A TASTE OF BUNNY

A TASTE OF BUNNY

Rudyard Gregg McVitie was a part time baker from Bakewell, with a quick temper and fists of rock.

He was of mixed race, having a Welsh mother and Scottish father. His ginger hair and pale complexation was a legacy of his fathers side of the family, who were professional "Gingers" from Dundee. His mother was short and stocky, with an earthy swarthy complexion reminiscent of a flatulent Basque wrestler.

Rudyard had had a rough childhood, growing up in tenement on the south bank of the Dighty Water, with just one stinking room for him and his troglodyte parents. After attending school for a couple of months he became bored, and he never returned after finding a job as a shuttle monkey, in the local demonic cotton mill. The few shillings he earned each 72 hour week from this feverish endeavour, enabled Rudyard to experience luxuries that he had never previously experienced at home.

He was soon smoking a pipe, and before long was habitually both inhaling and chewing humongous quantities of rough hewn tobacco.

This invariably led to visits to the local ale house's for liquid refreshment and this also soon became a habit, with copious amounts of stout, mild, heavy and best Bitter consumed on a daily basis.
Indeed, by the time Rudyard was ten, he was spitting phlegm and coughing up black and brown tar on a regular basis, which only increased his need to imbibe.

These unfortunate habits soon became life threatening as he became a threat to the local community, mainly due to his unruly behaviour and penchant for visiting the local brothel and absconding without paying.

This would invariably lead to a scuffle as the brothel keeper chased the rock fisted child up the street, weaving in and out of hand carts, horse drawn traffic and pedestrians, and generally disrupting the ambiance of the locality. Before long the local sheriff apprehended the delinquent youth and the sad faced reprobate was up before the local judge. The proceedings were brief, and the sentence of transportation to Australia swiftly administered by the red faced official.

Removed to a holding cell, Rudyard sat on a three legged stool and whimpered like a suckling pig, as his craving for tobacco, ale and whores, drove him to temporary insanity. It was at this stage in the proceedings that he first encountered big Buff, a baker from the adjacent bakery who had a concession enabling him to sell his wares to those imprisoned in the courts cells.

Buff was  of a portly disposition, and had haled from Neasden, a small village in Middlesex that specialised in hay growing and market gardening, for the burgeoning markets located on the outskirts and hinterland of the city of London.

Buff drew the young lad towards him, and whispered a few quite words in his ear. He then withdrew, after placing a small brown loaf in the convicts hands. As the turnkey opened the door, Rudyard charged towards the portal to freedom, and was soon scurrying through the streets, with Buff the Baker in hot pursuit.

Before long they were at the docks, and they both embarked upon a huge wooden hulk that was getting ready to sale to Hamburg with the outgoing tide. Quickly finding a safe haven upon the vessel, Rudyard anxiously waited for Buff to expose his hiding place.

To be continued......

DOCTOR DOYLE AND THE MUNICH HORN - PARTS 1 (KUNST), 2 (BOTSCHAFTER) AND 3 (KNOBLAUCH).

 DOCTOR DOYLE AND THE MUNICH HORN - PARTS 1 "KUNST"

Doctor Doyle sat at the bar on his usual stool, a stool that had been specially strengthened to take his enormous weight, and shortened by four inches so that his miniature but muscular legs could reach the floor.

He was seated towards the end of the tobacco and phlegm stained snug, his broad back and shoulders positioned so that his corpulent body filled the tight angle between the bar and wall.

 Dr Doyle had been a regular at the pub for many years and was well known by all who frequented the establishment on a regular basis. However, he was also known to venture a number of miles along the Harrow Road towards leafy Harrow Weald in one direction and Wembley in the other.

 He slowly lifted his large balding head and scanned the document he had just pulled from his pocket.  His brown eyes darted about the smoke filled room, scanning and ensuring that the document would be out of sight of prying eyes.

He thought briefly of his recent visit to the pub when he finally met Major Thurlby, but soon cleared his mind so that he could concentrate on the instructions before him. The foolscap document was typed in bold Indian ink and consisted of a number of short paragraphs. It was headed up "Most Secret" and "For the eyes of Doctor Doyle only".

He was briefly distracted as old Pa Benfield  screamed incoherently at his incontinent wife, as she urinated at her bar stool. Oblivious of her bladder malfunction she threw herself from her stool and somersaulted across the wooden floor. Pa Benfield was used to this and turned to the bar and ordered another pint of mild and stout as she continued to hand spring her way in the direction of the back door and garden.

Dr Doyle ruffled the document in his hands and placed his reading glasses over his large ears. The wire frames of his spectacles in place, he scanned the instructions and noted that he was to make his way to Munich, Germany and locate and seize the fabled "Munich Horn".

The corpulent red face doctor  raised his handkerchief to his face and wiped a bead of sweat from his creased brow. It was a number of years since he had ventured overseas and with the world in the throes of another world war, he would need to plan his trip with the utmost precision and recruit only the finest to assist him in his mission.

He knew that his greatest foe would be waiting for him when he entered Germany and that Kahrl Heinzz - Brunner" principle of the Duisburg School of Archaeology and the Occult would kill him on first sight.

Brunner was an ex Nazi spy who had spent a number of years in Paraguay running a quasi religious sect, before slipping back in to Europe under a false name and forged papers after the Nazis came to power.

Prior to his entanglement with the Nazi Party, he had studied archaeology at the Sorbonne, Oxford and Harvard, and had forged many links with the nefarious “Archaeological Mafia” known as “The Sacred brotherhood of the Sarcophagus”.

Brunner has surfaced in Duisburg and by murderous and foul means, had swiftly worked his way to become the Principal at the renowned and respected Archaeology school.
However, the Gestapo, German Police and the secret service, “Die Bundesamt fur Verfassungsschutz (BfV)”, had been unable to pin on him any of the unfortunate accidents and disappearances that befell his more senior colleagues, and he now ruled supreme at the Duisburg centre of the occult.

The obese and hypertensive near alcoholic Dr Doyle was himself of mixed Irish and Spanish decent, and had acted for both the allies and the triple alliance during the last global conflict.
His usual place of rest was his current location, the Mitre public house, situated on the Watford Road just up from the junction with East Lane.He would occasionally frequent the notoriously seedy "Carlton Lodge" speakeasy during the hours that the pubs were shut, but condensed most of his imbibing in to the small nicotine infested Mitre.

However, with the current conundrum facing him, and the near certainty of death if his mission against  Kahrl Heinzz - Brunner  was not executed in a faultless manner, Dr Doyle decided to leave the comfort of the Mitre and head down the Watford Road toward Sudbury Town and Wembley.
After forty minutes huffing and puffing the crimson faced chubby doctor approached Barham House.
The property was built in the grounds of the far more historic Crabs House which was owned by the father of the Copeland sisters. The Copeland sisters are commemorated to this day in Wembley by way of the secondary school named in their honour, and Copeland road.

The mansion was sited to the west of Wembley, on the road to Sudbury Town, and still retained a number of the sweeping green acres that had previously surrounded this stately home.
The lush meadows had supported herds of dairy cows during the eighteenth century, which provided ample supplies of milk to Wembley and the surrounding villages and hamlets. During the middle of the century, the provision of a railway station at what became Wembley Central, provided convenient and easy access to the centre of London and an eagerly waiting market for fresh milk and dairy products.

The house had however, recently been under the control of the local urban district council, and had become somewhat dilapidated, although was still inhabitable.

Doctor Doyle turned in to the driveway and pushed open the once magnificent wrought iron gates, which were no longer locked due to the apathy shown by those chosen by the council to tend the gardens and house.

He marched forward towards the entrance and strode up the couple steps leading to the balustrade and open walkway that surrounded the building. He unlocked the main door with an old rusty key and slowly climbed the central staircase. He entered the first doorway to the right of the landing and sat down on a large wooden chair. A minute later a large brute of a man entered through the doorway and the grotesquely obese Doctor Doyle slid of his seat and motioned towards the massive figure of Ivan Terrablanche.

The Doctor coughed as he approached the frowning South African and was quickly acknowledged with an outstretched hand.  "Ivan Terrablanche" was East Africa's most dangerous Arms dealer and had moved up from The Cape many years earlier so as to escape from "Mickey Mangtoute" and his cut throat gang of extortionists and murderers. He had worked with Dr Doyle on a number of occasions and was well placed to help with the Munich raid to capture the Munich Horn.

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DOCTOR DOYLE AND THE MUNICH HORN - PART 2  "BOTSCHAFTER"

Dr Doyle and Ivan Terrablanche strode purposely away from Munchen Hauptbahnhof and quickly made their way to the Neues Rathaus in Marienplatz.  After checking their watches and making sure they were not being being followed, they edged past the neo-gothic building and made their way to the sanctuary of Peterskirche.

The snow was now falling quicker and heavier and both were grateful when a side door next to the nave opened and a priest beckoned them in to the warmth of the church.

Terrablanche gripped the hand of the white robed cleric and shook it vigorously. After recovering his hand, the priest walked them across the choir and down a couple of steps until they stood in front of a marble crypt inscribed in Latin and Germanic script. Dr Doyle quickly noticed the inscriptions on the tomb from an earlier encounter with Kahrl Heinz-Brunner, when he prevented the Nazi scholar from removing a sacred challis from a comparable crypt in Aachen.

The similar but subtly different tomb was one a series of memorials dedicated to Frederica Barbarossa, also known as Frederick 1st of Germany, Holy Roman Emperor and within the German speaking world “Kaiser Rotbart”.

The priest passed a sealed envelope to Dr Doyle who ripped open the seal and started to ingest the words before him. Although written in code, he soon realised that the Munich Horn was in fact a drinking horn that had been used by Barbarossa between 1122 and 1190 and again used by Frederick the Great, many centuries later. Barbarossa had in fact stolen the Horn from St Peters in Rome when he and his troops sacked Rome during the conquest of Italy and the Papal authorities had themselves been searching for the artifact ever since.

The note further explained that in German mythology, Barbarossa was also known as the “Sleeping Hero” and that in Germany’s darkest hour he would awake from his slumber and once he had taken ein trinken from the Horn would lead the nation to a victory over who ever threatened the Fatherland.
This was a surprise to Dr Doyle as when he left England for Munich, he had been advised by his handlers that the Horn was a code name for a device that can pick up radio signals from the allies and break any code or encryption through a refraction of musical notes. This was now proven incorrect and Dr Doyle and the priest laughed at the incredibility of the presumed meaning of the Munich Horn.

Soon the marble structure was being edged away from its plinth through the brute force of Ivan Terrablanche and a crow bar, and slowly a gap was appearing that hinted at something stored beneath the memorial.  A few moments later the Doctor was holding a golden Horn inscribed with Saxon and Latin inscriptions.

The Horn was remarkably light and had been damaged; no doubt during a roaring drinking session after Barbarossa looted the Horn from Rome. The priest handed Dr Doyle a leather pouch which he carefully placed the object within.  Thoughts now turned to escaping from the Bavarian City without capture.  With this in mind, Dr Doyle and Ivan Terrablanche crept out of the crypt and although the snow storm was now a full blizzard headed towards the embankment of the river Isar.
Reaching the river they both untied a waiting rowing boat and swiftly rowed their way up river. After a couple of miles they disembarked and hailed a cab and headed for the Bahnhof where they hoped to catch a train to neutral Switzerland and safety.

However, Dr Doyle's mind turned to an earlier trip to the city and the delights that he has sampled in the local stews and brothels.He licked his chapped lips and stroked his fat neck as he remembered the leather clad Lesbian Fraulein he used to visit on a daily basis, and although he overweight corpulent body would have trouble in raising his own Horn, he quickly beckoned to Terrablanche to follow him away from the station and back to the city center.

Unknown to them, Kahrl Heinz-Brunner sat silently drinking a stein of lager as he awaited their appearance in the dingy cellar at 15 Ausberg Strasse .
   
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DOCTOR DOYLE AND THE MUNICH HORN - PART 3  "KNOBLAUCH"

Exiting the pink Mercedes taxi cab driven by a leather clad lesbian dwarf, Dr Doyle and his associate strode in to the bar eagerly awaiting their first alcoholic drink of the day.

In their boyish enthusiasm they both missed the smiling Karl Heinz–Brunner seated on a large leather sofa next the raging open fire. Brunner nuzzled a large glass of brandy against his upper lip so as to sniff the pungent aroma of the vintage cognac. In his hands was the latest edition of “Club Antiquity Deutsche”, a publication that unknown to its loyal readership was utilised by “The Sacred Sarcophagus” to send encrypted messages to its agents.

Brunner had picked up his copy of the magazine the previous morning from the news stall outside his Berlin apartment, and had immediately noticed the encoded massage confirming that Dr Doyle was to be in Munich today and that he was searching for the Munich Horn.  Wasting no time, he boarded the next train for Munich and was booked in to a small hotel opposite the bar. It was easy for Brunner to anticipate where Dr Doyle would be found after his mission, as he was well aware of his sexual deprivations, in particular his need to be pleasured by leather clad bi-sexual lesbian dwarfs, and that he would visit the Brothel situated on the first floor of the premises.


At the bar, Dr Doyle and Ivan Terrablanche were drinking large steins of larger and anticipating a couple of hours debauchery on the first floor, when the corpulent and thick necked Doctor noticed Brunner in a reflected image thrown from his zipper lighter. Doyle turned to face his giant companion and grabbing a pen from his pocket scribbled a quick note on a napkin and passed it to Terrablanche to read. Terrablanche responded by speaking slowly but determinedly in Afrikaans, hoping that Brunner would not understand the conversation.

Knowing that Dr Doyle was fluent in the language, Terrablanche quickly turned to face his foe and simultaneously fired his semi-automatic weapon at the seated Brunner. Dr Doyle had acted as directed and had thrown himself to the floor turning a table over with him to use as protection from any returned gunfire.

Unfortunately for Doyle and Terrablanche, Brunner was himself fluent in Afrikaans and had bolted from his position moments before the bullets began to fly from the South Africans Luger. Knowing that Brunner would not be alone, the pair quickly exited the building in an opposite direction from the escaping Nazi, and commandeered a large black BMW to make their getaway. Pushing the frightened female owner from the car, they jumped in and accelerated in a south-westerly direction towards a safe house located near to the Swiss border.

The light was fading fast as they drove over the river Isar and then headed for the sanctuary of the safe house on the outskirts of Friedrichshafen, where they hoped to board a small fishing boat, row across lake Constance (Bodensee) to enter neutral Switzerland, and eventually fly back to the UK with the Munich Horn.

As they approached the small farmhouse on the banks of Lake Constance they turned off the headlights and coasted to a stop by a large dilapidated barn.
Two hundred yards behind them, a large battered Mercedes glided to a silent stop.


To be continued...........