Blood Moon: Rebecca Jamse Thriller, #6

By tony lavely

South of Maidstone, England, Wendel Tate's mum dies. Wendell's reaction is disbelief; she wasn't sick! Months railing against the Establishment has little effect, so he plans a more direct protest and the upcoming lunar eclipse suits him perfectly.
Before she disappears, Cecilia Stone's friends interfere with Wendel's plans.

 

Amy Rose Ardan wants a tractable assignment from Beckie and Ian to help her decide her future with Dylan. Beckie believes looking for Cissy Stone suits.
But Cissy unintentionally leads Amy to strange events that send her on a day trip to Pakistan and enlighten her about her past. A little, at least.

A kidnapping followed by finding, then losing, what she didn't know she had galvanize her search for an answer to Dylan's question… and hers.

Blood Moon is a romantic political thriller dealing with lies, self-delusion and growing up in an approximation to the real world. It is intended for 15 up; it includes real language.

• Language: English
• Publisher: tony lavely
• Release date: Feb 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224803248

Book preview

Blood Moon

A Rebecca Jamse Thriller

By

Tony Lavely

Copyright © 2024 by Tony Lavely

All Maps by Tommi Salama

[e-mail]

Cover Image

Blood Moon Lunar Eclipse Composite,

by Lauren Harnett, NASA Public Domain Image

Published under Creative Commons License

CC-BY-2.0

and

The Sims 4 - Great Red Dame by April in Paris via Flickr

Published under Creative Commons License

CC-BY-2.0

Modified by author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Edition 240207.2

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-tailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Tony Lavely.

Fonts used in this document (Spectral and Spectral SC) are used under the terms of the SIL Open Font License, Version 1.1.

Description

South of Maidstone, England, Wendel Tate’s mum dies. Wendell’s reaction is disbelief; she wasn’t sick! Months railing against the Establishment has little effect, so he plans a more direct protest and the upcoming lunar eclipse suits him perfectly.

Before she disappears, Cecilia Stone’s friends interfere with Wendel’s plans.

Amy Rose Ardan wants a tractable assignment from Beckie and Ian to help her decide her future with Dylan. Beckie believes looking for Cissy Stone suits.

But Cissy unintentionally leads Amy to strange events that send her on a day trip to Pakistan and enlighten her about her past. A little, at least.

A kidnapping followed by finding, then losing, what she didn’t know she had galvanize her search for an answer to Dylan’s question… and hers.

Blood Moon is a romantic political thriller dealing with lies, self-delusion and growing up in an approximation to the real world. It is intended for 15 up; it includes real language.

L’enfant terrible, according to Webster’s Dictionary is "a usually young and successful person who is strikingly unorthodox, innovative, or avant-garde."

Some might consider Rebecca Sverdupe’s behavior more in line with the usual definition from French: a terrible (unruly or incorrigible) child, but we choose Webster’s.

The fleur-de-lis was carried by Joan d’Arc, as well as many others. The symbol is a legend in itself - a lasting emblem of royalty, power, honor, grandeur, faith and unity.

For these reasons, the fleur-de-lis overwritten by l’enfant terrible represents Rebecca Sverdupe well.

Blood Moon

8 May - 14 August, 2018

Clive, Cissy And Belinda

One: Clive

28 June, 2018

London, near the London School of Economics

Clive Burton took the lead, ahead of Belinda Blanchet, his fellow student, his inamorata and soon, he hoped, his fiancée. This was not the time to think of her willowy figure, her lush lips or taut breasts; in his haste to get away, thoughts like those were swept away by the fear he had ruined it all. For both of them.

Two: Lin and Clive

28 June, 2018

London, England

Lin, as Belinda Blanchet preferred to be called, kept pace with Clive, wondering just what he’d gotten himself into this time. He wasn’t as adept at subterfuge as others she knew, not even as adept as herself. That thought came with a slight grin; she wasn’t breathing hard, yet, at least. But not knowing what he’d done to deserve this, that bothered her.

Clive, she called. Clive. Clive! When he slowed to cast a glance back the ten feet she trailed him by, she said, The Golden Rooster’s just ahead on the left. Let’s find out what’s bein’ binned, right?

His face hadn’t smoothed at all, but he huffed a heavy breath and nodded, then turned and in five more paces, slipped through the pub’s door. Kinda like a wisp of smoke, she thought. And smoke is what the pub smelled like, though cigarettes had been banned for a decade or more. Still, she thought as she peered through the gloom for Clive’s brown leather jacket, the beer tastes great.

Ah, there he is.

Standing at the bar, he was just picking up two pints. Lin hoped one was for her. She wended her way to an empty table against the wall, far enough from others if they didn’t shout. With a wave, she caught his eye and once he’d tipped the barman, he made his way over.

While she sipped her Guinness, Clive drank off a quarter of his glass in one go, finishing with a deep breath and wiping his mouth after the glass rested safely on the table.

Right, then. Will you tell me what’s on?

He dragged his head up from staring into the beer. I fecked up, Lin. That’s all there is to it. Now I got to make it right, yeah?

Make what right, Clive? And why’d you grab me?

‘Cause they’ll be after you, too. Look… But he stopped and swigged his beer again.

Lin was finished with listening to him drink without explanation. No, you look! Put the beer down and tell me what’s about. Or I walk out that door⁠—

No!

Lin noticed the questioning glances and a few glares among the other patrons.

If you… If we get separated, it’ll be easy for them. Don’t you see?

She grabbed his hand before he could reach his mug. No, she said in a low, still menacing snarl, I don’t bloody see! What’s going on? Last chance.

I fecked up, love. That’s all. I simply, purely fecked up.

D’you honestly think I’ve not figured that out already? What did you do? And how’s it involve me?

This time, she didn’t stop him drinking. When the glass was empty, he said, It’s hard, Lin. Lemme go to the Gents, then I’ll spill it.

One minute. She dropped her phone on the table.

In sixty-one seconds, he dropped onto the chair. Well. I got caught in the Tube this morning and some guys were talking shit about an attack on some place. Just when I heard ‘Windsor’, one of them noticed me.

No one looked at you before? Lin found this hard to credit; Clive’s mien was at the least, notable: six-one, one-fifty thin, with a shock of blond hair currently died orange, tending toward red as his accommodation to her horrified look when she’d first seen it⁠—she was almost used to it now, two weeks later. He would dye it again next week if he kept to the schedule. Blue was up next. Though if this turned out nasty, might be time for a sedate mousey brown. The moment passed instantly; this was not the time for that!

Well, I did have me hat on.

Oh, right, she scoffed. Leave that. You think they’re after you? ’Cause you heard them blathering about? Com’on, Clive, tell me what’s really got your knickers in a twist.

She sipped her beer, waiting for him to respond. While the story he’d begun to spin was too… Too she didn’t know what, Clive was obviously terrified. His eyes snapped from the door to the bar to other patrons before lighting on her, then starting the trip again. His face was haunted, and he shrank further every time she heard the pub’s door open.

She drank her last swallow and stood. Let’s get out of here. Find some place where you’re not worried the Flying Squad’s coming through the doorway.

He sat for a few more seconds, examining the others before he stood and headed toward the back door.

That’s a treat. Didn’t even know this was here. She wrinkled her nose at the cacophony of odors in the alley. Guess I know why, too.

At the head of the alley, she flagged a taxi. When Clive resisted, she dragged him. This guy just came round the corner. I can’t believe he’s just been waiting for me to step out and wave. Get in!

He resisted, but ineffectually. In seconds, Lin said to the driver, St. Pancras, if you don’t mind.

Quick getaway, then?

What! Couldn’t have given it away; Clive’ll⁠—

’Opping the Eurostar to France, right? Quick ’oliday?

She hoped her sigh of relief wasn’t too loud, though Clive’s look… Right. Back in a tick. Thanks.

A moment confirmed that her purse had enough cash and her credit cards and ID were in their pockets. She turned to Clive, sitting still and with a look of confusion on his face, when he wasn’t gaping out the window looking for Lin didn’t know what. Hey. You okay?

Yeah… Maybe… His head was tipping back and forth, not much, just enough to be noticeable. I don’ know, Lin. Where the feck are we headed, anyway? Not France?

Yeah. We’ll spend a couple days with Kate. Since I think you’ve just gone off the rails… Well, it’ll be a pleasant couple of days’ holiday.

He’d dug out his wallet and was checking its contents. She grinned a tight little grin and used her phone to book two seats on the 17:04 train to Brussels. Return. She was sure whatever had happened, Clive had over-dramatized it. Maybe, she said to herself, but he believes it. Damn if I know.

Clive stuffed his wallet away and stopped staring out the window long enough to say, Thanks, love.

The cabbie dropped them at the station and vanished into the traffic on Pancras Road. Clive finally took the lead as he headed through the glass doors in the faded orange brick facade.

As Lin surveyed the entry hall, she said, Find the Lille-Brussels train, right?

Thought you said Paris? He looked around. Brussels is this way.

Paris was for the guy in the cab. In case you’re right. She gave him a smile. and a tweak of the cheek.

Maybe you do believe me, eh?

She giggled and grabbed his arm to her. No. But I believe you’re scared of something and… I don’t know. She shrugged away and headed to the kiosk to retrieve their tickets. "In the train, you will tell me what’s going on."

He nodded, more somberly than she expected.

Half an hour later, they tucked themselves into what Eurostar called an intimate pair of seats near the bar car.

Clive wiggled to settle himself, then leaned so his head was beside Lin’s. As he did, she said, If you’re anything like right, we can hunker down at my sister’s place.

Your sister? She’s at that uni, right? With her mate?

Yeah. Kate’ll let us use one of their rooms. Now, tell me why I’m sitting here on the rocket train, uh?

Right. Like I said, these guys were talking about a bomb. Really quiet, so I only heard some words. But I did hear Windsor Castle, or something sounded like that.

And then they saw you?

Right. The first one, he didn’t know me but George, he’s in one of my classes, and I could see he recognized me. So I bolted.

I guess that makes sense⁠—

And I got out of the Tube and ran to find you.

Why that?

George, he knows both of us together. I was afraid if he couldn’t find me, you know, he’d look for you.

Lin nodded. He wasn’t sure it was more than resigned, but she had calmed. He took his own deep breath. I oughta be a little smarter, I guess. But nothing goes the way I think it will. Not sure if I’m all the way to blame for that.

You’re not. You’re responsible for thinking things through, setting your expectations reasonably. She snuggled under his arm. You ain’t perfect… yet, but you’re okay.

He leaned down to kiss her hair, then leaned back in the seat and cogitated.

After a minute of going over the five second memory, he heaved another sigh, then said, Listen a mo, Lin. I agree Windsor seems like a really stupid thing to attack, but the look he gave me… really scary, Lin.

Angry? Or scared? Or--

Like confused at first, then when we made eye contact, angry, but maybe cause they were talking, you know. But when George saw me, then the guy who’d been talking before got all happy and sorta devious looking in his eyes. You know what I mean?

Kinda. Still seems really daft, you know?

At the fecking least! But it wasn’t to take a chance on.

She nodded against his chest. If it wasn’t Windsor, what could it’ve been?

I don’t know, love. Gotta be thousands of places to leave a… He lowered his voice even more. … bomb to do some damage. Or to kill people. If they’re after the Royals, well, I don’t know… He paused while he scratched his jaw. … I don’t think there’s any place they gather, you know. Except for a celebration or remembrance.

Maybe they don’t know that?

Or they’re going for a different target. Fecked if I know, love.

Yeah. Why go for the Royals, anyway? It’s not like they have any actual authority. It’d just draw attention, wouldn’t it?

’Less that’s the goal.

The train rushed out of the tunnel into France. Late afternoon sunshine lit the fields; Clive enjoyed the sight for a second, until his phone buzzed.

As he reached for it, Lin grabbed his arm. You really want to answer it?

He looked at the screen and shook his head. Don’t recognize the number.

He sat still, gripping the phone while Lin hadn’t let go his arm. In a few more seconds, the phone chirped and displayed ‘one new voice mail.’

Does it tell when the voice mail’s been heard? Like when a text’s delivered?

Don’t know. but I can stop it for now anyway. He put the phone in Airplane mode. Won’t talk to anything now.

Good.

The phone was replaying the voice mail. Clive, It’s George, from Eco 1105. And the Tube this morning. Look, you gotta call me about that. Nothin’s going on, but call me straight away. This number’s good. Cheers, mate.

He grimaced. What’s he gonna say? He clicked the phone off. I want to think on that.

Good.

The return of her smile brought an answering lift to his lips. And then talk it over with you, too.

Rather than respond, she snuggled closer. After a few minutes, she wriggled her phone from her pocket. Less than an hour to go, she mused. I’ll give Kate a call; make sure she’s got a spare bed.

Or floor space! he said with a laugh.

The sister evinced surprise, but agreed that Lin and Clive could use the spare room… Spare until the roommates got back from holiday in a month. We won’t be that long, I’m sure, Lin said. Couple three days.

It’ll be fine, Kate told her. Only have one class this summer. We can talk and drink some beer.

Lin agreed. Soon, the arrangements were complete: she and Clive would walk to Kate’s apartment from the Midi/Zuid station. The train arrived at twenty hours, sunset would be another two hours. Plenty of time to walk to her place on Boulevard Géneral Jacques.

Gonna email Doctor Stone. I’m doing a project with him; he’ll notice if I’m not there.

He wondered for a second about Stone. Don’t be stupid, he told himself, he’s no competition… except in International Economics!

Three: Jessie Begins Damage Control

28 -29 June 2018

Balham, London

Jessie Banton set her phone down harder than necessary. Claude raised his eyebrow, but held his reactions otherwise.

Wendel intends to drive me crazy! I fear I didn’t take Demsky’s warning seriously enough.

Oh?

Yeah. Didn’t seem like a big deal. A couple months ago, he said he had word that our talented, erratic and moody sub was contemplating action to punish… someone for his mum’s death.

Claude’s eyes were wide. What… what action? I mean, surely the time is past; she died what? A year ago?

"Yeah, I guess. Anyway, that’s what Demsky said.

So Wen calls me… She waved at the offending telephone. … tells me some of his lads were apparently babbling in a Tube station this morning, he says joking about blowing up Windsor Castle or some such foolishness and a kid one of his boys knows from uni heard them.

So? Claude rolled his eyes. Why’d he call us? Had ta come across as… I don’t know… unbelievable? Obviously not serious.

You forget how the Brits revere their royals, Claude. The kid not only reacted, but ran. Don’t know where he headed. Wendel said George left a voice mail, but no response.

George is Wen’s lad?

Yeah.

Okay. What’s our next step??

The grin on her face must have given Claude the shakes; he shied away before he sat up straight again.

Since I’m tied up with that demonstration next week, she said, it’s in your hands. I’d like to see the boy here soonest, so talk to Wendel and determine a course. Killing is right out, though, unless things turn really sour.

He nodded as if he agreed. Jessie smirked at him.

He rose. Right. I’ll keep you up to date.

Do that, but not every minute, yeah? And make sure nothing interferes with the big plan.

’Course not, he said on his way out. Once a day unless something calls for your input.

The next morning, Claude sat in the kitchen of the house Jessie’d rented as a base while they played kingmaker, riling the groups on both sides protesting the ratification negotiations hoping to define the actual legal parameters of BREXIT. Equal opportunity chaos, Jessie said, and that was their mission. Claude’s opinion⁠—that the UK government couldn’t possibly have done anything more stupid⁠—was neither requested nor in the long course of events, important. And once it was decided, well, it was never going to be good, just degrees of bad.

He snorted and stepped into the back garden. Why they can’t call this a yard’s beyond me, he muttered as he thumbed his phone on and scrolled to Wendel’s entry.

Wen, need your help, he said after brief hullos.

Sure, if I can.

Jessie wants to be certain that the… whatever happened yesterday doesn’t spill over into our work here.

Wendel stammered. Of course. Just a bit of fun. George’s on it; won’t be a bother, believe me.

I do, but she wants me to lend a hand in settling things.

Twenty minutes later, Claude pocketed the phone. Wendel had given him a name. Actually, he’d given up two names, but one, a Clive Burton, the one who’d been in the Tube station and ran, Wen would fetch him and make sure he’d not pose any problem for Jessie’s task.

No one ends up dead, Wen. You’re clear on that?

Of course! These aren’t my… whatever. He won’t be damaged at all.

The other name, who he left for Claude, was Liam Stone, the professor whose class and projects tied everything together that George at least could see. Little time passed before George had suggested that the professor’s granddaughter, Cecilia, another student in that class, was more likely to be wandering about London than the professor.

Four: Cissy Meets Jessie

5 July, 2018

London, near the London School of Economics

Cissy Stone waved Cheers to her classmates leaving class Thursday afternoon. A tall gentleman stepped in front of her, blocking her way.

When she tried to swerve around him, he placed a hand on her forearm, the one holding her book bag, and said, Please, Ms Stone. I’d like a brief word with you.

Once she gasped, she stepped away from his hand. What about? Who are you, anyway?

Call me Claude. It’s about Clive Burton.

Clive Burton? I don’t⁠—

The Clive Burton as has Belinda Blanchet on his arm?

The answer took the wind from her protesting sails. Oh. Oh, yes. Panic began making inroads on her thoughts. What about them?

Where are they?

She gave him a jaundiced eye. Why? I haven’t seen them in a couple days. We’re supposed to meet for dinner tonight…

I’d like to keep them outta trouble, if I can. You could help me by coming along with me and talk to my boss. She’ll be real happy to meet you, and we’ll help you all get back together. Might be a couple quid in it… finder’s fee, sorta.

You sure it’ll help Lin? I’d have to be back here by five, six at the latest.

Won’t be any problem. My car’s right along here. We’ll go and have you back quick as may be. With a gentle touch, he eased her toward the corner where a black saloon car stood.

I don’t⁠—

It’ll really help them out, Ms Stone, believe me. And if you’re the usual student, a couple extra quid wouldn’t go astray, either. Am I right?

She nodded ruefully and walked with him to the car.

Cissy had only the usual premonitions of disaster as she and Claude rode away from Houghton Street. He’d joined her in the back seat; a second man drove.

Shooting through the Strand Underpass and crossing the Waterloo Bridge over the Thames warned her that Claude might not have been as forthright as she hoped. The fear became a certainty as the driver followed the Thames riverbank west past Lambeth Palace, then a few minutes farther on she saw a sign for Lambeth Library. While she pressed back her roiling thoughts about her fear and stupidity in getting in the car, the car flashed in and out of residential areas mixed with small High Streets.

Finally, a couple minutes after passing a large unnamed green, a street sign advised Fernlea Road and the car stopped.

Claude got out and offered his hand.

Guess we’re arrived. Only half an hour!

The two-story house was separated from its neighbors, with a bright green hedge bordering the pavement. Claude directed her through the alley between the houses, and in a back door.

A middle-aged woman stood in an interior doorway that opened into what Cissy thought was an office. Good afternoon. I expect you are Cecilia Stone. When Cissy found the nerve to nod Yes, the woman continued, "Good. You may call me Jessie, though I doubt the opportunity will often arise. Do come in. Would you fancy a glass of wine? Or soda? A