The Lights by qingyunliuliu

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									The Lights

Whatever wrong road Jerry had taken in the deep, damp fog he was
pretty sure he did not intend to end up where he now found himself. In
the middle of an unknown graveyard, at least to him, surrounding what
appeared to be an abandoned church. New to the area, having recently
moved down from London, he was unsure of his geography. The thick fog,
and the several pints, he had downed in the local pub had completely
disorientated him. Leading him to this rather unwelcoming location.

He made his way through the graveyard toward the church. Then he
noticed, or appeared to, a very faint glimmer of light, but it was gone as
soon as he saw it. “Just a trick of the light” he thought. He was not
given to panic, but he was getting close to despair. It was one o clock in
the morning and he really did not want to be in a graveyard! But he
honestly, in his drunken and befuddled state, could not pinpoint this
church in relationship to his studio flat in the village. Unfortunately his
love of computers and his move out of crowded London, to an idyllic
location, had not equipped him with the outdoor skills he clearly needed
at this moment in time.

He stumbled across a path, of sorts, that seemed to lead to the Church
doors. This he followed and eventually arrived at two great locked doors.
A very rusty chain was held together with a very rusty ancient looking
lock. Thus confirming his original supposition that the church had been
abandoned some time ago. Just after chains and locks had been invented
he thought ruefully. The corner of his eye caught a flicker of light again,
but it was gone in an instant. “Trick of the fog.” He thought.

The damp was now getting to him as the alcohol wore off and he started
to shiver. “What am I to do,” he thought. “I cannot be that far from the
village and home. Oh God I must pee. But where?” Anywhere replied the
voice in his head. You have just got to let it out. So he dashed round the
side of the church, found a spot of grass, checked there were no graves
around and let go. It appeared that just steam came out, but the relief
was sublime. And there was that flicker of light again. Just in the
corner of his right eye. And it was below ground. He quickly knocked out
of his head “Below ground, graveyard, fog.” But very quietly he was

The only positive thought was that he felt nothing. No fluttering within,
no feeling of dread. As someone who had inherited, albeit occasionally,
his Welsh Grandmothers fey sensitivities, this actually comforted him.

His mind went back to when he was in the forces and playing in a band.
He had travelled to Guttersloh, in Germany, with the bands drummer, a
member of the RAF’s band. The feeling of dread on the journey was
almost intolerable. He just felt an accident was waiting to happen. And it
did, not that night, but two week’s later. The coach carrying the RAF
Germany band crashed into a fuel carrier. Of the several fatalities one
was the bands drummer. He had never got over that feeling.

The light flickered again, it was definitely coming from underground.
Someone, or something, was in the church basement, or crypt.

He literally felt his way the opposite end of the church. Same story.
Doors locked with ancient chains and padlocks. Clearly had not been
opened in years. The light flickered again, teasing him. Nobody could
possibly be inside, unless there was a separate door to the cellar? In his,
still somewhat befuddled, state he could not work his priorities out.
Home was the main game, no question whatsoever. But in which direction
was home? His immediate concern was a little bit of warmth, and a soul,
pardon the pun, to point him in the right direction. The light from under
the church was becoming evermore seductive. The evasive light from
below offered him hope as to his immediate requirements. Now all he had
to do was find the door?

There had to be steps leading down at the side of the church. So he
started retracing his footsteps. And there it was. A short, sharp set of
steps leading downwards. He went down very carefully, came to the
bottom and found a door. A door that was not padlocked and chained. A
door that opened inwards as he slowly pressed down on the handle. Then
he was inside, pitch black, darker than he could possibly imagine, but it
was warmer than the below zero degree fog outside. He looked around
and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Just great, he was surrounded
by tombs. He was in a big time crypt, with no indication of that faint
glimmer of light.

He felt really cold in this place. Cold and blind. Maybe there was a
chance of warmth if he could locate the source of the flashing light.
Feeling with his arms he went outward. But he touched only cold stone.

Tombs within a mausoleum. He was as disorientated here as he was on
the surface. There seemed to be no focal point he could fix on. And the
inevitable build up of beer in his bladder was demanding another release!
“Not here for God’s sake!” He thought. And then the light flashed again,
once more very briefly. But it came from dead ahead. “Maybe a light
from the toilet,” he thought facetiously. And he headed toward it with
some resolve. Only to find himself at the top of a very steep set of,
dark, downward winding stairs.

His bladder was crying out for relief, and he reckoned he would not be
directly pissing on anyone’s grave by using the stairs as a drain. So with
great satisfaction he relieved himself. Now he was ready to go on.
Although downward in what was already a crypt was not too great an idea.
But Jerry was long on thought, and dumb on action, so down he went.
Hanging on to the banister with all his might. It was a strange
configuration for a spiral staircase. The banister was on his right as he
descended, meaning that the protection, or attack, would come from
below who would have the banister on their left, thus leaving their sword
arm free. They were usually built the other way round. A mute point he
supposed depending on what you were protecting. It struck Jerry as a
little silly to be fighting your way downstairs, toward a cellar say, but
there you go. How old was the church and had anybody even conceived of
a sword arm advantage on the stairwell? He would never know, nor did he
care. He was just occupying his mind as he went ever deeper into this
strange building. He now thought of beyond a church. He did not think
the bottom would be very pretty.

And it wasn’t. It was a shallow pond. It was still dark, it was still cold,
now it was compounded by wet. This was not turning out to be the
greatest evening in Jerry’s life. Not having wellies he decided to skip the
dip in the pond and make his way back up the strange winding staircase.
By now he was bone tired, veering between drunk and hung over and very
pissed off. So when the light flickered in his peripheral vision, to his
left, he was very inclined to say “Fuck it. I am going upstairs, find
somewhere that is not freezing, and wake up in the morning having slept
through a nightmare.”

But of course he did not. Stubborn, drunken arsehole that he was. He
followed the light splashing through the few inches of water that
covered, he hoped, a solid floor. What more misery could he heap upon
himself this joyful evening? He knew that by now if he did not find some

kind of warmth soon he would just lay down and die of hypothermia. He
had passed the point of no return. Which given his alcoholic intake was
the sort of stupid thing anyone might do.

“Follow the light.” His tired brain cried. “For where there is light there
must be warmth.” He was lead into an empty alcove. Where to his
amazement a blazing log fire stood before him. Right in the middle of the
space. He rushed toward it and lay down before it, sucking in every
molecule of warmth it could give. Realising it would not get though his
damp clothes, he stripped, and then just walked round and round in
circles luxuriating in the heat of the fire. It was manna from heaven this
warmth. He had never felt the need of heat so badly in his life.
Deprivation did bring rewards. He danced around the fire, and still not
completely sober, burst into song. He had got through his whole
repertoire of Mario Lanza hits, before he had the sense to put his
clothes by the fire to dry them off, and give him something warm and
dry to sleep in. He was not taking another step forward this night.

Mario Lanza was followed by all the hits from the musicals and then his
clothes were warm and dry. He chucked some more logs on the fire,
there were plenty about, snuggled up and went to sleep.

He woke up several hours later freezing cold again. The fire had gone out
during his sleep. But at least his clothes were dry. Very similar to his
throat that felt like something very unpleasant had crawled in and died
there. He was gasping for water, gallons of the glorious stuff. Jerry
was getting a practical lesson in Maslows hierarchy of needs. Twelve
hours ago he was at the top of the pyramid. Warm, safe, rich, complacent
and secure. Now he was at the very bottom. Cold, tired, hungry and
scared witless. He still did know where he was. But wherever it was it
was not where his mis-used, out of shape body wanted to be.

He looked around in the dark and could make out nothing. The fire had
long since died so there was no glow from the embers. He actually wished
he had had caveman training. At least he would be able to rub two sticks
together and make fire. He had a little chuckle to himself. Here was man
who could connect people all across the Globe through his Internet nous,
but he could not make a fucking fire. Is that sublimely ridiculous or not.
Anyway he had to get out of here and hope the fog had lifted so he could
find his way home.

He sort of realised up was the way to go. Oh shit, up meant going through
the crypt again. No choice, buckle your fear up, tighten your arse and
just go for it. He began to make his way forward, with some difficulty,
the hangover and lack of drink were crippling him. But he doggedly kept
on and eventually found the shallow lake, ran through it and found the
bizarre staircase. He remembered now that he was ascending his left
hand was on the banister. Leaving his sword hand free he thought
bravely. Up and round he went. And up and round he went, seemingly
forever. Eventually he reached the top. Gasping for breath he looked
around him. Darkness and the visible smoke on his breath as he exhaled.
“Now where?” He thought.

His brain gave him a little bright spark. Find the crypt, go up and you are
out of this mad place. He leapt forward with a spring in his step. His
nightmare would soon be over. More by luck than judgement he found the
crypt, the door and the stairs that led to the Graveyard. How much more
fun can this be, he thought to himself.

And then, amazingly he found himself in the great outdoors. The fog had
lifted and the sun was shining. He felt renewed and , momentarily, forgot
his hangover. The churchyard looked completely different in the
sunshine. Sure the people in the graves were still dead, but they had
been for sometime and Jerry reckoned they were not too concerned
about it. At least he hoped they weren’t.

Gazing around he found a landmark that he recognised. The abandoned
factory that was very close to his flat. He would have run toward it had
he the inclination. But he did not so he walked. Some 14 hours after he
had left the Pub he arrived home.

And with some haste he had a hot bath, a hot breakfast and copious
amounts of coffee and water. Today would be a day of minimal work. But
he had to put some time in on his emails. Dressed snugly in a t-shirt and
shorts, his towelling dressing gown and with the central heating set to
vesuvius he opened up his computer and got too work. At midday he
decided that was enough. It was time for a pie and a pint. So he got
dressed and went to the pub were he had spent the last few hours of the
previous evening.

The same barman greeted him with a smile. “Gooday Sir, and what is
your pleasure this lovely afternoon?” “A pint first and then a little bit of

information, if you have the time.” The barman looked round the empty
pub. “As you can see I am not exactly rushed of my feet. Here’s your
beer, now what information can I give you?” Jerry looked at him and
sussed him as a straight fellow. “I take it you are the Landlord.”

 “Indeed Sir and have been for the last fourty years, took over from my
father after his stroke. He had taken it over from my Grandfather on
his death. This pub has been in our families hands for nigh on 120 years.
We wouldn’t have it any other way. Love it here we do. And I am training
my son to take over from me. We are too small a pub and too small a
village to attract any attention from them big chains. So anything you
need to know about the village or surrounding area, you are probably
asking the right man.”

The thought crossed Jerry’s mind that this was precisely why he had
moved from London. He doubted any pub there was soon to pass into a
fourth generation. Local business, not a great deal of profit, but serving
a very good cause. “I ended up a bit lost last night.” “Indeed you did Sir,
or can I call you Jerry? As you may well become a regular.” “Please do.”
Jerry responded. “The lads do like a little bit of a joke, and you were the
butt last night. They were feeding you the strongest ale in the house,
none of them have more than two pints of it, they fed you 6 or 7 as I
recall. And you did leave a little worse for wear.”

Jerry looked at him askance, “And you were, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Mullins Jerry, Michael Mullins, known to all and sundry as Mick. To be
sure Irish as they come and after four generations still treated as an
incomer. But I run a good pub and the locals like that. I am not greedy.
Serve a good pint and decent wholesome food. That is all they want.”

“So you were a party to this practical joke that made me pissed out of my
brain.” “Of course, but for sure it will not happen again. Now what was
this information you were seeking?”

Jerry sought his words carefully. He knew enough to realise that if the
Mullins were still incomers after 4 generations this was a very close knit
village. “Well Mick, if I can call you that?” Mick gave Jerry a genuine
smile. “Please do Jerry.”

“What can you tell me about the abandoned church on top of the hill?”
Mick looked down at the bar, “It’s an abandoned church on top of the
hill.” He replied.

A couple of customers made their way to the bar. “Excuse me Jerry,
customers.” And Mick went off and served them. Only to return when
Jerry requested another pint and a steak and kidney pie. Jerry grabbed
his arm, only to attract his attention. “What did I say to offend you?”
“Nothing Jerry that we can speak of in here. And whatever you do not
mention the church to anyone. Just trust me on that. I like to go riding
on a Sunday, just after I close the pub at 2pm. You are very welcome to
join me at the stables. Enough said.”

Thereafter Mick was nothing but the kind convivial host. No more, no
less. Jerry left after his pie and went back to the flat. He felt the need
to get more work done but was too exhausted. After the events of last
night a 24 hour sleep was in order. Which he duly undertook. Warm and
cosy under his thick duvet with the heating still set to vesuvius.

He woke up the following day, Saturday, bright and alert as Bambi in a
fresh spring field full of daffodils. He managed to seal some good deals
on his Internet site and decided to spend Saturday evening exploring his
local surroundings on foot. As it was a bright crisp evening he wrapped up
warmly and set foot, inevitably in the direction of the Church. The place
that should not be mentioned in the local pub. As he approached he
realised what his mistake had been. It was right of the pub to his flat,
left to the church. He had simply got dyslexic in his drunken state.

It looked much the same. The untended graveyard, the locked doors
front and back. And the total lack of any access from the side. There
were no stairs leading down to another door. Nor were there any signs
that there had ever been stairs. He walked round the church three times
checking this out. He could not possibly have got into the church the way
he did. He stood there and scratched his head. And wondered about the
strength of the beer Mick told him about. Could he possibly have been so
drunk as to imagine everything that had happened to him? Surely not?

But the fact was there was no entrance the way he had gone in. Not a
solitary sign of one. In fact the some gravestones almost abutted the
sides of the churches wall’s. Leaving no room whatsoever for a staircase,

let alone a door. And any space that might have been left was taken up
with statues, benches and other tributes to departed villagers.

On a hunch he started looking at the dates on the gravestones. Today he
knew, with some certainty, was September the 25th 2008. Not one single
gravestone registered beyond September the 25th 1888. It was 120
years. Roughly the time the Mullins had taken over the local pub. He
went round the gravestones looking for a specific date. It was obscure
but he found it. Here lies Jeremiah Crocket genial host of the Cock and
Sparrow Inn. Long may he joke in peace. Sept the 23rd 1888.

The 120th anniversary of the night Jerry had spent in the Church.
Jeremiah could easily be a derivative of Jerry. And the Cock and
Sparrow Inn was run today by Mullins, and had been since the death of
Jeremiah Crocket. The hairs on the back of Jerry’s neck stood on end.
His Great Grandmothers maiden name was Crocket. And she would have
died round about the late 1800’s. There were just too many mysteries
going on here for his logical brain to absorb. But there was a slow
dawning realisation. Despite his pin in the map action to relocate. And it
was precisely that. He had not picked the village. The village had picked

The Lights - part 2

Jerry had inherited the antique shop in Wimbledon from his Father, who
had in turn inherited it from Jerry’s Grandfather. Jerry worked in it as
a lad and eventually took over when his Father died suddenly of a heart
attack. And Jerry had the knack and very quickly turned the business
round from a steady money maker to a thriving profitable business. And
increasingly towards a web based business. But Jerry was dissatisfied
with Wimbledon and London in general.

The local, friendly, neighbourhood he had grown up in had all but
disappeared. Swamped by offers from oil rich Arabians and Russian
connected Mafia his neighbours had gradually sold out. And he found
himself in the house he had grown up in surrounded by a miasma of
different cultures. He did not want hala meat shops, the incessant call
to Islamic prayer and Russian stroganoff on a night out. He wanted
traditional fish and chips, after a visit to the local pub, which had long
since been replaced by the Slug and Garbage chain.

His only marriage had ended, almost before it had started, some ten
years ago. He was now single, unattached with no pets, and little family
to speak of. It was time to move. He had always dreamed of living by a
forest. Far enough away to cycle to, and in a little village where
traditional values were the accepted norm. He sure as hell had no
financial problems. The aforementioned influx had pushed property
values through the roof. And the shop had been paid off in his
Grandfathers time. Plus he was doing more and more business on line and
spending less time in the shop.

A move to the country and an entirely web based business began to grow
on him. And then he got mugged by an Ukrainian immigrant who, it turned
out, was on social security. That was the final factor. He put the whole
premises on the market. An antique shop, with two floors above offering
massive accommodation. Mid terrace in Wimbledon. Asking price 1.5
Million, without taking the business into account.

It sold in days, at above his asking price. All he now needed to do was to
find a place in the country that would give him simple living
accommodation and a separate storage area. And the third village he
drove to in the New Forest offered him exactly that. A studio flat with a
secure lock up where he could keep his antiques. He moved out of London
and into the Village of Landsdown in the New Forest within 3 months.

Which then led to his night in the Church.

Jerry supposed the next move was the horseback meeting with the
enigmatic Landlord of the Cock and Sparrow Inn. But he still had
Saturday night to kill. He set to his computer and did a lot of work. The
beauty of Internet trading being that he dealt 24/7 if the mood took
him. It was quite ironic that a lot of his antiquity dealing was courtesy of
the very Russians who had driven him out of Wimbledon. But what the
hell that was trading in the modern world.

His actual method was quite simple and was calculated on the avarice of
collectors who asked no questions as to origin. So, for example if he had
a client that wanted a bronze bust of Attila - Jerry would just send an
encrypted message to his Middle Eastern contact. The contact would
then respond in a positive or negative way. If it was positive a price
would be agreed and a delivery date, destination and cargo contents
suggested. The Attila bust, presumably stolen from some museum, would
land at Manchester Airport in a crate containing exportable antiquities
from somewhere in the Middle East with all the correct documentation.
All Jerry had to do was arrange transportation to his address and then
contact the buyer to arrange collection. Most of the time he dealt in
legitimate antiques, but he was not adverse to the odd, illegal request.
And his Russian go-betweens were masters at disguising imports. Indeed
since the invasion of Iraq he had brokered deals for priceless antiquities
that just had to be had by obscenely rich collectors.

And as Jerry now did everything through the Internet he concealed his
tracks every step of the way through false email address’s encrypted and
enigmatic messages. He had become very much a word of mouth broker.
None of his clients knew his true identity or his real address. Which was
his only problem in Landsdown. He needed to set up a network of local
collectors and distributors. And after last night he did not have a clue
how to do this. Maybe he should cut out the middleman and use parcel
force to collect and deliver. But that meant trusting the client to use a
similar method to pass on the surplus, genuine trade. He would work that
one out in the morning.

Forget Saturday night. Have a couple of drinks in his flat and meet with
Mick for the horse ride. And perhaps an explanation for his incredibly
realistic dream. At that moment in time he had no idea that he would,
himself be asking for an ancient artefact from then Mesopotamia, now
Iraq, that he would need to save his life and the life of the village.

So he fired his games machine up, kicked Korean and Alien butt for two
hours, had several drinks and then retired to bed. He slept quickly, but
not before an icy burst of wind swept through the flat to remind him of
the previous evening. He shivered just a little, before rolling over in the
duvet, getting really warm and drifting of to sleep being the only bowler
in cricket history to bowl Australia out for 0. That was a nice sleep.

Sunday Morning

For once he awoke bright and jolly. Thought of, and immediately
dismissed the idea of a morning run. But a cycle ride in the woods was
appealing. He breakfasted healthily and set of on his bike ride. He just
could not believe the clean air he was breathing as he skirted the
outskirts of the New Forest. He then ducked into the woods proper,
albeit following a well travelled trail. It was exhilarating in a humdrum
way, but none the less rewarding after all his life spent in the
claustrophobic atmosphere of London. The colours on the leaves as the
sun sparkled down and dissipated it’s glow was awesome to him. The sound
of the birds going about their daily business. Twittering and singing. He
felt really alive and was able to put the events of last night behind him.
His soul was breaking free. Maybe he could give up the business he was
in. He was certainly financially secure.

Then he saw the dog, tied to a tree, ribs and bone. He dismounted and
approached it, looking around for it’s owner. None to be seen in sight.
The dog whimpered and backed away as Jerry approached. It’s hackles
rose on it’s back and it snarled as only a pathetic animal as trapped as it
could do. But it was a toothless snarl. The dog had no teeth. Jerry
continued to look round for the owner of this poor beast, but there was
no one in sight. He approached cautiously on his knee’s. “Here boy, girl,
whatever you are, I mean you no harm.”

The dog backed away, terrified of this human, terrified of all humans.
The closer Jerry came the more the dog trembled. So Jerry got lower,
and lowered his voice. “It’s OK I mean you no harm.” Then the dog let
off the most pathetic howl, it screamed as if in pain. Jerry edged
toward it, ever mindful that it’s cruel owner could be about. “It is Ok
boy, girl, I mean you no harm.” He whispered as he inched toward this
pathetic creature. Deciding that decorum was not working Jerry fell over
on his back, inches from the dog and started howling too. As the dog
increased it’s volume, so did Jerry. He screamed at the top of his voice.

“Oh poor doggie does nobody love you.” And the dog stopped howling, and
Jerry stopped looking a prat.

He held his hand out, the dog sniffed it, then went back to it’s self
pitying role and started howling again. Jerry ventured to tickle it. But
the dog instantly recoiled. “Fuck,” Jerry thought, “Here I am on my first
ride in the woods and I get saddled with this sad sack. This is not how I
imagined my new life to be. Listen buddy you either get your act
together or you ship out.” This was spoken to the dog. Lines from a film ,
long ago, that Jerry had watched.

Jerry had not got a clue what he meant by it but the dog’s ears pricked
up, and it stopped howling. Now he had a real quandary. A moral dilemma
for someone of Jerry’s dubious moral qualities. What part of his speech
stopped it howling, and where do we go from here. The fact was this dog
needed feeding and some loving home time. He tried his hand again, and
again the dog recoiled. Maybe this dog needed a hard hand. Jerry looked
at him/her. “So Fuck you too” he said. Got up and walked away.

He had gone two yards when the howling started again. Jerry turned
around, advanced toward the dog, in a sloping position, pointed his finger
and said ”Shut the Fuck up.” The dog responded instantly. And Jerry
felt really ashamed about brow beating a dog like that. “Oh what an
arsehole I am.” He approached the dog again, untied it from the tree and
then left it to it’s own devices. Which were to follow Jerry, albeit at a
discrete distance. “I am cycling Mutt, you cannot keep up, do you
understand that. I am not going to tell you where I live. In fact you are
following a completely false trail. I don’t live anywhere near where I am
going. Have you got that through your stupid dog brain.”

But every time Jerry turned around the dog was behind him. “I don’t do
pets Ok, I don’t even do partners of the same race and the opposite sex
I hasten to add. I do not need you in my household. I have enough with
the cleaner and window cleaner. So why do you just not go home.” And
still the dog followed.

Eventually Jerry realised it was as much his fault as the dogs. He got off
his bike. The dog ran up beside and beseeched him with Almond eyes. “I
am going to regret this, but it looks like you and I have become pals.”
The dog wagged it’s tail in recognition of this fact. And they went up
stairs to Jerry’s flat as close as people and dogs could be.

Whilst Jerry was getting supper for them both he started laying out the
ground rules. “Right Mutt we need to give you a name.” He scratched his
head, and the name came soaring into his brain like lightening. And the
mutt was nodding in approval. “Hazel, because that is the colour of your
eyes. Ok Mutt you are now known as Hazel. How does that grab you?”
And Hazel leapt up and licked him all over. A very different dog from
the one he had found less than an hour ago. But he had been kind and fed
Hazel. Maybe that accounted for the difference. Or maybe not?

Maybe Hazel had her own agenda? Now she was where she needed to be.

Sunday Lunchtime

“Couple of pints and a pie won’t do any harm before I go Horse riding.”
Thought Jerry. “But what to do with Hazel. To hell with it she can come
along, maybe someone in the pub will recognise her and point me in the
direction of her owner.”

Then what do you do arsehole, said the voice in Jerry’s head. punch his
lights out? “Good point,” Jerry thought. “Forget the pub, leave Hazel in
the flat and meet Mick at the riding school as planned.” He had a word
with the Hazel, and she seemed very happy to laze about in the flat. He
did, however, bring a doggie toilet in, just in case. She did seem to know
what it was. Which did surprise him a little. She seemed an outdoor,
badly treated pooch. Odd that she would know what an indoor dog toilet
was. As long as she was happy.

He filled up her water bowl, put a few snacks in her food bowl, wary of
her lack of food, he did not overdo it. He made himself a ham salad
sandwich, ignored the beer fridge for a glass of squash. Left the flat and
set off to meet Mick for his horse ride wondering what secrets he had
to impart that could not be spoken of in the pub.

He arrived at the stables, on his bike, with twenty minutes to spare. So
he lit a fag and passed the time watching the horses being exercised. It
was intriguing watching the way the handlers controlled these magnificent
beasts. They had them eating out of their hands. The tap on his
shoulder was none to subtle. “A novice are you Jerry?” Said Mick. “I
guess so Mick, and the top of the afternoon to you Sir.” Mick gave him a
skewed look. “Would you be taking the piss out of the Irish Jerry?”

Jerry felt uncomfortable, him and his stupid mouth. “Not at all Mick, I
apologise, just being glib.” “Come on let’s get you a horse.”

Within twenty minutes they were saddled up and ready to go. Mick
allayed Jerry’s fears before he said a word. “A gentle ride through the
wood’s , that’s all Jerry. You Ok with that?” “No problem,” Jerry replied.
And it did not seem to be a problem, he was mounted on a huge horse that
could have been pulling wagons around, gentle, docile and even

They set off at a very easy gait and Jerry had no problem keeping up with
Mick. They chatted about this that and the other. Then they got into
the trail within the Woods. “So how did you find the Church Jerry, how
did you get into it?” It was as straight a question a Jerry had ever been
asked. “Not a clue Mick. I went back and there was no way in, not the
way I went anyway. I think I must have imagined the whole thing.”

“And did you imagine your Great Grandmothers gravestone? “

Jerry just looked at him. “How the hell did you know that?” “Just look at
you boy, your the spitting image of your Grandfather. You must have
known this before you came here?”

Jerry tried to explain about his relocation and the pin in the map, and the
fact that he had no known connection to Landsdown when he moved here.
Mick just laughed it off, at first. But to be fair to him he accepted
Jerry’s explanation. It was just to genuine than to be anything but true.

“So you had no idea of any familial connections in the Village?”

“None whatsoever Mick, I truly came here as a runaway from London.
This Village had no significance for me. I could have gone anywhere in the
New Forest.”

Mick gently rode ahead of him and rolled a cigarette. Just jogging, he lit
up, and then looked back at Jerry. “You do realise there is a disputed
will about the Cock and Sparrow? It goes back to your Great
Grandmothers time. We Mullins are incomers, and in a Village such as
this, that is what we will always be. My Great Grandfather bought the
Inn under dubious circumstances. And it all began with some very strange

events surrounding the Church. Events which have been recorded, but
have never been seen by anyone but you!”

Jerry had no answer to that statement.

Mick continued. “It was said that the Death of the Crockets were
religious retribution for running a drinking house, and also running a
house of ill repute. Your Great relations disappeared one night, never to
be seen again. That left the Inn interstate, until a relative could claim it.
Know one came forward, until my Great Grandfather who bought it under
auction. But to this day a living relative can come forward and claim
ownership. And that seems to be you Jerry?”

Jerry, and the Horse as well, just leant back in laughter. “Mick, I don’t
want anyone to know my circumstances, just let me say that I am
financially secure. I have no need of the Cock and Sparrow Inn. And I
will not be fighting a 200 year old claim for ownership. Rest assured on
that point. I seriously came here to change my life and get out of the rat
race that is London. Whatever skulduggery went on between our
ancestors I have no interest whatsoever. Does that satisfy you.”

Mick nodded in an odd way. “The Inn is not the only property involved.
Your Great great ancestors owned the land upon which the Church was
built. And had owned it for hundreds of generations. I don’t think they
were very happy when it passed into the hands of the Catholic Church.
All those Crockets buried in Church of England Ground, suddenly lying in
Catholic Ground. Legend has it that the lights were seen that night in
1888. The very night the Mullins bought the Inn and the ground the
Church was built on. I have a very good business here Jerry. And I pay
no heed to my ancestors claims. But in the law I own the ground on which
the Church has been built. Not that I have ever pressed it. But it is now
Catholic, not Church of England ground.”

Jerry thought about that for a minute. “Which is why no-one has been
buried there since 1880?” Mick looked at him,

“It has been a dead Church since 1880, let alone a burial ground. No
diocese can administer a Cof E church claimed by Catholic priest’s. And
no catholic priest dare’s to practise here in the heart of the Church of
England. And it has been that way for 200 years, until you came along
and lit up, God knows what kind of trouble. I think that is why you saw

the lights, and why you spent the night in a place no-one has seen before.
You are some kind of precursor to an event only you know about. Maybe
you have opened a paragraph that this Village would prefer to forget.

Truth is Jerry, deep in these woods, you could suffer a fatal accident,
and no-one would be any the wiser. Your Horse could bolt perhaps,
throwing you and leaving you with a broken neck. Who knows when
trouble might strike? Mick whistled.

Jerry became very aware of his surroundings. Deep in the Forrest. And
now threatened. His horse could not outrun Mick’s, not a chance. But to
Jerry, death was not an option. But Mick’s whistle had brought several
horseman to his side. No doubt ready to claim that the horse shied and
Jerry got trampled underneath it.

Jerry back-pedalled his horse and thought of Hazel. Hazel came alive.
Broke out of her confinement and rushed to her new Masters call. She
rushed into the forest and then lay down deep in the undergrowth and
crawled forward. Watching and ready to attack the hooves that
threatened her Master.

She watched from her place of concealment. Several Horses, rode by
men, were pressing in on her new Master, surrounding him. They meant
him harm. Hazel could not allow that to happen. But what to do? She
was only a knackered old dog. But she was not that knackered that she
could not put them of their stride by nipping at their feet. Something
Horses do not like. So as they attacked Jerry, Hazel attacked them.
Like a horde of mosquitoes she nipped at their legs, dashing in and
dashing out with the speed of light. They all backed off and left Jerry
alone. Only Mick stood there totally unfazed. “Why do you fight the
inevitable Boy? You have to fight the lights, and you will lose. And then
we can just get on with our lives. And as for Hazel, she is easily turned.
This joyride is over. ” Mick turned to ride away, then he pulled a long
object from his saddlebag, and swivelled in his saddle. Just as Jerry
worked out it was a twelve bore shotgun, Hazel bit Mick’s horses right
heel, she reared up in agony, and threw Mick to the ground. Jerry was
on him like a shot. He grabbed the shotgun and in both arms and rammed
it across his throat. His knees pinned his arms down and he pressured
the shotgun.

Hazel kept up a rearguard action, but she had little need, seeing their
leader dethroned the supporting cast just rode away. And it was down to
Mick and Jerry. Not forgetting Hazel of course, who was not living up to
her name. She was breathing fire and brimstone and ready to kill
anything or anybody that threatened her master.

Jerry kept up the pressure on Mick's throat. Then he felt Hazel nipping
at his heels and barking at him. In his all consuming anger he had not
noticed the colour of Mick’s face. It was blue. He let the pressure of at
once. Stood up, and watched Mick begin to revive. But he held the
shotgun over him, more ready to smack him than shoot him. Whilst he
quietly thanked Hazel for stopping him from committing murder. Mick
came to, somewhat surprised to be alive. “You missed your chance there
boy. You should have killed me when you had the opportunity. Now I
know your weakness. Trust me you are going to regret it.”

Jerry looked down at him. “But I know your weakness as well Mick, fickle
friends.” Mick got up and dusted himself down. “Fickle friends in this
life Jerry, not so fickle when you tackle the lights again. Which you will.
Mark my words. I’ll be seeing you Jerry.” Mick called his horse over,
mounted up and rode away. Jerry tried the same trick with his horse to
no avail. It had either gone or totally disrespected him as a rider. Hazel
nudged him. Banged her head against his leg. And then set off in a very
determined direction. Having no choice he followed her. And she led him
out of the woods and back to his home.

The Lights Part 3

Back home Jerry fondled Hazel, fed her some more food and wondered
how Mick knew her name? Considering it had only been given a few hours
before? Was there something in this Crockett/Mullin feud that included
a Dog named Hazel. And was it a feud? The Crockets died out and the
Mullins took over. It seemed very simple except when you included the
Church land. How did that factor into a local pub? He started to wonder
what his Great Grandparents represented, and he also began to wonder
why the Mullins had come into their lives. He also had to consider why no-
one had been buried in the Churchyard since 1880. And what was the
relevance Mick had made to the lights. The lights that only he had seen,
and the lights, according to Mick, he would have to fight. And finally the

entrance to the Catacombs, only found by him, in what he was now
convinced was a dream.

But there was no dream on the ambush set up today with the Horse
riding. They clearly intended to murder him and leave him as an accident
caused by a horse action. Only Hazel had saved the day. A Hazel known
to Mick Mullins. And Mullins men had run away, scared when Hazel
appeared on the scene. Why would his men be scared of a mangy, flea
bitten, toothless dog? He remembered he had called Hazel silently, what
prompted him to do that?

To many damn questions. He needed to talk to an expert. He had an
Historian friend who was lecturing at Oxford. He sent him a text. “Need
to talk about Landsdown 1880 and prior, Church, and “Cock and Sparrow
Inn.” He got an instant response. “Get out of there immediately, sending
you an email attachment from that period. Bad mate , bad.”

Landsdown 1879

The Cock and Sparrow Inn was thriving as always. Full to the brim on a
Saturday night. And full of vice. Jeremiah Crocket landlord and mine
host was doing nothing to stem the flow of cash that was coming in to the
only Pub in the village. Indeed his jovial, well rounded character
encouraged it.

Geographically it was only a short walk from the Village to the estuary
which led to Southampton waters. From which came many contraband
goods. Most of which passed through Jeremiah Crockets hands before
being handed by and large to the market, or occasionally more worthy
collectors. For Jerimiah, as his Grandson to be, was an astute analyst of
antiquities. Indeed the cellar under the Cock and Sparrow held many
treasures that would only be destined to be sold to keep the Crockets, in
comfort, in their old age.

Naturally none of his sellers knew of this trait. Indeed Jeremiah would
often buy over the odds just maintain his outward inability to identify
the, occasional, invaluable object. So he was seen as a soft touch by the
local smuggling gangs. And by and large he was a soft touch. In the main
it was barrels of French Brandy from a ship lured ashore by the
wreckers. He just paid a decent price and sold it at the pub. There were
occasional trinkets and baubles, these he pretended to access most
carefully whilst deliberating a price in his mind. But this was all a big con
for the seller. Jeremiah was an astute artist and Historian. And he was
always on the lookout for the occasional historical gem. He knew the
wreckers would eventually come across them. Indeed he had acquired
many priceless pieces of antiquity due to his apparent gullibility. And he
had a discerning Agent who would appear, incognito, from time to time to
purchase items for well to do clients.

But there was one particular item in his procession at the moment that
was causing him equal amounts of greedy anticipation and extreme
agitation. It was a runic tablet that appeared to come from the Middle
East around the time of Christ. His understanding of the runic alphabet
was very basic, but what little he could make out indicated a significant
find, a find that would destroy the acknowledged concept of Christianity.
He had alerted his agent to this find and an astute scholar of ancient
writing was on his way to attempt to decipher it. He was in fact due that
night, and Jeremiah nervously awaited his arrival.

So much so that he failed to notice that the Mullin’s brothers were very
much on form and performing over and above their normal selves. They
were from a family of obnoxious bog Irish descent who had moved from
that beleaguered land to make a home for themselves in England. They
were basically uneducated peasants, but they worked hard, for little
money and had soon built up a clientele amongst the landed gentry who
cared not who looked after all the menial tasks as long as the job was
done well and the pay was cheap. The Mullins satisfied all the criteria.
The fact that this built up resentment in the Village mattered not at all
to them. They were hardened men who would soon settle an argument
with a flurry of fists. They stayed, just, within the boundaries of the
law. But tonight they were particularly aggressive. Dominating the darts
board, and standing across the bar in between shots. Making it difficult
for newcomers to order a drink. They were also being very vulgar
towards the “ladies of the night” who frequented the pub. Everybody had
a living to earn in this frugal village. But the Mullins by sheer brutality
and vulgarity ruled the roost.

The Lights pt 4

Jerry found it hard to take his eyes away from the information on the
screen. His mate had sent him a first hand account of the murderous
activities on that night. Where the hell did that come from, and who
wrote it? A narrator who still lived 200 years later. It could not possibly
be. He immediately composed a reply. “Where did you get that
transcript? What is the relevance of the Tablet, and how does it apply
to such a specific date?”

He managed to hit send as his world rocked around him. Noise, smoke and
confusion in his head. A grey confusion. Accompanied by a huge
headache. Then he smelt the smoke. Groggy as he was he got up and
then immediately fell to the floor. His flat was on fire. In the back of
his mind he remembered his RAF training. Grab something wet to hold
over your mouth, stay low, and crawl out. Well the something wet was
out, but the crawl out was still an option. As was the help he received
from Hazel. Belittling her size she grabbed him by the collar and pulled
him down the stairs into the cold, but welcome, evening air. He lay back
in the darkness and watched his flat slowly burn itself into nothingness.
Then the fire engulfed the whole building and destroyed the unoccupied
ground floor.

From which strode the unmistakable figure of Jerimiah Crocket. He
roared, “This business needs sorting lad. The Mullins are illegal
occupants of the Inn and the Church grounds, only you can resolve it.
Only you can read the tablet these bastards claim is so strong as to
change Christianity. They did not bury me Jerry, they cast me aside in a
thousand pieces, and scattered me over the land. You are the only person
who can gain revenge for me. And restablish the true right of Christians
to be buried in Landsdown. It’s up to you boy. But it need’s to be sorted.
I have to go now, and you will never see me again. Mark my word’s. Do
whatever you have to do.”

And he vanished. But Hazel was still nearby. Lying over Jerry’s body.
Determined to keep him warm. And so she stayed until the Ambulance

He woke up in the cold discomfort of a Hospital Ward. Wet and cold.
The disdain of the Nurses to his discomfort was staggering. Frankly they
could not care less. He was wet all over and very cold. A ward Sister
with an outrageous arrogant attitude approached him. “The Police would
like to talk to you, I will let them in.” He put his hand up, “Before you do
that Sister, would it be possible for me to get a dry bed, a Doctor to tell
me what is wrong with me and some medicine for the acute discomfort I
am in?” “I will see what I can do but I go off shift in half and hour so it
is probably best left to the new shift.” And with that she disappeared. A
uniformed Sergeant and a very attractive female appeared in her place.

The attractive female greeted him. “Good evening Sir, I am Inspector
Groves and this is Sergeant Wilson. We are quite concerned about the
incident today. Have you any idea who would want to firebomb your flat?”

Jerry just looked shocked. “Firebomb, I thought it a normal fire.”

Groves looked him in the eye, and despite his injuries Jerry sensed the
interest. “No Sir, it was a firebomb, beyond all shadow of doubt. I
understand you have only recently started living here. Have you any idea
who may have done this?” Jerry instantly saw the problem he would start
if he admitted the truth. “I have no idea Inspector. I came here to
escape such adventure in my life. Can I be honest with you?”

The Inspector nodded. “I am just not up to this at the moment. I am
cold, I am hungry, I have not seen a Doctor, and all the Sister seems to
care about is getting off duty. I really do need some Medical care before
I can honestly answer your questions. Can we take this up tomorrow?”

The Inspector sighed, and tried to hide it. “No problem Jerry, I will
talk to the staff on the way out. Can you come to the station when you
are discharged?”

“It would be a pleasure.” Jerry replied. “Ok I will leave you my card.
Please come in as soon as you can. “ And they departed. Jerry took the
card and noticed that it also had Inspector Groves home number. He got
quite excited about that. She was a fine looking woman.

He was then visited by a Doctor and a train of Nurses. The Doctor
seemed to quite indignant. “I understand you have a complaint Mr

Jerry looked him straight in the eye. “And you are?”

He shifted, not used to this type of response. “Your Doctor, in this
particular case. So please tell me your cause for complaint?”

Jerry held fast for a moment. Then he let loose with all the venom he
had. “If you are my Doctor please tell me why you have allowed me to sit
in my own urine and faeces for eight hours, not fed me , not medicated
me, and not told me what the fuck is wrong with me. Is that not grounds
for a complaint Doctor?”

The Doctor just stood there, a smug smile on his face. “Is your surname
Crocket, Mr Smith, by any chance? Because if it is your chance of a
winning a complaint is minuscule.” He lent forward and whispered in
Jerry’s ear. “Suggest you leave Squire, I don’t want to be examining your
body after your soul has departed. “ Then he stood up. “Utterly
disgraceful, get this patient cleaned up right away, and then I will
revisit him.” He looked directly at the Ward Sister. “Thirty minutes, no
longer, do you understand?”

“Of course Doctor, just a little misunderstanding.”

Within minutes Jerry was allowed a hot bath, his bed linen cleaned and
another Doctor, with students attached, examined him. “Apart from the
obvious superficial injuries I cannot see any deeper damage. I suggest you
get a good nights sleep and then go home tomorrow. Is there anything

Jerry looked him straight in the eye, “Can you tell me the name of the
Doctor who came to ask me about my complaint?” “No problem at all on
that one it was the Dean of Medicine. Dr Anthony Mullins. Any other
problems I can help you with?”

“Not at all,” replied Jerry. “You have been most informative.”
“Have a good night’s sleep, and please report any problems to Sister.
She has been told to treat you as a VIP. Goodnight to you.”

And the entourage vanished. Jerry lay back on his pillows and allowed a
passing thought before he went to sleep. The Mullins have done really
well for themselves. Are they the classic example of being big fish in a
small pond? Or is there a mystery within this Family success that is tied
to the tablet? Are they somehow protected? And if so, how? Too many
questions - it was time to sleep, tomorrow would bring all the anxiety of
finding somewhere else to live.

As was the norm in institutions that catered mainly for the staff he was
woken up at 6-30 so that the handover would not inconvenience the
oncoming day shift. By 8 am he had been fed a luke warm, uninspiring
breakfast, and was on the street. He felt Ok health wise. But he did
have a lot to do. Mainly because he had no home, no clothing and no
personal effects. But he did need to get back to the flat to claim what
he could from the wreckage.

But a visit, en route, to Inspector Groves might just bring him a bed for
the night. He did think that she showed a little more than a professional
interest in him. So he appeared at the local Police station. He looked at
the dull person who was manning reception, then hid the unkind thought,
she was on a basic wage and not paid to think. “Can I help you Sir?” “I
think you will find Inspector Groves is expecting me to call. My name is
Smith she visited me in Hospital last night.” “Let me give her a bell.” The
receptionist picked up the phone spoke a few words quietly and then
motioned for me to sit. “She will be with you shortly Sir.”

I am still trying to figure out what is going on here. I am threatened by
the clan Mullins because of who I am. My house is firebombed, and I am
actually warned off by a Senior Doctor Mullins. What hold do these
Mullins have on this town. And why am I as a one time Crocket lured to it,
and shown the secrets of the Church. I decide to be honest with the
gorgeous Inspector in the hope I can get a bed for the night. She opens
the door and call’s me through. “Coffee?” “Black, 2 sugars please.”

I take a seat in front of a very large wooden desk. We both sip our
drinks. She hides behind her desk. I open the conversation. “Have you
any idea who fire-bombed my flat?” She sips her drink very lady-like.
Puts her cup down on the table, picks up some bits of paper and stares
me down. “This is a small town Mr Smith and not much eludes us. So
please tell me how you entered the Crypts? Also explain how you have
antagonised the Mullins family. They are really after your blood.”

I was at a loss here. I thought she might offer me a bed for the night as
we were attracted to each other. I did not expect an interrogation. So,
like a bloody fool I told her the whole story. In my defence I was just
hoping for an invitation to take her home and make wild passionate love.
“I think you had had too much to drink. And the fact that you are a
distant relative to the Crockets has sparked, if you will pardon the pun,
this sequence of events. I would seriously suggest you leave the Village
at the most opportune moment. Which seems about now as your house is
destroyed. Go back to where you came from Mr Smith. That would seem
to be the best course. for you.” As she was talking she was also writing
on her notepad. Which she turned toward me at the same time as she
dismissed me. “We will, of course investigate the reason why your flat
caught fire and we will convict anyone who we deem to be culpable. I
hope that will satisfy you and your Insurance Company?”

I grabbed the note pad, turned it round and read the message.

Don’t speak, I do not know who is listening. Leave the Village tonight. Go
to the Bullberry Inn on the J5 exit and I will join you. Just trust me on
this. Tablet in as Smith.

I looked at her. Not an emotion in sight. “I will take your advice
Inspector and leave tonight. Thank you for your understanding.”

“No problems Inspector”, I replied. “I have friends in Southampton who
will put me up for a few days. I will call you when you have had a chance
to do some more detective work.”

I left the station got into my car and drove way. I headed directly
toward Southampton. Where I sold the car at a Car Supermarket and
backtracked to the Bullberry Inn in a brand new car. Whatever was
happening in Landsdown could clearly carry on without any input from me.
At least till I had got some answers from Inspector Groves.

I parked the car and entered an unassuming, and utterly charm less chain
Hotel. I could have been anywhere in the World for all the character it
radiated. I was given directions along a labyrinth of corridors and
eventually found my room. 109 on the third floor. Best I memorise that.
The room was adequate, which was all that could be said for it, the
bathroom small but had an abundant supply of hot water. I had a long hot
bath, drank some water and repaired to the bar for lunch. Two pints of
an amazingly smooth keg ale and a steak sandwich.

This turned out to be a huge mistake as I was in walking distance of
nowhere. And clearly could not drive. Fortunately the Hotel had a small
shop where I bought toiletries and underwear and a couple of trousers
and casual tops. Not my style, but then again it was not my choice to be
where I was.

Having time to kill I settled down to some afternoon crap on the
television and waited the arrival of Inspector Groves. The phone rang,
waking me up, I glanced at the bedside clock 6pm exactly. I yawned and
picked the hand piece up. “Reception here Mr Smith, you have a visitor
name of Groves, should we send her up.” “Please tell her to give me 5
minutes I need to do a couple of things.” “No problem Mr Smith.”

What an idiot – wash, shave and clean my teeth, splash water all over my
face. I need to look decent for this woman. I had just about managed
when the knock came on my door. In view of recent events I slipped the
security chain on before opening the door. There she stood in all her
splendour. Boy what a magnificent looking woman. I slipped the security
chain off and let her in. “Welcome to my Hacienda Senora Smith.” She
smiled. “Lone Wolf McQuade?” “Got it in one.” “I just loved that film”
she replied. “The kind of justice I would like to see applied on my patch

A gangly, spotted face youth followed her into the room and my heart
sunk. She pressed a finger to her lips, and made a sweeping movement
with her hands. I nodded in understanding. “What did you make of the
final fight between McQuade and the evil oriental.” We had to talk about
something whilst gangly boy swept the room! “Awesome, one of the best
fights I have ever seen on screen. Plus the best music ever. Do you
watch the spin off on TV, Texas ranger? “On occasions” I replied.
Gangly boy left the room giving us the thumbs up.

She immediately came into my arms. As I had thought the physical
attraction was mutual. Within minutes we were both undressed and going
at it like rabbits on the bed. When it was over I lay back and lit a
cigarette. She just lay in my arms, neither needing to speak for a while.
After a while we both showered and got dressed. And then she started
speaking and scared the life out of me.

“You are in great danger Jerry. You have no idea what problems your
arrival in the Village has caused. There is nobody in the Village that does
not recognise you as a Crocket descendant. And the Mullins just want to
see the back of you, preferably dead. It goes all the way back to the
death of Jerimiah Crocket in 1878. It was said that his death came
about as retribution from the Lord for running a den of inequity. Most
people believe he was killed by the Mullins who then began to take over
the Village. Albeit very subtly at first, the Cock and Sparrow, plus the
Churchyard became their first land ownership. No overt claim to
Lairdship. But over the years the Mullins embroiled themselves in
society, bought bits of land here and there. Until 1960. Then there was
a fundamental shift in their attitude. They became covert and brazen
and bought every bit of land going. Until today where the only land they
do not own is occupied by private or council houses.

Then they began to control. They claimed to have a religious artefact, a
Runic Stone that had been transcribed by a Winston James, that
described the second coming of Christ in Lansdown in 150 years time.
Almost to the day that you appeared. And saw the lights in the
Graveyard, and entered the tombs.” I looked at her askance. How the
hell did she know about that? She looked me straight back in the eye.
“How would we not know about a stranger disappearing into parts of our
church we cannot reach. It was all over the Village by dawn. And being
celebrated when they realised it was not a Mullins, but a descendent of a

Crocket that was being allowed in. That really put the Mullins in a spin.
The fact that a pissed guy had entered the tombs was Ok. The fact that
he was related to a Crocket was not. hence their attempt to drive you
out of town.

There are two ways of playing this Jerry. The sensible way is to cut and
run. You owe Lansdown nothing. The stupid way is to take the whole
Mullins Family on, godown to the crypt and create the legacy which they
hold over the Village. Become the second coming as a Crocket not a
Mullins. What do you think?”

I was just about to reply when I saw the narrowing of her eyes and the
sly movement of her hands. I swung round with a roundhouse kick and
caught her in the throat. She dropped like a felled steer. I checked her
pulse, still alive. Checked her arms and removed the stiletto she was
about to throw at me. It seemed I had no living friends in Landsdown. I
needed to go back and talk to the dead. I obviously had a job to do that
could only be revealed underground. In the crypts that only I, as a
Crocket family member, could access.

The Lights part 5

It was a real shame that I had to tie up the woman I had just made love
to. But she wanted to kill me, and was surely aligned to the Mullins. I
left her trussed up, unconscious, took her car keys, located her car and
made my way back to Landsdown. The secret to all this intrigue could
only be solved from within. And that meant within the crypt. The only
place I could be safe, the only place there would be answers and the last
place I wanted to go. Of all the things I want to do with my life
interrogating the dead has a very low priority. But it looked like I did not
have any options if my life was ever to return to normal. I did have a
contradictory thought that as only I could get into the crypt, I could not
be followed. But would I ever get out again as only I would know I was in

I stopped in at a camping store en route and stocked up on lots of warm
stuff, torches, matches, firewood, a little stove, a one man tent and a
haversack . Next stop a convenience store where drawing on my years of
sailing experience I stocked up on off-shore haute cuisine. Tins of soup,
stew and puddings. Plus water coffee and tea bags. And of course the
obligatory 12 pack of beer and just for good measure a bottle of the

finest malt whisky. I would have to manage without the ice and soda
water. I also bought a large wax jotting pad and a few waterproof
coloured crayons. I would have purchased an SMG if I knew how, or
thought it would have any impact whatsoever on the dead.

I parked the car well off the road a mile away from the Church, hidden in
a little copse. Loaded up my supplies into the knapsack and set of through
the woods to the Church. All of this preparation pre-supposed some
kindly spirit would have alerted HQ as to my imminent arrival and opened
the spiritual doors. The fey side of me was working quite well and I knew
I could expect some kind of greeting. The whoosh of the bullet flying
past my head wasn’t quite it. I dived face down and crawled towards a
fairly dark copse. One of my genius thoughts had been to buy some infra
red binoculars. My not so genius thought was to bury them in the bottom
of my haversack. I did wonder about elected law enforcement in
Landsdown, it was a microcosm of Basra, there was none.

I snuggled down into a damp hollow protected by deep bushes all round.
The type of place I hated on the Golf course but adored in my present
situation. I just lay and stilled my breathing, whoever was out there was
a long way away and using a sniper rifle. Then I felt this tap on my
shoulder, but it was not a tap, it was feeling. Jerimiah Crocket, god
rest his soul, was showing me the way.

I followed him on all fours, creeping surely towards the Church. Another
bullet fired over my head, this one really wild. Jerimiah was doing good.
Can you imagine the thoughts going through my brain. I was following a
ghost looking for sanctuary in a crypt. But as he kept going so did I.
However I did not follow him when he stood up. He was already dead, I
was very much alive and wished to remain so.

Then I saw the lights again, hoping that the guy with the gun did not. I
followed them religiously, if you will pardon the pun. And there Jerimiah
stood ushering me into the hidden doors. I’d like to say I went in bold
hearted giving a v-sign to my would be assassin. Truth is I belly crawled,
my fear of dying taking over from any testosterone induced bravado I
may have felt. And then I was in and the entrances vanished as did
Jerimiah. Strange chap! I thought he might have left me a clue as to
what to do next.

At least I felt reasonably safe, if not entirely comfortable. But it was
late, I was tired, had had two attempts on my life and I needed some
comfort food, a warm bed and a nightcap. I lit one of my torches and
looked for a suitable place to pitch my tent. I had no intention of
sleeping on a grave. Eventually I found somewhere suitable, pitched the
tent, which took all of 2 minutes, got into some warm clothing, set the
stove going and opened a can of beer and a can of red soup. Which I set
on the stove to warm through.

Strange to think that less than three nights ago I been in this place and
terrified. Now I felt quite secure and warm. Comforted by the fact that
I thought I would find the answers here, in the morning. The whisky
helped my sleep and I awoke to a faint ray of sunshine creeping under a
door. I had quick walk around to ensure the entry point had vanished.
Washed in some of the water, picked up my haversack and headed for
the first clue, the ray of light.

It led me to a gentle downwards slope. But I could not figure out where
it was coming from. It couldn’t be from above or from the side. Ergo it
had to be coming from below. I was not 100% convinced I wanted to go
there. In fact I was 100% convinced I did not want to go there. Maybe I
should just suck my thumb, tell the truth that I am scared and go back
to base camp.

To hell with it I needed to solve this problem. My Celtic fey sense would
warn me of any danger. So I followed the light and went down yet
another spiral staircase. And as I reached the bottom step the lights
went out, I was in complete darkness. But not that scared - until the pit
of my stomach did that awful, black, premonition feeling. I cursed my
Celtic background, I do not need this shit now. I needed to be alert,
which of course was exactly what it was doing. However I knew that deep
down soul feeling only ever invited disaster. I looked around but saw
nothing. I stumbled on, but not before checking my equipment. The bang
to my head came as no surprise, I had known something bad was about to

But waking up tied across a crypt was a little bit unexpected. But
Jerimiah, god rest his soul, cut the ropes and let me loose. “I cannot do
anymore, the rest is up to you, find the artefact and sort these
bastards out.” I ran as fast as I could away from the light, how stupid
was that!! Tingling, jingling tendrils attacked my face and hands. Tickling

but at the same time terrifying. They herded me along, forcing me along
a path of their making. Eventually I came to the edge of a cliff. I paused
for a second to take stock, and the invisible tendrils forced me over.

I was falling through space, into an abyss, I began reciting the Lords
prayer convinced this would be the end of me. But as I rolled over and
over in a seemingly endless fall, I felt this would not be the end. My gut
feeling was absent, which meant hope at the end of this descent.
Whenever it ended. And I knew I could not rely on Jerimiah, his saves
were long used up.

I needed to form a dive pattern as I was convinced I would hit water. I
straightened up in mid flight, arranged my body into an aerodynamic flow,
put my arms in front of me, legs behind me and aimed like an arrow for
whatever was below. If it was not water I would be splattered. I
thought it best not to think about that!

My hunch paid off and I sliced through the water like a Dolphin. On
contact I immediately rolled into a ball and then uncurled and started an
upward ascent. I broke water and looked around. There was a ledge to
my left which I gratefully crawled up. And took a breather. For about 2
seconds, the wisps had followed me down. They flew around my body,
not threatening, but not friendly either. But they forced me off the
ledge, back into the water, and further down. Just before I ran out of
air I found a tunnel that let me back into a natural environment.

A cave, a cave so deep that I had not a clue as to how to get back to the
surface. And the presence of several figures made me realise I had little
chance of doing that. The whole of the deceased clan Mullins were
waiting for me. Shapeless but obvious, translucent but whole. It was
difficult to tell. But their appearance was real enough for my
understanding. I knew my Death was imminent. I wasn’t quite sure how,
but Death it was going to be.

One of the younger one’s floated around waving a tablet in my face. They
were translucent yet the tablet was solid. Could I possibly snatch victory
from the jaws of defeat? “You would not want to be doing that because
your death then would be so much more horrible than it is going to be.
How many ways do you think dead souls can cause your death?” Did I
think that or was it thought for me?

I did not want to actually think about it. I just wanted to go home. That
was clearly not an option. And weighing options up I had few, if any. So
if I was going to die I might as well die trying. I flew at the Mullins
holding the tablet, grabbed it, and then dived back in the water and
dashed to the surface.

I silently screamed my way back to the surface. And I swear on my dying
breath, broke water at the last moment. The lights came out of nowhere,
the lights I knew from the very beginning I would have to fight. The
Mullins had got to the surface before me and were hovering above the
surface, firing the lights through their fingertips. But until now nothing
had suggested these lights carried physical power.

These were electrical powered lights and when they hit the water that I
was in I got the most incredible pain I have ever felt in my life. I was
electrocuted. And as I lay there shivering from head to toe, in complete
agony, the Mullins kept firing the lights. Lights, I thought, more like
bolts of lightening. Then I remembered I still had hold of the tablet.

Shaking, shivering, trembling and feverish, all at the same time. I got
hold of an inner strength, pushed my arm out of the water and aimed it
towards the Mullins and the source of the lights. The effect was
immediate, a flash headed toward me hit the tablet and reversed
direction. And as it did that it quadrupled in size and blew the Mullins
and their lights away with a tremendous explosion. I ducked back under
the water so as to shield my ears from the thunderclap of the explosion.
Gave it as long as I could then broke for air. The Mullins had all
disappeared to where the dead go when they are killed again. I breathed
a sigh of relief and proceeded to wade ashore only to be forewarned by a
rumbling noise from above. I glanced up to observe half of the cave side
plummeting down toward me. How much crap can you take in one episode
of your life?? In the few seconds I had left before I was pulped I looked
around for a bolt-hole. And saw an overhang just to my left, with a
sufficient breathing space above the water. I instantly dived toward it
and surfaced under it just as the first of the rock fall struck. I
fashioned a bowline knot out of my belt and tied it around a protruding
craggy piece of rock. Secured, I watched the rest of the underground,
underwater avalanche. Eventually it was finished and I considered it safe
to move out from under my hiding place. But very slowly, the dead
Mullins would still be around. But at least I now had the tablet, which
seemed to work against them. Or at least against their lights.

Where was Jerimiah when you needed him? I know he had said no more
after the first visitation, but he had turned up in the Graveyard, and
was perhaps familiar with this place. I realised that was wishful thinking.
People die and rot, their souls do not go wandering around making maps
for sub-standard idiots who crash in on their domain.

I was hot and cold simultaneously. The whole experience, plus the
lightening strikes in the water had drained me of any physical strength
and eviscerated my brain cells. I just lay down waiting for the inevitable.
Then the ground around me turned around and instead of looking up I was
looking sideways. Sideways down a tunnel. A tunnel that was lit by a
flickering torch. A tunnel that lead me back to my campsite in the crypt,
where there was food, warmth and shelter. I scurried along on all fours,
not caring that it might be a Mullins trap. I could see my tent, feel the
warm clothes wrapped around me, and taste the food I would cook, after
the obligatory beer of course. A pulse of joy leapt through my body and
sped me on my way. I screamed, “Thank -you Jerimiah”, as I reached the
tent and began my semi-return to normal.

The first thing I did was light a fire, and then my sixth sense kicked in. I
looked around and found a suitable hiding place for the tablet. Don’t ask
me why, I did not even look at it, I just knew it needed to be hidden.
Which also told me, indirectly, that my hiding place would shortly be no
longer a hiding place.

I therefore dashed around like a blue arsed fly getting into warm clothing
and stuffing myself with food and whisky. Soon enough I heard the
unsubtle sounds of the local constabulary. The outside wall of the crypt
flew apart with an horrendous noise, and through the dust and rubble
appeared black clothed figures waving guns with infra-red sights. I
accepted the inevitable and put my hands on my head, A homeless person
seeking shelter in the depths of the Church would be my excuse. A
bright torch was shone in my face. “Is this the man Inspector Groves?” a
voice asked. “If you mean the man who tried to murder me, this is he.”
She stood not 3 foot away from me. The would be assassin now accusing
me of attempted murder. And she was an Inspector in the local Police
Force. My heart sunk.

The Lights Part 6

I have to say the Landsdown Police were efficient if unceremonious. I
was very quickly cautioned, asked if I needed to make a phone call, no
was my response, and I was bundled into a cell. “The Inspector wants to
interview you herself” sneered the constable as he locked the door. I
was very tempted to say that that was because she was a randy bitch,
but I kept my mouth shut.

I inspected my latest accommodation. A six foot by three wooden
structure that resembled a bed. A cassette toilet, the smallest
washbasin in the World, and a dust encrusted, uncovered 40, watt bulb
that feebly attempted to throw out some light. There was also a bottle
of water on a small stand, and I kid you not, a loaf of stale bread. No
clock and my watch had been taken from me, and no idea whatsoever of
the time of day as the only light came from the bulb, which, to be
honest, was trying it’s best under difficult circumstances.

I lay on the plank and tried to put everything together. But it was like a
jigsaw where half the pieces were missing. I now to had to assume that
the sniper was either condoned or actually employed by the Local
Constabulary. Only he had seen me disappear into solid brickwork. Ergo
only he could have alerted the Police to my whereabouts. Groves was
owned by the Mullims, her attempt on my life proved that. But then why
did they wait so long before breaking in?

They clearly thought I would not survive the combined wrath of the
deceased family Mullins. And would just quietly vanish. As Jerimiah was
helping me, it must be assumed that a deceased Mullins alerted the Police
to my survival and whereabouts. Their break - in with the bulldozer was
far to close to my situation to be coincidence. I don’t know what the hell
I had got myself into down here but it was clearly something very
unpleasant. I cursed myself for not reading the tablet before I hid it.
But survival was my priority and the tablet could not fall into enemy
hands. Dead or alive, the Mullins and the local community, including the
Police, where most decidedly enemies.

Whatever I was stuck here at the pleasure of Inspector Groves. And she
was probably enjoying herself having a nights boozing, shagging and
playing qui/jam board games. Maybe she did not need the board games
she was possibly communicating directly with the deceased. Maybe even

taking her orders from them. Who knew what in this crazy world of
Lansdown that I had stumbled into.

I could not think of a strategy that would help me. So I closed my eyes
and went to sleep. I tried my usual technique of scoring the winning runs
for England in the deciding Ashes test, bundling the 7foot, twenty stone
NZ winger into touch, in the last minute of the Rugby World Cup final,
thus denying them yet another World Cup. But what thoughts kept
turning to more macabre aspects. What the hell was I doing talking to,
being attacked by and following dead people!!

Which immediately brought me awake. And then the cell door opened
with as much finesse as a cell door can be opened. A horrible grating
crunching sound. “Inspector Groves would like the pleasure of your
company in the interview room.” Sneered the same PC who had locked me
up. I followed him out of the cell down a corridor, up some stairs and into
a room that was lit by the same bulb that lit my cell. They get around a
bit, 40 watt dust and fly encrusted bulbs, in a police station. There she
sat, all business. No sexy come on’s this time. She stood up. “Jerry, good
to see you again. Please take a seat. Coffee, cigarette?” “I’ll have the
full English breakfast, with coffee and then the cigarette if that's Ok
with you.” She looked at me and laughed. “No problem Jerry, just as
soon as you have answered a few questions regarding your attempted
murder of a Police Inspector, if that is Ok with you of course?”

I sat down and looked her in the eye. “We had a shag, you attempted to
kill me with a stiletto knife and I was forced to defend myself. That is
all there is to it, now please allow me to contact a lawyer.”

She offered me a cigarette, which I gratefully accepted. And coffee
did come, good and strong. “Jerry we do have a problem. That is actually
bigger than both of us. And you have an advantage over me. So let us put
the past behind us. If you agree to this the only charge you will face is
illegally breaking into a Church to seek shelter on a very bad weather
night. Slap on the wrist from the magistrate and a £50 fine. All you
have to do to accept this is to reveal the whereabouts of the tablet. Yes
we do know you got hold of it, and we do know you have hidden it. So just
tell us where it is, and that will be the end of it.”

My theory was confirmed. There was no living soul could have given her
that information. She was in contact with the undead, maybe even

undead herself. Who the hell knew in Landsdown? I was obviously looking
puzzled when she upped the ante.

She scratched her head a bit and then fixed me with a hard look.
“Where we broke into the Church has healed itself. Overnight the place
looks exactly the same as it did the day before. There is no evidence we
bulldozed in. Not our doing I hasten to add. Only you, as a Crocket
descendant can enter, guided by whoever. My sniper saw no-one. Yet
you were following someone. He swears by that.

Don’t worry about that - you are a suspected terrorist, we were quite
entitled to follow you and put a hole in your head if we thought you were
going to sabotage an Historic Church on behalf of a radical Islamic group.
Your death will cause no administrative problems. And there is no reason
why we cannot back date that scenario. I am sure you take my point.” I
looked at her stunned. Was nobody recording this blackmail!!

She read my expression and smiled. “Don’t confuse Landsdown with that
TV show Law and Order. The Mullins control this area by pure financial
weight. If for , whatever reason, they decided to liquidate or sell their
business’s, the town would suffer very badly. Naturally the town council
is aware of this. Which brings up the point of fire-bombed property.
Totally uninsurable. It seems to me you have little choice Jerry. You
have to give up your crusade against the Mullins, and you have to hand
over the tablet. Then, and only then will you be able to leave town with a
clean slate and the insurance from your destroyed house. Or would you
prefer it was an Act of God.“

I just sat there, stunned, by this acceptance of commercial power. And
the calm acceptance of the occult. She was getting quite used to giving
wry smiles to my bemused expressions. “Come on Jerry it’s not a problem.
You need to get out of Jail, we need the tablet, and only you can get it.
Of course we could detain you under the terrorism act for quite a while.
And what would that do to your import/export Antiquities business? I
will leave you to think it over. Goodnight Jerry.” And she left.

I was escorted back to cell and locked down for the night/day - after all
that had happened I had not a clue. I was just nodding off when Jerimiah
joined me. “Jerry, what are we to make of you? The tablet is sacred, it
cannot, and must not be handed over until the time is right. You cannot
do what this woman want’s. Because it is what the Mullins want beyond

everything. It will give them infinite power over this part of the country,
and through their zeal will allow them to take total control. You have to
stop it.”

I have to confess to being a little annoyed with being in Gaol. To then be
lectured, in the middle of the night, when I was trying to sleep, by a
Ghost really pissed me off. I really wanted to take the easy ride out and
hand over the Tablet. And just get my life back on an even keel. I just
do not do conspiracies and ghosts.

The Lights Part 7

I had a great deal of time to think, which I did. The fact that I was in a
living nightmare was pretty much certain. Police employing snipers acting
on orders from dead people, to assassinate antique dealers, just about
wrapped that theory up. I considered my options – Groves had given me
an out, but I suspected the moment I handed the tablet over so would
my life be over. There was no way I could leave Landsdown alive without
the tablet. And as long as I had the tablet my life would be in danger.
Lying on a hard bench in a police cell, whilst giving you a lot of time to
think, does not exactly throw answers to conundrums such as this.

I supposed it boiled down to the fact that I was a Crocket and how much
I believed in being a Crocket. Not having known I was a Crocket a few
days ago led me to believe I should just take the easy option and do
Groves bidding. No doubt if I got back inside the crypt the ancient
Mullins would have been instructed to lay off as I would be doing the
current Mullins will. I would just slip in, grab the tablet from it’s hiding
place, slip out, give it to Groves. And then leave Landsdown, and allow
the Mullins to sort out my firebombed flat. Financially it was not a
problem. I had enough assets to write the flat off.

There you go, problem resolved. And then Jerimiah appeared again. I
was starting to get really annoyed about this, but there was not a damn
thing I could do about it. Ghosts just seem to be able to do what they
like. I suppose if you are a spirit you can come and go as you please. But
it is bloody annoying. Especially when, as flesh and blood, you have no
means whatsoever of escaping your environment.

I doffed a non-existent cap in mock salute, “Jerimiah, how good to see
you again. Now would you kindly go away and let me go to sleep. My mind

is made up.” To the day I die I will never know if this was a dream or
reality. He grabbed my hand and flew me out of the Police Station. He
never said a word just flew, with me in tow. I looked down at Landsdown
as it was. A quiet, quaint village/town. We hovered over it and enjoyed
it’s beauty. It’s greenness and it’s serenity.

Then he started flying forwards, in a rapid circular movement. And I
watched Landsdown move through the years. It became Mullinsdown.
The factories closed, the farmland’s became sites for retail outlets, the
youngsters became checkout operators at general stores and
supermarkets. And the Church was transformed into a Cathedral where
thousands upon thousands marched each day to pledge allegiance to the
cult of the Mullins. The tablet held in such esteem by the mindless
masses, the tablet held by the Mullins, the tablet declaring them the
second coming of the Christ. The tablet meant to enslave them all.

He took me higher and further into the future. Into a World controlled
by Mullins. They were the high priest’s of modern society. A World that
embraced wickedness and espoused human nature, a World where the
rich would prevail and the poor would become enslaved - but enjoy it due
to the writings on the tablet. He then dumped me back on my hard cot in
the prison cell.

Landsdown was just the beginning for the Mullins. They were seeking
global domination in the name of a new Messiah, as was written on the
tablet. Having seen that future, shown to me by Jerimiah, I had little
option but to get the tablet and hand it over to scholars who could put a
correct interpretation to it. Now was the time to work out my chicanery.
It was not going to be easy as I would be watched by the undead Mullins
every step of the way. I had to figure out a way to get back to the crypt,
take the tablet, escape the undead, leave Lansdown and hand the tablet
over to the correct authorities. On that note I eventually fell asleep.
Albeit a somewhat disturbing sleep.

Dawn came and I was given breakfast in my cell. Then came Inspector
Groves. My only plan was to get back into the Crypt and unearth the
tablet. After that I just had not got a plan. Take one step at a time. I
sent a thought out to Jerimiah Crocket, deceased, “I will do it your way”.
Naturally I did not get a response.

“So Jerry have you made a decision?” I lied straight away. “This is not
my fight. Give me some assurance on insurance money from my fire-
bombed flat and I will retrieve the tablet, hand it over, and leave
Lansdown forever.” She gave me an assuring smile. “Good thinking Jerry,
you are now released on bail. Go where you like, do what you like, but
you will not leave Lansdown without handing over the tablet. Is that
clear?” “Could not be clearer Inspector. Am I now free to leave?”

“Of course Jerry. Bearing in mind we will be keeping a “Sharp” eye on
your whereabouts. “

I left the local jail, dirty, untidy and smelly. Time to buy some clothes,
tablet into a Hotel and have a bath and a decent meal. Which,
surprisingly, was not a problem. Well I was breaking in to the crypt once
more, this time on their behalf.

I did not think for one moment that they were aware of my supplies in
the crypt. And I made no movement to assure them otherwise. I was
going in, getting the tablet and coming out. But not before a huge meal,
several beers, a bottle of Scotch and a slob out in front of the TV. Did I
miss the wine out there?

The next morning I left the Hotel. I chucked all my clothes into a bag
and threw them into a knapsack. I was dressed in an overall tracksuit.
One that had very deep pockets. I walked up to the church with my eyes
on every high point. Wherever they could put a sniper I made a point of
staring at. They knew, and I knew, that the moment I reappeared with
the tablet I would get a bullet through the head. I waved at the snipers
and gave them a cheesy grin. My whole life was now totally dependant on
Jerimiah Crocket, deceased. Just think about that for a minute. I just
prayed that he had a plan. Cos sure as hell I did not.

At least this time he could show me the route without snipers attacking
me. Or so I thought.

The Lights part 8

And we waited, Jerimiah was taking his time, if indeed he was coming at
all. After all he had a vested interest in leaving the tablet sealed up in
the crypt where I had cunningly hidden it. I am quite sure he did not
trust me, even though he had shown me the desperate state that would
ensue should living Crockets get hold of the tablet. I still wish I had read
it whilst I had the chance. At least I might have known what I was
dealing with. His Apocalyptic view of the future was disturbing, to say
the least. History has proven time and time again that charismatic
despots are able to seduce and get whole hearted support from the
masses. Alexander, Attila, Julius Caesar, Hitler etc etc. There was a
glimmer of hope in that the name Mullins could not be described as
charismatic by any stretch of the imagination. But I was not willing to
take that chance, they must not get their hands on the tablet.

(Authors note: This then indicates the end of the story. If Jerry has
hidden the tablet so well, the Mullins cannot access the crypt, Groves has
only a tenuous hold, and Jerry believes what the future holds should the
Mullins get the tablet. Why would he bother? In the real world he would
just walk away and at worst be felled by a sniper bullet. At least he
would have saved the World in the most self sacrificing way. And the
tablet would be The Lights forever. That is the logical conclusion to be
drawn at this stage of the tale. But as this story has got nothing
whatsoever to do with logic we will carry on!)

I discussed all this with Hazel who seemed to have forgiven me
abandoning her and was quite chatty. I think she understood it was not
entirely my fault, I did end up in Hospital, then the crypt and then
prison, none of which would have been suitable environments for her.
Although I was now, with Jeremiahs approval taking her into an unsuitable
environment, the crypt, perhaps I was being a bit two faced. She gave
me a lick on the nose to show she understood.

I still had not got a plan, if and when, Jerimiah appeared. All I knew was
I had to get in, get the tablet, get out and give it to some, as yet
unidentified religious scholars, to interpret.

Then I heard the distinctive sound of a helicopter approaching. Quite an
unusual sound in the New Forest. Of course you heard them further
South patrolling the Solent. But over woodland? I realised we were quite

exposed as I was not concerned about the snipers until I left the crypt.
I hushed hazel and we crept backwards to get under some trees which
gave me a chance to look around for an overhanging tomb or mausoleum.
There was nothing obvious in sight. Best we just lay down and be still in
the shade of the tree’s.

The helicopter came lower and lower. It was clearly looking for
something, or someone. You don’t find many car wrecks or stricken
vessels in a quiet country Graveyard - which ruled out the rescue
services, the AA, and the coastguard. It did not leave much in the way of
legitimacy. Police maybe, but Groves had me covered all ends up she did
not need aerial surveillance.
I have to confess the “whoosh” sound I heard followed by a screeching
sound, followed by a huge explosion, not very far away from my hiding
place, scared the shit out of me. Who was this joining in the play that was
rapidly ruining my life?? I shouted up at the sky, “For fucks sake all I
wanted to do was run a peaceful import antique business in a quiet
Hampshire village.” And then it dawned on me.

Something I had, or something I knew from my illegal dealings in Iraq,
was relevant to the current situation. It had to tie in with the tablet. All
I knew about the tablet was that it spoke of the second coming. Yet Iraq
was Mesopotamia, the Garden of Eden, the birth of mankind. There had
to be a connection. Armed helicopters do not shoot up Hampshire
churchyards without a very good reason.

I could not look up in case they saw my pasty white face and the fear
etched upon it. And I dare not move. Hazel was not too reassuring as she
was literally crapping herself all over my shoes. This was a fine situation
I had got myself into. Jerimiah where the hell are you when you are
needed? Another whoosh and an explosion, too close for comfort. What
the hell was Groves doing about this armed assault in her territory?

Then I heard a different whoosh, an explosion from above, and the sound
of a fighter aircraft flying over me. Now I looked up and saw a burning
helicopter heading straight towards me. It was big so whichever way I
ran could be the wrong way. I looked for Hazel but the cowardly bitch
had gone. Then I saw her wagging her tail and barking, “follow me
arsehole.” Which I promptly did as fast as I could. We both ducked
behind an ancient tomb as the burning helicopter hit the ground yards
away from our previous hiding place. There was an enormous explosion.

Which lit the previously dull sky and caused a lot of noise. And then the
inevitable smoke filled the air.

Hazel and I sprinted as quick as we could away from the scene. But we
were blinded and could see nothing in front of us. And we ran, and ran,
straight through the walls of the church and into the crypt. There was
my tent standing in all it’s glory. Stocked with all kinds of pleasure in the
way of warmth and eating. Hazels tail nearly vanished off her backside,
it was rotating so quickly. Whether it was the canned meat, the bottled
water or the Whisky I really did not know. But what the hell we were
going to pig out at this moment in time and get warm and secure.

I fed and watered hazel and settled down to a large scotch, wrapped in a
fleece with my brain working faster than hazels tail. For the moment I
decided to leave the tablet where it was. I needed to figure out who the
helicopter guys were and what connection, if any, they had with Grove and
the Mullins. Something was seriously wrong if an armed helicopter was
shot down by a warplane in Hampshire of all places. The warplane could
only be RAF, since 9/11 airspace was sacrosanct. And a rogue helicopter
firing rockets would be a natural target for the RAF.

Whilst I could see the reflection of the flames through the shadows I
was too deep to see what was actually going on outside. There was
certainly a lot of noise from fire engine and police sirens. The good
citizens of Landsdown would not get much sleep tonight. I knew I needed
to sleep. But I had to make sure we were secure. Groves would not break
in again with her bulldozer, she had no need to do that. But the
helicopter team might well have ground back up. When in doubt think the
worst. They were also after the tablet? If that was the case why
indiscriminately fire rockets? Twas a mystery to me. I left hazel gorged
and zonked out. I needed to get the tablet. I just had not got a clue as
to what was going on, maybe reading the tablet would help my

I picked my torch up and made my way through the tombs until I came to
the hiding place. I had worked on an old theory, hide in plain sight, so I
had just propped it up alongside a tomb with many similar ancient tablets.
It was still there, which was a surprise to me. I picked it up, walked
back to the tent, poured another gargantuan Whisky, sat down in my
camp chair and began to read it. I had to translate, of course, but it
made for chilling reading, even as slow as I was.

It was an alternative scripture written by the 13th disciple, Lucifer, who
had been cast out by Jesus as a non-believer. And it told a very
different story of Jesus Christ and Humanity. My Tilley lamp went out,
and I was in complete darkness, Hazel howled, the lights appeared, only
this time they were hallowed red, with dark red shadows, of humanoid
shape, flickering and dancing in the background, I tried to shine my torch
but it had no effect whatsoever. This time I was not dealing with the
Mullins. And I was totally terrified. Where the hell was Jerimiah?

The Lights Part 9

I looked all around the crypt. Everywhere had this deep reddish hue and
the vague shape of floating, flexible humanoids. There was no where to
go, nowhere to run. And there was dark, cold mist creeping up. Trapped.

The tablet, I thought, it had worked against the undead Mullins. I got in
two hands stood up, held it high in front of me, and slowly rotated. The
reddish hue darkened to scarlet and the shapes became more discernible.
I also started to hear a deep humming, growing in intensity. The tablet
had made them stronger, bloody fool that I was. I put in down to place
back in my pack and then the most amazing thing happened. My lateral
and downward movement caused the tablet to pass over hazel en route to
my haversack.

She immediately reddened and grew in stature. And kept growing until
she appeared to fill the crypt. Then she let out the most agonising howl I
have ever heard. It was at once mournful and threatening and it was also
incredibly loud. Then the crypt cleared, my lamp came back on and
everything was back to normal, except for hazel who was lying on the
floor, whimpering and shaking like a young puppy suffering from
distemper. “Leave her,” Jerimiah said. “I need to hold her.” “No - she
needs no human contact now, she has to work this out on her own. It is
the way of the tablet.”

I have to say that this was a very interesting episode for me. I had just
been frightened to death by some dark red ghosts, seen my little dog
expand into a fire eating hell hound and I was discussing her well being
with a ghost. I was getting pretty pissed off with being the only person
who had not got clue as to what was going on. (Not just you mate and I

am writing it!!!) So I lost the plot, and in hind sight is does seem silly,
but I lost the plot with the ghost of Jerimiah Crocket.

I stamped up and down, shed tears, threw things all around the crypt and
through Jerimiah. Kicked my tent down in frustration. And generally
acted like an adolescent 13 year old. Hazel continued to lie in a ball
whimpering, and Jerimiah just stood there silent as the grave, pardon
the pun!

When I had finished I felt better. Sometimes a hissy fit really does
work wonders for ones psyche. Then I took a deep breath and sat down.
“Finished?” said Jerimiah. “Yes, you will just have to excuse me having an
off day. I am normally cool with snipers, helicopter gun ships, crypts,
ghosts and policewomen trying to kill me. I just overreacted a touch,
please forgive me if I offended your long dead sensibilities.”

“No problem there Jerry. But you do need some information before you
can go any further.”

I gave him a furious glare. “Like what the fuck this is all about
information?? I am an antiques dealer who came to Landsdown to deal in
antiques and lead a peaceful life. That is all. Why am I involved in all this

He stared at me for a long time, the remains of Jerimiah Crocket, as if
thinking, should I tell this arsehole the truth. Then he stood up and
went to hazel and laid his hand on her. He stroked her quietly, finding
the soft doggy spots between her ears. She stopped whimpering, rolled
over and fell into a very deep sleep. One in which I hoped she was chasing
rabbits, not dark red hued ghosts.

“Can you do that to me.” I asked. “Not until you display her bravery.” I
took that as an emphatic no. And a slur on my bravery, which to be
honest was probably correct. Thus far in this tale I have been a abject
coward. I accepted the slur without a word, which indicated my growing
maturity and my own acceptance of my cowardice compared to hazel’s
incredible bravery.

“We have not been completely honest with you, mainly because we have
not trusted you to do the right thing. And so far we have been proven
correct. As you have probably gathered by now this business goes way

beyond a feud between the Mullins and the Crockets. They are just the
modern day protagonists, and none of them fully comprehend the
enormity of what they are trying to accomplish. They read what you
read. The 13th Disciple. Also known as Lucifer. The alternate belief to
Christianity. It pretends to offer an alternative view of Christ and his
life. It suggests he was a believer of the ancient Egyptian gods who
enjoyed sacrifice, martyrdom and inequality. Read it Jerry and you will
soon realise that it is nothing whatsoever to do with Jesus and everything
to do with Lucifer and his misbegotten aims in life.

Then realise that God, the Father of Jesus, created this creature so that
there would be a balance in the World. All the talk of milk and honey.
God realised he had cocked up by creating humans. And he needed a
counterpart. Just as a balance. He still wanted good to prevail, he
wanted equality amongst tribes. Unfortunately Lucifer’s heirs wanted so
much more. The tablet tells the whole story. It gives you the rationale
behind the invaders of Attila, Alexandra et al. God created an unfair
World where the strong would survive. But he created it to test the
strength of the weak. Those who would succumb to the power of the
strong and immoral. He wanted the weak, so he could test them against
the strong. I don’t think he realised how weak he made them. They just
succumbed to every power that there was.

That the meek will inherit the Earth is a given in every chapter of the
scriptures, but to do that they have to fight the evil. The bit that God
missed out was the will to do just that. The 13th scripture explains how
that can be accomplished, because it describes in detail how evil can
prevail. Once you know that you can fight it. And it cannot be a
generation at a time. It has to be an ongoing conflict between good and
evil, and it has to have an end. 2000 years since Jesus preached. And
only you have the tablet to end it all. Use the tablet correctly Jerry, and
the meek WILL inherit the earth.”

And he vanished. I ran over to hazel, who seemed to be having a lovely
sleep. I stroked the top of her head where her relaxing glands were.
She whimpered a bit but it was pleasure not pain. My gorgeous dog who
had twice saved my life. I picked up the tablet and read it again.
Jerimiah was right. It was a covenant to set the World right. By
understanding the evil that was revealed within, the truth of Christianity
was laid bare. I now knew what I had to do. (I am pleasantly surprised at

this outcome. Obviously Jerry knows a lot more than I do. Maybe I
should get him to write this story!)

First things first. Get out of the Crypt and alert the authorities.
Second thing forget that stupid idea. The authorities were Inspector
Groves et al. They appeared to be on the wrong side. Dependant on your
point of view of course. Outside implied snipers and helicopter gun ships.
Inside implied red ghosts and terror. Just a small dilemma here. Ok let’s
just eat and sleep for a night and see what tomorrow brings. Hazel
nodded her agreement and we just chilled out for the night.

In the morning Jerry woke up cold. Not ghostly cold, just really cold.
The red ghosts seemed to have turned the heating down. Which was a bit
surprising considering I had an idea where they came from. It bothered
not I or Hazel, I lit the gas stove, gradually became warm and made
breakfast. I fried us both bacon and eggs, which Hazel loved. Dog’s do
have wonderful taste buds. They just know what good food is about and
don’t give a monkeys toss about cholesterol.

I tried to sleep but kept getting drawn back into a paragraph in the
tablet that disturbed me.

 “This Jesus Christ who walks the earth, said to be the Son of God, lacks
the understanding of the human race, that a Son of God would not lack.
Who could walk amongst his Fathers pathetic creations and say that the
weaker one’s will inherit the Earth. Since the time of Adam and Eve
strength of mind and body has prevailed. Those that rule with an iron
fist will rule. That has always been the way amongst humans. And I can
see little that would change that. Short of an uprising amongst the
“meek” which seems highly unlikely given that they are termed the meek.
Which by definition indicates a lack of strength to alter the status quo.
The path I have chosen, will, for all mankind, rule.”

This was the 13th disciple. And it made a lot of sense of the mythology of
Jesus. Why would the Son of God appear on earth amongst his creations
who were slaughtering each other in barbaric ways across the earth he
had created. As an appeaser? Surely God would have sent a kick arse guy
who would have sorted things out. “Listen up mother fuckers, stop this
killing shit or you are going to experience the mother of all lightening
strikes, right here from these slender fingers. You all listening to me?”

Jerry could understand that, he could also understand why the Mullins
clan, devout Catholics, would wish to suppress it. Their Jesus was not a
kick ass person. He was a turn the other cheek type guy, he, in today’s
society would get his arse kicked. Much as the Mullins enforce their law.
They might not physically kick arse nowadays, but they certainly exert
control through their financial machinations.

Which led Jerry to a bit of a conundrum. Releasing the text of the 13th
disciple’s story of the alternative Jesus’ life would probably have little
effect on today’s society where violence is the norm. In fact it would
probably encourage the strong to escalate their pillaging from the weak.
He could imagine the rap stars coming out of the cupboard to recreate
the first psalm.

“And the Lord God said we should kick arse
the Lord God said we should kill
to take the streets over
and make them our own
we are doing the Good Lords will.”

Jerry could just not allow that to happen. Thus he found himself on the
side of the dead and living Mullins. None of which was going to get him
out of the crypt.

But there was a way out. But he had to get through the red one’s. Who
knew what side they represented. He had to assume they would love the
darker side of Jesus to emerge. It would shock Christianity to it’s core.
More importantly it would give the Muslims so much ammunition to avenge
the Crusaders as to be unbelievable. In the current fragile climate
between Christianity and Islam, it could provoke an irreconcilable
fracture that would be impossible to heal. Having said that George bush
has already accomplished the same.

Jerry looked at Hazel, who was finishing off a mutton chop. Where the
hell did she get a mutton chop from? He grabbed it straight from her
mouth, at great risk, and withstood the pressure to throw it away. She
glared at him, and began to growl. No way could he just throw it away,
she would just chase it. But he was facing a dog that had made red
ghosts back away, and he was holding the food she had just been really

He pointed to the chop. “Poison,” he signed in dog speech. Hazel
continued to be fixated on the chop and continued to growl. Jerry signed
“Poison” again. Hazel was having none of it. Jerry was now quite scared.
But Hazel was not getting this chop. He backed away quietly, she
followed him on all fours, crawling, but alert, seemingly ready to pounce
at any moment. Her eyes never left the chop. One seconds slip from
Jerry, and she would have it back, and die. That was not going to happen
as far as Jerry was concerned.

As he backed away he kept talking to her, but for the life of him he
could think what to do with the chop. There was no place he could throw
it. And no place he could leave it. Jerry’s great adventure was turning
into a complete joke. Hazel was pissed off, she was enjoying the chop,
why had Jerry taken it away. She needed to get it back, and then she
fell over. The first part of the poison had kicked in. Jerry rushed to
her side. Now, at least, he could throw the chop away. He need not have
rushed, Jerimiah was already there. “She will be Ok, you took it away in
time.” Jerry looked at his long dead mate and scratched his head. “How
the hell did a poison chop get in here?”

Jerimiah gave him a very sad look. “Jerry, you are a fool in a Church of
spin. These people can and will do anything.”

“But,” Jerry protested, “I am now on their side, I don’t want to see the
13th Lesson published anymore than they do. Let me just leave religious
history as it is. Christ the merciful. I am totally happy with that. Why
don’t I just leave the tablet here? It will never be found and faith will
never be doubted. ”

Jerimiah just looked again, a very sorrowful look. (quite an easy look to
have when you are dead) “God you are thick!”

A little bit of understanding would have been more appreciated!

“The Mullin’s don’t want it published, but these little red bastards do.
And they are the one’s you need to get past to escape intact with the
tablet. “

“But why do I need to get past them, the tablet stays in it’s hidden place.
End of story. And I can go back to my antiques shop. What’s the problem
with that?”

“Oh Jerry you have become a burden, it was never meant to be like this.
I was just to help out in the occasional emergency. Now I am holding your
hand around every corner. And when you have been dead a long time,
quick thinking and reactions are your weakest point. Apart from the lack
of body of course. Can you not remember how you escaped the last

Jerry remembered that quite well and under no circumstances was he
going through that again. “Suggest another way out then Jerry.” He
looked at Jerimiah and stared him down. “Has no-one ever suggested
using the front door?? It’s a perfectly good door that opens outwards
and allows you to leave. Just like doors do.”

Jerimiah raised his hands in the air bent towards the door and indicated
jerry should try. Jerry nodded a thank-you back, just about suppressing
a nee-nah. Then he stopped in his tracks. “She is waiting out there isn’t
she, expecting me?” Jerimiah did not say a word. Groves was no mean
opponent. She seemed to be able to command just about any lethal force
in England. There are not many people able to authorise an RAF fighter
aircraft to shoot down a helicopter. And in the current situation all she
had to was trump up some fake terrorist allegation and she could have
jerry, and Hazel shot on sight. Maybe, he thought, the front door was
not such a splendid idea after all. But the alternative was not much
better. And this time around, as well as the traps, it would be watched
over by red spirits. Also intent on doing him harm. What on earth was he
to do? (there is a genuine pause here as I try to figure it out).

Hazel was scratching her left ear, which meant she was also thinking,
Jerimiah just stood there with a knowing expression on his face, and
Jerry was just totally bemused. Then he glanced to his left. The
horizontal tunnel had reappeared. The vertical tunnel that Jerimiah had
made horizontal to save his life. (I really do not know why I keep
switching tenses but I will now go back to the 1st person.)

I thought this could be the way out if I was very careful and stayed away
from the traps. But would the red one’s let me out with the tablet?
Jerimiah had gone, I had wished him away, it was about time I stood on
my own two feet, and Hazels four. I packed the tent up, loaded it all into
my haversack and proceeded down the tunnel. Being the cowardly soul
that I am I made hazel take point. That is she was the first in line for

any danger that may occur. It was not an uncomfortable walk, until we
came to the landslide. There did not appear to be a way through. At
least not until the Mullins gang of dearly departed arrived. “We will find
you a way through, but be very aware that danger from the red one’s is
going to be ever present.” I thanked them and followed as they forged a
path for me. Eventually we came to the cliff, with the river below. “We
have to leave you here Jerry. But wish you good luck.” And as a man they
vanished. I thanked them and waved them on to their mysterious path,
but also silently cursed them. The Cliff, the water. Hazels growling low
in her throat made the decision for me. The red one’s were back.

We launched ourselves of the cliff top and headed for the water below.
Feet first we clattered into it. And began to swim towards the outcrop
that would release us from this desperate situation. But the red one’s
were ahead of the game. They formed a formidable barrier that we were
swimming towards. A dam of red ghosts, and we could not turn round,
the current was taking us in their direction. No options. No escape.

We were in a dark underground river being swept towards the followers
of the 13th disciple, Lucifer. Not for the first time in this story I felt my
life was in imminent danger. As we moved along we were battered and
beaten by rocks along the way. And heading inexorably toward the wall of
red demons who blocked our path to freedom. We hit the wall at a vast
rate of knots and were both knocked senseless. Yet they had shown no
malice. We woke up, tied up, in yet another dark, damp cave. But we were
not dead. Truth is who knows in this tale. We might well be dead!

Hazel winked and wagged her tail. If she thinks it Ok, so shall I. We
were surrounded by what could only be called Demons. Red guys with
pointy ears, stubby wings, and unshaven faces. One of them poked me
with a Trident. “The Lord wishes to speak to you. Be upstanding.”

I did try to be upstanding but it was a little difficult as I was tied down.
He slashed the ropes with his trident as a huge red creature floated,
sorry that is the only way to describe it, into view. I was very upstanding,
very quickly. This guy had huge horns, snorted massive amounts of
vapour and looked very, very scary.

“Jerry”, he roared. “We had such great hopes for the release of the
tablet to the modern World. And we have you. Disappointing to say the
least. But we have to make do with the materials we are given.”

I was not convinced he was paying me a compliment.

“Take the tablet to the outside World and get it verified by Johns of
Westminster. You will know it when you see it. It is a shop in London.
Once he verifies it you can take it to the Pope and he will be obliged to
read it. And then your job will be done. Go now Jerry, and do what you
need to do. Don’t worry about the police we are keeping them a little
preoccupied. “

Hazel and I were released and into the open air. I have to say that Hazel
went over the top. Flying around doing doggie flips and venting urine like
she had never before. But who was I to contain her enthusiasm at being
freed from the crypt. Now I was completely fucked. And I still had
several questions that needed answering. I just stood in that graveyard
watching Hazel go through all her party tricks.

The sky was alight with red flashes which would confuse the snipers. The
red one’s were keeping to their side of the bargain. hazel and I now had
to get to the station and get to London. It was some relief that we both
boarded a train to London. Hazel immediately lay down by my feet and
fell asleep. I lay back in the seat and began to think.

There were still too many questions without enough answers. There was
the riddle of the 200 years ago Mullins murder of the Crocket’s to be
resolved, Jerimiah would not let that one go, the translation of the
tablet, and how that would effect modern Christianity, a subject that
the Crockets and the Mullins did agree upon, and the Church, and it’s
secluded land. And who actually owned it. The bonding of the dead
Mullins, the red one’s and the present day Crocket –me. All with
different agenda’s. What were the agenda’s?

The Mullins wanted the finding of the tablet suppressed and seemed to
think I was doing that. In which case why did they not just kill me and
leave me in the crypt, which only a Crocket could access, with the
tablet? that would be the end of it as far as they were concerned. Why
did they aid in my release.

The red one’s wanted verification of the 13th Gospel so they could claim
their right on Earth. But what if Johns of Westminster did not verify it,
then what? Or suppose that Johns of Westminster was part of the red

one’s set-up, and were awaiting an innocent fool to bring in a tablet that
would stand Christianity on it’s head.

And the ubiquitous Jerimiah seeking revenge on the Crockets? When
would he reappear and demand something from me? Finally what of
Hazel? Whose side was she actually on?

Whichever way I looked at it, I was going to be stitched up and I needed
to take out some insurance. I was also supposed to find John’s of
Westminster, and then go to Rome and get an audience with the Pope.
All was too much for my befuddled brain. I joined hazel in her rabbit
chasing dream. But as I dropped off I realised that whatever path I
chose would leave two enemies who would attempt to block that path. I
just could not satisfy everybody in this quest.

I must have slept for most of the journey and woke up with a start to see
Jerimiah sitting opposite me, with hazel on his lap. “What, how can a
ghost sit a solid body on his lap?” The answer was staring me in the face,
I had just refused to acknowledge it before. “Your dog on that night?”

“Always been my dog Jerry. Faithful through two centuries, and she has
never let me down. My concern is that you expose the Mullin’s for the
murderous swine's that they were and claim back our land.

But as an Anglican I am more concerned about the tablet, and share their
concern. Faith is the cornerstone of Christianity. It is the nebulous
building block upon which the Church has been founded. And Faith itself
is nebulous. Should that tablet be verified as a true rendition of Christ’s
life on earth, and publicly stated, both our religions would suffer. And
more importantly a far darker religion would usurp Christianity. A dark
religion that would be readily embraced by the sick, self obsessed, iconic
culture that inhabits the World today.”

I looked around the carriage. Yep, I could talk to Jerimiah without a
problem, my fellow passengers were all living in their own self obsessed
world’s. Headphones in ears, or shouting loudly into their mobile phones.
not a single one would notice me talking to a ghost! Jerimiah had a point.

“What would you have me do?”

“We have to take a chance. You have to take the tablet to Johns of
Westminster. If you don’t the red ones will make damn sure someone
does. Far better you and Hazel than some stranger. And then when it is
deciphered in it’s entirety you Jerry, need to make a decision. But you
have to insist on the whole translation. Not just the bit’s that suit them.
Which should not be a problem.”

“Why should it not be a problem? Who are these guys anyway?”

“Two questions in one sentence. Very good Jerry. Johns of Westminster
are a secular society recognised throughout the World as impartial
analysts of ancient religious text. They have scholars of all known ancient
languages, advanced carbon dating scientific techniques and are the
recognised experts. If they verify a tablet, manuscript, scroll, whatever
– it is considered verified and factual on a Global scale. But they are also
a secretive society. Some believe they are a part of a latter formed
templar group where knowledge is sacroscent. They will not announce
their findings without the permission of the donor. In this case you. Nor
do the ever query where an artefact came from.

They will analyse Jerry, and tell you, and you alone the results of their
analysis. The decision to publish will be yours alone.”

Jerry looked at the space recently vacated by Jerimiah. Hazel, who he
now knew was a Ghost, was asleep at his feet chasing rabbits. Or that
what it appeared to be she was chasing. Who actually knew what a 200
year old dog was dreaming about?

I sat back in my seat and thought about what I had to do. And the old
adage came into my mind. “How do you eat an Elephant – in small pieces.”
Take one step at a time was what it meant. So let me get to London and
find this mysterious brainchild of ancient religious texts.

We got off the train and walked into a wall of wind and rain. Typical
London weather. I looked at my watch, it was half past 6 in the evening.
We needed a taxi and a Hotel that would take animals. The taxi was not a
problem, and he took us to an animal friendly Hotel. I paid him off with a
generous tip and went inside and registered. At my request he produced
a street map and eating my, or should I say our, room service pizza I
pinpointed Johns of Westminster. A mile away from the Hotel. A good
nights sleep and we would be on our way in the morning.

The red devils were not about to let that happen. They pestered me all
night. Not threatening, just dammed annoying. They wanted to make
sure I was awake in the morning. So I woke up a bit snappy, had a shower
and went down to breakfast, which was gorgeous.

I was telling hazel about it on our way to Johns when I was stopped by
one of Boris’s local volunteer Gestapo. “Get your dog on a lead.” He said.
Hazel and I both looked at him in amazement. “My dog doesn’t need a
lead, she just follows at heel behind me, no problem.” He puffed himself
up, “All dogs in my borough have to be on a lead. It’s the law mate.” No
Sir, here and I did notice the emphasis on my borough. “Sorry, whoever
you are, I don’t have a lead. But my dog is not a problem.” He puffed
himself up even further, pulled out a truncheon, stubbed it in my back,
and ordered me to lie down on the floor. He then pulled my hands behind
my back and put plastic cuffs on me. “Right smart arse, I am making a
citizens arrest for disobeying borough laws and walking a dog without
being on a lead.”

I was fed up with this areshole and tipped hazel the wink. She leapt for
his throat. He dropped his baton, she ripped my cuffs off, I picked up
his baton and smacked him round the head. We are a good team. Except
for the fact that she now was vascillitating on her bottom expecting a
treat for being a good dog. I told her to knock it off. Which to her
credit she did. Everybody just walked by us, noses in the air, completely
ignoring us. I checked the guy was Ok. No problems, just unconscious.
He would be fine. And we carried on.

The Lights Part 11

And then I spotted Groves. What the hell was she doing here if not
looking for me? Too late, she had seen me, and I was surrounded by
policemen. She sauntered up to me in that superficial way that she has.

“Jerry, what a pleasure to see you again. I would be obliged if you could
just hand over the tablet, in which case we will ignore the charge of GBH
on a public servant doing his duty. And don’t look at Hazel, she has been
tranquillised. So what’s it to be Jerry, the tablet or a rather nasty time
at her majesties pleasure, followed by a very ugly trial, where you will be
declared criminally insane and locked up forever. I could make this ugly

Jerry, but I don’t want to do that. Just give me the tablet and you and
Hazel can go on your way.”

One of the great advantages of being a coward is to know when you are
beaten. But I did have a few questions to ask. “I seem to be doing your
bidding, so why are you stopping me? The Mullins, the red ones,
everybody want’s this story to be verified, including yourself. I just do
not understand what is going on.” She gave me a look that could only be
described as scathing. “Jerry, you just don’t know, do you. Release that
publication and every hell hound on earth will be awakened, and I really
mean that. I cannot accept that. Furthermore my boss cannot accept
that. And my boss holds considerable power. He does not wish to see a
backlash against Christianity that he does not control. So just give me
the tablet. And then go home and back to your semi-legal antique

The connection hit me. The point of which I had failed to understand.
The whole sequence of events had already been set in motion. I was on a
fools errand, but who had sent me on it? I had no choice but to hand the
tablet over. Which I duly did. Groves smiled gracefully, and waved me
on my way. I picked Hazel up and carried her to our Hotel.

She was still asleep whilst I tucked into my late supper, but I made sure
she had food and water when she did awake. I slipped back into bed and
tried to work it all out from the beginning. As expected Groves knocked
on the door at 2AM. She was wearing bugger all. And without a word we
screwed till dawn. “God Jerry, I wish we were on the same side.” That
was post shagging crap, she and I both knew it. We were very physically
attracted to each other. But mentally we were poles apart. Or were we?

Now I knew the connection, did she know that I knew? And could I be on
her side? She was fast asleep and her bag lay not a foot away. It was
too tempting. I picked it up and walked to the kitchen, shut the adjoining
door, turned the light on, emptied her handbag onto the kitchen top.
The gun was not a surprise, but one of the identification card’s was.
“Waffen SS.” And the name Grossenberger. Another little clue in the
crossword that was forming in my mind.

The door opened and she stood there stark naked, except for the tiny
gun in her hand. “Found something interesting Jerry?” And she arched
her eyebrows. “Just interested Inspector Groves, that’s all.” She

looked at him with a kind of contempt, laced with concern. “My handbag
is supposed to reveal the truth to a believer. And are you a believer
Jerry? I don’t think you are. According to my doctrine I should kill you.
And trust me I would kill you without a thought. But I would rather help
you than kill you. But then I would need to recruit you. And I am not
convinced you would be a good recruit. Why don’t you convince me

For the moment my eyes were mesmerised by her gorgeous body. Take
the gun away from the equation and I was totally captivated. “Would that
not depend on what you were recruiting me for?” She waved the gun
towards a chair. Not being a complete fool I walked towards it and sat

“You are going to have to tell me what this is all about, I have connected
some dot’s but there are an awful lot just sitting their waiting for some
kind of enlightenment. Crypts, strange tablets written by a 13th Apostle,
the Mullins, My Great Grandparents, the Waffen SS, what am I
essentially missing?” She gave me a look, then nodded towards the
bedroom indicating we could both get dressed. Much more civilised. And
she put her gun away to my relief.

I went to the mini bar, “Brandy?” “Sounds good,” she replied. I poured
two, gave her one and sat down. I glanced at the clock, 6Am and we were
drinking brandy. What the hell I had no intention of driving today. And
Groves would be immune. I wanted to know how immune. How deep was
this infiltration? We looked at each other, chinked glasses.

She stared at me for a while, drumming her fingers on the side of her
chair. And then she began to talk. I just sat and listened because I
thought she might reveal the missing pieces of the jigsaw in my mind.

“Let us just ignore, for the moment, Hitler's march into Poland, that
sparked WW2. And , for the moment, ignore his hatred of Jews.

What then is Fascism? Was it any different to Communism? Or the
French Revolution? The Civil war in England? All born from the same
ingredients, an uprising by the masses against a decadent and corrupt
ruling plutocracy. They all basically started by an elitist groups
inhumanity to what it considered an underclass. Which is why this
particular story starts in Lansdowne, and the murder of your great

grandparents. And can be traced to Germany and Adolph Hitler's
obsession with the occult. “

I was desperate to interrupt this saga with a few questions. But I did
want to see where she was going. And then the walls began to breathe,
and turn into a horrendous shade of grey. They gradually closed in. The
space in the room became smaller and smaller as the walls moved in. Then
I noticed blood dripping down the wallpaper, fresh blood. Not mine, or
hers, but whose? I mentally called Hazel, and she appeared by my side.

I looked at Groves and she seemed as confused as I was. I signalled the
door and all three of us ran for it at the same time. Locked. And the
walls kept closing in. The room was compressing by the moment. It’s
intention was to crush us with it. In desperation I kicked out the door,
and felt a tremendous pain in my foot, I think I broke my toe.

The door remained closed. Then Groves got her gun out and shot the
lock. She kicked the door open and we rushed through into a narrow,
becoming narrower passageway. The whole building was compressing in
it’s effort to destroy us. I made the decision, grabbed Hazel in my left
arm, Groves in my right, ran and dived through the hallway window.

Glass shattered all around us but we were free of the crushing building.
Unfortunately we were three stories up and flying to the ground at a
great speed. Once again Hazel saved the day. She barked three times,
and time slowed down, and we drifted to the bottom and landed very
gently. Whilst above us the building just continued to decompress. I
gave that dog so many cuddles she nearly suffocated. How many times
can a dog save your life?

We gathered together, huddled and thanked, whoever, for our survival.
But Hazel was having none of it. “Go, go go” she kept barking. We were
not out of danger yet. She led and we followed. The building we had
recently been in imploded, and sent debris 1000 metre’s away. Hazel had
led us to shelter. And right into the arms of the Red One’s.

The Lights part 12

Groves looked at me in horror, I shrugged my shoulders and passed the
look onto Hazel, who looked suitably chastised, hero dog to bad dog in a
matter of seconds. The big guy from the crypt just sneered. “Typical
human, blame it on the dog. Well don’t, we have been tracking you since
you left, Hazel is blameless. We did not want to happen what has
happened. Groves getting hold of the tablet. Therefore we are

I looked at Hazel who had an insufferable smug look, and then at Groves
and she was totally spaced out. I supposed whatever she was party to did
not include huge red horned creatures breathing vapour like smog. I put
my arm around her. “How touching, the enemy comforting the enemy in
the face of the enemy. Inspector Groves you are becoming a pain in the
backside. We insist this document is verified, and you keep getting in
the way. Now it has been released from it’s Lansdown crypt it will
happen, believe me. And then it will be released and Christianity will be
revealed for the fraud that it is. Then and only then will the real power
take over.”

Groves took a deep breath looked at this awesome sight and spoke. “I
know” she said. “I am on your side. It just needs a little time so it is
released to an understanding World.”

“A World that is under your parties control?”

Groves was beginning to grow in stature. Metaphorically of course.
“Maybe that would not be such a bad idea.” I shot her a filthy look, which
she duly returned. “A neo-fascist society controlling Europe, we are not
very far away from that. I am one of millions within the European
Government that yearn for change. Change that would make citizenship
mandatory. My organisation would ensure massive changes were made,
that would satisfy your doctrine.”

“And what exactly is my doctrine Inspector Groves?”

“The strong controlling the Earth, the weak being the fodder to provide
that strength. The underlying spine that would support the body willing
to take drastic action to ensure obedience.”

He huffed and puffed a bit, as all demons have to do, otherwise they
hyperventilate and disappear up their own backsides. “You are suggesting
a fascist state before or after we publish the 13th Gospel?”

“I would suggest concurrently.” Groves replied.

“It would therefore be in your best interests to actually read the 13th
Gospel before making any political decisions. Might I draw your attention
to the chapter that has a brief look at power. I am sure you will find it
most revealing. In fact this meeting is over. I will see you again when you
are a little bit more enlightened. In the meantime read and do try and
understand what you read. At the moment there is a huge gap between
your reading and understanding. I know where you are now and wherever
you will be. But I am prepared to allow you and Jerry time to understand
what you are meddling with. Read and do not just read words, to quote
an old cliché, read between the lines.” And he was gone.

Groves now seemed to be firmly on my side. “That was a scary guy,” she
said quietly. “Welcome to my new life.” Hazel barked in appreciation.
The three of us found a new Hotel in a very sombre mood. I can’t
honestly speak for Hazel. We went straight to the room, ordered room
service for three and laid the script/tablet on the table.

It was written in a similar style of writing to the other Gospels. But it’s
content was totally different. Whereas Luke, Mark et al proscribed
Christ as Gods son who had been sent to Earth basically as a consultant to
“check the place out.” Lucifer's manuscript was to trap and engage man’s
inhumanity. And Lucifer's manuscript was far more believable. He had
the Christ telling beggars to get a job, lepers not to bemoan their fate
but join a colony of similar afflicted people and get on with their lives,
Lucifer states that the Christ said, ”Don’t come to me for a cure
arseholes, heal thyselves.”

It also goes on to his time in Bethlehem where he was supposedly born.

“The Christ never set foot in such a place. Let alone get born there.
Truth be known he came out of nowhere. But he did exist, not as the

great redeemer, but as a man attempting to understand Human bestiality.
Death by man was far greater than Death by God. He left for fourty
days and fourty nights when he spoke with his Father, the Great God,
but it was not a satisfactory discussion. At the end of that time he still
did know what to do, for evil still prevailed across the World.

And the Great God had given him no answers. In the end he offered
himself up in sacrifice, so that man could be born again in Gods image.
Three days after his Death a man claiming to be the re-born Christ
appeared before his disciples. That man was me, Lucifer. The Christ was
well dead and buried. The resurrection was a complete fake. I dressed
as him, looked like him and spoke like him. Thus the Disciples were
deceived. And Christianity ever since has worshipped me - Lucifer.

Which will explain the continuity of man’s inhumanity to man. Christianity
is based on a complete falsehood. And they worship a false God – Lucifer.
I now go to my Death, in old age, secure in the knowledge that I have
told the truth. But saddened by the fact that I have destroyed the myth
of the only man I really loved - Jesus Christ.”

Groves and I just sat there stunned. Lucifer, forever the antithesis to
Christ was a follower of Christ. If this document was ever authenticated
and released it would bring about the destruction of Christianity. And
release an unparalleled hatred on the World. Just imagine what the
Ragheads would do with this. It did not bear thinking about. Fascist that
she was Groves agreed with me.

The Red ones were obviously a follower of the misinterpreted Lucifer, it
was just mind bending in it’s concept. She looked at me and gave me a wry
smile. “I want a disciplined World under orderly control. But not an evil
World. Look on the other side, if it is published it destroys the myth of
Christianity by the absence of the resurrection. But it also cancels out
the myth of Lucifer and the dark side. It is a middle ground. So is
publishing it such a bad thing?”

Hazel barked twice, which meant there was danger about. I grabbed the
tablet and headed for cover. As the missiles came flying in I knew
exactly where I had to go. And Groves and Hazel needed to come with

The top of the Hotel was torched but we were able to get out under the
cover of the smoke . We made it to my car got in and set off. Heading
back to Landsdown. The Church, and the Crypt.

The Crypt

This time I knew what I was dealing with. Two fake religions fighting
each other. I had to drive the truth into both, whilst simultaneously
destroying them. But only in the Crypt and only the underground
believers. I had no answer for those who lived above this state, but they
just had to keep believing in what they believed. I had neither the
intellect nor bravado to foist this manuscript on a World that was
currently engaged in Religious genocide.

Groves tried to fight me all the way. She saw it as an answer to Fascism,
a middle areligous society where only the strong survived. But Hazel and
I persuaded her otherwise. Where we were going, Groves had no allies.
Eventually she agreed to come along, I think we had grown fond of each
other. That is what I thought at that time. How sadly I look back upon
that thought.

We stopped way before Lansdown and stocked up on what we needed.
And we pulled up into the Churchyard a little before midnight. I looked
at Groves, “I need to put the tablet back in the exact place that I found
it. “ Then I looked at Hazel, “As soon as I have done that you need to
reverse time, sadly back to a time where we had not met.” I stroked her
head and found the pleasure spot that all dogs have, she grunted in
approval, and as I brushed a tear from eye, I noticed one falling down
from her eye. Groves stepped in and wiped it away. “Have you guys
finished with the lovey stuff.” She could be a hard bitch.

Perhaps she did not realise that everything that was about to happen,
and had happened over the last few days, could not have happened. I
wondered if it would be erased from my memory when Hazel did her time
machinations. I just didn’t know. Would I miss Hazel, would I even have
known her? Would I miss Groves, certainly not. But she would still be
around, as would I, we were both of the now. We would meet as
strangers after this? Or would I know her neo-fascist plans?

Too many bloody questions Jerry, get on with your job!!

We got everything ready. But as ready as we could be, but I knew that
nothing could prepare us for the undiluted hatred and hostility we were
about to meet when we re-entered the Crypt and two, now unverified
religions clashed.

Over a 2000 year old tablet. Plus there was the side issue of the Mullins
and the Crockets. And what part would Jerimiah play in all this? All I
knew was that the tablet had to be replaced and all events connected
with it’s removal banished from time. Religion has caused enough death
over the centuries, without allowing this type of inflammatory
information to become public knowledge. But I knew I was going to have
one helluva fight on my hands and I knew I would probably perish at the
hand of one side or another.

With this in mind I approached Groves, “Once we are in there it is going
to be hell. We are unlikely to meet again in this life, so what do you think
about a final screw?” She looked at me, took her clothes off and lay
down. “I thought you would never ask.” We were at it for about an hour,
Hazel kept a respectful distance away, or at least averted her eyes.

Then we were ready, all three of us. We picked our belongings up and
made for the entrance to the Crypt. Led, of course, by Hazel. The noise
of the Helicopter, and the lights were suddenly apparent. The voice
through the megaphone addressed Groves directly. “Inspector Groves
you are under arrest for subversion. Do not move toward the crypt, else
you will be shot. I repeat you will be shot.” So the game was up for her.

We were stood 5 foot from the secret entrance, bathed in light from
the helicopter. And covered by sharpshooters. The first step by the red
ones, had to go their way. How the hell were they controlling the local
Police? Hazel was busily digging away. The loudspeaker whistled and
screamed, “Stop the dog digging, or it will be dead.” Hazel barked once,
her follow me bark, she dived into the hole she had made, Groves and I
followed. And we were inside. Complete with equipment and supplies.
The hole disappeared above our heads. As did the sound of the
helicopter and the voice behind the megaphone.

We were on our own in the Crypt. I looked at Groves – “It would appear
you are ex – Inspector Groves.” She said nothing. “For Gods sake they
threatened to shoot you have you nothing to say?” She just smiled at me
and walked away.

My all things are not well with the world stomach was doing circuits and
bumps. Nothing good was going to come out of this scenario, and Groves
smug smile did not help.

I gave Hazel a pat on the head for leading us down, but she just lay down
and growled. I seemed to be the only person in a fairly upbeat mood. If
a positive feeling toward almost certain Death can be upbeat?

I walked into the tent I had left behind and set it up as an HQ. Pointed
out to Hazel and Groves where we needed to be in order to replace the
tablet. And where Hazel needed to be and exactly what she needed to do
when I replaced the tablet. I had it all worked out until I saw Jerimiah.

We looked at each other. He spoke first. “That’s it boy is it? Put the
tablet back, get Hazel to push back time and you were never here.
Groves goes back to where she was, plotting a Neo Nazi re-birth and you
go back to trading in illegal antiquities without a care in the World. very
tidy and neat I have to say. Also very convenient. Apart from one fact –
the Tablet.

Do you seriously think it will not be found again? Do you not realise boy
you were sent here on a mission. You have to conclude this not cop out by
using my Hazel as an “I was never there governor” cop out. The Tablet
has to be verified or destroyed. Along with the Mullins. Oh yes, they
also need to be destroyed. For the wrong the brought to your
Grandfather. Have you no pride Jerry? What is your life compared to
the millions that will be The Lights if the contents of that Tablet were
ever to be published?”

I just stared into space. Over Jeremiahs shoulder and into the deep
shame I had brought upon myself. And the final piece of the crossword
fell into place. The destruction of the Tablet, followed by my
destruction. Inevitable, I just needed an answer to one final question.

I looked at Jerimiah, “Why do the crimes of the Mullins 200 years ago
have so much to do with today, the Tablet and this unconsecreated grave
yard?” I thought I knew the answer, I just wanted to hear it from
Jerimiah. But before he responded he flashed me a warning look, I fell to
the floor, and the shovel wielded by Groves missed my head by inches. I
swung round and for the second time smashed her with a roundhouse kick,
Hazel leapt and grabbed her ankle, whilst I gave her another kick in the
head. She was out cold, and I prised the Tablet from her outstretched
hand. Took her gun, cocked the trigger and shot her in the head.
Treacherous bitch that she was.

Now, apart from Jerimiah and Hazel, I was amongst enemies. But I now
knew I was going to die in this final encounter, and all that fey warning
stuff just disappeared. I no longer had any need of it. I was in the last
and fiercest battle of my life. I had to find some way of destroying the
Tablet, whilst fighting off the red ones and the remains of the Mullins.
I looked round for Jerimiah and there he was hovering over Hazel.

He had a very sad look on his face. “I know she deserved it Jerry but you
have just made another powerful enemy. Who do you think controls the
comings and goings in this Crypt?”

My mind was turning somersaults, the Mullins, the red ones? And then it
stopped in mid salute. Surely not. “Afraid so Jerry. Groves was not
alone. She and the local Police have baited you from day one. Now that
you have killed her, they will be incensed as you have cocked up their
plan. And they can enter the crypt as and when they like. I had hoped I
could take Hazel back to let her live a peaceful life. But now you have
three enemies and a formidable task, it would be churlish of me.”

A shuddering fear reverberated throughout my body. “But you will still
be around to offer guidance?” “It is all I can do Jerry, for some strange
reason only Hazel can assist you with earthly matters.”

“So how can the Mullins and the red ones interfere?”

“I have no idea Son. It is beyond your and my comprehension. But you
have to now be swift and cunning. The Tablet cannot be destroyed
physically. It has to be taken to a particular point at a particular time
and placed in a particular spot. Only then can it be destroyed. And with
it the reputation of the Mullins clan. That is all I can tell you Jerry,
please look after Hazel, she is not as indestructible as she would like to
think.” And he was gone.

“Fuck this situation.” And I ran around in circles stamping my feet. I
have not got a clue what to do. I told myself to calm down, and reloaded
the pistol from the belt on Groves body, and what a body! I don’t know
why I had to kill her. But some inner instinct told me to. Hazel was just
keeping quiet and holding back, but she was bristling and apprehensive. I
patted her on the head. And thought about what Jerimiah had said. I
was faced with three enemies, but I was also took after Hazels welfare
along the way. Why the hell did he put that condition on me? Any dog

should be grateful for living for 200 years. She cocked an ear at me, as
though she could read my mind. Damn it, she knew the particular point
where the Tablet had to be taken to. But to get there I would have to
protect her for once. She nodded in full agreement. So not only did I
now have all these enemies I had to protect a Dog who could project
herself as a huge monster, stop time, and find uncanny ways out of
trouble spots. Shit this was not turning out to be one of my better days.

I gathered all the supplies I possibly could. Strapped the Tablet into my
lower spine. Then looked around the map in my head for a way out of this
hell hole.

Holy hell was breaking in the crypt. The Police, who had by now found
the dead Inspector Groves were yelling through their megaphones,
“Surrender Crocket or we will shoot to kill”. The Red Ones were setting
up their usual burning barricade of scorched souls, whilst the long dead
Mullins were wandering around clueless as to who they should support. A
grenade whooshed past my ear and exploded just as I dived for cover
behind an ancient tomb. And then, more worryingly, a bullet flew by my
head. I just prayed as I zig-zagged towards Hazels position, they had
not brought snipers with them.

Then the tide began to turn in my favour. A Police grenade smashed into
the Red line. They immediately took offence and launched a charge
toward the Police, which scared the hell out of them. The Mullins, never
Police lovers, then launched their own attack. This gave me a huge
respite and allowed me to crawl towards Hazel, and where I hoped she
had now tunnelled out a burrow. All the action was off to the right of the
Crypt and Hazel was calling me left. I found her and gave her a pat whilst
her tail was still spinning. She lead me toward the entrance of a deepish
hole. Which I gratefully crawled into backwards. And was rewarded with
one of the late Jeremiahs bones poking me up the arse! This time it was a
reasonable bone, his forearm. I lent behind me, grabbed it and pushed
into my rucksack. I looked at Hazel, and held my hands up. She barked,
very quietly, 3 times. Three bones to go. Get out of this hell-hole. It
does not bear thinking about.

I snuggled down and looked out on the happenings around me. The Police,
incensed at the death of Groves, were still behaving like Morons.
Throwing Grenades and gunshots at no specific places. This was really
pissing off the Red Ones and the Mullins, and they were retaliating with
lightening bolts and really scary noises and cold, deathly touches. I
watched several Policeman die an horrific death as they tried to break
the Red lines.

And I cared not a jot, these guys were part of Groves neo nazi political
bureau. Ready to take the UK under their fascist control. The more that
died the better. The Red ones were a different kettle of fish all
together. They were all supposedly dead, and were not taking any hits
whatsoever. The Mullins, as in life, just attacked with crudity. Once the
Police were gone, which from my vantage point would not be long, I would
still have to deal with the two forms of the afterlife.

The Mullins I could outmanoeuvre mentally. The Red ones presented an
entirely different challenge. A challenge that I just could not figure out.
They were dead, yet powerful, and determined to publish the Tablet.
Thus establishing their right as the correct form of Christianity. I failed
to see the difference between the Lucifer doctrine and Groves fascism.
My mind was made up. Neither should be made public.

I did not much like the totally corrupt governmental, overspending,
wasteful, self serving system we have. But I preferred it to Red or
fascist doctrine. At the moment we did have the right of the ballot box
and freedom of religious choice. Thus we could vote the current party
out of office and simultaneously all become Muslims, and kill our
daughters for wearing a mini skirt! Enough theological debate.

Hazel and I were well dug in. Watching what was going on. The Police
were a finished force. And now the Mullins, with their “superior”
intelligence were turning on the Red ones, I was not convinced that head
butts and roundhouse blows would make too much of an impression on
these guys . But who knows what drives a dead creature in battle.

But it was to our advantage. The Red ones would surely defeat the
Mullins, which would leave us with only one foe. A foe that I knew with
some certainty could not leave the Crypt for a great length of time. The
Crypt sustained their life force. Excursions into the real World had to
be short and swift. I looked at Hazel, she looked back at me in
adoration. “Damn it Dog, don’t ogle me, just indicate where Jeremiahs
other three bones are?” She bowed her head, as if in disgrace. But I
knew where she was pointing. My stomach did a U turn, and Hazel
nodded slowly. “Jerimiah you arsehole, how the fuck did you manage to
get your bones thrown about underground?”

“Listen to you complaining! Was it you they cut into bits? No - so shut
the hell up with your moaning. How do you think I feel with my Dog and
you looking for my bones? It makes me feel Dead, that is what it does.
And you have not got a clue as to how it feels to be Dead. Furthermore
to be Dead and not be allowed to move on until an arsehole like you finds
some of my bones. You just try it Mate and then give me a bad time!

You just have to suck your baby teether and get down amongst the Red
ones territory and retrieve 3 more bones. I don’t really see what you are
complaining about. At least you are alive and not in purgatory. So stop

whingeing like a big girls blouse and follow Hazels lead. She, at least has
some guts.”

I bit off a sharp retort. Words, however hurtful, meant nothing to a
guy who had wrongfully died some 200 years earlier. He was right, he
needed to go wherever souls go when they die. Because of me he had just
been hanging about. His case was very simple - he wanted retribution and
an end to his time in no mans land. And who was I to argue with that?

It did look like retribution was being handed out by the red ones. As
each Mullins was being overcome they were thrown downward into what I
can only describe as a swirling red devilish whirlwind. As none seemed to
reappear I can only guess that it was their souls final resting place, and
by the exit route I doubt they were heaven bound. But it was something
I had no intention whatsoever of verifying.

For the moment calm seemed to have been restored. And the red ones
had vanished. Hazel and I ventured out of our rat hole very quietly.
There was no sign of anyone. Not even any dead police, I assumed they
had gone the same grizzly way as the Mullins. She set off at a canter
down towards the red ones territory. I followed much more slowly after
stashing the Tablet in one of my hide in plain sight caches. It was my only
bargaining tool if the red ones caught me.

It was really eerie going back this way again. And I was very watchful.
These guys scared the life out of me. But I had to assume they still
wanted me alive to deliver their version of the Gospel to the World.
Hazel was aware of my indecision and had slowed down. But by the way
her nose was twitching she was clearly homing in on another of Jeremiahs

Then she went into digging mode and brought me, with a big smile,
another Femur. Two to go, hopefully Jerimiah only had two legs when he
was alive as my knapsack was getting a bit crowded. A couple of collar
bones would do very nicely. Better still finger or foot bones. I hadn’t a
clue what was needed. We descended a bit further and the Hazel stated
digging again, this time producing a finger bone. She barked once,
confirming that there was only one to go. Please God, or whoever watch
over me for this last find so I can get out of this wretched place.

And then she found it, another finger bone. And we were on our way
back out. Not a sight or sound of a red one. Where had they all gone?
It had been suspiciously easy this bone collecting business. We came
back into familiar territory. Then my sixth sense kicked my stomach like
a Beckham free kick. I almost fell over with the sense of dread it gave
me. Black, deep despair washed over me and I started trembling all over.
Hazel sensed it, reined in her cocky walk forward and came back to
where I had stopped. She gave me a reassuring lick on the nose. Yes I
was on my knees, terrified as to what was about to happen.

I backtracked as quietly as I could and found a little hidey hole. Which I
backed into, dragging Hazel with me. I gave her a be quiet signal whilst
trying to stop myself vomiting up the fear that was choking my throat. I
had never been so terrified in my life, nor had such a violent premonition.
The fact that I thought I knew what it was made it even more terrifying.

I bundled up into a real small ball and tried to stop breathing. Then the
quite hiss, it’s the only way I can describe it, of movement in the main
Crypt. “The Tablet has to be here somewhere, search every nook and
cranny. And then find that Bastard and bring him to me.”

The unmistakable strident tones of Groves. Police Inspector and fascist,
seemingly returned from the dead!

My mind leapt back to the conversation I had had with Groves in our
Hotel room – “They claimed to have a religious artefact, a Runic Stone
that had been transcribed by a Winston James, that described the
second coming of Christ in Lansdown in 150 years time.”

I shuddered at the thought. A 150 years on and I had killed Groves. And
now she seemed to have been resurrected. That was why the village had
called me, that was why this whole sequence of events had been set in
place. I was the catalyst that would cause the second coming of the
Messiah. And only I seemed to be aware of what type of Messiah. A
member of a secret sect of the Waffen SS. A Nazi following fascist
with an eye on total control of the Country. With who knows how many
troops on her side already, let alone the followers she would get when
the news of her resurrection broke, exactly as foreseen by the tablet.

My mind was racing with the repugnancy and hate a creature like Groves
would teach as the Messiah. The Red ones would get their day as the
Tablet was verified and she would be known as Lucifer – the 13th disciple.
Resurrected to save the world from mediocrity and political correctness.
And the schism between religions would become a gigantic Global battle
as Christianity declared itself on the side of Lucifer and the underworld.
The master class the uber volk, the supreme being, the long dead
theories of Hitler and “Mein Kampf” would once again dominate world

And I was in a rabbit hole with Hazel! “And me!” “Jerimiah we have little
enough room as it is.” “Now how much room would I be taking up with no
bones or flesh to speak of?”

I had to concede he had a point. “Well Jerry it seems Fate has finished
with you. And in fact all the simple problems that you were first tasked
with, mine included. What matters my death and land ownership
problems compared to the beast you have awakened. And once it is
proclaimed she will gather a huge following. One speech in Barnstaple and
the whole town will be on her side. She will pick up every black hating,
Jew hating malingerer in the Country. They will all flock to her side to
become the cowardly bullies they are at heart. What precisely – Jerry,
will you do to stop it!”

I had to think long and hard about this, I was not impressed with
Jeremiahs use of the word “will.” Like I was committed to this instant

crusade. I had done what I could in Lansdown and failed. I could not
possibly see anyway out of it. Once Groves got the tablet, and took her
followers with her she would be acclaimed as the new messiah. Just
supposing, and I was thinking on my feet here, she had not got the
tablet. Then it would a very different scenario.

Who would believe a few Policemen that Groves had risen from the dead!
The solution, as ever came back to that damn tablet. With it Groves was
omnipotent. Without it she was a charlatan. Somehow we had to make
that scenario happen. Whilst I knew exactly where the tablet was I did
not have a clue as to how to retrieve it, let alone escape with it and get
out of Groves range, take it with the bones and destroy it. I appeared to
be in a very perplexing situation. Jerimiah seemed to be really enjoying
this. Even though it was delaying the release of his soul. I decided to
get tough. “What the fuck are you so smug about. I fail and you are
stuck here forever. If I put your bones and the tablet together that is
you, and Hazel gone. Why would I want to do that? To be perfectly
frank with you why would I not encourage Groves. Whilst she is fascist
she is honest about it. Unlike the corrupt shower of shit that currently
govern us and Europe.

Have you any idea how much our ex Prime Minister is making on after
dinner speeches because he supported the war mongering Bush on his
illegal war on Iraq? Have you any idea how much his wife is making on
shady property deals? We have fucked up big time Jerimiah, never has
the Muslim world been so antagonistic towards the West. Not since the
crusades has there been so much anger against us. And all because of
Bush and Blair. I will say the unthinkable. Less than 4000 lives lost in
9/11. How many Muslims have died because of that? You tell me but it is
a damn sight more than 4000. Some estimates suggest a Million plus in
Iraq and Afghanistan. And all because the brain damaged, illiterate
President of the US of A has the audacity to believe he can bring
democracy to a Middle East that is divided by ethnic and monetary zones.

Fuck off Jerimiah and go back to your hole in the ground. I do not need
the sanctimonious shit you are giving me. Groves may be a Fascist and a
Ghost but can she do anymore serious harm to the world than Bush and
Blair have already done? But Groves will bring the Muslims on our side.
Because she will eliminate the British created state of Israel, hated by
Islam. And how does the elimination of Israel compare to the religious
hatred stoked up by Bush and Blair? Apart from the US, no-one would

mourn the loss of Israel. It is the constant cause of friction between
the East and the West. Jewish settlers in the traditional land of
Palestinians. Where else in the World would it be accepted? We bent
over backwards to give Africa freedom whilst condemning Palestine to
Israeli rule with émigrés.

So I say give Groves her head and see what comes of it. She might bring
about World Peace and she might bring about less stabbing crimes in this

I don’t know what happened after that tirade against Jerimiah because I
just fell asleep. And I dreamt a very disturbing dream. None of which I
can tell you about.

Before I woke up I had made my decision. Hazel and Jerimiah realised it
before I did as they were both gone. I crawled out of my hole and called
out to Groves. Hands up in the air I yelled, “Groves, I surrender. I will
join you and take you to the tablet.”

As I walked out I spotted several Rifles pointed in my direction. I
continued to yell “Groves I am here for you. We Fuck well, we should not
let your Death spoil it. In fact it could be very interesting now you are
resurrected. How do you fancy it?” Then she appeared, conservatively
dressed. “This is like dejavue Jerry. Just give me the tablet.” I looked
at her in a trance and walked toward the “Hidden in plain sight” tomb. I
picked up the tablet and gave it to her. “Do with it what you will.”

She collected the tablet, looked at me, with that strange way she had of
looking. “I don’t want to do this Jerry, but it is for the best. You will
never follow me totally.” She brought her right arm up, which was
clasped around a Luger pistol. Pointed it at my forehead and fired. I
suppose I died before I saw the bullet penetrate my brain. But I am sure
I saw it happen. I fell back, and laid on the floor. And escaped my body.
The body that had carted me round for 35 years was no more.

But I was still alive, I now had 72 hours to debate Groves resurrection.
Could I be the new Messiah? Just to minimise her effect on the World.
Not cauterise it, she had a lot going for her. But I felt I had a better
way of dealing with Israel. Best I get in their first. It was going to be
an interesting day for the papers. Two new Messiahs walk the Earth.
Which is the real one? Or is there a real one?”

I was very quickly taken to the Cleansing Ground, and my delusions about
resurrection quickly disappeared. I was dead. Groves was the sole
resurrected one. Where the hell did 72 hours come from.

Where I met God and some of his hangers on. God was just hanging out
on the driving range he had built. As he was driving he was constructing a
hole he could not eagle. “Hi Jerry,” he said, “Just watch my back swing,
it’s just too awesome. I keep creating these longer holes to make a
challenge. Can you identify the problem?” I watched him for about 20
minutes. “The problem is it is perfect. You need to hit one in the crap
occasionally, give yourself a bit of a challenge, Golf is no fun when you
consistently hit the green from wherever you are. And then 1 putt.
Playing off minus 18 tends to take the edge off the game.”

He just looked at me. Then smiled wryly. “So you think I am wasting 18
shots?” He laughed, “I thought that would be your answer. You don’t arse
up Jerry, which is why I have trusted you all along. You just tell it as it
is. Let’s go and have a drink.”

Having not been dead for too long, I was a little disturbed about a drink
with God. But then maybe I would find something out. Before I went
wherever I was supposed to go when dead.

It is very difficult to describe but is happening to me at the moment, so
you are just going to have to trust me. Physically I am nothing, a
complete state of grace. But yet I had just watched Gods immaculate
swing. But he wasn’t there either. And now I am watching God open a
huge fridge. To be honest it is indescribable. “What will it be Jerry,
Grolsh of course.” And he threw me a bottle of Grolsh which I caught,
how??, and drank, how?? And it tasted delicious.

God was Cleary having a field day with this because he was laughing his
head off. Then he looked at my perplexed reaction. “Sorry Jerry I am
being unfair. Just having a bit of fun with someone I really trust. Time I
explained a few things. You know you are here but you cannot figure out
why you are doing all the things you did as a human, without a body, and
when you are supposed to be dead. This is going to be difficult for you to
grasp at first. You just have to trust me.” He went into a parody of
himself and warbled in a deep bass voice “Have faith my son.” Which set
him off into another spasm of laughter. I had never had so much fun

when I was alive. Which, on reflection, did not say much for my life!
“Life, it’s just begun for you Jerry. Grab another beer and follow me
into HQ.” Not being one to argue with the supreme being I did exactly as
I was told.

I followed him into this room, dominated by the largest screen I had ever
seen. “No point in letting people invent it if I can’t get the best eh!” The
really was no answer to that type of arrogance. “Right Jerry before we
get down to business let’s eat, with a couple of friends of yours.” To say
I sat down would be silly, but that’s what I felt I did. Right next to
Jerimiah and Hazel. To say we ate would be silly, sticky Chinese ribs
with no body? But eat we did and I have never seen Hazel so happy. I
never realised she liked Chinese ribs.

“So Jerry I think an explanation is necessary. You are not really dead
son, you are in what I like to call a transition phase. Every so often
things don’t go exactly according to plan. So I just need to grab the
principal players, bring them to my place, and lay out my strategy. In
quite convivial surroundings I hasten to add.

And you three are my principal players in this little drama. Jerimiah and
Hazel, having been dead since the optimum moment are more or less
aware of my overall plan, with the exception of the odd nuance. You
Jerry, have been shamelessly used. Not by me I hasten to add. But by
Lucifer and the fake tablet. Which has lead to Groves being proclaimed
as the new Messiah, not in her real persona I hasten to add. Just have a
look for a moment.”

There she was in front of an adoring crowd, as I predicted - in
Barnstable, but this was little missy Groves. Overwhelmed by the
attention and vehemently denying any connection with resurrection. She
was soft, quietly spoken and soberly dressed. She even had her hair in a
Mary Poppins cut. She was quietly sobbing as she spoke to the press,
being Barnstable it was gutter only unfortunately. “I honestly remember
nothing from the moment that dreadful man held a gun to my head and
said, excuse the language, “”Die bitch.”” I just felt a bullet enter my
brain and then I felt no more. The next thing I knew I woke up in
Hospital feeling perfectly normal. I got up and there were huge cries of
amazement. I didn’t realise at the time that I was in the morgue. I had
seemingly come back from the dead, with my wound totally healed. That’s
all I know. and all I can tell you.”

The first reporter started off. “Are you aware of a Runic Tablet that
stated the second coming of the Messiah would be in Landsdown at
precisely the time you were shot, and came back to life.”

Her upper lip trembled and she shed a tear. “I know nothing of this. I
am just so grateful that I am not dead.” Don’t knock it till you have tried
it Groves I thought it’s not a bad deal.!

The questions went on and on, the end result being the humbly graceful
Groves was being hailed as the new messiah. Peace on earth, goodwill to
mankind. God switched the screen off at that point.

“So what do you think Jerry?” “She is a pretty superb actress.” And God
laughed, “Who can maybe fake orgasms!” What can you say when God
makes smutty jokes. “Sorry Jerry that was a bit below the belt,” and
then he started laughing again. Huge belly laughs. I thought if anybody
had to portray God again it would have to be Brian Blessed.

“Brian who?” God yelled and then started laughing again.

“I apologise,” he said, “enough taking the piss.” “Did God just say that”
Jerimiah whispered in my ear. I nodded, by now in state of complete

“Let’s get down to brass tacks that Nazi bitch is not my representative
on earth. No fucking way.” Even Hazel looked shocked at this outburst.
“And it is up to you guys to stop her. Forget the tablet and the Crypt.
That is now history.” I wiped a bead of sweat from my non-existent
brow. No more Crypt I thought. “Fraid not Jerry, you are going to have
to start from there. I can’t help it, it is the way it is written. But you
won’t have to worry about getting out - the Red ones are following Groves
around the country, in secret of course, the Crypt is no longer a police
enquiry scene. So it should be a doddle. The Tablet is no longer an issue,
your man in Baghdad is Jerry. Neither he nor you know it, but he has the
antidote, written long before the Runic Tablet. That is what you need to
end this saga. I can say no more at this point. But trust me I will leave
clues along the way. Before I return you to the crypt are there anymore

There was just one from me.

God was stood right behind me. “Just relax your grip a little, visualise
the target and then just swing really gently.” And the ball flew straight
down the galaxy with no deviation whatsoever. “Do be careful on a
terrestrial course Jerry. You do want to be playing on the same course
you started on.” With that he winked and I reappeared in my hidyhole
with Hazel bunched up alongside me. And the presence of Jerimiah. I
looked at these two guys. “Did I just dream that?” They both shook
their heads.

The Lights 15

I was still trying to get my head round the latest events. Somewhere
between Groves, I have to say good acting, in Barnstable she had got
back to the Crypt, got the tablet and shot me in the head. I assumed I
was dead. But apparently not so, I suppose one good thing was the tip I
got from God on my swing. When this business is all over I just want to
surprise myself on the Golf course.

But hey I was still in the Crypt, bound to my lifetime buddies Jerimiah
and Hazel. But to fair to God it was a quiet as he suggested it might be.
So we got out of our hidey-hole and walked around, stretching our legs so
to speak. I have to say that walking round a Crypt was never my idea of a
Sunday afternoon stroll, but it did feel very pleasant not to be chased by
beastly red ones, fascist murderous policewomen, snipers and helicopter
gun ships.

Jerimiah and Hazel were saying little. “What's up guys?” I asked. “Our
future souls. That little tete a tete we had with “God” was very pleasant.
But I am sure Hazel and I would not have enjoyed the same comfort
where we not tied to you. He was just too jovial to be the real God. I
don’t know where we were Jerry, but it was not my Gods domain.”

“The Golf, the Grolsh, he knew all about me. What’s the problem?”

“I just think we have been suckered, don’t ask me why. But if that was
God, I am an Irish idiot.”

“So no problem there then,” came my sharp riposte. “What we saw was
real.” I apologised immediately. “But tell me Jerimiah, if it was not God,
who have we been suckered by? We have been told to look for clues to
scupper Groves messianic new birth. He has told me of a connection with
Mesopotamia, and he has brought as back to the Crypt, where some
clues must lie. And just as matter of interest he has brought me back
from the Dead. I do not have a problem with that type of God. So why
do you?”

Jerimiah just looked distraught. “I don’t know Jerry it just does not
seem right to me.”

“Well let us raise a glass to that insightful perception. Jerimiah you have
been dead a long time, you have a massive amount of experience
compared to my short death, so I am going to bow to your superior
judgement. What do we do next?”

“The first thing we should do is examine this Crypt for any clues and then
get the fuck away from it.” We gave each other high fives, low ones to
Hazel, but I could not have agreed with him more. I was sick to death,
pardon the pun, of this place.

So we circumnavigated the Crypt, me looking, Hazel sniffing and
Jerimiah just sort of floating around. Nothing. Not a damn thing that
seemed to help our cause. Which drew me up short. What cause? I was
a dead man walking, Jerimiah and Hazel were ancient practioners of the
art. I looked at them. They were forms, forms that were real in my eye.
But what was I? I needed to find a mirror. No I did not need to find a
mirror, I desperately needed to find a mirror. Jerimiah shook his head
in a nugatory way. Which told me I did not need to find a mirror to
ascertain the truth about my existence. Groves gun shot had been fatal.
I was dead.

I then I saw one of Gods clues. Groves Luger was lying on the floor,
alongside my body. So all that bullshit he had given me about my Golf
swing was exactly that, bullshit. He knew damn well I would not have a
body to put it into practice. Sure I could put Groves away for life.

The Police are always ready to listen to a deceased person showing them
the gun that killed them and inviting them to remove the bullet for
forensic examination. Good one God. What an Arsehole. Jerimiah may
well be right. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was really dead. Jerimiah appeared
beside me.

(Authors note – how on earth am I going to make myself alive from this
heap of shit!)

“How does it feel,” he asked. I had no explanation I could give him. This
guy had been dead 200 years. What I felt was academic, but a deep
sorrow at being dead was a deep sorrow. Whichever way you look at it.

Jerimiah grabbed my shoulders. “You were conned Jerry, conned by
Groves , her Red Masters and the Pseudo God. Look at your body and

what do you see?” I looked down at my remains. A gunshot wound to the
head would leave an ugly exit wound. That was not apparent. The only
thing that was apparent was a burn at the top of my head. A burn where
a bullet had creased me, causing unconsciousness, but not death.
Jerimiah became very sombre. “Reclaim it Jerry, it is still you. At least
it is one piece!” I looked long and hard at my body and thought myself
part of it. Then Jerimiah, Hazel and the Crypt disappeared.

I looked up into the face of Dr Mullins. “You are a very lucky man,” He
was saying. “An inch to the left and you would have been dead. The police
are outside waiting for a statement. I said I would let them in when you
felt able to talk. Do you feel up to it?”

In truth I felt really groggy and needed some booze to calm my nerves.
But being the stupid bastard that I am I looked at the Doctor and
nodded my head. “Let them in Doctor, I have a tremendous tale to tell

“Very well Jerry, be it on your own head.”

He walked out of the room. I heard whisperings outside. Not able to
make them out at all. I just tried to feel my body all over again. Was I
really alive? after all I had been through. And was my quest finally over?
God did say he would leave clues, I just did not expect my body to be one
of them. Hope surged through me as I realised I was not dead. Slightly
incapacitated, for sure, and a victim of very bad dreams.

Dr Mullins reappeared. “You have been through a lot of trauma Jerry, so
I have asked them to keep it to one person, and only for a minute. If you
have a problem just ring the bell by your side, a Nurse will come and help
you. I will leave you alone now.”

The curtains parted as Dr Mullins left.

“How nice to see you again Jerry.”

“Inspector Groves, what a pleasure this is.”

“I thought you were swanning around the country building up your
following? Why the hell are you still Inspector Groves when it comes to

She looked not the least put out. “ I seem to be living a dual charmed live
Jerry. Rallying the deadwood in places like Barnstable and simultaneously
giving you a bad time. How am I doing this you ask? An old Nazi trick,
which to be honest probably preceded the Nazi’s. Very simply a
doppelganger. I am currently touring the country as that oh so cowed
resurrected modest female, reluctant to accept the path God has chosen
for her, whilst still pursuing my most hated enemies. And you Jerry are
one of my most hated enemies. But I will not let that stand in the way of
sex. No-one has ever turned me on like you. I have never had a man kill
me before, and that makes you really special.”

I kid you not Groves was on fire. She ripped all her clothes off in a state
of frenzy and leapt on me like she had never seen a naked person before.
Or been naked herself. Sex with Groves had never been gentle, tonight
was no different, it was wild and unforgettable. She could shag for
England. At the end I was exhausted, whilst she was begging for more.

Dr Mullins or any Nurse within a 1000 metres could not be unaware as to
what was going on. Yet no-one came. Groves in whatever incarnation she
was, clearly had a hold on most people. To me she was a Ghost, but I
seemed to be the only one aware of that. She certainly was not a ghost
physically. I think I eventually satisfied her when she fell asleep.

How could you have sublime sex with someone whom you had killed, and
who had killed you? Two dead people fucking did not make a lot of sense
in this whole scenario. But then I realised I wasn’t dead, and neither was
Groves. The whole scenario was just too damn weird. But the fact of the
matter was that we had both died. But were alive to talk about it.

She with her Alter Ego, swaying the CHAVz in Barnstable, me with my
sexual ego, creating satisfaction within her own ego. God was taking the
piss again. No doubt when I tried his new swing I would end up twenty
yards from the tee in the deep rough.

I grabbed her shoulder and tried to shake her awake. “Groves , we need
to talk.” No response. I shook her again. It took me about 5 minutes
before I actually understood what was happening. I had been screwing a

corpse. Groves was as dead as dead could be. Stone fucking cold. So
what did that make me? And where did it put me in this huge scheme,
that I had little bit’s of knowledge?

Jerimiah and Hazel came to my rescue. “She was alive during your
moment of delight that was for sure, but she was dead when she came to
you Jerry.” Hazel barked twice, which meant Jerimiah was right.

I was so cold inside, never had I felt like this. I did not know what to do,
and I was being advised by a Ghost and his similar Dog. What a bloody
mess. I was in a hospital bed with a corpse that had been sexually
abused. I was a necromantic. “Exactly,” came the distant voice of God.
“You have done what the Red Ones wanted you to do. Due to your overly
large sexual organ. They are now going to claim that Groves was a victim.
And that you are bestial. They will parade her body round the streets of
Barnstable and claim you killed her and then shagged her. You are not
going to be very popular Jerry. I suggest you leave pretty quickly.”

What the hell was going on I asked myself. She was alive when I shagged
her, when did she die? Certainly not out of gratification for a good Fuck,
I wasn’t that good. “Oh” I thought, you bastard, you malicious God,
“You killed her. And have left me to face the consequences.”

Hang on a minute, Groves has a doppelganger, touring sink estates and
gradually letting her story of resurrection spin, maybe, just maybe, the
doppelganger was dead, and God had cocked up.

The Lights 16

I had to check on some ID, just maybe the ever duplicitous Groves was
not the Groves who had just died. I needed to check her body out, and
the Mole I was looking for, on her right shoulder was not there. This
was not the Groves I had come to love and hate. How the hell do you
create a clone of that bitch!

So the real, resurrected Groves was the one doing the rounds as the new
Messiah. That still left me with slight problem in my Hospital room. I
briefly thought about trying to explain it, and rapidly pushed that idea
out of mind, not with a certain Dr Mullins on the scene. I also had that
thought in my mind that whoever was behind this whole set up had the
ability to call in an RAF strike jet. Who was to say they could not call the
Army up, or launch a precision guided missile from HMS Albert and
surgically decapitate me.

No, underground again, but not the bloody crypt, I had spent enough
time down there. I needed to call in some favours to get out of the
country and look for the clues God had left me. Which meant I had to
contact my Russian source for my illegal antiquities side of the business.

I dressed very quickly. Then grabbed a white coat and a stethoscope.
They are always lying around in Hospitals, trust me. And bullied my way
to the front door. I paid no attention whatsoever to the corpse on my
bed. I put that one down to an act of God. I just wish it had been the
real groves who had died, yet again!

(Lot’s of Deaths now Ian, sadly the same two twice. But there you go. It
is that kind of story.)

Out of the front door and into the inhospitable town of Landsdown.
Which I needed to get away from as quickly as possible and get to
Oxford, present all the facts to my Historical mentor, Professor James
Butcher, to see what he made of it and then contact Vladimir, that was
not his real name, he was just a bit of a Drama Queen. Then find any
connection that predated the Tablet.

First things first I had to get out of Lansdown. And that was not going
to be easy. The White coat , the stethoscope and the scalpel I had
stolen gave me an idea. I ran around to the taxi rank and gave them a

cock and bull story about a patient needing immediate help and how my
car had failed me, could they help. Ever obliging I was ushered to a taxi
with no delay. The driver looked at me quizzically. “Out of town and head
North, I will give you directions on route.” “Anything you say Doctor.”
And we sped off towards freedom and away from Lansdown and the

After two miles I told him the truth. “I am an escaped convict from the
gaol for the criminally insane. I have about my person a lot of money. I
also have a highly tuned scalpel. You can either drive me to were I want
go and collect the money, or I will slit your throat and drive myself.” Plan
B was not really an option for me, and fortunately it was not an option for
the driver. “Show me the money Gus and I will take you to Alaska if
needs be.” I gave him £50 and told him to drive to London. I would give
closer directions on approach. I was not entirely sure that James would
appreciate me dropping in on him, but I did not have any other options.
Apart from ditching this taxi at the next motorway services. I asked the
driver to pull over as I needed the toilet.

I left the coat and the stethoscope in the taxi, gave him another £50
and asked him to forget ever seeing me, and just drive a circuitous route
back to Lansdown. Too which he readily agreed, too readily in my opinion.
He was just going to go straight back, taking my money with him. I
looked him in the eye, whilst I slashed his tyres with the scalpel. “Sorry
about this, I just don’t trust you.”

He was rightly furious, but I had been pissed off by so many happenings
that frankly I did not give a fuck.

I grabbed some supper, went to the loo, then approached the lorry park.
I was looking for someone half asleep. Preferably middle aged and
overweight. Bingo on my third appraisal. Asleep in the cab. The first
nick from the scalpel just drew a few beads of blood. But it was enough
to get his attention. “I will have my hand behind your back all the way.
And I will not hesitate to use it, do you understand me?” He grunted in
response. “No problem mate, just tell me where you want to go.”

Just in case there was still surveillance I got him to drop me off 2 miles
from James flat. I gave him £50 as well. My cash resources were
begging to get a little light.

I ducked into a local cheap clothing merchant and emerged with a
complete set of new gear, including a wide floppy hat. I carried what I
had been wearing out, found a local refuse bin and dumped the lot. I
reckoned I was now pretty fire proof. Unless James was being
monitored. Best I stake out his place first, just in case. And just in
case Dr Mullins had implanted a directional finding device on me, I should
run a little test before involving James.

I tried to think what would flush them out that would not appear to be a
deliberate ruse. A meal, a few beers, and constant observation would not
go amiss. The first two parts of that equation being drastically needed
by now. I needed a pub/bar with an outside seating area where I could
observe James home area. I also needed to contact James to ask him to
be on the lookout for anything untoward. But not until I had staked it

Part 1 was pretty straight forward. It’s amazing how easy it is to buy a
disposable phone nowadays. £3, use once and throw away. Governmental
triangulation tracking device personnel are getting really angry about the
amount of dustbins they storm! Loaded for bear.

I bought the phone, found the pub, ordered my beer and food and sat
back and watched James place. I finished a quite appalling meal, but
with good ale. Dialled my number in Lansdown, left the phone ringing on
the seat and repaired to the toilet. I stayed away for a full five minutes.
Only returning in the chaos that a heat seeking missile had taken my seat
out. How on Earth could the bug be on the phone?

I was really confused. As were the rest of the customers. It is not
often you eat when a heat seeking missile explodes alongside your desert.

But they homed in on the phone. Why?? Clearly the bug is not on me.
Must be the call I made to my house in Lansdown. So they have
triangulated any calls to my place in Lansdown. And where they come
from. But they do not seem to know where I am physically. I wondered if
this might be a good moment to dial Gordon Browns number?

The moment escaped me. I switched the phone on, called a fire alarm,
and threw it into the kitchen. The devastation was immediate. The
kitchen just blew up and the remains cascaded all round the pub.

The phone had somehow been picked up and was the target. What the
hell was going on? I bought the phone and paid cash. How the on earth
had they worked out it was my phone? I did have a good look round
James house. Not a soul.

I went back the bar and ordered a coffee.

The Lights Part 17

I was on a serious hiding to nothing here. Groves, and the organisation
that supported her, was tracking my every move and had some serious
clout with the Military. But who were the guys in the helicopter that
Groves had ordered taken out? Was there a clandestine bunch of guys in
white hats helping me out? Or was it Jeremiahs disputed God figure?
Too many questions, I needed some answers.

I really needed to talk to James to find out what I was looking for. But I
was reluctant to end his life and hundreds of others when a so-called
smart missile took us out. Sipping my coffee it looked really clear.
Paranoid as I was I even scanned the rooftops for snipers. It all just
seemed Ok, and my abdomen was not exuding anything odd. I will just
walk across the road, ring any bell but his and see what happens.

I very carefully checked the bells, got a name from the Penthouse suite,
Dr and Mrs Singh. Then walked boldly to the reception area. “Good
evening, Dr Singh is expecting me. Could you please call him.”

The receptionist gave me a blank look. “I am sorry”, she said “There must
be some mistake, Dr Singh will not be returning from India for at least
two more months.” I mumbled an apology and shuffled off. A couple
came in as I walked out and headed for the elevator. I watched them get
in and counted the time it took for the elevator to get to the 10th floor.
Halfway to the Penthouse. 3 minutes.

On my way out of the lobby I pressed the bell for Dr Singhs apartment,
then sat down and waited. In just enough time for me to ring the bell and
enter the Singhs apartment, the missile struck and blew the Penthouse
apartment to kingdom come. Although, in my humble opinion, I had saved
the Singh’s from certain Death I did not think it would stand up too well
in a court of law. I needed to get away and fast.

But that bastard Dr Mullins had implanted somewhere on my body a
miniaturised camera. They, whoever they were, could see through my
eyes what I did. So why did they not know where I was when I did it?
They must have screwed up the GPS so that it only recorded what I was
looking at. Not my actual position.

Or were these just warnings that whatever it was I had to do I was on my
own? Or were they clues from God?

(Authors note – Whilst I am thoroughly enjoying this particular episode
It is not exactly helping me forge ahead story wise.)

I watched the aftermath of the strike for as long as I could, desperate
to see that no one had been injured or died. I was not sure I could live
with that. If indeed I was alive which was open to debate!

Then I fled upstream of the gawkers who had come to witness the
disaster. I got away very easily as it was me going one way, and thousands
going the other. I felt I was easily buried in the crowd. Underground
station, any is the next stop. And then disappear.

I came to an Underground station and promptly went down and down as
far as I could go, buying a rover ticket on the way. Hopped on the
nearest train, and for the first time, in a long time, exhaled, sat back
and relaxed.

I read the Headlines on some of my fellow travellers newspapers.
“Barnstable hails the coming of the second Messiah.” “Groves the arisen
tours North Devon.” I just could not believe what I was reading. This
had all been set up long before I pulled the trigger that set this travesty
in motion. And whoever had set it up controlled the armed forces, and
possibly the Government. Groves was far too down the totem pole to
have this much control. Was there another tablet or document that was
a bit more precise than the transcribed one? But it was certain that
someone knew well in advance what the script was and who the principal
actors would be.

And as I thought about script I thought about “God.” “I can’t help it, it is
the way it is written.” “I can’t help it” does not exactly describe
omnipotent. Someone was pulling Gods strings. Despite Jeremiahs
reservations about his validity, that was really troublesome to me. Could
it really be that Lucifer himself, in the guise of Groves walked the face
of the Earth. Not Lucifer, the 13th Disciple, but the Lucifer of Hell.
And was he now in control of Heaven, hence Jeremiahs disbelief?

A voice echoed in my head. “You are not alone.” I looked around the Tube
train. I spotted James buried in the huge spreadsheet they called a Daily

Newspaper. He lowered it briefly and winked. “Get off at the next
station and take a random train, anywhere will do, I can sort out your
insertion problem. As yet, they do not have thought control.”

I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Got off at the next station, but
becoming a bit smarter I boarded the next train without looking where it
was going. I just had to avoid looking at the map on the side of the train.
“Get off in two stops, go up the escalator, a taxi will be waiting for you.
Keep your eyes closed on any identifiable landscape.”

I did precisely as directed. Walked towards the station taxi rank looking
at the floor. Then a blindfold was whipped over my head and was dragged
into a car. “Sorry about that Jerry, but it was inevitable, you must keep
the mask on until James tells you otherwise.”

I was driven around for about 30 minutes then the car stopped and I was
guided down. Then into a lift and went further down, it seemed to take
forever. I heard the doors open and I was guided by my elbow along a
very straight stretch of concrete. It all sounded very dull. I was well
below the surface.

I heard a door open and I was ushered in. It smelt like an Operating
theatre. And then I heard James thoughts. “Do what the good Doctor
says Jerry, you just have to trust me on this one.”

Then I heard a real voice, “Jerry, I am going to need to put you under to
remove the device that Mullins has implanted. Just relax and let me do
it.” I dare not speak, but did I have any other choice? “Just take my
arm and then come and lie down on a couch, you will feel a little prick in
your arm, you will wake up in a Hospital bed. Then you will be able to
open your eyes and look around. Nod if that is Ok.”

I nodded by now completely in James control. I felt the prick, and
darkness descended. Anaesthetic dreams are really weird because they
are always fast. I have no idea why!

I eventually came to in a wonderful room. Where a smartly dressed
Nurse gave me a check over and asked if I was hungry. I made a pawing
motion and threw imaginary raw food into my mouth. I just could
remember when I had last eaten. Within 10 minutes I was tucking into a
gargantuan full English breakfast. I was certainly not in a NHS hospital.

On my 3rd cup of coffee James walked in.

(Authors note – if James was not the character who emailed me to get
out of Landsdown then just substitute his name for whoever he was. But
I do think he was.)

He looked at me. “Jerry.”

I looked at him, “James.” And then I just broke down in a flood on
convulsive tears. He wrapped his arms around me and said nothing. Just
gently rocked me back and forth whilst the horrors of the last few days
wept from my body. Eventually it was over and I was able to sit up and
listen. I needed to know what on earth was going on. And James
appeared to be the only man who could supply me with that information.

And it was a long and convoluted story in which Groves and I were
manipulated pawns. Engineered by Fate and despatched by Hell. The
short version still started those many years ago when the Mullins killed
Jerimiah and took over control of Lansdown. But they were operating to
a calculated timetable even then. And unknown to them they were also
being manipulated.

To make any sense of this I ought to tell you where I am, or at least
where I am according to James as I am still not sure who is who in this

“Jerry, can we now talk, or rather are you able to listen?”

I nodded my head and pored another cup of what was quite sublime
coffee. “Please carry on James, my mind is in a complete whirlwind.”

He looked at me sympathetically. “And it will get ever more so my friend.
You are currently in a possible World war 3 bunker, 3 miles beneath the
surface of the Earth. It was specifically designed to withstand any
nuclear assault from Russia and allow Government continue to rule. State
of the art communications were installed. As was one of the first fibre
optic networks. The Government gave it up in 1999, long after the cold
war. But they insisted such a installation had to have an organisation that
studied and analysed future threats to the country. And that is why I
was recruited as it’s head.

We were tasked with looking at long term global threats from China and
Japan. Fast growing Global economies frequently flex military muscle
either to regain The Lights land or claim new land. History is awash with
such examples.

But we were also tasked with looking at, for want of a better word,
paranormal events that might threaten the country. We are basically a
mixed team of academic researchers, economists, high ranking military
and the odd Sharman. Round about 5 years ago the runic stone declaring
the second coming the messiah in Lansdown was unearthed.

As scientists we were inclined to pay little heed to it. But to pay lip
service to our far reaching aims we decided to investigate. And a
definite chain became apparent. When we plotted it back to the events in
Lansdown in 1879 and then projected it forward, your name leapt off the
score sheet. If this prophecy was to come to pass you were the only one
who could make it happen. Hence my get out email to you. We were
desperate for you to leave before you killed Groves. As we knew, if the
opportunity presented itself you would. It was inevitable.”

I tried to speak but James hushed me.

“Naturally we were not the only think tank studying this scenario. Only
they established Groves as the catalyst. We are still not sure whether
you were meant to be the resurrected one by dying at her hand.
Whatever - they manipulated events and you killed her first. Thus she
became the new Messiah. The fact that she killed you after was

I put my hand up at this point, slightly stunned by his words. “What
exactly do you mean by, “She killed you after?”

He looked amused at the question. “What is the problem Jerry?”

I flew into a fit of rage. “What’s the problem Jerry, what’s the problem
Jerry, the problem, arsehole, is you have just told me I am fucking dead.
That’s the problem!! I do not want to be DEAD.”

He looked suitably embarrassed. “I honestly thought you knew. I really
did Jerry. I am sorry if I mislead you. Let me be blunt, you are dead.

Really dead. Shots in the brain tend to make people dead. But it is not all
over yet, you still have a few things to do before you take God on at the
Galactic Golf course. To be frank Jerry when all this over you will be
grateful to be dead and only have celestial Golf to worry about. And I
have been led to believe you have reformed Imps to caddy for you.”

I just sat there fuming, no more would I talk to this manipulative
bastard. “Fuck off Jerimiah, I don’t need your counsel at this particular
moment in time when my life has been officially confirmed as over!”

Jerimiah gave me that long hard look that he has. “And who has officially
confirmed it?”

“James, just now.”

“Ah” said Jerimiah, “James the just, James the 1st, St James or James
the disciple? Which James, Jerry?”

“James the lying bastard?” “Exactly.”

For some strange reason the mild part of my brain took over. I would go
along with James assertion that I was dead. But I would make sure to
pinch my wrist every now and then to make damn sure I was alive.

I turned back towards James. He was either a very good actor, or he
had not noticed my chat with Jerimiah. I was not going to test him on it.
Jerimiah said I was not dead. And I trust a 200 year old ghost more
than I trust my old friend here. Jeremiahs only aim is to get out of
Lansdown, with Hazel, and with his bones, buried together. That is a
pretty reasonable ask.

Whereas with James, my friend, I don’t yet know his agenda? Except
that he want’s me to think I am dead. When I know damn sure I am not.
I said a little mantra to myself and calmed down. I needed to know what
James wanted me to do.

“You need to contact Vladimir,” James continued as though nothing had
happened. “He holds the key that can end this sorry mess. But you need
to do it quickly, before the Groves movement takes on too much
momentum. You are probably aware by now that she is not who she
represents, she is not an arm of Christianity, but the consensus of

opinion is that she will only declare herself as Lucifer, and the evil he
represents, when she has such a following that they will not care. And
she is gathering momentum as we speak.” I held my hand up like a small
boy in class and interrupted him.

“What is your vested interest in this scenario James, and who the hell,
pardon the pun, is behind Groves? She must have serious backup to order
RAF fighter planes into combat.”

He looked at me with some concern. “We think that certain sections of
the Government were supporting this before it happened. As I said we
are not the only think tank working on para-normal situations. And this
trail from Lansdown in 1879, to the present, is not too difficult for a
researcher with the necessary information to follow. Unfortunately
those sections seem to control the military.”

The questions where whirling around in my brain like milk curds being
turned into cheese in a churn. “Who were the guys in the Helicopter?
They must have been on my side for them to have been shot down.”

“We honestly do not know. They carried no identification, the helicopter
type was unknown, and they do not appear to have much in the way of
resources. Have you seen any sign of military back up on your side since

I have to admit the answer to that was a big fat no.

“Exactly,” James continued. “Our only assumption can be that they were
minor players who we cannot count on in the long term. You Jerry, are
our sole and lone hand. We need to expose Groves for the fraud that she
is, and for that we need documented evidence that the 1879 resurrection
is not what it seems, but what it is, a sleight of hand by Lucifer.” He
paused for a moment whilst he filled and lit his pipe.

I leapt in with another series of questions. “Ok suppose I get this
definite proof from Mesopotamia, and it declares the whole episode a
fraud, who is going to believe it? Groves will long be acknowledged as the
new way, and as you quite rightly say if she switches religious horses
mid-stream, her followers will just go along with it. To be frank anybody
who promises work and bread in the mouths of this countries work force
at the moment will be followed.”

“So why did she pick Barnstable to start her campaign?”

He had me there I had to admit. Barnstable and work force were not two
words that easily segued.

“Who is easier to convert? The hard working classes who have fallen on
hard times through no fault of their own, or the never-working,
dependent on benefits, from generation to generation, under class.
Savvy in all the ways to beat the system, supported by a culture of
crime, drug dealing and smuggling. and with the moral ethics of an

“She is building an Army?”

“Exactly. Once she converts Barnstable it will be onto the next town.
Taking a few converts with her, but leaving the vast majority behind to
take over overtly. They all ready control the town covertly. We reckon
she has most of North Devon so then it is on to the next area, which
happens to harbour anti English feelings.”

Wales, the land of my birth. She would become a modern day Boudica.
Gathering the Celtic tribes together for an onslaught on Middle England.
He read my thoughts.

“Exactly Jerry. It’s not going to be done by diplomacy, but by sheer
weight of numbers, fired up by hatred and envy. She is going to be
reborn as an overt Celtic God. The underlying message from Lucifer will
not become apparent till she has complete control. By then she will be
followed anywhere.”

(Authors note – I know this is getting a bit boring and I promise some
action soon. But I just have another political issue to address, then I
promise we will move on with action, death and violence. Which I know
you guys love!)

“I take it we can rule Scotland out of this equation?”

“Not a chance Jerry, they have to come in our side, they have too much
to lose to allow their proxy Government in London to collapse. They are
living in the lap of luxury through taxes on middle England being

distributed to them. So enough political debate. Groves is marching
triumphant through North Devon and on her way to Wales as we speak.
What we need from you is that Tablet. When we have it we can convince
the turncoats and the waverers of our good intentions, and Groves false
intentions, with the hope we can get the military back on our side. So
get a good nights sleep an get to it in the morning.

I have sufficient logistical support to fly you to Russia so you can contact
Vladimir, communications systems, whatever you need is yours to

I fixed him with a glacial stare. “That’s a pretty tall order for a dead
man isn’t it?”

“Jerry didn’t I mention it? You are on loan from God. He is as keen to
see this threat to his religion put down as we are. Sleep tight my friend.”

I was shown to my room by an obliging servant and slept solidly till dawn.
I needed to formulate my own plan, the A1 priority being at the end of
this exercise I would not be DEAD.

The Lights – Book Two

It was all hustle and bustle in the morning. I attended no end of training
lectures, none of which meant a damn thing to me. I was resurrecting an
illegal process of stealing ancient artefacts from Mesopotamia, with the
full backing of my Government. Whilst my primary aim was to get the
Tablet from Iraq, via Vladimir in Moscow, I also saw a little bit of money
on the side for me in extracting a few less earth shattering artefacts.
Why on earth did I need team building seminars, Lectures on Health and
Safety and Ethnic equality. According to my calculations - If I employed
a one legged, Eurasian, deaf in one ear, blind in one eye, brain damaged
lesbian female I would meet the criteria for ten thousand employees.
Now where I am going to find her?

Oddly enough my absence over the last few days had increased my
profile. And there were all sorts of requests when I logged on to my
email account, courtesy of the high powered lap top James had given me.
But I was not going to fooled by that. I would reply to them in my own
time, at a computer of my choosing. My - James given - lap top would
have more tracking devices inbuilt than you could imagine. They would
know, before I, when I needed to pee. So that would go out of the
window at the earliest opportunity, as would his secure mobile phone.

“Call me anytime Jerry, day or night, on that number and I will answer it
and sanction any action you require.”

No problem James, I thought, I promise not to disturb you at all. What
I am about to do is dangerous enough for my well being. Without
compromising myself through telecommunication triangulations. I did not
tell him face to face what I was thinking, because I really wanted to
believe he was still a friend. And what the Hell - what proof did I have
that he wasn’t?

Groves was a growing threat to the United Kingdom’s stability. There was
no question about that. I originally thought she had made a tactical
error starting in Barnstable. But she was roughly following Boudica’s
route. The Iceni, a collection of tribes from Devon and Cornwell , joined
forces with the Celts of Wales, to wage War on the Romans, and then the
Anglo Saxons. Latterly they traded under the Brains Beer slogan, and
played Rugby. But that is another story.

(Authors note: The above is bullshit, but not a million miles away from
the truth. Boudica’s original tribe was the Iceni, but she banded
together a whole host of warring tribes to launch attacks on the Roman
Garrisons in England. Without doubt they came from what is now known
as Norfolk and spread Westward and Southward to encompass the
bottom half of England and the West side bordered by Wales. Maybe I
should have got Groves to go to Norfolk, where a similar problem prevails
as in Barnstable. But Barnstable is an in-joke, and I am quite happy with
her inaccurate Historical re-enactment. I may even turn it to my

James continued, seemingly oblivious to my thoughts. “I am putting at
your disposable a private plane. A two engined jet, with accommodation
for four people of your choosing. Me being one of them, Jerimiah and
Hazel, will require no space, which leaves you two seats. How you fill
them is entirely up to you. But I expect to be airborne within the next
24 hours. Any other questions Jerry?” How the hell did he know about
Jerimiah and Hazel?

“Why are you coming James?” I was really perplexed by his inclusion on
what could turn out to be a very dangerous operation, and why did he go
through the rigmarole of his personal, I will be there 24/7 phone, when
he planned on coming along anyway?

“What do you think is more important than what you are about to embark
on. The whole of the survival of the UK is in your hands. Maybe the
complete survival of Christianity worldwide. What could be more
important that would keep me away?”

I kept my thoughts to myself. He was probably right. Two seats to fill?
Linguistics and ancient text reading were covered by James, he was the
best in the world, he was also fluent in Russian and most Arabian
languages. I needed a heavy, backup for me, that was for sure. Who
else would I need to embark on this mad adventure? Jerimiah and Hazel,
if they decided to come, would provide hidden ears and eyes. Why else
wouldn’t they come. Jerimiah still needed me to locate the rest of his
missing bones and lay them to rest alongside Hazel. That was his prime
concern. He needed to look after my well being. I just assumed he would
know what was going on and appear when required. That was one role that
I did know was required of me as I knew I wasn’t finished with Landsdown

just yet. With all the help that Jerimiah and Hazel had given me I
intended to honour that commitment.

It was the third and the final place in the team that was concerning me.
My mind went back to a 150 years ago. I needed a modern day Mullins.
There was no escaping that fact. To complete the circle a Mullins had to
be there. There was only one Mullins I knew would have the guts to
embark on this adventure. Much as Mick and I hated each other we both
needed to settle this problem, he to retain his hold on Lansdown, which
was small beer in the bigger picture. Me to intern Jerimiah and Hazel’s
bones. And both of us to defeat Groves in her Jesuit, resurrected image.

I received a subliminal message that I needed a shower and a change of
clothing. Which I duly did, and left James thinking whilst I did so. I
emerged from the shower, shaved, dried myself off and dressed in brand
new clothing I had purchased this very day. I have to say I looked quite
dapper in a matching blue denim suit. I went back to the bar where
James was waiting patiently.

No preamble. James had to know I was in charge of this situation. “Give
me a car James and I will fetch my people. I will be back within 24
hours.” James was being really generous. “Take my car and my chauffeur.
I will see you this time tomorrow. “ And he turned on his heel and walked
away. No mention whatsoever of the time I had kept him waiting, But
there did appear to be a slight list to his walk. Maybe he had enjoyed his
time at the bar? The James I knew would have done that. But how was he
going to get home, when he had given me his car? He’s a big boy, not my

I got in the car and told the driver to take me to the “Cock and Sparrow
Inn” in Lansdown. The atmosphere when I walked in was electric. But I
was now beyond the needs of this village. As was anybody in it. Michael
Mullins was serving behind the bar as was his want. “Bejus “ he cried “I
am looking at a dead man.” (Authors note: You might consider that a
somewhat spurious comment in this tale.) .I gave him a very hard stare,
which he completely ignored. “I will pour the dead man a pint , and see if
it seeps through his body?” He gave me a pint and actually watched. “You
hold your liquor well Jerry.” Then laughed his head off.

I inclined my head to the left and he followed me. “I need you to come
with me on an adventure that may cost you your life. Are you up for it?”

He picked up a very soiled tee towel and started wiping glasses down.
Then he looked at me, straight in the eye. “Jerry, my boy, I thought
you would never ask. When do we leave?”

“How about now?” “Come back in two hours and I will be at your service.”
He replied. That was a bit too easy, but my gut instinct was right. I
would need a Mullins where we were going, and for what we might need to

I left the Cock and Sparrow, not for the last time, and asked the driver
to take me to Canterbury. I needed to see an old friend. Hounded out of
the SAS because of homosexuality he had built a nice business as a
freelance go anywhere, do anything security “guard”. A euphemism for
trained assassin. He had helped me out of some sticky situations in the
past. Particularly in the Middle East and Russia. He was an ideal
bodyguard because of his obvious homosexuality, which he did nothing to
hide. But in action he was deadly, fearless and without pity. His mantra
was quite simple - concentrate on the immediate job in hand. If it
resulted in collateral damage then so be it. He could kill with a flick of
his wrist or a well placed kick. He was also a marksmen with a sniper rifle
and a complete genius with explosives. In short a very dangerous man who
was totally loyal to his employer, whoever he was at the time.

 I rang the bell. “Jerry, how nice to see you. Do come in dear boy.” His
flat was still the same, a state of perfection. Pure black and white with
everything in it’s place.

“Do you fancy a job Chas, well paid, see the World, just to watch my
back?” Chas minced to the fridge and got out a beer, threw one my way,
then opened his own. “I just love your back Jerry. But yes I am at a
loose end. When would you like me to start?”

“Transports outside, pack enough clothing for two weeks. But make sure
it suits both cold and hot climates.” he nodded his assent. “Drink your
beer Jerry, whilst I get ready to fly the nest.” And he walked off, to
get his clothes ready.

I had my team. Which was really great. Michael Mullins, an ancient and
modern enemy, Chas, a raving homosexual, but a deadly killer, hands,
feet, knife, you name it, James, for whom the Jury was still out, and

hopefully Jerimiah, who would hate Mullins being on the team, I would
worry about that later, and Hazel my faithful Ghost hound.

With Chas comfortably seated, and his austere back pack in the boot,
we made our way back to Landsdown to pick up Michael Mullins. The
chauffeur parked the car in the Cock and Sparrow car park and Chas and
I walked inside to what could only be described as a hostile reception.

The moment we walked in everything stopped, talking, laughter and music.
It was like someone had turned a switch off. The population of the Inn
turned as one and stared at our party. Of Michael Mullins there was no
sign. But there was a lot of his family around. Big strong Irish guys,
raised on hard times and hard living. This could be very interesting.

The ringleader, whom I recalled from the horse riding incident,
sauntered up to me. “We have decided that Michael will not go with you.”
At which point I should have said, “Ok”, turned around and walked out of
the Inn. But being a stupid single minded bastard I did not. Instead I
brushed him aside, walked to the bar and ordered drinks for Chas and I.

His shadow crept over my shoulder. “Maybe you misunderstood me Jerry
Crocket, not only is Michael not going with you, you and the poof are not
welcome here. So just forget the drinks order and piss off. Now is that
clear enough?”

We were outnumbered by about 8 to 1. But sometimes, and there was
lots of undisguised chortling going on about Chas’s demeanour and style of
dress. He did dress like a fop. But some time’s there is a mischievous
imp inside each and everyone of us that wants to take on the odds, kick
arse, and then be ever so smug. And the Imp rose to this occasion.

 “I will gladly take a pint for me and Chas, and then if Michael confirms
he has no wish to join me I will leave your Holy premises and never set
foot in them again.” I nodded, and smiled at the barman. “Two pints
please, and a word with Michael, if you would so kind to tell him we are

The barman just stood transfixed not knowing what to do. I simply
swivelled around and backhanded the elder Mullins with a closed and hard
fist. He went down like a felled Ox. I leant back against the bar and
used my feet to hold attackers at bay and watched Chas swing into action.

It was beautiful to behold. Poetry in motion. He swivel kicked three
opponents almost simultaneously, backhanded one then karate chopped a
fifth whilst he was finishing his first movement. He landed on the balls
of his feet, almost knelt into a karate stance, made some funny Bruce
Lee type noises then launched into the remainder of the opposition. It
was just about over when one the final ones standing broke a beer bottle
and made a foolish full frontal attack. I thought about helping Chas out,
thus far I had done nothing but fend of idiots. But no, let them reap
what they sow. Chas merely dived to the ground, twisted his legs around
the assailant, flipped him on his back, and then delivered a pole axing
short jab to his nose. The pole axing jab that drives the nasal bone deep
into the skull. The remainder looked at their dead colleague, and backed

(Authors note – Having given Chas such a build up I thought it necessary
to showcase his skills early on.)

I still had my foot on the ugly Mullins face. “There was no need for that,
Chas does not kill unless threatened by a dirty fighting. Very silly.” I
gestured to the remnants to leave, the did so without a murmur. “Now
barman we will have those pints and a chat with the Landlord. If you
don’t mind?”

I kept the ugly Mullins underfoot, which he seemed quite agreeable to.
The implication being that if I let him go he would be fair game for Chas.
He chose not to fight me.

The pints were swiftly brought with a mumbling, “On the house, I will see
if the Governor is free.”

Eventually Michael Mullins arrived. Looking somewhat chastened. The
barman had obviously described the backlash of his foolish trap. I just
looked him in the eye. “What the fuck was that all about Michael?”

“It was a little test Jerry, to see if you would be worthy of me joining
your team. It seems you have passed muster and killed a useless bastard
in the struggle.”

I leant across the bar, grabbed Michael by the throat and dragged him
across the bar. I have to admit I was bolder now that I had Chas

watching over me. “You are a lying Irish shit. You set that up, yet again,
to try and kill me. And yet again your boys were incapable. But yesterday
you were eager to come with me. And you still must be because you need
what I am searching for. So I will ask you again, what was that about?”

In the meantime I had an underfoot Mullins making a real nuisance of
himself. I gestured to Chas, who acknowledged what I had intimated. I
released the aforementioned Mullins, who stood up like an angry bull. He
drew breath, whilst pulling his huge forearm back to clock me, a fatal
error, and then was felled by the most exquisite drop kick from Chas. I
heard his neck break as he hit the floor. Chas was serious trouble to my
enemies. I did not anticipate so many Deaths to answer for. But hey-ho,
they would have done the same to me.

Now I could concentrate entirely on Michael. To be fair he was actually
shaking. I don’t think he realised how impotent his gang of moth headed
thugs could be against a seriously clever martial arts exponent.

“Fancy your chances against Chas, Mick?” He shook his head, “I take it
that’s a no?” I responded. He shook his head again only this time in the
affirmative. I let go of him. He had seen enough to be intimidated. He
did not want to be left alone with the poof. His work done Chas went to
the bar and poured himself a well earned double Scotch. The barman just
pretended he wasn’t there. Well wouldn’t you?

Mike came out and sat down on a seat beside the fire. I squatted beside
him and beckoned the barman over. He was there in a flash. “Same as
Chas, and whatever your boss is drinking.” The barman did not even look
at Michael, he knew who was in charge here.

He brought the drinks over, both the same, long large Whisky’s, and we
sipped for a while in front of the glowing log filled fire. “So Mr Mullins
what I am to make of this change of heart. You agree to come along with
me on my quest, because you think it will benefit you. And then you set
me up to be killed by your brain dead thugs! I find that a trifle
confusing, would you care to explain it?”

(Authors note- I find it more confusing than Jerry does. I would also like
to know why Jerry wants a hated Mullins on his new crusade. No doubt all
will be revealed in time! I just hope I will be party to the revelation!)

I was very surprised at Mullins demeanour. He looked totally whipped. A
shadow of the man who threatened me on the horse ride. Not so very
long ago. He looked at me, his blue eyes jaded, he put his hands down by
his side and measured his response.

“Well Jerry, since you burst on the scene, much has happened. At least
to me. I have been diagnosed with terminal cancer. The big one that
chemotherapy cannot cure. Tonight was my last shot of getting rid of
you, hence the ambush. I didn’t realise you would be bringing Bruce Lee
with you. I wanted to die knowing I had rid the World of you. And the
threat to the Cock and Sparrow Inn, I now don’t have any choice do I?
Why are you so determined to take the Pub away from me?”

I have to say that this was the type of argument that floored me. But
only very briefly. I have no love for the Mullins. And I do see a Crocket
back at the helm of the Pub. “So come with me and atone for your bad
side, and then die in peace. In the meantime let Jerimiah take back the
pub and the burial ground that is his due.”

Michael Mullins gave up and agreed to come with me. Jerimiah
immediately installed his staff, (don’t even think about it), living one’s I
hasten to add, and as a gesture of goodwill reconsecreated the Church
grounds so that anyone of any faith could be buried there. The Mullins
day’s of controlling the village were gone. Mainly due to the fact that
most of them were dead and of the few remaining their chieftain was
dying. At least that was a part of this story wrapped up. But would
Jerimiah see that as an end, ask me to inter him and Hazel, and not
journey with me.

“You are a bloody fool Jerry,” I do wish Jeremiah would stop reading my
thoughts!, “ you have returned to me my family,” which was my family,
that I will meet if there is to be a favourable outcome of this latest
adventure. “Their right. The pub was never really the issue, but the
graveyard was. I will return the favour by accompanying you on this next
adventure, with Hazel, of course. All I ask is that when it is over, you
do what you said. Gather mine and Hazels bones and bury us in a decent
plot.” I dreaded to think how overcrowded the Graveyard would be
when we finally returned to Lansdown, as I could imagine generations of
long dead Crockets returning to bury their dead in reconsecreated
ground. I leave the thought of the last dead Crocket to your imagination!

Jerimiah continued – “And I accept you need a Mullins in this phase, I
have to say I don’t like it, but I would prefer to consort with a Mullins
than let that evil bitch Groves succeed. And it is nice to know the
bastard is dying.”

And as was Jeremiahs want he vanished. Probably gone to pick out a nice
bit of land for him and Hazel to be interred. I could just imagine him in
the burial ground. “Oi you, second cousin, twice removed, fuck off, the
elevated estuary view is booked for me and Hazel!”

No doubt, when the time came, he would show me exactly where he
wished his bones to be interred. But I was so grateful he had decided to
come with me. This was going to be a really tough journey. And had I
known the outcome I would not have taken the first step.

Chapter Two - Groves

Groves - “I am not really the Messiah,” ploy was working. Everything she
did was going to plan. The more She denied she was the second coming,
the more the media declared she was. And she was gathering a huge
Army of ordinary people, who would follow just about anybody but the
current, totally corrupt Government. She stayed overnight in barns and
outhouses, ignoring the comfort zones of Holiday Inn’s, and even the
austerity of a “TravelLodge.” She was focused and as she wandered
deeper into the Land of Welsh legends in Snowdonia, she gathered more
and more support. Villages and Towns heralded her arrival, long before
her appearance.

Lame Children led her way into populated areas. Each child begging to be
touched and cured. And the Red Ones ensured each visit was triumphant.
They marched ahead, unseen, and selected miracle cures for her to
perform. She was marching with great aplomb, curing pre-selected
children on route, and greatly enhancing her non-claims to be the new
Messiah. Each step on her journey became another step toward
Sainthood. And eventual acceptance toward her real Goal. The
understated, not revealed, Messianic Role that she so craved.

She pulled off a master PR stroke in the village of Llanberith where she
climbed to the top of Snowdon and just stood there at the summit, arms
held high, 50 mph winds whistling around her. Dressed in a Druid sack
she implored the spirit of King Arthur to help her in her quest, whatever
it was. For she did not know what was required of her. And then the
winds stopped, and she dropped to her knees in an obsequious stance, and
cried, in a very loud voice. “Thank you my Lord, my path is now clear.”

And then a swirling mist appeared and the winds returned, but just for a
moment the swirling mist assumed the shape of Arthur and Guinvere,
high on the mountain top kneeling to Groves. And the gullible, fey, Welsh
folk flocked to the mountain to witness this miracle after the word had
spread. Arthur and Guinvere back from the dead to kneel before Groves
quest. She had the Welsh Celts in the palm of her hand.

Meteorological understanding and astute use of laser imaging where to
become one of Groves PR strengths. She walked back down Snowdonia a
conquering hero. And again she played the abashed person, not believing
that King Arthur, of all people, would appear to kneel before her. At her

press conference she played the innocent maiden. “I just do not believe
that happened. It must have been the swirling air and the strange
acoustics that created that apparition. I am just overwhelmed and need
to sleep.” For once on her journey she accepted two free rooms in the
top Hotel in town. “I need to refresh myself before I journey onward. I
am very tired.” She declared.

Her followers shouted their approval. They were far to blind to see what
disaster she was leading them to. They were bewitched. And she was
scooping up followers from the South West to the North West. And her
fame was spreading. She was gathering support in the North west of
England and as far afield as Scotland, without ever setting foot there.

There was no doubt the understated Groves movement was working. A
very dangerous one for the future of Britain and Christianity. Her
momentum was on a roll, and Groves supporters began to appear
everywhere. Not once had she personally mentioned the so-called
resurrection at Lansdown. But the ever eager bad news good news press
continually mentioned it. The Daily Star placed a headline that ran thus –
“Resurrection in Lansdown- Groves the Saviour”. So and so forth.

The Internet nuts soon got in on the act and she became a Global face on
sites such as YouTube and Myface. Her wind defying observance of
Arthur and Guinvere became daily looked at images around the world.

Everything, according to Groves and her PR team, was going to plan.

The Lights - Book Three

Mick, Myself, Chas, Hazel and Jerimiah were waiting for James to turn up
with the transport. Chas was a little out of sorts about Jerimiah and
Hazel. And for the third time he asked me if they were really Ghosts.

He seemed to be freaked out about it. I could only tell him the truth.
Yes they were Ghosts. Hazel would appear as flesh and blood, Jerimiah
was a law unto himself. He would just Ghost in and out as it suited him. I
did tell him they were a great help when it came to enemy situations. He
just could not seem to grasp it. I don’t blame him I suppose, a gay
assassin has to deal in realities. He probably thought I was taking the

I had explained it for the umpteenth time when James appeared. “All set
guys,” He said cheerily. “All aboard. Vladivostock next stop.” We all
climbed aboard his four seater executive jet and proceeded to take off
bound for Russia. All except Hazel who elected to fly alongside as
wingman. That dogs versatility never ceases to amaze me.

Anyway we took off and had a flight cleared, through diplomatic means,
straight to Vladivostock, with fuel stops along the way, where I would be
reunited with my business contact Vladimir Volkoff. We were all settling
in to a long and boring flight when our complacency vanished in an instant.
It is somewhat disturbing to see the Pilot and Navigator flying away from
the plane, whilst doing victory rolls. But that was the sight that greeted
Chas as he looked out of the window. He screamed a warning.

We rushed to the cockpit where a hurricane was blowing through the
windows and the little plane was starting to descend at a vast rate of
knots. I grabbed the pilots window whilst Chas grabbed the navigators
window and we pulled like hell to close them, which we eventually did.
Neither of us knew the square root of naff all about flying, but we both
knew that descending at 450 MPH was not ideal.

Between us we averted the descent and got the plane back onto a
horizontal plain. It was a bit like a computer game where you used the
joystick. The plane bucked up and down, left and right, until we realised
we were both driving! We looked at each other and decided, without a
word being spoken, that Chas was the better equipped man in an
emergency such as this. I relinquished my hold on the joystick and Chas

eventually brought it level. I pointed out the artificial horizon and the
altimeter. He just gave me a knowing wink. He eased the plane slightly to
the right, began a gradual ascent and eventually brought us back on
course and levelled out at 5000 feet. James was in a complete state of
panic. “How could those fuckers, fucking do that.” I admonished him for
his language and handed him a note blue tacked to the steering column.
“Groves is the Messiah”, was all it said.

He looked at it and his face went as white as white could be. He sat down
trembling, and muttered to himself. Which was a bit strange as he had
not thought to ask if either of us could drive this thing! Then big Mick
Mullins came forward. “Shift your arse boys and let a qualified Pilot take
over. Much as I hate queers Chas you seem to know more about this than
Jerry, so I would be obliged if you would take the co-pilots seat. “ When
you are high in the sky and not in total control of an aircraft, you do tend
to listen to commonsense. The options do not bear thinking about. I
vacated my seat, Chas moved over, and Mick moved into the pilots seat.

I had the temerity to ask him where he learnt to fly. He just shot me a
disdainful look. “Well Jerry, how do you suppose the IRA got all their
equipment? Boys like me would pick it up in similar aircraft and fly it in to
any number of private airfields. The point is at this moment in time you
need a Pilot. And love it or hate it I am that pilot. Now if James could
give me a course I would be much obliged.”

James seemed to recover from his reverie, and handed over his charts.
Straight East to Malta and the first refuelling point. “Leave it to me and
my charming first pilot.” And with that Chas, surprisingly, ushered us out
of the cockpit and closed the door. Chas and Mick as an item? I would
need to think about that.

I went back to the cabin with a distraught James. “Jerry, this was a
covert Government operation. Top secret. How on earth did Groves
penetrate it? Or are they just Groves sympathisers? What the hell is
going on?”

There were three too many questions for me so I said nothing. I had not
got a clue what was going on. The Groves movement, in my opinion could
not have been so invasive, so swiftly. But the fact that the pilots jumped,
and the note stuck to the joystick were facts that could not be ignored.
Tim Rice wrote in Jesus Christ Superstar, “If you had come today you

would have reached the whole nation, Israel in 4 BC had no mass

Groves, by nature of the Internet, had Global, real time communication.
It was clear that her movement was growing exponentially. More than
ever we needed the tablet that disproved the 13th disciple. But that
tablet was hidden in Mesopotamia, modern war torn Iraq, and my contact
was in Vladivostock, Russia. And we now had a very odd partnership
driving this plane. I was beginning to fear for our quest. James was
mumbling into his secure satellite phone when he disappeared into a
thousand pieces, alongside the back of the plane, as the missile struck. I
hauled arse toward the pilots deck. We were going down fast, I wanted
to be where they were. It just seemed to be so much better than where
James had been.

We were over Malta, which meant we had probably been fired on from a
British ship or Helicopter. How far had Groves influence spread? For
some strange reason Jerimiah appeared and helped me up. “God Jerry,
trust a Mullins driving, I would not let them drive a milk float, get up in
the cabin” I got into the cockpit, what was left of it. Chas and Mullins
were both trying to hold the remains of the plane together as we
plummeted toward the sea at a great rate of knots.

If we hit at this rate of ascent we would all die on impact. My shout of
pull back guys was met with total ridicule. Which was fair, what else
would they be trying to do? But it was having no effect whatsoever. We
were plunging down toward the sea in an uncontrollable dive. 100 M, 50M,
any minute now we would splash and be killed. Then Hazel, having a touch
of the thespian about her, went for a dramatic save. She flew in off
wingman duties, ducked under the descending craft, rose up and smacked
it horizontal, 20M from impact. We belly flopped, with a thundering
bang that jilted our bodies to jelly, but we stayed afloat long enough for
us to be rescued and taken into the custody of the Maltese Navy. Who
had banners of Groves flying everywhere you could see. We might have
been saved by certain death from Hazel. But we were not in friendly

We were bundled into the rescue crafts, instantly handcuffed and taken
ashore. I looked round for the remains of my ghost Dog, but there was
no sign of her. There was no way she could have survived the impact as
she saved our lives. I felt a tear in the corner of my eye as I thought

about what that Dog had sacrificed for me in our brief friendship. Then
I felt Jeremiahs hand on my shoulder. “Hazel is Ok Jerry, and so will
you and your boys be when we find out where they are taking you to.
Don’t worry, we are watching your back, and will be looking for an escape
route.” What escape route I thought. Malta to Spain, or by sea to
North Africa? Helluva way to get to Russia?

I sigh of relief ran through me. Hazel was Ok, and she and Jerimiah were
still around. With those two guys on your side you could never lose faith.
Ok - face up to what was happening and try and figure it out. We were
marched by a group of serious looking Maltese marines into an austere
looking dockside barrack block. Told to sit down in an ante room and then
left alone. Needless to say the two doors on either side of us were
locked by the guards as they left.

I looked round at Mick and Chas. Chas was quietly fuming, whilst Mick
was stony faced. Had they had a lovers tiff? “Well guys,” I said, “What
do you reckon?” Neither chose to respond. They just ignored me. Some
fucking team in adversity this was. “What the fuck is wrong with you
two,” I yelled, “We are in deep shit here and you two are behaving like
adolescents at a school party.” Chas shot me a dark look, “Ask Mr
Mullins here what is going on, not me.” Mick just looked at me,
amazement on his face. “It’s gone Jerry, the cancer, it’s gone. I’ve
been cured. Groves is the Messiah. I now owe my allegiance to her.”

This just rocked me back on my feet, had I been standing I would have
fallen over. “Hold on a minute Mick how do you know it was Groves that
cured you?” “In the last seconds of the fall I cried out to Groves, not
God, and I saw a red flash in front of my eyes, and then I knew that if I
did not die, I would be cured. And we did not die, and I know I am
cured. All praise be to Groves.”

I looked at this traitor with hate in my heart, “Did it not occur to you
,arsehole, that the blinding flash of red was Hazel saving our lives, and
maybe inadvertently curing you?” “Sorry Jerry, but we were saved by
Groves, not by your mangy Mutt. I have much to offer Groves movement,
hence her divine intervention on my behalf. You two were just a by-
product of that rescue.” I am not sure to this day whether it was mangy
mutt, or Groves intervention, that really angered me, it really matters
not. I looked at Chas, he nodded his head, and then there was one less
Mullins to deal with.

(Authors note – That tidily raps up the problem I had earlier about
bringing a Mullins on board! Now all Chas and I have to do is escape from
Malta, get to Russia, contact Vladimir Volkoff and get on with the story
from there. Wish me luck.)

Part four

The Maltese authorities seemed to be unconcerned about the death of
one of their prisoners. They just motioned Chas and I towards one of the
now unlocked doors. It lead to a stairwell, a downward stairwell. As we
were handcuffed, and they were motioning with guns, it seemed prudent
to obey. Funnily enough it was a relief to get away from the stifling heat.
The downstairs march was very cool. But the more we continued the more
concerned I became as we were now below sea level and still the flight of
stairs descended. dark and becoming chilly.

I was very concerned about how Mullins had been turned. When we left
Groves appeared to be small beer. But her Internet campaign seemed to
be paying off in spades. Was the World so desperate for a new Messiah?
And how had she got to Mullins? Bugger all to do with the Internet. It
had to do with the red ones somehow invading subliminally with Groves
message. The message she was not giving out overtly. Covertly she
remained the enigmatic one, bemused by her fame.

How was she doing it? I was beset by doubts. If, and it was a big if, I
got to Vladivostock, contacted Volkoff, got to ancient Mesopotamia,
found and lifted the tablet, got back to the UK, who the hell was going
to listen to me? I had to come up with another plan. That was my long
term strategy. My short term strategy was getting Chas and I the fuck
out of this underwater Maltese prison.

Eventually the stairs stopped and we were ushered into a very damp cell.
The door clanged behind us. The various noises that followed indicated it
was severely locked. Chas looked at me. “Fancy a shag Jerry? Who
knows you might like it.” I just gave him a look. “Sorry mate, mans got
to try his luck.”

Not to discourage his sense of humour I gave him a manly hug. “Good to
have you on my side mate. And thank you for killing Mullins.” “Bastard
deserved it, it was Hazel that saved us, and excuse me for doubting her,
not that bitch Groves. But we are in a bit of a mess here don’t you

Looking round at our situation. Locked in a cell well below sea level, I
could understand his pessimism. But I had faith in Jerimiah and Hazel.
They were in this journey till the end. But we did have to get out of this

cell if we were to progress. No weak points anywhere you looked. Even if
we prised the brickwork apart we would only let in the sea. What a
brilliant idea that would be. I discussed it with Chas. And we both
agreed and starting digging at the cracks in the wall. Water began
seeping through. The more we dug, the more water came through. We
just needed a big enough hole which we could slide through and swim to
the surface. But we needed a big hole, before the water level drowned

And the water level was rising faster than the hole we were digging. Our
cell was already full of water and rising by the minute. We continued to
dig more bricks away, that let more water in. We had reached the point
of no return when a bullet whistled by Chas’s head. I dug ferverently and
at last released a block that gave us room to get out. Chas wasn’t hit but
he seemed sluggish. I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him through
the hole. Exhaled and shot up toward the top. Dragging Chas with me.
We burst out like the top of a champagne cork and hit solid ground.
Which for the moment seemed quiet. I smacked Chas round the face,
hard and then harder. “Fuck you Bastard, you are on my side,” I hit him
again. I had to get the red ones out of his brain. And then I was sprayed
by machine gun fire.

“This is total bullshit” I thought, as I ducked behind a boulder, dragging
Chas with me. “Wake up arsehole”, I yelled into his ear, “We are under
enemy attack. I need you on my side.” Nothing, he just lay there useless.
Whilst we were pinned down by enemy fire from all directions. There was
no way forward or back. And with Chas out for the count there was fuck
all I could do. I glanced around the side of the rock and got an eyeful of
rock dust. I was going to have to leave Chas to his own devices. I needed
to get control of one of those guns. In fact I was going to have to put
Chas in the firing line, to create a diversion, whilst I sneaked around and
commandeered a gun. That was the only option left open to me.

I dragged him up by the arms and pushed him straight into the line of
fire, whilst I crawled zig zag fashion, reached a ladder, leapt up it,
grabbed a wrench, hit the gunner on the head, grabbed the gun and
trained it on my enemies. It was over within seconds. I had killed all
three outposts. I took the gunners pistol and shot him in the head just to
be sure. I needed to hold this position and at the same time grab Chas
and bring him back here. I looked around, no sign of enemies for the

I raced back to Chas’s last position. He was lying where I had left him.
Seemingly unmarked, but unconscious. I grabbed him a fireman’s lift and
ran back to my gun position. I just laid him down on the deck, and
reloaded the machine gun. Checked around, still no sign of any more

Then I lay down on the ground and screamed for Jerimiah. Not a sign.
No Hazel either, I had been abandoned. And the red ones were eating
into my remaining partners brain. Gradually converting him into a Groves
follower. Chas still lay there, impotent and immobile. I looked around at
my options. I spotted a very old flat bottomed combat craft bobbing up
and down on the surface not very far away. It was one of those metal
tri-hull affairs with a forward mounted machine gun, and I could not
believe my luck, a forward mounted canon.

Typical official smuggling/piracy deterrent. Just what I needed. My
mind was racing, get offshore in that and hijack a fast Gin palace, head
North and I was on my way to from the Med to the Adriatic sea. That
was as far as I could think ahead. I still had the problem with Chas to
deal with, but I could only do that once we were aboard our Gin palace.

I dragged Chas to the boat, threw him on board, checked the outboard
and the fuel tanks, two of them, both full. That gave me a rough
distance of 300 miles, provided I travelled at about 30 knots. I got off
the boat, pushed it into the light surf, and paddled it round to a seaward
position. I Started the engines and then set off at a steady 25 – 30
knots. I knew we were slightly North of Palmer so I would have head
East toward Messina, then duck down South through the strait of
Messina then reset our course North for the Adriatic. Long before that
happened I wanted to be in a much larger boat than this one!

Llanberis - North Wales – The Electric Mountain Tour

The film finished and the guide stood up. “Ladies and Gentlemen that
concludes the first part of the tour, please follow me to the coach. As
we leave the building you will see lockers where you must deposit
handbags, mobile phones, camera’s etc. You will need a pound coin, which
is refundable. Thank you.”

And he walked off as he did 3 maybe 4 times a day. Totally complacent
and to be fair justifiably so. This was a tour of a Hydro Electric plant,
not a nuclear Power Station. Security was always quite lax. But as they
got to the lockers there seemed to be a bit of an altercation. And then a
gunshot splintered the air. “Ladies and gentlemen now that I have
attracted your attention I would be grateful if you would just quietly
fade away. My friends and I will be continuing this tour on our own.”
They did not fade, they stampeded away.

The guide and the driver were then marched to the coach at gunpoint.
There were half a dozen of the hijackers, no more, but enough to assume
a reasonable amount for a tour. “Right Gentlemen just carry on as normal,
but bear in mind you are responsible for each others lives. One false
move from either one of you and your colleague dies. Is that clear?”

The driver and the guide nodded in acquiescence. They were not paid
enough to put up any kind of fight. “Carry on as though it is a perfectly
normal tour. And we will listen dutifully, and tell you when your time is
over. Any problems with that Gentlemen?” There did not seem to be any
and the tour bus left the Information Centre unaware that the covert
Groves organisation was making it’s first strike by taking control of the
National Electricity Grid.

The coach rumbled through town and then began the slight ascent into
the Electric Mountain itself. Here the driver had to stop and swipe he
and his partners identification badges. As they slowed down the leader
repeated his warning in a very calm way. “Anything silly and your partner
dies.” Needless to say there was nothing silly done and the coach made
it’s way into and down the mountain. There were six hijackers aboard, all
heavily armed and as the coach drew up at it’s first destination 2 left the
coach and shimmied up the vertical steel ladder to the right hand side.
Their job was to secure the control room.

As the coach made it’s final manoeuvre. Reversing toward the main
chamber, the remaining four hijackers took up their positions. One on
each cardinal point of the vast chamber. They now surrounded the six
pumping stations and had them totally under control. A whistle, known
only to them went off which told them control was complete.

Then came a tannoy announcement. “Ladies and Gentlemen I am pleased
to announce that the Dinorwig Power Station is under temporary outside
control. You will come to no harm if you just continue your duties as
though nothing has happened. You will do exactly what I tell you to do
when I tell you to do it. But in the meantime business as normal.
However when you do go off shift I would strongly advise you not to tell
anyone of this management change. We have eyes and ears within the
station and the town, and trust me should you disclose this arrangement
a relative of yours will die. Not you but someone close to you. And just in
case you take that lightly let me give you a demonstration. Please look
down toward pumping station 1.”

The cavern was huge, housing 6 separate pumping stations, each
individually controlled by sheer water pressure dropped down under
gravity and split 6 separate ways. “We are now going to open pumping
station 1, very briefly. This is just to demonstrate our resolve. Open
number 1 please.” There was a horrendous sound as the bottled up water
was let loose, then as it was funnelled from one large bore pipe into a
sixth of it’s bore it virtually screamed as it came rushing down. It
smashed the huge yellow hammer up, “So far so good,” said the voice over
the tannoy. “Now please watch what could happen to you.” And before
the hammer fell the living body of the site manager was thrown
underneath it. He was crushed to a pulp. “Any questions” the tannoy
asked. There were none. Groves group, for whatever reason, could now
control, without anyone knowing, the National Grid.

Dinorwig was an off on power station. It supplemented the National Grid
when required. However should it unleash the power all of 6 generators
simultaneously, it would destroy the National Grid. But this was one of
Groves hidden trump cards. She would only reveal if she had to. And
that seemed to becoming very unlikely. And her team, organised by the
red ones, would just stay in control until required to act.

Part Five

Seaward – Toward the Messina Straits

Just my luck, there was not a pleasure boat in sight. But I kept going
East, and at a reasonable speed. I was in no hurry to attract attention.
I had not got a clue about Chas. I still did not know if the red ones had
got to him, or he had just blanked out. Whatever he was no use to me,
and I seriously contemplated throwing the useless wanker overboard at
one stage. Then Jerimiah appeared at my shoulder. “Don’t blame Chas, it
is the fault of the red one’s. Give me ten minutes to sort him out?” What
could I say, But I did say something. “Jerimiah, I need Chas as a
bodyguard, if he has been turned by the red ones, all I can do is kill him.
And I would have no problems whatsoever with that. Do you understand
me?” Jerimiah just stared at me.

 “Only to well Jerry. You have changed so much in the last few days. I
am not sure it is for the good for you. But it will surely benefit the rest
of mankind. You have become very hard. And that in itself is both good
and bad. But I do have to say at this present moment in time, someone
who kicks arse and achieves an objective, is far more welcome than a
tree hugging subservient left wing pooftha. Don’t worry, Chas will be
fine. And fighting by your side sooner than you think. Trust me on this
one Jerry.”

I did not need to say a thing. I was just so grateful to have Jerimiah
back. No doubt Hazel would appear soon. Meanwhile I kept my eyes open
for a target. And then it appeared. 60 ish foot in length. Obviously out
from Malta for the evening Sun. I scanned it through binoculars and saw
no threat whatsoever. Then sat down and worried about me.

I just needed to think and get some perspective going. I am not, by
nature a violent man. But, by the same token, I am not unaware that
means sometimes justify the ends. Fact was I needed the boat to get to
Russia and halt Groves in her evil scheme to get World domination. Sadly
whoever was on this boat might suffer, for the greater good, I put that
sanctimonious thought to the back of my mind. I needed this boat,
whatever the outcome.

I wandered around in a circle trying not to attract their attention. But
constantly watching it for any threat. It seemed to be what it was. A gin

palace out for an early evening cruise. I slowed right down and got the
binoculars out and scanned the target. Apart from the crew in the
deckhouse there seemed to be nobody else on board. That struck me as
very strange. A gin palace driving into the setting sun would have it’s
stern terrace pointing toward the sun and should be full of people
enjoying their sun downer drinks. There was not a sign of anyone. Was it
a trap? And if so who had set it up. I turned away from it and motored
away at 35 knots. Best to not arouse too much suspicion.

Anyway I needed time for Jerimiah to work his magic with Chas. There
was no way I could tackle this single handily. From a good distance away I
dropped anchor and threw out some dummy fishing lines. Belly crawled to
the stern and got the bino’s out again. I was looking for any sign of
movement on the stern terrace. The ship was now idling with the stern
terrace pointed directly at the setting sun. This gave me a great
viewpoint as I put the sun behind me. Not a soul on the sundeck. Nobody
but the crew, which was total rubbish. Crew do not take this kind of
machine out without the owner or his friends being onboard. It could be
there were only two and they were shagging below decks. But surely that
followed the Cocktails and the setting sun? Sandwiched in between a
romantic dinner.

I was really mystified by the whole situation. It was the boat I needed,
in exactly the right position. But it was too damn easy. It had to be a
trap. Chas- damn, the red ones infiltration. I might as well have stuck a
sign on the boat in great big neon lights. I pulled in the fishing rods and
fired up the engine and then saw the tell tale wake of a shallow water
torpedo heading in our direction. I pushed the throttle down to full and
zig zagged away from our position. And then slowed down, arsehole, pull
up the anchor!

I dashed back to the stern and manually pulled the anchor in, but the
wake from the torpedo was getting really close. I slammed full power on
and jinked left and right at a great speed. I wasn’t even looking what was
in front, I just needed to get away from that torpedo. And when that
happened, boy was I going to retaliate. Then I calmed down and watched
it carefully, I let it follow me until it was about 60 feet away. I slammed
on the anchors and veered right. It shot astern, missing by inches. And
then blew itself up in total frustration. I got wet, which was all that

Now I had it’s measure. Tease and run away, just how many Torpedo’s
could a pleasure craft hold? I would have to gamble here. But for the
moment I had to get out of range. I needed a full complement of crew
for the plan that was forming in my mind. I hit the gas and planed away
as a frightened foe. Let them think that - it did my cause no harm.

My only problem was fuel. I was running really low. The next incursion
would require a direct approach with little leeway for zig-sagging. I now
had the time to look back at Chas’s inert body, only it wasn’t inert. He
was up and looking around with Jerimiah at his shoulder and, god bless
her, Hazel at his feet. I left him alone with these two. Then he stood
erect and came straight toward me. He draped his arms around me.
“Jerry I am so sorry.” I gave him a bear hug. “It’s Ok mate, you are
back, are you?” I still was not sure, although I ought to have been,
Jerimiah was smiling and Hazel was doing 360’s with her tail.

“Hundred percent Jerry, and totally refreshed. Also now a firm believer
in the afterlife. Jerimiah and Hazel can have that effect on you. So
what is the situation?” I explained about the rogue boat and he agreed
with me. We had to zig-zag toward it at full speed, dodge the torpedo’s,
land against it broadside on, without doing any damage, and take it over.

“Hazel and I will go ahead”, said Jerimiah, “and cause some disruption to
their radar. Then all you have to do is board. There is a minimal crew so
they should be easy to take out. Good luck Jerry”, and they both flew

Chas and I looked at each other. “So much for critical mission planning.
To hell with it, here we go.” I turned around and slammed the throttle
on, we were heading straight for the Gin palace. They fired off two,
then what I thought was their last torpedo. Three headed toward us at a
closing speed at a little over 150 mph. Dodge these then all we had to do
was storm the ship, take over the bridge, and we were home and dry.

Then Jerimiah and Hazel’s magic set in. The first torpedo heading
directly towards our brow, panicked and swum beneath us, and could still
be going for all I know. The second and third changed direction and
attacked each other, and blew up just in front of us. Which caused a
major involuntary shift in our direction. “Whose side are they on?” Chas
shouted. As we flew down from a vertical to a horizontal position. It was
a back breaking slam as we landed back on the water. But I was still

headed directly toward our target. I headed for the bathing ladder at
the stern, slewed the boat round and brought it to a dead halt.

Chas was up the ladder like a monkey, I followed at a slightly slower pace.
He hit the deck and ran toward the bridge. Gunshot’s did not seem to
deter him. I, on the other hand kept a very low profile. He shot up the
ladder toward the bridge and all I could hear was “oof.”

I climbed up carefully behind him. Walked into the bridge to see 6 dead
bodies. “”Oh fuck. Chas did you have to kill everybody?” He smiled at
me. “Not this guy, the Pilot, he just sort of gave up.”

Of Hazel and Jerimiah there was no sign. They probably needed a kip
after their exertions. I looked at the Pilot. “Is there anybody else on
the ship?” He looked at me and shook his head. I took that as a negative.
Nonetheless I collected a formidable array of armoury and Chas and I
investigated. We could not find another soul.

I looked at the pilot. He was quivering, clearly not part of Grove’s
scheme. “Take us to the Messina Strait, and we will let you go ashore at
a convenient place. Or you can simply die. The choice is yours.”

I have to say that at this stage individual lives were worthless. We were
fighting an enemy where human life was meaningless obstacle on their way
to higher plains. We had to play the cards as they were laid. And if that
meant loss of innocent life, then so be it. I will mourn it, but not worry
too much about it. It is all a question of balance.

This guy was a realist. He even coughed up the check in plans. On the
half hour until their mission was accomplished. “Ok we have to locate the
tracking mechanism, once we have done that send the mission
accomplished signal, then we will get under way. If, by any chance
helicopter’s or attack boats attempt to intercept us we will assume you
sent the wrong message and Chas will kill you. Is that clear?” He nodded
his assent.

How on earth we were going to find all the tracking devices I had no idea.
First we had to turn of all the radar and GPS equipment. And then turn
the ship upside down to see if there were any other devices onboard. I
was not entirely sure how to proceed when Chas produced a tiny machine.
It was like a hand held vacuum cleaner. With a digital dial on it. “Give me

tem minutes” he said, “And I will sweep the ship.” I had a temporary
vision of Chas putting on a pinny whilst he hoovered the ship.

In the meantime I walked around the bridge and disabled any form of
electronics. We would be going down the Messina straits totally blind.
But what the hell, chart, tide and wind knowledge applied from when time
began till about 50 years ago. It could not be that bad. Chas returned
from his sweep. “Nothing on board, they did not need it really with GPS.
And I take it you have turned that off?” “I shot all the electronic
equipment I could see.” Chas gave me a sardonic look, “I will take that as
a yes.”

The Pilot was hiding in a corner looking very worried. I walked up to him
and told him to send the mission accomplished signal and then take us to
the East and South down through the Messina Strait. I reiterated my
promise to drop him off near land. We raised the anchor and then we
were on our way. I had the big gin palace which I needed to accomplish
my mission of getting ashore in North Africa. From there I could make
my Northward way into Russia, and meet with Vladimir Volstock in
Vladivostock, try and say that when you have had a few. A bit of a
circular route I know. But one that Groves and her cronies would
probably not consider. They would be concentrating their resources in
Iraq, where they thought I was most likely to appear. I would cross that
bridge when I came to it.

Our pilot was as good as his word, and we dropped him off in a little
harbour South of the Messina Strait. It was up to Chas and I now as we
cleared the strait and headed North toward Egypt. Helluva long way
round to Russia! But now we could get there by a seaward route. With
very little chance of any disturbance.

I motored up the Med at a reasonable rate. I did not want to attract
attention by either going to slow or to fast. We were a pleasure boat on a
longish outing. But I knew we had to make some drastic changes, and at
the first opportunity I pulled in to a marina and put the boat up for an
instant trade in.

I know that sounds stupid but some of these back water North African
states are, sadly, very corrupt. We managed to swop our 60 footer, for
a 40 foot working boat. Chas was a bit pissed off to lose the use of the
swimming pool and Jacuzzi. But that was just tough on his part. Part of

the deal was that our ex boat would set off on a cruise South within 24
hours, as a decoy. I had no idea or any clout as to whether this would
happen, it was all down to trust.

We were now in a craft that could be a fishing boat, or a drugs or gun
running boat. They were as common as a red bus in London. And very
rarely attacked because of the missions they were undertaking. With
guns situated through 360 degrees it was the type of craft pirates left
well alone. Whilst this was being dealt with I employed a couple of locals
to help drive the boat North, to allow Chas and I to man the guns. We
made sure we had sufficient ammunition at each point and stored some
more in the middle of the deck, just to be sure. We then went winter
Baltic shopping.

The Chandlery had a surprising amount of clothing for sale. If you are
going into a cold climate today it is a lot easier than it was 5 years ago.
Layered clothing is the rule. And today's modern textures meant that
layered, windproof clothing was also very light. We stocked up with
clothing, and also bought a two man cold weather tent . One of those
tiny things that spring up with elasticised carbon pole inserts. We also
bought insulated, waterproof, wind proof, sleeping bags. And finally
Bergens to store everything when we eventually went on foot, boots and
thick socks.

Next stop was the only Grocery shop in town - where we bought mainly
tinned food, and tinned Alcohol. Although I did find a bootleg bottle of a
famous Scottish whisky. We got everything on board and we were ready
for the off.

Head North and we were going in the right direction. Which we did the
next day. Hopefully our change of vessel would have thrown Groves and
the Red Ones off the scent. One can only plan and then hope that the
plan works.

We kept our crew of two by paying them a third of their wages up front,
with the promise of a huge bonus at the end of the mission, plus the
promise of the boat to take them back home again. We had also bought
them cold weather clothing so they would have no excuse. They were also
old Africans who had a sense of honour about them. I was as sure as I
could be that they would stay with us for the journey North.

(Authors note. I am Geographically in an impossible situation here. I
cannot actually find a route into the Black sea from Africa. But as this
story is by and large not strictly true, just accept the fact that I am
heading for the Russian port of Odessa, which is in fact North of any
part of Africa you care to think of. Just have a little faith in the content
rather than the realism.)

For once we had an uneventful journey. Apart from threading the needle
to leave the Northern Med and join the Black Sea. But we got through,
probably the only seafaring explorers in History to do it! Within days we
were at Odessa, our stopping off point. Chas and I our filled our
Bergens, paid off our fellow shipmates and started trekking toward
Vladivostock. I then had a thought and went back to the tiny tourist
office where I had bought the map.

The clerk looked at me with a smile on her face. “Just how far is
Vladivostock?” I asked. She hesitated, clearly trying to conceal her
laughter, eventually she chuckled it out, “About 2000 miles,” and then
she just broke down in hysterics. She just could not stop laughing. I
suppose I don’t really blame her. Two ignorant men attempting to walk to
Vladivostock. She stopped giggling, for a moment, and gave me two plane
tickets. And then cracked up again. She just could not look me in the eye
as she asked for the Air Fare. Twenty quid as opposed to three months
walking through the Russian tundra in Winter. With three days supply of

Even as I paid she could not stop herself laughing. She gathered herself
and explained that we would have been stopped at the outskirts of town
by the police. Then she smiled a genuine smile. “Your friend I think has
other needs, you, bizarre Englishman, could do with a roll in the hay
tonight yes?”

Less than an hour into Russia and I was being propositioned. She was
gorgeous, I had time on my hands. What was I going to say. She gave me
that little giggle again. “I finish in one hour, wait for me outside and I
give you a good time. But first we eat, yes?” “First we eat yes,” I was
both hungry and horny. I tried to explain the situation to Chas but he
was really pissed. “2000 miles across the Russian tundra, and now we are
flying?? Fuck you Jerry, I will see you in the morning.” And just in time

as he flouted off he stopped, “What time is our flight? “ I told him -
1030 AM. “See you then.” Oh he would get over it.

(Authors note. I really do not know what he was pissed off about! Who
is charge of this story?)

She came out on the hour. “Come food, you will enjoy.” She dragged my
hand and lead me down a street that was full of cooking smells. “Always
we have delays on the aircraft. Plenty good business down this street but
I take you to the number one place. You like the food and then we fuck,
is that Ok.” And she giggled again. Which, sadly, gave the game away.

(Authors note: I seriously wanted an innocent sexual interlude here. And
I had it all set up in my mind. I was allowing Jerry a one night stand with
a promiscuous gorgeous female. Just for a bit of titillation in the story.
But the last giggle was false and warned Jerry off. Which in fact was a
good move as she turned out to be a fervent Groves fan. And had
identified Jerry as an enemy. God knows what she would have done to
him had I allowed the amorous night to continue.)

We arrived at the airport at 0930 both from separate ways. Chas looked
in good humour, which cheered me up. Well we were in a Russian Naval
Port. I could not resist it, I nudged him and winked, “score last night
did you?” He just shot me a filthy look and sauntered off. I whistled, he
looked back and I waved the tickets at him. I thought he would be in a
good mood today.

We got to the check-in, parked our Bergens and were passed through
customs and immigration to the departure lounge. It could have been
departure lounge as in God’s waiting room. It made austere appear avant
garde. Grey unpainted breeze blocks, plastic furniture and a tiny
franchise kiosk selling what looked like hot drinks. There was no telling
what hot drinks they were. And outside stood our transport. A four
engined prop turgenev retired from the Russian air force about 30 years
ago by the look of it. At least it matched the grey of the building so
there was some concern for designer art here. Not intentional I am sure.

What the hell, it would take us to Vladivostock. Hazel would see to that,
fingers crossed. Then came the inevitable delay announcement, ”Ladies
and gentlemen, we regret the delay of flight one, and only, from Odessa
to Vladivostock, but all four engines and the chassis have to replaced,

this should not take longer than about four years, so please relax and
enjoy your stay.” At least that what I thought it said but as I do not
understand Russian tannoy speak, I don’t understand English tannoy
speak either, it could equally have told me that all foreigners were
bastards and would be shot on sight. But judging by the body language
around me I took it as a delay. It was uncannily like BR apologising for a
half hour delay an hour after the scheduled departure.

(Authors note: At least I now understand when I am going into rant mode
and stop it short with a bit of action. Not enough has happened of late.)

I needed the toilet, but looking around at the various shady characters,
I also needed Chas to come with me. But there was a delicate problem to
address here. Had I inclined my head toward the loo and beckoned him,
he would have thought Xmas had come early. I physically approached him
and told him I needed protection whilst I attended the needs of nature.

So I trotted off with him on my heels. I had barely got in the toilet
before my head was slammed against a wall. And the door barred. By the
most enormous guy I have ever seen. Multiply a NZ Rugby centre by 2,
and you would fall short. The guy who had banged my head against the
wall, a comparably slight guy at only 6’4 and twenty stone, smacked me
round the head. To him a gentle tap, to me a sledgehammer blow. I
collapsed to my knee’s and threw up over his shoes. He yelled in some
guttural Russian accent and hauled me to my feet, by my neck, I hasten
to add. His face was blue with anger. He punched me in the face, Took
another step forward and slipped on the vomit that fell off his shoe.

He slipped backwards and there was an almighty crash as his head hit the
floor. I wasn’t taking a lot in at this moment as I was suffering from a
severe headache. But I could see he was not going to get up for a while.
This seemed to incense his brain damaged Neanderthal brother who
began to walk toward me like a giant oak tree, shrugging off it’s roots
and leaving the forest.

What happened next can only be described as a complete accident. The
brother was holding the door against the spring to keep people out, as he
walked forward, the door shot forward, the previously closed door that
Chas was aiming a flying kick at, from the outside, was now wide open and
Chas flew through the gap and caught him right on the head. He dropped
like the felled Oak tree he was and joined his brother on the floor. Both

unconscious. The door slammed back into a closed position. I was hurting
really bad, and Chas was strutting around with that mean look on his face
as though he had really meant it to happen. Cocky bastard, but a great

We set to work really quickly on their personal effects. Not a damn
thing, no wallet, no personal effects whatsoever. Which was really
worrying. If they were just impromptu muggers trying it on with a
foreigner they would have had some kind of identification on them. To be
clean meant they were hired. But hired by whom, and targeting me, was
the real question? A guy came in to use the toilets, saw the mayhem on
the floor and promptly withdrew. The legacy of communism still lives on.
Do not get involved if it is not your fight.

Chas locked the door and we began an intensive, internal search. The
monster revealed nothing. The other one had a tracking device up his
arse and a miniature GPS on his wrist, disguised as a normal watch. I
knew exactly where the plant had been placed.

Chas looked suitably abashed as he went into a cubicle to flush it out. But
why the subertefuge? They had visual recognition. Maybe we were a
little bit more ahead of the game than I thought. If they had to resort
to such measures, Groves might have not got all of her hooks into this
part of the world. That being the case we had a good chance of making
our meeting.

Whilst I take no pleasure in looking at human arseholes, I took great
delight in watching Chas extricate one bug and replace it with the one
that was placed in his own arse. Shagging was now off Chas’s agenda for
the duration. He sprayed them with some Chloroform from a little
aerosol can he kept about his person, we left the toilets and then we
were on our way to Vladivostock, hopefully bug free.

The flight

On the flight my mind kept turning over the problems we would have in
rescuing the artefact, returning to UK and convincing the Government
and the populace that Groves was a fraud. I pulled out my laptop,
plugged into the broadband router and clicked onto the BBC news page.

“Groves mania reaches Middle England.”

Report by Simon Matthews

“The storming of the country by the Groves Messianic movement hit
hysteria today as she rode into the heart of the Midlands. Thousands
upon thousands of the unemployed and homeless lined the streets to
greet her arrival in Birmingham. But also seen amongst the crowd of neer
do wells where the middle classes. Waving their brollies and encouraging
the lower classes in their new found belief in religion. For centuries
religion was the driving force of the United Kingdom. In 1190 ad, the
reclaiming of the city of Jerusalem by Salad in angered King Richard so
much that he mounted a third crusade against the Muslims, determined
to wrest control of the Holy City from Muslim reign.

And so wars were started, always religion at the heart of the matter.
Had Hitler not declared war on the Jews, and then made a suicidal march
on Russia, to eradicate the non-religious Communists, Europe would now
be under control of a Fascist state. But religion played it’s part,
compelled a World War, and created the state of Israel. And that is
why today we are witnessing these near hysterical outbreaks of religious

Christianity has been replaced by the rhetoric and disregard of human
life that is meant to represent Islam. Islamic scholars refuse to
condemn the religious maniacs that kill indiscriminately. Thus they
condone senseless killing on behalf of their faith. If these Islamic
scholars would stand for their religion and condemn violence, we would
not have this strong sense of belonging that the Groves movement is
bringing to today’s society. But they sit and tut and argue, whilst young
men and women kill themselves , and in indiscriminate attacks kill others,
for the greater Islamic faith.

Groves movement has hit a nerve in the UK. The population is growing
tired of seeing young men and women brought home dead from the
Governments insane interventions in the Middle East. They are
demanding a quid pro quo. A life for a life, and annexation of the Middle
East. Groves apparent aim is to start a new crusade, only this time under
the banner of peace.

Should she attempt to do that whilst the UK is fighting an ongoing war in
the Middle East who knows what kind of Global disruption it could cause.
We must remember that World War 1 began with the assassination of
one man.

Groves has a strong movement backed by many influential people. She can
assuredly lead us into World War Three.”

Which was what she wanted. I read this with some discomfort. As a
general observation he was stunningly accurate. She had to be stopped,
but I could only work one step at a time. I could not run ahead of myself
in this situation. I needed the artefact from Vladimir, get it translated
and then get to Rome and the Pope before it was too late.

Chas was snoring away beside me seemingly unabashed at his lapse of
security. He was not going to get away with that. I gave him a sharp
elbow in the ribs. He stuttered, not came to, and gave me a hateful look.
“We need to talk about action once we get to Vladivostock. We have to
assume Vladimir is under surveillance, if not by Groves, by someone who
will not have out interests at heart. So we need to find a way of splitting
yet remaining close and in contact. Any ideas.” He grinned at me, stood
up and got his take on bag down from the rack. He fumbled in it and
pulled out two MP3 players, complete with miniature headphones, and two
oversized watches.

He then spoke to me as if was a 9 year old, which in terms of modern
electronic gadgetry I probably was. The MP3 player was bona fide, but it
also contained a tiny GPS chip accurate to within a mile. It also
communicated orally with the MP3 player. It would tell me were Chas was
and tell Chas where I was. In other words GPS for the blind, and that is
what we would both be in Vladivostock.

Authors note: I have not heard of this but it is a bloody good idea. Put
the antennae in the cane and transmit to a head set via a receiving/

amplifying device, such as an MP3 player. You and Claire should work on it
Ian, it would stop a lot of blind dogs crap on the streets! “Caution you
are about to enter a Wetherspoons pub, do you really want to do this?”

He gave me a quick run through and a demonstration by walking up and
down the aisle way. “Target is 100 yards in front of you, target is 50
yards behind you.” I did the same to make sure his was functioning as
well. “Target has ducked behind a seat and is saying – yah – boo- sucks.”
Seriously I did not do that.

We where about half an hour away from landing when I made the had to
make call. 10 seconds was all I was allowed on a use once only mobile. I
just needed the phone to ring twice, and then throw it away. Which I did
in the toilet. Vladimir now knew were coming in by air. It was now up to
him to arrange the pickup. I would go for the obvious sign, Chas would
follow in a taxi, till we reached our destination, wherever Vladimir might
take us. It was his prerogative. For the moment we would rely on our Sat
Nav to know where each of us were. “And myself and Hazel of course.”
She had gone into invisible mode but I could see where she was from the
air turbulence as her tail did it’s 360 movement. I looked at the semi-
translucent form of Jerimiah. Before I could ask him where he had been
my mouth took over and asked him about the change in appearance.

“Nothing to worry about Jerry, it just takes too much energy at altitude
to fully materialise. I have never been far away and Hazel and I will be
dogging your footsteps, pardon the pun, all the way in Vladivostock and
beyond. Just wanted to reassure we were still about.” And he vanished
as abruptly as he appeared.

Authors note: I just love that theory that is impossible to disprove that
it takes too much energy for a Ghost to fully materialise at altitude.

Partially seeing Jerimiah was a comforting thought. There were still four
of us in this game. Chas gave me one of his inquisitive looks, I just
nodded, he looked at the floor and shook his head. Whilst he was now a
believer there was no way he would ever become a convert. To his mind
Ghosts would never get him out of a shit situation. All of which was about
to change.

Vladivostock Airport

As we came in for the landing Chas and I separated. We had to leave the
plane apart. Notwithstanding anything else Vladimir would only expect
me. The landing was straight forward and we disembarked in an orderly
manner, and then had to wait at the Ferris wheel whilst a one armed
Ukrainian slave off loaded the baggage. It was painfully slow. It did a
whole rotation with one item on it. It did speed up a bit it was over an
hour before our Bergens appeared.

I picked mine up and walked confidentially through immigration. I had
nothing to declare. The officials were not very official and I got though
quite quickly. I have to say I was not expecting Vladimir to be waving a
sign over his head with Dr Mullins written on it. But the empty concourse
did give me a moment of concern. There was not a soul in sight, not even
a taxi. Where had all the passengers gone?

Jerimiah bundled me into the nearest toilet. And the barking noise told
me Chas was headed my way. The door slammed open as he was chased in
by Hazel. I ignored him, and Hazel. trying to keep our front up. There
was a huge explosion, dust, muck and the ricochet of noise everywhere.
The ceiling shook and rained down plaster on us. Then chunks of
concrete. We were dodging all over the place. Eventually it quietened
down. We were trapped, except for Jerimiah and Hazel of course, the
door was blocked off by falling masonry. There was no way out.

Thankfully Chas was too beholden to Hazel for saving his life, than to
think about the opportunity it presented him with. “Jerry, I am now a
believer. That dog harried me into here.” I shot him a look. He was my
shadow, not my friend. He took it on board and shut up. We silently
checked the communications system. Working perfectly. I supposed it
would when we were yards apart. “The target is sitting on the adjacent
toilet. Distance 1 yard West. Beware of strong, noxious aromas” She did
not say that last bit, honestly.

Then there was a sound outside the toilet of rubble being shifted, it
looked as though help was on the way. It seemed to take an eternity.
Eventually the door was pushed down in a cloud of dust. Then voices cried
out in broken English, “Is everybody Ok, do we need medical
assistance?” Probably lung suction from the rescue but otherwise no. We
responded in the affirmative. Then we were escorted through the

remains of the concourse. Which as I expected was free of the dead and
injured. That bomb was set off with the full agreement of the
authorities, the other passengers had clearly been herded to a far safer
place. It was only, yet again, Hazel and Jerimiah that had saved our
sorry skins.

But having failed the objective there was no sign of discrimination on the
official’s faces as we were lead to terminal 2 where, surprise, surprise
the other passengers were. And of course no sign of the devastation the
explosive had wrecked. We were sat down, given weak tea and sickly
buns, and told that, sadly, there was no chance of our luggage being found
amidst the wreckage. Whilst quietly fuming I said not a word about the
other passengers who were not only dust and blood free but seemed to
have their full complement of luggage. Welcome to Vladivostock!

We were treated very kindly, given a medical check up, and store
vouchers to replace our lost luggage. And I was pleased to see that Chas
and I were treated as individuals, not as travelling companions. I just sat
there and waited for some kind of sign from Vladimir. The TV was on
with English sub-titles, and it was all about Groves.

“Now viewers we can bring you an update on the Grove phenomena which is
now sweeping Europe. Over to our correspondent in Rome. Christopher

Thank you Michael. It is pandemonium here in the first anti-Groves
movement we have seen. Ten’s of thousands of Roman Catholics have
descended on Rome demanding that the Pope publicly denounces Grove’s
as a fraud. There was a huge demonstration, which is just disbursing an
hour ago, that was actually calling for the Pope to declare her the coming
of the anti-Christ. And to take punitive action to halt her advance on the
Christian world. I am not quite sure what kind of punitive action the Pope
can take. But there are rumours of an elite Italian devout catholic sect
making offers to end her life. Which of course the Pope cannot overtly
agree to. But who knows in, Vatican City, what underhand deals may be
struck. In the name of Christianity of course.

In the Middle East the situation is highly volatile, as it often is with
religious fanatics who are, to be fair, largely unlearned. All foreign
forces in Iraq and Afghanistan have been returned to barracks where
they are setting up defensive modes. For some strange reason they are

burning the American and British flags and portraits of Tony Blair and
George Bush. Neither of whom have anything to do with the current
situation. But that is the Muslim mind set. Turn the switch and they do
what mass hysteria tells them to do. It is a very concerning , and
deteriorating situation, and I fear for the worst if Groves follows her so
called peace plan and tries to get to Israel and then Jerusalem.

The general consensus amongst Western Governments is that this has got
out of control and she must be stopped. But as she moves on she is
gaining more and more popular support. And I am not sure, short of
military intervention, how she could be stopped.

But if she sets foot in the Middle East, there will be carnage across the
World. She will most certainly be seen as a Messianic crusader.

Christopher Jones in Basra, Iraq.”

So there is some hope. Rejection from Italy, which is my next stop, I
can expect some help there. Really worrying is the Muslim reaction,
those insane religious fanatics could cause complete mayhem if they get
coordinated. And if one person can coordinate their hatred it is Groves.
Osama Bin laden must be laughing his socks off in his underground safe
haven. He will have so many volunteer martyrs he will not know what to do
with them all.

I have to get out of this fucking hell hole, find Vladimir, get the tablet,
and get to the Pope. Some chance of that happening at this moment in
time. Then a shout came through terminal 2, “Dr Crocket, please
acknowledge Vladimir.” And a bull of a man strutted into view. Tall,
thickly built, mass of rambling grey hair and a totally out of control salt
and pepper beard. I shrank down into my seat. This was a covert
meeting. What the fuck was he playing at.

“It is alright Dr, they know who you are, unfortunately I don’t, and we
need to end this quickly. The Groves supporters who let off the bomb
have been found and interrogated, and their cells eliminated. I will find
you. But it would be better if you showed some faith and revealed

What faith, everywhere I have been I have been targeted by Groves and
nearly killed several times. “It’s Ok I see you,” and he dropped to the

What happened next was beyond belief. But I will describe it anyway.
Three guys appeared above the upper concourse with Kalshnikov machine
guns and started firing in my general direction. Jerimiah knocked me
down and behind a metal bench. Hazel flew in from nowhere, picked Chas
up and flew him, on her back, behind the guys with the guns.

I am afraid I can only take Chas’s word for what happened next, as I was
hiding, and pissing my pants. I will let him tell it in his own words.

“Mega cool this phantom hound. I could see you getting pinned down with
gunfire, I could do nothing. Then Hazel appeared, and hovered, I leapt
on her back, and whoosh, we shot of at a rate of knots and she landed
behind the guys on the upper concourse. And dropped me very gently. I
was behind them and they were concentrating on killing you.

I crept and smacked the first guy with a killing kick to his middle
vertebrae. As I anticipated he fell back as he died throwing his weapon
into my arms. I caught it with my right hand and whilst putting into a
firing position, swung it round and caught the second guy a killing blow to
the head, as he dropped, the gun was ready and I simply hosed the third
guy down. I need a Ghost dog. They were the coolest kill’s I have ever
made. I tell you Hazel rocks. There you have it, end of story.

Oh the big guy claiming to be Vladimir. He is waiting for you in a cellar,
courtesy of the local police. They are pretty dammed upset about the
whole situation. Seemingly one of their senior commanders had gone
rogue. He is now being interrogated!! “Vladimir” awaits our attention in a
soundproof cell. And just in case you are worried he is already listed as
dead, killed in the explosion.

These guys really want to make up big time, they were duped to move
everyone except us, for a security training session, and they want to
make amends. They are not expecting to see the so-called Vladimir again.
So there you go. I will take you to him and then I am going for a well
earned break. But I will join you in an hour or so, just in case you need a
little extra persuasion.”

He lead me down below, and then off he went. I did feel a slight tug at
my emotional field as he whistled and Hazel joined him. La de da, she
saw him as a warrior. I was mainly a wimp in her eyes who constantly
needed rescuing. Which I have to admit is true.

The so-called Vladimir was very subdued and, thankfully, very physically
curtailed. He had a chain round his neck, his arms were chained behind
his back and his feet were manacled. Even so I stood three foot away
from him. Despite his disadvantaged situation there was only one way I
was going to get any information out of him. I picked up a hammer and
smashed him in the balls. And then he case he had not got the message I
did it again.

He writhed in agony and screamed. I gently tapped the hammer on his
balls and gave him the universal sign for hush. Then I whacked it hard
and broke his right collar bone. I think he was getting the message,
after his outburst of pain and tears he looked at me in a different light.
He realised that if he did not talk he was not going to be dead, but he
would be deformed for life. I hated this hard stone that had crossed my
heart, but what was one man’s life against the thousands that would die
in an Islamic Jihad if Groves set foot in Israel. So far I had said nothing.
I did not need to.

He began to talk. “I will tell you all I know, I am just a simple middle man
who hires contract killers. I was told to look for a blonde Caucasian. Call
out the name Dr Crocket, and when I saw a reaction, signal the riflemen.
You reacted, very slightly, and that was all the signal I needed. They
wanted you dead. End of my story.”

I did not want to do this but that was what he did, I saw it and Chas
stopped it. “Right collar bone next my friend. Don’t tell me what I
already know. Tell me something I need to know.”

“That is all I know.”

His left collar bone made an alarming crack as I swung the hammer down
on it. And he screamed in agony. I have to say I was uncomfortable with
this, but it needed to be done. I tapped the hammer on his right shin
bone. “I don’t have much time. You need to answer to questions: 1. Who
hired you and 2. Where is Vladimir Volstock? You have 5 seconds.”

He hesitated, “4 seconds.” “3 seconds.” And then it happened. He just
broke down and told me everything. I was not proud of myself but I had
the information I needed. I left him where he was, no doubt a dead man
when the Police got back to him. But did I give a monkeys fuck, afraid

I called Chas on our super duper intercom, he responded at once. Great
it really works. “Watch my back, I am taking a taxi to 21 Fleedor Street.
That is where the conspirators are. Don’t worry I am not going in alone,
Jerimiah is going to scare the bejus out of them first. If that doesn’t
work I will need your handy fists and feet, so don’t be too far away.” “No
problems,” He replied.

I left the concourse, hailed a taxi and gave him the address. Then went
over the plan with Jerimiah. He was a little more cautious than I,
because I was in gloves off , kick arse mode, I needed to get to Rome.

But he went along with what I said. He had no love for anyone
sympathetic to the Groves movement. And it was about time we really did
kick arse. The taxi driver pulled up outside the house. I asked him to
wait, gave him a tip, but not a big enough one for him to leave me in the

I looked at the house, it was a three storey, mid terraced with every
light on. I would need Chas once we had them all in the same upstairs
room. There would be a lot of them, and they would probably be violent.
I spoke to Jerimiah. “Are you sure you can do this?” “Piss off Jerry, I
am a Ghost, and Ghosts can really scare if they put their mind to it. Just
follow me boy,” no problems, as long as Chas was following me!

Which he was, 100 metres off my right shoulder. I do love GPS. Next
time I use it I really must build it into my spectacles. Ok it’s anal but it
stops me looking at my watch.

Well Jerimiah was really on song. He burst in like a Wagner opera and
blew wind and banshee noises like I had never heard. I did not have to be
to close behind him as the scurrying of feet running upstairs was frantic
enough to follow orally. And the ever faithful Hazel brought up the rear
by imitating a banshee from Hell. I have to say in a story like this it is
good to have some spiritual tricks up your sleeves.

I followed my mates up. As usual Hazel was over doing the drama. She
was spitting and howling and growling and looking really big. Jerimiah was
just affixing them with his mesmeric gaze. They were terrified, but as
planned were now in the one room upstairs.

I entered the room, Gun in my hand, and redemption on my mind. When
they saw me they began to collectively gather strength and started to
advance toward me. I picked a callow youth who was foaming at the
mouth, and a young female who was pretending she was a Tigress. I shot
the youth in the stomach and the female in the head. I wanted the youth
to bleed to death and the Tigress to die. I did not have the time to fuck
about. I could not allow Groves to march on Jerusalem. It was that

They began to gather as a pack. And the beauty of our intercom system
came into play. The windows burst open and Chas appeared on Hazels
back again, this relationship between Chas the hero, and Hazel was
beginning to piss me off. However they stopped the charge. Which was
all I needed , the group was now cowed.

I picked out the leader. And beckoned him forward. I put the gun
against his forehead. “I have one simple question. Answer it right and
you live.”

“The block of flats next door, but he is guarded day and night.”

I thanked him and took the gun away. I was really getting fed up with
killing people. I left it to Chas to secure this motley crew. It was about
time I earned myself some merits on this trip.

I got to the next door flats by some very serious climbing. Which left me
a bit puffed. But I had to see this one through on my own. I swung in
through an open window. Flat 23 the guy had said, which meant I had to
invade 22, to be on the safe side. I carefully picked the lock and let the
door swing open. Not a sound, they were either fast asleep, or absent.
I picked up a glass and held it against the adjoining wall. And listened
very hard. Lot’s of murmuring, but nothing clear.

I walked into the living room, pulled back the curtains and looked at the
balcony. It was a straight forward jump to next door. I landed really
quietly and listened at the french windows. The sound was muffled, but

the intent clear. Someone in there was getting a hammering. I had no
choice, loaded the gun, cocked it and kicked through the door, I dived as
I went in and aimed high. The prisoner was going to be sat down in a
chair. My first shot was really lucky and a tall guy just fell to the ground.
Second shot went wild and then a guy was all over me. Hand on my weapon
arm pushing it down. I kneed him in the nuts, he grunted, fell away and I
shot him in the head. I reckoned there was one more in the room. But I
could not smell him or hear him. But I could feel him all around me. His
scent was everywhere.

And a Rotweiller just launched itself from nowhere straight at my throat.
I smacked my right hand to knock it away but it grabbed it with it’s
teeth. I was in agony and this beast of a dog would not let go. I rolled
around the room looking for something, anything that I could get a
purchase on and hit this fucker on the head. Nothing came to hand. I
shook my hand but that made the bastard worse, the agony increased, I
smacked it with my left hand, but that was like hitting a cricket ball with
a sponge. I groped around behind me and found the familiar shape of a
Golf Bag. I knocked it over, and groped for a club. Any club, the dog
was still enjoying my right hand when I spilt its head with a pitching

I dragged it’s jaws of my badly bitten arm and staggered to the tied up
figure on the kitchen chair. Dripping blood and perspiration I looked at
him. “Have I finally found Vladimir Volkoff.”

Then everything went black.

Vladimir Volkoff – 150708

I was drowning, I knew not where or how, but I could not hold my breath
any longer as gallons of water poured into my lungs through my mouth and
nose. I just relaxed and let fate take it’s course. Maybe I would see the
long white corridor that led me away from the dark, the celestial angels
and the choir singing to herald my presence at the heavenly gates.

What I actually heard was, “What is this pratt babbling about? Wake up
arsehole.” I woke up just in time to see Chas chuck another bucket of
water in my face. I spluttered, “I take it you were never a medic in the
SAS.” “We didn’t need medics mate, if you were wounded you made it
home, or your team mates put you out of your misery. No time for
pooftahs was the SAS motto, which is why I got thrown out. Now stop
whingeing like a big girls blouse and get up - there is someone here you
have been dying to meet.”

I got up slowly, vomiting pure water. Gallons of the bloody stuff. Stood
up, shook my head and then gave a very good impression of Hazel shaking
off water. I looked at Chas, “What happened?” “You just passed out
Mate from physical exertion. No shame in that. But you saved Vladimir.”

I shook my head and took the scene in. A couple of dead bodies lay
around. And standing by a chair, with red rings round his ankles and
wrists was the guy I assumed was Vladimir. He walked towards me,
grabbed be in a big bear hug and kissed both of my cheeks. Don’t do this
to Chas I thought, but kept that to myself.

“Jerry, I thought you would never arrive.” I wasn’t sure how to explain
the odd difficulties so I kept my big mouth shut. “Vladimir, it is good to
finally meet you. I trust you are in good health.”

“I am thanks to you and your team,” he replied. “I was about to be killed
until your gang arrived on the scene. “ My heart stopped beating for a
moment. I stared into his face, the sweat was worrying me, and the
twitching around his cheek bones. Vladimir was really nervous. And then
he gave me a furtive glance and raised his eyebrows upwards, I knocked
him over, and covered him, whilst yelling for everyone else to hit the
deck. The grenade landed right in the middle of our group. Then
amazingly Chas picked up the grenade and threw 200 hundred yards back
to where it had come from. It exploded in the air about ¾ of the way to

the target. All I could hear above the explosion was “Oh Shit.” Followed
by screams of pain. Chas is one guy I would never take on in a needle type
competition. Unbelievable balls. But he hadn’t finished yet, he picked up
a left behind semi-automatic rifle and shot up the stairs, following his
grenade throw.

Needless to say there were lot’s of gunshots as Chas finished the enemy
off. Lesson in life here, I thought, never underestimate pooftahs! Chas
was turning out to be the bravest and hardest guy I had ever known.

Eventually he returned, I dared not ask for the body count. I gave Hazel
the nod, she was sulking in a corner. You know why, she was supposed to
swoop down, pick the grenade up in her mouth, and deliver it back to the
aggressors, Chas had stolen her thunder and she was pissed off. I
suggested she check all was clear, she cocked her head in agreement,
then gave me a very rude sign with her tail as she set off. She will get
over it. This is not a comic book, it is a true story, and the sooner she
realises that the better for all of us. Pretentious bitch

Authors note: If you are concerned about the detail in Hazels
communication I can add a footnote. How many barks mean what,
depending on spaces etc. Not quite as esoteric as Tolkiens Elvish, but
very similar. Personally I would just take it as read that she can
communicate. And I know how she does it.

Eventually she reported back that all was clear. Jerimiah backed her up
as he had done a covering reconnaissance. Unsurprisingly Hazel was not
the least put out by this. I do suppose you get to learn to live together
over 200 years and not take too much offence at a perceived slight.

I picked Vladimir out of the rubble. Then smacked him twice round the
head. “Ok I got your eyebrow message, but why didn’t you tell me we in
advance that we were going to ambushed?” He looked at me in a
shamefaced way. “What can you do when you are told their is a sniper
with his sight trained on your head. I dared not make any movement.
Please understand this, at least I did warn you.”

I thought that was pretty fair considering what had happened up until
now. I apologised for the cuffs round the head. But I needed to get onto
business as time was running out. “Where is the tablet, and more
importantly what does it say?” He beckoned me to follow him and

shuffled over to a mosaic of tiles laid in the centre of the room. “What
do you see Jerry?” Trying not to be rude, I told him I saw a mosaic of
tiles. What else could I say? I did not have time for enigmatisism. “So
sorry Jerry, you have to see it yourself. If you cannot decipher it, it will
be meaningless. Think, look, and then look harder, the answer you seek is
in there, but only you can decipher it.” He stepped away and left me
alone with the mosaic.

I just could not figure it. What the heck was I supposed to do? Then an
old game I used to play came back to me. Dungeon Master. It was all
about putting your feet on the right tiles to cross a hazard. With the
right weight. I stepped onto the first tile, nothing, stepped left onto
the second tile, nothing. I stepped onto the third tile right, and the
whole tile situation changed. Some were proud, some were recessed. I
reckoned hitting the proud ones would be the answer. So I took that
route, only to find myself facing a huge abyss. I backtracked very

Then I started again. Only this time I ignored Dungeon Master wisdom
and headed straight for the middle. The tile I was heading for shot up
into the air. And I looked down into a gap and saw an ancient tablet.
Vladimir and my crew applauded madly. I seemed to have struck Gold.
The only problem was I would have to leave the stone I was standing on to
retrieve it. My first attempt was disaster, second time around I left
some weight behind on the closing stone and grabbed the Tablet

There was a lot of cheering as I brought the Tablet onto, dry land I
suppose. Vladimir clasped me in a huge bear hug. I gently pushed him
away I wasn’t into hugathongs at this moment in time. I looked at the
writing on the tablet and was amazed to find it was in clear English italics.
I gave Vladimir a quizzical look. “You were meant to find it Jerry, to
anyone else it, apart from myself, it is indecipherable. You will see that
the date of the translation is September the 23rd 1888. The exact date
of your Grandfathers death.”

I was shaken to the core. Not very long ago I had looked at his
tombstone in the graveyard in Lansdown. I looked at the tablet again.
Reading it in simple English.

“When you finally read this Jerry you will have been through enormous
trials, faced death and survived. You will also have as your companions
Jerimiah and his beloved Hazel. How do I know this? I do not know. I
am just writing what I feel will be the outcome of this strange finding.

The tablet was unearthed as we were digging a grave for yet another
Crocket. It was a runic stone that appeared to have been written in
Aramaic. I did not get it translated when I wanted to as the translator
was killed in the Cock and Sparrow by the wild rampage the Mullins went
on that night. However I have since had it verified and can confirm that
what is written on it will come to pass.

As you are reading this that is all the evidence I need. This second
coming, in which you will play a major part, I believe you will actually
cause the Death that will be the precursor to the resurrection, must not,
under any circumstances be allowed to gain momentum. It is a falsehood,
foreseen and organised by the Anti-Christ. It will have a superficial
movement based on Christianity, but it’s heart will lie in gaining total
control and eventually obliterating religion as we know it. I know I am
writing this 120 years into the future, but I do know it will come to pass.

The transcript is written below, unfortunately only you can read it. Don’t
ask me how I know this. Just accept it as fact.

Authors note – Don’t ask me either! It is called dramatic licence.

The actual Tablet I re-buried with your Grandfather and Hazel. But what
you will now read is an accurate translation verified by two religious
scholars. Jerry you are the only one who can stop this evil. Do what you

The Very Reverend Anthony Smythe Johnson.

I slid to the floor, shaking. This was just unbelievable. I was acting out a
drama that had been foreseen 120 years ago, based on an ancient Tablet,
written god knows when. I was shaking, crying and laughing all at the
same time. I think it is called hysteria. Whilst I had not failed as yet, I
could not go to Rome. I had to go back to Lansdown and dig up Jerimiah
and Hazels grave. Which of course did not exist. Jerimiah had never
been buried, let alone his mangy dog.

They just stood around me in a hesitant circle. I was faced with stopping
the biggest threat to modern Christianity and I had Chas, Vladimir and
two ghosts!! Some fucking chance.

Jerimiah sidled over, “We might be able to help you here.”

I looked at him knowing exactly what he was going to say, I just did not
want to hear it. But I knew I did not have a choice. “You cannot see this
journey through can you?” “Afraid not Jerry, to complete the task Hazel
and I have to be buried, so that you can find the tablet. And when we
are finally buried we can find some peace at last. And that will leave you,
Chas and Vladimir to complete the task.”

“Do you not think, as we are on a mission to save Christianity, you and
Hazel could get a temporary detachment after you have been interned.
Only until we get the Tablet to the Pope? It’s not asking too much from
God is it, a few days should not make too much difference to your
eternal afterlife, Jerimiah I really need you guys. Lets be honest it is
his neck we are saving.”

He gave me a very sharp look. “I know I promised, but just a little bit of
post internment action?” I was pleading and he vanished, as was his
wont, and I was left to my own thoughts. I suppose I had better read the
translated tablet. I was in an impossible situation with Jerimiah and
Hazel. I would not be able to find the original tablet until I had buried
them, but once they were buried they would take no further part in the
action as they would cross over to the other side. Thus I would lose 20%
of my very tiny team.

I looked at the translation:

In the 9th month of the year 2008 ad a pretender to the messiah will be
resurrected on earth in a Place called Lansdowne. this resurrection will
be a fake resurrection. the so called messiah will be killed in a violent
incident, but will in fact only be hurt not mortally killed.

Body armour does not cover the head, which was where I shot Groves.
She was as dead as dead could be.

there will be much blood and death will appear to be definite. however
death will not occur. because the creature that is killed will not be a

normal human being. it will be a manifestation created by Lucifer. thus it
will lie in waiting for three days and then after , in a seeming miracle, will
return to life. beware this manifestation for it will initially gather the
ancient ways of Christianity under it’s umbrella and promise much in the
way of godliness.

it’s manner will be that of a confused supplicant, unaware of the cloak of
godliness it is being asked to wear. it will gain control of the extremes of
the areas it operates in. but if left out of control it will attempt to
destroy Christianity on earth.

I say this having read the runes and conferred with my spiritual
superiors. This creature must be halted in the name of Christianity.

I sign my name.

Jesus of Nazareth

I could not read this without a tingling, joyous feeling in my heart. And
not without a real worry. How was this all being left to me?? And why
was I the only person who could read it? Because I was dead? Then I
had another thought, if this is being dead, give me alive. Because this is
a really messed up situation.

I am going to up front everybody on this. As far as I was aware I was the
only one to have played Golf with God. I mentally summoned my team.
And then gave them the transcript to read, I gave them five minutes.
Then suggested I talk to them.

“Ok guys, listen up. Would everybody who considers themselves dead
move to the left.” There was nobody, except Vladimir, stayed on the
right. I looked at Chas and he just nodded. And then I looked where I
was standing. Far to the left.

Authors note: As this tale races to it’s climax I seem to have less
and less control over the characters. I accept Jerimiah and Hazel as
Ghosts, there is a question mark over Jerry, which will be sorted
out one way or another. But Chas? I would never have dreamt that
one up. That was his decision entirely.

Vladimir looked totally confused. As well he should. I was pretty
confused myself. “Excuse me Chas, when did you die?”

“About the same time as you Jerry. That’s how I recall it anyway.”

Hazel was bouncing up and down as though she were on a gas fired helium
filled trampoline, which was quite impressive considering she was
negating the movement by doing very quick 360’s with her tail. In effect
creating a downdraft to offset the trampolines updraft. hence she was
hovering, and quivering with excitement, it dawned on Chas and I at the
same time. She was simulating a halfway house. Which was where Chas
and I were, partially dead but not received as yet into the processing

When she saw we had grasped that, she went one stage further, and
being the Drama Queen that she was, it had to be elongated. Chas and I
just wanted her to get on with it. But no - Hazel had her audience and
they were going nowhere until the final denouement. She whirled herself
into a gyrating turn, and kept whirling herself in one place. I kept
expecting “The Waltz of the Flowers” to come on, to give her background
music, that piece lasted a good 10 minutes which should satisfy Hazels
thespian side.

By now Chas and I had got the message. If at the end of her theatrical
turn she spun up, we would be consigned to heaven. If she span down we
would be redeemable, living human beings. Perish the thought but Chas
and I were actually holding hands anticipating what this would mean to us.
Neither of us wanted to be permanently dead just yet.

I did have a very unkind thought as Hazel went into yet another middle
swirl. What EU rules would I be breaking by ripping a dead dogs head off
it’s neck and feeding it to the sharks!! Get on with it bitch! And she did,
switched on slo-mo, and sailed ever upward. Then the little bitch
grinned, did a triple somersault, switched on the after-burners and flew
straight down.

Chas and I embraced, we would be human beings again when this was all
over. Vladimir clapped, somewhat calmly, he hadn’t got a clue what was
going on.

I beckoned Hazel over, making out I had a treat in my hand. She came
rushing with her tongue hanging out, and with great relish I gave her a
hefty kick in the stomach. Then I yelled at her, “You Bitch, you had no
right to toy with us like that. We know you are dead and have been for
200 years, but Chas and I have not got a fucking clue what being dead is
about. Fuck with me one more time dog and I will make sure when you are
interned it will be in the Lions cage in Whipsnade Zoo. Am I making
myself clear Hazel.”

She and I both knew that was a hollow threat, but she backed off and
gave a little whimper of apology. Shortly after that little exhibition
Jerimah appeared. “Don’t you just love my dog, so intuitive. I was not
allowed to tell you what was going on. For some reason you had to figure it
out from Hazel. Don’t ask me why. These things just sometimes happen.
So things to do before you return to life?”

“One of which will now give me great pleasure. The burying of Hazel. It
is something I just cannot wait to do.”

Jerimiah made to protest, and then laughed, as did we all. Back to the
problem. We pulled a table up and sat round it. “So Jerimiah we have to
locate your and Hazels scattered bones, only 200 years old, find the
precise site where you ought to be interned, but never where, bury you,
and at the same time find the tablet. It seems a pretty long shot to me.
Anybody, a strange term to use in these circumstances, got any idea’s”

Vladimir spoke up. “I fail to see what the problem is. Jerimiah must know
exactly where his body parts, and hence his bones were scattered, and
he will also know where Hazel’s bones are. Let’s be honest prior the last
few weeks he has been pretty free for 200 years. I also believe he will
know the exact spot where he is to interned. So why can’t we rob the
grave, before it actually becomes a grave? And thus keep the team
intact for the final adventure. If we are fighting on the side of God I am
sure he would overlook a bit of pre-burial grave robbing. ”

I could have kissed Vladimir. What a brilliant idea. Hazel barked yes,
and a radiant Jerimiah appeared. The team would stay together for the
completion of the mission.

Back to Landsdown – 180808

It took a lot of diplomatic talking but we were eventually allowed to re-
enter the UK. Our Goal Lansdown. Our target Jerimiah and Hazels
grave, our aim – a very obscure tablet. Simple if you break it down into
elephant sized chunks. Not so simple when you realise what you are going
to be up against. And it started the minute we left the Aircraft.

Customs and Excise were over us like Rabbits round a warren. We were
surrounded and taken into custody. No charges, just the hint of
suspicion that we might be a danger to the Government. No phone calls.
But Chas and I could speak without them. We were put in a holding cell.
And a big mistake that the Customs Officers made. We were allowed to
watch the news:

“Hi this Jeremy Brodbent, for the BBC, in Llangollen. We have just been
informed that by mutual arrangement, the Groves movement has been
integrated into the Welsh Nationalist Party. By my observations the
reverse is true. I have also been told that they have complete control of
the Llanbaris Hydro electric power station. Groves intends making a
statement at 1800 hours. What she intends to say, I have no idea. But
it does seem that whatever she is planning she has Northern Wales on
her side. And I do understand Scotland as well. Let me hand you over to
our Scottish correspondent.”

“Thank you Jeremy, this is Robert Gaunt speaking from Glasgow. Groves
fever runs high here as she is playing the Celtic card and whipping up
hatred against the English. She has an Army of kilted Scotsmen willing to
go South and occupy the Northern parts of England.”

Studio head interrupt. “So what are you Guys saying?”

Jeremy Broadbent – “From what I can see Groves has secured North
Wales, she has an Army and control of NE electricity supplies. And from
what Robert was saying a control from the North.”

Studio head – “What do you say Robert?”

“I have to concur with Jeremy. She could kill the electricity in the NE
and the Midlands and mobilise an Army from Wales and Scotland to take
over the higher parts of England, and then consolidate for a march on

middle England. I think she is now showing her true colours, the problem
is that most of the Celtic tribes believe her. As I believe the Scottish
Celtic tribes follow her.”

“Thank you Gentlemen, we are now returning to the studio and our
political correspondent James Marshall. So James what do you make of
this situation.”

“It is about as close to Civil war as I have ever seen. You take the dire
economic situation, and the high unemployment, and Groves has attacked
the underlying problem and got them on her side. Add into that mix the
ever problematic dislike between the Celts and Middle England and I feel
we have a real problem here. And then to finish it off she is playing the
Christianity card. We have a serious problem of armed and angry Celts
heading towards Middle England being stirred up by Groves. There is
going to be real trouble in the next few days. And they are coming from
the West, the North, and by all accounts from the South West,
Barnstaple where she started it all off. That is my opinion for what it is

“Thank you James.

“Simon Jones has decided to force his way back into the England
reckoning by taking his 40th wicket of the season. Over to our cricket
correspondent in Worcestershire.”

And the TV was switched off. We all just looked at each other. Why
were we sitting here like were incarcerated. With the exception of
Valadimir we were free spirits. We huddled together and drew up a plan.

Vladimir would claim diplomatic immunity and demand to speak to the
Home Secretary to tell him the good news. Hazel and Chas would take
back the Power Station at Llanberis, Jerimiah and I would hotfoot it to
Lansdown and recover the Tablet. Shit, that is a lot of action for me to
write. But it did happen that way. Sadly a few deaths occurred. But I
am really sorry, a few deaths amongst what we were trying to accomplish
just had to happen.

The first being of course our guards. As they brought supper in Chas
just hit them with a flurry of head and body shot’s. They went down like
weetabix with milk poured on it. Sad really, did I care, not a chance.

We escaped and went our different ways. And wished each other luck,
particularly Vladimir whom we left behind to explain everything. A very
brave man.

Chas and Hazel shot off to Llanberis to liberate the power station.
Myself and Jerimiah fled South West to Lansdown to retrieve the tablet
and take it to the Pope. God knows what would happen to Vladimir. He
had a lot of convincing to do.

Lansdown cemetery

I looked at Jerimiah. “Sorry mate, we can’t fuck about with
sentimentality here. Where are your bones and where would you like to
have been buried?” Jerimiah scanned the ground. I had to give him a
little space here. He was looking for his bones, and a decent burial place.
You cannot really push that kind of decision. Then he beckoned me over,
he pointed down in the ground. I swear I dug for England that night. And
found nothing. Jerimiah pointed me slightly to the left. My spade hit
ceramic. And I stopped straight away. I then got down on my hands and
knees, and got Jerimiah to film it through my mobile phone as I dug
around and under the Ceramic case.

As the first Grenade hit I grabbed the Ceramic case and pulled it away,
rushed up to a crypt and hid. The Rockets firing over my head were
really pissing me off. What the fuck was going on? As usual Jerimiah had
vanished. Not in a cowardly way, I hasten to add, one can hardly be
accused of cowardice if already dead. I poked my head round the side of
the crypt only to have it almost blown off by a blast from an RPG. I could
not see who was firing at me, I could only guess they were cronies of

What to do, what to do? Indecision clouded my brain. I eventually had
what I needed but had no time whatsoever to read it, I just had to get
to safety somehow, with no Chas or Hazel to rely on. They were busy

Llanberis power station

With only a very few surface buildings the power station, built deep into
the heart of the mountain, looked impregnable. Chas and Hazel were
actually in the water of the lower lake and examining their objective.
There was only one way in and that seemed to be monitored by security
guards and required ID sensitive scan cards.

The tour bus went in about four times a day, but that specifically
excluded dogs. So there was no way of sneaking in on that. That was the
first problem, getting in. The second problem was resistance. Not from
Groves people. Chas would take them out gladly, but what if the local
townspeople had rallied to Groves side? As well they might have done.
They lived in an impoverished society that relied on tourism from the
English. Groves may well have struck a chord in a village where the first
language was Welsh. The most revered and ancient of Celtic tongues.

He gave Hazel a double twist of her left ear. Which told her to go out on
recognisance. She nuzzled into his ear and sniffed twice. That meant
she understood. She went off and Chas got back into the water. In his
dark wet suit and wearing scuba gear he lay well hidden from inquisitive

Authors note: This is a bit of a yeehah moment for me as I sort of know
what is coming next. Probably for the first time in this rather strange
tale. It will also give me time to work out who the hell is attacking Jerry
in Lansdown!

PS - Andy McNabb took 50 pages to describe a similar situation. I give
you one short sentence and assume you will visualise the situation. Having
said that he is the one who is selling books!

Hazel went into stealth mode and flew around the complex, up and over it
and alongside it. And then she found the upper Lake where the water was
pumped back up after it had poured down to power the generators. Being
a dog she did not understand the engineering, but being Hazel she
recognised a back door that was not guarded. They could make an entry
through the upper lake. She rushed back to report this to Chas.

She found him pretending be a log in the lower reservoir. Aware of the
need for secrecy, she silently entered the water, nipped his ankle, and

then began to swim toward an overhanging rock, to the right and away
from the power station. It was getting dark so there was very little
chance of them being seen. However they were both very quiet as the
crawled up on the shingle beneath the ancient granite rock. Hazel looked
at him and moved her eyes upwards, and at the same time did a
controlled 180 with her tail, eventually pointing it up the mountain. As
she realised Chas was getting the message she pawed his scuba gear and
inclined her head toward the Lake. Chas was not really sure but decided
to follow his instinct. He took of his scuba gear and dry suit, stowed
them in his Bergen, stood up and then followed Hazel.

He had dark waterproofs on under the dry suit, and with a telescopic
walking cane as a prop, they fitted the image of your average insane
tourist and mutt, sorry Hazel, climbing North Welsh mountains in a
gathering gloom. Hazel lead him around the Lake and to a craggy path
that undulated in a gentle climb towards the top of the mountain. It was
a path that would have been used by the slate miners back in the time
when Welsh slate was a global commodity.

Hazel lead the way, but only just, dogs knew their place in Wales! They
certainly did not take the lead, pardon the pun. However Chas followed
obediently, he was the sort of character who had no hang ups regarding
help or where it came from. If he can achieve my objective and a dog
helps then so be it. Also he and Hazel now had some serious history
between them, and mutual trust.

Eventually they got to the path that led down to the upper lake. As soon
as he saw it Chas realised the significance, and grabbed Hazel and gave
her a big thank you hug. She posed for England after that hug, Chas was
Hazels main man. And boy did she show it. They found another
convenient granite overhang and ate some supper. Both dined quite
royally on cold tinned beans and sausages. Hazel declined the wine list
and settled for water, as did Chas.

Then it was time for action. Chas redonned his dry suit and with hazel
beside slipped into the water and looked for a way in.


He cut a sorry figure in his holding cell. But despite the continued
harassment by HM Customs and Excise he held firm to the fact that he
had some significant information to impart to the Home Secretary. At
first he was treated as a damaging nutcase, particularly as his friends
had escaped by seriously injuring their fellow officers. But the more
they harangued him, the firmer his story grew and greater credibility was
attached to it as it went up the impossibly long chain of command.

He was eventually interviewed by a member of the external security
forces, one Lt Col (Rtd) Charles Arthur Bloodworthy.

 Authors note. I have a bit of History with his father - General Sir
Charles Arthur Bloodworthy CBE. It became a bit of a joke between
Steve Lawson and myself at Wroughton. It was particularly good fun if
any Army Officer was in earshot as they would inwardly seethe at this so
obvious mick take of the army. But then their tiny little brains were
unable to comprehend this type of banter between a WO and Flt. Lt so
they just switched it off. Typical repartee would be me in my best
overdone thespian accent. “Ah, Lawson, General Sir Charles Arthur
Bloodworthy CBE here, what are doing this afternoon boy, time for a
spot of Golf?” Or whatever. But I do have an affectionate spot for the
old boy. He gave me great cause for laughter over a couple of years.
Especially when I think of who may have been listening to Staves phone
call, and heard my loud military voice and the dramatic introduction.

“Mr Volokoff, let me just recap on what you have told me. A Mr Jerry
Crocket, presumed dead, is being assisted by his late Great
Grandfather, Jerimiah Crocket, and they are retrieving a ancient Tablet
from a graveyard in Lansdown that will prove conclusively, when
presented to the Pope, that Groves is a complete fraud. At the same
time a sacked SAS operative, because of his sexual bent, also presumed
dead, with Jerimiah Crockets ghost dog, is attempting to regain control
of the Llanberis power station. And your role in this fantasy is to
decipher the Tablet when it is retrieved.

Is that it in a nutshell?”

Vladimir nodded his head vigorously. Arthur just looked at him.

“What you have told me is so unbelievable as to be almost true. And I
admit we are having a major problem with the Groves movement. So any
small thing that could help us thwart this threat would be seriously
encouraged. I have to admit to undying scepticism of your fantastic tale.
But my masters have directed me into leaving no stone unturned into
ridding the UK of the Groves phenomena. I will make a few phone calls
and be back with you shortly.” And he stood up and left.

He went directly to the front office, ushered everybody out and put in a
call to his central collating office. “I am not going to explain this for
sanity reasons, but is there any activity around Lansdown or Llanberis. I
will hold while you look.” He lit a fat cigar, despite the no smoking signs,
leant his chair back and rocked a while. The phone held close to his ear.

Llanberis power station

Chas was underwater looking for a way in. He had a dim flashlight that
no-one could see from above. Hazel had not managed to communicate the
engineering significance of the Lake, but he knew there had to be a way
down. There just had to be maintenance tunnels somewhere close by.
And then he saw it, just a small grid with a bronze padlock on it. “That’s
the way in,” he thought. He took out his mini, underwater, acetylene
torch and burnt the padlock off, opened the grating and slipped inside,
followed smartly by Hazel. He swam for a few feet and then found the
water lock. He very quietly turned the wheel, and the door opened. He
swiftly stepped inside, shut the door, and cranked the wheel on the
other side. The water dispersed quite slowly. But it did disperse and he
was left in the dry. He took of his dry suit, packed it back into his

Now came the really tricky part, getting into the tunnel complex. He had
to wait a long time as the sound of the water could alert Groves people
who were holding the complex. Hazel was as good as gold, barely
breathing. She knew the significance of the next move. They shared a
little snack, a snickers bar and a bottle of water. Then Chas, having
heard nothing, slowly opened the door into the maintenance tunnels. This
was the danger time, if they had heard him they would be waiting in
silence outside the door. He was tempted to send Hazel on a reccy, but
her powers were limited, and he might need her later.

In the event nothing happened and no-one was there. They had obviously
got quite complacent. His covering suit was rubber as were his shoes so
he was able to sneak through the ducting making as little noise as

He crept along until he was over, and could see into the great chamber
which housed the 6 turbines. Only one guard could be seen. Chas chose
the opening, crept down, grabbed him by the throat and walked him
backwards into a dark alcove.

He clamped his not inconsiderable hand over his mouth and whispered in
his ear.” Die if you make a noise.” Always the subtle approach from Chas.
“How many more on guard, and don’t fuck around.” He emphasised this
with a twist of the unfortunates neck. “Just me, the guard hut is to my
right. Six sleepers.” “Armed?”

“Big guns, Kalashnikovs.”

“This is what you are going to do.” Said Chas. Hazel had not said a word
during this scenario. But she knew what her next role would be without
being asked. Chas frogmarched his captor to the door to the guard hut.
“Just go in as though you were making yourself a mid-shift tea or coffee.
We will do the rest. If you give a warning sign my right foot will snap
your cervical vertebrae in two, do you understand.” He nodded. “Do it.”

He opened the door and walked in. Cries of “wanker - turn the light off
we are trying to sleep here.” And Hazel gave the finest performance of
her 200 year life. She segued into the translucent beast from hell, grew
three heads and had these guys crapping themselves as she snapped and
snarled at them. One unfortunate brought a gun up, Chas just shot him
straight through the eyes. After that they backed off into a corner,
screaming and crying for their Mothers and God in equal measures.

Chas very quickly disarmed them and shot the guy who was going for the
alarm. But that shot from Chas brought the station to a high alert and
very soon armed troops were appearing from everywhere.

Chas closed the door to the guard’s quarters and took up station just
inside. Armed with two fully loaded Kalashnikovs, and two in reserve,
they did not stand a chance. He just mercilessly mowed them down as
they came through the only door there was.

And then he heard a noise above him and looked up just in time to see the
trap door open, and two guys jump down. He killed the first with a swivel
kick to the throat, and the second with a headshot from his weapon.

He and Hazel, she doing her very effective banshee act, swiftly swept
through the rest of the site, killing or neutralising everyone who offered
resistance. Within three hours the site belonged to Chas. He reported
to Jerry through their secure intercom. “Objective achieved, Send in
the law.”

And the law descended in force. But with a waiver, they were not to
apprehend anyone resembling an ex SAS pooftah or a Ghost dog. This
command had come down from on high. And was duly respected.


Charles Arthur Bloodworthy was shocked into awareness. A voice rasped
down his open telephone line. “Sir, Llanberis power station has been
liberated. The Groves movement has been cleared out, with a lot of dead
bodies left behind. Are we still to follow your orders not to prosecute?”

“Certainly. Whoever did this is working on my behalf. Facilitate their
exfiltration from Llanberis and transport them by the fastest means
possible to Lansdown. Then await further orders.” “Understood Sir, but
who are we looking for?”

“A man and his dog if I have been correctly informed.” And he put the
phone down. He picked it up again and dialled his direct number. “Any
news on Lansdown,” he barked without introduction. “Big fire fight over
a graveyard Sir, unknown Helicopters and ground troops with RPG’s,
Grenades and heavy Rifle and Sniper fire.” “Ready heavy assault,
resistance but hold one.”

He grabbed the phone and ran down stairs to Vladimirs holding cell. He
yelled at the guard, “Open the cell and release him, I will take personal
responsibility.” The guard really had no option and complied. Bloodworthy
ran in and grabbed Vladimir, “I am a believer, follow me to the
communications centre quickly. And tell me on the way how you can
communicate with Jerry, he is under intense attack, an attack which I

can wipe out in minutes, but I need him and the tablet in one piece,
alongside you. I need to find some way to get him to identify himself.”

Vladimir was panting, “Chas,” was all he could say. When they got to the
communications rooms he collapsed in the nearest chair. “What do you
mean Chas ?” Vladimir took his time to collect his breath. “Chas can
contact Jerry, get him to surrender at Llanberis.”

Bloodworthy did not believe he was going along with this but he had no
options. He picked up a microphone. “Llanberis operations come in.”
“Reading you boss, loud and clear.” “I am handing you over to a Russian
called Vladimir. Do exactly what he says, however insane it sounds. Just
do it.” He passed the mike to Vladimir. “The guy who caused all the havoc
is named Chas, loud hail him, use my name, and tell him Jerry is in trouble
at Lansdown and to clearly identify himself as the good guys are about to
launch an all out assault. We need him and the tablet safe. Is that
clear?” “Far from it Vladimir, but who am I to argue, I will get right on
it and put you on the loudhailer system.”


The tannoy message reverberated throughout the power station. “Chas
please come in, this is a message from Vladimir, Jerry needs help in
Lansdown. Please come to the admin office on the 4th level. For your own
safety please drop your weapon. My guys are authorised to shoot on
sight. I repeat this is a message from Vladimir. Jerry is in danger in
Lansdown and needs your help.”

Chas and Hazel were hidden in a small crevice unsure of their reception.
Hazel did not understand the tannoy so gave him no response. Chas was
scared it was the red-ones, who had maybe overwhelmed the good guys.
But he had to follow it up, if Jerry was in trouble he needed to help him
out. He yelled into the cavernous void, “I need some identification, I am
going to send Hazel Vladimir, if I hear three short barks on the
intercom, I am coming in unarmed, is that clear.”

“Whatever you say Chas. How long?”

He looked at Hazel and mentally explained the situation. Jerry was in
trouble, positively identify Vladimir. She nodded her head in
appreciation and was gone. Within minutes three barks came down the

phone. Chas appeared from his crevice with his hands held up. A marine
dashed down and took hold of him. “This way Sir,” as they walked he
looked at Chas with a reverent look. “Did you take all these guys out on
your own.” Chas said nothing. The Marine just looked humbled.

He was walked into what was now the operations centre and handed a
phone. “Chas here,” he said, “Blooodworthy, no time for explanations we
need to communicate with Jerry. Can you do that.” “Of course, what is
the problem?”

“Tell Jerry we are ready to launch a major attack on Lansdown but he
needs to be highly visible as we need he and the tablet in one piece. Can
you do that?”

“No problem Bloodworthy, I will get on to it straight away.”

Lansdown cemetery

I had the tablet but I was pinned down by fire all around me. Then Chas
contacted me, “Major assault due from the good guys. Essential you
identify yourself. Please confirm you can do this, and what shape it will

I understood Chas’s need to be brief. But I had to respond and being a
rock was not a good response. I had to think very quickly, what was
around me that would help? Stupid idea but it would work. I held my
breath over this one because it could be very risky. “Chas, at 5 seconds
after the assault mine will be the only crypt wearing a traffic cone.
Please give me 10 seconds prior warning.” “Ok mate, assault authorised.
Beginning in 5 minutes.”

Where the fuck was I going to find a traffic cone from in 5 minutes
whilst pinned under fire? I knew they were all around me, there were
millions of them all over the UK, I had just needed one within reaching
distance. I knew there was one behind me as I had seen it whilst
scrabbling for this crypt of safety. 3 minutes to go. I put my back
against the crypt and felt out with my feet. 2 minutes to go. A sniper
shot missed my foot by inches but hit the traffic cone and brought it to
my feet. 1 minute to go. I grabbed it with both feet and ducked back
under my crypt. 30 seconds to go.

Chas came on our comms system. “Assault in 10 seconds.” I counted to
15, then heard the first screeching of the rockets as they found their
targets. I grabbed the cone and put it on top of the crypt. Held it in
place and prayed. It was not that good an observation tower for a gung
ho pilot! A couple of missiles whisked around my ears. But eventually all
went quite.

I stood up and looked around. Groves people were dead by the tens
around me. There must have been 50 corpses. But at last I had the
tablet. I was safe, as far as I knew Vladimir was safe. Next step Rome.

Bloodworthys Office – Westminster – 240708

I have to say I was startled at the efficiency of the security services. I
was whisked out of the blood bath at Lansdown and helicoptered to
London where I was ushered into the office of Lt Col Charles Arthur
Bloodworthy. He, introduced himself, personally served me a very fine
coffee, invited me to sit down and then proceeded to ignore me by picking
the phone up. But he did give me a friendly gesture, and put the phone
onto speaker mode.

“What is the news on Llanberis?” “Site secured Sir and package on it’s
way to you. I have to say this guy was a little indiscrete, there are dead
bodies all over the plant, kind of hard to cover up. And the press are
really giving us a hard time.”

“Any chance of a controlled explosion?” Replied Bloodworthy.

“Not a chance Sir, we are sitting in the middle of a huge slate mountain,
and a very popular tourist attraction. Plus they are predominantly Groves
supporters and several of the dead will be local boys. We just cannot
cover this one up, and the press is already reporting that English Special
Forces have attacked the Groves movement. The locals are building up a
head of steam. I think they might even attack us. “

“With shovels and pick axes?”

“Sorry to dispel that bullshit Sir, with RPG’s and Kalashnikovs. Groves
has been funding this Welsh army for quite a while. They are not trained
so we can hold them off. But only by killing them. Not quite what we
need to do to get them on our side.”

“Ok seal the site and give me an hour to talk to my Government.”

“It’s already sealed Sir, but be less than an hour, there is quite an angry
mob building up outside.”

“I will be back to you as quick as I can.”

Bloodworthy put the phone down. “There you have it Jerry, your
maverick escapades have given HMG quite a problem. Could be classed as
treason, don’t you think? “

“So rescuing your stand by National grid generator, and retrieving the
Tablet that will prove Groves a fraud is considered treason. Is that how
you see it?”

Bloodworthy just looked at him, “It’s not how I see it Jerry, it’s how my
political Masters see it. A monumental cock-up. Which will reflect very
badly on me. I will be honest with you, for I have great admiration for
what your bizarre team has achieved. I personally don’t give a shit about
how I get results, and I care even less for politics. The fanatical
Welshmen allowed this to happen in the first place, so they will be the
first to pay the price for following Groves.” He picked up the phone.

“Llanberis here.” “What’s the situation on the ground?” “Not good Sir,”
came the reply. “The mob is working up quite a head of steam, they are
very angry, and being worked up into bad mob mode by little swirling red
devilish things. Haven’t got a clue what they are!”

I nodded in response to Blooworthy’s querulous look. “What’s your opinion
from the ground situation?” “Two options Sir, get out, or kick arse. And
the latter option will mean the death of Welsh women and children. I
leave the strategic decision up to you.” Bloodworthy rasped back down
the phone, “Stay on the line whilst I confer.”

“Well Jerry what are we facing there?”

“The Red devils emanate from Lansdowne and seem to have aligned
themselves with Groves resurrection claims. We think they are part of
the 13th disciples cult and show the real side of Groves, which is the cult
of the 13th disciple, Lucifer. Bottom line, it is only speculation.

Top line is they are hard bastards to fight, they seem to be part spectre
and part human. And they are very persuasive. If they are stirring up
the Welsh antagonism there is nothing they would like more than a
bloodbath of Llanberis citizenry, and the more women and children
fatalities the happier they would be. Secure the power station, hand it
over the local Police force and get your men to the top Lake and extricate
them. That would be my advice. Save your revenge Sir, I know these
demons and you would be playing right into their hands.”

“Llanberis did you get all that?” “We did Sir.” “Are you in a situation to
hand over control to the local Police?”

“This is Chief Inspector Jones, Llanberis Police, we are in a position to
control and occupy Llanbaris power station, suggest you do exactly what
your advisor recommends. I can get your men to safety on the top lake, if
you can extricate them by helicopter. That is the only way I can
guarantee their safety, there have been a lot of young men of Llanberis
descent killed today. If you take my meaning!” Bloodworthy was getting
nodding looks all round, even Hazel was agreeing.

He made a decision that went at odds against his inclination to kick shit
out of the taffs and show them who was in charge. And a very sensible
decision it was. “When can you get our men to the top Lake?”

“Within the hour, I will call you when they are 5 minutes away, and for
Gods sake get your helicopters in and out quickly, some of Groves people
have been armed with RPG’s. And your choppers will be well within firing
range.” “Thank you very much Chief Constable, I appreciate your

“Don’t appreciate them Sir Bloodworthy send me a battalion of Welsh
fusiliers to continue to hold this place. I will contact you within the
hour.” And he rang off.

Bloodworthy immediately got on the phone. I don’t know who he spoke to
but his order was explicit. “I want a battalion of Welsh Fusiliers airlifted
onto the upper Lake at Llanberis power station within the hour fully
combat ready, with sufficient rations for two weeks.”

He picked up the phone again. “Stand by to airlift 40 troops from
Llanberis power station upper Lake. Possible hostile ground to air attack.
ETA approximately one hour. Please confirm flight time as rendezvous
will be time critical.” There was a short delay before the response.
“Flight operations to Bloodworthy, flying time 10 minutes from
notification.” “Thank you flight ops get those birds ready to go at my

He called Llanberis again, “CI Jones?” “Chief Inspector I have arranged
an inbound airlift of a battalion of Welsh fusiliers to coincide with our
exfiltration. I would be grateful if you could inform any hostiles in the
crowd that that indiscriminate shooting might bring about the death of

Welsh fusiliers. How you do that is entirely up to you.” And he hung the
phone up.

He stood up went to the sideboard and poured himself a large Scotch.
Downed it in one and then offered drinks all round, which we all gladly
accepted. I was amazed at Bloodworthy’s clarity of thought and his
decision making process in turning a volatile situation into an organised
retreat. I was also astonished at his authority. He was only a Lt.Col
after all. He took a sip from his second Whisky, caught me watching him
and glimpsed toward his desk. Nodded assent, I walked forward and
looked at an official document he clearly wanted me to see. I picked it up
and started reading. About half way through he walked over to me,
decanter in his hand, he put an arm on my shoulder, and poured a stiff
drink into my glass. “I know what you are thinking Jerry, but we had to
let you run with it, believe me we had no other option when you stumbled
into the situation. We had to let the prophecy run and you were,
unfortunately the fall guy.

But in all fairness we did not choose you. We had an undercover agent in
the Cock and Sparrow whose brief was simply to watch and report.
It was just routine surveillance on any kind of subversive activity.
Nothing ought to have come of it. Then you appeared out of nowhere, and
stirred the pot till it was overflowing. It was a golden opportunity for us
and we just latched onto your coattails. And what a ride it has been. I
have to say that when you first went down into the crypts we were not
expecting para-normal activity, Ghosts and 200 year old dogs riding to
your rescue.

There is also the question of YOUR resurrection. Which I am hoping will
be explained in the tablet. You were dead Jerry, no question about it,
but now you are very much alive. What we can assume from that remains
to be seen. It is very much now up to what Vladimir translates and if the
Pope agrees to read it aloud on Satellite Television. It could be you who
is the new Messiah!

Why don’t you guys get a good nights sleep, let me finish off the transfer
at Llanberis and I will see you in the morning. If you are missing Vladimir,
he is hard at work on the translation. My steward will show you to your
quarters where you will find clean clothing, excellent bathing facilities
and a free room service to die for. Goodnight.”

And we were dismissed as simply as that.


Apart from the fact that it had no view, as it was underground, the
accommodation was superb. King sized beds, queen sized baths and the
best stocked fridge I have ever seen. Beers and wine from all over the
world. I went to my suite, Chas to his. No talking tonight, just being
alone, and pampering oneself. I ran a hot bath and grabbed a large
bottle of Starpromen from the fridge, and took the room service menu
into the bath with me.

Lay back in the luxuriant warmth, sipped my beer and studied the
laminated menu. Should I start with the Chicken satty, which I love, or
have that as main. Chateaubriand with a mushroom sauce, or the beef
Wellington, followed by any amount of sweet, I was just salivating over
this, put the menu down to consider, and saw Jerimiah and Hazel
watching me.

“Come on Guys, give me a break, at least for tonight.”

“Don’t you think that was all a little bit too tidy tonight? Very clever I
have to admit, but was it a bit to clever?”

“Jerimiah, leave me alone, for once, and fuck off will you?” And off he
and Hazel went. I felt quite safe here, for the only time in the last few
days, they were not going to upset my ying and yang, which were in
wonderful harmony. I dozed slightly, then woke up as the water became a
bit chilly. I towelled off got into a warm dressing gown that happened to
be my size, extracted a decent Chardonnay from the fridge, picked up
the phone and ordered my dinner.

Whilst I was waiting for it I turned on the TV to BBC news 24. And
almost dropped my glass of wine. The Welsh Nationalist Party were
claiming an overwhelming victory against the English at Llanberis.
“Thanks to Groves,” the spokesman was saying, “We have reclaimed
Llanberis power station from the English occupiers and are now back in
control of this part of North Wales.” That type of propaganda I could
accept. What caused me to almost drop my wine glass was the explosion
behind him as he was speaking.

The mountain just seemed to implode on itself and then gradually break
up. Tons of slate and dust came falling into Llanberis and then the water
from the overhead Lake came cascading down. A huge tidal wave of water
rushing down a collapsing mountain at 30 to 40 miles an hour. Then the
TV just went blank. Bloodworthy, you bastard, I thought. You did plant
charges. Cold killing son of a bitch.

Llanberis must be completely destroyed, no town could survive that
savage onslaught. Then the pictures came back on, this time from a
helicopter. There was no commentary, there was no need for one. The
water, carrying the broken slate from the mountain, was tearing through
the town and destroying it street by street, area by area. Nothing stood
in it’s way. The helicopter kept covering until the tidal wave broke it’s
back on the footholds of Snowdonia, and it then retreated to destroy
what it had missed the first time around. There were car’s, buses and
bodies all being tossed around in this horrific man made disaster. My
God, Bloodworthy had made his point, and probably forced open warfare
between England and Wales for the first time in centuries. There was no
way the Welsh would accept this as an act of nature. The footage of the
explosions were far to clear.

I went to bed, but I have to tell you I could not sleep. The images of
that awesome destruction kept me awake most of the night. I awoke
from my fitful sleep had a shower and a shave and turned the TV back on.
Obviously it would be covering the disaster, except that it wasn’t. No
mention whatsoever. Bloodworthy must have some connections, and
connections that were willing to overlook the cold blooded slaughter of
thousands of civilians.

I then made a monumental decision. Chas came as though he had read my
thoughts, as did Jerimiah and Hazel. They all looked as despondent as
me. Fearful of saying anything, because of listening devices, I glanced
towards the TV’s lack of coverage. They nodded their heads in
understanding. Jerimiah gave a follow me signal. Which we duly obeyed
we had to get out of this underground Ritz, controlled by a homicidal
maniac, with consent from his Government.


I did not need to communicate to my team. They were of a similar mind,
if that was whom we were working for, it was high time we joined the
opposition. Chas and Hazel were really down. He and Hazel had liberated
Llanbaris power station for the national good, not to have it destroyed,
with thousands of lives lost, with what appeared to be the tacit
agreement of the Government. If that had been the goal Hazel could
have done that on her own with no subtly whatsoever!

They were waiting for us in the cellar Jerimiah has lead us to. As soon as
they saw the armed thugs he and Hazel promptly vanished, which seemed
to leave Chas and I greatly outnumbered. I counted a Sgt a Cpl and ten
privates all armed with machine pistols and fortified with body armour.

“The Colonel thought you might be leaving without saying goodbye.” Said
the Sgt. “He considers that very discourteous. And has asked me to
remedy the situation. We have two ways of doing it Gentlemen. You can
put up a stand and die here, or you can come with me and die later,
personally I do not give a flying fuck which you chose.”

I reckoned that once you were dead there wasn’t a lot you could do about
things. So I looked at Chas, he nodded his assent and we went with plan
A. We both back flipped over the heavy wooden table that was behind us.
Picked it up and ran straight at the troops. Bowling them over like pins in
an alley. Chas dived to the left, I to the right, each grabbing a weapon
from a fallen soldier in a coordinated ballet sequence.

Now they had no field of fire, we had flanked them and the odds had
been reduced. There were now only ten of them, to two of us. Chas
reduced it to eight with a couple of exquisite head kicks. In my own
clumsy way I reduced it to six with some blunderbuss blows round the
head. It was only a small cellar and we were now in a standoff situation.
Their six guns covering our two, but they were split, three and three.
And if two or three fired, they were likely to hit one or two.

I looked at the Sgt. “We die, two, probably three of your guys die. I
have to say I have no desire whatsoever to kill or be killed by the British
Army. However if you condone what that murdering bastard Bloodworthy

has done then at least I will die with my conscience intact.” Although the
Sgt’s brow was now furrowed with confusion, it was a very tense situation.
Eight fingers on eight lightweight triggers. I tried the loyalty card.
“Have you guys ever served with the Welsh Fusiliers?” One of the
Privates at the end nodded his head. “Your Colonel, Private, arranged for
the death of a battalion of Welsh Fusiliers last night, alongside
thousands of innocent civilians.” The Private looked horrified, then the
odds changed, five to three. The Sgt held his hand up. “Lower your
weapons boys.” Which they duly did. As did Chas and I.

The Sgt looked at Chas, “I know you were special forces, I recognise
your style of fighting. We have had no access to the news - is what your
man saying correct?”

“I can tell you first hand that myself and an accomplice liberated
Llanberis power station from the Groves movement. British special
forces moved in behind us to secure it. Then a deal was struck with the
local police to hand it over and because of the inflammatory situation,
exchange the Special Forces with a battalion of Welsh fusiliers. This was
a helicopter exchange and was completed in the early hours of this
morning. Shortly after the completion preset explosives blew the power
station and the mountain up. Llanberis as a town has been destroyed, on
the orders of Colonel Bloodworthy.”

The Sgt sucked his lip, and thought for a while. “I am inclined to believe
you, we served under Major Bloodworthy, as he was then, in
Afghanistan. Let us just say his method of winning hearts and minds
tended to be at the point of a bayonet. I am in an odd position here, can
you give me some proof of this Llanberis disaster?”

Chas and I both shook our heads, “It’s been pulled from the news.
However get us out of here, get us transport and I promise I can show
you.” I knew that was not very much of a deal but the more the Sgt
talked to us the more precarious his position became. “If I agree, and
kiss my Army career goodbye, what is exactly your role in all this?”

“Can we discuss this on route?” He was still not convinced, give him an
objective. “We need also to locate a Russian, name of Vladimir Volkoff.
He is in here somewhere studying a tablet. We need him and the tablet.”

One of the Privates put his hand up, “I know where he is Sarge, I was
guarding him last night. It will be easy to get him out.” I won the day
with that statement. “Ok we will help you escape, and come with you.”
Then he looked at Chas. “All down to you fellah, I know you held back
from delivering a killing blow to my men. Worst they will have is a
headache.” He looked at his men, all of whom had recovered. “I am going
to help these people because I believe them. Any of you guys want
gunshot wounds to defend your career I am quite happy to administer
them. Sorry that probably came across the wrong way. If you are not
with me, then you can get a little nick to prove you went down fighting.”

A very sinewy tall private stood up and asked to be recognised. “I am not
sure I believe this story, but my Brother and his wife were visiting
Llanberis yesterday and you are telling me they could be dead.”

I wasn’t sure how to handle this. Chas interjected, “That could well be a
fact my friend.” “Count me in.” He responded. And then they all came on
side. Albeit 4 nursing sore heads.

My little band had just grown by 13 fully equipped, combat experienced
soldiers. Wait till they learn the news about Chas’s sexual orientation,
and the fact that, at least, two of our band are Ghosts! I would have to
feed them Elephant type bites about the situation. First job was to get
Vladimir, next escape, and then head for Llanberis. I had a destiny
meeting with Groves lined up. Not that she knew that at this moment in

Authors note - This was my 4th rewriting of this chapter. But whatever I
did I could not escape Bloodworthy destroying Llanberis. Do not ask me
why. As a completely different side effect I now have 12 army deserters
aiding and abetting me and I don’t know a single one of their names! God
knows how that happened. But I am afraid it just does and you have to
carry on with it. This could end up being a very long short story, roughly
200 pages of a normal paperback. But what the hell, it is still fun to

Escape 2

With the guards on our side the final push was not too difficult.
Bloodworthy himself tried to block our way but was shot down in a flurry
of bullets. Thereafter there was little resistance. We got above ground
and then I looked around. We were in the middle of nowhere. No roads,
just lush green vegetation and forest surrounded us. I asked the Sgt
where we were.

“Can’t rightly say I know where, to be honest. We were helicoptered in at
the Colonels orders a few days ago. Sorry about that Jerry.” I looked
round in despair. “Has anybody got a GPS about their person?” One of
the Cpl’s put his hand up. “On my phone Jerry. We are in the Brecon
Beacons. Where the SAS train. Miles away from anywhere.”

That was the good news. I nodded to the Sgt, “I agree Jerry.” So we
made camp for the night. A few hunters went out in search of grub,
whilst myself, Chas and the Sgt made a base camp and a cooking fire.
None of which would seem odd in the area we were. Once the game had
been brought back and was being spit roasted, oh what a glorious smell,
I held a meeting.

“Gentlemen thank you for your assistance in our escape. And for getting
Vladimir away. He is essential to our cause. I would like to say that I was
acting with the full force of the Government behind me. Unfortunately
that is no longer true. Bloodworthy’s action in blowing up Llanberis made
me realise I was no longer fighting for this particular Government. They
condoned the death of thousands to prove their point.

I was a complete innocent in this tale, not knowing what the hell was
going on. So I stuck my nose into Government business, got sucked into
their lies, and have ended up with the blood of thousands of Welsh
people on my conscience. There is a kind of payback in that. One that I
really dislike. I believed in my Government, and I was betrayed by my
Government. This whole business started with Groves, and I now accept
– myself as responsible. I was the catalyst, Groves the fire that stoked
the hatred within the Celts.

I intend to meet with Groves, and attempt to halt Civil War. I have no
idea how I am going to do that. And I have no intention of asking you
guys to join me. But this Government has just condoned the unforgivable.

It has sanctioned the Death of thousands of it’s citizens. I am going to
attempt to stop open warfare. But if I cannot do that, I will side with
Groves and attempt to overthrow this corrupt, murderous Government.
That is my position.

You guys have sworn an oath to the Monarch and the Government, I do
not expect you to join me. And I will also add that part of my very small
team consist of a possibly dead poof, two very dead characters,
Jerimiah, a human, and Hazel, a dog. And I do not know for sure
whether I am alive or not.

Tomorrow I am going to Llanberis to see what I can retrieve from this
disaster created by Bloodworthy. I would be proud if you join me, and
fully accept it if you choose not to. Goodnight and thank you for our

I thought it was time for bed after that but Vladimir had other idea’s.
“Jerry walk with me for a moment. Until I get the full manuscript I
cannot be sure. But as I see it you are dancing to a tune, lead by a band
conducted by Satan. You are a puppet Jerry with strings being pulled
from a long way away. You need to cut them boy, else you dance to their
tune. And fulfil their prophecy. Goodnight my son.”

I cannot say I slept well that night. I tossed and turned like a man in
torment. Which of course I was. I was about to turn on everything I
ever believed in. Turn on my Government and wage war against it. But no,
I rationalised. I would talk to Groves and try and prevent more
bloodshed. Surely the second coming of the Messiah should be peaceful?
Groves must accept that fact. If indeed it was she, not I who was the
second coming.

This was going to be a very difficult meeting. The outcome of which
would be crucial to the United Kingdom and possibly Europe. Vehement
tribalism and a hatred of enforced feudalism was not unique to the UK.

I was totally focused on talking with Groves. I was on my way in a convoy
to Llanberis. We had acquired 5 cars which accommodated all of us. And
quite an arsenal. My newly acquired Army had access to just about
everything you could need should we get into serious firepower problems.
Two of our vehicles were armour plated and had hidden machine gun
turrets. I was going on a mission of peace but I was not going to be

ambushed by the Groves organisation. If peace did not work I was very
willing to kick Groves arse.

Groves had responded to my email in a very positive way. She was willing
to meet me in the remains of Llanberis for a “positive discussion.” My
convoy had been forecasted and we crossed the, now disputable border,
with little problems. When we arrived at Llanberis I was stunned by the
destruction. Up to the foothills of Snowdonia the village had

Groves had arranged a series of flags to guide my convoy to a meeting
spot. It was up some bumpy roads but we eventually arrived at a
Farmhouse, deep in a valley, surrounded by the towering heights of the
Snowdonia Mountain range. “An ideal ambush spot”, reflected one of the

“And a quiet spot to meet, besides Groves does not need snipers to take
me out.” I responded. We stopped some 100 yards away from the
farmhouse and I left the car alone, as was the agreement. I was also
unarmed and taking a helluva risk, But I reasoned that Groves would
surely have been affected by the devastation wrought on Llanberis and
would not think that I had any part in it.

As usual in that part of the World the wind was icily cold, and I had to
bend my body into it as I made my way toward the Farmhouse. The Red
ones would have taken care of me long before now if Groves had wanted
me dead. And I still had my guardian Angels on my side, Hazel would be
around somewhere as would Jerimiah and Chas. Formidable foes in
anybody’s language.

As I approached the farmhouse I saw it was a typical build for Llanberis.
Grey dull slate, unattractive but strong, built to withstand the extreme
weather. There where two guards either side of the front door. Armed
with Kalashnikovs. They were not wearing any apparent uniform so I
presumed they were local muscle, hired with Groves monumental budget.

I climbed up the front steps and they gestured me to stop. Then I was
thoroughly searched, which I fully expected. They opened the door and
ushered me in. Then shut the door behind them. The room was open plan
farmhouse but very gloomy. The high wind and the low clouds making it
both cold and dark simultaneously.

I could not make Groves out at first. She was slouched in a chair in the
corner by an unlit fire. Then she looked and could see she had aged
beyond all recognition. “Hello Jerry,” she croaked. “What a bloody mess
I have created here.” “Nothing that can’t be put right” the words were
out of my mouth before I realised how foolish they sounded. Nothing
could be put right in Llanberis the wrong side of fifty years. “How could
they do it Jerry? Destroy a Town, just like that, without a thought to
the impact? Who did this?”

I could see no point in evasion. “A sadistic Lt. Col who is now dead. I
cannot say for sure what authority he acted upon, but I cannot believe
the Government, in some shape or form where not aware of what he was
doing. But this has to stop here. It cannot be allowed to escalate into
civil war. And you seem to be the only one who can stop it.”

At that she started laughing. “You still don’t get it Jerry, do you? It’s
not me it’s you. Sure I got the advance publicity, but I was the prophet,
the opening act for the main attraction. You were seriously dead Jerry,
I don’t miss kill’s at that range. And here you are alive and well. But our
useless fucking Government did not want the play to pan out.

They, not me, enlisted the help of the Red Ones and they got to
Bloodworthy. He will be historically portrayed as a commander who
exceeded his orders, and was unbalanced in his execution of them.

Vladimir had the tablet nearly deciphered and he told you your strings
were being pulled. And so they were. But not by me, never in my life
would I have caused such devastation. You may have scoffed but the me
you saw walking up Snowdonia was the real me. I was taken over by a
benign force and really believed in what I was doing, paving the way for
the coming of the second Messiah. You.” She stopped for a moment,
drew breath and continued.

“And here you are with your mighty Army! And the Lord said there will
be a mighty explosion over the town of Llanberis and my second child will
perish. Vladimir told me that last night. Check my email if you don’t
believe me. That was what was written on the tablet.”

I was stunned, Vladimir disseminating information as he saw fit. “Jerry
the guy works for the highest bidder, he is Russian for Christ's sake.

They sent religion into the historical dustbin 70 years ago.   He tipped
everybody off along the way. Anybody who would pay him.

So here we are, you and I, the precursor to this whole story, totally and
utterly fucked. So why don’t you give me one last shag mate while we wait
for the inevitable?” Then I noticed her watch was flickering, and then
it stopped flickering. Fuck, lock on. Then I heard the sound of the

I have to say, in my defence, I did not really get a hard on for Groves in
her current state. Also I was not convinced I wanted to get hit by a
500lb laser guided missile which was surely heading my way from the
helicopter that was circulating overhead.

I had the presence of mind to alert my guys, through my throat mike, to
the immediate danger and tell them to get out quickly. And then I had a
thought. If the big git Chas can ride atop Hazel, then surely a svelte
fully trimmed athlete like myself could manage it. I whistled her up, and
blow me down if she did not appear within seconds. She was big and
beckoned me onto her back. She barked, I jumped on, I waved goodbye
to Groves, and we sped off into space just as the missile hit the
farmhouse. Hazel rocked and rolled a bit from the aftershock. But I
held onto her ears and kept my place on her spine. I looked back to the
farmhouse and saw only dust and smoke. Then it cleared and a huge
crater appeared. That had to be the end of Groves. No question about
that, and according to the script it should have been the end of me.

But we were not out of the woods yet. We were being chased by the
helicopter. Hazel is a damn good flyer but aerodynamically dogs are not
up there with stealth fighters and with a human on their back they tend
to be a bit sluggish on the turns. I pushed her ears forward to take us
into a terrifying nose dive. But it was the only way as a missile flew
inches from her backside, and mine, I hasten to add. I eased up on her
ears as she shook her head from side to side, and then slid, and I mean
slid across the sky. I looked down to see a bolt of flame from the ground
and a rocket blasted feet away from me and my wonderful life saving dog.

I looked up and the helicopter just vanished in a sheet of flame. It
crashed to the foothills underneath and no doubt destroyed another
aspect of Llanberis. Boy there was going to be some reaction to this.

Hazel floated down and landed me back amongst my troops. All of whom
seemed glad to see me expect for Chas who dashed over and
commiserated with Hazel. I did not need, “Oh my poor darling doggy”
after the few hours I had been through.

I actually just made that up, Chas would never express such sentiment in
front of his troops. And they were his that was for sure. Ex Special
Forces know how to kill, the fact that Chas chose not to, when his own
life was in danger had formed an unbreakable bond between him and the
army deserters.

 We congregated into what we laughingly called the command vehicle.
Everyone was there bar Vladimir. I looked around enquiringly and got
some sheepish look’s. “Ok guys, where is our Russian cryptologist and the
enigmatic tablet?”

Chas chose to speak. “Nobodies fault Jerry, he stole a truck and took
off during the night. He wasn’t under guard after all.”

I was mad, furiously mad. Groves had already told me some of the
writing transmitted to her by Vladimir. The death of the second child bit
bothered me. was I the third and did I want to find out if I was? Also
Groves said she did not miss at that range. I therefore had to assume
that she had killed me. And that lingering worry about my state of health
came back to haunt me, if you will pardon the pun!!

Authors note. I really wanted to end the story here as I had tried
writing a structured serious story in between times. But as I was winding
The Lights up the hilarious thought of Jerry escaping the missile in the
nick of time, on Hazels back, proved irrestible. Also the intriguing
thought that Groves had definitely killed me, ergo I could be the third
child of God, made me realise just how much fun I was having with these
characters, and how little fun I was having with my structured tale. I
don’t know where I will go from here but my priorities will be to stay out
of trouble, ha-ha, and get Vladimir to transcribe the rest of the tablet. I
had no idea at the time that he had bugged off in the middle of the night.
Taking the said Tablet with him. C’est La Fiction.

“Ok Chas as you seem to have taken over as De Facto section commander
tell me what these guys think and where they want to be?”

One very tall, very broad private stood up. “Astel Phelps. As we appear
to have left the Army Jerry, with very little thought of income, I think
we can speak for ourselves. We have discussed this situation and have
decided to we would like to be your bodyguard. There were some
reservations, I have to say, until Chas explained everything.

Jerimiah the Ghost, Hazel the deceased Wonder Dog, whose exploits we
have witnessed first hand, Chas’s sexual orientation, and the debate
about his and your particular state of being, or not, as the case may be.

But the boys at large decided this was a whole lot more fun than
supporting a sadistic bastard like Bloodworthy as a Commander. And
don’t worry about pay Jerry in between guard duties we did a little
investigating into the remains of Llanberis, as all good soldiers do, and let
me put it this way, we are now financially independent and serving what
we consider a good cause. Almost like a charity.

One final thought Jerry, and the one that really swayed us, we are 12, I
am sure the number does not escape you, but until recently we were 13.
One soldier deserted we don’t know when. He was a Native American.
Name of Luke Firewater.

Food for thought Jerry, serendipity, or pure bad luck, it matters not to
us. We are with you Jerry whichever path you chose to take. Enough of
that crap, we liberated some beer, wine, whiskey and food from Llanberis
and we are going to BBQ, care to join us?”

I just nodded and thought thanks. I looked at Chas, he nodded and then
gave me the heads up over our comm.'s centre. “We are safe, let
everybody relax tonight, anyone comes anywhere near, they are in a
killing zone. That is provided they can get through the three outer
perimeters without dying. Get pissed Jerry, eat some burned meat and
sleep. Then think about tomorrow.”

Authors note. At no time did I consciously select the number of Guards.
12 just came to me as a reasonable number. And at the time they were all
trying to kill me, or at least prevent my escape. With Chas’s normal
violence they could easily have been none. Yet for once, unbeknown to me,
Chas decided to disable rather than kill. I honestly don’t know at times
who is writing this story. I just stumble across this stuff that was
written days ago, and it just falls into place. Despite the fact that days

ago I had no idea whatsoever what I would be writing today. Think about

I did exactly what Chas had advised and boy did I feel the need of it. I
felt it was incumbent of me to do the circulatory bit, and kept very far
away from the financially independent bit, what right did I have to
moralise on the age old soldiers right to loot. Astel was an interesting
guy to talk to. As indeed were all of them. Although other ranks all of
them were highly educated, mostly to degree level, very sharp and quick
to react to situations. I could not have wanted a better bodyguard if I
was Julius Caesar. And they all seemed to believe what I did not believe.

I left the party quite early, still with thoughts on my mind. Vladimir,
and the rest of the tablet, where had he gone, and why? The ultimate
death of Groves, for which I did feel sad, Luke Firewater and
wondering as to his whereabouts? My twelve strong guard?. Tomorrow
would be another day in this very strange life of mine. We had to get
away from this barren area and go where? And more to the point, apart
from finding Vladimir do what? I pondered all this then gave it up as a
bad job and lay down and slept.

The following day

Everyone was awake well before dawn, washed shaved and breakfasted I
faced several enquiring faces. “First job is to find Vladimir. And then we
will take it from there. Get ready to move out in an hour.” Boy that felt
good, decisive decision making. By my reckoning we still had four vehicles
left. I checked that with Chas who agreed. But before “Mount up and
away” we had to devise some kind of strategy. So much for decisive
decision making!

Chas was the leader, with Astel Phelps as the troops spokesmen. Both
being good man managers they led me to believe that I was in charge and
then took over, in the nicest possible way. “Ok Jerry,” said Chas, “Your
strategy is first and foremost to find Vladimir? Is that correct?”

Buoyed up by this obedience to my natural leadership I preened my
feathers gave him a big grin and nodded. “Do you not spot the ever so
tiny blot on this strategy?” “None that I can see” I replied somewhat
glibly. Astel stood up and indicated he wanted a word. “Jerry where are
we, where is Vladimir, and what stands between us and him?”

Don’t you just hate the smart arse, the guy who always wants to put you
down! All I knew was that we were somewhere in Wales, as to the other
two parts of the question I had not got a clue. I put on a brave face,
stuck my finger up in the air, not the rude one, put on my stern face, “ I
need Vladimir, you guys work out the details,” you know like don’t bother
me with trivia, and I sauntered off. That will teach em.

Of course it was just a classic example of allowing the ignorant
commander to walk away having a veneer of respect before he made a
complete arsehole of himself. Beautifully done by Chas and Astel.

I just wandered around for the next hour smoking and being given copious
amounts of coffee by the soldier who had elected to become mess
caterer. Salt of the earth these guys. It was later when I realised how
important command was that I knew I should have asked his name.

Chas and Astel approached me. “We have an idea we would like to run
through you.” (Aka “here is our decision arsehole.” ). Believe it or not
Chas actually squatted down with a stick and started drawing in the mud.
“We are here,” he indicated a point SW of the English border. “There

are going to massive troop emplacements all along this border.” And with
a flourish he excluded all my carefully thought out routes of escape. “We
need to go West and North into Wales and then North East emerge in
the region of Lancashire. The boys reckon if we keep the Welsh Dragon
flying the locals will leave us alone en route. We think Vladimir, being the
devious Russian mercenary bastard that he is, is headed for Whitehall in
London where he wants to sell the final piece of the translation. What do
you think so far?” Chas gave me one of his enigmatic smiles.

I must admit I was struggling with this logic. Our quarry was heading
ESE and we where heading in totally the opposite direction. I need to get
a map out and find where the enemy emplacements are likely to be!

Authors note- When you have been up-staged by your characters you
really do need to get the map out and find out what they are talking
about! I truly believe Chas and Astel Phelps are becoming an “item”. I
could be proven wrong. But for sure they are on my side as they both
believe I am the Messiah. I do wish to disprove this iconoclastic
viewpoint especially as I am an agnostic. But I do need to find Vladimir,
again! And before he discloses the remainder of the Tablet to those
duplicitous bastards in Whitehall. So why are these stalwarts of mine
taking me on this circuitous route?

I got the map out and obviously I was totally correct. We were heading
WWN, whilst our quarry was heading ESE. Some chase this should turn
out to be!! Fortunately it is not the end of the story. “Just explain the
logic Chas, whereby the Hunter goes in exactly the opposite direction of
the prey? And don’t give me that smug look!”

He did not give me the smug look. But he might as well have done as he
explained it to me in words of one syllable. I got the message, to
continue the chase the hunter needs to get out of the wood. And in the
meantime did I have so little faith that they did not know where Vladimir
was. Hazel was on the case. So why don’t I stop pouring over maps like a
2nd World War film character and get on the fucking transport.

He left me with very little choice so like a dejected schoolboy I got on
the bus and promptly went to sleep. The responsibility of command is
sometimes overwhelming!

I woke up just South of Wigan on the M6. It was 3am and we were
motoring. 90 mph in the outside lane. At this rate we would be in London
by 7 am. Long before Parliament met. But then we had to locate
Vladimir, but Hazel was on his case. So that should be fairly straight

The boys had civilianised themselves and the vehicles. To all intents and
purposes we were a gung ho mob of Hooray Henrys dashing orf for an
afternoon of killing inoffensive animals. That might not explain the
surface to air missile launchers, or the AK47’s, but in mitigation we did
have shotguns on board!! “Chas, what the fuck are we doing? We are
tearing toward London at breakneck speed with a lethal arsenal on board,
12 Army deserters and in stolen trucks? Just how are we supposed to
get away with this?”

Just for a miniscule moment he led me to believe he was considering it.
Then he grinned, the bastard. “You are off at the next stop Jerry, and
let me worry about the rest.”

“No Chas, you can’t do that to me. Hazel is fine in an emergency, but
there is no way I am riding into London on top of her.” He just laughed
again. “Not a chance Jerry.”

We pulled into the next service station and went where cars ought not to
go. It was very deliberate and we pulled up alongside a small helicopter
that had it’s engines on.” Your next ride Jerry, Hazel is on board
already.” I started to speak, but he cut me short, “Find Vladimir, Hazel
knows where he is, we will be around, don’t worry about us. Now go

I did as instructed. Dashed into the helicopter, which promptly took off.
“Where too Gus?” the pilot quipped. To which I quipped back, “Ask my

Hazel barked twice and the Pilot changed direction. The pilot speaks
Dog? Sorry I meant Mutt, Hazel shot me one of her meaningful glances.
I suppose I really meant superior canine cognitive process realisation.
That seemed to please her. In truth it mattered not what I thought the
Pilot just followed her barks and eventually we were hovering over the
small suburb of Westminster. Hazel bailed out, the Pilot touched down

briefly, ordered me out, and I rolled onto Vladimir, who was being
controlled by Hazels Hell Fire Hound.

“Get that fucking Dog away from me Jerry, I have done nothing to be
ashamed of. Come on mate, do me a favour.” He was terrified. And I
was quite willing to let him remain so. He was a bastard turncoat whose
only interest was cash. Let him squirm for a bit.

He was sat on the grass, crapping his pants. I found a small piece of
tree, broken in a recent storm. It was like a 3 x 4 piece of timber. One
smack in the mouth was all it took. So much for letting him squirm!

He mumbled through a mouthful of broken teeth. “You are not going to
like what I am about to say,” he spluttered. I gave him a hard stare.
“Just say it.” I just love my Clint Eastwood persona! Unfortunately I
knew what was coming.

“I needed to tip off the authorities, they had to know what was headed
their way. They needed to know the final part of the tablet. And they
had offered me a lot of money to do it. I have been contacted by agents
from the moment we had been in contact. The Internet makes this a very
small world Jerry. Any form of communication is monitored and usually

They knew I had escaped from Russia, they knew I had access to the
tablet. It was then very simple to put a trace on me, which led them to

Hazels underdone yips tipped me off. Vladimir had not led me into a trap,
but I was in one. I knew I had to leave here immediately, but I also
needed to know the final part of the tablet. The “Oh Shit” as Vladimirs
head was blown off, told me what I already knew. I was the target, and
I did not have the final answer to the tablet. I dived deep into some long
grass to my right, just as a bullet ripped through the grass to my left.
My days in this grass were numbered, as were my days on earth if I

I frantically looked round for any form of shelter from the sniper.
Nothing was evident. As the old saying goes I was in shit creek without a
paddle. Snipers are very patient people. And he, or she, would be well
prepared to wait me out. He was covering the killing ground and just had

to wait for me to make a mistake. Which I was very capable of. I rolled
very quickly to my right, then straight back to my left. A bullet pinged
into the grass inches from where I had just been. I doubt he would fire
again. These people pride themselves on direct hits, he, or she, would
not want to explain away too many wasted bullets. I hadn’t got a clue as
to how to get out of this. Except to sit and wait. Then my uninformed
hypothesis on snipers pride was blown away by a fusillade of bullets all
around my area. I was left with no choice but to run.

And run I did, zig zagging like a fox being chased by hounds. And I ran
straight into the band hut. There is one in every park. I ran through it
and dived straight over the back and straight into Chas’s arms. “Jerry, I
didn’t know you cared. Unfortunately now is not an appropriate time.” He
dumped me on the floor and began firing over my head. At the same time
firing erupted all around me. Then it went quiet, very quiet. Until Astels
voice rang out, “Do you want me to check the rest of the area Chas?”
“Please do, but be careful.” “Of course,” came the reply.

During this break in hostilities I gave Chas a resume of all that had
happened. “So Vladimir is dead and with his death goes the final part of
the mystery?” I was really tired by this time and just nodded wearily. I
felt Chas agree with me, then I fell asleep.

Somewhere in London

I woke up in what could only be described as a 1940’s barracks block. And
I was freezing cold. Chas was standing over me with a steaming mug of
tea in his hand. “Fucked if I know Jerry, this is all down to Astel. As you
can appreciate we had to leave the park pretty quickly and Astel led us

At that moment he appeared. “Good morning Jerry, I trust you slept
well. In case you are interested we are in an underground barracks,
courtesy of WW2. Very few people know of it’s existence so we should
be safe for a while. Me and the boys have used it occasionally as an
underground brothel. It’s cold but it beats the hell out of seedy hotel
rooms. There were some transients here but we persuaded them to seek
alternative accommodation. For some strange reason they were more
than willing to oblige. To be honest guns, in the hands of professionals,
can be most persuasive. Anyway we can rest up and decide the next move.
I will leave you in peace for the moment.” He walked away, whistling
would you believe!

What next move? My only link to the truth was stone cold dead. Vladimir
must have left some kind of clue behind. But where and who knew about
it? I was going to have to break loose from these guy and do some
research on my own. The research would be fine, that is what I am good
at. Going undercover needed a lot of work that I was not at all skilled in.

I explained it to Chas, who was not at all agreeable unless he, Hazel and
Jerimiah tagged along. I reluctantly agreed to that provided they kept
well out of sight. We got Astel involved and after some bargaining he
agreed to keep this place open as a command centre. He then set to work
changing my appearance.

A ¼ “ lift in each heel gave me a subtle change in height. Then a further
1/8” in my left heel gave me a discernible limp. My long golden locks, bet
you did not know I had hair like that, were shorn, and died a deep brown.
My blue eyes also became brown with the aid of contact lenses. Over a
couple of days my unshaven look became more pronounced and Chas
tweaked up my eyebrows. The final piece of the disguise was a complete
clothes makeover. A nondescript raincoat, shaggy scarf, flat hat, loose
fitting cardigan, and corduroy trousers.

I looked in the mirror and could not believe what I saw. A middle aged
academic in search of the truth. There was not a soul on earth who could
recognise me. Apart from Hazel of course. “She’s off the case. Chas
you explain it to her.”

That sorted I now needed to get out of here and start backtracking.

Authors note: Before you start asking questions this pre war barracks
was not equipped to handle mobile phones or broadband Internet. Else
there would have been no need for all this bullshit.

In the end it was quite simple. A vertical ladder led topside to an alcove
in the underground. The alcove was a mere thirty feet from a disused
platform. Egress to the outside was quite simply through a dummy locked
Gate easily opened on either side. Astel took me up and showed me the
way, in and out, and then I was on the streets of London, a free agent.
An Academic searching for the truth. First stop would be the Library
and the free Internet access.

In search of the truth

I sat at the computer terminal trying to put my head in Vladimirs head. I
was certain he would have stored the information on the Internet. But it
was going to be very hard to track down. And if and, when, I did track it
down I would only have very short time assimilate it, get out of the
Library and disappear. Anything relating to Vladimir would be heavily

I tried really hard to think of some obvious clue he may have left behind
before he died. “Oh Shit” didn’t fit. That was a reflex action to his
immediate Death. What else did he say? He was monitored and through
him they had traced me. None of this was helping. Neither was the fat
slob sat behind me tapping his fingers impatiently whilst I prevaricated.

I spun the chair round suddenly and looked him straight in the face. “If
you are going to do that for the next 1 hour and 45 minutes you are really
going to piss me off.” He immediately went ashen as intimidators often
do when confronted. Mumbled an apology and slunk away like the coward
he was.

Then I had a thought. Vladimir would be a hide in plain sight sort of guy.
I was not going to go anywhere with this Internet crap. And if I did get
anywhere I would be instantly traced. On the other hand a book by
Vladimir Volkoff should be quite easy to find. I logged off the computer
and made my way upstairs to the reference library.

Where would he put it? Surely under V, and then what? Theology,
Philosophy, too obvious. Narrow it down. Russian Theology. Vladimir
Volkoff, Russian theologise, reader of Ancient Scripts. The duplicitous
bastard. I was in completely the wrong section.

I walked deliberately down stairs, repeating the mantra, hide in plain
sight. Walked to the Ian Fleming section, and there it was. “The Spy
who betrayed me” A novel by Vladimir Volkoff. I walked nonchantly away
silently cursing and thanking Vladimir simultaneously. This was a stealth
job for which I needed to join the Library. I did not have the
information I knew they would require. But if I stole the book alarm bells
would ring out when I left. Then I had a thought. If Vladimir had
planted the book, it would not be security tagged. Ergo I could bury it in

my coat and simply walk out. That seemed to be quite a good solution. So
I walked back the shelf, only to find Fat Boy there.

Flippant as ever I told him my terminal was free. Not a great response I
have to say. “So you like James Bond?” He just glared at me. The next
step was inevitable. “Would you please excuse me, I am after a book,
would you mind stepping aside.”

Then this great fat blob spoke. “There has been a lot of interest in
Volkoff’s work of late. As an academic my curiosity forces me to read it.
I will make sure the library staff are aware there is a waiting list. Oh
and thank you for pointing it out to me.” And then he was gone, and as I
suspected the book was not tagged.

I ran into a freezing cold night only to bump into Chas and Astel who
were holding the fat guy in what could only be described as a not friendly
bear hug.

Astel was all bullshit. “This guy seems to have something you want Sir.
Do you want me to take it and break his neck” I played along. “Fat as he
is he might be worth talking to, keep him alive for the moment. Can we
get him to HQ?”

“No problem Sir. Just follow us, Oh and here is the book.” Astel handed
it to me. “You, fat bastard are coming with us.” Oddly he offered no
complaint. I guess he knew with Chas and Astel he had no chance of

I now had two problems – Vladimirs thinly disguised book, and a fat
bastard who was far too inquisitive. Who the hell did he work for?

“I am going back to the Library, I will see you Guys at HQ. And if you
feel the need to waste the fat bastard, please do not feel the need to
bother me. There is nothing I need from him.”

I have to admire my hastily assembled team. They just nodded and the
fat guy got very scared. He started babbling, “I can tell you what you
need to know.” Team Theatrical work, worked to a tee. I just ignored
him and walked off into the Library. And the Guy begged for mercy.
Chas shut him up with one of those mysterious Oriental 2” punches. He
was now a friend being helped to the nearest hospital. And once again,

sadly, I did not give a shit. There was far too much going on for me to be
concerned about an individual. Vladimirs library book was too obvious.
There had to be something around it. I went back to the shelf. All too
familiar titles. And then I saw it. “Why not try our instant pick book.
Try an unknown author. You may be surprised.” And the sign led me back
downstairs. It was not the standard Library sign.

I went back down the stairs and found the instant pick selection. I had
to look hard, and found nothing. I looked for an anagram of Vladimir
Volkoff. You try that! Then I cracked it. Vodka was the key word and
part of the anagram. But all I needed was a book with Vodka in the title.
This time I picked it up straightaway. “Vodka Martinis” a recipe book by
Anonymous. I put it in my bag and walked straight out of the Library.
And no bells rung. I was home and free and needed to get back to HQ.

It is very strange when you come from a non-confrontational World to a
confrontational one how quickly you adapt. I heard and smelt him long
before I knew he was there. And I hid behind a large smelly dustbin. As
he walked past I emulated one of Chas’s kicks and got really lucky. I must
have hit him straight in the throat. He dropped like a stone. And my
foot hurt like hell. Arsehole, why could I not have just spoken to him? I
was getting to like this gung ho stuff too much.

Authors note – The beauty of writing on the hoof is that as one door
closes, two open. Vladimir was dead, but I now had a fat bastard in
custody, and an assailant I knew nothing about 2 minutes ago attacking
me. The next few paragraphs could be quite interesting. I have also
discovered I quite like being a hard guy. Fictional wise only.

My would be assailant had fallen flat on his face, under a street light. I
dragged him away into the shadow. I sat on his chest until he came round.
Then I whistled for Hazel who appeared within seconds. “Sorry old girl I
need Chas again.” She understood and rushed off.

The Guy was beginning to stir and I was pretty damn sure he would be
able to throw me off. I did the only thing I could think of and smacked
him in the throat. Not hard like, but enough to prevent him fighting me.
It seemed to work as he subsided again. But he fooled me, he kicked his
feet up behind me, and at the same time head-butted me. I fell off his
chest with a nauseating pain, then he was all over me. Kicking, gouging,
biting, this guy was really pissed off and I was in agony.

Then he was lifted from me. “Christ Jerry you need some looking after
today.” I was so glad to hear Chas. “Do you know him?” I replied I had
never seen him before in my life, and I honestly thought I would be
grateful not to see him ever again. Boy I was hurting.

“Have you got what you want Jerry?” I nodded, “So let’s get the hell out
of here and back to the barracks. And we will take this scum-bag with us.
I am looking forward to tonight. Two interrogations, should be fun.”

One of the “retired soldiers” appeared with transport and we headed
back to the underground barracks. As soon as we got back I headed
straight to my room to begin reading both of the books I had purloined
from the Library but within minutes I was fast asleep.

Meanwhile Chas and the boys were having fun in the interrogation cells.
The fat bastard was a mine of disinformation. After he realised he was
fooling no-one he segued into a red one, and by all accounts was a real
handful. The boys were left with no option but to kill him. My alleyway
would be assailant, was on the other hand, a mine of information. He had
been told to look out for anyone leaving the Library with a book, that
they did not check out. Then simply get the book by any means. And as
they changed shifts, Chas could not have all the fun, he was recognised.

I woke up round about the shift change over. Took a quick cold shower
and then went in search of breakfast. I knew the books were important,
but I had to have food, particularly as I was in severe pain from last
nights exploits. There was not a soul in the mess hall. And not one single
sausage frying. But there were some horrific moans and groans coming
from the interrogation cells. I walked towards the noise shouting, “Come
on Guys one of you must be on catering duties, I am bloody starving, and
I have got to get to work on those books. I need feeding.”

Then Astel walked out from the cell and held his hand up. “Whoa Jerry,
before you eat, you really need to meet this guy. Then you will really
enjoy your breakfast. Just walk this way.” I did try but it was quite
difficult as Astel was actually mincing. Did I care about Him and Chas,
of course I did, they were my best buddies, and if they were happy then
so was I. He opened the door and he ushered me in. “I will go and start
your breakfast and let Chas do the honours, it was in Police speak, his
collar.” With that he sauntered off to the kitchen.

Chas was looking incredibly smug. “Jerry, my friend. I would like to
introduce you to Mr Luke Firewater.” I could not take it in. Which would
have been quite obvious from the vacant expression on my face. “The guy
who attacked you, the 13th disciple, the idiot who walked straight into
our arms. He is giving us some interesting information Jerry. Now I
suggest you put some ear plugs on and go and enjoy your breakfast.
Jerimiah, Hazel and I are having a great deal of fun. And getting a lot of
information. How we get it is really not for you to know. I will tell you all
about it in a few hours.”

I just left the cell stunned. Why on Earth would Luke try such a dumb
trick on me when he was home and free to start the movement. Then I
thought fuck it, I was more hungry than curious. Then I got a bit
worried as I skipped to the mess hall. Control yourself Jerry be a man
not a poof. Walk tall like John Wayne, that’s better I told myself.

True to his word Astel had cooked up the mother of all breakfasts. Eggs,
bacon, sausages, fried bread, not the American disgusting equivalent
Hash Browns, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms and devilled kidneys. All
served with a pot of the finest Moroccan Coffee. It was a feast to die
for. I was just finishing my second cup of coffee, I did linger over this
sumptuous feast, when Chas appeared.

“For once Jerry we got lucky. This guy Luke has a lot of the answers. But
they take some believing.”

I gave Chas one of my Clint Eastwood enigmatic looks. “So this idiot, the
leader of the Lucifer Movement, or whatever it is called, finds me in a
disguise no-one else would recognise, and makes a half hearted attempt
to kill me, or on the other hand makes a whole hearted attempt to get
captured. In between times the fat bastard creates a useful diversion.
Thus allowing us to bring two bodies to our underground hide-out. Both
of whom probably had sat nav pellets immersed in their system.

Do you not suppose Chas, that as we speak we are being hunted down?”

“And do you not suppose, Jerry, that we had not considered that?
These Guys had their arseholes reamed inside out looking for trackers.
They were clean.”

In search of the truth 2 – 240908

I kept giving Chas my steely eyed look. “You have got a bit of egg on your
chin,” was his only response. I sighed and leant back in my chair. I’d
worry about the egg later. “This is far too pat mate, and you know it.
We’ve been set up somehow.”

Authors note – One very good discipline I am learning, but not applying,
in writing this story is always have printed copy of, at least, the previous
chapter in front of you. This way you avoid the current embarrassment
of a. not knowing where you are and b. trying to explain how the bad guys
set you up with far more knowledge than you, as the writer, have! It’s
also useful to pay more attention to detail when planning the good guys
hideaway. Like how can it be approached and attacked. That tends to
avoid the surprise when:

The walls were just pushed to one side as a railway engine came
thundering through our little hideaway that no one could find. Bricks and
mortar came tumbling down as the engine screeched to a halt and bad
guys dressed in black came tumbling out. “I told you those guys were
bugged.” Chas just shrugged as two of the aforementioned were ripped
to pieces from his favourite weapon. “Stop whinging Jerry, this is what
we want. Just follow me.”

Just follow me, a train in the middle of the camp, bad guys brandishing
weapons everywhere, and Chas is cool. Nonetheless I followed him.
What else was I going to do?

We climbed, ever so hastily, and kept climbing, over rubble, bricks and
mortar. Then we were inside the highest point of the Garrison, looking
down on a narrow conduit. And all around me were ranged my 12
bodyguards. All armed with RPG’s. The guys in the black suits were about
to meet Armageddon. Three or four came running through before they
realised what a vulnerable position they had put themselves in. My guys
were very disciplined. “One and four take this rabble out. The rest of
you hold fire.”

And one and four fired. The boys in black disappeared. Vaporised. One
other intrepid soul stuck his head round the corner to see what was going
on. It promptly disappeared as a heavy metal round hit the target.

“Reload with heavy duty Anaesthetic darts and switch to sniper mode and
night vision. We need the rest of these guys alive. Maybe they can tell
us who the bastard is that is selling us out.” The implicit threat sent a
quiet shudder through the combined ranks.

Then a thought came to me. I looked for Chas he was reloading in a
corner, having a fag. “Chas how far did we investigate our prisoners for
tracking equipment? It’s small enough nowadays to be swallowed.”

“Jerry, we are not idiots, they were x-rayed, then given emetics and
enemas.” Then the light dawned in his eyes. “Where did the vomit and
the shit go! Damn these arseholes. The bloody things are still tracking
now, right from the crapper.”

“A flamethrower should do it. All that excrement should give off a lot of
highly inflammable methane gas. These devices are probably ceramic and
should burn like hell. What do you think?”

Astel calmly let fly with his sedative sniper rifle as yet another curious
head appeared round the corner. “What would now be the point?” he said.

And for once I grinned. “Do you think it is safe to assume that most of
the bad guys are down in this impasse wondering what to do next?” Chas
and Astel looked awry. “A large concentration of Methane gas in a small
confined area could cause a very large upward explosion. Could it not?”

Astel cottons on quick. “We escape through the hole in the roof taking
one of the guys in black and the two prisoners?”

“And have you got another little hidey hole earmarked?” “I have indeed
Jerry.” He turned round to the group. “Ok guys, we need that guy I just
shot unconscious, the two prisoners tied up and ready to go, and a
volunteer to throw a grenade into the shithouse. Ten minutes, no longer.”

They went off like a well oiled machine, no communication necessary.
Two guys abseiled down and collected the doped bad guy, four more
trussed up the prisoners ready for a reverse abseil, and the brave guy
got ready over the toilet. He was, of course, the fleetest of foot. The
remainder pointed their RPG’s at the choke point. And then on Astels
command holy hell broke loose.

Six RPG’s fired as one into the choke point causing mayhem, smoke,
falling detritus and a considerable amount of Death. 10 seconds later the
fleet of foot soldier lobbed his grenade and ran fast as he could. The
eruption was incredible. A sheet of pure flame shot sixty foot into the
air, vaporised the roof, which came crashing down, within minutes the
guys were roping themselves up and climbing into the open air. The first
guys out acquired any transport they could.

And by the time I got out a very curious convoy awaited me. “One last
thing before we go,” said Astel. He walked over to hole and dropped four
fragmentation grenades down it. “Probably not necessary. But what the
hell. Mount up Guys, let’s ride out.”

And so we did. With no chance whatsoever of a single tracking device.
But seven stolen vehicles driving through London, in a convoy, in the
middle of the night were bound to attract some attention. Astel had
read my mind. Somehow our comms equipment was still working. “We
need to split up - here are the coordinates. See you there guys.”

And the convoy peeled off in seven different directions. I just hoped
that each vehicle carried someone who was used to cryptic crosswords
because that was how Astel had buried the coordinates. In a clue,
pertinent to our situation, but containing information only we would know.
The main clue coming from methane gas. He was quite a wag our Astel. I
just hoped he had not been too damn clever.

“What the hell does this mean?” said Chas, “A rendezvous should be a
laugh and an anagram of a patriotic song and you know what minus
the final letter. The sixth movement should provide a clue as to your
direction. Two and a half and fifty two is all that remains for you to
make your rendezvous. Bon voyage.”

I can’t work this crap out Jerry.”

“I can.”

Authors note - Only because I had just written it!

“Another word for laugh is a gas. A patriotic song, Anthem, is an
anagram of Methane minus the final letter, E - East. The sixth movement
is N – North. 2.5 is Longitude and 52 is a Latitude. We are going to

Colchester. Where no doubt Astel has another sneaky hideaway. How
can we contact the rest of the convoy without using mobile phones?”

“We can’t Jerry. But the code is not entirely rocket science. I am sure
the guys will work it out. Let us just head there and see what happens.”

I would feel a lot better with that thought if I knew who the hell was
chasing and trying to kill us, and for what reason. From what I had been
able to pick up on my long wave portable radio civil war had been averted
through the death of Groves, the Welsh were now going through legal
channels to claim compensation for the disaster at Llanberis, and the
Scots had been disheartened by this dramatic change of events and had
stayed behind their borders. My old adversaries, the Mullins, had long
faded from the story. Lansdown was a closed chapter.

My faithful 12 bodyguard had been dispersed. And the mysterious 13 th
disciple, Luke Firewater was gagged and bound in a car I hoped was
heading for Colchester. Maybe all would be revealed when we got to our

Which was about 3 AM. “Now what, “ said Chas. “We can’t cruise the
streets of Colchester in a stolen car. I think we should abandon it and
head out on foot.” I agreed with that sentiment.

The major problem we did have was strolling round the town at 3 am,
looking for something that we did not know we were looking for. It could
attract attention. We had to walk round the old walls in an assertive and
determined way. Two poofs arm in arm was Chas’s choice. Which I
suppose was a far better option than two dirty old men cruising for
prostitutes or drugs.

So we linked arms and began our circuits. I don’t know what part of Town
we started off in but it was very busy for that time of the morning. And
not the kind of busy I particularly liked. Gangs of drunken youths roamed
the streets having been kicked out of the night clubs.

We were picked on several times but it came to nought thanks to Chas
and his speed of attack. He did not even make contact, he just flashed a
flying foot, or fist, within an inch of a drunken braggarts nose, and that
was sufficient. One Guy threatened to pull a knife, but his mates erred
on the side of caution and pulled him away.

By the third circuit, 4-30 ish it had gone quiet, which was now the dodgy
time for us. We were very conspicuous. Finally Astel called us over to
the foyer of a very fine Hotel. He ushered us inside. “With my new
found Llanberis wealth I have persuaded the barman to stay on. We are
only four missing, and guys are going out on regular patrols. Have a
couple of drinks and then we will talk about tomorrow.”

Chas and I were gasping for a beer, and whisky chasers, which went down
like velvet. We gave thanks to the ever efficient Astel. We chatted to
the guys who were , as ever, polite but slightly stilted. Astel was his
normal convivial self. Which is to say he was quite reserved. Round
about 6 am the final four arrived and Astel explained what he planned

He rolled a map out on the table. “This part of the barracks, the
Hospital and medical training centre has been abandoned for years. No-
one has taken it on and security is non- existent. I suggest we move in
there now, with the prisoners, and then get some sleep. In the
afternoon Jerry, we can discuss your next moves.” There was no
disagreement. So we moved off en masse to barrack structures not a
hundred yards away.

The prisoners were bound and gagged and sentries set. Then we all went
to sleep in a barrack block that had last been used it 1970.

Tomorrow would be the day we had to figure out what the hell was going


I woke up early, sat at a rickety desk and pored through Vladimirs two
books. Not much of either of them made sense until I tackled the Vodka
anagram volume. And I mean tackle, as with a knife. Lo and behold,
buried in the spine was a thin sheaf of paper, with hand written notes in
Russian. I could read rudimentary Russian, I had to as an Internet
antiques dealer. But I could not make this out at all.

Put that to one side for the moment and talk to Chas and Hazel about
Luke Firewater. I wandered down to where I thought the interrogation
cell was. The low moaning helped me directional wise. Chas and Hazel
were sat outside the room sharing breakfast. “Good for you guys, what
do I have to do to eat?” “Stay up all night and interrogate arsehole!”

I had never realised Hazel was not a morning person. Chas looked at me
with those sultry eyes, “The night before was Luke, last night was one of
the clowns who attacked us. We are finally getting down to the roots of
the story. They are not coming to any harm, lets talk.”

The three of us strolled away from the room.

“Luke Firewater was a red herring. Set up when Groves was being
proclaimed as the new Messiah. He was a PR tool. To give her credence
there had to be an enemy. He was part of the red one’s organisation,
designed to wreck havoc with her story, and thus give it credibility. But
her Death left him redundant. He was genuinely told to stalk the Library
and accost anyone coming out with an unmarked book. He was not a set
up, he was just dumb.”

“But told by whom?”

“He doesn’t know exactly, but he is certain it is someone who is either a
high level Government official, or someone who has access to such a
person. But that neatly ties in with the attacker prisoner. He is a
mercenary employed by an unknown organisation to eliminate our group.

They were recruited long before Llanberis, our escape and your meeting
with Groves. ”

But throughout this saga someone in authority had had their finger on the
pulse. Who could have scrambled an RAF jet to fire on a civilian aircraft?

“Bloodworthy was right, I accidentally stumbled into the mystery of
Lansdown, and I have been tracked ever since.”

“That’s about it mate. You and Groves where both supposed to die at
Llanberis, and with it the new Messiah movement. Now of course you are
very much alive and certain influential factions want that to stop.”

I was having trouble getting my head round this one, “If Bloodworthy is
dead, who the hell else is after me, us?”

“It is somebody high up, that’s for sure.”

I thought about this for a minute, but only that. “Think about it Chas,”
Hazel looked a bit miffed so I gave her a pat on the head and invited her
to join in. She wagged her tail in response, but gave no significant input.

“We have been tracked across the country, attacked in the most savage
ways, why? The new Messianic movement died with Groves death. We
are just a bunch of drifters with no following whatsoever. Who on earth
are we threatening to merit this attention?”

“It’s your number Jerry.” My old friend Jerimiah had repapered.
“Jerimiah, I thought you were dead.”

Authors note: That was a little in joke between Jerimiah and I.

“I would love to be Jerry, but things just keep preventing it. Give me
Vladimirs translation. When you have been around as long as I have you
tend to pick languages up. It’s a hobby, stops boredom setting in.”

I gratefully gave him the paper. “Uhm”.

Uhm? I hope he can do better than that! He just gave me that distant
look he sometimes has and continued reading. Then he sighed, sat down,
which was very unusual, and looked me straight in the eye. “If, and it’s a
big if, Vladimir gave this information to who I think he did, it would
explain everything that has passed. What is does not explain is what is to

come. That bit is missing, it only theorises. It is factual up to now and
thereafter hypothetical.”

I know it would be a pointless exercise but sometimes I would like to kill
Jerimiah! “Cut the enigma and give me the facts.”

“I don’t want to be too exact on this as it was translated from an old
tablet by a Russian who is now dead. Basically it predicts a large flood
and a subsequent explosion in Llanberis which will kill the false messiah
and allow the true messiah to emerge with a small band of disciples.
There will be a nucleus of 12 disciples, who will form a bodyguard, plus 3
celestial beings, one of whom will not be human.”

My dark, stomach ache kicked in big time. I felt in agony, but not in a
painful way, in a distant, throbbing terrified way. I got of my chair and
lay down on the floor. Terrified of what was going to come next. I
croaked a response out. “And Vladimir sent this information to whom?”

“I think the Pope.”

Always suspected, but never wanted, confirmation of my status on Earth.
The resurrected one, Groves “I don’t miss at that range.” comment. So
now I knew I was dead. I looked at Chas questioningly. “I don’t honestly
know Jerry. That’s straight up mate.”

I dreaded the next question. But it had to be asked. “How long
Jerimiah.?” He shuffled, as only the dead can, across the room. “That’s
as far as Vladimir’s translation goes.”

I lost my temper then, “Bollocks, it says something else and you won’t tell

“It’s just a minor point, lost in the detail.” He was still shuffling
aimlessly, disappearing in and out of shadows, how can he do that and I

Then I yelled, “Jerimiah, what is the time scale?”

He reappeared from shadow. “30 days from the explosion at Llanberis.”

I did a quick calculation in my head. 15 days remained for me on Earth.
15 days to raise a Christian Army of followers whilst fighting off the
might of the Catholic Church and it’s tentacles that stretched
everywhere. “Final question Jerimiah, why would the Pope not accept
this and embrace me as the new Messiah?”

“Vladimirs last piece of translation. The second Messiah rising from the
ashes of Llanberis may also be a false Prophet. Seeking Glory not
absolution. They distrust the prophesy Jerry, despite the writing. The
Pope will believe what he wants. And what he does not want is a second
Messiah that has not come from Rome. They are the fountainhead of

“So you are telling me I am fucked?”

“I would not put it so crudely, but yes.”

I have often heard the word epiphany, but never realised what it meant
until this moment in time. I used to think it was a wake up and smell the
roses word. In fact it’s a kick arse word where you realise you have
nothing left to lose. However 15 days can be a long time when you are a
Messiah. I sprung into action like the firm leader I am.

“Chas, gather the troops, they need to be told what is going on. In the
meantime Hazel and Jerimiah take up station outside I need to know of
any hostile movements.” I was going to go down fighting for there was a
lot of Papal Christianity that needed reforming and it seemed to be the
onus was on me to highlight this. And who the hell decided the new
Messiah was a Christian? All I had to lose was my life which was going to
finished in 15 days whichever way I looked at it. There could be no
second resurrection that was for certain. In 15 days I was going to be
dead. Best I accomplish something before that happened.

15 Days

Authors note – This is going to be the most difficult part of the story for
me to write. As an agnostic I have some strong, but controversial ideas
on religion. But I want to keep the light hearted tongue in cheek dialogue
that I have employed thus far. It is going to be a real test of my writing
maturity as I will no doubt feel the need to go off into rant mode. You
are just going to have to trust me, or be sure to let me know if and when
I get on my soapbox.

Chas got the guys assembled in what would have been the mess room.
With the exception of Astel Phelps they all looked a bit nervous.
Fortunately someone had come up with tea, coffee and biscuits. None
were on guard, Jerimiah and Hazel would give us ample warning of an

“Gooday gentlemen. It seems that you deserve an explanation. It has
been revealed to me, through a Russian translation of an ancient tablet,
that I am the Messiah. So basically when Groves shot me, oh so long ago,
I did die. And then came back to life. But only for a limited period of
time. Our enemy which appears to be the Pope and the vast legions of the
Catholic Church he can muster have managed to considerably reduce that
period. I now have a maximum of 15 days left on Earth. 15 days and a
helluva lot of work to do.

Before I say what I intend doing I would like to thank you all for your
support and invite you to leave and enjoy the rest of your lives on your
Llanberis wealth. If you don’t go you are probably committing your live’s
to a worthless cause.” I walked away and picked up a cup of coffee.

No-one said a word, and no-one moved. Then Astel Phelps spoke. “We
have discussed this Jerry, as I said earlier the 12 man troop analogy did
not escape us. Whether by serendipity or some Godly design, we are
with you till the end. And it appears that will not be too long. None of us
are particularly religious and we suspect you are the same. However
there is a caveat, if you go fundamentalist, of whatever branch of
religion, then we will part company.”

I felt tears welling up in eyes. But brushed them aside, Messiahs are not
big girls blouses. “Ok Guys I have not had a lot of time to think about

this so any strategy is completely on the hoof. But I do not have time
for steering groups and committees to get things passed. With 15 days
to go I cannot run a democracy. I am going to leave the military side
entirely to Chas and Astel. I am just going to talk about how I feel here
and now, invite comments, take a majority vote and then go for it. I
suggest we take a short break, and reconvene in 10 minutes.”

I, for one, needed a fag and a double whiskey, which I knew Astel would
provide without even being asked. I was trying to formulate a strategy in
my mind when Hazel and Jerimiah sat beside me. “Whose on guard?”
“It’s covered.”

I was not going to argue with these two. “What are your guidelines
Jerry?” “None Jerimiah, my only contact with God left me with a better
Golf swing, he never mentioned this shit, let alone what I was supposed to
do about it.”

“Maybe there is a parable there, a good Golf swing is all about balance.”

“Come on Jerimiah you sound like a sensei from an oriental martial arts

“So, Jerry San.” And then they vanished as they usually did when I had a
controversial question. But Jeremiah was right, balance is everything. I
sneaked another fag and a shot of Astel’s whiskey while a thought about
this. Then another thought crossed my mind, a lyric from Jesus Christ
Superstar, “If he had come today he would have reached the whole
nation, Israel in 4BC had no mass communication.”

I had a theory, I had a strategy, and I had an idea how to make it work. I
just did not have a clue how to implement it. Back to the guys with the
idea’s and see if they were still willing to support me.

Authors note – This is soap box time, but unavoidable as you will

“Guy’s the problem with religion was that it split the World into disparate
groups. Who then all started fighting each other over it. Before they
were fighting for good stuff like rape, pillage and loot. There was no
hate involved. It was just tough luck if you were weaker than your enemy.

Religion brought the yah boo sucks, my God is better than your God, and
the ultimate sin, Sanctity. People actually believed this crap they read
about their God.

When they were all Pagans, and could not read, which was perhaps better
for mankind, they more or less worshipped the same Gods. And they
were, beneficial Gods, rain Gods, love Gods, harvest Gods and Gods of
war, of course. But for every good God there was a bad God, so there
was balance. If you prayed to the rain God and it did not rain you blamed
the anti rain God. Very simplistic but very true.

After the birth of the prophet, AD, everybody claimed him for his own.
This same guy who only spoke about secular humanity to a diverse bunch
of people became at least three people, probably more. And now there
was no balance, there was only one God, the merciful God. So the
religious scribes had to come up with an antidote to this God, and they
invented the Devil, the Antichrist. Now there was balance.

Which was complete and utter bullshit. Of all the trillions of people
killed in the name of religion since 00 AD name me one who was killed in
the name of the Devil?

So Guys the way I see it, and not having been told anything to the
contrary, is that my resurrection is all to do with regaining balance. The
amalgamation of all major religions against me – the Antichrist, and the
eventual abolition of religious hatred. It is the only answer that makes
any sense to me.”

I looked at a stunned bunch of Guys. I think they were expecting me to
preach religious harmony, turn the other cheek and all that crap. I
needed confrontation, I needed to forment hatred, I needed religions to
bond against a common enemy. I needed religions to recognise a common
messiah. A prophet who was all things to all mankind back in 00 AD. I
was the protagonist who could do just that.

As usual Astel spoke for his group. “So let me get this straight Jerry,
having pissed of the Pope and the Roman Catholic Church you now want to
include Islam and Judaism on your hit list?”

“What difference will it make? We are 16 people and a dead dog. We
should worry about more than the Pope? The odds against are

astronomical. A few rag head suicide bombers and an outraged state of
Jerusalem are not going to alter the odd’s significantly.”

“Ok guys it’s crunch time you are either with me or against me. And if
you are with me we need to brainstorm.”

I could see these guys turning it over in their minds. Could they
understand that by funnelling religious hatred into me, the Anti Christ,
they could turn the religious clock back to the time when you waged war
because you wanted your neighbours land not because of a difference in a
scientifically unproven set of religious beliefs. I could only keep my
fingers crossed.

They went into a huddle. For which I could not blame them. Supporting
the new Messiah was one thing, supporting the Anti Christ was a whole
different ball game. Then the huddle broke up. “We are going to support
Jerry, call yourself what you will but there have been too many wars
fought over religion. If we can unite it by combined hatred we are on
your side.”

“Ok strategy time and then let’s talk about execution. It’s obvious we
cannot fight physically. But for the moment we should not be in a
vulnerable position. We are in an old building and nobody is aware of our
presence. We have to launch a cyber attack, and the minute we do that
we are going to be targeted. Unless we agree a written policy, and then
go our different ways for the next twelve days. And meet back here for
the final two.”

Chas stood up for the first time. “ How are you going to release this

“Ok, and this is off the top of my head. We have to set up a Web site
and release in total Vladimirs translation of the tablet. Then we have to
set up a linked parallel web site that describes the translation as our
interpretation. But we leave it vague.

In the meantime we have to wake both web sites up with lots of traffic.
We have to get them noticed before we hit the with the Anti Christ idea.
And then we start to denigrate religion as a whole and start citing facts
on deaths caused by religion. Meantime we can ham it up with quotes
from the Anti Christ. Email me at with your complaints. Anything

that is going to ferment trouble. Set up lot’s of Devil sites.”

“All good stuff Jerry, but most of these guys would not have a clue how
to do what you are suggesting. They are loyal Soldiers Jerry, not
computer whizz kids.”

And if they walk around with placards saying support the anti Christ,
unite religion under one banner, they are going to die. There has to be
another way?


To implement a strategy you have to have the wherewithal to execute it.
And when you have such a limited timescale, as I do, you have to cut some

We were scratching heads and talking things through when one the guys
told us to shut up, and turned the volume up on BBC news 24.

“There have been a series of attacks throughout the World on several
places of worship. It would appear from first reports that these attacks
have targeted Church’s, Mosque’s and Synagogues in equal measure.
Whilst there have been few reports of casualties, the damage to the
buildings has been extensive. We go now to our reporter in Salisbury.”

I jumped up and turned the Television off. I addressed the group en
masse. “It would appear that my Golfing instructor has pre-empted the
situation for us. Some of the “subtle” clues he said he would leave for
me. There is now no doubt whatsoever as to our purpose for the next
fortnight. We need to claim responsibility and get as much publicity and
Internet action as we possibly can. Then we need to move, and we will
need to be very quick.”

Chas had is hand up. “Hang on Jerry, are you saying God did this, that
God is the Anti-Christ?” “Have you got a better explanation Chas?”

“I agree it is too much of a coincidence, but why would he destroy what
has been built to worship him?”

“Because he cocked up. Think about it, the three big prophets came from
the same area and roughly told the same story. Only there where not
three prophets, there was one. He did not realise that mankind would
create three diverse religions from one mans talking. All in the name of
power. Create a false religion, call it whatever, and you can then
interpret that that was written down and spin it into a set of rules and
regulations to control the populace.

There is a God, albeit a bit dense, but he did not send down a son, he
sent down a multiracial prophet purely to preach humanity. Hence you are
right he is the Anti-Christ and also the Anti everybody else’s prophet.

He wanted just one multi racial, multi faceted philosophy, not religion.
He wanted to replace paganism with humanity.”

Chas seemed unconvinced. “So if that is true why wait so long to rectify

“I just don’t have an answer to that Chas, I really don’t. What I do know
is the here and now, and my ethereal buddy has just kicked my arse. He
wants me to get on with it.”

“Being exactly what?”

“Destroy all faith in existing religions, and don’t talk about what comes
after, that will not be my problem. So Guys can we shift into a really
high gear on this?”

I realised I was beginning to sound hyper. But that was a really shitty
trick on Gods part, no warning whatsoever. How can I make a timely
response? As was becoming the norm in this type of situation Astel
Phelps came to the rescue. “Jerry I think I have a way round this, but it
will take me a couple of hours. While I am doing that draft me a press
release, and a catch all title for the web site. The rest of the guys can
do nothing for the next few hours so I am standing them down. I have to
say Jerry I have done some odd things in my life, but none so strange as
to try and destroy 2000 years of established religion. It is really quite
exciting.” Finally he looked at his troops, “We are perfectly safe here, it
goes without saying that everyone is confined to barracks.”

He dashed off to do whatever he had to do, the troops dispersed to do
what soldiers always do when not in battle, eat and sleep. The other bit
they are going to miss out on!

That left the four musketeers. “You guys want to get to work?”

We found a quiet room that had desks, paper, pens and a whiteboard. I
have to say that Jerimiah was remarkably calm about this. Considering
that what we were about to do would destroy his and Hazels death I was
a bit concerned. As usual he was three steps ahead of me.

“It’s actually rather comforting Jerry, we can be buried anywhere, and
not have to worry too much about the hereafter. I can live with the idea
of one religion, if you will pardon the pun. So let’s crack on and destroy
this myth of three prophets.”

Chas went to the whiteboard and produced an unused marker pen.

“We being one descendant and three representatives of the One Supreme
Being claim full responsibility for the destruction of the false, so called
places of worship, built on earth, by man to worship not an ethereal
Supreme Being but a Being manufactured by man to allow so called higher
beings on Earth to control the destiny of mankind within ethnic groups
through so called religious factions.

This false representation of the words of the ONE prophet on earth has
lead to the death of countless, yes countless people. Our role is to stop
this abomination before it claims more lives. To this end we expect the
intellectuals of this earth to call for an end to ethnic religion. You have
one day to start a new movement of mutual religiosity. Should this not
occur more false temples will be destroyed.

Whatever else by the end of fourteen days you will have abolished these
false religions, or there will be no places of false worship left on earth.
There is no negotiation to this time scale.”

The Anti Christ Movement

My jaw was almost on the floor as I looked at what Chas had written.
“You knew all along?” “No Jerry, I only knew when he destroyed the first
structures.” I was dribbling, “So you,” and I dried up. “Guardian angel
Jerry. He knew you needed looking after.”

“So you are, in fact, dead? And all this destruction was lined up in

“Has been for many years. But only for another 14 days when you, I,
Jerimiah and Hazel start our short journey to dust.” He gave me that
irrepressible smile. “Don’t worry nobody will die, unless he forgets about
midnight mass of course.” I will take that as a joke, albeit in bad taste.

“If we go through with this, and we don’t seem to have any choice in the
matter, what if it’s a plot by radical Christians, Jews or Islamists?”

Chas turned on the television, it was a remarkably well equipped room!
“He anticipated your doubt.”

“This BBC 24 news. There have been several new attacks on religious
sites around the World. One eye witness reported a blue light from the
sky that completely destroyed Ely cathedral. Despite all these attacks
we have yet to hear of a single casualty. We will keep you updated as
reports come in.”

“Ok he is being unilateral and avoiding death. However there is no way we
are going to overturn 2000 years of religious indoctrination in 14 days.”

Jeremiah spoke up, “Of course we can’t Jerry, but the seed of doubt will
be planted in future generations.” “Not you as well?”

“Of course Jerry, how long would you have survived without us?” I
thought about how many times Jerimiah, Hazel and Chas had saved my
arse. It did make a great deal of sense.

“We need to get this press release out. I think we also need a link to a
web site where we can upload the writing on the original tablet, plus
Vladimirs translation.”

Aston Phelps walked into the room. He looked at the whiteboard. “That’s
good. I have set the web site up, what I need is 12 copies of that press
release. I am standing the guys down, they will take a copy each and
deliver it to press outlets on their way home. I will fax one to my
contact, and I need the original copy of the tablet plus Vladimirs
translation to fax through as well. Within three hours the press release
will be released, the web site will be set up and the forums will be
buzzing. I expect a positive response by tomorrow morning. Which is
when the five of us will have to move.”

We set to work and within an hour Phelps had all he needed. “Ok guys
leave it to me, get to sleep and I will see you in the morning. We leave at
7AM, transport is arranged.”

Eleven disciples set off in stolen transport never to be seen again. Phelps
found the library and used the fax machine there, being careful to
destroy all copies. It was sit and wait time for the unholy storm that was
about to erupt.

I found myself unable to sleep. It was just too much to take in. So I
watched BBC News 24 instead. Our press release had been picked up
around the World, and the Web Site was also live. All of which totally
occupied the News team. Expert after expert was wheeled in, all
discounting our news release, but all unable to come up with an
explanation for the systematic destruction of religious sites, and the ,
unbelievable lack of casualties. They were wheeled in and wheeled out all
night long.

Then the producers got bored and the lunatics started appearing.
Fundamentalists, fanatics, you name it they had wisdom to offer. But so
far no-one had come forward with the single demand. Mutual Religiosity.

The producers were in their element, time was fast fading for more
religious institutions to be destroyed. They had every reporter and
cameraman they could get hold of deployed throughout the world. They
were just guessing of course, but I had the sneaky feeling the Man knew
where they were going to be.

And at the 11th hour the Pope gave a speech. Unfortunately he blamed
Islamic terrorists. On the twelfth hour the Vatican was destroyed, with
a huge loss of life. The World now sat up and began to take notice. It
was no longer buildings. The President of Iran declared Jihad on the
Crusaders who had perpetrated this affront to the Holy Land. The
Mosque he was praying in later on was destroyed. And the pressure
increased. A radical Shiite leader in Iraq disappeared in a cloud of blue
smoke, as did his Mosque as he was about to speak.

Chas sat alongside me. “This guy is really kicking arse.” “What did you
expect Jerry. This radical reaction was bound to be the first thing that
would happen. Everyone blaming everyone else. It’s human nature

“What happened to the sparing of human life?”

This went on all night still without any leader coming up with a
commitment to mutual religiosity. But the Web site was on fire and
discussion groups had formed all over the World. With each systematic
destruction the tide was beginning to turn in favour of our movement.
Scientists who had long frowned upon religion were speaking out,
unfortunately so were the doomsday merchants.

“We need another press release. Then we have to get out of here.” Astel
had walked in without me even hearing him. I looked at Chas. “Twenty
four hour respite, then it starts again if there is no progress. You are
down to twelve days Jerry, if mankind does not see sense, then it is all
going to be up to you. ”

“Lets go.” said Phelps, I will fax this through on the way. We walked out
of there to waiting transport. Not a problem. Who where we? Just a
bunch of guys hunkered down in an abandoned barracks. There was no
way we could be taken for the perpetrators of the biggest religious
disaster the World had ever seen.

Where we were going, I knew not or cared not, I now needed to sleep.
With Chas’s words ringing in my ears. It could all be up to me. Some
thought to help you sleep to. Where was a Brahms lullaby when you
needed it? I just hoped mankind would come to it’s senses within the next
ten days. Hey I would like two days off before I was passed up!

Ten days

I woke up in wherever. Only five of us. We seemed to be in an
abandoned Hotel. “It’s the 24 hour respite Jerry and we get to watch
the news for that 24 hour period. Skeleton staff, but we still get full
room service. Not that I think we need it. I am sure we are all capable
of walking to the bar/restraint. “ “Cheers Astel.”

Chas was looking very in a smart charcoal grey suit with a matching tie
and shirt. “Where are you of to?”

“Ten days to go Jerry, I am going cruising for the last time. You can join
me if you wish, but it would cramp my style.”

“I would never want to do that Chas. Have fun.”

And I was on my own. Jerimiah and Hazel were not doubt doing there own
thing, and for Astel he would be forever organising. I might as well
wander down to the bar and see what was going on. An unattended bar,
might as well help myself. I pulled a beer and sat down in front of a big
flat screen television that was broadcasting BBC news 24. Amongst all
this angst was the gratifying news that Australia were being thrashed by
India in the second test. That will be a good thought to take with me in
ten days time. It’s not that we do not respect the Aussi attitude to
sport. It is just that they are boastful winners and whingeing losers.

Then the sport was gone and back to the action. None of which I had
actually caused. But I knew from what Chas had said I would have to have
the final word. Looking at the news all there was a blame culture. And all
in their own stupidity claiming their God was the only God, and therefore
the right God. I sat out the next 24 hours and watched the human
kindergarten destroy itself with it’s inability to listen.

Either the voices of reason were saying nothing, or the TV producers did
not consider them good drawing power. But one last hour into day 9 and
there was no hope of reconciliation.

And on the hour, as promised, thousands more religious sites were
destroyed. This time with extensive casualties. And as if to prove a
point the greater the conviction that their God was the right God, the
higher the rate of casualties.

The doom and gloom sites were now hell bent on proclaiming Armageddon
in 9 days time. Whilst the fundamentalists continued to blame each
other. The voice of moderation was either silent or drowned out by the
voices of hate.

I could do nothing but observe. Astel even gave me a laptop with a
broadband connection. “Jerry, there are literally millions of sites out
there now with the Anti Christ in them. They could not trace you in a
thousand years. You are perfectly safe.” For nine long more days.

My gut feeling was going into overdrive. This was not working, now was
my time. I needed to be proactive, not reactive. Ok so I would be taken
a litter earlier than prophesied, but I could not allow this to go on.

 I called the remains of my team together. At last I knew what I needed
to do with my final days on earth. “Astel I want you to set up a Press
conference, call it the final words from the representative of the
benevolent ethereal being. Come with me on this last trip guys, and then
we can all bid each other farewell. “

Chas interceded, “You still have nine days Jerry.” “No I don’t, the
destruction of human life was my final test. I have to stop it now. And I
have to stop it where it all began, Lansdown. Astel please arrange
helicopter transport to Lansdown and the Press conference to be held at
the Church.” He did not blink an eyelid, just nodded.

“Can we do it in three hours?” Why did I ask such a stupid question. “You
do realise the risk. Going by helicopter and announcing it in advance?”

“I am counting on it Chas, but with you, Hazel and Jerimiah I am certain
to get to the press conference. But I do not think it will be uneventful!”

DeJeVue - Lansdown

As I had anticipated Astel, who has always been in someone else’s pocket,
had set up the press conference, but had also broadcast, to all and
sundry, our flight path. Within minutes of being airborne we were under
attack from ground to air missiles, diverse attack aircraft, and the flying

Authors Note – This is completely unnecessary. But it has been quiet for
far too long and I wanted a final showcase for Chas, Hazel and Jerimiah.

And boy were the paparazzi in for a treat. Jerimiah who has been a non-
combatant for most of this tale decided to have some yee-ha moments.
As did Chas and Hazel. What the hell I had just shortened their
remaining time on earth by 9 days. They had, at most, 5 hours before
ascension. And they were going to make the most of it.

I had a birds eye view of these antics, without the least fear of death.
Even though my helicopter was the target of the aggression. I could sit
back, relax, and watch the fun. And if I did die, what the hell, I would
die laughing.

It was like a rugby scrum. The helicopter being the 5 tight row forwards,
with Hazel, Chas and Jerimiah being the breakaway forwards. Wherever
an attack came from these guys were there to defend me. Hazel
backicked an SAM to Chas who passed it onto Jerimiah who flung it into
the stratosphere with a huge YeeHa. And so it went on, I will leave the
rest to your imagination. Suffice to say the helicopter landed in the
church grounds of Lansdown unscathed.

Backslider that he was Astel had not let us down. The Worlds press were
gathered. BBC, ITV, CNN and Al Jazeria to name a few.

I alighted from the helicopter and then confused them all by walking
round the walls till I came to my original opening. They followed me like
young pups round an in season whelp. I stopped exactly where I had made
my first entrance. Looked at the wall, and it opened.

The onlookers gasped in amazement. “Come join me, we need to go to a
specific point, it’s relevance will be immediately apparent. These walls
are normally closed.” I was not being heard so a good technician gave me

a microphone. And I repeated the message. But what I said lost all
significance as they came into the chamber and saw me standing there.
And my dead body lying there.

“If you have any doubt you are welcome to examine me and my dead

Most of the reporters stood back in shock. The Japanese decided to
have a good look, maybe searching for an idea for their next game show!

I turned the mike up. “That’s me people, lying on the floor. Shot dead
by Groves. Groves who was supposed to be the new Messiah. So I am
clearly dead, which makes me, according to the Vladimir translation of
the tablet, the third Messiah. If I am that person, what do I come to
tell you? Surely I can only represent one religion. And what religion
should I represent.

The only religion I can represent will cause hatred amongst the other
religions. Because I am standing by my dead body and within minutes will
be destroyed by a higher presence. None of you can doubt the fact that
I have died, and stand before you alive. I represent no religion, I
repudiate all religion. I am the living son of the Anti Christ. Whose first
son was sent to earth to encourage peace and goodwill amongst all

Do you imagine for one moment that the higher being expected hatred to
come from goodwill, death to come from caring, atrocities to come in his
name? Dream on religious maniacs. His will is compassion and a free life
for all humans.

I am leaving now, I can only hope that the intelligent ones amongst you
appreciate what was supposed to happen 2000 years ago. Throw away
your religious banners and crosses, and embrace humanity. As a final
gesture I would ask the people who have supported me through this
adventure to join me. I would suggest you retreat at least 50 yards away
from my position, it could get a little warm.”

The guys, albeit reluctantly came up. And we held hands as a bluish light
destroyed the Church and us.


“So what do you think.” “I admire the fact that you have given yourself a
challenge by shortening the course and your swing. It was a good round
today. I shot a fair 96, you shot a dodgy 61.”

“What do you mean dodgy?” “Come on you claimed a single putt on the
twelfth that was twenty foot from the hole. It could have been three.”

“I lied Jerry. But what do you think about down there, were you pissed
off when I reneged on the pact.”

“I was at first, then I accepted the inevitable. Any religious structure
left intact would have instantly become iconic. A religious flag to rally
round. And then it would have started all over again. No you did the right
thing. The fundamentalists are finding it hard to accept, but the
rational people in the World are starting to accept humanitarianism. The
Middle East burning the Koran and turning on their religious despots was
certainly worth it. And the demise of the Holy Roman Catholic Church
was good to see.

Youth will wander around rudderless for a while, then they will realise
their fate is in their hands. And just maybe believe in themselves and

“Hopefully Jerry, hopefully. But that is your role on earth finished. Did
I mention I might have a problem elsewhere?”

Authors notes to The Lights

Taking all the fun and the nonsense aside I firmly believe in the
conclusion. I have no historical grounds except that every single book
purporting to represent Abraham, Jesus or Mohamed was written well
after 00. They were certainly not written at the time of the events they
claim to describe. And to his eternal regret John Simpson was not sitting
in at the feast when Jesus turned water into wine.

It is inconceivable that three prophets roamed the same land, preaching
the same idealism at round about the same time and that mankind came up
with the three diametrically opposed religions.

Some writings in the Koran the Bible and the Talmud can be dated later
than the 2nd Century AD. How can they be historically accurate? As we
know today with real time 24/7 reporting, the news you heard last week
has been disproved this week. Try and follow events in Libya for example.

In 00 there was no news, except that chiselled in stone, and I would
suggest that took a bit longer to disseminate than a real time satellite

I stand by my argument that one prophet, possibly sent by a superior
being, because of the warring nature of humankind, to preach
understanding, kindness and humanity was hijacked, by humankind and
made in their, not his, image in order to stamp an iconic set of rules on an
otherwise unruly populace.

I also defend my Superior Being as the Anti Christ. A novel idea I think,
but one that has an element of reality to it. I cannot defend the time it
took him to sort it out. I live now, not 2000 years ago. But I have to
admit that 2000 years is a long time test a prototype. Maybe somebody
in 1100 came up with a similar idea, but was burnt at the stake for

I would actually like to see my story become reality at some stage. No
benevolent person, dedicated to helping the underprivileged, with no
monetary gain, in a third world country should be shot dead because she
is a Christian. I think that horrific act by barbarians answers my case
for me.

I will say that I will not attempt to get The Lights published in it’s
current form, it needs too much work, and I don’t fancy a Fattwah being
put on my head. Even though I do not make fun of, or mock religious
Icons, because they are not religious Icons, they are shrewd and
avaricious humans. And have ever been so, be they Jews, Christians or

Finally I recently visited Rome and took the obligatory tour of the
Vatican. I found it's splendour, and plunder, totally obscene, and as far
removed from Christianity and the, teachings of Jesus, as is possible.


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