Biding Time- the Chestnut Covin

by E W Barnes

  Rose was the most convincing of all. She knew how to do the “victory rolls” and seemed to carry herself more comfortably in this attire.

  “The war years of the 20th century was my focus as a chrono-historian,” Rose explained. “I have spent a lot of time studying and visiting the 1940s. This shift feels like going home.”

  As they hid everything in the crawlspace again, Rose explained that they would arrive early in the morning outside another TPC safe house.

  “This time we’ll do things differently,” Rose began. “Agent Winters, you and Sharon have been using shifts stored in the temporal amplifier to arrive in the same place and close to the same time as Kevin with the goal of following him and stopping him from completing the changes to the timeline.”

  “So far, that hasn’t worked,” Sharon said. “We have only been able to observe him, but not stop him.”

  “This time we will arrive several hours earlier than Kevin, or whoever made the shift to 1940. I don’t want to shift into the safe house, in case the Temporal Amplifier Holographic Interface and Security Program was tampered with like Richard was. As the Blitz will have started, we cannot shift in at night during the air raids. Early morning is safest and best for not being seen.”

  She handed the remote to Sharon. “You have demonstrated excellent timing in using the remote. Just don’t confuse it with your phone,” she added with a concealed smile and a wink at Caelen.

  If someone had peered in the window, they would have looked odd, the trio in their matching long raincoats clustered around a bookcase pulled away from the wall. The curtains were closed, however, and no one watched as Rose tapped the panel.

  Just this one more shift, Sharon thought as they rippled away.

  ◆◆◆

  They emerged on a deserted side street into a morning that was cool and slightly foggy. The fog had an acrid smell and Sharon was glad for the raincoat against the damp chill. They rounded the corner to the main street and slowly approached the safe house.

  The safe house was a townhouse like the one in 1962, in a small neighborhood of identical houses in a row. Even though the red brick facade was attractive, without trees it was less elegant and more practical than the neighborhood in 1962.

  Rose opened the door while Sharon and Caelen stood off to the side trying to blend in on the empty street. It was not long before Rose motioned them inside.

  “The good news is that the Temporal Amplifier Holographic Interface and Security Program is not functioning. The bad news is neither is the temporal amplifier,” she said.

  Caelen frowned. “It is looking more and more like a rapid shift anomaly is underway.”

  She looked at Sharon. “Right now, the remote control is our only way back to a working temporal amplifier. Keep it safe.”

  Sharon nodded and tapped her pants pocket to confirm the remote was still there.

  They split up to explore the safe house. Rose believed they might have to stay more than a day and suggested they select rooms and get comfortable.

  “There should be amenities appropriate to the period in the rooms and bathrooms,” she said as they headed up the stairs.

  ◆◆◆

  Even austerely decorated, Sharon found the townhouse charming, and selected a small room with a single bed on the top floor, complete with deep-set dormer windows. Once she moved aside the thick blackout curtains, she could see the clearing sky and a sea of rooftops. The view was gray with what looked like thick smoke rising in several locations. It was a stark reminder she was in a city under siege in a brutal war.

  After about 15 minutes, they met in the sitting room on the ground floor next the front door. It had long sash windows that faced the sidewalk and the blackout curtains had been drawn back. There was a pile of brown paper to one side of the windows. Rose served them tea and confirmed there was food in the kitchen, saying there would be time for breakfast before they had to leave for the meeting.

  “The portions will be small,” she warned. “Great Britain began rationing food earlier this year. As part of our cover, we brought food, so we would not deplete local resources, and out of respect for the sacrifices being made by the British people, we kept it simple.”

  They followed her into the kitchen at the back of the house, and cooked up eggs with toast, eating at a small table under a bright window. Then it was time to leave.

  The sun was punching through the fog though clouds were waiting in the wings ready to bring rain. With the fog lifting, it was easier to see the columns of smoke rising in the city. While autumn colors still clung to a few trees, the sun highlighted the barrage balloons overhead and sandbags stacked against walls.

  Their walk took them several blocks from the safe house, past other homes, office buildings, and a pub. She could see piles of rubble. People were sorting through bricks and debris while others were loading up wheelbarrows and carting them away.

  They crossed two streets and stopped to wait for traffic before crossing a busy street bordered by a large park. They headed for a government building across the street from the park, stopping at the entrance to show the identification that had been crafted for them as part of their cover.

  A woman met them in the lobby. She was dressed in a military-type outfit like what Rose and Sharon wore, except instead of trousers she wore a skirt. She walked up to Rose as soon as she saw her as if she already knew her.

  “Good morning, Miss Sprucewood, I am Mrs. Conrad, assistant to Mr. Balkingham.”

  “How do you do,” Rose said shaking her hand. “May I introduce my assistants, Mr. Caelen Winters, and Miss Sharon Gorse.”

  After several “how-do-you-dos” and handshaking, they followed Mrs. Conrad up two flights of stairs to an office with a view of the park. Each windowpane was taped in the shape of a large “x,” to slow flying shards of glass. Through the tape, Sharon could see the sun was now shining brightly, and the park glowed with autumn colors.

  “Mr. Balkingham will be ready for you shortly. May I get you some tea?”

  As they waited and sipped their tea, they could hear a radio on in the background. In between songs by Vera Lynn and Glenn Miller, the announcer shared weather reports and local news in a crisp British accent. Sharon could see why Rose felt at home in this era.

  Mrs. Conrad worked at her desk while they waited and kept shooting curious glances in their direction. Finally, she spoke to Sharon.

  “Are you a mechanic?” she asked.

  “No, why?” Sharon answered.

  “You’re wearing trousers. Only women mechanics and drivers wear trousers.”

  “I think you’ll find that is something that will be changing.” Rose cut in. “In a few years you’ll see a lot of women in trousers. They are comfortable, and much more convenient than skirts,” she added with a disarming smile.

  Mrs. Conrad nodded and, though she did not look entirely convinced, Sharon thought that her glances were now tinged with envy.

  A door to the left opened.

  “Mrs. Conrad, please show our guests in,” a man said.

  Mr. Balkingham’s office was spacious, with the same taped-window view of the park as Mrs. Conrad had. There was room enough for a desk, credenza, and a small conference table with chairs. Where the chairs next to Mrs. Conrad’s desk were plain wood, the ones in Mr. Balkingham’s office were more comfortable with padded green leather.

  After they were introduced to Mr. Balkingham, he invited Sharon and Caelen to sit in chairs against a wall, while Rose was seated at the table. The other attendees arrived within five minutes of each other: Mr. McLean, the representative of the American Ambassador and Rose’s boss in this meeting; and Mr. Petronov, the representative from the Soviet Union, along with his translator, Miss Ivanova.

  “We are waiting for one more to join us,” Mr. Balkingham announced, as Mrs. Conrad placed another chair at the table and put out water and glasses at each place. She set a small pitcher and three glasses on a side table against the wall on Caelen’s rig
ht. She also refreshed the tea service on a credenza next to Mr. Balkingham’s desk, from which Mr. McLean helped himself while Mr. Petronov poured water for his translator and himself.

  “Who are we waiting for?” Mr. McLean asked politely as he returned to his seat, stirring milk into his tea.

  “A representative from the Canadian government,” Mr. Balkingham answered. “A Mr. Quill and his assistant.”

  Sharon and Caelen glanced sideways at each other, and from across the table Rose frowned and shook her head imperceptibly to discourage them from speaking. Mrs. Conrad opened the office door.

  “Mr. Quill and Mr. Bower are here, Mr. Balkingham,” she said as she opened the door wide to allow the two men to enter.

  Everyone stood as introductions were made. Lloyd and Kevin showed no signs of recognition as they shook hands with Rose, Sharon, and Caelen.

  Kevin took a seat along the wall on the other side of the table next to Caelen. Lloyd first served himself tea from the credenza and sat next to Rose facing Sharon and Caelen.

  For a moment he appeared to glare at Sharon, his eyes full of malice, then Mr. Balkingham called the meeting to order. Lloyd focused his attention on the proceedings and did not look at her again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  While Sharon and Caelen had a general understanding of the history of World War II, Rose had insisted on briefing them before the meeting, describing the Nazi’s forceful takeover of European countries one-by-one and its unceasing attacks on Great Britain.

  “The evacuation from Dunkirk, the Battle of Britain, the Blitz, even bomb damage to Buckingham Palace have all taken place in the last three months,” she explained.

  “Great Britain is holding off one of the most efficient and effective military forces in the history of the world. Understandably, the British government desires military allies to help fight the Germans; but the United States is reluctant to go to war on another continent, and the Soviet Union entered a non-aggression pact with Germany a year ago.”

  The confidential meeting they were attending was to keep open lines of communication about allying with Great Britain. There was a secondary goal to discuss ways of convincing the American people to entering the war. It was Rose’s job to share information about popular sentiment about the war on the U.S.

  Even though Mr. Balkingham offered convincing evidence that Germany’s long-term goals were global, it was obvious Mr. McLean’s marching orders from Ambassador Kennedy were to listen and make no promises. Similarly, despite reassurances that Germany’s aggression would ultimately turn east, Mr. Petronov made it clear his presence was a courtesy, and he would do nothing to imperil the non-aggression pact.

  Knowing the ultimate outcomes of the second World War and the challenges facing the players around the table, the meeting should have fascinated Sharon. Instead, she analyzed how to stop Kevin and Lloyd from whatever they were planning, hardly hearing the discussion. She kept glancing at Kevin and Lloyd out of the corner of her eye as if she could read their minds and learn their secrets. They kept their attentions on the meeting.

  “Italy, Norway, the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, and now France have each fallen to Germany,” Mr. Balkingham said in a voice tinged with sadness. “For months we have held off Herr Hitler’s advances by air and sea. If we fall, you know where he will go next. You can’t not know.”

  “We have done all we can do to support you, Mr. Balkingham, and the American people are not interested in sending our men to die in another war in Europe.” Mr. McLean answered firmly but not without compassion. “We are a nation governed by our people, as you know, and they have made their desires clear.”

  “We are grateful to the American people for the use of American warplanes in defense of our island, besides your generous gifts of food and supplies,” Mr. Balkingham answered smoothly. “We are also grateful that the United States has wisely agreed to a joint defense commission with Canada,” he nodded at Lloyd who nodded back in acknowledgment.

  Mr. Balkingham turned his attention to Mr. Petronov.

  “And do you think you will be able to hold off the Germans if they move into Estonia, Latvia, or Lithuania? And from there to Moscow?”

  Mr. Petronov waited until Miss Ivanova finished translating Mr. Balkingham’s question into Russian before responding. Mr. Balkingham kept his eyes on Mr. Petronov while he listened to Miss Ivanova’s English translation.

  “We have no reason to believe the Germans would violate our non-aggression treaty. You offer us what-ifs and maybes. Germany offered us a treaty. On which would you rely in my place, Mr. Balkingham?”

  “Britain has suffered extensively resisting the aggression of the Nazis,” Lloyd spoke up, his voice full of understanding and respect. “No one in this room fails to understand and value the courage the British people have exhibited and the losses you have suffered.”

  He looked at those around the table. “Likewise, the governments represented in this room have also done what they can to support Great Britain while protecting our own people. We can all agree on that, can we not?”

  Everyone at the table nodded in agreement and Mr. Balkingham looked somewhat mollified.

  Rose had been looking down her paperwork during this exchange, and her expression of surprise mirrored Sharon’s own. What was Lloyd up to with this diplomatic stance? How would it help them succeed in whatever they were planning?

  ◆◆◆

  By the time the group broke at midday, Sharon’s head was swimming with facts and figures about resources on hand, needed resources, timetables for deliveries, and veiled references to people and places she understood were top secret and not to be discussed outside that room.

  Neither Lloyd nor Kevin had spoken again during the meeting and they appeared engrossed in the discussions, never once looking at Sharon, Caelen, or Rose. Sharon dared hope that maybe in this shift Kevin and Lloyd did not recognize them.

  Mrs. Conrad served a meal to the attendees, which included small servings of shepherd’s pie that were more potato than meat, and a side of boiled carrots. Mr. McLean, Kevin, and Lloyd ate slowly. Mr. Petronov and Miss Ivanova devoured their servings with relish.

  When all had finished their meals, Mr. McLean asked to use a private phone to call the Embassy. After he followed Mrs. Conrad out of the office, Kevin excused himself to use “the gents.”

  Sharon glanced at Lloyd, but he seemed unaware of Kevin’s exit, and was deep in conversation with Mr. Balkingham about the merits of tennis versus cricket.

  Mr. Petronov and Miss Ivanova left to take a short walk in the park. Sharon stood on impulse.

  “A walk sounds lovely,” she said. “Miss Sprucewood, will you need anything for the next 20 minutes?”

  Rose smiled, as if she understood what Sharon was thinking. “Not at all. Please enjoy your walk. Perhaps Mr. Winters would like to join you?”

  It was clear Rose intended to stay in the room with Lloyd and as they left, they heard her offer an opinion on badminton, propelling what had been a discussion into a debate.

  Retracing their steps from the morning, they found the staircase to the ground floor and stepped outside the

  building in time to see Mr. Petronov and Miss Ivanova walking on a path in the park across the street.

  Kevin was following them.

  ◆◆◆

  They entered the park about 15 yards behind Kevin, who was the same distance behind Mr. Petronov and Miss Ivanova. Sharon wondered if this was a good idea after all. She suspected she and Caelen would find themselves reluctant voyeurs of a clandestine encounter between colleagues instead of gathering valuable information to restore the timeline.

  She was ready to suggest they return when Caelen took her hand and stopped walking. She was pulled back towards him and as she turned to ask him what he was doing, he kissed her.

  It was a good kiss. A very good kiss. She kissed him back before she realized what he was doing. Right, she thought, he is hiding us from Kevin. He kept her hand in
his as they broke apart. She looked at the ground as she spoke, trying to get her equilibrium back.

  “Did he see us?” she asked.

  “I think so,” Caelen whispered back. “I don’t think he suspects anything. Sorry if I caught you off guard,” he added.

  They walked hand in hand covertly watching Kevin until he stopped. Mr. Petronov and Miss Ivanova were sitting on a bench, and Kevin was engaging them in conversation.

  “I have an idea,” Sharon said. “I can see Buckingham Palace through the trees. You can stop and say hello while I cut through to get a better look. When I come back to join you, I can plant my phone.”

  Caelen caught on. “And record the conversation,” he nodded in appreciation. “Great idea.”

  As far as she could tell, they were halfway through the park, the office building as far behind them as Buckingham Palace was ahead of them. While Caelen followed the curve of the path towards Kevin and the Soviets, Sharon angled across a grassy area toward a large lake. Buckingham Palace was ahead of her. Makeshift fencing marred her view where the original fencing had been damaged by a bomb.

  This more than anything else she had seen drove home for her the terror of the Blitz. It was like knowing there would be an earthquake again and again and never knowing where it would hit or how bad it would be. Wealth, power, and safety precautions meant nothing if you were unknowingly sitting on the epicenter.

  She shivered and forced herself to keep walking.

  At the edge of the lake she looked around and then pulled out her phone from her pants pocket and set it to record. She tucked it up her jacket sleeve holding it out of sight with curled fingers as if her hands were cold.

  A polite conversation about the weather was taking place alternately in English and Russian as she neared the bench. Caelen reached up and brushed something from Kevin’s shoulder, who turned away from Sharon to see what he had done. In a smooth motion, Sharon dipped down and placed the phone next to a back leg of the bench, hidden in longer grass that had not been trimmed.