As I've said before, I'm running a Patreon, and every so often when I get new members I like to post new fiction. My original intent was to post this particular piece on the Patreon for free, but as it relates to a Pelgrane IP, I've agreed with Simon that it should go up on the Pelgrane site instead. You'll note that no actual IP terms are used, but you'll probably guess which IP it is.
With all that in mind, I'm posting a teaser here, so you'll know what to look forward to later. Not sure exactly when this is going up, but by the end of the month for definite.
Dorcas wondered, not
for the first time, what her West African mother would have said, if she knew
her Cambridge graduate daughter was cleaning offices at Canary Wharf, the very
job she had done for fifty years so Dorcas wouldn’t have to. Dorcas didn’t think
the Glock hidden in her cleaning equipment would matter much to Mum. She was a
straightforward woman. She wouldn’t have had time or patience for Dorcas’
It was time for
check-in. Dorcas took out her cheap mobile and typed in, hey baby. It was script three, and just as they’d practiced, Roy’s
reply was hey, you. :) Simon, the
loaner from Special Reconnaissance Regiment, was the one who’d designed it.
He’d pointed out that blending in was key, and nobody looked twice at someone
texting. There was always a risk that the messages would be intercepted, so the
textspeak was bland. The key was in the timing. Once every half hour, on the
half hour. So long as you stuck to script, the chance that someone was
impersonating the sender was reduced to nil, or as close to nil as Simon could
manage it. So long as the texts kept coming in, all was well. If the texts
stopped coming, or Dorcas sent want
coffee? then it was time to send in the cavalry.