Never Before Published Work of Alec Newald, Fiction (some of it…)

Exclusively here and on the Human

Just running this by you for comment, I can change my mind and do other things but this is sitting around and has been for many years so I thought someone might like to read it, and it means I don’t have to start from scratch. Way back in the day (mid 1990’s) before I ever thought I could tell the truth about those missing 10 days I was playing around with other ways of getting it out to the world. I’d already had run in’s with so called agents of some alphabet soup. And I knew a little about how they operated and being a target, I soon figured it was the good guys the James bonds were after not gold finger, or anybody remotely like him. So, the short of it is I tried to fictionalize my own dilemma by mixing fact with a little made up stuff, like telling the story from the agent's point of view with myself still the focus but only as a third party. Anyway, I’ll cut and paste a few chapters and throw them at you to see if you consider they are worth your readers time to read or failing that I’ll find something else half written and throw that at you instead just give me a little time to dig out those old chapters. - Alec Newald

                                        Chapter 1

                                             London

Magic, n. An art of converting superstition into coin. There are other arts serving the same high purpose, but the discreet lexicographer does not name them. 

                                         Chatham House 

                                              London

                                           February 19??

James wiped away the steam from the bathroom mirror, staring back at him, through steely grey eyes, was a sharp-featured face carrying three day’s worth of dark stubble. Normally immaculately groomed he was ruing the fact his leave had been cut short. It wasn’t that often he could let his hair down and go bush. Soon the stubble would be gone, replaced by a clean-shaven face that went with the customary dark suit and tie white shirt and jet-black slicked down hair. You could be excused for thinking him more like something out of a 1960’s fashion magazine than the cold-blooded ruthless killer that he was.

He was not officially on duty, not yet, but he was willing to bet after a 10-minute taxi ride that status was sure to change.

James Reginald Taylor was old school by the very best traditions of it’s meaning, his family had been in the military since Noah boarded the Arch. No one could remember a male member of the Taylor family that had not attended military school and gone on to achieve a high rank in the British Armed Services.

His upbringing had taught him that things had to stay as they were everyone and every family had their place in the hierarchy of all things. Anyone attempting to upset this Status Quo, attempting to perhaps even things up a little, someone looking for a little justice and fairness within the system was simply an enemy of it and not to be tolerated. This is the way things are, and should always be, to even question such was an act of treason. To James this made it a simple world do as instructed by those that have been given the authority. Do it without question or be prepared to live a much shorter life than might otherwise have been the case.

His only failing in all of this was a short temper which from time to time tended to get in the road of his duties, often landing him in trouble with his superiors and colleges. 

The only reason James was not in any of the mainstream military services was because of his academic and athletic abilities, these had made him a standout target for recruitment by a secretive organization known as ‘The Agency for Foreign Technical Recovery’ better known by those that need to know as AFTR.

Its pretext was the recovery of downed foreign satellites, military aircraft and hi-tech hardware, occasionally they did actually think about doing such things, but this organizations real purpose would always be a mystery to most, even to those in the military or government services that would from time-to-time work alongside this agency, and in many cases fund it.

AFTR had no allegiance to the British Government or any arm of the military, not even those in its employ knew for sure who their masters might really be. Some had suggested that indirectly it was more likely connected with the Crown, the Queen herself. James had heard the rumors but was not expecting to be called before Royalty anytime soon. As far as he was concerned the rumors where just that, he enjoyed the work, you might even say he was born for it, so why ask questions and maybe rock the boat.  

A wiz at university in both mathematics and linguistics his family background aside, he was always a natural mark for this highly secretive organization. Fit, quick thinking individuals were required for this vocation, an ability to kill without forethought or regret was also a necessary prerequisite.

AFTR’s deeply covert parent organization ‘The League of the Red Shield’ used a public format known as the Royal Institute of International Affairs to voice many of their ideas, to anyone looking in from the outside the RIIA appeared only as a think-tank, a place of debate for private members of influence on world affairs and other related subjects, beneath that outer skin it was far more than that. More covertly secret than MI5 or MI6 could ever hope to be, its agents, in the guise of those from AFTR and other like organizations outside of the UK, were far more devious than any James Bond you could conjuror up in your worst nightmares.

The League is the best-funded most secret organization on the face of the planet, they had to be, what they dealt with and planed in the course of normal business would make the average person’s hair stand on end.

This does not mean they ran about protecting the innocent from the bad guys, in fact far from it, the League for all intents and purposes, are the bad guys! They are almost solely responsible for all the grief in the world You don’t fuck with these guys without ending up wishing you had never been born.

Their number one motto is ‘The Owl is not blinded by darkness’ how apt this is, as one of their main aims is to keep the rest of the world in perpetual darkness pertaining to all things, all meanings, and all subjects. At their secret occult meetings effigies of this predator bird dominate proceedings as the members enact mock ritualistic sacrifices of children.                                               

The League of the Red Shield as it stands is steeped in history and is most likely the oldest organized society on Earth. Its origins stem from the very beginnings of civilization itself, when a mark was placed upon Qayan, better know as Cain, by the Lord of the Bible (not to be confused with any God) to protect him from harm as he travelled the land. The mark is considered to be the oldest recorded Grant of Arms in sovereign history. It was, according to Laurence Gardner in his groundbreaking book ‘Genesis of the Grail Kings’ a red cross within a circle, very similar to that still used by the organization known to one and all as the Red Cross.

With this granting of arms came the beginning of Kingship among human tribes and positions of privilege power and wealth. Initially this ruling class did have a high degree of compassion and intellect, they were in fact designed for the job, but that is a whole other story in its own right.

Over the long course of our history The League has been referred to by various and differing names, one example being ‘The League of Just Men’. If ever there were a misnomer for a cause surely this would be it. Unfortunately for the most of us the Lion does not change its hunting technique nor pray just because you call it by another name.

The modern day League of the Red Shield has corrupted the original coat of arms to suit their agenda and dogma. It now carries their own hallmark, their signature, and if you know what to look for you will find their mark upon many a business and powerful international organization today.

Covertly this League or Cult control most of what you think you know to be the truth in all aspects of life, without doubt they control the politics of this world.

So arrogant were the founding members of this League that it is rumored they swore they could trick half the world into worshipping a dog, and in so doing lead humanity down a false road of blind faith and loss of self. Along with the manipulation of a language they appeared to have done just that. Many who have researched the English language report than much of it has been reversed from the sacred language that it once was, by all reports not only has this denied us many a sacred sound and empowering word, but one cannot deny the obvious when the word ‘God’ is reversed.

It has been reported that collectively this group control half of the world’s total wealth, perhaps a great deal more than that, in spite of this you will never find reference to them in any rich list published in the various media throughout the world, but then why would you, they own the media. As the group already have more money than they could ever need their focus now is only on the acquisition of power, the power to control all of humanity and the planet as a whole.

 ‘The league of just men’ owes allegiance only to themselves, holding to a chosen belief that by privilege of intellect and birthright they have sway to rule the world. Therefore, all of the world’s resources are theirs by right. They resent very much the fact that these precious reserves are being devoured by the common folk of the land. One of their primary goals is to vastly reduce the earth’s population to conserve these resources. If this could be achieved, then those that are left will be subjugated and used as slaves to serve the chosen few and all would be well with the world in their eyes. While many might suggest a reduction in the world’s population is a good thing overall for both the planet and the human race as a species, the way The League intend to achieve this goal is little sort of insane.

If it were not for the fact, they have the where-with-all and the passion to complete such a task one could feel smug and safe in the knowledge that such foolishness could never come to pass. However, the main reason more progress has not been made in their quest to date is because of a conflict of egos from within the organization itself and the lack of a suitable population suppressant i.e. a plague of biblical proportions, similar to that of the black death of the Middle Ages. However, this is not through the lack of trying, its just the human race is such a resilient species it has thwarted all attempts thus far to jump-start such a pestilence.

Therefore any ‘natural’ disaster that would bring about the same result would also be welcomed by said organization, just as one that might try to prevent such a natural disaster would become their public enemy number one.

Right now, at the moment James made himself presentable for his office recall, the League was not so interested in earth politics as they were interested in off world politics.

Of course James knew none of this but even if he had it would have made little or no difference to his outlook or work ethic when it came time to report for duty once again. Yes he was perfectly suited for the job.

He had just celebrated his 30^th birthday before he was recalled from his two-weeks of leave, he had been given orders to report for briefing in room Number One on the first floor of Chatham House, it was urgent and please no delays. He must be there by 0900hrs.

What could be that dam important he wondered? hailing a taxi from a street corner not far from his High Street apartment, surely there was someone to cover for him while he was on leave, just my luck.

James had long ago booked into a swank Swiss ski resort, and was really looking forward to getting away from London’s dreary and persistent winter rain for the next ten days.

Skiing was his passion, when he wasn’t killing people that is, he had once held hopes of making the British Olympic Ski team, but at 30 his hopes were fading. He also wondered if he would ever get enough time to practice, now connected to the special operations unit within the company, the unit with the highest security level possible, he was always on call and it seemed, as now, always required to be somewhere else other than the ski-sloops of Europe he lamented, dodging a deep puddle as he stepped from the taxi.

“There’s a real flap on downstairs,” his assistant and partner whispered in his ear. James hung up his coat, this was their private office, it had been assigned to them both since they had been brought under the wing of the department head, this was truly the top level of the agency, not because their office had walnut inlayed desktops or teak paneling on the walls, but because after this there was only God, or in other words ‘The League’

“I’ve never seen so much activity,” she continued, “they’ve recalled all the agents that are on leave so don’t feel so hard done by, you’re not the only one who would rather be some place else right now. I was on leave too you know.”

Samantha Stubbing was a tall woman, standing almost 1.8 meters she could be quite intimidating if she put her mind to it, having done basic military training herself in her younger days. Like James she was soon due a birthday, in her previous 38 years she had seen a fair amount of the world from all angles and did not suffer fools lightly. She had worked hard to gain her position in the organization and was as loyal as the day was long. She never questioned an order from above and was possibly still capable of breaking an average man’s arm in a second if need be. Yes sir, Samantha was a tough cookie and not to be messed with unless you fancied yourself as a black belt or something better. She was a perfect partner for James, who, at times, worked outside the organization’s rules. Tending to be a bit of a wild card and not always one to follow direct orders.

Samantha could look him in the eye, they were both approximately the same height, only he was dark where she was fair, otherwise they could have been brother and sister. There was a look of sameness about them like they had a connection in the family, or they both came out of a similar mold. That said there was no mistaking Samantha for a man.

The briefing was to involve the both of them, it appeared they were to share the assignment whatever it was going to entail, wherever it might lead, and they were not kept guessing for long.

“Now listen up people, we have been getting these code red reports from NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defense Command at Cheyenne Mountain for several days now, also back up reports from Pine Gap in Australia. There have been an alarming number of movements both in and out of Earth airspace from the Southern Ocean regions of the pacific, mostly in the area of the Antarctic. I’m talking fast walkers here, and you all know what they are, Alien space traffic.

The most recent is the one I want Taylor and Stubbing complete with back up team to check out personally. This latest fast walker was tracked underwater from the Antarctic right up to the coast of the North Island of New Zealand. As usual with these guys it seems to be the volcanic region they are interested in mostly, and there has been quite a bit of seismic activity off that coast over the last few weeks.

There’s an area off the coastline of the upper North Island that is part of what is known locally as the volcanic diamond, or triangle. It runs inland to places like Taupo and Rotorua.” The briefing officer was pointing to a wall map featuring the region of interest. “In this area of the south pacific there is also an active offshore volcano called White Island.

Norad tells us this bogey came ashore, or at least it came in overland at low altitude, hovered for a short time in an area just north of Rotorua township, here, and then made off down into the Southern Ocean region again. They lost it off the screen soon after that and think it headed on out into deep space. This was some 48hours ago. The worry is they think it’s the same one that did this about 12days ago. Something is going on down there, they could be setting up a land base, whatever is happening I want some of our top personal in the field and on the spot. The local plods and SIS are out of their depth dealing with this stuff. The yanks have their hands full in other areas and can’t get a team down there, well this is our patch anyway, so we need to know what’s going on. If there has been any interaction between this craft and civilians in the area, I want to know about it in detail! Are you two clear on that?”

 Department head Sanderson looked hard at Taylor and Stubbing, there was only a nod in reply from both.

“Try and fit in with the local authorities while you are at it please, at least be civil.” he continued. “I don’t want too many skirts ruffled, you get my drift?”

He was now only looking at Taylor as he made this last remark. 

Taylor did not reply he did not even look up, as he read the assignment briefing notes on the desk in front of him, he knew Sanderson would have eyes on only one person with a remark like that and didn’t feel the need of any additional discomfort by acknowledging it.

Other agents would accompany them on this mission to ‘the Land of the Long White Cloud’ but they would mostly be involved with technical assistance and liaison work both with local New Zealand SIS agents (Secret Intelligence Service), and Pine Gap in Australia, which was the closest monitoring station to New Zealand that could track the fast walkers. AFTR and similar organizations liked to keep things in-house, sharing little with outsiders, it was always a strictly need to know situation.

Taylor was at least glad to be heading to a place that was in the middle of summer, if he couldn’t be skiing, he would at least be out of London’s depressing rain.  Stubbing was also keen to explore a small corner of the world that had eluded her up until now.

24 hours later their aircraft was fully halfway around the world and landing at Auckland International Airport, a clear blue sky and a cool early morning breeze greeted them, in a few hours the day would warm up, it was 0600 hours the 27^th of February, it was going to be a stunning day, but Stubbing and Taylor had more on their minds than a day at the beach.

The two agents were met at the airport by a local SIS agent who immediately drove them to Whenuapai Air Force Base, a small military airfield on the Northwestern outskirts of Auckland City. There they met up with other members of the New Zealand Secret Intelligence Service.

The AFTR agents ran through a long list of prerequisites needed for their operations within New Zealand. They were short on detailed explanations of why they might need most of the items, preferring to keep their operation in NZ on a need-to-know basis as usual. They mostly need transport in the form of a helicopter, plus several 4×4’s, a little manpower mostly a local or two who knew the areas they wished to check out. Communications facilities for field work and from their HQ which would be set up inside the airbase. This much the SIS could and would supply, all it took was a little pressure from God who of course they knew personally.

They were then taken across town to the DSIR, the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research. Here they supplemented their more highly specialized technical needs and took on the identities of employees of the DSIR, this would help with their cover while making investigations among the NZ Public.

By mid-afternoon on the same day, they were once again airborne, this time tracking south over the broad reaches of the Manukau Harbour on the western side of Auckland City, a dark blue unmarked Bell 412 Helicopter would take them south 300k/m to the small tourist town of Rotorua.

                                                Chapter 2

                                         Auckland  New Zealand

                                                March  1989

Stubbing and Taylor sat in their black turbo powered Mitsubishi Pajero wondering what to do next. They had turned over Alex’s apartment several times in the past week and had not found anything of interest. They were watching it now, not because they had a plan, but rather because they didn’t.

James was getting a little agitated “we should have sorted this by now” he thought to himself. “This colonial hick had been giving them the run around for long enough”. He wanted to hit somebody in frustration, preferably Alex.

“Calm down James,” Samantha said, disturbing his thoughts. “I can always tell when you’re getting wound up, you fiddle with that bloody watch till it drives me crazy.”

Sam was sitting behind the wheel she loved to drive and had a sports car back home. She loved to get out on the country roads near Chelmsford where she lived and really push the Morgan as hard and fast as she could. It was an older car not the quickest on the road, but it handled very well. A trip to the coast just for the fun of it was always on. She loved to drive with the top down, scarf around her neck, bedecked in her favorite leather jacket. The one the Marlboro Man had tried to bribe her with on the movie set back in Brighten a very long time ago.

As a teenager Sam had flaunted with the idea of becoming an actress, she certainly had the looks, and possibly the talent, but after military school she found out how much fun it was really breaking people’s arms and sometimes necks, rather than pretending to do so on the stage.   

While driving she would get off on enticing other drivers to a drag race at the traffic lights, she rarely lost.

On the other hand James hated driving, living most of his life in and around London town he didn’t even own a car. Taxi’s or agency drivers from the RIFA were all he needed while in the city. His speed release was on the ski slopes, the down hill slalom. In that environment, as with Samantha and her drag racing, he rarely lost.

James was just getting out of the 4×4 to pace around for a bit, to de-stress himself, when Alex came out of his apartment and put something in the boot of his car. As he lifted the boot lid and bend forward with a box in his hand, he felt a strange twinge in the back of his neck, it made him stiffen and stand up again, he looked behind him as if to see what had caused it. There was nothing there of course. He was suspecting an insect had bitten him, but it wasn’t anything like that at all. It was a reflex action, from a very special gift Alex didn’t even know he had yet. Like a blink from an eye, when something passes very close to it, this gift might soon save him from harm, but that was in the future. A need not yet required, or a skill not yet perfected, whatever, but the twinge was indeed a warning of sorts.

“Head’s up,’ Sam said quietly, starting the Pajero, “subjects on the move and he’s just put a box or sorts, in the boot of his car.”

James slid quickly back into the 4×4.

“Could you tell what it was?” he asked.

“No, but I noticed him take a quick look around before he put it in. That’s a good sign as far as we are concerned.” She replied.

Alex had just purchased a new sports car himself, after unloading the troublesome Jaguar XJ6, soon after his, not yet remembered, off planet excursion.

He had now down graded a little in size, but not in performance. Through his old connections in the car trade, he had come across a superb bargain he could not resist. It wasn’t cheap as such, in fact it was a little more expensive than Alex had wanted to pay, but he loved speed, and this car had more than it’s fair share of that built into it.

He also had the feeling of being watched of late. Almost like someone was stalking him. It was an ever-present feeling, it made him feel insecure. A feeling that he had never had in his life before. Something was going on he just knew it, but at the same time there was nothing he could put his figure on. His intuition was working overtime to warn him, he was just not connected fully with it yet.

That aside he hated the idea that someone might be watching him. He had figured if anyone was, and he ever wanted to get away, this was the car to do it in.

The near new dark blue BMW M5, was a 310hp factory special, only a few had been built, and the friend that had imported it, as a demo and promotional tool for his BMW dealership, assured Alex they had all been hand built, and that they were the fasted cars of their type on the road, at the time they were made.

They could hit 155mph or 250kph, just the thought of that, made Alex’s heart race.

Still, he was not expecting to ever see those numbers come up on the speedometer, not ever, and least of all, not that afternoon.

“What do you think we should do?” Samantha Glanced at James. She had already pulled out onto the road, and was tailing Alex from a safe distance.

“We need back up, if we are going to make this tail work, we can’t just follow him for miles, from what we have seen so far, he’s sharp enough to spot us if we do that. I’ll call in the other car.” James replied, “the SIS guys said they would park up the top of the road, out of sight, and to call them on the radio if we needed any help, so I’ll cue them to fall in behind us. We can do the double around every now and then, so it’s not the same car on his tail all the time.” James concluded. “Mind you I’ve a good mind to run him off the road right now, and grab whatever it is he’s got in there.” He added.

“Keep cool Mr. Bond,” Samantha said with a half grin on her face.

The SIS agents were in a silver-gray Toyota Landcruiser 4×4, diesel powered, not the fastest vehicle on the road. But then they were only there as an extra set of hands, more than wheels.

Alex turned right on to the motorway and headed for Kumeu. This at first was in the general direct of the Whenuapai Air Base.

“We could call up ahead, get one of our own units to replace the guys behind us?” Sam suggested, “we’re heading in the general direction of BOO.”

(BOO) Base of Operations.

“No, dam it, lets go with what we have.” Replied James

“I don’t want to make this into more than it is, it’s just a slim chance he has something of interest in the car. We’ve turned his place over enough times, don’t know where the hell he could have been hiding anything, the place is not that big.” He concluded.

Alex turned left at the end of the motorway, but continued to follow highway 16.

He was now getting out of the city traffic and into single file, as the road narrowed to become just two lanes.

First off he stopped off at a local dairy, to buy a daily newspaper. Then a few kilometers further on he stopped again, this time at his favorite vegetable stand. The land out west of Auckland, grew some great crops, and the landowners and growers often sold their excess produce at roadside stalls. It was always fresh and of the best quality, so anytime Alex was passing he would grab what he thought he might need, for the following week’s groceries.

 As he was putting his bag of vegetables in the boot, alongside the box housing one of his  prized possessions, he noticed a jet black Mitsubishi Pajero parked some distance back along the road. He smiled to himself jokingly, and imagined it would be full of secret agents, ready to come take him away. Black vans with tinted windows were always full of secret agents, he kidded to himself, and shut the boot of the slightly dusty beamer.

Yesterday, to indulge himself and take his mind of the strange series of events that had happened over the past few weeks, he had taken his new toy, the M5, out onto the unsealed back roads just north of the city, by sheer coincidence not so very far from this very roadside vegetable stand. He had tried it out so to speak, given it a bit of a dust off as they say in the car trade, pedal to the metal.

He was amazed at how well the city type car could handle the loose metal roads, even without rally tires, which, with their more open grooved tread were better equipped to grip the gravel on unsealed country roads, typical of rally course events, of which Alex had done more than a few.

The car had handled really well. Very predicable, and easy to slide around corners, true rally style. He had to admit in this case, the Krauts had managed to make a great handling car for all conditions.

As he was pulling out from the roadside stand, he was pleased to notice virtually no traffic on the road. What a great opportunity to gun it along for a bit, he thought to himself. Having pushed it hard the day before on the unsealed back roads, this would be a great chance to see what it might be able to do on the better sealed roads. So as he pulled out onto the main road he had great delight in watching the rev counter pull all the way up to 7500rpm, in first gear, and then in second.

Taylor and Stubbing were beginning to loose interest in this wild goose chase, as Alex pulled off the road to buy vegetables.

“Oh for the love of……!” exclaimed Taylor, “he’s out on a bloody shopping expedition, and here we are, all four of us, going along with the hick for the ride. Why don’t I just get out of the car, go over to there, smack him in the face, grab whatever it is in the back of his car, and get the hell out of here. End of story”

“Yes, that would be a smart move,” replied Stubbing, “especially with a dozen witnesses right on the spot to take down our number plate and supply a good general description of you to the local police. That will really improve our cooperation and standing with the local forces here, wouldn’t it?” She concluded.

As she was saying this, Sam noticed Alex glance up from the boot of his car, he was looking directly at them, even though they were several hundred meters away, parked off to the side of the road, and, they had hoped, hard to see in the shade of some roadside trees.

She tensed a little, almost as if Alex’s eyes had sensed her presence and somehow locked in on her in some supernatural way. Even though logic told her there was no possible way he could have seen anyone inside their vehicle, not from such a distance down the road.

The next thing to happened, about the same time as Samantha was recovering from her moment, a cloud of dust swirled up from the roadside ahead, and the dark blue M5 beamer of Alex’s, was fast disappearing out of sight around a corner in the road.

“Holy Hell! He’s must have made us.” Samantha cried. ‘and he’s bolting, which means he must have something in that car he doesn’t want us to see.” Was Samantha’s assumption, as she fired up the Pajero, and was off after the fast disappearing M5.

It was not long before Alex ran up behind other slower traffic, the speed limit on that road was 100kph, Alex had hit speeds just over twice that, in the short time he had been able to give the beamer it’s head. As he slowed to follow the other cars, at more like the correct speed limit, he noticed the same big black Mitsubishi Pajero from the vegetable stand, charging rapidly up behind him.

It started him thinking. Maybe his fantasy, of every black van with tinted windows, housing secret agents, was not so much of a fantasy after all.

He decided to pull off the main highway, on to the first available side road, and just see what happened behind him.

The next road, which was on his right, just happened to be Old North Road, he knew it well, it meandered in the general direction of the Riverhead Forest. An area in which Alex had raced in many club and national rally competitions in the past.

He pulled off without indicating and slowed down, so he could keep an eye on the intersection in his rear view mirror.

“Watch it Sam,” Taylor called out, “he’s turning here, I think.”

James was watching Alex’s car drift out toward the centre of the road, and then followed it’s Sharp turn to the right.

“Should I follow him?” Samantha asked, “I don’t know if we have totally blown our cover or not yet. If I go down that road, that’s it, he’ll know for sure that we are tailing him.”

“Do I care,” replied Taylor, “I want whatever he’s go in that dam car, and I don’t care how we get it, this just might be our one chance to grab it. Let’s not let it, or him, slip away, now we are this close. I’ll radio the SIS guys behind us, to close up, or if they know another way around these roads, they might be able to head him off somewhere.”

For once Samantha let James have his head, even though deep down, she had the nagging suspicion this could all be a big mistake on their behalf.

As soon as Alex spotted the big black 4×4 turn down Old North Road, he knew his imagination was not playing tricks on him, but what to do?

For a start, why were they after him? Could they know about the devices? How could they? He had told no one. And anyway he didn’t have the devices with him, so what was all this about?

All these questions raced through Alex’s mind, even as he put the hammer down in the M5. The questions could wait, whatever they might think he had, whatever reason they had for tailing him, could wait, he’d give them the slip now, and worry about the details later.

The tail hung out on the beamer and the tires smoked up, as Alex gave it full throttle on the tarmac section of Old North Road.

All Stubbing and Taylor could see as they turned into the same road, was a puff of blue tire smoke and once again, a rapidly disappearing BMW.

“Shit!” Samantha thought to herself, that things got some grunt, I’ll be pushing it to hang on to him in this bus, turbo powered or not.

Taylor had a map book out of the roads in the area, and was trying to figure where they were exactly, and where this chase might lead them. At the same time he was talking to the SIS agents in the Toyota, some distance behind them. They had radioed in to ask what was going on up ahead, and as they knew the area very well maybe they could give a suggestion or two, about trying to head off the target.

“He most likely won’t go into the Forest,” SIS agent Forbes suggested, as he studied his road map, “the Forest has roads, but they are usually closed to the public, with locked gates at the entrances, unless there was a bit of logging going on at the time. So really he can only go two ways, he might follow the forest fringes and continue to head north, or he might try and double back through Riverhead Road and come back out on highway 16 again. Then head back toward the city. That’s my best guess as to what he’s likely to do,” suggested Forbes, “and as we are behind you, it would be easiest for us to cut back and cover the Riverhead Road section. If he does double back, we can try and intercept him for you, or at very least, let you know if we see him, if you should loose sight of him up there toward the Forest.” Agent Forbes suggested.

“I concur,” Replied Taylor, “cover the Riverhead Road section as best you can, and let us know if he has doubled back, we’ll continue with the pursuit and keep you informed when we can.” He concluded.

Samantha was pushing as hard as she could, but on the tarmac the beamer had far to many guns for her Mitsubishi 4×4, Alex was pulling away.

He almost flew through the cross roads, where Old North Road intersected with Railway Road, all four wheels of the beamer becoming airborne as Alex took the a bump in the road at that intersection at well over 160kph. He never even thought about stopping, or even slowing down to see if anything was coming the other way at the crossroads.

 He figured at the speed he was going, it would be just dam bad luck, to intersect with another car on such a quiet piece of country road.

 He was actually using his intuition, his other senses, the ones that had stood him in such good stead in his motor racing past, and at other times in his life also, and even more importantly, times yet to come, the senses he didn’t even know he had yet.

Samantha was more circumspect, she slowed at the intersection, just to be sure, by now Alex was out of sight.

Once Alex couldn’t see the Black 4×4 in his rear view mirror, he was looking for a road, any road, to turn down, once he had done that, he figured there was no chance they could figure where he was. He could then either go back home, or better still head for a quiet place, or a friends house, to and try and short all this out in his head.

Things were getting out of hand, it must be the devices they are after, this was the only thing that made sense to him. Suddenly he realized if that was the case, things were never going to be the same again. This was never going to stop. At least not until ‘they’ had them, or worse.

Going ‘home’ was not going to solve a thing. Suddenly Alex felt sick to his stomach, what do I do now?

The next intersection was another set of crossroads, Old North crossed Riverhead Road, Alex only half slowed, and took the right-hander into Riverhead at about 100kph, fully sideways.

He was in fact heading toward home, even if he was not completely conscious of his decisions, home just seemed to safest option, if there was such a thing in this situation.

Samantha arrived at the same intersection quite some distance behind. She was faced with three choices, and looked at Taylor.

“Now what?” She asked.

“Well,” replied Taylor, as quickly as possible. “that road to the right goes back toward Riverhead, and eventually highway 16. We have that covered, I reckon he most likely went straight ahead, if he has not gone right, if he was traveling fast, and we know he was, the road almost straight ahead would be the easiest to take at high speed.”

Samantha was gunning it straight across the intersection, even before Taylor had finished talking.

Alex was now in effect heading back toward highway 16, via the small logging town of Riverhead, Eventually the road he was on came to an intersection with the Coatsville Riverhead highway, and Alex once again turned right, on to highway 28, this would in turn bring him out on to highway 16 and the road home.

What he didn’t know is that the SIS agents were about to use their Toyota Landcruiser as a road block on highway 28, and once more they were armed, and ready to at very least aim their weapons at Alex, if this would help their cause and enable them to stop him, but this was still New Zealand. Even the police didn’t go shooting weapons off without due cause, and SIS agents working for an overseas agency were not top billing to be able to go around shooting at people. In this fact, Alex was indeed lucky.

The beamer had a good head of steam up as it barreled down highway 28, the road was fairly straight for large sections, and Alex was hitting speeds well over 180kph. Suddenly he saw the Toyota across the road ahead of him. The SIS agents had a very good set of binoculars, and they could pick out the dark blue beamer well before it had gotten close, and they pulled their big 4×4 across the road and had hand guns raised, by the time Alex realized what was going on up ahead.

He braked hard then applied the handbrake, at the same time as he turned the steering wheel, this had the effect of spinning the Beamer through 180degrees in a matter of seconds. Before the SIS agents could do anything, Alex was headed back in the opposite direction, but they were soon in hot pursuit and on the radio to Taylor.

“He’s doubling back in your direction I should think,” Forbes was telling Taylor, “we stopped him from getting back on the main highway, but he’s very slick and I think too fast for us, we’ll keep him insight for as long as possible and keep you informed of his general direction.” He reported.

Alex didn’t want to stay on highway 28, after the small town of Riverhead which was just up ahead, there were very few options to take as far as side roads were concerned. He didn’t know how many road blocks might lay ahead, he could only think heading toward Riverhead Forest might be his best bet, they wouldn’t expect him to enter the Forest, so that was exactly what he intended to do.

Taylor and Stubbing had realized this was a fairly hopeless chase, even before SIS special agent Forbes had radioed in his report. They were way undermanned, to try and stop the target. His car was too quick, there was no way to figure out which road or direction Alex might take next.

They were sitting at the intersection of Deacon and Old North Road, not far from one of the main access roads into Riverhead Forest, deciding if they should call the whole thing off, when a dark blue beamer flashed pasted them going in the opposite direction, and doing well over a ton. (100mph, 160kph)

“There he goes,” Cried Stubbing, as she watched the streak of dark blue, flash past them. “Right lets give it one last chance shall we?” She suggested.

Taylor was all for that. Stubbing turned the big heavy vehicle around as fast as she could, and headed off after Alex.

“I think he went into the Forest,” Taylor reported, “look see, those are his tail lights, down that road there.” Taylor was pointing down one of the main Forestry roads, namely Browns Road.

“Shit,” Alex cried to himself, “these bastards are everywhere!” As he flicked the car into the Riverhead Forest, through the only road that had been left unlocked.

As he raced through the forest he came up to a Y intersection, to the left was Barlow Road, a road Alex knew well from Rallying days. He quickly slide the beamer through the corner on to Barlow, sideways.

Taylor was on the Radio again, asking the SIS guys to report their position.

“We’re on Deacon heading north.” Came the reply.

“OK, listen up, we’re in the Forest on Browns Road, follow us in that way, I’ll kept you posted as to which way we turn once you get to Barlow, because it looks like we are about to turn down that road now. Taylor commanded.

“Rodger can do.” Was Forbes reply.

The speed advantage of the beamer was considerably reduced on the slippery and damp forest roads, the 4×4 Pajero was designed for these conditions, the BMW was not.

Alex used all the roads he knew best, all he was trying to do was put distance on his pursuers. He cut from one side of the forest to the other, careful not to go down any of the roads he suspected might be locked.  He used the handbrake on almost every tight turn, to flick the tail of the beamer around, as the front tyres could not cope with the slippery conditions, wanting to push straight ahead and not turn in on the damp and loose surface of the forest roads. He used every trick he could think off to put the pursuing 4×4’s far behind him, but they were slowly cornering him, shepherding him over to one side of the forest. The two pursuing  4×4’s were well coordinated, and relentlessly cutting off his choices. 

In the end Alex had to take a gamble, and opt for an exit road, hoping it was not gated and locked.

It was.

At first he thought about just ramming the gate at full speed. But the gate was heavy gauge steel piping, and desperate as Alex was, he could not do that to his new car, and it might well not break through the gate anyway.

Only choice was to head back up the road and take his chances. The advantage the pursuing vehicles had was a driver and a map reader. Where as Alex was going off memory alone, and under supreme pressure at the same time, navigating his way through the sometimes unmarked roads at high speed. The others had time to plan which road was best to follow up on in the chase. When Alex had turned down Boundary Road and gone right, they knew there was only two ways out, and they had them both covered.

 As Alex came back up the road at speed, Taylor and Stubbing where on their way down it. As they saw Alex coming, Stubbing swung the big 4×4 across the road and applied the hand brake, and managed to block the narrow forest track completely. Alex slid off to the side of the road under heavy braking, broad sided a tree, and came to a halt with a thump. The chase was over.

Taylor was quick to advise the two SIS agents as to their location, and to get there asap.

Before Alex could even unbuckle his seat belt, let alone open the door and run for it. Taylor was standing in his way, a P220Sauer .45 pistol in his hand. Alex had never had a gun pointed at him before, and in depths of Riverhead Forest, he had no idea if it was going to be used or not. For sure there was nobody anywhere near them that had Alex’s interests at heart at this point in time. The possibility that he might be shot dead, right there and then, was not the farthest thing from his mind. As cool as Alex normally was under pressure, he was shaking now.

“Open the boot.” Taylor ordered.

As Alex did so, they were both greeted by a dozen mixed vegetables falling to the ground.

“Open that box.” Taylor ordered once again. Pointing to the box Alex had so carefully placed into the boot of his car only an hour or two before.

Alex did not hesitate, and obeyed the command.

“What the hell is this!” Taylor exclaimed as he grabbed the box from Alex’s hand. It contained a hand caved, bone, chess set. A very special gift Alex been holding on to for some time, meaning to deliver to his long time friend, Benny, who lived in Kumeu.

“Fuck!” Taylor exclaimed throwing the chess set into the forest as far and as hard as he could.

By this time the SIS agents had arrived, and were standing behind Taylor, along side Stubbing.

“Can one of you guys search the boot, the other the interior of the car.” Taylor said curtly, “your looking for something unusual, maybe not to big, about the size of a shoe box or smaller.

“You, you’re coming with me.” Taylor said to Alex, grabbing him by the shirt.

Taylor marched Alex up to the Pajero slammed Alex’s hand down onto the bonnet and held it there.

“What do you think your doing Taylor?” Stubbing asked, following him back up too the 4×4.

“I’m going to get some bloody answers, that’s what I’m doing.” replied Taylor.

“Now where the hell is it? And don’t say you don’t know, or I’ll blow your bloody head off.” Taylor asked menacingly.

“Where the hell is what?” Alex replied.

Taylor held the gun hard too Alex’s head.

“Care to try again with that answer.” Taylor said leaning in to Alex’s ear.

“Look you guys are nuts, I only have vegetables and a chess set in my car, ask the others down there searching it. I have no idea what you think I have. Tell me and I’ll see if I can remember if I own it.” Alex was acting brave, it appeared, but he sure didn’t feel it, it was a surprise to him that those words had come out of his mouth, sounding as if he was as cool as ice.

The next thing he knew, Taylor had extended Alex’s right hand flat out on the bonnet of the Pajero once again. Next he turned the pistol around in his hand with it’s hand grip outer most, and smacked it down onto the middle fingers of Alex’s outstretched hand. Using the gun as a hammer. Blood splattered Stubbing’s white blouse and face.

“Hey, that’s enough of that James!” She exclaimed, “If you want to question him, lets do it properly back at Whenuapai Base. We’re better equipped to get the answers we want if you know what I mean.” She finished.

Yer, I guess your right, lets do it by the book. Taylor replied, “Have you guys found anything in the car yet?” He asked the SIS agents.

“Nothing in here that we can find, and we’ve pulled out the seats and lifted the carpets, the under dash looks clear also.” Came the reply from both agents.

They bundled Alex into the Pajero, he was puzzled as to the fact he could not feel any pain, he expected it to arrive any moment, but it seemed as if whatever damage had been done to his hand, there was no pain attached to it. He wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not.

 Taylor tied a piece of thin rope around Alex’s neck and tied it to an interior car door handle.

“Just in case you think you might want to jump out and make a run for it.” Taylor said with a smirk on his face.

There was blood dripping from the damaged fingers on Alex’s right hand, he was supporting it his left, which was now also covered in blood.

“Mind you don’t drip blood on the upholstery.” Taylor remarked.

“What about my car?” Alex said, and wondered why he even cared at that point in time.

“Oh yes.” replied Taylor, “best we take care of that.” In saying so, Taylor handed Stubbing his gun.

Keep an eye on him will you, while I take care of his car.” Taylor suggested.

With that, he walked to the back of the Pajero, opened the back door and reached into the 4×4’s rear tool compartment, removing the road side emergency kit. He took out a road flare, used to mark the spot of an accident or a break down at night time.

He walked on down to Alex’s car, ignited the flare and tossed it into the open window. It wasn’t long before the interior of Alex’s was ablaze.

As they drove off up the forest track, Taylor suggested to Alex not to worry too much about the car, no one would steal it while he was gone.

The NZ SIS had made a building available to the RIFA on the outskirts on the RNZAF base. (Royal New Zealand Air Force) It was in itself, spartan, nothing  more than two rooms, which each contained two beds, plus a toilet and shower divided off at one end of the building.

There were four RIFA agents stationed there, this included Stubbing and Taylor. Two more had remained in the Rotorua area, in case there was more movement from fast walkers. They were also still checking out leads and witnesses. The RIFA was not sure if Alex was the sole contact in this case or not.

The agency had brought along most of the equipment it might need in their search or enquiries.

One of the RIFA agents, Williamson, was as best could be described, a doctor.

His specialty was getting the truth out of people who at first choice may have preferred to remain silent. Over the years Williamson had been used many times by the RIFA. One could say he had reached a fairy high level of proficiency in his job.

 Alex was introduced to Williamson almost as soon as he was taken from the 4×4 back at their BOO.

“Hello Mr. Newman, how are we this afternoon?” Williamson enquired, not really the slightest bit interested in what Alex’s reply might have been.

He then steered Alex toward a chair near the middle of the room.

“let’s see if we can make you feel a little more comfortable shall we.” He said seating Alex.

Williamson had tried all the old style, so called truth serums. Mostly they didn’t work. They didn’t work any more efficiently that just plain getting someone shit-faced drunk and letting them talk their heads off in the hope they might say something useful to the interrogator. No sir, Williamson was way in advance of all that crap. Many of the people the RIFA wanted information from, had been schooled in the art of keeping their mouths shut, and knew how to counter most of the interrogation techniques, so the RIFA needed something with just a little more zing to it. With an almost unlimited budget, as you might expect, they had such a serum.

Williamson took Taylor and Stubbing aside and suggested to them what he had in mind for Alex. First off to get any useful information out of his head, and secondly to make sure he did not recall anything that had happened to him from this point on, and nothing from at least the preceding 24hours, and with any luck longer than that.

The two field agents agreed, total memory loss by the subject for that period of time, would be a great bonus to all concerned, a bonus for all except Alex that was.

However very soon Williamson would be in for a surprise.

As he had explained to Taylor and Stubbing, he was not going to use sodium thiopental, ethyl alcohol, nor any of the old time serums. He had the new wonder drug, nick-named Pepsi.

The nickname had come from the way the drug made all the relevant truth, as requested by the interrogator, rise to the top of the subject’s thoughts, and flow forth unrelentingly. It was almost impossible for the subject to hold back on the topics suggested by the one asking the questions. Alex was about to receive a full dose of the said serum.

“After we’ve finished with the questions,” Williamson said, “I’ll give him a shot of my special scopolamine mix, I invented it myself,” he explained proudly, “it not only wipes the memory clean from the moment he receives it, it will cloud the memory of almost all activity over the last seven days, he won’t know anything about this little episode, he won’t remember seeing either of you, nor me, nor this establishment. It comes in very handy with the work we do.”  He smiled to himself as he spoke and proceeded to inject Alex with the first mixture of Pepsi.

After a short wait, Williamson’s first move, was to ask Alex is name.

“My name is Alex Newman.” Alex duly replied.

“Wonderful,” Williamson said, “now I need to know were you have hidden the alien device that you have?” He asked.

My name is Alex Newman.” Repeated Alex.

“Yes, thank you for that piece of information,” replied Williamson, “now I need to know something else. You have a very strange device in your possession, you may have hidden it, can you please tell be were you placed it?” Requested Williamson.

“My name is Alex Newman.” Alex once again replied.

“Yes, yes, thank you for that,” Williamson was becoming a little flustered, “sometimes the drug takes a little while to take hold.” he suggested to Taylor and Stubbing, who were looking on at proceedings.

Williamson once again asked Alex the same question, but with a slightly different slant to it.

“Alex, could you please tell us if you have been given a strange device, something that perhaps you’re not sure what it is, or what to do with it. Could you please tell us if you have such a thing in your possession?”

“My name is Alex Newman.” was the reply once again.

“Bugger and dam it!” Williamson exclaimed, “I think he has been gotten at, I mean, I think he has been programmed to resist.”

“What do you mean programmed to resist?” Stubbing asked.

“I think someone has been inside his mind, someone very cleaver, someone who knows how to plant blocks in the neuron-circuits of the brain, and possibly able to counter the chemicals we have injected. Look I’ll continue on with the questioning for a while longer, perhaps he’s just very resistant naturally to this concoction. It’s never happened before, but there is always a first time, always the exception.” Williamson concluded.

“Keep trying,” Taylor suggested, “we know he has something, and we need to get it, end of story. If your drugs won’t work then I’ll beat it out of him.” Taylor threatened.

“No, no, no!” Williamson exclaimed, “if he has been skillfully programmed to resist the drugs, force will have little or no effect either. In fact, if I’m right he won’t be able to feel any pain. You could chop his arms off, he might die, but he wouldn’t feel any pain. Besides I can see you have already tried that.” He suggested, pointing to the blood on the floor that was still slowly dripping from Alex’s smashed fingers. “Could someone please attend to that, and maybe bandage the hand so we don’t have blood dripping everywhere as I try and do my job here.” He requested.

Stubbing had to bandage the hand, as it was obvious Taylor had no interest in doing so.

“The hand was just to show him who was in charge around here, I hardly even got started on the questions.”  Taylor replied.

“The more you push the deeper and more complete the resistance. I’ve played with things like this but could never get them to work as well as it seems the programmers have done with the subject here. This is all very interesting,” Williamson explained, “but never mind, let me try this another way, could you both perhaps wait in the other room, I don’t work so well with an audience. I have a tape and camcorder rolling you won’t miss anything.” Williamson requested.

The two agents left Williamson to his work and went off to make themselves a cup of tea and talk over the state of the situation so far, and their options.

As the afternoon turned to dusk and then to darkness, it was apparent that Williamson was not going to be able to get any information from Newman, no matter what he tried.

“Patch him up and send him home, we’ll just continue to watch from a distance and see where he leads us,” Stubbing commented, “let’s just hope your scopolamine works better on him than the Pepsi.” She concluded, looking at Williamson.

She and Taylor had been running over all possible scenarios for several hours. Without any information to go on from this latest incident, they were back to square one, back to where they had started.

 Alex was the key. If he had the device, only he could lead them to it. They had to wait and be very sure he had it in his possession, before they tried anything like this again.

Auckland (2) March 1989

Bright sunlight woke him, it was after midday and the bedroom curtains had not been drawn the previous evening. Attempting to turn his head from the glare he was in two minds as to whether he was actually awake or dreaming.

 His body felt incredibly heavy and through bleary eyes was sure he was lying on a bed of dark brown and white mottled camouflage.

He tried to sit up but could not summon the necessary energy to do so and once again drifted off into shallow sleep and a dream, a dream that soon became a frightful nightmare.

He was running, but no matter which way he turned something always managed to reach out and cut him, soon he had no hands or face, he did not know who he was or why he was running, nor what he was running from.

His bladder saved him from any further terror within the nightmare, but the awakening reality was hardly an improvement.

As he swung his feet from the bed to head for the bathroom, he realized the dark brown and white camouflage sheets had not been part of an earlier dream. It was dried blood, his blood by the looks of a heavily bandaged right hand. The bandage might once have been white gauze but now it was almost entirely dark red, the color of dried blood, his blood he could only assume, but how?

He tentatively unwrapped the bandage from his hand and was horrified to see three badly damaged fingers.

Holy shit Alex! How the hell did you manage to do that?

His mind drew a blank.

I’ve had an accident of some kind that is obvious.

It appeared his mental faculties were moving at about the same speed as his body.

Again he tried to think back to the previous evening, but nothing! 

Best I get myself down to the local A&E, but what will I tell them?

He almost fell as he tried to stand up.

My god, I’m still drunk!

It must have been one hell of a night out not be able to remember leaving the house let alone arriving home again.

So did I get involved in a fight at the local bar?

Don’t tell me I was driving home drunk and crashed the car!

He had only just bought the new Beamer a few days ago and had fallen in love with the way it handled and the way it looked, crashing it was an unacceptable possibility, he quickly dismissed the idea. A dozen alternate visions flashed through his head, not one of them appealed to him.

He went to where he usually left the car keys but they were not there.

Most likely left them in the car if I was so totally pissed when I got home.

Throwing on a dressing gown he stumbled his way to the front door.

This was a single bedroom ground floor flat. A modern building in a block of three, brick faced, and tile roofed, simple but well designed.

Alex had his own private grassed area out back where he could have a cool beer in the evening or sit under the shade of an old tree the developers had thoughtfully left on the property and read a book or paper during the day.

Sparsely decorated inside Alex had little furniture, he had just moved in and wasn’t sure how long he would be staying.

Moving seemed to be what he did best of late so the less he owned the less he needed to move. As good as each new apartment or flat might seem when he first moved in, there was always something within him that was pushing him to move on again, as if looking or searching for some unknown destination or object.

 Just of late there was also a feeling someone had been inside the place when he was out. Items had been moved or in some cases removed, nothing important or of value, which made the very idea someone might have broken in even more confusing.

Another question now presented itself, where was the car?

Not in the driveway, carport, nor out on the street that he could see.

He even looked in the backyard, who knows what he could have gotten up to last night?

Fuck! He said to himself, I’ve come home drunk, left the bloody keys in the car and now it’s been stolen. What was I thinking?

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

For the life of him he could not remember any reason to have gone out on the town the previous evening and he had not been drunk to the point of passing out since he was in his early twenties, and then only once or twice. But that was almost 20 years ago, and this was just not his kind of scene.

He called up a taxi for his trip to the nearest accident and emergency clinic, while he waited for it he called the local police station. The Constable on duty suggested he come on down to the station asap and fill out a report. There had been a car of a similar type reported by the Riverhead Forestry Service manager.

 The Forestry Fire service had been called out by a local resident who had seen flames and smoke coming from the area of Boundary Road in the Riverhead Forest yesterday. They had put out the fire, which luckily had not caused much damage to the trees in the immediate area, but the car was in such a mess they hadn’t been able to identify it accurately yet, it appears someone had removed the registration plates. 

The Constable said the car would most likely be transported to one of their storage yards out in West Auckland sometime that day, if he would like to take a look and try and identify it, but first please come and see us, there are a few questions still unanswered concerning the incident.

Alex looked at his hand, thought about the beautiful Dark blue BMW M5 that had been his for only a week or two, pictured it as a burned-out wreck and sat back down on the bed.

                                              New chapter?

A week and more had passed since the car had been stolen, he was still not sure if the insurance company was going to pay out on his claim. There was the thing about what looked like melted keys, still in the boot lock of his car. Insurance companies don’t like owners who report stolen cars that still have the keys in them when they are found.

He had borrowed an old car from Benny up at Kumeu. Alex was really upset and couldn’t bear to tell Benny about a hand carved bone chess set, a one of a kind he had bought Benny for his birthday. He could only guess it must have been in the car as he couldn’t find it anywhere in the apartment. Alex had specially commissioned the making of the chess set when he was last in Rotorua. A local sculptor in the area had recently won an award for his artwork and Alex thought it fitting that he commissions this chess set for his very best friend Benny.

 Benny loved to play chess but also collected chess sets

Alex didn’t trust his memory so much these days.

Ben Harwood had been a long time friend of Alex’s family. He used to own a farm in the Papakura district, the area Alex had grown up in.

Benny was semi-retired these days, but he was still a man of the land.

This time he had decided to try his skills with the grape.

He had always been a bit of a wine connoisseur, now he fancied to make some. He had purchased a small vineyard and winery not far from the small township of Kumeu. The area was not only good for growing vegetables, but the climate was also ideal for the growing of grapes.

Alex found Ben’s vineyard the perfect place to hang out when he was feeling jaded, or just needed to get out of the confines of the city. He would just arrive, suggest he was there are a day or two, and throw his clothes in the small room attached to Ben’s garage, there was a bed in there with his name on it.

To Ben his wife Susan, Alex was the son they never had, he had drifted into their lives when he was 13 or 14 years old, asking if there were any odd jobs that needed doing around their farm for a few dollars, or shillings and pounds as it was in those days.

He had always done any job given to him toughly and well, even though they never expected too much for the youngster. After a year or two a friendship had developed and occasionally Alec would stay over at the farm on the weekends or go with Ben and his wife to the local A & P shows.

Alec was not interested in becoming a farmer, but the money helped him build his own go-cart that he raced from time to time locally in South Auckland. Ben admired his ‘go get them’ attitude to life and his independents. They had watched him grow from a boy into a man and the connection had remained though this time.

Even how he would usually help out with work around the vineyard if he felt up to it or head off to the wonderful black sand surf beach of Muriwai, only a short drive from Benny’s estate. 

This is were Alex headed once again, to rest up and allow his wounds to heal, although a doctor had told him the two badly damaged middle fingers on his right hand would never look quite the same again and the finger nails would always grow out slightly deformed.

Alex did not even know who to thank for his injuries, but he swore if he ever found out who it was, given half a chance he would return the favor with interest.

The extended warm summer evenings were perfect for Ben and Alex to have a relaxing chat over a cool beer, sitting in comfortable deck chairs out the back of Ben’s big, sprawling, ranch style house.

After one such relaxing evening, on retiring to his sleeping quarters, Alex fell into a deep sleep, and the same dream that had been haunting him for the past few weeks rolled on in his head.

 The dream would usually start in a slightly different way each night but would quickly drift to a similar theme, like it did this night.

It appeared to be a beautiful still summer’s evening, there was no moon this night and the sky was dark and crystal clear, filled with a mallard point of light. Alex arose from the bed and sat on the step outside his sleep out.

The stars had always held a special fascination for him, Alex was in awe of the night sky, it drew him into itself, swallowing his soul both physically and mentally, so in the form of a dream, or metaphysically, one could travel to wherever one desired.

At first, he found himself pushing through a dense mist, the thickest fog he had ever encountered, there did not seem to be an end to it. Finally, it thinned, and Alex stepped out from the mists of time onto a hillside.

The landscape was not a familiar one, although he had the feeling that it should have been. Looking down to the valley at his feet, it was dry and desert like. Light brown grass of a sort appeared to be growing there, but it was sparse and interspersed with many an outcrop of flat grey rock. Here and there were small, stunted bushes. Further down the valley some distance away there was a village of sorts, with what appeared to be series of mud huts, large beehive type buildings similar in color to the rocks in the foreground. From this distance there were no signs of life.

Suddenly he felt hot, very hot, looking up, a brilliantly colored red-yellow sun was beating down, but it was the sky that took him aback the most, it was as black as night. Shimmering on the horizon in all directions was a kaleidoscope of colored waves of light. Alex had never seen the aurora borealis, the northern lights, but he could only imagine this is want they might look like. It was clear then, wherever this metaphysical journey had taken our traveler, it was not planet Earth.

The path down to the valley floor from the hilltop was an easy walk. And soon Alex was approaching the village. Within the valley nothing stirred, neither wind nor wildlife. As the first buildings were reached suddenly, just up ahead, a small group of people appeared, as if waiting to greet the foot traveler. And so they were, our traveler was greeted with a wave of loving emotion but no contact as such was made.

Alex found himself among what can only be described as family, but not a family familiar to anything he could remember. Graciously he was ushered into the largest of the unusual buildings within the village. On closer inspection one could see the building was not so much a beehive, as a spirally shaped shell similar to that of a sea conch or garden snail. Within, it was a sea of color, the walls reflecting a mother of pearl rainbow of the most beautifully subtle hues one could imagine. Alex immediately felt at peace within himself, as if not only having been welcomed by unremembered family or friends, but by the building itself.

As our traveler sat within the restful beauty of this most unusual abode, there came a realization one could see the greater majority of the valley from this upper story room. There was no restriction to the views, yet there appeared to be no windows to this building from the outside, it was one continuous outer shell of the same mud colored substance, our traveler was sure of this fact.

As if from out of the either, his head was filled with the knowledge and detail of the building’s construction. Suddenly there was nothing he didn’t know about it. As if one’s memory had been refreshed of old well-known facts, and so it turned out this was indeed happening to our metaphysical traveler. The longer he sat there, surrounded by his long-forgotten friends and family the more his mind was filled with the living detail of all that had gone before, in another life.

As our traveler awakened to this forgotten self, this experience of a not-so-distant past existence, so his friends and family sitting quietly beside him became more familiar. They look into his eyes with a benevolent understanding, patience personified. He was coming back to them, soon they could talk about important subjects, but for now they allowed our traveler to be comfortable with the pace at which he recalled that which he once was.

All at once the traveler was almost overwhelmed with a cascade of memories, as the momentum of his past recall accelerated exponentially, he held his head in his hands as it all rushed through his mind, he cried for ones lost, ones forgotten now remembered, important work left unfinished. The crash of his craft on Earth, his death, his rebirth into his new body, the body he now carried about with him on that planet known as Earth. Alex looked up from the almost overwhelming recall of that past, his friends and family sitting with him in compassionate understanding, and most of all hope.

“In all probability a young man would say to himself, in the words of Pindar, ‘Shall I by justice or by crooked wiles climb to a loftier stronghold, and having thus fenced myself about, live my life?’

For the common opinion declares that to be just, without being also ‘thought’ just, is no advantage to me…. where if I am ‘unjust’ and get myself a name for justice, an unspeakably happy life is promised me.

Very well then, since the outward semblance overpowers the inward reality…. I must therefore draw around me a picture of virtue to serve as frontage, while behind me I must trail the fox with its cunning and shiftiness.

Yes but, it will be objected, it is not an easy matter to conceal one’s wickedness. No, we shall reply, nor is anything else easy that is great.

To assist in keeping up the deception, we will form secret societies and clubs. There are, moreover, teachers of persuasion, who impart skills in popular and forensic oratory; and so, by fair means or by foul we shall gain our ends and carry on our dishonest proceedings with impunity.” – Plato, The Republic. Book II p.48

Cover Photo Courtesy: Pinterest

Jack. I just went back into your Substack to look over what I’d written for you over the years and realized there were so many comments from readers I never acknowledged because I never saw them. I’m a bit like Jack Reacher I never go back, I’m just not used to many people commenting on anything I write, I seem to be an outcast and even though I might have seen a few things that don’t fit into our understanding of the universe it appears most people would prefer to only follow the mainstream outlets. So, I’m used to being ignored, but that’s no excuse for my ignoring your own readers and friends when they do comment on my writings. Could you please apologize to them all for my lack of foresight in replying. I’ll certainly address the issue when I write for you again and apologize personally – Alec Newald