Gransel and Hetal

Deep in the woods lived a Woodcutter, his wife and their two children Gransel and Hetel.

Times were hard and food scarce and the Woodcutter and his wife found it difficult to keep the family fed particularly since Gransel and Hetel loved their food. It was one of the two things the children loved, they loved food and they loved lazing about the house.

In fact, if Gransel and Hetel had just helped in the house and garden just a little bit it is quite possible that the whole family would not have been so badly off. With just a little help the vegetable garden would have grown stronger and with just a little more care the chickens and cow would have produced more food.

But Gransel & Hetel were happy just to sit about all day and shout for the things they wanted.

One evening there was a discussion, a serious discussion. “Things can not go on like this,” said one. “They must make an effort,” said the other. If we see no change tomorrow then we must lead them out into the Woods where they will be lost forever. Without them things must get better,” they both agreed.

The next day was no different so at night they hatched a plan. As the sun came up in the morning the Woodcutter and his wife were woken to the sound of crying from the children’s bedroom. When they went through only Hetel was in the room.

“It’s Gransel, it’s Gransel,” she cried. He went outside in the night into the woods and he hasn’t come back. You can hear him shouting if you listen carefully.”

The Woodcutter and his wife listened carefully but they couldn’t hear a thing.

“But you must, you must,” said Hetel. “Listen he is screaming for you.”

The Woodcutter and his wife listened again but still they could not hear anything.

“It must be because you are old and your ears are useless,” said Hetel, “You must go out into the woods and find him. You must keep walking and walking until your silly old ears can hear him.”

The Woodcutter and his wife changed into their threadbare clothes and set off into the woods. It didn’t matter how far they walked they could not hear Gransel’s voice. On and on they went until the sun set and the moon lit their path but still they could hear no sound.

Eventually they realised they were lost, cold and very, very hungry and without any hope of finding Gransel or ever getting home again.

Back at their house Gransel & Hetal sat on the floor eating the last of the food and laughing. How stupid their parents were not to realise that Gransel had only hidden under the bed and pretended to be missing.

Out in the woods the Woodcutter and his wife saw a light in the distance. When they got nearer they saw a beautiful little house that looked so good to their hungry eyes it was as if it had been made of food. “Perhaps Gransel got this far,’ they said and went up the path and knocked.

The door was opened by a Witch who spoke before they could even stare at her. “Ah,” said the Witch, “The Woodcutter and his wife, I’ve been waiting for you. Come in, come in.”

As they stepped in they saw a table laid with food. The Witch could hear their stomachs rumble at the sight. “Sit down,” said the Witch, “Sit down and eat your fill, I cooked this food for you.”

The Woodcutter and his wife ate like animals, quickly and greedily.  When they had finished and sighed in contentment the Witch asked them to come over and look into the cauldron that sat bubbling over a raging fire. They walked over and could feel the intense heat as they got nearer.

“You must lean right over and look deep deep down to see and hear the things you must,” said the Witch moving up quietly behind them.

As they leant over one their tiptoes and stared into the bubbling liquid they could see the room in their house. They could see Gransel & Hetal eating the last of their hard earned food and they could hear them laughing at how stupid and old their parents were and how silly the were to fall for their trick.

Some days later the Witch, the Woodcutter and his wife were living a beautiful life in the little house in the woods. They worked hard together and shared what they grew and made. Each gave more than they took and each cared for the others more than themselves.

Each night they would stare in the cauldron and watch Gransel & Hetal grow thinner and thinner. Even though the children were hungry they were not prepared to do anything to help themselves. They had got too used demanding things and now expected everything to be done for them.

One evening the Woodcutter and his wife leant over the Cauldron and saw that Gransel & Hetal were no longer moving. The Woodcutter and his wife looked at each other and a tear formed in their eyes. Whether the tear was for the children or for how stupid they had been they didn’t know.

“Dinner,” said the Witch as they turned towards the table.

23 hours - the twelfth hour

11.00. The noise of the doorbell wakes her from her sleep. She is instantly confused. It’s light and she has been sleeping. As the doorbell rings again she remembers she is on nights. She glances at her alarm clock and realises she has been asleep for not much over an hour. She put on her slippers and shuffles to the door angry with whoever has disturbed her. She slides open the door until the chain stops it. Through the gap she can see a young man with a tray of cleaning materials.

11.05. We leave the shop with an image of the man we are hunting and his credit card details. Faith leads us down the road and we dive into an Apple Store. “Keep the ‘brains’ busy whilst I do a search”. Strangely this opportunity does give me the chance to ask why the battery on my iPhone 5 is draining so quickly. The man in the t shirt says we should ‘reset’. I explain the phone is totally drained and he says he can give a super burst and before I can stop him takes my phone into the area behind the Genius bar.

11.10. In two buildings less than one mile apart two sets of people are intensely studying computer screens and information strands. In both offices there is shaking of heads and a sense of bewilderment. The common question is ‘how the hell could this happen’. Quite possibly the most dangerous collection of information has disappeared. For some the thought that it was blown up in the helicopter explosion is a potential blessing. For others, the loss of such knowledge is a disaster on a scale that is unimaginable.

11.15. She lies back down on the bed but knows she will not fall asleep again. She has had the equivalent of a ‘power nap’ and the adrenalin from the sharp awakening is coursing through her veins. After moments of turning from side to back to side she makes the decision she may as well get up. She walks through to the kitchen and clicks on the kettle. She may as well shower now, she thinks and walks through to bathroom. As she passes her laptop she let’s her finger rest on the pad and see the battery is up to 93%.

11.20.  Faith comes over to me. “OK, I have a trace on where he lives. It’s about ten minutes from here which makes sense. Let’s go.” I explain that I will have to wait for my phone to come back from the Genius bar. I don’t think I have quite seen a look like the one she gives me since my mother found me with the wings of a butterfly in one hand and its velvet like body in the other. Fortunately the eleven year old techie who took it comes back. “OK, it’s had a charger boost, can you switch it on?” “No,” says Faith forcibly, “we’re late.” He hands me the phone and I now get a look of pity from a baby faced tech.

11.25. The Minister has just about given up hope. All that he has built, all the climbing of the greasy pole he has done, all the crushing of competitors is about to be lost. It was his responsibility, he did ‘OK’ the operation, it is his head on the block. He could cry. This was not the end he envisaged. His plan took him right to the top. He cannot even explain that he had made the decision to approve at a time when his attention was diverted. He wants no one to know his little secret. How can anyone think straight when they are bound and being whipped. He should have let the phone ring but he wanted to show how important he is, was.

11.30. She towels her hair dry, it is practical cut and one that doesn't spoil from wearing the police cap. She taps the kettle on and transfers one and half teaspoons of coffee from jar to mug. The click signals the movement of water to granules. With milk added she goes back to her chair and lifts her laptop. She stares at the memory stick and wonders once again what possessed her. She opens her Facebook account ‘Roberta Peelers’ and types in a new status. She looks back over the last fifteen days since she signed up and realises how dull her life looks. In the next few hours she will wish for those time.

11.35. Two vans are parked on double yellow lines. A traffic warden approaches. As he begins to show interest one of the doors slides open and a dark suit gets out. There is a brief chat and the traffic warden moves swiftly on. The suit gets back into the van and shuts the door. Silence remains. They are used to slipping into neutral between bursts of activity. For most it’s a job but for the leader he knows that this one is make or break. He doesn’t like the expression ‘life or death’ but he knows what might happen.

11.40. We walk up a gravel drive to a little mews cottage tucked down one of those amazing hidden roads you find in central London. Faith rings a doorbell and we wait. Within moments the door opens and a middle aged woman looks out. Before she can speak Faith says, “We’re here to meet David,” in a light singalong voice with not trace of threat or anxiety. “He’s not here I’m afraid,” she replies but Faith moves forward saying, “He asked us to wait for him.” The woman, who I can only presume to be his wife, asks if we are from his work to which Faith replies in the affirmative and before I know it we are being offered tea or coffee.

11.45. The Zurich team having been briefed make their way to three different sites. A group goes to the command centre, another team take up a variety of surveillance positions around the Minister’s office and one team speeds towards the site of the Helicopter crash. The news about the incident is on the radio and tv which will mean getting access for the third team will be tough.

11.50. As the wife is making our coffees Faith takes the opportunity to search the room. I know we have to find out who he worked for as it will be the only way to clear ourselves. There will be teams out looking for us and unless we find the answer it will be us in the spotlight. Faith whispers to me to go through to the kitchen to ‘help’ so I can delay his wife. Every second of this day is making me feel more and more inadequate.

11.55. With Facebook updating done she has turned to her emails. It’s the one way she keeps in touch with her family and those friends she can’t see regularly because of her work shifts. She sends a last email suggesting to one of her closest and longest standing friends that perhaps they should think about booking a holiday. As the clock ticks towards noon she inserts the memory stick she had taken from the site. That one action starts a series of events that she could never have imagined.

Five

“How many would you like?” he said pointing to the scallops

I thought for a moment before replying, they were larger than normal so I adjusted my order and spoke, “Five please”

“Eh?” he said looking hard at me.

‘Five please,” I repeated

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking genuinely concerned, “Are you foreign?”

“No,” I answered in a slightly questioning way, “Why do you ask?”

“Cos you asked for ‘Foive’.”

“Five,” I repeated to clarify the pronounciation.

“Yep that was it, so how many is ‘Five’?”

I looked at him and began to wonder whether he might be slightly simple. I raised my hand and held the four fingers and thumb out. “Five,” I repeated.

“Ah,’ he said, lifting five scallops onto a sheet of waxed paper, ‘Six it is.”

“Five,” I said, checking again the number of scallops on the paper.

He turned and wrapped the paper before putting it inside a plastic bag. The price was reasonable and I put the change in my pocket. As I turned to leave he said, “What’s all that ‘Five’ stuff mate?”

I moved back to the counter, “Five,” I said with a slightly raised voice, “Five, the number between four and six.” A small crowd of shoppers had gathered.

“What?” he said again.

“Five, the number between four and six.” I turned for support but was greeted by blank faces. I spun back to him and noticed something that would help pinned to the wall. “Look,” is said, “Look at the calendar, see under the month, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7.” I stopped and looked again reading slowly 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7. I scanned to the last number – March 32^nd

The world beneath me began to open up. If six was five then everything became unstable. I stared at my hands, eleven fingers? I felt dizzy first then collapsed in a feint. I don’t know how long I was out but as I came round I could see the blurred face of a paramedic with her fluorescent jacket.

I could hear her speaking but it took a while for the fog to lift from my ears. I could see her hand in front of my eyes and hear the question, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

23 hours - the eleventh hour

10.00. The younger man enters a building that is totally anonymous from the street. He presses his palm and fingers against a screen and a lift door opens. Within moments the doors open again and a woman looks up from the reception desk and smiles. “How is he?” she asks with a concerned voice. “OK,” he replies keeping up the pretence that the organisation has nothing to worry about. He goes through to the old man’s office and looks out of the window over the heart of the city.

10.05. We are standing opposite the shop. Faith was quite right it would have never opened at 9am. Indeed it won’t open until 10.30. For Faith this means we have time to plan and rehearse how we are going to get the information we need. I would rather have a coffee and sandwich. She rifles through her bag and finds a badge and card that will give us authority if not checked properly. It is all down to the confidence we exude when we first enter. She checks her watch and says, “Lets get a coffee.” I reply with reluctance in my voice to suggest I’d rather just get on with the operation.

10.10. In the hospital room a dull single note sounds from one of the machines. Within moments it is filled with medics who work without instruction to try to revive the old man. As if choreographed they step away as together as the defibrillator is placed on his chest. After three attempts the leading medic states the time. The room empties leaving two nurses to clear it out and pull the sheet up. “I’ll let the next of kin know,” says the elder as she walks out. The younger nurse strokes the old man’s hand affectionately, she has no idea of his past.

10.15. He sits in the van wedged between two of the suits. No one speaks. He has attempted two conversations and it is clear that they are not going to respond. He has never been to any of their buildings. All his dealing have been done in coffee bars, churches and park benches. Now he is frightened. If they are taking him to a building it cannot be good. The fact that he is still in his pyjamas is not helping him cope well.

10.20. I have a coffee and some form of heated Panini. It has cheese that has been melted to the temperature of the sun and tomatoes that could burn through sheet metal. The success of this cooking process is that any possible taste has been removed. Faith is eating a chocolate brownie with a precision that is surgical. I am increasingly attracted to her. I take a sip of my scalding coffee to cool my tongue. In about ten minutes things are suddenly going to burst into life again.

10.25. The Minister glances at his screen and pager. There are a mass of messages, many of them urgent, to deal with but he just can’t give them any attention. His mind is entirely dominated by the events of the morning. He knows his future depends upon a resolution but he just can’t see how this will turn out well. He closes his eyes and mutters ‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.” It offers no help.

10.30. He is still staring through the window when he hears the door open. He turns to see a woman who has worked for the organisation longer than he has and has been the old man’s confidente for as long as anyone there can remember. He can see tears in her eyes. He looks kindly towards her and quietly asks “Well?” “He’s gone,” she says and sobs momentarily before pulling herself together. She hands him a folder and a set of keys and fobs. “You will need these,” she says and turns to leave the office.

10.35. We are rehearsed and ready as we cross the road and enter the shop. Faith speaks with directness of voice that will brook no nonsense. A stunningly dressed assistant walks towards us but before she can speak Faith has made her opening move. “Get the manager here, tell her it's the Police and we are in a hurry,” she flashes the card and badge she had in her purse. The shop assistant is suddenly flustered as she explains the manager is not in. Without a break Faith says, “Were you working here yesterday?”

10.40. “I need hardly remind what would happen if this information falls into the wrongs hands,” the Minister shouts. His response to the progress to date is one of anger. No leads other than a geek with lost time and a sword hanging over his head. Once again they rehearse what they know and it doesn’t amount to much. Either one or two agents have gone rogue or a daring operation by an unknown organisation. “What are you going to do about this,” he shouts again. In the outside office his private staff pretend they can’t hear anything.

10.45. The door to the garage glides up as the van approaches. They park and he is bundled from his seat straight into a lift. Still no one speaks as they glide from the basement. He is pushed into a room with a table and chairs either side. One of the suits says “Sit down,” and pushes at his shoulder. There attitude changes when a man and woman walk in. “Hello Ian,” says the man as he pulls back a chair. “Hello,” he says back as he sees the woman eyeing his pyjamas. The man turns to the suits. “Go back to his home and get him some clothes, do a final sweep and then torch it.” He turns back and smiles.

10.50. My god she is impressive. Having ascertained that the assistant was working yesterday. She demands to see the CCTV. At first the assistant explains we will have to wait until the owner comes in this afternoon. In a voice that nearly made me wet myself she says that if we don’t see it now by the time the owner arrives the shop will be stripped empty, shut and being searched for drugs and other illegal dealing. We are now watching the CCTV which, in line with the shop, is high resolution and colour. “That’s him,” says Faith freezing the shot. Print that out.” The shop assistant bloodless face looks quizzical.

10.55. The young man sits behind the desk. Everything about it reminds him of the giant of a man who has been in this chair for as long as anyone can remember. ‘What would he do?’ he thinks to himself, ‘What would he do?”. He answers the question as quickly as he formulates it.  ‘He would bring in the best we have got,’ he mutters and then says it louder, his voice giving him confidence, “Can you contact the Zurich team,” he shouts through the open door. At her desk the woman smiles, ‘the Kings is dead, long live the King’.