by Paul Heron
‘What are you doing?’ Michael shouted.
‘She’s protecting you, Michael.’ A man’s voice sounded from the other side of Storm. He had an Italian accent. ‘She’s guarding you, because she thinks you’re in danger.’ He spoke sarcastically, with a tone dressed in mock humour.
Michael couldn’t see him from the other side of Storm, but he could hear from the voice that they were getting closer. Storm ramped, and as she did so Michael finally caught a glimpse of a man. A tall, athletic middle-aged man with olive skin and shiny jet-black hair. If his accent didn’t give him away as being Italian, his features would have.
‘Who are you?’ Michael shouted. A feeling of anxiety surrounded his entire body. ‘Where’s Elisabetta?’
The moment he said Elisabetta’s name, Storm began to ramp, kicking her front legs in mid-air, stomping her feet on the ground. She put her head down, the horn being pointed straight around the man, uncontrollably, not leaving Michael’s side.
‘She’s safe, for now!’ The man said. ‘And the answer to the question you just asked yourself, is time in this world doesn’t move with the time in your world. So, when you come here, it’s as if your world freezes.’ He spoke confidently as he turned and walked towards the table. Sitting down, he picked an apple out of the fruit bowl. Staring at it as if staring at himself in a mirror, he grinned and took a bite out of it.
‘What do you mean she’s safe? Where is she, and who the hell are you?’
Michael woke up. Lying on his bed. Sweating. Gasping for a breath. The wind was whipping the curtains up and down. He stood up, feeling lightheaded, he slowly walked over to the window and shut the window. He caught a dark figure standing in the reflection of the mirror. He whipped his head around to see what it was, but it had left.
‘Chief, stop posing! Move your ass!’ Mohammad banged on his door.
As he opened the door, Mohammad could see something was wrong.
‘What is it?’ Mohammad furrowed his brows. Smoothing out his beard, he looked at Michael as if trying to translate the expression he seen before him. ‘You’ve seen Elisabetta again? She’s dumped you?’ He smirked.
Michael laughed, pulling his shirt cuffs through his jacket sleeve. ‘Something’s...’ he paused. Thinking the truth, or what he knew at least, would cause unnecessary worry. Until he knew exactly what was going on in the Otherworld, he decided to continue keeping it to himself. ‘Never mind.’ He jumped as his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was George. ‘George, where are you?’
‘I’m in Little Camberly. You need to get to the German headquarters today. Get the group and go!’
Michael sighed and hung up. Glancing out the window, he noticed Sofia out in the garden staring at something.
‘What did George say?’ Mohammad asked.
‘We gotta go!’ Michael led the way down the stairs, quickly saying hello to everyone and making his way out into the garden.
Sofia heard him approach. She turned and looked at him. With a smile that lacked sincerity, it looked like the confident Italian lady he’d spent the last week with was running on empty. Perhaps the same as the rest of the group.
‘I’m tired, Michael!’ She pulled his hand to bring him in close to her. ‘This is not going to end well.’ She squeezed his hand, almost cutting off the circulation.
Michael felt as if she was about to become swamped in self-loathing. A feeling of despair lingered.
‘Elisabetta still has faith in us,’ he lied, knowing it would help elevate her mood. ‘I spoke to her.’
Her eyes wide open, as if she’d just woken up from a nightmare. ‘What did she say?’
‘She said we continue. We lead the foundation. Keep doing what we have to.’
Her expression lifted, her trimmed eyebrows lifting slightly from their previous resting position over her eye sockets. Breathing in a sigh of relief, she said, ‘okay, let’s go then!’ Her voice lifted. She smiled.
Michael didn’t want to lie to her, but he knew it was the best thing to do, given their circumstances, a little white lie would be justified to keep the mood of the group upbeat. He needed to know what happened to Elisabetta before he began making matters worse for them. It was something he’d have to keep to himself until he had more information.
She looked at him, her eyes glazed over. He felt himself move in towards her. He could smell her minty breath and was about to kiss her.
‘Buongiorno!’ Mohammad shouted at Sofia as he kindly interrupted them, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. ‘What are you making for breakfast, Chief? We can’t be saving the world without some food in our bellies!’
Michael looked at Sofia and laughed. ‘What do you want? He asked in German.
‘What?’ Mohammad responded, confused.
‘What do you want to eat?’ Sofia asked, this time in Arabic.
Whatever, show-offs!’ Mohammad said in Arabic.
‘Will someone speak bloody English?’ Ajit griped.
Michael and Sofia made their way into the kitchen where everyone else was.
‘Okay, everyone sit yourselves down,’ Scarlett ordered. ‘We’ve got lots to get on with today. We’re going to Berlin at twelve. Our friend, the German president lives at the Bellevue Palace or in German: Schloss Bellevue. He’s meeting with German Mancini agents today. We need to know what they’re meeting about.’
‘And we have to go there, it’s not a good idea,’ Mohammad complained, sounding stressed. ‘Soviet, come!’ He shouted out the door, into the garden. A giant bird swopped down, not even fitting in the door.
‘What the hell is that thing?’ Eduardo shouted. ‘I thought dinosaurs were extinct.’
‘It’s an Andean Condor. It’s not a thing. It’s name is Soviet.’ Mohammad put his arm out for it to wrap it’s human hand sized claws around his forearm.
‘Mohammad, get that thing out of here.’ Carolina shouted. ‘Not while there’s food around.’
‘She’s hungry, too! She needs feeding, as much as we do.’
‘It’s unhygienic you fool,’ Sofia said, throwing an apple back out into the garden for the bird to chase.
‘Enough about the bloody bird,’ Scarlett said. ‘German agents have worked closely with the German president for almost one year. Hopefully they will be able to get close.’ She paused. ‘It’s crazy to think their great grandfather was one of Hilter’s leading Nazi’s.’
The moment Michael heard this, he looked at Sofia. Sofia looked back at Michael, then Marcel.
‘Adelbert Schmidt!’ Marcel said.
‘What?’ Scarlett was confused.
‘In the jungle,’ Ajit said. ‘In the jungle, we found a Nazi warplane. A wreckage. There was a pilot’s remains inside. His name was...’
‘Schmidt?’ Scarlett said.
‘Yes. The aircraft was from the Nazi Luftwaffe aerial branch. But, it had the Sirani logo on the side. We think they must have been bringing the Americans information about planned attacks,’ Carolina said.
‘We wanted to tell the German authorities about the find once we finished in the jungle, but of course plans changed. Things went from bad to disastrous.’ Mohammad said, as he threw a slice of chicken out into the garden for Soviet to fetch.
‘Right, so after we eat,’ Marcel said, ‘we go chat to them. It’ll be good to tell them old Adelbert wasn’t all bad.’
‘Pity we didn’t keep his belongings. But at least we can give them some good news for the family,’ Carolina said.
‘Okay, that’s enough talking about work. Time for breakfast.’ Sofia assumed her usual bossy attitude. Michael believed the little white lie had paid off. Sofia’s mood was lifted, and he wanted it to stay that way.
About the Author
‘I’m simply a guy who wanted to write his partner a book in her language. It’s just got way out of hand!’
Paul Heron was born in Belfast and spent the first 27 years of his life on Irish soil before moving to Loughborough, England to finish his study in sports manag
ement. He completed his degree in May 2012 which was, to say the least, an inspiring time to be in Loughborough. That summer, the university hosted Team Japan and Team GB for the 2012 Olympic Games in London.
At that time, he met his partner who came to England from Italy also to study sports management. Quite a summer to remember. Obviously graduating wasn’t too bad either!
Later that year, he decided to teach himself to speak Italian. As a way for him to practice what he had learned, he began writing in his work diary – in Italian – and this was how he discovered a love for writing.
In March 2015, he decided to write his partner a book – in Italian – for their 3rd anniversary. So, after 6 months, he managed to finish that book: a story titled “La Storia Della Mia Vita” which is Italian for “The Story Of My Life”.
So, he fell in love with writing but didn’t know how to continue. Until Sunday 11th October 2015, while talking to a friend in a leisure centre which he had been managing at the time, he came up with the idea for his first fictional series. It's simply snowballed from there!
Read more at Paul Heron’s site.