Charles Heath's writing blog

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.    For instance: And, then, the words: It was like a Hollywood script. It was a friend of a friend of a friend, more an acquaintance really, that came up with a plan.  A plan that, if I'd been given a million years to think up, still wouldn't But in an odd way, I'd seen it all before. I was dressed in a prison guards’ uniform, in a room with two others similarly dressed, and a woman who looked definitely in charge.  It was a detail, part of a plan to remove Latanzio from his prison cell at the police station where he was being held for the duration of the arraignment. My disappearance, and that of Amy, the leader of my security detail, had sent the police into a frenzy particularly when after sifting through the human wreckage of the hotel, they found five dead police officers, and nine unnamed gunmen, all without any identification. The police were not naming names, but the media were.  A blat

Our hero knows he's in serious trouble. The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn't look or sound or act like the enemy. Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission. “So, Jacobi, tell me what I don’t know.” I was taking the track slowly and keeping within a short distance of the cars behind me.  The road was little more than a dirt track, and in places, there were almost un-navigable ruts.  We would not have got a truck down this road. He looked sideways at me.  “You know as much as I do.” “That’s not possible.  I know nothing.  You set this up.  Tell me about the leader of this group.  Is he the heard of his own militia group?” “An area commander of a larger group spread out across the top of the Repu

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.    For instance: And, then, the words: Like most people who got an unexpected call from someone they never expected would call them for any other reason than work, I jumped to conclusions. Quite a few conclusions, but not the one that I wanted to be true.  Perhaps I had not the confidence in myself or the belief needed to consider that Jacqui might just like me for me, but that probably had a lot to do with my younger days. There'd been two reasons to get out of town, other than the fact there was nothing there for me or the hundred others that graduated every year, there was no work unless you stayed on the parent's farm or store or make the 50-mile journey to t the next big town to work in the factories. That wasn't it.  I left because I'd never really got along with the other children.  You were either in, or you were out. And I'd always been out, and with that came the acute loneliness.  A

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way. Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war. And, so, it continues... By the time they reached the outskirts of Munich, what the Standartenfuhrer considered their biggest hurdle, it was quite dark and almost impossible to see where they were going. The whole city seemed to have disappeared so effectively was the blackout.   But there was one benefit, there was little or no traffic on the roads, which lessened the chance of running into another car or truck. And it was time to refill the tank with two more petrol cans, leaving two remaining.  Filling u

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.    For instance: And, then, the words: If I needed proof that I was under constant surveillance, it presented itself in the lobby of the hotel I was staying in. The man who continually seemed to lose his glasses, the one I'd noticed on the plane and then after passing through customs and immigration, was sitting in a corner, reading a newspaper. There had been a change of clothes, and more greying hair and the addition of a mustache, but it was the same man.  He definitely needed more sophisticated lessons in changing his appearance. My guess is the Chinese, if they were observing us, would equally have little trouble in recognizing him, as much as they would of doing so in the first place But it was a plus in a sense, it meant whoever it was interested in us, it wasn't the Chinese.  On the other hand, we were going to have to find out who it was who was interested in us. I'd come down to the lobb

Our hero knows he's in serious trouble. The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn't look or sound or act like the enemy. Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission. An hour later we were stopped by the side of the road, at a point where another road, or, rather, a track headed to the left into the forest. A short distance before that I noticed a sign, battered and faded, advertising an airport, a sign I thought had been put there as a joke. Of course, when I remembered the conversation I had with Monroe back on the plane and the fact we had a specialist pilot in our group, it all began to make sense. Our exit strategy. I only wished I had internet coverage so I could check the presence of an airport

I'm back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written. The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I'm not very good at prioritizing. But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn't take long to get back into the groove. Chasing leads, maybe “Who’s coming?” snapped Maury. “Some nice men in white coats, to take you away to a dark and dank hole somewhere in this city where you may tell us what you know, or you might not survive the experience.  You got one shot at the easy way, now it looks like it’s going to be the hard way.” I had to admire her.  She had gone all gung-ho on him and, frankly, it was a frightening side to her that you wouldn’t normally see, or even guess that she had. “This is a big mistake, Jackson.  I suggest you call Severin and get this straightened out very quickly.” “I’m going to call him, eventually.  After I find the USB and see what’s on it.  What

Here’s the thing... Every time I close my eyes, I see something different. I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox. But these dreams are nothing to laugh about. Once again there's a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt. “How long have you been working on this?” “A week.  Lying in bed is boring, so I decided to look at everything I’ve got again, and then again.  There were some old maps of the coastline stored with the treasure maps, so I think my father was trying to find the actual location his treasure maps were based on and came up against the same problem.  Physical landmarks on the treasure maps are no longer there, and if you didn’t know any better, would think you were looking in the wrong place.” “So, in actual fact, what you’re saying now is that your father had no idea where the treasure was buried, that he was just producing maps for the Cossa