Girl Who Fell 1: Behind Blue Eyes. Offbeat Brit spy series-cum-lesbian love triangle. Killing Eve meets female James Bond meets Helen of Troy returns (HAIL THE QUEEN series)
Page 1
450 years after the Fall of Troy.
Anatolia, the Middle East.
Modern-day Turkey.
Sing, O goddess,
the anger of Achil es,
doomed and ruinous,
that caused loss on bitter loss
and crowded brave souls into the afterlife, leaving so many dead
—carrion for dogs and birds;
and the will of Zeus was done.
HOMER
- THE ILIAD
BOOK 1, OPENING LINES
(AUTHOR’S RENDERING)
The Beginning of the Saga
Girl Who Fell 1: Behind Blue Eyes
Girl Who Fell 2: Refugee Rising
Girl Who Fell 3: La Bombe
Girl Who Fell 4: The Bright Path 2020
Girl Who Fell 5: Wanted 2020
Hail the Queen®
The First Book
Girl Who Fell 1: Behind Blue Eyes
Raechel Sands
TANGO ROMEO
C O N T E N T S
1 Hail To the Queen ≥ 9
2 Codename C ≥ 17
3 Major Grinin ≥ 34
4 The Fifth Option ≥ 56
5 To Russia With Love ≥ 81
6 It’s Really Nothing Like James Bond ≥ 107
7 The Prophecy ≥ 132
8 The Girl ≥ 144
9 I Have My Orphans ≥ 153
X The Ides of March ≥ 165
XI The Little-Black-Dress ≥ 198
1959 Vatican City, Rome.
The Secret of Fatima has been placed
in one of those archives which are like a very deep, dark well, to the bottom of which papers fall and are never seen again.
CARDINAL ALFREDO OTTAVIANI,
PREFECT OF THE HOLY INQUISITION
OF THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH
1959 Cape Cod, Massachusetts.
There is no reason why good cannot triumph as often as evil.
The triumph of anything is a matter of organization.
If there are such things as angels, I hope that they are organized along
the lines of the Mafia.
KURT VONNEGUT
- THE SIRENS OF TITAN
Hail To the Queen
S ure we live in uncertain times…
But within the cyber clouds circling us all – and contending for our beliefs – there are some certainties.
My great grandfather fought in World War Two, becoming expert in getting mules to swim jungle rivers in Burma.
He was renowned for quoting that there are two certainties in life: death and taxes. Well, I deal with murder comprehensively, but (sorry, great grandpa) my GIRL
WHO FELL books deal with five additional realities: Satellites watching from the sky, bugging,
SPIES security cameras, social media, cookies; and the women and men of “the world’s second-oldest profession” – hidden in our midst.
and karma. Soul ‘rebirth,’ or
PAST LIVES ‘reincarnation,’ is embraced by Asian religions including
Hinduism, Buddhism and Taoism.
In recent decades, many North Americans and Europeans have developed an interest in it. (For example, Wikipedia reports that 44% of Lithuanians believe it happens.)
ANGELS,
Over 80% of humans world-
wide consistently rate their
GODDESSES
belief in angels, archangels,
etc.
goddesses etc, as ‘probably’
or ‘absolutely.’
An increasing part of our civilisation in the 21st
A I
century. In these novels, the three main
characters each become a woman-AI hybrid.
You’re reading, probably, the
MUSIC
best spy novels in the world…
with a soundtrack!
Click the Kindle links to YouTube,
dial up the songs on Spotify, or
play the free soundtracks on my
website:
girlwhofell.org
Certainties. History. What do we really know for sure?
Do we even know where our own history comes from?
Because, as everyone knows, history is written by the winners…
Recently, archaeologists have found the remains of an amazing unknown civilisation that was wiped out 3,200
years ago. This great ‘Catastrophe,’ described by some experts as World War Zero, ended with the Fall of Troy, a real empire, and ushered in a Dark Age of 400 years.
The woman held responsible when the Trojans wheeled in the wooden horse from the sands, and finally lost that war, was —
HELEN OF TROY, QUEEN OF SPARTA
— who, our schools teach us, was a shallow, helpless pawn, whose weakness was responsible for the fall of a great civilisation.
But what if—really—Helen was the hero?
What if she was not only a mother and queen, but also an unloved and beaten wife who wanted to escape abuse and find a better life?
Makes you think, huh?
In these stories, HELEN returns — for the 21st century—as a badass, and history’s ultimate scapegoat bites back…
So…
‘Hail the Queen!’
HELEN enters the saga in chapter 8 of this book —
reincarnated — in a poor corner of Europe — as mixed race teenager, LEILA.
The Hail the Queen saga is about a dozen very real women — in vivid, challenging, but life-affirming scenarios. Although an ensemble work, the saga revolves around four central characters: two Americans, a Brit, and a Bosnian. LEILA, BLANKA and FELICITY are
reincarnations of former great queens, whilst KITTY is the reincarnation of a little girl from Auschwitz. Here’s a bit about them.
BLANKA, an American special agent based at MI6
(the British CIA); guitarist, DJ, vegetarian and animal conservationist.
FELICITY, a younger MI6 spy, and the ‘Villanelle’ of the novels. She is a serious psychopath — not only the reincarnation of a queen, but also of the infamous child murderer: Dr Joseph Mengele.
KITTY, Blanka’s mother; a t.v. reporter murdered by secret agents.
Another character, an Irishwoman NEARBY, is Felicity’s doppelgänger. In their previous life, KITTY and NEARBY were nine-year-old twin sisters murdered at Auschwitz by Dr Mengele.
The first book begins with these women, and a battle of wills over a perfume-borne super-weapon called Metapox.
The series unfolds in several fast-paced and playful novels — which contain many surprises, and several straight and lesbian romances. And — of course, with spies and sleuths and Helen of Troy brought back — mysteries!
One mystery is even bigger than The Da Vinci Code.
LEILA/HELEN meets BLANKA in the second book, and FELICITY in the third. The love triangle between these three women underpins much of the epic.
Enjoy.
Raechel Sands
Warham, Great Britain. February 25, 2019
www.girlwhofell.org
R A E C H E L S A N D S ≥
13
TALK THE
TALK
‘M’
Blanka’s Espionage Terms
M
Measurement & signature intel; technical
ASINT
<
br /> col ection outside the scope of IMINT & SIGINT
Mole
An agent sent to penetrate another Intelligence agency by gaining employment
Mom
Kitty Maguire, murdered in a wet job –
Intelligence-speak for murder
Music Box
Clandestine radio or walkie-talkie
Musician
Clandestine radio operator
MI6
The British foreign Intelligence service,
where I work
— THE 2040s —
‘Hey. Welcome to the ride. My name is Blanka. At least it used to be. I was born in Norfolk, Virginia, in 1978—on the day they killed the Pope in Rome.
≥ G I R L W H O F E L L 1
14
Pope John Paul the first that is.’
‘At the time these histories are set in—in the year before Donald Trump was elected president of the United States, and the Brexit vote took place in Great Britain—I was an American spy working in London.
Actually, I was a one-quarter-AI woman and spy…
28 percent, 30 percent, it doesn’t real y matter, I’m dead now.
I was cal ed: OhZone 4. With OhZones 1, 2 and 3 deceased, and my kidneys failing, I felt I was next—dead woman walking.
In many ways, my termination on Earth was a new beginning. Neither Helen or Felicity were ever the same again…
and I became, literal y, an American deity.’
‘Another American living in London, T. S. Eliot, famously wrote in his poem The Hol ow Men:
“This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.”
Wel , I’m sorry to tel you—he was wrong.
But don’t worry, be happy; it may never happen to your world…
Just in case, I suggest we have some classic rock ‘n’ rol music to hand. For the first song, I nominate a trail-blazing female artist from my birth decade, the 1970s:
Cher.
Uniquely, Cher won an Academy Award, a Grammy, an Emmy, three Golden Globes, and Best Actress Award at the Cannes Film Festival. Click the music link here.
Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves was her first solo #1 hit.’
‘My Mom, Kitty Maguire, loved this song … before she was murdered—for the same reason as the Pope.’
‘The story real y begins with her, in the summer of 1976…’
R A E C H E L S A N D S ≥
15
— THE 1970s —
The United States.
Pennsport, South Philly, Pennsylvania.
It was 6:30 a.m. Inside the Sacred Heart of Jesus Church on South 3rd Street, a spirited catholic schoolgirl, 13, put a penny in the slot, and took a prayer candle.
As Kitty Maguire lit the candle, placing it in the rack, she noticed a few churchgoers arriving for mass. She straightened her dishevel ed, shoulder-length hair, and slipped away down a side aisle, noticing with alarm that the deacon was watching her.
Averting her green eyes, she looked down at the ground, and headed out the door.
That afternoon, in the principle’s office of Kitty’s Junior High School, the principle juggled papers at a filing cabinet—and glared at an old priest, Father Ed Quinn, sitting on the other side of his desk. Father Ed gave an artificial y huge smile back.
Stowing the papers, the principle returned to his desk with one set, handed the priest a mugshot of Kitty, and sat down.
‘Thank you,’ said Father Ed. ‘May I keep it?’
The principle examined Father Ed’s driver’s license once more.
‘Go ahead. …She’s a determined girl—some strange notions, dreams and such—first time she’s runaway though. Social workers, detectives, her mother in here a hundred times. The father—in ful admiral’s uniform—you know about the father?’
‘Yes I do.’
‘Why did you say you were searching for her?’
≥ G I R L W H O F E L L 1
16
‘It’s a spiritual matter. Ever hear of the miracles in Fatima, Portugal?
The Principal shook his head. ‘Anyway, the police think she’s sleeping rough, but don’t know where. The sighting this morning was the first for a couple of weeks. Maybe watch that area—
between the Delaware and 7th Street. Sorry I can’t be more help.’
He stood up, and held out his hand.
‘Let’s hope she’s enjoying the bicentennial celebrations,’
Father Ed said, shaking hands. ‘Fireworks and so on.’
Kitty sure had her own notions—she wanted to go to Europe—
and planned to watch Queen Elizabeth land on her royal yacht, and present the Bicentennial Bell to the American people. She was none too pleased when Father Ed appeared next to her at the record store window she was gazing into.
‘I’ve been looking for you, Miss Maguire,’ he whispered.
Kitty glanced up and down the street, and got ready to run.
‘So, a lot of people are looking for me,’ hissed Kitty.
‘I know that,’ said the priest. ‘I’m not hear to catch you. But to tel you—God has chosen you: you have a glorious destiny to fulfill, Kitty Maguire!’
‘Yeah right, crazy old man,’ Kitty spat out.
As she turned on her heels, Father Ed grasped her arm gently but firmly. He held his other hand out, and opened his fingers.
‘D’you like magic tricks?’ he said.
Instinctively, Kitty’s eyes opened wide, and she looked up at his face. When she looked down, his hand held a ticket marked— Ticketron - J.F.K. Stadium. Kitty froze! Oh my God, she thought. The bicentennial Spirit of Summer rock concert!
She wouldn’t be found among al those people.
‘Wow, thank you, er Father–’
‘Father Ed Quinn,’ the priest said.
‘Like Mister Ed?’ she laughed.
‘Maybe work on your manners, young lady,’ he
said, handing her the concert ticket.
C H A P T E R 8 ≥ 17
Codename C
Imagine, if you can, a small room, hexagonal in shape, like the cell of a bee. It is lighted neither by window nor by lamp, yet it is filled with a soft radiance. … In the armchair there sits a swaddled lump of flesh - a woman, about five feet high, with a face as white as a fungus. It is to her that the little room belongs.
There were buttons to call for food, for music, for clothing. There was the button that produced literature.
And there were of course the buttons by which she communicated with her friends. The room, though it contained nothing, was in touch with all that she cared for in the world.
1909 ‒ E.M.FORSTER ‒ THE MACHINE STOPS
— THE PRESENT —
2015.
London.
MI6 headquarters, Vauxhall Cross.
M urder is not unique to human beings—many animals kill—but we are unique in the lies we tell ourselves about it.
≥ G I R L W H O F E L L 1
18
We say that animals have blood lust, but it is as nothing compared to the blood lust of humans. The human species kil s on a scale, and with an intensity, beyond the comprehension of animals; and killings of our own kind make up all the major spectacles of history. Out of some perverse sense of morality, we feel obliged to hide these murders.
But why should the geniuses behind these homicides hide their accomplishments, something they do so wel ?
It was a Tuesday. March the tenth, in fact, as the head of British Military Intelligence Section 6, Sir Jasper Rol and Loveless—
general y known only by his codename—C—looked at a bank of monitors in the locked and unmanned security overwatch room on Floor -1.
He occasional y used it to spy on those who spied on his spies: the uniformed internal security guards, but now he, the Queen’s chief enforcer, was watching the worker bees arriving.
Hundreds of them crunched through the exhaust-blackened remnants of the snow, and streamed across the rush hour in
tersection.
The loyal Crown Servants were carried to Vauxhall Underground and Overground stations from every corner of the metropolis. He watched them as they waited for the pedestrian light to turn so they could cross on to Albert Embankment. Were they the Queen’s worker bees? Or his?
C knew the bees by name; he made it his job to do so. A plain man of medium height and build, he congratulated himself as he thought: the females are all good lookers. But, he decided, they and their male colleagues had perhaps now carried the casualness too far, in their quasi clean-cut, university educated, no-tie, sporty fit alikeness.
Memo to Miss Banks, thought C. Not enough beards. Beards
R A E C H E L S A N D S ≥
19
are in. HR to push them.
They wanted to believe, the worker bees, so they were easy to lie to. And some were easy to lead astray, C recalled, as he stared at the image of his former protégée, and lover, Bio, on one of the cameras.
Misinformation, dissembling, and a certain vagueness are the bread-and-butter of Intelligence, and C always referred to MI6
by its codename, The Office.
More honest staff made fun of the dissembling, and assigned witty names.
Bio, on the security camera, was given her nickname 20
years before by her boss in Science Division. It was she, frowned C, who had christened MI6 itself – Wonderland— a nickname that had become popular with the KGB, and throughout the Intel igence world.
The next face on the monitor belonged to Boudica Maguire, a 36-year-old American a few years younger than Bio. Everyone cal ed her Blanka.
A high-ranking CIA and NATO Intel igence officer, Blanka had been stationed in London for several years since becoming the first woman-AI hybrid in 1999.
At five five, she was two inches tal er than Bio but weighed in at 105lbs more. She wasn’t overweight and didn’t look it but the AI program, OhZone, had increased her body weight by 60 percent, a source of enduring humour for her col eagues.
Being something of a history scholar, Bio quickly monikered Blanka: Queen Boudica. If a name was good, Blanka admitted, it stuck to you like shit! She returned the favour by tagging Bio according to her Celtic first name: Queen Marcia.
The two ‘Celtic queens’ ruled their respective kingdoms—