Chapter X

He didn't have to wonder long. An Opel Monza pulled up outside. The doorbell rang. "Chris!" exclaimed Tyler, beaming from ear to ear. "Come on in, mate!"
"No, John. Just grab a jacket, I've got a surprise for you." Tyler was used to Chris Austin's little dramas and was prepared to save his own for a while. He returned a few seconds later and jumped into Chris's car.
"Thought you were going to sell this," he said.
"Oh, I haven't had a chance yet. It's done now and still going strong. I'm sort of attached to it. Much better since I had the brakes done and the front shocks replaced!"
"You can say that again - like riding in a boat, it was, that time we went up to London. God knows how you got it through the MOT! Anyway, what's all this surprise stuff?"
"Well, John. You remember how we always said that we ought to get everyone together and try and work out a way of getting Bob to come clean...."
"Yeah..."
"Well that's what we're going to do. I got in touch with a few of the old crowd and, well, wait and see..."
"What... Mike?"
"Wait and see, John."
"Paul?"
"In a moment."
"How about money?" They pulled up outside a pub. Chris left the engine running long enough for the electric windows to close, then switched off. He followed Tyler into the small country inn they had got to know very well in the past.
"Smells the same as ever", laughed Tyler as they negotiated awkwardly the entrance doors and walked into the red carpeted lounge bar. "Mike! Hey, great to see you again!" called Tyler. A handsome Greek theatrically waved an arm towards a group sitting in the corner. "And Paul - what, you still in business?"
"My business is always in business, John," said the gruff, grey-haired Pole as he stood up and grasped Tyler by the hand. Chris brought a couple of gins over the table and sat down. Michaelis Ziparis sat on his left and smiled gently. He sipped an orange juice. Looking as neat as ever, shirt and trousers pressed to perfection and with short, tidy hair even blacker, if anything, than several years earlier, he was still trying to get his own film into production and had never lost contact with Chris despite the extraordinary change in their fortunes. A direct, intelligent, lean man of considerable artistic talent, he had a personal score to settle with Robert Lindon that was nothing to do with money. He was a proud man and seldom made mistakes. But he had fallen for the American's promises and had never forgiven himself for the consequent downfall of Chris who had almost adoringly followed his advice. Next to Michaelis was Paul Livingstone, a large, noisy man of Polish origin in his late fifties. No one really knew what he did with his time. He owned some properties in London and rented them out, Robert Lindon being one of his tenants for a short while. He had lost little money to the American but he had spent a lot of time ferrying the man around and had always helped him whenever asked. He had responded to Chris's call immediately with: "About time, too, young man. If you'd listened to me long ago we could have finished the business before you got hurt." Not the brightest around, maybe, but solid and dependable and with no fear whatsoever. He maintained that he had killed, and could again, with his bare hands and did so with an ominous lack of feeling or conscience. Opposite Paul sat Brian Hawkins who looked up a little shamefacedly at Tyler. A chubby little man, only his bright blue eyes hinted that his age was actually fifteen years less than the sixty he looked. John Tyler looked at him and the smile sank. "So you're still around too - what's this fellow doing here, Chris?" Tyler didn't like Brian Hawkins.
"Cool it, John," said Chris. "Brian's OK. He's done all he can to cover my involvement, backed me up and he's put up some cash for this exercise..."
"What - the hundred and fifty thousand he owes you?" asked Tyler, sarcastically. "Clever of you to wind up that warehouse of yours just before the receiver came, wasn't it?"
"As a matter of fact, John, it was the only sensible thing I could do - for all our sakes. I would have been just another broken man. What's the use in that? Chris knows I have always accepted that I must repay the pension fund loan. He helped me in the past - we both misunderstood things - that man Bob is responsible for my losing everything else. You need some expertise and I've got some useful knowledge. If you don't want me...."
"Hold it, Brian." interrupted Chris. "John, he's right - the others had the same feeling to start with, but we're all in the same boat really. Brian just managed to hold out better than we did."
"OK. OK. It's past now I suppose." said Tyler. "I just don't know what to believe any more." Brian Hawkins held out a hand and smiled at Tyler. Tyler wiped his hand on his jeans and reached out to shake the other. "Friends?" queried Hawkins.
"You're a cunning old devil, Brian," said Tyler, "but I'll give it a go with you and see!" The other members of the strange association were Evelyn Bryant and Gill Chalmers. Evelyn Bryant was a youthful fifty-eight, fit and strong, a close friend of Chris for nearly ten years. Bryant was a natural survivor. A charming man who knew how to entertain and who loved women. He would fall in love at a glance and there was a common love of life that was a bond that had held Chris Austin and him together throughout, despite gaps of months between meetings in the past year or two. Tyler knew Bryant well and also guessed correctly that he had put up some cash - or, more accurately, had undertaken to meet such food and good wine expenses as he could get away with on his gold American Express card for subsequent reimbursement through his company. He had kept his new post as a partner in Pimlico Marketing a quiet secret and had been the only one of the old group to find any success in the aftermath of its collapse. Gill Chalmers was an unknown quantity to Tyler. He never trusted women - particularly Chris Austin's women - and, to date, had been pretty accurate in his judgement. Twenty-four, slim, dark straight hair and with a dark, Italian-looking complexion, Tyler's first impression was of a very attractive young lady.
"Gill, you've heard about John. Well, meet the real thing!" said Chris. "John - Gill."
"Hullo there Gill." Tyler didn't let impressions get to him, nodded towards her, and was about to take a sip of his drink when the girl spoke. Placing her black leather handbag on the table and folding the thin strap gently round it, she leaned over to Tyler, placing a slender hand on his arm. The unnoticeable pressure made his hand return to the table where his glass rested, still in his fingers. Tyler spotted the neat amethyst and diamond flower-shaped ring on her right hand.
"Don't worry, John. I'm going. I just wanted to see if you were really as bad as Chris had made out!" An honest smile flashed across her face and her eyes shone. Glancing at Chris she got up.
"I always said women should never be allowed in pubs!" joked Tyler, a touch uncertain of her relationship with Chris. Evelyn had stood up at the same time and kissed her on the cheek then she walked round to Chris. As she did so her dark blue dress moved as if some silent breeze had caught it and the long pleats shimmered in elongated 'S' shapes from the controlled light band under her breast down to the wilder movement at the hem. She leaned against Chris with both arms resting lazily on his shoulders, kissing him daintily on the lips twice.
"Please take care - and listen to them this time. Remember 'I told you so'" "I..." She put a finger on his lips. He kissed it innocently then realised the inference and a faint smile turned into a rare proper smile. Chris tended to show emotion mainly just with his clear, blue eyes. They could, and had, entranced many a girl not initially attracted by his fairly ordinary appearance but one look would speak volumes, quite disconcertingly so, on many an occasion. At several other meetings in the past Chris would have been forced to divide his attention between the work in hand and the female company that his colleagues would have preferred to have been absent but that he had stubbornly insisted stayed. Evelyn, Tyler and Michaelis, in particular, were pleased to note that he seemed to have learned a little since then. Gill left with a wave to everyone and the four men were alone. Introductions and a notable farewell over, Chris got straight to the point.
"Someone somewhere owes us half a million and a few favours. I don't propose to spend the rest of my life haunted by two hundred and eighty pensioners who think I've screwed up their retirement plans. Nor do I propose to carry on living on bread and water whilst someone in the States is sipping cocktails in the sun. Nobody's going to hand over any money, it would be naive to think that, but we can find out the truth. Where did it go? Who spent what? We can obtain statements and evidence enough to set the record straight. These buggers are alive and still bringing in money from somewhere. Why can't we have a share of their income? Some have got good brains and good contacts. Let's use them and maybe even make a few bob in the process. But, more than anything, they cannot be allowed merely to forget it ever happened. I don't know how we are going to do it and we'll need a team to plan everything. I must make one thing absolutely clear, though: last time I was Chairman or whatever and we got in a mess - this time I'll take a back seat and do as I'm told. I'll soon shout if I don't like it!" Chris had lost none of his verbal control. The tone of his voice was hard but not harsh. He conveyed the sense of frustration that everyone had felt and, above all, a determination not to sit back and let it go on. Despite his own admission of past failure - probably due just as much to others' inability to confront him on an issue successfully as due to his own waywardness - tended to enhance rather than to destroy the faith others had in him. He desperately needed results, though, and he would get none on his own. He needed people around him and a cause to fight for. The great injustice of Bob persuading him to hand over thousands of pounds of other people's money and then being totally unable to account for it and the reimbursement of his own excessive spending in the same period was the cause. He just needed the people.
Tyler looked around. "Is it OK, here?"
"No one can hear us and Mike's agreed to let us carry on this afternoon when he closes." said Evelyn.
"Great." said Tyler. "Look, count me in on whatever you're doing - as long as that bastard is made to understand what he's done. I can't give you any money but you know I'll do whatever I can," he continued. "and I'd have gone after him a long time ago, myself.
"We did, once or twice, John," said Chris, "and look where it got us. We were amateurs playing a professional game. We still are but there's a lot more in our favour now. We know that going cap in hand to Bob or his friends won't work. We know not to ask for outside help, either," he added ruefully. "We haven't got staff worrying in the office now, or police investigating every move we make..."
"But we have got someone on our tails," interrupted Tyler, who went on to explain his extraordinary experience earlier in the day. The others listened in silence.
"We had expected a move against Chris or, maybe, myself," said Michaelis seriously, "but, of course, we did knot know that you would also be so resourceful and go yourself, John."
"Your phone's been tapped," said Paul to John, "and we want them to believe that Chris is still staying in Newbury for a while. That's why Chris gave you the number. It's a house in Bancroft Road on that estate. The girl..." He jerked his head towards the door Gill Chalmers had gone out earlier, "... has rented it and is going to make it known that Chris is shacked up there with her. Chris has been around a few times and should have been noticed by now. And the way people like Collette Turner, June Franklin and Harry Gordon will gossip, he might as well put up a notice on the door saying 'here I am, come and get me'!"
Evelyn laughed. "Michaelis here arranged for Chris to stay somewhere else and put in one of his actor friends to carry on. Last night was our fault. The guy went to a party at the pub near the Newlands School and left alone in the morning. He's been doing this for a few weeks now to see if anyone attempted anything. We thought that as soon as they got close they would see that it wasn't Chris and go away - and that way we would get a clue as to who it is that's after him. What must have happened was that last night - this morning - another guy got in the right place at the wrong time. Our fellow was a block away. He scampered pretty damn quick and we got nothing. He's not so keen now. Christ, we didn't expect them to kill the bugger."
"What about the other one?" asked Tyler.
"No idea." replied Michaelis. "Could well have been what the police say - genuine accident, hit-and-run. You know, 'scared driver leaves scene' type of thing."
"Damn!" shouted Chris. "I don't want to sound ungrateful, John, I mean thanks for trying to find me and all that but we are going to have to be more careful with what we do with you now if you're not going to be put away for manslaughter or something. That would suit these guys that are after me down to the ground. Actually, I think the quicker we get ourselves sorted out and out of harm's way, the better."
"Who do you think it is that's after you, Chris?" asked Evelyn.
"I don't know, Evelyn. I used to joke about being done in but it looks pretty real from what John says. It just doesn't sound professional enough for any of the big boys - or someone protecting some information I don't even know I've got in the first place. It's a pretty chancy thing, taking pot shots at someone in the dark with the front of a car, for heaven's sake."
"No." Michaelis had been staring at the ceiling while Chris was talking. "There's a group - or maybe just someone - who wants to kill Chris or badly injure him - enough to shut him up for good. They find out where he's staying. They see that someone got run over a few weeks ago and try to do the same thing. That way they can stand a good chance of it being linked with the first one and no one will think that much more of it. The fact that Chris happens to be the victim of a madman terrorising the streets of a quiet housing estate is a bit of extra news but that's all. Do it another way and they create a direct link to themselves one way or another. Doing a few others first makes sense, you know. In fact, I think we can let our actor friend go back to the boards. They'll be made to believe Chris is still around - Gill and the others will see to that - and they will have another go soon."
"You mean that someone else is going to get run down?" queried Brian Hawkins.
"Yes." stated Michaelis.
"Jesus!" exclaimed Brian. "Is that really necessary?"
"What the hell else can we do?" Chris came in again. "Like the rest of you, I'm not very happy about people getting attacked but I agree with Michaelis - these guys are going to do what they've planned to do. If we just forget it and I go off and stay somewhere else they'll find me eventually, so I've a vested interest. If we go to the police and tell them then I'm still in danger and John's right in the shit - they'll make certain of that. That's why it's so bloody annoying that they've got something on him. In a way, we've got to do something now and I reckon we leave them to play with themselves in Newbury and get the hell after Bob."
"He's right," said Evelyn. "One false move and you're buggered John. If they're anything to do with the New York mob the police'll be on your doorstep as soon as any one of us contacts Bob or looks like making waves for anyone over there."
"I'm not sure Bob has got that sort of connections," said Paul. "I know we all hate the man's guts and Chris fell into some pretty nasty people's hands last year but that was of his own making. Those people would have finished you off by now if they'd wanted to - and," turning to Michaelis, "they wouldn't put down a guy with a car or worry about impressions. Find you - bang - you're out! That's their style. No frigging around an estate at four in the morning for weeks." He had, with his chubby fist, thumped the table at the end of each sentence to emphasise the points.
"Who else, Chris, has got a grudge against you?" asked Brian. "Enough to have a go but not smart enough to do it in other than the thick-headed way we're seeing."
"...apart from June Franklin's husband and a few others I can think of!" joked Tyler.
"Harry Gordon would be a lot happier if you were away," said Evelyn. "He called a while ago and tried to get me to take you to Greece. Scared stiff about his own skin, he was. With you out of the country he could happily blame you for everything and get away with it. Keith had a go at him as usual and reminded him that you had actually saved his bacon already by taking the rap for those dockers' pensions..."
"That's what I was thinking about," said Chris, quietly. "In all honesty I can't think of anyone who would seriously want to do anything bad to me - at least anyone who knew the truth - but those dockers probably still do blame me for the thirty grand that they never saw. Harry wouldn't know how to do anything but they could..." He paused. For a while he had actually quite enjoyed the limelight of his trial and had begun to believe the simplified story that had been put together by his defence. Persuaded to invest hundreds of thousands of pension fund money under his control in ventures suggested by Bob Lindon he then finds that those ventures don't exist. Instead of admitting to colleagues then that he has lost the money he tries to track it down. In attempting to get the funds back he is put in touch with people who turn out to be New York mafia and they merely take another hundred thousand and tell him to keep quiet or else. He learns of investigations by the DTI and leaves the country, scared for his life from one organisation and his freedom from another. There was rather more to it than that. There had been threats but they were veiled more than specific and he had never been scared - just very confused. His period of 'disappearance' had enabled him to have time to collect his thoughts and to return to face the music. He would only see the New York representatives again if he were to have given accurate descriptions and more information about how he had made contact. That he had never done and never would. It had been bad enough, though, beginning to believe an act of being frightened. Actually being scared was much worse. Tyler's news had, in fact, brought that home sharply and, for the first time, he genuinely was beginning to get scared. He was tempted to come clean and, at least, shorten the discussion by excluding, at least, the mafia connection, but it seemed to be going that way anyway. He could, though, easily see a couple of angry dockers trying to get their revenge. A quirk of fate meant that they were after the wrong man as it was Harry Gordon and his associates that had had their money. The same Harry that he had lent over fifteen thousand to and saved from jail by supporting him in Court and keeping quiet. Everyone sympathised with 'poor Harry'. "That fart Harry." he said with disgust. "I bet he's been crowing about how he didn't know anything and how I never paid him what I promised. And he's only got to have said something like that to a few of those dockers..."
"Which he would, to save his own skin..." agreed Evelyn.
"...and next thing I know, they've driving up my arse. Jesus Christ! Looks like Harry's dropped you in it, too, John."
"Trouble with Harry," said Tyler, "is he never thinks anything through. I don't think he deliberately does things - they just happen as a result of something he says or does."
Brian Hawkins, Paul Livingstone and Michaelis Ziparis had listened to the exchange for a while, then started talking amongst themselves. Their reason for being there was Bob Lindon and, whilst they wanted to keep Chris out of trouble, there were plans already afoot which needed to be changed following Tyler's story.
Michaelis brought the five together again. "OK. We all agree we cannot stop what is happening in Newbury. Forget it." He swept the table with his hand as if to brush the subject onto the floor where he wanted it to stay. "Now we must find Bob Lindon first and talk." Paul was about to say something but Michaelis put his hand up to stop him. "Talk to begin with. Let him think we are friends and forgive him. 'Help us now Bob and you will have no more problem with us.' Make him feel comfortable. Maybe even we can give him a deal. A real one. For the first time he will see real money can be made. We will make him feel like the King. He will have a happy face and just as he starts to think all is fine...we strike." Michaelis cut through the air with his forearm. "He will know it is a trap - he is a clever man - we will not disappoint him. But we will have him alone and what we haven't learned before then in a friendly way we will get in an unfriendly way. I hope it will not be necessary. We will make Bob work for us. For the rest of his life or until he pays us, say, three million dollars, every cent he gets is ours."
"Well, I've already spoken to him..." Tyler spoke almost apologetically, hoping that he had done the right thing.
"Bob? You've spoken to him? Good. Good, John! What did he say?" Michaelis was enthusiastic.
Tyler was relieved. "Not knowing what you people were planning...I, er, well just thought I'd call him and tried the last number I had for him...."
"Yes, John. OK. What did he say?" Michaelis' enthusiasm was coloured by impatience.
"Give him a ticket and he'll meet Chris anywhere except here." said Tyler, rather more briefly than the conversation itself but nonetheless accurate.
"Good. Now we can move to the next stage," said Michaelis. Evelyn proposed a break for lunch at this point and they moved into the restaurant. Relaxing now, the conversation turned to what each had been doing in the intervening period. Tyler rapidly caught up with the few weeks' start the others had on the plans and wondered to himself whether there would ever be an end to it all. It looked like being a long day but he was glad to be in on the action and, with the exception of Brian Hawkins, had a lot of faith in the chosen team. Tyler proposed the toast:
"To getting the job done."

Chapter IX

Tyler glanced up from the newspaper. He still hadn't told Sally about his early morning experience. He had told her, though, that someone seemed to be after Chris and it looked as though they had been responsible for the 'hit-and-run case in Rowdon Avenue. The local paper offered no hint of anything other than repeating Inspector Tomlinson's views in rather less callous vein.
"The police have no clue as to the identity of the driver of a car which fatally injured Charles Newcombe, 30, of Grassmere Court, Newbury, when he was walking home from a party in the early hours of Thursday morning. They believe there may be a connection with a similar incident four weeks ago involving James Cockburn, 26, of Davenport Road, Newbury. Both were members of rival groups in the Seventies and police do not discount the possibility that long-standing grudges between the two may have been exacerbated. Their enquiries are continuing. Residents of the Newlands estate, where both the early morning dramas have occurred, are horrified at two deaths within a month in this normally quiet area. Fred Cockburn, father of James, told us that he couldn't understand why anyone would want to kill his son. 'He'd given up all that gang stuff years ago. I'm sure it was just one of those accidents that happen, but I would like to get my hands on the devil that can just drive away afterwards.' said Mr. Cockburn. Mr John Jones of 32 Rowdon Avenue saw a large, dark car driving away hurriedly on Wednesday morning without lights. Speculation about this bizarre incident is rife amongst his neighbours and a petition is being drawn up to improve street lighting on the estate. Said Mr Jones: 'It's bad enough trying to miss all the cars parked without lights at night - never mind driving without lights as well. With idiots like that around you don't stand a chance even crossing the road at night.' "Mr & Mrs Newcombe, parents of Charles, were not available for comment. Relatives said they were abroad."
"Two." he mused. "That doesn't make sense. Surely they're not going to run down every young guy that looks vaguely like Chris until they get the right one. Who's to say he's still around there anyway? Or is he reading this article, too, wondering what the hell's going on?" Tyler didn't like unanswered questions. He looked through an old diary and ran a large finger down the list of names. Memories filtered through his mind as the events of a few years back flashed into the present. The picture froze as his finger stopped at one name. Bob. . Tyler picked up the phone and carried it over to the table, placing it awkwardly between breakfast plates and a couple of videos he had to return to the shop that morning. The once familiar burr of a States telephone. "Hello."
Tyler said nothing.
"Hello", the voice repeated, impatiently yet with a hint of cheeriness. He put the receiver down gently. The voice was Bob's.
"Still there," he thought. "Boy, that's got to be a record." He looked at his watch. "10am in England; that means about one in the morning over there." he thought. "I'll give him another hour's sleep," he said to himself. He grabbed the videos and went out. Pausing for a moment at his car he decided to walk the half-mile or so to the shops. Sally was getting good money each week but Tyler had to try and make what little he had left last.
"Any good?" asked the seventeen-year-old behind the counter as she checked the tapes. "Bet you freeze-framed this one a few times!" she laughed, running her finger down the spine of one of the cases. An attractive girl, particularly in the white blouse and jeans she often wore. Her blouse was unbuttoned just that bit too far for respectability, though, and Tyler could easily make out a delightful young breast as the untanned skin curved down and out, pressing against the white cotton. The cheap, pearl-coloured bangle on her wrist clattered against the counter then, as she noticed his gaze, she drew her hand up to her neck and inside the top of her blouse to stroke the bone that ran from the bottom of her neck towards her shoulder, as if adjusting a non-existent bra-strap.
"Sure," replied Tyler, "and you would have had a job getting that bangle over it at one point!" he joked. Giggling, the girl turned to search for his membership card and Tyler's gaze dropped to admire the way her thin jeans held the cheeks of her bottom up and slightly apart, trying to make out any sign of underwear. He couldn't and she knew he couldn't. "You know, a body like yours is wasted on that spotty boyfriend of yours." he remarked.
"Dave's OK." she replied. "Why? D'you reckon I'd be better with someone with a bit more experience...?" She had found his card and playfully bit the corner as she brought it back to him, flashing her large brown eyes up and down Tyler's front. For an instant, he felt as if he had been stripped naked by the gesture and the thirty-plus years between them seemed to vanish.
"Maybe when you're a bit older, darling." he said, but he acknowledged that she had won that round. "And don't believe all you see in the pictures - in my day we didn't have any of this recorded muck - we got it live in the back row - half those guys are queer anyway..." He was running out of ammunition. He left before she could tease him any more. Perhaps if he hadn't already got two daughters older than her he might have acted differently but he still hadn't totally got used to the openness and sheer sexiness of some of the youngsters around. He couldn't have touched her and she knew it. Young girls felt safe with John Tyler. He quite disappointed himself sometimes but had also learned to appreciate the homely comforts and decent cooking that Sally provided. He hated to admit it but he was, as they used to say, 'past it'. Strolling back to his house his thoughts returned to the call he was going to make. He seldom planned anything in detail - just built up a particular emotion and let it explode onto the scene then saw what happened. The veiled threats of a few hours earlier had had little long-term effect other than to enhance his curiosity.
This time Violet Lindon answered the phone. "Hello. This is Mr Lindon's office. Can I help you?" she said, very precisely.
"Oh Jesus!" thought Tyler, "Vi's pissed as usual." Violet was a bony little woman with thin reddish-brown hair, often piled up on her head like the leaning tower of Pisa. Tyler could imagine her standing by the phone in that old red silk Chinese lantern of a nightdress she would wear until about two in the afternoon. She would have been on the bourbon since five thirty the day before but still managed to handle the most difficult calls and to remember a name immediately. "Hi there, Vi," said Tyler, "where's that husband of yours?"
"Oh John, dear," she crooned, "How nice to hear you. But don't you know it's two a.m. in the morning over here and Bob really needs his sleep. He works so hard you know, John. It's all coming together at last and we sure do appreciate all the help you and Christopher gave to the project in...."
"Yes, Vi," interrupted Tyler, as politely as he could manage. "True to form - the old bat never changes," he thought. "Chris asked me to call, Vi, and I've got an important message for Bob. I think he'll want to know before he goes out tomorrow." He had taken a chance that Bob might rise to the bait. It worked.
"Well dear, I'll do what I can," said Violet, "just you hold on a moment and I'll wake Bob. Would you like him to call you?"
"Yes," thought Tyler, realising the cost of the call, particularly at peak time, but "No" he replied, "I'll wait.", knowing that Bob might well not call back and, instead, might make a few checks and discover something to make him move. Tyler had no idea why he might move but it was rare enough to get hold of the fellow and he didn't want to lose him before he had learned a bit more.
"Well you just wait, John", said Violet, then adding, "Isn't it marvellous news about Christopher? Bob and I got a call yesterday from London and we were both so delighted. Bob had always told him that he would take care of all that tiddle-de-do in your English Courts and I just know that he'll have some good news for Christopher. I liked it so much in England but you know I can't stand the cold, John. It makes me so tired and Bob wouldn't be able to manage without me at my best now, would he. His work is so...."
"Vi...! Look, this is costing me a fortune..."
"Oh dear, John. I'm so sorry. Right away I'll get him to the phone."
Tyler breathed a sigh of relief. Once she started there was no stopping her. How on earth Bob had stood her for this long he couldn't understand.
"Hi there, Smiley!" The cheery rasp of Bob Lindon's voice was loud and clear. Tyler could have predicted those three words.
"Bob!" shouted Tyler, as if the distance between them required him to speak louder. "Sorry to get you out of bed."
"Did you call earlier - about one hour ago?"
"Yes...."
"I said to Violet: 'That's John calling from England, you see if I'm not right.' That's crazy isn't it, John? Crazy... but great to hear your voice. You know it's...ah...two o'clock over here in downtown Santeno and all the good people are tucked up. All the bad people are fucked up!" Bob laughed. "Hey, what's new in your world, John? Violet says you got something going on. You thought this crazy son-of-a-bitch was mad. Well, you ain't seen nothin' yet. This world's a foul place for the likes of you an' me, John. I've been out of pocket for a while. Some folk from your Revenue Department were after my balls but what you ain't got you can't lose!" He carried on laughing. "Oh shit!" he remarked, joyfully, at his own humour. "What can I do for you?" Finally, Tyler got a word in.
"Bob. Thought I'd call to see how things were with you," he started, weakly. "Now that Chris is free he wanted to try and patch things up with you and try and bring some good out of all the problems."
"Fine. You just tell him to get his ass over here and Violet and me can find him a bed in this delightful littl' ol' pad of ours here. How's that little lady of yours? Sally, isn't it?"
"She's OK, Bob.", then returning to the subject; "I don't know if he can get over to the States - can you get here?"
"I'd love to see you all again - you know that, John," said Bob, "but a little bird tells me that I might still have a problem with your Revenue Department. You listen to me, John. All that shit we've been through for this programme. I've been blacked. I've been jailed. I've been livin' off a dime and no asshole's going to put me through that again. Everyone wants to get paid. 'Where's my commission?!' I'm telling you, John, I'm through with it. If anyone wants to know how to do these programmes they'd better put their money on the table. I'm not going to take any more of this shit. You tell Chris to get his ass on a plane and stop whining. I don't lie, John. Those shits in the banks - they lie - they steal - d'you hear that - steal their depositors' money. Every day, every night, every week, every goddam month. Day, night, day, night! You all think I can do these things yesterday! I don't know when the job will get done. I don't know if it's this Tuesday, next Tuesday or two years Tuesday. I'm not playing games or putting my ass on the line for anyone. Not you, not Chris, not Brian, not George, not Michaelis. I've got the paper, John. I've done it. Did you hear that? I - have - done - it!! You don't believe it, huh? You bet your sweet ass you don't. I have over twenty million dollars in transfer today, t-o-d-a-y, and no-one will get to it until I am ready and..."
"Bloody hell, Bob!" shouted Tyler. It was vintage Bob, slowly working himself into a frenzy as his voice rose higher and higher. "All I wanted..."
"John, you're a beautiful guy. You and Chris. You're both beautiful...I just shout at the world. What d'you expect at 2 am in the morning? Shit! You'd think I really was a crazy Jew if I didn't yell at you, wouldn't you?"
"OK, Bob. OK. Take it easy or you'll burst a blood vessel. I'll try and get Chris to call. He's 'out of pocket', as you would say, at the moment.
"John. I've got about twenty dollars to last the year out! If you can send me a ticket from one of those agencies you've got over there I can tie up with Chris anywhere. Zurich's best but put it into your computer and call me back."
Tyler put the phone down and rubbed his left ear. It had been a while since the days when that sort of conversation had been an everyday occurrence and, even now, he felt totally confused. "The man's mad." was all he could say, shaking his head and wondering how he could get hold of Chris.

Chapter VIII

Jack Tomlinson was a bit of a traditionalist. He stuck to his patch and anything outside it was referred to upwards as soon as it landed on his desk. It did not help much, though. The grey metal standard stock police desk had withstood the weight of Inspector Tomlinson's paperwork for over fifteen years and a good amount of table-thumping which he was prone to, particularly when confronted with one of the 'bright young new boys who thought they knew it all'. "Another hit-and-run on Newlands, Tom," said a colleague, as another bundle of papers landed on the pile. "Reckon there's any connection?"
"God knows Charlie", said Tomlinson, "unless we've got some madmen with a burning desire to knock off young men in Davenport Road or...where was the other one?"
"The first was in Davenport Road, Tom. This one's in Rowdon Avenue." ".... or Rowdon Avenue. I can see us hauling in a couple of kids with guilty consciences and dents in their S-reg 3 litre Capris before long. You know the type - one gang leader gets hit by accident - probably one of his mates pissed out of his skull on the way home - and they all get horny and screw up one of the others. Won't be long before they've cut their numbers down to a level we can manage!"
"Sure, Tom." agreed Charlie, a touch disapprovingly. Then, in case his boss may have noticed the tone, he added: "I reckon it's the milkman, anyway! Queer as old bats is Trevor." He laughed and turned to complete a schedule on the wall. The phone rang. Inspector Tomlinson put down his pipe and placed the new papers back with the others after a cursory glance, retaining one sheet, which he turned over to use for a note while on the phone.

Chapter VII

The phone rang at eight. Sally answered it. "Not in." murmured Tyler.
"I think you are," said Sally nervously. "It's Inspector Tomlinson from Newbury police." Tyler turned over, sat up and stared at Sally. "John, what have you done?" she asked, seeing the obvious anxiety in his eyes. Tyler grabbed the phone and tried calmly to joke about having left the force a good twenty years ago.
"Still looking after young Chris, are we?" sneered a voice he strained to recognise.
"Who...?"
"Next time it will be Inspector Tomlinson. Back off, John. Austin's ours now and he's going to take a little ride. Case of mistaken identity last night but you don't know anything about that do you? You weren't there, were you?"
"Just what is this...?"
"Just a warning, John. Just a warning. Keep your mouth shut and mind your own business and keep away from Austin." The voice spoke forcefully but gently. Tyler drew a deep breath, frantically trying to find the words for the million questions flooding through his brain. The phone at the other end went down and Tyler slammed his own down in exasperation.
"John, what is it?" Sally was standing at the side of the bed.
"I don't know, Sal. I just don't know," he said, shaking his head, "something's going on and it's to do with Chris...."
"God!" shouted Sally, "That young man's got a lot to answer for. First he gives you a job and I hardly see you. Then you promise me the Earth next week. Then you go all quiet on me and next thing I know that crazy Bob's round here living off our food, drinking our coffee and getting me doing all his bloody washing. I mean, John, he's got to be bad news. I know he got off and all that and I do believe what you say but it seems to me that everything Chris touches..."
"Shut up!" shouted Tyler angrily. "The poor fellow's in big trouble - has been for ages and still is. No one else knows because he can't talk to them any more. This time, though, this time...." He trailed off then, more calmly, took Sally's hand. "Sorry, sweet - leave me be for a while, eh?" Sally knew when to push and when to ease off. She still wanted to know why the police were calling him and why it should have had so much effect but she did not want any rows. He would tell her in his own time, she hoped.

Chapter VI

On Wednesday night Tyler always went to the local where he would have a few beers with friends and, on those nights, would get a late pass from Sally. They would go back to one of the houses to watch a movie and play cards. If he left before three in the morning it was very unusual. Sally would go to bed when the television finished and had got used to the three or four lurches in the mattress, accompanied by the tug of the covers that meant that her husband had returned. On this occasion, Tyler left his friend's at the usual time and, although Newbury was not exactly on his way home, he decided to go and have a look round the Newlands estate. "Milkman will be round in an hour or so - he might know of any recent arrivals", he pondered. "Might be a she at that!" A grin flickered across his face as he passed 19 Rowdon Avenue and thought of Mrs Collins tucked up in bed with her Chris. He parked at the end of the road and pressed in a Randy Crawford tape, adjusted the seat back and made himself comfortable. A screech of tyres, a shout and a sound like a heavy cardboard box being dropped woke him with a start. "Jesus Christ!" he shouted, reaching for the ignition key. The tape had stopped long ago and dawn was breaking. He revved the Audi engine and slammed it into gear, releasing handbrake and clutch together as the car shot forward and he headed towards the noise he had heard. As he noticed two taillights disappearing onto the main road he braked hard, his headlights picking out the shape of a body in the road. Tyler was about to get out when a door opened in the house opposite. Lights went on upstairs and a weird yellow pattern fell across the grass, ending sharply in a line running across the body on the ground then veering sharply towards the car, striking Tyler on the right side of his face. A dark mass under the body's head grew, slowly eclipsing the false dawn created by the house light. His own car lights showed two twisted legs but the angle he had stopped at had left them pointing at nothing other than dewy grass which sparkled like a distant city harbour. A shadow appeared in the doorway. A shout. Tyler cut his lights, reversed into the drive behind, then swiftly got away. Once round the corner he turned on the lights again and hoped that he had been quick enough for his registration not to have been spotted. It was one of those instant decisions that can never be retracted. If he had stayed he would have had a lot of answers to find and, even then, the facts looked bad. By leaving, it may have looked worse but, with a bit of luck, no one would connect him with a 'hit-and-run' he had, in all honesty, nothing to do with. Any car that moved on the way back made his heart pump that much faster. Despite his innocence, a guilty conscience made even shadows seem real and every parked car was a police car lying in wait for him. He turned off the main road and went through the lanes then cursed as he thought that he would have been far better going back along the busier main road which, even at that time of the morning, had a steady flow of traffic into which he could easily merged. Here, in the lanes, he was conspicuous and, still some ten miles from home, a breakdown would lead to questions. No breakdown. No police cars. No shrill siren. He pulled up at his house quietly and crept inside. Sally, fast asleep, only stirred slightly as the mattress shifted and as she was silently robbed of some covers.

Chapter V

It was nearly a month later when Tyler had a call from Chris. "How was Greece, then?" he asked cheerfully when he recognised the voice on the line.
"We've got a problem, John." stated Chris, his voice hard and serious. "Take this number - Newbury 43266 - call me this evening. I'll explain then. It's...." The voice started then stopped.
"What's up?" asked Tyler.
"I think there are a few mountains yet to climb before the air will be clean enough to breathe," said Chris.
"God, you always talk in riddles, you clever folk!" joked Tyler, who could make neither head nor tail of the remark. "Where are you now?" he asked.
"Can't tell you now. Look, we'll get together - but give me a call around seven thirty this evening - need a bit of help with something."
"OK. Talk to you later."
"Cheers John."
Tyler called as agreed. No answer. He tried several times that night and on each of the next four evenings. All with the same result. No one answered. Using a little of the ingenuity he had always been known for, he dialled 43267 and spoke to a Mrs Collins. With a combination of chat and direct questions he learned that Mrs Collins lived at 19 Rowdon Avenue on the Newlands estate on the outskirts of Newbury. No, she did not know of a Mr Austin or a Chris... "except, of course, for my Chris - but you wouldn't want 'im, would you? Who would! Funny 'bout that name, innit. Ooh, 'ang on a minute, I did see a young man in Sheldon Grove - that's the first on the left as you come in as if you're coming in from town. Nice looking fella. All on 'is own 'e was with a shopping bag. I remember I thought to misself: 'e ought to 'ave a lady to look after 'im. I said to my Chris." Tyler thanked her and wondered how many nice looking fellas would wander round the Newlands estate. "Hundreds" he guessed out loud, "and ninety-nine of them'll be the spitting image of Chris if I listen to Mrs Collins any more. Still, there are only a few ways in or out of the estate. Might be worth going down and having a look round."

Chapter IV

After the trial he had gone off to celebrate with Chris Austin. The judge had been pretty severe but, as Chris had moreorless resigned himself to a heavy penalty of some sort, to get off effectively free had delighted him. Tyler had been pleased that Chris had not got everyone together. Some people still resented the bad feelings, the let-downs, the 'behind the scenes' activity and just not being kept informed. He had known Chris pretty well - but he had known the others too, and their lot had not improved in the slightest. In fact, some, like Harry, had found themselves being dragged further into the mire when the facts started to emerge. Old Keith had had quite a ticking off too. It would have been just typical of Chris to have brought everyone round to a party and to try to recapture the old spirit of the London & Newbury days. The girls would have liked it - but even for them it had been better not to open old wounds and there would have been no way, in Tyler's view, that June would have come anyway. She really had been bitter. The two men found a decent bar on the bridge in Holborn and pretty quickly downed a couple of large gins.
"So what are you going to do now?" John had asked.
"God knows!" Chris had laughed. "I hadn't actually made any plans for obvious reasons." Chris had been gently stroking the glass and looked thoughtful. For an instant the smile had disappeared and the tenseness of a man deep in thought returned. As if to dispel the image he had lifted his gaze and glanced over at another table where two girls were giggling over some joke about the office they worked in. "I know what I'd like to do now," he said, nodding purposefully in the girls' direction.
"Now, just remember - that's what got you into trouble in the first place!" Tyler had said this with the tone of a parent scolding an errant son. "Put that head of yours into gear", he had continued. "Women cost money and you need to earn a living first".
"Yes, I know." Chris had admitted, with a smile. "I don't think I'll have much luck in this country for a while and I reckon I've just about got enough for a few weeks in Greece. It's still pretty warm out there and I could do with a break. Then maybe I'll be able to figure out what to do next." Then, as was always the case when those two got together, the conversation had turned to the events that had gone before and fresh attempts to answer so many unsolved mysteries were proposed, discussed and, true to form, rejected once more.

Chapter III

John Tyler woke and swore as he realised that he was still lying on the sofa. He massaged his left arm with his other hand to try and encourage some feeling back into it that had gone while he had slept awkwardly for the few hours since he had been back. The mug of cold coffee was on the floor by his feet as he manoeuvred himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and then ran both hands back across his thinning hair. Still pretty fit at fifty, he was wide-awake within a matter of minutes. He pulled off yesterday's socks and disdainfully rolled them into a ball then leaned back and pulled off the dirty blue jeans. If Sally had been around he would have screwed hell out of her. She wasn't and before he could allow himself the opportunity to regret it he grabbed his boots, socks and jeans and marched into the bedroom, stripped off and turned on the shower. John never thought much about himself. His life had always been lived along the lines others had led. His everyday actions were automatic. The navy had given him self-discipline, to follow orders and to respect those more intelligent than him. A period in the police force had taught him how to get away with a few tricks but he had spent most of his life in the building trade. He had built his own house, plumbed it, painted it, laid the carpets and had not particularly wanted any help with the wiring but the man from the Electricity Board had insisted. If he had not met Chris Austin that is probably what he would still be doing. Soapy water began to trickle slowly down his back then turned to a clear torrent as the shower spray burst upon him. He energetically cleansed himself of the previous day's sweat as if with it would be washed away the memories of what he had done. It was generally agreed, amongst 'the old crowd', that John Tyler knew a lot more about what had happened to Chris than he would say. The police knew it and had got pretty close on one of the several interviews, as they politely termed the grillings they had put him through. Few really cared now. The past was the past. They had all lost something - money in most cases, one way or the other - pride, too, and, for a while, a future. Tyler had not lost anything to speak of. He had been grateful to Chris for a chance to get into something a bit more challenging than putting bricks together. He had been paid right up to the end and had no complaints, except for what was going on then. The phone was ringing but he didn't notice.

Chapter II

Collette picked up the phone and pressed out Harry Gordon's number.
"Harry?"
"Hi there, Collette. What are you doing calling at this time of day?"
"Harry - have you seen The Chronicle?"
"No . . ."
"Another person's been killed on the Newlands estate. You know - the one where Chris was hiding out. It isn't Chris but June says that all three of the men killed so far are all of similar build and appearance to him and the police want anyone who may have any information to contact them urgently before any more innocent people get hurt." Collette's voice was desperate. "Harry, if you know where he is, you've got to do something. This is crazy."
"Collette, I've told you already - I haven't seen him since he was arrested, apart from on the box, of course. He called me once and told me where he was going to stay until things died down a bit but after they did Lynn I kept well away from him. Someone's out to get him. The police sure worked on all of us before the trial and I don't know about you but I don't fancy another visit."
"OK." said Collette. "I'm sorry. I just can't get that man out of my life. It's been two years now. First there's all the secret stuff at the office. Then he disappears and the Government starts asking questions. Then he comes back with this crazy story about being threatened and the police come running round asking questions. Chris gets away again and hides out with that girl Gill Chalmers. Sally Tyler, Lynn, June Franklin, Keith . . . God knows who else gets to keep quiet or else . . . now someone's trying to kill him!"
"Again." added Harry.
"Yes, well," said Collette, calming down a little, "at least we know it's for real this time."
"Look, Col. Stay out of it. We've all had one hell of a rough time. All I'm trying to do is forget the past and start afresh. I've got to think of little Mark. Lynn won't even let anyone speak about Chris in the house. He let us all down pretty badly and none of the old gang that I know are doing anything except getting on with whatever they can do to put themselves back together again. He's on his own now wherever he is. There's absolutely nothing we can do."
"OK, OK, cut the lecture. I just wanted to talk to someone. I don't suppose John..."
"Collette. Forget it."
"Sorry. I'll let you get on with some work."
"Don't worry. It's nice to hear from you again. You should come over and see us sometime - what about next weekend? It's Mark's second birthday.... ah, er, well, that's not really your scene is it.... er . . . well, look, just call in when you're over this way and we'll have a drink."
"Yes Harry. Thanks. I'd better go now. See you."
"Sure. Bye Col."
Collette put the phone down and went over to the window. Everything seemed so normal out there. Despite all that had happened she still felt guilty about leaving Chris. She had only worked for him. He had never touched her - never even hinted at anything - but there had been some sort of excitement about being involved with all the events and people around in those days. She remembered the parties. How happy everyone was. Then the drama. She had never really understood what it was all about but, being at the sharp end of clients' abuse over the telephone, she certainly knew that something had gone wrong. She had never thought that Chris had actually gone off with the million they said he had. Anyone that knew him would have said the same. They did and a brilliant young barrister convinced the Court that young Mr Austin had already suffered quite enough for his mistakes. As the sun broke through from behind a cloud Collette could not help wonder though, why all the violence had erupted afterwards. She had been lucky and had missed the worst. "But the others," she mused, "the others - God, had they been hit hard; and they knew hardly any more than she did. In fact, apart from Keith, they weren't even directly involved. And now people are getting killed!" She turned back and sat down at the kitchen table, her nightdress falling open as she reached for a cigarette. Drawing deeply she watched the smoke curl round towards the porcelain lamp Chris had bought her for Christmas. "The last Christmas in the 'good old days'". For a moment, she stared at the shapes in the smoke. "Bastard!" she muttered to herself and fleetingly she could make out the silver-haired head of Bob Lindon. Robert K Lindon, the charming and cunning citizen, apparently, of the world. "Where are you now?" she asked. "Just where the hell are you and your friends?" She swung her arm through the haze to slap the grotesquely distorted image of the man she had grown to hate. Almost as if she had really expected to make contact with the lined flesh of the sixty-year-old American, she started as her hand carried on through and in the next instant caught the lamp, sending it crashing to the floor, exploding into a myriad fragments of glass and china. Even before the patterned pieces had stopped spinning wildly over the cold kitchen floor she was on her knees, sobbing, as she tried to gather them up and rebuild them. Both hands cupped together, the pieces she had collected poured onto the solid base in a discordant cascade. A tear fell onto one of the fragments and she gently turned it so that the salty water ran along a rough edge. Picking up another she pushed the two pieces together, squeezing her tear between them as if the water were glue. Still holding the two pieces together tightly she stood up. The cigarette lay in the ashtray. Its smoke spiralled upward until the current of air from her movement scattered the grey.

Chapter I

Tyler kicked the body. Two blue eyes stared up at nothing. They could see no longer. Whatever it was that they saw last was gone. "Shit", muttered Tyler as he quickly searched the young man's body for any identification. Grabbing some papers, a wallet and roughly unfastening the watch still running on the lifeless wrist, he walked back to the car. His eyes darted about trying to detect any movement in the street. Nothing moved. Nothing would move at five on a Sunday morning on this run-down housing estate. Suburbia slept. The Sierras sat newly polished in the gravel drives of neat but dismal semi-detached houses.
"Was it Chris?" asked Sally as John Tyler kicked off his black leather boots and leaned back on the chair, hands clasped behind his head which shook to reply in the negative.
"Bloody wish it was, in a way," he said, "can't take much more of this."
"Oh, come on John. He wasn't perfect but he doesn't deserve to die," shouted Sally as Tyler walked into the kitchen and noisily grabbed a jar of coffee. The kettle boiled and he poured the water into two mugs. Stirring them and throwing the spoon into the sink, where it lay with the previous night's dishes, he went over to the sofa and sat down next to the girl. A good ten years younger than Tyler, Sally seemed to be catching up with him fast. She had passed forty a few weeks before and her face was drawn. How much could be attributed to staying up night after night waiting for her husband to return and how much was due to the pain she suffered six days earlier when thugs had beaten her and left her to crawl two miles home was anyone's guess.
"Look Sal," said Tyler, "they're going to get him sooner or later. He's not the sort of guy that can last long on the run - not when both sides are after him." He glanced over at the watch and papers he had brought back. "This one seems to be another set-up job. Looked a bit like Chris but too young. Only about twenty-five. I guess they just wanted to see what I do. And what do I do? Jump at their command. Yes sir. No sir. Three bags bloody full sir! Probably watching from one of the houses, making sure I do exactly as I'm told!"

Foreword

Chris Austin made one mistake in an otherwise brilliant career. He risked the livelihood of those close and dear to him in his personal and business life, and he risked funds entrusted to him by his company's clients when an American, Robert Lindon entered his life.

Bob Lindon described to him a financial scheme which, with powerful logic, produced an opportunity for very, very large amounts of money to be made available. So vast the amount, and so certain of the success of the scheme, Chris became totally pre-occupied with it. Bob Lindon's reassurance that Chris's actions were fully protected by funds already under the American's control in the States effectively countered a feeling that there might be any problem. Chris and, to a lesser but nonetheless significant extent, his friends, had before them a vision of a whole new and exciting future coming to reality. It was, indeed, the stuff that dreams are made of. Dreams, though, can become nightmares, and when Bob Lindon failed to honour his promises the reality of life for Chris Austin and many others became that nightmare. Brave efforts were made to recover or to replace the £1 million or so lost through following Bob Lindon's advice but these efforts served only to increase the vulnerability of those making them. Vulnerability, not only to the inevitable actions of the authorities but also to the sinister implications of their beginning to learn more about the reasons for Bob Lindon's failure and the type of people involved in the background than those people desired to become known. Gradually, support for Chris by his colleagues petered out and finally, reluctantly, in early 1985, he too had to give up. His career ruined, his physical reserves depleted and his dreams shattered, he stood alone to face the consequences.

This story commences, a couple of years later, when Chris Austin walks away from a London court and experiences a freedom of a sort that had evaded him for so long. The events of the past, though, still haunt him, as does a determination to discover the truth about Bob Lindon.

A dramatic sequence of events results in old associations being renewed. Complex twists of motives and emotions emerge as the loyalty of once-close friends comes into question. People are threatened, attacked and some killed as individuals try to make sense of the frightening new circumstances in which they find themselves.

The threats are very real and, involving - as they do- the innocent, seem all the more effective. When those who threaten seem not to have furthered their objectives savage attacks follow but with few clues as to those responsible.

The explanation of the killings remains a mystery throughout the story and even at the devastating climax the reader may have to search for an answer to this as well as a series of other questions that arise.

Excitement abounds in chases by air, sea and water with the tensions of tiredness, mistrust and troubled emotions. A strong visual impact stems from settings in a Swiss mountain village, a Greek island and the strange Slav borderlands where Yugoslavia meets Albania in the south west and Austria in the north.

Lighter - often positively hilarious - moments permeate the account of some stages of the characters' adventures. Bob Lindon, in particular, shows extremes of attitudes from an almost impenetrable silence to rudely loud verbosity. Distinguishing pretence of good humour from the real thing may be frustratingly difficult but moods dictate so many of the aspects of the characters' reactions that the detection of even slight change of emphasis can add immensely to appreciation of the course of events.

On several occasions strong erotic elements are featured; always, though, sensitively phrased and with justification within the overall direction of events. Much is left to the imagination, as is the case in the expression of love in the relationships that develop. The strands of feeling may be faintly written but they are carefully and very specifically woven so that omission of the word 'love' by no means implies lack of the emotion in certain characters.

The unpredictability and unusual appearance of a little-known race in the Slav mountain lands brings starkness to an already tense atmosphere and in another part of that country English and Greek are silenced, stunned by the moving tones of a small town folk singer.

Other feelings, friendships and fears will be found as he story unfolds. A story that is credible, because it is based largely on fact, yet incredible, because it is not easy to believe that such things could happen. A story that will shock with the violence of some, yet calm at the care shown by others. A story where sensations are vivid but senses still reel. A story that attacks the emotions then tends its wounds. A story with few explanations because only a few of the people still exist.