by A. D. Winch
“Hello, I’m Keiko.” Her voice was soft, with a slight accent, “I’m a marine biologist and the Orca’s engineer. As you have already noticed, a few years ago I had an argument with a shark. You may think I look bad but you should see the state of the Great White after I had finished with him.”
She flushed red at her little joke.
Ursula thought Keiko had sounded so sincere that she didn’t know if she was telling the truth or not. Alexander laughed and Ursula, thinking that it must be a joke, joined him self-consciously. Even Eric managed a brief smile.
“Let me show you around our trawler,” she said and wandered off.
The trawler was not large. They began their tour below deck and inside the hull where Keiko led them into cramped sleeping quarters. Decorations were minimal and all the furniture was made from the same plastic-looking, fake wood. Next to the sleeping quarters were a toilet and a bathroom which were tiny but functional. Iron walls separated the different rooms and the rivets around each panel had rusted into place. Keiko introduced Kim-Ly, who was sat on a bunk curled over a laptop. She said hello but nothing more.
Keiko finished below deck by showing them the engine room. The trawler’s engine was covered in grease and oil. In places, it looked like it was being held together by nothing more than elastic bands and paper clips.
“I had to rebuild it,” said Keiko matter-of-factly.
On the deck above, Keiko showed them the ship’s galley and dining room which were decorated in the same fake wood. They were introduced to Arjuna, a tall, bearded man with a permanent smile and an air of calm. He doubled as the ship’s cook and the vet. He was covered in flour and made Ursula laugh by claiming that his skin was white. Alexander and Eric did not know how to react to his comments and laughed awkwardly.
When Eric was introduced, Arjuna offered his heart-felt condolences and appeared genuinely sad for his loss. Eric did not know what to say and mumbled an unconvincing, ‘thank you.’
They finished their tour in the wheelhouse with Captain Wang. She explained that they were going to sail west towards the English Channel, around Land’s End and then north towards Ireland.
“It’s going to take about seven days but this will depend on the weather. Make yourselves at home.”
“None of you are fishermen, but this is a fishing boat, and it smells of fish. What do you do?” Eric asked.
His question sounded threatening rather than inquiring.
“No, we’re not fisherman,” replied Captain Wang. “We’re a research team funded by the Meyer Foundation.”
“And what do you research?”
“Dolphins. In particular their intelligence and ability to carry out rudimentary tasks. There are two dolphins that accompany us and we investigate pods around the world. You will be able to see what we do as we continue our journey, and again at our destination. Fred and Ginger, they are our dolphins, will probably be able to help us too.”
It had been a while since Agent Hoover had last seen such a tranquil image on his screens. All he could see in front of him was a vast expanse of water with a fishing boat sailing across it. The last time he had seen a similar image was when the OSS had blown up the Meyer yacht. They had wrongly believed that White King was on-board. It was lucky the mission had failed to achieve its objective, now that the boy was needed. Agent Hoover wondered why a boy who had been such a threat to national security was now so vital to preserve it.
The picture was relaxing and satisfying. Even the presence of Agent Angel behind, could not unnerve him.
“You’re convinced that’s them, Hoover?”
“One hundred percent, Sir.”
He zoomed in so they could make out Eric and Ursula climbing down from the wheelhouse, accompanied by Alexander and Andrea.
“You still have nothing on the elf?”
“No, Sir. She doesn’t exist.”
“Well, she does, Hoover, and there’s the proof,” he pointed at the screen.
“What about the man?”
“We have narrowed down our three suspects to one. We strongly believe his name is Dr. Alexander Johansen. He fits the profile.”
“Send me everything you have on him. I want to know what’s his story.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What else do you know about the boat they’re on and its crew?”
“Not much. They are a marine research team funded by the Meyer foundation. I think the fugitives are just hitching a ride.”
“Where too?”
“They’re heading west, Sir, but so far that’s all I can tell you.”
“Keep them under surveillance. Let’s see what they do. If we need to, how long will it take to get a team to their location?”
“We have bases at RAF Fairford and RAF Welford in the south and west of England. If the fishing boat stays about ten miles out it will take our choppers less than one hour to reach them.”
“Have two teams on stand-by. The moment that the boat gets within five miles of the coast we send them in. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“And good work on Dr. Alexandar Johansen. I’m looking forward to finding out more about him.”
Night had fallen and apart from the lights of a few ships in the distance, it was dark outside. Down in the sleeping quarters, under the light of an open bulb, Alexander was reading his mother’s diary. His sister was playing on his mind. He couldn’t believe he had a sibling and he couldn’t believe that the Soviets had taken her away. He wanted to know more and he flicked through the tatty book trying to locate any information he could.
10th September 1967
For three months, I was treated like a visiting head of state – a president or a prime minister. The KGB drove me everywhere they wanted me to go. They opened doors, served me food when I was hungry, offered a drink when I was thirsty and even provided a nanny to look after our son when needed. In some ways there caring and generous spirit reminded me of you.
I had an apartment with basic furniture. It was situated inside what I can only assume was a safe house. Safe for them, not me, as it kept me apart from my fellow comrades. All I had to do was to tell them what I knew about the OSS and the USA. I did so willingly, not out of spite or because I was enjoying my fame but because they had our daughter. You would have done the same, Johan, I know you would.
They are still taking my diary and reading it, but I don’t care. I may not write everything I want to write. Yet I know that when I return to this diary, for every sentence I read, ten more will appear in my head.
I don’t regret what I did, except for leaving you. Nor do I regret the situation I now find myself in but I am surprised at how fast my life changed. The KGB had promised that I would be reunited with our daughter and that I would have both twins, but they showed no signs of fulfilling their end of the bargain. So, I stopped telling them information until I had seen our daughter. They took me to an orphanage. I was made to stand in a cold grey corridor, in front of a glass window, looking into a room containing ten or more cots. A woman approached the cot furthest from the window. I remember that it was numbered 6-1-11-5. She picked up a swaddled bundle and pointed it towards the window. My Alexandra was asleep, but her nose twitched and then she was put back in the cot.
The KGB dragged me away kicking and screaming and pushed me into a different black car. Only when I saw Alexander laying on the floor, did I stop fighting them.
We were driven to a lonely station and straight to a railway wagon.
“You are a zek now,” the KGB told me and I was man-handled into the wagon. I held Alexander close to my chest and tried to remain calm by quoting poetry. It was not easy. Behind me dogs barked and in front of me were crowded wire-mesh cages. They were no more than three cubic metres in size but each one held about thirteen women. I was roughly pushed into a cage by myself with only Alexander beside me. A Russian lady, squashed into a cage next to mine greeted me, “Welcome to Stolypin,” she said.
I assumed th
at I was in an enclosure all by myself because of Alexander, but this was not the case. I discovered that I am considered to be extremely dangerous to the state and, as such, they did want me to corrupt or influence my fellow zek travellers.
Alexander stopped reading and skipped forward a few pages, scanning the neat writing as he did so.
I am now a zek, a prisoner, at the Correction Colony for Foreign Citizens. From the guards, I have discovered that we are in a place called Lepley in the Republic of Mordovia and far south of Moscow. The colony (concentration camp would be a better description) has different areas. My area is surrounded by a fence made of barbed wire. In its centre are a small wooden house, three trees and patches of sad looking grass. My living companions in the house are four painfully thin women. There is a watchtower joined to a high wall beyond the barbed wire. Within it are two soldiers looking down at us. They point their guns towards us as we go about our business.
I will be strong. I will be strong for you. I will be strong for Alexander. I will be strong, and I will escape. They cannot keep a mother from one of her children, and I will return for my daughter. I will be strong.
Alexander flicked through the pages and read extracts of his mother’s life in the colony but was unable to continue and put the diary down. His mother had never told him any of this and he had no memories of it. He closed his eyes to fight back tears and when he opened them again, Andrea was standing above him.
“Did you know that my mother was held prisoner in the Soviet Union?” he asked, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.
“Yes,” Andrea answered.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was instructed not to tell you.”
Alexander took a deep breath, “So, you read the diary?”
“Yes, but I knew before.”
“How?”
“I have strong connections with the Correctional Colony in Lepley.”
A thought occurred to Alexander, “My mother wrote that she would return to collect her daughter, my sister. Did she return to the Soviet Union or Russia after we escaped to the west?”
“Yes, she returned in nineteen eight-five, nineteen eighty-eighty, nineteen ninety, nineteen ninety-one and nineteen ninety-two. There have been occasions since nineteen ninety-two, but I was not told precise dates.”
She went back to see her daughter, my sister, thought Alexander excitedly and jumped up.
“I’m going up on deck,” he announced.
Back to Contents
***
Chapter 23 – Into the Storm
It had not been difficult for Professor Schwarzkopf to find out all that the OSS knew about Alexander Johansen. While meeting Agent Angel to discuss the progress, or lack of progress, with the pod, Professor Schwarzkopf fished for information.
“Have you managed to locate the two children or found out any more about them?” he asked.
At first Agent Angel corrected him, “They are not children.”
He then mentioned that they knew one of the adults was a man called Alexander Johansen. After some complimentary comments from Professor Schwarzkopf, Agent Angel was only too happy to tell him what the OSS had found out. Surprisingly, for Agent Angel, this was not much. He had expected his Intelligence Unit to have discovered who Alexander Johansen’s parents were, where he had lived, when he had gone to school, what jobs he had done, what cars he had driven and even his shoe size, but they hadn’t. Even Prism could not throw any more light on this man. However, what they had found out was both intriguing and suspicious.
From his passport, Alexander Johansen was supposedly born in Austria in June nineteen sixty-six but this seemed highly unlikely. His name was not Austrian, and there was no record of him having ever lived there. After his birth, he effectively disappeared until just over fourteen years ago when he began working voluntarily for the European Space Operations Centre in Germany. No one at ESOC remembered him or knew how a volunteer came to be working there. Despite thorough searches, the OSS had been unable to find any medical or dental records, tax details, wage slips, cell phone numbers, driving licence, social security number or facebook page.
Apart from the questionable passport, Alexander Johansen did not officially exist. If this was his real name. He was someone who had lived his whole life in the shadows – avoiding attention and staying hidden in the background. The lack of information made Agent Angel mad and he told Professor Schwarzkopf this.
Agent Angel had only three other pieces of definite intelligence. Firstly, Alexander Johansen had located a pod in Romania and had taken it from right under the noses of the OSS before they took it back again. Secondly, he had been to Pompeii with Black Queen and White King. While there, they had tried to retrieve the other pod. Thirdly, he was currently on the Orca fishing trawler. The Meyer Foundation owned this and once again he was with Black Queen and White King. He was deeply involved in the whole affair, but no one knew why.
For the time being, the OSS were simply going to watch the trawler and see what happened. On the open seas, it wasn’t going anywhere fast, and its journey was intriguing enough to be studied.
When Agent Angel had nothing else to say, Professor Schwarzkopf asked for a glass of bourbon. They drank pleasantly together and talked about past times. Anyone observing the scene would have thought they were old friends. This was exactly the image that Professor Schwarzkopf wanted to project. They had been friends once but, in his mind at least, this was no longer the case. He left after shaking Agent Angel’s hand and promising to look into this mystery, when he was not working on the pods.
As Professor Schwarzkopf stretched out on his bunk, he reflected on what he had learned. If the OSS couldn’t find out about Alexander Johansen then it was pointless for him to try. Even if this man was not his son, he still felt that what Agent Angel was doing was wrong. And if he felt that Agent Angel was wrong then this probably meant Alexander Johansen was right, especially if he was an enemy of the OSS. It was not a particularly scientific hypothesis, but Professor Schwarzkopf was comfortable with it and consequently he wanted to help Alexander Johansen.
Fortunately, Professor Schwarzkopf knew that this man was currently on the Orca fishing trawler somewhere in the English channel. The OSS were observing, and they were probably already monitoring the crew’s cell phones but he still wanted to try to contact them. He got off his bunk awkwardly, sat down at this desk and turned on his laptop. Within two minutes, he had discovered that a woman named Wang captained the Orca, and he had also found her cell phone number. He wrote it down, picked up his mobile and went for a walk outside.
The sky was blue, and it was still hot under the October sun, but the temperature was bearable. Soldiers on the base were busy going about afternoon manoeuvres, preparing for a faceless enemy. At the same time, pilots relaxed with soft drinks on temporary tables. Professor Schwarzkopf walked amongst them and sat down on a recently vacated chair. In the past, he had learnt that the best way to be inconspicuous was to act as normal as possible.
What he was about to do was risky but he felt he had nothing to lose. More importantly, he believed strongly that it was the right thing to do. For only four people to challenge the might of the OSS required a great deal of guts or stupidity. The four targets had yet to prove that they were stupid. Professor Schwarzkopf was looking forward to giving them as much inside help as he could feasibly offer without getting caught. He took out his cell phone and called Henry.
“Professor Schwarzkopf! Where are you?” asked Henry the moment that he answered the call.
His voice sounded both concerned and relieved.
“I am back on a military base,” Professor Schwarzkopf answered.
“You can’t keep away, Sir.”
“You’re right, Henry. I try, but I can’t keep away,” he paused. “How are you? How is Martha.”
“Good, thank you.”
“And your family?”
“All well and grown-up,” answered Henry but he so
unded confused.
“Do you remember those word games we used to play with your kids?”
“Sure do. I wish we had never taught them. They kept inventing new ones, trying to catch me out but there old Dad was always one step ahead… just.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Professor Schwarzkopf emphasised the word ‘be.’ “You’ll have to pass on a message to them for me. It will be short.” Once again he stressed ‘be.’
He paused and then spoke quickly, almost singing the words.
“Bi bneed byour bhelp. Bdo byou bunderstand?
Henry replied tentatively, “Byes.”
He sensed something was wrong.
“Bdo byou bhave bpaper band bpen?”
“Byes.”
“Btext bthis bto bone bthree btwo bfive bsix bthree bfour bseven btwo bthree bfour. Byou bgot bthe bnumber?”
“Byes.”
Professor Schwarzkopf took out an Oscar Wilde poem that his wife used to cherish. He had printed it from the internet and highlighted one line. If Alexander Johansen were his son then he would recognise the warning.
“Bmessage breads, Bi bonly bknew bwhat bhunted bthought bquickened bhis bstep. Btake bcare.”
Professor Schwarzkopf pretended to laugh which started him coughing. When he had retained his composure, he continued.
“That was fun. After all these years, I can’t believe we can still do that.”
“It is worrying that we can, Sir,” laughed Henry and then added, “I heard a poem the other day, it reminded me of Mrs Schwarzkopf. She did like to quote poetry.”
Professor Schwarzkopf had known Henry for so many years. He knew the last line was designed to tell him that the message had been understood.
“She did indeed. Did you know that she learnt poems because she thought it would help her to speak better English?”
“I did not know that.”
Neither man spoke for a second; both lost in their own thoughts.
