The Forgotten Son

by Andy Frankham-Allen

  There was no doubt that the boy had lost. But he clearly did not agree. Struggling, choking as the metal claw tightened its grip, he pulled out a lighter and ignited the rag sticking out of the petrol bomb to which he still clung fiercely.

  ‘No!’ George yelled. ‘It’s no good!’

  For as long as he lived George knew he’d never forget the look in Billy’s eyes. The boy knew that the petrol bomb would not harm the Yeti now that its fur had been burned off, but he didn’t care. He simply wanted to feel the bomb explode around him. Feel the fire consume him.

  George turned away at the sound of the petrol bomb going off, sickened that someone so young could have such a disregard for his own life.

  Lethbridge-Stewart rubbed his eyes and took the tea that Ray offered him. He sat on the table, turning his back to the map. He wondered if Bishop had succeeded in breaching the web; he hoped so. They had failed to in London, but things had been different then. The way the web was acting, the strange chanting from the Yeti… It was almost as if both were being controlled by a different intelligence.

  ‘There’s something that still puzzles me,’ he said.

  Ray looked around the busy pub, and smiled wanly. ‘Just one thing?’

  ‘James. I don’t understand why the Intelligence would go after him. Or, rather, me.’

  Ray nodded. ‘Yes, that puzzles me, too. What would an alien want with you? Defeat comes in all shapes, James said. Why would it wish to defeat you?’

  ‘Exactly. I had never even heard of the Intelligence a month ago. Indeed, the whole idea of aliens…’ Lethbridge-Stewart sipped the tea. ‘Well, it was quite absurd. Not even a month ago… Yet it wanted to defeat me thirty years ago.’

  ‘Maybe we’re reading this all wrong. Maybe the Hollow Man wasn’t the Intelligence after all? As you say, it never came to Earth until a month ago.’

  ‘No, that was when I first confronted it. It first came to Earth, as far as I know, in 1935, in Tibet. Which, at least, explains the Yeti.’

  Ray bit his lip. ‘Still not sure this makes any sense to me.’

  ‘But it must have been the Intelligence,’ Lethbridge-Stewart said, remembering the engraving he’d seen on the window sill in James’ old room. ‘James scratched “GI” into the sill of his bedroom. At first I thought it stood for Gordon, my father, and someone else. But… Well, it obviously stands for Great Intelligence.’

  Ray frowned, and then smiled grimly. ‘That is still there? I never knew. I remember when James did that; that had to be at least 1934. Before we met the Hollow Man.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I think it must have worn over time. The “I” isn’t an “I” at all. It’s a “J”.’

  ‘Ah. Gordon and James. My father and brother, of course.’ Yes, that made sense to Lethbridge-Stewart. From the story Ray had told, it did seem like his father and brother had been close. Only the look on Ray’s face now suggested something else. ‘What is it?’

  Ray put his cup down. ‘I think I need to show you something, and everything will make sense.’

  Lethbridge-Stewart finished his own tea and followed Ray out of the pub, rather looking forward to getting some answers finally.

  Mary was growing tired. She was too old for so much walking. But she liked her company. The young man, Owain, had been sent to her by Gordon and he was now taking her to her husband’s ghost.

  She needed to rest.

  Gently Owain helped her to sit on a fallen tree trunk, and together they looked out over the gorge. She remembered this area of Golitha Falls, but she wasn’t sure how. She closed her eyes, wanting to sleep.

  The boy stood on the opposite side of the gorge and beckoned her across.

  That was it. This was the place she’d seen in her dream. She looked up at Owain.

  ‘What does he look like now?’ she asked.

  Owain smiled. ‘Like a boy, about twelve years old. He’s wearing an old school uniform, like they used to wear at Liskeard Grammar about thirty years ago. I’ve seen it in photographs. Dark hair, very brown eyes.’ He looked at her. ‘Eyes like mine, actually.’

  Mary looked him in the eye, and he was right. It was like looking at her…

  No. That was wrong. The description was of the boy in her dream, the ghost of her husband, except… Now she was looking into Owain’s eyes she got the sense that she was missing something. Something very important.

  ‘It’s not my Gordon,’ she said. ‘I know it’s not. Why would he be dressed in a thirty-year-old uniform?’ She shook her head. ‘He was a grown man thirty years ago.’

  Owain shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but he is Gordon. Believe me, I know everything about him, and he is Gordon.’

  Mary swallowed hard. ‘But he’s not my Gordon,’ she said sadly, knowing for certain that she was right.

  Lethbridge-Stewart stood before the gravestone, the sun reflecting off its polished surface while the cold air continued to bite at his skin. Ray had been right. It didn’t explain everything, but it certainly explained some things. His mother wasn’t looking for his father after all, but rather the only person in his family who had been touched by the Intelligence.

  ‘We all called him James,’ Ray said, ‘but that wasn’t his given name. Like you, he was named after one of your grandfathers… and your father.’

  The name on the headstone read: Gordon James Lethbridge-Stewart.

  — CHAPTER THIRTEEN —

  Waiting it Out

  GEORGE WOULDN’T MEET HIS gaze, but Lethbridge-Stewart recognised the look in the man’s eyes as he explained about Billy Moynihan’s death. Naturally Lethbridge-Stewart took the responsibility on his own shoulders – he was, after all, the commander here and every action and consequence in their campaign against the Great Intelligence fell at his feet. Of course, everybody in the village deserved to do what they could to protect Bledoe, and Lethbridge-Stewart would not deny any of them their moment, but he could have stopped Billy if he had wished. But he had allowed the boy to go. Lethbridge-Stewart could feel bad about it all later, right now he had a village to protect.

  ‘And you say Private Bishop got through?’

  George nodded silently.

  That was good news at least. In London fire had no discernible effect on the web, but here… Another difference. Once again Lethbridge-Stewart was at a loss to explain why things were so different from the incursion in London, but he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  ‘Take a few minutes to gather your strength, George. Ray,’ Lethbridge-Stewart said, calling over his old friend. ‘A shot of Henry’s finest whisky for George here. Man looks like he could do with a bit of fortifying.’

  Ray nodded and made his way behind the bar.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask?’ George said.

  ‘Ask what?’

  ‘About Billy’s parents.’

  Lethbridge-Stewart could see the challenge on George’s face. ‘Now is not the time, Private,’ he said, keeping his tone firm. ‘There will be plenty of time to take stock and lick our wounds once Bledoe is safe again.’

  George shook his head. ‘Our wounds? A boy died, Alistair.’

  ‘Yes, I am well aware, thank you. Many more could die before this day is out, and every death lies squarely on my shoulders.’

  Ray arrived with the whisky and offered it to George. George looked at the glass. ‘You think this will make everything okay? Billy’s father is in prison, you know.’

  Lethbridge-Stewart raised an eyebrow. ‘Is he indeed.’ He turned to Ray. ‘Take Mr Vine into the back. I have work to do here.’

  Ray swallowed but did as he asked. George protested, but a sharp look from Lethbridge-Stewart quietened his protests and he followed Ray out of the bar. Once they were gone, Lethbridge-Stewart turned back to the map and glanced at his watch.

  How long would it take for Bishop to contact Hamilton? And, more importantly, could he really hold the village long enough with only ex-servicemen and civilians as his troops?

&
nbsp; Bishop waited until they were a couple of miles out of Bledoe before he pulled the Land Rover onto the verge of the A38. He pulled out the large army issue walky-talky and turned it on, looking around as he rested momentarily against the vehicle. He wasn’t too far from the railway bridge, the same bypass where the pile-up had occurred only yesterday.

  The RT crackled and he tuned it into the frequency Lethbridge-Stewart had shown him. Within moments he was being put through to Major General Hamilton. He launched into his report, beginning with the pertinent facts, but Hamilton cut him off: Major Douglas was already en route to Liskeard with a regiment of troops and special equipment for dealing with Yeti. Bishop was ordered to give a full report to Douglas once he arrived at Liskeard.

  Bishop turned the RT off and looked at Henry. ‘Well, that’s a turn up.’

  ‘Bloody good news, if you ask me. But how did they know?’

  Bishop shrugged and climbed back into the Land Rover. ‘Beats me. Guess I’ll find out when I report to Major Douglas.’

  ‘The colonel will be pleased.’ Henry glanced back in the general direction of Bledoe. ‘Do you think they’ll be okay in the meantime?’

  ‘Let’s hope so. Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart knows what he’s doing. He’ll keep your home safe,’ Bishop said with absolute certainty.

  ‘You’re quite taken by him, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Bishop admitted. ‘He’s one of the Jock Guards; you can’t touch them with impunity.’

  Henry nodded at that. ‘Yes, you’re probably right. Knew men like him in Korea, all good men, always looking out for their units.’

  ‘Do you miss it?’

  ‘My National Service?’ Henry laughed briefly. ‘If you’d asked me that a few days ago, I’d have said no, but now… I’m not sure. I was raised by a publican, spent most of my life behind a bar, but protecting what you love…’ He smiled, and Bishop recognised the look of fire in his eyes. It was the same reason he’d joined the army. ‘It kind of grows on you.’

  As they raced up the A38 towards Liskeard, Bishop found himself smiling. He was warming to Henry’s company more and more, enjoyed watching the man change. In some ways Henry reminded Bishop of his father. Just like Bishop Senior, Henry had spent way too much of his life hiding from the world, but once exposed to the importance of fighting for what matters… Bishop didn’t see Henry remaining a publican for much longer.

  ‘Lewis is dead, you know.’

  Ray looked over at George, who was sitting on the armchair in Henry’s living room. Ray had been flicking through Henry’s LPs to see if he could find some relaxing music. Since returning to the back of the pub, the Barns’ home, George had not said a lot, simply sat there nursing the shot of whisky in his hands.

  ‘What? Why would you think such a thing?’

  George looked up from the whisky, red rings around his eyes. ‘He went to find Owain last night, never returned. He’s dead, he must be.’

  ‘Don’t be so daft, man, there’s no reason to think that. He’s probably just on the other side of the web, trying to find a way home. Or maybe going for help.’ Now he said it, Ray wondered if he believed it. Up until now he’d been the one convinced by the evil up at the Manor, scared for Owain and the influence of the Hollow Man, but he’d not really considered Lewis. Forgot the other twin was missing.

  ‘No. I felt it. Last night.’ A visible shiver ran through George. ‘I didn’t want to admit it but seeing what happened to Billy…’ He finally sipped on the whisky. ‘You know why old Brân Moynihan is inside, don’t you?’

  Ray didn’t want to talk about that. The whole village knew, that’s why Billy and his antics surprised none of them. He was a product of his dad’s actions. Though he’d be damned for thinking it, Ray considered the village better off without the male Moynihans in it. Perhaps Susan Moynihan could get some peace at last. Although Ray doubted it – the damage had already been done.

  ‘I don’t want to end up like that,’ George whispered.

  At first Ray wasn’t sure what George meant, but then it sunk in. He supposed he’d always known, deep down, but the twins were always so well behaved, as for Shirley… Okay, so she was a bit timid, but… Ray needed a shot of whisky himself. ‘Listen to me, George, the way I see it, it’s simple. If you see a problem you do something to fix it. Not mope about.’

  For a moment Ray thought George was going to stand up and punch him, but the anger on his face subsided and was replaced by the crestfallen look of defeat. He took a deep breath and downed the rest of the whisky. He stood and handed the empty glass to Ray.

  ‘You’re right. Enough of this nonsense. The colonel needs my help, and I need his. I have to find my boys.’

  Ray looked down at the empty glass as George left the living room. Whatever happened after today, one way or another he knew that life in Bledoe would never be the same again. Not for any of them.

  They finally reached the old house. Mary didn’t like the look of it, she never had. There was a time when the family living there were well regarded in the village, almost revered. An American family, as she recalled, but they had all left the Manor in the late ’30s, quite abruptly. Around the time the rumours about the ghost had started.

  And now her Gordon was waiting for her there. She knew that was no coincidence, and wondered if perhaps it was her husband’s ghost that was the source of all those stories.

  Only the memory of the boy, and the way Owain described Gordon… She couldn’t understand why her husband would dress in a uniform from thirty years ago. He had been a child over sixty years ago, not thirty. Things were making less and less sense to her.

  Owain squeezed her hand gently and led her into the house, past the Yeti that guarded the large door. They entered the grand hall, and there in the middle of the hall, standing next to some kind of plastic and metal pyramid was the boy she had seen in her dreams.

  ‘I know you,’ she said, her breath almost catching in her throat.

  ‘Of course you do,’ Owain said, walking over to the boy. ‘It’s your husband. And he’s been waiting for you.’

  The boy looked up at Owain and smiled, shaking his head. ‘Is that what you thought?’

  ‘Well yes.’ Now Owain looked puzzled. ‘You said you were waiting for her, and I know that you’re the colonel’s father, Gordon, so…’

  ‘That’s not my Gordon,’ Mary said. She didn’t understand it, but she knew without doubt that it was not her dead husband as a child. She had seen pictures of him from when he was a boy, and although the child before her bore similar features, he was definitely not the same person. ‘But I do know you.’

  ‘Well, of course you do, Mother.’

  It hit her like a lead weight in her chest. Mother. The boy had called her Mother, but she only had one son and he was now grown. He was in the village, in fact. But… Mary felt herself going faint, her head spinning.

  ‘James?’ she asked, and the boy nodded.

  It was her son. Gordon James.

  The world went black around her.

  ‘It’s like a small army,’ Henry said.

  ‘After what happened in London, can’t say I’m surprised,’ Bishop said, as he pulled the Land Rover to the side of the road to join the convoy of military vehicles. He pulled the brake and went to step out of the Land Rover. ‘You can stay here, if you like,’ he said, looking back at Henry.

  ‘No, I’ll come. Be nice to stretch my legs. Besides, you might need me to support your report,’ Henry said with a grin.

  The two men stepped out of the Land Rover and walked the length of the convoy, passing several jeeps and Land Rovers full of troops, all armed to the teeth. As they neared the truck at the front, the passenger door of the cabin opened and two people emerged. One was the major, and the other was an elfin-faced woman in her late twenties with dark hair and sparkling eyes.

  Bishop saluted. ‘Sir, Private Bishop, Green Jackets 5th Battalion, reporting as ordered.’

  Major Douglas returned
the salute and looked at Henry. ‘And you are?’

  Henry gave his best salute. ‘Private Henry Barns, 1st Battalion, Gloucestershire Regiment.’

  Douglas raised an eyebrow. ‘1st Battalion?’

  ‘Retired, sir,’ Henry said.

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Douglas turned to the woman standing beside him, regarding the men with some amusement. ‘This is Doctor Anne Travers, our resident science advisor.’

  Doctor Travers reached out and shook hands with both Henry and Bishop. ‘Pleased to meet you both. Perhaps you’d like to see my new toy?’

  Bishop looked at Douglas in question.

  ‘That can wait a moment, Doctor Travers. First of all, let’s hear your report, Private. I assume Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart is in good health?’

  ‘Yes, sir, he is. He sent me, in fact.’

  ‘Thought so. Very well, fill me in.’

  Bishop explained everything he’d been witness to in Bledoe and the state of affairs as they stood when he left. Douglas didn’t look like he entirely believed the report, but he nonetheless listened to it all without challenge, looking at Doctor Travers at certain points, in particular when Bishop explained about the Yeti’s ability to clear the minds of those in close proximity.

  ‘What do you make of that?’ Douglas asked her once Bishop had finished.

  ‘It’s a new one on me. The Yeti never exhibited such behaviour in London, and my father never mentioned anything like that from Tibet.’ She shrugged. ‘Not to worry, I’m sure we’ll be able to take care of them from a distance.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so. I have to admit I’m still not entirely convinced by all this.’ Douglas waved the doctor on. ‘Very well, let’s show these chaps what we have on our side.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Doctor Travers said, and led the three men to the rear of the army truck.