The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “That’s only the half of it in any case,” he continued as Thorne could only suffer meekly in silence. “What is particularly troubling in light of these attacks – attacks clearly intended to significantly damage Allied oil production – is that over the last few weeks, we’ve also noted some rather significant force build-ups both in Indochina and the Pacific. We’ve seen a marked increase in Japanese naval activity in the South China Sea, including several very large combined air and sea exercises in Vichy French waters off the coast of Indochina. Intelligence out of the Japanese Home Islands has also confirmed that a large carrier force left Kure three weeks ago – a force no one has seen or heard of since…” That particular piece of information suddenly got all of Max and Eileen’s attention.

  “No sign of it at all?” Max queried with a stern expression, throwing a glance at Eileen with a raised eyebrow.

  “Neither hide nor hair,” Bennett replied with a sombre expression. “They’ve not gone west or south so far as we can ascertain, but as to where they have gone, we’re at a loss to work out and so are the Americans.”

  “How many carriers…?” Eileen, this time.

  “All of them, basically… all of their primary fleet carriers at least…” Bennett continued. “Akagi, Kaga, Hiryu, Soryu, Zuikaku and Shokaku – possibly with a few others – along with a brace of escorting cruisers, destroyers and support ships. We’ve still been rather unfortunately left with a smaller but still quite dangerous carrier group operating in South East Asia that we can locate: that mass rebuilding program they’ve had going over the last two years, converting many of their older battleships and battlecruisers into light carriers, has left them with a quite creditable carrier force that we can’t afford to ignore.”

  “You’ve read my original reports on possible outcomes in the Pacific, general?” Max asked after a thoughtful pause.

  “I have…” Bennett answered immediately, nodding “…as have the Prime Ministers and the War Cabinet. This may all be a co-incidence, but everyone is nevertheless quite concerned. The Japanese have put a lot of effort over the last two years into making it look like they want to avoid a war with the Allies… a lot of senior commanders are now very worried that the disappearance of this carrier force is the beginning of a move against the United States Navy.” He shrugged again. “Washington has informed us that they have the search for these missing carriers under control in the Pacific, however that still leaves us with the problem of a sizeable force of secondary carriers and associated warships in the South China Sea at the moment.”

  “It’s a good job you came and picked us up then, general,” Max growled, not making any effort to sound positive in that remark. “I’m taking the inference that this matter of aggressive Japanese operations in South East Asia is considered the more pressing of our current issues?” As Bennett nodded, he did the same. “I think that’s a pretty fair assumption, General…” he continued, giving a characteristically sardonic grin as acknowledgement that they were almost certainly about to be sent into harm’s way once again. “What do you need us to do?”

  “General Blamey and I wish to discuss exactly that with you both at length, but that can wait until tomorrow. I believe they’re putting on quite a show at Government House tonight, and you’ll both no doubt want time to freshen up and rest before then. My driver will be dropping you both off at your flat this morning – your personal effects are being collected from the aircraft as we speak and will be delivered to you within the hour.”

  Thorne suspected there was a lot more to the story than what Bennett was telling, but he also knew that both he and Eileen were mentally and physically exhausted, having been forced to some extent to hit the ground running since their arrival back from North Africa three weeks before. As it stood, he was more than happy at that moment to ignore whatever was bugging him and simply enjoy the ride into the city. After a long and very loaded pause, the conversation continued regarding other, more mundane and social topics as the Packard cruised through Essendon along Mount Alexander Road, heading south toward the centre of Melbourne.

  30 Queens Road

  Melbourne, Australia

  The Newburn Flats were just eighteen months old. The brainchild of Frederick Romberg, a Swiss-trained German architect, the block of twenty-four units had been built on the site of the derelict Newburgh Mansion for the total cost of almost thirty thousand pounds. Planning for the project had dated back to before the outbreak of war in 1939, however administrative and financial difficulties had prevented the signing of building contracts before mid-1940.

  Four apartments faced southward overlooking Queens Road and the picturesque Albert Park Lake (one to each of the four floors) while the remaining twenty units ran back behind these in four rows of five. The design was somewhat ground-breaking in that it was the first time an Australian residence had used form concrete as a finished exterior surface; for its pristine white walls and balconies.

  The décor was also advanced for its day, and in a practice that was quite avant-garde for an Australian building of the time, Romberg worked closely with a commercial artist during design and construction to provide individual, aboriginal-themed motifs for each flat along with a large and colourful sundial on the external wall.

  By the end of that same year, Rupert Gold, Max Thorne’s official PA, had arrived in Australia looking to set up offices in both major state capitals and to also secure semi-permanent residences as an addition to that. The bold European, Expressionist styling and modern construction methods exactly suited Gold’s purposes, and on Thorne’s behalf, he bought out the entire project, lock, stock and barrel.

  Modifications to the original design were immediately effected that converted the rooftop pergola at the Queens Road end into a second storey for the third floor apartment below (floor numbering in Australia following standard European practice in starting with a ‘Ground Floor’ and listing the ‘First Floor’ as the first level above ground: the third floor of the apartments was therefore actually the fourth level).

  It was that two-storey, top floor apartment that was maintained as Thorne’s Melbourne residence when the need arose, and it was fully serviced by a staff of maids, handymen and others who kept the entire complex in pristine condition. The apartment directly below Thorne’s was set aside for Gold’s personal use, while those street-front units on the ground and first floors were retained by Pacific Aerospace and Commonwealth Military Industries (another of Thorne’s companies) for the use of guests as the need arose.

  Having changed into a far more casual and far less stylish set of baggy grey track pants and jacket, Eileen Donelson knocked on the front door of Thorne’s penthouse later in the afternoon, only to be surprised to find him already dressed in an expensive black tuxedo as it was opened.

  “I’d no idea the dress code was so severe…!” She observed with a dry smile as he stepped back to allow her entry. “Has Rupert been putting his foot down?”

  “Very bloody funny,” Thorne growled in return, mildly annoyed at the situation as he locked the door behind her and continued to fumble with the bow-tie hanging at his neck. “Trumbull’s secretary asked me to come in early for some bloody briefing. Seems every bugger wants a piece of me while I’d in town, and it can’t wait until tomorrow.”

  “Very nice indeed!” She commended after giving him a second and far more detailed once-over with her eyes, her smile turning into something a good deal more lascivious than sarcastic as she nodded in approval over the overall effect. “You scrub up quite nicely, I must say! Very James Bond…!”

  “Yeah, all I need’s the Walther,” he quipped, trying hard not to grin over the compliment and mostly succeeding. “No chance of giving us a hand with this bloody tie, is there?” He asked plaintively, giving up in disgust and raising both hands in supplication. “I’ve been fiddling with the bastard for fifteen minutes and gotten nowhere, other than to realise I’ve got Buckley’s of sorting it out.”

  “Sorry, fella…”
she shook her head, only vaguely apologetic. “Disaffected, Twenty-First Century ‘Thirty-Something’ here,” she pointed out, turning her own thumbs in her direction in emphasis. “Also not a man… so not a clue on how one of those things is put together.

  “Look,” he added quickly, changing the subject, “seeing you’re ‘not a man’ and all that, you think you could have a chat to Briony before we go out…?”

  “She’s here…?” Donelson exclaimed with pleasant surprise. “I hadn’t seen here about Tocumwal for a few days, but I’d been busy with Alec mostly and just assumed our paths hadn’t crossed…”

  “Rupe brought her down on Thursday,” Thorne explained as the pair moved out of the short alcove and into the apartment proper. Directly opposite the front door through which she’d entered, a set of polished wooden stairs headed up to the second floor to their left a small bathroom could be seen through an open doorway. Another doorway to the right led through to a small office in what had once been the apartment’s only, original bedroom. “She’s upstairs at the moment… sulking…” he added, immediately recognising the harshness of the term and trying not to sound too annoyed or critical. “That’s not exactly a fair description, but it’s as close as I can manage.”

  “I can understand if she’s upset about not being able to come tonight,” Eileen conceded thoughtfully, unzipping her jacket and slipping it from her shoulders to reveal a loose-fitting white T-shirt beneath; one that nevertheless wasn’t baggy enough to hide the fact that she was wearing no bra underneath.

  “On the contrary…” Thorne countered, halting for a moment in the middle of the hallway, making a concerted effort not to stare at her chest, and displaying a momentary frown of mild disapproval as a voice within his own head, unable to help itself, let loose with a soft, appreciative wolf-whistle. “Princess Elizabeth is begging us to bring her along, and you know when a bloody princess begs, it ain’t ‘begging’.” He released a sigh of equal parts sadness and frustration. “She’s lonely and exhausted – mentally and physically – and she’s not had more than a couple of weeks to recover from what’s happened to her, which is nowhere near enough time, so I don’t bloody blame her for not wanting to get out and try to have a good time…”

  “…But being stuck somewhere all alone’s nae solution either, is it?” Eileen finished knowingly, understanding completely where he was coming from.

  “She’s tough as nails; anyone can see that, but she’s just a bloody kid in the end… and no kid should have to experience what she’s just gone through,” Thorne continued, the nervousness of uncertainty crystal clear in his tone now.

  To Eileen’s surprise, she realised that he was slowly wringing each hand with the other, softly cracking the joints in an action that was obviously bordering on obsessive. She also realised in that moment that not all the nervousness he was displaying revolved around how someone else felt at that moment.

  “You’re a bit late coming to the party as a father-figure,” she observed with a soft smile, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, “but you’re doing your best in difficult circumstances too. You don’t have to have all the answers all at once, you know…”

  “I – I’m not exactly a prime candidate,” he muttered self-consciously, suddenly embarrassed and staring carefully at the floor. “Positive paternal experience isn’t something I’ve had a great deal of exposure to either…”

  “Who has…?” Eileen pointed out kindly, considering her own childhood with a father whose own terrible experiences as a soldier in Northern Ireland during The Troubles had left the man scarred and unable to effectively interact with his wife and daughter on any coherent level other than to bombard them both with constant verbal abuse, in some twisted manifestation of the psychological trauma he’d suffered as a hostage of the Irish Republican Army.

  That being said, the thinly veiled reference Thorne had just made regarding unpleasantness in his own childhood relationship with his father was not the first she’d picked up in the last month or so, and she dutifully filed it away for future reference within the memory banks of her own mind. Despite having known the man for more than a decade – quite intimately during some of that time – the childhood background of Max Thorne had mostly remained a well-guarded mystery over the years, although she’d picked up enough to determine at least that his parents had separated while he was still relatively young.

  She didn’t have the kind of professional training to recognise all the ramifications of how that might affect his dealings with children – particularly one now in his care who’d so recently suffered through a terrible ordeal of her own – but she was intelligent enough to understand that his own history must have some significant bearing.

  “You can be a great dad…” she added in the same caring tone, lifting that same hand from his shoulder and brushing her fingers lightly against his cheek “…but don’t expect yourself to get everything right all the time. You’re still learning too, so cut yourself a little slack. I’ll go and have a chat to her, anyway…” she added, conceding some small point of contention in her own mind. “There are some things that perhaps are best discussed woman-to-woman.”

  “Thanks, kid; I knew I could count on you!”

  There was obvious relief in his tone as he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. The act had been intended to be innocent enough, but both discovered that the wanted more than that in that moment of contact and they suddenly found themselves in each other’s’ arms, the second kiss far longer, deeper and more passionate.

  “Did you come down here dressed like that to tease me on purpose…?” He asked with a wry smile as they parted just enough to allow a comfortable conversation.

  “Now, why would a poor, innocent little ‘filly’ like me do something like that?” She shot back, a positively evil grin on her face as she reached quickly around and gave him a savage pinch on the backside.

  “I s’pose I asked for that,” he conceded magnanimously, slipping his own hand around and lightly squeezing her butt in return, the action serving to draw them closer once more until their lips were barely centimetres apart. “Might some common ground be reached in the interest of a truce?”

  “I’ve a fair idea what your ‘truce’ entails,” Eileen replied with one eyebrow raised, although for all that there was a distinctly alluring tone to her voice now and she made no effort to draw away.

  “I suspect we may be on common ground already, in that regard,” he countered, impeccably judging exactly how far to push the envelope of self-confidence without breaking through into outright arrogance. She kissed him again, as intensely as before, then drew back further until their embrace was at arms’ length.

  “Little bit sure of yourself there, I see,” she replied with a glint in her eyes that confirmed every single word he’d just said, “but I’ll reserve judgement for the time being and see how this evening goes. You may still redeem yourself…”

  You sure you want to go down this road…? The voice echoed in his mind at exactly the wrong moment, and it took every ounce of his willpower to prevent his features reflecting the sudden annoyance he felt over the intrusion.

  Shut the fuck up! He snapped back silently. He wasn’t sure what the voices he’d been hearing in his head over the last year or so were, but he’d recently come to realise that there was actually no need to reply out loud, although he still often did out of habit.

  “I’ll be on my best behaviour,” he whispered to Eileen instead, drawing her close once more and resting his forehead gently against hers as he stared into her eyes. “I promise…”

  “We shall have to see,” she replied with another raised eyebrow, lifting her head just enough to brush her lips against his cheek before pulling gently away again and changing the subject. “I’ll go and talk to her…”

  “Thanks…” he said simply.

  He watched as Eileen walked back to the stairs opposite the front door and flashed him a final smile before heading on up.

&nb
sp; “Ok, we need to start setting some fuckin’ ground rules here!” Thorne growled as he stepped quickly through into the office to his left as soon as she’d disappeared. “The absolute last thing I need when right in the middle of an ‘intimate’ moment is you lot whispering suggestions in my ear like I’m Sylvester in a bloody Warner Brothers cartoon!”

  And are we an angel or a devil in this ‘Looney Tunes’ show…?

  “Which do you fuckin’ think?” He snarled back angrily, a little louder than was prudent. “All I’m asking for is for you bastards to give me just a few moment of bloody peace!”

  We will help you, if you let us… but that’s not normally how this works, is it…? The voice in his head responded quickly with less sarcasm that he was used to. We ‘talk’ and you – generally – don’t listen…

  “And that’s a surprise because why…?” He shot back, ensuring his own sarcasm levels were at their upper limit. “Maybe if I got some time to myself, I might… Anytime you lot want to offer anything other than pointless, snide remarks and utterly non-specific warnings of the apocalypse, I’ll be happy to listen.” He rubbed heavily at his eyes, suddenly feeling incredibly weary. “I have to say, when I go crazy, I really do a proper job of it…!”

  Never do anything by halves… the voice in his head added, quickly getting in the last word in a caustic tone that was much more familiar.