The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3)

by Charles S. Jackson

  Out of sight on the stairs and leaning against the inside wall, Eileen Donelson listened intently to the whispered, one-sided conversation floating softly out from the office through the still-open doorway. With equal parts concern and vague sadness, she shook her head gently before carefully turning and making her way up the steps without a sound.

  Government House

  Kings Domain, Melbourne

  Constructed to a Victorian Period Italianate design and reminiscent of Osborne House, Queen Victoria’s summer residence on the Isle of Wight, Government House was the official Governor’s residence of the State of Victoria. From 1901 until 1930 it had acted as the home of the Australian Governor-General prior to the opening of a permanent residence in the new national capital of Canberra. Set in the middle of twenty-seven acres of meticulously maintained lawns and gardens, it lay south of the River Yarra and the city CBD, adjacent to the Melbourne Shrine of Remembrance and the main southbound carriageway of St Kilda Road, directly to the west.

  Since the last dark days of the 1940 invasion, Government House had also served as a temporary residence for the British Royal Family in exile. George VI had unexpectedly been forced to assume the throne that same year, following the untimely death of Edward VIII during the infamous Slough Breakout, and he and Queen Elizabeth (mother of Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret) had ruled the remainder of the disintegrating British Empire ever since.

  There were plans being drawn up for a permanent palace to be built near Canberra in the Australian Capital Territory, however the exigencies of war had been such that nothing had yet progressed further than that initial planning stage. In the interim, the huge Governor’s residence has served adequately in place of something more suitable or permanent. The governor himself had readily given up his residence in deference to the Royal Family, and for the time being resided at Malvern’s Stonington Mansion, the site having been used for the same purpose during the first years of Federation prior to the Australian Parliament’s move to Canberra.

  Completed in 1876, at a time when Victoria was still a separate British colony of just 150,000 people, the building comprised three separate wings, the southern-most of which housed a huge ballroom capable of holding up to 800 people and reputed at one time to have been the largest in the British Empire.

  There weren’t anywhere near that many present that evening; perhaps fifty guests were gathering in the main dining room that evening to recognise a state visit from Mackenzie King, the Canadian prime minister. Among the Allied and/or sympathetic nations, Canada was second only to the United States in growing industrial capability and was quickly becoming a vital powerhouse for the Commonwealth, supplying Allied forces with desperately-needed reserves of men, materiel and also financial support.

  Separate from the main ballroom, the State Drawing Room was of similarly ornate design and décor, intended for far smaller functions of up to around a hundred guests. Just five others occupied a cluster of chairs near the centre of the room, not far from the main windows and a polished grand piano. Richard Trumbull KCB, KCMG, MC had acted as Undersecretary of War in Churchill’s parliament prior to the invasion of 1940, and now held his predecessor’s position as Prime Minister of the current government-in-exile. A solid man of medium height and in his late-fifties, he’d remained the highest-ranking surviving member of the incumbent British government following the invasion, and had therefore by default inherited the position following the demise of his predecessor, Winston Churchill during the siege of London.

  Seated beside him was another man in his fifties sporting receding dark hair, a well-trimmed moustache and a pair of very sharp and intelligent eyes. A veteran of the First War, Brigadier Stewart Menzies held the position of Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service, and in government circles was often only referred to as ‘C’, the traditional codename for the Director of MI6. Although the service’s resources had been significantly damaged since the invasion, it was Menzies who nevertheless still presided over an extensive Allied network of intelligence operatives in Occupied Britain.

  Beside Thorne at that moment were the final members of the group, the situation creating something of an ‘unreal’ situation for an Australian who was finding it somewhat daunting to be seated adjacent to a man whose regal ‘style’ officially noted him as ‘By the Grace of God, of Great Britain, Ireland and the British Dominions beyond the Seas – King, Defender of the Faith’.

  Born Albert Frederick Arthur George, King George IV had ascended the throne reluctantly and quite unexpectedly at the end of 1940 following the death of Edward VIII as a result of wounds received during the Slough Breakout. A veteran of Jutland aboard the dreadnought battleship HMS Collingwood, he was a tall man who’d remained physically active throughout his younger life and was an avid tennis player, having made it to the first round of the men’s doubles at Wimbledon in 1926.

  The loss of his brother and indeed the entire British Isles under his subsequent reign had taken its toll on his health in the last two years however, a situation exacerbated greatly by a heavy smoking habit. To Max Thorne, the King sitting beside him in the immaculate uniform of an RN Admiral of the Fleet seemed a hollow shell of the man he’d seen in countless newsreels from the history he’d known as a child – a history that now no longer existed.

  Seated on the King’s opposite side, Princess Elizabeth waited quietly, mostly silent but watching everything with sharp and observant eyes that suggested wisdom well beyond her sixteen years. She wore the uniform of the British Women’s Auxiliary Territorial Service, a unit with which she’d accepted an honorary commission earlier in the year at the rank of second subaltern (2nd lieutenant).

  “We wanted to thank you for coming in early at such short notice,” His Majesty advised with a thin smile, smoke curling from a Dunhill cigarette clamped between two fingers by his knee. “We also wished to extend our thanks and appreciation for the fine effort at getting so many of our boys out of Kibrit.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” Thorne could barely mutter, too awestruck to display any of his usual irreverence. “It would be nice if some elements of the Australian War Cabinet shared your views… I’m afraid they’re rather annoyed with me for losing two of their new tanks.”

  “Tanks can be easily replaced, Mister Thorne, whereas one cannot say the same for good men.”

  “Well, that was my opinion too, Your Majesty, but unfortunately the same cannot be said I’m afraid for my own High Command. I’m something of a persona non grata with Canberra at the moment…”

  “Rumour has it you don’t see eye-to-eye with Field Marshal Blamey on most matters pertaining to the operational running of defences and deployment throughout the South-East Asian region,” George observed with a faint smile that suggested he knew there was far more to it than anything so simple.

  “That would be a huge understatement, Your Majesty,” Thorne grinned in return. “My team and I were of some use to your family and to Sir Winston prior to the invasion, due to our unique knowledge of history…” he paused, giving a pained grimace “…although I’d wish we could’ve been a good deal more helpful.” He continued before the King could make any placatory remark that would only make him feel worse about the invasion of Britain. “It currently seems to be the case, however, that there are certain circles – within the Australian War Cabinet at least – who consider myself and Hindsight to be tantamount to useless now that the course of history has diverged so dramatically from what we all grew up knowing. I suspect Field Marshal Blamey and most of the others, the Americans included, tolerate me because the designs my companies provide result in lovely new toys for them, but other than that, I do get the feeling they’re doing their best to marginalise any influence I and my team have with Prime Minister Curtain… a similar situation to what’s also happening in Washington at the moment.” There was more than a little resentment and bitterness in Max Thorne’s tone as he spoke those words; a good deal more than he would have liked to have shown in his v
oice had he been aware of how clear the sentiments actually were.

  “Rest assured, your ongoing assistance is greatly appreciated with this government,” Richard Trumbull observed with soft certainty. “The disaster that was Britain’s loss might have been far worse for many more, had it not been for the intervention of you and your men. There are many Britons still alive today whose families owe you all a debt, myself included.” Two years earlier, Max Thorne has personally saved the life of Trumbull’s eldest son, Alec; a man with whom he’d since become a close friend. The Prime Minister in exile had never forgotten the debt he honestly believed his family owed the man sitting before him.

  “The primary reason for asking you to come in early this evening however,” Menzies cut in gently, deciding it was time to bring the conversation back on track, “is some news we’ve just received through our SOE contacts in Ireland…”

  “Someone’s finally located Kransky?” Thorne blurted eagerly, desperate for news of another friend who’d abruptly left his assignment in England without warning some weeks ago and rather unexpectedly made his way to Northern Ireland.”

  “Some of this involves Mister Kransky, yes,” Menzies replied slowly with a shrewd expression, as if specifically gauging the other man’s reactions. “As you reported to us last week, it does appear that he attempted to exit England via Northern Ireland under spurious orders that were purportedly signed and authorised by you… although we’re mostly certain, Max, that you never issued any such instructions…”

  “‘Mostly...’…?” Thorne repeated with a dry smile, not particularly offended. “I admit I’ve played things close to the chest on occasion, and I’m sometimes a little slow in passing on intelligence, but there is no way I’d have risked so valuable a resource as Richard Kransky…” he added, pausing as if considering the circumstances under which such an order might be forthcoming “…not unless it was a target of the highest importance, anyway,” he relented, “and even then, I’d definitely let your guys know first.”

  “Quite admirable of you, considering that technically the man is our resource,” Menzies shot back with a similarly dry smile, “but be that as it may, I’m happy to accept that you knew nothing about all this under the circumstances. We had initially suspected some involvement on your part, however the reports we’ve received from Europe in the last forty-eight hours have shifted the likelihood of blame in a rather unexpected direction…”

  “This sounds ominous, gentlemen,” Thorne observed softly, becoming more concerned as the conversation continued. “You have me at a complete loss: with everything that’s been going on here and in the Middle East, I’ve been completely out of the loop regarding current events on the continent, and what little information Giles and his boys in Singapore have been able to put together for me has made no sense whatsoever.”

  “You’ll need to forgive Lieutenant Croft, Max,” Menzies admitted, almost embarrassed over what he was about to say. “The boy was sworn to secrecy under my direct orders, so if he’s been less than forthcoming over the last two days or so, that would be my doing: we didn’t want anyone getting hold of any of this until we’d had a chance to confirm information even we were struggling to believe.”

  “Excuse my impudence in the presence of royalty, gentlemen…” Thorne snapped, sounding a little testy now because of the growing suspense and quickly adding a “…Your Majesty…” in deference to the King, “but would someone like to actually tell me what all this is about…?” That he didn’t swear during any part of that dialogue was a true testament to both his self-control and his respect for the King, and was also something that would have undoubtedly left his close friends speechless… Alec Trumbull particularly.

  “We believe Richard Kransky was being held prisoner by the SS up until a week ago,” Menzies continued, forging on to head off Thorne’s expected questions. “Last Saturday it appears he escaped custody and is now currently across the border in the Republic of Ireland… although his exact whereabouts are not known at this time,” he added sourly. “We’ll come to the details of that in a moment, but firstly we’d all like to ask how your team’s research projects at Maralinga are progressing?”

  “Well enough by all accounts,” Thorne answered warily, not sure where the conversation was going. “Doctor Markowicz believes we may be ready to conduct a live test by the middle of December.”

  “I suspect the sooner that can be done the better,” Trumbull interjected solemnly. We’ve received a message from Kransky, sent prior to his capture, advising that he witnessed what he believes to be an atomic bomb test off the northern coast of Scotland several weeks ago.”

  “Surely not,” Thorne frowned, not wanting to believe such bad news.

  “The extremely limited technical information we have so far suggests the report may be accurate…” Menzies replied darkly, not liking the idea either. “There is also mention of a ‘double-flash’, which we are informed is characteristic of an atomic detonation…”

  “It is a sign of one, yes,” Thorne conceded reluctantly, “but – no offence to Kransky – I’d not have considered him experienced enough in nuclear physics to make that kind of assessment.”

  “Again, I concur,” Menzies nodded, “however the technical information included in the report wasn’t provided by Kransky; he was merely passing on details observed by another witness…” The head of MI6 swallowed uncomfortably. “We have reason to believe that this second observer is sufficiently trained to make such a conclusion.”

  “And this other witness would be…?”

  “We’ll come to that in a moment also,” Trumbull cut in, and his tone again suggested neither man was happy about the situation being discussed. “What we’ve been able to piece together so far indicates that all of this appears to be connected in some way…”

  “What we currently know,” Menzies continued with a nod from the Prime Minister, “is that sometime in early September, units of British Resistance assisted by elements of the IRA’s Northern Command rendezvoused with Richard Kransky and passed on to him orders purported to have been sent from MI6 and signed by your hand – claims we know to be false. Those orders directed Kransky south to London where he came into contact with a group of Jewish exiles on the run from the SS, with the intention of escorting them to Scotland, and then across the water to Ireland.”

  “That would be the sea battle Croft received reports of in the Irish Channel…” Thorne ventured quickly.

  “Exactly so,” Menzies agreed. “We believe damage from that engagement forced the group to instead disembark prematurely in Northern Ireland, prompting a massive mobilisation of SS forces in search of these fugitives. At present, the motive for such a show of force is unknown, but the general consensus is that the reaction was well out of proportion to the situation at hand. The result of that reaction however was that Richard Kransky was taken prisoner during a firefight near the border town of Clady, and was held in custody at the local command HQ in Strabane for two weeks or thereabouts, prior to an attempt by the IRA to orchestrate his escape, last Saturday morning.”

  “They busted him out…?”

  “As you so succinctly put it, that is indeed what happened,” Menzies nodded with a faint smile. “We now believe that this may have been part of a larger plan that was carried out – in part at least – with the assistance of the Office of Strategic Services.”

  “What in God’s name do the Yanks have to do with this?” Thorne exclaimed plaintively, quickly becoming overloaded with this sudden influx of generally unpleasant information.

  Mister Thorne,” Trumbull continued, no hint of mirth in his eyes or tone, “early that very same last Saturday morning, the United States landed a large military force at Galway Bay. We believe – although this has not yet been confirmed – that this was at the express request of the De Valera Government. These forces included armoured units, regular infantry and one of their new air mobile divisions – possibly more. We also have unconfirmed reports th
at lead units of the US Eighth Air Force have landed at an air base somewhere near Limerick.”

  Thorne was left momentarily speechless, although that was possibly a good thing considering the poor quality of the language struggling to issue forth from his lips as he tried desperately to digest what he’d just heard.

  “How…” he began, halting momentarily as his mind did a double-take and derailed his train of thought. “How the f-…?” Again, words failed him and he struggled visibly over what he might possibly say before eventually finding himself able to produce a suitable response.

  “How… could they possibly… hope… to get away with it…?” He managed finally, then words coming in slow, stilted disbelief.

  “By all accounts, they have gotten away with it…!” Menzies advised, no small amount of grudging admiration in his tone. “From what we can gather, it seems the IRA and the De Valera Government conspired to manufacture a number of incidents on or near the border that were intended to provoke an offensive response from SS units on the Northern side. We believe the situation was exacerbated somewhat by the fact that Von Neurath was away on business in Berlin, leaving Gruppenführer Ernst Barkmann in charge of all German forces in Northern Ireland… You’ve read our reports on him, I believe?”

  “Complete sociopathic nutcase from what I gathered,” Thorne stated simply, summarising the man’s MI6 dossier succinctly enough.

  “As fair an assessment as any I’ve read,” Menzies nodded with a thin smile. “The Nazi response was as brutal as you can probably imagine: summary executions all over the country, and aerial attacks on Belfast itself, levelling several city blocks and resulting in the death and injury of hundreds – possibly thousands. He also played right into their hands by ordering a military incursion across the Finn River at Strabane, actually sending SS combat units onto sovereign Irish soil and thereby presenting Dublin with a perfect casus belli to invite the Americans to ‘crash the party’ as it were…”