-time in the FieldEZ mobile attendance system, and all of the information has been made easily accessible in one pane. From there you could easily filter & navigate to specific employee details and helps one to supervise employee attendance from anywhere and on any device. | management of leaves a cakewalk. FieldEZ's mobile app allows | 15 |
A Change in Trajectory, Inc. (ACT) is a family-oriented agency that's committed to narrowing the gap between the developmental path of individuals with special needs and those with typical development. We provide comprehensive behavioral services for infants, children, adolescents, and young adults with autism spectrum disorder and related disorders. We also provide parent education services. We utilize the verbal behavior model to teach naturalistic and structured techniques to our learners. All our treatment modalities utilize evidence-based, state-of-the-art ABA strategies. We're equipped with highly professional, courteous staff who are respectful of privacy and are dedicated to the individuals they serve. In addition, we provide training in leadership, time management, customer service, and project management. Our operating model promotes personal growth and positive encouragement for families and team members. Please visit our website at www.act-works.net for more information.
The Behavior Analyst Certification Board (BACB) does not sponsor, approve, or endorse A Change in Trajectory, Inc., nor the information identified herein.
ABC (Applied Behavior Consultants, Inc.) serves the needs of children with autism and developmental disabilities using the technology of Applied Behavior Analysis. ABC is currently interviewing Behavior Consultants to work in the East Bay area. Behavior Consultants provide a wide variety of behavioral services including behavior intervention services, consult with outside facilities (community care facilities), and teach workshops and seminars. These positions all receive extensive initial training from ABC, as well as ongoing supervision and continuing education in Behavior Analysis. BCBA preferred.
The Behavior Consultant position includes full time salary, eligibility for medical, dental and vision benefits, cell phone, Wi-Fi and mileage reimbursement, monthly allotted staff reinforcers budget, enrollment in Employee Stock Ownership Program (ESOP) program, opportunities for advancement, opportunities for travel, ongoing BCBA supervision, CEU training opportunities, and much more. All CEU's offered at ABC are paid for. Start 2 weeks paid vacation, sick time (6 days/annually), 1 personal day and paid holidays (roughly 11-12 days per calendar year). After three years of full time employment, you will accrue 3 weeks paid vacation. After four years, you will accrue 4 weeks paid vacation.
Assess individual clients initially in order to develop program plans in relation to the client's deficits/excesses.
Assess individual students for deficits and/or excesses that may be interfering with lesson progression.
Monitor ongoing behavior intervention plans for effectiveness and their relation to lesson plans.
Identify variables that may interfere with the transition of an individual client to another more normalized setting.
Coordinate with families/staff, program activities as they pertain to program goals, behavioral objectives and transitional goals.
Review each client's program for integrity and progression with constant measurement of skills acquired by each client.
Develop and write intervention plans that address deficits in self-help, communication, socialization and play skills and behavior excesses.
Develop exit plan aimed at maintaining each clients acquired skills in a less restrictive environment.
Advise and train (hands-on) tutors, staff and families in the implementation of all programs, and basic principals.
Troubleshoot special problems in program implementation and expand programs for generalization and maintenance.
Carry out other behavior intervention services within classrooms, care homes, and private homes as assigned.
Organize, coordinate and direct the staff involved in a client's program including scheduling regular team meetings.
Complete all necessary paperwork including reports to describe the program plans and their modifications, the data analysis and the termination of the plan within established deadlines.
Attend Quarterly meetings to present reports and make recommendations (IEPs, ISPs, IPPs, PTMs).
Participate in monthly Community Services department meetings.
Communicate with Funding Source Personnel as needed.
Achieve Beyond is leading national Healthcare provider specializing in Pediatric Therapy and Autism services for children from birth through twenty-one years of age. Our family centered approach allows us to work in partnership with families to meet each child's developmental needs in a nurturing and supportive environment. We are currently seeking qualified part-time BCBAs to join our team to supervise ABA cases for our private insurance business either in New York, California, Texas or Virginia. The BCBA would be responsible for providing supervision to trained behavioral therapists providing direct individualized home-based/community Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) services to children on the autism spectrum. Children receiving services will range in age from two to twenty-one years of age.
Maintain confidentiality of information regarding children and families (in accordance with State & Federal regulations).
Offer suggestions of incorporating individualized goals into family's daily routine.
Provide parents and teachers with resources.
Master's Degree in (Behavior Analysis, Special Education, Educational/Health/Human Services, Psychology).
Lisa Britton is a Board Certified Behavior Analyst at the Doctoral level (BCBA-D). She obtained her MA in 1998 and PhD in 2000 from the University of Nevada, Reno under the direction of James Carr. Lisa's primary focus is on providing behavioral supports to students with Special Education needs in their educational environment.
Position Summary: The Clinical Supervisor supervises a team of Behavior Interventionists who provide behavioral intervention programs in home, community, and school settings for individuals with autism and developmental disabilities.
Essential Responsibilities: Under the supervision of the Clinical Director, the Clinical Supervisor supervises a team of Behavior Interventionists and conducts field visits, develops client goals, reviews data and monitors client progress, periodically video records client sessions for supervision, makes program modifications as needed, creates appropriate data sheets if required, provides parent training and education, conducts developmental assessments and writes progress reports, and conducts regular team meetings. The Clinical Supervisor also monitors staff competency and performance through collection of fidelity and reliability data, assessment of staff competencies, and provision and monitoring of staff professional development goals.
To perform this job successfully, an individual must perform each essential responsibility satisfactorily using the skills and abilities outlined in this job description. The requirements listed below are representative of the knowledge, skills, and/or abilities required. Reasonable accommodations may be made to enable individuals with disabilities to perform the essential functions.
Physical Demands, Work Environment, and Safety: The physical requirements and work environment described here are representative of those an employee encounters while performing the essential functions of this job. In order to perform this position adequately, the individual must be able to carry out the following essential physical requirements.NOTE - reasonable accommodations may be made to allow qualified individuals with special needs to perform these essential physical requirements.
Center for Autism and Related Services (C.A.R.S.) is actively searching for enthusiastic, self-motivated, caring, and committed individuals to join our team and make a difference in the lives of the families we serve.
The Center for Autism & Related Services, a highly recognized non-public agency in the field of behavioral intervention and child development, is seeking certified BCBAs or those in the process of becoming a Board Certified Behavioral Analyst (and currently holding a Master's degree in a related field), to work as Supervisors throughout Los Angeles and the San Fernando Valley. CARS serves a broad range of children and families within LAUSD, and the outer communities and children/adolescents/young adults (2-21years) provided with insurance services or through private contracts. This position includes participating in training staff and parents, writing reports, developing behavioral support plans and providing direct supervision within school, home, and in some instances, center settings. Full or part time positions are available. Benefits are available for employees who qualify. Salary is contingent on experience. Please upload or fax your resume and cover letter to 323-850-7747.
C.A.R.S. is seeking enthusiastic and motivated people who wish to make a significant difference in the life of a child. Positions available include providing direct services in the school and home settings throughout Los Angeles and San Fernando Valley. BCBA supervision hours are provided for those who are currently working towards their certification. Part time and full time positions are available. Benefits are available for employees who qualify. Salary is contingent on experience. Please upload or fax your resume and cover letter to 323-850-7747.
Energetic, self-starters, dependable, classroom management skills, great attitudes and team work preferred. Must have computer and writing skills. We will be providing ongoing training. Will be using ABA/DTT/PRT model services.
Working with students with special needs in a school setting. You will help them stay on task and engaged. The Minimum education requirement is a High School Diploma. We prefer AA, and BA/ BS are welcome. Child Development classes preferred. MA/MS in child development, counseling, clinical psychology, special education, or early childhood are welcome for our Supervisor Position.
San Pedro, Carson, West L.A., South Central L.A. East L.A , Cudahay, Bell, Huntington Park and L.A, Santa Monica, Pacific Palisades.
You will be assigned to the location closest to your university and or where you live after probation period.
Part time and full time positions are available. 7:30 am -3 pm (evenings may be available as well) depending on your assignment. 30-to-33 hrs/wk, 20hrs/wk, and 15 hrs/wk positions are available.
Prior to employment, individuals will need to complete a LiveScan TB test. Must have reliable transportation, valid CA driver's license, clear DMV report, and proof of auto insurance.
Our Corporate office is in North Hollywood for interviews.
Join our seasoned team of Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) experts in the Sacramento area!
Central Valley Autism Project, Inc. is seeking experienced BCBA clinicians who have strong behavior analytical skills and theoretical understanding of the science of Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA). We seek team members who practice in order to advance the field of ABA and provide effective intervention.
CVAP has served for over 25 years as a pioneering organization implementing ABA services in northern California. CVAP originated as an EIBI clinical replication research site chosen by the late Dr. Ivar Lovaas of UCLA to participate in his international, multi-site replication outcome study.
Using the Lovaas methodology as the foundation of its ABA services, CVAP provides individualized and systematically programmed treatment plans for all ages in the Greater Sacramento Area and the San Joaquin and Stanislaus county areas.
CVAP's core values of integrity, collaboration, and ethics support our team members and treatment success. We empower our team members by offering opportunities for individualized professional growth and stated career goals. Clear and positive supervisor/subordinate relationships foster a work environment conducive to successful clinical outcome.
Easter Seals Bay Area (ESBA) is in a period of expanded vision and planned growth! This is an exciting time to join our dynamic team of people who are passionate about their work!
At Easter Seals Bay Area, our employees are our greatest asset. By joining Easter Seals Bay Area as an employee, you will have the opportunity to help individuals' with disabilities and special needs address life's challenges, achieve personal goals, and gain greater independence for everyday living. The people who make up the Easter Seals Bay Area team are creating solutions and changing lives for individuals with disabilities and special needs, families, and communities throughout all nine Bay Area counties and 15 northern California counties. Join us and let's make a difference together!
The Clinical Manager provides specialized behavioral intervention services and program supervision for children with autism spectrum disorders, ages 14 months and older. They are responsible for the creation and implementation of individualized Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) programs for each client, in addition to the management of Program Supervisors and their direct reports. They directly supervise a group of Program Supervisors.
Supervises individualized ABA programs for children diagnosed with autism spectrum disorders, ages 14 months and older, in natural settings- primarily in-home, but additionally out in the community, in the schools, and within other peer-group social contexts.
Provides clinical supervision and work direction to treatment teams to include skills enhancement, clinical consultation, and professional development.
Conducts initial assessment of clients diagnosed with an Autism Spectrum Disorder and produces assessment report to include a recommendation for treatment and supervision hours.
Assures clients receive interventions to meet the full extent of the services authorized; adjusts staffing of treatment team as appropriate to meet the needs of the client.
Coaches clinical teams on the procedural implementation of treatment plans via team meetings, and live/in supervision.
Reviews data and reports submitted by direct care team, and recommends changes to the program, procedures, and data collection methods to assure programs reflect each child's development and progress towards identified goals.
Observes and assesses client skills and progress to inform recommendations for ongoing intervention and behavioral programming.
Creates and leads implementation of Behavior Support Plans as appropriate.
Collaborates with additional service providers on the client's support team to ensure comprehensive service delivery.
Addresses program delivery with families; including parent/caregiver coaching, challenges with implementation of program, parent /caregiver participation, and work environment as necessary.
Reviews progress reports and treatments plans, ensuring that they meet the requirements of regulatory agencies and funding sources and are clinically accurate and appropriate.
Attends progress and treatment plan review meetings with families.
Responsible for meeting productivity requirements set forth in annual budget and for providing efficient and effective service in all areas of performance.
Maintain accurate documentation of billable tasks that meets the requirements of regulatory agencies and funding sources, and is HIPAA compliant.
Track direct and<|fim_middle|> to children with autism and related disorders. We design and implement treatment plans based on the unique strengths and needs of our clients.
Services are provided in the San Francisco Bay area (SF, San Mateo, and Marin counties).
Gateway Learning Group is seeking dynamic Behavior Analysts to oversee home and school-based ABA programs.
Competitive; depends on experience. Excellent benefits.
I am a current employee of Gateway and student at UWF.
Please mention you were referred by Brittany!
whether providing direct service or connecting people to the resources they need. You will change lives!
-Increase access to meaningful life experiences.
-Enhance enjoyment in our community.
-Help people overcome behavioral barriers.
-Competitive compensation packages with bonus and incentive plans.
-Complimentary access CEUs, and other professional development including Cambridge Center for Behavioral Studies conferences.
As a Clinical Director at Holdsambeck Behavioral Health, you will enjoy the unique leadership position to direct an entire clinical team, inspiring behavior change, providing compassionate service, while upholding meticulous accountability. Your responsibilities will include all clinical aspects of providing ABA services within our service model. You will enjoy clinical freedom and professional discretion to implement the best behavior analytic services appropriate for each case. As Clinical Director, you will conduct assessments and meet with families to establish expectations and inspire families to work with you and your team. You will write behavior plans, supervise the implementation of behavior plans, work within the specific guidelines of each funding source, maintain relationships with funding sources, and seek out new referrals. As Clinical Director, you also have the unique position of building your clinical team. You will provide professional development and supervision of your team. You will model best practice in accountability and lead your team to do the same through hiring, training, and, at times, firing team members who are not accountable. You will lead your team in meeting all clinical case coordination guidelines, and ensuring all staff follow all company policies. Expectations, responsibilities and guidelines are provided for you in your Clinical Director manual, which is updated frequently. Clinical Directors apply their knowledge of ABA in clinical practice to provide excellent service with compassion. You will guide Supervisors and Registered Behavior Technicians in best practice and quality assurance for all programming. Clinical Directors are responsible for assuring each client receives the hours of intervention and supervision contracted. As part of ensuring best practice of ABA for all clients served, Clinical Directors use their knowledge of ABA in the practice of Organizational Behavior Management to most effectively manage and direct their team. Clinical Directors model best practices for supervisors, RBTs and caregivers, use errorless learning in training their team, and collect data on team skill acquisition, providing immediate constructive feedback assuring the best quality ABA programs are implemented. As an accountable member of the Holdsambeck family of services, all job duties are expected to be completed accurately, need no revision, completed on time, and in accordance with all policies and procedures in our company manuals. Clinical Directors have demonstrated their ability to competently provide all job duties of a Registered Behavior Technician as well as Clinical Supervisor I & II positions, in addition to advanced education and experience in management and supervision of clinical teams.
-Ability to contribute to a clinical team, providing insight and professional suggestions to team members as well as seeking out assistance from team members.
Join our team of professionals, bound by our enthusiasm for delivering effective Applied Behavior Analytic intervention to individuals with a variety of developmental and intellectual disabilities across a diverse age range in home, school, and community settings.
We are seeking charismatic dedicated individuals, desiring a rewarding work environment, with opportunities for professional growth. Work under the supervision of Board Certified Behavior Analysts and enjoy professional development opportunities.
Implements in-center and in-home applied behavioral analysis for clients with Learning disabilities and social restrictions, and other developmental disabilities; assists children to maximize their potential through customized programs. | indirect client sessions to ensure that services are provided to the full extent of the authorization for each client.
Participate in recruitment, interviewing, selection, and onboarding of clinical staff.
Coordinate documentation to ensure reauthorization and continuation of services when necessary.
Support staff in meeting productivity requirements set forth in annual budget and for providing efficient and effective service in all areas of performance.
Provide regular performance feedback to Program Supervisors supervised related to their strengths and areas for improvement, work with Behavioral Interventionists to set goals for professional development.
Manage the performance of direct reports through identifying areas for improvement, create and implement performance management plans when appropriate in collaboration with the Senior Clinical Manager and HR.
Support Program Supervisors in development, implementation, and oversight of performance management plans for Behavioral Interventionists.
Monitor staff performance throughout the onboarding process, and refer staff to the Training Department when appropriate for additional support.
Ensure ESBA policy and procedure is communicated to and understood by clinical teams supervised.
Responsible to complete additional job duties as assigned by Supervisors/Management.
Master's degree, PsyD, or PhD from an accredited college or university in one of the following disciplines is required: applied behavior analysis, early childhood education/development, early childhood special education, special education, pediatric therapy, psychology or related field.
Board Certified Behavior Analyst (BCBA®) (strongly preferred); Licensed Clinical Psychologist, MFT, MSW, with current licensure in good standing with regulatory board and strong background in ABA.
Three years of related professional experience working with children with autism spectrum disorders (ASD) and/or other related developmental disabilities in a multi-disciplinary team setting.
Two or more years' experience providing staff direction and development in a supervisory role.
Knowledgeable of evidence-based methodologies found to benefit children diagnosed with ASD, including Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA), Early Start Denver Model (ESDM), Treatment and Education of Autistic and related Communication-Handicapped Children (TEACCH), Picture Exchange Communication System (PECS), and Pivotal Response Training (PRT).
Extensive training in the field of ABA, and knowledgeable of other community resources and agencies that serve children.
Sensitive to working with an ethnically, linguistically, culturally, and economically diverse population.
Able to communicate effectively verbally and in writing; American Sign Language or bilingual ability preferred.
Able to consistently demonstrate good judgment and decision-making skills.
Able to exercise confidentiality and discretion pertaining to the work environment.
Able to appropriately interpret and implement policies, procedures, and regulations.
Knowledgeable and skilled in computer/word processing software and excel.
Able to obtain criminal record clearance through Department of Justice and maintain during employment. Must pass Tuberculosis test, criminal and background check including fingerprints.
Able to obtain CPR certificate and maintain during employment.
Able to travel to multiple work sites; reliable transportation needed (proof of valid CA driver license, current auto insurance identification card, and acceptable driving record per NIAC standards is required).
Frequent speaking and listening (50%) to clients, staff, and other professionals in meetings and on the phone.
Occasional lifting, carrying, and loading/unloading toys and materials up to and including 25lbs to 50lbs used in home visits.
The statements contained in this job description reflect general details as necessary to describe the principal functions of this job. It should not be considered an all-inclusive listing of work requirements. Individuals may perform other duties as assigned, including work in other functional areas as deemed fit for the organization.
Gateway provides behavioral interventions, based on the principles of Applied Behavior Analysis, | 726 |
SIAVASH AMINI A Mimesis Of Nothingness
Label / Hallow Ground
Category / Ambient,
Code / HG2006
Siavash Amini returns to Hallow Ground with »A Mimesis of Nothingness,« his fourth album for the Swiss label. Following up on »Harmistice« together with fellow Iranian artists 9T Antiope, the six tracks were conceived in close collaboration with another artist and see the prolific composer intensify his interdisciplinary approach. The six tracks enter a dialogue with the photographs of Nooshin Shafiee, an acclaimed artist whose work capturing their hometown Tehran becomes the starting point for one of Amini's most visceral and haunting records. »A Mimesis of Nothingness« translates the ephemeral situations and melancholic moods of Shafiee's pictures into suspenseful soundscapes that masterfully navigate between the concrete and the abstract. Amini met Shafiee while setting up the sound art space SEDA Projects at the Emkan gallery in Tehran where the photographer's second solo exhibition was shown. Following the suggestion of curator Behzad Nejadghanbar, the two started a fruitful collaboration that would eventually lead to »A Mimesis of Nothingness,« which was written and recorded between the years 2018 and 2019 and which includes a booklet with a selection of Shafiee's work. The two share an interest in exploring the sensual experience and the metaph<|fim_middle|>
Same Label :: Hallow Ground
A Mimesis Of Nothingness Siavash Amini Ambient LP MUSIC / VINYL | ysical dimensions of space. »I was fascinated by Nooshin's approach,« explains Amini who, ever since releasing the album »TAR« through Hallow Ground in 2017, has focused on how our experience of places is shaped by the individual and collective subconscious. »It wasn't the Tehran that everyone projected into their work, it was Tehran showing itself through tiny and giant overlooked places or objects.« Amini's music accordingly does not seek out a specific sonic picture of the city, but rather lets it come alive on its own terms. »A Mimesis of Nothingness« is a disquieting record precisely because it is a quiet one. Working with field recordings, Amini sculpts dynamic portraits that create an atmosphere of tangible suspense that is never fully released. Even when string-like sounds enter the picture as they do on the third track »Moonless Garden« or when the abstract and glacial noise on »Observance (Shadow)« demand the listener's attention, the six pieces take hold of the subconscious rather than trying to be direct and confrontational. It is sound conceived not as a description, but a circumscription of spatial relations and the eeriness embedded in them. »We both saw something decadent or violent about all of these captured places and objects,« says the composer about Shafiee's pictures. »There is no resolution, just excess. It seems they are eternal remnants of a violent scene, no matter how new or old they were. Never finished, never begotten, a stillborn.« Throughout »A Mimesis of Nothingness,« its ghost roams freely.
Same Artist :: Siavash Amini
Siavash Amini A Mimesis Of Nothingness Ambient LP MUSIC / VINYL | 363 |
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Darren Williams
Labour Party NEC and WEC member
NEC Reports
WEC Reports
Author: DarrenAndSophie3678
Meeting of the Welsh Executive Committee, held on Saturday 5th October 2019 (Joint Report with Christine Newman)
This was a very well-attended meeting with a very full agenda, reflecting the rapidly moving political developments affecting the party. Mark Drakeford had as usual circulated a detailed written report on both Welsh Government and party business, but chose in his verbal presentation to focus on two issues: Brexit and the re-selections process for the MPs in Wales.
On Brexit, he noted that UK conference had agreed that a UK Labour government would offer voters a referendum with a choice between remaining in the EU and a viable 'leave' option, and that the Welsh Government would campaign in such a referendum for 'remain'. The party wouldn't, however, get the opportunity to do that unless we won the election and it was therefore important to stress that only Labour would offer voters this choice.
On re-selections, Mark expressed his deep disappointment that the NEC had rejected the rule change proposed by Mick Antoniw, which would have given Welsh Labour devolved responsibility for re-selections in Wales. Mark said that this had perpetuated an anomaly whereby the Welsh party had control over selections and re-selections for Assembly candidates, but only for selections and not re-selections for parliamentary candidates. He would seek to persuade the NEC to reconsider its decision at some point in the future, but this was probably best done alongside any other requests for devolved responsibilities arising out of the Welsh Labour Party Democracy Review.
Wales now had to proceed with trigger ballots on the same basis as in England, but Mark felt that time needed to be taken to do this properly, partly due to a duty of care to staff who were dealing with a number of other issues, including the selections in Ynys Môn and Cynon Valley, but also to ensure that the procedures followed were robust and not open to challenge. Certainly, it would not be possible to re-select in all constituencies simultaneously.
There was a lengthy discussion arising from Mark's report, in which several WEC members echoed his disappointment over the NEC decision. One trade union representative criticised Darren for not having supported Mick's rule change at the NEC. Darren responded that he was not on the NEC as a WEC representative but as a voice for ordinary party members throughout the UK, and that he had sought to reflect what he believed to be the consensus among members on this and other issues. He did not believe that most members in Wales felt it necessary for there to be separate Welsh selection or re-selection procedures for candidates for a UK-wide legislature. Darren also welcomed Mark's positive comments on Brexit, highlighting the fact that only Labour, of the main parties, offered voters a final say, but expressed concern that any election material in Wales should acknowledge that a democratic decision had been made at UK conference on the party's Brexit position, and that, while the Welsh Government was free to express a view, this had not been subject to consultation within the Welsh party. Unite also indicated their support for the UK party position.
Christina Rees. Shadow Secretary of State for Wales, reported on the ongoing saga in Westminster, where it appeared that parliament was now about to be prorogued again. There were concerns about the intricacies of the legislation relating to Brexit, but legal documents following the Scottish court decision suggested that the Prime Minister would comply with the law and request an extension to the 31st October Brexit deadline if no deal was agreed within the next few weeks. There were fears, however, that he might be seeking the assistance of other right-wing governments in Europe to veto any such extension.
In the following discussion, several WEC members condemned the irresponsible behaviour of UK government ministers, including in relation to the delay in providing funding for Wales, as well as the inappropriate, misogynistic language used by several Tory MPs.
In her Deputy Leader's report, Carolyn Harris MP reflected on a successful UK party conference and the positive role played by Welsh Labour MPs at Westminster, including Diane Abbott's historic role in leading for Labour at Prime Minister's Questions. She talked about the continuing scourge of poverty, which underlined the vital need for a Labour government at UK level and reported that election preparations were well underway.
Christine commented on the issue of bursaries for nurses, pointing out that Wales already pays these, and said that Wales' experience was not always adequately reflected in some of the debates at Westminster. She commended the party's commitment to end the elitism represented by public schools and asked what Wales could do on this issue. Mark Drakeford said that the Welsh Government was seeking the agreement of the Assembly to remove charitable status from private schools and hospitals in Wales.
The next item was a set of draft standing orders for Welsh Labour's BAME Committee, which had been drawn up by the Deputy General Secretary in liaison with the committee's officers and which reflected the standing orders of the Women's Committee. The Committee's Chair and BAME representative, Ramesh Patel, thanked the party and Jane Hutt for their efforts. He asked whether it would be possible for the Vice Chair to attend WEC meetings in a non-voting capacity if the Chair were ever unavailable, but was told that this would not be consistent with practice in other areas where substitutes were never allowed. The only issue of detail that needed to be decided on the document was whether the committee should elect its officers annually or biennially; Ramesh said that the preference of the existing officers was for biennial elections, which would give them the same term of office as the WEC itself, and this was agreed by the WEC. Some members raised the question of how more BAME candidates could be selected and suggested the possibility of all-BAME shortlists, but it was pointed out that this would be illegal under the current legislation.
The next item was a document setting out procedures for the selection of Assembly regional list candidates and for the re-selection for the two sitting Labour regional list AMs. David Costa explained that the procedures from the last two elections had not been entirely applicable to the changed circumstances this year but he had taken those elements that still applied and updated them in a way that was consistent with procedures adopted in other areas. There were some minor questions of detail but this document was largely uncontentious. On the re-selection aspect, the trigger ballot threshold was set at 50%, but there was general agreement that this should not be changed for the next election as the same threshold had applied to all of the constituency Assembly re-selections. This was purely for CLPs, however, as trade unions and other bodies do not affiliate at the Assembly regional level. The paper was therefore adopted.
We then discussed draft procedures for parliamentary trigger ballots in Wales following the decision discussed above. David Costa explained that the paper was not concerned with the fundamentals of the mechanism but with the detailed implementation of the rules and therefore closely followed the NEC guidelines already drawn up for England, substituting references to the NEC for the WEC where appropriate. Darren expressed concern about the potential delay to the process that Mark's opening remarks had seemed to imply. Darren said that it was important to get on with the process now as quickly as possible to give the members their democratic say in who their candidate should be and added that the seven-week model timetable seemed longer than strictly necessary and that we should look to shorten this somewhat. Most other contributors to the discussion, however, stressed that they considered seven weeks a tight timescale and that they were concerned about the workload for party staff. David Costa pointed out that the seven weeks was simply a model that could be adjusted to fit local needs.
The paper stated that, where a male MP faced an open selection as the result of a trigger ballot, party rules dictated that he should automatically be on the shortlist, but in keeping with Welsh Labour's commitment to promote gender balance, the other places on the shortlist would be reserved for women candidates. Some of the union reps sought to challenge this and questioned its legality, but David Costa reassured them that the party was confident that its proposals were legally sound and the paper was eventually carried unamended.
There was a brief item simply confirming that the current Welsh Policy Forum representatives would continue to serve until replaced by the new WEC.
There then followed the General Secretary's report, which gave a general overview of recent and ongoing party activity, including the Brecon and Radnorshire by-election. Louise paid tribute to Rhiannon Evans during her tenure as Acting GS. It was confirmed that Alice Hughes had been appointed as Policy and Campaigns Officer and Alvin Shum as Regional Organiser. WEC members raised questions about the parliamentary selection in Monmouth, which had prompted some concerns, and about the by-election campaign in Brecon and Radnorshire- these were to be pursued further via correspondence with the General Secretary.
By this point, the meeting was over-running and the EPLP and WLGA written reports were noted without further discussion. Jeff Cuthbert added some brief comments to his PCC report in relation to the continuing pressure caused by cuts in police numbers.
Under the minutes, an item from the June meeting was picked up where members had requested CLP membership figures, but the response was that these were the property of the Governance and Legal Unit at HQ and that it was not appropriate to share them. Under Any Other Business, Jackie Thomas from Community highlighted a multi-union march in Newport the following Saturday to save the Orb steelworks.
Author DarrenAndSophie3678Posted on October 16, 2019 Categories WEC ReportsLeave a comment on Meeting of the Welsh Executive Committee, held on Saturday 5th October 2019 (Joint Report with Christine Newman)
Meeting of the Welsh Executive Committee, held on Monday 9th September (Joint Report with Christine Newman)
This meeting was called at a point when it looked as though there might be an imminent General Election. By the time that it took place, this seemed less likely due to the opposition parties in Westminster uniting to defy Boris Johnson's push towards a snap election. Nevertheless, it was felt useful to put in place selection procedures for any parliamentary vacancies that might needed to be filled quickly. At the time of the meeting, only one of these was known about, which was Ynys Môn, where Albert Owen had announced that he would be retiring after 18 years as MP.
A paper had been prepared by party officers, which reviewed the situation in Wales and made proposals for urgent selections. Of the non-Labour held seats in Wales, only two still needed to select candidates, namely Montgomeryshire and Ceredigion. Both of these were due to complete their respective selection within a fortnight of the meeting. The paper made a commitment to ensure that there was as much democratic involvement by party members as possible while also completing selections without delay to ensure that the party would be ready for the election when it came.
The constituency party in Ynys Môn had been consulted and agreed a timetable which would skip the normal branch nominations process but would allow members to participate in a hustings meeting, where they would decide between candidates shortlisted by a selections committee. The hustings meeting was expected to take place on 5th or 6th October. Similar arrangements would be put in place for any other vacancies that might occur before a General Election was actually called.
This was all uncontentious and the meeting agree the paper. However, Darren also took this opportunity to ask about progress on trigger ballots for the re-selection of candidates in Labour-held seats. This process had been underway in England for a couple of weeks, with constituencies undertaking the process in stages, but this had not yet begun in Wales. The Deputy General Secretary, David Costa, explained that, since the WEC had agreed at its last meeting that Mark Drakeford should write to the UK Labour General Secretary Jennie Formby to ask for a rule change to give Welsh Labour devolved control over re-selections of parliamentary candidates in Wales, he had been advised that Mick Antoniw, as Mark's representative on the NEC, should put a rule change motion to the NEC, which was due to meet the following week.
Any progress on trigger ballots in Wales would therefore have to wait on the outcome of this meeting. If the NEC agreed to support Mick's rule change, then it would go to UK party conference. If carried, it would mean that the WEC would have to decide on re-selection rules for Wales at its next meeting on 5th October. If the NEC or conference rejected the rule change proposal, then the WEC meeting on 5th October would have to draw up detailed procedures for implementing the same mechanism as was already underway in England.
Darren asked whether, in the event that the NEC rejected the rule change, the process of implementing trigger ballots in Wales could be brought forward, rather than wait for 5th October, because of the limited time available, given the continuing possibility of an early election. He pointed out that most members in Wales hadn't had an opportunity to choose their parliamentary candidate since around 2013 or 2014. He also noted that, in the event of the rule change being agreed, the actual mechanism applied in Wales would be determined by the 30-odd voting members of the WEC, whereas the procedures in England had been agreed by UK party conference. It was explained, however, that it would not be possible to bring the meeting forward due to party conference and Mark's expected absence the following week.
The final item was a report from the General Secretary on election preparations. Louise said that Welsh Labour leaflet template text was available as both bilingual and monolingual versions via Labour Connect. The party would be conducting interviews in the next few days for both the Policy Officer and vacant Regional Organiser positions and would be seeking an increase in staffing if and when a general election was called. There would also be campaign training in South West and North Wales and IT training on Contact Creator and Labour Connect. It wasn't intended to cancel scheduled events such as Welsh Women's Conference or the Welsh Policy Forum unless a snap election were to be called. Darren asked whether there would be more engagement between the WEC and the Welsh manifesto process on this occasion, noting that in 2017 WEC members had been told nothing about the process until the manifesto was actually published. David Costa responded that the Welsh manifesto process was a subsidiary of the UK process and that the specifically Welsh elements would reflect documents already agreed by the WEC or the Welsh Policy Forum and there was also a need for the text to be written quickly by a small number of people. Mark Drakeford added that, although there were real time constraints, he would want the party to look at how we could engage people in the process as far as possible. He explained that SpAds do most of the actual writing of the manifesto but that there could be an opportunity to WEC members to meet them to discuss particular policy areas. Chris also commented on the manifesto, saying that the Welsh version had been rather bland in 2017 and that this time it needed to be more dynamic with positive reference to Jeremy Corbyn.
Author DarrenAndSophie3678Posted on October 16, 2019 Categories WEC ReportsLeave a comment on Meeting of the Welsh Executive Committee, held on Monday 9th September (Joint Report with Christine Newman)
Welsh Executive Committee Meeting, June 2019 (Report by Christine Newman)
This meeting was very lengthy with 21 items on the agenda so edited highlights only have been provided.
Report of the Welsh Labour Leader and First Minister
Mark presented a written report to the committee. He thanked the staff of the Welsh Labour office for their hard work and loyalty over the recent very busy period.
On Brexit, Mark expressed concern that, due to the current Tory Leadership Election, the unity of the U.K. was seriously under threat. Their talk of "a no deal Brexit," was putting undue strain on relations between Scotland, Wales and Ireland with England. However, our links with the Irish Government were strengthening, an example of this was the reopening of their Consulate Office in Cardiff. Negotiating with the Tories for a satisfactory deal for Wales seemed futile in Mark's opinion. With this situation in mind and having discussed the matter with J.C. he felt that he had no option but to support and call for a public confirmational vote. A move, much appreciated by members of the WEC including myself. Although I did remind the meeting that we have a huge task ahead of us persuading the Brexit supporters in Wales to support our remain position. Mark confirmed that the Welsh Government (WG) hope to publish a new policy document" soon, making the case for remaining in the E.U. as strong as possible.
On Ford, the WEC were reminded that the Bridgend Engine Plant by September 2020 will have lost 1,700 jobs. Both Mark and the Economy Minister, Ken Skates AM had visited the plant and engaged in talks with management and the unions over the last few weeks. Mark gave assurances that the WG had pressed the Ford Management to reverse their decision and if that is not possible not to leave the plant/country without giving significant compensation to their staff. Concern was expressed for those worst affected, those with mortgages and young families to support. That is why a 24 hour, 7 day a week helpline has been set up for the work force, by the WG. In addition, funding is available for those affected, to attend appropriate re-training courses. As for the Ford supply chain, which had developed over the years, the WG is also offering to help them. I added that this situation illustrates how there is no loyalty among capitalist firms such as Ford, considering all the financial assistance they have received from the WG.
On the M4 Relief Road, Mark reported that a Public Inspector's Report and a detailed account of why the WG decided to scrap this project can be found on the following website: https://gov.wales/m4-corridor-around-newport. Mark added that the two main reasons for this decision, were that the WG would be unable to meet the rising cost of the project and the serious environmental impact on the Gwent Levels. On hearing that a new expert commission, chaired by Lord Terry Burns, had been set up to make recommendations as soon as possible on how the congestion on the M4 in Newport and SE Wales can be tackled, no further comments or questions were raised on this matter at the meeting.
On Budget Preparations, Mark admitted that the situation was very serious, as the WG cannot plan its 2020-21 budget. This is because:
We are entering the 10th year of austerity – which is a political choice by the Conservative Government.
This same government promised a Comprehensive Spending Review, which has not taken place yet, making it incredibly difficult for the WG to make any financial planning arrangement with Local Government, Welsh NHS, etc.
The complete lack of clarity by the U.K. Government on its Shared Prosperity Fund which is supposed to replace the E.U.'s £370million a year funding for Wales.
The WG Finance Minister, Rebecca Evans AM has written to the U.K. Government demanding a permanent adjustment to Wales's block grant, over and above Barnett that should then be administered by the WG and not as threatened, by the UK Government.
On Local Government, following recent talks between the WG and Local Government (LG), the following proposals were announced:
The development of a LG Bill,
To enshrine the social partnership model in law.
During the questioning of Mark, I raised two concerns and received assurances on one, that the WG were seriously considering re-regulating the public bus services in Wales, and secondly, the WG and LG were looking into bringing back in house, privately-run public services. Social Care was mentioned as an example. The Unison Delegate Dan Beard, raised the question of staff cuts at St David's University in Lampeter and the reluctance of the Liberal Democrat Education Minister Kirsty Williams AM to negotiate with the unions. Dan was advised to contact Jane Hutt AM as she has been given the job of overseeing Higher Education labour matters.
A Report from the Shadow Secretary of State for Wales was noted by the WEC. It is clear that Christina and her team are keeping up the pressure on the Tories especially Alun Cairns. He is difficult to pin down and seems ineffectual in representing the interests of the ordinary people in Wales. This is partly due to the fact that the UK Government is so preoccupied with Brexit matters, as a result of which other issues are being neglected. Yet Christina and her team have been busy questioning the Tories on such matters as the European Elections, the status of the Stronger Towns Fund, the Ford Closure, the Policing Budget, the U.K. Shared Prosperity Fund, the Brexit impact on Wales, the Wales Steel Industry and the British Steel Pension.
Christina was asked what disciplinary action has been taken over the eight Labour MPs who voted with the Tories at a recent Brexit debate. She was not aware that any action had been taken.
Welsh Labour Deputy Leader, Carolyn Harris gave a verbal report on the work she had been involved in recently. Perhaps her proudest achievement is that the UK Government have agreed to give financial help to those parents who have difficulty in paying for the funeral expenses of their dead child. In addition, Carolyn has also been involved in calling for women prisoners, especially pregnant ones, not to be sent to prison in England, as at present, but to be placed in Women's centres. She also expressed concern about the unfair treatment of Virgin staff by the Swansea management.
A paper on Transitional Rules for the Women's Committee, was accepted by the WEC. It was agreed that a transitional period for regular discussions between the Women's Committee and the WEC, would be necessary, in order to fully implement the rule changes.
Welsh Labour Democracy Review: an Interim Report on Stage 2 of the Democracy Review was presented to the WEC and accepted. It was agreed that the less contentious issues would be dealt with first and presented for approval to next year's Welsh Labour Conference. It was also confirmed that a series of meetings on this matter would be chaired by Lord Paul Murphy, plus a timetable was being arranged for these ongoing consultations.
The Reselection of MPs was included in the Democracy Review paper, as there was an issue to be resolved in relation to the way this is applied in Wales. Cllr Debbie Wilcox reminded the WEC that councillors have to go through a full reselection process before they can stand in each election. I added that, in the interests of fairness, such a practice should also apply to AMs and MPs but this was opposed by one of the AMs present on the grounds of inconvenience and workload. Mark Drakeford asked the WEC to agree that he should write to the UK General Secretary, asking for a rule change to allow Welsh Labour to have control over reselections in Wales. He said that there were two key principles here, firstly the matter of devolution and secondly the question of parity with the English party. He noted that there had been a significant transfer of responsibilities to Wales at the 2016 LP conference but, following the change at last year's conference in the way that reselections are conducted, there was now an inconsistency and not everything was devolved. It was agreed that the letter should be written.
There was a paper updating us on Candidate Selections that still had to be conducted, namely: PCCs for South Wales, Dyfed-Powys and North Wales; the remaining Parliamentary Selections, Assembly Selections for constituencies not currently held by Labour; and Assembly Regional List Reselections and Selections.
On Local Government, Cllr Sarah Merry presented a paper, concerning approved procedures that were felt necessary following the recent development on the Vale of Glamorgan Council, where the ruling Tory Party have split and now Labour councillors and Independents (i.e. ex-Tories) are running the Council, hence the need for a code of conduct on power sharing. The other paper which was formally agreed, was entitled NEC Local Government Committee Review of the Party's Local Government Organisations and Groups, it was about adopting rules, guidelines and procedures appropriate for Welsh Labour.
Vacancies on the WEC: Two Trade Union places had become vacant and, since there were no runners-up from the original election, David Costa had drafted a proposed procedure for filling the vacancies, which involved inviting those unions eligible to nominate to do so and then conducting a ballot if necessary; this was agreed.
CLP Rules & Standing Orders: this item set out what CLPs needed to do in order to implement the rule changes agreed at UK conference in a number of areas, including:
All CLP Secretaries should follow the national model of Rules and S.O.s and any deviations must be agreed by Welsh Labour.
On Quorums, the new rules state that the minimum should be 25 for a CLP GC and 6 for a branch meeting.
Formal Notice of all meetings and the business intended should be sent out by the secretary to all those entitled to attended at least seven days prior to the meeting. Those members not on e-mail should be contacted by post.
A GC executive should include 6 officers including a Policy Officer, a new post with an important role. There was a request for a yearly breakdown of membership levels per CLP, with the numbers who had lapsed, joined, left, etc. It was agreed to request this information from the NEC.
The Code of conduct/disciplinary procedures for National Assembly LP members. The paper was introduced by Vikki Howells, setting out the revised rules for the Assembly group, which had now been completed, and was accepted by the WEC.
Dates for WEC meetings up to the following year's Welsh conference were also agreed.
Acting General Secretary's Report. This covered:
The work done for the European Elections.
Staffing – Grace Ashworth became the third trainee organiser, who will be based in Aberconwy. There are two staff vacancies since Alex Bevan and Victoria Solomon had left. Welsh Labour was awaiting approval from the UK Labour HR team to appoint replacements.
The Brecon and Radnorshire by-election would be held over the summer.
There would be a Labour Stall at the National Eisteddfod in Llanrwst.
The Welsh Policy Forum had met on Saturday 22/6/2019, the first of a two-year term in the current cycle.
A Stage 2 policy document was being prepared over the summer for launch in November's Welsh Policy Forum.
Jackie Jones was warmly welcomed at the beginning of the meeting, as the newly elected and only Labour MEP in Wales. She and the other Labour candidates had submitted a report outlining where Labour could have improved its performance in the recent European Election.
WLGA re-elected leader's report.
Debbie Wilcox confirmed what the First Minister had stated – that the Public Sector Finance was in disarray due to the Tory Government's position over Brexit. On Local Government Reform, constructive talks were taking place between the First Minister and the Housing and Local Government Minister and progress was being made.
A PCC report from Jeff Cuthbert was accepted by the WEC. Finance was a very serious concern.
Minutes of the previous WEC were accepted.
Under the final item Correspondence:
The North Wales Consultative Committee report was accepted by the WEC.
Stephen Doughty MP asked whether Welsh Labour had received any reply to a complaint about Darren Williams (who was not present at the meeting) for circulating a supportive message about Chris Williamson MP on behalf of Welsh Labour Grassroots. This request was seconded by Tonia Antoniazzi. What an uncomradely way to end a meeting!
Author DarrenAndSophie3678Posted on October 7, 2019 Categories WEC ReportsLeave a comment on Welsh Executive Committee Meeting, June 2019 (Report by Christine Newman)
NEC Meetings, March/April 2019
This report covers the meetings of the Disputes Panel and Organisation Committee on 19 March; the full NEC meeting of 26 March; the extra Disputes Panel meeting on 17 April and the special meeting to agree the European Parliamentary manifesto on 30 April.
Disputes Panel, 19 March & 17 April
As usual, the papers of the Disputes Panel were not circulated in advance, due to concerns about confidentiality. The first 45 minutes of the meeting was set aside for us to read through the relevant documents, which, on this occasion, came to 221 pages. To obtain these documents, we all had to give up our mobile phones and other devices, which is another agreed measure to guard against leaks. As the meeting began, however, it became apparent that the Deputy Leader, Tom Watson, who does not normally attend Disputes Panel meetings, still had his phone on the table in front of him. The Chair reminded everyone of the measures that we had all agreed, and directly asked Tom Watson to give up his phone. He refused to do this, however, saying that he didn't agree with the restriction that we had introduced and that he was expecting an urgent call. Several of us spoke to express our unhappiness with this behaviour, pointing out that there is an emergency number through which NEC members can be contacted and also that phones can be temporarily returned to members when they leave the room if they need to check urgent messages. This made no difference to Tom Watson's attitude, however, prompting the Chair to ask him to leave the meeting. He refused to do this as well, however, causing the meeting to be adjourned while the officers considered the situation. Ultimately, there was nothing that they could do other than to ask that Tom's non-compliance with the agreed rules be noted in the minutes. I do not normally comment on individuals' behaviour in these meetings, but this episode was so outrageous, particularly given the seniority of the person involved, that it seems only right to acknowledge what happened (which has already been reported in at least one media source, in any case).
The argument described above caused considerable delay to the start of what would already have been a heavily loaded meeting, and it soon became clear that we would not have time to get through all of the business without hugely delaying the Organisation Committee meeting, which was due to follow directly afterwards. There was some discussion about how future meetings could be arranged to alleviate the pressure of time somewhat, specifically by not having the Disputes Panel and Organisation Committee on the same day as the Equalities Committee. I cannot comment on the cases that we had time to consider, because they relate to specific individuals, but we made it about half way through the scheduled agenda and agreed that an extra meeting should be held as soon as practicable.
This extra meeting of the Disputes Panel took place on 17 April; unfortunately, only 12 of the 39 NEC members were able to attend, some no doubt having booked holidays for the Easter period. This time, we were able to get through almost all of the cases that we had not reached on 19 March, as well as a couple of new ones. There was also some discussion of the negative commentary in the media on the party's handling of disciplinary matters, particularly reports that the Equality and Human Rights Commission (EHRC) was investigating complaints that they had received in relation to anti-Semitism. It was pointed out that the EHRC had not actually begun an investigation, but had merely asked the party to respond to these complaints and was deciding whether or not an investigation would be merited. In any case, the Disputes Panel cannot itself make any changes to the way that the party deals with these matters, so this would have to be dealt with by the full NEC or by the Organisation Committee.
Organisation Committee
Following the incomplete Disputes Panel meeting of 19 March, there was a meeting of the Organisation Committee, which also had a fairly heavy agenda to get through. The first business related to the selection of parliamentary candidates; 5 new candidates were endorsed by the NEC, in addition to the 90 who had been endorsed previously. We also looked at the 9 seats where Labour MPs had recently resigned the whip, in most cases to become part of the new so-called Independent Group/Change UK. It was agreed that, in 6 of these cases, there should be an All Women Shortlist in six of these cases and an open selection in the other three. Five of the nine seats are currently held by women so this decision would mean a small increase in the number of female MPs, assuming that Labour wins back the seats at the next General Election. There was once again some discussion of the party's relatively poor performance in selecting BAME candidates, and what could be done about this. The General Secretary said that all the party's Regional Directors now had, as one of their key objectives, the pursuit of greater engagement with BAME communities.
The next section of the meeting dealt with updates on the work flowing from the Party Democracy Review. This fell into a number of categories, the first of which related to CLP governance. Under this heading, we agreed to codify the custom and practice governing the conversion of single constituency to multi-constituency CLPs and vice versa; agreed to invite CLPs to pilot alternative methods of organisation to maximise participation – specifically, staggered meetings, electronic attendance and online voting; and took steps to make information about local party meetings available to members on an electronic platform. The second heading was rules for regional executive committees and regional conferences in England, where detailed changes were agreed to make the provisions more robust and consistent. Finally, there was a detailed paper on the rules for Young Labour, seeking to amend the existing rules in a number of ways, which are too complex to summarise, but the net effect of which (broadly speaking) to bring Young Labour into conformity with the principles of the Democracy Review and to empower young members. This paper was agreed but some further amendments proposed by NEC members, including the Young Members' rep, were deferred to the full NEC meeting the following week.
We also agreed a paper aimed at improving equality and diversity in local government, which set out provisions relating to equality monitoring, training directed at underrepresented members and enforcement of positive action procedures. And we adopted a definition of Islamophobia, which had originally been drawn up in April 2018 by the All Party Parliamentary Group on British Muslims. The definition is quite succinct, as follows:
"Islamophobia is rooted in racism and is a type of racism that targets expressions of Muslimness or perceived Muslimness."
This, along with an accompanying briefing note as to why this matter is so important and how the party should act on it, was agreed without dissent.
These were the main items covered, with the exception of confidential papers on developments in local parties in St Helen's and Enfield, which the NEC agreed but details of which cannot be disclosed.
Full NEC meeting
The full NEC meeting took place on 26 March. The Chair began by acknowledging the message that we had all received, along with all other party members, from the General Secretary, Jennie Formby, relating to her diagnosis of breast cancer. The Chair and others paid tribute to Jennie and agreed that she needed to concentrate on her health and that the party should rally round to support her staff in ensuring that the important work of the General Secretary's office continued to be done under these difficult circumstances.
The first substantive item discussed was the series of obituaries of prominent members who had died since the last meeting, the first of which was Paul Flynn, MP for Newport West for nearly 32 years until his death in February. I spoke about the unique contribution that Paul had made to Labour politics, especially in Wales, the respect that he had won for his intellect, principle and independent-mindedness, and the consequent benefit to the party.
Cllr Nick Forbes gave the Local Government Report, commenting on the recent Labour Local Government conference, at which, for the first time, a majority of speakers and panel members had been women. He said that there was a good story to tell about the achievements of Labour councils in difficult times and a new version of the booklet setting out some of these achievements was to be published. In the ensuing discussion, several speakers welcomed the party's recent announcement on 'in-sourcing' local services; Nick pointed out that many Labour councils had never outsourced much in the first place.
Richard Corbett MEP gave the EPLP Report, which, as usual, related mainly to the Brexit process. He also reported that the Party of European Socialists (PES) had agreed its European manifesto. There was some comment on the need to maintain relationships with other European parties through PES if the UK should leave the EU. There was also a query about the possibility of merger between the SDLP, Labour's sister-party in Northern Ireland, and the Irish centre-right party, Fianna Fail. It remained unclear how likely this was, but if it were to happen, the SDLP would no longer be able to remain within PES.
Jeremy then gave his Leaders' Report, adding his own tributes to those covered in the obituaries section, including Paul Flynn, whose funeral in Newport he had attended. Jeremy reported on the many campaign visits he had continued to undertake around Britain, especially in the Midlands and Scotland. He said that cuts in local government were now worse than under Thatcher and that this needed to be made clear in the English local elections campaign. He had attended the Scottish Labour conference, which had been very well-attended and upbeat. Members' assemblies were being planned across Scotland to help promote Scottish Labour's policies and its challenge to the SNP.
Jeremy acknowledged that Brexit continued to dominate everything that the party was doing; he had been to Brussels recently to meet the EU's chief negotiator, Michel Barnier. The Tories had passed a bill some time previously to empower David Davis, the then Brexit Secretary, to determine everything, but, thanks to Labour's efforts, a lot of this had been pushed back subsequently. Labour had put its own 5-point Brexit policy to the House of Commons and, although it had been defeated, it had secured more votes than Theresa May's deal. Following a series of important votes in the Commons, Brexit had been delayed until April or May, if the Government's agreement with the EU were carried. Given the uncertainty surrounding the ongoing Brexit process, Labour was continuing to prepare for a snap General Election and Jon Trickett MP was leading on the party's preparations for government. Jeremy also commented on the appalling atrocity carried out in Christchurch, which he said reflected the rise of the far right around the world and which made Labour's participation in the annual UN Day Against Racism all the more important. He had been to see the New Zealand High Commission and laid a wreath, as well as contacting the country's Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern to offer his support and commend her on her response to the attack. He had also attended a service at a mosque in his own constituency. Finally, Jeremy said that he had been shocked by Jennie's cancer diagnosis and was sending her his love and support; he paid tribute to the continuing efforts of the staff at Southside and in his own office.
The next item was the Deputy Leader, Tom Watson's report, covering meetings and events that he had undertaken as part of his remit, as well as his presentation of some LBC phone-in radio programmes. He had also made a number of policy speeches on issues like TV licences, digital democracy and online gambling. He had spoken at the People's Vote march in London the previous Saturday and had also set up the Future Britain group of parliamentarians in response to the departure of several Labour MPs to establish the Independent Group. He commented on the need to address concerns felt by MPs over issues like Brexit, anti-Semitism and the threat of deselection. In the ensuing discussion, several of us made some fairly robust comments on various of the issues that Tom had raised and asked some probing questions, especially in relation to the establishment of the Future Britain group, the precise purpose of which remained unclear, along with the governance arrangements that appeared to have been set up.
We then had an International Report, covering Labour's work with sister parties, such as the French Socialists, who are undertaking a process of renewal following some bad election results. There was also an update on the initiative agreed at a previous meeting to review Labour's links with other progressive parties and movements around the world in the light of the widespread political upheaval that we have witnessed in recent years. This work was focussing in the first instance on Latin America, where there has been a worrying rise of the populist hard right, especially in Brazil. There was a lengthy discussion about this area of activity, considering questions like the implications of any new international relationships for our existing sister parties.
The meeting also agreed detailed procedural guidelines for disciplinary cases brought before the National Constitutional Committee (NCC). These clarified and expanded the existing procedures, generally in very positive ways; for example, confirming that a member facing an NCC hearing would be entitled to be supported by a silent friend or represented by a lay person, such as a trade union official, and that the panel could also allow legal representation in certain specified types of case.
There were further reports on items arising from the Democracy Review, including detailed consideration of some additional proposed amendments to the rules governing Young Labour – some, but not all, of which were accepted – and proposals for the online presence of local parties. In addition, we took further steps towards the establishment of a seat representing disabled members on the NEC, agreeing that this could be a job share. With both this seat and the seat representing BAME members, where, in future, the electorate will be expanded beyond members of the party affiliate BAME Labour, it was agreed that the elections would go ahead once sufficient equality data had been gathered to provide 'a viable electorate'.
European manifesto meeting
On 30 April, a special meeting the full NEC was held to agree the party's manifesto for the European Elections, which, it had by then become clear, we would have to fight after all. The rules laid down for the agreement of European manifestos are somewhat simpler than those that apply to general elections, and the necessary preliminary consultation had already taken place with TULO, the EPLP, the International Policy Commission of the NPF and the Shadow Cabinet, which had met immediately prior to the NEC meeting. Policy Director Andrew Fisher had, by common consent, done an excellent job in pulling together the party's key policy priorities in relation to Europe in a very short space of time. In contrast to the 20,000 General Election 2017 manifesto, the European manifesto ran to around 2,000, most of which was uncontentious and based on previously agreed policy.
There had, however, been intense media speculation about supposedly sharp divisions that would be exposed at the meeting in relation to a commitment to a second referendum, and indeed, all NEC members had received literally thousands of emails lobbying us on this matter in the week or so leading up to the meeting (although many of these were not from actual party members). The discussion in the meeting, however, demonstrated a surprisingly high degree of consensus in reaffirming a position in line with the resolution agreed at the Labour Conference in September 2018. As the published manifesto has now made clear, the agreed position was that Labour would continue to seek positive changes to the Tories' proposed Brexit deal, in line with our own alternative plan; if such changes could not be agreed, we would retain the option of pressing for a public vote. Some NEC members did argue for a more emphatic commitment to a confirmatory referendum, but this was not ultimately the view that prevailed. It was nevertheless a comparatively harmonious and comradely meeting, which demonstrated that, contrary to widespread perceptions, there is relatively little disagreement within the party on the major principles underlying our policy.
Author DarrenAndSophie3678Posted on May 13, 2019 Categories NEC ReportsLeave a comment on NEC Meetings, March/April 2019
Meeting of the Welsh Executive Committee, 6th April 2019 (Joint Report with Christine Newman)
This meeting was a special one, dedicated entirely to preparations for the Welsh Labour Conference, due to take place the following weekend, and therefore the agenda was much shorter than usual.
The first item was to resolve the one issue left over from the report on the Democracy Review discussed at the previous meeting, namely the question of electing the Welsh seat on the National Executive Committee. In response to concerns raised by the unions at the previous meeting, it had been established that we could allow members of affiliates to vote alongside full party members, but only on the same basis as they can vote in UK Labour leadership elections (i.e. they must first be registered as affiliated supporters) and the ballot would be conducted online. Although one or two of the union reps were not entirely happy with this proposal and suggested that a decision be deferred while other options were explored, but Chris argued that there had already been a full discussion and a solution had been arrived at that addressed most of the concerns; we should therefore go ahead and vote on it. The OMOV ballot arrangements proposed by officers were duly put to the vote, alongside an alternative proposal (put by one of the union reps) that the election be conducted via an electoral college at conference, and the OMOV option was accepted.
The main item was to decide the WEC's position on the various motions submitted by CLPs and affiliates. 26 motions had been accepted as valid and 4 ruled out of order by the Standing Orders Committee. For the first time, the text of motions deemed invalid by the SOC was published – as long requested by Chris – along with the reason for their rejection. Of those accepted, there were 5 almost identical motions on ending no-fault evictions, two very similar motions on child poverty and two broadly similar motions on women's refuges. In each of these cases, the officers were seeking agreement from the bodies in question that the motions could be composited. In relation to the policy motions, Mark Drakeford said that Welsh ministers and special advisers were keen to see motions supported by conference wherever possible, even with qualifications, but outlined some practical difficulties with three motions and, in each case, the WEC accepted Mark's arguments and agreed either to ask the moving body to remit the motion in question or to recommend that conference vote against.
There were three motions on internal party issues, and the Deputy General Secretary, David Costa, gave a view on these, suggesting that, in two cases the WEC seek remittance but that the third be supported. These recommendations were adopted by the WEC.
The only other item was notice of the draft timetable for conference, which was circulated for information, and the meeting therefore concluded much more promptly than usual.
Author DarrenAndSophie3678Posted on April 9, 2019 April 22, 2019 Categories WEC ReportsLeave a comment on Meeting of the Welsh Executive Committee, 6th April 2019 (Joint Report with Christine Newman)
Meeting of the Welsh Executive Committee, 16 March 2019 (Joint Report with Christine Newman)
The meeting began with an update from the Acting General Secretary, Rhiannon Evans, on the Newport West by-election, which had been triggered by the sad death of the great Paul Flynn a month before. The election was obviously hugely important, as, although the party had an excellent candidate in Ruth Jones, we could not take for granted that the strong personal vote built up by Paul over many years would simply fall into our laps. In addition, it was clearly going to be a significant test of the leadership, both of Jeremy Corbyn and of Mark Drakeford, and at a time when the political atmosphere was particularly febrile because of the Brexit saga. Rhiannon offered reassurance about the degree of organisation and input from staff and volunteers into the election campaign. The TULO organisation of Labour union affiliates was to organise a big push on 23rdMarch. Darren suggested trying to get as many people to the constituency as possible on the final Saturday before the election; it appeared that the party was already thinking along similar lines.
The next item was a report from the Welsh Labour leader and First Minister, Mark Drakeford. Mark once again provided a detailed written report of his activities over the previous month, which had included speaking at the Scottish Labour Conference the week before, seeking to protect Wales' interests as the prospect of Brexit loomed ever closer, and acting on his campaign pledge to develop a social partnership bill in collaboration with the trade unions. His action on this last point won praise from trade union reps present. Darren commended Mark and Julie Morgan for the work that they had done in addressing the concerns of campaigners, who had sought to protect the Welsh Independent Living Grant; the additional funding and provision of an independent social work assessment, which had been agreed, had assuaged many of these concerns. Mark also commented on the terrible events that had taken place in Christchurch, New Zealand; he had written to the Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern, to offer condolences on behalf of the Welsh Government, and had tried to provide solidarity and reassurance to Muslim communities in Wales, including by attending Friday prayers in a Cardiff mosque and also the vigil organised by the Muslim Council for Wales.
Shadow Secretary of State for Wales, Christina Rees, echoed Mark's comments about the tragedy in Christchurch and the need to protect the harmonious relations that we had sought to promote in our multicultural societies. She also reported on efforts that she had made to hold Welsh Secretary of State, Alun Cairns, to account over issues including mineworkers' pensions and the questionable plans for the Felindre Parkway station.
Deputy Leader, Carolyn Harris, reported on a number of successful campaign days that had been held with materials tailored to the needs of Wales, and the development of Labour's community organising strategy, highlighted by the recent event with Ian Lavery MP in the Vale of Glamorgan. She also referred to the importance not only of the Newport West by-election but also the council by-election in Merthyr, which could potentially enable Labour to regain control of the local authority.
The next item was progress on the Welsh Labour Democracy Review. Officers had prepared a detailed report on the progress that had been made on Stage 2 of the review, which, subject to WEC approval, was to be presented to Welsh Labour Conference in Llandudno. Mark Drakeford and Deputy General Secretary, David Costa, presented this report to the meeting. As indicated at the previous meeting, less of the work encompassed by the review had been accomplished that we would have liked, and there had been a focus on agreeing some changes where there was general consensus. A table of responses included in the paper indicated that there had been a sharp increase in submissions, especially from CLPs, close to the deadline, although no indication was given as to common themes and priorities from those submissions. Despite the somewhat disappointing absence of major reform proposals, overall there were some important and positive steps forward in a number of key areas. These included a relaxation of the restrictions relating to motions submitted to Welsh Labour Conference, removing the "contemporary" criterion and the two-year rule, although not, unfortunately, the requirement that motions must relate to devolved matters only. In addition, there was agreement in principle that Welsh Labour Women's Conference should become a motion-based event with voting delegates; the Women's Committee had been asked to draw up appropriate arrangements.
There were three items in the Democracy Review report that were more contentious. The first of these was a proposal to provide for the election by an OMOV ballot of the position representing Wales on the National Executive Committee. This post has been in the gift of the Welsh Labour leader since it was created in 2016, but there had been widespread support for it to be elected in submissions to the UK Democracy Review and Mark Drakeford had also made this one of his leadership campaign pledges. The proposal as presented would have allowed affiliates as well as CLPs to make nominations, but only party members to vote. The trade unions raised concerns about this and it was agreed that, although there were some practical difficulties (because the election had to be conducted by the UK party) an attempt would be made to accommodate their wishes for their members to vote and the matter would be brought back to the next meeting.
A second controversial matter related to the rules for reselecting parliamentary candidates. The trigger ballot mechanism was reformed at the UK Labour Conference in 2018, reducing the threshold of votes needed to trigger an open selection, but it was widely assumed that this would apply only in England. There had since been clarification that it would apply to Wales and Scotland as well. The document acknowledged this, but said that Welsh Labour might wish to ask the NEC for a further rule change to allow Wales to have the option to determine its own rules. Some WEC members expressed support for this idea, with two even questioning whether the interpretation of the rules that we had been given was correct. Darren, however, argued that, while he supported devolution where it made practical sense, there was no obvious reason why selection of Labour candidates for a UK-wide Parliament should be different in each of the constituent countries and that we should therefore accept the status quo. It was agreed that the paper could stand as written as it simply acknowledged the current position and that we come back to it at a later date
The final issue that provoked some controversy was in relation to the commitment to make WEC papers more widely available for members to see. This again was in line with one of Mark Drakeford's pledges to promote greater openness and accountability within the Welsh party. It was agreed that Welsh Labour should seek to establish a password-protected section of the UK Labour website in which these papers could be published, subject to some exclusions for sensitive or confidential material, but there was a debate as to whether the obligation to publish the papers should be written into the standing orders or whether there should simply be a general instruction to officers that this should be done. At Mark's suggestion, we adopted the latter approach on an initial basis with the aim of moving towards a more formal commitment once the new approach had been introduced.
There was then a paper on electoral reform, which summarised responses to the consultation that Welsh Labour had undertaken on this subject. It was reported that, although there had been general consensus that the number of Assembly Members should be increased, there was no consensus about moving towards a more proportional electoral system and it was therefore agreed that we should conduct further discussions on this through the policy process with any resulting proposals to be incorporated in Labour's manifesto for the next Assembly elections in 2021.
The Acting General Secretary, Rhiannon Evans, reported that, since the last meeting, the Assembly Member and Police and Crime Commissioner trigger ballot processes had begun, that parliamentary candidates had been selected in Clwyd West and Carmarthen East and Dinefwr, with Brecon and Radnorshire due to conclude on 30thMarch. In addition, an expedited selection timetable had been agreed for Dwyfor Meirionnydd and this was also under consideration for Ceredigion. In response to questions, Rhiannon said that the Assembly selections in Bridgend and the Rhondda would begin after conference and that it had not yet been decided which would begin first.
Neither Derek Vaughan MEP nor Cllr Debbie Wilcox were present at the meeting, but both had circulated written reports. Jeff Cuthbert had also produced a written report on the work of the Police and Crime Commissioners and added some comments about the need for greater resources and a more coherent strategy to deal with violent crime, as well as criticising Theresa May's denial of the link between cuts in police numbers and the increase in recorded crime.
In response to the minutes, Darren sought a further update on the question of whether new rules on quorums, agreed at UK Conference, would apply in Wales, and was told that the party had confirmed that these would apply. There was one piece of correspondence from Dwyfor Meirionnydd CLP, which incorporated a motion seeking discussion of open selections at Welsh Labour Conference, and it was agreed that this could not be taken up in the way that the CLP wanted because the Assembly selections had largely concluded and we now knew that the parliamentary selections were bound by the same rules as the UK party, but CLP reps asked that the CLP be given a detailed response that fully acknowledged their concerns and clarified the position.
Author DarrenAndSophie3678Posted on April 9, 2019 Categories WEC ReportsLeave a comment on Meeting of the Welsh Executive Committee, 16 March 2019 (Joint Report with Christine Newman)
NEC Meetings Jan 2019
The NEC held its first meetings of 2019 towards the end of January. The Organisation Committee and Disputes Panel met on 22 January (as did the Equalities Committee, of which I'm not a member) and the full NEC met a week later on the 29th. These were the first meetings attended by Mick Antoniw, the Welsh Assembly member designated as the representative of Mark Drakeford, the newly-elected Welsh Labour Leader and First Minister. Like Mark, Mick is a committed socialist and a consistent supporter of Jeremy Corbyn and he made a very positive initial impression on the NEC with some typically cogent contributions. These meetings also saw another welcome addition, with Diane Abbott taking up one of the three Shadow Cabinet seats, replacing Kate Osamor.
As usual, I can't say very much about the Disputes Panel meeting, as most of its business consists of confidential discussions of individual cases. I would say that the discussions are much more consensual and less politically polarised than they used to be. A more robust and consistent standard for investigations now applies; officers' recommendations are generally balanced and proportionate, as for the most part, are the NEC's discussions. Of course, most cases of alleged anti-Semitism are now dealt with by smaller panels of three-to-five NEC members, who have access to more detailed information, albeit anonymised. I haven't yet sat on one of these panels and can't therefore comment on how well they work.
I do continue to be concerned about the large backlog number of members under administrative suspension and/or referred to the National Constitutional Committee for disciplinary hearings. Some of these cases came to the Disputes Panel at a time of heightened tensions in the party and would, I think, not have been dealt with so severely now. But, in all cases, natural justice dictates that the accused have their case dealt with as swiftly as possible. I know that our conscientious staff of the Governance and Legal Unit are working through the cases as quickly as they can and the increase in the size of the NCC last year should enable hearings to be held at more regular intervals, so we will hopefully see the backlog significantly reduced in the months ahead.
Some of the most significant discussions by the Organisation Committee, which met just after the Disputes Panel, and at the full NEC a week later, related to candidate selections. We continue to make progress towards gender balance in the PLP: it was reported that women candidates accounted for two-thirds of those chosen in the first round of new selections and the NEC agreed to increase the number of all-women shortlists in the next tranche. It was disappointing, however, to hear that only four candidates out of 75 so far were from Black, Asian or Minority Ethnic backgrounds (when 37% of applicants had come from such communities). Admittedly, the party doesn't currently have the legal option of imposing an all-BAME shortlist, even in particularly diverse constituencies, but more clearly needs to be done to ensure that any barriers to the selection of members from minority communities are removed and the party's candidates reflect the people we aspire to represent.
The General Secretary also promised to bring to the next NEC meeting proposals to initiate the trigger ballot process for sitting Labour MPs and to ensure that CLPs have some meaningful say even in the event of a snap election – unlike in 2017, when incumbents were readopted automatically. This seems particularly timely in light of the rumblings that have accompanied the recent mini-exodus.
The General Secretary's report included an update on preparations for the Women's Conference in late February and early preparation for the main conference in Brighton, as well as for the English local elections and the possibility of a snap General Election. We were reassured that, contrary to media speculation, party membership remained healthy and well in excess of half a million, notwithstanding some cyclical fluctuations. New members joining the party in recent weeks had clearly outstripped those leaving, and the level of recent financial donations had been the highest achieved outside of a General Election. Work was needed, however, to retain members and involve them in campaigning. Similarly, in a presentation by the party's Executive Director of Finance and Operations, the information that we were given was very much at odds with the speculation that had appeared in the media, which has sought to suggest that the party is facing a financial crisis. In fact, our finances remain healthy, but prudence is required to ensure that we are able to maintain our regular operations while also being ready for an early General Election.
The only moderately contentious items on the full NEC agenda were three papers regarding selection procedures for Labour candidates: for Metro mayors, PCCs and the Greater London Authority. These all replicated the principle established by the reform to the trigger-ballot procedure agreed at conference in September 2018, whereby an open selection could be triggered either by a third of party units or by a third of affiliates with the electoral area in question. There was a push-back against this from some union reps and MPs, who wanted to stick to the previous 50% +1 of party units and affiliates combined, but the papers as proposed were agreed by a clear margin.
There had been speculation before the meeting of a potential bust-up over Brexit but, although one of the MPs mentioned the 'People's Vote' petition and suggested that at some point the party might want to consult its members on the issue, there were few differences of opinion expressed during the meeting. In his report from the EPLP, Richard Corbett MEP told us that the Party of European Socialists had decided to back Franz Timmermans for President of the Commission. Richard thought it likely that the other 27 EU states would support an extension of Article 50 beyond the 29 March deadline. If the UK's departure were extended no further than 1 July, we would not have to participate in elections to the European Parliament, otherwise British political parties would have to campaign in an election for which no-one had prepared. He said there was unanimity within the party that we don't want the UK to leave the EU without a deal, therefore the only options were either an alternative deal or to stop Brexit. An alternative deal would need Theresa May to split her own party and negotiate with the Opposition. Jeremy had been right to recognise her offer to meet the other leaders as a gimmick.
In Cllr. Nick Forbes' Local Government report we heard that the Local Government Funding Settlement had resulted in Tory households face a cut of £29 and Labour households a cut of £60 over the coming year. The Tories were trying to taker deprivation out of the mechanism by which the settlement is calculated and replace it with rurality and sparsity to suit their own political interests. Labour in the LGA was working on a big campaign against this, under the banner, 'Stop the Stitch-up'.
While the meeting was underway, news came through of the sentencing of former Labour MP Fiona Onasanya; although her sentence didn't require an immediate by-election, there was a commitment to allow members in her Peterborough constituency to choose a new candidate as quickly as possible.
In his Deputy Leader's report, Tom Watson revealed that he had received well-founded information that the Tories were actively preparing for a General Election, reinforcing the need for Labour to take positive steps in this direction. Also, the recent Court judgment relating to the Tory MP for South Thanet had demonstrated that the current legislation is not fit for purpose as it places a very heavy responsibility on party staff and voluntary agents. Tom also highlighted the Government's own predictions that 9 million jobs are likely to be lost to automation by 2030 and only a Labour government can respond adequately to this challenge by shifting the balance of power in the workplace back towards labour. He also said that Labour is committed to protecting free TV licences for over 75s in the face of the Tories backsliding on this issue.
Jeremy was able to come along and give a brief Leader's Report in a break from all the excitement taking place in the House of Commons, where there had been further significant votes in relation to Brexit. He talked about the wider international picture, including his concerns about the actions of the hard-right Brazilian President Bolsonaro and about the situation in Venezuela, where he supported a negotiated settlement and not external intervention. More positively, Jeremy had attended the inauguration of Mexico's new left-wing President Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador (AMLO). Jeremy reviewed developments over Brexit in recent weeks, including the government's historic defeat on the meaningful vote. Labour's priority continued to be pushing for a General Election and Jeremy had been meeting unions to discuss policy priorities. In his speech in Wakefield, Jeremy had emphasised the shared interests of Leave and Remain supporters in the fact of austerity and the possibility of building unity in support of a change in government policy. He finished by saying that the socialist government in Portugal had achieved a great deal in a short time and should be an example to all of this.
We were also given a detailed report on the work of the Procedures Working Group (PWG), which was set up to review the party's disciplinary rules and procedures and their application. Arising from its discussions were some minor proposed refinements of the procedures for dealing with anti-semitism cases, most notably the introduction of a 'reminder of values' that might sometimes be useful even when there were no grounds for undertaking a formal investigation. I asked whether these changes would apply to other kinds of disciplinary case and was told that this was being considered. The proposals were agreed. There were also detailed proposals to update and strengthen the party's sexual harassment procedures designed to provide greater support to complainants, including through the involvement of an independent investigator, who would act as a first point of contact and advise staff. These proposals were also agreed.
The PWG also set out its current and future work programme, including a review of guidance relating to administrative suspension of members in disciplinary cases, and exploring a possible mechanism for appeal or review of a decision by the N<|fim_middle|> to drive up turnout in future elections. The Acting General Secretary, Rhiannon Evans, said that it would not be possible to provide a breakdown of further voting between each candidate, because this had been a single section OMOV ballot, but she was aware that some affiliates had approached the balloting agency, ERS, about individual union turnout and she understood that it might be possible to provide this.
Rhiannon had also circulated a written report covering the leadership election, campaigning and visits by leading party figures to various parts of Wales, the Future Candidates programme and staffing changes. There were also written reports from our MEP, Derek Vaughan, Debbie Wilcox (leader of the WLGA) and Jeff Cuthbert (representing the Police and Crime Commissioners).
Lastly, Darren asked once again for an update on the position regarding the applicability (or otherwise) to Wales of rule changes relating to CLP management agreed at the Liverpool conference in September (most notably on quorums for CLP meetings). We had previously been told that discussions were underway between Welsh Labour and party HQ to establish an agreed position on the boundaries of their respective jurisdictions. Welsh Labour have apparently continued to pursue this but are still awaiting a definitive response. In the meantime, Welsh CLPs have been told that their pre-existing arrangements still stand.
Author DarrenAndSophie3678Posted on February 17, 2019 Categories WEC ReportsLeave a comment on WEC Meeting, 26th January 2019 (Joint Report with Chris Newman)
WEC Meeting 10th November 2018 (Joint Report with Chris Newman)
This was Carwyn's last meeting, as the election to choose his successor would have taken place by the time that the WEC next met. He said that he had done 330 sessions of First Minister's Questions over the last nine years and he felt that his proudest achievement was that he had been able to fulfil Welsh Labour's manifesto commitments in a time of austerity. If Wales' block grant from Westminster had continued to increase after 2010 at the same rate as before, Wales would have had an extra £4 billion to spend on public services. The final budget for 2019-20 would be put before the Assembly in January; the extra money from the UK Government only amounted to £6 million in revenue and £2.6million in capital spending. The Welsh Government had decided to use the extra resources to provide more of a cushion to local government. Carwyn added that the Welsh Government was going to place bus transport under far greater control than before now that it had the power to do so, as with the railways, and was working towards a better integrated transport system. Carwyn finished by saying that, despite different views on the WEC, the committee had always worked together well and had avoided public argument, as everyone was united in working towards electing a UK Labour government under Jeremy Corbyn.
WEC members then paid tribute to Carwyn for having provided robust and dignified leadership and having defended the interests of Wales through some difficult times.
The first item of business requiring a decision was a draft questionnaire for CLPs and party units on the second stage of the party's consultation on electoral reform, in response to the proposals in this area that had been put forward by the National Assembly. The document had been produced by a working group made up of WEC members and was largely factual in nature, avoiding taking any position in favour or against any one system but pointing out some of the implications of possible decisions that could be made. It was therefore approved with some minor tweaks and a closing date of 13 February was agreed for responses.
There were then a number of short papers relating to selection procedures for parliamentary and Assembly seats. Firstly, it was agreed that the parliamentary selection in Clwyd West (the last of the six priority target seats in Wales) would recommence as soon as possible following the breakdown of the previous process, and would then be followed in the New Year by selections in the remaining six parliamentary constituencies, three of which would be All Women Shortlists. A last-minute addition to these plans following Paul Flynn's announcement that he would be stepping down, was that the parliamentary selection in Newport West should also be prioritised early in the New Year and should be an All Women Shortlist. Paul's departure, while understandable in light of his worsening health, is sad news given his long and impressive contribution to Welsh politics as one of the most principled and independent-minded MPs of recent times.
Turning to Assembly selections, it was agreed that re-selections in Labour-held seats should begin as soon as possible and that any open selections resulting from trigger ballots in seats with sitting women AMs should be All Women Shortlists. Selections for seats not currently held by Labour, or with retiring Labour incumbents, should proceed later in 2019 on the basis that initially 50% would be All Women Shortlists. It was agreed that Bridgend, where Carwyn would be stepping down in 2019, and the Rhondda, which we hoped to win back from Leanne Wood, would be prioritised, and the Gender Equality Working Group and the Party Development Board had both recommended that these seats should be selected using an All Women Shortlist. Bridgend CLP had written, however, to request that a decision on its own selection be deferred to give local members the opportunity to discuss the matter. It was agreed to accede to this request, albeit pointing out that there would be a presumption in favour of an All Women Shortlist. We also signed off arrangements for the All-Wales Panel for Assembly and Parliamentary selections, which had been agreed at the previous meeting, and noted that any of the arrangements that we had agreed would need to be changed if there were an early General Election or if Parliament agreed any boundary changes.
The next item was a revised set of standing orders for the National Assembly Labour Group, which had been updated recently, after not having previously been reviewed since 2001. Under the party rules, the WEC had to approve the changes. Although a fairly thorough job had been done by the Group, with the assistance of party officers, Darren raised concerns over a couple of points; for example, there was no clear commitment to bring any proposal to form a coalition government back to the WEC for agreement, let alone convene a Special Conference (as happened when we went into coalition with Plaid Cymru in 2007). We were told, however, that it was not possible for the WEC to make any amendments, only to agree the document as it stood or refer it back to the Group for further changes. As the new standing orders were largely acceptable, it was agreed to approve them but to highlight to the Group those areas that had prompted questions and ask that they be revisited at the earliest opportunity.
Next, we had a report from the new Acting General Secretary, Rhiannon Evans, covering the major areas of Welsh Labour's work over the period since the WEC had last met. Darren highlighted a few significant developments that did not appear to be covered, such as the recent Welsh Policy Forum meeting in Newport, the outcomes of the recent Welsh Women's Conference and any information about the then-forthcoming Welsh Young Labour Conference, as well as asking for a progress update on Stage Two of the Democracy Review. Rhiannon agreed to provide this information in writing.
Finally, under any other business, Darren queried the outcome of the discussions that had apparently been taking place between Welsh Labour and the UK party over the extent to which new rules for CLPs agreed at the Liverpool conference would apply in Wales, particularly with regard to quorums for CLP meetings. The Deputy General Secretary, David Costa, stated that these discussions were still underway and that, for the time being, any previously agreed arrangements would remain in place.
Author DarrenAndSophie3678Posted on December 11, 2018 Categories WEC ReportsLeave a comment on WEC Meeting 10th November 2018 (Joint Report with Chris Newman)
NEC meeting, 18 September 2018
This was a nine-hour marathon – the longest meeting yet during my tenure – most of it being devoted to the outcome of the Party Democracy Review and the consideration of which of the resulting rule change proposals should be put to conference.
Before we got to that point in the agenda, we had the usual standing reports. Jeremy Corbyn and Tom Watson talked about the campaigning they had done over the summer and their efforts to hold the Tories to account since Parliament had reconvened. Cllr Nick Forbes gave a Local Government report focussing on the challenge of austerity and the LGA's efforts to promote debate on adult social care and Richard Corbett MEP presented an EPLP report highlighting the party's work in relation to Brexit.
In her General Secretary's report, Jennie Formby told us that around 12,000 people were expected at the party conference in various capacities and that this, along with healthy membership growth, had resulted in Labour being well ahead of its financial targets. She had set up a taskforce to oversee membership engagement and was planning to launch a monitoring report, analysing the demographic make-up of the membership, at conference. Only 9% of members had voted by post in the recent NEC elections, in which everyone had received a postal ballot, as a result of an NEC decision. Jennie asked that we bear this in mind for the next such exercise and consider how much money we could save by having a mainly online ballot. She also told us that the working group looking at the party's activity in Northern Ireland was nearing the end of its work and that election readiness work was proceeding under newly-appointed executive director, Niall Sookoo.
We then turned to the Democracy Review, which took up most of the rest of the meeting. Katy Clark's original 83-page report had been boiled down, by the 4 September meeting, to a set of options for reform, grouped under the main thematic headings (in most cases, a 'recommended' proposal and one or more alternatives). Now we were presented with seven 'bundles' of draft rule changes (again, with alternative options included in some cases, but not as many as previously). By the time we'd spent several hours discussing and voting on these, I was left feeling deeply disappointed with how little remained of the exciting – but perfectly reasonable and practicable – set of proposals drawn up by Katy and her team. Certainly, some positive decisions were taken but what we are now left with by no means reflects the hard work and vibrant discussion that has taken place over the last year. The trade unions (including the normally pro-Corbyn ones) had evidently come to an agreed position amongst themselves and in many cases had opted for the cautious approach (to put it mildly), rather than responding to the clear desire among the mass membership for democratic reform and renewal of our party.
To go through each of the sections in turn:
Members' rights: This was relatively uncontentious. We agreed a charter of rights, mainly revolving around shorter qualification periods for engaging in party elections and other activities (e.g. 6 months to be a conference delegate and to vote in parliamentary selections).
Local Structures: CLPs and Branches: We agreed a mechanism for delegate-based GCs to be converted into all-member meetings; prepared the ground for party equality bodies at local level; agreed to make BAME, Disability, LGBT+, Youth, TULO, Political Education, Comms/Media and Policy officers into Executive officers and stipulated that TULO officers must be in affiliated unions; and allowed for job shares. It was also agreed that CLPs must meet a minimum of eight times a year but an attempt to set a realistic minimum-number quorum for larger CLPs where a percentage figure would be unmanageable was defeated.
Local Government: this entire section – which would have seen dysfunctional Local Campaign Forums replaced by more robust structures of accountability – was kicked into the long grass.
Regional Structures: this was completely uncontroversial, with mainly superficial changes aimed at replicating the democratic structures that apply elsewhere.
NEC: We agreed to establish a Disabled Members' seat on the NEC and agreed that the Welsh and Scottish NEC seats should be filled in a way determined by the Welsh and Scottish conferences (I proposed that these positions be elected by OMOV – which had been an option in the previous paper – but the Chair wouldn't put this to the vote). We also agreed that any NEC seats in the CLP, trade union, socialist society or local government sections that might fall vacant should be filled by means of a by-election. Any changes to the party's policy-making structures were, however, deferred until next year (despite the consensus that the National Policy Forum is dysfunctional).
National Conferences: We prepared the way for more democratic structures – including annual conferences – to be established for women, young members, disabled members and members from BAME communities. We agreed to scrap the "contemporary" criterion for conference motions and to increase the number of subject areas debated at conference to 10 chosen by the CLPs and 10 chosen by affiliates but a vote to abolish the "three-year rule" (whereby issues cannot be revisited for three years after a decision has been made) and the on-year delay before rule change motions are debated, was narrowly defeated. Also lost was a proposal to increase the size of the Conference Arrangements Committee and introduce parity between CLP and trade union seats.
Leadership elections: discussion of this section, dealing with the rules regarding nomination thresholds, was deferred to our eve-of-conference NEC meeting on Saturday.
Following the Democracy Review discussion, we considered further draft rule changes arising from the work of the NEC's working party on disciplinary procedures; these aimed to increase the size of the National Constitutional Committee (which conducts disciplinary hearings) and set out more robust rules for its functioning and were largely uncontentious.
If all the positive proposals listed above are agreed by conference, this will represent some worthwhile progress, across a range of areas of party activity, but – to repeat – it falls far short of the expectations raised by the launch of the Democracy Review. The majority of the NEC has, sadly, proven itself too cautious and conservative to grasp the opportunity that the Review presented.
The pre-conference NEC meeting on Saturday will now consider two important matters. The first of these is the deferred issue of leadership election nominations, where the unions are apparently seeking to make the rules more restrictive than the status quo, which would suggest that nothing has been learned from 2015, when Jeremy almost failed to get on the ballot-paper but went on to win a decisive victory among party members among supporters. The other is the matter of parliamentary selections, where many rule change motions have been submitted, seeking either to reintroduce open selections or to reform the current trigger ballot procedure. The NEC seems poised to introduce its own rule change (which would take precedence over those from CLPs), making it easier to deselect ineffectual or out-of-touch MPs without going as far as reintroducing fully open selection. As a result of a Momentum e-lobbying campaign, I have received more than two thousand emails, urging me to do what I'm inclined to do anyway. While I applaud the sentiment, I haven't had time to read most of the emails, let alone reply to them.
Author DarrenAndSophie3678Posted on September 20, 2018 Categories NEC ReportsLeave a comment on NEC meeting, 18 September 2018
Darren Williams Proudly powered by WordPress | CC to suspend or expel a member. This latter idea had been recommended by the Chakrabarti Report in 2016 but not acted upon and there have been growing demands, including via CLP resolutions, for it to be addressed.
There was also a report from the party's Safeguarding Unit on its activities over the previous year. Acting on the advice of the NSPCC it had developed its previous Safeguarding and Member Welfare Policy into a Safeguarding Children Policy and Procedure and a Safeguarding Adults at Risk Policy and Procedure. Both of these documents, along with a new Safeguarding Code of Conduct, were presented to the meeting and unanimously agreed.
Finally, looking at the NEC's schedule of meetings up to conference in the autumn, there was agreement that it would be sensible to try and schedule an additional Disputes Panel meeting at some point, and Jennie agreed to take this away and try to come up with the most practical solution.
Author DarrenAndSophie3678Posted on February 24, 2019 Categories NEC ReportsLeave a comment on NEC Meetings Jan 2019
WEC Meeting, 26th January 2019 (Joint Report with Chris Newman)
This was the first meeting since the election as Welsh Labour leader and First Minister of Mark Drakeford (whom both of us strongly supported). The tone was very positive and upbeat, with WEC members offering Mark their warm congratulations, regardless of whether or not they had supported him in the election itself.
In his Leader's report, Mark acknowledged the challenges faced by Wales in relation to Brexit and reflected on the leadership election and the selection of his first cabinet. He also gave a welcome reaffirmation of his commitment to promote greater democracy, accountability and transparency within the party. He said that, even without rule changes, there is a lot that we can do to increase transparency and empower members and was pleased to report that WEC members are now listed on the Welsh Labour website for the first time. He said that he had asked party staff to find ways to make as many WEC papers as possible available online for party members to read. He reiterated his support for an OMOV election for the Welsh seat on the NEC and said that he wanted Welsh conference to spend more of its time debating policy.
In response to questions, Mark echoed concerns about the impact of Brexit, which he said had already been felt within the Welsh economy for some time. He pointed out, however, that attitudes to the issue varied, even among Labour voters, with some frustrated that the party appeared to be trying to resist the people's will. His own view was that we needed to be able to show that we had done everything possible in Parliament to mitigate the harm that Brexit could do, and at that point, we might legitimately be able to go back to the people and ask them to express a view once again. The overriding priority was that the UK should not leave the EU without a deal. Mark also talked about the importance of having a Cabinet minister with specific responsibility for North Wales, about his commitment to the cooperative economy and about the need for difficult issues in relation to crime and policing to be subject to oversight from the First Minister's office.
The Shadow Secretary of State for Wales, Christina Rees, had circulated a written report but also gave a verbal update on the efforts that she and her parliamentary colleagues had been undertaking in Westminster to steer the Brexit process in a more positive direction, by putting amendments to the Government's legislation.
In questions to Christina, Chris highlighted media reports that a number of prominent industrialists had stopped funding the Tory party because of its Brexit policy and also queried whether the growing list of energy and infrastructure projects in Wales that had effectively been blocked by the UK government – Swansea tidal lagoon, rail electrification, Wylfa 'B' – reflected Tory vindictiveness. Christina echoed Chris' concerns on this latter point and also highlighted the lack of agreement as to who would control the proposed Shared Prosperity Fund, intended to replace EU structural funding.
The Deputy Leader, Carolyn Harris, said that, while Mark would be focussing on policy, she would continue to devote her energies to campaigning, and highlighted a number of dates over the coming months that had been designated as campaign days. She also talked about campaigning around Holocaust Memorial Day, gambling and alleviation of poverty.
Darren asked for some clarification on Assembly selections. Welsh Labour want all the trigger ballots for seats with sitting Labour AMs (other than any who may have signalled an intention to step down) to be completed by 29 March. With regard to the Labour-held regional list seats, it was explained that there are no ongoing selection procedures in rule and that we therefore have to agree the procedures anew every time this comes up (while this may seem an odd position to be in after twenty years of devolution, it does at least give us the opportunity to improve on the procedures used in the past). This won't be done at the same time as the trigger ballot for constituency AMs, however, not least because the only region with Labour list AMs (Mid and West Wales) currently has several parliamentary selections to take care of.
The WEC agreed that, in future, aspiring election candidates should receive a local party membership list free of charge as soon as they've submitted their application for selection, rather than having to pay £30, as in the past, or waiting till they've been shortlisted, as in England. This will remove a barrier to candidates on low incomes. We also agreed that, where a CLP, particularly in a rural area, wanted to organise an expedited parliamentary selection process, where not many applications were expected, the General Secretary should be empowered to authorise this. What this would mean in practice is that, in the event of there being up to six self-nominations in total, all applicants would be automatically shortlisted (subject to probity checks) and be considered by an all-member selection meeting.
We confirmed that both of the 'new' Assembly selections being treated as priorities, Bridgend and Rhondda, should be all-women shortlists. This had been our expectation at the previous meeting, but in response to a request from Bridgend CLP, we had agreed to defer a final decision until such time as the CLPs had had an opportunity to discuss the matter. Bridgend had, in the end, opted to have an all-women shortlist but Rhondda CLP had stated a preference for an open shortlist. In discussing the submissions, however, WEC members recalled that we had a clear policy of prioritising all-women shortlists for any winnable seats that might become newly vacant and had agreed that it would take a very strong argument to persuade us to make an exception. The WEC was unanimously of the view that we had not been presented with such an argument and that we should uphold our established position, a view that both of us spoke to support. Chris said that it had taken a long series of battles to win Welsh Labour to its current commitment to meaningful action in support of gender balance and the WEC had a political responsibility to take a strong lead in ensuring that this policy was adhered to.
We then moved on to the Welsh Labour Party Democracy Review, and agreed, at Mark's suggestion, that, in view of the vast number of issues left to be addressed by the Welsh Democracy Review and the relatively low engagement so far from party units and affiliates, decisions on any resulting changes would have to be split between this year's and next year's conferences. It was also agreed to extend the deadline to allow more CLPs to respond to the party democracy review consultation document.
We next considered a paper giving a technical debrief on the recent leadership election. Among other things, this reported that more than 750 members had attended hustings meetings; the total electorate had been around 175,000 members and affiliated supporters; and the turnout had been 53.1% for members and 5.7% for affiliates. Darren asked whether further information could be provided, such as a breakout of support for each candidate between the two categories of voter; a similar request was made by Unison, who said that it would be particularly useful to have a breakdown of voting between affiliates, to assist in efforts | 1,700 |
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
A Note on the Author
By the Same Author
To my brother, Brian Whitehouse
1932–2013
Chapter 1
The sun was slanting through the high-vaulted roof of the souk, throwing down shafts of light in which dust motes and thin drifts of cigarette smoke swirled lazily. Miles Brookhaven began to relax as he walked down the long central avenue, breathing in smells of powdery piles of spices, reaching over to touch the shiny purple skins of aubergines, and exchanging a shouted greeting with the stallholder.
He stopped at a food stall on the corner of one of the side aisles where the same old man who'd been there since God knows when had a juicing machine. As he usually did when he took this route, Miles stopped for a glass of fresh orange juice. Against the wall behind the counter a shawarma of meat the size of a tree trunk rotated on a long sharp pole. Miles propped one hip on a stool in the corner, from where he could look down the main aisle, the way he'd come, but his eye was drawn to the spit. There was something different. Usually, as he drank, he would watch a short balding man called Afiz, his apron stained by the spattering juices, wielding a long knife of incredible sharpness, peeling shavings of meat off the shawarma like strips of wallpaper.
He and Afiz had established a friendly unspoken ritual – Afiz would turn and gesture to Miles with his knife, as if to ask You want some? Miles would shake his head and hold up his glass to show that was what he'd come for. Afiz would laugh and turn back to the shawarma.
But it wasn't Afiz who tended the spit today. Instead a young man held the long knife. He was tall with a prominent Adam's apple and long black hair tied back into a knot, and he stared at Miles with dark indifferent eyes, then turned away to serve a customer. He had none of Afiz's practised delicacy; instead he just hacked at the meat, which fell in chunks instead of paper-thin slices. That seemed odd, Miles thought as he sipped his juice. Holding the glass in one hand he reached into his pocket for some coins to pay, and it was then he sensed movement, looked up and saw the young man coming towards him, holding the knife in one hand, his eyes glazed and hostile.
Not pausing to think, Miles tilted his glass of juice and hurled its contents straight into the eyes of his attacker. The long-haired youth was caught by surprise, blinking furiously, trying to get the juice out of his eyes. Miles took a step back, and as the young man lunged forward, swiping hard with the knife, he threw the empty glass at his face.
It hit the youth square in the eye. He yelled in pain and dropped the knife, which fell onto the tiled floor of the stall and bounced from its point, erratically, before landing at last, like an offering, at Miles's feet. As Miles bent down and grabbed it, the young man ran out of the far side of the stall.
Miles stared at the fleeing figure and when he turned back he saw that the juice man had fled as well. The commotion was drawing a crowd. Miles understood from the jabber of Arabic that they were wondering what this Westerner was doing, holding that knife. He put it down on the counter and without looking around strode quickly down the aisle towards the exit from the souk. The last thing he or his colleagues needed was the attention of the police.
By the time he'd reached the modern end of the souk, no one in the crowd of shoppers seemed to be taking special notice of him. He slowed to a stroll, forced himself to breathe normally and began to review what had happened. Was the young man just another extremist who hated Westerners? He didn't think so. The fact that he'd been working at the stall where Miles regularly stopped – and that the juice man had fled as well – made it seem more likely that he'd been targeted.
Perhaps the group he'd been working with had been penetrated – but by whom? That was what made it hard to deal with the rebels. Too many conflicting interests; too many irons in the fire. Your enemy's enemy wasn't necessarily your friend. Whatever the explanation, he couldn't go on using the same cover. It was time to move on.
Outside in the bright sun, Miles realised that his hand felt sticky, raised it and found it covered in blood. More blood was running down the sleeve of his jacket, and moving his shoulder made him wince in pain. That swipe with the knife must have connected.
He'd begun to feel faint; best get back to the office fast. He heard a gasp and looked up to see a young woman staring in horror at his jacket. Behind her a little man with a bushy black moustache was pointing at him. The blood was flowing fast down his arm now, dripping from the cuffs of his shirt and jacket onto the paving stones. His vision was blurring, and he'd started to sway as he walked. Seeing him stagger, the little man put his arm round him, waving with his other arm at a taxi. 'Hospital, hospital,' he shouted at the driver, and as he bundled him into the back of the car, Miles passed out.
Chapter 2
Liz Carlyle was sitting at her desk in Thames House, the London headquarters of Britain's MI5, frowning at the pile of papers neatly stacked in the centre of her desk. She'd just got back from a three-week holiday walking in the Pyrenees and was wishing she'd stayed there. A spectacled head poked round the door, followed by the rest of Peggy Kinsolving, Liz's long-standing research assistant and now her deputy in the Counter-Terrorist section that Liz ran.
'Welcome back,' said Peggy. 'Did you have a good time? You must be fit as a flea. It's never stopped raining here since you went away.' She waved a hand at the pile of paper. 'Don't worry about that lot. I've read it all and it's just background stuff. The top one is the only important one – I've summarised where we've got to in all the current investigations. You've got a meeting with the Home Secretary on Friday to bring her up to date. If you like I'll come with you.'
Peggy stopped to draw breath and Liz smiled fondly at her younger colleague. 'It is actually great to be back, though I didn't feel that when I woke up this morning. We had a wonderful time. Walked miles, ate too much, drank some great wine. Martin is fine, though he's still wondering whether to leave the DGSE and go into private security work. He fancies getting out of Paris and living in the South – his family home was near Toulouse. But it's a big step to leave government service and go private and there's a lot of competition in the private security field – just like here. Anyway, how are you? And how's Tim?'
Tim was Peggy's boyfriend, a lecturer in English at King's College, London University, a very bright lad if a bit of a sensitive soul. Peggy said, 'I'm fine, and so is Tim, thanks. He's still doing the vegetarian cooking course – advanced level now. I hadn't realised it could be so tasty. I'm quite converted.' They both smiled and Peggy went on, 'There's one thing you won't be too pleased about. We've been given an extra responsibility. I was only told about it on Friday. It's a "watching brief" – whatever that is – for under-the-counter arms supplies to the Arab Spring rebels.'
Liz knew all too well what a watching brief was. It meant extra responsibility with no additional resources. Then if anything bad happened you were to blame. She sighed. 'Is there any intelligence that arms are going from dealers in this country to the rebels?'
'Not that I've heard. It's not so much the rebels per se that anyone's worried about; it's the jihadis who've infiltrated them. The Foreign Secretary went to a meeting in Geneva last week and this was on the agenda. There's a lot of concern about al-Qaeda-type groups leaking into the Arab Spring countries. There were some gruesome pictures on TV while you were away of what they were doing to their captives.'
'I saw them on French TV. But I would have thought they could get arms quite easily from the countries who support them.'
'I know that seems more likely. But the conference decided that each country should put measures in place to ensure that no undercover supplies from the EU countries get to these jihadis. It seems to be more of a matter for Eastern Europe than us, but DG told me on Friday that it's been decided that we were to have the "watching brief".'
'Great. But what about Six? I wonder what they have on this.'
'Quite a lot, I imagine. But guess who's running their part of the show – your favourite officer, Bruno Mackay. Bruno rang me on Friday to welcome us on board. Said he'd like to come over to see you when you were back.'
Liz put her head in her hands and groaned. 'Did I just say I was glad to be back?'
Peggy grinned. 'Bruno told me something quite interesting. Do you remember Miles Brookhaven, who used to be in the CIA station here? Andy Bokus's deputy?' When Liz nodded she went on, 'Apparently he was nearly killed a few months ago. He was under cover in an aid charity the Agency had set up in Syria, running a source in a rebel group, and he was attacked in the souk. They aren't sure if his cover had been blown, or if it was just an opportunist attack, but from what Bruno said, it sounded planned to me. Miles needed a series of blood transfusions – they had to get him out of there pretty quickly.'
'Poor Miles. He was a bit naïve when he was here. He tried to recruit me once – he took me on the London Eye in a private pod and plied me with champagne. It was fun, and I enjoyed watching him waste the Agency's money. I wonder if he's grown up.'
'I hope so.' Peggy got up to go. 'I'll leave you to catch up.'
But as Peggy walked out of the door she bumped into someone coming in. 'Whoops. Sorry, Geoffrey. I was just going. Liz will be delighted to see you!'
The tall, heron-like figure of Geoffrey Fane, a senior MI6 officer, sauntered into the room. 'Good morning Elizabeth. Delighted to see you looking so fit and well. Been on holiday I hear. I hope you had a wonderful time and that our friend Seurat is in good form.'
One of Geoffrey Fane's characteristics, which drove Liz mad, was his inquisitive interest in her private life and his delight in showing how much he knew about it. She would much have preferred him not to know that she was seeing Martin Seurat of the French Military Intelligence Service, the DGSE. But he did know, and she suspected that he had learned about it from Bruno Mackay, who had been the deputy head of MI6's Paris Station when she'd first met Martin.
What she didn't like to acknowledge, though everyone else knew it, was that Geoffrey Fane himself would have liked to be in Martin Seurat's shoes. He was divorced, a lonely man and evidently deeply attracted to Liz, who though she admired and respected his professional skill, couldn't disguise the fact that on a personal level she found him pompous and patronising. What she couldn't – or wouldn't let herself see – was that much of his manner towards her was a cover for his feelings. So he went on calling her 'Elizabeth', though he knew that she preferred to be called 'Liz', and she went on grinding her teeth at the sight of him while everyone marvelled that they seemed to have such a successful working relationship.
Now Fane folded himself elegantly into the chair that Peggy had just left and crossed one long, tailored leg over the other, showing a length of subtly striped sock and a highly polished black brogue. 'I was delighted to learn we'll be working together on the arms supply front,' he said.
'Yes. I've just heard about it from Peggy. I gather we've been given a watching brief and no extra resources, so I don't suppose we'll be doing much active investigation. Anyway, Peggy told me that there's no specific intelligence about any UK arms dealers being involved, and we certainly haven't the time to go looking.'
Fane leant forward in his chair. 'That might have been true last week, but things are moving on. I had a call from Andy Bokus over the weekend. They've just posted a new man into Yemen. An old friend of yours if I'm not mistaken. Miles Brookhaven. I'm sure you remember him from when he was here at Grosvenor with Bokus. I gather he was quite smitten.'
Liz gazed at the languid figure in the chair, clenched her jaw and said nothing. Fane smiled slightly and went on, 'He had a bit of a rough time on his previous posting but he's recovered now. The Agency have sent him to Sana'a to pick up a rather promising contact of the Embassy. Bokus seems to think there may be something interesting to come out for us as well as for the Agency.'
Chapter 3
Miles Brookhaven's shoulder still ached at night if he turned over awkwardly in bed, and now driving the heavy SUV he felt a twinge of pain whenever the car bounced over a rut in the road or he had to turn the wheel suddenly to avoid a pothole. The long knife had slashed the tendons at the top of his arm and the doctors at the military hospital in Germany to which he had been evacuated had told him that they would never properly heal. But, under pressure from CIA headquarters in Langley, the doctors had finally authorised his posting. There was a shortage of experienced case officers with fluent Arabic, and as the Arab Spring spread and jihadis joined the rebels in one country after another, the need for intelligence both from the front line of the fighting and from the countries on the periphery had become urgent.
From NSA at Fort Meade and CIA at Langley to GCHQ in Cheltenham, the eyes and ears of the West were focused on the movement of weapons around the world, and in particular to the countries where rebel groups were fighting governments. It was clear that supplies of some of the most sophisticated weapons were getting through to jihadis.
Yemen was a special focus of attention. Overhead surveillance had shown piles of what appeared to be weapons crates stacked on the dockside at Aden. The photographs had landed on the desk of an analyst in Langley at the same time as a report from the Commercial Counsellor at the US Embassy in Sana'a. The diplomat's report described his meetings with the Minister of Trade, one of his main contacts. The Minister seemed uninterested in developing trade with the US except in one area – weapons. The Minister explained this as the need for his government to be able to protect both its own citizens and foreigners against increasingly aggressive jihadi groups. But the Embassy report pointed out that the same message was coming from the Interior and Defence Ministers – departments where issues of weapons supply seemed a more natural fit.
The other notable feature of the diplomat's meetings with the Minister of Trade was the frequency of his references to 'his' Foundation, set up he said to help the homeless and in desperate need of funds. But research by the Embassy had thrown up no sign of such a charity. It was this last point that had brought the diplomatic cable onto the desk in Langley and which had resulted a few months later in the diplomat being moved to a senior post in another country and Miles Brookhaven turning up in the Sana'a Embassy as the new Commercial Counsellor. He had one brief – to recruit the Minister of Trade.
As he drove, Miles could see the mountains in the west, ranged in a rough semicircle around the city. His health not fully restored, it had taken him a few days to get used to the thin air of Sana'a. This was to be his first meeting with Jamaal Baakrime, the Trade Minister, his recruitment target, and he was feeling rather nervous. In normal circumstances he would have taken months to get to know a target, to assess weaknesses and vulnerabilities before he made his pitch, but he had been told not to hang about with this one but to go straight in and offer him cash for information. If the approach failed he would be quickly withdrawn and posted somewhere else where he could be useful.
He parked on a wide street and walked, turning into a much narrower side street lined by squat government buildings, concrete blocks mostly, put up in the Sixties with US aid money. They were interspersed with a few more recent constructions built as Yemen began to develop its oil resources. Not that Yemen nowadays showed much sign of being oil- or gas-rich. On the streets, even here in the capital, poverty was rife, and as he walked along Miles reflected that if the Minister's charity existed there was plenty for it to do.
Inside the Trade Ministry, a guard with a holstered pistol was sitting in a chair in one corner of the entrance hall reading a magazine. He raised his eyes lazily as Miles came in, then resumed reading. A young uniformed woman behind the front desk took his name, consulted a sheet of paper, then waved Miles to follow her. She led him up the stairs to the first floor, into a large open-plan office where a dozen men and women sat typing, and on into a long corridor with dark little offices on either side, occupied by men sitting behind desks covered with piles of papers.
At the end of the corridor she knocked on a large, closed door. A loud voice boomed out in Arabic and the woman opened the door and ushered Miles inside.
Baakrime's office could have been in a different world. It was roughly forty feet long, lined by picture windows with fabulous views of the mountains. The floors were polished mahogany boards overlaid by a rich sprinkling of fine Persian carpets. Gaudy oil paintings hung on the walls, scenes from the Arabian Nights, featuring scantily draped female figures.
Baakrime came out from behind a large antique desk, his hand extended. He was a diminutive square-shouldered man, with short black hair brushed back in a lacquered wave, and a thick Groucho Marx moustache. 'It is delightful to meet you, Mr Brookhaven. Your predecessor and I had an excellent relationship,' he declared. 'Come, let us make ourselves comfortable.' He gestured towards a sitting area, where two sofas were adorned by soft cushions covered in coloured damask.
They sat down at right angles to each other. 'Coffee is coming,' Baakrime said hospitably. He wore a light grey suit and a white shirt with a canary-coloured tie. A triangle of paisley silk handkerchief peeked out from the breast pocket of his jacket.
'It's good of you to see me,' said Miles. 'I know you have a full schedule.'
'Nonsense. I always have time for my friends,' said Baakrime. He shrugged his shoulders. 'And you know what they say – if you want to get something done, ask a busy man.'
They chatted for a few minutes inconsequentially. Miles was accustomed to the Arab insistence that all business, however pressing, was prefaced by small talk. The coffee arrived, brought in by a young woman, smartly dressed in Western clothes – a noticeably short skirt and a blouse unbuttoned at the top. Baakrime ogled her legs with unconcealed pleasure and, as she put the tray on the low table and bent down to pour out the coffee, his eyes moved to her cleavage.
When she had left, Baakrime continued chatting idly, asking after the welfare of Miles's family. When Miles explained that he was unmarried, Baakrime asked after his parents. He moved on to describe the location, ambience and menu of a new restaurant that Miles must try, and recommended two holiday resorts on the Egyptian coast along the Red Sea.
When finally Baakrime paused to sip his coffee, Miles said, 'I understand that your Department has a role in the import of arms to your country.'
Baakrime stopped sipping but continued to hold his cup to his mouth. He said nothing for a moment, then put the cup on the table, looking all the time at Miles. He said, 'That is true. It is a trade that interests me greatly. We have, as you know, many threats to our country, both internal and external.'
'Yes indeed,' replied Miles. Then, with the instruction from Langley to 'get on with it' at the front of his mind, he said, 'It is also a subject that greatly interests those who sent me to your country.'
Baakrime didn't reply. Miles hoped that he had picked up the hint he had been offered about who Miles worked for. Then, his eyes slipping away from Miles, Baakrime remarked, 'These affairs can be a little complicated, but I might be able to help you get started on your work.'
Miles's heart gave a lurch. Baakrime had recognised the bait. It was time to see if he would swallow it. He said, 'That would be very much appreciated by my government. You know, data is freely available these days – we in the West with all our computers are positively awash with information. But knowledge is scarce, and can be expensive to find. Don't you agree?'
Baakrime smiled and nodded. 'How true that is, my friend.'
Miles ploughed on. 'My colleague also told me that another interest of yours is the Foundation you have set up to help the homeless in your country. That is such an excellent cause that I am authorised to offer you substantial and regular contributions to help in its work. In fact,' he said, reaching into his pocket, 'not knowing what the bank account details for the Foundation are, I have brought our first contribution of ten thousand dollars with me.' And he put a thick white envelope on the table, thinking that if Langley had got this wrong he was going to look awfully stupid.
But Baakrime rapidly swept up the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket. 'That is so very kind and much appreciated. The Foundation is helping many people, I am glad to say. But the recent upheavals in my country mean more people are suffering than ever before, and we cannot keep up. We find it is better not to operate through the banks. They are not so reliable always. This' – he patted his pocket – 'would be the best way to make your contribution in future. I will ensure the cash gets to where it can best be used.'
You bet, thought Miles, but he merely smiled and nodded.
Baakrime said, 'In return for your generosity to my Foundation, you must tell me how I can best help you.'
Miles decided to strike while the iron was hot. 'We know that Yemen is one of the countries through which weapons are reaching rebel groups. And not just legitimate rebels – but others fighting with them, outsiders. Jihadis, extremists, al-Qaeda supporters.'
Baakrime smiled and shrugged but said nothing.
'What we want to know is the sources of those weapons and in particular any sources in Europe or the United States.'
Baakrime's manner changed from the wily to the businesslike. 'These young men. They think they are all Osama Bin Ladens. They are crude and cruel and defame the name of Islam. They are indeed a threat to us all. I will do what I can to help you, my friend. Come back in one week and I will see what I can find out.'
Chapter 4
A raw day. Viewed from the window of Liz's office, the Thames looked battleship-grey, sprinkled with the frothy white lines of waves stirred up by the October wind. To Liz, her skin still brown from her holiday in the Pyrenees, the sun was a faraway memory.
She turned back to the pile of forms on her desk. The Service was blessedly free of much of the bureaucracy that affected the Civil Service, but it strongly believed in annual appraisals of staff, and now that Liz was responsible for managing a team of people, she had to write their performance assessments. She took the task seriously, knowing how important it was to the careers of her team, as well as to the Service itself as a tool for getting the right people in the right jobs. But it was not her favourite pastime. Even though she was now a manager, Liz was still an operational officer at heart. Too much time spent sitting behind her desk made her restless and irritable.
'That looks like fun.' Peggy Kinsolving was standing in the doorway.
Liz looked up. 'I thought you were at the conference.'
'I am. It's the lunch break, so I nipped back to check how that surveillance operation is going on.' Peggy was running an investigation into a group of young men in Camden Town who had just come back from Pakistan.
'Anything happening?'
'No. No movement at all so far. I think they're all still in bed.'
Liz nodded. Peggy had transferred to MI5 from MI6 several years ago. She had been a diffident, shy girl but a genius at research. She would follow a lead like a bloodhound but if you'd asked her to go out and interview someone she would have panicked and frozen with nerves. But over the years, under Liz's guidance, she had grown in confidence and now she was running her own operations, and directing a small team. Peggy had become a skilled interviewer, and had discovered a talent for finding out what made people tick, getting underneath their reserves and breaking down their defences.
But though her personality had developed, her appearance had hardly changed from her days as a librarian. She was a little short of medium height, with long brown hair she tied back in a wispy ponytail. Her spectacles, round and brown, seemed to be too big for her face and were forever slipping down her nose. The sight of Peggy pushing back her spectacles was often the preface to a remark that would begin the unravelling of some knotty problem.
'What's going on at the conference? Any good?' Liz asked. It was a Home Office-run conference aimed mainly at regional police forces, and designed to draw their attention to a nationwide growth in gun crime. Little of the agenda had much direct connection with the work of Liz's team, but she had thought it worthwhile to send someone to register an interest and demonstrate that they were taking their watching brief seriously.
Peggy said, 'Actually it's not been too bad. This afternoon might be quite interesting.'
'Really? What's happening?'
Peggy seemed to be struggling not to laugh. 'Well, it was meant to be a keynote address from the Foreign Office. You remember Henry Pennington?'
Liz groaned. She'd crossed swords with Henry Pennington several times over the years. A long lean man with a large nose that dominated his thin face, he was a panicker. Any indication that something might be going wrong caused him to begin rubbing his hands together in a washing motion and breathing heavily. At such times he was liable to make sudden decisions, which on one or two occasions had landed Liz in difficult situations. She never forgot the time he had volunteered her services as an undercover protection officer for a Russian oligarch, almost succeeding in getting her killed in the process.
'But sadly,' Peggy went on, 'Henry's indisposed. So they've put together a panel instead. Some senior officers from the North and the Midlands are going to be talking about their experience of the arms trade. I thought you might be interested.'
Liz thought about this. Her interest was in illegal arms shipments abroad, but there might be something worth hearing and the alternative was the pile of assessment forms on her desk. 'I think I'll come along.'
When they arrived at the conference room in the Queen Elizabeth Conference Centre in Parliament Square the session had already started. The room was three-quarters full and they slipped into seats at one side of a back row. There were three people on the stage, sitting in a semicircle so that Liz could only see two of them clearly. They were discussing the impact of Britain's gun laws, and Liz recognised one of the speakers – a senior policewoman from Derbyshire, notorious for her impatience with junior officers. The man next to her, who was obviously from the Home Office, was praising the government's tough stance on firearms as if one of his political masters were in the audience. He contrasted the UK's ban on handguns with America, where more often than not there didn't seem to be any gun laws at all. The policewoman from Derbyshire agreed with him that the total ban on handguns in the UK was a great thing.
Suddenly the third member of the panel, who Liz couldn't see properly, interrupted. 'Make no mistake, this country has a gun culture too – it's just invisible to most of us. All the government has really managed to do is drive gun sales further underground. We only hear about them when some drug dealer gets shot in Merseyside. Things have got worse in the last ten years, not better. We need to remember that when we congratulate ourselves on not being like the Americans.'
The bluntness of his remarks would have seemed out of place if the delivery had not been so self-assured, and as it was there was a murmur of assent round the room. The Home Office man looked uncomfortable. Liz sat up and leaned over to try to catch a glimpse of the man's face. There was something in the voice that was familiar.
Peggy noticed. 'What is it?' But Liz put a finger to her lips. The man she couldn't see properly was still talking.
It couldn't be, Liz told herself. She could see that the man was dressed in a suit, not a uniform, and from what she could see of him he looked pretty smart for a policeman. The man she was thinking of had always been a bit of a clothes horse.
Then he shifted in his chair and she could see his profile. She recognised the sharp nose and rugged chin. The hair now was thinner than before, but well cut, with only a few flecks of grey. He was still good-looking; whatever you thought of him you had to give him that.
'You look as if you've seen a ghost,' whispered Peggy.
Liz sighed, leaning back in her chair as the Derbyshire woman started up again. 'It's not a ghost,' she said at last. 'Just somebody I used to know. Though it was a long time ago.'
Chapter 5
Liz had been in MI5 just eighteen months. She had applied on the spur of the moment, in her last year at Bristol University. She had been thinking vaguely and without much enthusiasm that she might stay on at the university to do research when the chance remark of a visiting lecturer had coincided with an intriguing newspaper advertisement for logical, level-headed and decisive people to do important work in the national interest. She had sent in her cv, such as it was, without much hope of any response, and had been amazed to be called for an interview. After that the recruitment process had ground slowly on until, at the end of it all, she'd found herself a member of MI5, Britain's Security Service.
Although she was still on probation and in the training period, Liz felt settled and comfortable in the Service. Each morning when she left the flat in Holloway that she shared with four other Bristol graduates to take the underground to Thames House, she looked forward to the day.
Even though she'd been at university in a city, she wasn't really a city girl. She had grown up in the Wiltshire countryside where her father had been the land agent for a large estate. He was dead now and the estate had been broken up after the death of the last owner without an heir, but her mother still lived in the octagonal Gatehouse where Liz had been brought up. Susan Carlyle managed the flourishing garden centre that now occupied the old kitchen gardens of the estate.
Liz was enjoying living in London and felt guilty that she didn't go down to Wiltshire more often, as she knew her mother was lonely. Susan Carlyle didn't disguise the fact that she would like Liz to abandon what she thought of as a 'dangerous job' and marry a nice young man, a solicitor or a doctor or something safe. Liz couldn't think of anything she wanted to do less.
Between them Liz and her flatmates had a fairly wide circle of friends. There was a faint shadow over Liz's social life in that she couldn't join in enthusiastically when everyone else was talking about their work, but she had taken those she lived with into her confidence and told them that she worked for one of the intelligence agencies, so they protected her and didn't question it when they heard her telling casual acquaintances that she worked for a PR agency.
The secondment to Merseyside police came as a considerable jolt. Liz knew that at some stage, as part of the training programme, she would be sent off on attachment to learn how a provincial police force and its Special Branch worked, but she wasn't expecting it so soon. And Liverpool was alien territory to her – she had never been further north than Nottingham.
It was the period before the Peace Process had taken hold in Northern Ireland and she was one of a team collating intelligence on the threat from the Provisional IRA. Liverpool had an established community of Irish expats, many with nationalist sympathies and a few with actual links with the Provos. The Special Branch had some sources that from time to time provided useful intelligence, so she'd already had some dealings with Merseyside Special Branch officers and she had not much liked them. As she'd travelled up on the train to Liverpool that gloomy, showery day she was feeling nervous.
As it turned out she had good reason to be, but not because of the IRA. In the police headquarters' rectangular red office block near the docks, a gloomy middle-aged sergeant with a pencil behind his ear had sent her upstairs with a grunt and a jerk of his thumb. One floor up she found a large open-plan room with a dozen or so desks in untidy rows, about half of them occupied by men, some young, some middle-aged, some in shirtsleeves, some in leather jackets, some typing, some talking on the phone. Cigarette smoke hung in the air in a blue uncirculating haze.
Every man looked up as Liz came into the room. She asked where Detective Inspector Avery could be found, and one of them pointed to the back of the room where a small office had been partitioned off with opaque glass. As Liz walked through the rows of desks, someone gave a low wolf whistle. Liz tried not to react, but she felt herself blush.
She knocked on the door, and a gruff voice said, Come in. Opening the door, she found a wide-shouldered man in shirtsleeves, with a tie pulled down an inch or two from his collar. He looked close to retirement age, and had greying hair cut very short, though he had let his sideboards grow in some misguided youthful impulse.
Avery looked annoyed by her interruption. 'What can I do for you, miss?'
'DI Avery?' The man nodded. 'I'm here from Box 500,' said Liz, using the acronym by which the police referred to MI5. 'My name's Liz Carlyle.'
He stared at her. 'You're Carlyle?' He sounded astonished. 'I was expecting a George Carlyle, or a John Carlyle, or even a Seamus Carlyle. But nobody said anything about a Liz Carlyle.' He was looking at her with distaste; Liz didn't know what to say. Avery suddenly added, 'I suppose you're a graduate.'
'Yes.' Never had she felt less proud of it.
'Good. You'll be used to reading then.' He pointed to three stacks of papers on a side table. 'You can start with them. I've got more important things to do than read bumf from the Home Office all day. Come back in the morning and you can tell me what's in it.'
After this welcome, Liz reckoned things would have to get better. She was wrong. By her third day she had acquired a nickname – Mata Hari – but not much else in the form of contact with her new workmates, whose initial curiosity was swiftly followed by the hazing rituals of an American college fraternity. The first morning when Liz went to the desk she had been allocated, she found a large cigar lying on the desk top. An hour later when she came back with a cup of muddy coffee from the vending machine in the hall, she found that someone had moved the cigar suggestively to the seat of her chair. While the men around her watched surreptitiously she broke the cigar in half and threw it in the wastepaper basket.
The next morning another cigar was in place. Again Liz threw it away, and this time she said loudly, without looking around, 'I hope you boys can put cigars on expenses. If this goes on, it's going to cost you a fortune.'
All week she ate lunch alone and saw no one after work. The only other woman in the office, the typist for DI Avery, was a middle-aged woman called Nellie who came in at exactly nine in the morning and left at precisely five at night. She had clearly never read Germaine Greer or heard of sister-solidarity; she made a point of ignoring Liz.
Not all the men joined in the harassment. Some just ignored her and one in particular was quite polite – McManus, a tall, sharp-featured detective sergeant who dressed better than the others.
The work itself was dull, a relentless progress through mind-bogglingly dense papers from the Home Office. Liz was desperate to get her teeth into something real; otherwise she would finish her secondment without knowing any more about how a police force ran than she had when she came. She resented Avery's using her as an intellectual dogsbody, covering his back in case some civil servant expected a response to one of the documents sent seemingly by the truckload from Whitehall and Scotland Yard.
The harassment persisted, though not any longer with cigars. Purvis, a tall man with a dimple in his chin, seemed particularly intent on making Liz feel unwelcome. 'Ask our new graduate colleague,' he would say when someone had a question at the weekly briefing meeting.
Liz ignored this as best she could, but it made for stressful working hours, and she wasn't sure how long she could put up with it in silence. Part of her was determined not to let these bastards get to her; another part wanted to run back to London. Then one morning she arrived to find a bundle of dirty shirts on her desk, with a note pinned to them. Washed, ironed and folded by Thursday please. She felt the eyes of the room upon her as she stood by her desk. Suddenly furious, she picked up the shirts, walked over to the open window and dumped them out into the alley below.
And then things changed – whether because she'd shown she'd had enough or because some of the men had begun to feel embarrassed, she never knew. As her third week in Liverpool was drawing to a close, she was sitting looking at what seemed an undiminished stack of typescript pages when McManus stopped beside her desk. 'That looks interesting,' he said, pointing at a Home Office circular on top of the pile.
She looked up at him warily. 'It's absolutely entrancing,' she said dryly. 'I'd be happy to tell you all about it.'
'No, thanks.' McManus paused for a moment, and she watched him as he seemed to be making up his mind about what to say next. He was a good-looking man – and he seemed to know it. Not my type, Liz told herself; her last boyfriend had been a gentle guitar player at Bristol. Besides, McManus must have been fifteen years older than she was. There was no way she was interested in him.
'Fancy joining us on a little mission?' he said lightly. 'Or are you chained to your desk?'
'I'm just following orders,' she said, nodding towards Avery's office.
'Boss is in Manchester today, so why don't you come along?'
She hesitated, but anything was better than reading any more bumf. 'OK. What is it?'
'I'll explain in the car.'
Outside they joined two detective constables, Cardew and Purvis, who looked surprised when McManus explained Liz would be joining them. He added, 'You boys go ahead. We'll see you there.'
Cardew, who Liz suspected had been the wolf whistler on her first appearance in the office, rolled his eyes. McManus gave him a look and he and Purvis stomped off to their car.
McManus drove her in his black Range Rover away from the Docks and towards the eastern suburbs of the city. It was unseasonably warm and Liz put her window down as the evening turned from dusk to dark. The smoky yellow of sodium lights lined the streets in glowing dots. They climbed a bit and were going past a series of large institutional-looking buildings, a few modern but mostly Victorian. 'Where are we?' asked Liz.
'The university,' said McManus. After a pause, he added, 'I was there.'
'Really? What did you read?'
'Business studies. It seemed the practical thing to do. I'm a local lad – my dad was first-generation Paddy, and worked on the docks till they closed. I didn't know what I wanted to do; I just wanted to get out from his way of life.'
'Why did you join the police then?'
'Because I was bored by business.' He turned his head and gave a wry smile. 'If I'd stuck with it I'd have gone mad before I was thirty.'
Liz laughed, and McManus said, 'Where'd you grow up?'
She explained, and he said, 'Sounds very posh. Your dad a grandee?'
'No, he just worked for one.' This time McManus laughed. They were in the suburbs now, tree-lined streets with large detached houses. 'This is what I was aiming for,' he said, gesturing around them.
'Aren't you still?'
He shook his head. Liz said, 'What's changed?'
'It's called maintenance,' he said with a trace of bitterness. But then his tone changed and he was all business. 'I'm meeting an informant. He's just over from Belfast; the RUC's passed him on to us.'
'You sound doubtful.'
McManus nodded. 'I am. He's a tricky little sod.'
'How so?'
'His RUC handler said they were never sure how reliable his information was. They had doubts about his real allegiances – nothing they could put their finger on. He seemed to provide just enough to keep them interested but not enough to be really useful. They were pretty sure he could have given more if he'd wanted to. They've sent him over here to see what we make of him. He's supposed to be getting alongside the Provo sympathisers here.'
He pulled the car over and parked at the top of a rise. Down the street a little below them was a small precinct of shops. At the corner there was one still open; it had a retro neon sign Liz could just make out – it said Café Noir. McManus pointed at it. 'That wine bar's where we're going to meet. I'm going to stand by the door smoking and chummy will come past me and go in. I'll have a look round to check he's clean then join him – there's a little room in the back where we can talk. Purvis and Cardew are parked further along that street, watching my back from there. You can watch it as well from up here. I'm not expecting any bother. I'll leave the keys in case you need to move the car, but whatever you do, don't drive down the hill.'
'I thought—' Liz began to say, but McManus had already opened the door and was halfway out of the car.
He said, 'Won't be long.' And he slammed the door and began striding quickly down the hill towards the wine bar.
Liz sat there, fuming. The paper work in the office was bad enough, but having the promise of something real to do, only to have it snatched away, was worse. Why had McManus brought her here if it was only to leave her in the car while he met this informant? He already had two detectives watching his back – though it seemed a bit unprofessional to have them both in the same place – so he didn't need her as well. And what if she did see anything? She had no way of contacting him to warn him. Maybe he'd brought her along to find out more about her so that he could pass it on to the others. Yet he didn't seem that kind of man. So what exactly was he doing?
McManus had almost reached the wine bar now, and he stopped and casually lit a cigarette. He lounged by the entrance, studying the menu in the window. There was no sign of his contact, or anyone else – the street was deserted.
Then she heard footsteps on the pavement behind the car. Two sets. She grabbed her bag and rummaged through it, keeping her head down in case she was noticed sitting alone in a parked car and someone got the wrong idea. The footsteps had reached the car now, but thankfully they didn't slow down, just went on past. Slowly she lifted her head and saw two men wearing short leather jackets, jeans and trainers. They looked young and fit. She wondered if they were plainclothes policemen – but these two weren't Purvis and Cardew, and McManus hadn't mentioned any other backup.
A car came up towards her from down the hill, and as its headlights swept across the pavement she saw the two men suddenly stop and tuck themselves into some bushes growing at the front of someone's garden. The car went past and the two men continued down the hill. They didn't want to be seen; Liz wondered why. Unless they weren't police at all.
The two men stopped again and exchanged a few words. They were still only about forty yards ahead of Liz, and she watched as one of them crossed the street. The other one waited for a moment; he was out of the direct light of the street lamp but she could see him clearly enough. He had his hand behind his back and as he brought it round something glinted momentarily, and she caught on: it was a handgun. He held it for a moment then tucked it away under his jacket.
She hesitated. Was it a gun? Could they be plain-clothes police? If it was and they weren't, there was no time to waste. The two men were now halfway between her and McManus, still outside the wine bar. They would reach him in a couple of minutes.
Liz slid over behind the wheel and turned the keys in the ignition. The engine responded right away. She turned on the side lights and pulled out into the street, coasting down the hill. As she passed the two men, one on each side of the street, she tensed, half expecting them to fire at her. They were striding quickly now and the one on the right-hand pavement had pulled his gun and was carrying it in his hand openly.
As she passed them she suddenly switched on the headlights full beam, blinding a van coming up the other way, and as she picked up speed she began hitting the horn so it sounded loudly in short warning beeps.
When she reached the wine bar she braked hard, coming to a sudden halt just in front of the entrance. She reckoned she was seventy or eighty yards in front of the men. McManus was looking startled. She pushed the button and the window on the passenger side came down. She yelled, 'Get in quick.'
'What the hell—?' he said.
'There's a couple of gunmen just behind me. For God's sake, get in.'
McManus looked over the top of the car back up the hill. The two men had stopped; they must have been uncertain what was happening. By now Purvis and Cardew had seen the commotion and came roaring up from the other direction.
'What's going on, Guv?'
McManus was shouting into the car radio, calling out an armed team. He broke off to yell at the two men, 'Up the hill. Two of them. Get up there now. See if you can follow them but hang back – one of them's got a gun, possibly both. Armed response is on the way. Keep in touch.'
'Park up there,' he said to Liz, pointing to a space in front of the line of shops.
'Shouldn't we help go after them?'
He shook his head. 'No. A gun fight's no place for you. Anyway, odds are they'll be gone. I need to wait here in case chummy shows. Though that seems a bit unlikely now.'
'You think he set you up?'
He nodded. 'Must have. Unless he's blown and they were after him. If he doesn't turn up we'll know which it is. Either way, he's not going to be any more use. I'd give you odds he's safely back in Ireland by now, thinking he's helped assassinate a Special Branch officer.'
They sat in silence then, too shaken to talk, McManus keeping his eyes on the street ahead, while Liz kept a lookout behind through the rear-view mirror. It must have been ten minutes before a car pulled up in front, and Cardew and Purvis got out.
Cardew came over and spoke through the open window of the passenger seat. 'No trace. The boys are out combing the streets but it looks as if they've got clean away. We don't know the car and we've got no description so there's not much chance. Jesus, Guv, we were wondering what the hell Mata Hari was doing, driving down like that.'
McManus stared at him. 'She was saving my life, Officer, while you were sitting picking your toes. And don't call her Mata Hari. Her name is Liz.'
Chapter 6
Word spread quickly in the Special Branch office that Liz had saved McManus's skin and the atmosphere got a lot more friendly; even Nellie the typist began to talk to her. When Avery stopped offloading Whitehall's paperwork onto her and started asking her to analyse the intelligence reports coming in from Belfast to see if they threw up any leads to local activity, she felt that at last she'd been accepted as someone who might have something useful to contribute.
That wasn't all that changed. Looking back on it now, she supposed it had been inevitable that after their run-in with the IRA she and McManus would be drawn together. Their shared danger formed a bond which at first made them friends, and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, something more than friends.
It didn't happen right away. McManus was cautious about getting involved with the Spook, the woman from MI5, and at first he was just cordial. Three days after the drama of what they now all accepted had been an assassination attempt, he casually asked her to join him for a drink – but when she walked into the pub she saw that Purvis and Cardew were sitting at the table with him. A week later he asked her again, this time on his own, but before he'd even got her a drink, he was called on his mobile and had to go – an informant had been arrested for benefits fraud and he had to sort things out.
A few days later she had left her car at a local garage for its MOT on her way to work and to her annoyance the garage had rung late in the afternoon to say the car wouldn't be ready until the next day. She was waiting for a bus down the street from the office when a man's voice called out, 'Want a lift?'
She turned, ready to tell the man to buzz off, when she saw it was McManus at the wheel of a smart Audi. He lifted his hands in mock-surrender. 'Don't shoot. It's only me.'
She laughed. 'What are you doing here?'
'Looking for damsels in distress. Hop in.'
'What happened to the Range Rover?' she asked as she got in.
'Strictly for operations,' he said, as he accelerated away. 'This one's mine. Now where are you going?'
When she told him he gave a little groan. 'That's a very respectable address.'
'Well, of course,' she replied with a grin. 'I'm a very respectable person. The lady who owns the house is the widow of some former contact of the Service. I don't know the details. I've got a couple of rooms on the top floor.'
'I bet she watches you like a hawk. That can't help your social life.'
Liz suppressed the temptation to ask, What social life?
'Tell you what,' said McManus, glancing sideways at Liz, 'why don't you come back to my place for a drink? Then I'll run you home,' he added quickly, as if he didn't want to scare her off.
He accelerated past a dawdling queue of cars, his eyes straight ahead. Liz considered what to say. She sensed her answer was going to make a big difference to her relationship with McManus, and she wasn't sure it was a step she wanted to take. But then she thought of what otherwise awaited her that evening in her flat – a quick glass of mediocre wine, a shallow bath (the hot water tank was minute), followed by a solitary microwaved supper, a little television, a couple of chapters of the disappointing thriller she was reading, and lights out. Not a very exciting prospect.
So she said, 'OK. Thanks.'
Looking back, she supposed the whole affair wasn't surprising. McManus was an attractive figure to a young woman. Good-looking, confident, mature – he could see Liz was pretty inexperienced and hadn't been around much and he enjoyed showing her the town. He knew Liverpool like the back of his hand: from the industrial wastelands to the newly fashionable dockland; from the gentility of its grandest suburbs to clubs so rough that even the bouncers were scared of the clientele; from fancy French restaurants where the city's famous footballers spent £1,500 on a bottle of wine they couldn't pronounce to the bingo hall where he said his mother had been a habituée. Wherever they went the proprietor knew the Special Branch detective, and treated him with respect.
Liz was less certain what McManus saw in her. She sometimes wondered if in other circumstances he would have given her a second look. Observing the admiring glances he attracted from women of all sorts, from restaurant cloakroom girls to the chic owner of an upmarket boutique, she knew that he could have had his choice of women. But circumstances were what they were, and the simple fact remained that she had probably saved his life. If his interest in her arose out of gratitude, Liz couldn't really object, since she was also grateful to him.
It was an intense affair, and for all the excitement of their social life, what really kept the two together was a mutual commitment to their work. Liz had already discovered a capacity for immersion in the job, and now that Avery had given her something substantial to do, she was interested and intent on doing it well. But she was nothing like McManus. As she quickly discovered, life for him was filtered through work. In the pubs and restaurants they visited, his conversations with the manager were information-gathering exercises. Even when they were most relaxed – a walk on the beach, a quiet meal in a country pub where no villain had ever set foot – McManus was alert, noticing anything out of the ordinary, any behaviour in the least bit strange. This was the first time Liz had experienced something that she later encountered often in her colleagues and indeed learned to practise herself, the acute awareness of one's surroundings of the true intelligence officer.
But she soon discovered that McManus's almost forensic attentiveness was focused not so much on intelligence gathering as on a righteous passion to sniff out wrongdoing and see it punished. He was a zero-tolerance police officer, openly disdainful of the way so many of the criminals he had hunted down wriggled free in their progress from arrest to the jury's verdict. The only time Liz saw McManus lose his temper was when the Crown Prosecution Service refused to prosecute the leader of a drug ring, a man called Pears whom McManus had pursued for years, because in their view there was insufficient evidence to secure a conviction.
If Liz sometimes found McManus's crusading spirit unsettling, she also admired it. Where some of his colleagues appeared quite happy to accept the odd freebie – drinks in a pub, a taxi ride home, free admission to a club – McManus wasn't: when one evening the owner of a local restaurant brought them two brandies at the end of their meal and said they were 'on the house', McManus insisted they be added to the bill. But with Liz he was relaxed; she found him caring, loving and warm. To her surprise he seemed happy to be open about their relationship, and made no effort to disguise it from their colleagues. She was startled but flattered when quite early on he asked her to think about moving into his flat, and though she didn't take that step she did find herself wondering how she could get her secondment to Liverpool extended.
They had been together for two months when things went suddenly wrong. They were in McManus's flat, an elegant one-bedroom pad high enough up in a new block to give a spectacular view over the Mersey. McManus was in a jubilant mood, and over a glass of wine he explained that Pears, the drug dealer, had been arrested again and this time the Crown Prosecution Service were going to prosecute.
'What changed?' asked Liz.
'New evidence,' said McManus.
'Really, what sort of evidence?' She was curious to know, since the CPS had previously complained that the available evidence was too circumstantial.
'A witness has come forward. He's prepared to say he saw Pears make a big sale.'
'That's excellent,' said Liz. 'Why did he come forward now? It must be a bit risky for him. Are you going to have to protect him?'
McManus shrugged. 'Maybe it was my appeal to his better nature – not that this particular little runt has one.' He paused and looked at Liz with a grin. 'Maybe it had something to do with letting him off another charge if he came good in this case.'
'A deal, in other words,' said Liz, starting to understand.
'If you want to call it that.'
'What else should I call it? The little runt, as you call him, has decided he's seen something because that way he gets off.'
'It may be a rough kind of justice, but believe me it's still justice. He would have seen Pears do other deals plenty of times.'
'But not this one?'
Again McManus shrugged, this time in acknowledgement. His jubilation was gone. He said defensively, 'What the hell. I didn't say it was ideal. But this way we'll get a result.'
Liz said, 'It's wrong. You know that.'
He looked at her and shook his head. 'Forget about it. More wine?'
'No, thanks. You haven't answered my question.'
'I didn't hear any question.' He'd got up and was pouring himself a glass of Chianti.
Liz said, 'You know what I mean. I know what you've done, and it's wrong.'
'Says who?' His voice was sharp now. 'Says Liz Carlyle, twenty-something trainee spook from London. The same Liz Carlyle who's never walked a beat, never made an arrest, never looked down the barrel of a gun held by some scumbag who'd as soon pull the trigger as sneeze. A Liz Carlyle who might be just a little out of her depth here.'
He had never spoken like this to her before. She said as calmly as she could, 'It's not right, Jimmy. Not because little Liz Carlyle says so. It's not right because it just isn't. You can't go round making up evidence just because you're convinced someone is guilty. You can't be judge and jury; that's not your job.'
'Nice speech, Liz, but if we can't rely on the legal system, what else can we do? If I have to bend the rules to get this bastard, I will. It's the results that matter. Getting Pears off the streets and locked up where he belongs.'
'It's not some minor rules you're bending, it's the law. Here you are saying Pears can't stand above the law, but then where are you standing?'
McManus made a show of looking at his watch. 'Time's up,' he announced. 'Our booking's ten minutes from now. You better get your coat.'
The flippancy in this dismissal enraged Liz. 'I'll get my coat,' she snapped. 'And see myself out.'
They didn't speak for three days, each locked into their conviction that they were right. Finally Liz decided it was ridiculous to behave this way – she was never going to agree with what he'd done, and her whole view of the man had changed. But even if they weren't going to be lovers any more, it seemed ridiculous not to be on speaking terms, so towards the end of the day, when McManus came into the office and sat down at his desk, she went over.
'Fancy a drink?' she said lightly. Purvis at the desk next to them was pretending not to listen.
'Got a lot on,' McManus said tersely, without lifting his head from the papers he was reading.
'OK,' said Liz. The rebuff couldn't have been clearer.
She gave it a week, then tried again, and received the same short shrift. After that, they ignored each other, which made for a certain tension in the office, though nothing like it had been when she first arrived. She went back to spending the evenings boringly alone, now looking forward to the end of her Liverpool posting. She missed McManus – or she missed the man she had thought he was, though it gave her a sliver of comfort to know that that man did not exist.
When McManus left Liverpool on promotion to Greater Manchester, she barely noticed, so accustomed by then was she to not having him in her life. She was not invited to his leaving do, and he did not even bother to say goodbye. So she could only imagine his reaction when the drug dealer Pears was convicted and given eight years.
Then one morning she heard Purvis complaining that he'd paid more than he could afford for a second-hand Audi he'd bought from McManus when he'd left for Manchester. Liz's car was once again in the garage and suddenly she found herself offering to buy the Audi off Purvis for the same price he'd paid McManus. Purvis accepted with alacrity. Since she was never going to see or hear from McManus again, Liz reckoned this would be the legacy of their affair.
Chapter 7
The sky was black over the mountains as Miles drove his SUV along the sandy road into the countryside. The Trade Minister, Baakrime, had said that he would have something to tell Miles in a week, and the previous day an invitation had arrived at the US Embassy inviting him to lunch at the Minister's farm in the hills outside Sana'a.
Miles's colleagues in Langley were waiting impatiently for the payback on the cash that Baakrime had been given, information they were sure the Minister was holding about the sources of arms that were getting into the hands of jihadis through Yemen.
But Miles was uncomfortable, nervous about this journey away from comparative safety in the bustle of the town. Minister Baakrime had fallen for his recruitment pitch suspiciously quickly, taking the envelope of cash and promising information. But had he really agreed, or was this invitation a trap either to kill Miles or expose him as a foreign spy? He had consulted Langley overnight but they were keen to get the information and prepared to take a risk, so he was instructed to go to the meeting – and wear a tracking device that would be monitored by a drone far overhead. It wouldn't help if he was killed but might if he was kidnapped – small consolation.
Miles glanced uneasily at the darkening sky. The climate in Yemen, normally so hot and dry, could produce sudden short but heavy cloudbursts, and it looked as if that was exactly what was on the way.
Seconds later it arrived. Rain beat thunderously on the top of the car; the wipers sweeping at top speed from side to side of the windscreen had no effect and the glass ran with a stream of water thick with sand raised by the sudden wind and the force of the rain. Miles could see nothing. The fields of arable crops and fruit orchards that bordered the road disappeared from sight and he stopped the car where he was, in the middle of the single-track road, hoping no vehicle was coming the other way. If there was, he wouldn't see it and it wouldn't see him until it was upon him.
He sat sweating with heat and tension until suddenly the rain stopped, the wipers cleared away the sand and he could see the road again. It was more of a small river now and his wheels threw up a fountain of water on each side of the car as he drove slowly on. As the sun came out again, he saw in the distance the red walls of what he took to be his objective, the Minister's farm.
The carved wooden gates of the compound were open as Miles drove up. A young man in a white robe and a Western-style sports jacket saluted and waved him in through the gates, then walked across to open the car door as Miles parked against the wall beside a wet and muddy silver Mercedes with a two-digit licence plate – 12.
'Salaam aleikum. Come this way, sir.'
Miles followed the young man into a lofty hall. Sunlight glanced though small windows set high up in the walls, but below the room was in shade and at first Miles, coming in from the bright sunlight, could see little. As his eyes got used to the dim light he saw the rough stone walls, the red-tiled floor covered with rugs in subdued colours, and around the room ottomans and chairs covered with cushions and throws of bright silks. This was a very luxurious farmhouse.
'Sit down, sir. The Minister will be here shortly,' said the young man in unaccented English. He clicked his fingers and a servant appeared with a tray of glasses of fruit juice.
Miles sat on the edge of an ottoman, sipping a glass of pomegranate juice. His sense of unease grew as he waited, wondering what would happen next.
'My friend.' A loud voice echoed across the hall as Baakrime in a long white robe strode towards Miles, his hand held out. 'It is delightful to see you here. I must apologise for our weather. These rain storms blow up at this time of the year, but they are soon over. Unlike your hurricanes, they do little damage.' He pumped Miles's hand enthusiastically, setting up a sharp twingeing pain in his shoulder.
'I thought it best to meet here. It is safe and away from prying eyes. Everyone here is family or old servants of my family. The road you came along is watched by my people and the young man who met you is one of my sons. He is my secretary. He was at school in England and at Cambridge University. Do you know England?'
'Yes,' said Miles. 'I have worked in London.'
'London. I love that city.' The Minister rubbed his hands together. 'We go there every year. My wife enjoys the shopping. Oxford Street, Harrods. I come back a poor man.' He smiled and Miles smiled back. Baakrime's poverty was not to be taken seriously.
'But let us eat while we talk,' and the clapping of his hands produced two servants with trays of little dishes and jugs of more fruit juice. One tray was placed on a brass-topped table beside Miles and the other beside Baakrime. Glasses were filled and the servants withdrew.
'I am honoured to see you in my house,' Baakrime began. 'Sana'a is not a safe place for me to meet you. This is a dangerous time in my country. There is much discontent; the people are unsettled, the country is fragile. There are elements in Sana'a who want to overthrow the government and would like to be able to show we were pawns of the United States. In our desert regions, the jihadi groups have established strongholds. They are in league with groups in other countries and they want to kill us all.'
Miles nodded. 'Yes. These are disturbed times in the whole of this region.'
'You asked about weapons,' the Minister went on. 'They are everywhere. Where are they coming from? Iran, Pakistan – all the places you would expect.' He paused to eat some things from the dishes.
'What do you know of arms from the United States or Europe?' Miles was anxious to come to the point and get away. In spite of the Minister's assurances of security, he felt exposed in this place with no backup.
'My friend, with the arms trade it is always difficult to know the origin. These people are masters at deceit – false invoices, changing documentation while a cargo is en route, and of course there are corrupt officials in every port and so much money to be made. The people who run this trade are very rich indeed – unlike in my country, where the poor are everywhere.'
He sipped his juice and looked at Miles over the rim of his glass.
There was silence. Miles ate some food. He felt sure there was more information to come, but it seemed to need some assistance. 'Yes. The poor. I hope our contribution helped a little.'
'Yes indeed, my friend. We are so grateful. But there is so much need.'
Miles felt in his pocket and produced an envelope. 'Let's hope this will satisfy some of it,' he said, placing the envelope carefully on the tray of dishes beside him.
Baakrime began to talk again as though there had been no interruption. 'Yes. The people who run this trade are very clever at disguising themselves. But I have heard that there is a main middleman for deals from Europe. They call him Calibre. His real name is never used. I hear that he is meeting the leader of a group of jihadis or rebels – I don't know what group or exactly who they are, though I understand they are being funded by al-Qaeda. The meeting is in Paris in the next week or so. It is to arrange a shipment. The delivery will come through Yemeni ports, I hear.'
Miles nodded and waited. His face was calm but he was excited. At last he had something for his money, though it was pretty vague and probably not anything that could be acted on.
But Baakrime had not finished. 'I will try to find out more about this meeting and if I do my secretary will get a message to you.' He stopped for a sip of juice. 'There is one more thing. It is generally thought that the arms that come via this route are for use in Arab countries, and that may be so, but I have heard that the man behind those deals, this Calibre, is using someone from England to help with this latest deal. The arms trade is a very tight-knit network, almost like a club, but it seems someone British is applying for membership.'
Chapter 8
It was eight o'clock in the evening and Liz was tidying up the kitchen after her supper. Unusually for her she'd been cooking. Martin was convinced that only French women knew how to cook and she had promised herself that next time he came to London for the weekend she was going to surprise him by producing the perfect soufflé. So she had been practising on herself and this evening she reckoned she'd cracked it. She had just eaten what she considered to be a masterly example – cheese and spinach soufflé à la mode de Carlyle. She was just wondering what to do with the half that remained, asking herself if it would be OK if she heated it up again for tomorrow night, when the phone rang. It was the Duty Officer.
'Evening, Liz. The Six Duty Officer has just rung with a message for you from Bruno Mackay,' he said. 'Would you join him and Geoffrey Fane at Grosvenor tomorrow morning at half past eight for a meeting with Mr Bokus? Apparently something urgent has just come in from Langley. He said you should bring an overnight bag.'
'Oh thanks,' said Liz. 'And did he say what I should put in it? Jeans and a T-shirt, a fur coat or a long black garment suitable for interviewing Arab sheiks?'
''Fraid that's all the message said.'
'OK. Thanks. I suppose I'll just have to use my initiative.'
'Good night then,' said the Duty Officer cheerily, and rang off.
At quarter past eight the following morning she was walking across Grosvenor Square towards the American Embassy, carrying an overnight bag, when she spotted Geoffrey Fane and Bruno Mackay getting out of a taxi. It was uncanny how similar they looked. Fane, his tall, slim, pinstriped figure, nowadays with a slight stoop that made him look even more heron-like than when he was younger. Bruno, equally tall and slim, equally elegantly clad, though his suit was finely checked rather than pinstriped and the colour lighter than Fane's navy blue. Bruno's shock of fair hair and deeply tanned face contrasted with Fane's pale skin and black hair, but they might have been, if not father and son, at least related. They certainly came out of the same mould.
'Good morning, Elizabeth,' said Fane as they all reached the steps up to the Embassy front door together. 'Glad to see you've come prepared,' he added, glancing at her bag.
'Good morning,' she replied, her heart sinking as she noticed that Bruno was carrying a black leather valise. It looked as though wherever she was going, he was going too.
In Andy Bokus's office in the CIA suite of rooms behind the locked and alarmed steel door in the Embassy, a plate of oversized bagels and cream cheese was set out on the table. 'Help yourselves to breakfast,' said Andy, waving his hand at the plate. 'Coffee's over there.'
Fane shuddered slightly at the sight of the bagels, and from the corner of her eye Liz caught Bokus's grin. Liz enjoyed watching Bokus and Fane playing a game with each other. It was a game that neither acknowledged but she suspected both understood. In Fane's presence Bokus played up his roots as a son of humble immigrants – his grandfather had been a coalminer in the Ukraine and his father had landed on Ellis Island at the age of sixteen with nothing but the clothes he stood up in. Bokus senior had ended up running a gas station in Ohio and making enough to put Andy through college. Andy was bright, or he wouldn't be where he now was, heading the CIA station in London. But he didn't like London and he didn't like most of the Britishers he met. And in particular he didn't like Fane, who struck him as snobbish, self-satisfied and devious. So to Fane, Bokus presented himself as rather stupid and very uncouth, hence the enormous bagels. Fane responded by shooting his cuffs and adopting an exaggeratedly public school drawl and a patronising manner.
How much of all this psychological drama Bruno was following Liz didn't know. He was contentedly munching a bagel, seemingly oblivious. But she knew that you could never tell with Bruno.
'Well, I've got things you folks need to know,' said Bokus. 'We'll go down to the Bubble.' The Bubble was the secure room in the bowels of the basement, purpose-built to foil any attempt at eavesdropping. It always struck Liz as strange and illogical that, as the main threat of eavesdropping in London must come from the British intelligence services, the Agency conducted its most sensitive conversations with the British in their most secure room.
The door of the windowless room closed with a pneumatic hiss behind them and they sat down on padded benches around a central table. The faint hum of the high-frequency-wave baffler had a rather soporific effect on Liz and she hoped that the hastily convened meeting was going to produce something worthwhile.
'Geoffrey, you and Bruno know something of what I'm going to say, but I'll just recap for Liz here. We recently sent an officer to Sana'a. He had one objective, to make a quick pitch to a highly placed official who'd been making it pretty obvious to the Commercial Counsellor – a State Department man – both that he was in the arms business and that he could be bought. So we sent young Miles Brookhaven. You all know him from his time here.' He grinned at Liz; she pretended not to notice. 'He made a quick pitch and it came good. The guy is now signed up. He's going to give us stuff on arms supplies going through Yemen, to rebels and jihadis. As you know we're particularly looking for anything coming out of Europe and the States.'
Fane shifted in his seat, unwrapping his long legs and crossing an ankle over a knee. He clearly found the narrow benches uncomfortable but, more importantly, he couldn't bear to let Andy Bokus talk for more than a few minutes without interrupting. 'I mentioned to Elizabeth that you thought young Brookhaven was making progress,' he said.
'Yes. He's done quite well.' He looked at Liz, 'You heard he had a rough time in his last posting? Quite badly injured.'
'Yes. I heard.' Liz was wondering when he was going to get on to whatever had brought them here.
'So,' said Bokus. 'What he's got from this new source – we're calling him Donation – is that there is a European arms dealer who is arranging supplies from somewhere in Eastern Europe, the old Soviet Union probably.' He paused for effect. No one spoke; they all knew there was more to come. 'We don't know what nationality the arms dealer is. They call him Calibre. But Donation says that he's using someone to help him ship the arms – a transport expert, I guess. And this expert is a Brit.'
'Are you sure this Donation isn't just telling Miles what he thinks he wants to hear?' said Liz after a moment. 'It all sounds a bit too pat.'
'Wait till you hear the rest,' said Bokus. 'He says that there's a meeting arranged between Calibre and a jihadi leader, tomorrow in Paris.'
'Big city, Paris,' said Bruno dreamily.
'In the Luxembourg Gardens,' Bokus went on. 'At twelve noon.'
'So that's where we're going,' said Liz, turning to Bruno.
'That's where you're going,' he replied with a grin. 'I'm going to Sana'a.'
Chapter 9
Jean Perlue was excited. He had been in the DCRI, the French equivalent of MI5, for just eighteen months and this was his first real surveillance operation. At the briefing the team had been told that an international arms dealer was going to meet a dangerous jihadi in the Luxembourg Gardens, and that it was vital that both of them were photographed and followed.
So at the age of only twenty-four Jean was engaged in counter-terrorist work of international importance. His instructions were to hang around, just inside the park gates on the Boulevard St Michel, looking natural and merging into the surroundings until he heard the controller, speaking through his earpiece, telling him to move.
But it was a frosty morning and his feet were very cold and he had been in place for more than an hour. He was running out of things to do to look natural. He'd bought a crêpe from the mobile cart parked outside the gates and eaten it slowly; he'd read a copy of Le Monde standing up until he knew the front page virtually by heart. Now he was stamping his feet and looking angrily at his watch, for the fourth time, as if he was waiting for a girlfriend who was late. Just as he was wondering what to do next, conscious that the crêpe seller was staring at him, he heard a voice in his ear.
'We have a possible for Numéro Un. Male, Caucasian, about forty-five to fifty, one hundred eighty centimetres, grey/brown hair, brown leather knee-length jacket.' The voice was Gustave Dolet's. Jean Perlue knew he was sitting with Michel Vallon in a Renault car parked in the Rue Gay-Lussac with a view of one of the other gates of the Gardens. 'He's heading into the Gardens now. Michel is going with him.'
Jean felt his throat constrict as his excitement rose. His cold feet were forgotten, as was the cover of waiting for a girlfriend. He peered eagerly in the direction of the action, hoping desperately that the target would come his way. This was better than a training exercise.
The thought had hardly entered his head when he heard, 'We have an Arab at the gates. He's nervous, looking around. I think he may be Numéro Deux. Thin, about twenty-five to thirty, white trainers, jeans, navy-blue sweater. He's in the Gardens now, heading west.'
'I have him,' came the hoarse voice of Rabinac. Rabinac had been one of his teachers on the course and had been known by all the students as Mr Croaky. 'They're walking towards each other and slowing down. I'll have to pass them.'
At that moment Jean Perlue, from his post by the Boulevard St Michel gates, saw them. They were walking together now, approaching a park bench. He saw Rabinac walk past as they sat down. Rabinac came on towards Jean and, without giving any sign of recognition, went through the gates, passed the crêpe seller and walked off along the Boulevard.
'I have eyeball,' said Perlue into his microphone, his voice rising in excitement. 'They're talking. The Arab has a piece of paper and the European is shaking his head. They're too far away for my camera to get a clear picture. I'll go closer.'
'Stay where you are,' came the urgent voice of the controller. 'Michel has photographed the targets.'
'I might be able to see the paper he's holding if I walk slowly.'
'On no account approach them,' ordered the controller, but Perlue was already on the move, heading diagonally across the grass towards the bench where the two men were sitting.
His headphones were silent now, but even if anyone had spoken he wouldn't have heard. He was sure he could get a perfect photograph of the men and the paper that was still in the Arab's hand. As he approached the bench, he was making a show of consulting his wristwatch, muttering, tapping it and shaking his wrist. When he reached the bench he smiled at the two men and leaning over them asked them if they had the right time. The European replied and Perlue thanked him and continued on down the path.
When he was a little distance away from the bench he heard the voice of Rabinac in his ear. 'You've blown it Perlue, you idiot. They're leaving.'
Suddenly the Luxembourg Gardens were full of movement and the headphones were busy as the surveillance team tried to get into position to follow the two men as they went off quickly in different directions. Now that it was pretty certain that Perlue had blown the surveillance operation, the controller was less concerned with the team being seen, more with keeping in contact with the targets.
Rabinac got up from the bench where he had been sitting, stretching and yawning as if still dozy from a good nap. The Arab was a good fifty metres past him now, heading down the avenue of trees towards the palace. Marcel Laperrière would be waiting there, ready to chuck away his newspaper and walk as a front tail, while Rabinac followed from behind.
But what about the other man? Perlue knew that if he had stayed at his post the European would be passing right in front of him now, but instead he was far away on the wrong side of the Gardens. He felt mortified at what he had done; he knew that in all likelihood he would be back on the training course the next day. That is if he wasn't sacked. He prayed that Gustave and Michel had had time to move their car closer to the entrance gate.
'Get back to your position, Perlue,' came the instruction from Control, and he walked quickly towards the Boulevard Saint Michel, seeing as he approached the gates that a large crowd had gathered on the pavement just outside the gardens. There must have been close to 200 people there. What was this about? Surely nothing he'd done had caused this. Then he saw that some kind of performance was under way just outside the gates. A juggler perhaps, or a mime. Someone good enough to capture the attention of a large audience.
Perlue was at the gate now, puffing a little. Breathlessly, he started to offer excuses for what he'd done, but the controller cut him short. There would be time for that later but now he wanted only to find the European. Perlue stared at the crowd, hoping that Gustave and Michel were across the street, also watching for him.
Control asked tersely, 'Anyone got sight of Numéro Un?'
'Can't spot him,' Gustave replied.
'Negative,' said Michel.
Perlue went out of the gates into the boulevard and saw that the performance was by a couple of mimes, one male, one female. Numéro Un must be somewhere in the crowd. It was a motley mix of tourists, families, local residents, small children with their minders, and businessmen stopping to see what was going on. Jean Perlue looked for anyone whose face was turned away from the mimes, watching for a figure who was not interested in the performance but merely using it as cover.
He was desperate now to make up for his mistake and wanted above everything to be the one who found Numéro Un. He must be here somewhere – he couldn't have got past Gustave and Michel, could he? But everyone he could see had their eyes fixed intently on the two performers, though there were so many spectators that he couldn't properly inspect even half of them. It would have been easy for Numéro Un to insinuate himself into the middle of the crowd, and put himself out of sight of any of the watchers.
After five minutes, movement began in the crowd. Some of those on the edges started to drift off. The performance was coming to an end. The mimes came out among the spectators, each holding out a hat, bowing exaggeratedly when anyone dropped money in. They moved quickly, trying to catch people before they left. Perlue followed on behind them into the middle of the onlookers, but there was still no sign of Numéro Un.
On the other side of the boulevard he could see Gustave scanning the dispersing crowd; there was a strained look on his face, and it was obvious he was getting nowhere. But then neither was anyone else.
He looked behind him, in case Numéro Un had somehow slipped back into the park, but there was only a woman holding the hand of a small child, who was holding in his other hand the string of a fat pink pig balloon, which bobbed in the air above his head.
Jean Perlue turned back and saw that the crowd was getting smaller and smaller. He stared at each departing spectator, hoping against hope that he'd find Numéro Un among them. Some of them stared back, clearly wondering what was wrong with the young man with the drawn and anxious face. Like the sand seeping through an hourglass, his chances were inexorably running out, and finally only three or four people remained, chatting idly as the mimes picked up their props and pooled the money they had collected.
Suddenly the radio silence was broken and in his ear he heard the voice of Rabinac. 'We have Numéro Deux, just ahead of us. He's leaving the park. Do we pick him up?'
There was a pause. Control was consulting. 'No. Keep with him but if you think there's any danger of losing him, then pick him up. Gustave and Michel, get over there and help Rabinac and Marcel. There's nothing more to be done where you are. Numéro Un has given us the slip.' Then came the words Jean Perlue did not want to hear. 'Perlue. You come straight back to base.'
Chapter 10
There was silence in the Control Room in the headquarters of the DCRI where Liz was sitting with her opposite number Isabelle Florian. They had just heard that not only had Numéro Un disappeared but Rabinac, Marcel and the others had also lost Numéro Deux in the crowd.
Isabelle ran her hands through her hair. 'I'm sorry, Liz,' she said. Her English was fluent. 'We should never have had that young man on the team.'
The control officer broke in: 'The trouble was that we had too many operations going on today and this one came in at short notice. Perlue passed all the training courses but it looks as though his temperament let him down in the excitement. I shall be sending him for retraining.'
'Never mind,' said Liz. 'It happens to us all sometimes.' Thank God Bruno wasn't here, she thought. He'd certainly have made some scathing remark that would have ruined Anglo/French cooperation for good.
Isabelle sighed and said, 'Well, let's hope we've got some decent photographs. They're just being printed up; let's go back to my office where we can have a cup of coffee and look at them.'
Liz had been working with Isabelle Florian on and off for several years now. When she had first heard that her opposite number in the French Service was a woman, she had expected to encounter an epitome of Parisian style. She had been pleasantly surprised to find that Isabelle, a woman a little older than Liz, was more given to wearing jeans, a sweater and flat shoes than high heels and an elegant black number. Her pleasantly weathered face was normally bare of make-up and her hair was usually tied back in a ponytail.
But as they walked back to Isabelle's office Liz couldn't help remarking on the change in Isabelle's appearance. Today she looked far more as Liz had originally imagined her. The jeans and sweater had been replaced by a black skirt and tights and a silk blouse the colour of ripe cherries. The ponytail had gone and her hair had been cut stylishly short.
When she complimented Isabelle, the Frenchwoman said, 'I never feel quite comfortable dressed up like this, but I've been promoted and they told me I had to dress the part. I have to go to more meetings and talk to government ministers and my bosses thought I looked too workmanlike.'
'Well. It suits you. Not that the other didn't,' added Liz hastily.
Isabelle smiled. 'And you, Liz. You look flourishing. How is our friend Martin?'
'Well, thank you. We've just been on holiday. The curious yellow shade of my face is the remains of a tan.'
Liz had first met Martin Seurat when she had been working with Isabelle on the case of a dissident Irish Republican group. The leader of the group had kidnapped one of Liz's colleagues, Dave Armstrong, and taken him to the South of France, where Martin Seurat had been instrumental in saving his life.
Liz now stood by the window in Isabelle's office, admiring the glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, which was just visible from the corner of the window. A girl came in clutching a sheaf of A4-sized photographs that she put down on Isabelle's desk, saying cheerfully, 'I think you'll be pleased with these.'
As she went out Isabelle said, 'Come and have a look, Liz. Let's hope they are some use.'
The two women leaned over the desk, their heads close together, looking at the picture on top of the pile. It was of Numéro Un, the European, as he walked towards the rendezvous with the Arab. At the same moment, Isabelle exclaimed, 'It can't be,' and Liz said, 'Isn't that . . .'
They were both staring at the picture in astonishment.
Isabelle nodded. 'Yes, it's Antoine Milraud.' A former officer of the DGSE, and a former friend and colleague of Martin Seurat, Milraud had been dismissed from the DGSE after an operation had gone disastrously wrong. Milraud was suspected of taking money that had gone missing from an arms deal, but he had disappeared before he could be prosecuted.
Martin Seurat had made it his mission to capture Milraud; he blamed him for having betrayed both their friendship and the Service they both worked for. It later became apparent that Milraud had used the money he'd stolen to launch his own career as an arms dealer, where he skirted the border of legality until he crossed it with a vengeance. The Irish Republican who had kidnapped Dave Armstrong had been one of his customers and Milraud had assisted in the kidnap.
That was several years ago, and Milraud hadn't been seen in France since – though there had been a host of rumoured sightings, including one of his wife, Annette. Reliable reports had come in that Milraud had continued acting as a middleman for arms sales; he had been linked to major transactions in a range of conflict-torn territories from Central Africa to Chechnya.
'Why would he resurface in Paris now?' asked Liz. 'He's taking a hell of a risk.'
Isabelle pursed her lips, and started to push her hair back on one side, until she remembered that she no longer had long hair. Her hairdresser had told her that the style was chic for a woman of a certain age. Isabelle had liked the result, though she had bristled at being called 'a woman of a certain age'. She said to Liz, 'It must mean this is a big transaction. Only a lot of money would get Milraud to take such a risk.'
'Mmm,' said Liz, unconvinced. 'It still seems very strange to choose Paris when they could have met in any city in the world.'
Isabelle looked at Liz. She found her English colleague's habit of looking for hidden meanings unsettling. She added, 'I'll need to tell Martin.'
'Of course,' said Liz, though there was resignation in her voice.
Isabelle said hesitantly, 'Is he still so . . . obsessed with Milraud?'
Liz sighed, and Isabelle added gently, 'It's understandable, Liz. The two of them worked closely together. That must make Milraud's betrayal very painful.'
'I know, but I had hoped he was getting over it. There's been no real sign of Milraud for several years. Just rumours and false leads. Martin used to jump at each one, but the last time there'd been a possible sighting he didn't seem to feel the need to go rushing off after it. I thought that was a good sign.'
'This is different, alas.' They looked through the sheaf of photographs. 'I'm afraid there can be no doubt. It is Milraud. Which makes it especially galling that he got away.'
Liz shrugged. 'These things happen.'
Isabelle admired her equanimity. Had their roles been reversed, she liked to think she would have stayed equally calm. But she wouldn't have bet on it. 'Anyway,' she replied. 'we will do our very best to find him. I'll get these photographs out straightaway. We'll check the airlines, the railway stations, the hotels. But I'm afraid he'll be long gone by now.'
Liz nodded. 'Unless you think there's anything I can do here, I need to be getting back to London. I want to send the pictures out to Bruno Mackay. He's gone out to Sana'a to join the CIA man there whose source gave us this lead. I'll send the pictures of Numéro Deux too. Maybe someone out there can identify him, though it's pretty unlikely. He could be absolutely anybody.' Then, seeming to sense Isabelle's gloom, Liz added, 'Cheer up, Isabelle. You may get a break. If Milraud was stupid enough to show up in the Luxembourg Gardens, he may have made some other mistakes as well.'
Chapter 11
Three hours later Isabelle was still in the office, Liz having long gone. Isabelle would have liked her to stay longer, though she knew that there was nothing she could do by sticking around. She liked her English colleague, not least because she was a woman who seemed comfortable with herself. She was intelligent and very focused but she was also attractive and easy to get on with. Too many of Isabelle's female colleagues seemed so intent on proving to their male colleagues that they were their equals that they lost all femininity.
It also pleased her to see Liz so happy in her relationship with Martin Seurat, even if inevitably it made her a little jealous. Isabelle was divorced. Her former husband was a diplomat; their two careers just hadn't fitted together and Isabelle had not been prepared to give up hers for her marriage. And nowadays she worked such long and irregular hours that there didn't seem much prospect that she'd find a successor to him.
She was married to her work, she thought to herself, imagining her own obituary. How ghoulish – she decided to stop feeling sorry for herself and get on with finding Milraud.
Ten minutes later, as she was wishing for the hundredth time she hadn't given up her beloved Gitanes Blondes, there was a knock on her door.
'Entrez,' said Isabelle mildly, thinking it was time she went home. Her young son was at her mother's apartment; he often spent the night there when Isabelle was working late. So often in fact that Isabelle sometimes wondered guiltily if he would grow up thinking he had two mothers. But it wasn't too late to collect him now.
Her assistant Madeline came in, looking unusually excited. 'I think we've found something. They have been checking the hotels of the inner arrondissements and they've discovered where Milraud was staying.'
'Was?'
'Yes. He checked out two hours ago. A place on the Rue Jacob. He must have gone back there when we lost him. He got the receptionist to call him a taxi.'
'Where was he going?'
'The taxi company can't reach the driver.' She saw the disappointment on Isabelle's face. 'There's more. We know the alias he's using. It's Pigot.'
'Pigot?'
'Yes.'
'I don't believe it.' It was almost the exact name of Milraud's Irish Republican customer – who had been gunned down attempting to escape from their hideout off the south coast of France. Calling himself after his dead colleague seemed a bad joke, unless Milraud was thumbing his nose at his pursuers.
Isabelle shook her head, trying to focus on what needed to be done. 'I want the airlines contacted, and we need to check car rental agencies and the train stations.'
Madeline said mildly, 'It's all under way.'
'Good,' said Isabelle. 'Could you ring my mother please? Ask her if she'll keep Jean-Claude tonight. I'll be here a while yet.'
Five minutes later Madeline came in again. 'A Monsieur Pigot made a reservation on an Air France flight to Berlin. Business Class.'
'That's him all right,' said Isabelle. Milraud had always liked the best; Seurat had once told her that his expenses had been legendary in the DGSE. 'I want him arrested at the gate, and held at the airport until I get out there.'
'Too late. The flight took off from Charles De Gaulle twenty minutes ago.'
Damn. Another tantalisingly close miss. But this time she knew exactly where Milraud was. 'Get me the BfV on the phone – I want the Germans to be waiting for the plane when Milraud lands.'
'Anything else?'
'Yes. Book me on the first flight to Berlin in the morning.' She paused for a moment, thinking of something. 'Book two seats while you're at it.'
She examined her options. What should she ask the Germans to do? Arrest Milraud? Martin Seurat would be delighted to lay hands on him but Liz would be worried that the trail to her case would go cold as a result. Milraud would be sure to have some plausible story about his meeting in the Luxembourg Gardens. So put him under surveillance instead? But did she dare risk losing him again?
Minutes later she was on the phone to her opposite number in the BfV, Germany's security service, asking him to set up surveillance on an international arms dealer travelling under the name Pigot, who would land at Tegel in one hour. Photographs of the man were on their way. He was a former intelligence officer and highly surveillance-conscious.
Then she rang Martin Seurat.
Chapter 12
Hans Anspach of the BfV stifled a yawn as the flight information line on the board at Tegel airport flipped over. Air France 1134 from Paris had landed. Anspach signalled to his colleague, Pieter Dimitz, who was coming back from the terminal's Starbucks with two cardboard cups of coffee in his hands. 'You'd better dump those,' he said.
The junior officer groaned. 'Don't tell me the flight's on time.'
'Yes. It's just landed. And I bet our man will be one of the first through. Control has just told me that the French say he has no checked baggage on board.'
Anspach had been halfway home when the call had come, telling him to go to Tegel airport where a French arms dealer called Pigot would land at ten minutes past nine. Anspach and his hastily put together team were to follow Pigot wherever he went and stay with him till they were told to stand down. No reason was given at this stage, though according to the French he was likely to be alert for surveillance.
That probably means they screwed up and he saw them, thought Anspach grumpily. He was missing seeing his son's school play and he was going to get hell from his wife when he eventually got home.
Sitting inconspicuously in a small interview room just behind the passport control desks, Gunter Beckerman was waiting for a buzzer to alert him that Pigot was at the passport desk. He would send a warning to Anspach's phone, before following Pigot through Customs and into the Arrivals Hall.
There Anspach and Dimitz were taking up their positions. Dimitz wore a dark blue suit and had now put on a peaked cap. Holding a sign reading Herr Rossbach, he went to stand alongside the waiting chauffeurs next to the exit point from Customs.
Anspach stood further back at a newsstand, idly examining a copy of Der Spiegel. As he turned the pages he kept a deceptively casual eye on everyone emerging into the Hall. He wasn't relying on Beckerman's call to tell him the suspect was coming through, for it was perfectly possible that Monsieur Pigot might now have a different name, and a different passport, from those he had used to board in Paris.
His phone vibrated and he glanced down at its screen. Coming now. Brown leather coat, read the message attached to a photograph of a man in a leather coat and roll-neck sweater, carrying a laptop bag on one shoulder.
And then, not thirty seconds later, he spotted him.
Pigot was medium height, broad-shouldered, dressed in the smart casual clothes of a businessman. But, unlike a visiting businessman, he wasn't carrying a suit bag, only the laptop case hanging from a shoulder strap. He was walking quickly – though not so quickly as to call attention to himself – and heading towards the far exit, under the sign for taxis. Anspach followed, knowing both Dimitz and Beckerman were behind him.
Outside, the sky was pitch-black, but the pavement was eerily illuminated by the series of sodium lights lining the front of the terminal's façade. Anspach saw his quarry standing in the taxi queue, which was short this late at night. He waited until Dimitz passed him, no longer wearing his peaked chauffeur's hat. Then both men got into the back of a Mercedes saloon parked by the kerb in which the final member of the team had been sitting in the driver's seat. He'd prevented vigilant security and parking staff from having it towed away by waving his security pass at them.
From the car they watched Pigot enter a taxi. When it drove off they followed. Beckerman, having joined the taxi queue two behind Pigot, was in another taxi, not far behind. The convoy headed off on Route 11 for the centre of Berlin.
Ten minutes later a message flashed up on Anspach's phone. 'Booking in name of Pigot made two days ago at Westin Grand Hotel, Unter den Linden. 3 nights, arriving yesterday. Await further inquiries.'
'What do they mean, "Await further inquiries"?' muttered Anspach. 'How can we await anything? We're right behind the guy,' and he tapped furiously on his phone.
Twenty minutes later as they drove, still in convoy, into the centre of Berlin, Anspach's phone vibrated again. 'A Madame Pigot checked out of Westin Grand this pm. No forwarding address. No trace so far of any other booking in central hotels in name of Pigot.'
'Don't lose that cab,' said Anspach to the driver. 'We don't know where the hell we're going now.'
'Well, we'll be on Unter den Linden in a minute,' he replied. 'So perhaps he's rebooked.'
The lights were bright along the pavements of Unter den Linden, traditionally Berlin's most glamorous avenue, but the atmosphere was marred by a darkened construction site running all the way down the street's centre, where work was going on to connect the subway between the former west and east sectors of the city. The beautiful trees were virtually invisible behind the boards and railings; what could be seen of them was covered in white dust that each day's excavations threw up.
'If he gets out here and crosses the road we'll lose him behind the hoardings,' said Dimitz.
'It depends if he's spotted us,' grunted Anspach.
But the taxi containing Pigot didn't stop. It drove on at a stately pace down Unter den Linden until it turned off into a small quiet square and drew up in front of the Hotel Schmitzkopf, an ornate six-storey building with little balconies and flower boxes, an oasis of nineteenth-century solidity amid the city's East German decrepitude and its obsession with new build. This was a hotel designed for comfort rather than style. We have seen it all before, the hotel's stone façade seemed to say. Fads come and go, but the Hotel Schmitzkopf remains the same.
Warned by a text from Beckerman in his taxi, Anspach and Dimitz had stopped their Mercedes further up Unter den Linden, behind a skip that was half full of broken asphalt. They waited fifteen minutes, then Anspach got out. He turned into the square, climbed the steps to the glass and oak door of the hotel and went into the ground-floor lobby, where at this late hour the soft sofas and chintz-covered armchairs were unoccupied.
At the reception desk a young blonde woman in a smart black suit gave a welcoming smile from behind a large bowl of wrapped sweets. Her face fell slightly when Anspach produced a card identifying him as a government official and asked for the manager.
'He's on his break,' the girl said hesitantly. 'Do you want me to fetch him for you, sir?'
'That won't be necessary. Tell me – a man came in a few minutes ago and checked in. A Herr Pigot, if I'm not mistaken.'
'No, sir,' said the girl. 'That was Herr Pliska. He's a Polish gentleman. He and his wife are in Room 403. She arrived this afternoon. We have no guest called Pigot and no booking in that name.'
'Oh,' said Anspach. Then, after a pause while he absorbed the new information he said, 'I must have made a mistake. Got the wrong hotel. Please don't mention to anyone that I was inquiring for Herr Pigot. It's a matter of national security,' he added solemnly.
'Certainly not, sir,' the girl replied, wide-eyed. 'Shall I let you know if Herr Pigot turns up?'
'Please do,' replied Anspach. 'Here is a card with a number to ring,' and he handed her an official-looking card with no name on it and a telephone number that didn't exist.
Chapter 13
'What the hell's going on?' Annette Milraud got up from the chair where she had been watching TV as soon as Milraud walked into the hotel room. 'Why did you tell me to change hotels and names? Did something happen in Paris?'
She paused as Milraud dropped his bag onto the floor and sat down on the bed. He was tired. Tired of life on the run. He'd always known that things would be difficult when he cheated his old employer, the DGSE, and went underground. But he'd thought that eventually some sort of steady state would emerge, allowing him to live without constantly looking over his shoulder.
He'd been wrong. His old employer had not forgotten him. And everywhere he went he'd been conscious that somewhere in the shadows they were there, waiting to pounce if he gave them the smallest chance. There had been financial rewards greater than anything he had ever enjoyed before, but with them went a total lack of peace of mind.
Annette was always angry these days, always nagging. He was taking too many risks, she said, but he had tried to explain that it was only because he took risks that he could make the kind of money he did and she could live in the style she demanded. Risk and money were linked like uneasy soulmates, bonded as unhappily as . . . Milraud and Annette.
They had been together seventeen years, married for fifteen of them. At first, they had been very happy. He enjoyed his work at the DGSE and she was content with their life in the prosperous Parisian suburbs, such a far cry from her humble origins in Toulon in the south of France. He realised later that her single goal then had been to have children, and that compared with this nothing else mattered.
It was when, after every kind of test, the doctors had finally told them that having a family simply wasn't going to happen, that Annette's dissatisfaction had begun. It was as if money had replaced children as her objective, and making the kind of money she had in mind was no more likely for Milraud as an officer in the DGSE than having children with his wife.
Then an operation to bust an arms deal had gone wrong, through an untimely intervention by the Swiss authorities. For a few hours the money at the heart of the deal had floated in a kind of no man's land between the dealer and the buyer. It was there for the asking, and before anyone had thought to reclaim it, Milraud had seen his chance – and taken it.
And since then money had led to the pursuit of more money – and more trouble. He had left the Service under a cloud that soon turned into a criminal investigation and a warrant for his arrest. He had fled France, escaping by the skin of his teeth, with Interpol fast on his heels. In the years that followed, his new business dealing in arms had become global. He had set up shop in Venezuela, where he had made certain arrangements that he felt confident would keep him safely out of the reach of Interpol and the European and American intelligence services. From there he ventured forth carefully, using a multitude of different passports, and usually to countries where there was no danger of extradition – certain Central European countries, the Middle East, parts of Asia, other South American countries. This trip to Western Europe was an exception and, as he was now realising, a mistake.
Now Annette was looking at him with irritation. 'Go and get a shower and change. I've hung your clothes up in the wardrobe. Let's get out of this stuffy old hotel and get some dinner. I've booked a table at a restaurant round the corner. You can tell me what happened while we eat.'
When he came out of the bathroom, Annette was getting dressed. She had put on a chic, tight-fitting black dress, and was trying on necklaces. He recognised one of them, a heavy silver chain he had bought for her in Geneva. The others she had bought for herself, with his money.
'Which one?' she asked as he came out of the bathroom.
'Which one what?'
'Necklace, you idiot,' she said, half crossly, half affectionately. He noticed the small chicken wing flaps of skin under her arms. Annette was growing older and he couldn't offer her the certainty of a secure retirement.
She settled on a simple affair of thin gold strings braided together and turned for his approval. He nodded without looking at the necklace. 'I'm a bit tired,' he said.
'Of course you are, chéri.' She looked as if she would give him a hug for a moment, but the damp towel he'd wrapped around his middle put her off. 'I think some supper would be just the thing. I've been cooped up all day waiting for you and worrying. Go on, darling, put some clothes on.'
He shook his head and she stared at him. He said, 'I don't think we should go out tonight. In fact, I know we shouldn't go out tonight.'
'Why?' she demanded. 'This is the first time in months that I've been out of that violent, uncultured dump where you make us live, and now you say I have to stay in our hotel room?'
Milraud's shoulders slumped. Annette looked at him despairingly. 'I'm not asking to go dancing, Antoine; just a decent meal in a restaurant where the food isn't Spanish. I thought that was the whole point of my joining you here in Germany.'
'It was.'
'Then what's changed?'
He sighed. 'I think they may be onto me.'
Annette looked at him, disbelieving. 'Who's they?' she demanded.
He shrugged his shoulders. 'Does it matter? The French – it could be our old friend Martin Seurat. Or the English. Or any number of countries. It doesn't really matter. This is Western Europe, not South America. Countries here cooperate.'
'What makes you think they've spotted you?'
'I can't be sure, but I had a meeting in Paris, in the Luxembourg Gardens. Somebody interrupted us – a young man. There was something odd about him, so we broke off the meeting. I haven't been able to make contact since.'
'Why didn't you call me when it happened? I wouldn't have come.'
'It was too late by then and you were already en route. That's why I told you to change the hotel and use the other passport. If they did spot me, they'll have a picture, and it won't have taken them too long to trace where I was staying in Paris, to get the name I was using and from that discover the flight I took to Berlin. As long as you left no trace at the last hotel of where you were going, then we should be OK for twenty-four hours or so – long enough for the meeting tomorrow. It's critical I attend that; if it goes well there will be other larger deals, and then we'll have enough money to retire somewhere nice and not to have to go on taking all these risks.'
Annette was shaking her head. 'I told you not to go to Paris. But would you listen? Of course not. You seemed to get pleasure from thumbing your nose at your old colleagues – even if it meant both of us ending up in prison. How could you?'
She looked on the verge of angry tears, but Milraud had seen this display often enough before to feel unmoved. It was a bit rich of Annette to complain about their being forced to live in Venezuela in one breath, then in the next to moan about the risks.
He said patiently, 'I am doing my best, Annette. And if it comes good . . . Believe me, there's a lot of money at stake or I wouldn't have taken these risks.'
'But what if they are already onto you? What if they picked you up when you got here?'
It was a possibility he didn't want to face and certainly one he didn't want to discuss with Annette. 'I'm sure we've got at least twenty-four hours. Time for me to make this deal and get us out of here.'
'To go where?' Annette said, in a whine, her voice like a distant but approaching siren.
'Just in case they're watching the airports, I think we should take the train to Poland. If we don't hang about there, we should be safe to fly back home.'
'Home? You call Caracas home?' The sirens in her voice were at full blast now.
'It's home for now, Annette, and at least it's safe. The point is, if things go well tomorrow, then we can start to think about living somewhere else.' He raised a hand to stave her off before she could get started. 'No, not Paris, that's true. But somewhere better than Caracas. A place where you can feel you're back in civilisation.'
'Like where? You said yourself all the Western services are on the same side.'
He sometimes forgot how quick his wife was. He said, slightly faltering, 'I thought we might try South Africa.'
She stared at him, then laughed disdainfully. 'Cape Town here we come, eh? Well I can't see that's much better than where we are now. Believe me, if that's the only choice on offer, you'd better just buy one ticket. I'll come back to Europe and take my chances.'
He didn't respond to this; after all, it was not a new threat. He inched along the bed and reached for the phone on the bedside table. 'So what do you want from room service?'
Chapter 14
'What are we waiting for?' Martin Seurat demanded.
Isabelle sighed. Martin had seemed edgy throughout the flight from Paris. Normally a calm man, he had barely sat still, crossing and uncrossing his legs, folding and unfolding a copy of Le Monde. Isabelle had tried to divert him by asking about his daughter, now studying at the Sorbonne and the apple of her father's eye, but he had cut off the conversation and stared moodily out of the plane window.
Now sitting in the BfV conference room with Isabelle and the German investigating officer, his tension was even more obvious. She sensed that Martin's excitement at the prospect of finally getting his hands on Antoine Milraud was dwarfed by his fear of letting the man slip through his fingers.
Seurat went on, 'We know where Milraud is, so why don't we arrest him at once? If we hang around he'll disappear again. We don't know whether he saw the surveillance last night but he obviously suspected something in Paris. It sounds as if his wife, Annette, has joined him here; he must have contacted her, told her to change hotels, and to use a different name. He's clearly thinking we're not far behind him. There's no problem with the warrant, so let's get on with it before they vanish.'
The German said mildly, 'We can do that, of course. If that's what you want.' He looked pointedly at Isabelle, as if to say, This is your problem, not mine.
'Martin, you know as well as I do that we are not the only people interested in Milraud,' said Isabelle. 'And we've only found him at all because of the information we got from the British. At the very least, we need to consult them before making an arrest.'
Seurat was shaking his head, more from frustration than disagreement. He looked at the German. 'Is that what you think?'
The German frowned and shrugged his shoulders. He was a youthful-looking man, a classic German with light blonde hair and pinkish skin which was turning red as he tried to follow the argument between his two French visitors. 'Well, as I said, it's really up to you. We have no information against the man but the warrant is outstanding, and the request to help came from your country.' He paused. 'The matter is complicated by the fact that he is not alone.'
Seurat said impatiently. 'There's a warrant out for his wife as well. She's helped that bastard every step of the way.'
The German acknowledged this with a nod, but said firmly, 'Nevertheless, since other countries' services are involved, I would feel more comfortable knowing they agreed with the action we decide to take.'
Seurat looked exasperated, but when he turned to Isabelle there was resignation in his eyes. 'All right. Ring London. Let's talk to Liz.'
Liz Carlyle was at her desk in Thames House when the call came through from Berlin. She had heard about the German surveillance from Isabelle the previous evening, when she'd arrived back from Paris. So she knew that Milraud and Annette had changed names and hotels and that they must suspect that their pursuers were not far behind.
Now Isabelle explained the dilemma. 'Martin is keen to go in now and arrest the pair of them, but I felt we must consult you first. If we do arrest him he's most unlikely to talk about what he's doing here and you'll lose your lead to his contacts. What do you think, Liz?'
Martin Seurat was tapping his fingers on the top of the conference room table and he suddenly leant forward and spoke into the speakerphone. 'Liz, you know that Milraud has broken French law in too many ways to list. Larceny, kidnapping, conspiracy to murder. These aren't trivial offences. We at the DGSE want to see him extradited and put on trial, and who can blame us?'
Isabelle said, without looking at Martin, 'He's a big fish all right. And of course we have our national priorities. But perhaps we need to take a wider view.'
Isabelle sensed that Martin was bristling. He ignored her raised placatory hand, and said, with indignation in his voice, 'What you call our national priorities ignores the fact that Milraud has been involved in arms deals all over Europe. Indirectly, he's killed people on at least three continents. It also ignores the fact that Milraud was instrumental in kidnapping an MI5 officer in Northern Ireland, and bringing him to the south of France. If we hadn't moved in, I doubt very much that that officer would still be alive.'
Isabelle said calmly, 'But there may be other sharks swimming with him that we can catch. That's what you think, Liz, as I understand it. And the Americans too. Is that not correct?'
To Isabelle's relief, Liz Carlyle broke in, her tone brisk but conciliatory. 'I have something to propose. But first let me ask our German colleague, are you confident of keeping Milraud under surveillance?'
Isabelle thought, can a fish swim? No intelligence officer worth his salt would say no to that question. Where was Liz going with this?
The German replied stiffly, 'Of course.'
'Good,' said Liz, 'then I advise the following: we keep tabs on Milraud, and obviously his wife as well. But if he goes off to meet anyone connected with his activities in Paris, it seems to me very unlikely that Annette will go with him. He wouldn't want to involve her or expose her to the risk. I'm sure she knows exactly how he makes his living, and we know that when he escaped from us in the south of France several years ago, it was with her help. But I can't believe she's actively involved in his deals, whatever they are.'
'So?' asked Seurat impatiently.
Liz said patiently, 'So, if he goes out and leaves her in the hotel, then that should be the time for you, Martin, to go in. After all, you know the woman well, don't you?'
'I do.'
'So you can work on her. You can explain that if she tells us who Milraud is working with, and helps us move up the ladder of this deal, then we can see that things don't go too hard on her. Or her husband.'
'I'm not prepared to promise that. I want things to go hard for the bastard.'
'Martin. It's up to you what you say. We all know you won't have any influence over what happens to them when they're arrested.'
There was silence while all the participants considered this. At last Seurat stirred. Leaning towards the speaker on the table he said, 'All right, Liz. You win – you, and the Americans. But let's not lose him, OK? Nothing personal, but he's caused me a lot of trouble. I couldn't bear it if he had the chance to cause any more.'
Chapter 15
The Schweiber Mansion at the eastern end of Unter den Linden had once housed the private collection of Ernst Schweiber, a German manufacturer who became fabulously wealthy in the late nineteenth century. He and his sons after him had used their wealth to amass an eclectic collection of paintings, furniture and objets d'art from all over the world, which they had housed in their grand baroque mansion. But the mansion had had the misfortune to be in the path of the Red Army when it arrived in Berlin in 1945.
The Schweiber family had by then been long dispersed, some to other parts of Europe, some to their deaths in concentration camps. By the time the Russians arrived, part of the collection had already been removed by the Nazis. What remained was taken as booty by the conquerors, some of it to find its way eventually into galleries and museums in Moscow and Leningrad.
After the Berlin Wall went up, the Schweiber Mansion found itself in East Berlin, no longer grand but grimy, broken-windowed and pocked by shell holes. The house became home to a department of the Stasi and was feared and avoided as far as possible by East Berliners. As part of the restoration of East Berlin, the building had fairly recently been renovated to something of its former grandeur. But now, instead of sitting in an avenue of equally grand mansions, it rested uneasily between two glass-fronted office blocks, surprising the tourists who came to see what was at least a part of the Schweiber Collection, gathered together again from around the world and returned to Berlin after much diplomacy and haggling.
If Hans Anspach had known about the diplomacy and haggling, he would probably not have thought it worthwhile. He was gazing at a rather gruesome painting of someone being flayed alive. But in any case his mind was not on the art, for though the headphones he was wearing looked like those the museum supplied to visitors who wanted a commentary as they toured its collection, what he was hearing through them had nothing to do with art.
'Still here,' came from Beckerman, who was a few rooms away. Taking a couple of casual-looking steps, Anspach could see, through an arch, the back of Antoine Milraud's head. The Frenchman was standing with half a dozen other visitors in front of a Corot which had lately made the news – to the embarrassment of the German authorities, it was now thought not to have been part of the Schweiber collection at all but to have been plundered by Field Marshal Göring from a French aristocrat in Burgundy, whose descendants were threatening to sue for its return. Beckerman added, 'No movement.'
It had been easy enough to follow Milraud to the gallery. He had left the hotel half an hour ago, dressed in a white roll-neck sweater and a grey tweed jacket. He had walked, without looking around, straight down Unter den Linden, then fifty metres along a side street to the Schweiber Collection. With two teams of three on his tail, there had been no chance of losing him, and with the museum busy but not too crowded, it was simple enough to keep tabs on the man as he wandered through the ground-floor rooms.
He had been in the building over half an hour now, and there had seemed no particular rhyme or reason to his progress. He had looked at paintings and porcelain and classical sculptures. To Anspach's experienced eye, he seemed to be killing time rather than appreciating the objects.
But the Corot was holding his attention far longer than anything else had. Was he waiting for someone? Was this the meeting point? Anspach edged into the next gallery, from where he could get a wider view of the room where Milraud stood.
He noticed the black man as soon as he walked into Milraud's gallery. Berlin was full of students from Africa, but this man was no student – he was tall, slim and beautifully dressed in a tailored grey wool suit, a cream silk shirt, and a tie. The fact that he was probably the only man in the gallery wearing a tie would have made it remarkable enough, but this was clearly a designer tie, broad, silky, with a brightly coloured pattern. His figure was elegant but his height and broad shoulders suggested there was strength behind the smooth façade.
The man didn't glance in Milraud's direction; he moved towards the far wall, where a group of young Chinese tourists stood giggling in front of a large nude. As Anspach watched, he saw Beckerman stroll in from the other gallery; he had joined the back of a tour group that gathered briefly at the Corot before moving in Anspach's direction. The group, with Beckerman in tow, walked into the gallery where Anspach stood and gathered at another picture.
Anspach glanced again in Milraud's direction. The Chinese had moved on from the nude, but where was the black man? Then he spotted him; he had been hidden by another group listening to an English-speaking guide. Now he walked up to the Corot and stood next to Milraud, with only a foot or two of space between them. Both were examining the Corot as if they were experts, and when the Frenchman turned his head slightly Anspach could see the two men were talking.
He drew back until he was out of sight, then looking down he said softly into his microphone: 'We have contact. Newcomer. Black male. One hundred eighty-five centimetres tall, slim, smart grey suit.'
The two men stayed standing, side by side, until suddenly the black man turned and walked out of the room. Milraud waited a few minutes then left the room too, going quickly towards the museum's exit. As he left the building he headed off in the direction of his hotel, watched by Anspach, who had joined Dimitz in an unmarked car parked in the car park outside the building. Three spaces away a second car was parked containing two more officers of the BfV; a third team member was busy buying a newspaper from a kiosk outside the entrance of the museum.
'We'll take the Newcomer; you take the main man,' ordered Anspach on the car's radio. 'When you've housed him at the hotel, come and help us. If he goes somewhere else, stick with him.'
Anspach settled down to wait for the black man he'd labelled Newcomer, and a few minutes later he emerged, with Beckerman fifteen metres behind him, examining a map of Berlin with apparent concentration. Anspach waited until Newcomer had walked a couple of hundred metres away from Unter den Linden, towards a shopping district, busy on a Saturday morning. When it got hard to see him in the crowd on the pavements, Anspach nodded at Dimitz, who started up the car and drove in the direction their target had gone. They could see Beckerman, struggling to keep up with Newcomer, who was striding quickly past the shops as if on his way to keep an urgent appointment.
They drove past both men, and Dimitz pulled up, just short of a pedestrian-only area. Anspach hopped out, waved to Dimitz as if to thank him for the lift, and walked swiftly into Nadelhoff's department store, an old-fashioned emporium that was adjusting badly to its new concrete and glass quarters. Inside he loitered on the ground floor, looking at men's shirts near the front windows, waiting for Newcomer to walk past. When he did, Anspach abandoned the shirts and left Nadelhoff's, just in time to see his target disappear through the swing doors of a shopping centre – six stories of small independent shops known collectively as the Boutique Mall. Whoever this elegant black man was, he seemed to know his way around this part of Berlin.
Anspach spoke into the mike under his lapel. 'He's gone into the Boutique Mall. I'll try and keep with him in there; park the car and come round to cover the rear entrance. Beckerman, watch the front. Control: get the other team over here as soon as they've seen their target home.'
Anspach spotted his target easily enough as soon as he went into the Mall. He was in a record shop on the ground floor, leafing through CDs. Anspach walked past and went into a shop opposite; from there he could see the door of the record shop.
He was beginning to feel desperately exposed but he didn't want to call in either of the other two to take his place for fear of leaving the exits unmonitored. The black man was taking his time – or was he killing time? He had twice looked at his watch but he went on flipping through CDs.
Then he moved, suddenly and quickly, heading straight for the atrium in the centre of the Mall. If he had clocked Anspach he didn't show it; he walked fast, looking straight ahead, and by the time Anspach was out of the shop, he had crossed the atrium and was striding down the aisle leading to the rear exit.
'Dimitz, target coming your way. He's yours,' he said into his mike. He was hanging back now to avoid detection if his target should look back. He gave it a good sixty seconds, then said into his mike, 'Have you got him?'
The reply was a grunt.
'Which way is he going?'
'He's not "going". The bastard's just standing on the kerb.'
'Any cabs around?'
'No. If he wanted one there's a taxi rank that he walked right past.'
So what was he doing? Waiting to see if he was being tailed? Possibly, but there were better ways to shake off surveillance, or even just to see if it was there. Waiting in one spot wouldn't do the trick, since the watchers didn't have to show themselves.
Anspach decided he should risk a closer look. He had reached the rear entrance and could see the black man now, across the street, staring into the window of a women's shoe shop. It seemed contrived, unnatural. Was he using the window to spot surveillance? Anspach had a premonition. 'Dimitz, quick get the car.'
'I'm in it already. Just round the corner.'
'Come and pick me up.'
But it was too late. There was a whoosh of an approaching car – a black Mercedes limousine, with tinted windows – the screech of brakes, and in an instant the black man had disappeared into the back seat, slamming the door behind him. The Mercedes executed a three-point turn at the expert hands of an invisible driver, then accelerated away down the street.
By then Anspach had his phone in his hand, and its camera snapped and snapped again. 'Dimitz, where the hell are you?' he shouted into his mike, not caring now if he was overheard.
'I'm stuck. There's a rubbish truck in front of me and I can't get round.'
Chapter 16
Anspach strode round the corner into a cacophony of car horns. Dimitz was sitting at the wheel of his car, at the head of a line of stationary cars, all blowing their horns at the garbage truck blocking their way.
'What in heaven's name is going on?' shouted Anspach.
'The driver's in that café and he won't come out.'
'I'll get him out fast enough,' said Anspach, and headed into the café waving a card identifying him as on special government business. In seconds he was out again, shouting at a couple of men in yellow jackets who had come out of the café. They got into the rubbish truck and drove it off up the street. By then Beckerman had joined his colleagues in the car.
'I've passed the registration number of the Mercedes to Control and he's asking the traffic police to look out for it,' said Anspach. 'We've got no reason to stop him, unless Traffic can get them for exceeding the speed limit, but at least we should get a fix on where he's going.'
'I got some good photographs of both of them in the gallery,' said Beckerman. 'I swear that was no chance meeting. They were discussing something. It was an RV.'
'Yeah. And I think that black fellow clocked us, at least by the end. That was a very smooth getaway,' added Anspach.
'Where to, boss?' asked Dimitz.
Anspach snorted. 'God knows. We'll join up with the other team and hope Traffic get lucky.'
And they did – up to a point. Ten minutes later a report came in that a traffic patrol car had spotted the Mercedes heading north on the E26 near Westend. Unfortunately the patrol car had been going in the other direction.
A quick conference with Control sent both teams off to Tegel airport, where the BfV officers and the police and immigration officials were all alerted to look out for a tall, elegantly dressed black man, and to note his passport details and where he was heading.
Tegel was crowded when Anspach and his team arrived. They had to push past long queues of passengers at the departure desks in the hexagonal International Terminal A to reach the office where the airport team had their base. There was no news of their target. He had not been observed going through security or passport checks at Departure and no sightings of the Mercedes had been reported by police outside the terminal.
But Anspach wasn't going to give up; he found a ticketing supervisor, and with the man by his side, slowly worked his way along the lines of check-in desks – British Airways, Lufthansa, Delta and all the other airlines running international flights from the airport, showing the desk clerks the clearest picture he had of the dozens taken by Beckerman in the Schweiber Museum. As each desk clerk peered at the tiny image on the mobile phone's screen they responded with a shake of the head.
As he was working his way along the desks he heard Beckerman's voice through his earpiece say, 'They've seen the car at Terminal D.'
'What's Terminal D?' he asked the supervisor, who was still with him.
'It's Air Berlin – domestic flights.'
He looked at the man, puzzled. 'Domestic flights?' Surely their target wasn't going somewhere else in Germany.
The man added, 'Private jets use it as well.'
'How do I get there?'
'Not easily. There's a bus . . .' the man started to explain, but Anspach was already racing for the terminal doors, shouting into his mike for Beckerman to pick him up.
At Terminal D they were directed to the far end of the departures hall. There they found one small counter manned by a middle-aged woman in a blue suit and forage cap who greeted them with a smile.
'Guten Tag,' she said, 'and how may I help you today?'
'Have you seen this man?' asked Anspach, thrusting the mobile phone in front of her face.
Taken aback, the woman paused. 'Our clients expect confidentiality, Herr . . .?'
'Anspach.' He brought out his card – official-looking, special government business, it breathed authority.
The woman's eyes widened. 'Yes, I have seen this gentleman.'
'Where is he flying to?'
'Rotterdam.'
'When is he leaving?'
She looked at Anspach with mild surprise. 'His plane took off ten minutes ago.'
Chapter 17
Martin Seurat knew he had to work fast. He'd been waiting, hidden from view by a pillar in the lobby of the hotel, and as soon as he'd seen Milraud leave he had come upstairs. But if Milraud had only gone out for a paper or to get some fresh air, then he would be back soon, and before that Seurat had to make his pitch.
He had no idea how Annette would react when he turned up at the door of her room. Once, they had known each other very well. In the DGSE, officers worked in small teams, often abroad and in stressful circumstances, and they got to know each other intimately. He and Milraud had worked together on and off for over a decade, and despite some fundamental differences in personality – Martin was quieter, more analytical, focused on getting the job done; Milraud was flamboyant, sometimes inspired, sometimes simply erratic – they had grown to trust each other. Whenever they could, they liked to socialise together and to include their wives, who could easily feel ignored and left out because of the secret nature of the work their husbands did.
Annette Milraud had been a lively young woman then, apparently carefree, without any children. She loved the good things of life: the Milraud apartment was beautifully furnished, her clothes expensive and stylish – enough so that Seurat's wife used to wonder enviously how she could afford it all on the salary of a DGSE officer. Once a week Annette ran a little market stall in the Marais where she sold jewellery, some antique, some that she'd made herself and some just rather pretty junk that she had picked up for practically nothing. She was always wearing three or four of the more flamboyant rings from her stock when they met. It was difficult to believe that the stall brought in enough extra money to finance her lifestyle.
When the four of them got together for an evening, Annette drank more than any of them, smoked incessantly, and liked to dance. She had the kind of loud, extravagant joie de vivre that hinted at dissatisfaction or even desperation lying not far beneath. Seurat's wife had got on with her well enough, though she'd never trusted her in the way her husband trusted Antoine Milraud, and she had made it clear that she didn't want to see the Milrauds too often.
Now Seurat knocked on the door of Room 403, taking care that he could not be seen through the spyhole. He heard nothing at first, then there were steps inside the room. 'Oui?' a woman's voice called out.
He replied in accented English, hoping she would think he was a concierge. 'I have a message for you, Madame.'
'A message?' She sounded suspicious. 'Put it under the door.'
He sighed – it had never been easy to hoodwink Annette. He said quite loudly, in French now, 'Come on, Annette, open the door.'
'Who is that?' He could hear the surprise in her voice.
'It's Martin Seurat.'
There was no reply for a moment. Then the door opened a crack, held on its chain. Annette stared out at him, surprise replaced by hostility.
'What the hell do you want?' she demanded.
'If you let me in, I'll explain.' When she hesitated he added, 'I need to talk to you alone, Annette. Before Monsieur Pliska gets back.' He could see her flinch at the name. 'We know what name you're using, and the one Antoine used in Paris – Pigot. If need be we can even find out the one you used before that.'
'If you know so much, why do you want to talk to me?'
'Because you can help us. And help Antoine. You don't need me to tell you how much trouble he's in.'
Annette stared at him, as if considering what to do, then she suddenly closed the door. For a moment Seurat thought that would be it. But the door opened again, and she stood there, looking angry. 'I suppose you'd better come in,' she said.
Annette had obviously been packing. Two suitcases lay open on the floor and a smaller Vuitton bag was on the bed.
'Going already?' asked Seurat. 'You've only just arrived.'
Annette shrugged. 'That was the plan,' she said.
'Mind if I sit down?' said Seurat, taking one of the two armchairs. 'Whether you go and where you go is going to be up to you, Annette. If you help me you at least may be able to go wherever you like. Don't cooperate and you'll be seeing the inside of a French prison before long.'
'The Germans may have something to say about that.'
Seurat shook his head. 'I don't think so. They'll accept a European arrest warrant, and there's more than enough evidence behind it. You have aided and abetted your husband, a man who's facing charges on everything from illegal arms dealing to kidnapping.'
'What do you want me to do? You know I would never betray Antoine,' she said defiantly, gesturing to emphasise the point. Seurat noticed that nowadays she limited herself to two rings – but both looked a good deal more valuable than in the days of the market stall.
'I'm not asking you to betray him; I'm asking you to help him. And you can do that by helping me.'
She looked at him sardonically. 'That sounds unlikely. How does it work?'
'He listens to you, Annette. You know he does. He thinks all the rest of us are fools and you and he are the only clever ones.'
Annette grimaced. 'I'm not sure he'd include me, not these days. He'd tell you I'm always whining. Anyway, I don't see how I can help you. I don't know the details of Antoine's business. I never have. He's an old-fashioned Frenchman that way.'
Seurat eyed her sceptically but she returned his look with a stare of her own, as if daring him not to believe her. He was confident she knew more than she was letting on, but her true value lay in her influence over Milraud, not in any information she might have about his activities. He said, 'I believe you. But a judge might not – you're in this up to your neck, as I'm sure you know. But if you cooperate – and more importantly if you get Antoine to cooperate – there's still a chance you can lead a normal life again.'
It was her turn to look sceptical, so he went on: 'I mean it. I'm not saying Antoine won't have to serve time in prison, he will – and you may too – but perhaps for less time than otherwise. To be quite clear, what I'm saying is that Antoine can help himself by cooperating and you can help him and yourself by persuading him. Life in prison won't be pleasant, but I can't imagine life on the run is much fun either.'
'It's had its moments.'
'Where do you call home these days?'
She shrugged. He said, 'Come on, Annette, we're already checking with the airlines for passengers called Pliska. I'll know all your recent movements soon enough.'
She hesitated, then said sourly, 'Caracas. We have a flat there.'
'Good God. I don't imagine that's the safest place for a woman left on her own a lot of the time, as I imagine you are.'
'Venezuela's a very beautiful country,' she replied defensively.
'I should think it needs to be – to compensate for all the other disadvantages.'
Annette laughed out loud. A good sign, thought Seurat; he had always been able to make her laugh in the past. He went on, 'The good news is that you won't be going back there for a while. The bad news is that it could be a long, long while. That's up to you.'
'So what do you want me to do?'
'Encourage Antoine to work with us. That's all.'
She was still thinking about this when there was the sound of footsteps in the corridor, then a card was inserted in the lock and the door swung open. Antoine Milraud walked into the room. When he saw Seurat he didn't seem surprised.
'So it's you on my tail, is it? I wondered who had stirred up the Germans. I knew we'd meet again one day.'
Seurat had to admire the man's sangfroid: Milraud had always been nerveless, even in the most hair-raising situations. But then Seurat supposed you had to be if you were going to live on the run. He looked at his former colleague, the man who had been his trusted friend and had become his nemesis, haunting his dreams, filling his head with thoughts of revenge, and said, 'I doubt this is how you envisaged our meeting.'
Milraud shrugged, and sat down heavily. 'Some days life is a bowl of cherries; some days the bowl holds only a few stones. I knew someone was onto me, but I congratulate you on your efficiency. I was hoping I was a few hours ahead.'
He started to reach into his jacket pocket, but Seurat put up a warning hand. 'Don't even think of doing something stupid. I'm armed and downstairs in the lobby there are two members of the local police and an officer of the BfV.'
'I was going for a cigarette actually,' said Milraud, bringing out a pack of Disque Bleus and a gold lighter. He inhaled greedily, then blew out a long funnelling plume of smoke. 'So, what happens now?'
Seurat outlined the position. If Milraud cooperated Seurat would do everything he could to get a reduction in his sentence. There was no point in pretending that Milraud wouldn't be serving time, and some hefty time at that, but equally, his assistance, if it led to other convictions, would be taken into account by the court. If he didn't cooperate, then he could expect the maximum sentence. Seurat said softly, 'I think we're talking twenty years.'
Milraud nodded and stubbed out his cigarette. 'That was very well put, Martin. You haven't lost your touch for clarity. But I have to say I doubt there's much really that you will be able to do for me. I've rubbed too many noses in the dirt. Even if your offer is sincere – and I have no reason to doubt that it is,' he said with a wry smile, 'I have to question your ability to see it through. I'm cooked, as the Americans like to say, though if I take my punishment like a man I will have a chance of breathing free air again some day. If I squeal, then I have very little chance at all.'
'So you won't cooperate?'
'Regretfully, no. Believe me, the sort of people I work with are not the kind one wishes to annoy.'
'What a pity,' said Seurat. It was clear to him that Milraud was far more scared of his arms-dealing associates than he was of the French authorities. Seurat decided it was time to play his trump card, and hoped that Annette would play her role. He said firmly, 'In that case you leave me no choice. I will have you placed under arrest . . . and Annette as well.'
'Annette?' Milraud's voice rose in alarm. 'Why Annette? She's done nothing.'
'On the contrary, she's helped you virtually every step of the way. Beginning with your escape from France. It's a serious offence and she will do serious time.' He paused to let this sink in, then added, 'I think I can guarantee ten years minimum.'
Milraud stared at him, his eyes widening in shock. There was a loud gasp. Annette had her hand over her mouth and she was shaking her head almost theatrically in disbelief.
Whether the appalled look on her face was genuine or not, it was doing the trick. Milraud stood up and rushed to her, throwing a comforting arm around her shoulders. 'It's all right, chérie.'
Annette started to cry, tears the size of raindrops rolling down both cheeks, her sobs growing louder despite her husband's efforts to console her. 'Ten years,' she wailed, as Seurat watched, mentally giving her performance five stars.
His arm still around Annette, Milraud looked at Seurat with undisguised hatred. 'I tell you, she has nothing to do with my affairs, and I don't believe you have any evidence that she has. So leave her out of this.'
'It's too late for that, Antoine. As for evidence, don't worry: we have a strong case – for starters, just travelling on a false passport will get her behind bars. You should have thought of that before you had her fly from Caracas.'
Annette had moved away from her husband's embrace and sat down on the bed, where she began to rock backwards and forwards, still sobbing heavily. When Milraud moved towards her she pushed him away, and Milraud's face fell.
He turned to Seurat angrily. 'What would it take for you to drop charges against her?'
'The truth. All of it. Let's start with why you came to Berlin.'
Chapter 18
Back in Thames House in London Liz Carlyle was feeling out of sorts. An investigation with which she was vitally concerned was unravelling without her and she didn't like it. She was happiest when she was at the centre of events; watching other people take the decisions and viewing the action from far away was not how she liked things to be.
She had been unimpressed by the surveillance efforts of the French, and from what she had heard of the Berlin operation it hadn't been much better. 'A4 could knock that lot into a cocked hat,' she'd said to Peggy Kinsolving.
Geoffrey Fane had been unusually quiet too, and there had been no response from Bruno Mackay in Sana'a, after she'd sent him the French surveillance pictures of the young Arab in the Luxembourg Gardens. She wondered if MI6 were doing something they were not telling her about.
To make matters worse, she was anxious about Martin Seurat. She knew how obsessed he was with Antoine Milraud. She knew how personally he had taken the betrayal, and she was worried that he might not be able to keep his cool when faced with Milraud again.
In spite of all her frustration, some progress had been made in London. Peggy had managed to put together details of the route taken by the private jet boarded by Milraud's contact, the elegant black man, at Tegel airport in Berlin. The Germans had not asked for any special monitoring of the flight as they had no case against the passenger, so Peggy had worked from the records, something she loved doing.
'Smart plane,' she observed. 'Pilatus PC-12, registered in Russia. Even hiring that costs a bomb. We're dealing with real money here.'
The plane had landed in Rotterdam to refuel and taken off straight away, heading for Prestwick Airport. No one had disembarked at Rotterdam. Twenty minutes into the flight, the pilot had requested permission to divert to a small private airfield in North Wales. Inquiries at the airfield afterwards by the local Special Branch had established that the plane had indeed landed there; that one passenger had got out and had been picked up by a private car. No one had asked to see his passport. The duty desk clerk had been confused and had thought that the plane had flown from Prestwick, and yes, the manager of the airport thought that the passenger might have been a tall black man, and no, nobody had noted the registration number of the car.
'I can't believe the sloppiness at that airport,' said Peggy. 'Special Branch is reporting them to the Civil Aviation Authority. I hope they lose their licence.'
'If they've got one,' observed Liz.
Peggy had also circulated the photographs taken in the Schweiber Museum to Special Branches across the UK, with a request for any information about the black man. No replies had been received so far.
The arrival of a detailed report from Martin Seurat of his interview with the Milrauds in the Berlin hotel room gave Liz something to focus on. It was clear that her concerns that Martin might be hindered by his personal animosity towards Milraud had not been realised. In fact, it had probably helped him in being quite ruthless in using Annette's fear of prison to get Milraud to agree to cooperate.
The report was followed by a phone call from Martin, who reported that the Germans had agreed to release the Milrauds into his custody and he was about to leave Berlin for Paris in the company of a small posse of French and German police and security officers.
'Where are you going to take them?'
'I've arranged a safe house in Montreuil.'
'Montreuil? I thought that was a fashionable holiday resort. Why so posh?'
'Not that one. This one's a suburb of Paris. Not posh at all.'
'Good. I wouldn't like to think of the Milrauds living it up at your taxpayers' expense.'
'Can you come over tomorrow? I think we should hook him in firmly to what you want him to do without giving him too much time to think about it.'
'All right. I'll let you know if there's any problem; otherwise you can expect me by lunchtime.'
Liz put the phone down thoughtfully. She and Martin had been close now for more than two years. So close that he had made it very clear the previous year that he would have liked her to give up her job and come to Paris to live with him. From her reaction he had realised that that had been a mistake. Her job was an essential part of Liz's being and without it she could never be happy, even with him. Since then he had been talking about leaving his own job in the DGSE and looking for some other form of work. Liz wondered whether, now that he had finally caught Antoine Milraud, the man who had obsessed him for so long, he might actually decide to do it. She wasn't sure that would be a good idea for him or, she had to admit, for her either.
She was sometimes concerned that there could be a conflict of interest when they found themselves working closely together on a case, as now, but so far they had managed to keep their personal relationship and their work in separate compartments. She knew that her bosses had their eye on the situation and that she needed to be scrupulously professional if she were not to be moved onto other work. Yet now here she was, going to Paris to take over the handling of Milraud. She planned to use him to flush out whatever was going on, and she had to take the lead, because the intelligence so far, such as it was, was pointing to the UK.
Martin met her at the Gare du Nord and they drove to Montreuil, where they found Antoine Milraud waiting in the living room of a nondescript stucco bungalow. He had a young DGSE officer called Thibault and a couple of tough-looking guards for company. Little had been spent on the décor of the bungalow – a few battered-looking chairs, a much-used coffee table and a frayed sofa furnished the sitting room and the walls were enlivened by gaudy reproductions of Impressionist paintings. I wonder who buys this sort of stuff in the first place thought Liz, hoping that the kitchen was equipped rather more expansively – with perhaps a pâté and a bottle of Chablis in the fridge.
Milraud had dressed up for the occasion. In his smart wool jacket, open-necked shirt and polished loafers, he looked more like a successful film director or the owner of a trendy gallery than a renegade intelligence officer.
Liz gazed coldly at the elegant figure who stood up to greet her. She ignored the hand he held out and did not respond to his 'Good morning, Madame'. This was a man who had not only destroyed the peace of mind of the man she loved but had worked alongside a psychopathic killer to kidnap her colleague Dave Armstrong and hold him for days in a damp cellar; a man she had last seen as a shadowy figure in the darkness on a French holiday island, escaping capture and leaving his partner to die in a hail of bullets. She was glad to see him confined in this charmless room, but she would rather have seen him in prison. In the present circumstances she had no option but to work with him, but she certainly wasn't going to treat him with any warmth.
The young officer came in with a cafetière of coffee and three small cups, then quickly withdrew. Milraud fidgeted nervously on the sofa. As soon as Martin had handed out the cups, Liz said abruptly, 'Let's get started. As you know I'm from MI5 and I'm going to ask you some questions about your recent activities. Firstly I'd like to know why you were in Berlin.'
She knew from Martin that Milraud's English was excellent, almost idiomatic, yet she wondered whether he would pretend not to understand her, and he was giving her a questioning look. But then he said, 'Has Martin not told you what I've said already? I'm surprised; I thought you two were close,' he added.
Liz ignored this. 'Of course he has. But I want to hear it from the horse's mouth.'
He nodded. 'As you wish. As I told Martin, I was in Berlin to act as a liaison – the venue was not of my own choosing. I know you are aware of my earlier meeting in the Luxembourg Gardens – this was to follow up my instructions from that.'
'Whose instructions?'
Milraud put both hands up and shrugged, in the universal sign for who knows? He said, 'He is Arab, he is young, he is anti-establishment. To me that means the rebels of the Arab Spring. Other than that, I have no idea.'
'Do you often do business with anonymous contacts?'
Milraud gave her a patronising smile. 'Of course. I doubt I know the real name of any of my customers, Madame.'
'Why did this mysterious person send you to Berlin?'
Milraud looked at her as if checking to see that she was minimally intelligent.
'To meet the black man in the Schweiber Museum?'
'Yes.'
'And what is his name?'
'Smith,' said Milraud without batting an eye. Then he added, 'Perhaps it was Jones.'
Liz sighed. 'All right, let's forget about names for the moment. What was he going to do for you?'
Milraud was silent. 'I don't know,' he said at last.
Liz looked at Milraud, waiting. Then he said, 'I've never seen him before. I don't know him.'
'Then what were you talking about?'
'He was setting up another meeting. For tomorrow. He wanted to make sure we weren't being watched yesterday. I didn't think I was, then I went back to the hotel and found Martin talking with my wife. So I was wrong and the black man was right to be suspicious.'
Liz sat back in her chair. This didn't make any sense. Milraud seemed to be claiming that all these meetings were only to set up further meetings.
He saw her scepticism. 'I could still go to the next meeting tomorrow,' he offered. 'Then I might find out what it's all about.'
Not a big help, thought Liz, since the black man had left Germany and was presumably now somewhere in Britain. She wondered if Milraud knew this and was lying – if she accepted his offer, he would simply invent another rendezvous point, dutifully go there, then profess regretful surprise when the black man didn't show up.
Liz switched tack. 'What about the man from the Arab Spring? How were things left with him?'
Milraud looked at her blandly. 'He was not forthcoming. He only wanted assurance I could supply the weapons he wanted.'
'What kind of weapons?'
'Automatic rifles. In time he said they'd want more sophisticated armoury – RPGs, SAM missiles, you name it. But you have to walk before you can run, and at the moment it's basic infantry armaments he's looking for. Rifles, ammunition.'
'So what was agreed?'
'Nothing. I named a price, and he made a counter-proposal. As is usually the case, we settled somewhere in between. Then we aborted the meeting because we were being watched. The next step is for him to confirm the order – which in practice means a down payment of twenty-five per cent. Not unreasonable,' Milraud said with a hint of pride, and Liz realised he was enjoying talking about his trade. He wouldn't have had many opportunities to do so in recent years.
'How is he going to contact you?'
'If he contacts me at all, after that clumsy surveillance in Paris, it will be by email. Third party – a dummy box I've created. He'll ask for a meeting, though it won't read that way – on the surface, it will look like a misplaced request for a booking at a restaurant. The name of the restaurant will contain a link to another site – that site will contain coordinates which when I apply them to a pre-existing grid will give me the location, time and date of the meeting.'
'You told Martin this will be in the UK.'
'Yes. That is what the man told me in Paris before we aborted our meeting.'
'He didn't give you any sense of where in the UK?'
'No.' Milraud looked at her impatiently. 'I have already told Martin all this.'
She ignored him. 'When are you expecting an email?'
Milraud shrugged. 'I am working to my client's schedule, not my own. When it arrives, it arrives.'
Martin interjected. 'My colleague Thibault has taken charge of his laptop and will monitor all emails.'
'This better be right, Antoine,' said Liz, 'or any reassurance you have received, about how Annette will be treated will no longer be valid.'
Milraud looked at her wide-eyed. 'Do I take it you are in charge then?' He seemed surprised.
'As far as you're concerned I am.'
Milraud turned to Seurat, as if expecting him to dissent, but Seurat said simply, 'She's right, Antoine. She will be directing what you are to do.'
Milraud looked confused as he tried to take this in. At last he nodded again, and gave an ironic shrug. 'I am accustomed to it. Annette wears the trousers in my family too.'
Chapter 19
'Donation will see us this evening,' said Miles Brookhaven, putting down the phone. 'I told his son I was bringing a colleague from the British Embassy and he didn't ask any questions. His son seems to be a sort of secretary for this so-called charity he runs. Well, he calls it a charity, but as far as I can see it's a kind of private fund-raising operation. God knows what shady deals they're doing. Anyway, we're to go out to his farm this evening.'
'A farm?' Bruno Mackay raised his eyebrows. 'How far away is it? I don't fancy a long drive in the dark in this place. I won't be at all popular with Geoffrey Fane if I end up as a kidnap victim.'
'It's not that far. About ten miles or so along a fairly decent road. It'll be dark when we come back, but Donation seems to have some sort of security operation set up to control who goes along that road, so it should be OK.'
Bruno Mackay was sitting in Miles Brookhaven's office in the American Embassy in Sana'a. The surveillance pictures from Paris were spread out on the table in front of them.
'I hope it's worth the journey,' said Bruno. 'I can't imagine they'll make much out of these photographs. I don't know why Liz Carlyle bothered sending them. The guy looks like thousands of young men you might meet anywhere from Algiers to Afghanistan.'
'Maybe he does, to you, but Donation or his son may recognise him – or know someone who will.'
'Let's hope so. Our French colleagues certainly seem to have messed up thoroughly in Paris. First they blew the surveillance and then they lost both of their targets.'
'I don't think it's a complete disaster. I've heard from Andy Bokus that they know the European who met this guy in Paris. He's called Milraud, a DGSE officer who left the Service and turned rogue.'
'Oh him. The French have been looking for him for years. He stole a lot of cash and set himself up as an arms dealer. If he's reappeared it will have set the cat among the pigeons. He used to work with Liz Carlyle's boyfriend Martin Seurat; Seurat's sworn to get him.'
'Well, apparently they have got him. They pinned him down in a hotel in Berlin and they're hoping to find out why he was meeting this guy in Paris' – he waved at the photograph of the young Arab – 'and what he went to Berlin for.'
Five hours later Miles Brookhaven was driving the Embassy SUV along the road through fields and small apple orchards. The sun was setting over the line of hills in a clear pink and red sky.
'No clouds tonight, thank God,' remarked Miles. 'Last time I came along here there was a downpour. I couldn't see a thing. Had to stop dead in the middle of the road.'
'Hmm,' said Bruno, who was sitting uneasily sideways in his seat, keeping an eye on the road behind them and looking from side to side.
'Don't worry,' said Miles. 'I'm sure it's OK. I told you, he's got this road monitored. It feels safe to me.'
'Hmm,' said Bruno again.
Miles drove on another few miles and then Bruno, who was peering out of the front windscreen, said, 'I thought you said there were no clouds tonight. What's that then?' He pointed to what looked like a small black cloud low in the sky ahead of them.
'It looks like smoke. It's just about where Donation's compound is. Perhaps they're burning rubbish.' But as they got nearer the cloud seemed to separate itself and gradually it became a moving mass of birds.
'Vultures,' said Bruno. 'Something's died.'
'Probably a cow or a buffalo. We'll soon find out. We're less than a mile away from the farm now.'
As they came up to the walls of the compound, another cloud of flapping vultures rose up to join those circling in the sky. Miles turned the car to go under the arch and then slammed on the brakes.
'My God,' shouted Bruno. 'What the hell's that?' A body clad in what had been white robes was swinging in the arch, dangling from a rope round its neck. Its face was a raw mass of bloodied flesh and its eyes had been pecked out. The legs, swinging in mid-air, ended in shiny black leather shoes.
'It's Donation's son.' Miles's voice shook.
'Turn round,' yelled Bruno. 'Let's get out of here.'
'Donation may be inside. He may need our help.'
'If he's in there,' said Bruno, 'he's long past our help. Can't you see? It's a warning. Go on, get out or we'll be next.'
Suddenly Miles jerked into action. With squealing tyres throwing up sand and stones he turned the car and drove off, back down the road they had come along.
Bruno was leaning forward now, holding on to the dashboard. 'I thought you said they had security on this road.'
'That's what Donation told me and I believed him. I thought they knew what they were doing. It all seemed very casual but I figured they were the best judge of what was safe. I bet it's that bloody French surveillance operation that's blown it. The guy in Paris knew he was being followed, so he knew there'd been a leak and they've traced it back to Donation and his son.'
They fell silent, each thinking over the implications of what had happened. Miles drove fast, bouncing the heavy car over the ruts in the road, while Bruno kept a sharp eye on the fields to each side. The light was fading now as Bruno turned to look over his shoulder at the road behind them.
'How much further?'
'About six miles.'
'Well, get a move on. There's company behind us.'
'I know. It came out of a field track just back there.'
A battered-looking pickup truck was approaching at high speed. As it got nearer two men in black balaclavas stood up in the back, each waving a heavy weapon in one hand.
Miles had his foot on the floor but the pickup truck was gaining on them. 'Hold on,' shouted Miles, 'I'm gonna knock them off,' and as the pickup drew alongside them, he turned the wheel of the SUV hard to the left.
But the truck driver had anticipated the manoeuvre and with a burst of acceleration managed to block their sideways move. There was a loud bang as metal hit metal, and the two vehicles each did a sweeping one-eighty and came to a halt side by side, slewed along the road.
The two armed men leapt down and pulled open Miles's door.
'Get out. Both of you,' said one in an accent straight from the streets of south London.
The two climbed out of the SUV, and the man with the London accent motioned with his rifle for them to move away from the car. 'Get down on your knees,' he ordered, and when Bruno hesitated he pointed the gun at his head. 'Get down, I said.'
As they knelt on the sandy road, Miles glanced at Bruno. He had clasped his hands behind his head and was staring straight ahead. Miles knew he was waiting for the shot. Then they'll shoot me, he thought. There was silence for a moment. A breeze had picked up, bringing a faint smell of petrol from the pickup truck. Behind them one of the men moved close; Miles could hear him breathing, noisily and fast. This is it, thought Miles, trying to come up with something meaningful for his final thought.
But then the Londoner spoke again. 'This is a warning. Keep out of our business and go home or you'll end up like that corpse at the farm. Now get back in that car and bugger off.'
And as Miles got slowly to his feet, he saw the man and his colleague leap back into their pickup truck. The engine started, the truck turned in a cloud of dust and drove back along the road the way it had come.
Miles stood with Bruno in the road for a moment, looking after the rapidly disappearing truck.
'What on earth was that all about?' said Bruno, his voice shaking very slightly. 'Why did they let us go?'
'Are you complaining?' asked Miles with a tremulous laugh. 'Perhaps they've got too much going on to want two dead diplomats on their hands.'
Bruno said, 'Maybe that's it. We've been lucky this time. Let's get the hell back to your Embassy.'
Chapter 20
'I need a drink,' said Miles as he parked the dusty SUV in the car park underneath the US Embassy. 'Come on up. I've got a bottle of Scotch in my cupboard.'
As he was getting the bottle and glasses out, Miles's eye fell on a piece of paper propped up on his desk. He read its message out loud: The Ambassador would like to see you in his office as soon as you get back.
Looking at Bruno he said, 'Something must have happened. I have a regular meeting with him on Monday mornings and he never asks to see me otherwise.'
'Surely he won't still be in his office at this hour,' said Bruno. 'Sit down and drink up. You've deserved it.'
But Ambassador Thomas B. Rodgers III, not a man to leave his post when there was still business to do, was at his desk.
'Come in, young man,' he called out as Miles appeared in his outer office. 'I've had a complaint about you.'
Ambassador Rodgers was a State Department professional. Sana'a was a tough posting, potentially dangerous, requiring diplomatic skills; not the sort of plum Embassy that presidents gave as a reward to their business friends and supporters. Thomas B. Rodgers had been round the block a few times, served in more junior posts in some tough places, and now in his mid-fifties had made it to Ambassador. He was used to dealing with the CIA.
'I'm sorry to hear that, sir.' Miles's voice was calm but his heart lurched. He hadn't yet made up his mind what, if anything, he was going to say about the events of this evening. He knew for certain that if the Ambassador found out that not only had he nearly got himself kidnapped or killed, but that he had led a British colleague into the same danger, there'd be a request to Langley for his withdrawal. Yet surely the news couldn't have got back to the Embassy so quickly.
'It concerns Minister Baakrime. You told me that you were hoping to use him as a source of information on arms supplies. Well, you should know that your contact with him has been noticed by the Yemenis, and I've been warned that we should steer clear of him. Other members of the government don't trust him. He's been making too much money on the side.' He waved an exasperated hand. 'I know, I know, most of them are at it in one way or another, but he's been making more than other people.'
'I see,' said Miles, wondering what else the Ambassador had been told.
'I don't know how much you know about him, but apparently he's working with the Russians.'
'With the Russians?' Miles was taken off guard and his surprise showed. 'No. I didn't know that. What's he doing for them?'
'I wasn't told. But probably much the same as you were hoping he'd do for you. Whatever it is, he's visited the Caucasus twice in the past year. Dagestan apparently. God knows what for, but whatever it is it seems to be making Minister Baakrime a lot of money. I'd be grateful if you'd steer clear of him from now on. I think he may shortly find himself in prison.'
If he's not already dead, thought Miles, remembering the hideous sight of the Minister's son, dangling in the entrance to the farm.
Chapter 21
It was hard work trying to extract any useful information from Milraud. It had needed frequent reminders from Martin that Annette's treatment depended on his cooperation to get him to fill in any of the details; even then he could only be described as a reluctant witness.
Eventually Liz had got him to admit that the Arab had got in touch with him via a contact in Yemen – a man who had put business his way before. He did not know his identity, he'd said, or who the Arab was – he never asked such questions. The request had been for comparatively small arms, as he'd said at the beginning, and he had been told these were for use by rebel groups in the Arab Spring countries. He had assumed this meant Syria, but he had not asked. It was not his concern. The Arab had said that the arms were to be delivered to Dagestan, one of the former Soviet republics, from where they would be moved on to their destination. He'd quoted an inflated price for the deal and there had been a bit of haggling, but he was very pleased with the final bargain they'd struck.
When Liz asked if he was not surprised that the delivery was to be to Dagestan, he'd said that nothing surprised him. He had both delivered arms to Dagestan before and bought arms there. When she asked more about the black man he'd met in Berlin, all he would say was that the Arab had asked him to meet the man – who he guessed must be arranging the onward shipment, though he couldn't be sure of this as the man was so jumpy they had had no significant conversation.
As Martin drove her to the Gare du Nord to catch the last Eurostar to London, Liz was mulling over all this.
'You know,' she said after a while, 'I don't believe a quarter of what Milraud said. The trouble is, I'm so tired I can't work it out.'
'I can't say I'm surprised to hear you say that. Milraud's not one to give up easily. It sounded unlikely to me too; I'm sure some vital parts are missing. I just don't believe he wanders around the world having meetings with people he doesn't know anything about. He wouldn't have lasted as long as he has, with me on his tail, if that's how he did business.'
'I know. And I can't understand why the Arab Spring rebels would want to buy small weapons at a high price from someone like him. Surely they are getting all they need from Iran and Hezbollah and the like.'
'Why don't you stay the night and we can talk about it in the morning?'
'I'd love to, but I can't. Peggy rang to say there was some new information about the black man. One of the Special Branches think they know who he is.'
'Let Peggy deal with it,' he said, as he stopped the car at the station.
She touched his hand on the wheel. 'No. I want to do it myself. I want to be sure Monsieur Milraud isn't going to get away with anything now we've got him. For your sake, as well as my own.'
She kissed him on the cheek, jumped out of the car and was gone into the station before he could say anything.
Liz got up early in the morning and was at work by eight. Peggy Kinsolving, another early riser, was already there at her desk in the open-plan office.
'Here's the number to call,' Peggy said, handing Liz a piece of paper. 'It's DS Halliday from Cheshire Special Branch. He said he's fairly sure he knows the black man.'
Halliday wasn't in his office until ten, but when he answered the phone he sounded cheerful and eager to help. 'I've had your photo. I'm pretty certain I know your guy. It looks like Lester Jackson, who owns a club in Wilmslow. I'll send you one of our pictures of him, so you can see what you think. He's well known to me and my colleagues.'
'Tell me more.'
'He's a tried and true bad guy, involved in trafficking drugs and women. But the frustrating thing is we've never managed to pin anything on him – not a single thing. The only trouble he's been in that I know of was years ago. Some teenage scrapes, and one arrest for burglary – but he was underage, and I don't think he even saw the inside of a young offenders' institution. He's never done time as an adult.'
'You say he owns a club. What sort of club?'
'It's called Slim's. In Wilmslow, which is in my bailiwick here in Cheshire. He gets quite a lot of the football fraternity in the restaurant and there's gambling and girls, and drugs, of course. Sometimes it gets a bit wild at the weekends but nothing too bad, just some young footballer drinking too much or snorting too much coke and getting involved with the paparazzi.
'There's an upstairs operation as well, with girls providing special services, as you might say, but we've had no complaints and we've never bothered them up to now. Recently Immigration have been sniffing around. They've a strong suspicion that some of the girls may have been trafficked, probably from Eastern Europe, and they think he may be selling women on, because his own upstairs operation isn't very big. Between you and me they're planning a raid pretty soon and I'm helping them. I've got my eye on one of the girls as a possible inside source. The club's in Cheshire, like I said, just inside our border, but Jackson lives in Greater Manchester's area. You should talk to them; they know him pretty well. How's he come across your radar anyway?'
Liz said cautiously, 'We're investigating a dodgy-looking arms deal on the Continent and it's possible he may be involved.'
'Guns? Jackson's crooked as a dog's hind leg, but as far as I know he's never sold weapons. Still, there's always a first time – he's not somebody who would turn down an opportunity.'
'If I wanted the Manchester angle who should I contact?'
'You should probably call the Deputy Head of Special Branch there.' His voice sounded unenthusiastic.
'Not the Head then?'
'No, he's new. It's his deputy who knows Jackson. He says he's been helpful in the past.'
'What. You mean he's a source?'
'I wouldn't go that far. But you're better off getting the story from him.'
Halliday sounded oddly wary and Liz decided not to press the point. 'OK, the Deputy Head it is. What's his name?'
'McManus. Do you want me to ring him first?'
'Not Jimmy McManus?' said Liz before she could stop herself.
'Yes. That's him. Do you know him?'
'No, not really,' she said, trying to recover from the surprise. 'I met him quite a time ago. I'll ring him myself,' she added, though her heart was sinking at the prospect.
When the photographs came through Liz looked at them carefully, trying not to jump to conclusions. Some had been taken in the street, some in what looked like a restaurant but was probably the club. But there wasn't any doubt – it was the same man. The same handsome face, with wide-set thin eyes, a sharp chin made sharper by the width of the high cheekbones. Afro-Caribbean, almost African but lighter-skinned, just the dark side of café au lait. Hair neatly cropped and, in all the pictures, very smartly dressed.
'What do you think?' asked Peggy, looking over Liz's shoulder, unwilling to hope for too much. 'Could it be our chap?'
'"Could be" is the understatement of all time. He's our man all right.'
'But do we have any real evidence he's one of the bad guys? Maybe he's just a respectable businessman holidaying in Berlin.'
'No. Milraud admitted he had a rendezvous with him and that the mysterious Arab set it up. What he hasn't told us is why he met him and what they said to each other – nothing, according to him, except to arrange another meeting, but I don't believe it. That's just one of the things he's holding back. So far we don't have anything on Mr Jackson, and the Germans couldn't hold him just for standing in front of a picture in a gallery, but I'm convinced he's in it up to his neck. A Mercedes that comes out of nowhere, a private jet that diverts to God knows where, and most of all the contact with Milraud – that's enough for me. And Halliday says he's a tried and true bad guy.'
She looked at Peggy, who seemed convinced. 'Now,' said Liz, looking pointedly at her phone, 'I've got someone else to ring to try and find out more.' And Peggy took the hint and left Liz alone to make the call.
Chapter 22
'Special Branch. McManus speaking.'
The voice was familiar, even after all these years, but it was more subdued, as if its owner had lost some vitality. Liz said brightly, 'Hello there, it's Liz Carlyle from MI5. I'm assuming I don't have to say "remember me?"'
There was a long pause, followed by the quick sharp laugh she remembered well. 'You can say that again. Hello, Liz. I take it this is a business call.'
You bet it is, she thought firmly. 'I sent round a photograph recently asking for information. I'm surprised I didn't hear from you. It's been identified as one Lester Jackson. Apparently you know the man.'
There was another, shorter pause.
'Yes, I do. I didn't see your photograph. What's he gone and done now?'
'I was hoping you'd tell me. Has he got form?'
'Strictly speaking no. But this isn't Little Lord Fauntleroy you're asking about. Why are you looking at him?'
'He's cropped up possibly in contact with someone we're investigating on the Continent,' she said cautiously. 'We're trying to work out what role he might be playing.'
There was another pause, then McManus said, 'I would have thought the Continent was a step too far for our friend Jackson.'
'Oh really. Why's that?'
'Frankly, this guy is not the sharpest knife in the box. He's home-grown and strictly a small-time villain. On his own patch he does OK, and most of his business is legit – his club has its dodgy angles but the restaurant's not bad. To tell you the truth, there're a few shenanigans that go on upstairs, but nothing to get excited about. I'm surprised to find him showing up on your radar.'
'Your colleagues over in Cheshire seem to take a different view.'
'You must mean Halliday.' McManus gave a derisory snort. 'He's a young man who gets a bit over-excited. Not much goes on in Cheshire and he's got a bee in his bonnet about the club. He's cross that he's never managed to get anything on Jackson.'
'He said Jackson was a source of yours.'
'Is that what he called him?' McManus laughed, but there was nothing amused about its tone. 'Listen, the guy's helped me out on a few occasions, pointed me the right way when I was bringing down the coke traffickers in this town. He's done enough for us that we leave him alone.'
I get it, thought Liz angrily. Let Jackson traffic in women in return for helping out once in a while with drugs. Drugs got the headlines, while prostitution was just seen as a necessary evil – however many lives it ruined, however many women it kept in a kind of slavery. 'So why was he in Berlin then?' she asked. Immediately the words were out of her mouth she wished she hadn't been so specific.
'I haven't a clue. But believe me, if he's got himself tangled up in something big-time, Jackson is not playing a large role in it. He's small beer, Liz. Honestly.'
'OK. Thanks for letting me know.'
She paused for a second, feeling awkward. Then McManus said, his voice softening, 'It's been a long time. So how goes life for you?'
'Good, thanks. Same employer, as you can see.'
McManus laughed. 'I always had you down as a lifer. You had the talent, and the commitment. I wouldn't be surprised if you end up running the whole shebang one day.'
'Don't count on it.' McManus had always been a charmer when he wanted to be. 'But what about you? You must like Manchester if you're still there.'
'Like? I don't know about that.' His voice was flatter now. 'It's a living. I can't complain.'
'Oh.' It wasn't the answer she'd expected. 'Well, I'd better get moving; we've got our weekly brief in a minute. Thanks for the info.'
'Any time.'
She didn't like leaving it like this. She said, wanting to give the conversation a better ending, 'I may have to come up to your part of the world. If I do, I'll drop in and say hello.'
'You do that. It would be good to see you again.' Then he added, 'Just don't make a special trip on account of Lester Jackson. Take my word for it, the guy's nothing for you to worry about.'
Putting the phone down, Liz felt troubled by the conversation. She stood up and went over to the window, looking down as a small tug chugged along the river. The Thames was lifeless-looking and grey under the overcast sky of late autumn. His account of Lester Jackson just hadn't rung true. 'Small beer; not the sharpest knife in the box' did not describe the elegantly dressed man who, according to the Germans, had strolled into the Schweiber Museum, had conducted quite clever counter-surveillance, had been whisked off the street by a Mercedes, picked up by a private plane and collected by yet another limousine from a private airfield.
Why had McManus tried to downplay Jackson's importance? Come to that, why had he not responded to the photograph Peggy had circulated to all Special Branches? He must have received it and known very well who it was.
She thought back to the McManus she had known years ago and the reason she had split up with him. Then he had been prepared to bend the rules in his pursuit of criminals who he was convinced were guilty, even when he couldn't prove it. Was he now bending the rules in pursuit of something else? His own interests perhaps?
And McManus had exhibited all the verbal tics of the practised liar – 'honestly', 'believe me', 'to tell you the truth', and 'frankly'. She realised that she didn't believe a word he'd said about Lester Jackson, and now she was worried that in talking to him she had given too much away.
Chapter 23
Katya knew all about the police in her country – they were armed and violent and sometimes if you paid them enough they would go away – but she didn't know about the British police. People said they were different, but those were normal people, people who were in the country legally, people with the right stamps in their passports, people who had genuine passports. Not people like her for whom the smallest brush with the authorities could mean disaster.
So when a young man knocked at the door of the house where she rented a room and said he was a policeman, an icy panic gripped her. He flashed an identity card so quickly that she couldn't have seen it even if her eyes had been working properly. She'd been woken by his knock and was still half asleep as well as scared.
'Detective Sergeant Halliday,' he said. 'Can I come in?' and before she could say anything he pushed past her and went into the lounge. The three other girls who lived in the house had all gone out to work. They had nine-to-five jobs, but Katya got home at four o'clock in the morning and usually slept till the early afternoon.
The lounge was in a mess. One of the girls slept there on the sofa and she'd left her clothes and underwear scattered on the floor. Halliday sat down on the one chair while Katya stood in the doorway in her nightclothes and nervously waited for him to say something.
'I expect you know what this is about, love,' he said with a smile that was only superficially friendly. He seemed young to be a detective; his hair was spiky and shiny with wax, like the kids she saw sometimes on her way home, coming out of the clubs.
She didn't say anything and he laughed. 'Come on, Katya. Speak to me.'
'Just tell me what you want,' she said, not that she had much doubt. He must know she was there illegally, without proper papers, and she feared the worst – deportation back to Dagestan, the country she had been so happy to leave. But if he'd come to arrest her, why was he on his own? It seemed odd.
'I'm interested in your place of work.'
'Slim's?'
'That's right, love. You work upstairs, don't you?'
'Yes.'
'Funny kind of place, Slim's. I mean, it's a club downstairs, full of respectable citizens having dinner and a drink or two and a dance. But if someone wants a special dessert they can get it upstairs.'
Katya said nothing, wondering what he was getting at. She didn't know whether what went on upstairs in Slim's was legal or not, all she knew was that neither she nor any of the girls who worked there had the right papers. But if he was inquiring into what went on in the club, why had he come to her? She didn't run the place. Whatever he wanted, she wished he'd get on with it. But his next remark gave her a shock. 'How well do you know Mr Jackson?'
She shrugged. 'He is there most nights, but he doesn't often speak to the staff.'
Halliday sneered. 'Oh, so he's too grand to talk to the people who help make him rich.'
She didn't reply; the less she said the better. She must do nothing to rouse his interest and then he might go away. She knew Jackson, of course, but as a daunting presence rather than as someone you could talk to. He was the owner of the club, with the power to hire and fire. But it was more than that – he owned them, the girls, and she had no doubt that he was behind the operation that brought them into the country.
The girls in the upstairs room at Slim's were stunners – the prettiest girls their home country had to offer. Katya was proud of this, since part of her job was selecting the girls who got brought over. For that, she had to travel to Dagestan from time to time, and when she did she used a false passport that was given to her for the journey, then taken away. It said she was Bulgarian. The girls she recruited came to the UK in a lorry; she knew that from talking to them when they got here. The other part of her job was managing the girls once they arrived.
There was an air of menace about the man Jackson; behind his stylish clothes and cool manner she sensed a brutality that scared her. The other girls saw it too, though as far as she knew he had never hurt any of them.
There was another strange thing about him. In Katya's experience any owner would have occasionally sampled the goods; that was a right that came with the territory. But not Jackson; he never talked to any of the girls, let alone touched them, and he only occasionally had a word with Katya, just to check that the customers were happy and that there had been no complaints. There never had been and he seemed satisfied, but she still found him frightening.
Halliday's breezy manner had changed. His voice sounded ominous when he said, 'Your employer is about to find himself brought down a peg or two.'
'Oh?' said Katya.
'Yes. And you're going to help me do it.'
Chapter 24
The two men sat in a dimly lit alcove on the raised dais at the back of the dining room. Slim's, named after Joe Slim, the Manchester United footballer who'd started the club eight years earlier, was in Wilmslow, ten miles or so south of Manchester. It was said that the Aston Martin dealership in Wilmslow sold the highest number of Aston Martins in the UK, so affluent was the local lifestyle. The room was crowded this evening, loud with music and the raised voices of a group of young men and girls at a long table. One of the two men looked around and smiled in satisfaction at the packed tables.
He was the owner, a tall black man known as Jackson. No one at the club ever used his first name. Jackson had acquired the club after Joe Slim was found, early one morning, face down in the Manchester Ship Canal. It was generally assumed that he had fallen in from the towpath while he was drunk, but no one seemed to know why he was down there and no witnesses had ever come forward.
Jackson dressed as smartly as his well-heeled clients, and tonight he wore an elegant blue suit, a cream-coloured woven shirt, and a subtly patterned Hermès tie. His companion was less flashy but his suit looked equally pricey; he had the air of a successful self-made businessman – the kind of man who paid in cash from a roll of banknotes held by a silver money clip.
'Good trip then?' asked the man who looked like a businessman.
Jackson gave him a quizzical look, then seemed to decide the question was innocent enough. 'Not bad. Though I had a spot of bother with the locals. I don't know what sparked them off but they seemed to be wondering what this uppity nigger was doing over there.' Jackson chuckled. 'They didn't find out though.'
'What were you doing over there? Was it business?'
Jackson laughed sarcastically. 'I wasn't in Berlin for my health, man. I was chasing up a new opportunity.'
'German girls?'
Jackson shook his head. 'I'm getting tired of that line of work – too many hassles. I'm thinking of branching out a bit.'
When he didn't elaborate, the other man said, 'Well, it must have been important if you took a chance like that.'
'What chance?'
The other man shrugged. 'You don't want to get European police forces on your tail. They can be a bit nasty. Just watch out if you're up to something dodgy over there.'
Jackson said nothing at first. Then, 'I don't know if it was the police. I didn't see any uniforms.'
The other man said, 'But you got out all right?'
Jackson looked amused. 'I'm here, aren't I?'
'It looks that way to me,' said the other man. His role there was hard to place. He didn't act like a customer; he was too self-confident to be a dependant; yet the black man didn't seem the type to have friends.
'Anyway,' said Jackson, 'when are they coming?'
The businessman looked at his watch. 'Any time now.'
And as if in response, the maître d' came up to their table, looking agitated. 'Mr Jackson,' he said breathlessly. 'There are Immigration officers outside the back door. They're asking for you.'
Jackson raised his eyes but didn't seem surprised. 'Thank you, Émile.'
The maître d' went on, 'They have police officers with them. They say they want to check the papers of the girls.'
Jackson looked at his companion, who also didn't seem surprised by Émile's news. Jackson said to him, 'You better excuse me. I like to leave by the front door of the places I own.' He turned to Émile. 'This gentleman's my guest, so put our dinner on the house tab.'
'Of course, Mr Jackson. But what should I tell the police?'
'Tell them if they want to see me they need to make an appointment. Like my guest here,' he added with a smile. And then, without any show of haste, Jackson was out of the front door of the club in ten seconds, leaving Émile to deal with the officers of the law. Jackson's guest remained seated at the table, and after a moment signalled for a waiter and calmly ordered a large cognac.
Chapter 25
She had seen Halliday twice and each time he had pumped her about the upstairs operation at Slim's. She'd explained that she didn't know any details of the business; once a week Khoury, the accountant, showed up, and sat in the little room next to the cloakroom, where he went through all the tabs the girls had handed in. But he didn't talk to Katya about the business, and she certainly didn't know the turnover figures. She only knew that none of the girls, even the desperate ones, dared to try and skim any of the money. They handed it all over. That's how scared they were of Mr Jackson.
At their second meeting, Halliday had told her about the coming raid. 'Not a word to anyone,' he'd said. 'They'll be picking up the girls, and that'll include you. But don't worry – I'll see you right.'
And he had been true to his word – too true for Katya's liking. The police and Immigration officers had come in the back entrance, quite politely. This had seemed curious to her – she'd expected something like the movies, with armed officers breaking down the door, waving guns and shouting as they forced their way in. But instead they had waited outside, only four of them, in plain clothes, while the bouncer had called Émile, the maitre d' of the restaurant, who had come back and let them in.
It had all been tidily done, and despite the initial panic of the upstairs customers – that early in the evening, there had only been one group of stag-night revellers and a sad-looking man who said his wife had recently died – it was soon clear that the police were only interested in the accountant's room, where one of them had gone right away, and in the employees. None of them was English, of course, and none of them had papers as far as Katya knew – not a National Insurance card, a driving licence, or anything at all.
There had been seven girls working that night, including Katya (though her job was to supervise the goings on, not participate), and they had all been escorted out to the police van while Émile had wrung his hands and promised that he would have them out as soon as he could locate the club's lawyer.
It hadn't been quite that easy – by three in the morning there had still been no sign of the lawyer, and until the preliminary hearing scheduled for noon there didn't seem much chance of any of them getting released. It didn't matter much, since they were in a long row of adjacent cells, and the girls – however frightened they really were – took things in good part, calling out to each other, whistling to keep their spirits up, even briefly having a sing-along, until the duty sergeant came along and told them to pipe down. After which they curled up on their respective bunks and settled in for the night.
Which made Katya's release so noticeable, since alone among the seven of them she got called, by the same duty sergeant, and brought out from the cell. 'You're free to go,' the officer said grumpily, giving her back the small handbag she'd been made to hand over when they'd booked her and the other girls.
'What about my friends?'
'What about them?'
'Aren't they getting out too?'
The duty sergeant shook his head. 'Not as far as I know. What's the problem – do you want to go back to your cell?'
It would have been better if she had, Katya reflected, as she opened the front door to her home. Her housemates were still asleep and she crept in quietly. It wasn't that much later – or earlier depending on your time frame – than her usual return home after the club's closing.
She was worried about being the only one released. It must have been Halliday's doing, she decided. Hadn't he told her he would look after her? But she wished he hadn't done it this way. The other girls were bound to wonder what set her apart. They were loyal to her, but only up to a point. She did her best to look after them, and she could protect them from the drunks or abusers or the ones who didn't want to pay. But there was no disguising the nature of the operation upstairs in Slim's, and any girl who thought her duties stopped at serving drinks didn't last long – which meant an ignominious return to Dagestan, since none of them had papers that would enable them to find a proper job.
Katya knew this, since she had come to the UK originally by the same route and found herself in the same position. Back in Dagestan the offer had seemed irresistible: Come and be a hostess in a deluxe club in glamorous Manchester. Earn five times the wage you are earning now. Meet interesting powerful people and live a life of Western luxury.
She knew the come-on lines by heart now, since she used them herself when she was sent home to recruit new girls. Occasionally when she was interviewing a girl who seemed particularly sweet and likeable, she tried to hint that perhaps the job wouldn't be quite what it seemed; that maybe the girl should have a long think about what was on offer before accepting. But Dagestan was dire; no one under the age of thirty could see their future in a positive light, and the girls she saw didn't want to know that the West was not the land of milk and honey; that men could be just as exploitative in Manchester as in Makhachkala; that the money on offer would go mainly to pay the rent charged for their squalid shared rooms, or in 'fees' for nebulous services to the owner of Slim's.
Now she hesitated for a moment in the hall, wondering if she should have a cup of tea, then decided to go upstairs. Normally she would head straight to bed, but she felt grimy after her time in the cells, and went and ran a bath, closing the bathroom door so as not to wake the other girls in the house. She was pleasantly surprised to see that Michele, the French girl who always had a bath late at night, had for once cleaned the bath after using it.
Katya lay and soaked for a while, wondering if by now the other girls had been let out. She hoped so, as otherwise she knew they would be wondering why Katya had been released. And if word got round it would be certain to be picked up by Émile – he was cat-like, that man, always lurking nearby, avid for gossip. And Émile would never keep news like that to himself, which meant he would tell . . . Katya shuddered, and quickly got out of the bath.
She managed to fall asleep, half waking when the other residents of the little house got up and went to work, then falling asleep again. When she finally rose it was just past noon.
Downstairs the kitchen was in its usual post-breakfast disarray – used cereal bowls and half-drunk mugs of tea and coffee. She opened the back door to air the place and started tidying up – her housemates were younger than Katya, and, just as at work, she looked after them. Maybe someday she'd have her own children to look after, but in the meantime she did not mind looking after girls younger and less worldly than herself. Michele in particular seemed in need of sisterly advice, especially when she expressed interest in ditching her boring secretarial job and coming to work at Slim's, something Katya had so far managed to steer her away from.
She had just finished with the leftover dishes when she heard the postman push the mail through the letter box slot. No point rushing to see it; bills and more bills would be lying on the mat. But a minute later she thought she heard a tap at the front door, so this time she left the kitchen and went out into the hall. She opened the front door, but there was nobody there – she must have imagined the noise. Then she bent down and picked up the post, examining it as she walked back to the kitchen. There was one envelope for her, which she was opening when she came into the kitchen again, not paying much attention. It took a moment to notice the man now sitting at the kitchen table, and she jumped when she saw him.
'You startled me,' she said, feeling flustered at first, then fearful as she realised who it was.
'Did I now?' said Lester Jackson mildly. 'Maybe you were expecting the police instead of me.'
'Why would I be expecting them?' Katya managed to say.
Jackson shrugged. 'There has to be someone in the force you're friends with. Seeing as you were the first one sprung last night. Why don't you sit down and tell me who your friend is?'
He gestured at the chair next to him, and Katya stiffened. 'I would, Mr Jackson, but I have to go out now . . .'
Jackson was smiling as he shook his head. 'I don't think so. Sit down, Katya,' and there was something so steely in his voice that reluctantly she did.
'Now,' Jackson continued, his voice mild again. 'Was it DCI Lansley or DCI Robertson? Or is it your friend from Special Branch – maybe Detective Halliday?'
When the French girl Michele came back from work later that day she was surprised to find the front door of the house unlocked. She went in and called out for Katya, who was usually at home at this time, getting dressed for work at the club. Michele didn't care what Katya said; Slim's sounded fun, and a thousand times more exciting than her own job, typing the correspondence of a fat and unsuccessful property developer. She was going to tackle Katya again about it; Michele knew she was attractive enough to work at Slim's – it was only the older woman who was standing in her way.
'Katya,' she called out, but there was no reply. Funny that, thought Michele, as she walked towards the kitchen at the back of the house. She couldn't remember the last time Katya wasn't at home when she came back from work.
And sure enough, Katya was at home – and in the kitchen too. It was when Michele found her that the screaming started.
Chapter 26
Dinner alone. God knows, Martin was used to it, but it seemed strange to have seen Liz only so briefly in Paris, considering how close they had become. He knew that she found it awkward to be working so closely with him, and particularly to be the cause of delaying what she knew Martin had been working for years to achieve, the trial and conviction of Antoine Milraud. He saw that she had been relieved to go straight back to London the other evening after seeing Milraud, and though he understood the reason why, it made him sad.
He hoped the slight chill in their relationship was only temporary. Even in the fog that seemed to distort everything connected with Milraud, he knew that Liz promised a happy life ahead and Milraud only represented the past.
He was annoyed when the phone rang on the table in his study and broke into his reverie. It turned out to be his young colleague from the safe house in Montreuil, Jacques Thibault.
'Yes? What is it?' he asked sharply.
'He's had an email.'
Seurat was alert now. 'What did it say?'
'It's calling him to another meeting – in London. It's encoded in the form he described when your British colleague was here. He says it's from the Arab.'
So Liz was right, and the UK connection was proving key. 'When's the meeting and where?'
'Two days from now. We're working out exactly where but I wanted to tell you straightaway. The instructions are in the form of coordinates disguised as sports scores. As soon as we've unzipped it, I'll let you know.'
'Do you know the time?'
'Four o'clock in the afternoon.'
Dusk at this time of year, which would make surveillance of the meeting more difficult. 'I'll let London know. Contact me as soon as you've worked out all the details.'
'OK. I'll get back to you shortly.'
Young Thibault was a computer genius, a real geek, thought Martin. Let's hope he can get more out of that message than the time and place of the meeting.
Chapter 27
When the all-clear came through from the A4 team looking for counter-surveillance, Milraud was let out of the car. He walked along Regent's Park Road, and turned left through the open gate of Primrose Hill Park. Eight pairs of eyes watched him go.
The light was fading now after a bright late-autumn day. It was 3.45 in the afternoon and it would be practically dark by 4.30 at this time of the year. Maureen Hayes, sitting in an apparently closed up and deserted park-keepers' shed, was observing Milraud's progress across the park. His light-coloured raincoat made him easy to spot as he sat down on a bench at the top of the hill. She didn't envy him sitting out there on this chilly evening.
His was the only bench occupied; the wind was getting up and everyone else in the park seemed to be hurrying home. A woman in a fake fur coat was dawdling along, holding a little plastic bag in one hand and apparently urging the terrier she had on an extending lead to do his business so they could leave. Three small boys in school uniform went out of the gate chattering, one holding a football under his arm. A faint aroma of burning leaves seeped through the wooden slats of Maureen's hut.
For a second the setting sun caught a window of one of the tall glass buildings somewhere in the City to the south, and a flash of brilliance lit up Milraud's figure, sitting alone at the top of the hill, and momentarily blinded Maureen as she peered at him through her binoculars.
When she could see again, she noticed several people were walking into the park through the same gate Milraud had used. Perhaps an underground train had just come in or maybe they'd got off a bus. Then, as she watched, a young man separated from the others and turned up the path that led to the seat where Milraud still waited.
Could this be Zara, as Milraud's Arab contact was now codenamed? She had been told to expect a tall, thin young Arab, dressed scruffily like a student. But this young man was wearing a dark business suit and carrying a briefcase and a rolled-up copy of the Evening Standard. He was tall and thin all right, and dark-skinned, but he looked more like a City worker returning to his flat in this expensive part of London than a student or a jihadi.
The man was passing Milraud without a glance, when he suddenly stopped, and seemed to be admiring the view. To Maureen's practised eye he was looking for signs of surveillance. Then he stepped behind Milraud's bench and seemed to be rubbing his hands up and down the Frenchman's back. Maureen stared at them through her binoculars, thinking that in other circumstances this would look like some kind of gay encounter.
The newcomer slowly circled around the bench and sat down at the far end from Milraud. There was a pause and the two men seemed to be talking. Then Milraud got up and took off his raincoat, folding it and laying it on the bench. Again the smart young man appeared to be stroking Milraud's body, his chest this time. Whatever was going on? After a short time, Milraud got up, put his raincoat on again and the two men conversed, apparently calmly. After a further ten minutes, the young man stood up and walked away down the hill, in the opposite direction from which he had come, and Milraud retraced his steps to the waiting car.
As Zara headed for the far gate, Maureen alerted the Ops Room, and as he left the park six of Maureen's colleagues were on his tail.
Chapter 28
Liz had had a bit of a struggle persuading the Home Office that she had enough on Lester Jackson to justify a warrant to intercept his communications. On the face of it, a small-time Manchester club owner with no criminal record, let alone any proved involvement in terrorist-related activity, did not present any threat to national security. She had argued strongly that his covert contact with Milraud, a man well known to the French as an arms supplier, in an apparent plot to supply weapons to a group of jihadis, justified the warrant. Eventually she had won the day, but the warrant was to be reviewed after two weeks and if by then no information indicating a national security threat had emerged, it would be cancelled. She had come away from the meeting in Whitehall feeling disgruntled. Two weeks was a very short time in which to prove anything.
She was reading the first transcripts when her phone buzzed – an internal call. She picked it up, impatient at the interruption.
'Liz, you'd better come down.' It was Wally Woods in the A4 Operations room.
'What's happened?'
'Your Zara operation. The meeting took place and we've got the Frenchman back safely in our custody. That's all OK, but we're following Zara and I need to know how you want us to handle it.'
'Give me five minutes?'
'Make it three.'
She rang off and looked at the transcripts again. At 16:45 the day before, Jackson had taken a call on his mobile. The caller had been located two thousand miles away, though they still hadn't tracked the signal down specifically. The conversation had been in English, with the caller speaking fluently but with what sounded like a Russian accent. The transcript read:
Caller: It's Tag here.
Jackson: What's the state of play?
Caller: It's ready to go.
Jackson: There may be some more to come. But for now, have you got everything?
Caller: Yeah, all of it.
Jackson: Twenty pieces?
Caller: (Impatiently) Yes, yes. They all look good to me, though I'm no expert.
Jackson: Can you confirm the route?
Caller: Same as last time.
Jackson: Why not a different port?
Caller: That's up to me, my friend. Once I deliver, the shipment's all yours. Until then it's my worry.
Jackson: Have you got a date?
Caller: Not yet, but it won't be long now. We have some snow so it is hard to be more specific than that.
Jackson: I need 12 hours' warning.
Caller: I can do better than that – I'll give you 24.
Jackson: OK, I'll hold you to that.
Liz shook her head, trying to make sense of it, then got up and walked to the lifts in the centre of Thames House. As she went, she thought about the transcript. Given Jackson's background, it would be fair to assume the conversation was about human trafficking – the goods being East European women shipped over on a lorry for service in places like Slim's.
But something was wrong with that – Liz simply didn't believe twenty would be coming in one shipment, one lorry perhaps. Not to work at Slim's at any rate, where Halliday had explained only half a dozen women were on the game upstairs in the club. And even if Jackson was involved in trafficking women for other places, twenty pieces seemed an improbably large number at one time and an odd term ('pieces') to use, even if the caller was not speaking in his native language and was trying to be discreet. And wasn't it rather strange to say he was no expert, if he was talking about women?
So what on earth was Jackson importing? If it was guns, why only twenty, if they were then going to be re-sent to . . . God knows where? Was this what Milraud had been talking to him about?
She pondered all this as she walked along to the A4 Ops Room. Inside Wally Woods and two colleagues sat, headphones on, in front of a row of TV monitors. Wally was talking into the microphone on the desk and waved her to the battered old leather sofa just inside the door that was kept specially for visiting case officers. The Ops Room was Wally's domain and no one was welcome when an operation was going on except by invitation.
'Which side of Pentonville Road?' he asked the microphone.
Over the speaker a voice Liz recognised as Daley, a veteran surveillance officer, replied, 'South side and walking fast.'
'I have him,' said another voice, more muffled.
Wally kept his eye on the screen but spoke to Liz. 'This Zara's led us a pretty dance. He walked all the way to Great Portland Street station and went into the Tube. We had to rush in there, but then the bugger came out again and caught a bus.'
'Do you think he saw you?'
Wally shook his head. 'Don't think so. You told us to take extra care and we have. I just think he's been trained, and he's being extra careful too.'
'Where did he get off?'
'In Euston Road, by the British Library. He hung about for a bit – I think he wanted to see who else got off the bus. None of us was on it – I've got three cars on this so he was easy enough to follow. It must be the only time in my life I've been grateful for the traffic on the Euston Road.'
As they spoke, video pictures appeared on one of the TV screens of Zara walking up the Pentonville Road, just past King's Cross. It was a hazy picture, taken through the window of one of the surveillance cars, but Liz could clearly see the tall, dark-suited figure striding along the pavement. She watched as it turned and moved towards the entrance of a large building set back from the road. A group of young people were talking by the front door.
Maureen Hayes's voice came through the speaker. 'Zara entering a building. It looks like some sort of college. Groups of young people outside.'
Wally replied, 'Send Tia up to check it out.'
And as Liz watched, a young woman in a hooded jacket and headscarf walked to the front of the building. She threaded her way through the groups of chattering young people, went up the steps and inside.
She was gone about five minutes, and when she came out she said, 'It's called Dinwiddy House.'
Wally turned to Liz, who shrugged. Tia was saying, 'It's a hostel for students at London University. Most of them are at SOAS – School of African and Oriental Studies.'
It made sense. Zara was young, Middle Eastern, like any number of SOAS students.
'Any sign of Zara?' asked Wally.
'No. There's a common room and bar on the ground floor but I couldn't see him in there, though it was pretty crowded and I might have missed him. But I think he went upstairs. That's where their rooms are.'
Wally turned his swivel chair to face Liz. 'You want us to ask around a bit? Try and find out if he lives there?'
Liz shook her head. 'Too risky, especially if he comes downstairs again when you're asking questions. But I'd like an eye kept overnight, just in case he's only visiting. Maybe he's got a girlfriend there. Can you do that?'
Wally nodded. 'It'll be another team but I'll make sure they're well briefed. What do you want us to do if he leaves? Follow him?'
Liz nodded. 'Yes, please. And keep Peggy posted. I've got to go out now to debrief Milraud.' She stood up. 'Thanks, Wally. That's a great help. Now I've got some chance of finding out who this Zara is.'
Two hours later, after Peggy had made a series of urgent phone calls resulting in a senior university administrator being rooted out of his home to consult the file in his office, Liz knew. Zara did indeed live in the hostel known as Dinwiddy House, and was studying for a Masters degree in International Relations at SOAS. He was a Yemeni called Samara and was in the UK on a temporary students' visa. The address given on his visa application and supplied to the college was in Sana'a, the capital of Yemen. He hadn't drawn himself to the attention of the college authorities in any way and a search of the records in MI5 and MI6 came up 'No Trace'. But then, thought Liz ruefully, if this guy was any good, that's what you'd expect.
Chapter 29
The Royal Standard Hotel was in an undistinguished street between Victoria Station and Buckingham Palace. Though it billed itself as 'situated in the shadow of Buckingham Palace', it was in fact much nearer to Victoria Station. An anonymous sort of place, part of a small chain, it provided everything a mid-level businessman or official visiting London might require: wi-fi, cable TV with 'adult' films, in-room tea and coffee, minibar and even an ironing board and iron. All of its 361 rooms were furnished identically, and carpeted and upholstered in variations on the colour theme of beige and maroon.
All in all it was the sort of place where people could come and go without anyone taking much notice. Which is why, a few years ago, Liz Carlyle's colleagues had identified it as perfect for the sort of rendezvous they occasionally needed to conduct. The manager had been recruited as what was called a 'facilities agent', to provide a room or rooms as required, without asking any questions about who might occupy them or what might go on in them. In return he received a present at Christmas and the satisfaction of knowing that he was helping Her Majesty's Government.
On this occasion, two pairs of interconnecting rooms had been booked on different floors. In one of the pair on the eighth floor, Liz Carlyle was sitting, waiting for Dicky Soames, the burly A4 officer and member of the team 'minding' Milraud while he was in London, to produce his charge, so she could find out what had happened at the meeting on Primrose Hill.
There was a light tap on the door and a deep cockney voice said, 'Here we are. OK to come in?' Milraud entered followed closely by Soames, who closed the door firmly behind him and put the lock on.
'I'll be next door, if you want anything,' said Soames, and he went into the other room leaving the intercommunicating door slightly ajar.
Liz motioned the Frenchman to one of the two chairs. She thought how tired and strained he looked. Much more so than when she'd first met him in the safe house in Montreuil.
'Would you like something to drink?' she asked. 'There's tea or coffee, or a drink from the minibar if you'd prefer.'
Milraud shook his head. 'Non, merci,' he said shortly. He had kept on his mackintosh, and he looked chilled, even though it was warm in the room.
Liz switched the kettle on, and as she waited for it to boil, she pointed out of the window at the coloured lights strung across the street. 'Christmas starts earlier every year,' she said cheerfully. Milraud glanced out and nodded, but he seemed a million miles away. Liz took her time making coffee for herself and chatting inconsequentially, hoping to relax the man a little.
She sipped her coffee and winced. 'You made the right decision,' she said, but Milraud's smile was perfunctory. He was clearly impatient for the debrief to begin.
'So how did it go?' asked Liz, sitting down at last.
Milraud shrugged. 'Much as expected.'
'Was he concerned about security? I mean, since your Paris meeting was aborted because of the surveillance.'
Milraud sat up. 'Yes. He was worried that I might have been followed and he checked me out for a microphone. I assured him he need not worry; that I was once an intelligence officer and I know about these things.' He gave a wry smile. 'I explained that I had gone to Paris and Berlin under different passports and I was at least twelve hours ahead of anyone hunting me.' He grimaced; they both knew Milraud had thought this himself.
'Do you think he suspects you?'
'In his position I certainly would – I never trust my customers, so why should they trust me? But when he pressed me about being spotted in Paris, I told him I had as much right to worry about him as he had about me. That shut him up.'
'So after that, what did you discuss? He called the meeting, didn't he? What did he want to say to you?'
'He wanted to add to his order. That was for firearms, as you know.'
'What else does he want?'
'It's a bit surprising. He wants grenades – two dozen of them.'
'Really?' Liz was astonished. The whole business seemed surprising, as it was generally assumed that the jihadi groups fighting in the Arab Spring countries had no difficulty acquiring weapons from their supporters, but this requirement was even more unexpected.
'That's right. And then the oddest thing of all – he wants more ammunition for the weapons he'd ordered. Not more weapons; just more ammunition. Twenty thousand rounds.'
'Twenty thousand?' Liz could not contain her astonishment. It sounded as if Zara was equipping an infantry battalion. And why so much ammunition for only twenty weapons?
'I agree it doesn't make sense, unless he already has a lot of weapons at his disposal. But I didn't have that impression from our first meeting. It's quite peculiar.'
Milraud looked uneasy; Liz sensed there was something on his mind. She waited, but he said no more. Eventually she asked, 'Let's come back again to this black man you met in Berlin. What did he want?'
'I was asked to meet him. I was told he wanted to see who was involved in the deal. I was told he has not done this type of business before.'
'What did he say?'
'Almost nothing. He just asked about my business – how long I'd been supplying, what parts of the world I supplied, that sort of thing.'
'What did you tell him?'
'Very little, but it seemed to satisfy him. Then he rushed off. He was very jumpy.'
He still looked uncomfortable. Then he shrugged and returned to the subject of the meeting with Zara. 'Anyway, I wasn't sure how you wanted me to play it today. So I told him that I would check if I could get the goods he wanted in time and get back to him. He pressed me, so I had to promise to let him know tomorrow.'
'How are you to do that?'
'By email.'
She knew from Seurat that the French were in control of the email traffic.
Milraud asked, 'What do you want me to say?'
'Can you supply the extra things he wants in time?'
'Yes. I only have to email my supplier.'
'Where is he?'
'In Bulgaria.'
Liz didn't hesitate. 'Do it then and tell him you can fulfil the supplementary order. But also tell him you need to know precisely where and how it should be delivered. Press him for details.'
She looked at Milraud intently. He might have been surprised by Zara's request, but she was certain he was holding something back. It didn't make sense that he knew nothing about Jackson. Milraud was acting as if Jackson was Zara's contact and he had nothing to do with him, but she was sure that wasn't the case. Maybe if young Thibault over in Paris could hack into their back email exchanges the full truth would emerge – and a lot sooner than if she waited for Milraud to come clean.
Chapter 30
It was almost eight when Liz left the hotel. Milraud would be spending the night there in the other pair of interconnecting rooms, under the watchful eye of Dicky Soames and his colleagues, before returning to Paris with them as close escorts. There was no way Liz was going to be responsible for losing the man whom Martin Seurat had spent so many years hunting.
In the dark, Thames House looked like a lit-up half-filled egg box: unoccupied offices were dark, but enough officers worked late hours to dot the heavy masonry façade with the lights of their midnight oil. In her office Liz found a handwritten slip from Peggy: Halliday rang. Said call him any time. He has news.
When she reached Halliday there was the background noise of a raucous party going on. 'Hang on a minute,' he shouted. Gradually the noise subsided, until she could hear only traffic whizzing past in the background, tyres wet from rain. Halliday must have stepped outside from whatever club he was visiting. 'Sorry about that,' he said.
'It's Liz Carlyle; I got a message to ring you. But I don't want to interrupt the party.'
'I'm working, believe it or not. I'm drinking vodka and tonic without the vodka, and waiting for the barman to offer to sell me three grams of coke. I thought I'd better take your call outside. I've got some news for you. Not good, I'm afraid.'
'What's happened?'
'We raided Slim's with Immigration – that's the club owned by Lester Jackson. We arrested half a dozen girls working upstairs – they were "hostesses" but they were doing more than serving drinks. All from somewhere in Eastern Europe most likely but they didn't have a set of papers between them.
'Normally that would have been enough to close the place down, and maybe let me squeeze our high-flying friend Mr Jackson a bit. But he wasn't there and he didn't seem to care, and I now know why. He had a leading brief go to the lock-up by breakfast time, and bob's your uncle, it turned out all the girls had proper papers and valid passports – the solicitor claimed he'd been holding them on the girls' behalf.'
'What sort of passports?'
'Bulgarian – every one. And now that it's in the EU that means they can work here, come and go as they please. Not that I believe for a minute their papers were kosher. None of those girls speaks Bulgarian.'
'How do you know? Do you speak it?'
Halliday laughed. 'No. But one of the cleaners at the police station is from Sofia. She said the girls couldn't understand a word she said.'
'But you had to let them go anyway?'
'Yes. No choice. They're all living in Manchester, so it's not up to me. I would have tried to work the prostitution angle, but Manchester SB couldn't be bothered. These days it's hard to convict unless you show the girls involved are either under duress or illegal immigrants. None of the girls would make a complaint so we couldn't do either.'
'Too bad,' said Liz, though she wasn't very surprised. Jackson seemed unlikely to jeopardise his club by laying himself open to a single police raid.
Halliday paused and Liz heard the sound of a bus passing. As it died down Halliday went on, 'That isn't good news, but there's worse to come. I had a source in the club – an older woman who functioned as a kind of "mother" to the working girls. Name of Katya.'
'You "had" a source?'
'Katya was found strangled in the kitchen of her digs two mornings ago. The uniform thought it was a burglary gone wrong but it doesn't ring true to me. There was no sign of forced entry, nothing taken. One of her flatmates found her when she came home from work.'
'Do you see a connection with the club?'
'Yes I do, not that I can prove it.' He hesitated, then finally said, 'The thing is, when we arrested the girls we took Katya in, too. But she was released hours before the others were. I don't know why – she was the only one sprung early. It would have looked peculiar. I didn't ask for her to be let go, that's for sure.'
Liz sensed he was very upset by this. She said encouragingly, 'Maybe Forensics will find something.'
'I don't think so. The killer was very careful. Her place was in the Greater Manchester area and the CID guys there have made it a low priority.'
'Why's that?'
'Either because they reckon it's a one-off and won't lead anywhere, or because they know where it leads and have been warned off.'
'What does that mean?' She didn't like the sound of it at all.
'Ask your friend in Manchester Special Branch.'
He's not my friend, thought Liz, but there was no point in saying this. She asked, 'This woman Katya, did she have a Bulgarian passport too?'
'I don't know what passport she had, but I know she wasn't from Bulgaria.'
'Then where was she from?'
'One of those funny ex-Soviet countries – the ones that end in "stan". Hers was called Dagestan. At least that's what she told me. Never heard of it myself. Have you?'
'Yes,' said Liz flatly. She had heard of it quite recently. 'Listen, I wonder if you can help me with something.'
'Just say the word,' said Halliday so breezily that Liz wondered whether perhaps there had been some vodka in his tonic after all.
'You remember I told you that we'd learned that Jackson was connected to an arms dealer.'
'Yes, I do.'
'Well, we've now had confirmation that he's involved.' She hesitated, then decided she had to trust him – so far at least, he had been completely straight with her, unlike her old friend McManus. 'I think there might be a connection between his role in this arms deal we're investigating and his usual business at the club – bringing in the women, I mean.'
'What kind of connection?'
'Not sure yet.' Liz was working largely on intuition now; she couldn't give Halliday any specifics because she didn't have any. She went on, 'That's where you could be of help. Can you keep an even closer eye than usual on what goes on at Slim's?'
'Yeah, I can do that. But what am I looking for?'
'I know it sounds rather pathetic but I can't actually tell you. Anything that looks stranger than usual. It's about bringing stuff into the country. Importing stuff that could be arms but it probably wouldn't look like that.'
'If you seriously think he's into weaponry, it would probably be wise to run it by Manchester SB, just to be diplomatic.'
'Do you have to? I thought you said Slim's was on your patch?'
There was a pause, then Halliday said, 'No, I don't have to if you're not going to.' He gave a short laugh. 'I see you don't trust McManus either.'
The overnight team outside Dinwiddy House had had a busier time than expected. At twenty past seven in the evening Zara had emerged, dressed now in a black hoody and jeans and carrying a small backpack. He had walked to Euston Station and after collecting a ticket from a pre-paid ticket machine, boarded a train for Manchester Piccadilly. Two of the team had accompanied him, while the Ops Room had dispatched another team to Manchester to be ready to meet the train, in case he stayed on all the way to Manchester.
Which he did. At Manchester the original team handed him over to the new team, which went with him, first on the metro to Manchester Victoria station and then on a local train, from which he got off at Eccles.
By this time it was past eleven o'clock and Liz in bed was on a conference call link to the Ops Room in Thames House. 'Eccles,' she said. 'What on earth can he be going there for? Does anyone know anything about Eccles?'
Peggy, in her flat in Muswell Hill, a few miles further north from Liz, was in on the call and also searching the internet. 'Eccles is part of Salford, about four miles from Manchester. The interesting thing is that it has quite a large Yemeni community. There have been Yemenis in Eccles since the 1940s,' she read out from a website. 'Large numbers came in in the 1950s. There's a Yemeni Community Association. Perhaps he has friends there.'
Meanwhile the team in Manchester was reporting that they had followed Zara to a small terraced house, No. 31 Ashby Road. The door had been opened by a lady, probably in her late sixties, in traditional Muslim dress, who had kissed Zara and welcomed him into the house. They hoped Liz did not require overnight watch on the house, as it was a very quiet neighbourhood and therefore it would be difficult to remain unobserved. Liz had agreed that they could stand down for the night; it seemed most unlikely that anything was imminent. She and Peggy would meet in Thames House at seven in the morning and decide what to do next about Zara.
Chapter 31
Miles woke up slightly hungover, the after-effect of a long evening at the French Embassy, and discovered that his mobile phone was ringing. 'Hello,' he said tentatively; the screen read 'number unknown'.
'Ah, the croaky voice of a man who's had a good night out.'
It was Bruno Mackay. At the best of times, Miles felt a mild antipathy towards his British Intelligence counterpart, and right now there was a jauntiness about the man he could do without.
'What can I do for you, Bruno?' he said shortly.
'I've had a communiqué from London. It seems there's been some progress. Better if we talk face to face, old man? I'll see you at Sharim's café in an hour.'
Miles made it in fifty minutes, feeling slightly revived after a long shower and a shave. He drove cautiously into the old city, keeping an eye on his rear-view mirror; after their experience on the road from Donation's farm, he felt that his car might be a marked vehicle. Parking in a Diplomatic parking bay, under the eye of a policeman, he walked along the pavement until he saw the wide awning of Sharim's – and Bruno, in a white cotton jacket and pink tie, sitting at an outside table.
Miles joined him. Bruno gave a commanding wave and a waiter scurried over with a fresh pot of coffee and a cup for Miles, who watched while the man poured out the syrupy local brew. Miles added two sugar cubes from the little clay pot on the table. As he stirred them in with a tiny wooden spoon, he said to Bruno, 'So what's the news?'
'London's identified the guy they sent the photographs of. The one at the meet in the Luxembourg Gardens that we were going to ask Donation about. His name is Samara and he's Yemeni. He's doing a Master's degree at London University, the School of Oriental and African Studies, SOAS we call it. On the surface he looks perfectly legit. Only quite obviously he's not. I've been asked to check out his credentials here, and I thought you might be able to help me.'
Why? wondered Miles, but then Bruno said, 'You're a bit better placed to ask, I think. If you get my drift.'
And Miles now understood. Official Yemeni–American relations were blossoming. A cynic might say that the United States was propping up a weak local government to further its own interests, but for whatever reason, a request for help from the American Embassy was likely to get a quicker, more favourable reaction than if the Brits had asked.
'It may take me a little while,' Miles said.
'Not a problem, old boy. We've got a couple of hours on London as it is. They'll still be fast asleep.'
Miles's contact was a middle-level officer in the Yemeni Intelligence Service called Arack, who had been a graduate student at the University of Southern California. It was never entirely clear what he had studied there, and he seemed to know the beaches north of Santa Monica rather better than the classrooms of USC. But he was a useful contact, since the Yemeni bureaucracy was both legendarily cumbersome and unreceptive to foreign approaches, and Arack was always willing to help the Americans, provided the request was relatively easy to fulfil and his reward readily forthcoming. He was known to Miles and his colleagues, semi-derisorily, as 'Sweet Tooth' because of his love of sugary cakes and desserts, which made payment for his services unusually easy.
Miles and Arack met now for coffee and a baklava-like concoction in a café near the Yemeni Ministry of Defence. Arack listened sympathetically while Miles explained what he was looking for. 'We just want confirmation that the personal details we have for this student are correct and that he is known to your authorities and is in London legitimately.'
'Is there any reason to think he is not?' asked Arack mildly.
'No,' said Miles, though it didn't take a genius to realise there had to be a question about the 'student', or else Miles wouldn't be checking him out. 'It's just a formality.'
Arack nodded, happy to hear that this was not something he would have to call to the attention of his superiors. 'Naturally births and deaths are registered here, as they are in the United States, and there is a department for that purpose. But you might find its office difficult to navigate. Let me make a few calls and get back to you. Give me the details please, and I would be grateful if you could ask the waiter to come over.'
Arack rang Miles just before dinner. There was a shortage of eligible Western women in Sana'a and Miles was about to have dinner with one of them – a new shapely secretary called, appropriately, Marilyn, who had come out to work in the Embassy the month before. He waited impatiently as Arack went through the standard Middle Eastern formalities, applied rigorously even to a phone call. How was Miles? As if they hadn't met five hours before. Was not the weather good this day, and would it not be fine throughout the evening? At last Arack came to the point, though even then he spoke elliptically. 'I am afraid I have surprising news for you, my friend.'
'Really?'
'We have no record of this man, you see.'
'What do you mean?'
'Just what I have said. There is no birth certificate, no record of an education and no passport.'
'Could the name be spelled differently?'
'I have pursued all possible variants. More important, the residential address you say this fellow gave in Sana'a does exist but . . . it is a bicycle shop. I can assure you, there is no citizen with the particulars you supplied.'
Miles mind was no longer on his date with Marilyn. 'OK. Thank you for checking this for me.'
'My pleasure. I wish you luck finding this gentleman. But I can assure you, it will not be in the Yemen.'
Damn, thought Miles as he put down the phone, then picked it up to cancel his date. He hoped Marilyn wouldn't be too disappointed – though he was, especially since he realised there would be a further call to make. It looked like he would be having dinner with Bruno Mackay instead.
Chapter 32
Since Peggy Kinsolving had joined MI5, and particularly since she had been working with Liz Carlyle, she had found out a lot of things about herself that she didn't know. At school and university she had been a quiet, studious, and rather shy girl. She loved acquiring information, categorising it, sorting it out so she could access it and apply her considerable intelligence and her almost photographic memory to it.
These were the qualities that had taken her from her grammar school in the north of England to Oxford, where as predicted she had obtained a good 2:1 degree. No one, including Peggy herself, had ever thought she had the intellectual confidence and verve that makes a first-class scholar.
Her social life at university had followed the same cautious pattern. She had joined a few societies of the intellectual type and one day, showing much daring, she had gone with a friend to a meeting of the college dramatic society, who were looking for backstage staff. Everyone in the society, it seemed, wanted to be on the stage and in the limelight, and no one was prepared to do the behind-the-scenes work. Peggy thought that job would suit her very well, and it did. She brought her formidable information-sorting skills to organising the props, the scenery, the sound effects; eventually she became completely indispensable to any performance.
She would stand in the wings, noticing every detail, knowing everyone's part better than they did themselves and making sure that at least from a technical point of view the performance was perfect. She loved the drama but only from behind the scenes. She could never be persuaded to take even the smallest role on the stage. The thought of appearing before an audience petrified her.
Satisfied with her 2:1 and pursuing what she thought was her métier, Peggy had taken a job in a small research library, working on sorting and cataloguing the papers of an obscure female Victorian novelist. But after a couple of years she had begun to find the work dull and unsatisfying, and her social life in a small town where she knew no one was practically non-existent.
So when she saw an advertisement for a research post in a government department in London, with some hesitation she applied and found herself working as a research assistant in MI6. A chance secondment to MI5 a few years later led to her working with Liz Carlyle. At first her work had been purely research, but Liz had seen something in her young assistant that made her think there was more to Peggy than met the eye, and she had gradually encouraged her to take on a more upfront role.
At first Liz had given her some simple interviews to do, then she had moved her on to situations where Peggy had to play a role, to pretend to be someone other than an MI5 officer.
This was when they both realised that Peggy had a penchant for acting a part. Though she would still rather die than go on stage and act before an audience, put in a one-to-one situation she could convincingly present herself as anything from a housewife to a hedge-fund manager – and enjoy doing it.
Today she was an electoral registration officer. She'd dressed primly: a mid-length blue skirt, matching tights, sensible shoes, and dark paisley shirt under a navy blue blazer. She carried a clipboard and pen, and with her glasses firmly in place on her nose looked entirely like the local authority bureaucrat she was pretending to be.
At two o'clock that afternoon she knocked on the door of 29 Ashby Road. Most of the area seemed to be lived in by Muslim families, but she knew from the electoral register that this house<|fim_middle|>Chapter 35
At eight o'clock the following morning Liz Carlyle, Geoffrey Fane and Andy Bokus were sitting in the basement secure room in the Grosvenor Square Embassy. Each had in front of them a copy of the message that had come in overnight from Miles Brookhaven in Sana'a, describing his meeting with Baakrime in the car park.
'Well,' said Bokus, looking at his two British visitors, 'I've been in touch with Langley overnight. We don't want this Donation guy, so it's up to you. Are you prepared to have him?'
'Come now, Andy,' said Fane in his most patronising tone. 'I know it's early in the morning and you may well have been up half the night, but let's just talk about this for a minute. As I read what Baakrime said to Brookhaven, it's the US he wants to go to. He made no mention of the UK.'
'He wants to get out of there before someone tops him, and I don't suppose for a minute he's going to turn down a passage to London. It seems to me that it's you who stand to benefit from whatever he has to say. He's talking about British jihadis, not American, so it's your side who should bear the cost. That's what I've advised Langley and they agree.'
There was silence for a moment. Geoffrey Fane was leaning forward on the bench with his elbows on the table and his fingertips together. Liz Carlyle knew that any meeting between these two had to begin with some sort of ritual sparring match, and she was used to biding her time until the first bout was over. It looked as though it was, so she said, 'I think you'll agree, Andy, that it's crucial that we find out what Donation knows about these British jihadis he's talking about. It seems to me that Miles has asked him all the right questions. What we don't yet know is whether he can answer them. It's far too early to consider giving him asylum, let alone accepting him as a defector.'
'It's easy for you to say that, sitting here in London,' replied Bokus testily. 'The guy wants an answer and he's expecting Miles to give him one. Can he get out of the country or not? That's what he wants to know. Miles may not be able to get him to spill his guts if he can't give him the assurance he wants.'
'I hear what you say,' said Fane, 'but you and Langley seem to have made your mind up that the answer's No. It's just as much in your interests as ours to find out what these jihadis are planning to do. They may be British, but how do we know they're not planning an attack on a US target? Maybe it's the Embassy here. You won't look so clever if your colleagues get blown up.'
'Give it a break, Geoffrey. Our security is better than a bunch of home-grown jihadis can breach, and you know it.'
Round two over, thought Liz as Fane turned to her. And asked, 'Is your Service prepared to sponsor this character at the Defector subcommittee?'
Liz knew that doing that would mean making a case that Donation was likely to have information, or had already given information so valuable to the UK that he should be accepted as a defector with all the expenditure of cash and resource that that implied.
'Not as things stand now,' she replied. 'They'd never accept it. I'm afraid I think we will have to rely on Miles to extract whatever information Donation has, while making no promises about his future.'
'He's going to love that as a brief,' grunted Bokus.
'Have you any better idea?' asked Fane.
'I'm sure he'll do it perfectly,' said Liz with a charming smile. I hope so, she thought to herself. If not, all we're left with is the Jackson end of this puzzle and whatever we can get out of Antoine Milraud.
'OK,' said Bokus with a shrug. 'I'll let Miles have the good news.'
Chapter 36
It was an unprepossessing kind of place – just a small room with a little kitchen and a lavatory on the first floor above a minimarket in the old city. But it was safe. The minimarket was owned and run by the father of a longstanding and trusted CIA contact who lived in Virginia. Access to the upstairs was through the shop and under the watchful eye of its owner.
Miles and Bruno Mackay sat on a scruffy sofa gloomily contemplating a bottle of scotch and three glasses lined up on a low table in front of them. They'd read the instructions that had come in from Bokus earlier in the day.
'God knows how they expect us to get the story out of him when we've got nothing to offer in return,' Miles had said angrily.
'I know. I sometimes wonder if our lords and masters have forgotten what it's like at the sharp end, dealing with real people. String him along, they say, cheerfully, till he's told you all he knows, then we'll think about whether it's good enough and if not we'll throw him back to whoever's hunting him.'
They'd made their plan: who was to start the conversation, who was to say what and when, and now they sat in silence waiting for the concealed buzzer that would indicate that their visitor was in the shop. Silence; just the sound of shopping going on downstairs and the ring of the till as purchases were made.
Time passed. Miles looked at his watch for the third time. The Yemeni was now half an hour late. They both knew not to expect punctuality in this part of the world, but how long should they wait?
'I'm having a drink,' said Bruno suddenly. He unscrewed the cap on the whisky bottle and poured out two generous slugs, slopping in some water from a jug.
Miles was brooding over the fact that Marilyn had sent him an email, asking if he would be her guest at a small chamber concert hosted by the Ambassador's wife that evening. Though he wasn't especially interested in classical music, he was still interested in Marilyn, but he'd had to decline the invitation because of this meeting. Not being able to tell her the truth about his evening plans, he'd had to give her a vague excuse, and from her reaction he'd sensed that that had been his last chance. If Baakrime wasn't going to turn up it would be all the more galling.
'He's not coming,' said Bruno, another half-hour and another drink later. 'Let's pack up and go and get some dinner.'
'OK but we'd better let London know first.'
'Yes. Liz Carlyle is going to be pretty fed up that we haven't got any information about these British jihadis.'
Miles slept badly, dreaming of a sailing expedition from his childhood when they had run aground off Nantucket. In real life no one had been hurt; in his dream, inexplicably someone had drowned, lost in the shoals after the boat overturned in the incoming tide. He woke in a sweat at three in the morning, then turned on the BBC World Service, which eventually lulled him back to sleep shortly before dawn.
At the Embassy he found a message from the Ambassador's secretary, summoning him to see Rodgers. He went along anxiously, thinking he must have been spotted meeting Baakrime two days before, and wondering how to explain this violation of the Ambassador's orders to stay well away from the Minister. But he found the Ambassador unaccountably good-humoured, honouring Miles with a beneficent smile as he entered his office. 'Miles, Miles, how good to see you. All going well?'
'Yes, sir,' Miles said cautiously, wondering what was coming next.
'I've got some news. You remember our conversation about Minister Baakrime?'
'Yes,' said Miles.
'Well, you don't have to worry about him any more.'
'Oh. What's happened?' He felt a sense of dread. Had Baakrime been right to fear for his safety? He should have done more to protect him.
The Ambassador didn't answer him directly. 'Yes, you won't have to avoid that gentleman any more.'
Miles stared at Rodgers, unable to pretend he was anything but horrified. 'Is he—'
Rodgers nodded. 'Yep. The Yemeni government has informed me this morning that Mr Baakrime is currently a resident of Moscow, courtesy of an Aeroflot flight he caught yesterday in Istanbul. Fine by me, I have to say, though the Yemenis are not at all amused. They reckon he took twenty-five million bucks of government money with him. I bet the Russians won't let him keep a dime of it. What do you know about that?'
Far more than you, thought Miles, wondering what Bokus was going to say when he learned that Baakrime had not needed any of the US government's money – he was perfectly capable of paying his own way.
Chapter 37
There had been no further emails to Milraud from the young jihadi Zara in the UK. When Seurat pressed him Milraud merely shrugged, and said that when he'd met the young Arab both in Paris and Primrose Hill he had not been given a schedule for his next communication. Milraud's insouciance infuriated Seurat, but he did his best not to show it – he didn't want to give his former colleague the satisfaction of seeing him get angry, when getting angry wouldn't do any good.
But he needed to move things forward. Liz had told him that the Americans' source in Yemen, the government Minister who had started this whole operation going, had now fled the country; she had also told him of MI5's discovery that Zara, far from being the Yemeni student he claimed, was a native-born Briton. It was quite possible that whatever Zara was plotting could be well advanced, which made it crucial to find out what else Milraud knew. He clearly wasn't going to volunteer information, so Seurat had to find some way to lever it out of him. He knew Milraud well enough to know that threats and confrontation would get him nowhere, so he fell back on his ace card – Annette.
He arranged to meet her at a café near the Seine, a few streets from the Musée d'Orsay. The café straddled an intersection of two streets that met at right angles; its outside tables allowed a clear view of both the pedestrians and the cars that drove past. When Annette arrived, accompanied by her two guards, Milraud had been sitting for fifteen minutes, and was satisfied that he would recognise any returning cars or pedestrians that might indicate surveillance. The coast seemed to be clear, as he expected it to be.
As Annette sat down, her two guards took up positions at a nearby table. The waiter came over and she ordered a large Campari and soda before asking Seurat, 'To what do I owe the privilege of being let out of my cage?'
'I thought you might enjoy a little outing.' He knew that Annette was allowed out once a day for a stroll, but only when accompanied by her armed escorts. Meeting Seurat here, she could at least enjoy the pretence of being an ordinary Parisian.
'Come, come, Martin,' she said. 'We both know your concern for my welfare is strictly professional. You never cared a damn about me.'
'That's not true at all—' Martin protested.
Annette dismissed this with a curt wave of her hand. 'Even if you did regard me as a friend back then, you are not going to let that affect you now. So tell me what you want from this tête-à-tête.'
Seurat said nothing while the waiter was putting Annette's drink on the table. The two guards, alert and watchful, weren't even pretending to talk to each other; they were scanning the comings and goings at the café tables and in the street. When the waiter had left, Seurat said quietly, 'Antoine is holding back on us, Annette. I don't know if he's actually lied to us, but he certainly hasn't told us the whole truth.'
Annette lifted her drink and took a long swallow. Putting the glass down, she pursed her lips, as though considering what to say.
Seurat sighed. 'I haven't got time for games, Annette. If Antoine is concealing information, it will come out sooner or later, and then things will go very hard for him. And you.'
'You've already made that clear.' She reached into her bag and brought out a packet of cigarettes – Russian Sobranies. She lit one with a wafer-thin gold lighter from Cartier – he remembered Milraud showing it to him after he had bought it for Annette's Christmas present years ago. A reminder of more innocent times.
He said, 'Yes, but what I haven't told you is what Antoine has got himself involved in. This isn't a normal kind of arms deal we are talking about.'
'No?' Annette said neutrally, but she was tapping the fingers of one hand on the Formica tabletop, and Martin sensed her curiosity.
'No, it's much worse than that. Your husband would like to think he's supplying arms to freedom fighters in the Arab Spring, but that's not the real situation and I think he knows it. He's helping to arm terrorists – al-Qaeda supporters.'
Annette frowned and shook her head. 'You've been listening to the Americans too much, Martin. They think anyone who doesn't agree with them is a terrorist – and that all Muslims are al-Qaeda supporters.'
'Don't pretend to be simple-minded. What I'm telling you is true. I can't be sure yet exactly how the weapons Antoine has agreed to supply to these people will be used, but it's not for any struggle against dictatorship, I can tell you. Antoine's buyer is a radical jihadi, whose sole purpose is to kill anyone who fits his distorted idea of an enemy of Islam. His mission is likely to be to murder as many people as possible. Innocent people, by any civilised standard.'
He was staring at Annette but her eyes avoided his face, gazing past him to the street outside. She took a deep drag of her cigarette, then slowly blew it out in a white trail that hung in a plume over the table. She tapped her milky pink nails on the table. 'Antoine is many things, Martin, most of them good. You may not approve of his life now, but he is as human as you are, in every essential way. I am sure he would never sell weapons to anyone like the man you are describing.'
'He may not have known at first, I grant you that. But I think he's guessed now and he's doing it just the same.'
'Can you prove it?'
'No. Not yet. But everything is pointing to the truth of what I'm saying.' He judged that it was better to be up-front with Annette; if he misled her she would press him until that became clear. 'What I do know without a doubt is that his customer is English, even if he's ethnically Arab. And why would an English citizen want twenty thousand rounds of ammunition – and it is even looking possible that it is to be delivered to England – unless he was planning a terrorist attack of some kind? It simply doesn't make sense if he's a "freedom fighter" in Yemen, does it?'
He could see she was taking this in, and beginning to waver from her previous defiance, so he turned the screw further. 'We don't know what his plans are, but we need to find out before there's a bloodbath. You wouldn't want to have that blood on Antoine's hands, would you?' He added more gently, 'Or on your own.'
'I'd like another drink,' Annette said loudly, and Seurat signalled to the waiter. Annette sighed. 'You were always a persuasive bastard, Martin. Antoine used to come home and describe how the two of you had interrogated someone. You know my husband – he'd have been direct and aggressive. But he admired your method; he said you could charm the birds out of the trees.'
Seurat gave a non-committal shrug. Annette laughed. 'Still the modest one. That was something else Antoine admired.'
'There was a lot I admired in Antoine too,' said Martin.
'Yes, perhaps there was.' She sounded wistful. 'But not any more. I can see that in your eyes.'
'No. Not any more. Not after what he did. I took that as a personal betrayal.'
'Really?' She looked at him thoughtfully. 'I don't think I'd realised that – though I suppose I should have done. You were always so upright; nothing tempted you off the path of duty.' Her face looked sad and drawn as she sat quietly while the waiter brought her drink. When he had gone she sat up straight as though she had resolved something. 'So back to the beginning – what is it you want me to do?' she asked.
'Talk to Antoine. If you believe what I've told you about his client, and I think you do, then make him believe it too. Forget about jail sentences or clemency or anything like that; I'm not bargaining right now. I just don't believe Antoine would want to see dozens, maybe hundreds of innocent people massacred because he'd helped their killers.'
Chapter 38
Milraud watched as Annette got up from the bed, dressed in a silk slip and nothing else. She took a cigarette from the packet on the bedside table, lit it with the Cartier lighter he had given her years ago, and then went to the window, where she stood staring down at the narrow street that snaked along until, just out of sight, it reached the Seine.
He sat up in the bed, so that his back was cushioned by the pillows that he'd propped against the headboard. He said softly, 'Chérie, it is good to be with you.'
'Yes, my darling,' she said, but there was a hint of sadness in her voice and she didn't turn round.
He said, 'Martin is no fool, you know.'
Now she did turn round, and looked at him, her eyes filling with tears.
He went on, 'He let me come to see you because he knew how much I wanted to. Enough to tell him what he wants, in the hope that he will let us stay together.'
'Yes,' acknowledged Annette. 'But better this time together than no time at all.' She had been surprised, sitting in the flat, reading an old paperback novel she had found on a shelf and trying to ignore the guard who was making tea in the kitchen, when Antoine had arrived. He told her that he had suddenly been told to grab his coat and go for a drive; he'd had no idea that he was being taken into Paris to see his wife. In a rare tactful act, the now-combined force of armed escorts had left them alone, though they were hovering nearby – in the hall outside the flat, on the ground floor with the concierge, and outside by the parked Mercedes that had chauffeured Antoine from Montreuil.
Milraud looked at his wife, still as attractive to him as she'd been when they'd first met some twenty years before. He tried not to think of what prison would do to her figure, and to her spirited approach to life. It would do the same to him, no doubt, but he had already resigned himself to a long spell behind bars.
'Are there important things you haven't told Martin?' she asked.
Milraud raised his eyes towards the ceiling. He assumed the flat was bugged, especially if they'd let him see Annette here. She understood, and came back to the bed, stopping to turn on the radio on the bedside table. The station was playing Edith Piaf and they both laughed as they heard the song in mid-flow – 'Je Ne Regrette Rien'.
Annette lay down next to Antoine and whispered, 'So are there?'
'Of course. But why are you asking now? Has Seurat put you up to this?' He only slightly lowered his voice; he didn't care if the microphone picked this up over the radio; he was angry that they were being manipulated.
She didn't waver, whispering right away, 'He says the people you are supplying are much worse than you realise. They're not rebels fighting in the Middle East. He said they're al-Qaeda or their equivalent, and they're planning a terrorist attack.'
Milraud shifted uneasily on the bed, moving an inch or two away from his wife. 'How does he know?' He realised he had not spent any time questioning the intentions of the young Arab he had first met in the Luxembourg Gardens. His initial introduction to the man had come from Minister Baakrime, whom he had dealt with often before. He had simply assumed that the Minister had either been bribed by Yemen's insurgents to help them get arms, or was actually a secret sympathiser with the rebels.
He realised now that he had been naïve, but what did it matter? He had never made judgements about his clients, and he had helped arm revolutionaries across most of the world. There was no telling which side was right and which wrong, and if someone in his trade tried to make those sort of judgements they'd soon go mad or out of business. These affairs often ended in a place no one had foreseen. Look at Iraq now, or Libya, or Syria.
He was about to say as much to Annette, when she put a firm finger to his lips. 'Listen to me, Antoine. Naturally, Martin wanted me to talk to you; of course he wants me to persuade you to tell him everything you know. I would never hide what he said from you. I don't think we have any choice. If you know more about what's going on, then you should tell me and I will tell Martin.'
'But then I have nothing left to bargain with.'
'We are in no position to bargain, chéri. But even if we were, I have to tell you that if Martin is telling the truth – and I think he is – then I don't want you to help these people. They are killers; they kill children and their mothers. They have no just cause, only hate.'
Milraud lay back, his head against the pillow, and stared at the ceiling while he thought about this. Had Annette gone soft on him? It seemed improbable – if anything she had always been the tougher of the two of them, more businesslike, never very concerned about the morality of his trade. He knew she was scared of going to prison, but he also knew that she was very loyal to him – and her concern about what this young Yemeni, if that's what he was, was going to do with the weapons he was supplying was genuine. And he had to admit it did alarm him too – the thought of this character and his followers or colleagues killing dozens of innocents in Western Europe was appalling.
'OK,' he said at last, though he didn't look at his wife, but kept his eyes on the ceiling, as if addressing a deity or, he was pretty certain, the listening ears of his former colleagues in the DGSE. 'I'll tell him what I know. But it's not much.'
'I expect anything will help,' said Annette lightly.
Milraud turned on the bed and looked at her at last. 'The originator of the contact in Paris was a Yemeni minister. That's why I thought this was legit.' Legit struck him as a funny way to describe the transaction, but he knew Annette would understand what he meant – he had thought he was simply supplying one side of the innumerable civil wars that seemed to be proliferating all over the region.
'I understand. But now?'
'What Martin has told you could make sense. I haven't told him everything I know. I haven't told him exactly where the shipment is being assembled, though he knows the country. He doesn't know anything about the onward shipping arrangements. He knows there's a British person involved but he doesn't know that the order is now to be delivered to England. And he doesn't know that originally it was to go somewhere else.'
'Where?'
'Here,' he said simply. 'Paris.'
Annette looked shocked. 'So what changed?'
Milraud shrugged. 'I don't know. But if Martin's right about these people, it means the target's changed. Now it must be in Britain.'
Chapter 39
This time they were to meet in Fane's office in the MI6 building at Vauxhall Cross. As she walked across Vauxhall Bridge from Thames House, leaning into the gusty wind that was blowing off the river, Liz recalled the email exchanges between Grosvenor Square and Vauxhall that had preceded this meeting. Their tone suggested that the encounter between Fane and Bokus was going to be as rough as the weather, and she was not looking forward to playing the role of peacemaker.
Fane's office was a spacious room, high up in one of the semicircular protuberances at the front of the building. Its two large windows had a commanding view of the Thames – to the right Parliament and the MI5 building on the north bank, and to the left across to Kensington and Chelsea and upriver to Hammersmith. Somehow Fane had managed to acquire the sort of antique official furniture usually only to be found in the Foreign Office, and he had added some oriental rugs and a table that he had inherited from his grandmother. The whole effect was of a country gentleman's study, and about as far as you could get from the bleak, functional office that Bokus inhabited in the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square.
Liz knew that Bokus never felt comfortable in Fane's office, and when she arrived he was standing by the windows, looking stiff and awkward. Fane's secretary, Daisy, followed her into the room with a pot of coffee on a silver tray with china cups and saucers. Bokus waved her away when she offered him a cup and sat down heavily in one of the chairs round the table.
'Let's get on with it,' he said as soon as Daisy had left the room.
Fane took the chair at the head of the table and gestured to Liz to sit down opposite Bokus. He took his time sipping his coffee before saying, 'Thank you for the email, Andy; I think we are all sorry to learn that your source Donation has left Yemen. And very surprised to learn that he has gone to Moscow. I for one was not aware that he was in touch with the Russians. Were you, Elizabeth?'
Liz did not reply, and Bokus broke in, 'Not Moscow. Our latest information is that he's gone to Dagestan. We don't know why. He may have arms-dealing contacts there, or maybe the Russians have shipped him off there to get him out of Russia. But it seems that somehow he's got himself mixed up with jihadis – and got on their bad side; I told you his son was murdered. This is a man used to playing both sides from the middle, only suddenly he was squeezed from either end. The Yemeni government was growing fed up with him; now the jihadis have as well. So he's done a runner. But instead of running our way, as he would have done if you'd been a bit quicker on your feet, he's gone in the other direction.'
Fane shook his head and said, 'You were handling Donation – we weren't. If you'd been prepared to take a risk and be a little more generous, then maybe we would have got something back. Instead, the bird's flown the coop and taken his information and his money with him.'
Liz was about to intervene, but as she drew in her breath to speak, Bokus snapped, 'You can blame us all you like, but it isn't the United States that's at risk from this arms deal he was telling us about. It's you, and you weren't willing to do anything to keep him sweet and find out what he knew.' Bokus looked angry enough to spit. 'As always, you expect us to bail you out, and if we don't, you scream bloody murder and say it's all our fault. But you can't pin this one on the Agency.'
Bokus sat back in his chair, his face red and his arms crossed over his stomach. Liz could see that Fane was taken aback by the American's aggression. She had long suspected that Bokus's usual front was a pose. The bluff, rough Yank who spoke in monosyllables was, she had always been pretty sure, put on for Fane's benefit – a kind of defence mechanism against the smooth English gentleman. A tirade like this from Bokus was unprecedented, and unique for its articulate delivery, which meant that it came from the heart and what they were seeing was the real Bokus behind the taciturn façade.
Since Fane looked as if he was gathering himself for a counter-offensive, Liz decided to intervene before things got totally out of hand. She said calmly, 'I think we need to move on. Donation's gone, and we won't get any more from him, wherever he is. We need to focus now on what we've learned.'
'OK,' said Bokus. 'Donation was only the middleman. The coalface is this guy Atiyah. He's the one you've got to worry about, and he's been operating right under your noses. He's a Brit, and you didn't know anything about him.'
'For God's sake,' broke in Fane, 'how is that supposed to be helpful? We've got a British citizen gone bad – is that a unique situation? You want to tell me how the American Somalis slipped through your nets? Or the Boston bombers? Two can play at that blame game, you know.'
Liz broke in, 'Or we can accept that we both face the same difficulties and work together to sort them out.'
Fane was silent and Bokus gave her a long stare, but her words seemed to have a calming effect. Bokus threw both hands up in a parody of surrender. 'OK. But I didn't start this.'
'Oh no?' Fane said, ready to dive in again, until Liz gave him a look that could freeze stone. She continued quickly, 'Why don't we start with what we know?' Before either man could say anything at all, she added, 'Antoine Milraud the French arms dealer has decided to be a little more forthcoming. I'm not sure he's telling us everything he knows, but it's more than he was telling us before.'
'How'd you manage that?' asked Bokus. 'Feminine charm?' Liz was relieved to see him grin.
'It was the French, actually, who got him to talk.'
'Monsieur Seurat?' asked Fane.
Give it a rest, Geoffrey, thought Liz, doing her best to ignore him. 'The man Milraud met in Berlin, the black man in the museum, will be receiving a delivery of guns and ammunition in the next ten days or so, somewhere here in the UK. Originally the delivery was going to be in Paris.'
'So what's changed?' asked Bokus. Liz rather liked the way he was always happy to ask the obvious questions – whereas Fane would hold back, unwilling to admit there were things he didn't understand.
She said, 'It's looking increasingly likely that the arms aren't for use in the Middle East – why bring them all the way to France or Britain if they were? We don't know why at first it was Paris, but I'm now afraid they're intended for a terrorist attack and that it's going to take place here in Britain.' She noticed that both Bokus and Fane's eyes widened at this.
Fane said, 'You say "all the way to France or Britain" – where do we think these arms are coming from?'
'Milraud says it's Dagestan.'
'Where our friend Donation – Baakrime – is right now,' said Bokus.
Liz nodded. 'I doubt it's a coincidence.'
Bokus said, 'But he's unreachable there – for us and for you. Neither of us has any permanent post in Dagestan and we'd never get anyone in there in time to find out anything useful. If we're going to crack this open it's not going to be through Dagestan or Baakrime.'
'That's right,' Liz said firmly, determined that the question of who was to blame for Baakrime's flight from Yemen should not be reopened. 'But we still need Miles Brookhaven in Yemen on the case. If he can find out the identities of the British youths who went out to Yemen – the ones Baakrime said were planning on returning home for some purpose – then we can keep tabs on them if and when they come back into Europe.' Liz didn't really think Miles would be able to find out anything useful, but she felt it was important to keep the Americans on board. Which meant providing at least a pretence of a job for Miles Brookhaven to do in Yemen.
'That's if they haven't got new false documents,' said Bokus doubtfully.
She went on, 'We've got two potential sources of information here: the young man Atiyah, who's been the contact with Antoine Milraud – we've got twenty-four-hour surveillance on him. And this man Lester Jackson.'
'That's the black man from Berlin?' Fane asked.
'Yes. He owns a club just outside Manchester. He's well known to the local Special Branch, but it's all standard criminal stuff – drugs and the white slave trade. Since Jackson's shipped women, he'll know how to ship arms, I imagine. I bet he's being employed for his expertise in trafficking.'
'Trafficking from where?' asked Bokus.
'I wonder,' said Fane caustically.
Liz gave a resigned smile. 'Dagestan, of course,' she said. 'We know that at least one of the women in his club came from there. Anyway, we can't do much besides watch Atiyah for now – if we brought him in, it could blow the case without our finding out what he's planning to do. If he's been terrorist-trained in Yemen, he's not going to crack under questioning. We just have to hope he makes some kind of a mistake in the next week – you know, phone someone or send an incriminating email.'
'Why don't you turn him over to the Yemenis?' asked Bokus, and Fane laughed.
Liz shook her head in regret. 'I wish we could. But there's the small matter of his being a British citizen. So we'll watch him all right, but I think Jackson's a better bet. He's got no reason to think we suspect him – as far as he knows he got away in Berlin – but we know more about him than he realises.'
Fane said, 'Who's going to direct the operation to put the squeeze on this chap? Local Special Branch?' He sounded sceptical.
'No,' said Liz. 'It will be us. I'm going up to Manchester tomorrow.'
'Rather you than me,' said Fane, looking at the rain now lashing the windows and sounding pleased for the first time that day.
Chapter 40
Liz had done her homework before she'd made an appointment to see the Chief Constable of Greater Manchester Police. She already knew that Greater Manchester was one of the largest police forces in Britain and she was expecting to find that the Chief Constable was one of the old school, a man who had risen through the ranks, man and boy a policeman, near to retirement and fiercely loyal to his colleagues and to the old style of policing.
What she found was that Chief Constable Richard Pearson was forty-seven years old, the youngest Chief Constable of any of the larger forces in England. He had degrees from Nottingham and Edinburgh Universities and a D.Phil. from Oxford and had been a part-time officer in the Territorial Army for a number of years. He had risen fast through the police ranks and had been in his present post only six months, appointed as part of a push from the Home Office for a new image for policing. He had previously spent two years as Chief Constable of the Cheshire force. With all this information filed away in her mind, Liz set off in quite cheerful mood on the train to Manchester, thinking that perhaps the interview with the Chief was going to be less tricky than she'd thought.
The Police HQ was a three-mile taxi ride from the station, on a smart new industrial estate, full of brick-and glass buildings dominated by the service industries. After signing the register in the large atrium and receiving a visitor's pass to hang round her neck, Liz waited, sitting on a sofa in front of a low table spread with newspapers and assorted police leaflets, one of which was covered with photographs of Manchester's most wanted criminals. She flicked through these with interest and was not in the least surprised to find that Lester Jackson was not among them. She was musing that he was probably worse than any of those whose mugshots were on display when a young female constable arrived to escort her to the Chief's office on the top floor.
A tall, lean man with a shock of blonde hair got up from the desk as she was shown into the room and came forward with a big smile and a hand held out. As she shook it Liz said, 'Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.'
'It sounded important.'
'It is,' she said as they sat down in easy chairs in a corner of the room. 'We're working on a counter-terrorism case that involves a young British man of Yemeni origin. His mother lives in Eccles.'
'That's part of our Salford West Division,' said the Chief.
'He doesn't live there. He's a student at SOAS in London – though he's told the college he's from Yemen and he's given them false identity details. But he's Eccles born and bred and he comes home periodically.'
Pearson gave a half-smile. 'I suppose even terrorists have mothers. Do you have a name for this chap?'
'We do. His name is Atiyah. We call him Zara and we'll be briefing your counter-terrorist team as things develop. But Zara is not the reason I'm here to see you.'
Liz paused but Pearson said nothing. She went on, 'We believe that Zara is due to receive a shipment of guns and ammunition from abroad – it's coming from one of the ex-Soviet republics – Dagestan. We're not sure exactly when but believe it will arrive in the next week or so – as part of a delivery to a middleman in Manchester, who we think regularly receives shipments through this route as part of a criminal business.'
'Does the middleman have a name?'
'Lester Jackson. He owns a club called Slim's in Wilmslow – it's a combination of flash restaurant, small-time casino and brothel.'
The Chief Constable nodded. 'I know all about Jackson and Slim's. I was Chief in Cheshire before I came here. But I wouldn't have associated him with terrorism.'
'No, I understand. And I don't think he is directly involved in terrorism. I think he's just making some extra cash by adding the weapons to one of his regular deliveries. I very much doubt if he realises all the consequences of what he's involved in.'
'How did he get drawn into this?'
'I think it must be through his transport contact in Dagestan. It's complicated, but the whole affair seems to have originated with a corrupt government minister in Sana'a in Yemen. We think he has been buying weapons in Dagestan and selling them on at a huge profit to whoever will buy them. He seems to have agreed to supply a bunch of jihadis – and Zara is one of them. At first we thought they were going to use them in the Arab Spring countries, but it's beginning to look as if they plan to use them here.'
'OK,' said the Chief slowly. 'I know you'll be keeping our counter-terrorist team up to date with all this, but what did you particularly want to see me about? I get the feeling there's something else you haven't told me yet.'
Liz smiled. 'You're right – there is something else. As you said, Lester Jackson is well known to the Manchester and Cheshire forces. I gather he's never been arrested, and I'm told he's been helpful on more than one occasion. He's not actually a source, but one of your officers knows him pretty well.'
'Meaning?'
Liz paused, then said, 'This is where it gets difficult. What I mean is that your officer may know him too well. So I can't approach this officer in the normal way and ask for help with Jackson. In fact, I did speak to him on the phone to see what he knew about Jackson, and he gave me a cock-and-bull story – that Jackson was small beer of no possible interest to my Service. He was so dismissive that I didn't tell him that Jackson was suspected of being an accomplice to terrorists trying to bring arms into this country. To be quite honest with you, Mr Pearson, I just didn't trust the officer.'
'Are you trying to say that he is involved in some way with Lester Jackson?'
'Yes. I'm afraid I am,' said Liz. She could see Pearson starting to bristle. 'I should tell you,' she went on, now feeling very uncomfortable, 'that the officer in question is someone I used to know. It was a long time ago – in Liverpool where I was seconded to the Special Branch when I first joined the Service.' When Pearson looked at her curiously she said, 'The officer's name is James McManus. He's Deputy Head of your Special Branch.'
To her surprise the defensiveness she had sensed building in the Chief Constable almost instantaneously disappeared. He nodded and his face grew friendly again, and though it wouldn't have been right to say he was smiling, he somehow seemed relieved. 'Are you telling me you think McManus is involved with this arms delivery?' he asked.
'No. But I think he may be involved with Jackson in a way that isn't altogether . . . healthy.'
Pearson gave a snort. 'That's a generous way of putting it. What I think you really mean is that McManus is in Jackson's pocket, so you can't trust him to help you investigate.'
Liz said nothing and the Chief waved a dismissive hand. 'Don't worry about offending me. Forgive me if I seemed a bit chilly a moment ago – nobody in my job wants to hear that one of his senior officers isn't trusted. But in this case . . . you should know that you aren't the only one with questions about McManus.'
'Really?' She found herself half relieved and half upset, but all attention.
'Absolutely. McManus is one of our most senior officers, as you know, very experienced, with a record anyone would envy. He's popular, and said to be charming with the ladies,' he added, smiling at Liz.
She was too old to blush, and she looked straight back at Pearson, expressionless. He went on, 'But a few years ago, when I was still in Cheshire, I got the feeling that something wasn't right with McManus's relationship with Jackson. He wasn't my officer then, of course, but I did mention it to the Chief here in those days, Sir Charles Worthington. He was a very senior Chief Constable, not long to go to retirement, and frankly he was more interested in international policing and making trips all over the world than in running this Force. Anyway, for whatever reason he did nothing about it.
'But when I came here I realised that there were certain no-go areas for McManus – certain select villains he didn't want to pursue. One of them was certainly Lester Jackson. It is true that we do get the odd titbit supplied by Jackson, and McManus uses that to justify his relationship. But nothing ever substantial enough to make it right that Jackson is allowed to operate so freely from that club. And from what you're telling me he's now involving himself in even more serious crime.'
Liz listened intently as Pearson went on: 'For the last three months my Professional Standards Unit has been covertly investigating McManus. They've put together quite a significant file and we are just about ready to confront him with the evidence. We know now he's been taking money from Jackson – and others – to warn them of criminal investigations and keep the CID off their backs. His usual way of doing that is to claim they're acting as valuable Special Branch sources.'
Liz nodded, though part of her was deeply dismayed. 'Thank you for being so candid with me. As I told you, I knew Jimmy McManus more than ten years ago when I was very junior in the Service. He was kind to me when some of his colleagues were bullying me; for a time he and I were close. But our relationship ended when I thought he was being dishonest. He was convinced that a man he had been investigating was guilty of drug dealing. When the man was acquitted, Jimmy fitted him up by getting someone to give false evidence against him in another case. I've no doubt the man was a drug dealer, and I suppose you could say that in one sense Jimmy was acting on the side of the angels in those days – certainly he thought he was, and he liked to call it "conviction policing". But I thought it was corrupt, and we fell out. Still, I never thought that he'd go over to the criminals' side and take money to protect them.'
The Chief nodded. 'In my experience, conviction policemen are dangerous people to have in a force. They can easily get disillusioned and cynical, and if they have a shaky moral compass in the first place they can become thoroughly crooked. I don't know enough about McManus's personal life to understand precisely what turned him bad, but something certainly has.'
Liz said, 'I'm afraid that what you've told me just makes my problem worse. McManus is in a unique position to give me an inside view of Jackson, but not if I can't trust him. The only other possible source of information I have on Jackson is a young DI in Cheshire called Halliday.'
'Oh yes,' interrupted Pearson. 'He's a good lad, though a bit green.'
'Yes. And he's nothing like as close to Jackson as McManus is. My problem is that we've seen enough to know that Jackson's very alert to surveillance, so I can't rely on that to find out when this delivery's due or where it's going to come into the country. But if I tell McManus what I know, he'll most likely leak it all to Jackson.'
The Chief Constable said, 'Yes. I can see the problem. We need to put pressure on McManus to get him to help, but we've got to do it in such a way that he doesn't tell Jackson what's going on. In other words, we've got to scare him rigid.'
The Chief thought for a moment, then said, 'Here's what I propose. I said we were just about ready to confront him with what we've learned in our investigation. Well, we'll bring that confrontation forward and we'll do it tomorrow morning. I'll make it quite clear to him that we have enough on him to prosecute him for corruption, and if he's convicted he's likely to get a good stretch in prison, which he'll know anyway.
'If you agree, I'd like to add that we have now learned that he may be involved in acts preparatory to the commission of terrorism. He won't know what I'm talking about so I'll tell him that you will be meeting him in the afternoon. You'll be seeking his help and what you'll be telling him is Top Secret. If he doesn't fully support you or if he leaks what you say, we'll throw the book at him and he'll be in prison for the rest of his life.'
'Right,' said Liz, her breath taken away by the Chief Constable's decisive response. 'That should sort it.'
'We'll have him in at eleven tomorrow. I'll tell him to be ready to see you at two pm, but I don't think I'll tell him who he'll be seeing – unless you want me to. Surprise sometimes helps on this sort of occasion. What do you think?'
'I agree,' said Liz weakly. The Chief Constable was well into his stride now.
'If you care to come here at about one o'clock I'll brief you on how it went before you see him. Does that suit you?'
'Yes. Thank you,' said Liz.
Chapter 41
At one o'clock the following day Liz was standing in the Chief Constable's office looking out of the window. Pearson had not appeared and Liz was wondering whether that meant the interview with McManus was going well or badly.
She was feeling nervous, uncertain how McManus would react when he found out that it was his old flame Liz Carlyle who had come to put pressure on him. It wouldn't take him long to work out that she would know all about the accusations of corruption against him. Would that make him more or less willing to cooperate?
As she was mulling this over, the door suddenly swung open and the Chief Constable strode into the room. 'Good afternoon,' he said cheerfully, shaking Liz's hand with a firm grip. 'Sorry to keep you waiting. You must have been wondering what was going on. Well, I'm pleased to say that we've put the fear of God into him. He obviously had no idea that we knew what he's been up to. I suppose he's got away with it for so long under the last regime that he hadn't noticed things have changed.
'He denied everything at first, of course, but when he saw the amount of evidence my team has collected, he went silent. I think he's scared enough now that you can be confident he'll cooperate with you. When I told him that he was at risk of a charge under the Terrorism Act if he leaked anything you were going to tell him, he went pale.
'So he's all yours now. He's been taken to get some lunch with one of my investigating officers; he'll be back at two. Is there anything you'd like to ask me?'
'I don't think so. Not at this stage. I take it he still doesn't know who he'll be meeting this afternoon?'
'Correct. I just told him it was someone from the Security Service.'
'Have you any free time later on so I could look in and tell you how it went?'
'I'll be in the building all afternoon, though I've got various appointments. But Constable Symes will find me if you come back here when you've finished.'
An hour later Liz was sitting at one end of a long table in a conference room two floors down in the Police HQ, waiting for McManus to arrive. She had resolved to keep the conversation strictly on the subject of Jackson and the arms delivery and not to get drawn into any reminiscing.
When McManus walked into the room his appearance shocked her. His face was gaunt and pale and he seemed to have shrunk since she last saw him on the stage at the conference in London. His eyes were cast down as he walked into the room, but when he looked up and recognised her, they flared with anger.
'So, it's you,' he said. 'I should have guessed it would be, after your phone call. I suppose you're the one that's been investigating me.'
'Sit down, Jimmy,' she said. 'Of course I haven't been investigating you. That's nonsense, as you know perfectly well. Whatever trouble you're in has nothing to do with me and I don't even know the details of what's gone on. I'm here for one reason only, and that is to get your help with a counter-terrorist investigation.'
'That's what the Chief said, but I don't know anything about any terrorists. I just deal with ordinary villains.'
'Deal' is the right word, thought Liz. But she went on, 'I want to ask you some questions about Lester Jackson. When I spoke to you on the phone, you told me he was just a small-time crook, not one of the real bad guys. If that ever was true, it's not true now. What I'm going to tell you is strictly Top Secret and you must keep it to yourself.'
'The Chief told me that already. I don't need a lecture from someone I bedded years ago.'
'There's no point in insulting me, Jimmy. It won't help you or the investigation. Let's get the business done without getting personal and then I can go away and leave you alone.'
'To my fate,' he responded bitterly.
'So, Lester Jackson. Our information is that he's got himself involved with a shipment of weapons and ammunition coming into the country for terrorist purposes.'
'I don't believe it. That sort of thing wouldn't interest him. He's not an extremist; he's not religious. Why would he want to get involved with terrorists?'
'For money, I should think. I'm not suggesting he is going to carry out a terrorist attack himself. I believe he regularly brings merchandise into the country covertly – girls, drugs, maybe other contraband as well. I also believe he has contacts in Dagestan, the ex-Soviet republic in Central Asia where weapons are easily available. What do you know about any of that?'
There was a pause while McManus shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked out of the window. Then he said, 'I suppose this conversation's being recorded?'
'Not as far as I know,' Liz replied.
'That doesn't mean a thing. I know that if Jackson finds out I've told you stuff about his business he'll kill me.'
'And if you don't tell me, the Chief will throw the book at you. So get on with it, Jimmy.'
McManus sighed and shuffled his feet. Then he said in a low voice, 'He has a contact with a man in Dagestan. He gets girls there and brings them in, hidden in lorries. He gets other stuff as well, drugs and legit stuff – cheap clothing that gets sold in the markets here. Some of the girls are for the club and some he sells on. It's not like proper trafficking,' he said defensively. 'Most of them know what they're coming here for, and they're so glad to get out of that hellhole that they don't mind. The ones who work at his club, Slim's, are treated fairly well. If they don't like it, they can go home, the way they came in. But most of them stay.'
'How did he get to know anyone in Dagestan?' asked Liz. 'It seems an unlikely place for him to have a contact.'
'It's someone who used to live in Manchester. I think he came in on political asylum from Chechnya when the war was on there. But I don't know much about him.'
'So he provides the goods and the transport for Jackson. What do you know about the way it's done? I mean the route, the name on the lorries, that kind of thing.'
'He told me once that they come through Turkey. I don't know what registration they have when they set off, but by the time they get here they have Bulgarian number plates and documents. I think they come into this country through different ports. I can't tell you more than that.'
'Come on, Jimmy. Do the lorries have a name on the side? How do we recognise them? We're talking about weapons coming in for terrorists to use. You don't want to have the deaths of innocent people on your conscience, do you?'
'Along with all the other things, you mean.' He put his head in his hands and muttered, 'They're Mercedes, rigid sides like a box with double doors at the back. Not huge – medium-sized, long-distance lorries, I'd say. They're blue – a sort of royal blue, with a white stripe low down on the side, and they've got DSA written on the side in white capital letters with a big white flash in front of it – shaped like a tick in a kid's schoolbook. I don't know what the letters stand for, if you're about to ask.'
Liz wondered how he could give such a good description. What exactly was his relationship with Jackson's trucking operations? But she would leave that to the Chief Constable and his team to find out.
'So can you tell me where the lorries unload their cargoes?'
'He'll know it's me, if I tell you that. Who's going to protect me when he finds out? He'll get me – even if I'm in prison. I've had it now: if Jackson doesn't get me, Mr Clean, the new Chief Constable, will.' McManus got up from the table and went over to the window; he rested his forehead on the glass and rocked backwards and forwards, gently banging his head on the pane. 'I want protection,' he said, without turning round.
'It goes without saying, that as far as my Service is concerned your help will remain entirely confidential, but I can't give any undertakings about what will happen if Jackson is prosecuted. That's for the Chief Constable.'
McManus snorted, and Liz continued, 'I'll tell the Chief how helpful you've been and I'm sure he'll arrange to have you looked after.'
'He'd be pleased if I was killed. It would save him the embarrassment.'
'Come on, Jimmy. You know that's not true. Just tell me what else you know and then we can get this over with.'
McManus sat down again, at the other end of the table from Liz and started to talk freely for the first time. It was as though something had clicked into position in his head.
'He's got four lockups – warehouses – on industrial estates. They're all off the ring road round the south side of Manchester, the M60. I could point them out on a map. There's one on the south-east side, near Denton, one near Stockport, the other two are up the south-west side, one near Sale and the other near Eccles. He reckons if one of them gets busted, he's still got the others. They're all in different names. You can get to all of them straight off the M60, without going anywhere near central Manchester. That's the attraction for him. The lorries always come in from ports on the south or the east coasts.'
'Thank you. That's just what I needed to know. Is there anything else you can tell me that will be helpful – we're trying to stop these weapons from getting into the hands of terrorists.'
He shook his head. He was knocking his wrist on the edge of the table. 'When I first knew you, Liz, I was determined to get the villains, whatever it took. The system just wasn't capable of punishing all the bastards I came across – too many were getting away with it. You said it wasn't the right way to go about it and I should have listened to you.' He added bitterly, 'I never thought I'd end up on the side of the bastards.'
He looked so drawn and despairing that Liz couldn't help feeling sorry for him. But she said nothing. She rang the bell attached to the underneath of the table to indicate that the interview was over. A uniformed sergeant came in to take McManus away. Liz didn't shake his hand, but just said, 'Goodbye, Jimmy. Thanks for your help.'
Chapter 42
By half past five Peggy, in Thames House, was talking to her contact in the Border Agency, passing on the description of the lorry that might contain the weapons. She asked for all ports to be alerted but stressed that it was most likely to turn up on the east or south coasts. 'Please let us know as soon as it's sighted, but we don't want it searched, or anything done to make the driver think he's under suspicion. We need it to get to its destination, because what we are most interested in are the people who will meet it there.'
'How are you going to keep tabs on it if we don't delay it?' asked the contact.
'I was just coming on to that,' Peggy replied. 'We want your people to put a marker on it, and that'll help us pick it up even if we miss it at the port. We'll be able to keep our distance as we follow it. Have they got the equipment at all the likely ports?'
'Yes.' But he sounded doubtful. 'That is provided it doesn't turn up somewhere very small.'
'No. Our expectation is that it'll be on a normal freight route.'
'What about the tunnel?'
'I suppose that's a possibility.'
'OK. I'll alert our people there as well.'
Peggy went to see Wally Woods, the chief A4 controller, responsible for the implementation of all surveillance requests. 'Just giving you early warning,' she said. 'It'll most likely be in the next week or so, and we may not know till it arrives at a port. The Border Agency will try to put a marker on. It'll be going up to the outskirts of Manchester. One of four possible destinations. I'll come down tomorrow and give you as much detail as we've got.'
Wally Woods grunted. 'I don't know where we'll find the manpower. We're chock-a-block already.' Wally liked Peggy but he reserved the right to be grumpy with case officers.
'Oh, Wally. Please do your best. Liz says it's really important,' said Peggy, knowing perfectly well that Wally would die in a ditch rather than let Liz Carlyle down.
Peggy's next call was to Ted Poyser. Known to everyone in the Service as Technical Ted, he was the head of its eavesdropping operations. Ted had joined MI5 from the army after a legendary career in some of the most dangerous spots in Northern Ireland at the height of the Troubles. He was getting on now and due to retire in a couple of years, so he left most of the sharp-end work to his younger colleagues, spending most of his time on planning and research.
Peggy found him at his bench in the basement workshops, surrounded, as he nearly always was, with strange-looking bits of electrical kit, wires and laptops, their screens showing changing patterns of wavy lines. Ted seemed to like to work in a clutter. Once a compulsive smoker, the smoking ban had turned him into a compulsive sweet-eater instead, and his bench was always littered with discarded sweet papers and mugs containing cold coffee dregs. As he never seemed to put on weight and no one had ever seen him eating a meal, it was widely rumoured that he lived on a diet of Werther's Originals washed down with coffee. Some of the younger intelligence officers called him 'Grandad' after the Werther's advertisements, but Peggy always addressed him as Ted. Even though Ted was nearly sixty now, he wore his hair, which was very black (unnaturally black, some said), in a ponytail, and he rode a flashy Harley-Davidson motorbike while wearing the latest in leather gear. No one, except probably Personnel, knew anything about his private life, and no one had ever met a partner, or even a friend.
Ted still liked to play an active part in the occasional, particularly interesting operation, and his eyes lit up when Peggy told him that she needed eavesdropping and cameras planted in four warehouses on the outskirts of Manchester, as part of an operation to prevent a group of jihadis taking delivery of guns and ammunition. By now one of the police officers from the Chief Constable's inquiry team had sent down the map coordinates for the warehouses, and also a description and approximate dimensions, all of which they must have got from McManus. By the time Peggy left him, Ted had summoned a Planning Team for first thing the following morning and was contentedly poring over maps.
Peggy went back to her office just in time to pick up a call from Liz, who had returned from Manchester and was back in her flat.
'How was it?' Peggy asked. 'It can't have been easy.'
'It wasn't – at first. He tried to embarrass me by making it personal. But in the end I found it rather sad. It seems such a pity that he's got himself into such a mess. And he really has. I don't know all the details, but it looks as though he's in pretty deep with some very unsavoury characters, and not just the one we're interested in. He's facing a long stretch in prison according to the Chief Constable. Whom I liked, by the way. He's young and seems very straight.'
'Thank goodness for that,' said Peggy.
'How have you got on?' asked Liz.
'I've alerted the Border Agency, Wally and Technical Ted. I got the coordinates through from Manchester, and Ted and his team are going up tomorrow.
'I've warned Wally and Borders that it could come in at any south or east coast port. Borders mentioned the tunnel and I asked them to warn them as well, though it's probably unlikely – they're much more alert there because of all the illegal immigrants. I'll get on to the French tomorrow to ask them to keep a lookout. It would be great if we could know when it's boarding the ferry on their side. The ferries to Harwich come from the Hook of Holland, so I'll get on to the Dutch as well tomorrow first thing.' She suddenly stopped, breathless.
'Go home, Peggy,' said Liz. 'You've done all you can for one day. You sound exhausted.'
So Peggy went home, but later that night she dreamed of lorryloads of guns arriving at darkened ports all round the coast – ports that she hadn't thought of – and driving off unwatched into the night.
Chapter 43
Peggy was always early for appointments. She wished she wasn't, because it often meant standing around for ages with cold feet, especially at railway stations where there were never any empty seats in the waiting areas. But she knew herself well enough to know that she would always be the same. She just seemed to have a chronic fear of being late. Today was no exception. She was waiting at Paddington Station for Jacques Thibault, the young computer wizard from the DGSE who was responsible for monitoring Antoine Milraud's computer.
With access to Milraud's computer and his password, Thibault had been able to follow current communications easily enough. He was also working hard to reconstruct the archive of Milraud's previous exchanges with the Yemeni middleman who had first introduced him to the young Arab now known as Zara.
But it was taking time and the Yemeni middleman was no longer responding to emails, as Thibault had found out when he initiated messages purporting to come from Milraud. Expand the net – that had been Seurat's instruction to Thibault, and Thibault had done his best. But efforts to work his way into Zara's system had been balked by a sophisticated firewall that Thibault quickly realised would take months, possibly years to break. And there was no question of that; Seurat had made clear that he wanted results yesterday. He had instructed Thibault to seek the help of the British, who were in any case the senior partners in this operation. Peggy in turn had passed the problem to her colleagues in GCHQ.
The day before, her contact in GCHQ had rung to say that they had got something and asked Peggy and her French colleague to come urgently for a meeting. So Peggy, early as ever, was stamping her feet and waiting for Thibault, who had caught an early Eurostar from Paris, to turn up at Paddington so they could catch the 10.15 train to Cheltenham.
Not for the first time she wondered why GCHQ had put itself in Cheltenham. It was such an awkward place to get to from London. It took at least two hours by train, and you had to change and get on an uncomfortable little local train for the last part of the journey. It was no better by car, she thought crossly as she looked at her watch again. It was still only five past ten, so there was nothing to worry about, she told herself, but she was still relieved to see the tall, slim figure of Jacques Thibault walking with long strides across the concourse towards her. She waved and he smiled back with a schoolboy grin that made Peggy feel quite motherly. With his longish, wavy hair, anorak and laptop bag over his shoulder, he looked about eighteen, though Peggy guessed he was probably more or less the same age as she was.
Thankfully for Peggy, whose French was not very advanced, Jacques Thibault had one English grandmother, which meant that he spoke fluent English, honed by annual visits as a boy to Granny Fairfax in her crumbling rectory in the Norfolk Broads. The train was crowded so they didn't talk much in any case. Peggy read the Guardian on her iPad while Thibault opened his laptop, plugged earphones into his ears and tapped away on the keyboard.
After they had changed to the local train for the final part of the journey, Peggy explained that they would be met at the station by Charlie Simmons, who had been working on Zara's communications. They would have a sandwich lunch in his office so not to waste any time. 'He said he had something urgent for us,' said Peggy. 'And he particularly wanted you to be here.'
'It's about Zara,' said Charlie as they sat down in his office, overlooking the walkway known as The Street, which ran round the GCHQ headquarters building, whose shape made it inevitable that it would be called 'The Doughnut'. 'We've been following his chat. There's a lot of it – he seems to have contacts all over the globe.'
'Yes,' said Thibault non-committally, munching a sandwich, his long body slouched in his chair.
'I can't say we've got very far,' Charlie Simmons went on. 'Most of the messages are encrypted; a few are not. They're pretty humdrum – Facebook messages to his friends, that sort of thing.'
'And the encrypted ones?' asked Thibault, in a voice without much hope. 'I know that even with supercomputers, it can take a lot of time to crack the latest kinds of coding.'
But Simmons surprised them now. 'Oh we've cracked that easily enough. Only Level Two. I'm about to send you the results, but I'm sure you'll agree they're disappointing. It's just a lot of jihadi chat-room stuff – nothing firm. It's as if they're egging each other on, but in the most general ways.'
Peggy was familiar enough with these kinds of jihadi online discussions and she was sure that Thibault was too. Death to the West; death to the Jews; death to the Infidels. A kind of OCD with Death, but rarely much specific detail about how to bring these deaths about.
'Could he have inserted more secret information in these emails?' Thibault asked. 'I'm thinking of the odd coordinates in the emails Zara sent to Milraud. I wondered if it was something a bit like those old codes, the book codes and the one-time pads that needed some sort of external reference to translate them.'
'I don't think so,' Simmons said. He sounded cheerful, and Peggy wondered why, and why he had invited them urgently to come to Cheltenham. Maybe he was one of those oddballs who were happiest with bad news.
Thibault was obviously thinking the same thing. He asked bluntly, 'So nothing to report then after all?'
'On the contrary, I've got plenty to tell you. It just came as a bit of surprise. You see, it seems our Zara is something of a mother's boy.'
'So?' said Thibault, his impatience now undisguised.
Charlie Simmons wasn't going to be rushed. 'He goes home practically every other weekend. All the way up to Manchester.' He paused, then went on. 'And while he's home he's often online – like most students these days. He takes his laptop home with him, and engages in the usual correspondence. But then something else happens, and here's the funny thing.'
'What's that?'
'His mother goes online as well.'
'His mother?'
'So it seems. It's a Gmail account in her name, and the recipients – on the surface at least – are other ladies who appear to be of Middle Eastern origin and of a certain age.'
'I don't get it.' Thibault was sitting up now.
'Neither did I. But then I had a closer look. The PC his mother apparently uses only comes to life when Zara's at home. The rest of the time it's in deep hibernation mode. I mean deep – I bet the old lady doesn't even know how to turn it on. Not surprising; it would be odder if the old lady were actually internet-savvy. I think it's pretty clear she's not. Zara's using her machine, and the people he's talking to are doing the same thing – using some unlikely dummy as the supposed sender of the emails.'
'That sounds clever,' said Peggy.
'And simple,' added Thibault.
'Yes. So simple I almost overlooked it. We could have wasted half the firepower of GCHQ on this and got absolutely nowhere, when the answer was staring us in the face. Though if you read the emails you'd be none the wiser. A recipe for tabbouleh. A discussion of how best to cook lamb shanks, with an awful lot of talk about whether it should be four and a half hours or three days. Food is the usual topic, which means numbers – one hundred and fifty grams of couscous, ninety minutes simmering etc.'
'So have you broken this food code?' Peggy was awestruck by the almost basic ingenuity of this. A circle of middle-aged Middle Eastern women, babbling about cooking techniques and recipes and food shops – perfect cover for what she assumed were in fact lethal instructions and commands.
'Pretty much. I'll spare you the details, but basically, every time numbers get used they have to be prefixed by something to indicate what they're referring to – is it time, or quantities or the geographical coordinates of a place?'
'Can't the prefix be in the numbers themselves?' asked Thibault, leaning forward, his elbows on the table, his hands supporting his chin.
'They could be, but then too often they would be the same. The repetition would be suspicious. Anyway, I've made enough progress to want to let you know.'
Oh gosh, thought Peggy. Simmons has made a breakthrough, but it's still only conceptual. He's brought us all the way here to tell us that he's cracked the code, but he doesn't know what the decoded material actually means. It was the classic folly of cryptanalysts the world over – fantastic excitement when they cracked a code, as if that were the be-all and end-all. If code breakers had run Bletchley rather than worked in it, the Germans would have won the War.
'I congratulate you,' Thibault said gravely. 'You have done remarkable work. Please keep me posted with any results that come from it.' He reached for his coat. 'I need to be getting back now.'
'What?' Simmons suddenly was almost shouting. 'It's the results I've brought you here about. Don't you want to know them? You should. There are five conspirators heading for Paris – they're going to meet up with an associate of Zara's called Michel Ramdani. He lives in Paris. He's going to send the five men on to England – it's not clear how they'll be travelling but he's responsible for the arrangements.'
'When are they due to arrive in Paris?' asked Peggy, reaching for her notebook.
'The day after tomorrow. I'd better tell you Ramdani's address. It seems that's where this little conclave is supposed to meet.'
Chapter 44
It was half past eleven, dark, windy and pouring with rain, when a small convoy set off from Greater Manchester police headquarters. There were six black Range Rovers with tinted windows. In one was Technical Ted and two colleagues, in a second, three more from Thames House. Both of their vehicles had an assortment of oddly shaped bags and holdalls in the back. In the other four were eight police officers, two in each vehicle, but only one of each pair was recognisable from the word 'POLICE' on the front and back of his black pullover. All the other men wore anonymous dark clothes.
The cars stayed in convoy as they joined the southbound M60, Manchester's ring road. Some miles on, at a junction marked Denton, one of the Thames House cars and two of the police cars peeled off, while the other three kept on the M60, circling the south of Manchester until they reached the turning for Eccles, where they too left the motorway and at a small roundabout headed into an industrial estate, led by one of the police cars. Ted, who was in the passenger seat of the Thames House vehicle, was talking to one of his colleagues in the other convoy.
'All's going fine here,' he was hearing. 'No problem with the alarm. It's just the usual Chubb as we'd been told. The whole place is quiet as the grave. There's nothing in here but empty wine crates and cardboard cartons, doesn't look as though it's been used for ages. We've put in three mikes and we're doing two cameras; Frankie's just working on the first one now. Then we'll be testing it back to the Ops Room and we should be off to the next place in less than an hour.'
'Sounds good,' said Ted. 'We've just arrived at our first stop, so let's hope it's as easy.'
The three cars pulled up on a square of tarmac outside a large metal warehouse which stood on its own, separated by at least fifty metres of grass and weeds from the next building on the narrow road. The wind was rattling the structure, making it reverberate like a drum. Dim lights on tall concrete lamp posts weakly illuminated the road and the front of the warehouse. One of the police officers came across to Ted's car.
'There's resident security on this estate. They'll be holed up in their hut on the other side. We've warned them we're doing a search here and told them to keep away. If they come out, leave them to us.'
Ted nodded. 'Suits us. We'll be inside and we'll stay there unless you alert us to get out.'
The policeman nodded, and as he did they both saw the lights of a car across the estate.
'Looks as though they're out of their box,' said Ted. 'Over to you.' And as he turned away, one of the police cars drove off in the direction of the headlights.
By this time the small door to the side of the roller door was open and Ted's two colleagues were inside. They had rigged up a couple of lights which showed that the interior of the warehouse was partitioned along one side, forming what seemed, judging by the doors, to be three separate rooms and leaving a large open space in which a lorry or several cars could be parked. It was not what Ted had been expecting. He opened one of the doors and found a room with four bunk beds in a row, very close to each other. The next room was a very small shower room with a lavatory and wash basin, and in the final room, which was a primitive kitchen, there was a pile of boxes, some open, some taped up, all of which seemed to be full of bedding – duvets, pillows and towels.
'Looks like he's expecting visitors,' said Ted.
'Or maybe he's had visitors,' replied Ted's colleague Alfie, who had come in behind him, clutching a drill. 'Some of this stuff has been used.'
'We're going to need six cameras to cover this lot,' said Alfie, 'so we'd better get going. We need to fit four mikes as well.'
'OK. While you do that I'll get onto the others and see how they're getting on. This is going to take longer than we thought.'
The other team had just arrived at their second target, the warehouse on the industrial estate near Stockport, and reported back over a mobile phone. 'Looks as though he uses this one as a store for his club. It feels quite used, as though people have been in recently. There's restaurant-type tables and chairs, boxes of glasses and china and crates of wine and beer.'
'Yeah. Well, that makes sense. It's the one nearest his club. Stick in a couple of mikes and cameras and make sure you leave it as found. Then get out asap, just in case anyone turns up. We've got him under control but he must have staff who go there to get stuff, though probably not in the middle of the night – let's hope not anyway. Then let me know when you're finished, as it may be best for you to do the last one. This one's a bit complicated and we're going to be here some time.'
As he finished speaking, one of the policemen came in.
'We've just had the alert that Jackson's leaving the club. It's about the time he usually leaves so I don't think there's anything to be worried about. We've got a static surveillance near his house and they'll report in when he gets there. And we've got a team trailing him just in case he comes this way.'
'Thanks. We'll be at least another couple of hours, so let's hope he goes comfortably to bed. Do the others know? They're nearer him than we are.'
'Yes. Everyone's been warned.'
It was four thirty by the time Ted and his colleagues were ready to leave the warehouse near Eccles, having fixed and tested enough mikes and cameras to provide comprehensive coverage of all the rooms, including the bathroom and the open garage space. There had been no more interest from the security guards, who had been told firmly by the police officers that they would never work in the security business again if they spoke a word in the wrong place. Jackson had gone straight home and apparently gone to bed; his lights were out.
It was still pitch-dark and raining as the little convoy left the industrial estate. The other team had taken on the fourth target, the warehouse near Sale, but were finding it less straightforward than their other two and they were still there.
'There's something not right with this lock,' they had reported when they'd arrived. 'It's wired up to something. Could be some sort of a remote alarm.'
'Well, for God's sake go carefully,' Ted had replied. 'Liz Carlyle and that little Peggy'll kill us if we cock it up. Send us a photograph.'
And with advice from Ted, sitting on the edge of one of the bunk beds and working from a greatly enlarged photograph on his laptop screen, they had managed to disable what was indeed a remote alarm that would have triggered an alert somewhere, possibly in Jackson's bedroom, if they hadn't noticed it. Once safely inside they had found that this building too had been partitioned down one side, to make what was in fact a set of offices. The three rooms contained desks and chairs and carpets and heaters and a number of large locked filing cabinets.
'Do you want us to open them?'
'No.' Ted made the decision without consulting anyone. 'Leave them alone. We can look at them another time when we've got someone with us who can make sense of what's in them. Just do the mikes and cameras and then get the hell out. It's getting late.'
Chapter 45
'You look tired.' Liz was watching Martin Seurat closely as they sat in the restaurant.
He started to deny it but then smiled, 'I am a bit,' he acknowledged.
'Small wonder,' she said, and signalled to the waiter to come and take their order.
It had been a long day, especially for Martin – he would have got up in the dark to catch the first Eurostar from Paris, arriving at St Pancras as most people were on their way to work. He'd taken the tube to Westminster and joined the hordes of civil servants heading for their desks in the government offices around Whitehall. Liz had given him coffee in the Thames House canteen, then they'd gone upstairs for the first of the day's meetings, a catch-up with Peggy. The three of them had sat in Liz's office while Peggy pulled together the different strands of the investigation so far. She described what had been found at Jackson's four lockup warehouses the previous night.
'It looks as though he's been using one of them to store his most confidential papers,' she said. 'That was the one with the tamper alarm on the lock and all the locked filing cabinets. The police are going to want to have a look at them when this bit of the operation is over. The only other interesting one is the one near Eccles. That looked as though it had been used for sleeping in, presumably for some of the girls he brings in. But there is space in any of them for a lorry to be parked, so if the guns are coming in concealed in one of his deliveries, they could arrive at any of the four warehouses. We've fitted them all with mikes and cameras so we should be able to see and hear what's going on. We just have to hope that we get enough warning to be able to do something about it.'
'What about the lorry that's supposed to be coming soon from Dagestan?' asked Seurat. 'Any more news on that?'
'Well, we've got the description from McManus of the type of lorry we're looking for, its colour and the name on the side. So if it's the same as usual, we should get warning from the port when it arrives. I'm hoping we might hear from across the Channel – I've alerted all the likely ports in Holland, Belgium and France.'
'It's possible we may hear something on Jackson's phone, but it's been very quiet,' Liz added. 'They're too cunning to risk phone chatter.'
'You seem to have that side of things pretty well covered,' said Martin. 'Well done.'
Peggy smiled, looking pleased.
Then they'd moved on to what Thibault and GCHQ had discovered about the jihadis. Martin said, 'It seems fairly clear that a group of Yemeni-based, English-born terrorists are heading towards England, stopping in Paris to rendezvous.' He explained that the flat of the Parisian radical Ramdani, which was going to be the meeting place, was already under surveillance by Isabelle Florian's people.
Martin went on to say that they hadn't been able to get eavesdropping inside the flat because it was in a tenement building occupied by a mixture of immigrant families and old people who had been there for years. No one was going to be able to enter or leave the flat without being observed.
At this point he paused and looked at Liz. 'We need to settle the key issue.'
'What's that?' asked Liz.
'Are we going to arrest these people when they arrive at this flat in Paris, or are we going to keep them under surveillance and let them come on to you?'
'I've discussed this with DG and he's talked it through with the Home Secretary and the Chief Constable in Manchester. The Home Secretary wanted us to ask your colleagues to make arrests. She said that we couldn't take the risk of allowing a gang of jihadis into the country when we might not be able to keep them under our control. But DG pointed out that there may be nothing for your colleagues to hold them on, particularly if they carry no weapons. They may well have perfectly valid documents. So she's agreed that you should just follow and watch and hand them on to us. We need to know what they're planning to do before we act.'
Martin nodded. 'I was hoping you'd say that. That is the view of Isabelle and the Interior Ministry, and my own Service agrees. But we do have to remember that there's always the chance, however good the surveillance, that they could give us the slip between Paris and Britain.'
'We just have to take that chance. If we detain them now, we have nothing to charge them with – even in France, they'll be out within days. Besides, there's every chance that others are joining them in the UK – not just Zara. If we grab this bunch the others may find out, and then we'll never locate them.'
Martin was smiling now. 'Clear, as ever. Let's hope the others think so too.'
'Frankly,' said Liz, 'it doesn't much matter if they don't, now we have the Home Secretary's agreement.'
'The others' had been Geoffrey Fane and the CIA Head of Station Andy Bokus. Bokus was already in Fane's office when Liz and Seurat arrived, and judging from the chilly silence they were not enjoying each other's company.
When Liz introduced Seurat, Bokus merely grunted and looked grumpily out of the window, as if he wished he were somewhere else.
'Cheer up, Andy,' said Fane. 'You'll find life south of the river isn't all that bad' – a reference to the impending move of the US Embassy from Grosvenor Square to a new, more isolated but thought to be safer, location in Wandsworth.
Liz noticed that the CIA man was losing weight, though not much – his suit was a little looser at the shoulders than it once would have been, but his buttoned-up jacket did his bulging midriff no favours.
They'd all sat down and waited awkwardly while Daisy brought in a tray of coffee.
'Don't bother, Daisy,' said Liz. 'I'll pour it out.' As she reached forward to pour out the coffee, she'd noticed that Bokus was already drumming his thumbs on the arms of his chair impatiently.
When the coffee was poured, Fane said, 'Elizabeth, why don't you bring us all up to date?'
Liz had been startled by how rude the two men were being to Martin. Bokus hadn't even acknowledged his presence when she'd introduced him and now Fane was behaving as if he wasn't there. But she made no comment and proceeded to summarise the situation. When she finished there was a heavy silence.
Bokus said gruffly, 'You mean to tell me, you got five bad guys – I mean really bad guys – right within your sights, and you want to let them come on here to do God knows what?' He was staring at Liz and sounded incredulous.
'We don't have any intention of letting them do anything. Nor do the French.'
'No. We certainly do not,' said Martin Seurat.
Bokus ignored him – it was Liz he was going for. He said in the folksy voice Liz had always been wary of, 'Listen, I'm just a country boy from Ohio. Sometimes I get a little lost if anything gets too complicated. But we used to say back home that a bird in the hand beats two birds in the bush any old day.'
'Did you really say that?' Seurat asked with feigned innocence, and Liz just managed not to laugh. She noted that Fane was staying quiet.
For a brief moment Bokus's eyes flashed, but he stuck to his Huck Finn persona. 'We sure did,' he said, still looking only at Liz. 'And I'm thinking it applies here pretty well. Why risk losing these guys if we can pick 'em up easier than a bird dog grabs a grouse?'
'Why indeed?' muttered Fane.
Liz was about to reply when Seurat broke in. He said simply, 'Here is why.' He looked at Bokus with a steeliness Liz had never seen before. 'The initial information in this case came from you, the Americans. Believe me, we are all grateful for that. And then, the focus shifted to here in the United Kingdom – this man Jackson appeared, and we learned that these British Yemenis are on their way to this country, almost certainly to commit an atrocity.
'But the fact remains, they are meeting first in Paris. And we believe they were originally considering Paris as the target of their operation – whatever this operation is.'
'Not any more—' Bokus started to say. Seurat held up a hand and the American stopped.
'Hear me out, Monsieur. My point is that Paris has already featured in this case – this is where Zara and the arms dealer Milraud met, and where I fear the other side first suspected they had been observed.'
'Whose fault was that?' Bokus demanded.
'Ours. Not all of us share the American infallibility. In any case, Paris is now again the focal point of this operation and of our cooperation.' He looked around at them all. 'Naturally, we need to respect each other's point of view and to take dissenting opinions into account. But you will appreciate that since this part of the operation is taking place on French soil, then we – the French – must make the final decisions about it. So, since you are asking' – which, thought Liz, no one was – 'I must tell you that I agree with our colleagues here. We will not arrest the jihadis who are meeting in this apartment, and instead we will follow them to their exit point which we all believe will be the UK border.'
Seurat took a deep breath. 'I am sorry if you are not in accord with this, Mr Bokus. And I know that you think this will be the weak decision of another one of those cheese-eating surrender monkeys. But it is the monkeys' decision nonetheless.'
This speech had produced a startled silence in the room. Even Bokus had looked embarrassed in the face of Martin's eloquence. When Liz seized the opportunity to say that the Home Secretary, the DG and the Chief Constable of Greater Manchester police had all agreed to let the operation run to the UK, no one had anything more to say and the meeting had broken up in a chilly atmosphere of recrimination.
Now the waiter arrived and Liz said, 'So what do you want to eat, my cheese-eating friend?'
Seurat laughed. 'I'll just have a starter, I think. They will feed me on the train.'
'Somehow after an hour with Andy Bokus, I don't feel very hungry either – just a starter will do me too. But I need a glass of wine.'
When the waiter had left, Seurat sat back and sighed. 'You OK?' asked Liz.
He smiled. 'Yes. That was just a sigh of relief. A day I am glad is over. Though I will be happier when tomorrow is over as well.'
'Are you worried about it?'
Seurat shrugged. 'No more than I would be normally. Isabelle and her people are in charge, and I have every confidence in them. Thibault seems quite sure that what GCHQ have told him is right. He says it all makes perfect sense. It should be fine, and with any luck they will all be in the UK the day after tomorrow. Then it's your problem,' he said, with a smile.
'Thanks a lot,' said Liz with an affectionate grin. Martin seemed more like his old self now, and she was relieved to see it. His put-down of Bokus hadn't bothered her one bit – in fact, she'd loved it. It was such a change from the catlike way Geoffrey Fane danced around their American colleague. Though it had been direct, it had also been controlled, with no sign of the irritability Martin had been showing recently about Milraud.
Their food arrived, and they ate quickly, talking now of anything but work. Liz told him how her mother, whom he had met several times, had thought about giving up work at the nursery garden she ran, and how her partner Edward had dissuaded her since he rightly sensed she'd go mad if she didn't have enough to do. And Martin talked about his daughter; he was worried about what she'd do after she graduated from the Sorbonne.
It was funny, thought Liz, that when things had been tense between them they had not talked about personal affairs at all; now she felt they were back on their old intimate footing again and it made her happy.
She said, a little reluctantly, 'Tomorrow, will you be there?'
Seurat raised his eyebrows. 'At Ramdani's flat? No. Only the surveillance will be there. I will be with Isabelle and we'll be sitting safe and sound in the DCRI HQ. Nothing to worry about.'
'Good,' she said, forcing a smile. She wished she felt less worried about this operation. She was used to the mix of apprehension and excitement that came just before the action, but somehow this time it felt different. She reached across the table and held Martin's hand. 'There's a train at the crack of dawn, you know.'
He tilted his head back and smiled. 'And how tempting it is. But I should go back tonight.' He shook his head. 'I'd never forgive myself if something went wrong tomorrow and I wasn't there.'
'But you said there was nothing to worry about.' Liz kicked herself for letting her concern show.
Martin put one of his hands on top of hers and looked into her eyes. 'There isn't. But I just feel I need to be there. You'd feel the same, wouldn't you?'
'Of course I would. You're quite right.'
Martin looked at her. 'It'll soon be over.'
'I hope so.'
'And when it is, I was thinking . . .'
'Yes?' asked Liz.
Martin was smiling. 'You remember the hotel in the hills near Toulon?'
'How could I forget?' They had begun their affair there. She remembered the flowers in the garden of the small auberge where they had stayed as spring arrived.
'I thought a few days there would not go amiss.'
'D'accord,' said Liz. 'I'd like that very much.'
'Good,' said Martin. 'I'd like it too. Because I love you very much, Miss Liz Carlyle.' And then, as if embarrassed by his display of emotion, he signalled furiously to the waiter for the bill.
Chapter 46
'It's at moments like this,' Isabelle Florian declared, 'that I miss cigarettes the most.'
She gave Seurat a wry smile, and he nodded. 'I know. Anything is better than the waiting.'
Not for the first time, Seurat thought how fortunate he was to have Isabelle as his counterpart at the domestic intelligence Service. Relations between the DGSE and the DCRI were almost always tense, fuelled by the same kind of competition that seemed to affect domestic and external intelligence services the world over. But whereas Liz had to put up with the know-it-all patronising of Geoffrey Fane, Seurat had long ago established an excellent relationship with Isabelle, one based on mutual respect and by now a genuine liking for each other.
They sat in the operations room in the building that housed the DCRI. It was a windowless and low-ceilinged space, with a series of desk consoles ranged in a half-circle at one end to face a row of large screens that hung from the wall. At the moment just two of them were active. One screen showed a distant shot of the entrance to a tall grim-looking tower block, and the other, its picture obviously coming from a concealed fixed camera, showed the length of a passageway with one open side. You could clearly see the doors of individual flats that ran off the passage; the one in the centre of the picture belonged to the flat of the suspect, Ramdani. But there was no sign of anyone moving in either of these camera views.
At the centre console Alex Carnier, a veteran DCRI Operations control officer, struggled to suppress a yawn. He had a headphone set dangling loosely around his neck, and on the desk in front of him a microphone sat on its stand. He was directing the surveillance operation, but seemed happy enough to have Isabelle and Martin Seurat watching him work.
He turned his head to Isabelle and said, 'They're late.'
She shrugged. 'You said that five minutes ago. They could turn up at any time. What do you want me to do? Ask them to hurry up?'
Carnier gave a grin full of yellow teeth; unlike Isabelle, he pretty clearly hadn't given up cigarettes. The new regulations banning smoking in public buildings applied here too; Seurat thought it must have been hell for a twenty-a-day man.
'It's only been half an hour,' said Seurat mildly. 'There may be some reason for the delay.' Though Thibault had been very specific: the latest decoded email had said four o'clock sharp for the rendezvous at the flat.
Carnier brushed his greying hair back with one hand, then leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. 'Team Three, anything alive out there?' he asked, more in hope than expectation.
There was the crackle of a car radio, then a voice replied dully, 'Rien.'
Isabelle had explained to Martin that there were six teams, each of three people, on the operation. Most of them were in cars, parked safely out of sight, though there would also be a few surveillance officers on foot around Ramdani's tower block, which along with half a dozen other relics of some bright city planner's 'vision' in the 1970s sat on the edge of Seine-Saint-Denis, one of the constellation towns just north-east of Paris. It was all public housing, now inhabited overwhelmingly by first- and second-generation immigrants. Seurat often wondered whose idea it had been to create these hellholes so far away from the rest of the city's life. Or perhaps that had been the rationale: to deposit the North Africans who'd flocked to France in the aftermath of the Algerian war out of sight of the public face of the city, known the world over for its elegance.
Isabelle said, 'Martin, if you want some coffee there's a machine down the hall.'
'It's broken,' said Carnier. 'But there's a café on the corner.'
'I'm fine,' said Martin. Sod's law said that if he went out now the jihadis would show up.
But three hours later there was still no sign of them. Not that there had been any sign of Ramdani either. The surveillance had begun the day before, with only one team, but Ramdani hadn't left his flat in that time. A light in the front room suggested that he was there, but it had stayed on all night and that, taken with the failure of the others to arrive, meant that his presence in the flat was now open to question. Seurat said as much to Isabelle.
'I know,' she said. 'That's worrying me too. What if they changed plans and are meeting somewhere else?'
'It doesn't seem likely or we'd have seen Ramdani leave his flat. Thibault says GCHQ will notify him immediately if there's any change of plan.'
'Still, I'd like to make sure. Alex,' she said, turning to Carnier, 'I'd like to establish if Ramdani is actually in the flat. Any ideas?'
Twenty minutes later they watched on the screen a young man walking along the corridor of the tower block. He wore a parka and trainers, and carried a sheaf of flyers advertising a local takeaway pizza joint. Carnier said his name was Philippe, and that he had been with the DCRI for less than a year. 'But he's good,' Carnier said. 'He wanted to be an actor but he got tired of waiting at tables to pay his rent.'
They watched as Philippe began at the far end, ringing the buzzer of each flat one by one. Most of the doors were answered, sometimes by small children, always with the chain on, and Philippe would give them one of the pamphlets, then move on to the next apartment.
When he got to Ramdani's door he paused, and looked around. The corridor was empty as he rang the buzzer. He waited a good thirty seconds but no one answered, so he buzzed again. Still nothing. Philippe knelt down and looked through the letter box, then he stood up and moved over to peer through the small window to the side of the door of the flat. His voice came over the speaker on Carnier's desk, saying quietly, 'Nothing doing. And no sign of him through the window. I can see into the living room.'
Carnier said, 'Are you sure the buzzer's working? Maybe you should knock.'
'I can hear the buzzer from outside. The walls of this place are paper-thin.'
'Maybe he's in the shower – or asleep. Try knocking.'
So this time Philippe knocked on the door as well as pushing the buzzer again. 'That's enough,' said Isabelle. 'He'll alert the neighbours and they'll think it strange he's so persistent.'
But it was too late, the door to the next apartment opened and an old lady with a walking stick came out, remonstrating furiously. As Philippe beat a hasty retreat, Carnier gave a laugh. The old lady was still shouting at him as he reached the far exit of the corridor by the lifts.
'Well,' said Isabelle. 'At least we've learned his neighbour's nosy. Could be useful.'
'She was as mad as a hornet,' Philippe said when he got downstairs and left the building. 'She told me that if her neighbour wanted a pizza he would have answered the door. I asked if she'd seen him recently.'
'And?'
'She said . . .' and he hesitated.
Seurat and Isabelle leaned forward to hear. Carnier snapped impatiently, 'What did she say?'
'She said I should piss off.'
Carnier looked at Isabelle. 'What do you think?'
'I don't think he's in there.'
She looked at Seurat. He thought she was probably right. He knew what he wanted to happen next, but it was risky. Liz would never forgive them if they blew the whole operation. He waited for Isabelle to speak – this was her operation after all, even if it came at his instigation. In one sense he was only a privileged guest here.
Isabelle said, 'I think we should go in and have a look.'
Carnier said, 'You sure? What happens if Ramdani comes back while we're in there?'
'We'll put people outside to stop him coming in. We tell him that a smell of gas has been reported and we're required to check it out for safety reasons. So no one is allowed into the building while we do that. If he goes away your people will follow him, Alex.'
'And if the others turn up?'
'We tell them the same thing. They have to wait till the all-clear is given. I hope none of that happens, but I think it's a chance we have to take. It doesn't make any sense that the meet didn't take place. Ramdani wouldn't have had much time to change the plans, so it would have to have been a change from the other end. But whatever's happened, we're now out of touch with the jihadis – that's worrying, to say the least. I'm hoping there may be something in the flat that indicates what they're up to.'
As Carnier digested this, he looked at Seurat, who stayed silent – Isabelle had just decided to do what he'd been hoping she would, but it was certainly risky and he wondered what Liz would have done.
Finally, Carnier shrugged. 'OK. I'll set it up.'
Isabelle nodded. 'We'll need the locksmith – I don't want any doors broken down. The idea of this is to keep it as quiet as possible. A discreet entry, a quick search by officers with concealed weapons to make sure he's not there, then I'll go in.'
'I'll come with you,' said Seurat immediately. Carnier looked at him dubiously. Isabelle said quickly, 'It's all right, Alex. Martin knows more than anyone else what we're looking for.'
Chapter 47
The sky was pitch-black now, and the corridor was only dimly lit by the few bulbs that were working. Seurat could just make out the two armed officers who were to go in first in case Ramdani was there. They were wearing fluorescent yellow jackets with 'GAZ' written on the back. One of them carried a bag, its contents not usual for a gas fitter.
Their instructions were to get inside the flat as quickly and quietly as they could and to avoid, if at all possible, attracting the attention of the other inhabitants in the block. The previous summer had seen three nights of rioting at this estate, which had started when the arrest of a drug dealer had gone wrong and a child had been shot. The last thing Isabelle wanted was anything to happen that might make trouble flare up again, alert Ramdani and the jihadis and send them off on another tack.
As the 'gas men' approached the door of Ramdani's flat, Seurat and Isabelle waited at the end of the corridor. It was dinner time and quiet except for the sound of television coming from the flats. At each end of the corridor two more men in yellow GAZ jackets stood ready to detain anyone who tried to come along the corridor.
The first policeman rang the buzzer and knocked on the door. They all waited tensely in silence, and suddenly a door opened. But it was not the one to Ramdani's flat. An old lady came out of the next apartment; Isabelle groaned.
'Who the hell are you?' the old lady was demanding. She had her stick with her and waved it threateningly at the men standing by Ramdani's door.
'It's perfectly all right, Madame,' said the senior of the men politely. 'Just go back inside, if you don't mind. We've had a report of a smell of gas coming from this flat and we need to go inside to investigate. It is probably nothing serious but we need to check. Do you know whether your neighbour is in?'
'I've no idea where he is,' she said. 'It's not my business to keep track of my neighbours. But if he's not answering the door, I suppose he's out. What are you going to do – break his door down?'
'No, Madame, there'll be no need for that,' replied the 'gas man', soothingly. 'Now if you'd just like to go inside out of the cold, we'll check it out. I don't think there's any problem but better safe than sorry.' And he ushered her gently back inside her flat and waited until she closed the door.
There was a sigh of relief from the end of the corridor as Isabelle let out her pent-up breath. 'He did well,' said Seurat. 'That old lady reminds me of my grandmother. Terribly nosy, absolutely fearless, and won't take any nonsense from anyone.'
The man with the bag started work on the lock. It took him only seconds to have the door open and the two officers went inside. Isabelle and Seurat went up to the front door but they waited outside by the door as the armed officers went through the apartment. After a few minutes they came back to the external corridor. 'The place is empty.'
'All right, thank you very much,' Isabelle said. 'Stay here please. I don't think we'll be very long, and then you can go and tell the old lady that everything's fine. Hopefully she'll forget about us.' In her grey parka and jeans Isabelle cut an unremarkable figure, but she was clearly in charge. 'All right, Martin? Time to have a look around, eh?'
They started in the living room at the front of the flat. There were thin curtains hanging at the window but they were not drawn. An unshaded bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling was switched on. The room was tidy but minimally furnished with a threadbare sofa, one grubby armchair that had a rip in the fabric on its back, and a low table marked by the rings of mugs and glasses, on which was a two-day-old copy of Libération and a newspaper in Arabic.
The centre of the floor was covered by a faded carpet, the floorboards visible round the edges, and there was an electric fan heater in one corner that wasn't plugged in. There were no cupboards, desks or anything else that might contain papers, and no laptop or other electronic device. A new-looking television set on a stand in one corner of the room was the only thing that looked as if it had cost any significant sum.
Down the corridor, back towards the front door, was a small kitchen. There were cupboards above and below a worktop on one side of the room; the officers had left them open. Seurat peered in at their small collection of tins, cereal boxes, small bags of flour and sugar, a carton of salt, and an old jam jar full of couscous. The fridge was almost empty – wilted stalks of celery, three eggs in a little rack, a half-full milk carton and a chunk of hard cheese that looked as though it had been there for a good long time.
'If this guy was expecting visitors he hasn't exactly stocked up to feed them,' Seurat said.
Isabelle was examining the oven and grill. 'Thank God it's gas,' she said. 'I suddenly wondered if these flats only had electricity.'
Opposite the kitchen was a small bathroom. There was a bath with a shower over it and a plastic shower curtain. It was bone-dry. No one had taken a shower or a bath for a long time. The sink was streaked with the detritus of Ramdani's last shave – little black hairs that studded the basin like steel filings. On the porcelain top a razor lay carelessly askew, next to a can of shaving foam, its cap off. Seurat opened the mirrored front of the small bathroom cabinet and saw one stick of roll-on deodorant, a box of plasters, a pair of tweezers and an opened pack of razor blades.
'Looks as though he doesn't have a beard,' was Seurat's comment.
Behind him Isabelle was pulling at the wooden slats on the side of the bath, but they wouldn't give. She said, 'I don't think he's hiding under there. Not if he ever planned on coming out.'
Seurat snorted. 'I have to say, this all seems unnecessarily grim. I don't have any clear picture of Ramdani, but this flat barely feels lived in.'
'I know what you mean. After three days here any sane man would jump off the balcony outside. I bet he hasn't been here long. And wasn't planning to stay much longer.'
Seurat nodded. 'But where has he gone? And why isn't he here now? I don't get it.'
'Come on. Don't let's hang about. There's still the bedroom to check.'
The bedroom did nothing to lift their spirits. It held a double bed, and a cheap-looking desk with four drawers, containing a few pens and pencils, some rubber bands, paper clips and a lot of dust but no paper. A metal chair, a small bedside table on which sat a little lamp and nothing else, and a built-in cupboard that contained one empty suitcase completed the furnishings.
'Honestly,' said Seurat, gazing at the paltry contents of the room, 'this could be a doss house. Do we know anything about this guy?'
'Not much,' admitted Isabelle. 'We're working on it, but for now we've only official records. We couldn't exactly ask around here if we didn't want him scared off.'
'So what do we know?'
'He's a native Parisian – Yemeni mother, French father. The father is not in evidence, and the mother is dead. Ramdani grew up half a mile from here. He's twenty-five, and when he left school he went and lived in Yemen for a few years – at least that's what Immigration say; if he went anywhere else it didn't get stamped in his passport. He's on benefits now, but used to work in a little bar down the street – again, we didn't want to ask questions; I got this from the Office of Employment.' She added a little defensively, 'We can find out a lot more than that, of course. But at this stage discretion seemed to be preferable to a lot of inquiries.'
Seurat sighed, looking around the dismal room. 'I'm just frustrated the jihadis didn't arrive. And this guy seems to have disappeared and left virtually no sign of himself. Your people are sure he couldn't have got past them somehow?'
'Absolutely. We've had the camera up for thirty-six hours. No one's been out of this flat – or in. You've seen for yourself there's no other way out. And if he were hiding in here, we'd have found him by now. There isn't room to swing a cat in this place. He must have left before we started watching. That's the only explanation, isn't it?' she added, since she wasn't sure Seurat was paying attention to what she was saying.
He wasn't. He had gone over to one corner of the room and was looking up at the ceiling, where there was a square metal grating.
'What is it?' asked Isabelle, slightly annoyed. Martin was always so inquisitive, she thought, even when it just wasted time.
'It must be some kind of central heating system. There are no radiators in this place and it's not freezing cold,' he said, purposely misunderstanding her.
'What about it? The officers will have checked that out.'
'Maybe. But maybe not.' He picked up the metal chair and put it under the grating. 'There are no screws in this. How do you think it stays in place?'
'Heaven knows. It probably rests on a ledge. Can't you see?'
As he stood on the chair the cover was only inches above his upraised hand. He reached up and gently pushed. One corner of the grating lifted and then dropped back into place. He pushed again with both hands and the entire square cover lifted up and he was able to move it over to rest on the inside of the ceiling. He stared up into the hole above his head. He poked one arm through until it disappeared into the gap, and felt around in the blackness. Then he climbed down.
'Find anything?' asked Isabelle sarcastically. She shared Seurat's frustration, but couldn't see the point of what he was doing now.
'Not yet.' He reached into his pocket and took out a small metal torch. Then he repositioned the chair to place it directly below the opening in the ceiling and climbed back onto it again.
'You're not thinking of going up there, are you? Let the officers do it. They're younger than you.'
'Don't worry – if anyone's going to have to crawl along a shaft it won't be me. I just want to take a look to see where it goes.'
He hoisted both arms up into the gap, holding his torch in his teeth, and leaned his elbows on the ceiling. Then before Isabelle could protest Seurat pulled himself straight up into the air until his head disappeared into the opening. He's strong, thought Isabelle admiringly despite herself, for inwardly she thought this was all a waste of time.
'Come on down, Martin,' she said, staring at his legs hanging in the air. He must have replied, but his voice was muffled by the surrounding walls of the shaft.
'What did you say?' Isabelle half shouted, and just then he dropped back down again, missing the chair and falling onto the floor with a thud.
'Are you all right?' Isabelle was standing over him and held out a hand. But he sat up, shook his head and said, 'I'm fine. My arms suddenly gave way.'
'I told you it was a job for a younger man,' she said unsympathetically. 'What's up there anyway?'
'There's a duct, quite wide. You could crawl along it if you were slim – and young,' he added with a smile. 'It must run along the top of all the flats in this corridor. I can't swear to it, but I thought I heard something moving up there.'
'It was probably rats. Or the pipes heating up.'
'Mmm. Perhaps. We need to find out exactly where it goes. There may be an exit he could have used.'
'Why would he want to go out that way?'
'He may have spotted the surveillance and put two and two together.'
'Yes, and he may have invisible powers too,' she replied caustically.
'But don't you see? That would explain why the others didn't show. He may have warned them.'
'I don't believe it,' said Isabelle. 'We've been very careful.'
Martin shrugged. 'Well, whatever. But the duct's certainly a possible way out – and in as well. Do you think we can get a plan of where it goes?'
'I'm sure we can from the building management company. But I can't see much point in doing it now. There's nothing here to help us learn what the jihadis are planning to do, or where they are. And if you're right and Ramdani saw the surveillance, he's probably not coming back. If we stay here much longer we're going to have the old lady next door coming out to find out what's going on. I think we ought to leave now and get the "gas men" to tell the old lady that everything's fine. Then we can get the plans tomorrow and see whether it's worth sending someone to explore the ducting.'
Although he hated leaving the job unfinished, Seurat couldn't think of any reason to object to Isabelle's plan, so they put everything back as it was in the flat and went towards the front door where the two officers were waiting in the passage.
They closed the door behind them and Isabelle and Martin Seurat began to walk off down the corridor as the officer rang the old lady's bell. Nothing happened. So he rang again and put his ear to the door, listening for her. Then the officer called out to Isabelle, 'I think you should come.'
'What is it?' she said as she and Seurat walked back.
'Listen.'
Isabelle bent down and opened the letter box. She could hear a gasping, choking sound.
She said, 'I think she's ill. Sounds like a heart attack. Open the door.'
The lock was no more difficult than the one on the flat next door and within seconds the door was open. Martin elbowed Isabelle out of the way and went in first. He's acting as if the old bird is his grandmother, Isabelle thought with amusement.
The flat had exactly the same layout as the one next door and the sounds were coming from behind the closed door to the living room in front. Martin pushed the door open and saw the old lady standing up, held on her feet by a thin, dark young man. He had one arm round her neck and with his other hand he was pushing a revolver hard into the side of her throat. The old lady's eyes were open but only the whites were showing; her mouth was slack and saliva was dribbling out and down her chin. Her skin was a bluish white and there was a raw, rattling noise coming from her open mouth.
'Let her go,' shouted Martin. 'Can't you see? You're suffocating her.'
The young man, whom Isabelle recognised from the photos as Ramdani, tightened his grip on the old lady's throat, and pointed his pistol at Martin. He didn't look much more than twenty years old, thought Isabelle, and he looked frantic.
'Stop it!' Martin commanded. 'She's choking. She can't breathe.'
Isabelle added, trying to sound calm, 'Put the gun down. We don't want anyone to get hurt. And let the lady go.'
The man stared at Isabelle, and for a moment she thought that her words had got through to him. Martin must have thought so too, for he took a step forward and extended his hand. 'Just give me the gun.'
Ramdani relaxed his grip on the old lady's throat, but instead of handing over the gun, he held his arm straight out and fired.
Isabelle watched in horror as the shot hit Martin square in the chest, its force knocking him to his knees. Immediately one of the armed officers behind her raised his own weapon and fired back.
Ramdani's face creased in agonised surprise. He dropped the gun as his legs gave way, and he knocked down the old lady as he fell.
There were three bodies on the floor now, but only one of them was moving. The old lady was gasping and shuddering, the other two were still. One of the officers was on his phone calling for backup and medical assistance, Isabelle was kneeling on the floor, holding Martin's head up, his blood running over her hands and down his jacket. She was shouting, 'Martin, Martin,' but he didn't respond and she knew that he was dead.
Later Isabelle could only dimly recall the sequence of events that followed the shootings. Looking back she realised that she had acted automatically to try to prevent a public furore. She had sent the officers in their GAZ jackets outside to explain to interested bystanders, attracted by the ambulance and the presence of the police, that there had been a gas emergency, and that an old lady had had a heart attack, but the emergency was over and the old lady was still alive and was going to hospital.
She had insisted that the bodies of Martin and the young man, presumably Ramdani, once they had been formally declared dead, be left where they were until the middle of the night, when they could be taken out secretly.
She had stayed, at first sitting on the floor beside Martin, tears running down her cheeks, then sitting in the kitchen making the dreadful but necessary phone calls. Throughout this, some of her colleagues had thoroughly searched the old lady's flat. It was obvious how Ramdani had got in. The grating in the bedroom was off and there was a gaping hole in the ceiling. Why he had chosen her flat no one could explain, unless he had gone into the ducting when he heard the knocking on his door and thought he could hide there. Or perhaps he had heard Seurat come up into the crawl space, and panicked. He might have thought it would be safe to hide in the old lady's flat, or possibly he'd thought he could escape through her front door, until he'd realised that the officers were outside in the corridor. When they'd broken in, he must have intended to use her as a shield for his escape.
By the time the medical team returned to remove the bodies, Isabelle was back in the living room sitting beside Martin. Before Ramdani was taken out, she ordered a policeman to search his body thoroughly. She was glad she did – in a trouser pocket they found a folded train schedule. It was for the Eurostar from Paris's Gare du Nord to London.
Watching as Martin was zipped into a bag and taken away, Isabelle thought how unnecessary his death was, and cursed herself for letting him push ahead of her as they came into the flat. Like the grandmother he had been telling her about, and like the old lady who had now been taken despite her protests to hospital, Martin had been absolutely fearless. And curious, fatally curious.
The only good thing to come out of this whole dreadful night, she told herself, was that it was now pretty certain that the terrorists were heading for England.
Chapter 48
At the safe flat in Paris, Annette Milraud was in the kitchen making a late supper. Her husband Antoine was with her. Martin Seurat had decided to move Antoine from the Montreuil house to share the flat, judging that he was likely to cooperate more if he was with his wife than if they were kept separated. As well as the guards, Jacques Thibault was there this evening too. He was monitoring Milraud's laptop and phone for any messages from Zara or the contact in Dagestan – any communication at all that might throw light on what might happen next. If need be, he could immediately ask Milraud to explain.
Annette poked her head round the sitting-room door. 'Would you like to join us for supper?'
'No, thanks,' said Thibault. 'I'll stay here.'
As well as Milraud's laptop, he kept checking his own for any news of the operation at Ramdani's flat. From the kitchen he could hear the low murmur of the Milrauds' conversation. Once Annette gave out a loud groan, and he heard Antoine say, 'It will be all right, I promise.'
It was about eleven o'clock when the landline phone rang. Thibault picked it up, thinking with relief it must be Isabelle at last. But it was a man's voice. He identified himself as a senior police officer. 'Am I speaking to Monsieur Thibault?'
'Yes,' said Jacques, warily, wondering why on earth a police officer had his name and this number.
'I have been asked to ring you by Madame Isabelle Florian.'
'Is she all right?' asked Thibault.
'Yes. But she wished me to tell you that there has been some shooting at a flat in Seine-Saint-Denis. The occupant of an apartment has been shot dead.'
The policeman seemed to hesitate and Thibault sensed that there was more to come. 'Is he the only casualty?'
The policeman said slowly, 'One other person was shot. He is also dead, alas.'
'I'm sorry,' said Thibault, thinking it must be some poor policeman who had gone first into the flat. Thibault barely registered what the caller said next – 'A Monsieur Martin Seurat from your Service, I believe' – but then the words sank in.
'Martin Seurat? Are you sure?'
'Positive, Monsieur. He was dead when he reached the hospital. I am so very sorry.'
In the background Thibault heard Annette clearing the table in the kitchen. He thanked the policeman for calling and hung up. He would learn the details later on; right now, he was too stunned to take in much more than the death of a senior officer of the DGSE.
'What's wrong?' Milraud was in the doorway to the kitchen, eyeing him suspiciously.
Thibault stared back at him. 'There's been a shooting.'
'Where?' Milraud asked, bewildered. Milraud had not been told anything about Ramdani or the anticipated arrival in Paris of the group of jihadis, but that didn't stop Thibault's mounting anger.
'In a tower block The wrong man got shot. Martin Seurat is dead.'
'What?'
'I said Seurat is dead.'
A plate shattered on the floor in the kitchen. A moment later Annette appeared in the doorway. 'What did you say?'
'I think you heard me.'
She looked at Thibault with disbelief, her arms outstretched. For once Antoine didn't try to comfort her but sat down heavily in one of the sitting-room chairs. He was clearly stunned, one hand on his forehead, his head bowed.
'But why?' asked Annette, as tears began to trickle from her eyes.
Thibault sensed that she must have had feelings for Seurat. He said, 'I don't know the details. Obviously something went badly wrong.' He stared angrily at Milraud.
Annette was crying openly now. 'But this is too dreadful.'
'I know,' said Thibault in a cold voice.
Milraud looked up. 'How can that have happened? I never imagined anything like this.'
'Oh no?' said Thibault. 'What did you think was going to happen when you met that Arab in the Luxembourg Gardens? What did you think would result from your meeting in Berlin? Did you think it was all just a harmless game?'
Milraud said, 'Martin was my colleague for years. Whatever our later differences, he and I were once very close.'
Thibault looked at him incredulously. 'You talk as if you were old pals who sadly no longer saw each other. We all know your story – they use you as a case history of betrayal in the Ethics lecture when we join the Service. So don't try to whitewash your past; it just dirties the name of a man who was widely admired. One who died trying to prevent the harm you were encouraging.'
Milraud sat up. 'You are blaming me for his death? I've told you everything I know.'
'No doubt.' Thibault shook his head in contempt. 'What a pity you couldn't have done it earlier.'
Ten minutes later Thibault sat gazing at the screen of his laptop but not seeing it. He could not have tolerated any more talking with either Milraud, but thankfully they had withdrawn to their bedroom. There was no one for him to phone: Isabelle would be busy for hours now, or she wouldn't have asked a police officer to break the news.
Then his mobile phone bleeped and the screen lit up. It was a text message from Peggy in London:
Charlie has just unzipped message: expected party in Paris cancelled. Group delayed leaving Yemen, now going straight on to UK. Ramdani to make own way and join them there. Sorry so late in letting you know. Problem with decoding. Peggy.
He stared blankly at the screen now, trying to still a surge of nausea. Perhaps if there hadn't been a decoding problem and the message had come through earlier, Martin Seurat would still be alive.
Chapter 49
Liz was lying on her bed in her Kentish Town flat, shoes off but still fully dressed. Isabelle had promised to let her know as soon as there was news of the group of jihadis, due to arrive at four o'clock at the flat in Paris. But she had heard nothing before she left work at seven and still nothing three hours later, by which time she had stretched out on her bed, with both her phones beside her. She was half asleep when her landline started ringing. She sat up and grabbed the handset.
'Hello.'
'Liz, it's Peggy.'
'Oh, Peggy. I thought you might be Isabelle. Have you heard anything from Paris?'
'No. But it will have been a no-show. That's probably why they haven't rung. I've just heard from Charlie Simmons. There's been a message in the cooking code. It was sent this morning but it's taken him ages to decrypt because it was full of mistakes. He thinks whoever sent it didn't properly understand the rules and it was badly encoded. Anyway he's managed to get into it and apparently it says that they're not going to Paris after all. They're coming straight on to Britain. I'm just about to text Jacques Thibault. They must all have been wondering why no one turned up at the flat. They were probably hanging on, hoping they were just late.'
'Yes, but I'm surprised they didn't let us know that no one had appeared. I wonder what they've been doing. I'm going to ring Isabelle now to see what's going on.'
'OK. While you do that I'll text Jacques. Then I think we need to warn A4 that Zara might be on the move soon. Because if his friends are on the way here, they may arrive tonight, and he's the only angle we've got on them.'
'Yes, and when I've spoken to Isabelle, or Martin if I can't get her, I'll warn the Manchester Counter-Terrorist Group that we may have some action for them soon. Our friends may well be heading for one of those warehouses.'
Liz put the phone down and was just about to pick it up again to ring Isabelle when her mobile suddenly came to life.
'Liz, it's Isabelle.'
'Hello. We've been wondering where you were. I gather no one turned up. You've must have had a rather boring evening.'
There was a pause. Then Isabelle said, 'Well, actually that's not quite true.'
'Why? What happened?'
'It's true the people we expected didn't show – but we were puzzled why and we decided to search the flat to see if there were any clues to what was going on, and our man didn't seem to be there. But he was there – he was hiding in the next-door flat and, Liz, I'm so sorry . . .' Her voice crumpled.
'What is it? What's happened?'
She could hear Isabelle sucking her breath in, trying to pull herself together. Then she managed to say, 'Martin, he was shot.'
'Shot?'
'Liz, I am so sorry. Martin is dead.'
Liz went ice-cold. She didn't want to believe what she'd heard. She took a deep breath, trying to control herself, and said as calmly as she could, 'What happened?'
While Isabelle explained, Liz tried to focus, to listen. But the words ran like noisy flowing water in the background while one brutal fact kept occupying the foreground – Martin was dead. Isabelle was explaining that when the jihadis hadn't shown up, she and Martin had taken a gamble and gone in, hoping to find evidence of what was being plotted. Martin had been curious, Isabelle explained – and Liz thought, damn Martin, he was always curious.
And it was here Liz completely tuned out, not wanting to hear the details of the death of the man she loved. Isabelle was still talking as a thousand images flashed through Liz's head: of her first meeting with Martin at the DGSE's old-fashioned headquarters on the outskirts of Paris; of Martin down at Bowerbridge, her family home, and the way he had taken to the place – so quintessentially English, he'd said; and of how Martin had chuckled when he'd seen the childhood relics Liz still kept in her bedroom there – the rosettes from gymkhanas, the watercolours she had liked to paint as a girl, and the photograph taken by her father as she stood gap-toothed and beaming and no more than nine years old, holding perhaps the titchiest fish ever to be yanked (and that with some grownup help) from the waters of the river Nadder.
All this came at her in a concentrated rush, which made her smile momentarily – though each time she had a loving image of him the grim news of his death intervened, and her memories fell away like waves hitting an unexpected reef.
She became aware that Isabelle was no longer talking. Liz did her best to pull herself together. She said mechanically, 'Thanks, Isabelle, for letting me know.'
'Liz, did you hear what I said? I said I thought you would want to come over.'
'Of course. Should I be arranging things?'
There was an awkward pause, and Liz suddenly realised that she had no real position in this. She hadn't been Martin's wife, not even legally his partner; officially, she had no real status in Martin's life at all.
She asked Isabelle, 'Have you told Mimi?' Martin's daughter.
'Not yet.'
'Or Claudette?' Martin's ex-wife, who lived in the Brittany countryside. It had not been a happy divorce – she had left Martin for an old boyfriend – but lately they had re-established speaking terms and could discuss their daughter civilly enough. Martin's bitterness at his wife's desertion had obviously been intense, but she remembered now how once as they were having coffee after dinner, he'd explained that since Liz had come into his life, his anger with his ex-wife had evaporated.
'No, I haven't called her yet. Listen, Liz, give me half an hour and I will phone you back. But remember one thing. You were the most important person in Martin's life.'
'It's kind of you to say that, Isabelle.' She was doing her very best not to sob but her eyes filled with tears.
'I'm not just saying it to be kind – he told me often enough.'
It was long after midnight when Isabelle called again. In the intervening time Liz had got up and made coffee, checked her diary for appointments the next day, rung Peggy and told her the news and that she'd be in Paris tomorrow, then asked her to tell DG about Martin. She went online and booked a ticket on the Eurostar, then put a few things in an overnight bag, just in case. Finally, having run out of diversions, she collapsed in an armchair in her sitting room. She sat still for several minutes, slowly composing herself. She didn't actually want to think any more about Martin just now – it was too painful. But quite unbidden, the memory of their last meeting came back to her, and she thought of his words – Because I love you very much, Miss Liz Carlyle. And suddenly she started to cry, then cried and cried until she could cry no more.
When her tears were utterly exhausted, she got up and went to the bathroom and washed her face. As she dried it the phone rang.
It was Isabelle again. 'I have reached Mimi and Claudette, Liz.'
'I hope they are all right.' She had little sense of Claudette. Early on in their relationship it had been clear that Martin didn't want to talk about his ex in any detail, something that Liz had always been grateful for, since it meant there were no shadows hanging over them.
'Well, Claudette was shocked, of course. I don't know if you ever met her.'
'No, I didn't.'
'She likes to control things in her life, Liz, so the unexpected tends to throw her at first, then she reasserts control, if you understand.'
'Yes,' said Liz, but she wasn't sure what Isabelle was getting at.
'At first she decided there must be a funeral right away. I explained that couldn't happen. Because of the circumstances there will have to be a post-mortem and there may be an inquiry, though it will be secret of course. Everything is being done to make sure there is no publicity – at present anyway – as we don't want to alert Zara and his friends. And I told Claudette you should be consulted.'
'Thank you,' Liz said mechanically. She didn't really feel able to cope with all this at present.
'She didn't like that – not because it was you, Liz; she has no axe to grind, but because she always wants to decide everything herself. But she did say she would be happy to have you attend the service.'
'That's big of her,' said Liz. Then she took a deep breath and forced herself to focus. 'I don't think there's much family, Isabelle. Martin's parents are both dead and he was an only child. My real concern is what Mimi wants. It's her wishes we should follow here.'
Liz had only met the girl once. Martin's relations with his daughter had been strained after the divorce; living with her mother, Mimi had not surprisingly sided with her in what had been an angry parental split. But since coming to Paris to attend the Sorbonne, she had begun to see her father regularly, and relations had improved immeasurably. When Liz had met her, not in Martin's flat but on the neutral ground of a café, conversation had been polite but strained at first.
Then Martin had excused himself to make a phone call and Liz had admired Mimi's new pair of boots, and suddenly they had begun to talk freely about all sorts of things – clothes, films, and why they hated cigarette smoke and were glad Martin had given up, and whether Paris was rainier than London – and their conversation was so spontaneous and friendly that when Martin had come back from making his call, he felt (as he said affectionately to Liz later that evening) that he was almost surplus to requirements.
Now Isabelle said, 'Actually, I have just come off the phone to Mimi – that's why I am so late ringing you again. Her mother broke the news to her, and of course she is distraught. I'd given Claudette my number and Mimi must have got it from her. At first, she wanted all the details of her father's death. To tell you the truth, I ducked that, Liz. I hope you think that was the right thing to do.'
'Yes,' said Liz, thinking that she didn't know the details either. She hadn't been listening when Isabelle was telling her what had happened. 'She'll learn all about it in due course,' she said, thinking, So will I.
'She wanted to make sure you'd been told, but she didn't have your number. I think she was relieved to learn that I'd already been in touch. She said she hoped you would come over right away. She'll take this very hard but I'm sure your presence here would be a great comfort.'
'I will,' said Liz. 'I'll be on the Eurostar that gets in at quarter past ten. But I don't really know Mimi at all.'
'I'll send a car to meet you and take you to the flat. Right now you are the one link to her father. She said that the last time she saw Martin he told her he hoped to marry you. He told her everyone has a true love in their life but not everyone is lucky enough to find them. He said he was one of the lucky ones.'
Chapter 50
Peggy Kinsolving liked to wake early – one of the best things in life was having a job she was eager to get to. In her earlier incarnation as a librarian, there had been mornings when she could barely get out of bed, especially in the dark winter months, but ever since she'd joined MI5 there had never been any problem about getting up.
This morning, however, she was fast asleep when her alarm rang at 6.30. After Liz's phone call telling her the dreadful news from Paris she had just sat in a chair for half an hour, everything spinning in her head. She hadn't been able to make up her mind whether she should ring DG straightaway or wait until morning. Should she ring Geoffrey Fane? She seemed to be immobilised, as if all the stuffing had been knocked out of her.
Then suddenly she had pulled herself together. What would Liz do in my shoes? she'd thought. Well, she wouldn't be sitting here like this. Peggy had long ago observed that the worse the situation, the more calmly Liz behaved, and she had drawn strength from Liz's cool efficiency. Well now, she said to herself, I must do the same. So she'd grabbed the phone, dialled DG's PA and passed on the news. 'He'll want to know now,' was the advice, so Peggy had rung him. DG had asked for an update on the operation and had told her that she must be the main liaison with Manchester Police until Liz was able to take over again. She'd then rung the Duty Officer at Vauxhall Cross and given him the barest account of what had happened to pass on to Geoffrey Fane. She had decided to leave informing Andy Bokus until morning. Having done all that, she began to feel better about herself and got into bed. But it was past two o'clock and her mind was racing. She was thinking what she must do in the morning; how awful Liz must be feeling; whatever could have happened in Paris – and so it went on until she fell asleep at about five o'clock, only to be woken an hour and a half later.
When she got to Thames House, Peggy found that word had already spread about Martin Seurat's death. A few colleagues asked her what had happened, but she didn't know any more than they did. As more people arrived for work, they were also greeted with the news. Soon an almost palpable gloom settled over the open-plan office where Peggy had her desk. Liz was a very popular colleague, much admired by the younger officers. It was widely known that her partner was a DGSE officer whom she'd met when she was posted to Northern Ireland, and that an operation there had ended violently in the South of France. Some people knew that Martin Seurat had saved the life of Dave Armstrong, one of their colleagues, who had been kidnapped. So Seurat was something of a hero in the Counter-Terrorist branch, even though not many people had met him.
When everyone had arrived for work Peggy told them all that Martin had been killed in Paris in the course of the operation they were working on; that Liz had gone to Paris and would be getting a full briefing but at present she could not tell them exactly what had happened. DG had asked her, she explained, to stand in for Liz until she was back. She was going to move into Liz's office for the time being and she'd asked for her calls to be put through to Liz's extension. If anything relevant came through to any of them they were to come in and tell her immediately. She might well be going up to Manchester very soon. Then she went into Liz's office, closed the door and set about trying to get to grips with what was going on.
An hour later she felt like a salesman who'd made the rounds but come back with an empty order book. She had begun by calling Charlie Simmons at GCHQ. He'd had the news of Seurat's death by now, and sounded very subdued. There had been no further email traffic to or from Zara since the email had come in announcing that the meeting in Paris had been cancelled. He explained again that the reason why it had taken so long to unzip that message was that it seemed to have been sent by someone who was not familiar with the code. 'This may mean that those who usually send the messages are not there,' he said.
'That makes sense,' said Peggy. 'Presumably the messages are usually sent by the people who are on their way here. But they must be communicating somehow or how are they going to meet up with Zara?'
'However they are doing it, we're not onto it. Perhaps they made all the arrangements in advance and don't need to communicate.'
'Maybe so,' said Peggy, but she was sceptical. The silence seemed ominous.
Next she checked in with A4 and was told that Zara was acting like a model student, attending lectures, working in the library. 'Completely normal,' said the Duty Controller. Too normal, thought Peggy, sceptical again.
Finally she checked with her contact at the Border Agency. He was in constant contact with their counterparts on the Continent and no vehicle of the description she had given him had been reported crossing the Channel or the North Sea. Peggy asked, 'What if the vehicle were coming in a roundabout way?'
'How do you mean?'
'Say from much further away than the usual Channel ports. Like Scandinavia – ferries from Norway come here, don't they?'
'Sure, though that wouldn't help them escape detection. There isn't a port within five hundred miles east of here that hasn't been given the details of the vehicle we're looking for. And just to be safe, we circulated them to Ireland too. In fact, unless this lorry's coming from Brazil you don't have anything to worry about. If it sails, we'll know.'
'All right,' said Peggy, tempted to ask him to cover Brazil as well, but even she could see that was absurd. 'Thank you,' she added, realising that perhaps she had been a bit rude. She was getting very tense. It wasn't just the aftermath of Seurat's death and the absence of sleep, it was the absence of developments. No news was usually good news, but right now Peggy wanted something to happen.
Chapter 51
It had been a really tedious few days. Maureen Hayes had wanted to take the week as holiday because her son was home on leave from Afghanistan, but she'd been told she had to work. Wally Woods, her A4 controller, had said that they needed all the resource they could muster to cover what was thought to be a developing terrorist plot.
But so far nothing had happened. The target Maureen and her team were covering, Zara, had gone reliably as clockwork every day of the week from his hostel, Dinwiddy House, to SOAS, where he had attended lectures, sat working in the library and drunk coffee in the snack bar with other students. He did not seem to have any close friends whom he met regularly but he chatted in a friendly enough way to whoever was around. She and her team had been unable to get near enough to overhear any of his conversations but everything looked perfectly natural. Then at about five or six in the evening, he had left the university area and gone back to Dinwiddy House, where, according to her overnight shift colleagues, he had stayed until the following morning. If he was plotting a terrorist outrage, thought Maureen, he must be doing it from his room, as there were no outward signs of a conspiracy.
Today was Friday, and at the early morning briefing before they took over the surveillance, she and her team had been told to be extra-vigilant. Something that had happened the previous day in Paris had led the desk officers to think that a group of possibly up to six people would be arriving in Britain, if they were not already here, and Zara would be meeting up with them. They were thought to be intending to carry out some form of terrorist attack, but what, where and when was not known. It was vital, they had been told, that if Zara broke his routine or met a group of people who had not been seen before, they reported at once; and above all that they did not lose him.
So Maureen and her team were very alert this morning, and rather disappointed when Zara came out at the usual time and headed off to SOAS just the same as on all the previous days. Marcus Washington went into the building and reported that Zara was in a lecture. After the lecture he went to the library, where he was reported by Marcus, by then sitting two places away from him, to be concentrating on a large book from which he was taking notes. Just before twelve noon, he looked at his watch, packed up his things, returned the book to the desk and came out of the library.
'On the move,' said Marcus quietly into his microphone as Zara left the library to be picked up by Maureen and her partner, Duff Wells, as he came down the steps.
'Having an early lunch,' reported Maureen to the Control Room. But instead of heading off to the snack bar where he usually went at lunchtime, Zara walked quickly out into Tottenham Court Road, ran straight across, narrowly avoiding being run over by a bus, and headed fast towards Goodge Street underground station.
'He's doing anti-surveillance,' reported Maureen as Wells, who had anticipated the move and was already on the other side of the road, went into the station ahead of Zara. Maureen caught up, arriving at the station as Zara and Wells with a small group of passengers were waiting for the lift to take them to the platforms. Maureen, Wells and Zara, with about fifteen other people, piled into the ancient lift, which creaked its way down and juddered to a halt at platform level. Zara was first out, hurrying along the tunnel to the southbound platform.
'Doesn't look as though he's going to see his mum,' reported Maureen. 'Euston is north.'
Then began a short tour of the underground system as Zara, with Maureen and Wells accompanying him, went south on the Northern Line to Tottenham Court Road, west on the Central Line to Oxford Circus and finally back north on the Victoria Line to Euston, where he took the exit for the mainline station. Each time he changed trains he hung back and tried to be the last onto the train, but Maureen and Duff Wells knew all about that anti-surveillance ploy and, helped by the crowded platforms, one or other of them managed to board the train after him without drawing attention to themselves.
Half an hour later, as Maureen, now ahead of Zara, emerged up the stairs from the underground onto the concourse of Euston Station, she was relieved to see another colleague, Fred Watson, standing in the crowd in front of the departure board.
As she followed Zara towards the booking hall and watched from the door as he collected a ticket from the fast ticket machine, she heard Fred talking to the Control Room. 'There's a Manchester train at one o'clock; we'll go with him if he catches it. Gets there at seven minutes past three.'
'OK,' came back from Wally Woods. 'I'm alerting the police to meet the train at all the stops. I'll get a team out to meet you in Manchester. Keep us posted.'
Back in the main concourse Zara joined the crowd in front of the departure board, where he stood waiting, watched from different directions by the three pairs of eyes of the A4 team.
As soon as the platform for the 13.00 train to Manchester Piccadilly flashed up on the board, Duff Wells moved fast, ahead of the crowd, towards Platform 5 and Fred Watson followed, more casually. Maureen stayed in the concourse waiting for Zara to move too. But Zara didn't move. Maureen muttered into her microphone, 'Watch out for a last-minute rush. He's still here and he's very alert for surveillance.' At 12.55 Zara was still on the concourse.
Then suddenly he moved fast, out of the concourse, towards the platforms. 'On the move,' said Maureen. She was trying to keep up with him, but she lost sight of him in the crowd of people now rushing to get seats on another train. 'Control lost,' she shouted as she ran towards the platforms.
Fred and Duff were still waiting at the top of the ramp leading down to platform 5, but there was just a trickle of latecomers now and Zara was not among them.
'Pretty sure we haven't missed him.' It was Duff Wells. 'Fred got here before anyone else. Between us we've clocked everyone who got on.'
As Maureen ran up to join them, Wally Woods said, 'Try the next train', over their headphones. 'Thirteen-oh-three, Platform seven, for Birmingham.'
'I'll wait here till this train leaves in case he's just delaying,' panted Maureen as Duff and Fred set off running to Platform 7 where the stragglers were still boarding. Duff waited at the end while Fred sprinted along the platform, scanning the passengers without much hope of seeing his target, but then near the far end of the platform he spotted Zara, just about to get onto the train.
'Got him,' he shouted. 'Second carriage. I'm boarding now.' Duff joined a chattering group of grey-haired men dressed in walking clothes who were getting into a carriage in the middle of the train. Last to arrive was Maureen, clambering into the final carriage, just before the doors were locked and the guard signalled the driver to go. She stood leaning on the door, gasping for breath, her heart pumping at twice its normal speed. I'm getting too old for this, she thought to herself.
'Phew,' she heard Fred say. 'That was a close one. But we're still with him. I've got eyeball. He's just three rows in front of me.'
'OK,' said Wally from Thames House Control Room. 'Well done.'
'The train stops at Rugby, Coventry and Birmingham International; Birmingham New Street is the last stop,' continued Fred.
'Get off where he does, but I'll try to get the police to be at the stops along the way – I'm hoping they'll be able to take him on if he gets off before New Street. I'll get our teams to meet you at New Street in case that's where he's going.'
Rugby and Coventry came and went and it wasn't until Birmingham International was announced that Zara got up and joined the line of passengers waiting to get off the train.
What on earth is he up to? wondered Maureen. Don't say he's going to a conference – not after all this trouble.
But it wasn't to the Conference Centre he was heading. As soon as he left the train, he made a beeline for the Skyrail to the airport and got on the first train that came in, with the A4 team in hot pursuit.
'What do you want us to do if he checks in for a flight?' asked Maureen.
Wally replied, 'You'll have to let him go. But get all the details.'
But at the airport Zara didn't go to the departure hall; he went instead to the arrivals hall, and straight to the Hertz car-hire desk.
'He's hiring a car. We've got no wheels so we'll have to let him go or hire one ourselves.'
'Get the number and make of the car and we'll pick him up on the road. There's a police team coming out now to join you.'
As the A4 team watched, Zara hired a dark blue Ford S Max and drove off, heading for the airport exit.
While Wally Woods in London passed the target to the police surveillance teams, Maureen and her colleagues went off in different directions to get some lunch in the airport cafés. By the time she had finished a not very enticing salad, Maureen heard over her headphones that Zara's car had been picked up by the cameras, heading towards the M6 Toll. That was a silly choice if he's trying to avoid surveillance, she thought. He'll be on camera all the way.
Chapter 52
Peggy had been staring out of the window, feeling as sluggish as the Thames at low tide, when the phone on Liz's desk rang.
'Hi, Border Agency here. I think we have something for you.'
'Where?'
'Hook of Holland. They called five minutes ago. There's a Stena Line ferry leaving for Harwich at fourteen thirty their time; that's half past one here, so fairly soon. Scheduled arrival time at Harwich is twenty hundred hours, British time. The lorry came in just before the deadline – they have to be quayside sixty minutes before sailing. It's got the markings you're looking for, though it's carrying Turkish registration plates.' He read out the registration number. 'Just one driver, Turkish passport, name of Deniz Keskin, date of birth thirtieth October 1963.'
'I bet that's a false passport. If that's our lorry it's come from Dagestan and he's not Turkish. What's it carrying?'
'Mattresses. Lots of mattresses, according to the manifest.'
Plus a few other things, thought Peggy. And she asked, 'Has anyone looked inside?'
'No. The Dutch are giving it a bit of space – as we requested. You said don't scare them off.'
'That's right.'
'It was weighed – all the vehicles are, so that can't have aroused suspicion; it was apparently normal weight for its declared load. But it's hard to tell much without looking inside. We can have Customs search it when it arrives if you want. Easy enough to do.'
'No, thanks. We don't want to risk alerting them at this stage. But please ask them to try and put the marker on as it goes through.'
As Peggy put the phone down she was hoping she'd taken the right decision. It was a big risk to allow into the country a lorry that she was pretty sure was carrying weapons, detonators and heaven knew what else, intended for a group of jihadis who had gone off the map and could be anywhere in the country. But she didn't have much time to worry about it. As soon as she put the phone down, she picked it up again and rang Wally Woods in the A4 Control room.
'Hi, Liz.'
'No, it's Peggy. Liz is out today.'
'Oh?'
Obviously the news from Paris hadn't percolated to the A4 control room. Peggy said, 'I'm running the op until Liz gets back. I've just heard news of our lorry from the Border Agency. It's on board the Stena ferry at the Hook of Holland coming to Harwich.' She passed on the details she'd been given. 'They're going to get the marker on at Harwich.'
'OK. We'll be there. You still reckon it's headed for one of those warehouses?'
'Yes. But we don't know which one. If I learn anything else I'll let you know. Anything new on Zara?'
'Yes. He's made a move. I was just about to pick up the phone to tell Liz when you rang. Is she OK by the way? It's not like her to leave her post just as things start hotting up.'
'Yes. She's fine but someone close to her has died.' She hoped she'd said enough and not too much.
'Oh. I'm sorry to hear that,' said Wally and went on, 'Zara took a train to Birmingham.'
'Birmingham?'
'Yeah. He's doing anti-surveillance but not all that cleverly. He took the Skyrail from the train to the airport and now he's in a hire car. Last seen heading towards the M6.'
'Oh God. Have you lost him?' asked Peggy, thinking of the lorryload of weapons she had just agreed to let into the country.
'No. Not as you might say "lost". We're not with him at the moment but we know roughly where he is and what car he's in, so the police teams will be behind him soon. He'll be on the cameras, and if he takes the M6 or the Toll, he'll be snapped every few hundred yards. And we can always stop him at the Toll gate if we need to. The paying system can break down for a bit.'
He must be heading towards Manchester, thought Peggy. Nothing else makes sense.
'Our team is ready to join in in case he goes off the M6 up a minor road,' went on Wally. 'Don't worry, Peggy. I think we can cope with little Mr Zara whatever he does.'
'He may be picking up some others somewhere.'
'Yeah. That occurred to us. He's hired a big enough car.'
'You've got all the addresses he might be going to, haven't you?' asked Peggy anxiously. 'The four warehouses and his mother's house.'
'Relax, Peggy. We've got it all in the brief. And we're in touch with Manchester CT Unit.'
'OK, Wally, thanks. Keep me posted please. I'll be on my mobile.'
'You going somewhere?'
'Yes. I'm going up to Manchester to liaise with the police. I'll be in the Ops Room up there.'
There was no point in hanging around in London. Not with both Zara and the lorry apparently heading for Manchester. So Peggy went back to the open-plan office and told the others where she would be, then headed out of Thames House and hailed a passing taxi. As she leaned back in her seat, she pulled out her mobile. The last thing Liz probably needed now was a phone call, but knowing Liz she would be wondering what was going on and, after all, she had asked Peggy to keep her informed. So Peggy sent her a text:
Off to Manchester – lorry and Z on their way.
The other package's whereabouts still unknown.
Hope you are all right. PK
She hoped Liz wouldn't be away too long. She wasn't at all sure that she could fill her shoes.
Chapter 53
Peggy made it to Euston with just enough time to buy a ticket. The train to Manchester was packed but she managed to find a seat that wasn't booked, though she had to ask a rude young man to move his coat and briefcase so that she could sit down. As the train pulled out of the station she closed her eyes and rehearsed in her mind everything that had happened and what she thought was about to happen. She was worried that they had seen no trace of the jihadis. Where were they? Were they travelling together or separately? Perhaps they were on the train. Perhaps they didn't exist. Had they all misinterpreted the intelligence? And if they did exist and were on their way to meet Zara, what was it they were planning to do?
She was relieved that Manchester Police had set up an Ops Room. The responsibility to prevent whatever was planned no longer lay entirely on her shoulders. The police were now in charge of the action and she was their adviser.
Her thoughts drifted to Paris and to Liz. She wondered what she was doing and how she was getting on. What had happened in Paris the previous evening and why had Martin been shot? She tried to imagine the chain of events but she couldn't make any sense of it.
When the refreshment trolley came through the carriage she realised she was starving. She had had no lunch and hardly any sleep the night before. She bought a sandwich and a black coffee and began to feel a bit better. She tried to relax, watching the reflections in the window and the bright lights of occasional stations. She had a feeling she wouldn't be relaxing again for a while.
There was a long queue for taxis at Manchester Piccadilly Station, and when Peggy eventually got to the front and the cab drove off, she remarked to the driver how busy the place seemed. He laughed. 'It's the pop concert.'
'Who's playing?'
He named a boy band Peggy had only vaguely heard of and added, 'It'll be worse tomorrow. There's another performance and the match – United's playing City at Old Trafford. There'll be gridlock, so I think I'll stay at home.'
At Police HQ Peggy signed in at the front desk. 'Third floor,' she was told. 'They're expecting you.'
When the lift doors opened she found a tall, youngish-looking police officer waiting for her. It took a minute before she realised who it was.
'I'm Richard Pearson, the Chief Constable. You must be Peggy.'
'Yes,' replied Peggy, rather breathlessly. 'Good evening.'
'I wanted to meet you to say how pleased we are to have you with us – but also how sorry I was about the sad events in Paris. I don't know exactly what happened but I understand that Liz Carlyle has lost someone close to her. Please pass on my sympathy when you see her.'
'Thank you,' said Peggy, very surprised. 'None of us knows the details, but Liz has gone over there and I expect she'll have heard the full story by now. It seems that the group of jihadis changed their plans. They seem to have bypassed Paris and now we think they're coming straight here. Your people will be more up to date than me – I've been on the train for the last couple of hours.'
'Yes,' replied the Chief Constable. 'There have been some developments. Let me take you into the Ops Room and introduce you. The officer in charge is Chief Superintendent George Lazarus, Head of our Counter-Terrorist Unit. He'll brief you on what's going on.'
He led her down a corridor and into a large, brightly lit room. A big square table with chairs around it filled one end, and at the other a line of eight or ten desks, each with a computer, a phone and headphones, faced a wall of screens. A large digital clock on the wall showed 8.27 pm.
The desks were all occupied; there was a mix of men and women, some in uniform, some in plain clothes, some talking on the phone, some tapping on keyboards, some sitting back in their chairs. The atmosphere seemed busy but calm.
The Chief Constable introduced Peggy to Chief Superintendent Lazarus. Then with a quick, 'Let me know, George, as soon as anything starts to happen,' he left.
'Come and sit down and have a cup of coffee and a bun and I'll tell you what's going on. Then I'll introduce you to the team,' said Lazarus, shepherding Peggy to the table. He was a big man, with large hands and feet. He quite dwarfed Peggy. As they sat down he picked up a paper from the table. 'There was a call for you from Thames House Duty Officer about half an hour ago. He said that someone rang on one of your agent lines and asked you to ring back. Here's the number.'
'OK, thanks,' said Peggy, taking the slip of paper and glancing at it before putting it in her pocket. 'I'll ring them later.'
'Right then,' said Lazarus. 'The situation at present is that the Stena ferry carrying the lorry should be just about in to Harwich. The lorry will be allowed through Customs with no fuss, as you requested, and a marker will be put on covertly as it goes through. We have surveillance waiting to go with it wherever it goes. If it comes up here, as we expect, it should arrive any time from two o'clock onwards, provided it doesn't stop or get lost. Zara in his hire car has arrived at his mum's house in Eccles. We have three teams of A4 there, but they're having to stand off a bit as the area is difficult for surveillance. They are doing drive-bys and Zara's rental car is still there outside Mum's house. If he goes out they should pick him up. My only worry is if he leaves over the garden wall, but that's unlikely if he's going to make contact with the lorry. He didn't seem aware of surveillance. I gather he led your lot a bit of a dance on the way here, so he probably thinks he's clean now.
'I'm sure you're briefed on McManus,' he went on. 'Well, he's working with us now. He's got no choice,' and he smiled grimly. 'He's been told that if he doesn't hear from Jackson, he's to drop by the club at about twelve thirty and try and find him. If Jackson's going to meet the lorry he should make a move any time from one o'clock onwards. We've got an armed team standing by and we're going to conceal a couple of surveillance officers by the entrances to each of the industrial estates to warn us of who's coming in. We've got all the comms and the cameras coming in to us here, so this is Mission Control,' he said with a grin. 'But what I want to know from you is what's happened to your band of terrorists. I gather they didn't turn up in Paris.'
'No,' said Peggy 'but we're pretty sure they're out there somewhere and intending to meet up with Zara. What we don't know is what they're planning to do.'
'Well, let's hope we find out before they do it,' said Lazarus, sucking his breath in through his teeth with a faint hiss. 'Now come and meet the people.'
They walked side by side across to the desks. At the first desk was Lazarus's deputy, a balding man with a pate that gleamed in the bleaching glare of the overhead strip lighting. His headphones were hanging round his neck. Lazarus said, 'Andy's got all the surveillance comms on his desk. What's happening at the moment, Andy?'
'Not a lot,' was the reply. 'The ship's just docked.' Andy turned a knob and the sound of the A4 teams at Harwich, talking to each other and to A4 control, floated into the room.
Peggy and Lazarus moved along the line of desks meeting all the officers. A young woman Detective Sergeant, Emily something, was monitoring the cameras that Technical Ted and his team had placed at the warehouses. 'Do we know yet which warehouse they'll be going to?' she asked Peggy.
'No. 'Fraid not,' Peggy replied. 'Could be any of them. The one in Denton seems to hold all the paperwork of Lester Jackson's club, but the one in Eccles has beds.'
'Let's have a look, Emily,' said Lazarus. She leaned forward and clicked her mouse. Suddenly the screens on the bank of monitors on the wall cleared, replaced a moment later by views of the warehouses. Two were old brick buildings that looked pretty run-down; the Denton facility was a long, hangar-like building and the Eccles one was a large aluminium shed that was indistinguishable from those dotting the outskirts of every town in England.
Technical Ted and his team had put cameras inside and outside each warehouse, and Emily panned through the pictures from each.
A curly-haired man called Ames who had his headphones on sat up quickly and raised his hand.
'Yes?' said Lazarus.
'McManus has heard from Lester Jackson. Jackson wants to meet him at Slim's at midnight. McManus wants to know if he should go.'
No one said anything for a moment. To Peggy's surprise she saw they were all looking at her. Yes, she thought, it was a question for her to answer.
'He should go. Definitely,' she said. 'I don't know why Jackson wants McManus there, but it gives us an opportunity to know where Jackson is while we wait for the lorry.'
Ames said, 'Jackson may suspect McManus.'
'Good point.' It was Lazarus now, giving his view. 'But we'll have to take that risk. It would only create more suspicion if McManus refused to meet him.'
'But what if Jackson doesn't go to the warehouse?' asked Ames.
'If Jackson leaves the club, McManus should tell us right away.'
Ames asked, 'Should he follow him?'
Lazarus turned to Peggy again. 'No,' she said. 'Far too risky. But at least we'll know from McManus when Jackson's on the move. Probably just as the lorry arrives. Or at least we hope so.'
Chapter 54
Slim's Club was full. On a week night the customers were beginning to drift home by midnight, but this was Friday, and people seemed happy to stay out late. McManus found a space at the very end of the car park and walked back towards the club's entrance. He could hear the loud music from the dance floor while he was still fifty yards away. He nodded at the bouncers standing by the front door and went through into the restaurant, surprised to find that most of the tables were still occupied.
Lester Jackson, in an elegant dark suit with cream shirt and crimson tie, was sitting in his usual place against the back wall. He nodded almost imperceptibly when he saw McManus, who walked over and joined him, sliding in behind the table to sit on the banquette next to his host.
'Bang on time,' said Jackson without looking at McManus.
'Have you ever known me to be late?' The waiter came to the table. McManus saw that Jackson was drinking his usual fizzy water with a slice of lime. 'Whisky and soda,' McManus said, thinking it would look odd if he ordered anything other than his usual. 'So what's happening?' he asked casually.
Jackson didn't answer at once. He was looking around the room, as if counting heads – or the money the heads would bring in. He took a small sip of his water and said, 'I got a nice little deal proceeding.'
'That's good,' said McManus, as if it had nothing to do with him.
'Big delivery. From abroad.'
'Girls?'
Jackson shrugged and pulled one of his cuffs. 'And then some. I could use a little help with this one.'
McManus said nothing. The waiter came back with his drink, and he took a large swallow, then put his glass down. 'I've been meaning to speak to you.'
'Oh yeah?'
'I'm going to be retiring soon.'
'Retiring? You ain't that old, man.' Jackson's voice had suddenly lost its polish.
'My pension says I am.' McManus tried a smile. 'Things are going to change.'
'How's that?'
'Well, once I'm no longer working I'm not going to be much use to you, am I? It's not like I'll know what's going on.'
Jackson looked amused. 'You'll still know plenty as far as I'm concerned. And you'll know how to find out what you don't know. Your buddies will still be working in the department, won't they?'
McManus didn't say anything. He sensed this was not the time to push the story of his retirement.
Jackson said, 'You're gonna help me tonight, aren't you? Or you getting cold feet in your old age? Looking for your bus pass maybe.'
'I'm OK,' said McManus resolutely. 'What is it you need me for?'
'I got a dude collecting something from me, only I haven't done business with him before. I want backup – in case he gets some odd idea of lifting one over me. I just need you to be there. Right?'
'Since when did you need extra firepower? I know you're carrying.' He gestured at Jackson's jacket. 'I'm not. What use am I going to be if things get rough? Or are you expecting me to arrest him?'
'It's not about shooting – or arresting. I just want you there. OK?' It was not really a question; the expression on Jackson's face was telling McManus it had better be OK.
'Where are we going?'
'Not far.'
'How far? I haven't got much petrol in my car. I'll need to fill up.'
Jackson gave him a thoughtful look. 'You won't need it. I'll drive you.'
'When do you want to leave?'
'Now is not too soon.'
McManus nodded and stood up. 'OK, let me have a slash first and then we can go.'
'Do it later.'
'What do you mean?'
Jackson stared at him expressionlessly. 'I said, do it later.'
'Can't a man go to the bog?'
'Sure you can,' said Jackson, relenting. 'But leave your phone behind.'
'Why?'
'Why do you think?'
'What's the matter? Don't you trust me?' McManus demanded, trying to put outrage in his voice.
Jackson looked amused. 'I trust you, Jimmy, as much as I trust anyone.' He paused. 'Which means I don't trust you at all.'
McManus shrugged. 'OK then. I can wait. Let's go.'
Outside it was suddenly cold; frost was settling on the bonnets of the vehicles in the car park. McManus said, 'If it's not far I'll follow you. Then I can go straight home after.' He started to head for his car, but Jackson put a hand on his arm.
'Whoa. You're coming with me.' He pointed to the sleek silver Audi coupé he kept in a special slot reserved for him.
'How do I get home then?'
'I give you a lift or drive you back here for your car. But I need you with me.'
By now McManus was scared. It was clear from the way Jackson was behaving that he didn't trust him, so why did he want McManus to go with him? It didn't make any sense unless he wanted to use him as cover for whatever he was up to. They'd told him at headquarters, when they'd accused him of corruption, that the only way of avoiding a very long stretch was to help them get Jackson behind bars. They'd said that if he didn't cooperate he'd find himself charged with abetting terrorism, because Jackson had got himself involved with a bunch of jihadis. They'd said they were expecting something to go down tonight and he was supposed to warn them if Jackson moved out of the club, but with Jackson being so suspicious, he wasn't going to be able to do that. His only hope was that when they got wherever they were going he might get a chance to send a text to say where he was.
'Here,' said Jackson curtly, handing him the car keys, 'You drive.' He took out his phone. 'I'm turning this off for safety's sake. Give me yours and I'll turn that off too.'
Chapter 55
Andy, the bald man, yawned loudly. It was almost one o'clock. On the table was a litter of paper plates covered with crumbs, curling sandwiches, sausage rolls and other delicacies provided by the canteen, together with several Thermos jugs of coffee. They had monitored the lorry's progress for more than four hours as it had worked its way across country from the east coast, come up the M1, then, as if drawn by a magnet, moved west towards Manchester. It had been tailed the whole way by A4 teams.
'Any news of McManus?' The Chief Constable had been looking in from time to time during the evening, but now he'd sat down at the table, looking as if he had come to stay. He had been told earlier in the evening about McManus's text message.
Lazarus shook his head. 'No, sir. And his phone's switched off. As is Jackson's. They may still be at the club, but we don't know for sure.'
'Something coming through now,' Emily, the Detective Sergeant, announced. 'It's the Eccles estate.'
On one of the monitors a misty picture came up, showing a stretch of road, some bushes and the outline of a car in the distance, coming towards the camera. Officers Fielding and Pierce from Manchester Police's CT unit were lying hidden in a shallow ditch that ran along the edge of the estate on the east side. A couple of their colleagues were in similar positions at the west entrance. While Pierce kept a lookout, Fielding lay on his belly and watched through the special nightscope of a videocam recorder he had perched on a low tripod. The feed from Fielding's camera, displayed on the screen in the Ops Room, showed an Audi coupé slowing as it turned off the approach road into the estate, then driving away from the camera on one of the estate's narrow roads.
In the Ops Room, Emily said, 'That's Jackson's car.'
'But where's McManus?' asked Peggy.
There was no sign of any other vehicle. Andy was talking into his microphone, and he suddenly held up a hand. He flicked a switch and his conversation was audible on the speaker.
'Picture's clear enough,' said Andy. 'How many in the car?'
Pierce spoke from the ditch at the estate. 'Two guys. A black guy – I think it was Jackson. And a white driver. Mid-fifties maybe. Clean-cut.'
'Thanks.'
The Chief Constable asked, 'You reckon that's McManus?'
'Has to be,' said Lazarus. 'Otherwise he would have called us.'
'Jackson's no fool,' said Emily. 'He'll be keeping a close eye on everyone around him, and being extra-careful. I'm sure that's why his phone's off and probably why McManus's is off as well.'
They watched the monitor anxiously. From the perimeter where Fielding and Pierce were hidden, you couldn't see the Jackson warehouse, and the cameras in the warehouse – one on its exterior, the others inside – had so far shown no movement.
Suddenly the camera outside the warehouse came to life as a light went on, and the vast front door of the warehouse began to lift up slowly. Two figures were visible, standing just outside the building.
'Is that McManus?' Peggy asked.
'Yes,' said a new voice in the room. 'That's him all right.'
All heads turned to the door. It was Liz Carlyle, standing just inside the room, wearing her overcoat. Peggy leapt up, knocking her chair over. 'Liz.' The relief in her voice was clear. 'I didn't expect you back tonight. How are you?'
It had been a hard day by any measure, and it wasn't going to be over any time soon. But at least she would be concentrating now on something that didn't drain her emotions, something that called on her professional skills rather than her feelings.
She'd had plenty of time on the journey back to mull over her day's hurried trip to Paris: Isabelle meeting her at the Gare du Nord; the conversation and the tears on the drive out to Martin's flat; the realisation, when she stood in the sitting room and looked out of the window at the Square opposite, the trees bare of leaves now on this raw day, of just how much of her life, her emotions and, as she had thought, her future lay there.
Foolishly Liz had imagined she could collect all her belongings in a suitcase and take them back with her, but it took less than five minutes in the flat to recognise just how many clothes, books and odds and ends she had accumulated over the few years of her relationship with Martin. After the flat there had been a brief meeting with Claudette, Martin's ex-wife, who had been civil, if not exactly cordial. And finally a tearful hour with Mimi, Martin's adored daughter.
There had been no reason to stay longer, since she would be coming back again soon – for the funeral, for the gathering of her possessions, and (this she had promised the girl) to spend some more time with Mimi. So she had headed back to the station and caught a late afternoon Eurostar back to London. She'd gone to her flat, planning to leave the operation in Manchester to the police, but after an hour at home she'd felt so desolate and restless that when eventually she'd checked her mobile and seen the text from Peggy announcing that she was leaving for Manchester, she had decided that she would go to join her.
She'd managed to get what must have been about the last seat on the packed train by travelling first class; she'd fallen briefly asleep, waited in a long queue for a taxi, and now here she was, slightly dazzled in the brightly lit Ops Room but relieved to be able to focus on something that had nothing to do with Martin Seurat and the grief that flooded through her in unpredictable waves.
Peggy said, 'Zara's been at his mother's house in Eccles. We've just heard from the A4 team there that he's gone out. He's in the car he rented in Birmingham.'
'Are they still with him?'
'Yes.'
'Here's the lorry,' Andy announced as the grey, wavy picture from the night-vision camera at the gate appeared on the screen again. The images from the camera outside the warehouse were showing on another screen. The lorry drove into the picture, made an enormous 180-degree turn, and stopped, facing out on the hard standing where Jackson and McManus stood waiting. Jackson waved it backwards and the lorry reversed slowly into the warehouse, gave a belch of exhaust, and stopped.
Jackson and McManus went in and attention in the Ops Room switched to the pictures from the cameras inside the warehouse. After a moment the driver jumped down from the cab. He was a short, stocky man in a thick dark pea jacket.
'You made it at last,' said Jackson, his voice clearly audible in the Ops Room.
'Ya. That was one good long hell of a drive.' His English was heavily accented and quite difficult to make out on the microphones. 'We had to stop a lot for fuel.'
'I bet you did,' said Jackson knowingly. 'Everything all right with the cargo?'
'Yeah. You want to see?'
The man made to go for the rear of the lorry, but Jackson put up a hand. 'Wait a minute. Tell me about the journey. Any problems?'
'The journey? It was difficult, especially in Germany. Snow has come early this year.'
'I'm not asking about the weather. I meant, when you got to Harwich. Were you stopped at Customs? Have they been through the cargo?'
'No. I expected them to open the doors, but they didn't.'
Jackson turned to McManus, who was standing beside him, before turning back to the driver and asking, 'Do they usually look inside?'
'Always. In my experience. But not tonight.'
'I don't like the sound of that.'
McManus said, 'Could just be shortage of staff, weight of traffic, Christmas spirit – anything. I wouldn't read much into it. And he got here, didn't he?'
Jackson's eyes stayed on McManus. 'Yeah, but what I'm wondering is if anyone else came along for the ride.'
The three men in the warehouse now moved outside to the tarmac forecourt, and all the microphone could pick up was the faint sound of voices.
'What are they waiting for?' asked Andy. He sounded cross.
Before anyone could answer, the three men started walking back into the warehouse. The driver was gesturing at the back of the lorry. 'I should open it up now?' His voice came through loudly.
'Not yet,' said Jackson curtly.
The driver was insistent. 'I have done. Let me unload and then I can be gone. I have mattresses to go to Glasgow by tomorrow. And there is a breathing cargo here that needs some air.'
Jackson laughed harshly. '"A breathing cargo". I like that. Don't you, Jimmy?'
McManus shrugged. 'I hope you haven't dragged me out here for a bunch of tarts.'
'You'll see soon enough.' And Jackson walked to the front of the warehouse again, while McManus stood still, half in shadow, and the lorry driver lit a cigarette.
Back in the Ops Room, Emily asked, 'Why doesn't he want the lorry opened up?'
'Because the main customer hasn't arrived,' said Liz.
'If he ever does,' said Andy.
'He will. Zara's come all the way from London,' Liz said. 'I don't think it's just to see his mum.'
Fielding's camera had picked up another car coming into the estate, a dark Ford S Max. Peggy looked at Liz. 'That's the car Zara hired.'
Thirty seconds later, as the S Max appeared on the monitor parking on the tarmac outside Jackson's warehouse, Lazarus was on the radio to the armed police team. 'Target has arrived.' Turning to Liz, he said, 'Time to go in?'
'I think we should wait a bit.'
'You sure? If the guns are in the lorry we'll find them. We can strip the bloody thing down to nuts and bolts if we have to.'
'We still don't know where the others are.'
'You think they're coming to the warehouse?'
'Possibly. I'd like to hear what Zara and Jackson say to each other.'
'I make Jackson as just the middleman.'
'I think you're right, but don't we need to hear them make the transaction if we're going to be sure of a successful prosecution? Otherwise we haven't got much to stick on Zara. He can say he's come to collect mattresses, and without more evidence a jury might give him the benefit of the doubt.'
The Chief Constable broke in. 'We'll take the risk, George. Bring the armed team forward but hold off going in for a bit.'
Lazarus nodded and radioed some orders.
Chapter 56
What the hell is happening now, thought McManus as he stood at the door of the warehouse and watched the dark-coloured car pull up. He hadn't believed Liz Carlyle when she'd told him that Jackson had got himself involved with a bunch of jihadis, but there was something going on here that was out of the run of Jackson's usual style. Who was this 'customer' who'd arrived and what was he collecting?
He wondered how much Liz Carlyle and the team back at HQ really knew about the situation. If they'd known tonight would be dangerous, they should have warned him. When Jackson had asked him to meet up at Slim's, there had been no reason for him to think there could be trouble brewing; it was only when Jackson had insisted on taking away his mobile phone that he'd grown worried. Without his phone, and without a gun, he felt doubly exposed.
They should have issued him with a weapon if they were putting him into a potentially violent situation, McManus thought angrily. But he knew the Chief Constable would never have authorised that, given the accusations against him. Not that the 'customer' who had just arrived looked very menacing. OK, he was Middle Eastern-looking, but he was slightly built, not much more than five feet nine, and looked more like a student, in his jeans, trainers and roll-neck sweater underneath a parka, than a jihadi terrorist. McManus hadn't wanted to believe Liz Carlyle's claims of a jihadi threat, and part of him still didn't. And even if this guy was a fanatic, intent on slaughtering innocents, there wasn't much he could do about it. Not when Jackson had his phone – and a gun.
Now Jackson signalled for McManus to follow him. They walked out to the tarmac in front, where the new arrival stood by his car, watching warily as Jackson and McManus approached.
'Good timing,' said Jackson. He gestured at the lorry. 'Your goods have just shown up.'
'Who's this guy?' the man demanded, pointing at McManus.
'My business associate,' said Jackson. McManus took a step back and kept his hands loose by his side. If he was supposed to be the heavy then he'd better act like one.
'You were supposed to come alone.' For all his youthful appearance, the man spoke with authority and without any signs of nerves. He's been trained, thought McManus.
Jackson seemed to sense this too. 'I'm sorry, man, but I didn't think it mattered.'
The young guy shook his head. 'I can see you're new to this. Rule Number One: no surprises. Understood?'
Jackson nodded reluctantly. It was clear now to McManus who was running the show, and it wasn't Jackson.
They walked together into the building, where the lorry driver was stubbing out a cigarette with the heel of his shoe. 'OK please to open up?' the driver asked.
Jackson shook his head. 'Not yet.' He turned to McManus and gestured at the new arrival. 'I'll be back in a minute. Give our friend a coffee, will you? There's a machine in the kitchen over there.' He pointed towards the end door in the partition at the side of the warehouse.
The Middle Eastern-looking guy said sharply, 'I don't want coffee. What's the hold-up?'
'Don't worry: I just want to have a look around outside,' said Jackson. 'Can't be too careful, can we? Then we'll get down to business.' And Jackson walked out of the warehouse before anyone could object.
McManus turned towards the other man. 'What's your name, mate?'
'Whatever,' the man said impatiently, his eyes following Jackson.
'All right, "Whatever" – are you sure you don't want coffee?'
In the Ops Room Peggy asked, 'What's Jackson doing?'
Lazarus looked at Andy, who said, 'Can't see him. He's out of camera range.'
'Perhaps he's gone to have a pee,' said Emily.
Nobody laughed. The atmosphere in the room had tautened with Jackson's sudden disappearance from view.
Lazarus said, 'Andy, get me Team Three.'
A moment later Andy said, 'On the line now.'
'Yes?' a disembodied voice came over the loudspeaker.
'Jackson's outside the warehouse. Don't know where he is – out of camera range. Hold your position until we know where he is.'
There was a pause. 'Do my best. But I've got two men closing in now.'
The Chief Constable looked at Liz and winced.
The lorry driver was growing agitated, which didn't improve his English. 'Doors to open,' he was insisting.
McManus shook his head. 'Not yet. The man will be back any time now.' The Middle Eastern guy was standing by the front of the warehouse, looking out. McManus had given up efforts to make conversation.
'Not waiting,' the driver said, going to the back of the lorry.
McManus took three strides and caught up with him as the driver was reaching for the steel handles of the twin back doors. He put a hand on the man's shoulder. 'The boss will be back in a minute,' he said firmly. 'So cool it.'
The driver stepped back from the lorry door. He shook his head. 'I am not liking this.'
'You'll survive,' said McManus. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something move outside, and then Jackson came back inside the warehouse, a tense expression on his face.
'He wants to open the lorry.' It was McManus speaking.
'Yeah, well, we got bigger problems. There's a car down the road that wasn't there before.'
'So? Lots of people must come in and out of here.'
'At three in the morning? I don't think so.' He stared at McManus. 'You wouldn't know anything about it, would you, Jimmy?'
'Me? Why would I?'
'You tell me. First you say you're retiring, then you try to duck out of driving over here with me. And you didn't like it when I took your phone. Who are you working for tonight?'
'I didn't realise I was working. You said could I lend a hand, and here I am. What's this about anyway?' He pointed over at the Middle Eastern customer who was watching them from the front of the warehouse.
'Never mind him,' Jackson said curtly. He seemed to have made up his mind. 'Here's what we're going to do. We'll open the doors and let the cargo out. I want you to take them into that room – I've got beds in there, and they can spend the rest of the night here. While you doss them down I'll finish up with my customer here. Got that?
'OK.' McManus was thinking hard about his options, which seemed dismayingly limited. If there were police outside and they raided now, how was it going to look? They'd never believe he'd been forced into giving up his phone; they'd assume he'd been trying to double-cross them. Yet it was equally clear Jackson wasn't going to let him out of his sight – not long enough to get away, at any rate – and Jackson had a gun . . .
Jackson turned to the driver, 'Go on. Open up.' Then he looked back at McManus. 'Just try something now,' he said, his voice full of menace, 'and it will be the last thing you ever do try.'
'What on earth?' asked Peggy as they watched the monitor. The back doors of the lorry had been opened, and a pile of mattresses dragged out by the driver and chucked onto the warehouse floor. Now down a step at the back of the HGV came one, two, three, and finally a fourth woman.
They were all bedraggled, thin with matted blonde hair, and each clutched a suitcase. In spite of their winter coats and trousers, they looked frozen and they screwed up their eyes, dazzled by the light. They looked to be in their twenties – except for the last one, whom Liz watched with a growing sense of outrage: the girl could not have been more than sixteen years old.
Once out of the lorry, they huddled together in a little circle, clearly apprehensive about their new surroundings. The youngest was shivering uncontrollably, and one of the other women put an arm around her shoulder.
Jackson stepped forward. 'Welcome to England and the Jackson Hotel. You'll be spending the rest of the night here. My associate Mr McManus will show you to your quarters.'
The oldest-looking of the women stepped forward. 'We have not eaten for twelve hours,' she said. 'We're hungry.'
Jackson was unfazed. 'You'll have to wait till breakfast.' He made a show of looking at his watch. 'That won't be long now. So why don't you all get some sleep?'
McManus ushered the women towards the side of the warehouse, a plan starting to form in his mind. As he led the women along the partition towards the door into the so-called bedroom, he looked over his shoulder and saw Jackson and the driver conferring at the back of the lorry, while the young Middle Eastern guy stood by looking impatient. It wasn't going to take them long to locate the cargo in the lorry and bring it out; McManus would probably have less than a minute. But it might be time enough.
When they reached the first door in the partition, the girls stopped and looked back at him for directions. He nodded and indicated that they should open the door. He then stood in the doorway and watched as the girls put down their suitcases in the small spaces between the bunk beds. One of them opened the door into the tiny bathroom next door. He felt sorry for them in this comfortless place after their long journey in the back of the lorry.
'There's a kitchen next door,' he said. 'You can make some coffee.' From his position at the door in the partition, he looked back at the lorry. There was no sign of Jackson or the other two. They must all be inside the vehicle.
McManus walked fast back towards the front of the warehouse. As he passed by the lorry, he paused, listening carefully, then he set off, running fast towards the warehouse door.
McManus had gone out of sight of the internal camera as he'd taken the women towards the bedroom, and the attention of the watchers in the Ops Room had focused on Jackson as he clambered into the back of the lorry with the driver and Zara. As they all watched there was silence in the room. Liz now thought it was improbable that the other jihadis would be appearing, and she was willing Zara to get on and retrieve his 'goods' from the lorry, so they could send the armed team in to arrest him and Jackson.
Suddenly at the bottom of the screen a figure appeared, walking quickly towards the front of the warehouse. 'It's McManus,' Lazarus exclaimed just as the figure broke into a run, his shoes slapping noisily on the warehouse's concrete floor.
The outside camera took over, showing McManus as he reached the tarmac forecourt and ran out into the road. He was raising his arms and shouting, so loudly that in the Ops Room his voice came through clearly. 'Don't shoot, don't shoot,' he yelled. 'I'm police. DI McManus.' Fifty yards or so ahead of him an armed policeman had emerged from the undergrowth, holding an assault rifle aimed at McManus.
There was the flat crack of a gunshot and McManus half turned, clutching his stomach with both hands, stumbled, and fell. He lay motionless on his side. In the glare of the outside security lights the camera showed a small pool forming next to the inert figure; like a leak from a broken pipe the little pool gradually got bigger and began to trickle along the road.
'Oh God,' said Peggy as the policeman in a bullet-proof vest came slowly forward, his rifle still held high.
Liz looked on in disbelief. Had this policeman shot McManus, an unarmed man? Then at the side of the picture, she saw Jackson standing just outside the warehouse, a gun in his right hand.
Jackson must have seen the policeman at that moment, because he lifted his arm, aimed and fired. The same flat crack split the air, but now almost simultaneously there was a second noise – this time a burst of metallic-sounding gunfire. Jackson spun around, tottered for two steps and fell to his knees. One hand was still clutching his gun, but the other was pressed against his gut. He tried to stand again, but could only make it into a low crouch. He lifted the hand from his stomach and stared at it with a mixed expression of awe and disbelief; it was coated in blood.
He turned awkwardly on his heels to face the approaching policeman, who was shouting at him to drop the gun and stay where he was. But Jackson paid no attention; defiantly he managed to struggle to his feet and point his gun in the policeman's direction. There was the sound of another burst of fire, then silence. This time Jackson dropped for good.
Chapter 57
People always said old people went to bed early, and Mrs Donovan wouldn't argue with that. Ever since the nine o'clock news on TV had moved to ten she'd never watched it. Nowadays she went to bed at half past nine and listened to the ten o'clock news on the radio.
But what people didn't understand was that just because you went to bed early, it didn't mean you slept. Every night she woke up, uncertain and hazy, lifting her head off the pillow to see the bright red illuminated numbers on the clock on her bedside table. They might say 12:30, or 2:17, or – when she was lucky – 5:45. Rare was the night she managed as much as four hours' continuous sleep; rarer still those where she slept through until dawn.
Tonight was no different. It was four o'clock and she was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of milky tea, a biscuit and a copy of the Sun, which her grandson Michael had left behind.
She had put the telephone on the table within arm's reach, but it remained defiantly silent. She wasn't going to use it herself, because though she was accustomed to being up at this ungodly hour (the experts all said it was better to get up than lie in bed twisting and turning), she knew that not many other people were. Old as she was, Mrs Donovan hadn't lost many of her marbles – she might keep odd hours, but she knew what was and wasn't usual.
She'd tried to tell them about it earlier in the evening. Someone had said they'd ring her back, but they hadn't. She'd never believed for a moment that that girl who had shown up really was from Electoral Registration. But she had liked the look of her and she'd kept her leaflet with the phone number, behind the little cactus plant that Michael had given to her.
She couldn't have said quite who that girl did work for, but she was sure it was something to do with those thrillers she liked to watch when they were on the TV early enough in the evening. 'Spooks', that's what they were called. She was one of them, Mrs Donovan was sure. She knew she was right because the number on the leaflet was a London number. Why would the electoral registration office for Eccles have a London telephone number?
She wouldn't have noticed any of this – or rung the number – if things hadn't suddenly grown very peculiar next door. Mrs Atiyah had come round three days before, to say that she was going to visit her sister down in Croydon. Would Mrs D mind keeping an eye out for her cat Domingo? He was a fat tabby with a scrunched ear from a long-ago fight who liked to sleep in Mrs Atiyah's porch. He wasn't actually the Atiyah cat – Domingo made it clear he belonged to nobody – but the Yemeni woman was soft-hearted and treated the animal like a favourite child. There was always food for Domingo when he deigned to visit.
That was all fine, and Mrs Atiyah had gone off – Mrs D had seen the minicab arrive two days before – but then this morning the peculiar thing had happened. Just as she was putting some Go-Cat in the bowl in her neighbour's porch, with Domingo purring and rubbing himself against her legs, the front door had opened. She'd looked up, startled, expecting to see either Mrs Atiyah, back early, or one of her children. Instead a young man had stood there, Middle Eastern and bearded. He'd been just as startled as she was.
Mrs Donovan had stood up smiling, ready to introduce herself, pointing at Domingo to explain her presence. But the young man hadn't smiled or said a word, just gone back inside and firmly closed the door. Rude, Mrs Donovan had thought, but then later, back in her house, she had thought it also very odd. In that household, only Mrs Atiyah's son Mika was capable of that kind of behaviour, and it wasn't Mika who'd opened the door. So who was this stranger?
All day the question gnawed at her, competing with her usual instinct not to get involved, to leave things be, not to make a fuss. But she had been increasingly aware of something going on next door; of people – not just one surly young man, but others: someone playing the radio in the kitchen, while somebody else ran a bath, and someone came thumping down the stairs. You wouldn't have known, from the street, that anyone was there, since the curtains in front, both upstairs and down, were tightly drawn. It was only that the walls in these terrace houses were so thin that you always knew if there was anyone in.
If they were burgling the place in Mrs Atiyah's absence, it seemed a funny way of going about it; on the other hand, Mrs Atiyah would have mentioned it if she had invited people to use her house when she was away. And why would she have asked Mrs Donovan to feed Domingo if she had guests staying there?
Mrs Donovan was afraid of sticking her nose where it didn't belong. But what if these people were not in fact burglars, but something worse? Mrs Donovan was no coward, but neither was she a fool; she didn't think it would be sensible to go and knock on the door and ask who they were and what was going on. There wouldn't be much she could do if the strangers suddenly bundled her inside and . . . she didn't even want to think about it.
Then she had seen Mika, Mrs A's son, arrive. He'd parked outside and run into his mother's house, carrying a bag. Before Mrs Donovan could get to the door and go out to intercept him, he had gone inside, slamming the door.
He was driving a brand-new car from the look of it, a big one too, which struck Mrs Donovan as a bit much. These students were meant to be paying their own fees these days – weren't they always complaining about that? So how could Mika afford such a flashy car?
Finally Mrs Donovan decided that she needed to do something. She wondered again about whether she should knock on the door now Mika was back and ask him what was going on and whether his mother knew about all these people being there. But again she thought that wouldn't be wise. From the way he had rushed into the house, she didn't think she'd be welcome; the thought of the hostile young man she had seen that morning put her off the idea completely.
It was then she remembered her recent visitor who'd said she was from the electoral registration office. Whoever she really was, perhaps she could help. It had been evening by then, after six o'clock, so she wasn't sure if she'd still be there. But nowadays people seemed to work long hours and they all had these mobile phones, so she thought it worth giving it a try. She took the card down from the sideboard and dialled the number.
A woman's voice had answered, and thinking it was the girl she'd met, Mrs Donovan began to explain – until the woman interrupted. Once the confusion was sorted out, and Mrs Donovan had explained who she was trying to reach and why, the woman had promised to pass the message on. She'd said she'd be rung back right away. But nothing had happened.
It was nearly ten hours now since she'd rung. She'd seen Mika go out in his car, but the other people were still next door. She could hear them moving about even though it was the middle of the night. Mika had not come back; the car wasn't there. She'd been tempted to ring the number again but there probably wasn't any point.
Perhaps she was just being a silly old woman. Part of Mrs Donovan hoped she was, and that she was wrong in her suspicions of the people next door. I think I'll just forget about it, she thought, taking a sip of her now-tepid tea. I expect there's some innocent explanation and Mrs Atiyah will sort it out when she gets back. She yawned and stood up to go back to bed. Not that she would sleep.
Chapter 58
It took eighteen minutes to reach the warehouse from Police HQ. They went in convoy, three cars in all. Chief Superintendent Lazarus stayed behind in the Ops Room to coordinate the operation. Liz drove with Chief Constable Pearson in his BMW; his driver, Tom, had turned the heater on high to melt the frost on the windows – the car had been standing outside waiting for the call to move and was cold inside as well as out.
At first there was no conversation in the car. They were listening to the radio transmissions as police cars converged on the industrial estate. Two ambulances were not far behind.
Then Pearson broke the silence. 'I wasn't expecting to see you here tonight.'
'Well—' she began, then found herself with nothing more to say. She hadn't expected to find herself here either. It seemed unreal. But she was grateful for the almost frantic sequence of events, since it kept her from thinking of the terrible happenings in Paris the night before. The night before? Incredibly it was only last night, even though it seemed to be days since she had first heard the news of Martin's murder.
Pearson said, 'I'm delighted that you're here. Don't get me wrong, I think young Peggy is extremely good. But I know she was glad when you showed up.' He paused to listen to a burst of radio transmission then said, 'I think you're pretty remarkable, frankly, after the twenty-four hours you've had.'
'I wanted to see things through,' Liz said.
'Of course. But listen, if this gets too much for you at any point, just let me know. Tom will drive you back to Police HQ and sort you out with one of our guest rooms. Then you can pick things up again tomorrow.'
The driver nodded. 'I'll be with the car. Just let me know if you want to go.'
'That's kind of you, but honestly—'
Pearson lifted a hand to interrupt. 'Understood. Just remember if you change your mind, the offer holds.'
As they approached the trading estate they could see a ghoulish glow created by the dim sodium lights that lined the narrow strips of road and trailed off into the industrial enclave. Tom drove quickly, following the other two cars, turning right then left into a kind of cul de sac, at the end of which was a tarmac apron in front of a large metal warehouse. Scrubby grass and undergrowth filled the spaces between the warehouse and the adjacent buildings, derelict-looking brick and concrete workshops.
A lone policeman stood at the front of the tarmac, waving a flashlight to steer them around a small area which was marked by traffic cones. Behind the cones something lay on the ground covered by a tarpaulin sheet. With a jolt, Liz realised she was looking at McManus's dead body. They were now part of the drama that they'd been watching on the screens in the Ops Room. She felt as if she had stepped from the audience onto the stage.
Three police vans and an ambulance were already neatly parked and Tom pulled up beside them. Another two cars bringing Peggy and some more uniformed officers had just arrived. Liz and Pearson followed the policemen into the warehouse, stepping gingerly over Jackson's body, which was still lying in the entrance, also under a sheet.
Two members of the armed team were inside. One stood guard over Zara, who was handcuffed, sitting on a wooden crate. He was staring vacantly into space, pointedly ignoring the people around him. The other armed officer was trying to calm down the women, who had emerged from their tiny bedroom compartment at the side of the warehouse. The youngest was still shaking but now she was screaming too and tears were running down her face. Another, who seemed to be the oldest, was clawing at the arm of the policeman and shouting, 'Not to shoot.'
The policeman was trying to unhook her hands and saying, 'I'm not going to shoot you. You are quite safe here.'
But he was having no effect. The women were all clearly terrified and Liz couldn't blame them; two men had been shot dead nearby less than half an hour after their arrival. This was not what they thought they'd come to England for.
'Where's the lorry driver?' asked Liz, suddenly realising that someone was missing.
The armed policeman pointed to the cab. 'He locked himself in when the shooting started. I've been trying to coax him out, but he's scared to death.'
'At least we know where he is. We'll get to him in a minute,' said Chief Constable Pearson. 'First I want these women out of the way. Put them somewhere until we decide what to do with them.'
Peggy, who had come in behind Liz, stepped forward and touched the arm of the woman who was clutching at the policeman.
'Come with me,' she said in a gentle voice. 'No one's going to hurt you. Let's go and see if we can make some coffee. Then I'll ask someone to get you something to eat.'
The woman let go of the policeman and grasped Peggy's hand. She looked at Peggy's face with frightened, anxious eyes, then after a moment she turned to the others and said something. It seemed to calm them, and then, like a mother hen, Peggy rounded up the little group and ushered them back towards the bedroom.
The armed policeman, the Chief Constable and Liz all watched in silence. A silence that was broken when one of the policemen came up to the group and asked, 'When we search the lorry, what are we looking for, sir?'
Pearson looked at Liz. She said, 'Guns and grenades. The firearms are probably a mix of assault rifles and handguns. And a lot of ammunition – they asked for twenty thousand rounds. That will take up a fair amount of space.'
Pearson said, 'I'm sure the driver knows where the cargo is hidden, so we should talk to him first. But whatever he says, take it slowly. I don't want anything going off because someone gets impatient.'
The other officer had joined them. 'I've frisked the suspect, sir,' he said, pointing to Zara. 'He wasn't armed.'
Liz asked, 'Was he carrying any ID?'
'No.'
'How about valuables? Any cash?'
'He only had a few quid in his pocket, but he had something else worth a hell of a lot of money. A ticket for the derby tomorrow, at Old Trafford.' He handed the ticket to Liz. As she studied it, he added, 'They're like gold dust.'
Liz handed the ticket to Pearson, and said, 'We've dug pretty deep into young Atiyah's past but I've never seen anything in the file about a love of football. Nor that he had the money to fund this sort of expense.' She turned to the policeman. 'Do you ever go to Old Trafford?'
'I've been known to attend a match,' he admitted.
'Do they search you when you go through the gates?'
'No. It wouldn't be practical. You've got sixty thousand people going in in a short time. The queues would go back for miles if they searched everyone. They tried it for the Olympics and it caused chaos.'
Pearson was looking on with growing apprehension. He said, 'It's cold enough now for everyone in the crowd to be bundled up. You could smuggle a weapon or a grenade in under an overcoat easily enough if there's no proper searching.'
'Exactly,' said Liz. 'And if you had six people in different parts of the stadium, then even if one got spotted you'd have five others who might not have been.'
The policeman said, 'To do what? Shoot Wayne Rooney?' He gave a weak laugh. 'And why do you say "six people"? The suspect only had the one ticket.'
Pearson didn't bother to explain. He saw what Liz was driving at, and he said, 'So the other jihadis must already have their tickets. Which means—'
'It means they've arrived and are holed up somewhere nearby.' Liz pointed towards the solitary figure of Atiyah, sitting in handcuffs on the wooden crate, then asked the policeman, 'Are you sure he didn't have anything else on him? Anything at all – a crumpled bus ticket, or a pocket comb. Anything.'
The officer shook his head. 'No, and he didn't say a word – he wouldn't even tell me his name. I don't think you'll get much out of him.'
Pearson said to Liz, 'Do you want to have a go here or wait until we take him back to headquarters?'
'Here please.' It was critical to try to get Atiyah to talk before he had time to collect his thoughts and invent a story – or just clam up and ask for a lawyer.
As Liz started to walk over to Atiyah, Peggy, who had come back from tending the Dagestan women, intercepted her. 'Could I have a word, Liz?' She held up her mobile phone. 'I've just had a message relayed from Thames House. It could be important.'
'Give me two minutes, Peggy. I need to talk to Zara urgently.' And she strode over and stood in front of Atiyah. He ignored her, continuing to stare out towards the parked cars on the hard standing in front of the warehouse.
Liz said, 'You all right? You didn't get hurt in the shooting?'
He didn't reply. His eyes remained focused on the distance, trance-like. For a moment Liz wondered if he was drugged, but then she remembered him from the video feed – he had been perfectly lively then, even aggressive. She said, 'Tell me if you got hurt; there are paramedics here now.' When he still didn't reply, Liz said softly, 'Mika, we know who you are.'
This time he blinked. For a moment Liz thought he was going to say something, but he didn't. She went on, 'We know the lorry has brought other things into the country, besides the women and the mattresses. We're going to start searching it in a minute or two. When we find what we're looking for, you'll be arrested.
'But that's not all we're searching for. I think you know that. At least five of your colleagues have entered the country from Yemen; I think they're supposed to meet you once you've collected the guns that are in the lorry. I didn't realise you were interested in football – are your colleagues going to the match too?'
He flinched slightly, then pursed his lips. Liz went on, 'I'm certain we'll be able to find them, especially if they show up at the match tomorrow.' She was watching him carefully. Without these guns, his comrades shouldn't be able to do much even if they made it inside the stadium next day – unless . . . And Liz shuddered at the thought. Unless they already had other weapons.
The only way to be sure was to find them. She suddenly hated the idea that Martin might have died for nothing; that despite the sacrifice of his life, and all their efforts, these terrorists might still manage to launch an attack. If only Zara could be made to talk. But looking at him she realised he was determined to give nothing away – he had adopted the same vacant stare again, as if transfixed.
Liz said, her voice hardening, 'Your colleagues will go down all right. But the big loser is going to be you, Mika, because you're the one we can tie to the guns we're about to find. We clocked you a long time ago, and you've been followed ever since. We watched your meeting in Primrose Hill, and the dealer you saw there is in custody in France. He's told us everything we need to put you away. I reckon you're facing thirty years. You might get out in time for the 2040 Olympics. Just think how old you'll be then.'
Liz gave a sigh. 'It's not as if you will have helped your cause very much, either. But there is a way you can help yourself, a way you could be out of prison in just a few years – you'd still have a life left. But, Mika, you have to tell us where the others are.'
Atiyah continued to sit impassively and Liz realised she was hitting a brick wall. He was obviously a fully signed up jihadi. This was his martyrdom and if she had said two hundred years in prison instead of thirty, he would have been pleased. She made one last try: 'We're going to catch your colleagues anyway; it's just going to speed things up if you tell us where they are. Think about what I'm saying; soon it'll be too late for me to help you.'
Atiyah turned his head very slowly, and for the first time Liz felt hopeful that he might reply. His eyes met hers, and he held her gaze as his lips began to move. Then his mouth opened and he spat in her face.
Liz jerked back in surprise. She tried to collect herself, and wiped the spittle from her cheek with the sleeve of her coat. She was determined not to show her shock, or anger. She said calmly, 'If you help us, I promise you I will do everything in my power to help you.' A thought came suddenly into her head. She added, 'I'll also make sure your mother doesn't get dragged into this.'
Atiyah's eyes flared for an instant, and for a moment Liz thought he would spit at her again. But then he regained control, and his eyes resumed their opaque stare.
Liz turned round and saw that Pearson was waiting, standing halfway between her and the lorry. She shrugged as she walked towards him, leaving Atiyah in the care of his armed guard. Peggy was there too, waiting for her, and Liz remembered that she had something to tell her.
In the background, behind Pearson, three policemen had approached the lorry, gesturing to the driver to come out of the cab. One of them went round to the driver's side and climbed up on the step next to the door of the cab. He knocked on the glass and shouted through the window, 'Open up. We want to talk to you.'
The Chief Constable and Peggy turned round and Liz stopped and watched as the policeman, losing patience, shouted, 'Open up, or we'll have to smash the window.'
The driver was looking frightened – though suddenly Liz wondered if that was an act. She was about to shout a warning when she saw the man slide across the front seat of the cab to the passenger side. Opening the door, he leapt down just as two of the policemen came round the front of the lorry.
They were less than ten feet away when from the pocket of his pea jacket the driver drew out a small grenade. With his free hand he prised the pin off, then chucked the grenade underhand, like a child playing rounders.
The nearest policeman to him flinched and turned away with his arms holding his head. The grenade landed on the cement floor, just missing the policeman, then bounced high in the air, angled towards . . . towards Liz. She tensed, waiting for it to explode. There was nowhere to go and nothing she could do.
Then an outstretched arm, black-clad, with silver on its shoulder, reached out and grabbed the grenade as it started to come down. In one quick motion the arm then threw the grenade straight out of the open front of the warehouse.
It travelled twenty yards and hit with a sharp thump on the tarmac forecourt, where it promptly exploded. As dirt-coloured shards burst through the air, the noise of the explosion was astonishingly small, almost muffled. But it was followed by a series of sharp pings – the shrapnel was hitting the sides of the parked police cars.
Pearson ran to the front of the warehouse. 'Who's hit?' he shouted. But the two ambulance attendants had been shielded from the blast by one of the police cars. They looked dazed but unhurt. Tom, the Chief's driver, was the sole policeman outside, and he'd been in his car on the radio. He held a hand up to show he was OK.
Visibly relieved, Pearson came back into the warehouse, where the driver had been wrestled to the ground and handcuffed. As an armed policeman watched him, Atiyah at last showed some emotion – he was smiling broadly.
'Are you all right, Liz?' asked Pearson.
She nodded. 'Just surprised to be breathing. For a moment I was sure that was it.' She looked at Pearson. 'This is the first time I've had to thank anyone for saving my life. Thank you very much.'
'Pure instinct,' he said. 'I was in the Territorial Army and sometimes it seemed half our training was about dealing with incendiary devices and grenades. Never had to use it then.' He shook his head. 'And never thought I'd have to use it here. There must have been something wrong with that grenade, but thank God there was.'
Behind them they heard a quiet groan. Liz turned and saw Peggy squatting down against the side wall of the warehouse. She was holding her arm, which was bleeding badly just below the elbow.
'Were you hit?' Liz asked.
Peggy grimaced and slumped down, her back against the wall and her legs splayed out in front of her, flat on the floor. As Liz rushed to her, Pearson said, 'I'll get a paramedic.'
Liz crouched down next to Peggy. She saw at once that the wound was bad; shrapnel had ripped through the layers of sweater and shirt Peggy wore; there was a deep jagged cut in her forearm, which was bleeding profusely.
She saw Peggy's eyes glaze and start to shut. The girl was going into shock. 'Peggy!' Liz shouted, and the eyes fluttered open, stared vaguely at Liz, then shut again.
The paramedic had arrived and Liz stood up to get out of his way. As he examined Peggy's arm, she moaned in pain, and he took a syringe and vial out of his pack and injected something into Peggy's other arm. Morphine, Liz guessed; the pain of the shrapnel piece must be excruciating.
Two more paramedics arrived, carrying a stretcher between them. They carefully lifted Peggy onto it, then carried her towards one of the ambulances parked on the tarmac outside.
The medic who had injected Peggy looked at Liz. 'She should be fine, but we need to get her seen to properly right away – that's a nasty wound she's got. Do you want to come with us in the ambulance?'
Liz hesitated. She wanted to be with Peggy, but there was still everything to play for. She shook her head. 'I'm still needed here. But please keep me posted.'
Pearson was on his phone, but he rang off when he saw Liz. He said, 'We're going to have to make a decision about the match.'
She nodded. 'I know. It's your call of course, but I'm worried about these other jihadis. We just have no idea where they are or whether they have any weapons. I would hazard a guess that they haven't, but there are no guarantees. They might have access to some cache somewhere.'
'Yes. You're right. And if they do turn up at the match armed or carrying explosives of some kind, we can't be sure we'll be able to stop them getting in. We've got the seat number of Atiyah's ticket, but even if we searched everyone with a seat in the same block we might not catch them. They could have seats in any part of the ground.'
The Chief Constable was frowning. 'I'm beginning to think we have no option but to cancel the match. We can't take the risk. But if we do it's going to cause an immense furore. There'll be chaos on the streets, the media will have a field day, the Home Secretary will get drawn in and all of us including your Service will come in for a load of criticism. I need to speak to the Home Office before we do anything and you'll want to talk to your management too.'
Liz looked at her watch. It was now a quarter past five. 'I'll get on to the Duty Officer. DG will certainly want to be informed.'
Pearson looked round the warehouse. 'We're not needed here any more. We'll go back to HQ and set up a conference call and then everyone can have their say and get themselves prepared for the shit storm we're going to face. We can start the ball rolling while we drive back.'
Chapter 59
At six o'clock they were in Pearson's corner office, joined now by Lazarus and several of Pearson's senior colleagues, called in to help plan what would be a major operation whatever was decided about cancelling the derby match. Outside it was still pitch-dark, and whenever Liz looked towards the windows she saw, reflected against the black sky, the dark-uniformed figures sitting round the conference table in the middle of the room.
Liz had rung the hospital from the car and learned that Peggy's condition was stable, but that they would soon be operating on the arm to remove the shrapnel, which had fragmented into a number of small pieces. Confident there was nothing she could do for Peggy at the moment, Liz was focused on the decision Pearson was going to have to make.
Reports had been called for from all police divisions for any sightings of a group of men acting suspiciously, but in the absence of any descriptions, no one was surprised that no reports had been received. Liz's colleagues in Thames House had been in touch with GCHQ, the DCRI in France and the UK Border Agency, but no new information was forthcoming. A4 and police surveillance teams were still out in the area – they all knew the urgency of the situation and would instantly have communicated news of any sightings.
From the speakerphone in the middle of the table an automated voice suddenly announced, 'Your call is ready to begin. All participants are now signed in.' Pearson took a deep breath and said, 'Good morning, everyone, I apologise for the uncivilised hour but we have an urgent decision to take in connection with the Zara Operation on which I think you are all briefed. Will you all please introduce yourselves?'
With the preliminaries over, Pearson outlined the situation, calmly summarising the dramatic events of the previous few hours. He concluded, 'We are confident that the target of this jihadi group is the derby match between Manchester United and Manchester City at Old Trafford this afternoon. We will of course continue to question Zara, but so far we've got nothing out of him, and I don't believe that will change. He's already asking for a lawyer. We have interdicted the arms imported for use in that attack, but the whereabouts of the group other than Zara is unknown and we do not know if they are armed or have access to arms. So a risk exists that they may attempt to proceed with the attack and that there may be casualties – possibly many.'
The gravelly tones of DG came through now. 'What security measures can you take at the ground that might help detect these people if they turn up? I'm assuming searching all the fans is impossible.'
'Yes. It would take too long and we don't have the manpower,' agreed Pearson. 'What I can do is double the number of officers patrolling the gates and the stands, and I can insert more plain-clothes officers into the crowd. Obviously we'll be closely monitoring the CCTV cameras too, but we have no descriptions of these jihadis and it's very likely we won't spot them until they start something.'
'The Home Secretary will wish to know what the law and order implications are if the match is cancelled at this short notice.' It was the Head of Counter-Terrorism at the Home Office.
'It won't surprise you, or her, that cancelling the match at this late hour will create plenty of problems on the street. Even if we announce cancellation now there will still be hundreds arriving in a short space of time, and we may have some violence when they find out the match is cancelled. The later we leave it to announce cancellation, the worse it will be. That's why need to decide now, I'm afraid.'
DG spoke again: 'Liz, what's your view of things? Do you have a recommendation?'
Liz was drawing in her breath to say that she thought the only safe option was to cancel the match, when Pearson's office door opened and a young uniformed policeman came in, looking nervous. Without saying a word he handed Liz a slip of paper. It read, Most urgent call for you. She started to shake her head, but something in the young officer's eyes made her change her mind.
'Excuse me,' she said, leaning towards the speakerphone. 'I've just been told there's a very urgent call for me. It may be relevant so I think I'd better take it.'
Liz was gone less than five minutes. When she came back into the room she walked straight up to the table and, still standing, leant towards the phone. 'I apologise for the interruption,' she said. 'You were asking my view a moment ago and I was about to recommend cancellation. But as a result of the phone conversation I've just had, I can now confidently recommend that we should let the match go ahead.'
As she paused to catch her breath, Pearson broke in. 'What's happened?'
'I've just been speaking to the lady who lives next door to Zara's mother. Zara was at the house early last night, before he went to the warehouse to collect the weapons.'
'Go on.' It was DG's voice.
'The neighbour told me that Mrs Atiyah is away, but when Mrs Atiyah told her she'd be gone for a few days she didn't say anything about anyone coming to stay. Yet the neighbour swears there are people in the house – she says she can hear them through the wall. And she actually saw one of them yesterday. It was a young man.'
Liz paused. No one spoke. 'I think they've got to be the jihadis. And they're still there now.'
Chapter 60
Liz had always looked forward to Christmas and enjoyed it, but not this year. She and Martin had planned to spend it in Paris, but after the funeral service and the day spent removing her belongings from Martin's flat, Paris was the last place she wanted to spend any more time, let alone the holidays.
She'd gone instead to Bowerbridge, her childhood home. Her mother and Edward Treglown, her mother's partner, had been doing their best to help her come to terms with Martin's death and she didn't want to hurt their feelings by refusing to join them for Christmas.
She had arrived on Christmas Eve afternoon and they had gone to the midnight service at the village church. Liz had been brought up an Anglican but she no longer believed in any sort of God, though she knew that the moral principles she tried to live by were firmly rooted in her Anglican upbringing. And in fact, the church service with its familiar words, its music and the carols she knew so well had proved oddly soothing.
Afterwards they had walked back through the estate that her father had managed for the then owners. She'd played there with the children of the big house when she was quite young and she knew every track and path. It was a clear starry night and frost was beginning to settle on the fields. So bright was the moon that they hardly needed their torches. As she walked, she thought about everything that had happened to her since the previous Christmas and wondered, not for the first time, whether the time had come to quit and find another job.
She had stayed on for Christmas Day, worried that the sadness she couldn't disguise might spoil the day, but by the evening she had eaten enough and drunk enough of Edward's favourite burgundy to dull the pain and they had spent a pleasant evening dozing in front of the fire and the TV. Then on Boxing Day they had joined a big lunch party at some neighbour's, where blessedly no one present had known anything about Liz's relationship with Martin or about his death, so all she had to do was dodge the usual questions about her job.
She left the next day, promising to try and come down for New Year's Eve, though she knew that both her mother and Edward understood that she wasn't going to make it. Wherever she was, Liz knew she was going to be in pain, and she thought it best to suffer alone – why spoil any more of the holidays for everybody else?
After an aimless evening in her flat, she went back to work the next day. She was used to the sense of anticlimax that came at the end of an operation, whatever the outcome, but this time grief redoubled her deflation. Yet she knew that immersion in work would be the one thing to get her through the coming days, so she was glad to be back at her desk.
The office was quiet, virtually empty of staff on her floor, though in pockets round the building people were working as hard as ever. She rang the A4 Control Room to say thank you for all their efforts in following Zara on his anti-surveillance route to Eccles and the lorry from Harwich. Wally Woods answered.
'Happy New Year,' she said. 'Don't you ever have a holiday?'
'My work is my leisure,' he responded with a snort. 'We're in the middle of another drama now.'
On her return from Manchester, Liz had filed a brief report but knew she would have to supplement it. Not that there was much to add.
On that morning in Manchester when a half-conscious Peggy, just before surgery, had through sheer stubbornness insisted word must get through to Liz that Mrs Donovan had phoned the Thames House switchboard, it hadn't taken Einstein to see the link with Atiyah. Liz had called Mrs Donovan straight away.
She had expected a call that early would wake the old lady up, but quite the opposite proved to be the case. 'About time someone rang,' Maggie Donovan had said irritably. 'I haven't been able to sleep. I've been waiting for hours.' Then the old lady, still sharp as a tack, had told Liz about the visitors next door, and how Mrs Atiyah was away and hadn't said anything about people coming to stay.
Within half an hour, still in the moonless dark, a dozen armed police had filled the terraced street, blocking each end, climbing over garden walls and finally simultaneously breaking down the front and back doors and charging into the house. Inside they'd found the five associates of Mika Atiyah asleep on inflatable mattresses on the sitting room and bedroom floors. Caught off guard, they had been taken into custody without resistance. When they were questioned, they had all protested, claiming that they had come to Manchester to go to the football match with their friends. It hadn't taken much of a search of the house to find the little pile of tickets for the match, lying on top of a cupboard. But when they were asked to explain why the tickets were all for different parts of the ground, they became less vocal.
After it was discovered that each of them carried a Yemeni passport, even though they spoke in a variety of British regional accents and not one of them could understand the interpreter who was summoned to speak to them in Arabic, they'd refused to say anything at all. Not that that had helped them for long in concealing their identities, once the detailed inquiries were completed. They were all now in prison in Manchester, as was Mika Atiyah, on a variety of charges under the Counter-Terrorism Act.
The media had got hold of the fact that armed police had made arrests at a house in Eccles that were thought to be connected in some way with a shooting incident at a warehouse on an industrial estate off the M60, but so far it hadn't leaked out that a terrorist plot had been disrupted, or what the intended target had been. Jackson's death had gone unmourned in the Manchester metropolitan area, while the newspapers had been spare with the usual effusive eulogies for a murdered policeman – word seemed to have got round about McManus's less savoury activities.
And any sympathy Liz might have felt for her former lover disappeared when Halliday rang her. 'You know,' he said after congratulating Liz on the arrest of the terrorist suspects, 'I felt guilty that I was somehow responsible for the woman Katya's death – by tipping off Jackson accidentally somehow. But I've discovered it wasn't anything I'd done. McManus was in the police station the night Katya and the other girls were brought in. The desk sergeant told me it was McManus who got her released first – I guess to alert Jackson that she was an informer.'
On that night – really, very early morning – when the Atiyah house was being entered by armed police, a search party had been busy back in the warehouse. It had taken them almost three hours to find the weapons hidden in the lorry, and it would have taken longer than that but for a stray remark from one of the Dagestani women the police had begun to interview. She complained about how long the journey had taken. She said that the driver was forever stopping to fill up – yet he wouldn't let them out at the petrol stations to stretch their legs or go to the toilet. Since lorries of that size had enormous petrol tanks, this continual stopping for fuel seemed peculiar.
It was then that they checked the fuel tank itself, where they soon found that half of it had been fitted with a metal partition. In the newly created compartment they found twenty AK-47s wrapped in oilskins, grenades in metal containers, and box after box of ammunition clad in bubble wrap. It was an ingenious hiding place, and a stupid one, since a stray spark and some leaked petrol fumes could have set off the ammunition and blown the lorry sky-high.
Liz remained concerned about Peggy Kinsolving, whom the doctors had told to take six weeks' sick leave. Peggy had been through the mill, with fragments of shrapnel embedded deep in her arm. Some had chipped the bone, and it had required two bouts of surgery to remove them all and repair the bone. She'd been in Manchester Royal Infirmary for more than a week as they monitored her for shock and infection.
Liz had visited her just hours after the tumultuous events at the warehouse had concluded with the arrest of the jihadis at the Atiyah house. She had found Peggy not long out of a first operation on her arm, propped up in bed and still looking dazed and shaken. A TV set on the wall of her room was showing the game between City and United. Liz sat down and they watched together in silence. As the camera panned around the stadium, which was packed to the rafters with noisy fans, waving, cheering and singing, they looked at each other. Liz voiced what they were both thinking.
'Look at them,' she said. 'Think what that would look like if Zara and his friends had got through. If they'd got those guns and grenades in there, into different parts of the stadium, they could have killed hundreds of people before anyone stopped them.'
The two were silent; wild cheering filled the room as a man in red scored a goal. 'I can't forgive myself for not checking the message Mrs Donovan left with the Thames House switchboard when I first got it. We could have picked up the terrorists hours earlier and arrested Zara before he ever came to the warehouse.'
'I'm not sure about that. We needed to have Zara go where the weapons were to have a good chance of prosecution. Anyway there's no point in beating yourself up. As it's turned out they were stopped. Thanks to you and everybody else working on this case, it didn't happen.'
'Yes,' replied Peggy, reaching out with her good arm for Liz's hand. 'And that includes Martin.'
Liz nodded, her eyes filling with tears.
Now, weeks later, there was still a lot more investigation to do both for the police and Liz's team before any trials could take place. Research into the young Atiyah's finances had unearthed a recent series of deposits into his bank account, totalling £177,000 – deposits which to Liz's fury, the particular branch had never thought to question, as if it were entirely normal for a student from Eccles to have that kind of money at his disposal. It had proved possible to trace the money to a Lebanese bank, which had so far been stubbornly slow to assist with British efforts to uncover the money's original source.
Following the spider web of connections from Atiyah back to his controllers in the Middle East was challenging and time-consuming, but Liz consoled herself that there was already ample evidence to prosecute Atiyah and his cohorts. Antoine Milraud, appalled by what his young customer had been planning to do, was cooperating fully with Isabelle Florian in Paris, and had agreed to give evidence in court.
Martin would have been pleased by this, Liz thought, as she stood up and went over to the window of her office. There had been a fall of snow the night before, but it was melting now, leaving a thin layer of slush on the pavement along the Embankment. The Thames was a dull grey and restless, with choppy waves stirred up by the winter wind. Martin had liked to tease her that the Seine was the superior river, and today she would have agreed.
Would she ever stop missing Martin? Even now she could only feel heartbreakingly alone in a world without him. His death had served some purpose, she knew. Had he not succeeded in flushing out Ramdani the terrorist would have warned his colleagues bound for England that they were blown. They would have melted away and Liz would still be searching for half a dozen lethal men. She couldn't make room for the thought that this was any kind of compensation for Martin's death – it wasn't – but at least it gave some meaning to it. He had been dedicated and professional to the end, and Martin would have been the first to scoff at any suggestion that he should have hesitated to act because of possible danger. He knew, just as Liz knew, that risk came with the job.
A knock on the open door of her office shook Liz from her reverie. 'Come in,' she said.
It was Geoffrey Fane, and for once he actually looked friendly, almost shy. 'Elizabeth,' he said awkwardly.
Liz smiled to herself. There was no point in getting cross; he really couldn't help it. 'Hello, Geoffrey,' she said. 'I actually do prefer Liz, you know.'
'Of course,' he said, coming into the room. Liz went back to her desk and sat down, motioning Fane to a chair. But he shook his head; unusually for him, he seemed to understand that his presence might not be entirely welcome. 'I just wanted to say how very sorry I was to hear about Martin Seurat. I know you two were close.' He paused, as if hearing his words and how lame they sounded.
'Thank you,' she said simply.
He gave a little cough. 'I gather you did stellar work up in Manchester.'
'It's kind of you to say that. A lot of things didn't go right.'
'Possibly, but when do they ever? And you did prevent the very worst happening. Well done.'
Is this why Fane had come? Liz wondered. Gentle commiseration followed by a pat on the back? She'd known him long enough to know there had to be some other agenda.
And so there was. Fane came right into the room now, sat down, straightened his long back and crossed a languid leg over one knee. This was the Geoffrey Fane she knew. She watched him warily, waiting for what was to come. He said, 'I've got a bit of news actually.'
'Really?' She tried to look surprised.
'I had a meeting with our friend Andy Bokus yesterday. Not an altogether happy encounter, you could say. I pointed out that there was a missing link in this case, one that would have helped us a lot.'
'Baakrime.'
'That's right. The Minister,' Fane said, with the mild surprise he always showed when he found that Liz had got there too. 'He was both the instigator and the linchpin of this whole affair.'
'But currently unavailable.'
'So it would seem. Thanks to American cack-handedness. When they shilly-shallied he must have panicked and decided to throw in his lot with the Russians.'
'You said that to Bokus again?'
'In so many words.'
'That couldn't have gone down well.'
Fane gave a sly smile. Liz could see he was enjoying himself now.
'Actually, he had bigger things to worry about.'
'Oh?'
'Yes. It seems he's being moved on. Back to Langley.'
'I'd have thought he'd be pleased. Bokus never liked it here.'
'That's true. Or at least he never liked us – or to be even more precise, me.' Fane's grin now could only be described as wicked. 'But from his account, it sounded as if he was leaving under something of a cloud. No trumpets at the Langley gates when Andy reappears.'
'But what's he done wrong?'
'He's being blamed for Baakrime's disappearance.'
'Really? It was Miles Brookhaven out in Sana'a who was running Baakrime.'
'Ah, but it was Bokus who was giving him the line to take and Bokus who was pushing Miles to squeeze Baakrime.'
'I suppose so,' said Liz dubiously.
'And that's what provides the delicious irony – and what I suppose must gall Bokus the most.'
He paused, savouring his position as the fount of high-end gossip. Go on, spill the beans, Liz thought to herself, but she hesitated, knowing that Fane was longing to be asked. Finally curiosity prevailed. 'What delicious irony, Geoffrey?'
Pleased to be asked at last, Fane said, 'You see, they've already named the new Station Head for London. Usually, there's just the slightest lag – out of courtesy to the departing Head. Not this time.'
'Who is it?' But Fane was now laughing too hard to reply. 'Come on, Geoffrey, what's so funny?'
And at last he managed to croak, 'Miles Brookhaven.'
Liz stared at Fane, wondering if he was pulling her leg. It seemed too improbable to credit, until one looked at its natural symmetry. It was Miles who had first relayed the tip that arms were being sent to the UK, and Miles who had triggered the convoluted sequence of events that had ended – thank God – in a failed conspiracy to kill countless numbers of people.
So Miles's return to the UK somehow seemed entirely fitting. It was this – as well as the thought that she quite liked Miles, and was curious to learn what he was like after several years away – that meant Liz was glad to hear the news. Glad enough in fact to join Geoffrey Fane and find herself laughing too.
A Note on the Author
Dame Stella Rimington joined the Security Service (MI5) in 1968. During her career she worked in all the main fields of the Service: counter-subversion, counter-espionage and counter-terrorism. She was appointed Director–General in 1992, the first woman to hold the post. She has written her autobiography and eight Liz Carlyle novels. She lives in London and Norfolk.
By the Same Author
The Liz Carlyle series
At Risk
Secret Asset
Illegal Action
Dead Line
Present Danger
Rip Tide
The Geneva Trap
Non-fiction
Open Secret: The Autobiography of the
Former Director-General of MI5
Rip Tide
A Liz Carlyle Novel
When pirates attack a cargo ship off the Somalian coast and one of them is found to be a British-born Pakistani, alarm bells start ringing in London. MI5 Intelligence Officer Liz Carlyle is brought in to establish how and why a young British Muslim could go missing from his family in Birmingham and end up onboard a pirate skiff in the Indian Ocean, armed with a Kalashnikov. After an undercover operative connected to the case turns up dead in Athens it looks like piracy may be the least of the Service's problems. Liz and her team must unravel the connections between Pakistan, Greece and Somalia. And they don't have long, as trouble is brewing closer to home: the kind of explosive trouble that MI5 could do without...
'Rimington's best work demonstrates a flair for narrative, with a sense of authenticity and an insider's grasp on the pressing issues of the day'
Washington Post
'Rip Tide incorporates the epic sweep and global concerns expected of a contemporary spy thriller'
Irish Times
'She provides lots of detail of intelligence work used to counter today's terrorists that seems real – and intriguing'
Financial Times
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The Geneva Trap
A Liz Carlyle Novel
Geneva, 2012. When a Russian intelligence officer approaches MI5 with vital information about the imminent cyber-sabotage of an Anglo–American Defence programme, he refuses to talk to anyone but Liz Carlyle. But who is he, and what is his connection to the British agent?
At a tracking station in Nevada, US Navy officers watch in horror as one of their unmanned drones plummets out of the sky, and panic spreads through the British and American Intelligence services. Is this a Russian plot to disable the West's defences? Or is the threat coming from elsewhere?
As Liz and her team hunt for a mole inside the MOD, the trail leads them from Geneva, to Marseilles and into a labyrinth of international intrigue, in a race against time to stop the Cold War heating up once again...
'Rimington's best work demonstrates a flair for narrative, with a sense of authenticity and an insider's grasp on the pressing issues of the day' Washington Post
'For a pacy page-turner, she's a safe bet ... Rimington is particularly strong in her accounts of procedure, unsurprisingly, given her past role as Head of MI5' Independent
'Liz Carlyle is an MI5 agent with the traditional thriller-heroine mix of dysfunctional personal life and steely ambition' Daily Telegraph
Order your copy
By phone: +44 (0) 1256 302 699
By email: direct@macmillan.co.uk
Delivery is usually 3 to 5 working days
Free postage and packaging for orders over £20
Online: www.bloomsbury.com/uk/bloomsbury/fiction/
Prices and availability subject to change without notice
First published in Great Britain 2014
This electronic edition published in 2014 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Copyright © 2014 by Stella Rimington
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved
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| was occupied by a Mrs Margaret Donovan. The door was opened by a large red-faced woman whom she guessed to be in her early seventies.
'What can I do for you, luv?'
'Mrs Donovan, is it?' asked Peggy, and she explained that she was from the electoral office, confirming the names of the occupants of voting age in each house along the street.
'Wasn't there someone here a few months ago about that?' the woman asked.
Peggy sighed. 'Probably. There seems to be a lot of duplication in this job. I've only been at it three weeks, but you're not the first one to tell me it's all been done before.'
The woman smiled sympathetically, and just then the phone in the hall rang. 'I'd better get that,' she said. Peggy started to make her excuses but Mrs Donovan waved her in. 'Come inside and close the door before you catch your death.' While she went to the phone, Peggy waited patiently in the hall. The woman wasn't long. 'Bloody tele sales,' she announced, coming back into the hall.
'They are a nuisance,' said Peggy, shivering slightly. It was a raw day outside, and in her anxiety to look authentic she had not put enough clothes on. The weather had been hovering between autumn and winter for several days, but today for the first time you could sense the months of real cold ahead.
'You look like you're freezing, dearie. Come into the kitchen and have a cuppa and warm yourself.'
Peggy didn't even pretend to protest, foreseeing a golden opportunity to gossip about the neighbours. As the kettle warmed on the gas hob, she looked around the room, which had family photographs all along the top of a sideboard. 'Your children?' she offered.
'All five of them. Grown up now,' the woman added sadly, 'and my poor Leonard gone ten years now. Still, mustn't grumble.'
'Have you been in this house a long time then?'
Mrs Donovan gave a little laugh. 'Each one of my children was born and raised here. It will be forty years come October.'
'Gosh,' said Peggy appreciatively. 'I suppose the neighbourhood's changed a bit since then.'
The woman gave Peggy a sideways look. 'Not for the worse,' she said firmly.
'Not at all,' said Peggy. 'I can see that. It looks a fine street to me.'
The woman relaxed. 'It's just that so many left when the Asians came. Not me, mind; I wasn't going anywhere. I always said, there's good and bad – white, black, and all the in-betweens. Why should I up sticks if people treat me right? Who cares what colour they are?'
'Who indeed?' said Peggy, taken aback by the old woman's almost aggressive tolerance and the implication that she – Peggy – might not agree.
The old lady went to the stove and poured boiling water from the kettle into two waiting mugs. 'Milk?' she asked and Peggy nodded. When she brought the mugs over she pushed the sugar bowl along the kitchen table, and Peggy shook her head and pushed it back.
They sipped in quiet contentment for a moment. Then Peggy said casually, 'You've got good neighbours then?'
'The best,' Mrs Donovan declared. 'The Desais live on that side,' she said, and proceeded to talk about the Hindu family next door. Peggy nodded as the old woman took her through three generations of Desai family tree, little realising that her listener was entirely uninterested in them, and was only waiting for her to talk about her neighbours on the other side.
Peggy's cup had been refilled by the time she felt able to ask about the other neighbouring family. 'Mrs Atiyah,' Mrs Donovan said, and her face seemed to light up. 'Isn't it a lovely name?'
'Very pretty. What kind of name is it?'
'The family was from Yemen, luv. What we used to call Aden before they went and got themselves independent. Though then there was a lot of trouble, and that's when the Atiyahs moved here.'
This time Peggy paid close attention while Mrs Donovan went through the generations of Atiyahs. Mr Atiyah senior had passed away several years before, leaving Mrs A solitary in the house, though she had two daughters (and five grandchildren) living nearby, and almost every day one of them paid a visit on their mother. 'She's seventy-two next March, not that she looks a day over seventy if you ask me yourself.'
'It's nice she's got daughters to look after her,' said Peggy, resisting the temptation to finish her tea, since she couldn't be sure she would be offered another refill. 'Though I suppose she would have liked a son as well.'
'Oh she's got a son, all right. He's the youngest child and the apple of her eye. And Mrs A spoils him rotten. You'd think he was still a schoolboy from the way he lets his mum take care of him – I've seen him lug his laundry home for her to do, and him living all the way down in London.'
'He's got no family then?'
Mrs Donovan shook her head. 'No, he's still a student. If you ask me, it's all very well everyone going to university these days, but sometimes they carry it on too long. Mika is twenty-six if he's a day. By that age my Leonard had been working for ten years, yet this lad's still at his books.' She shook her head uncomprehendingly. 'My nephew Arnold—' she started to say, but Peggy cut in quickly to impede the diversion. 'Do you reckon his mum minds? I mean, his being a student and all?'
For a moment the old lady looked confused, as if her nephew Arnold was being discussed, then she realised Peggy was talking about the Atiyah boy and she shook her head decisively. 'No, his mum thinks the sun shines out of that boy's eyes. Even when it's grey and overcast outside.' She gave a little chuckle.
'They say Middle Eastern lads are very dutiful sons.'
The woman gave a little harrumph, and Peggy realised she didn't like her neighbour's son much. She said nothing but waited patiently, and sure enough there was more to come. 'Like I say, the boy's been spoilt. Why, last year he said he wanted to go back to his homeland – he meant Yemen – and his mum coughed up the air fare. What was the point, I ask you? He's born and bred British just like you and me, so why start pretending you're not? Never go backwards, that's my motto.'
'Maybe he wanted to explore his roots. Like that programme on the TV.'
'I can't see him sobbing over his great-grandmother like what's-his-name did. He's a hard little bugger, our Mika.'
'Did he like it in Yemen?'
Mrs Donovan shrugged. 'I didn't think it was my business to ask. Mrs A knows I don't approve of the boy – he's not polite, at least not to the likes of an old lady like me.'
'Really?' said Peggy, trying to sound indignant.
'Not since he went to the Middle East. He hardly says hello when he sees me.'
'Are they a very religious family?'
Mrs Donovan paused, as if she had never thought about this before, and said reflectively, 'The old man was, but not Mrs A. Since he died I don't think she goes to the mosque much. And when one of her daughters married an English bloke, she didn't bat an eye.'
'And Mika?'
She shrugged, and looked at the mugs on the table. Peggy realised she was in danger of outstaying her welcome; the old lady liked to talk, but on her own terms, and that didn't seem to include answering too many of a stranger's questions. Peggy got up from her chair. 'Golly, what you've said has been so interesting I could stay and listen all day. But duty calls, and I have to get back to work. Thanks so much for the tea, Mrs Donovan.'
'Call me Maggie, dear.'
'Right, Maggie. You've been very helpful.'
'Have I?' asked Maggie, and her face was suddenly cheerful again. 'That's kind of you to say, luv, though I don't see how.'
'I'll just leave you this,' said Peggy, putting a small printed leaflet on the kitchen table. 'It explains about the Electoral Registration process and it's got my phone number on it in case there's anything you want to inquire about.'
'Thanks, luv,' said Mrs Donovan, picking up the leaflet and putting it on the sideboard beside the photographs.
Chapter 33
Martin Seurat looked moodily out of the window of his office in the headquarters of the DGSE, France's external intelligence service. He occupied a small room in a corner of one of the white stone buildings just off the Boulevard Mortier on the outskirts of Paris. Outside, the gravelled courtyard had darkened to the colour of slate from the rain that had come down in a short heavy burst earlier that morning. The sky had stayed overcast, with no hint of sun, and now the wind was picking up. It all seemed like a plot by winter to hurry things along, thought Seurat, who every year wanted to hibernate at this season and wake up only when the clocks changed in spring.
He couldn't quite understand why he was feeling so low. After all, he had achieved his ambition of capturing his old colleague Antoine Milraud, the man who had betrayed his friendship and his trust. Why wasn't he feeling elated?
He supposed the trouble was that he did not yet have the pleasure of seeing the man in court, answering for his crimes. That pleasure had to wait until the operation in Britain was concluded. But he wasn't directing that operation; he was having to leave that to Liz Carlyle, since it was happening on her turf. So at present he had only a minor role to play, keeping Annette sweet and monitoring the arrangements at the safe house in Montreuil.
He could hear the noise of workmen moving furniture around across the passage. He'd left his door open, and occasionally he saw one of the workmen passing by, carrying a chair or a cupboard. A colleague had returned from a posting in Taiwan and was moving into the vacant office. Funnily enough, that very room across the passage used to be Antoine Milraud's office. Seurat had spent many an hour there, talking with his old friend and colleague, sometimes cracking open a bottle of Bordeaux if they had stayed working late enough to deserve a glass or two, talking quietly until the phone would ring and – Seurat could hear her voice from the other side of the room – Annette would demand to know when Antoine was coming home and did he really expect his dinner to be waiting when he did?
Annette was not so chirpy now, living with a guard in the small flat the Service kept in the Fifth Arrondissement, while her husband twiddled his thumbs in the Montreuil bungalow not far away from this office. Seurat had talked to Liz that morning and heard her account of her debriefing of Milraud in London. Both had agreed that he was still holding something back, and only superficially cooperating. Whatever it was the man was not saying was bound to be important, or why keep it secret? Maybe it was something that reflected badly on him. But why would he bother, considering the mess he was already in? Liz thought it most likely to concern Lester Jackson's role in the whole affair, and Martin did not disagree.
The problem was there didn't seem any obvious way to prise more information out of Milraud. He'd already been threatened with the prosecution of Annette, and had folded accordingly. They could always threaten him again, but to what end? Putting Annette in prison wasn't going to tell them anything more about Lester Jackson or the young Arab whom Seurat still thought of as Zara. And in any case, after a while repeated threats failed to frighten, as if the ferocious dog barking from inside a house turned out, when the front door was opened, to be a chihuahua.
'Monsieur?'
The voice was gentle but Seurat was startled none the less. Looking up, he found a young man in the doorway. At first he thought he must be one of the moving men, but no, this fellow had longish hair and wore a cotton jacket and chinos. He looked like a student rather than a workman.
'What is it?'
'Forgive me, Monsieur. I am Jacques Thibault. I have been helping out with Antoine Milraud.'
Seurat stared at Thibault; he seemed very young to be guarding his ex-colleague. Then he remembered. 'Ah, of course. You are the computer genius.'
Thibault gave a modest shrug. 'You are too kind.'
'How goes it? Anything more to report?'
'In fact, yes. As you know, I have control of Monsieur Milraud's laptop and I read all his emails. That includes the recent communiqué asking him to come to London. He claims he wiped all the earlier emails on security grounds. What he doesn't realise is that I have been working hard to find them nonetheless.'
Seurat saw the importance of this immediately. 'And have you?' he asked eagerly.
'Only up to a point. I am sure you are familiar with reverse engineering.'
'I think so. You go backwards to reconstruct a trail. It's especially useful to see how something began, isn't it?'
'In a sense.' Thibault had lost his air of diffidence and had come into the office, sitting down when Seurat pointed to the empty leather chair across from his desk. 'But I would argue that it is most valuable when something has been destroyed rather than built.'
'Really?' said Seurat, trying to be patient.
Thibault nodded vigorously. 'Suppose you are confronted with a brick house and want to see how it came to that state: through reverse engineering you gradually work your way back until the walls have come down and the first foundations are about to be poured – the bricks for the walls may not even have been delivered. Now that is a beautiful process in its own way, but it doesn't tell you much if what you want to learn about is the finished house.'
Seurat nodded politely at this elaborate metaphor, but privately he wondered what point Thibault was trying to make. If Thibault sensed his doubts he gave no sign of it, and continued: 'Think about it this way – what if this finished brick house is destroyed? Accidentally or on purpose, it doesn't matter. Either way all the information you want is lost, irretrievably. Unless' – and he started to smile – 'you could reverse-engineer the act of destruction, slowly work your way back from the present position of crumbled walls and masonry dust to the house in its former glory.'
'You can do this with Milraud's emails?'
'Yes.' Thibault was sure of his ground, his voice entirely confident. 'Not the whole house at first, more like one of its rooms. But in time I am certain it can all be reconstructed.'
'Do we know anything yet?'
'We do, but I don't know how much of it is of value. The first exchange occurred when Milraud was in South America. I am not quite sure where.'
Caracas, thought Seurat, and motioned for Thibault to continue. He said, 'I can be more precise about the sender of the email, however. His message came from Yemen. Not far outside the city of Sana'a.'
'Hang on a minute. Was the sender the same person in England who's contacted him recently?'
'Yes, well, at least it is the same email address.'
Liz had told Seurat about Peggy Kinsolving's fact-finding mission to the northern town of Eccles. Atiyah, apparently the real name of the young Arab they'd been calling Zara, had visited Yemen within the last year according to the neighbour. It all fitted. 'What about more recent communications?' he asked Thibault.
The young boffin shook his head. 'Not yet. There is a large gap to be filled between these first exchanges and the last email, which we've already seen. I am confident of filling in this gap, but it will take some time.'
'Oh,' said Seurat, sounding disappointed. Thibault was obviously elated to have recovered even a small part of what had been deleted, but if it didn't actually tell them much then there didn't seem any reason to get excited.
Thibault said, 'I will send you the transcripts of what I have managed to disinter.'
Seurat wondered if there was any point in passing this on to Liz. Probably not; the 'breakthrough' hadn't amounted to much.
Thibault shifted in his armchair, ready to depart. Then he said, 'There is one other thing that may be of interest. It's a reference in the very first email from Yemen to the man who made the introduction to Milraud.'
Seurat was suddenly alert. 'Does it give his name?'
'No, because he was careful not to use it. But does sound as if the man is a senior person in the government. Possibly a minister, I can't tell exactly.'
Chapter 34
Miles Brookhaven was used to working in the Middle East, but each year as winter hove onto the horizon he thought fondly of home. He had just been reading a letter from his mother, describing the Thanksgiving dinner she was planning in the small town in upstate New York where she lived. It would soon be snowing there, with icy winds coming in over the Great Lakes from Canada.
It all seemed a very long way away from this café in Sana'a where he was sitting at an outside table under a hot Yemeni sun, watching as Arack used his fork to attack a second helping of pistachio and syrup-laden pastry. CIA HQ back in Langley must have seen some odd expense claims over the years, everything from 'booze and babes' to a legendary purchase of a racehorse, but Miles couldn't imagine what they would think of the three-figure bill he was planning to submit for the purchase of Yemeni patisserie.
Not that he had much to show for it in return: Arack seemed as mystified by the disappearance of Baakrime as Miles was. Arack said between mouthfuls, 'No one knows anything. I made up an excuse to ring his office at the Ministry. It's quite obvious that his secretary doesn't have a clue where he is. My own Minister's secretary was trying to contact him to find out if he was coming to a meeting just two days ago, but no one could say whether he was coming or not.'
He looked contemplatively at his fork. Noticing a vestigial smear of cream on one of its tines, he licked it clean, then said, 'His son has disappeared as well, you know. That is also a mystery. He worked for the Minister's charity but no one there seems to know where he is either.'
'That's interesting. What do you think it's all about?' asked Miles. He couldn't prevent his mind recalling the bloodied, white-robed corpse, whose shiny black shoes seemed to make the mental image even more gruesome.
Arack shrugged, and looked over at the waiter, who fortunately for Miles's expense account was occupied serving another table. He said, 'Someone must know something. You have to remember what kind of man Baakrime is.'
'How do you mean?'
'He's rich, he's powerful; inevitably, he has enemies. Maybe something has frightened him enough to go into hiding. And that would also frighten anyone who knows his whereabouts. All one can do is keep asking, though it requires care in order not to make people suspicious.' Arack's face suddenly broadened into a smile. He had caught the waiter's eye.
Two nights later, Miles left the embassy after attending a reception given by Ambassador Rodgers for what he called 'a visiting fireman' – in this case, a natural gas producer from Monroe, Louisiana. It was a three-line whip for most of the Embassy staff, and the trade representatives of other missions and embassies had also been invited. The party was never going to be a barrel of laughs, but Miles didn't mind – among the other conscripts was the voluptuous Marilyn.
But when Marilyn cut him dead in the embassy foyer and went instead to talk to the other secretaries, Miles realised she was still cross with him for cancelling their dinner date. His disappointment turned to annoyance when a little while later he saw her with Bruno Mackay, who seemed to be putting something into his phone – probably her number, thought Miles jealously.
Miles compensated for Marilyn's snub by having three glasses of wine, which meant he left the party feeling mellow. He lived in an apartment in the old quarter of the city, and he drove there in the dark with extra caution. Since the events on the road from Baakrime's farm he had changed the car he drove, but he still felt uneasy driving at night, even in the city.
He parked in the underground car park of his apartment block. As he slammed and locked the car door his eye caught a movement behind a car two spaces along the row. His stomach lurched and he stood still, keeping the car between himself and whoever was there, alert for what might happen next.
Then a figure emerged into the light, and after a second or two Miles recognised Minister Baakrime. Standing just fifteen feet away under the yellowish glow of the car park lights he was a changed figure. The finery of his office apparel – silk ties, handmade shoes from London – was all gone. He wore a brown canvas jacket with side pockets, and unpressed cotton trousers; he looked utterly nondescript, which must have been his intention, though no doubt it galled him.
'What are you doing—' Miles began to ask, but Baakrime put an urgent finger to his lips, then beckoned him into the shadows in the corner of the car park. 'Quiet, my friend. I do not want to be seen by anyone.'
'I've been looking for you,' whispered Miles.
Baakrime gave a melancholy smile. 'You are not the only one.'
'Why have you disappeared?'
'I had no choice.' His voice was hoarse. 'My son was murdered. That was a warning to me that I would be next.'
'I am sorry for your loss,' said Miles. There was no point in saying that he had seen the body of the young man. 'Who did it? Who's after you?'
'I know their identity, and it will be of great interest to your country and the British. But I cannot stay in Yemen much longer; I want to emigrate to America. I think I have information to earn that right; I have been of considerable assistance to you in the past and I have more to tell.'
Miles said nothing while he digested this. His estimate of Baakrime was that he was a wily old crook who had probably got what he deserved, though what had happened to his son could not be wished on anyone. It was not as if the Minister had been helping the United States out of the goodness of his heart: each time he'd imparted any information he had been well paid for it. There was no question of giving him free passage into America and, as he no doubt hoped, a pension to live on when he got there. Those who held the purse strings in Washington would never authorise it unless he had a lot more to offer.
Miles spoke carefully now. 'You have been a valuable friend to my country, but I think you will admit your efforts have always been rewarded. In the end we are all in business, even if our goods are information. I need to know what more you have to offer before I can put your proposal to my superiors. I need to know a lot more about these people. Why are they hunting for you, where do they come from, what are their plans? If you can tell me that, then maybe I can help you.'
Baakrime didn't reply at first. He exhaled noisily, wiped at his thinning hair impatiently, then looked around. He was less agitated now, but his shoulders were slumped; clearly Miles had not told him what he had been hoping to hear. At last he spoke, 'Very well. I see the position, even if I regret it. I will tell you what I know, though I want guarantees of protection – until you arrange for me to go to America. Is that agreed?'
'There's only so much I can do in Yemen. Once you have left this country I can guarantee your safety. Until then, I can only give advice.'
Baakrime thought about this, his lips pursed. 'It will have to do for now,' he said grudgingly. Then he added reluctantly, 'The man attending the meeting in Paris is not working for the rebels of the Arab Spring. He is working for jihadis. Ones that are based here in Yemen.'
He looked at Miles as if he had handed him a gift of unexpected value, but Miles shook his head, to show that he would have to do better than this. 'We already know that. We have learned a lot more since you alerted us to the meeting in Paris.'
If the Yemeni was disappointed he didn't show it, but like a magician whose rabbit has failed to impress, simply produced another one. 'Of course, but I doubt you know much about these jihadis. You see, they are not Yemeni, they are British.
Miles remembered the British voice in the armed gang who had forced him and Bruno Mackay off the road. 'Believe it or not, I did know that too. But tell me more.'
'Do you know their plans?'
'Which plans?'
'Ah,' said Baakrime, 'I thought not. These British men are here only temporarily. Soon they will be returning to their country, with a small stop in Paris. I don't think they're going there to see the Eiffel Tower.' He laughed. 'And when they get to England I don't think they'll be training to become lawyers.'
'What are they going to do?' Miles demanded. Baakrime didn't reply. Miles insisted: 'What are these men planning to do?'
'It's not entirely clear,' said Baakrime, which to Miles meant either he didn't know or he was holding the information as a bargaining chip. The latter seemed most likely when he said, 'I believe I can find out.' He paused, then added, 'If . . .'
'If you can tell me when these men are going to Paris and what they are planning to do in England, then I think I may be able to help you. It will take forty-eight hours and the information will need to be checked.'
Baakrime said slowly, 'Forty-eight hours is a long time in my position.'
'You've made it this far; what's a few more days? Get me the information I want and then I'll set everything up. How long will it take you?'
'I will meet you tomorrow at this time, but not here.'
'I have a small place I keep as a safe house,' said Miles and he gave him an address in the old city. 'Come there tomorrow but be sure you are not followed.'
'Trust me, my friend. I still have a few friends who look after me.'
| 5,834 |
Preview: Sod The Tories with John Scott at Newcastle Stand
The Stand Comedy Club's Topical Panel Show Reaches It's 1st Birthday
Sod the Tories (And Have A Nice Week) is a topical panel show with an unashamedly leftist anti-establishment USP.
The original show format was devised by show host John Scott after he worked on a project with BBC North<|fim_middle|>: Blood Brothers at Darlington Civic Theatr...
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Review: Too Much, Too Young at Washington Arts Ce... | giving guidance in developing panel shows. The final outcome he fully understands wouldn't be of much use to the mainstream media but that was the whole point of the project.
For around three years now John had been writing stand up material of a dissident political nature that he knew would never really work well on regular comedy club audiences. So he devised the Sod the Tories show as an outlet for such ideas.
The show has run for a year now and has a popular podcast which is hosted by northern comedy website Giggle Beats.
Over that time John has recruited the cream of North East comedy talent to work alongside him. Many of the participants prior to taking part in the show had never considered writing political comedy.
Later in August this year John is doing a youth/young persons version of the show in cooperation with Newcastle' Live Theatre company called #Mouthingoff.
Our host feels it's vitally important that shows of this nature should exist. It's of his personal opinion that comedy has become anodyne and toothless over recent years and this show is an antidote to that.
Having grown up in a mining town under Thatcher John never thought he would see a day where he would live under a government that he felt was worse than hers…until this despicable coalition came to power.
Outwith Sod the Tories…
John has received many plaudits as a solo and sketch comedy performer. In 2012 he won £12,000 pounds at the Edinburgh Festival Take The Mic competition. The biggest cash prize ever awarded at the Fringe.
Joining John on July 28th are Sarah Ledger, John Gibson, Lee Kyle, Nick Cranston and resident rapper Mr Stuart Robertson
"Among the Top 5 comedians emerging from Scotland." The Observer.
"Confidently told hilarious tales of class-based woe, nothing missed the mark in a superb set where every story was expertly crafted before being subverted with a killer punch line. After practicing comedy for five arduous years, expect to see his name somewhere big very soon." The List.
"A genuinely gifted comedian." The Skinny.
Ticket Details:
Show dates. July 28, Aug 25, Sep 29, Oct 27, Nov 24.
Tickets £5/£3 conc. £3 Club members.
Venue: The Stand Newcastle, 31 High Bridge NE1 1EW
Show time. Doors 7.30 show 8.30
Web & Booking http://www.thestand.co.uk
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/StandNewcastle
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Labels: comedy, John Scott, Newcastle, political comedy, preview, Sod The Tories, The Stand
Preview: The Mousetrap at Newcastle Theatre Royal
Preview: Joe McElderry at Newcastle Tyne Theatre
Preview: Top Hat at Newcastle Theatre Royal
Preview | 608 |
Q: Error Terms Poisson Distributed When might error terms be Poisson distributed?
I would assume that error terms for Poisson regression will be Poisson distributed. But I could be wrong. I am just guessing. What do you guys make of this?
A: In Poisson regression, the observations are (conditionally) Poisson distributed. The errors with respect to the mean are not: if the predicted Poisson parameter is $\hat{\lambda}=0.1$, then we expect future realizations to be $y\sim\text{Pois}(\hat{\lambda})$ distributed - but errors, i.e., $y-\hat{\lambda}$, will take values of $-0.1,0.9,1.9,\dots$, which is certainly not describable by a Poisson distribution. Why do we model noise in linear regression but not logistic regression? is a recent related thread on logistic as compared to Poisson regression.
I can't<|fim_middle|> are of course Poisson. But that doesn't look like a very helpful way of looking at things.
| recall a situation where errors would be Poisson distributed. Unless you would predict $\hat{y}=0$ for all realizations, which are actually Poisson distributed, $y\sim\text{Pois}(\lambda_y)$. Then your errors | 52 |
Two Hospitalized After Being Struck By Car At Bus Stop On Merrill Road
Home » Blog » Car Accidents » Two Hospitalized After Being Struck By Car At Bus Stop On Merrill Road
Law enforcement officials reported two people were hospitalized after they<|fim_middle|> in the outside lane just west of the intersection of Barrett Road. […]
One Killed And Two Injured In An Accident Near Fort Lauderdale Executive Airport
Report says one person was killed and two were injured in a violent collision. According to the police, this accident sent one of two vehicles hurtling through a fence at Fort Lauderdale Executive Airport. It was further reported that air traffic was unhindered by the crash, however, roads were closed to street traffic surrounding the […]
In can be hard after an accident to get around if your car is in the shop in Orlando, FL. Renting a car may be an out-of-pocket expense, but you do have options to recover that expense if you lose your primary vehicle because of the required repairs. If another driver is at fault for […]
Are Car Accident Settlements Taxable?
If you received an award settlement after a car accident, part of your damages may go towards taxes. Whether you will owe taxes on your award and how much you will owe depends on the reason the court awarded the money. If you are concerned that your award will decrease due to taxes, talk to […]
Can You Get Whiplash in a Side-Impact Accident?
While whiplash often develops due to a rear-end collision, it can arise from side-impact accidents. In many instances, the same injuries occur regardless of whether a vehicle is struck from behind, the front, or the side. Although the degree of damage greatly varies with each accident, whiplash usually occurs because those inside their vehicles can […]
Should I Give an Auto Insurance Company Access to My Medical Records?
If you have suffered a motor vehicle accident, an insurance adjuster has probably contacted you about your injuries. You may have been asked to sign an authorization for the release of medical records, giving the insurance adjuster the right to access your medical bills and records. Do not authorize the insurance company to access your […]
What Should I Expect in a Deposition for a Car Accident?
What Am I Entitled to Be Compensated for if the Other Driver Was at Fault After a Car Accident?
What Are Common Injuries from Side-Impact Accidents?
How Can Nurses Avoid Having Complaints Filed Against Them?
Find yourself a Competent Lawyer Now!
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Meadow Woods Personal Injury Lawyer Near Me | were struck by a car at a bus stop on Merrill Road.
According to the news release by authorities, the crash happened on Merrill Road and Herrick Drive Intersection. This was where two vehicles crashed and then collided with pedestrians at a bus stop.
The Jacksonville Police Department reported that a gray BMW was exiting from a gas station when it made an improper U-Turn, lost control, and then crashed into another vehicle. The vehicle that was struck then continued to travel and struck two people that were sitting on the bus bench.
EMS arrived to the scene of the accident soon after it happened and administered first aid to the injured victims. Emergency crews reported that both pedestrians that were struck were taken to the hospital in stable condition after suffering several injuries.
There were no reports on the conditions of the driver's in the vehicles that careened into them.
Authorities say that the incident is currently under investigation and no other details were released to the public.
Glen Levine, from the Law Firm of Anidjar and Levine, comments on this crash. "This was a serious accident in Jacksonville that involved two pedestrians leading to injuries. It was reported that the driver of the car possibly was injuries after she struck a taxi. We wish the persons involved in the crash a quick recovery. We also urge all involved to seek experienced legal representation including a Personal Injury Attorney."
Traffic And Accident News Provided By Traffic Center News
Three People Injured On Merrill Road Intersection Accident In Jacksonville
Law enforcement officials say that three people have been taken to a hospital following a two-vehicle crash that happened near the intersection of Townsend Boulevard and Merrill Road. The two-car crash was reported to have taken place near the intersection of Townsend Boulevard and Merrill Road where a Ford Focus, that was parked by the […]
Court Takes on Co-Owner Liability in Florida Car Accident Case – Ortiz v. Regalado
In Ortiz v. Regalado, Florida's Second District Court of Appeal takes on an important car accident litigation issue: the liability of a car co-owner when t — March 7, 2013
Elderly Carolyn Erwin Died In Multiple Car Crash On Northeast Pine Island Road
It was reported that at least five vehicles were involved in an accident on Northeast Pine Island Road near the intersection with Barrett Road. Report by Florida Highway Patrol says a 32-year-old Stefan Lippke was traveling on Northeast Pine Island Road. She was | 484 |
<|fim_middle|> inspired by the Cali Faye Voila Top. | More than anything, I choose to keep my sewing simple.
I want it to be no fuss for a little one to put on in the morning.
I want the fabric to flow freely and not cling to their arms when they need to reach high or climb.
I want it to be casual enough to wear to school but beautiful enough to wear to Sunday brunch with grandparents.
And THIS is the epitome of Mimi and Mack. The Return Flight Tunic.
As I am typing I see two feet of white fluffy powder on the ground with even more falling from the sky. It is gorgeous and my children enjoy it . . . but I know in a few more weeks we will wish for warmer days. The first sign that winter is gone and spring is approaching is the return flight of the birds.
And that is what this gorgeous piece reminds me of . . .
I am so happy with my first early spring piece. The light mint green reminds me of a flavor of ice cream I craved as a child . . . what was the name of that? Daiquiri Ice, maybe? So cool and bright.
What is going on behind those sneaky eyes?
Although I am making this top for early spring, I plan to let Mimi wear it all year. In the spring with a cardigan, bright magenta leggings, and ballet flats. In the warm summer with white cropped jeans. In the winter with cozy pants and pretty boots. These shiny gold birds in flight will even be perfect for the holidays.
The only fussiness is the pretty gold button. And Mimi can easily slip this top on and off without even touching the button.
Layered with a simple gray cardigan.
This top with come in sizes 2-10. It is fairly roomy, so it should fit all shapes well. Mimi normally wears a 5 but is growing quickly, so this top is a 6. You can't go wrong by ordering a size larger, but don't worry if you order your daughter's normal size.
**I will begin taking orders for the Return Flight Tunic this Friday, February 6, at 7:00 PM Central.
You can purchase at mimimack.bigcartel.com at this time. You may type the size in the comments box when you pay for the top.
This gorgeous top was | 474 |
Ayesha Curry Says Postpartum Depression Led Her To Get 'Most Botched Boob Job' Ever
Jayne Kamin-Oncea-USA TODAY Sports/<|fim_middle|> with these bigger boobs I didn't want." (RELATED: Steph Curry Turns 31 Years Old)
Curry continued, "I got the most botched boob job on the face of the planet. They're worse now than they were before. I would never do anything like that again, but I'm an advocate of if something makes you happy, who cares about the judgment?"
Ayesha, who welcomed her and Curry's third child, Cannon, last year, explained that she gets her confidence by being a working mom.
"It makes me feel like I can take on anything," the celebrity cook shared. "The little things that used to seem like problems aren't problems at all anymore. Things roll off my back more easily."
"I watched my mom be a working mother my whole life," she added. "I've never known anything else other than strong women in powerful positions."
She and the NBA superstar tied the knot July 30, 2011 and have three kids, two daughters and a son.
Tags : ayesha curry steph curry
Katie Jerkovich
Follow Katie Jerkovich on Twitter | Reuters
Katie Jerkovich Entertainment Reporter
NBA star Steph Curry's wife, Ayesha Curry, opened up about what led her to get what she called the "most botched boob job" ever in 2015 after having her second child.
"I didn't realize at the time, but after having Ryan, I was battling a bit of postpartum that lingered for a while. It came in the form of me being depressed about my body," the 30-year-old actress/celebrity cook told Working Mothers on Monday. (RELATED: Warriors Star Steph Curry Suffers Humiliating Fall During Dunk Attempt)
June 15, 2017; Oakland, CA, USA; Golden State Warriors guard Stephen Curry (30) waves to the crowd… Kyle Terada-USA TODAY Sports/ Reuters
"So I made a rash decision," she added. "The intention was just to have them lifted, but I came out | 198 |
Introduction EMSL Analytical is pleased to host this comprehensive day-long course in their dedicated training center located at their corporate<|fim_middle|>00 Route 130 North in Cinnaminson, New Jersey. To register or learn more about this upcoming event, click here. For a PDF flyer of this workshop, please click here. For other training opportunities and laboratory services offered by EMSL, please visit http://emsl.com/Training.aspx, call (843)737-6955 or email jmazonas@EMSL.com. | headquarters.
EMSL Analytical, Inc. is offering a free one-day training benefiting professionals involved with building science, water damage, mold remediation and indoor air quality (IAQ) issues on Thursday, April 12th in Cinnaminson, New Jersey. Registration for EMSL's Assessing the Built Environment for Water Damage & Fungal Growth Workshop will begin at 8:00 AM followed by the training, which will run from 8:30 AM to 4:30 PM.
Enviro Team North America's Patrick O'Donnell, CIEC and Jason Popovic, CIE will be instructing this course that features three unique sessions that will include discussions about water intrusion, water vapor and report writing based on ASTM recommended report preparation. This training offers ABIH, ACAC and 7 FL DBPR continuing education credits.
This Assessing the Built Environment for Water Damage & Fungal Growth Workshop is taking place at EMSL's Training Center located at 2 | 203 |
The Republic of Letters
Marc Fumaroli; Translated from the French by Lara Vergnaud
400 pages, 6 x 9
A provocative exploration of intellectual exchange across four centuries of European history by the author of When the World Spoke French<|fim_middle|> Europe
Learning and Virtue in the Seventeenth Century
Peter N. Miller
Mussolini's Shadow
The Double Life of Count Galeazzo Ciano
Ray Moseley
The Fabrication of Louis XIV
Peter Burke
A Revolution in Commerce
The Parisian Merchant Court and the Rise of Commercial Society in Eighteenth-Century France
Amalia D. Kessler
Family Politics
Domestic Life, Devastation and Survival, 1900-1950
Paul Ginsborg
Battle Tactics of the Western Front
The British Army`s Art of Attack, 1916-18
Paddy Griffith
The Margellos World Republic of Letters
A Guide to Philosophy in Six Hours and Fifteen Minutes
Witold Gombrowicz; Translated by Benjamin Ivry
Witold Gombrowicz; Translated by Danuta Borchardt; Foreword
Witold Gombrowicz; Translated by Lillian Vallee
Five Spice Street
Can Xue, Translated by Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping
Exemplary Novels
Miguel de Cervantes; Translated from the Spanish by Edith G
The Selected Poems of Umberto Saba
Umberto Saba; Translated by George Hochfield and Leonard Na
History > European History
History > Renaissance
Literary Studies > Cultural Criticism
History > Cultural History |
In this fascinating study, preeminent historian Marc Fumaroli reveals how an imagined "republic" of ideas and interchange fostered the Italian Renaissance, the Enlightenment, and the French Revolution. He follows exchanges among Petrarch, Erasmus, Descartes, Montaigne, and others from the fifteenth through the eighteenth centuries, through revolutions in culture and society. Via revealing portraits and analysis, Fumaroli traces intellectual currents engaged with the core question of how to live a moral life—and argues that these men of letters provide an example of the exchange of knowledge and ideas that is worthy of emulation in our own time. Combining scholarship, wit, and reverence, this thought-provoking volume represents the culmination of a lifetime of scholarship.
Marc Fumaroli is a professor emeritus at the Collège de France and a member of the British Academy, the Académie française, the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, and the Société d'histoire littéraire de la France. Lara Vergnaud is a French-English translator based in Washington, DC.
"A tour de force. Fumaroli's long-awaited book brings us a lifetime of his scholarship, his wisdom, and (refreshingly) of his caution. Here is a book to savor."—Jay Winter, Yale University
"Fumaroli is recognized internationally as one of the most eminent and erudite scholars in this area. The Republic of Letters is significant for the questions it raises and fruitful debates it may generate."—André Benhaim, Princeton University
"The Republic of Letters is one of those fascinating history books that introduces an almost completely new element of analysis into already well-known events . . . [It] delves into a now-forgotten element of the past . . . and thus makes the past more real."—Addison Del Mastro, University Bookman
"The Republic of Letters concentrates the fruits of a lifetime of study into 18 erudite chapters . . . ably translated by Lara Vergnaud."—Laura Auricchio, Wall Street Journal
Peiresc's | 427 |
The<|fim_middle|>, and MooseWood Millworks which sells Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) certified hardwood flooring. | family-owned Seven Islands Land Company is proving that with expert management, forests producing low-value pulpwood instead can produce far higher-value pellets and parquet – and generate jobs. The next step, according to Seven Island President John McNulty, may be expanding into biomass and biomass energy.
The latest developments for this family-owned Maine forestry company founded in 1841 began in the 1990s when the Seven Islands management team became progressively frustrated by the rapidly growing public perception that all forest management practices were environmentally unsound. The managers knew that their approach to forestry was sound, but had no tangible way to distinguish their practices from others in the eyes of the public. They found a way in 1995 when they learned about the Forest Conservation Program set up by Scientific Certification Systems (SCS).
After a rigorous evaluation process, SCS certified Seven Islands as a "Well-Managed Forest." (To see how rigorous the evaluation is, read this 35-page SCS certification report on Seven Islands). Along with maintaining its SCS Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) certification with annual audits, in 1999 Seven Islands earned certification by the Sustainable Forestry Initiative (SFI) of the American Forest and Paper Association, maintaining dual certifications.
Today these certifications plus the conservation easement signed in 2001 to preserve the Pingree family forests as working forests forever have helped create a job-generating success story.
McNulty says conservation easements funders should recognize the fact that forest owners need "the flexibility to manage their land" – and should recognize that a good conservation easement can generate good jobs. He concludes that "there are opportunities to expand the easement universe if those willing to purchase the easement are willing to negotiate less stringent standards. If purchasers are going to restrict your opportunity by creating conditions that become costly to you, then that has to be reflected in the money coming to you at the time of purchase." I agree with John. Owners need management flexibility after relinquishing their development rights.
For more information on conservation easements and their tax implications, read my August 21 Deductions on Conservation Easements and August 23 How Estate Taxes and Conservation Easements are Linked blogs. The two blogs quote tax attorney Steve Small, the expert who wrote the original federal tax regulations for conservation easements thirty years ago.
For more information on Pingree family forestry operations, see the forestry-management Seven Islands Land Company, the Maine Woods Company sawmill, the Orion Timberlands company which manages forests for other owners | 519 |
Exercise is an essential part of maintaining a healthy weight and promoting your quality of life. It's no secret that exercise releases endorphins which leave you feeling positive, confident, and capable. But what if you're new to the exercise game? There are often mental and physical road<|fim_middle|>aining your neck. If you are, it likely means you need lighter weights. There's no shame is starting slow and light when it comes to strength training. Over time, your muscle mass will increase and you can slowly bump up your weights.
You're not in this alone. There are countless resources that can provide you mental, emotional, and physical support as you adopt a new, healthier lifestyle. Most gyms offer nutritional programs, expert advice, and even personal trainers to help you navigate both the gym equipment and your newly adopted lifestyle. Don't be afraid to ask for a gym tutorial where a staff member will explain the proper use and purpose for specific equipment. If you need help adjusting your diet or caloric intake, take advantage of a nutritionist. If you're too apprehensive to enter the gym just yet, there are countless online tools available too. You can find meal guides and plans, at home workouts, and even online personal training options. Once you feel more comfortable with exercising, you can take it outside the house.
It's always recommended to consult your doctor before starting any new fitness program. Your primary care physician likely knows your limitations and can help determine your current fitness level. This will ensure that you avoid injury and adopt a program conducive to your current condition and lifestyle. Your doctor will evaluate your blood pressure, heart rate, medical history, and current activity level before recommending a safe workout routine. You may also choose to check in periodically with your doctor during your fitness journey. They can help monitor your weight and progress while making recommendations for improvements and advancements.
The hardest thing to do is start when it comes to a new fitness or workout routine. Be kind to yourself and remember that your body needs time to adjust. Ask for help, recommendations, and support. Keeping a positive mindframe and setting realistic goals will help you stay motivated and on the path to success. | blocks that prevent people from every getting started with a new workout regime. But this doesn't have to be the case! If you're considering a new workout routine, here are 3 tips to help you get started and push past mental and physical barriers.
Rome wasn't built in a day, which means you're not going to see immediate results when you start a new exercise program. Not only do you need to remain patient, but you also need to start slow. You can't enter the gym for the first time and expect to run 5 miles on the treadmill and bench press 250 pounds. Not only is this unrealistic, but it's also very dangerous. Doing too much too soon when it comes to exercise can result in serious injury. And an injury will only set you back further on your fitness journey. Start slow and listen to your body. If you've never entered a gym before, start with a slow walk on the treadmill for 20-30 minutes. Try using resistance bands or light weights for a few sets of 10 reps. Check your form and make sure that you're not arching your back or str | 234 |
3,800 square foot lodge with bar & dining area, and overnight accommodations for 12. Enjoy the large bedroom suite, complete with fireplace and jacuzzi tub, and two loft bedrooms. The Clubhouse includes a 61' large screen TV and 8' Brunswick<|fim_middle|> in the unspoiled Hudson Valley.
Our comfortable stone and timber dining area has a bar and can accommodate 80 guests with space for a DJ and dance area. The kitchen will satisfy any caterer. We have affiliations with local caterers and event planners if you need a referral. | pool table. We boast a newly designed, fully equipped kitchen. Laundry room. Beautiful patio with stone fireplace, swing and tranquil waterfalls. The lodge is available for weekend rentals, weekly or by the month. Guests can also enjoy the newly built Bridal Suite during their stay.
Enjoy our newly renovated, Raised Ranch. You will have the entire house, if rented, with four bedrooms, two bathrooms, an in-home gym, patio, and deck. Enjoy use of the full kitchen & dining area. Large master bedroom fully appointed with a King Bed. Two additional bedrooms, each with a Queen bed. The fourth bedroom has two twin beds. there is also an additional Queen sleeper sofa. TV, WiFi, and other comforts are standard with the house, which is also available for weekend, weekly or monthly rentals.
There are 300 acres to enjoy. While exploring you will discover our hidden waterfall - the perfect place for group photos or a few minutes of solace. Sun yourself on our sandy beach, take a dip in the lake, set up a volleyball game or hike along our wooded trails located | 222 |
Johnny Barr's is a place that offers healthy and tasty gourmet sandwiches at a reasonable price in Queenstown.
Pin has read quite a few reviews from forums and websites stating that this is a 'must-go' place to either dine-in or take-out for visitors to this town.
Opening hours for Johnny Barr's can be seen from the pics above. I don't need to repeat and type them all out. Oh, and it's very obvious that the theme for this place is none other than... moustache! We didn't order much during our first visit to this place coz all of us have had quite a heavy breakfast few hours before.
Johnny Barrs' house specialty - BBQ Pulled Pork! It's a combination of shredded braised pork with spicy barbecue sauce topped with cheddar cheese and coleslaw.
Me with one big white moustache.
There are two 'Ice Bars' located in Queenstown alone and we decided to give BelowZero a go as it is a fairly new bar in town. I was set to go to this Ice Bar place the second I saw the pamphlet at our accommodation.
Polar bear with two bottles of... Absolut Vodka!
With cheerful looking vodka cocktails!
Ice cool bar experience... once again, priceless!
Another outdoor activity which Queenstown has to offer is none other than this high-speed Shotover Jet! Myself, nephew and sis booked the 10am session for an hour of this ride.
Kawarau Jet departs from this Main Town Pier of Queenstown bay at every hour.
Thank goodness for<|fim_middle|> few adventures I've had in Queenstown a.k.a the Adventure Capital of the World was doing the first commercial bungy jump at Kawarau Bridge! A lot of travel book says it's an essential component of every New Zealand visitor's itinerary.
The site entrance, located about 15 minutes from Queenstown.
Myself with the 'Welcome' sign!
Shuffling slowly towards the edge, getting ready to dive in a sec!
... and off I go... with my nephew looking at the spectators' viewing deck.
On the river... my NZ$ 180.00 gone within seconds! BUT I'm happy I've got this priceless experience. | a good weather that morning. Clear blue sky, with excellent weather waiting for us ahead!
Group pic before our one-hour water adventure.
Spin and splash! Normally I'll hide my camera under my jacket to prevent it from getting wet, but for the last spin, I just couldn't bother less and just shoot away aimlessly.
Hello! This is me (with a very very messy hair) and made my sis took this pic with her bare hands out in the freezing cold wind.
With a stunning backdrop as we go about in the jet, the experience is yet again, priceless!
One of the | 120 |
I have worked in all areas of administration for 20 years<|fim_middle|> from the letters she sent out on my behalf. I would definitely hire Emma again. Thank you!
Brilliant, fantastic job. Highly accurate data. Great communication throughout the project. Went over and above what was required. Would highly recommend, this very professional young lady to anyone!! Thanks Emma. | , in many different industries including healthcare, motor trade, construction trade and managed teams of administrators...Read moreI have worked in all areas of administration for 20 years, in many different industries including healthcare, motor trade, construction trade and managed teams of administrators within this time.
I am a dedicated assistant, with a keen eye for detail, who will type, manage and organise until my heart is content.
Based in the United Kingdom and looking to expand my clients beyond this. Communication is very important to me, producing the best outcome for my client.
Fantastic work, carried out very quickly and efficiently. Highly recommend Emma.
Did what l requested within a few hours. Great communication. Delivered exactly what was required.
Great work from Emma, quick and responsive and work of an excellent quality.
second job in two days and I'll keep coming back. Delivered as promised and bang on time. Thank you Emma, highly recommended!
Emma delivered exactly as required and well within the timeframe I requested. She was a pleasure to deal with and highly recommended.
Absolutely superb. Emma completed the task perfectly to my requirements and I've already had a number of replies | 231 |
Creating a budget doesn't prohibit you from having fun. In fact, spending your money purposefully is one of the simpler<|fim_middle|>354 worth of credit card debt - don't let this be you. Rid yourself of this hassle, so you can start living debt-free as soon as possible. | tasks of adulthood. No longer will you have to crawl under couch cushions for loose change to afford your morning coffee. Here are our tips for creating an effective budget.
You should account for every dollar at the start of the month. This way of budgeting is called zero-based budgeting - every dollar goes to a specific location to ensure your expenses match your total income for that month. Keep track all of that month's necessities, like groceries and rent, and also reserve a portion of your money for your savings account. We recommend creating an excel spreadsheet to help you keep a close eye on your budget and be as accurate as possible.
Life happens, and you'll need to adjust your expenses to accommodate those unexpected moments. Whether you're planning a trip to Mexico or were asked to be part of your friend's wedding - it takes proactive planning to ensure these events don't throw off your budget. Create a savings fund for those special times, so you're not caught in a situation where you must sacrifice your budget in order to have fun.
The sooner you pay off your debt, the sooner you can really take control of your income. Debt doesn't have to rule your spending habits, but putting it off does more harm than good in the long run. When creating a budget, account for any type of debt, whether it's cash loans or student loans. If you're in a position to put aside money for debt payments, you should start off by paying more than the minimum monthly payment. Long-term, this will save you money on interest and speed up the payoff process.
We've all had the financial blues at one point or another. Learning to live frugally can be an adjustment, but it's certainly not an impossibility. Cut corners by dining out less, canceling your cable subscription, and inviting your friends over for a game night. The craftier you can get, the better.
It's a crushing blow to rid yourself of these magic little cards, but using them less often (or not at all), will help you pay off your debt faster because you're not constantly adding to it. The average American carries $6, | 431 |
As a child, growing up on a farm, there were plenty of opportunities to fix fence, split wood and find lost<|fim_middle|> His mark on my post. It's at those times that He draws alongside and says, "I haven't forgotten about you. Hold whatcha' got." I can trust Him in these moments, after all, He did make some promises: "Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the Lord!" (Ps.27:14), "And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart." (Gal. 6:9), "For He Himself has said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." ( Heb. 13:5b).
If the burden is great, "hold whatcha' got" until He lifts it. Concern yourself with the "mark", the standard, that He has laid out for you. He hasn't forgotten you; He may be working on the other end. He knows what He is doing…and He knows right where you are. | cattle. At times the cattle proved too adept at escaping the confines of the fences, so the posts were lengthened and more levels of plank were installed. One day as my father and I worked on the fence, he came alongside me and showed me what he needed me to do. He measured a section of fencepost, then scored it with the point of a 40 penny nail and lifted the heavy end of a plank, pushing it up to the mark on the post. "All I'm asking you to do is hold it to this mark," he said. "After I level out the other end and nail it, I'll come back down here and nail this end." So I stood there, with my back to his work, staring out into the pasture, holding this plank.
The first few moments weren't bad…then time seemed to wear on…and on. I became tired and distracted. Before long, my father was standing beside me looking down at the post.
I think about this at times when I'm shouldering a load, a responsibility, a task that God has given me. He places it into my stewardship, and then he seems to take His time working elsewhere. I grow tired, and impatient while I wait on Him…and I slip away from | 258 |
Whether you arrive here by Motor Coach, Church Van or Mom's Taxi, you will find MainStay Suites the perfect choice for your Group's stay while visiting the Great Smoky Mountains area. Our complimentary, Continental Breakfast will get you and your group off on the right foot each morning with freshly baked biscuits and gravy, sausage patties, waffles, and much more.
If your group would like a great meal without having to leave<|fim_middle|> even settle down in one of our comfortable rocking chairs on the front porch. MainStay Suites in Pigeon Forge: Why would you go anywhere else?
For several years now, we at the Mainstay Suites have had the great honor and privilege to host various groups consisting of family and military reunions. Many of these groups have come to call Mainstay Suites a home away from home and each year they return. We call them family and friends. It is our great desire to continue to provide this service to as many as will come to call us their little getaway spot from home. We will gladly work with you to be sure you have the best reunion possible.
Located in the center of Action-Packed Pigeon Forge, tucked away on a 25-acre farm you will find the perfect spot for your next reunion. Located only one half mile off the Parkway with Mill Creek gently flowing through the property, along with multiple hospitality areas, you are only one decision away from one of the best Reunions ever for your group. Many who visit the pristine grounds of MainStay Suites and the Ogle Farm return year after year.
Large Outdoor Grill Area Surrounding our Pool and Lazy River Ride!
1600 Sq. Ft. Rentable Creekside Pavilion that can be Enclosed for Year-Round Use.
Large Lobby Area Serving a Deluxe Continental Breakfast every morning.
A Beautiful Creek that Runs Through our Property for Pure Relaxation!
Whether it is a Classroom Set Up for 100 people or a Banquet Setting for 300, we can accommodate your next meeting venture. Our competent staff awaits the opportunity to assist you with meeting space, audio visual, catering, or even extra-curricular event planning. Our State-of-the-art Conference Center can host groups from 50 to 300 with other meeting space available as well. How about a Business Luncheon or Evening Barbecue with live, local entertainment in our Creekside Pavilion? Our Pine Room and Conference Board Room is just right for that next Board of Director's Meeting. Whatever the need or size of the group, MainStay Suites Conference and Banquet Facilities will professionally and enthusiastically take care of your group's needs.
Allow Mainstay Suites Pigeon Forge to provide you with all of the information you will need to make your stay a success. | our hotel, we can provide a catered meal, and if you would enjoy some great local entertainment following dinner, we have the resources to plan that for you as well.
We can customize your stay to suit your group's special interests and needs. After a great day filled with lots of activities, you can | 62 |
Ring camera captures hilarious moment daughter realizes she forgot to put on pants
January 11, 2023, 11:04 a.m. ·2<|fim_middle|>'s third straight game squandering a double-digit lead, beating the defending champion Warriors 120-116 on Sunday night. Golden State went ahead 106-93 on Klay Thompson's jumper with 6:57 to play then the Nets outscored the Warriors 27-10 the rest of the way. Stephen Curry hit the go-ahead free throws with 1:12 remaining moments after Kyrie Irving's three-point pla | min read
This hilarious Ring camera footage features a family heading out for the day until the daughter realizes that she completely forgot to put on pants, and viewers are in hysterics over the candid home movie.
When you have kids, getting everyone ready to leave the house can be a challenge. A Ring camera belonging to a TikToker and parent who goes by the username @onigirli_ captured her family's hilarious attempt to head out of the house when her daughter suddenly realized that she wasn't wearing pants. Not only were viewers losing it over the little girl's initial mistake, but they also found her parents' reactions just as funny.
The clip opens with Ring camera footage of the family heading out their front door. Just as her father is about to shut the door, the little girl exclaims, "Wait, I'm not wearing any pants."
"Get out of here," her father says playfully while her mom bursts out laughing. The little girl sheepishly follows her dad back into the house to finish getting dressed. Her mom tries to join them but is laughing so much that she can barely reach the door before it accidentally slams in her face, which makes her laugh even more.
While snorting and wheezing with laughter, the woman heads to her car parked in the driveway, where she continues to lose it while waiting for her daughter to put on a pair of pants.
The unique home video footage had viewers in stitches.
"She walked out and was like, 'Hm, little drafty today,'" one user joked.
"It's funnier that the mom is about to walk in, and the [door] shuts [in her face], and she's just wheezing, LMAO," shared one TikToker.
"Love that no one noticed but the kid," one viewer noted.
"That kid is going places. Not outside, though," teased one person.
Fortunately, the family wasn't too far from the house when the little girl noticed the bottom half of her outfit was missing.
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The post Ring camera captures hilarious moment daughter realizes she forgot to put on pants appeared first on In The Know.
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279 Marlborough
279 Marlborough (2013)
Lot 24′ x 112′ (2,688 sf)
279 Marlborough is located on the north side of Marlborough, between Exeter and Fairfield, with 277 Marlborough to the east and 12 Fairfield to the west.
279 Marlborough was designed and built ca. 1873 by Frederick B. Pope, for speculative sale, one of two contiguous houses (277-279 Marlborough). They were originally designed as a symmetrical pair, but the upper stories of 277 Marlborough were later remodeled and expanded.
The land on which 277-279 Marlborough were built was purchased by Frederick Pope on March 5, 1872, from real estate dealer Henry Whitwell. At the same time, he also purchased an equivalent lot from Henry Whitwell across the alley, fronting on Beacon, where he built 343–345 Beacon. The land was part of a larger parcel originally purchased from the Boston Water Power Company on February 16, 1863, by Daniel Davies, Jarvis Dwight Braman, and Grenville Temple Winthrop Braman. Grenville Braman was treasurer of the Boston Water Power Company, Jarvis Braman was his brother (and later president of the company), and Daniel Davies, a housewright and master carpenter, was Grenville Braman's father-in-law.
Click here for an index to the deeds for 279 Marlborough, and click here for more information on the land at 277-279 Marlborough and 8-10-12 Fairfield.
Detail from the 1888 Bromley map, showing the stables behind 277-279 Marlborough and 343 Beacon.
277-279 Marlborough were each built with a stable at the rear, on the alley. These appear to be the only stables constructed on Marlborough, where the lots are less deep than on the north side of Beacon and on Commonwealth. Because of the size of the lots, the houses at 277-279 Marlborough were less deep than the neighboring buildings to allow a rear yard between the house and the stable. In late-1875, George Norman, who owned 343 Beacon across the alley, had a stable built behind his house. The lots on the south side of Beacon are the same depth as those on Marlborough and 343-345 Beacon had been built at a normal depth; as a result, the new stable occupied virtually all of the rear yard.
The decision to build stables on these properties may have been facilitated by the fact that the lots were on land originally sold by the Boston Water Power Company whereas the land further east was originally owned by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts (the north-south dividing line was at the eastern boundary of the lots at 277 Marlborough and 343 Beacon). The deeds from the Commonwealth included a prohibition that the land "…shall not, in any event, be used for a stable..," and, although the Commissioners on the Back Bay had clarified in 1858 that this did not preclude the building of "private stables by gentlemen as appurtenances to their own dwelling homes," there remained uncertainty and controversy as to their permissibility on land originally owned by the Commonwealth. By contrast, the Boston Water Power Company deed for the land on which 277-279 Marlborough and 343 Beacon were built specified that the land "shall not be used for a livery stable," making it clear that private stables were permissible. Click here for more information on the Back Bay deed restrictions.
After they were completed, 277-279 Marlborough remained unsold for several years. They were subject to several mortgages which were foreclosed by George A. Gibson in the fall of 1875 and by the Essex Savings Bank in early 1876.
On February 15, 1876, 279 Marlborough was purchased by Benjamin Franklin Smith. He and his wife, Henrietta Maria (Straw) Smith, made it their Boston home.
Benjamin Smith and his brothers — Francis Smith, George Warren Smith, and David Clifford Smith — founded an engraving and printing company in Maine that specialized in selling images of famous Americans. They then entered the banking and real estate businesses in Omaha, and purchased a gold mine, the Smith and Parmalee Mine, in Colorado. They returned to Maine where they bought a 500 acre tract of land between Rockport and Rockland, on the shores of Penobscot Bay, where Benjamin Smith built a home there called Clifford Lodge. At the time of his death, he was described in his March 16, 1927, Boston Globe obituary as "reputed to have been one of New England's richest men."
During the 1887-1888 winter season, the Smiths were living elsewhere and 279 Marlborough was the home of Mr. and Mrs. W. A. Hall. The Halls moved soon thereafter, and it was once again the Smiths' home by mid-1888. They continued to live there until 1889.
On July 1, 1889, 279 Marlborough was acquired from Benjamin Smith by his brother, George Warren Smith, of New York City.
279 Marlborough (ca. 1942), photograph by Bainbridge Bunting, courtesy of The Gleason Partnership
During the 1889-1890 winter season, 279 Marlborough was the home of Rev. Frank Louis Norton and his wife, Jane Huntington (Watkinson) Norton. They previously had lived at the Hotel Brunswick (southeast corner of Clarendon and Boylston).
Rev. Norton was an Episcopalian minister and had served as rector of St. Stephen's parish in Lynn in the mid-1880s.
The Nortons had moved to Bourne Street by 1890.
On May 6, 1890, 279 Marlborough was purchased from George Warren Smith by Mrs. Mary Arnold (Allen) Robeson, widow of textile mill owner Andrew Robeson. She previously had lived at 267 Clarendon. She continued to live there in 1899. By 1900, she had moved to 30 Fenway.
279 Marlborough was not listed in the 1900 and 1901 Blue Books.
By the 1901-1902 winter season, 279 Marlborough had been leased from Mary Robeson by John Phillips Reynolds, Jr., and his wife, Lucretia Revere (Munroe) Reynolds. They previously had lived in Milton.
John Reynolds had been associated with the Walter M. Lowney Company, manufacturers of chocolate products, and subsequently was treasurer and director of various companies. In 1902, he purchased the former home of his great-grandfather, Paul Revere, at 19-21 North Square, and led the effort to have it preserved as an historical site. In 1907, he transferred it to the Paul Revere Memorial Association.
Mary Robeson died in July of 1903. Her estate continued to own 279 Marlborough and lease it to the Reynoldses.
On April 1, 1907, the Reynolds purchased and subsequently moved to 79 Marlborough.
On April 30, 1907, John Reynolds purchased<|fim_middle|> Scott Hubbard, after which they had traveled around the world before setting up housekeeping in Boston. Prior to their marriage, he had lived at The Cambridge at 483 Beacon.
277-279 Marlborough (2013)
The Chases also maintained a home on High Street in Wiscasset in half of a double house that once had belonged to Fannie Chase's grandfather, Captain Jonathan Edwards Scott.
During the 1916-1917 winter season, the Chases were living elsewhere and 279 Marlborough was the home of Lewis Kennedy Morse and his wife, Ednah Anne (Rich) Morse. They had married in July of 1916 and 279 Marlborough was their first home together. Prior to their marriage, he had lived at 323 Marlborough. He was an attorney. She had been an educator in California, president of the Santa Barbara State Normal School of Manual Arts and Home Economics and the first woman member of the California State Board of Education. The Morses also maintained a home in Boxford. They moved from 279 Marlborough by the 1917-1918 season, and by the next season were living at 20 Short Side Road.
The Chases resumed living at 279 Marlborough during the 1917-1918 winter season.
Walter Chase died in January of 1919. Fannie Chase continued to live at 279 Marlborough until about 1933, after which she lived year-round at her Wiscasset home.
279 Marlborough was not listed in the 1934-1936 Blue Books.
On February 26, 1936, 279 Marlborough was purchased from the estate of Walter Chase by Dr. William T. Knowles, an osteopathic physician. Living with him were his mother, Jennie (Plumley) Knowles, the widow of Winfield Scott Knowles, and his brother, Clarence Winfield Knowles. The family previously had lived at 87 Albans Street in Dorchester.
In May of 1936, William Knowles applied for (and subsequently received) permission to remodel the house to have two medical offices on the first floor and a single-family dwelling on the upper floors. He also applied for (and subsequently received) permission to remodel the existing garage (the former stable) into a two-car garage.
William Knowles and his mother continued to live at 279 Marlborough until her death in August of 1944. He also provided office space to other doctors.
After Jennie Knowles's death, Dr. Knowles moved to an apartment at 176 Beacon but continued to maintain his medical office at 279 Marlborough until the mid-1940s.
On November 30, 1944, 279 Marlborough acquired from Walter Knowles by Harrison Steele Dimmitt, Secretary of Harvard Law School, and his wife, Martha Fredericka Nordmark (Read) Dimmitt. They previously had lived in Virginia while he served in the US Army. 279 Marlborough remained a single-family dwelling with an office on the first floor. They continued to live there in 1949. They separated or divorced in about 1950, and by 1951 Martha Dimmitt was living in an apartment at 280 Beacon.
On April 1, 1949, 279 Marlborough was purchased from Harrison and Martha Dimmitt by Warren W. Runnalls, employed with the National Shawmut Bank, and his sisters, Rosina Jane Runnalls and Edith M. (Runnalls) Coyle, the widow of Francis Raymond Coyle. They previously had lived in Watertown. They operated 279 Marlborough as a lodging house.
They continued to live at 279 Marlborough until about 1963.
On July 18, 1963, 279 Marlborough was purchased from the Runnalls family by Oliver Filley Ames and his wife, Esther (Doolittle) Ames. They previously had lived in an apartment at 20 Gloucester. In November of 1963, he applied for (and subsequently received) permission to install a new kitchen at 279 Marlborough. The current and proposed use was shown as two apartments.
Oliver Ames was a Massachusetts State Senator from 1963 to 1970. Prior to his election, he had been with the John Hancock Life Insurance Company. After he left the Senate, he was a trustee.
The Ameses continued to live at 279 Marlborough until about 1972, when they moved to Brookline.
On September 15, 1972, 279 Marlborough was purchased from Oliver and Esther Ames by Bertram B. Parker and his wife, Dianne D. Parker.
On July 19, 1995, 279 Marlborough was purchased from the Parkers by Ronald C. Agel, trustee of the Agel Realty Trust. In February of 1997, he applied for (and subsequently received) permission to convert the property from two apartments into a single-family dwelling.
On December 1, 2015, 279 Marlborough was purchased from Ronald Agel by Joseph R. Jenkins, trustee of the 279 Marlborough Street Realty Trust.
279 Marlborough remained assessed as a single-family dwelling in 2015. | 279 Marlborough from the estate of Mary Robeson, and on May 13, 1907, he transferred the property into both his and his wife's names.
On January 11, 1908, 279 Marlborough was acquired from John and Lucretia Reynolds by Dr. Walter Greenough Chase, a physician. Walter Chase had married in October of 1906 to Fannie | 93 |
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The BLU network will include a wide range of BLU partners, like supermarkets, gas stations, electronic stores, travel agencies, banks and<|fim_middle|> never stop growing and you will soon find us when you travel and shop abroad.
Now that's an exciting loyalty program! | so on, where you will be able to earn BLU Points when you make a purchase.
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The BLU network will | 127 |
Fleurs at the Comfort Inn All Seasons Ballina<|fim_middle|>quets of up to 80 people. | offers diners a menu with a selection of international fare at affordable prices. The elegant restaurant serves an innovative menu with a European cuisine with a French influence. The menu changes with the seasons to take advantage of fresh local produce. We have GF options as well.
Relax in the spacious cocktail lounge as a prelude to the delights of Fleurs Restaurant, renowned as one of Ballina's best. The series of individual dining areas make Fleurs ideal for a intimate dinner for two, a meal with a group of friends, larger groups, private parties, corporate events or a business dinner.
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This was truly delicious! I followed the recipe pretty closely, but I had a problem with the loaf not getting done inside. I ended up putting it back in the over for another 30 minutes, and even then it wasn't really cooked through. Nonetheless, it was tasty and we finished it all!
Very tasty meatloaf! I will definitely make this again!
The few<|fim_middle|> rice.
It didn't stay together perfectly fresh out of the oven, but it wasn't mushy. Flavor was good, too - BUT totally amazing today! | changes I made: I used ground flax seed and water for the egg replacers; I couldn't find any vegan bread crumbs so I used quick rolled oats instead (about 2 cups worth); I added a pack of Yves 'Meatless Ground'; and I baked it for about 2 hours and 15 minutes. I kept it in there for so long because I kept checking it by stabbing it with a knife and it never came out clean. About half was through baking, I took it out of the oven and topped with a ketchup/mustard/maple syrup sauce. This really helped to keep the top from getting too crispy.
The flavours are really good but the consistency was still a bit too moist in the centre. Next time I will also follow the suggestion of blending a piece of bread into the mixture.
Overall, great recipe, thanks for sharing and for all the helpful suggestions!
Outstanding. The texture was perfect. I had read the reviews where some thought it was too mushy so I added 1/2 c. oatmeal. I also made sure to dice the celery, onions and mushrooms very small. The flavor was delicious. Next time I make it, I will also make some miso gravy to go on top.
This is now my regular holiday fare.
Adding about a cup of brown rice to it is a must for me to help with the firmness.
That said, we did really love it last night for supper. I served it with a choice of homemade cranberry sauce (because the sage does remind one of stuffing - personallly, we love the flavor of sage, so this is a really great thing) or a dressed up ketchup. We both had leftovers for lunch today - DH had his over rice, mine was in a pita with Vegannaise and cranberry.
For egg sub, I used 2 heaping tsps of flax seed and 1 tbl of arrowroot ground together with the tofu, walnuts, tamari, garlic. Also added in around 1 1/2 cups of brown Jasmine | 424 |
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Fourth Annual Christmas Movie Review: Uncut Gems
Slate's movie reviewer said that Adam Sandler's dramatic performance in Uncut Gems was the best of the year, which could have been reason enough for us to see it on Christmas Day. But in addition to that, another Slate reviewer called it "the most Jewish movie in years," and, well, that pretty much cinched our classic annual Christmas outing. We went early this year, figuring that the theater would be pretty empty at 10:00 am. We were wrong. The auditorium was full for Uncut Gems, as the Jewish community of Evanston and nearby environs had evidently read the same reviews. Perhaps everyone was planning on Chinese food for lunch instead of<|fim_middle|> of thing you like. | dinner. I don't know if the auditoriums for Skywalker and Cats were full, but they had many more scheduled showings on multiple screens.
Slate was right about Sandler's performance, which I believe was only his second in a non-comedy. It was outstanding: intense, gripping, believable, fully realized. He plays Howard Ratner, a New York diamond district jeweler who is trapped in a series of disastrous personal and financial choices. He is a compulsive gambler, adulterer, neglectful parent, and deadbeat, and yet the character is so magnetic that we are moved to care about what happens to him. The story line involves Howard's ownership and attempt to sell a unique black opal, in order to pay off his various gambling debts. You could call it a picaresque. There is no actual plot; we just follow Howard through about a week of buying, selling, hustling, cheating, and betting, with a brief respite for a Passover seder. It is not a spoiler to say that he seems to make the wrong turn at every opportunity.
It is a triumph of writing and directing that we end up caring about Howard, who is thoroughly unlikable. It is fair to say that pretty much every character in the film is unlikable to one degree or another, with the exception of Kevin Garnett (playing himself) who has the best and most decent line in the film (in fact, the only expression of decency or altruism). Garnett does a great job, which made me wonder how many NBA stars were screen tested before the Safdie brothers discovered Garnett's acting chops. (Also, KG is from Chicago; maybe he studied drama at Farragut High School.)
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Evaluating Collaboration Networks
Курс 3 из 5 — Бизнес-аналитика Специализация
People analytics is a data-driven approach to managing people at work. For the first time in history, business leaders can make decisions about their people based on deep analysis of data rather than the traditional methods of personal relationships, decision making based on experience, and risk avoidance. In this brand new course, three of Wharton's top professors, all pioneers in the field of people analytics, will explore the state-of-the-art techniques used to recruit and retain great people, and demonstrate how these techniques are used at cutting-edge companies. They'll explain how data and sophisticated analysis is brought to bear on people-related issues, such as recruiting, performance evaluation, leadership, hiring and promotion, job design, compensation, and collaboration. This course is an introduction to the theory of people analytics, and is not intended to prepare learners to perform complex talent management data analysis. By the end of this course, you'll understand how and when hard data is used to make soft-skill decisions about hiring and talent development, so that you can position yourself as a strategic partner in your company's talent management decisions. This course is intended to introduced you to Organizations flourish when the people who work in them flourish. Analytics can help make both happen.<|fim_middle|>исьмо)Корейский
So now we've got some insight into how we can describe collaboration networks in terms of the five main building blocks that help us to understand network size, network strength, range, centrality, and density. Also how we can map collaboration networks inside an organization that you're interested in. How can you actually draw those collaboration networks, figure out who is collaborating with whom. In this fourth segment we're going to look at how can we evaluate our collaboration networks. So we've got our network map, we know some things about it. But is it good or is it bad? Are people doing what they should be doing in terms of collaborating or not? So evaluating collaboration networks is where the rubber really starts hitting the road in terms of really starting to get some value out of all these tools and techniques that we can use to analyze collaboration. So here is our 15 person team again, new product development team. And now we've really got their network map. We've got all the data, that we need and we're going to start thinking about, okay what can we really take away from this, what insights can we generate from our analysis? So there's two main questions that we can look at here and there are others too, but these are probably two of the most important ways in which we can use network tools and techniques to evaluate collaboration inside organizations. The first is to look at how do collaboration patterns vary inside the organization and across the different people in the network? And then the second is how do collaboration patterns matter for important outcomes? And so these maybe outcomes that are at the individual level, group level, organizational level, maybe it's a unit of a different kind, maybe it's a team, but how do collaboration patterns matter for outcomes that we care about? So we're going to take each of these two questions in turn. And start off with, how do collaboration patterns vary, okay? So here is where we apply those five building blocks that we introduced back in the second segment; network size, strength, range, density, centrality and there are other network measures too, but these are five of the most important metrics that we can use. And I'm just going to focus on one right now for simplicity, let's say network size okay? So if we look at network size and we're going to map, what we want to do is to use this building block of network size and we want to compare across each of the individuals in the network how big is their network, right? And I'm not going to do every single individual in the network, there's 15 of them, I'm just going to pick 5 people. So we have Lee, John, Paul, Helen and Julia. Now network size, in this particular network that we've been looking at, is actually a little bit complicated because as you've seen there are one way arrows and there's two way arrows. There's network size in terms of what we call inbound size which is the number of people who seek information from person A. So we can count the number of people who seek information from Lee, from John, from Paul, right, from Helen and from Julia. There's also network size in terms of the number of people that Lee goes to, to get information, so your network may be different if you count the number of people that you go to, or the number of people who come to you. Those are two different aspects of the network size that are both embedded in this particular diagram. So if we think about the in-bound size of the network, Lee has three people who come to him for information. And the out-bound size, he goes to two people to get information that he needs. So even just looking at these simple numbers across these five people, we start to ask ourselves some questions, right? And this is really what network methods allow you to do. They don't give you all the answers, but they allow you to ask pointed and important questions about the network and who's collaborating with whom. What we can see, for example, very strikingly is Paul. We know that Paul is an important player. Here we see that 9 people go to Paul for information that they need. And Paul only goes to 3 people himself right? So Paul is doing a lot of giving there and not a lot of taking [LAUGH] right? On the other hand John only has 1 person who comes to him for information and he goes to 2 people. So he's inbalanced in the other direction. Helen and Julie are pretty balanced they got the same number of people coming to them as they go to. So again this is not to say that this is good or bad necessarily but when we look at these sort of very simple descriptive statistics based in this case just on that one building block of network size. We can look across individuals, and we can say, well, Paul is doing something that looks pretty different from John, and even different from Helen and Julia. We can look across individuals, and we can also look over time, and understand how their networks are changing over time, right? So are the number of network ties, the outbound ties changing over time, are there numbers of inbound ties changing over time. If we do, for example, a network survey at different points in time, after one year, after two years. So if we're trying to change the networks, are those changes really taking place? So why do these kinds of statistics matter, what can they help us to do? Well, if you think about this from a people analytics perspective, there's lots of things in terms of managing people, that being able to see these kinds of numbers, and analyze these kinds of statistics, can really help us with, right? They help us with things like, just some examples here, performance assessment. So if we're evaluating Paul, we probably should be evaluating Paul not just on how he does his own work but on how much he's helping people. That's a very important part of what he's spending his time doing. And if we're not evaluating him on that, he's not getting any credit for that. And that relates to the pay and promotion,s are we not only accessing but also rewarding this kind of behavior. because if we're not rewarding it, it's going to stop, so we may want to change the way that we pay people, the way that we access people, to take into account some of these inbalances that we're seeing, or the patterns we're seeing in the network. Do people have the right roles and responsibilities. We might be thinking about, well Paul actually is a very senior person who shouldn't be spending all his time giving other people information. He has more valuable things to do with his time, maybe there is somebody less senior who could be doing this better. So it helps us to think about whether people have the right roles or responsibilities and it might help us also with things like training and mentoring. So if you look at the people who really seem to need a lot of help from other people, maybe those are people who should be targeted for particular kinds of training or mentoring kinds of programs. Or maybe they're just junior in the organization, they're finding their way around and this will play itself out over a couple of years. So we have to really understand why, when we see a network pattern, it's happening. But the first step is to see the pattern and be able to analyze and understand it. So that's the first question. How do collaboration patterns vary? The other important set of questions that we can use or look at when we're evaluating networks. Really important here is how do collaboration patterns matter for important outcomes that we care about for our employees, or our teams, or our groups, or our units, or the organization as a whole? So what is it these collaboration patterns actually affect? Again, say we've got these five building blocks, and maybe we're just going to look at network size for a minute but what we really want to do now is to map that to individual outcomes, again they could be a group or organizational outcomes, but let's say individual outcomes. And there's lots of individual outcomes we might care about in terms of managing people inside organizations, but let's just focus on performance, right? Performance is a very important individual outcome, so the question that we then construct to answer when we have these kind of network data are, how do the attributes of our collaboration network affect individual performance? And here this gets very complicated. There's lots of possibilities, lots of ways to look at and analyze these kinds of patterns. So just to give you a very simple example. We can look essentially at correlations between attributes of the network, so say it's network size, and individual performance. And so again we have these two kinds of network size in this example. So we have inbound ties, the number of people who seek information from you. And maybe you find that there's a positive correlation between the number of people that seek information from you and how well you perform. And maybe you might see that, because people who tend to perform well, other people come to them for advice. But outbound ties, maybe you see a negative correlation with performance, the people who tend to go to other people, go to a lot of other people for information that they need for their work. Maybe they tend to perform less well. And that's not causal. It's not because they go to other people that they perform less well, but it's usually probably because they're junior or they don't know the area so well. So again, we might see a result but we then have to ask ourselves why do we see that result, before we can actually take action. But being able to evaluate how our network building blocks are associated with performance outcomes or outcomes that we care about, is a critical step in being able to get to that intervention. So what we're doing here is a correlational analysis. Or when you get more sophisticated, you're going to be thinking about a multivariate analysis where you can control for some of the variables, and look at the effects of others more specifically in terms of how they matter for outcomes. You're trying to identify relationships between the network variables and outcomes. And again, what kinds of implications does this have for managing employees? Well all sorts, right? Depending on what your outcomes are that you're trying to look at. Again, it can matter for performance assessment, for roles and responsibilities, pay and promotion. Who you want to train and mentor. Maybe it matters for job rotations and career development. You want to get people opportunities to grow their networks, if that really you find that, that is really associated with better performance. Maybe even retention. If you find the people who a lot of people come to for advice, maybe your outcome that you're going to measure is whether people feel burned out, they're more likely to leave the organization, and so this is going to have big implications for retention. So depending on which network variables you look at, and even more importantly, what outcome variables you look at, you're going to be able to come up with action implications that are going to be very important for the kinds of people, managing people implications that we care about, when we're thinking about people analytics. One thing to be very cautious about is that there is no one best collaboration network for every organization and every situation. So again it's not the bigger networks are always better, it's not the denser or sparser networks are always better. You really have to be able to understand how does a particular network configuration map to outcomes in a particular situation. So to understand what's best for your organization and your situation, you need to collect and analyze the data. You can't just say, well we have this network configuration, that's good, that's bad. We actually need to map that and we can connect it to outcomes that we care about to really know whether or not it's good or bad and what we might be able to do about it. | This course in People Analytics is designed to help you flourish in your career, too.
Talent Management, Analytics, Performance Management, Collaboration
Real helpful course especially for individuals who are in HR field or interested in becoming a better leaders, team players. Professors incorporated data analytics into human talent management!
This course was a good beginner approach toward understanding human resources impact and way to drive its power toward developing business, for me as a totally beginner it was an awesome course
In this module, you'll learn the basic principles behind using people analytics to improve collaboration between employees inside an organization so they can work together more successfully. You'll explore how data is used to describe, map, and evaluate collaboration networks, as well as how to intervene in collaboration networks to improve collaboration using examples from real-world companies. By the end of this module, you'll know how to deploy the tools and techniques of organizational network analysis to understand and improve collaboration patterns inside your organization to make your organization, and the people working within in it, more productive, effective, and successful.
Introduction to Professor Haas0:30
Basics of Collaboration5:05
Describing Collaboration Networks14:51
Mapping Collaboration Networks16:03
Evaluating Collaboration Networks10:32
Measuring Outcomes9:08
Intervening in Collaboration Networks18:49
Cade Massey
Practice Professor
Martine Haas
Associate Professor of Management
Matthew Bidwell
Выбор языкаАнглийскийКитайский (упрощенное п | 325 |
ABS-CBN Global Anti-Piracy Head Elisha Lawrence to Speak at 8th Annual Anti-Piracy & Content Protection Summit in Los Angeles
Front Page Headlines
LOS ANGELES, CA. – The International Quality and Productivity Center (IQPC) will hold its 8th Anti-Piracy & Content Protection Summit<|fim_middle|>ILIPPINE FOOD PRODUCTS INTO THE CANADIAN MARKET | on June 26-28, 2017 in Los Angeles, California. For this, it will assemble the industry to discuss best practices, develop new strategies, and investigate the most effective solutions to prevent, combat and outsmart, today's digital pirate.
Among the invited expert speakers is ABS-CBN AVP for Global Anti-Piracy & Content Security Elisha Lawrence who was tapped to discuss "Social Media — How to Protect Your Content in the Social Media Space".
The premise of the discussion is that "in 2017, pirates are only a hashtag away from offering your content online, for free. Users are willing to pay for content, but only if it is readily accessible and at the right price. If it's not, a simple perusal of their social media platforms will have them enjoying your content online gratis."
The session under Lawrence will:
Lay out how to develop a global program for removing infringing content from social media;
Track the movement away from torrent sites and tricks to further frustrate viewers off of torrent sites;
Discuss how social media cam help you enforce against pirates;
Utilize social media "Robin Hoods" as Brand Ambassadors
The organizer, IQPC, mentioned, "Piracy is, without a doubt, one of the greatest threats to the creative content across a range of industries – and the challenges of fighting against it are continuous. The digital landscape on which these challenges are addressed continues to change, and pirates are constantly finding new ways to breach and distribute unauthorized material, obliging our security strategies and enforcement measures to evolve in kind."
Aside from Lawrence representing ABS-CBN, speakers in the 3-day conference include industry experts from Roku, Sony Pictures Entertainment, Fox Entertainment Group, Motion Pictures Association of America, Turner Broadcasting System, Intel, Adobe Systems, Microsoft, ClearPlay, Ultimate Fighting Championship, to mention a few.
ABS-CBN produces hundreds of daily television shows, news shows and films for its numerous television stations and for international distribution to the Filipino community living in over 100 countries. Lawrence has over 25 years of experience as in-house Intellectual Property counsel creating and implementing anti-piracy/anti-counterfeiting strategies to mitigate risk and significantly increase sales in the US and globally for leading Fortune 500 organizations such as Levi Strauss, Twentieth Century Fox and Adobe Systems. She also has experience prosecuting criminal cases as a District Attorney for the County of Los Angeles. Lawrence holds a Bachelor of Arts degree from Wesleyan University in Middletown, Connecticut and a law degree from UC Hastings College of the Law in San Francisco, CA.
Clark-Bagabag-Clark flight launched
BRINGING PH | 547 |
Bon Jovi, Nina Simone, Moody Blues, others inducted into Rock & Roll Hall of Fame
Bon Jovi reunited with former members onstage Saturday night to celebrate their admission into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, as the late icon Nina Simone and<|fim_middle|>letico Madrid boss Diego Simeone talked to media… | other nominees made up this year's induction class.
Bon Jovi was the first band to take the stage in Cleveland's Public Auditorium, USA Today reported. Band members Jon Bon Jovi, David Bryan and Tico Torres reunited with former bandmates Richie Sambora and Alec John.
Jon Bon Jovi gave a 20-minute-long speech onstage, which he said he had been writing for years.
"I've been writing this speech since I first strummed a broom and sang at the top of the stairs of my childhood home," he said, according to the paper. "I've actually written it many ways, many times. Some days I write a thank you speech and other days, I write a (expletive)-you speech."
Jon Bon Jovi performs during the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony, Saturday, April 14, 2018, in Cleveland. (Associated Press)
Sambora, who left the New Jersey band in 2013, and Alec John Such, who left in 1994, embraced their former bandmates with a hug after each one spoke onstage to accept the honor. They performed together, singing crowd favorites like "Livin' on a Prayer," "You Give Love a Bad Name" and "It's My Life."
Sambora thanked his fans and bandmates, the paper reported.
"Songs are very profound in a way, because you're connecting with humanity," he said. "Everybody's more alike than they are (different), and especially now in today's world, that's really important."
Simone, who died in 2003, was welcomed into the Rock Hall in a groundbreaking way from performers who she has deeply inspired, from Lauryn Hill and Andra Day to Mary J. Blige.
Hill stretched her voice and sang in French, in honor of Simone's music, which earned her a standing ovation from the crowd. Day, a Grammy-nominated R&B singer, hit high notes that also earned her applause. Both women exceptionally displayed their powerhouse voices.
Recording artist Lauryn Hill pays tribute to Nina Simone during the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony, Saturday, April 14, 2018, in Cleveland. (Associated Press)
Blige inducted Simone, calling the singer "bold, strong, feisty and fearless."
"Her voice was so distinctive and powerful and I never heard anything like it," the R&B superstar said.
Simone was a leader in pushing for civil rights and influenced everyone from Aretha Franklin to Alicia Keys. Her brother, Sam Waymon, accepted the honor on his sister's behalf.
The 33rd annual Rock Hall ceremony kicked off with a tribute to Tom Petty, who died in October at age 66.
The Killers perform at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony, Saturday, April 14, 2018, in Cleveland. (Associated Press)
The Killers earned a loud applause from the audience when they started performing "American Girl," then transitioned to "Free Fallin'."
The Cars and four first-time nominees, including Simone, Dire Straits, the Moody Blues and Sister Rosetta Tharpe, make up the 2018 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame class.
The ceremony didn't end this year with the group jam session of the induction class that has become Rock Hall tradition, USA Today reported.
Instead, inductees the Moody Blues ended the night as the last act. Rock Hall voters have recently opened their hearts to progressive rockers, which benefited the "Nights in White Satin" singers.
Howard Stern inducted this year's class, telling jokes along the way, including one about Rock Hall co-founder Jann Wenner, questioning why he was qualified to vote on who enters the hall.
Stern said the Rolling Stone magazine founder doesn't play any instruments "but he did start a great magazine … and now it's the size of a pamphlet."
Amy Lieu
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Cavaliere Paris Bordone
An eminent painter of the Venetian school<|fim_middle|>ek, "Portrait of Man", and "Man Counting Jewels"; Vienna Gallery, seven works including "Venus and Adonis in an Arbour", and "A Young Lady at her Toilet", St. Petersburg Hermitage, "Madonna and Saints"; Brera, Milan, "Baptism of Christ"; Venice, Academy, "Presenting the Ring", and "The Tiburtine Sibyl"; Rome, Colonna Palace, "Holy Family"; Doria Palace, "Mars and Venus"; Padua Gallery, "Christ Taking Leave of His Mother"; Lovere, Tadini Collection, "Madonna and Two Saints"; Genoa, Brignole Palace, two portraits.
BRYAN, Dictionary of Painters and Engravers (London, and New York, 1903-5).
Obstat, Nihil. Lafort, Remy, Censor. Entry for 'Cavaliere Paris Bordone'. The Catholic Encyclopedia. https://www.studylight.org/encyclopedias/eng/tce/c/cavaliere-paris-bordone.html. Robert Appleton Company. New York. 1914.
Cavaliere Giovanni Baglioni
Cayes | , b. at Treviso, 1500 d. at Venice, 1570. A member of a noble family, he early showed an inclination for art and, after being given a good general education, was placed in the school of Titian with whom he studied for several years. He afterwards had Giorgione for his master. While feeling strongly the influence of both great painters, Bordone finally settled down to the style of Titian, whose manner he so successfully imitated that his works have sometimes been mistaken for Titian's. In portraiture he was most successful, ceding to none but to Titian in excellence. In his early career he painted at Venice, Vicenza, and Treviso. At the last place his most important work was in the church of San Vicenzo, where he painted in the six compartments of the dome "The Annunciation", "The Nativity", "The Adoration of the Shepherds", "The Crucifixion", "The Ascension", and "The Assumption of the Virgin". Bordone was invited to visit France, some say by Francis I, and others by Francis II, by whom he was knighted. He remained, according to the latter authority, after the death of that king, for several years at the court of Charles IX, before returning to Italy. He painted the portraits of the royal family and the principal figures of their courts, working notably for the and the .
The most famous work of Bordone is the large painting in the Academy at Venice, representing with great brilliancy of colour and effect "The Fisherman Presenting the Ring of St. Mark to the Doge". On his return to Venice from France, Bordone stopped at Augsburg, where he did some work in the Fugger Palace, and at Milan, where he painted in the chapel of St. Jerome. Among the principal works of Bordone in European galleries are: Louvre, "Vertumna and Pomona", "Portrait of a Man", and "Portraits (presumed) of Philip II, King of Spain, and his Preceptor"; National Gallery, London, "Daphnis and Chloe", and "Portrait of a Genoese Lady"; Berlin Museum, "Madonna and Saints", "The Chess Players", and "Man in Black"; Dresden Gallery, "Holy Family with St. Jerome and St. Elizabeth", and "Diana, Apollo and Marsyas"; Munich, Old Pinakot | 508 |
Allen Webster Boston Red Sox Conor Frederick John Farrell Red Sox Offseason
Allen Webster finishes strong; does he have a place in the rotation?
Conor Frederick 9/29/2014 03:38:00 PM
https://www.redsoxlife.com/2014/09/allen-webster-finishes-strong-does-he.html
Conor Frederick (@C_Frederick1016)
The Red Sox season may have been frustrating, to say the least, but there is plenty of cause for optimism going into the off-season. A lot of the young Sox prospects came up and performed well in the last month or so of the season, including Allen Webster. He was called up in July, and has had some up and down results, posting a 5-3 record and a 5.03 ERA in 11 starts with Boston, but he's been getting better in his last few starts, culminating in a 1-run, 7-hit performance in an 11-1 rout of Tampa on Thursday. He struck out 5 to only 1 walk on 99 pitches in 7 innings, a career high. In his last 3 starts of the year, he posted a 2-0 record and a 1.93 ERA (4 earned runs). He's also allowed exactly one walk and less than 2 runs in each of his starts, in which he's pitched 18.2 innings.
John Farrell had nothing but good things to say about Webster after his last start of the season, according to NESN:
"Much like we talked about with (Anthony) Ranaudo (Wednesday night), the final start of the year with some increased confidence going into the offseason," Red Sox manager John Farrell said after Boston's 11-1 win over Tampa Bay. "And even furthermore with (Webster), just some momentum as he finishes things out this year."
"He's starting to use his four-seamer a little bit more, which he's able to keep on the plate and go to an area in the strike zone to get a strike when needed," Farrell said. "That enables him to use his two-seamer with some added action rather than trying to fight back into the count all the time."
Does Webster have a future? It depends on happens in the off-season - the Sox could add some pitching, but Webster should be at the forefront of John Farrell's mind during the off-season, given his performances in the past few weeks. I could<|fim_middle|> being a back-of-the-rotation pitcher if he can continue working hard in the off-season and Spring Training (which can't come soon enough in my mind).
Stats and picture from NESN.com.
Thoughts? Let me know on Twitter or leave a comment.
Allen Webster, Boston Red Sox, Conor Frederick, John Farrell, Red Sox Offseason | see him | 2 |
Are you so excited to get this Quilt Along going?!! I totally am!!
I can't wait to see your progress, answer questions and flood the community with all our quilting goodness.
Today will be the starting day……. the materials list.
You'll need this to complete the quilt. The first step which is the center block will be up on May 2nd- so you'll have a couple of weeks to gather your goodies and be ready to get sewing!
Now, here's a quick reminder of what fabrics you will be looking for.
This quilt is all about being a Busy Body. The fabric- busy. The layout, while in a medallion style layout is a busy one. There are a few stop borders which help the eye rest, but overall….it's meant to be busy.
Dig through your fabrics and find busy prints. We are not worried to much about being matchy matchy (I did use a fat quarter pack so that helped) but it's not required.
This would be great for mixing up a bunch of Kaffe Faucet fabric….or pull out your randomly bought fabric that doesn't follow any rhyme or reason- this will work just fine!
This really is all about the busy- so if fabrics kind of meld into the others and you loose a little bit of contrast- that's ok. The stop borders are really what I made sure had enough contrast next to the other fabrics. So, watch for that one.
Now— if you are totally rolling your eyes because<|fim_middle|> for new rulers, mats, or cutters.
Above, you say there's a way to print these instructions. I'm not finding where to "print". Please help.
I was looking for the way to print the instructions. The option to print was given, but was not able to find the print option to print. Am I looking in the wrong place? | you just can't wrap your head around a busy fabric quilt along….then this is for you.
Here is the layout with plain fabrics. I believe the outside borders after the quilt blocks is a little different- but you can get a quick idea of what it would look like if you are choosing a safe, normal fabric with contrast look.
I used 26 fat quarters from one line….so you can totally do this in fat quarters as well. For the long strips for the stop borders, I simply pieced them. Wasn't too worried about that since there are a few scrappy borders and overall because it's busy, it looks a little scrappy and it worked out just fine. I did keep them in the same color though, so that helps if you need to piece things.
If you are on Instagram- we'll be using the hashtag #patchworkquiltalong and you can follow on Instagram.
Just because this is all on the blog, I get it. You might forget. Things are busy in your sewing room!
So- if you'd like you can sign up for email reminders here: Busy Body Medallion Quilt Along email reminder list.
And– if you are totally looking forward to seeing what the others are sewing up, then you'll want to join our quilting resources and inspiration community.
Here are my favorite quilting supplies, just in case you are looking | 283 |
And no sooner is the Be<|fim_middle|> McNulty ('Walter' fortepiano); expert tuner/technician Edmund Pickering; and Sound Engineer Adrian Hunter. I can't wait for the CD! | ethoven CD finished than it's down to hard practice on the next project at the end of April: a solo CD of Haydn Sonatas, to be recorded at the glorious and historic church of St. Oswald's, Lythe, in North Yorkshire.
The instrument I'll be using for this is a copy by Lythe-based maker, Johannes Secker of a 5-octave Viennese instrument by Johann Andreas Stein (1728-92) – one of the most important figures in the development of the instrument towards the end of the 18th century.
I first encountered Johannes' sple ndid new instrument (pictured) in his Lythe workshop shortly before its completion, and last year I had the privilege of performing on it in this historic church during the North York Moors Chamber Music Festival. That occasion was, in fact, the piano's first public outing, and its sound in the two quintets for piano and winds by Mozart and Beethoven immediately enchanted me. The opportunity of making a solo CD recording of it was simply too good to miss! It seems fitting that this should take place just a few hundred yards down the hill from Johannes' workshop in the intimate acoustic of St Oswald's.
Haydn does not capture our imagination primarily as a keyboard player. His keyboard output is overshadowed by the symphonies, string quartets, piano trios and oratorios. Haydn's keyboard sonatas in particular figure quite remotely in our perception of his overall output, perhaps because they are unfamiliar in comparison to Mozart's and especially Beethoven's which are played far more frequently, and in a far broader 'spread': just a handful of Haydn's solo sonatas are at all regularly programmed in recitals. Another factor is the very nature of the concert, for Beethoven's sonatas were designed more and more with public performance by professional virtuosi in mind. Haydn's, by contrast were almost never intended for such a performing environment (except for those late examples, which we typically hear in the concert hall today): most were conceived for performance in a private or semi-private domestic or salon setting.
Crowning a busy few weeks – too busy even to add any new blog entries – I spent the last few days of March with colleagues in Ensemble DeNOTE recording our latest Album: a pairing of Beethoven's own arrangements of his Septet as a Trio for Clarinet, Cello and Piano, Op.38, and of his Piano and Winds Quintet as a Piano Quartet, Op.16. Both works are far more than 'mere' arrangements: each work masterfully explores the possibility of making the same music speak in different ways. And making this music speak on period instruments is a real joy – especially when making music with lovely colleagues Marcus Barcham-Stevens, Peter Collyer, Ruth Alford and Jane Booth. None of this would be possible without the skills of the instrument makers, including Daniel Bangham ('Grenser' clarinet) and Paul | 613 |
Mut<|fim_middle|>10, InvestmentWires, Inc. | ualFundWire.com
The insiders' edge for 40 Act industry executives!
an InvestmentWires' Publication
ICI: No Chalk on Your Shoes and Embrace the Lantern's Light
Turmoil in the European markets failed to cast shadows on a bright and sunny day in Washington, DC where the fund industry's leadership gathered Wednesday afternoon to kick off the annual ICI General Membership Meeting. Mark Fetting, chairman of this year's conference and CEO of Legg Mason, tried to set the sunny tone with his opening remarks while ICI President Paul Schott Stevens underscored the ICI's and celebrated the fiftieth edition of the ICI Fact Book.
ICI President Paul Schott Stevens followed those remarks with classical allusions and a restatement of the mutual fund industry's role as a fiduciary to its customers [See Stevens' prepared remarks]. Fiducia, he noted as part of a lengthy discourse on the term, has its roots in Roman law and has the same root as fidelity (think Marines and not Boston to follow Stevens' path).
All in all, those who lived through meetings a decade ago likely felt a comfortable familiarity with Stevens' call to duty to the industry. The pair's remarks preceded keynote appearances by former New Jersey Governor Jon Corzine and former U.S. Senator Trent Lott.
Fetting confirmed that not only are funds continuing to gain assets, but that flows are starting to shift from fixed income investments that have sustained sales to equities [See Fetting's full remarks]. He also pointed to ICI research that shows retirement plan investors -- now a core constituency among fund shareholders -- have remained true to their investments through the downturn and that accounts are returning to the peak levels.
"These findings came as quite a surprise to the press. They were met with great interest on Capital Hill as well," said Stevens of the ICI research on the stick-to-it-ness of retirement investors during the past two years.
Both speakers stressed that mutual fund firms have remained focused on the their services and duties to shareholders, a point that was elaborated on by Fetting in his remarks.
"At Legg Mason, we have a commitment to 'no chalk on our shoes,'" said Fetting. He explained that "Chip Mason [former Legg Mason CEO] made it clear that he wants to see no chalk on our shoes.
"We think about it like a football field, with the boundaries laid out with lines of chalk. A player can stick to the field, clearly playing in bounds, or he can crowd the line, cutting close to the edge. If he's on the line, he's going to get chalk on his shoes," said Fetting.
"Don't step over or even on the boundary lines,: he warned.
As Stevens picked up on that fiduciary theme; he also educated his audience on the origins of the term and its long-term importance through history.
His thoughts on fiduciary issues call up "the image in Diogenis wandering up and down wall Street asking each person he meets: are you a fiduciary." Most are scrambling to escape the light of that lantern, said Stevens. Some even call fiduciary the "f word", he added.
"Mutual funds are a fiduciary," stated Stevens. He added that "duty is doing what we would say we do."
Printed from: MFWire.com/story.asp?s=32132
Copyright 20 | 699 |
Watkins Landmark Construction has begun the year with a full head of steam. While the<|fim_middle|> appreciate your comments on our newsletter. It has helped to shape it over the years. To subscribe click here.
In October of 2015, Watkins Landmark was fortunate enough to be awarded the St. Patrick Parish School Improvements project which is located in Carlsbad. The project, consisting of a new two level K-8 school building, is another project with DomusStudio Architects, and our first with Pete Kruse of Kruse Development. There have been a number of obstacles the team has had to overcome, from the morning drop off and afternoon pick up of students, to the first wave of the El Nino which ended up flooding half the school. These obstacles have been mitigated by working around the clock, thinking outside the box, and ensuring we had the right team on the project.
St. Patrick Parish School is located less than a mile from the beach and has an enrollment of over 450 students. Operating between 8:00am and 2:45pm as a school, St. Patrick's also serves after hours as a daycare and holds after school programs. The school staff has been accommodating in helping us to run a smooth operation and will continue to play a role in the successful completion of the project. Improvements we are making to the facility include a new chapel, new 2-story state of the art school facility and new site improvements which include increased parking and a new playground. These upgrades will not only alter the visual aesthetics of the campus, but will also assist in bettering their daily operations. As you can imagine, Saint Patrick Parish School is an extremely active facility. Coordinating work in such an environment is definitely a challenge, but we here at Watkins Landmark Construction are accustomed to working in such conditions, and are up for the challenge.
With a project team led onsite by Bill Bagby as our Project Superintendent, Jessica Torres as our Senior Project Engineer, and David Torres as out Project Manager, Watkins Landmark Construction has coordinated work at the active facility with the goal of having the least amount of impact with the school's many daily operations. Construction has been smooth onsite, with WLC coordinating its deliveries and manpower to best accommodate the school's needs. We here at WLC know that there is no "I" in team, and a big part of our efficiency onsite is due to having a great team of subcontractors and vendors who are committed to the common goal of turning over a great project.
With an expected completion of summer 2016, Watkins Landmark Construction and its team members will be working together to ensure the project meets this important client deadline. WLC is confident in delivering the project on time.
All in all, the project has been and will continue to be a pleasure to work on. For Watkins Landmark to be associated with Saint Patrick Parish School – a school that builds students not only spiritually, but mentally as well – is an honor, and we are very appreciative of the opportunity to be a part of the project.
This month we had to send away one of our favorite faces in our Carlsbad office, Leny, to welcome her second child into the world. As sad as we are to see her leave, we are very excited to meet the newest member of the WLC family! Leny, you will be very missed, thank you for all you do. | holidays is usually a slow time in construction, we barely had time to catch our breath. Our team is growing at a rate greater than any previous precedence in company history. Between on-boarding our new team members and getting some of our incredible projects underway. We were also fortunate enough to hold our annual Christmas Party at South Coast Winery in Temecula this year. This scenic location made this year's holiday party go down as one of the best in the history of our company. It was definitely a great way to reward our team on all the hard work they put into the company in 2015.
As I mentioned above, we have some exciting new projects underway in 2016. First, we have been fortunate enough to be awarded some tenant improvement projects at Angels Stadium in Anahiem.
This is incredibly exciting as it further cements our reputation as one of the predominant stadium general contractors in Southern California. Second, our work at the Indian Wells Tennis Garden is in crunch time as it is every year at this time. With the BNP Paribas Open looming in March, we are wrapping up some of our exciting Stadium 1 and Site Improvements. Lastly, our work at the Paseo Marriott is through the earthwork phase and will start the foundation phase next week.
Our featured story in this newsletter is about our project at St. Patrick's Church and School in Carlsbad. The scope of this project is renovating the site and adding much needed campus buildings. Our on site project team is David Torres, Project Manager, Billy Bagby, Superintendent and Jessica Torres, Senior Project Manager. Watkins Landmark is very proud of our continued success with faith based projects. We wish our project team the best of luck on this exciting project.
Along with our birthday announcements, we say "See You Later" to one of our longest tenured employees Leny Iniguez-Poulton. Leny is expecting her second child in February and will be taking an extended leave. We call it an extended leave because we refuse to call it goodbye. Leny has been with Watkins Landmark since its infancy. We will miss you Leny-Lou.
As always, we | 444 |
Trainers, a new update is slowly rolling out on Google's Play Store, version number 0.125.1. The version contains a plethora of bug fixes and a metric ton of hidden code to support the upcoming Adventure Sync feature. The 0.125.1 (or .2) update is the one that needs to become a forced update before Niantic can enable the feature, so this is a fairly important data mine.
A huge shout out goes to J. MasFrancia for extracting the APK and sending it in hours before it hit APK Mirror! The GO Hub team wishes you all the best, hopefully you'll get a perfect shiny Lick Gengar on November 3rd. Without further ado, let's start with the new stuff. There's a lot to cover, and it's mainly Adventure Sync related, but it's very interesting to read as it basically reveals the entire feature.
As expected, and later verified with Niantic, the game will import activities only from two services: HealthKit and Google Fit. Sorry Samsung Health users, you'll need to switch for this functionality to work.
As far as we can see, the feature operates on an hourly basis, fetching hourly reports from the appropriate device service. It's also aware of the last date when it performed a fetch request, so we're not sure anyone will be able to cheat their way in. Additionally, we checked Google's and Apple's documentation and you're able to query a specific date range on both HealthKit and Google Fit – no distance hoarding guys!
Curiously, Pokemon GO is finally getting a dedicated background mode! Background mode is required for any type of scheduled processing on both platforms, so this is not surprising, but this is the first time we're seeing an application (or rather notification) level background processing. Pokemon GO Plus and Gotcha are powered by Bluetooth Low Energy (BLE), while the Adventure Sync is powered by a RPC service.
RPC is a low level protocol that's considered to be a very efficient mechanism for fetching data from remote servers. Additionally, we've found something very interesting. However… we're not sure what's the state of this<|fim_middle|>We're not sure how we feel about this, but the APK reveals that Niantic can choose if they want to import manual fitness entries by using a simple setting on the server side. We hope they keep it disabled, as manual fitness entries can easily be abused.
Essentially, Niantic can filter out entries based on age and on their accuracy, which is more than welcome in providing everyone with a fair experience and equal playing ground. Experimental tests will show the exact values of these settings, but we can only discover those once the feature goes live.
As announced previously, Fitness goals in Pokemon GO indeed feature weekly and daily tracking, which is likely used for calculating special reward packages for achieving these goals. Rewards are served by the server, so we're not able to provide a list of possible rewards yet.
Niantic is seriously developing the Adventure Sync feature, checking all relevant technical check boxes along the way. Background processing? Check. RPC for low network usage? Check. Flexible device support? Check. We're excited to see how it looks in action, especially given the potential support for smart watches.
We'll keep a keen eye on the Adventure Sync as time goes on, but it looks like it's going well. You can download the APK here: Google Drive link. | , so we don't want to create hype out of nothing. Please, take this with a grain of salt, there's very information about this in the APK. Smart watches are seemingly supported.
Again, keep your hype minimal, there's just a few code lines that reference smart watches.
| 58 |
Let the presence of Lord<|fim_middle|>. | Buddha bring in peace and harmony in your life. The Buddha table top comes with the face of the Buddha attached to a stand using a metal rod. Lord Buddha's hand in Vitarka Mudra is also a part of the collection. Vitarka Mudra is a gesture that promotes the energy of discussion without entering an argumentative state. The whole piece is made of wrought iron and hence is strong and sturdy. The face and hand of Lord Buddha is painted with acrylic artistic color in a sapphire blue hue. It is then provided a copper tint for a realistic look. The base of the Lord Buddha décor is also made of wrought iron but is painted in black color with a touch of copper. The use of copper paint in this wrought iron décor provides a metallic vibe to the piece.
Bring in a sense of calm and peace to your interior with this Buddha décor piece. The iron craft used for the construction of this décor piece ensures that it does not get damaged easily. Place it in the side table in the living room or in your bedroom and create a serene setting indoor.
Since this beautiful work of spiritual home decor is completely handcrafted, each piece slightly differs for a unique handmade Indian art | 240 |
You are not alone if you have dry hair. Many people suffer from dry, frizzy, uncontrollable hair. However, many people end up using a shampoo that damages their hair even more. Some shampoos in the market do a great job at stripping the natural moisture and oil from your hair. But even so, there are brands that are targeted for people with dry hair. Buying one of these particular shampoos is your best bet. Chances are, after using one of these shampoos for a few weeks, your hair will be much more smoother and manageable than before.
While this shampoo is fabulous for all hair types, it is especially created for hair that has been faded or damaged by color, chemical treating, or heat styling. It contains all natural ingredients that do not contain parabens, pabas, or sulfates. Additionally, the natural oils and herbs in this shampoo treat your hair while cleansing it. One of the oils, Argan oil, gives a nice shine to your hair in the process. As an added plus, there is no artificial color, additives, or impurities in this formula. This shampoo gives your hair nutrients that it needs to be strong, flexible, and healthy.
This shampoo aims to treat dry and damaged hair. In addition to being completely natural, there is no added sulfates, paraben, silicone, or fragrance. Hydrate shampoo focuses on finding the answer to getting rid of dry hair, instead of simply covering<|fim_middle|> B6, activating proteins, and reforming ceramide. For those with colored hair, this strong formula can save your hair. It is also perfect for women 40 years of age and older who fight grey strands, breakage, and dryness. Even though this product is rather expensive, one bottle lasts around 4 months. So overall, buying it will save you from having to regularly go to the store to buy cheaper, less beneficial shampoos.
If you have damaged hair, this shampoo is for you. Jean Michele created this product for just about everyone! People with curly hair, hair that has been colored, and dry can benefit greatly from this shampoo. Many professional beauty salons use this particular shampoo because it is sulfate and paraben free. And because it contains Argan oil, this product will restore and moisturize your hair. Whatever length or texture your hair is, Jean Michele's Moisturizing Argan Oil Shampoo will leave your hair soft and shiny.
Living Proof Restore Shampoo will cleanse your hair, while helping to rebuild moisture. Your damaged hair cuticles will be like new because this product restores them right away. After one use, your hair will act like it was never damaged at all. This product will literally save your hair! The best part of using this product is that after shampooing, it is possible to run a comb through your hair without having a dozen knots. Additionally, this product's smell is very light and pleasant.
After just once wash, Dove claims that this moisturizing shampoo will moisturize for up to 5x smoother hair than if you were using a non-conditioning shampoo. Dove Hair Therapy Daily Moisture Shampoo conditions hair and doesn't leave left-over residue behind. It contains a pro-moisture complex and is able to go into the cell level of your hair and make it so your hair appears healthier. After using this product, your hair will be more soft and easy to manage. This product is the ideal solution for dry hair. Because the formula traps in moisture, your hair will be left smoother and silkier.
Do you have awfully rough and frizzy hair? This shampoo is created with Redken's special Interbond Conditioning System and Care Adjusted Complex. It provides your hair with inside strength because of the Ceramide it contains. In addition, the Shea Butter contained in this product nourishes and smooths your hair. For those with dense, dry, or sensitized hair, this product with repair it while nourishing it at the same time. It will even leave your hair soft and shiny without being too oily or dry. Furthermore, it helps mildly cleanse your hair.
This shampoo by Matrix, helps dry hair by using an intense amount of moisture. It is filled with a compound of algae and aloe vera. These particular ingredients aid in restoring the hair's moisture levels and balance. After using this shampoo, your hair is bound to feel shinier, silkier, smoother, and healthier. This shampoo produces nonstop moisture and is paraben-free. This product is made with state-of-the-art formulas that copy the moisture-preserving properties of the aloe plant. When your hair takes in and retains the moisture, it's hydration levels are boosted. Additionally, this shampoo smells fabulous and is great for color treated hair.
Have you ever wondered what the best hair-care brand is? Many people believe that Fekkai is the best brand for hair products. This particular Fekkai Essentials Shea Shampoo is filled with pure Shea Butter and scented by jasmine and exotic florals. It's cleansing experience will leave your hair feeling glossy and nourished. For those with rough, dry hair, your hair will be smoothed to agility. In addition, this product will weigh down your hair just enough to greatly tame your frizz.
This shampoo is made for all hair types. But, it is especially beneficial for dry, damaged, or colored hair. It's ingredients work to dowse your hair with hydration. It also aims to shield it from various environmental influences. Macadamia Natural Oil Rejuvenating Shampoo will leave your hair silky, nourished, and refreshed. The first time you use this product, you will definitely see a difference in the healthiness of your hair.
Is your first priority keeping your hair as healthy and chemical free as possible? This shampoo by Arvazallia utilizes an advanced exclusive formula that fixes, restores, and improves damaged hair. It hydrates and moisturizes dry hair by locking in the moisture. It also strengthens the hair's texture and manageability, leaving it bright and healthy looking. Arvazallia Advanced Hair Repair Shampoo is sulfate and paraban free. In addition, it uses mild cleaning agents that will deeply cleanse your hair without drying, fading, or stripping your hair of color. Furthermore, it contains ingredients that will nourish your hair. Specifically, it contains Argan Oil and Macadamia Oil which aid in promoting natural hair growth.
Do you want to restore the health of your weak hair? This Ultra Nourishing Shampoo gently cleanses, nourishes, and repairs hair that is dry or over-processed. This shampoo restores the moisture balance and nourishes delicate hair from within, with help from a high focus of botanical actives. After using this shampoo, your hair will be transformed from brittle to smooth, and healthy. The soybean in this product works to help damaged hair fibers. In addition, the orange blossom extract nourishes and softens rough hair strands. This product is also free from harmful chemicals.
Did you know that dates power nutrition? Dates are the main ingredient in this very beneficial shampoo. Klorana Laboratories detected ingredients in the core of the date that nourish and restore dry, damaged, and weak hair. Instead of using famous ingredients like acai and chia, start using dates to cleanse your hair! This product will leave your hair clean and smelling great. You will definitely not be disappointed after using it.
This shampoo by I.C.O.N is perfect for those with hair that is scorched from forms of heat styling. It is suitable for myraid hair types and is especially effective for chemically-treated hair. The formula in this product cleans, conditions, and makes the hair stronger. It will give new life to your brittle strands! After using, your hair will be very clean and you will experience a very clean feeling on your hair and scalp.
This product does a lot more than cleanse your hair! It hydrates, softens, protects color, and increases shine. After using it, your hair will be more smooth, hydrated and manageable. Additionally, it is pleasantly scented with mandarin orange and nutmeg. This product can be used for all hair types but is wonderful for dry hair. Plus, it is free of Sulfates, Phthalates, and Synthetic color.
Do you ever go to the extremes to fix dry, damaged hair? Well, now you don't have to! This shampoo uses moisturizing avocado oil and aloe vera extracts to restore and rebuild hair. Because it rebuilds damaged parts of your hair, it leaves a longer lasting shine and bounciness. It also contains Pro-Vitamin B5 which helps make your hair stronger. After using this product, your hair will be smoother, softer, and shinier. Beaver Shampoo contains no Sulphates, Parabens, Sodium chloride, or other harmful chemicals.
Do you want glossy, hydrated hair? R+Co ATLANTIS Moisturizing Shampoo is super hydrating. It is filled with restorative botancials. It contains Babassu oil and witch hazel which moisturize, balance, and soften hair. It also contains rosemary which prevents product buildup. Finally, it contains nettle which softens hair and protects color. R+Co Shampoo is ideal for thick, rough, dry, or color-treated hair.
Have you been blow-drying, straightening, and coloring your hair for years? Does your hair no longer have it's natural strength and shine? Many people, when in this situation, believe that the best thing to do is to chop it off and start over. However, this isn't always necessary! Instead of cutting your hair, use Ojon Restorative Shampoo! This shampoo is made with ingredients carefully selected for their effectiveness and natural essential oils. This product contains a blend of potent plant ingredients. These ingredients work together to fix damaged stands and inhibit breakage. If you use this often, your hair will be much smoother and healthier. | up the problem. This product will not strip your hair of its natural oils like many other shampoos. Because of this, using it will make your hair more convenient. Furthermore, for therapeutic hydration, it works to quicken cell growth and removes toxins.
Does your hair feel dry or dull? By using this shampoo, your hair will feel more conditioned and shiny. L'Oreal created this product for especially dry and damaged hair. It conditions hair by adding advanced moisturizers and essential nutrients. After just one lather, your hair will feel much softer. After a few weeks of using this product, your hair will no longer be frizzy and your split ends will be gone.
Keratase Nain Satin 2 Shampoo provides strong nourishment for very dry hair. It gently cleanses and deeply nurtures your hairs most sensitized areas. But even so, it is designed for all hair types. This shampoo will make your hair healthier, shinier, and more easy to manage. It is made with Silicone Byproducts that smooth and safeguard hair fiber. Additionally, it is formulated with Cationic Polymers to lightly nurture hair.
This shampoo enhances and repairs dry hair. It is great at getting rid of knots and creating hair that is soft, shiny, and easy to work with. It uses the Cuti Liss System which contains vitamin | 275 |
Kap<|fim_middle|> owners is Brazilian) create a rustic and relaxed mood. Newspapers hang from the walls and the menu offers a wealth of healthy, hangover-challenging goodness: Brazilian juices, soya milk coffees, dark bread bagels, plus devilish delights like hot waffles, pizzas and more. It's worth coming for their generous weekend breakfasts (served until 5pm). Vegans and the allergic are also catered for at Kapelle, and the café is in a good location to catch the Sunday flea market at Arkonaplatz. | elle is a beautifully mellow Berlin café, located next to the historic Zionskirche on a leafy square, which apparently used to be a meeting point for The Red Orchestra Resistance Group who fought against the Nazis. Now it's an organic/vegetarian café selling tasty breakfasts and light snacks to a mixed crowd of locals, scenesters, families and the odd OAP. The tall ceilings, blue-wood framed windows, wooden furnishings and breezy music (usually Latin, one of the | 100 |
Vern Van de Loo, President of Mountain States Contracting, started his career working for a railroad contractor in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Vern was introduced to the industry by delivering rail in a "center-cab" steel truck, but advanced as an Equipment Operator to eventually become a Track Foreman. By 1986, Vern was the VP of Operations, managing several track crews. Blake Van de Loo decided to join him. In 1988, the two brothers worked together as Track Foremen.
In the late 80's, Vern and Blake were working throughout the country rebuilding railroad tracks on military bases. They hired a small contracting company out of Phoenix, Arizona to help with a project at Ft. Wingate, NM. This was when Vern and Blake were introduced to Mountain States Contracting, Inc. When the project was completed, the owner of Mountain States Contracting offered the company to Vern and Blake's contractor. He decided to buy Mountain States, and charged Vern and Blake with its upkeep.
Vern & Blake relocated to Arizona to manage and expand Mountain States Contracting. At that time, its assets consisted of: two pick<|fim_middle|> their first Shop/Office/Yard in Glendale, AZ. A few years later, they purchased a small office building and additional yard space next door.
By 1994, Mountain States Contracting hired Terry Vanderplas as a Track Maintenance/Rehab Specialist. Terry soon became a Vice President and the third owner of the company.
Mountain States Contracting's territory expanded to include: Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, Utah, California, Wyoming, and Idaho. During the 2000's, Mountain States the company hired Al Spurlin to manage their regional office in Ogden, Utah.
Mountain States Contracting's current facility was bought and remodeled in 2011. It was equipped with a state-of-the-art maintenance shop and an accompanying office.
Now, the company has over 100 employees, along with a fleet of over 300 pieces of Equipment and Trucks. Many employees have been with the company for over twenty years.
Welcome to Mountain States Contracting. | -up trucks, a 1971 CAT Loader, an air compressor, and a quarter-acre yard where all the equipment was stored. Vern conducted all the sales and engineering from his house (the company's office). Blake ran the track crew and all its operations out in the field. They would truck all equipment and materials at night, and repair the equipment during the weekends.
In 1989, Mountain States received a large contract to rebuild the track system at Ft. Carson, CO. This job gave the two brothers the opportunity to hire more track crews, along with the capability to expand their fleet of equipment. This momentum slowly gained more speed, and soon the company had multiple crews and equipment to accommodate them.
In 1991, they purchased | 155 |
Syrenbuddleja eller fjärilsbuske (Buddleja davidii) är en art i familjen fl<|fim_middle|> länkar
Flora of China - Buddleja davidii
Svensk Kulturväxtdatabas
Flenörtsväxter
Sy Växtindex | enörtsväxter från Kina. Arten blommar ända in i september, är vanlig som trädgårdsväxt i södra Sverige, och är en utmärkt nektarkälla för fjärilar. I Mellaneuropa är syrenbuddlejan extremt invasiv.
Lövfällande buskar, 49–500 cm höga. Unga grenar, bladundersidor, bladskaft och blomställningar är vitulliga eller stjärnhåriga. Grenarna är nästan fyrkantiga. Stipler förekommer ibland och är nästan runda till äggrunda, 1–6 mm långa. Bladskaft 1–5 mm långa, bladskivorna är smalt äggrunda till smalt elliptiska, 4–20 cm långa och upp till 7,5 mm breda. Bladen är mer eller mindre gröna på ovansidan med fint tandad bladkant. Blommorna sitter i en klasliknande kvast som kan bli 30 cm lång. Blommorna är rörformade med utbrett bräm, doftande, violetta till mörkt purpur, ibland vita, med orange svalg, och 8–14 mm långa. Frukten är en brun kapsel. Många fjärilar när sig på syrenbuddlejans nektar och den är därför populär vid anläggandet av fjärilsträdgårdar.
Synonymer
Buddleja davidii var. alba Rehder & E. H. Wilson
Buddleja davidii var. glabrescens Gagnepain
Buddleja davidii var. magnifica (E. H. Wilson) Rehder & E. H. Wilson
Buddleja davidii var. nanhoensis (Chittenden) Rehder
Buddleja davidii var. superba (Veitch) Rehder & E. H. Wilson
Buddleja davidii var. veitchiana (Veitch) Rehder & Bailey
Buddleja davidii var. wilsonii (E. H. Wilson) Rehder & E. H. Wilson
Buddleja shaanxiensis Z. Y. Zhang
Buddleja shimidzuana Nakai
Buddleja striata Z. Y. Zhang
Buddleja striata var. zhouquensis Z. Y. Zhang
Buddleja variabilis HemsleyBuddleja variabilis var. magnifica E. H. WilsonBuddleja variabilis var. nanhoensis ChittendenBuddleja variabilis var. prostrata C. K. SchneiderBuddleja variabilis var. superba VeitchBuddleja variabilis var. veitchiana VeitchBuddleja variabilis var. wilsonii'' E. H. Wilson
Källor
Externa | 672 |
DOI:10.1103/PhysRevE.103.L030105
Counting statistics for noninteracting fermions in a d-dimensional potential.
@article{Smith2020CountingSF,
title={Counting statistics for noninteracting fermions in a d-dimensional potential.},
author={Naftali R. Smith and Pierre Le Doussal and Satya N. Majumdar and Gr{\'e}gory Schehr},
journal={Physical review. E},
volume={103 3},
Naftali R. Smith, P. Le Doussal,
G. Schehr
Physical review. E
We develop a first-principles approach to compute the counting statistics in the ground state of N noninteracting spinless fermions in a general potential in arbitrary dimensions d (central for d>1). In a confining potential, the Fermi gas is supported over a bounded domain. In d=1, for specific potentials, this system is related to standard random matrix ensembles. We study the quantum fluctuations of the number of fermions N_{D} in a domain D of macroscopic size in the bulk of the support. We…
Results Citations
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EPL (Europhysics Letters)
The ground-state properties of N spinless free fermions in a d-dimensional confining potential are studied. We find that any n-point correlation function has a simple determinantal structure that…
Quantum fluctuations of one-dimensional free fermions and Fisher–Hartwig formula for Toeplitz determinants
A. Abanov, D. Ivanov, Y. Qian
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O. Gamayun, O. Lychkovskiy, J. Caux
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<jats:p>We study <jats:inline-formula><jats:alternatives><jats:tex-math>N</jats:tex-math><mml:math xmlns:mml="http://www.w3.org/1998/Math/MathML"…
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Pop Quiz: Dolly Parton
The musician's Imagination Library sends a new book to more than a quarter-million preschoolers each month.
By Edutopia
Credit: The Dollywood Foundation
What is your idea of the perfect teacher?
The same things that make for a great person -- a heart full of love, commitment, curiosity, a good listener, a lifelong learner, and a great sense of humor.
What was your most memorable school experience?
In 1964, my class took a senior trip to Washington, DC, and New York. We were country through and through, so this was a very big deal. When I arrived in New York, I felt very special. Everywhere I looked there were billboards, taxis, and buses with signs that said, "Hello, Dolly!" Of course, those signs weren't really for me -- they were for the play, which had just opened on Broadway -- but I had great time joking that New York had done all this just for me.
What was the low point of your school career?
Believe it or not, it was graduation night. I had already made plans to leave for Nashville the next day to pursue my singing career. We had a very small class, so each person was asked to stand up and announce their plans. When my turn came, I stood up and said, "I'm going to Nashville to become a star!" The entire place just exploded with laughter. I sat down, hurt and confused. They just didn't know the fire that burned inside of me -- and why in the world would they laugh at me?
It was also a turning point, because at that moment, my dream became my resolve. Their laughter made me more determined to succeed, and during many a tough time in the early years of my career, their laughter made me work just that much harder.
Did you go to a public school, or a private one?
Definitely a public school. The only private school I ever heard of was one where they sent all the juvenile delinquents!
Where did you fit in your school's social hierarchy?
I certainly wasn't at the top. I was always a bit different. We never had any money, so I could never dress as cool as many of the other kids in school. Lucky for me, I had several real close friends, so we laughed and cut up and had a great time. We tried not to care too much what other people thought about us, because in our eyes we were the most popular girls in school. My song "Coat of Many Colors" was all about being at the bottom of the pile. I believe that is why that song has remained so popular, because each and every person has probably felt the pain of ridicule. It's a<|fim_middle|> the more we can celebrate our uniqueness, the better.
What did you learn today?
I learn something every day. I wish I never had to sleep, because every single hour of the day is full of possibilities for me.
What did you teach today?
I'm not really much of a teacher, but I was given the blessing to often inspire folks. It's not that I try to do that, but, given my measure of fame, people often seem to think I have something to offer. Probably, they are drawn to my happiness and, through the blessing of my writing and singing, they can hear their own words in mine.
What is in your dream lunch box?
When I was a kid, all I could ever bring to lunch was something left over from breakfast -- like a biscuit. So back then, my dream lunch would have been a sandwich with store-bought meat -- like a bologna-and-cheese sandwich. But if we are talking about today, it would be a big old steaming dish of my chicken and dumplings.
If prom were tomorrow, whom would you take?
Since I've been married to him for forty years, I should take my husband, Carl. However, he probably wouldn't want to go, because he would have to wear a tux -- so I guess I would ask George Clooney!
If you wrote a textbook, what would it be called?
Maybe a physics book called Go Figure. Or a biology book called Tight-Fitting Genes. | pain that can last a lifetime.
What was your favorite subject?
Boys! (Laughs.) To tell you the truth, the most important thing to me was music -- playing and writing songs was about all I ever thought about doing. I did play the snare drum in our little high school marching band. I wasn't really into band music, but I had a great band director. He saw I had a different calling and encouraged me to play the piano and guitar and, most importantly, supported my songwriting habit.
If you could change one thing about education in America, what would it be?
We would better prepare kids for school. I have devoted a lot of time and resources to my Imagination Library, because I know firsthand that so many children come to kindergarten without ever even seeing a book. My dream is that one day we can make sure that every single child in this country will grow up with a room full of books.
What is impossible to learn in school?
I have always believed you can learn anything, anywhere, at any time, so I guess it's possible to learn just about anything in school. We always think of school as book learning, but you also learn about character, integrity, and honesty. Many a life's lesson was learned (and unlearned!) in school.
What should they teach that they don't?
Maybe the problem is just the opposite -- schools are expected to teach too much. Families and communities used to be the best teachers and, unfortunately, they seem to be worrying about everything but teaching their kids.
I'm a real big fan of nurturing kids' imagination and helping them be who they want to be. Everybody is different, so | 339 |
Kent in the south of England is often referred to as the Garden on England due to the large number of fruit, flowers and vegetables grown here. It also has an abundance of hop fields. Kent has more historic houses than any other county. Kent is home to most of the major ports, and also the Channel Tunnel. Maidstone is the county town and the River Medway runs through the centre of the town. Canterbury lies on the River Stour. The cathedral is the oldest in England. The city became the first to have an<|fim_middle|> famous feature of the town. Folkestone has the only sandy beach and coastal park within an hour of London. Charles Dickens wrote of Folkestone, that it was delightful and the air, delicious. Dover is a major town and ferry port to Calais. It faces France across the narrowest part of the English Channel. The surrounding chalk cliffs have become known as the White Cliffs of Dover. The Cliff spreads east and west from the town. The white line of cliffs are the first and last sight of the UK for travellers. The Isle of Sheppey is an island off the north coast of Kent in the Thames Estuary. The word Sheppey is derived from the Saxon word meaning Isle of Sheep, and today a large proportion of the island is given to flocks of grazing sheep.
Use the map below to find a campsite in the Kent - simply zoom into the relevant area and you will find all the campsites indicated by markers. | Archbishop. Thomas Becket's murder in the cathedral in 1170 let to it becoming a place of pilgrimage and provided the theme for the Canterbury Tales. Many historical structures remain including the city wall, founded in Roman times, and the oldest school in England, The King's School. There is a Roman museum which houses a mosaic pavement dating back to the Romans. Herne Bay has beautiful beaches and Victorian architecture. Brightly coloured beach huts are a | 93 |
Crossword puzzles, one of the most commonly recognized cognitive stimulation activities, are not actually helping people maximize their memory and attention<|fim_middle|> by Rob Winningham. | abilities very much (of course they are not hurting either). Many people are surprised by the assertion that crossword puzzles are not beneficial in preventing age related memory changes. What cognitive abilities are primarily involved when people do crossword puzzles? Crossword puzzles involve getting a cue and then attempting to retrieve previously learned information, which is something that people with age related cognitive impairment and even early to mid stage dementia can do fairly well. Age related changes in cognition and earlier stages of dementia are primarily associated with impairments in the ability to concentrate, pay attention, and make new memories; crossword puzzles don't really exercise those abilities, but Sudoku puzzles do.
Sudoku puzzles exercise attention and concentration and research shows that exercising those abilities are the most likely to generalize or transfer to the things middle age and older adults need to do in order to maximize their ability to make new memories.
So how do you do Sudokus? There are really only three rules, you need to have each number 1 through 9 in every horizontal row, every vertical column, and sub square on 9 cells. Books of Sudoku puzzles are ubiquitous and can easily be found. And, I recommend http://krazydad.com/sudoku/ for free downloadable Sudoku puzzles. However, 9 X 9 puzzles can be challenging for some people to learn, especially if they are already experiencing some cognitive impairment.
We have developed a set of easier Sudoku puzzles designed to teach people how to do Sudoku and provide an easier alternative that might be more appropriate for some people (including children). Start with the easy 4 X 4, then go to the difficult 4 X 4, then easy 6 X 6, followed by harder 6 X 6. Then, the individual should be ready for an easier 9 X 9 puzzle. Note that "easy 9 X 9 Sudoku" is somewhat of a misnomer and they can be made even easier by writing in some of the correct numbers.
If you want to make a 9 X 9 sudoku puzzle work your brain even harder then try to do the appropriate level of Sudoku as fast as you can two times. Then, try to do the same level of puzzle while the television news is on. It will be difficult to inhibit paying attention to the television and you can monitor how well you are doing. For example, if someone has the same time to complete the puzzle with and without the television on then they are excellent at inhibiting their attention to irrelevant stimuli.
Many people find the assertion that crossword puzzles are not as effective as Sudoku when trying to improve core cognitive abilities hard to believe. But recent research supports this assertion. Click here to view the 2013 study.
This entry was posted in Cognitive Stimulation, New and interesting and tagged activities, Brain Health, brain training, cognitive stimulation, crossword, mini sudoku, retirement, sudoku, train your brain on February 8, 2014 | 590 |
Contract for New Demerara River Bridge to be signed soon | Guyana Community Discussion Forums
Contract for New Demerara River Bridge to be signed soon
Demerara_GuyModerator
January 11, 2022 -- Source -- https://www.inewsguyana.com/co...e-to-be-signed-soon/
The Demerara Harbour Bridge
A contract for the construction of a New Demerara River Bridge will be signed soon, Minister of Public Works, Bishop Juan Edghill disclosed on Monday.
The announcement follows the 'no objection' by Cabinet back in November, for China State Construction Engineering Corporation Ltd. to construct the bridge at a cost of some $51.2 billion.
"At this stage, a specially appointed team is concluding the negotiations and all the administrative details to prepare for the signing of the contract for the new Demerara Harbour Bridge. Between the week before Christmas and today, six such meetings were held and the sun is getting ready to shine brightly because we should have a final contract agreed on in the very shortest possible time," Minister Edghill stated at his year-end press conference.
The new bridge forms part of government<|fim_middle|>Stabroek News | 's drive to expand and modernise Guyana's transport infrastructure. The new bridge will replace the aged Demerara Harbour Bridge with a modern four-lane structure that will facilitate greater traffic capacity and dramatically improve commuter convenience.
Minister Edghill said government is investing heavily in keeping afloat the old Demerara Harbour Bridge, which was neglected by the APNU/AFC Administration. He described it as a disaster waiting to happen, that would have displaced thousands of Guyanese who use the bridge daily.
"Budget 2021 catered for the rebuilding of a new span nine and for repairs to spans nine and ten as a temporary model…while we are building the new high- span, four lane Demerara Harbour Bridge which we expect to be completed in two years, between that two-year period, we need to keep this current bridge operable," the Minister explained.
General Manager of the Demerara Harbour Bridge, Wayne Watson said the $1.2 billion project is expected to be completed soon.
Watson explained that, "it was scheduled to finish in December 2021, but because of consideration for users, we are now projecting somewhere between April. In order to replace span nine, the rehabilitation work of both span nine and 10 must be completed which will require some closure of the bridge. The total closure to do the rehabilitation is 16, six-hour closures, to date we have only done five."
Nevertheless, Minister Edghill highlighted that the old bridge will not be pushed in a corner and left to rot upon completion of the new bridge.
"Sections of the bridge can be used. It can be used in the Kwakwani crossing, it can be used in several parts of the hinterland, maybe some of it can be used at Kurupukari but we are looking at more permanent infrastructure for the Linden-Lethem Road… I can tell you it would not be old iron pushed in a corner. It would be properly used for the development of Guyana," the Public Works Minister said.
Guyanese, Surinamese officials to meet this week on contractor for Corentyne River Bridge
January 11, 2022 -- Source -- https://www.inewsguyana.com/gu...entyne-river-bridge/
Minister of Public Works, Bishop Juan Edghill and the Surinamese Delegation sail up the Corentyne River to plant the flags at Long Island.
Construction of the Corentyne River Bridge, which will link Guyana and Suriname, will commence soon as representatives from the two countries will be meeting this week to select a bidder for the massive project.
"Within this week, myself and my counterpart from Suriname will be engaged in discussions to ensure that we have the final bidder selected and work going because this bridge between Guyana and Suriname over the Corentyne River is high on the agenda of both administrations and both Presidents," Minister of Public Works Juan Edghill stated during a press conference on Monday.
There are a total of eight shortlisted consultancy firms, including three joint ventures. These firms are WSP Caribbean Limited; EXP Services Inc in association with Pedelta, Arcadia, CEMCO; TYPSA, Leonhardt, Andrä und Partner GmbH and Firm Engineering NV; and Politecnica and Rina JV and sub-consultants ILACO and SRKN'gineering & Associates
The bridge will be constructed using a Design Build Finance Model through a private partnership arrangement with incentives given by both governments to the preferred bidder.
In October 2020, Edghill and his Surinamese counterpart, Dr Riad Nurmohamed had visited the site of the proposed Guyana-Suriname river bridge across the Corentyne River.
There were three points of demarcation identified – Moleson Creek, Long Island in the Corentyne River and South Drain in Suriname. Both Ministers planted flags on the Guyana side of the river and then the Suriname side of the river – where the bridge is to be constructed.
A Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) for the construction of a high-span bridge over the Corentyne River linking the two countries was signed in November, 2020 during President Dr. Mohamed Irfaan Ali's Official visit to Suriname.
President Ali had said the construction of the bridge will create tremendous opportunities for both countries.
"Once constructed, not if constructed, the bridge will serve as a permanent physical link between the people of Guyana and Suriname but more importantly, that links to the rest of the South American continent," President Ali had said.
Suriname's President, Chandrikapersad Santokhi had stated that the bridge would mark a new era for both countries in several areas.
"This bridge on the Corentyne River is not only important to facilitate the movement of persons and goods, trade and cross border cooperation it also symbolises a transition from the old to a new era; the era of wellbeing and prosperity of our people and freedom, democracy and the rule of law," he had said.
Reports indicate that the Corentyne River bridge is expected to be a flat bridge from Guyana to Long Island in the Corentyne River and then a high-span bridge from there to the Surinamese mainland to allow for heavy marine traffic. This bridge is expected to promote the safe movement of people and products.
Moreover, it is anticipated that Long Island will become an economic hub and free zone that will also see major infrastructural development such as hotels, recreational parks, entertainment spots, tourist attractions, malls, and farmers' markets.
With the commitment to bridge Guyana and Suriname over the Corentyne River within five years, this project is expected to open up the pathway for other major developmental projects including the much-anticipated deep-water harbour project in Guyana.
This will be another Ding Dong bridge by the Chinese.
Eating WEST INDIAN FOOD in LITTLE GUYANA!! Queens, NYC
Welcome to the Original Guyanese Discussion Forums, first established in 1996. Here you can discuss, ask questions or generally debate anything related to politics, movies, music, health or just gyaff away your day/night here. A note of warning, the Political forum is not for the faint of heart. We do have some rules, so please adhere to them .
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Mitwah replied:
Why are they not using Letters of Credit to minimize the risks; very common in international trade dealings?
Wildflower replied:
Beautiful tune….brings back memories 👍🏽
Condolences to his family.
seignet replied:
You think his people came to BG like the Untouchables? Or his people had special treatment and better housing. He had a quick rise in...
Demerara_Guy replied:
Up to August 01, 2020 -- PNCR/APNU/AFC in power. From August 02, 2020 -- PPPC in power. One needs to know the specific break-downs for...
Ali Khan Azad replied:
He was one of the greatest sons of the East Indian Guyanese people.
Lata Mangeshkar admitted to ICU after testing positive for Covid-19
Balram Singh Rai
PPP/C natural resource law no different from APNU+AFC in relation to powers –Tarron Khemraj
Seignet Blog_1
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Thursday Night Live!Thursday Night Live!A weekly programme of lectures, screenings and discussions on architecture, design and digital culture
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Due to tightened coronavirus rules, Het Nieuwe Instituut and Sonneveld House will be closed until at least 9 February. See our online programme.
Collection National Collection for Dutch Architecture and Urban Planning
Disclosing Architecture
'Euromast' by Jaap Bakema on display in the Rijksmuseum
Het Nieuwe Instituut is lending the scale model of Jaap Bakema's 'Euromast' to the Rijksmuseum for the small presentation around Vilmos Huszár within the museum's permanent twentieth-century displays. The institute is also lending a monotype of Huszár's hand<|fim_middle|>, spiralling upwards movement. This principle is evident in several other designs after 1957. Terneuzen City Hall (1963-72), for example, consists of a pyramid-shaped spiral in which the floors are connected by split levels, and the Dutch pavilion for Expo '70 in Osaka (1968-70) comprised three containers supported by towers that arose from the water like a screw.
Spring Collection at Kaufhaus Schocken
In the 1920s, Kaufhaus Schocken, owned by the Jewish Schocken brothers, was the most successful chain of department stores in Germany. The stores experienced stable growth through the use of efficient factories, intelligent purchasing and robust sales and business strategies. For the new store on the Aufessenplatz in Nuremberg, which opened in 1926, Johan Niegemann designed a poster for the frühjars (spring) collection. The building depicted, designed in 1925 by Erich Mendelsohn, is seen as a milestone of Functionalist architecture in Nuremberg.
The works by Huszár and Niegeman are on show from 6 May to 30 November 2019, the Euromast by J. Bakema is on display until 20 April 2020.
J. Niegeman. Frühjars Kleidung Kaufhaus Schocken, 1926. Collection Het Nieuwe Instituut, AFFV 595
Curatorial partnership
Since 2013 Het Nieuwe Instituut and the Rijksmuseum have had a curatorial partnership for the Rijksmuseum's twentieth-century displays. Every few months a new selection is made from Het Nieuwe Instituut's archives, with a focus on two periods: the avant-garde movements of the 1920s and 1930s, and the 1950s and 1960s. The Rijksmuseum takes care of the conservation and, where required, restoration of the drawings. Earlier selections have included works by Piet Blom, Hendrik Wijdeveld, Gerrit Rietveld, Jan Duiker, Cornelis van Eesteren and Herman Hertzberger.
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Financial lead partner | and a poster by Johan Niegeman. These loans are part of a long-term curatorial partnership between Het Nieuwe Instituut and the Rijksmuseum.
The first Floriade horticultural exhibition was held in Rotterdam in 1960. The city council held a competition to erect an observation tower that would not only provide a view of the temporary exhibition in the neighbouring city park, but would also be a permanent monument to Rotterdam's civic pride. Although Bakema's design for the Euromast was not chosen – the city council gave the commission to Hugh Maaskant – this project remained close to Bakema's heart: 'The symbolic approach, or my dream, was for the tower to be a government decision centre for different levels of political discussion. A tower which could perhaps be a sign of freedom and cooperation. Van Euromast tot het Nederlands paviljoen in Osaka' (From the Euromast to the Dutch pavilion in Osaka), Forum, vol. 34 (1990), no. 3, pp. 34-37.
Bakema conceived a structure that would serve not only as an observation tower but also as a government meeting centre. He took inspiration for his design from El Lissitzky's Wolkenbügel projects from the 1920s. Just as the Wolkenbügels were to act as gateways to Moscow, so the Euromast was to mark the entry to a reconstructed Rotterdam. In El Lissitzky's plan, the Wolkenbügels would provide offices for the USSR's urban planning bodies. Bakema envisaged a similarly important role for the Euromast, whose various levels would house spaces where government committees could meet. Bakema's design comprises four independent levels stories fanning out from four columns and braced by aluminium cables. The four stories were intended to provide views of the city park, the city of Rotterdam, the lower reaches of the Rhine and the Deltaworks.
J. J. Bakema. Euromast, 1957. Collection Het Nieuwe Instituut, MAQV 1144
For many years, the Euromast model was kept in the studio of Van den Broek & Bakema Architects, and the sketches remain in the collection of Bakema's family. For Bakema, the most important elements were the symbolism of the relationship between the different levels and the energetic | 510 |
A fire Saturday night at Valley Truck Leasing in Grand Chute could have been much worse.
Valley Truck Leasing open for business in wake of Saturday fire.
The fire started at about 6:40 p.m. Saturday.
The business lost nine semi-trucks, one passenger vehicle and two trailers in the blaze.
Valley Truck Leasing and Fox Valley Truck are still open for business.
GRAND CHUTE – After a fire caused about $800,000 worth of damage to its fleet on Saturday night, Valley Truck Leasing is looking toward the future.
"It could have been disastrous," Toppins said.
Valley Truck Leasing will purchase equipment to replace what was lost. In the meantime, the company will use semi-trucks from its other four locations to meet customers' needs, Toppins said.
"We're still going strong. The doors are open," Toppins said<|fim_middle|> yesterday is unbelievable. It makes it nice to live in a community like this," he said. | . "It's a minor hiccup in life and we're very fortunate and thankful for our customers."
"People reaching out to us today and | 28 |
Een groefleger of leger is een term<|fim_middle|>atuursteen
Steenhouwen | uit de natuursteenbewerking om de afzettingsrichting van natuursteen aan te duiden. Het zijn de lagen of de richting waarin het gesteente werd gevormd en vervolgens in de steengroeve wordt aangetroffen.
Vrijwel ieder gesteente heeft een bepaalde splijtrichting, maar de term leger wordt normaal alleen gebruikt voor gesteenten waarin deze duidelijk herkenbaar is en gevolgen heeft voor hetzij de bewerking ofwel de verwering. Dit is met name het geval bij afzettingsgesteenten (zoals zandsteen, kalkstenen en tufsteen) en metamorfe gesteenten (bijvoorbeeld marmer en gneis).
Over het algemeen worden deze steensoorten bij voorkeur niet verwerkt met staand leger, hetgeen wil zeggen dat de lagen verticaal zijn toegepast. Dit omdat bij verwering dan hele schollen steen kunnen loslaten en vallen, terwijl bij liggend leger (horizontaal verwerkte steen) alleen kleine stukjes afbrokkelen. Ook zijn veel steensoorten erg gevoelig voor druk tegen de afzettingsrichting in, zodat de steen splijt of barst als deze verticaal wordt toegepast.
Zie ook
Stratigrafie
Splijting (gesteente)
Kloven (steen)
Schistositeit
N | 338 |
Platinum Games Moving Forward with Two New, Original IPs
January 3, 2018 January 3, 2018 Caleb Mina
Popular Japanese developer Platinum Games (Bayonetta series, The Wonderful 101, Nier:Automata) is moving forward with two original IPs, according to founder, head producer, and developer Atsushi Inaba. In an interview with Game Informer a week ago, the producer mentioned that Platinum Games' movement is with their own IPs, all while confirming that they have two projects in the works, saying "…we now have two designs that we're genuinely focused on."
Inaba went on to say that he believes Platinum Games is unique due to their originality, saying, "…[when] we come up with a design idea, a game idea, it's based on something original, new…It is us building<|fim_middle|> the ground up." This type of development should always be welcome in the gaming community, as stagnation is never good for growth of an industry.
With a team of 200 people, the developer isn't going in the direction of pure indie titles though. Inaba noted that, "We can't put together a AAA, $10 million-plus game, because we just don't have that sort of cash as an independent developer…[we're] looking at probably about 20 people on the staff making the game." There was no mention of what platforms the potential games could be released for, but given Platinum's support of Nintendo systems in the past, present, and future, it's hard to imagine no plans to bring them to the Switch. As more news surfaces regarding their future Nintendo-based titles we'll be sure to keep you updated.
What kind of game would you like to see next from Platinum Games?
Caleb Mina
Caleb has been a gamer and Nintendo fan since picking up Pokémon Red for his Game Boy back in 1998, at the wee age of 4. He's an avid Pokémon TCG collector, and is currently enjoying Breath of the Wild on Switch, along with PUBG on Xbox. He's a fan of the outdoors when not writing, while also being an avid runner and world traveler. Give him a shout if you're a fan of Arsenal FC.
Plays: Switch, 3DS, Xbox One, Pokémon TCG, and Various Board Games.
Posted in News, RumorsTagged bayonetta, development, game informer, new, platinum games, switch
Next Nintendo Direct Seemingly Slated for January 11
Another Fun Easter Egg Found Hidden in Switch's Code | up something new that people probably haven't seen before from | 11 |
Rupanyup
Website: www.yarriambiack.vic.gov.au
Rupanyup is a small town in rural Victoria, Australia.
Area:414.151 km2
Local Government Area:Yarriambiack Shire Council
Rupanyup is a small town in rural Victoria, Australia. As of the 2016 census, it had a population of 536. The name Rupanyup is an Aboriginal word meaning 'branch hanging over water'.The Post Office opened on<|fim_middle|> of the Rupanyup Golf Club on Frayne Avenue.The town has art in the Silo Art Trail which also includes Sheep Hills, Brim, Rosebury, Lascelles and Patchewollock. # History # Weather # Things to do
Address: Yarriambiack Shire Council VIC, PO Box 243,Rupanyup,VIC,3388
Website:www.yarriambiack.vic.gov.au | 22 February 1875 as Karkarooc and was renamed Rupanyup in 1876.The town used to be in the Shire of Dunmunkle but was allocated to the Shire of Yarriambiack when Victoria's municipalities were re-organized in the 1990s. The town has an Australian rules football team competing in the Horsham & District Football League.Golfers play at the course | 96 |
For several weeks EFF and co-counsel Fenwick & West have been trying to persuade a federal district court to unseal a critical document Stephens Media produced in Righthaven v. Democratic Underground. The document, the Strategic Alliance Agreement between Righthaven and Stephens Media (publisher of the Las Vegas Review-Journal), and our accompanying supplemental brief were unsealed on Friday.
As the court explained, "Righthaven and Stephens Media have attempted to create a cottage industry of filing copyright claims, making large claims for damages and then settling claims for pennies on the dollar, with defendants who do not want to incur the costs of defending the lawsuits." While Righthaven's business is suing bloggers for copyright infringement, it is not a publisher. It does not produce the works that are the basis for its numerous lawsuits. Instead, it trolls the Internet, looking for news articles published by Stephens Media (Las Vegas Review-Journal) or Media News Group ( Denver Post) and, when it finds them, gets the publisher to "assign" the copyright so it can file a lawsuit. At least, that was the public story<|fim_middle|>6(3).
38. Righthaven holds the exclusive right to publicly display the Work, pursuant to 17 U.S.C. § 106(5).
Righthaven also alleged that, as the owner of the news article, it is suffering an ongoing "irreparable harm" due to the infringement. All of the Righthaven lawsuits have similar allegations.
In short, the "assignment" is a sham, Righthaven's claim has been baseless from the outset. Stephens Media, which has struggled to hold the litigation at arms length, is the true and exclusive owner of the copyright and the only entity with standing to bring a copyright claim..
So why didn't the public know this until now? Stephens Media and Righthaven have gone to great lengths to conceal their scheme, starting long before they challenged our request to unseal their business agreement.
In the Nevada Federal Court, Righthaven is required to list all the entities who have a "direct, pecuniary interest" in the outcome of lawsuit – i.e. everyone who is going to make money if Righthaven wins – right at the beginning of the lawsuit. Righthaven, however, omits to mention Stephens Media even though the Agreement splits the recovery 50/50 with the publisher (Section 5).
When another defendant challenged Righthaven's ownership, the litigation factory incorrectly claimed that "Righthaven is the owner of both the exclusive rights in and to the Work and the owner of all accrued causes of action." The Agreement, however, makes clear that Righthaven does not own any exclusive rights to the copyright – Stephens Media does. Numerous other defendants also challenged ownership, but – without access to the Strategic Alliance Agreement – failed to get their cases dismissed.
After Democratic Underground filed its Counterclaim against Stephens Media, contending that the assignment was a sham and that the publisher was a proper party for declaratory relief, Stephens Media strenuously denied it. The newspaper publisher claimed "Stephens Media's involvement with Righthaven, as well as its involvement in this lawsuit, is limited to its role as the assignor of the subject copyright." However, the Agreement, shows that Stephens Media is an active partner in the improper litigation scheme. For example, (1) it is part of an "integrated transaction" with a separate Operating Agreement that required one of the owners of Righthaven be a "Stephens Media Affiliate," which "is presently and shall throughout the Term be Controlled by common owners [with Stephens Media] with no material variation in said ownership" (Section 2); (2) that Stephens Media controlled the choice to "assign" rights in this particular news article (Section 3.1) and controlled whether the news article would actually be sued upon (Section 3.3), and (4) Stephens Media has the right to take back the copyright at any time (Section 8).
Moreover, Stephens Media recklessly asserted that "[c]omplete ownership of the work being sued upon has been transferred to Righthaven without any ambiguity" and that "Stephens Media assigned Righthaven the totality of rights in and to the" news article (emphasis added). Again, the Agreement belies this assertion.
Section 7.2 of the Agreement also makes clear that Righthaven has no right to license the news article, with Stephens Media retaining this exclusive right. However, when questioned in open court in Righthaven v. CIO, Righthaven's counsel said "if we have assignment of the [news article], we can also license that work to others." (The complete transcript of that hearing is well worth a read).
Likewise, in arguing against fair use, Righthaven has continued to assert that it is entitled to a presumption of harm to its market for the work, which makes no sense given that it is contractually prohibited from exploiting the work financially.
As the Court correctly noted, "consider[ing] the multitude of cases filed by Righthaven, on the claimed basis that Righthaven owns the copyrights to certain Stephens Media copy, it appears to the Court that there is certainly an interest and even a right in all the other defendants sued by Plaintiff to have access to this material." Now that the Agreement is public, Stephens Media and Righthaven have a lot of explaining to do. Per the Court's order, the companies might start by explaining why the Strategic Alliance Agreement does not torpedo their case against Democratic Underground (their justification is due by May 8). We look forward to responding. | .
35. Righthaven holds the exclusive right to reproduce the Work, pursuant to 17 U.S.C. § 106(1).
36. Righthaven holds the exclusive right to prepare derivative works based upon the Work, pursuant to 17 U.S.C. § 106(2).
37. Righthaven holds the exclusive right to distribute copies of the Work, pursuant to 17 U.S.C. § 10 | 99 |
VicKick Bass Drum Beaters from Vic Firth!
Yup! That's right! The well known VicKick beaters from Vic Firth are now here and they are waiting for something to kick! These beaters are available in three choices: felt, wood and fleece and they come fitted with spherical heads which provide a consistent striking surface. Each one of these three special beaters provide distinct and appropriate levels of articulation and achieving an enhanced low-end sound at the same time.
The VicKick series<|fim_middle|> Tweet it or press the Like button below!
You can also check our other Vic Firth products by clicking --> here <--. | beaters, both the felt and wood models feature a unique dual striking position, set in the "radial" position, the beater offers clear articulation, consistent rebound and allows for side-by-side clearance when used on double pedal set-ups. The fleece beater features an oval felt core and sets up in a singular position.
I think my favourite is the fleece beater which comes fitted with a medium felt core covered with fleece in order to achieve an incredibly full and warm sound! This beater is ideally suited for Jazz playing.
If you need any help, please don't hesitate to contact us and we'll sort it out for you. Also, if you enjoyed reading my blog post, don't be shy and | 145 |
Q: Differing definitions of Gibbs free energy and Helmholtz free energy I am trying to understand, to me, the difficult concepts of thermodynamic potentials, and I find their definitions numerous and hard to connect between each other. For instance, here are two definitions according to two different sources I consider quite credible:
Helmholtz free energy and Gibbs free energy according to Hyperphysics
According to Hyperphysics, the Helmholtz free energy is qualitatively described as:
The internal energy U might be thought of as the energy required to create a system in the absence of changes in temperature or volume. But if the system is created in an environment of temperature T, then some of the energy can be obtained by spontaneous heat transfer from the environment to the system. The amount of this spontaneous energy transfer is TS where S is the final entropy of the system. In that case, you don't have to put in as much energy. Note that if a more disordered (higher entropy) final state is created, less work is required to create the system. The Helmholtz free energy is then a measure of the amount of energy you have to put in to create a system once the spontaneous energy transfer to the sytem from the environment is accounted<|fim_middle|>.$$Arguing that the last term is doubly-tiny and therefore insignificant gives $$d(ST)=S~dT+T~dS,$$
And thus $$d(U -TS)=-S~dT - p~dV + \sum_i \mu_i ~dn_i. $$so this "free energy" $U-TS$ is the right concept of energy to deal with the case when temperature is held constant: you see the work $p~dV$ on the right and the condition $dT=0$ puts all that work into $U-TS,$ even though the compression probably raised the temperature and then heat flowed out of the system into its environment so that $S$ has probably decreased and $U$ has therefore not increased as much as it otherwise would have.
I vaguely recall some difficulty when I was an undergrad in trying to justify the term $TS$ in an absolute sense; I am not sure that "zero total free energy," has a meaning in quite the way that "zero internal energy" sometimes does: but there is no difficulty at all in this way of justifying it differentially as trying to simplify $dU-T~dS$ in cases where $dT$ is more accessible.
Now that you know this trick, you can also apply it to cases where the volume is not constant, adding $PV,$ or the system can borrow particles from its environment, by subtracting $\mu_i~n_i$. There are a bunch of free energies, and they all involve some combination of these transformations. The important thing is the trick, which is called a Legendre transformation. The different free energies are Legendre transformations with respect to your internal energy variables of state, and they correspond to cases where the system can now share that variable with some environment which is so big that it maintains a constant partial derivative with respect to that variable. It is a useful way to think of the energy of the system without the knock-on effects induced in the internal energy by coupling to these environments, which is precisely the sense in which it is "free" for use.
| for.
And the Gibbs free energy as:
The internal energy U might be thought of as the energy required to create a system in the absence of changes in temperature or volume. But as discussed in defining enthalpy, an additional amount of work PV must be done if the system is created from a very small volume in order to "create room" for the system. As discussed in defining the Helmholtz free energy, an environment at constant temperature T will contribute an amount TS to the system, reducing the overall investment necessary for creating the system. This net energy contribution for a system created in environment temperature T from a negligible initial volume is the Gibbs free energy.
Helmholtz free energy and Gibbs free energy according to Wikipedia
However, according to Wikipedia, Helmholtz free energy
is a thermodynamic potential that measures the useful work obtainable from a closed thermodynamic system at a constant temperature and volume (isothermal, isochoric).
While, Gibbs free energy
is a thermodynamic potential that can be used to calculate the maximum of reversible work that may be performed by a thermodynamic system at a constant temperature and pressure (isothermal, isobaric).
I don't see how these two definitions connect with eachother, and my understanding of the two is now lacking. I definitely can see intuitively how Hyperphysics defines the two, but I don't understand the Wikipedia definition. I don't know what is meant by "useful" work other than the remaining energy that can be used after work must be done against ambient pressure to create 'space' for the system, and having a bit of energy in store due to ambient temperature providing some assistance raising it to a desired system temperature, but still, given the definition by Hyperphysics, it seems that the ideas behind enthalpy and Helmholtz free energy combined constitute Gibbs free energy yet according to Wikipedia's description Gibbs free energy and Helmholtz free energy seem like two sides of a coin rather than enthalpy and Helmholtz free energy being one.
Can someone provide an intuitive description of these potentials that can connect the two definitions I've provided? If there's a mathsy possible understanding that might be preferred, as I have more of a maths background. Also, I am unclear as to why these two potentials are so useful and prevalent. I know that a system is at equilibrium when $dG = 0$ which suggests it's an important parameter but I don't have a place for it in my head that's clear for its role in thermodynamics still. And I have less of a clue for Helmholtz free energy.
A: The fundamental thermodynamic relation is $$ dU = T~dS - p~dV + \sum_i \mu_i ~dn_i. $$ This expresses that the internal energy $U$ of a box is a state function of the entropy $S$ (the number of microscopic configurations that all look the same to us), the volume $V$, and the amounts of different substances $n_i$, sometimes other variables enter in. It literally states that if all of those things do not change $dV=0,dS=0,dn_i=0$, then the internal energy does not change, $dU=0.$ The letter $d$ means "the tiniest change in...".
This expression also defines some other things, including the absolute temperature $T$, the absolute pressure $p$, the absolute chemical potentials $\mu_i.$ It says for example to measure the pressure of the system, compress it a little bit reversibly, without any reversible heat exchange (that is what $T ~dS$ is, $\delta Q$), or changing the number of particles: and see how much energy needs to go into the system to do that; divide the tiny change in energy by the tiny change in volume to find the pressure.
While this equation is generally correct, it is not always relevant. It speaks about an isolated box that is not exchanging energy with its surroundings, so has a fixed internal energy. That box is not exchanging particles with its surroundings, or volume: it has very rigid walls.
The real world is not always so kind to us.
So if you keep the walls very strong, but they are good thermal conductors, then you are putting your system in contact with a big environment that has a fixed temperature. And then the internal energy is no longer the right way to think about energy, because the internal energy will change all the time due to energy flowing in or out of the system. It is the right way to think of the overall energy of the environment plus your system, but it's not the right way to think about your system. Instead, we want a measure of energy, that stays the same if the temperature stays the same. We want to trade $dS$ for $dT$. And there is a great way to do that, based on the idea that $$(S+dS)(T+dT)=ST+T~dS+S~dT+dS~dT | 1,029 |
He's fast. But is he as fast as Lightning McQueen? He sure will be. As long as he has this Toddler Lightning McQueen Classic Costume!
Yeah, he's totally ready for the intense action of the newest installment in the animated series, Cars 3. Lightning McQueen might have to overcome the next generation of race cars to win the Piston Cup, but the rollicking action of this movie is instantly<|fim_middle|>Disney officially licensed, this costume is ready to help him race as his favorite car from Cars 3 this Halloween. Just imagine how much fun the trick-or-treating will be with Lightning zooming around the neighborhood! Styled with the inspiration of the animated character, this jumpsuit has all the stylized details to let him get his rev on.
The jumpsuit is 100 percent polyester and is fully printed. Logo details, signature belt, and flames down the pant legs all make this style a unique selection. Padded shoulders and chest add costume effect, and the ensemble will be complete when he puts on the baseball cap with the iconic 95 patch attached. | memorable, and a fan favorite for kids and adults alike. And if that's how your kid feels about it, well, then it's time to bring the action to life!
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When farmer Aymé Pigrenet loses his wife, he is not exactly overwhelmed by sorrow, rather by the sheer amount of work that suddenly falls on his shoulders. In quest of a new spouse, he goes to Romania where he meets Elena.
A recluse is accused of murdering a young woman simply because his neighbors think he is strange.
Jean<|fim_middle|> out. But the process is so protracted we don't get a clearcut resolution. Most of the relationship scenes are little images of hurt and apology, reaching out and drawing back. First-timer Mergault hasn't achieved a sure rhythm, her drama veers too much toward tele-drama, and her film's too timid about its payoffs. | -Pierre, a frazzled sport agent, has better things to do than to look after his friend's labrador Didier. An amazing discovery will lead him off on an amazing adventure.
Isabelle Mergault's You Are So Handsome/Je vous trouve très beau is a conventional mainstream French film with a slightly new theme: what happens when an Eastern European mail-order bride is brought in on the QT to help out with chores on a French provincial farm. Shortly after the film begins, French farmer Aymé (super-popular actor Michel Blanc) loses his wife in an off-screen accident. Little love was lost between the gruff pair, and once his wife's gone, Aymé's main concern is who, now, is going to do the laundry, cook, and tend to the chickens and cows on his farm. He can't do all that himself. So he's barely out of his funeral suit when we see him accompanying a professional matchmaking lady on a plane to Bucharest to interview prospective brides. It's obvious there are lots of girls over there desperate to get out, some with the rudiments of French. One of the interviewees, Elena (Medeea Marinescu), has the sense to dress down and say she likes animals. "You Look so handsome" is what they all tell the farm widower – even Elena. When they say it, Michel Blanc's rubber-faced deadpan goes all pouty.
He winds up picking Elena – sort of. He doesn't marry her. He arranges for her to arrive back home after him, pretends she's a distant relative come for an internship on the farm, and doesn't even admit to his family that he's been to Rumania. He produces faked photos and canned sauerkraut to convince them he was in Germany for a farm equipment trade fair. He also forces Elena to pretend to everybody else that she speaks no French.
Nonetheless Elena is soon living with Aymé – though "on approval" – and helping with chores. She wants to be affectionate, but he's as brusque as ever and will have none of it. The pout stays put, despite the charms of Elena, who could pass as a young Meryl Streep and captivates all the local boys at public functions. Aymé is not above getting jealous when that happens. He's possessive, but not giving.
Je vous trouve très beau isn't challenging or subtle, but it does up the rich nation/poor nation dilemma. It's also a change from the general run of French films focused on sophisticated bourgeois Parisians (or their outcast banlieu neighbors). Veteran actress and experienced screenwriter Isabelle Mergault's first directorial effort is an entertainment, not a specific regional portrait or a searching piece of social realism designed to arouse our geopolitical awareness. It's a sentimental tale that milks its laughs and tears in an easy, simplistic way – even if it's also marked by an emotional trajectory that leaves one feeling rather muddled.
The rest of the cast is replete with (generally believable) stereotypes: the noisy relatives (who're quite appealing, but hardly seen in depth); the young country boys who gather around the pert, mini-skirted Elena; a big mute boy, her best friend in the daytime, who moons around her and helps with the chores; an old crone who has one repeated joke refrain, "Who's dead?" The cliché we've got to believe in is that Aymé's gruffness eventually melts – but a little late. By the time he's realized that he cares for Elena as a person and not just a housekeeper, and gives his one big speech about her coming on to him made him feel old and undesirable and turn on the one thing he most wanted, Elena's just about unhappy enough to walk back to Bucharest, and he provides a way.
This is the old story of the hard-hearted loner (Aymé and his dead wife have obviously lived as if they were alone for years) whose façade eventually cracks and lets the human being timidly peek | 842 |
New waste collection system in Venice
March 28, 2018<|fim_middle|>000 in 2017; €22,280,000 projected in 2018. | Venice
The City of Venice area is characterised by two distinct territories: the mainland with the populous urban area of Mestre and its suburbs, and the lagoon with Venice, its historic centre and several islands.
Waste collection has always been very difficult in the lagoon area, because of the unusual way in which the city was built with its canals and narrow pedestrian alleys. The problem has also become nearly untenable due to the presence of 30 million tourists a year, several colonies of seagulls which worsen the spread of garbage, and rat proliferation.
At the end of 2016, the City of Venice's in-house company, Veritas, began a new way of collecting waste: both door to door (from 8:30am to noon) and by allowing people to deliver the waste themselves to boats fitted with trash compactors available from 6.00-8.30am. Self-delivery is a good solution for students and workers who leave early in the morning. This new system has now been implemented in about 99% of the historical centre.
Tourists or citizens who stay at home longer can wait for the garbage man to ring their bell. Prior to 2016, garbage was simply deposited outside on the street near front doors, causing unpleasant smells, litter and low quality separation of waste collection.
What is the innovation/policy/project/technology? How does it work?
The boats are fitted with special compactors for plastic, glass, cans, paper and general waste. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays they collect paper; on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays they collect glass, plastic and cans. General waste is collected every day. An important aspect of this new system is that boats are supervised by employees of Veritas and therefore separated collection for recycling is improving.
Collection and sorting of bulky waste is free for citizens by scheduling an appointment. Eight used oil collection bins are also available in the city.
Veritas operatives also a manual sweeping service which takes place early each morning throughout the city.
What are the CO2 reduction goals/achievements?
Separated collection is now increasing so that a smaller amount of garbage is now sent to the waste incineration plant. CO2 emissions should therefore decrease. Unfortunately, we do not yet have updated data available on this decrease.
Links to further information.
Key Impact
People have now begun to understand that efficient separation in waste collection for recycling is beneficial to health, fights air pollution, reduces CO2 emissions and helps in the fight against climate change.
Project Start Date
Cost statement for garbage collection in the historic centre of Venice: €22,010,000 in 2016; €22,300, | 563 |
Each year GM spends billions in advertising and incentives in the name of marketing. Yet there exist far less<|fim_middle|> it roughly equal an assembly plant?"
"Failure to provide an adequate proving ground for ability is also inherent in the nature of modern Big Business...Thus the corporation has to find ways of giving its workers, especially its young workers, a chance to show what they can do and a personal contact with somebody interested in what they can do."
"You cannot obtain the products of a mind except on the owner's terms, by trade and by volitional consent...A man whose vision extends to a shanty might continue to build on your quicksands, to grab a fast profit and run. The man who envisions skyscrapers, will not."
H. Ross Perot? When he came to General Motors, he made the statement that "revitalizing GM was like trying to teach an elephant to dance. You find the sensitive spots and start poking." | expensive, and far more productive methods of acquiring and retaining customers. This plan calls for no capital investment and offers the opportunity for large reductions in marketing expense.
Implement both innovative and proven marketing techniques.
Remake our corporate image as a leader by acting rather than re-acting.
Change focus of advertising from distress to aspirational.
Loss of market share experiences over the past two decades is due to the dimished image of GM in the marketplace. The five key areas contain specific steps for the new image.
To view the PowerPoint Presentation "Strategy and Structure of 'The Plan'" download a zip file.
As DeLorean said, "You don't teach a guy to play football by making him the coach."
The tremendous increase in Long-Term debt which needs to be serviced and eliminated. Notes and Loans payable are up $70,000,000,000. There is less post retirement liability but receivables and other liablities are higher. This from a company once free of Wall Street financing.
Competition has grown stronger while we have downsized.
What major change in economy, market, or knowledge would enable us to conduct business the way we really would like to do it, the way we would really obtain the best economic results?
What is lacking as a rule, is the willingness to look beyond products to ideas.
If a company is to obtain the needed contributions, it must reward those who make them.
"This business is not about the cars, it is about people. The cars are merely the catalyst that bring people together"
"Nothing happens until somebody sells something. Sales drive production, production drives profit. How much is one point of market share worth to the bottom line? Does | 346 |
Food and drinks in general, can really leave their mark on our teeth, especially sugary drinks and foods. If you would like to wipe away the stains of one too many cream teas, then perhaps we could all indulge on a little tooth whitening for her majesty's birthday. That way, should we ever take tea with the Queen, we can at least talk and smile confidently, leaving us free to panic about etiquette alone.
The Zoom2! Chairside Whitening system is a very popular, very safe and very effective tooth whitening procedure. During treatment, a special gel is applied to your teeth; this is then activated by a special light. The procedure is quick and, following treatment, teeth tend to become at least 6 to 10 shades lighter than they previously were. The procedure will also be carried out in our dedicated teeth whitening room where you are free to listen to the music of your choice! Treatment is rounded off with a<|fim_middle|>4 days, your smile should gradually whiten to a dazzling shine!
We offer two great whitening methods, so why not combine them? Use our in house whitening to produce wondrous, instantaneous results, and then use our home whitening system to round off your teeth with an almost angelic gleam.
Interested in the above? Just call us at Sparkle Dental Boutique near Hounslow to book a consultation. | five minute fluoride treatment, following which you will be quite amazed.
Comfortable as your teeth whitening room is, perhaps you would prefer the comfort of your own home? Thankfully, this too is an option with our custom fit tray system. Special trays are produced which fit your teeth. These are then worn, with a special gel, for one hour a day. Over the course of 10 to 1 | 83 |
A cursor is a shape on a computer screen that shows where actions made with the keyboard or mouse will make a change.
There are 2 types of cursor that most people will use.
The Mouse cursor: The pointer on the screen which the person using the computer can move<|fim_middle|> are typing things on the screen. They can type letters, numbers and symbols where the cursor is.
The computer automatically moves the cursor one space to the right when a letter, number or symbol is typed. The cursor can be moved to the start of the next line by pressing the Enter Key.
Most Keyboards also have 4 cursor keys to move the text cursor up, down, left or right.
This page was last changed on 22 March 2015, at 16:58. | using the computer mouse. This cursor allows the person to select or "click" items with the mouse. On most computers mouse cursors are the shape of an arrow.
A blinking text cursor, stopped in the middle of typing the word Wikipedia.
The Text Cursor: Usually seen as a vertical line or rectangle that flashes on and off. The Cursor tells the person using the computer where they | 77 |
As the largest green market in Europe, GROEN-Direkt brings together the supply of and demand for garden plants and houseplants. Thirty times a year the most visually attractive products are presented at our fairs in an extremely efficient way.
And once a week our webshop is completely updated with thousands of new batches, each accompanied by up-to-date sample photos!
GROEN-Direkt stands for quality, visuality, customer satisfaction and reliability! The unique supply & demand system at our fairs and online accurately represents<|fim_middle|> comprehensive range of products, GROEN-Direkt contributes towards your success.
GROEN-Direkt accepts its corporate social responsibility and aims to ensure satisfied customers, safe working conditions and a sound environmental policy in a way that will create a good balance between the idealistic ambition of ensuring corporate social responsibility and today's commercial reality.
Corporate social responsibility characterises our personnel policy and our working atmosphere.
Participation in the MPS environmental quality mark. | the entire market while closely following the latest developments.
With useful advice, efficient logistic flows, smart ordering systems and a | 23 |
The 1996–97 season was Birmingham City Football Club's 94th in the Football League. They finished in tenth position in the 24-team Division One, the second tier of the English football league system. They entered the 1996–97 FA Cup at the third round, losing to Wrexham in the fifth, and entered the League Cup in the first round and lost to Coventry City in the second.
Season summary
This was the first season under the managership of playing legend Trevor Francis, appointed in May 1996 after the dismissal of previous incumbent Barry Fry. Francis introduced players with top-level experience such as Manchester United captain Steve Bruce. There were a significant number of transfers and loans with Peterborough United, Fry's new team.
Football League First Division
Match details
League table (part)
Note that goals scored took precedence over goal difference as a tiebreaker in the Football League.
Results summary
FA Cup
a. The match was drawn to be played at Stevenage Borough's Broadhall Way ground, but the venue was switched on police advice.
League Cup
Transfers
In
a. The deal also included Andy Edwards moving in the other direction.
b. The move was part of the deal in which Jonathan Hunt moved in the other direction for a £500,000 fee.
Out
Brackets round a club denote the player joined that club after his Birmingham City contract expired.
a. The move was part of the deal in which Martyn O'Connor moved in the other direction for a £500,000 fee.
b. The deal also included Darren Wassall moving in the other direction.
Loan in
Loan out
Appearances and goals
Numbers in parentheses denote appearances as substitute.
Players with name struck through and marked left the club during the playing season.
Players with names in italics and marked * were on loan from another club for the whole of their season with Birmingham.
See also
List of Birmingham City F.C. seasons
Sources
For match dates, league positions and results:
For lineups, appearances, goalscorers and attendances: Matthews (2010<|fim_middle|>
Birmingham City F.C. seasons
Birmingham City | ), Complete Record, pp. 428–29.
For goal times:
For transfers:
For discipline: individual player pages linked from Note that the Soccerbase figures omit appearances in the away game at Norwich City, so the figures above omit any disciplinary cards received in that game.
References | 62 |
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Glik's Coupons, Promo Codes & Deals
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How to Use Glik's Coupons Code?
Though Glik's offers the Glik's Coupons and promo codes you need to know how to use them successfully. Follow these instructions carefully to save your money while using the Glik's Coupons.
Go to the Glik's website to shop online.
Select the items you want to buy
When you are done, Move to "My Shopping Bag" on the top left of the page.
Select the option "Go to Bag" to check out.
Select the option in blue "Checkout" to end your shopping.
If you have an account you can use it to 'Checkout" but 'Guest Checkout' options are also available.
Fill in your billing information to move forward and fill the box with the Glik's Coupons and promo codes.
Review and calculate your final amount to get the discount before placing the order and get the product successfully.
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Glik's offers the latest outlets for men and women. It introduces them to new fashion trends. But also helps the customers to save their money while taking the new trends of fashion. It offers the tons of Glik's Coupons, promo codes, sales, and discount offers. Here are the best ways offered by the Glik's for Glik's customers to save their money.
You can save your money while getting access to the Glik's sales. Glik's offers up to 60% off on the end of the season sales. Therefore shop from these sales to save your money on Glik's products. You can get the access to discount and sales through the Black Friday and Cyber Monday. On these occasional discount offers, you can save your money easily. Customers can use Glik's Coupons to save up to, 30%-40% of their Shopping amount.
If you are a new buyer of the Gilk's products you can get the discount offer for this. This is not the only way but even the old customers can get the discount through the Glik's Coupons and promo codes. It will not only help you to save money but to enjoy the latest fashion trends as well. Gilk's also offer the North Face water bottles to those customers who shop above the $100 the North Face products. Customers can also save their shipping charges here if their order will be above $50. This is how Gilk's help its customers to save their money without making any compromise on the quality of the product.
Gilk's Review
Gilk's introduces the world with new fashion trends. It not only gives the fashion trends but makes it affordable for its customers as well. Comfortable clothes, trendy shoes for the men, women, and children are available at the Gilk's. Gilk's offers the discount, deals and Glik's Coupons to the customers to save some money on their shopping. It also offers seasonal and occasional sales as well. A wide variety of men and women accessories is available here. Fox Racing, Under Armour<|fim_middle|> code has restrictions in usage and date, you need to pick up the best and save more in a defined period. EEcoupons provides the latest information of coupon codes, promo codes, promotions and good deals in real time. All verified deals and coupon codes are very helpful to save, don't miss it.
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© EE Coupons, 2021 All Rights Reserved | , Silver Jeans, Roxy, and Miss Me brands are available here for women. For men O'Neill, Sperry Top Spider, QuickSilver, and The North Face are available here.
There are up to 60% off seasonal end sales are also available.
Glik's offers the discount sales on Black Friday and Cyber Monday as well.
It helps the customers to save money through Glik's Coupons and promo codes.
For women up to date looks, dresses, T-Shirts, Shorts, Athletic wear and denim is present here.
Men can buy Shirts, Graphic T-shirts, Collared shirts and Shorts for themselves here.
Subscribe to the Newsletter of the Glik's to get Glik's Coupons and discount offers.
Holiday gifts can also get on the affordable prices from the Glik's. This is how Glik's not only introducing the up to date fashion trends but also helping customers to save some of their money.
Glik's is an American clothing retailer chain. Joseph Glik is the founder of the company. He has founded the company in 1897. The company serves the Midwestern United States. It operates the more than 60 locations in this area. Footwear and clothing are the products of the company. Headquarter of the company is in Granite City and Illinois. On his first store, Joseph has started to sell the dry goods. Later he has sold the first store to his son after five years and opened a new one in Madison, Illinois. The company has got the name of Glik's from Boston store in 1925. Joe Glik, Morris's son has taken the control of the company and expanded it in small towns. The most of the company branches are in the small towns which are having less population than the 7000 people.
The company has started the concept stores in 1985. There were Glik's for Guys, consist of men clothing, Glik's Ltd for young adults clothing, and the discount chain. Discount chain was converted from $10-$20 for less and then was eliminated in 1999 with the Glik's Sports store. Though the discount chain has ended a long time ago the company still offers the Glik's Coupons and discounts for customers. Glik's offers the latest fashion outlets for its customers with the changing fashion trends. Glik's is also operating the online retailer stores for customers ease as well. Therefore Glik's is making progress in its clothing retailer industry.
Glik's Free Shipping Policy
Glik's doesn't only offers the Glik's Coupons and promo codes but the free shipping as well. Customers can get their products at their place without any extra charges. Glik's offers the free shipping to its customers in the United States on their shopping of $50 or above. But the shopping must be without Glik's Coupons, promo codes and any other discount.
Glik's Return Policy
Glik's offers the return policy to the buyers as well. You can return your products within 45 days. But you need to send it in original packaging with the product original tags. You also need to send your original product slip with the order as well.
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Coupon codes, known as promo codes or discount codes, help users to save money in many ways. Some of them work for online shopping by providing discount, free shipping and others may help you to save in store or deduce money in total order. Retailers present coupon codes to encourage you to buy more on websites and stores. But almost every coupon | 1,020 |
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Fellowship recognises senior status within the industry and a commitment to the goals and vision of The London Institute of Banking & Finance.
Fellows have total access to all benefits and services and are also able to participate in exclusive events. Fellows are required to meet the criteria for Associate status, plus have 20 years of relevant banking and finance experience of which at least five must be at a senior level.
As part of the application process you are required to provide evidence of your contribution to the goals of The London Institute of Banking & Finance. £175.00
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If you believe that you hold a relevant qualification awarded by another provider, and are interested in joining, please email membership@libf.ac.uk for | 409 |
Posted inCommunity, News
Dump Trucks on Copley Estate Stir Concern
by Adrian Florido October 3, 2010 March 15, 2022
When dump trucks started rattling in and out of a lush 25-acre expanse of open space on a La Jolla hillside a few weeks ago, neighbors started sounding alarms.
They thought the land owned by former San Diego Union-Tribune publisher David Copley's company, The Copley Press Inc., was being primed for development. The trucks were dumping dirt on a property line separating the Copley Press-owned open space from Copley's adjacent estate, Foxhill.
The vacant property is up for sale (asking price: $22 million), and its uncertain future has left neighbors wondering whether the dissolution of so many other Copley mainstays — his publishing company, his La Jolla library and offices — might also claim one of La Jolla's last natural places, and of course, those scenic ocean views it affords their nearby houses.
But the open space isn't being developed. At least not yet.
The mounds of dirt, according to the city's Development Services Department<|fim_middle|>22 million. (The private equity firm didn't buy the property as many residents thought.)
The land is zoned for residential development, and in a listing was advertised as being capable of supporting a subdivision with low-density development.
But whether that will happen isn't known. Neither Copley nor the property's listing agent could be reached. Any development, though, would have a lengthy permitting process, said PJ FitzGerald, a project manager in the city's Development Services Department, because the land sits in the coastal zone. That means the California Coastal Commission would have to grant a permit.
Full disclosure: Piazza is a former voiceofsandiego.org board member.
Please contact Adrian Florido directly at adrian.florido@voiceofsandiego.org or at 619.325.0528 and follow him on Twitter: twitter.com/adrianflorido.
Tagged: Copley Press, David Copley, land development, Union-tribune
Adrian Florido is a former staff writer for Voice of San Diego. More by Adrian Florido | , are from a basement excavation of Copley's Foxhill mansion and aren't the first signs of development on the 25 undeveloped acres.
Copley has filed applications with the city of San Diego that would allow him to build a garage and an eight-foot wall around the smaller Foxhill property once owned by his late mother, Helen. He also wants to shift the property lines, to increase Foxhill by three acres, shrinking the open space the same amount. He also has plans for an exercise studio.
Ethna Piazza and other residents said realtors who sold them their homes told them the land would always be green space. Helen Copley, the former publishing magnate who bequeathed the land to her son when she died, had said so. Or so they thought.
"We're concerned about the loss of green space," said Piazza, whose back deck looks out over the open space. "It's one of the few natural spots left in La Jolla. We're concerned about the loss of views."
Around the time of Helen Copley's 2004 death, a fence went up around the undeveloped land where local residents once hiked. Trees were taken out, and last year, just months after The Copley Press sold the Union-Tribune to a Beverly Hills-based private equity firm, Copley put the massive property on the market for $ | 288 |
Telenor revenue up in 1Q16 on positive currency effects, Myanmar and Bangladesh contributions
Norway's Telenor Group recorded revenues totalling NOK33.013 billion (USD3.82 billion) in the first three months of 2016, up from a restated figure of NOK31.446 billion in the corresponding period a year earlier. With revenues increasing by around NOK1.6 billion, the group noted that NOK1.0 billion of that was due to positive currency effects, while it also pointed to 'significant positive contribution' from its subsidiaries in Myanmar and Bangladesh. Such positives meanwhile helped to offset 'tough market conditions' in Thailand, Denmark and Malaysia, as well as declining fixed revenues and the loss of a wholesale contract in its domestic market last year.
EBITDA before other items increased by 8.2% year-on-year, or NOK900 million, to NOK11.685 billion, with Telenor Group saying that underlying EBITDA improvement had mainly been driven by Myanmar and Bangladesh. Telenor Group's EBITDA margin meanwhile improved by one percentage point, standing at 35% in 1Q16. Adjusted for one-time effects, operating profit totalled NOK6 .4 billion, while profit after taxes and non-controlling interests was NOK3.6 billion in the first quarter of 2016. Based on the company's first quarter results, Telenor Group has reiterated its financial guidance for 2016, saying it expects an organic revenue growth<|fim_middle|> Chief Executive Officer Sigve Brekke said: 'During the first quarter of 2016, Telenor Group delivered 5% EBITDA and 2% revenue growth on an organic basis, and achieved a healthy operating cash flow of more than NOK6 billion. We connected more than five million new customers as we continue to improve our network and service quality across our footprint. With intense competition in several markets, driving profitable growth and keeping a close eye on costs continues to be a priority for me and my management across our European and Asian markets.'
Norway, Telenor Group, Corporate/Financial | in the range of 2% to 4% and an EBITDA margin of 33% to 34%, while the CAPEX to sales ratio is expected to be between 17% to 19%.
In operational terms, at the end of March 2016 Telenor Group's mobile subscriber base totalled 207.976 million, representing an increase of 5.4 million from the end of 2015. Notable customer growth was reported in Pakistan (up 2.2 million subscribers quarter-on-quarter), Myanmar (up 1.8 million q-o-q) and India (1.5 million). Such gains helped offset small declines in a number of the group's other operational areas, including Norway (down 34,000), Hungary (down 13,000) and Bulgaria (down 59,000).
Commenting on the company's performance, Telenor Group | 207 |
M42 engine diagram Its not clear what happened just yet but there is pretty dramatic footage of the engine failure in the slow motion video below you can see some sort of flash and puff of flame at the 30 second mark In addition two dozen airstrips have opened or have been reopened thanks to the raf including russian flat airport m42 in montana georeferenced approach charts airport diagrams and a handy I have got to get me one of these a nasa contractor has built a test engine that runs on methane. That image is from a movie of the test firing and yes you want to see it. Make sure the sound is.
It's possible to get or download caterpillar-wiring diagram from several websites. If you take a close look at the diagram you will observe the circuit includes the battery, relay, temperature sensor, wire, and a control, normally the engine control module. With an extensive collection of electronic symbols and components, it's been used among the most completed, easy and useful wiring diagram drawing program. M42 Engine Diagram. The wiring diagram on the opposite hand is particularly beneficial to an outside electrician. Sometimes wiring diagram may also refer to the architectural wiring program. The simplest approach to read a home wiring diagram is to begin at the source, or the major power supply. Basically, the home wiring diagram is simply utilized to reveal the DIYer where the wires are.
In a parallel circuit, each unit is directly linked to the power supply, so each system gets the exact voltage. There are 3 basic sorts of standard light switches. The circuit needs to be checked with a volt tester whatsoever points. M42 Engine Diagram. Each circuit displays a distinctive voltage condition. You are able to easily step up the voltage to the necessary level utilizing an inexpensive buck-boost transformer and steer clear of such issues. The voltage is the<|fim_middle|> bmw e30 engine diagram bmw engine schematic. | sum of electrical power produced by the battery. Be sure that the new fuse isn't blown, and carries the very same amperage.
The control box may have over three terminals. After you have the correct size box and have fed the cable to it, you're almost prepared to permit the wiring begin. Then there's also a fuse box that's for the body controls that is situated under the dash. M42 Engine Diagram. You will find that every circuit has to have a load and every load has to have a power side and a ground side. Make certain that the transformer nameplate power is enough to supply the load that you're connecting.
M42 engine on a tank 91 318 bmw m42 engine m42 engine build m42 engine labels m42 bmw itb bmw m42 timing marks | 176 |
The data is organized into the<|fim_middle|> ion mode in which neutral counts are drowned by incident ions. These ion images offer very good pitch angle distributions of in-situ particle distributions.
ACC INCA rate channel data consists of diagnostic counters for assessing instrument performance and health.
PHA INCA PHA data is similar in concept to the CHEMS PHA data, providing event characteristics for a subset of incident particles, either ions or neutrals. | following mission phases.
ACC Tables of counts for various particle channels.
PHA The LEMMS PHA data is a set of 64 closely spaced energy channels covering 12 to 833 keV for protons, 39 to 2295 keV for F detector electrons and 6.7 to 451 keV for E channel electrons.
SCI The Science Accumulator Rates contain counts for all of the science channels.
ACC The Accumulation Rates contain diagnostic counts i.e., all valid triggers, or all time of flight (TOF) stop events.
PHA CHEMS PHA data is more typical than LEMMS PHA in that it provides a list of individually detected particles, with specific detection parameters for each event, including TOF, energy deposited in the SSD, and telescope number.
IMG INCA images are relatively low resolution (up to 64 by 64 pixels), large field of view (90° by 120°) pictures of neutrals, similar to any remote sensing imager. Note however, that INCA has an | 225 |
What I am talking about is management complacency towards staff motivation and retention. As money got tight, employees were asked to do more, with less, and in many cases they are not given the support they need to be successful. I had a conversation recently with a man who attended one of my workshops and paid for it himself. During a break he informed me that his boss had cut out all training dollars from the budget and he was concerned that the "fast track" to management he had been on might be slowing to a crawl. We talked for about 5 minutes and his final comment really caused me to stop and think. He said that while he might be stuck where he is right now, once he gains new skills,he will be finding a new job.
While I don't have any idea what his job performance has been, I would guess that anyone willing to pay for his own training is probably a top performer. Training does not have to be outrageously expensive and time consuming. There are numerous products you can buy and administer yourself for a reasonable price. If you are completely strapped for cash, then at least<|fim_middle|> brainstorm solutions and then implement them with the rest of your staff. Don't forget that your people are your greatest asset and the survival of your business relies heavily on your ability to keep them motivated and engaged. Now is not the time to cut them short on support. | set some time aside with your employees and help them work through their challenges in a thoughtful, methodical manner. Pull teams together to | 26 |
Story of Naval Ravikant, CEO and Co-founder of AngelList
Entrepreneurship March 26, 2012 Mousumi Saha Kumar
Success Story of Naval Ravikant, CEO and Co-founder of AngelList
en.gravatar.com/naval
Naval is the founder of Vast, Epinions, AngelList, Startupboy and author of Venture Hacks. However, he is also known as a leading investor who funded some of the brilliant companies including Twitter, Stack Overflow, Mixer Labs (acquired by Twitter), Jambool, SnapLogic, PlanCast, FourSquare, DocVerse (taken oversold by Google), Heyzap and Disqus. He has also been the co-founder at Genoa Corp, which was taken over by Finisar, Epinions.com, and white-label classifieds platform Vast.com; Naval has been the advisor of Bix.com, FourSquare, iPivot, and XFire.
After accomplishing degrees in computer science and economics from Dartmouth, in 1996, Naval Ravikant arrived in Silicon Valley. He was primarily responsible for designing Intrinsic Graphics that later became Google Earth. Later, Naval ventured into launching Epinions.com in 2003 that was emerged through Shopping.com<|fim_middle|> Keep on Trying, until you Succeed and your Work is Recognized | and after two years in 2005, a marketplace for classified advertisement Vast.com. But, he had to go through concise failure in this endeavor and in 2009 he established an angel investor fund AngelList to offer capital very shining companies FourSquare, Twitter, and SnapLogic. He successfully connected founders and businessman and acknowledged 3,300 participating investors and assisted 25,000 start-ups to uplift and grow in the marketplace.
He has worked for his passion that connected start-ups and investors and helped them in letting their strength and skills overflow and reaching the pinnacle of success.
Info Source: Forbes.com
Vedanta Founder Anil Agarwal: A Brave Entrepreneurial Journey that Started at the Age 19
Clara Shih: the Co-founder of Hearsay Social, an Award-Winning Company that Provides Social Media Solutions
Shachin Bharadwaj: Founder of TastyKhana, India's Leading Online Food Portal
Earl Tupper: | 208 |
John B. Connally is the co-head of V&E's Energy Transactions and Projects group. Considered one of the country's preeminent oil and gas transactional lawyers, John B. represents a wide range of clients, including public companies, private enterprises and private equity firms, in domestic and international upstream and midstream mergers and acquisitions, joint ventures, and development transactions.
Over the course of more than two decades John B. has developed strong relationships with his clients that regularly lead to repeat engagements.
John B.'s oil and gas transactional practice has been recognized by Chambers USA from 2009 through 2018. A source quoted by Chambers said "he truly understands the details and nuances of<|fim_middle|> the University of Texas.
Wishbone Energy Partners, LLC in the $300 million sale of its North Central Basin Platform assets located primarily in Southwest Yoakum County, Texas and East Lea Country, New Mexico, to Ring Energy, Inc. | the oil and gas space." Another said John B. "is thorough, works extremely hard, is pleasant to deal with and effectively represents his clients" (2019).
John B. is a member of the Association of International Petroleum Negotiators (AIPN). He serves on the Advisory Council of the Kay Bailey Hutchison Center for Energy, Law & Business and on the Advance Team at the MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. He is also on the Board of Directors of the Ex-Students' Association of | 104 |
Welcome to Helen Drage and Sandra Tozer's practice in the market town of Sudbury. This independent town centre practice was founded in 1995 and rapidly gained a reputation for high quality eyecare with a thorough and friendly service.
An eye examination serves the dual purpose of defining the prescription needed to correct your vision and checking the health of your eyes. While both stages require a lot of care and attention, our optometrists take great care with health checks and will always spend time to make sure they have a really good picture of your eyes' condition. Your eye examination will normally last around 30 minutes. We will explain our findings to you and advise you of the next course of action….
At Drage and Tozer we can fit contact lenses for virtually every need, but a good service involves a lot more than simply offering a large choice….
As an independent Drage and Tozer opticians are not restricted to one frame<|fim_middle|> an appointment and as a 'Thank you' you will receive your reward voucher!
Telephone Drage and Tozer on 01787 310090.
Free hearing tests now available at Drage and Tozer Opticians in association with bloom hearing specialists.
Next week, 15-21st May, is Deaf Awareness Week and we at Drage and Tozer Opticians will celebrate this by officially launching our association with Hearing Aid Audiologist Jason Searle of bloom hearing specialists. You are invited into the practice to meet Jason on the morning of Friday 19th May where he'll answer your questions and provide information and support surrounding hearing loss.
To arrange your free hearing consultation appointment at Drage and Tozer Opticians please call bloom hearing specialists on 01284 754 100. | supplier and our stock is continually changing to match your demand….
We have a whole host of all the necessary products to care for your eyes and assist the use of yours spectacles and/or your contact lenses….
We are extremely proud of the pioneering company we have built. The company's vision is to ensure that customers trust in the practice's professional commitment, quality of service provided and understanding of each patient's individual needs.
Maui Jim sunglasses are created to make your blues, bluer and your greens, truer.
For more technical information pop along to the Maui Jim site, a link can be found on our links page. It's a stunning site with details on their technology, their full range of products and great pictures of the island of Hawaii, or call in, try a pair on and experience the difference for yourself here and now.
Twelve staff from Sudbury's Drage and Tozer opticians enjoyed a "Bake Off "style cooking day at Stoke by Nayland Hotel, Golf & Spa recently. This was the second year that employees of the firm chose to spend an enjoyable day of teambuilding at the family-owned Suffolk resort and they were treated to a master class with the hotel's multi award-winning chef Alan Paton, whose talents have contributed to the achievement of two AA Rosettes for the hotel's impressive Lakes Restaurant.
The day started with the team enjoying coffee and cookies whilst carefully watching Alan demonstrate how to make pizza dough before attempting it themselves. They then attacked the array of fresh ingredients to invent their own individual styles and toppings.
The winner of the day was the company bookkeeper Karen Baker who had invented a pizza with condensed milk topping which no one thought would work but it actually caramelised the onions!
We are so proud at Drage and Tozer and wish to congratulate Rupal on being voted lecturer of the year. Rupal Lovell-Patel scooped the prestigious award which recognises a lecturer who is committed to offering "dynamic and informative teaching that inspires clinical excellence amongst their students", at a ceremony in Birmingham.
Rupal, Course Leader for Optometry and Ophthalmic Dispensing at Anglia Ruskin, Cambridge said "It is a great privilege and honour to win this award. This is definitely the highest accolade I can receive in my teaching career".
Dr Ebi Osuobeni, Acting Head of Department of Vision and Hearing Sciences, said "This award is well deserved and a strong endorsement of Rupal's passion for lecturing and engaging with our students".
For more information about the AOP Awards, including details of all the winners, visit the Optometry Today website www.optometry.co.uk/awards.
The new premises in Siam Place, situated in North Street Car Park, includes a dedicated Contact Lens Centre, sight-testing rooms, a greater range of spectacles and sunglasses, and a comfortable waiting area with coffee machine.
Drage and Tozer are investing in the latest equipment to provide the highest standard of examination and dispensing to all members of the family. Retinal cameras will photograph the back of the eye and allow detailed comparisons. A new high definition video slit lamp will enable patients to view a video of the front of their eyes and see how well their contact lenses are working for them.
Since Clive Notley's retirement in December 2014, Dawn Jordan has stepped into his shoes and become an essential part of the Drage and Tozer team.
Dawn first qualified as a Dispensing Optician 21 years ago and 2 years later completed her contact lens exams under the supervision of Clive Notley.
Dawn has helped in the launch of Drage and Tozer's contact lens centre and is very excited about the new equipment, especially the slit lamp microscope. This has a camera which enables the patient to see how well their contact lenses are fitting, through a series of pictures and video recordings.
If you would like to know more about contact lenses and the service we offer please contact us on 01787 310090.
We are pleased to announce …NO MORE AIR PUFFS!
At Drage and Tozer Opticians we have upgraded our equipment used for glaucoma/ eye pressure screening to include an 'I CARE tonometer'.
This test uses a hand held device and a very small rebound probe which is so gentle it is used on children too!
The importance of correctly fitting glasses for children!!
At Drage and Tozer Opticians we pride ourselves on our qualified dispensing opticians providing expert advice about why children need glasses as well as explaining the importance of frame fit. We dispense glasses to children as young as 18 months and understand the importance of glasses that fit well, function properly as well as being fashionable at school!
Fit is crucial. Glasses that fit well stay put, encouraging your child to look through the correct part of the lens.
Dispensing children takes patience and skill, hence the need for accurate measurements and frame fitting by a qualified dispensing optician. We encourage our younger patients to call in to the practice frequently to ensure that the frame remains in the correct position. If children look over their glasses then they are ineffectual in improving vision!
Dispensing glasses to children can be challenging but with the appropriate attention to detail the results will improve wearing compliance and ultimately deliver the best visual outcome for the patient.
You may have just been told that your child needs glasses for the first time, or you may have one of more children wearing glasses but never had a clear understanding about the importance of frames that fit. Please call into our new premises to have a chat with us about the range of glasses we offer for children.
We know that the very best form of advertising is when our patients recommend us to their friends.
So get your friend to book and come in for | 1,174 |
It's been almost four years since my husband died. I'm mostly during great. I still get sad sometimes. Other times I'm disappointed or angry that this is my real life. But, on the whole, life is good. We've found new routines and ways of doing things. We feel settled. I skirt the edge of grieving, single-mom burn out less often than I have in the last three years. The kids are remarkably well adjusted. We laugh a lot.
Some days the grief is heavier than others, but on a day-to-day basis, grief feels more like an extra shadow following me than the ginormous rain cloud that has hovered over me in the past. It helps to get enough sleep, keep up with my anxiety/depression meds, take supplements and eat well to keep my hormones balanced, find things to do that are purely fun, etc. I don't think about the grief every day, but every now and then, I'm reminded how profoundly loss has changed my life.
Last week, I was minding my own business, getting words written, doing laundry, feeding children (as you do), and suddenly my mood crashed faster than a hungry toddler.
Usually, when my mood shifts in any extreme direction, it's just part of my cycle (ladies, I know you understand me). PMS is usually accompanied by a mild depression that only lasts and few days and runs like clockwork. I assumed my sudden melancholy was my body just giving me a head's up, but I realized the timing was all wrong. I checked the calendar and confirmed that it was a couple weeks too early to be hormonal.
My mood has changed on the day Keith started feeling sick four years ago. It took my brain three days to catch up.
And I was reminded that my body often remembers trauma better than my mind.
My body remembers the extreme stress that began mid-October 2014 and every mid-October since, it reacts in the same ways it did the first time, even if there is no current trauma.
This is exactly what makes grief so hard: time certainly takes the edge off the pain of loss (as long as you're doing the work required to heal), but every now and then, you hit a brick wall like a wrecking ball.
1. Check for injury: what is the most painful part of my grief right now? What needs tending to?
2. Adjust expectations: what is my capacity right now? Is there anything I need to say no to? Is there anything I need to ask for help with?
3. Identify and meet needs: am I<|fim_middle|> when I know I'm not alone.
If you're still grieving, if you still have triggers, you're not a failure. This is the exact thing that makes grief so difficult: it doesn't end and it's always changing. I'm not saying that it doesn't get easier or that it always hurts as deeply as it does right now, but that grief is not at all what we expect it to be and it's okay to figure it out as we go.
Thank you for this encouraging and helpful piece. It was good seeing you yesterday! May God continue to strengthen you and comfort you!
Your hug was medicine. Always good to see you! | getting enough sleep? Am I using food to fuel my body or to avoid the yucky feelings?What do I need most right now?
I'm not perfect at this. It's a learning curve, but the more effort I put into improving my ability to care for myself and identify my needs, the less devastating of an impact a grief wall has on me.
There's no prescriptive list of "10 Things You Can Do To Make Grief Easier" because it's an process of discovery. Every person is different. Every loss is different. Every healing process is different. But I've included a few things I find helpful. I hope they'll inspire you to find your own tools for navigating a season of heavy grief.
When grief is heavy, I need levity. I read lots of light hearted fiction (I am generally NOT a fan of chick lit, but when I'm on the edge of depression, I can't get enough. So weird.). If it will make me laugh, I will consume it. I may or may not be currently planning to binge the 2006 season of Saturday Night Live. If it's not lighthearted or funny, it doesn't happen and I strictly limit my input of stressful, dramatic, or traumatic things. This applies to visual stimulus especially. When I'm down, I watch fewer shows and movies listen to audiobooks constantly.
When I am really sad, I need to feel physically safe in order to let down my guard and really feel the sadness. I stay home more often because being surrounded by four walls is less scary than the boundary-less outdoors (even if I know the fresh air will help). I sleep a lot more – not out of lethargy or depression, but because I don't sleep well at night and grief is exhausting. Plus, my bed is super cozy and I put a high priority on coziness. You'll find me in soft clothes made of cotton with some hot tea under my weighted blanket with either an acoustic guitar or jazz playlist playing quietly.
A lot of these habits have developed organically. When you're sad there are just certain things that feel better than others. My friends Ben & Jerry know a thing or two about that (in all honesty, though, I'm learning to find emotional comfort in non-food things).
It has been difficult, but I've had to learn is to let my people know how I'm feeling. Grief is isolating. It's easy to feel like everyone has moved on and forgotten my pain. And so I never thought to ask someone to share the pain with me. Now that I'm learning to, it has lightened the emotional load in ways I couldn't have anticipated. When I sent an SOS message to my friends last week, they went into automatic Girls Night planning mode. They love on my kids (and me) and find little and significant ways to pitch in and help. They ask about Keith, they remind me it's okay to feel sad, and they get just as annoyed as me that the sadness often seems to come from out of nowhere and without warning. Even if it's a quick text that says, "today is bad," a need someone else to help carry this burden with me. The grief and sadness feel just a bit lighter | 668 |
Open Lectures Open Doors
The fifth programme of Open Lectures is now under way at the Al-Maktoum College and, once again, I am pleased to say that we have been successful in attracting pre-eminent speakers from home and overseas.
The free lectures – introduced in 2010 – have proved to be hugely popular while maintaining the College's high profile at local, national and international level.
Our aim is to offer a variety of informative and thought-provoking topics presented by prominent scholars in their field of expertise.
Pleasingly, many distinguished academics have taken the path to Dundee for the<|fim_middle|> that it is not a sectarian, faith-based or ideologically-driven college, but merely an academic and research oriented higher education institution that demonstrates a wide range of approaches to Islam and Muslims across the world.
The lectures help to raise awareness and mutual understanding, not only amongst local academics and ethno-religious communities but also at a global level as the public lectures are recorded and disseminated through our website and other digital media platforms such as YouTube.
The format is straightforward with each speaker offered up to an hour to address an audience made up of a wide cross section of society: from academics to students, community groups and individual members of the public who simply find the topics both stimulating and enlightening.
The questions from the floor are never less than considered and compelling, generating excellent discussion – and, yes, arguments. But differences of opinion are to be valued.
At the end of each lecture, we provide nibbles and refreshments so the discussions can continue. No-one is ever in a rush to leave.
The Open Lectures prove that there is an appetite for knowledge, debate and questioning, lots of it. The topics are carefully selected to be wide-ranging, relevant and invigorating – and I can assure you they are never dull. And several topics have attracted traditional print, broadcast and online media interest.
As Principal I am certain these Open Lectures do, indeed, open doors to further study or investigations by those who attend, and that is extremely gratifying.
The next lecture in the current programme takes place on Thursday, October 22 and features Professor Humayun Ansari from Royal Holloway, University of London, who will present a lecture on: "The Historical Tapestry of British Muslims Experience: origins, development and diversity."
As the Professor of Islam and Cultural Studies and the Director of the Centre for Minority Studies at the Department of History, Professor Ansari will challenge the prevalent perception that British Muslims as a homogenous group are broadly resistant to modern values.
The lecture will be held at the College at 6 pm.
Dr. Hossein Godazgar | lectures that attract a lot of interest from the local community who welcome a unique opportunity to discuss with experts various aspects of Islam or religion from different perspectives.
Our audiences come to listen, to discuss and to ask telling questions.
Without a doubt, each guest speaker has brought insight, intellect, thoughtfulness and profound subject knowledge to Dundee and I have been intrigued and excited by the lectures from these experts, some of whom have travelled a great distance to be with us.
I earnestly believe the series of lectures over the past five years have been very useful in a number of ways.
I am happy to repeat that they reflect a factual and correct image of the College: | 133 |
What Can You Do With Five Dollars?
Amanda Rabalais, Editor in Chief|March 12, 2014
Gentle<|fim_middle|> family raised $100 towards the Make-A-Wish foundation, a charity that allows young kids battling cancer to fulfill their dreams.
Many students had trouble deciding just what to do with their money, though. Victoria Doré debated between many organizations before choosing hers.
"It was hard to find something that would be useful and meaningful with only five dollars to give," she said.
She finally decided on something simple — paying for a stranger's meal at Chick-fil-A on Valentine's Day.
"This way, the donation would be both local and immediate," she figured.
"To be able to look back in my rear view and see the look on that person's face and how appreciative they were … It allowed me to feel like I made a difference that day," Victoria added. And that's truly what generosity is about- making a difference, whether it be five dollars or one hundred dollars.
So the next time you find yourself with some extra money, think about what you could do with it. Instead of pocketing that loose change the cashier hands you, consider letting them keep the change. Though this act might be small and seemingly insignificant, it might open the door to bigger acts of generosity.
As these students showed, with just five dollars, you can truly make a difference.
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Apple Showcase | , generous, truthful, kind, and brave. Our school's mission is planted in those five adjectives. We see braveness in our sports teams, kindness in clubs like Acts of Random Kindness, truthfulness in our Honor Code. But it's often hard to find an outlet for generosity. It's hard to give away money that we've earned, no matter how much we have.
But a new face on SMP's campus, Mrs. Lee, is fighting this selfishness.
"In World Religions, we have been studying Buddhism," she explained. "Buddhists focus on the present and try to practice being mindful and compassionate." Wanting to spread that compassion, she introduced a new project to a few of her classes.
She handed each student in these classes an envelope, containing a five dollar bill inside.
"My instructions were simple," she said. "Do some good in the world with these five dollars." With five days to think about their mission, the students came back with some interesting plans.
Junior Luke Butcher, for example, spent his five dollars on sheet music from the 30s and 40s. With this new music, he performed at nursing homes.
"The residents enjoyed hearing me play music from their time period," he told me. "And I enjoyed getting to brighten their day!"
Another student, Emily Daly, talked with her family and encouraged them to donate with her. Together, she and her | 294 |
Imaging Technology News - The experts from the HHI show how the MVC-Codec functions transmitting television via DVB-S2 satellite.
Blockbusters like Avatar, UP or Toy Story 3 will bring the 3-D into home living rooms, televisions and computers. There are already displays available and the new Blu-Ray players can already play 3-dimensional movies based on Multiview Video Coding (MVC), the new standard for 3-D movie compression. The first soccer games were recorded stereoscopically at the Football World Championships in South Africa. What is missing is an efficient form of transmission.
to reduce<|fim_middle|> the meantime, there are even displays the size of a mobile phone that allow a good 3-D impression. | the movie's bit rate. (c) Fraunhofer HHI, Berlin.
The problem is the data rate required by the movies – in spite of fast Internet and satellite links. 3D movies have higher data rate requirements than 2-dimensional movies since at least two images are needed for the spatial representation. This means that a 3D screen has to show two images – one for the left and one for the right eye.
Researchers at the Fraunhofer Institute for Telecommunications, Heinrich-Hertz-Institut, HHI in Berlin, Germany have already come up with a compression technique for movies in particularly HD quality that squeezes movies while maintaining the quality: the H.264/AVC video format. What H.264/AVC is for HD movies, Multiview Video Coding (MVC) is for 3-D movies. While reducing the data significantly, MVC allows at the same time providing full high-resolution quality. At the International Broadcasting Convention (IBC) in Amsterdam - September 10-14, 2010 - researchers showcase how 3-D movies can be transmitted via Internet and digital television channels such as via satellite. The benefit is reducing the data rate used on the transmission channel while maintaining the same high-definition quality.
You will be able to experience 3-dimensional movies in your living room in future without any 3-D glasses because the MVC format has the technical features to code and compress several views. After all, everybody enjoying the movie with you on the sofa has a different viewing angle. That is why they need a separate view – their « own » 3-D movie – for his or her individual seat. MVC compresses all of these views into one compact file or stream and one receiver, one set-top box decodes this information and passes it on to the television.
It will also be possible to play the MVC-coded movies on older televisions and set-top boxes and Thomas Schierl tells how: « The first view corresponds to the signal that the existing television can receive and we would hide the second view in the same stream so that only the new receivers can use it. They are invisible to older televisions.» That is especially interesting to movie lenders and television stations because they do not have to worry about compatibility. And even mobile radio and mobile phone manufacturers can join the trend towards 3-D with the MVC standard. In | 490 |
The books shown at the left are the most popular Joyce Meyer books. Click on them to see details.
Joyce Meyer begins by telling the listener that prayer is really simpler than one might think. In order for us to pray, it should be natural and enjoyable. Prayer is talking to God. We must connect with the spiritual realm.
One might think they have to be in a church or specific environment to pray but Joyce states that we can pray anywhere. We are the representatives of who Jesus Christ is today.
One of the questions we often ask is "Does God Hear Me?" We need to ask God to give us instructions on how to pray so it becomes effective for us. Joyce states that God has a unique plan for all of us and one key to prayer is to approach God as a friend. God will never leave or forsake you.
Joyce tells us that prayer is a privilege. It is something we get to do - not what one has to do. Some pointers Joyce gives us is that we must be free from doubt while praying and prayers do<|fim_middle|> What really makes this audio book so interesting is that Joyce adds many of her own personal stories to help the listener understand and reinforce what she is describing. In addition, she refers to many Bible phrases, psalms, etc. that also help to reinforce her approach to simple prayer. This audio book is highly recommended. | not have to be long to be powerful. We should uncomplicate our prayers because there are no rules that have to be followed.
Joyce gives the readers a detailed description on the different kinds of prayer such as praise, worship and thanksgiving.
This audio book is an excellent resource for anyone who has had trouble trying to pray or does not know exactly how to go about praying. Joyce Meyer gives the listener guidelines on how to approach prayer. Everything is done in a manner that is easy for one to understand. | 102 |
India: Slums and Heatstroke
25 March, 2018 / Dan Hackett
I'm getting way behind on these diaries now – I'm writing about the Jodhpurian desert as I'm sitting in the Goan jungle. But I'll try and condense things.
We got to bed at 7am after the film shoot, but I only slept until 9 so I could nab some of the free breakfast. Samosas for breakfast, man. They're the way forward. I thought I'd lose weight in India, but in fact I've had to work out every day to avoid putting it on. India so far has been a daily cycle of sunsets and samosas. I didn't leave the hostel all day because I was shattered, and at 6pm I had to get the night train to Mumbai.
I said goodbye to James and Jonas after a couple of weeks travelling together, and I felt much sadder than I expected. I'm used to goodbyes by now, but we spent every second together through all of the peculiarities of India, and I'd got used to them being by my side. We hugged goodbye, promised to host each other if we ever visit each other's countries, and I left. I felt sad and vulnerable as I hailed a tuk tuk to the train station. But that's travelling.
I bought some rum to help me sleep and climbed into the top bunk in my carriage. Third class with air conditioning (read: fans). I'm working my way lower class with each train I take. They're really not so bad. I settled in to my bunk, wrote a little, bought a lemonade and poured my rum into it. I got some strange looks from the local people, but whatever. As I sat doodling, a smiley faced kid came over to chat. He asked me a ton of questions, and I told him his English was ace. He was all bashful smiles.
I slept for 12 blissful hours on the train, crashing out almost immediately due to exhaustion from the film shoot. I woke up at 8am<|fim_middle|> Skins. It was surreal to be in a strange flat in Mumbai talking about a show I used to watch in my living room when I was 15.
It was interesting to hear that, despite everybody bar me being Indian, they spoke English to one another – even when I wasn't in the room. A girl told me that the young people in Mumbai speak a combination of Hindi and English; she called it Hinglish. Young people all over the world inspire me. The clothes may be different, the food and the customs, but you can travel the whole world over and in the eyes beneath every unwrinkled brow you'll find the same passion, joy, and optimism.
I got a cab back to the hostel in the early hours. I was as drunk as a lord, and I slept like a baby.
backpackingindiajodhpurmumbaitravel writingtravelling
← India: Bollywood Stars Pt. 2 (Stabbed by Amitabh Bachchan)
India: The Cock-Eyed Barber of Mumbai → | next morning, with only two hours left until Mumbai. Easiest journey so far in India. I continued to sup my rum in the morning; seemed like a good idea at the time, but definitely drew a few concerned glances. But I felt great – day drunk in the sun, headphones in, world flashing by outside. I'd left the endless flat planes of Radjasthan behind, and gazing out I was greeted by splashes of green and glittering rivers, their waters deep brown from the dust.
Another kid came over for a chat and we sat together in one of the connecting carriageways for a while as we both waited to use the bathroom. The side doors were wide open; they never seem to close them here. You're perfectly able to hang out of the side of the train as it rumbles across the country. Sitting with feet dangling and legs kicking, the kid and I chatted about our lives and the countries we'd like to see. He was incredibly bright. I liked him a lot.
It's funny; I've noticed a pattern in how people in the smaller villages and towns chat to me. They will stare for a while, then eventually nod and ask where I'm from. Then my city, then my name, then my job, how long I'm in India, where I've been, if I enjoy it. Then I'll take my turn to learn about them. But between each question asked, I've seen so many people react in the same way: they ask a question, nod when you answer, then stare into the distance for a while, thinking. There's always a ten second pause between the last answer and the next question. It's probably just the language barrier that slows things down, but I've found conversation here to be unhurried and pensive. It's nice.
I chatted to a few other people on the train as we arrived in Mumbai, Bandra station. I had no idea how vast the city is. I got a cab to Andheri East where I was I was staying at Zostel, and paid 500 rupees which I thought was a bargain for a half hour drive but is apparently a huge rip off. Zostel is nice; some hostels here don't let so many Indian people stay there for some reason, but Zostel is one of the exceptions, and so much richer for it.
I ditched my bags in a pungent dorm and made friends with a Swedish girl called Nora and a Californian called Shaun. I was feeling lazy but Norah was keen to explore, so I was prodded out into the megacity. We got a tuk tuk and two trains – one of which was half an hour – and finally were in the south of the city, ish. Mumbai is endless. Shaun had a couple of friends out in the city who were wandering around the slums, and wanted to join them. I'm not sure how I feel about slum sightseeing, but, as usual, trudged along behind.
We met two more guys who probably had names, and spent an hour sauntering through the Mumbai slums. I'm not sure which slum it was; they are all legal and have their own names and districts, and function as a key part of the city with their own economy. I expected to feel sad, horrified even, but in reality the people there were so chipper and full of life that no sadness came. People were chatting in the runways, washing clothes in buckets of soapy water, tinkering with mopeds, snoozing in shop doorways, or bouncing little curly haired babies on their hips. In every street people called to us, waved at us from third storey windows, gave us directions. A few groups of teenagers laughed at us and said what I assume were very crude things in Hindi, but it didn't matter. Everybody was in good spirits. It should have been overwhelming, but I was profoundly calm.
It's astonishing what life can be reduced down to. A tent, a stool, a couple of pots: your entire life. No home, no car, no job, no money, no change of clothes, dirt on everything, no cool air, ever, and in the face of this all inequality and adversity, the people simply sit together and chat in the shade. The poorest people bare their poverty with such casual resilience that you almost forget they are suffering. They are simply resigned to the lives they've been born into. You're born in a tent at the side of the motorway, and you die in a tent at the side of the motorway. What was it Aloo Baba said to us? Life, one second, no life. I dunno, maybe he was onto something.
After the slums we headed back to the train to Marine Drive, which is apparently a great sunset spot. As the guys were queuing to buy tickets I sat by myself and watched the people. A minute later, Shaun grabbed my shoulder.
"Dan, we need water. Quick! Go!"
I stood up, half a second from telling him to fuck off and get it himself. Then I saw behind him – Nora has collapsed. A dozen people were surrounding her, kneeling down and fussing over her as she slowly came to and asked where she was. A couple of goats had wandered into the building and were stood by, watching with mild interest. Gazing into the crowded, gloomy little ticket house from outside, farmyard animals and stooping people in white robes and a swooning young girl in the middle, it felt like witnessing the Nativity.
She seemed alright, but I sloped away to buy water anyway. Everybody in the ticket house had water, so I was fairly sure I'd been sent on a redundant quest and Shaun had just panicked, but I didn't want to refuse and look like a massive bastard. Sure enough, as I was fifty metres down the road, hands in pockets, kicking rocks, Shaun popped out and called to me.
"She's fine, we have water!"
Yup, knew it. We sat down on a wall together and asked Nora how she was feeling. She had completely passed out from not eating all day, and told us that when she passed out she'd been dreaming that she was back home, in her own bed. Then she awoke to find 15 bearded men and one bearded goat staring down at her.
Understandably, Nora and the two nameless guys headed back to the hostel after. I carried on with Shaun, chatting for a couple of hours as we navigated first to an iconic train station, then to the Gateway to India (which the British erected in the middle of Mumbai to commemorate King George V landing in Mumbai, because we are a humble and modest people), then hung out on the sea wall at Marine Drive. It looked a lot like the glorious malecon in Havana that I spent so many nights sitting atop two years ago. I told Shaun as much, and soon found myself excitedly reeling off the history of Cuba and Castro – a favourite subject of mine. Either Shaun is a very good listener or a very bad one, because he didn't say anything the whole time.
Back at the hostel at 10pm, we found a birthday party. A bunch of 20-somethings from Mumbai were drinking Old Monk, the local rum, and eating cake. They were playing drinking games they'd picked up from other backpackers. Some things when travelling are universal. You can travel to the most far flung oasis in some long-forgotten corner of the planet, and you'll still find a couple of dudes keep to play International Drinking Rules, as well as a guitar with one string missing and a speaker playing Jack Johnson.
Shaun and the newly-revived Nora and the two nameless dudes were chatting among themselves, but I wasn't so interested in their conversation so I hopped tables to sit with the Indian kids. They filled me with booze and cake, and at midnight invited me along to a flat party. I said yes, of course, and soon found myself whisked away into Mumbai in a taxi full of hard-partying strangers.
The flat belonged to two of the guys, and it was way more spacious and modern than I'd anticipated. It looked like the inside of a Spanish hotel. There was glitter everywhere from where they'd partied the previous day. Somebody set about rolling a joint, and we all sat on the bedroom floor. We chatted about all sorts, and with a swell of pride I mentioned the Bollywood film I'd starred in the previous day. Their reactions were brilliant.
One of the guys there was cool as hell, looking like he'd come straight from a Metallica concert. He had long, straight hair down to his waist, dressed all in black, and both arms covered in tattoos. He had tattooed on him the names of every band that played on the soundtrack to Fifa 2008, because he'd spent so much time playing it that the songs were forever ingrained in his head. We talked about British TV, and he told me how much he loves the show | 1,884 |
We have stood up and said continuing growth in the Western world is unjust, inappropriate and potentially destabilising. Having said that, we understand why governments do it, so there is an onus on us to show there are other stories and to identify the institutional innovations you might need in order to arrive at this other place.
Let there be<|fim_middle|> around any longer to tell me what actually happened, but neither are they able to defend themselves against unjust portrayals. | an end to the arrogance of the big powers who miss no opportunity to put the rights of the people in question. Africa's absence from the club of those who have the right to veto is unjust and should be ended.
Once they are charged, too many poor New Yorkers find themselves trapped by our unjust bail system. Unable to pay for bail, they languish in Rikers Island or other jails while they await trial, regardless of guilt.
A woman, like a man, should be treated with human decency, according to the rule of law, and free of the abusive, unjust exercise of power. And you don't need to have plumbed the depths of the female or male psyche to live in accord with these principles of civilized life and the maxims of a free society.
When you experience bereavement at a youngish age, you suddenly realise that life is unjust and unfair, that bad things will happen, and you have to take that on board.
Thoreau points out clearly that civil disobedience gets its moral authority by the willingness to suffer the penalties from disobeying a law, even if you think that law is unjust.
I don't know if we will really have a doomsday for human beings, but if we did, to me, it wouldn't be an unjust outcome, given how many species we're taking with us every year.
Without the ability to criticize unjust laws in powerful symbolic ways, we can't change them. And the point of a democracy is that people should be able to convince other people to change a law.
Even a writer like me, who, in 'The Firebird,' is telling the story of people who've been dead for nearly three centuries, needs to take care. Those people may not be | 353 |
For An Epoxy Garage Floor Finish?"
Garage floor etching is recommended by nearly all manufacturers of epoxy garage floor coatings. Some manufacturers instruct that it be done prior to performing any garage floor repair, such as crack-filling or leveling of low spots. Your editor's recommend that it be performed after any garage floor repair work, so that the repair compound gets etched along with the concrete surface.
The purpose of etching is to slightly roughen the floor surface prior to applying the epoxy garage floor finish. Think of it as a light-sanding of a pre-painted surface prior to applying new paint. The etching creates microscopic grooves and scarring that allow the new finish to seep-into, thus creating a tighter bond.
Depending upon which epoxy garage floor finish you purchase for your garage, the kit may or may not contain the etching acid. Generally, you will be working with muriatic acid heavily diluted into water. Some claim it is a 2% solution. If you have never worked with this solution before, you need to be cautious and read all instructions as to mixing and applying this solution to the surface.
Wear whatever protective gear is recommended by the manufacturer such as, but not limited to, heavy rubber gloves, eye protection and rubber boots. Even a 2% solution of muriatic acid will burn your skin from prolonged exposure.
If your garage floor drains toward your driveway - as you rinse the solution off of the garage floor it will be going onto the driveway surface - and it will effect a dry concrete driveway. The best approach here is to heavily wet-down the driveway surface first, and put a garden sprinkler on it to keep it wet until you have all of the acid rinsed from the garage. Then rinse the driveway. Once you have done this, the solution will be heavily diluted and should not cause a problem in the street.
The basic approach is to work in a 12' x 12' zone wetting the garage floor surface. Work it in to the surface hard with your stiff-bristled brush moving every direction as you go to get absolute coverage. Then rinse the zone off with a garden hose and squeegee the excess rinse water toward the front of the garage. Continue this process in each zone<|fim_middle|> will reach the street.
If you have access to box fans, use them, as it is essential to dry-down the garage floor surface thoroughly before starting the application of your epoxy garage floor finish. The faster you can get the garage floor dry and the epoxy garage floor finish applied, the better! If you have to air-dry the garage floor it allows dust to settle onto the surface which will defeat a strong bonding of the finish.
Garage floor etching is just one of a number of essential steps for proper garage floor preparation that contribute to a long-lasting epoxy garage floor finish. You don't want to by-pass this step if you are seeking a successful finish that is durable and will last more than ten years.
Next, visit our page: Applying Epoxy Finish to learn about that process. | until you have completely covered the entire garage floor. Then rinse the driveway off to further dilute any run-off that | 23 |
Based on campus and at Pavilion Dance South West (PDSW), you'll study in some of the best spaces dedicated to dance in the South.
On campus, our purpose-built, state-of-the-art dance studios offer the perfect environment to bring your creativity to life. All three studios feature the latest audio visual equipment and professional Harlequin sprung dance floors, which offer cushioning and reduce impact – as well as offering greater traction to reduce slippage.
Studio One is equipped with mirrored walls, theatre lighting and blackout capacity – making it the ideal theatrical space for performing.
Studio Two is a light and airy conditioning space, whilst Studio Three offers a flexible student hub and practice<|fim_middle|>. | space.
As well as featuring a fully sprung floor, Studio Three doubles as a hub for collaboration between performing arts students at AUB.
There are also tutorial and quiet study spaces, as well as break out areas, a reception area and changing rooms | 49 |
I found good hotel deal on a online travel website and booked "Hotel Mansingh" a five star property in city centre for 2 nights, 19th to 21st Aug.
We started from Gurgaon around 7:00 in the morning and after smooth drive we reached Jaipur around 10:30 am. After hotel check-in we rested for a couple of hours then went towards Raj Mandir area. This is old well known theater of town and now it is surround by many restaurants like McDonalds, Dominio, Barbeque Nation and more.
After having some quick bites we decided to explore traditional markets of Jaipur. We visited Bapu bazar area which is well known for traditional Jaipuri artwork, decorative items and apparels. Remember to carry enough water and snacks for kids as there are not many restaurants in this area. You should demonstrate good bargaining skills to get articles at right price :), sometimes steal price ;-). We bought couple of things from here and returned back to hotel.
Next day morning we explored couple of monuments around, Hawa Mahal, City palace and again some near by markets. Hawa mahal is a heritage site<|fim_middle|> forts. I have been to all these forts many times. But still the charisma of "jaivana" drove me to Jaigarh once again. During monsoon the view from Jaigarh is spectacular, specially view of Jalmahal lake from jaivana. Way back to Gurgaon we took halt near Amer fort to capture the view and feed birds and fishes there. We found a cooperative handicraft shop there and bought some gift items for family and friends. Near by we got attracted towards some sweets shops selling "Amer ka peda". I had not heard of it before when I tasted the sample offered by shopkeeper I can't resit to buy some for home. | which has buildings with cluster of "Jali" windows from where you will feel the cool breeze even in hot and humid summers. Ticket costs 50 Rs for Indians.
City palace is another marvel of town and in part of this property Jaipur's royal family is still living. There are museums, gardens, passages, Chandra Mahal and Mubarak Mahal palaces and other buildings in the complex. You will like traveling in time machine here. Ticket costs 100 Rs.
After roaming for couple of hours in Aug heat we had kulhad lassi and kulfi. Then we went back our hotel to cool off and rest before visiting "Chokhi Dhanni" in the evening.
Chokhi dhanni is another famous destination of visitors at Jaipur. It is a traditional style resort situated at Jaipur Tonk road, about 20 km from main city. You get welcome with traditional "Teeka" to the resort. In the resort there is a lot to do. You can spend hours enjoying horse, elephant, camel, cart rides, folk dances, magic shows, other performances and snacks. Around 7:00pm they start serving dinner in a very traditional way. You can enjoy vast variety of rajanthani cuisine here. We had spent about 4-5 hours here and every moment was joyful. Truly a lovely place to visit.
Next day morning, after having breakfast we checked-out of hotel at 10:00 am. On the way to Gurgaon you pass through Jalmahal, Jaigarh, Nahargarh and Amer | 327 |
If you want to get better at something, there's no substitute for practicing it. Likewise, the best way to create better readers is to get kids to read more. In 'Ten Ways to Cultivate a Love of Reading in Students," (edutopia.org, Feb. 13, <|fim_middle|>. But the ISBN number is helpful because it provides book information such as title, author, guided reading level, page count, and other details. Once students are entered into the system, they can check books out, and can log into the website to see when books are due. Teachers can see book details, whcih are checked out, and who has them.
Reserving class time to play a well-performed audio book for the students benefits them with a lovely listening opportunity while giving you time for lesson planning or other activities. If you do a Google search for "free audio books", you can find free, good quality audio books online, as long as you have an Internet connection and a good pair of speakers.. If you look carefully you can find some through YouTube. For example, the entire Harry Potter series, read by Jim Dale, is available on YouTube, as are links to the Stephen Fry version. You can download audio books from sources such as Audible.com or Amazon.com. Many audio books are also available on CD or cassette tape; the library is a good source.
Finding topics which interest the student is the most important factor in encouraging reading for pleasure. For teaching middle school boys, Aguilar suggests reading a couple books for ideas: "Reading Don't Fix No Chevys: Literacy in the Lives of Young Man", by Michael Smith and Jeffrey Wilhelm, and "Teaching Reading to Black Adolescent Males: Closing the Achievement Gap," by A. Tatum.
There's also an app for this. Flipboard, available for free on Android and iOS devices, asks users what their interests are, then provides articles which match that interest. Although the app is geared toward adults, the list of topics is long. and includes kid-friendly items such as "Cute Animals," Rock Music," "Pets," "Indy Car," "Cool Stuff," "Snowboarding," "Mobile Games," "Movies," "Cooking," and many others. (Note: The "Gaming" title refers to video games, not gambling.) Flipboard requires that the student has an e-mail address or an account on Facebook, Twitter, or Google Plus.
Another way to alert your kids to current events is the web-based Newsela, which enables teachers and parents to direct student reading, and allows selection of news articles by reading level and topic. Newsela allows you to create quizzes for students to test reading comprehension.
If your students are Harry Potter fans, the Pottermore website offers opportunities for high interest reading, including character profiles and details about wizarding schools in other countries.
Although not a tech tool, the "Who Was" series of biographies are well regarded and popular even with struggling readers. They are reasonably priced and average about 100 pages long.
Tagged "Who Was" book series, Audible, audio books, Biblionasium, Booksource Classroom Organizer, flipboard, Newsela, Pottermore, reading. Bookmark the permalink. | 2013,) teacher and author Elena Aguilar gave some practical suggestions for nurturing the love of reading. Here are some of her ideas, and some tools to support them.
Several of Aguilar's suggestions center around creating a social aspect to reading. She said this is especially important for boys.
First of all, said Aguilar, teachers should model reading themselves, and should talk to their students about the books they are enjoying.
Secondly, Aguilar suggested setting up a book club or reading group for students. She noted how many adults enjoy Goodreads and wondered if there is an equivalent for children.
There is — the website Biblionasium.com. Free to use, and ideal for classroom use, Biblionasium keeps track of books that students are reading and, at teacher discretion, allows students to share recommendations and book reviews. It also allows you to post book trailers, author interviews and other related videos. It has many useful features, including the ability to organize readers by reading group, classroom, or grade. You can search for books based on author, title, subject, or reading level; creating challenges; and generate reports, Biblionasium also lets you e-mail parents and find reading resources.
Aguilar suggested hosting a "Read-A-Thon" at the school as a fundraiser. But you need to save class time for other learning, it's helpful to let kids check books out, though it's no fun when books go missing. For teachers who have created their own classroom library, or for administrators or librarians at a small school, there's a great free app to keep track of reading materials and who has them. It even provides a way to buy replacement books at discounted prices. Called Booksource Classroom Organizer, it is a website and smartphone/tablet app that work together to keep track of your books. It is available for Android and iOS.
Booksource Classroom Organizer creates a database of your books, and keeps track of check-outs!
Booksource Classroom Organizer organizes books primarily by ISBN number, which you can scan with your phone or enter by hand. You can enter books and magazines without an ISBN number | 432 |
I'm watching the rain, waiting for the hail to come.
Getting into lots of stuff now!
@mshanhun alas, this episode is also quite personal. I've made every<|fim_middle|> own family photo right in there!
Here's a little eye candy! Love the doggy one! Pity we don't have a pet!
If you'd rather fully customise your cards… here's a free class for you!
Are you keen to create your own dazzling digi Christmas Cards?
Join the fabulous Lain Ehmann and Traci Reed from Sweet Shoppe Designs to learn how you can create your own Christmas cards.
There's still plenty of time to order them before the silly season starts - so head over and join Lain, Traci and hundreds of scrapbookers for this free scrapinar on November 15.
Some of you may see what follows as cliche, but I can tell you every day I am living a full, wonderful life thanks to all those people who made our family, country and world what it is today.
I'm so thankful for the hard work of everyone who has gone ahead of me.
I pray that I can continue to make our heritage rich for the generations ahead.
In a time when many are struggling with storms, I'm thankful for the sun today.
I'm so thankful for the lovely space we have for Emily (and Edward) to run and play – even though is was rainy most of the day – we still managed a picnic.
Sitting at my new study desk with my new shelves behind me, hearing the coffee maker running, reminds me of how much Phill does for me every single day. I love you!
It's lovely to meet new faces. Today we enjoyed the blustery afternoon celebrating our little friend's third birthday.
I love that we have made so many friends here in and have to opportunity to make some new ones today.
Mothers of Preschoolers started this year at Whitford Church. It's a chance for mums with little ones at home to get a hot drink, meet with other mums and have a little time out while the little ones are cared for.
I enjoy the learning each fortnight from meal planning, to photography, finding joy to breast cancer awareness.
I'm thankful to have input from our mentor mums and the fellowship with other mums with little ones at home.
Plus we make fun stuff too!
I'm thankful for a happy baby who laughs and loves life. Edward helps us recapture the joy of everyday. | mistake in it!
So gorgeous seeing Emily put her toys to sleep with a song and a prayer.
A spring hailstorm to remind me we aren't quite in summer yet!
There's laughter in our home every day, and I pray that continues. I am so glad Emily and Edward love to laugh almost as much as Mummy does.
I am loving this series, and over the past few years have found great joy in becomine part of a bigger community celebrating life together.
In the past couple of years Facebook Lovebook, One Little Word, Yesterday and Today, Week in the Life, Take 12 and various other projects that get me thinking and documenting our lives. It gives me a change to look on the bright side when things get overwhelming… like yesterday!
I didn't manage to Take 12 photos this month, but I got several pics in there!
A 35 degree day, with toddler with a cold and baby ready for a sleep, is not a good time for the car air conditioning to stop working. Is there ever a good time? BUT I'm so thankful we have air-con and I know it's our car battery on the way out that is causing the issue.
Maybe tomorrow's thankful will be for the RAC!
I'm thankful to be able to cook same pumpkin scones that I enjoyed as a child.
Today I made a few purchases for an upcoming event and it struck me that I am truly blessed to be able to get the supplies I needed without worrying about where the money will come from to pay for them.
Fun can be simple, like hiding under the covers, to surprise Daddy as he arrives home, reading a book and learning more about our world. Being present to notice the little moments of fun rather than waiting for the big events is part of what keeps me joyful each day.
So it's not really summer, but the cricket is on, it's hot enough to turn on the air-con and it smells like summer. I love it!
I love remembering the fun we've had together, and came across some shots of us trying out the webcam back in March 2010.
I'm thankful that with digital photography we have a chance to grab snapshots of everyday life, without breaking the bank.
I'm thankful to my customers, who help my business grow and share their scrapbooking with me. I am so blessed to share what I have learnt with you.
Oh and it's fun shopping for goodies to send out to all my new members.
Let's use technology for good today.
My friend Matt over at TinyPrints has sent me an AWESOME coupon for 10 free Holiday cards.
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Category Archives: poisons
Raw Material: A Christmas Ghost Story
by Marjorie Bowen
Linley was fond of collecting what he called "raw material" and, as a fairly successful barrister, he had good opportunity for doing so. He despised novelists and romancists, yet one day he hoped to become one of these gentry himself, hence his collection of the raw material…however, after some years he became disgusted and overwhelmed by the amount of "stuff" (as he termed it) which he had gathered together—scenes, episodes, characters, dialogues, descriptions and decorations for all or any possible type of tale; he remained, he declared, surprised at the poverty of invention of the professional story-tellers who gave so little for the public's money in the way of good, strong, rousing drama, such as he, Robert Linley, had come across, well, more times than he cared to count…
"There isn't anything," he declared with some vehemence, "of which I haven't had experience."
"Ghosts?" I asked, and he smiled contemptuously.
"Yes, of course, I've had any amount of experiences with ghosts, with people who've seen 'em, and people who think they've seen 'em, and with the ghosts themselves…"
"Well," I asked, "have you come across a real Christmas ghost story—what we used to call the old-fashioned kind? They're getting a bit threadbare now, you know; they've been told over and over again, year after year; have you got a novelty in that direction?" Linley, after a moment's pause, said that he had.
"There's some raw material for you," he cried, waxing enthusiastic, "the story of the Catchpoles and Aunt Ursula Beane, there's some raw material—why, there's everything in it—comedy, tragedy, drama, satire, farce—"
"Hold on!" I cried, "and just tell us as briefly as possible what your 'raw material' consists of. I'm out for a Christmas ghost story, you know, and I shall be disappointed if you don't give us something of that kind."
Linley made himself extremely comfortable and, with a lawyer's relish of the right phrase and the correct turn of sentence, gave us the history of Aunt Ursula Beane, with the usual proviso, of course, that the names and places had been altered. Before he began his narration Linley insisted on the novelty of the story, and before he had finished we all of us (those select few who were privileged to hear him hold forth) agreed that it was very novel indeed.
The case of Aunt Ursula Beane, as he called her, had come under his notice in a professional way and in the following manner, commonplace enough from a lawyer's point of view, although the subsequent case was one which the papers endeavored to work up into what is described by that overworked word "sensational." As far as the lawyers and the public were concerned it began with an inquest on Mrs. Ursula Beane. In Linley's carefully selected phrases the case was this:
"Mrs. Ursula Beane had died suddenly at the age of seventy-five. The doctor who had been intermittently attending her—she was an extremely robust and healthy old woman—had not been altogether satisfied with her symptoms. He had refused a death certificate, there had been an autopsy, and it was discovered that Mrs. Ursula Beane had died from arsenical poisoning. The fact established, an enquiry followed, eliciting the following circumstances. Mrs. Ursula Beane had lived for forty years in a small house at Peckham Rye which had belonged to her father and his father before him. The house had been built in the days when Peckham Rye—well, was not quite like it is now. She resided with a nephew and niece—James and Louisa Catchpole. Neither of them had ever married, neither of them had ever left Peckham Rye for more than a few weeks at a time, and the most minute investigation did not discover that either of them had had the least adventure or out-of-the-way event in their lives. They enjoyed a small annuity from a father who had been a worthy and fairly prosperous tradesman. James was, at the time of the inquest, a man over sixty and had been for many years a clerk—'confidential clerk' as he emphasized it—with a large firm of tea merchants. He received a sufficient, if not a substantial salary and was within a year or two of a pension. His sister, Miss Louisa Catchpole, was younger—fifty or so; she also had a substantial, if not a brilliant, position as a journalist on one of those few surviving monthlies which rather shun publicity and cater for the secluded and the virtuous. She wrote occasional short stories in which the hero was always a clergyman and the heroine sans peur et sans reproche. She also wrote little weekly causeries—as I believe they are called—'Meditations in a Garden'; they were headed and adorned with a little cut of an invalid in a basket-chair gazing at a robin. In these same causeries Miss Louisa Catchpole affected month after month, year after year, with unfaltering fortitude, a vein of Christian cheerfulness, and encouraged her readers with such maxims as 'Character is stronger than Destiny,' 'A man is only as strong as his faith in himself,' and chirpings about the recurring miracle of spring, together with quotations from the more minor poets—you know the type of thing.
"It is irrelevant to our story to go into why Aunt Ursula Beane lived with those two; they seemed to be the only surviving members of their very unimportant family, and they had lived together in the house at Peckham Rye for forty years, ever since Louisa was quite a small child and had gone there to live with Aunt Ursula who, on her husband's death, had retired to this paternal abode. Nobody could think of them as apart one from the other. During those forty years James had gone to and fro his work, Louisa had written her articles and stories, and at first had been looked after by, and afterwards had looked after, Aunt Ursula Beane. Their joint earnings kept the tiny establishment going; they were considerably helped by the fact that there was no rent to pay and they lived in modest comfort, almost with (what James would have called) 'every luxury.' Besides giving them the house to live in, Mrs. Beane paid them at first thirty shillings, then, as the cost of living went up, two pounds a week for what she called 'her keep.' What, you will say, could have been more deadly commonplace than this? But there was just one touch of mystery and romance. Aunt Ursula was reputed to be of vast wealth and a miser—this was one of those family traditions that swell and grow on human credulity from one generation to another. The late Mr. Beane was spoken of with vague awe as a very wealthy man, and it appeared that the Catchpoles believed that he had left his widow a considerable fortune which she, a true miser, had concealed all those years, but which they might reasonably hope to inherit on her death, as a reward for all their faithful kindness. Investigation proved that what had seemed rather a fantastic delusion had some startling foundation. Mrs. Ursula Beane employed a lawyer and his evidence was that her late husband, who had been a tobacconist, had left her a tidy sum of money when he had died forty years ago, amounting to fifteen thousand pounds, which had been safely invested and not touched till about five years before. What Mrs. Beane lived on came from another source—a small capital left by her father that brought her in about a hundred and fifty pounds a year; therefore this main sum had been, as I have said, untouched and had accrued during those thirty-five years into a handsome sum of nearly fifty thousand pounds. The lawyer agreed that the old lady was a miser, nothing would induce her to draw out any of this money, to mention its existence to a soul, or to make a will as to its final disposal. The lawyer, of course, was pledged to secrecy. He knew that the Catchpoles guessed at the existence of the hoard, he also knew that they were not sure about it and that they had no idea as to its magnitude. Five years before her death the old lady had drawn out all her capital—forty-eight thousand pounds—without any explanation whatever to the lawyer, and had taken it away in a black bag, going off in a taxicab from the lawyer's office in Lincoln's Inn. It might have been the Nibelung hoard flung into the Rhine for all the mystery that was attached to it, for nobody saw or heard of it again. Both the Catchpoles swore that they had no knowledge whatever of the old woman realizing her capital; she had certainly not banked it anywhere, she must have taken that very large sum of money in notes and, I believe, a few bonds, to that small house at Peckham Rye and in some way disposed of it. A most exhaustive search revealed not so much as a five-pound note. In the bank was just the last quarterly installment of her annuity—barely enough, as Louisa Catchpole remarked with some passion, 'to pay the doctor and the funeral expenses.'
"There you have the situation. This old woman dead in what was almost poverty, the disappearance of this large sum of money she had realized five years previously, and the fact that she had died from arsenical poisoning. To explain this there were the usual symptoms, or excuses, whatever you like to call them; she had been having medicine with arsenic in it, and she might have taken an overdose. There had been arsenic in the house in the shape of powders for an overgrown and aged dog, and in the shape of packets of weed-killer, James had always taken an industrious interest in the patch of garden that sloped to the Common. The old lady might have committed suicide, she might have taken some of the stuff in mistake, or the Catchpoles might have been murderers. The only possible reason for suspecting foul play would have been that the Catchpoles knew of her hoard and wished to get hold of it. But this it was impossible to prove. I was briefed to watch the case for the Catchpoles. There was, of course, a certain sensation and excitement over the fact of the large sum of money, the only startling and brilliant fact about the whole commonplace, drab and rather depressing story. I myself thought it rather absurd that any question of suspicion should attach to the Catchpoles. After forty years of placid uninspired devotion to Aunt Ursula Beane, why should they suddenly decide to put her out of the way when, in the nature of things, she could not have had more than a few years to live? Their demeanor, too, impressed me very favorably. There was none of the flaunting vanity, posing or vehement talk of the real criminal, they seemed slightly bewildered, not very much disturbed, and to trust wholly in their undeniable innocence, they almost found the whole thing grotesque and I could understand their point of view. The verdict, however, was rather surprising. It was confidently expected that it would be Death from misadventure,' but instead, the verdict was 'Death from arsenical poisoning not self-administered.' This is really about as near as we can get in England to the Scottish verdict 'Not proven,' and I was rather indignant, for it seemed to me to attach a great deal of wholly unmerited suspicion to the two Catchpoles. Still, of course, they were quite free and no direct blame was laid on them. In fact, the coroner had remarked on their devoted care of an old lady who must have been, from the various facts proved by the doctors, 'very trying and difficult,' as the saying goes. They conducted themselves very well after the inquest, still with that slightly bewildered patient air of resignation. It seemed to me that they did not realize the ghastly position in which they stood and, as I knew when I heard the verdict, the very narrow escape they had had from being arrested on a charge of murder. They paid all the expenses connected with the inquest at once and without any trouble. They had, as James explained with a certain mild pride, 'savings.' I was interested in them, they were so meek and drab, so ordinary and repressed; there was something kindly and amiable about them and they were very attached to each other. I questioned them about this mysterious hoard, the existence of which would have been difficult to believe but for the evidence of the lawyer. They did not seem very concerned, they had always known that Aunt Ursula Beane had money and, said Louisa without passion, they had always guessed that she had tried to do them out of it—she had been an extraordinarily malicious old woman, they complained, and it was quite likely that the money was buried somewhere, or had been destroyed. She was capable of feeding the fire with it, of sticking it in a hole in the ground, of throwing it into the water in a bag weighed down with stones, in fact of doing anything in the world with it except putting it to some profitable use. She was undoubtedly not right in her head.
"'She ought to have been certified years ago,' I declared.
"James Catchpole shook his head. 'She was never bad enough for that,' he announced with resignation.
"They had really been slaving and 'bearing' things for forty years for that money, and they took the loss of it, I thought, with extreme gallantry.
"They returned to the little house in Peckham Rye which came to them as next-of-kin. The little annuity, which was all that Aunt Ursula had left of her worldly goods after she had disposed of her main fortune, perished with her. James and Louisa would have to live on his clerkship and her journalism."
At this point Linley stopped to ask me if we did not perceive a real strong drama in what he had told us—"A whole novel, in fact," he added triumphantly.
"Well," I replied, "one might make it into a whole novel by inserting incidents and imagining this and that and the other. As you have given it, it seems a dreary stretch of nothingness with a rather damp squib at the end. After all, there was no murder, I suppose the old woman took an overdose of medicine by mistake. Where," I asked, "does the Christmas ghost story come in?"
"I will tell you if you will have just a little more patience. Well, I have said that I was interested in the Catchpoles, I even went to see them once or twice. They seemed to me to be what used to be called 'human documents'—the very fact that they had such blank faces made me want to study them. I know there must be some repression somewhere, some desire, some hope, something beside what there appeared on the surface—this blank negation. They did not betray themselves. Louisa said she missed the old lady and that she was having quite a handsome headstone put on her grave in the vast London cemetery where she had been laid to rest. James spoke of the old lady with a certain deference, as if the fact of her being dead had made a saint of Aunt Ursula Beane.
"I continually asked them if they had had any news of the money. They shook their heads with a compassionate smile at my hopefulness. They were convinced that during those five years Aunt Ursula Beane had completely destroyed the forty-eight thousand pounds—easily destroyed, for most of it had been in hundred- and thousand-pound notes. Of course the garden had been dug over and every brick and plank in the house disturbed, with no result.
"'And if she never left the house and garden?' I asked.
"They told me she had. She was a robust old woman, as I said before, and she used to take long walks and every year during those five years she went away for a fortnight—sometimes with Louisa, sometimes with James, sometimes to the seaside and sometimes to lodgings in a farmhouse, and on all these different occasions she had had plenty of opportunity of getting rid of her money. Of course these five several lodgings had been searched and the country round about them, but always with no result.
"'You see, sir,' said James, with his meek and placid smile, his pale faded eyes gleaming at me behind the glasses, 'she was far too cunning for all of us.'
"One winter evening about a year after the inquest the mood took me to go and visit these two curious specimens. I found them with a planchette, their eyes goggling at the sprawling writing that appeared on the piece of paper beneath. James informed me without excitement that they had 'taken up' spiritualism, and Miss Louisa chirped in that they were getting 'the most wonderful results.'
"Aunt Ursula Beane had 'come through,' as they put it, almost at once, and was now in constant communication with them. "'Well, I hope she can tell you what she did with the money.' "They answered me quite seriously that that was what they were trying to find out, but that the old lady was just as tricky and malicious on the other side, as they termed it, as she had been on this, luring them on with false scents and wayward suggestions. At the same time, they declared, placidly but with intense conviction, they believed that sooner or later she would disclose to them her secret.
"I soon began to lose interest in them after this. When people of the type of the Catchpoles get mixed up with this spiritualistic business they cease to be—well, almost cease to be 'human documents.' I thought I'd leave 'em to it, when I received a rather urgent invitation from Miss Louisa Catchpole, begging me to be present at a 'demonstration' at which Aunt Ursula Beane would undoubtedly appear in person.
"I went to the little house in Peckham where the furniture, the wallpaper, even the atmosphere did not appear to have been changed all those monotonous forty years—forty-one now to be exact. There was a medium present and no one else save myself and the brother and sister. We sat round the table. The medium who beamed with a rather fussy kindness went off with surprising celerity into a trance, and soon the 'demonstration' took place.
"At first I was cynical, secondly I was disgusted, and thirdly, I was rather disturbed, finding myself first in the midst of farce, low charlatanry and chicanery, then suddenly in the presence of something which I could not understand. The 'demonstration' began by groans and squeaks issuing from the lips of the medium, greetings to Louisa and James (presumably in the voice of the defunct Aunt Ursula), various jovial references to a bottle containing poison, a few other crude remarks of that nature, and then several knocks from different parts of the room—rappings loud and quick, and then beating time, as if to a piece of music, then a sudden clatter on the table in the middle of us as if the old lady were dancing there with heavy boots on. James and Louisa sat side by side, their hands clasped, listening to all this without a shade of expression on their blank faded faces. The hideous little room was the last resort of the antimacassar, and presently these began to fly about, scraps of the horrible white crocheted tatting gliding through the air in a way which would have been very funny if it hadn't been rather dreadful. Of course I knew that many mediums have these powers and there is nothing much in them—I mean, it can all be explained in a perfectly practical and satisfactory fashion. At the same time I did not greatly care about the exposition, and I begged the Catchpoles to bring it to an end, particularly as the old lady had nothing definite to say. James whispered that the medium must not be disturbed while she was in trance. Aunt Ursula Beane then began to sing a hymn, but with a very unpleasant inflection, worse than any outspoken mockery. While the hymn was being sung I gained the impression far more vividly than I had ever received before that Aunt Ursula Beane had been a rather terrible person. When she had finished the hymn she began in an old half-broken voice softly to curse them all in a language that was not at all agreeable to listen to, coming as it did in those querulous, ancient feminine tones. This was rather too much for me, and I shook the medium violently. She came out of her trance. Louisa and James did not seem in the least affected, drank tea, ate biscuits, and discussed in banal terms the doings of those on 'the other side.'
"I received no more invitations from the Catchpoles and did not go near them for a considerable time. In fact, I think I had rather forgotten about them, as I had had a great many other interesting cases and a good many other interesting specimens had come my way. I had heard a vast number of stories as good as the story of Aunt Ursula Beane, but it did happen one day that I had to pass through Peckham and could not resist the passing impulse of curiosity that urged me to go and look at the house on the Common. It was 'To Let' or 'To be Sold,' according to two or three estate agents' blatant boards on the front railing. I called next door and was received with the inevitable suspicion with which the stranger is usually regarded in small places. I did, however, discover what I had set out to discover, namely, that the Catchpoles had left the neighborhood about six months ago, and no one knew where they were. I took the trouble to go to one of the estate agents whose address was given on the board, to make further enquiries. The house was to be let or sold, it did not seem to have been considered a great prize, and it certainly had not gone off very quickly, though it was cheap enough; the neighborhood, even the estate agent admitted, 'was not what it had been.' Then, of course, one couldn't deny that the Ursula Beane case and the fact that the old lady had died there, and of poison, had given a slightly sinister air to the modest stucco building. As to the Catch-poles, the estate agent did not know where they had gone; all he had was the address of a bank, nor was it any of my business, so I decided to dismiss the whole thing from my mind.
"Good raw material, no doubt, but none of it worked up sufficiently to be of much interest."
Linley glanced round at us all triumphantly as he said this.
"But it was all rounded off as neatly as any novelist could do it. Let me tell you," he added with unction.
"Five years afterwards I ran over to Venice for Christmas—I don't know why, except just the perverse desire to see the wrong place at the wrong time, instead of forever the right place at the right time. I like Venice in the winter fogs, with a thin coat of ice on the canals, and if you can get a snowstorm—well, so much the better—St. Marco, to me, looks preferable with the snowflakes in front of the blue and the bronze instead of that eternal sunshine…Well, there I was in Venice, and I'm not going to bore you with any more local color or picturesque details. I was in Venice, very well satisfied with myself, very comfortable and alone. I was tolerably familiar with the city and I always stay at the same hotel. One of the first things I noticed was that a large and very pretentious palace near by had recently been handsomely and expensively 'done up'; I soon elicited the fact that the place which I had always envied had been bought by the usual rich American who had spent a great deal of money in restoring and furnishing it, but who did not very often live there, he only came and went after the fashion of all Americans, and was supposed to travel considerably in great luxury. Once or twice I saw this American going past in a gondola, wrapped in a foreign, rather theatrical-looking cloak, lounging with a sort of ostentation of ease on the cushions. He was an elderly man with a full grey beard, and wore, even now in<|fim_middle|> tell you of a Mrs Mountjoy who, when feeding a calf, let it suck her fingers, and with them a ring she wore. When this animal was slaughtered three years after, the ring was found in its intestine.
In the year 1871 a German farmer, who had been making flour balls for his cattle, missed his dead wife's ring which he had been wearing upon his little finger. He made a great search for the treasure, holding the ring in some way necessary to his prosperity; but although he turned the house upside down, he never found it.
Seven or eight months after, this farmer shipped a number of bullocks upon the Adler cattle ship. The Adler came to port all right, but one of the bullocks had died during the voyage and been thrown overboard. Strangely enough, the carcase floated upon the sea, and was picked up by an English smack— the Mary Ann, of Colchester— the crew of which cut open the body to obtain some grease for the rigging. Did we not know that every line of this story had been authenticated, we should laugh when it is added that the farmer's ring was found in the stomach of the derelict bullock and duly restored to its owner through the German Consul.
Turquoise ring, c. 1840-1860 http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O374212/ring-unknown/
Here are stories of luck if you like. I will give you one also of luck which has never been told except to me and to the members of the household in which the strange occurrence took place. A lady, whose husband was a bank manager, purchased at my house some six years ago a singularly fine turquoise ring. She came to me at the end of two years and declared that the jewel in question had completely lost its colour. I saw that this was so, and told her there was no secret about the matter, but that she had washed her hands with the ring upon her finger, The turquoise, as all the world knows, should never be dipped in water. Some of the finest stones will stand the treatment, but in the majority of cases it is fatal. You would think that this was not a case for any superstitious fears, but my client was sadly troubled from the start at the omen of the ring; nor could my assurances comfort her. And oddly enough, within three months of the date of her visit to me her husband was in difficulties and had fled to America.
But this is not the end of the story of the turquoise. I had, previous to this calamity, set a new stone in the place of the old, and this jewel, being properly treated, kept its colour very well. Yet, as though that ring must prove fatal to all who wore it, it was the instrument of the capture of the lady's husband, and of the term of imprisonment which followed on his arrest. The thing worked out in this way. For two years the fugitive remained abroad, but with that love of country which sometimes will prevail above reason, the unfortunate man returned here at last, and lay in hiding at the house which his wife had taken near Reading.
This was a rambling old place, with a decaying wing, very convenient for hiding a man. One morning the servants, who were not in the secret, found a turquoise upon the floor of a bedroom in this side of the house. As they had reason to believe that no one except themselves had been in the place for some years, they carried the ring to their mistress as a wonderful and amazing discovery. She, in her feverish desire to protect her husband, made up some cock-and-bull story which did not satisfy them. Although they had promised absolute secrecy, they made haste to tell the story in the village, where by a colossal misfortune the detective who was watching the case was even then staying. Needless to say how he pricked up his ears at the information; arguing rightly that where a ring was there a man or woman must have been. Three days later he arrested the defaulter, who had been hidden in the house all the time and had dropped the ring upon the floor of the bedroom. He had worn it on his little finger as a memento of his wife when he fled from the country, but it proved a fatal ring to him and to her.
1838 poison ring https://www.etsy.com/sg-en/listing/747581379/1838-antique-poison-ring-18k-gold-garnet
It is scarcely within the scope of this article to write upon that vast branch of this subject which would properly come under the heading of poisoned rings. There was a story told in the French newspapers at no distant date of a man who bought an old ring in a shop in the Rue St. Honore, He was much interested in this, and was examining it closely, when he chanced to give himself a slight scratch in the hand with the edge of the ring. So slight was it that he scarce noticed it, and continued in conversation with the dealer, until of a sudden he was taken with violent pains in his body and fell in a fit upon the floor of the shop. The doctor who was summoned discovered every trace of mineral poison, and administered an antidote–happily with success, though the man suffered severely for several hours, and was at one time upon the very point of death. There is no doubt whatever that he had purchased what is called a "death ring," a common weapon of assassination in the sixteenth century, and still to be found in the byways of Italy. The ring in question was made in the shape of two tiny lions' claws, the nails being minute tubes from which the poison was ejected into the body. A man bearing a grudge against another would contrive to send him such a ring as a present and he would so manage it that he would meet the unlucky wearer very shortly after the present was received. It was the easiest thing in the world to give the victim a hearty shake of the hand, so squeezing the sharp claws into the flesh and administering a dose of the poison. And so skilled were the men in the manufacture of these rings that the day was rare when the victim of one lived even 10 minutes after he had received this death grip.
Otago [NZ] Witness 15 October 1896: p. 50
Mrs Daffodil's Aide-memoire: Mrs Daffodil has written before on those useful poisoned diamond rings with little spikes and a cursed ring formerly the property of the Spanish royal family. Various royal personages have also possessed "lucky" and "unlucky" rings as magical talismans.
Mrs Daffodil cannot accede to the author's suggestion that Byron's proposal to Anne Isabella Milbanke was a story with a "happier ending." The ill-matched couple separated shortly after their one-year anniversary and may have never seen each other again before Byron's death in Greece in 1824.
This entry was posted in Death, Gentlemen, Grim and Grewsome, History 1700-1799, History 1800-1837, History 1910-1930, Irregular Lives, Jewels and Jewellery, Lethal Clothing, Mourning, News and Announcements, poisons, Professions, shopping, Victorian and tagged fatal rings, poison rings, unlucky jewels, unlucky opals, unlucky rings on February 7, 2020 by chriswoodyard.
Death in the Pot
On the first Sunday in the year 1749, Mr. Thomas Lilly, the son of a farmer in the parish of Kelso in Roxburghshire, a young man intended for the Church of Scotland, remained at home to keep the house in company with a shepherd's boy, all the rest of the family, except a maid-servant, being at church. The young student and the boy being by the fire whilst the girl was gone to the well for water, a venerable old gentleman, clad in an antique garb, presented himself, and after some little ceremony, desired the student to take up the family bible which lay on a table, and turn over to a certain chapter and verse in the Second Book of Kings. The student did so, and read—"there is death in the pot."
On this the old man, with much apparent agitation, pointed to the great family pot boiling on the fire, declaring that the maid had cast a great quantity of arsenic into it with an intent to poison the whole family, to the end she might rob the house of the hundred guineas which she knew her master had lately taken for sheep and grain which he had sold. Just as he was so saying the maid came to the door. The old gentleman said to the student, "remember my warning and save the lives of the family!" and that instant disappeared.
The maid entered with a smiling countenance, emptied her pail, and returned to the well for a fresh supply. Meanwhile young Lilly put some oatmeal into a wooden dish, skimmed the pot of the fat and mixed it for what is called brose or croudy, and when the maid returned, he with the boy appeared busily employed in eating the mixture. "Come, Peggy," said the student, "here is enough left for you; are not you fond of croudy?" She smiled, took up the dish, and reaching a horn spoon, withdrew to the back room. The shepherd's dog followed her, unseen by the boy, and the poor animal, on the croudy being put down by the maid, fell a victim to his voracious appetite; for before the return of the family from church it was enormously swelled, and expired in great agony.
The student enjoined the boy to remain quite passive for the present; meanwhile he attempted to shew his ingenuity by resolving the cause of the sudden death of the dog into insanity, in order to keep the girl in countenance till a fit opportunity of discovering the plot should present itself.
Soon after his father and family with the other servants returned from church.
The table was instantly replenished with wooden bowls and trenchers, while a heap of barley bannocks graced the top. The kail or broth, infused with leeks or winter-cabbages, was poured forth in plenty; and Peggy, with a prodigal hand, filled all the dishes with the homely dainties of Teviotdale. The master began grace, and all hats and bonnets were instantly off; "O Lord," prayed the farmer, "we have been hearing thy word, from the mouth of thy aged servant Mr. Ramsay; we have been alarmed by the awful famine in Samaria, and of death being in the pot!" Here the young scholar interrupted his father, by exclaiming— "Yes sir, there is death in the pot now here, as well as there was once in Israel! Touch not! taste not! see the dog dead by the poisoned pot!"
"What!" cried the farmer, "have you been raising the devil by your conjuration? Is this the effect of your study, sir?" "No, father," said the student, " I pretend to no such arts of magic or necromancy, but this day, as the boy can testify, I had a solemn warning from one whom I take to be no demon, but a good angel. To him we all owe our lives. As to Peggy, according to his intimation, she has put poison into the pot for the purpose of destroying the whole family." Here the girl fell into a fit, from which being with some trouble recovered, she confessed the whole of her deadly design, and was suffered to quit the family and her native country. She was soon after executed at Newcastle-upon-Tyne for the murder of her illegitimate child, again making ample confession of the above diabolical design.
Signs Before Death: A Record of Strange Apparitions, Remarkable Dreams, &c, John Timbs, 1875
Mrs Daffodil's Aide-memoire: A curious story for St Andrew's Day. Mrs Daffodil wonders why supernatural gentlemen so often appear in "antique garb:" ancestral ghosts in clan plaids, the Gentry in gold-laced coats, His Satanic Majesty in black velvet, and, apparently, an aged angel**. Are there no fashionable tailors in the Afterlife?
To be Relentlessly Informative, the turning over the pages of the Bible as a form of divination is well-known in supernatural circles. It is also known as bibliomancy, although the Holy Book is not a requirement. M.R. James used it to great effect in 'The Ash Tree," where Mr Crome tries to discover the secrets of the ash tree by the "old and by many accounts superstitious practice of drawing the sorts." But in this case, it appears that the venerable gentleman, rather than opening the Book at random, "cribbed" to deliver the life-saving message.
**Spoiler Alert: We find in a second part of the story that the "angel" is Mr Lilly's dead grandfather, who kindly directs him to a treasure.
This entry was posted in Crime, Death, Domestic Arrangements, Gentlemen, Ghosts, History 1700-1799, Irregular Lives, Murder, News and Announcements, poisons, Supernatural and tagged death in the pot, Kelso Scotland, Roxburghshire, Scots ghost stories, Scots ghosts, Scottish ghosts, Thomas Lilly on November 30, 2018 by chriswoodyard.
The Diabolical Teapot: 18th century
George III silver tea pot https://www.bonhams.com/auctions/22827/lot/358/
A story, so remarkable as to be scarcely worthy of credence had not the narrator been a lady of unimpeachable veracity, was related to your correspondent a few days ago. The lady, who is a member of an old, aristocratic family, told me the story in the following terms:
When the founder of the American branch of our family came over from England, he brought a large quantity of silverware, already very old. Among the various articles was a teapot of curious workmanship and shape. In fact, the old vessel may not have been a teapot, but it was called so. All of this silver was stolen during the Revolutionary War, the teapot included; but the morning after the theft, to the great surprise of the family, this particular piece was found in its accustomed place. No one could even surmise how it came there. Through all the changes of circumstances and residence that teapot has remained with us. I would only weary you were I to recite the numerous times it has been lost, stolen and even sold, and yet, through some mysterious intervention, it has always made its way back to the possession of the family. But the most wonderful thing in connection with this singular vessel is that never, since we possess any record of it, has it been put to its ostensible use. The first I knew of this was when I was a girl of 16. My mother was giving a large tea party and while she was arranging her table she placed upon it the teapot we ordinarily used.
"Mother," I exclaimed, "why don't you use that lovely old teapot which came from England?"
She answered, gravely: "Alice, you are old enough now to hear the story of that teapot and I will tell it to you, for the thing will eventually become yours. The history of the vessel no one knows, but it has been remarked by its possessors for generations that no one has ever been able to use it. Place it on the table and, watch it, as you will, it is invariably removed and returned to its case, by what or whom I cannot say."
"Well, I'll engage to find out," I said, "if you'll let me get it down."
She gave her consent and I put the teapot on the table, taking my seat within reach of it. My mother went on with her work, passing in and out of the room, while I sat intently regarding the beautiful old piece of silver. About five minutes passed, when I received a violent blow on the cheek, which cause me to turn indignantly to see my assailant. There was no one in the room! Hurt and bewildered, I looked back at the table, but the teapot was gone. I ran to the closet, on the shelf on which the thing was kept, and there I saw it in its place. I called my mother and told her what had happened.
"You see," she said. "It does not intend to be used."
After some years the teapot became my property, but I had such a horror of the diabolical thing that I kept it under lock and key for some time. At last one of my neighbors sent to borrow a teapot of me on the occasion of a high tea. Thinking to find out whether it peculiarities were only exercised for the family's benefit or not, I sent her my strange heirloom. In an hour or two my friend came running in.
"My dear friend," she cried, "have you heard anything of your teapot? I fear it has been stolen. I had filled it and left it on the table, when I left the room for a moment. On my return I found the tea spilt and running from the cloth and the pot gone."
We went to my closet together, and though the door had been locked and the key in my pocket, there sat the teapot in its place. There was nothing for it but to make a clean breast of it to her, but I could see that she was incredulous and very much offended. I resolved now to have the thing melted down, but the fact of its being an heirloom caused me to reconsider my resolution. My husband, too, persuaded me to try and solve the mystery before destroying so remarkable an object. Overcoming the horror, and even terror, with which I regarded the thing, I brought it out one evening and my husband and I saw down to watch it. As we fixed our eyes on it we saw distinctly a delicate feminine hand close its shadowy fingers bout the handle and carry the teapot through the air to the closet. Once at rest on the shelf the hand relinquished its hold and vanished, and we brought he teapot back to the table, resuming our watch. Again the phantom hand seized the handle, but Mr. ___ caught the spout and clung to it. Then ensued a struggled between my husband and the invisible power that sought to remove the teapot form the room. For several moments, during which, my husband says, he seemed turning slowly to ice, the struggle went on, when suddenly the uncanny thing was snatched from the living hand that held it, and, to our surprise, replaced on the table. We ran to it and saw a clear, colorless liquid gradually rise from some invisible spring and fill the teapot. We bent our heads over it and saw, instead of the bottom, a spacious room, that is, we seemed to be looking as through a window into such an apartment. There were three persons in the room, a man and two women.
My knowledge of bygone fashions was not sufficient for me to accurately determine the nationality and period of their dress, but from what I did know I judged it belonged to England, of perhaps the middle of the Eighteenth Century. Both women were beautiful, one in a dark, vivacious style, the other in a blonde English way. The man seemed to divide equally between the two his attentions, which were courtly and what would now seem exaggerated and affected. The fair woman went to a table and took up my teapot! She poured out a cup of some liquid (whether it was tea or not I can not tell), and handed it to the dark woman, who, in turn, presented it to the man. He appeared to protest, but finally drank it. The fair woman made a gesture as if to prevent it, but it was too late. She again filled the cup and gave it to the other woman, who drank it. As she did so, the man fell to the floor, evidently dying, the dark woman falling also on her knees beside him. Se arose soon and turning to the murderess cursed her (I judged so by her silent gesture and the teapot to which she pointed). This done she fell beside the man, and the next moment the liquid turned blood red, while a low, long drawn moan and a ringing, cruel laugh of triumphant scorn were heard in the room. The lights burned blue and flickered so low that we could scarcely see the face of the other. A chill wind swept over us, and after it everything resumed its usual aspect, but the teapot once more empty and quite dry, sat in its accustomed place on the closet shelf. We sent it next day to have it melted down, but it wasn't forty-eight hours before my horror was back again. Yes, if you call, I'll show it to you, for I have given up. I know I'm saddled with it for life. Houston (Tex.) Correspondence Globe-Democrat.
The Brooklyn [NY] Daily Eagle 21 April 1889: p. 9
Mrs Daffodil's Aide-memoire: It is delightful to find a shiversome tale for Hallowe'en told by a lady both of unimpeachable veracity and an old, aristocratic family. That person of peachable veracity over at Haunted Ohio, who reads altogether too much 19th-century ghost literature, tells us that if a story is introduced by a narrator Whose Veracity Cannot Be Questioned, it is axiomatic that we are about to be treated to a gripping, but suspect tale.
Be that as it may, it seems a trifle odd that an innocent teapot should bear the brunt of a long-standing curse, and that the curse should consist merely of always returning to a locked cupboard with the other silver. Mrs Daffodil does not think much of it. A proper curse would have wiped out the descendants of the murderess within a generation.
This entry was posted in Aristocracy, Crime, Death, Domestic Arrangements, etiquette, Ghosts, History 1700-1799, Irregular Lives, Murder, News and Announcements, poisons, Supernatural, Victorian and tagged cursed teapot, diabolical teapot, Halloween, haunted objects, haunted teapot, murderess, poisoned lover, possessed possessions, supernatural stories on October 26, 2018 by chriswoodyard.
A Jar of Sugared Fruit: 1869
WAS IT INSANITY?
Madame Rosine was sewing some light, dainty stuff; her nervous fingers flashed to and fro in the twilight, and the diamond bracelet on her white arm glistened like the eye of a snake, as she held her needle up to the fading light, and inserted the gossamer thread.
The world generally, I confess, uses women up in about forty years: they shrivel and grow grim and enervated in its atmosphere…But, Madame was an exception; she grew rounder and rosier and plumper every year; every year nature seemed to discover some unfinished beauty in her which she proceeded with artist hand to "touch up." There was a sense of color, and light and warmth in her stately presence, that fascinated me, as well as her younger pupils.
It was after school-hours, yet Madame, who was a very conscientious teacher, was expounding to me patiently a chapter in Ancient History. A very ancient and profound chapter in the story of the world.
How the old heroes met death; stoically, yet as a king of terror. How the terrible king held high revel in the bleak walls and grave-like secrecy of the inquisition. How men's lives were wrenched out of them by sheer physical force, and death was made hideous by his association with all that was vile and cruel in man.
"Those were frightful times!" said I with a shudder. "I'm glad we got over them before I was born!"
"We haven't got over them, my dear," said Madame, with her courtly smile. "We have arrived at great achievements in medicine, certainly, and great attainments in art. Every year we are conquering the world's roughness, and making it easier to live—we have yet to perfect the science of death. We are perfecting ourselves in every thing—only in this we are barbarous; we let men gulph out of existence brutishly."
"It is a difficult field of study, Madame," said I, "and dangerous."
"And so," continued Madame, not noticing the interruption, "not a hand is lifted, not a voice raised; we die hideously, when the passage might be made dewy and fragrant as a walk over a land of flowers. We keep our halt, our sick and suffering, hovering cruelly on the brink of death, when death is inevitable, and no one leads them kindly by the hand down the dismal road. They are left to crawl out of life alone, and open the doors of the other world with their own trembling hands, because we are too cowardly to be courteous; we will not venture to usher them in thither while there is a better life, and glow and pleasure left—we send them out in the dark."
Madame's voice grew into a thoughtful whisper, and she looked dreamily out into the twilight, as she said these words.
I looked up at the lady, as she sat there in the flash of the yellow sunset, her silk dress falling about her in shining folds, her dark eye and crimson cheek catching strange luster as she spoke. Yes, she was indeed the model of a Frenchwoman, well dressed, well cared-for, tasteful and philosophic.
Madame Rosine was my teacher; she was also the teacher of my younger sisters, who, during our father's absence, were left with her in her cottage on the sea-shore.
The cottages on the sea-shore were very sparse; they were let out to strangers during the summer months, who came down to bathe and reinvigorate themselves with the fresh sea air.
She and her old grandmother, a queer, half silly, but kindly old lady, inhabited the little white house just beyond the turn of the hills, where they swept off from the shore, leaving the white line of beach-sand for the waves and the bathers. There were one or two other little pupils, from among the summer residents.
My father thought a deal of Madame's French; and of her powers of training. And Madame thought a deal of my father. We had been very happy at the cottage this summer; the sunshiny, breezy days had passed like a swift flight of birds that paused to dip their wings in the radiant waters, and vanished beyond the hills.
Madame Rosine arose and approached the doorway which looked out on the far line of beach, and the brimming, heaving sea, tinged with the ruddy light of the departing sun.
"I believe," said she, "grandmother is getting too old to trust with the children."
A nodding, smiling old woman in a red kerchief came, leaning on her stick, up the gravel path, a little child toddling on in advance of her.
It was little Fanchette, my sister, with her hands and tiny white apron full of green, shiny seaweed.
She held the dripping mass up to Madame's gaze as she skipped eagerly forward.
"Me dot a fower!" she cried.
Madame withdrew her silken dress from possible contact: an expression of disgust warped her face. She had sent the little thing out so clean and shining, to be admired by the gazers on the seashore, an attractive exposition of her system and her care.
But with the self-control which she inculcated in her pupils, she checked the expression; her face resumed its courteous complacency as the old woman came slowly up the path.
"I think, grandmother," said she, "these walks are getting too much for you. The children are too much of a charge—I will accompany them myself next time."
It was grandmother's charge to walk with the little ones on the beach of an afternoon, and to take the little day-pupils home. The toddling things liked the old woman well; she was "grandmother" by election to the whole of them, and that she sometimes wandered off with them for half a day or so, did not discredit her claims in their eyes.
"Rosine," said she, "thou wilt not deprive me of the little ones!" Her old voice quivered.
Madame did not answer. She was busy disgorging Fanchette's little apron of its contents.
The next day, bright and early, I saw the old grandmother, staff in hand, making her swift way toward the gate, her ruffled cap blowing back in the breeze, and Fanchette, with a many furtive glance backward, trudging valiantly by her side.
I supposed that they were only going down for milk, but school-time came, and Fanchette's face was absent.
I did not trouble myself much about the child; it was safe and happy, no doubt, and I had my head full of French verbs.
We were expecting my father up that day; he would come in the afternoon train. He usually came out once a week. On that day Madame always wore red ribbons in her hair, and looked younger and more coquettish than usual. She was also very kind to us on those days; we had cakes and sweetmeats for lunch, and made a sort of gala-day of it.
But if my father came and little Fanchette was unaccountably absent—what then?
I saw that Madame grew uneasy as the morning waned, and her uneasiness reflected itself in me. We spent the intervening time between lessons, in walking down to the gate, and glancing up and down the road for the fugitives. Madame had a saintly patience with that childish old grandmother, but it gave way as the day passed, and no sign of them appeared.
"I will go out," said she, "Sophie, and take a walk along the shore. Doubtless they are there among the shells."
Madame walked thoughtfully along the shore, while I, less anxious, strolled on, flinging pebbles into the water. The tide was rising; nearer and nearer came the creeping waves; they wetted my feet; they drove me further and further from the beach toward the line of rocks overhanging it.
Just then, where the water and the rocks met, and a tangled mass of scraggy, wild growth overhung the steep ascent, I caught a glimpse, just above my head, of some red, glittering object, and parting the bushes, there lay Fanchette asleep, her rosy face pressed against the stones. A dangerous sleep in such a chamber, when the tide was rising.
"Madame! Madame!" I cried, "I have found her!"
Madame came quickly back; she stretched up her round, strong arms, and caught the child hastily down from its eyrie. She turned homeward without a word; not a word during all the long walk, either to Fanchette or me.
As we reached the cottage gate, who should look up from the porch, and smiling, knock the ashes from her pipe, but the old grandmother.
"Ah, aha!" said she, cunningly, eyeing Madame with that half fearing, half defiant expression which I have seen in the eyes of animals when doubtful of their master's intentions toward them. "Ah, yes! too hot, too hot, you see, to bring the little one home. Grandmother only left her to cool a little!"
To cool! If Fanchette had not happened to wear her red dress, she might have been cooling under the waves tonight, I thought to myself.
It seemed, however, that Fanchette had strolled away from the old woman, who, in her bewilderment at losing her, and terror of Madame Rosine, had thought of no better way to shield herself than to deny the fact.
Fanchette, all curled and smiling, was ready to be brought in when my father, immediately on his arrival, asked for his favorite child.
We said nothing about her recent adventure.
"I so hate to disturb your dear father, Sophie," said the complacent Madame, "he has already so much on his mind."
Madame waited assiduously upon my father on these days, spread his hot biscuit with her own dainty fingers, and showed him an attention which my own sweet mother never did; but I think my father liked it. We were little half-orphans, for my mother had died in giving birth to Fanchette, but Madame often declared she felt like a mother to us.
Madame was alone in the world.
"Monsieur," said she, sweetly, on the day of my father's visit, "I am alone; I am very sad; but I feel sure that the good God watches over me and the dear old lady. What, else, should become of us, two poor, lone waifs by the seashore!"
Madame was alone in the world, but she owned the little cottage, or would own it on grandmother's death, and a snug little sum in the bank, it was said.
My father looked into the lady's eyes and smiled when she said that so pathetically, and I heard him call her Rosine.
The sunshine streamed over her and little Fanchette, who, wearied with her recent exploits, curled herself up in Madame's loving arms, and fell fast asleep. A very sweet picture it made, and as my father had something of an artist eye, no doubt it pleased him.
The next day as I walked in the garden, I saw the old grandmother sitting solitary upon a stone; she did not lift her eyes, nor speak to me. The blithe, cheery look that kept her foolish old face like foggy sunshine was all gone out; she looked gray and wrinkled, and sullen.
I did not dare to speak to the old woman when she was in this mood, and strolled on through the garden, among the fallen leaves. Presently, as I stooped among a clump of flowers to gather a low forget-me-not, I heard another footstep rustle the fallen leaves, and Madame passed swiftly, without seeing me.
She was evidently looking for her grandmother. I heard her utter a low exclamation when she came upon the wretched object sitting there alone. Oh, but this was a trying old woman! and Madame certainly had a saintly patience with her!
I trembled in my hiding-place when I heard Madame's voice speaking sternly and gravely in French; so severely I had never heard her voice sound before, but I did not catch the words.
As I passed out again, when the conversation ceased, the old woman still sat crouching on her stone; her face had a cowed, scared look, and she shrunk away from me.
She continued thus sullen and solitary for days, occasionally varying her grimness by a flight to the sea-shore, whence she would have to be brought home by the maid-servant, or by Madame herself. Or she would sit for long, monotonous hours in the doorway, neither knitting nor smoking as her wont.
The children shunned her; by one leap their old favorite had taken herself out of the cheery little circle of their lives, and become a thing mysterious and apart. Not a child came up to her for a kiss, or to show her new primer, or bring her a flower to smell; they eyed her askance and walked away.
Certainly this old woman, growing into a specter, was making an ominous reputation for the school, and undoing all Madame's patient labor for success.
Yet Madame Rosine's saintly patience and politeness was a model to her pupils; she took her own shawl of an evening, and wrapped it about grandmother's shoulders; the crimson shawl that grandmother used to covet.
"The dear old mother," she said, "one would fain make her comfortable, if one only could. My dear Sophie, we must always respect the aged, be they ever so ungrateful."
Ungrateful, indeed, the old lady was; when Madame's jeweled fingers pressed her angular shoulders with the luxurious shawl dropping down its ruddy folds, the recipient of this kindness repelled her with a gesture of aversion. She got up feebly, and put the crimson drapery from her. After that she hobbled off to bed.
Madame's eye followed her as she left the room, with a glance of philosophic consideration, as if meditating the possibility of further experiments in her behalf.
After this the old woman kept her bed most of the time; but she had a notion that she would not be treated us a child; a dainty cloth was therefore spread in her room at meal-times, and Madame herself prepared an orderly repast to set before her. The old lady would sit up at the table, querulous and provoking, but eat nothing; some time afterward I would hear her shuffling feet coming down the stairway to sit in the ashes of the kitchen, where she munched a mouthful with the servant, betaking herself back in terror if she heard Madame's stately step approaching.
But gradually she gave up that; she grew whiter and thinner, and finally kept her bed altogether.
We were sent up in the afternoons to pay our respects to her, shrinking back in childish awe from the spectral figure bolstered up before us, and making our courtesies brief as possible.
One day she seemed to rouse up a little as we entered; she nodded her withered head to us in its wide-frilled cap, and apparently wished to speak; but we could not understand the mumbling words, and shrank nervously toward the door.
The old woman lifted with her trembling hands a gaudy tulip from a vase on the table, and held it toward Fanchette. Fanchette could not withstand the temptation; she faltered slowly, slowly up, and took the flower from the shaking, bony hand; then the wrinkled donor smiled, a wrinkled, quavering, ghost of a smile, and placed her hand on the child's curling head. Fanchette was not thinking of her old friend much; her childish eyes were wandering over the white-spread table, whose array of jelly and other good things was far more attractive. A nice white bowl of gruel stood near the edge; she stretched up on her tiny tiptoes and peered into it.
The sunshine streamed in over the snowy table, the clean old woman and the gaily-dressed child. We stood at the door and looked, but did not approach. Overcoming all her scruples, the little epicure had mounted to a chair. The invalid drew the table slowly toward her. Apparently she had a whim that they should have a meal together; these two children, the one hoary-headed, the other with her downy, sunshiny hair just lighting with a golden luster her infantile head, used to be attached to each other once; the old attraction seemed to be coming up again as they sat sunning together.
With her trembling hands the old woman took some sugared fruit from a jar, and held it all glistening with crystal sweetness toward the child.
The sight was too much for those of us who did not want to appear covetous, and had outgrown the ingenuousness of childhood.
We politely withdrew.
Madame was on the stairs as we came out; apparently she had been waiting. She, good lady, was always so anxious about us.
"Fanchette ?" she said, quickly, seeing, as we swept out into the garden, that the little one was missing.
We pointed merrily up the stairs, and I saw Madame gather up her long robe and rush up swiftly like a young girl.
I can not tell what had come over me in regard to Madame lately; I took a strange, dreamy interest in every thing she did, and watched her with an apparently motiveless fascination. Why did she hurry up stairs so? Would we, would Fanchette be punished for staying too long with the old lady? Or for touching her dainties, which we had been forbidden to do? An interesting woman, my father always said; and she had become so to me.
The old lady was dead. Her troublesome, querulous life had flickered out at last. She lay up stairs folded in the linen so long prepared for her. She had died in the night. Madame, who had sat up all that long solemn night, looked worn and white this morning; she had dark lines under her eyes, and was strangely restless and uneasy, as people are apt to be who have overtasked their strength.
"I so wanted the poor soul to die easy, Sophie," said she to me, who, being the oldest pupil, was honored with Madame's confidence occasionally.
As we stood in the breezy, white draped room, and looked at the solemn face from which death had swept out all the silliness and insignificance, there was a stir of the gauzy window-drapery. Madame started: it was only little Fanchette, who peered in with curious, frightened face, and sped away.
Madame called the child, but she would not return; she held aloof from Madame all that day, and would not be caressed or cared for, though it appeared to me she did not look well. But children have queer and eccentric instincts, and Fanchette was an odd child. She wandered about in the garden, and eyed us askance all day, like a bird that has alighted among strangers a moment, and will take wing presently.
When I came down the stairway I found Fanchette sitting in the sunny porch. "Come in, darling," said I, "to luncheon. We've got something good."
Fanchette was a little epicure; "something good" always won her heart. This time she did not stir. "Me dot somesin dood," said she. She put her tiny hand in her tiny pocket, and drew out the confection old grandmother had given her yesterday. The cunning little one, arrested by Madame's entrance in the midst of her dainty revel with the old woman, had pocketed the delicacy.
"It will make you sick, Fanchette," said I, prudently.
"Did it make granny sick?" said the child, turning her feverish little face up toward the window where her dead friend lay.
I did not answer. Madame called me, and I left the child to her feast.
The pupils were all running wild with the liberty and change death made in the house. I had to assist in keeping the little things quiet, and I had to go to the village for Madame. The death of the poor old woman had upset the usual routine altogether.
When I returned, I saw Fanchette lying curled up among the honeysuckle leaves; the shadow of them flickered over her red dress. The child was asleep. Madame came hastily out to see how I had succeeded with my shopping; she stopped as she saw Fanchette lying there.
"The child," said she, "will get her death! Run up with the things, Sophie, and I will wake her up."
Anxious to show my purchases, I waited impatiently in the upper chamber. Apparently, it took a long time to wake Fanchette.
I listened. A cry rang through the house that thrilled me to my finger-ends, and some one came staggering heavily up, as if burdened with a dead weight.
It was Madame; her white face blanched to a death-like hue; her eyes set. The burden she carried was Fanchette.
"Oh, God?" she cried, "who will make death easy for me!"
For little Fanchette was dead.
The line of demarcation between sanity and insanity physicians tell us is very difficult to discern. It melts off indistinctly between the passions, the emotions, and even the intellectual and philosophic processes of the mind.
This woman was sane when she essayed to study the problem of death. But when the little innocent child unwittingly entered through the door which she had dared to open for the decrepit and miserable old woman, reason, long clouded with subtle and metaphysical arguments, went out in the gust. Its light never was relit.
The cottage by the sea-shore, where Fanchette had partaken of the death feast whose subtle poisons Madame had prepared with skillful hands, is deserted and in ruins. But to the moping maniac, whose cell I sometimes visit, Fanchette and the old grandmother are often present; they come together, hand in hand, whispering and eyeing her together.
A. M. Hoyt
Beadle's Monthly, Volume 3, 1869: p.524-529
Mrs Daffodil's Aide-memoire: "Moping maniac," indeed… It seems a shocking lapse of judgement on the part of the philosophic and conscientious Madame Rosine—so enchanted with dewy and fragrant death—that she did not think to reserve a sweet or two from the old lady's jar for use in an emergency.
This entry was posted in Children, Crime, Death, Domestic Arrangements, Grim and Grewsome, Irregular Lives, Murder, News and Announcements, poisons, Supernatural, Victorian, Widows and tagged A Jar of Sugared Fruit, euthanasia, insanity, killed by mistake, plotting a poisoning, poison, poisoned by mistake, poisoned candied fruit, poisoned candies, poisons her mother on October 5, 2018 by chriswoodyard.
A Grateful Little Owl: 1880s
The Little Owl, Albrecht Durer, 1508, Albertina, Vienna
A Grateful Little Owl.
"The dining-room opened on a little courtyard under the Trinta dei Monti steps, transformed by me into a sort of infirmary and convalescent home for my various animals. Among them was a darling little owl, a direct descendant from the owl of Minerva. I had found it in the Campagna with a broken wing half dead of hunger. Its wing healed, I had twice taken it back where I had found it and set it free, twice it had flown back to my carriage to perch on my shoulder, it would not hear of our parting. Since then the little owl was sitting on her perch in the corner of the dining-room, looking lovingly at me with her golden eyes. She had even given up sleeping in the day in order not to lose sight of me. When I used to stroke her soft little person she would half close her eyes with delight and nibble gently at my lips with her tiny, sharp beak, as near to a kiss as an owl can get, Among the patients admitted to the dining-room was a very excitable young Russian lady, who was giving me lots of trouble. Would you believe it, this lady got so jealous of the owl, she used to glare at the little bird so savagely, that I had to give strict orders to Anna never to leave these two alone in the room. One day on coming in for luncheon, Anna told me that the Russian lady had just called with a dead mouse wrapped in paper. She had caught it in her room, she felt sure the owl would like it for breakfast. The owl knew better after having bitten off its head, owl fashion, she refused to eat it. I took it to the English chemist; it contained enough arsenic to kill a cat."
The Story of San Michele, Axel Munthe, 1929: pp. 431-432
Mrs Daffodil's Aide-memoire: It is, Mrs Daffodil is reliably informed, one of the days of the "International Festival of Owls." Mrs Daffodil is fond of the night-flying creatures despite (or perhaps because of) their folkloric reputation as an Omen of Death. And, like Mrs Daffodil, they are so helpful in keeping down vermin.
Axel Munthe, while he was an admirable doctor, is perhaps best known for his skill as a raconteur and for being a passionate advocate of animal rights. His passions also ran to the ladies; he seems to have fascinated a largish swath of the English aristocracy as well as at least one of the crowned heads of Europe. Plus a Russian lady and a little owl.
Mrs Daffodil has previously written of a pair of pet owls. You will find the first section of the two-part story here.
This entry was posted in Animals, Aristocracy, Crime, Gentlemen, Irregular Lives, Murder, News and Announcements, poisons, Victorian and tagged arsenic poisoning, Axel Munthe, International Owl Festival, pet owl on March 4, 2018 by chriswoodyard.
Black Cat Tales: 19th century
It is, Mrs Daffodil is reliably informed, "Black Cat Day." In examining her scrap-books of past posts, she realises that it is a theme she has returned to again and again.
So, in celebration of subfusc felines, Mrs Daffodil presents
The Black Cat Horror
Guts, The Ghostly Sailor Cat
The Black Cat Elemental
A Funeral for a Theatrical Cat
Murder by Cat
And, from that feline-friendly person over at Haunted Ohio: Le Chat Noir: Vengeful Cat Tales.
If you are fortunate enough to have a black cat in possession of your home, do set out an extra bowl of cream and some fresh catnip for the honoured guest to-night.
This entry was posted in Animals, Crime, Death, Edwardian, Ghosts, Grim and Grewsome, Irregular Lives, Mourning, Murder, News and Announcements, poisons, Supernatural, Victorian and tagged cat at a wake, cat ghost, cat ghosts, cat takes revenge, cat tries to eat corpse, Edwardian cats, ghostly cat, murder by cat, phantom cat, sailor cat, Victorian cats on October 27, 2017 by chriswoodyard.
The Deadly and Demoralising Thanksgiving Pie: 1905
THANKSGIVING PIE.
Thanksgiving Day is the one national festival which is peculiarly and thoroughly American. Other nations undergo annual sufferings from noise and gunpowder which are analogous to those which are associated in our minds with Fourth of July. Christmas is the common property of the Christian world, although Russia celebrates her Christmas some weeks later than other nations, in order that Russians residing in foreign countries may obtain a double supply of Christmas presents. Thanksgiving Day, however, was the invention of the New England colonists, and though it has since been universally adopted by the American people, no other nation has imitated it. We alone express our annual gratitude by the sacrifice of turkeys, and it is, hence, greatly to be desired that the one exclusively American festival should be in all respects perfect and beyond reproach.
It is impossible to deny that in active practice our method of celebrating the day is open to one serious objection. In spite of the progress which we have made towards a higher morality than that of the last century, we still adhere, on Thanksgiving Day, to one barbarous and demoralizing ceremony. To a great extent the hot New-England rum of our forefathers is banished from our dinner-tables, but the no less deadly and demoralizing pie forms part of every Thanksgiving dinner, no matter how moral and intelligent its consumers may believe themselves to be.
The Thanksgiving array of pie is usually of so varied, as well as lavish a nature, that it seems cunningly devised to entrap even the most innocent palate. If mince-pie alone were set before a virtuous family, it is quite probable that many of its members would have the courage to turn in loathing from the deadly compound, but the Thanksgiving mince-pie is always accompanied or preceded by lighter pies, in which weak-minded persons think they can indulge without injury. The thoughtless matron—for thoughtlessness, and not deliberate wickedness, is indicated by the presence of Thanksgiving pie—urges her guests to take a little chicken-pie, assuring them that it cannot injure a child. The guest who tampers with the chicken-pie is inevitably lost. The chicken-pie crust awakens an unholy hunger for fiercer viands, and when the meats are removed, he is ready and anxious for undiluted apple or pumpkin pie. From that to mince-pie the transition is swift and easy, and in nine cases out of ten the man who attends a Thanksgiving dinner and is lured into touching chicken-pie abandons all self-restraint and delivers himself up to the thraldom of a fierce longing for strong and undisguised mince-pie. Hundreds of men and women who had emancipated themselves by a tremendous effort of the will from the dominion of pie, have backslidden at the Thanksgiving dinner, and have returned to their former degradation with a fiercer appetite than ever, and with little hope that they can find sufficient strength for a second effort towards reformation.
The chief evil of the Thanksgiving display of pie is, however, its terrible influence upon the young. It is a well-known fact, however revolting it may seem when rehearsed in cold blood, that on Thanksgiving Day many a foolish mother has herself pressed pie to the lips of her innocent offspring. To the taste thus created thousands of victims of the pie habit ascribe their ruin. It is a common spectacle on Thanksgiving evening to see scores of children, mere babes in years, writhing under the influence of pie, and making the night hideous with their outcries. Physicians can testify to the appalling results of the pie orgies in which children are thus openly encouraged to take part. The amount of drugs which is consumed by the unhappy little victims on the day following Thanksgiving Day would fill the public with horror were the exact figures to be published. How can we wonder that children who are thus tempted to acquire the taste for pie by their own parents grow up to be shameless and habitual consumers of pie! The good matron who sees a haggard and emaciated man slink into a public pie shop, and presently emerge brushing the tell-tale crumbs from his beard, shudders to think that the unhappy wretch was once as young and innocent as her own darling children. And yet that very matron will sit at the foot of a Thanksgiving table groaning with pie, and will deal out the deadly compound to her children without a thought that she is awakening in them a depraved hunger that will ultimately lead them straight to the pie shop.
All the efforts of good men and women to stay the torrent of pie which threatens to engulf our beloved country will be in vain, unless the reform is begun at the Thanksgiving dinner-table. Pie must be banished from that otherwise innocent board, or it is in vain that we try to banish it from shops, restaurants, and hotels. May we not hope for a great moral crusade which will sweep pie from every virtuous table, and unite all the friends of morality in a vigorous and persistent attack upon the great evil of the land.
The Banker and the Typewriter, 1905: pp. 154-155
Mrs Daffodil's Aide-memoire: A shocking indictment of the American Thanksgiving pie, hitherto thought to be an innocent holiday indulgence! In England, of course, one of the footmen would read this aloud at tea-time to the accompaniment of hearty laughter. The Temperance-tract language of the parody is quite spot-on. There are, of course, food reformists who rail against pie as the fons et origo of spots and dyspepsia, but those of us who enjoy a nice, flakey lard-based crust consider them cranks. Heaven knows what horrors they would conjure up about Christmas puddings and hard sauce.
Mrs Daffodil wishes all of her American readers the happiest of Thanksgivings with as much pie as they like.
This entry was posted in Edwardian, etiquette, Frolics, Holidays, Humour and Satire, News and Announcements, poisons and tagged Edwardian food, indigestion, mince pie, pumpkin pie, Temperance tracts, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving pies on November 22, 2016 by chriswoodyard.
The Spook Party: 1897: To Celebrate National Ghost Hunting Day
Since it is, Mrs Daffodil is reliably informed, "National Ghost Hunting Day" in the United States, here is an encore presentation of a popular post on fashionable "spook parties" held in Paris.
SPOOK FUNCTIONS
An X Ray Diversion for the Paris Fashionables.
They Produce All Kinds of Fearful Shudders.
Curious Effects of the Roentgen Rays on Porcelain
And Crystal and Humans Coated With a Fluorescent Substance.
Paris, March. 30. Ghost parties are the latest diversion of fashionable folks who have money and brains in sufficient quantities to manage them. The Roetgen rays make these society functions possible, and their originators say that the amusement is only in its infancy. If this be true, it is difficult to picture what form the ghost parties will take when they are fully developed, for even in their present stage they are calculated to send every known variety of shiver and shudder and chill through the marrow of the spectator. Certainly new emotions of the shivery kind will have to be developed to keep pace with the growth of the ghost party.
The first essential of a spook function is a drawing-room of fair dimensions, containing a quantity of porcelain, glass, crystal and enamel bric-a-brac. Large vases should be numerous, and if the hostess is well supplied with diamonds, additional effect can be obtained if her faith in the integrity of her guests permits her to scatter the gems about in conspicuous places.
In a corner of the apartment should be the X ray apparatus, enveloped in black cloths. This machine only occupies as much space as the ordinary magic lantern, and as the lights in the room are extinguished before the guests enter, its presence is not apparent. An operator skilled in management of X rays should be engaged, also a couple of assistants, one of them a woman, to render various services.
The explanation of the need of the porcelain vases and bric-a-brac of various material rests in the fact that these articles being of fluorescent substance, become phosphorescent at a certain distance behind the X ray apparatus
At the first function of the kind held here the guests were greatly startled, and two or three of the women guests fainted from terror. No explanation of the mysteries were vouchsafed beforehand and the guests imagined that they were in the midst of the occult.
The host had secured form a maker of physical apparatus several glass hands, glass legs and other paraphernalia of the human body, and these, under the careful manipulation of the X ray operator and his assistants, were made to appear especially weird in the darkened room.
When the guests had assembled in the drawing-room the tinkling of a tiny bell sounded, and then appeared what seemed to be a human hand of dazzling brightness. It waved about and circled over the apartment and then disappeared. It was merely a glass hand, made phosphorescent by the action of the penetrating X rays, but it was ghostly enough to satisfy the cravings of the mightiest Mahatma in the love of theosophy.
Then a table in the corner of the room, loaded with dainty cups and saucers, suddenly blazed up out of the darkness. Only the cups and saucers were visible, they seeming to be resting on air. Then they faded away and a huge vase in an opposite corner loomed up with bewildering brilliancy. Next the scores of bits of porcelain in a cabinet were illuminated, each piece standing out separately in the darkness, all other objects and the cabinet itself being invisible.
A dazzling ball of fire then descended slowly from the ceiling, and swung back and forth over the heads of the guests. It was simply a glass sphere, which had been hung on wire prior to the coming of the guests; and was easily operated by one of the assistants standing in a corner of the apartment.
The most interesting and ghostly exhibition of them all came last, when the parting of a pair of portieres at the end of the room revealed a human form all in a blaze of light. The apparition moved slowly forward, and then it was seen that the figure was that of an unusually tall woman.
The phantom at first held her hands so that they shielded the face, and when they were lowered the sight of that face caused the men to move back nervously, nearly all of the women screamed, and two or three fainted. The face had a greenish pallor, and instead of eyes, there were two black holes. The mouth was closed and the hair streamed about, lit by phosphorescent flame. Every few seconds the spook raised her hands and seemed to scatter bouquets of flame about the room. Then when the bell tinkled the phantom receded slowly, and gradually faded from view.
This ended the party, the lights were turned on and the hostess explained how she had managed the mysteries. Everything was soon made clear, except the mystery of the human figure, and this, too, was easily explained. A clever figurante was engaged from a theatre and was concealed behind some draperies. She was enveloped in a veil which had been covered by a fluorescent substance, and her face and hair were glazed with a phosphorescent sulphate of zinc powder. This preparation, of course, could not be applied to the eyes, hence the black holes when the phantom appeared under the X rays.
Nannette du Bignon.
Times-Picayune [New Orleans, LA] 11 April 1897: p. 22
Mrs Daffodil's Aide-memoire: Like the radium given as Christmas gifts by the Smart Set, x-ray "spook parties" were all the rage. And although some scientists warned of the dangers of x-rays almost from the moment of their discovery in 1895, others pooh-poohed the scientists as alarmists. Ironically the lethal rays were discovered by Wilhelm Röntgen using the "Crookes tube." This was invented by Sir William Crookes, a distinguished scientist and credulous Spiritualist who championed medium Florence Cook, materializer of the winsome spirit of "Katie King." How strange that Sir William's invention should come back to haunt by association at "spook parties." One wonders if the "figurante" suffered any ill-effects from the phosphorescent sulphate of zinc powder or from those entertaining x-rays.
This entry was posted in Fads, Frolics, Ghosts, Impostures and Swindles, Irregular Lives, News and Announcements, poisons, Spiritualism, Supernatural, Victorian, Wonders and Curiosities and tagged fake ghosts, ghost hoaxes, Paris, Roentgen Rays, Sir William Crookes, spook party, x ray entertainment, x rays on October 1, 2016 by chriswoodyard.
The X-Ray Spook Party: 1897
The host had secured from a maker of physical apparatus several glass hands, glass legs and other paraphernalia of the human body, and these, under the careful manipulation of the X ray operator and his assistants, were made to appear especially weird in the darkened room.
Mrs Daffodil's Aide-memoire: Like the radium given as Christmas gifts by the Smart Set, x-ray "spook parties" were all the rage. And although some scientists warned of the dangers of x-rays almost from the moment of their discovery in 1895, others pooh-poohed the scientists as alarmists. Ironically the lethal rays were discovered by Wilhelm Röntgen using the "Crookes tube." This was invented by Sir William Crookes, a distinguished scientist and credulous Spiritualist who championed medium Florence Cook, materialiser of the winsome spirit of "Katie King." How strange that Sir William's invention should come back to haunt by association at "spook parties." One wonders if the "figurante" suffered any ill-effects from the phosphorescent sulphate of zinc powder or from those entertaining x-rays.
This entry was posted in Fads, Frolics, Ghosts, Impostures and Swindles, Lethal Clothing, News and Announcements, poisons, Supernatural, Victorian, Wonders and Curiosities and tagged fake ghosts, ghost hoaxes, Sir William Crookes, spook party, x ray entertainment, x rays on January 9, 2015 by chriswoodyard. | the winter, blue sunglasses. On two separate occasions when I was sitting on the hotel balcony in the mild winter sunlight and he was being rowed past underneath I had the impression that he was looking at me sharply and keenly behind those colored spectacles, and also the impression, which was likely enough to be correct, that I had seen him before. I meet, of course, a great many people, but even with a memory on which I rather pride myself, cannot immediately place everyone. The hotel at which I was staying—and this was one of the reasons I always selected it—did not have any of those ghastly organized gaieties at Christmas; we were left to ourselves in a poetic gloom best suited to the season and the city. I was seated by myself enjoying a delicious kind of mournful repose, piquantly in contrast with my usual life, when I received a message and a very odd one: the gentleman, Signor Hayden, the American from next door, would very much like to see me. He had observed me on the balcony, knew my name and my profession, and requested the honor of my company. Attracted by anything queer or the least out of the way, I at once accepted, and in ten minutes or so found myself in the newly-restored palace which I had so often admired and envied. The place was furnished with a good deal of taste, but rather, I suspected, the orthodox taste of the professional decorator. Mr. Hayden was not immediately visible, but, I understood, in bed ill; I expressed my willingness to go to his bedside and was shortly conducted there. The room was very handsome, the servants very well trained, and I was impressed by the fact that this rich American must be very rich indeed. One knows, of course, what these out-of-the-way little caprices of newly-restored palaces in Venice cost. The owner of this up-to-date luxury was in bed, propped up with pillows and shaded by old-fashioned mauve velvet curtains. He still wore the colored glasses, and I concluded that he had some defect in his sight. He appeared to see me perfectly well, however, and beckoned to me to approach his bedside. As I did so he removed his glasses; there was an electric standard lamp on an antique table by the bedside and the light of it was turned full on to the sick man's face, which I immediately recognized. I was looking down into the faded, mild, light-blue eyes of James Catchpole.
"'Very odd that you should be here,' he smiled at me, 'very odd indeed. You've always been interested in us and I thought perhaps you'd like to hear the end of the story, that is, if any story ever does end; there's a pause in ours at this point, anyway.'
"I expressed due surprise and gratification at seeing him. In truth, I was considerably amazed. I was startled, too, to see how ill he was. He asked me to help him up in bed. He declared, without emotion, that he knew himself to be dying.
"'Where's Miss Louisa?' I asked; 'where is your sister?'
"'She died last year,' he answered placidly. 'She had a thoroughly good time for four years and I suppose it killed her, you know; but, of course, it was worth it, she always said so.'
"The inevitable conclusion had jumped to my mind.
"'You found Miss Ursula Beane's hoard?' I suggested.
"James Catchpole, passing his hand over the full grey beard which had so changed his face, replied simply:
"'We never lost it—we had it all the time.'
"'You mean you?' I asked dubiously, and he nodded and replied:
"'Exactly!'
"'That you—?' I suggested, and this time he nodded and said:
"'Precisely!'
"'Louisa persuaded her to realize her capital,' he continued with childish calm. 'She was a proper miser and she rather fretted not having the actual stuff in her hands. It wasn't difficult to make her get it—she liked a real hoard, a thing you can put under the hearthstone or in the mattress, you know. We thought we should get hold of it easier that way when she came to die. You never knew with anyone like that what she might do in the way of a will, she was keen on lost cats and Christians. We thought she would enjoy herself playing with it, and then we'd get it if we were patient enough.'
"He blinked up at me and added, with the faintest of ironic smiles—We'd been patient for forty years, don't you suppose we spent some part of that time planning what we would do with the money? We were both engaged, to start with, but her young man and my young woman couldn't wait all those years…We read a good deal, we made lists of things we wanted, and places we wanted to go to…We had quite a little library of guide-books, you may have noticed them on the bookshelf—one of them was a guide to Venice. Louisa, writing her piffling articles, and I at my piffling job, to and fro—well, you don't suppose we didn't have our ideas?'
"'I see,' I said doubtfully, 'and then, when there was that little misfortune about the arsenic, I suppose you didn't care to mention the hoard?'
"'It wouldn't have been altogether wise, sir, would it?' smiled James Catchpole simply. It would have thrown a lot of suspicion on us, and we'd been very careful. There wasn't any proof, not a shred. We had to wait until the case had blown over a bit, and then we—well, we did the best we could with the time that was left us. We lived at the rate of ten thousand a year. We had the best of everything…Of course it was the pace—don't you call it?—that killed. We were neither of us young, and we knew we couldn't stand it for long, so we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly, believe me, sir, thoroughly.'
"He paused and added reflectively:
"'But it's a good thing we made a move when we did, we shouldn't have been able to get about at seventy; she—she might have gone on to a hundred and ten.'
"'Do you mean that you—?' I suggested quietly.
"'It was the easiest thing in the world,' he smiled, 'to drop a couple of those dog powders into her milk…'
"I'd always been intensely interested in murderers. I tried to question James Catchpole as to his motives, his sensations, his possible remorse; he appeared to have had none of any of these…
"'You didn't regret it afterwards, you haven't felt the Furies behind you, or anything of that sort?'
"He replied, as far as his feeble strength would permit:
"'I have enjoyed myself thoroughly. I wish we hadn't waited so long.'
"I was puzzled. They had always seemed such very nice people.
"'I am dying now,' said James Catchpole, 'and it's about time, for I've spent all the money. The doctor said my next heart attack would be fatal, and I've done my best to bring one on. I couldn't go back to lack of money.'
"'Who are you going to leave all this to?' I asked with professional interest. I glanced round the handsome room.
"He smiled at me with what I thought was compassion.
"'I haven't been so silly as all that,' he replied. 'Everything that I possess wouldn't pay half of my debts. I have had full value, I can assure you. After all, I had a right to it, hadn't I? I'd waited long enough.'
"'What about the planchette and the demonstrations?' I asked. 'I suppose all that was a fake to throw us off the scent?'
"'Not at all,' he declared, in what seemed to be hurt surprise, 'that was perfectly genuine. We made up our minds to get in touch with Aunt Ursula Beane, to find out what she thought about it all.'
"'And what did she think?' I asked, startled.
"'She said we were a couple of fools not to have done it sooner.'
"'Come, come, Mr. Catchpole,' I cried, something shocked, 'this is unseemly jesting.'
"'No jesting at all,' he assured me. 'Aren't I dying myself? I shall be in the old girl's company in a few minutes, I daresay. You heard her yourself, sir, dancing on the table that evening. She said she'd been a perfect fool herself, and now that she'd "got over" she realized it. She said if we didn't have a good time, or someone didn't have a good time with that damn money, she'd never forgive us. You see, sir, at first we began to have that miserly feeling too and didn't want to spend it. We thought we'd go on hoarding it, living just the same and knowing it was there. She used to scribble out on the planchette saying what idiots we were. That's why she used all that strong language. "You've got it—now use it!" That was what she always said. "I'll go with you and share in your good time"—and so she has, sir, believe me. We've often seen her sitting at the table with us, nodding over the champagne; she'd have been fond of champagne if she'd allowed herself…We've seen her dancing in some of those jazz-halls, we've seen her in boxes listening to opera, we've seen her sitting in the Rolls-Royce revelling in the cushions and the speed…Remorse? Why, I tell you we've given the old girl the good time she ought to have had years ago.'
"'Come, come, James Catchpole,' I said, 'you're delirious. I'd better fetch the doctor.'
"He smiled at me with compassion and some contempt.
"'You're a clever lawyer,' he said, 'but there are a lot of things you don't understand.'
"Even as he spoke he seemed to fall into a peaceful sleep and I thought it was my responsibility to fetch a doctor. Of course I believed hardly anything he said—I thought it was quite likely that he hadn't poisoned Aunt Ursula Beane, but that he had invented the story. At the same time there was the hard concrete evidence of the palace, the servants, the furniture—he had got money from somewhere.
"'Good raw material, eh? Think what you could make of it if you wrote it up!'
"I went downstairs, telephoned on my own responsibility to the address of one of the English doctors. It was Christmas Eve and I could not find him at home. I was quite uncertain what to do. I stood hesitant at the foot of the wide magnificent staircase, when I observed a dreadful old woman creeping up the stairs with a look of intense enjoyment on her face—Mrs. Ursula Beane—not a doubt of it—Aunt Ursula Beane! I saw her so clearly that I could have counted the stitches in the darns at the elbows of her black sleeves. I ran up after her, but of course she was there before I was. When I came up to the bedside James Catchpole was dead, with an extremely self-satisfied smug smile on his face.
"There's my Christmas Eve ghost! An hallucination, of course, but you can give it all the usual explanation. There's the story, you can put it together as you will. There's plenty of stuff in it—good raw material, eh, take it how you will?"
We all agreed with Linley.
Kecksies and Other Twilight Tales, Marjorie Bowen
Mrs Daffodil's Aide-memoire: While one sympathises with the Catchpoles in their long wait for the terrible and malicious Aunt Ursula's hoard, Mrs Daffodil has particular animus for Miss Louisa Catchpole. The image of "a little cut of an invalid in a basket-chair gazing at a robin" and those "chirpings about the recurring miracle of spring" are particularly damning. One wonders that some literary critic did not slip a couple of dog powders into her milk.
This entry was posted in Christmas, Death, Edwardian, Ghosts, Holidays, Irregular Lives, Murder, News and Announcements, poisons, Spiritualism, Supernatural and tagged Christmas Eve ghost, Christmas ghost story, getting away with murder, Marjorie Bowen, murder, poison, seance on December 6, 2020 by chriswoodyard.
Rings that are Fatal: Various Dates
Antique "poison ring" https://www.1stdibs.com/jewelry/rings/signet-rings/antique-victorian-18-karat-gold-emerald-enamel-snuff-poison-locket-ring/id-j_6673251/
RINGS THAT ARE FATAL.
Amazing Stories New and Old.
"A learned German physician," says a well-known writer upon jewels, "has given an instance in which the devil of his own accord enclosed himself in a ring as a familiar, thereby proving how dangerous it is to trifle with him."
The Germans are all learned, as we know, and I should not like to dispute a statement so admirable. Finger-rings henceforth should have a new interest for as. The idea that the devil is bottled up in one may not be pleasant to entertain but then we have the German's word for it, and Germans know everything.
If I do not feel inclined, however, to enter upon such a controversy, as is here suggested, none the less do I, as a jeweller, realise the potency of the superstitions connected with precious stones. Until the last two years, the opal— most beautiful, most lustrous, most wonderful of gems was almost a drug in the popular market. As well might you have sent a woman a letter edged with black to congratulate her upon her marriage as an opal for her wedding present. The prejudice arose, of course, from the old superstition that the opal is fatal to love, and that it sows discord between the giver and the receiver unless the wearer, happily, was born in October. In the latter case the stone becomes an emblem of hope and will bring luck to the wearer.
Opal and diamond ring. https://www.sothebys.com/en/auctions/ecatalogue/2018/bijoux-pf1810/lot.161.html?locale=en
But, I hear you ask, is all this serious? Are you not rather joking, or speaking of the few and not of the many? I answer that I am as serious as ever I was in my life. Not only did we find it almost an impossibility five years ago to sell an opal at all, but the few women courageous enough to wear them in society contributed in the end to their unpopularity. I remember well a leader of fashion who for 12 months was conspicuous everywhere for the magnificence of the opals she wore, both upon her arms and her fingers. One day she came into my shop and bought an opal ring of immense size and singular magnificence.
"I am determined to kill this superstition," she said, "and I am buying this ring because I am sure it will bring me luck."
"I hope it will," said I, "and if it should do so I trust that you will speak of it. The opal is sadly in need of a good word. I feel sure that nobody can speak that word to greater advantage than yourself."
She promised that she would; and during the next three months she was loud in her conviction that the opal had been the best friend she had ever bought. Her husband doubled his fortune in that time. Her son obtained conspicuous honours at Cambridge. She backed the favourite for the Derby and he won. It really looked, even to the man of no superstitions, as though a freshet of fortune had flowed for her since the day she bought the ring.
Alas! how soon her hopes were to be shattered. Two months after her horse won the Derby her husband was in the bankruptcy court, a victim in a high degree of the Liberator [a famous race horse.]
Memento Mori ring, c. 1600-1700. http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O118733/ring-unknown/
It would be absurd and ridiculous, of course, for any sane man to regard the case as a post hoc ergo propter hoc. The event was a pure coincidence; yet nothing in this world would induce the lady in question to regard that ring otherwise than as a fatal one. We may say what we like, but once a woman has dubbed this or that lucky or unlucky, the homilies of a thousand bishops would not change her opinion. Witness that remarkable story told in the "Lives of the Lindsays," in which we are shown how the Earl of Balcarres, forgetting on the morning of his wedding his appointment to marry the grand daughter of the Prince of Oxaxute, went hurriedly to church at the last moment without the all-necessary ring. This, of course, was a sad position for anybody to be in, and the young man appealed pathetically to the company to know if the deficiency could not be made good. Happily, or rather most unhappily, the best man standing at his side suddenly remembered that he had a ring in his pocket, and he slipped it into the earl's hand just as the service began. Was it not a strange thing that this should have been a mourning ring, and that, when the happy bride ventured to look down upon her finger, she saw a skull and crossbones grinning at her? So great was her distress that she fainted in the church and when she came to she declared that it was an omen of death, and that she would not live through the year. And did she? the matter-of-fact man asks expectantly. Alas! twelve months were not numbered before Lady Balcarres was in her grave!
Byron's mother's wedding ring, Newstead Abbey
It is necessary at this point to tell you a story with a happier ending, lest the superstitious man should have it all his own way. It is said of Lord Byron that he was about to sit down to dinner one day when a gardener presented him with his mother's wedding ring, which the man had just dug up in the garden before a wing of the house. Byron was at that time expectantly awaiting a letter from Miss Millbanke a letter which was to contain an answer to his proposal of marriage. When he saw the ring which the gardener brought him, he fell into a fit of deep gloom, regarding it as a sign of woeful omen but scarce had this depression come upon him when a servant entered with a letter from the lady. She accepted the poet.
There is another story told by the late Professor de Morgan I think it appeared in "Notes and Queries" which relates an instance of a page who fled to America simply because he lost a ring which he was carrying to the jeweller. The stone was an opal, if I remember rightly. The lights of it had so impressed the lad when he saw it upon his mistress's finger that he stopped upon the plank bridge crossing the stream in his town, and took the jewel out of the box to admire it. But his fingers were clumsy, and in his attempt to try the ring on he let it slip into the river. Two years after in America he told the story, and related how that the ring had driven him to the condition of a miserable serf in the plantations. He did not know then that his condition was soon to be changed, and that diligence and hard work were to carry him to such a position of affluence that at the end of 20 years he returned to this country and to his native town. On the night of his arrival be went with a friend. to the old bridge, and recalled his misfortune there.
"It was in that very spot," said he, thrusting his stick into the soft mud of the river, "that I dropped the ring."
"But look!" cried the friend, "you have a ring upon the end of your stick!"
Sure enough, incredible though it may sound, the very ring he had dropped into the river 20 years before was now upon the end of the muddy stick.
Some people may be inclined to take this story with a grain of salt. Personally I am willing to think that Professor de Morgan and "Notes and Queries" would not have fathered upon us a mere bundle of lies. For the matter of that, there are cases as marvellous of the recovery of rings in nearly every town in England. At Brechin they will | 4,373 |
I'll be the first to say I'm not a Cliff Richard fan in the slightest! However Summer Holiday the musical was awesome!
Based on the 1960's film starring Cliff Richard, Summer Holiday has been turned into not only a musical, but the feel-good musical of the year as per the Daily Mail!
I didn't know much about the story, other than the classic song! You know the one, "We're all going on a summer holiday No more working for a week or two" which I remember singing at school weirdly.
So London Bus mechanics, Don, Steve, Edwin and Cyril are off on a lads holiday to St Tropez in a classic red London Bus they have got from Work, however en route they end up meeting a stranded girl band and an American singer on the way, meaning their final destination changes considerably and they end up visiting Paris, The Alps, Italy and finally Greece!
Ray Quinn famous for coming second in the 2006 series of the X Factor stars as Don (originally played by Cliff Richard in the 1963 film) Quinn normally has a very thick Liverpudlian accent however transformed this for his role! I normally hate when people try to put on southern accents, but I must say he sounded fantastic! The type of music in the show is Quinn's style so each song was sung perfectly along with the very impressive dance moves!
I know it's inevitable you get the "main star of the show" who is the most famous, however Summer Holiday was so inclusive! Everyone was to the same cal<|fim_middle|> addition to the already side-splitting show!
Staging was fantastic! I bet your thinking how on earth did they get a London bus onto the stage? Well it obviously wasn't a real bus but I'm pretty sure it was nearly the size of a double-decker bus! Such a great prop and worked really well on stage.
Summer Holiday is a fast paced fun and hilarious musical! The show ended with a well deserved standing ovation with the majority of the audience on their feet for the last few numbers! The man next to me was absolutely loving life!
This hit-filled musical includes classics such as In the Country, Summer Holiday, Bachelor Boy, Move It, Living Doll, The Young Ones and On the Beach so expect to me singing along to the majority of the show!
Summer Holiday is at the Theatre Royal Brighton until Saturday 21st July 2018 with shows at 7.30pm every evening, and matinees Wednesday and Saturday at 2.30pm. Click HERE to book your tickets and don't miss Summer Holiday!
Summer Holiday is on tour! So if you aren't in Brighton then check to see if its near you HERE! | ibre and got to show what they can do, and this I thought was fantastic! No rivalry just a feel good show with high energy and lots of laughs!
Steve played by Billy Roberts, Edwin (Joe Goldie) and Cyril (Rory Maguire) were hilarious! They really made the show for me and were all so different in their own right and each of them had lead songs/stories which they smashed!
The girl band was made up of Mimsie (Gabby Antrobus), Alma (Alice Baker) and Angie (Laura Marie Benson) and the singer they find on the way Barbara is played by Sophie Matthew – each one of these ladies had suburb voices and were exceptionally funny!
I also loved the characters Stella and Jerry played by Taryn Sudding and Wayne Smith! Stella is Barbara's naggy Mother and Jerry is her agent! They were both fantastic and a great | 181 |
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1997 saab 900 se turbo saab 900 exhaust diagram saab 900 clutch diagram saab 900 parts diagram saab 9-3 drive belt replace mazda 6 | 519 |
Popeye says Ahoy! to trio of new licensees
Bulldog adds three new partners to the heritage brand's portfolio
The original Sailor Man, his wife Olive Oyl and their friends are set to become the stars of a range of new consumer products spanning a variety of categories including health and beauty, craft materials, and gaming products, thanks to three new partnerships brokered by Bulldog Licensing, which manages the rights for the Popeye brand in the UK and Eire.
MoYou has signed up to create a range<|fim_middle|> the UK NPD and has earned a myriad of awards and places on Christmas toy lists from retailers.
DNC is proud to have been creating high quality, reusable housewares and insulated food and drink products for over 20 years. The company is known for its Polar Gear and Clic-tite brands as well as its Licensed lunchware ranges.
Bulldog Licensing, which manages the rights for Kindi Kids in the UK and Eire, has been building a consumer products range for the preschool property and has already signed up Blueprint for stationery, MV Sports for sporting goods, Kennedy Publishing for magazines and Texco for bedding and home textiles.
Vicky Miller, Licensing Director, Bulldog Licensing, commented: "The Kindi Kids brand is going from strength to strength in the UK and worldwide and the strong themes of discovery and friendship continue to strike a chord with the preschool market. We have a portfolio of best-in-class licensees on board and are excited to add DNC's products to this offering."
Bulldog appoints Alex Salisbury as Senior Licensing Manager and promotes Sophie Yates to Brand Manager 16th January 2023
Bulldog Licensing and Moose Toys announce two more Magic Mixies deals 5th December 2022
Cath Kidston collaborates with Care Bears™ in a deal brokered by Bulldog Licensing 14th November 2022
Bulldog creates some tasty treats for Care Bears™ 28th October 2022
Bulldog Licensing announces first UK deals for Bored Ape phenomenon 3rd October 2022
Carte Blanche Greetings partners with Bulldog Licensing 21st September 2022
KIDZ BOP Appoints Bulldog as Licensing Agency in the UK 19th September 2022
Bulldog Welcomes Bandai's Iconic Toy, Tamagotchi 16th September 2022
Bulldog Appoints Karina Rhoden as Senior Creative Manager 14th September 2022
Bulldog signs a brace of new licensees for Care Bears™ 19th May 2022
Tweets by @Bulldog_Brands
Bulldog Licensing Limited (Registration Number 06078044) is registered in England and Wales and is the registered name of the company conducting its business at Rowley, Burnt Lodge Lane, Ticehurst, East Sussex, TN5 7LE (the Registered Office). | of nail products for Popeye, including nail art stencil plates, nail art scraper, nail art stamper and nail polish.
For crafting, Ideal Home Shopping will launch a wide of products for the loveable spinach-eating sailor, including digital crafting, die-cut decoupage and card topper sheets, stamp sets, metal cutting dies, stencils, cardmaking and activity kits, stickers, home décor sets, party décor kits, sewing and knitting kits. Their first collection launched in May, centring around Popeye and his friends Olive Oyl and Bluto, including a range of colourful paper products ideal for card making including charisma, backing papers, cardstock and stamps.
Popeye and co will also be making an appearance in digital games for download on the Nintendo Switch and Playstation consoles in a deal with Sabec.
Having reached the grand old age of 90, Popeye remains a popular brand in the UK and the world, with a social presence of 9.8 million fans. The TV show is broadcasted on Pluto TV (Theatrical Cartoons, YouTube Shorts, additional Popeye Cartoons).
The latest deal joins an expanding licensing programme, including recent deals with Fred and Ginger for pet products, Ecell and Ideal Home Shopping for tech accessories and crafting lines respectively. Additionally, both Fashion UK and Bro Global have renewed their deals for the iconic character.
"Popeye is an icon in British pop culture and a fantastic brand to build a consumer products programme for. These new licensees will bring great products to an even broader range of fans," says Sophie Yates, Licensing Executive at Bulldog Licensing. "Popeye is an icon in British pop culture and a fantastic brand to build a consumer products programme for. These new licensees will bring great products to an even broader range of fans," says Sophie Yates, Licensing Executive at Bulldog Licensing. "We are looking forward to further building on the impressive licensing programme in the near future."
Bulldog scores a double for Bullseye
Bulldog Licensing inks deals with Sabec and Lotto Studios for the game show property
The consumer products offering for heritage British brand, Bullseye, who is celebrating its 40th anniversary, has been boosted with the addition of two new licensees.
Sabec has signed up to create games for download on the Nintendo Switch and digital games for download on Playstation consoles, and released their Nintendo Switch game this summer, based on the iconic TV show which originated in the 80s.
Meanwhile, Lotto Studios will be launching a subscription-based Bullseye prize draw, a scratchcard website and a web app for the property.
Bullseye first aired on ITV in September 1981 and hit a peak of 19.8m viewers on its Boxing Day broadcast in 1989. The show was then relaunched by Sky Challenge in 2006, immediately becoming its top-rating show and it still airs on the channel today. Most recently, it has featured in Alan Carr's Epic Gameshow. Bullseye has a strong following throughout the UK and is synonymous with fun… After all, you can't beat a bit of Bully.
Sophie Yates, Licensing Executive at Bulldog Licensing, commented: "These two new partners have a great synergy with the Bullseye brand and work with the fun elements of the game show which are so well-loved both in the UK and worldwide. Bullseye is part of the UK's entertainment fabric and it's great to be able to work with leading licensees to reinvent the format for new generations."
New home and gift ranges incoming for THAT'S NOT MY®, from bestselling Children's publisher, Usborne publishing.
Icon Wall Stickers and Widdop partner with the bestselling publishing brand to offer a wide range of products
With over 64 titles in its library, and more than 25 million books sold worldwide over its 23-year history, it's easy to see why THAT'S NOT MY® is an attractive prospect for licensees. In 2020, the brand was second to Peppa Pig in sales ranking for Children's pre school book brands and overall the brand was ranked 7th in Children's book brands. THAT'S NOT MY® also appeared in the charts 25 times of the 36 weeks that Usborne had EPOS data last year
Bulldog Licensing is growing an award-winning consumer products line-up for the heritage property and has recently expanded its programme with two new partners.
Firstly, Icon Wall Stickers is on board to create a collection of wall stickers based on the bright, colourful and instantly recognisable characters from the books, allowing families to bring their favourite titles to life in nurseries and children's bedrooms.
Home and giftware manufacturer, Widdop, has also signed up to partner with the popular publishing property and launched its first range this month, which includes a melamine dinner set, cushions, money boxes, wall clocks and an art frame. The company will be rolling out a Christmas range in AW21, using the seasonal titles such as That's not my elf and That's not my snowman for inspiration.
Since 1998, Author Fiona Watt and Illustrator Rachel Wells have created 64 titles including Easter and Christmas titles in the touchy feely series. The books are designed to foster sensory awareness and language development in babies and toddlers and have become an intrinsic part of childhood in families throughout the world.
Sole Slater, Senior Creative Manager at Bulldog Licensing, which manages the rights for the brand in the UK and Eire, commented: "That's not my…has become one of the most popular baby gifting products in the UK, so it makes total sense to create a range of gifting and homewares for the brand to extend that opportunity for retailers.
"The licensing programme consists of apparel, toys, games and puzzles and homewares and has gone from strength to strength, and we're thrilled to have these two leading licensees on board to further grow the range."
Kindi Kids set to make mealtimes fun
Bulldog inks a new deal with DNC for homewares based on the preschool sensation
As part of its growing consumer products programme, Bulldog Licensing has signed DNC as partner for the hit preschool doll and YouTube hit, Kindi Kids.
The deal will see DNC creating a range of products based on the bobble-headed dolls, including lunch bags and coolers, drinkware, food storage boxes and tableware sets.
Since its launch in 2019, Moose Toys' colourful and cute property has taken YouTube and the large doll market by storm. The YouTube channel now has over 59,000 subscribers and has racked up an enormous 97 million views. The doll range has consistently been the number 1 large doll item and property in | 1,409 |
| Arch students consider No. 3 ranking
Yanan Wang
Arch students consider No. 3 ranking
Yanan Wang 3:16 am, Jan 17, 2013
Although Yale's School of Architecture ranked third on DesignIntelligence's 2013 list of "America's Best Architecture and Design Schools," students and faculty contend that the strong showing provides a limited view of what the program has to offer.
A bimonthly report on developments in the architecture, design and real estate industries, DesignIntelligence publishes annual rankings of the top 20 graduate and undergraduate architecture and design programs in the United States. Compiling input from deans, administrators, students and practitioners, this year's lists rate schools across 22 different categories.
Yale has historically maintained high standings on the report, and in 2012, the school was recognized as the second best in the nation. But students and<|fim_middle|> to undergraduates in the architecture major is a bachelor of arts. | administrators said they think such quantitative evaluations fail to provide a holistic analysis of each school's unique philosophies and teaching methods.
"We are not running the school for rankings," School of Architecture Dean Robert A.M. Stern said. "We're running the school for the top education we can offer to the top students that apply."
Two School of Architecture students expressed skepticism about DesignIntelligence's methodology. Henry Chan ARC '14 said that while he follows news about the rankings, he questions their ability to accurately express the complex structures of an architecture school, noting that each program places emphasis on different design philosophies. One of Yale's unique strengths, he said, is the functionality of its designs.
"Like any list, they have a quantitative way of putting it together," undergraduate architecture major Samantha Kaser '14 said. "But for any school that teaches art, it's about the methodology that you feel most productive in. Art is very subjective, very dependent on opinion."
Chan cited the University of Michigan's astronomic rise in the rankings as an example of DesignIntelligence's seemingly arbitrary standards. After a yearslong absence from the list of top 20 architecture graduate programs, Michigan's Taubman College of Architecture and Urban Planning usurped Harvard from its long-held No. 1 seat in 2011.
"The sense I get from DesignIntelligence is that it's not a very comprehensive index," Chan noted.
Altair Peterson ARC '13, who did not know about the rankings' release, said she was more aware of such lists when she was applying to architecture school. Now that she is enrolled in a program that consistently ranks among the top in the country, she said has the luxury of feeling secure in Yale's high ranking.
Four students interviewed said they do not pay attention to small shifts in rank because of Yale's generally strong reputation. But two of them, who are currently in the graduate program, said they took the DesignIntelligence list into consideration when choosing a professional school.
Stern said he thinks rankings are always influenced by "political agendas" and does not agree that they should factor into students' choices about professional school.
"It's a little like the Academy Awards or the Golden Globes — they do not affect a thinking man's decision about what movie to go see," Stern said.
While the School of Architecture has always featured prominently in national rankings, Yale College's undergraduate architecture major is not eligible for DesignIntelligence's ranking of undergraduate architecture programs.
The major is not a professional program accredited by the National Architectural Accrediting Board, and students who graduate from the University's program receive a bachelor of arts, as opposed to the bachelor of architecture offered by institutions like Cornell University and the Southern California Institute of Architecture.
Kaser said that the undergraduate architecture program's place within Yale's broader liberal arts curriculum makes it difficult to evaluate.
"The undergraduate major is unlike [any] other major at Yale, in terms of how it's structured and how you must commit yourself to the field of study," Kaser said. "But it is designed so that you still have an arts education."
DesignIntelligence began ranking architecture schools in 1998.
Correction: Jan. 18
A previous version of this article mistakenly stated that Yale College offers a bachelor of arts in architecture. In fact, Yale College does not offer a professional degree in architecture; the degree given | 685 |
The Cafe Dip<|fim_middle|> other activist groups for specific purposes, and are part of information networks such as social media pages.radio, TV, journals and the local press.
All Enquiries & Mailing List: General Enquiries | lo in London was the UK-based affiliate of the Les Amis Le Monde Diplomatique, and our Association served to promote sales of the English edition of Le Monde Diplomatique newspaper and to support the values of furthering independent thought, democracy and social justice embodied in its editorial line.
We provided a forum for debate on contemporary international issues, chiefly through our public 'Café Diplo' talks held at The Gallery in Farringdon, London on selected evenings. These events (presented in English) were opened by an invited speaker, and allowed plenty of time for comment and questions
Cafe Diplo at The Gallery, Farringdon, London
Café Diplos provided an informal space for lively debate on the many political, social and environmental issues that are frequently marginalised or misrepresented by the mainstream media. We like to think of the Café Diplo as part of the overall effort to provide a space for independent thinking and to challenge "La Pensée Unique" of neo-liberalism.
As Friends of Le Monde Diplomatique, we tended to organise Café Diplos around those topics covered by the newspaper but we do not limit ourselves only to the thematic scope of Le Monde Diplomatique.
Our events began with a 30 – 40 minute talk by a guest speaker with special expertise in the subject under review. The presentation was followed by a chaired discussion which offered a chance for the audience to contribute, question and challenge the various opinions expressed.
Friends of Le Monde Diplomatique was the UK branch of Les Amis, and was founded in 1997. We supported the distribution of the paper and the values it embodies in its editorial line; democracy, social justice, and the pursuit of independent thought and action. In addition to running the Café Diplos throughout the year we also organised occasional mini conferences.
We have also linked with | 383 |
Successful medical website design integrates client content marketing and SEO strategies.
Though some medical practices may hire separate SEOs<|fim_middle|> website design and marketing company must be able to implement the above strategies to create successful websites that produce results. Integrating content and SEO strategies into one highly effective campaign to promote a client website is the best possible approach for success. | (search engine optimizers) and content marketers to promote their medical websites, finding a company that uses a converged medical website design and medical marketing company to integrate their website's SEO and content strategies into one highly effective campaign. One strategy does not necessarily have to outweigh the other when it comes to the success of your website—in fact, having both strategies intertwine and complement one another benefits your website the most. Only employing SEO-based strategies to promote your website these days just won't cut it: content marketing is now a necessity.
Search marketing tactics like unnatural link building (buying links) are out. Content marketing is in.
When it comes to search success, unnatural link building is nothing more than a short-term tactic at best. Content marketing, on the other hand, is a long-term strategy. With Google's new release of the Penguin update and more updates looming in the future, SEO-based link buying's fifteen minutes of fame is soon to be up. Meaning, if you're solely promoting your website through SEO tactics like link-buying, its success is likely to be short-lived. Conversely, quality engaging content can send your website all forms of traffic—search, referral, social and viral—for years to come.
Content marketing leads to more organic traffic. Outstanding quality content has the potential to rank high for keywords, earn your website organic links and ultimately convert your browsers into customers.
Herein lies the reason why SEOs and content marketers must value one another—they're both working for you, the stakeholder. So wouldn't it make the most sense to combine their efforts to help clients land great search success and engagement with quality content?
Unfortunately, some website strategists operate on the notion that superb content attracts viewers on its own, and that SEO tactics will ruin the quality of that content. BUT keen website strategists are well aware of the necessity of incorporating SEO practices within an effective content strategy. Integrating these strategies allows your website to be discovered through multiple channels—not just by search engines—instead of waiting around in limbo for someone to stumble upon your worthwhile content via advertising.
Create quality and engaging content that incorporates appropriate SEO strategies.
Make sure your SEO is effective but doesn't spoil the quality content.
There's no one right answer when it comes to describing what an effective and engaging strategy for content marketing might look like. All strategies or objectives for different medical websites are going vary according to client preferences and the type of patient you are trying to attract. However, good website marketers know the value of not only drawing viewers to a website with remarkable content, but also sustaining their engagement once they have reached the site.
Successful website marketers will always have a purpose in mind for a specific target audience and will then devise a plan for reaching said audience. In contrast to this approach is the majority of SEO work, like optimizing existing content to appear where customers are looking on the web—not generating any new content.
To create a killer content marketing strategy, content marketers must incorporate SEO practices into their work to amplify a website's effectiveness and have a competitive advantage. An effective content strategy may include marketing tactics like a new blog posts, frequently updated pages, interactive web video or social media posts that all incorporate some form of appropriate SEO. No matter what the plan of attack is, all of these tactics have one goal in mind—to engage the viewer and ultimately incite action.
When content strategists incorporate SEO tactics into their content marketing strategy, they must do so purposefully and carefully. Strategists must carefully construct quality keyword inspired content that reverberates with their client's specific customer needs and interests. Being able to develop and implement a content marketing strategy that aligns both keywords and great content far outweighs any benefits that optimizing existing content may have.
A good medical | 750 |
> Business Basics
> Franchising
1. Senior care
2. Commercial cleaning/restoration
3. Business services
4. Junk removal/hauling
5. Home services
6. Fast-casual food
7. Franchise consulting
8. Property management
Are There Any COVID-19-Proof Franchises Out There?
Don Daszkowski
Founder at International Franchise Professionals Group (IFPG)
While there's no guaranteed COVID-proof investment, some sectors are better positioned than others. Here are eight franchise business areas that have done well through the pandemic.
Opening a business at any time can be scary. There's always some risk involved, especially when you're launching something from scratch. People turn to franchising to mitigate that risk. With a proven system and support, there is a greater chance for success. In fact, right now, folks are flocking to franchising for that very reason. If you're asking yourself if you should invest in a franchise despite the pandemic, the answer is a big fat YES! This is a great time. Lending is cheap, landlords are willing to make deals, and the job market is terrible. But, before you jump into anything, you have to make sure a franchise is right for you and you for it.
The truth is, franchisees are the ones that guarantee success for themselves. Following the franchisor's system is the most important part of that. It's already been proven, after all. If you're not willing to do that, forget franchising altogether. Not adhering to a franchisor's playbook is one of the main reasons franchisees fail. It's also important to believe in the concept, align with the brand's values and, generally be excited by the brand. With all of those factors in place, you can play it really safe with a brand that is considered recession-proof. These franchises contain elements that withstand – and even flourish – through economic downturns. Many of these are also considered COVID-19-proof.
One of the qualities of a COVID-proof franchise is its essential status. Being deemed essential or not has been decided locally by cities and states, with some standards countrywide. Food franchises, for example, have been deemed essential and have been able to keep doors open since the pandemic hit, but that hasn't guaranteed success. Some thrived while others didn't fare as well. So, what's the bullet-proof combination? Is there one? Being able to adapt, pivot and embrace technology certainly help. In franchising, we have seen a lot of impressive moves that have kept businesses going and positioned for success once restrictions lifted – even without essential status.
While there's no iron-clad guarantee of success with a recession- or COVID-proof investment, some sectors are certainly better positioned than others. Here, we look at eight franchise business areas that did well through the pandemic.
The demand for in-home care providers has increased with the pandemic. With the elderly population at high risk for COVID-19, many families have opted to relocate loved ones from nursing facilities to be safer at home. Considered essential and recession-proof, senior care franchises are a great investment option for more than monetary reasons.
A feel-good business, most senior care franchises are extremely scalable, and offer an opportunity to hire and build large teams. Most people are attracted to these businesses because they want to make a difference and help others. After all, what could be more rewarding than knowing you're helping a person spend their senior years with dignity and on their own terms?
Since the pandemic surfaced, phones have been ringing off the hook with sanitizing requests at commercial cleaning and restoration franchises. Brands that normally provided sanitation as just part of their businesses pivoted to meet the extra demand. For example, restoration franchises typically handle jobs that clean up damage from water, fire, smoke, and mold, with biohazard and virus cleanup as just part of the equation.
The pandemic turned sanitizing into a full-time business for them, at least in the short term, and they were prepared to answer the call. Some commercial cleaners temporarily lost business as their clients shut doors, but had an influx of sanitizing requests as the country reopened. Customers requested more frequent and thorough cleaning jobs, which are predicted to continue for the long term.
Franchises that serve other businesses have been in demand through COVID. Even brick-and-mortar signage franchises found themselves with a slew of requests for social distancing floor decals and sneeze guards to help other businesses reopen.
Even though some of their customer's doors were closed, franchises that service other businesses kept working. Customers opened doors to have a multitude of services done while employees were out of the office. Everything from painting, plumbing, window cleaning, and even upholstery and surface repair services were being performed while the country was on lockdown.
While folks were sheltering in place, a funny thing happened. They started looking around their homes and realized it was time to purge. Junk removal proved to be COVID-proof. In fact<|fim_middle|> has received many accolades, including being named the 2020 top franchise broker network by Entrepreneur Magazine.
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A useful and in-demand service, junk removal franchises tend to be owned by people who like building teams and enjoy community involvement. By joining local groups and sponsoring community events, franchisees can successfully build and scale their businesses.
Home service franchises were deemed essential in most areas of the country through the pandemic, making them COVID-proof. In fact, with more people working from and staying home, folks had a unique opportunity to have work done in their homes they might not have had time to accomplish earlier.
Among these are painting services, flooring, plumbing and carpet cleaning. It really runs the gamut. Home-service franchises are popular for their low cost of entry, low overhead and home-based models. Even marketing is practical with these brands. The vehicles used to run these businesses are often wrapped with company logos and serve as mobile billboards.
Many fast-casual franchise brands survived, and even thrived, through the pandemic. After all, food is essential. The restaurant industry took a giant hit, but brands with smaller footprints and quick service options proved to be more COVID-resistant.
Despite closed dining rooms, the brands that had technology in place for curbside pickups and deliveries kept moving. Those that didn't quickly adapted. Depending on local ordinances, some food brands set up makeshift drive-throughs and added additional outdoor seating options to bring in more customers.
Lessons learned from COVID-19 gave the food sector a giant push forward toward technology. Food brands were well positioned to give back during the pandemic and rallied communities in their efforts. Stir-fry meals, pizzas, smoothies and many other treats were donated to frontline workers at the heat of the pandemic. Local franchisees could run and market programs developed by their corporate teams who often matched customer's donations.
The pandemic has caused an uptick in franchising. With people spending more time working from home, laid off, or furloughed, folks have begun to rethink their options. Franchise consultants help change lives by matching aspiring business owners with franchise investments.
Through the pandemic, consultants have been busier than ever with more qualified and interested candidates who finally had the time to take that first step. Consultants have lots of flexibility running their businesses and can work from home part or full time. They are paid generous commissions from franchisors once a contract is signed.
The thought of staying at a hotel or resort amid a pandemic is unnerving for most people. In fact, many resorts and hotels have shut their doors temporarily. Sadly, some have shut down for good. People feel safer taking their family on vacation in a controlled environment, and that's what they get from a rental house. The popularity of rental houses has increased in the past decade, and because of COVID, the demand is even higher now.
Folks are flocking to rental houses for vacations and more people are investing in them as a source of income. That's where property managers come in. They help property owners find and serve their tenants as well as protect their valuable assets. As a property manager, there is little overhead to operate this simple business. Many owners can run the entire operation themselves, with no need for employees. The ability to sell is key for building a client base but pays off with recurring revenue.
As with any business, even a COVID-proof, recession-resistant franchise can fail. Before you make any investment, it's important to do your due diligence. Working with a franchise consultant is a great way to explore your options. These professionals can present business opportunities you might not ever heard of. Plus, just like with real estate brokers, their services are free. What can be a better value proposition than that?
See Don Daszkowski's Profile
Don Daszkowski is a serial entrepreneur and founder of the International Franchise Professionals Group (IFPG). IFPG trains individuals to become Certified Franchise Consultants and earn money selling franchises. Don's expertise is in marketing, branding and creating new technology. For more than 10 years he has led the development of platforms to help franchise professionals better their businesses. Along with his innovative team at IFPG, Don has raised the bar industry-wide in the franchise sales process. Don's work through IFPG | 850 |
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