“African and Birds, go…”
Two dark shadows moved into the lights on our side of the train – Dove and Pigeon. Pigeon had his nonLee – indistinguishable from a Lethal in this light – trained on the locomotive door to discourage anyone from opening it. On the other side, Giraffe should be doing the same. Dove darted in close to spray a thick layer of flashDry rock glue all around the edges of the sliding door. The rescue party would get it open fast enough, but no one would be getting out for now.
“Egg laid,” confirmed Dove, as they backed away again.
“My trunk’s done the job,” said Elephant from the other side of the train.
“Postal service, come and get your packages,” said Bane. “Aquatics, Fish, Birds, lay your eggs, please.”
Six figures hurried forward, appeared to fiddle for a moment with the doors at each end of the three coaches, then jogged back up the bank.
“Aquatics, clear.”
“Fish, clear.”
“Birds, clear.”
“Hatching time,” said Bane.
Bang. Crack.
The charges went off almost in unison.
“Okay, Aquatics, Fish, Birds, get it unwrapped.”
The same six figures raced down again and began to haul the doors open.
“Anyone having trouble unwrapping the gifts?”
Silence. Good. All the doors were open.
The noise of the trucks was audible now over the soft hum of the locomotive. With astonishing swiftness, even considering all the drills, they manoeuvred into the narrow space between track and trees, leaving almost no gap between coach doors and truck tailgates.
“Pussycat, Brown Bird, Cuckoo, moving positions now. Keep your eyes peeled,” said Bane. “Everyone else, transfer those packages.”
We scrambled to our feet and hurried down the slope, Bane slipping a small device into my hand before heading off along the train. I climbed the ladder quickly to the roof, lying down on my stomach to reduce my silhouette. Looking down into the observation platform at the two unconscious guards, I could also see both of the locomotive doors. We didn’t dare shoot the guards again to make sure – just possible one could’ve been hit three times already.
Pussycat would be doing the same at the other end of the train. Sister Krayj was here for her shooting abilities, like me. She was the only other girl. Woman. About Father Mark’s age, she clearly had a similar history. One of the criteria for the selection of everyone else had been their ability to shift a large amount of stuff in a very short time. Bane, recently recovered from starvation and a sprained arm, was sensibly watching and overseeing from the roof of the middle carriage – no doubt hating not being able to help.
I glanced at the thing in my hand. A green light glowed steadily. All phone transmissions in a five hundred metre radius were still jammed. Red, Green, Snail and Bumblebee raced past below me, towards the loot, having faked the train’s passage through the signal sensor. As far as EuroTrac knew, the train was simply running about thirty seconds late.
The other guys were already getting to work, four to each locked metal crate – designed for fork lift trucks, of course – their grunts of exertion were audible even over all the engines. How many of the things were there in each carriage? Carla said to allow one truck per half carriage. But we’d only half an hour, then we were leaving, ‘cause that’s how long before the train was due at the next signals – and the next sensor. We wanted to be long gone before the search party arrived, since it would probably be in the form of a helicopter armed with air to ground missiles.
Five minutes. The light glowed green. The guys grunted.
Ten minutes. Green light still. Grunts turning to groans.
Fifteen minutes. Green light. Groans becoming moans.
Twenty minutes. Green. Gasping, whooping inhalations.
Twenty-five minutes…
“This is Little Lion, the parcels are all loaded...” Father Mark sounded like he could barely speak.
“Loaders, mount up,” ordered Bane, at once. The guys scrambled aboard the trucks, mostly into the cabs, but a few into the backs. “Okay, Pussycat, Brown Bird, in we get.”
Shoving the nonLee into my waistband and clutching the priceless jammer in my sweaty hand, with one last glance at the sleeping guards I scrambled down the ladder and ran for the trucks. Clumsy and slow in the bulletproof vest, I reached the nearest one and Bane reached out and hauled me up into the cab, just like in the practices. Well, I’d mostly climbed in by myself in the practices…
“Full check,” said Bane. Everyone signed in, postmen, postal service and sorting office. Only when everyone was accounted for, did Bane say, “Right, express delivery, let’s go.”
The drivers pulled off smoothly into an instant convoy, snaking back into the forest and heading off along a Resistance-maintained track, the trucks bouncing and jouncing. It was a three hour drive back to the port of Genoa – or rather, to a small fishing village nearby – and we needed to make it by three o’clock, or a EuroFriendly satellite would come over the boats before they reached Gozo. Camouflaged though the trucks would be, we didn’t want three boats to be observed arriving at a supposedly dusty and almost uninhabited rock.
But before that, we had to reach an abandoned railway tunnel by midnight, so we could hide from the EuroGov satellite until one o’clock. Coming up to eleven, now, so we were just about on target – no time to spare.
Jolt. Jolt. Jolt. Bounce. Jolt…
...Eerie stillness and pitch blackness. I raised a hand to my face – couldn’t see it. Silence except for two sets of breathing – one more like snoring. My head lay in someone’s lap.
“Bane?”
“Awake, Margo?”
“No, I’m sleep talking,
numpty,” I teased. “Are we in the tunnel?”
“Yep. Made it with three minutes to spare. Too close – must allow more travel time in future.”
“What time is it now?”
The phone glowed in the darkness as he took it from his pocket – our driver, ‘Boyracer’, was slumped over his steering wheel, deeply asleep.
“Twenty past twelve.”
Darkness settled over the cab again as he put the phone away. At least I’d slept through part of the wait.
“The loading go okay?”
“Yeah, I’m well impressed. Those things were heavy.”
“I was afraid the guys were all going to collapse or something.”
“Perhaps we should’ve had a few spares to swap in, but there’s enough of us as it is. Well, the next operation’s going to be totally different, anyway.”
We sat in silence after that, though we could probably have sung at the top of our voices without waking the driver. I was dozing when Bane’s voice jerked me fully awake again.
“Okay, everyone, the Eye of Sauron has passed over.” Not a code name, that, just the Vatican slang for the EuroBloc satellite. “Time for some more express delivery, let’s move…”
Engines roared and headlights blazed dazzlingly into life. Within minutes we’d left the tunnel behind us and were bouncing through the forest once more.
I didn’t fall asleep again. Tension was tying my stomach in a knot. Relax, Margo. Having failed to locate us with the satellite, it would surely take them some time to get over their assumption that this was a – albeit peculiarly bloodless – Resistance raid, and the Resistance had no interest in ports. Near the coast is the last place they’ll look... Right, Lord?
The forest began to clear. Suddenly the sea spread out below us, a moonlit expanse. The road sloped down ahead to where a shadowy fishing village nestled in a cove.
“All stop,” said Bane. “Snuff your candles.”
The trucks pulled in behind one another and the headlights were switched off.
“Ten minutes,” added Bane. “Stamp and Letter, stand by.”
Those ten minutes felt every bit as long as the hour in the tunnel, despite the stunningly beautiful moonlit scene sp
read out on either side of the truck-in-front’s tailgate. Finally my earpiece spoke again.
“This is Stamp, I see White Water One, permission to go surfing.”
“Stamp, Letter, go ride some waves.”
The two front trucks set off down the hill, acting as much like casual civilian vehicles as two four-ton canvas-roofed military-type
lorries could. The rest of us crept forward without turning on our headlights, so Envelope had a good view of the jetty. And waited some more.
“This is Envelope, White Water One is heading for home. White Water Two is in sight.”
“Envelope and Frank, surfing time, off you go.”
Two more trucks did the vehicular equivalent of saunter off down the road. You’d think at three in the morning you could do something like this unseen, but someone would probably look out the window.
Only two of us left, now. We inched forward again. Stopped. Waited. My ears strained for Airmail’s voice. Come on… come one… surely it’s taking longer than last time? What if there’s a problem with White Water Three? What if…”
“This is Airmail, White Water Two is heading for home. I have White Water Three in sight.”
“Let’s go surfing,” said Bane, but I felt the long breath he let out first.
Boyracer’s teeth gleamed in the darkness as he grinned.
Thank you, Lord...
Cruising through the village, we stopped for the amount of time it took Airmail to drive along the narrow jetty and onto the boat, then followed. The gangplank rumbled and shifted alarmingly, but somehow we manoeuvred into the implausibly small amount of space remaining on the deck.
By the time Boyracer cut the engine, the boat was already turning sharply to clear the rocks and heading out to sea, beginning to rise and fall alarmingly. Putting the truck in gear, he hauled on the handbrake as tightly as he could, then we all piled out to help the sailors slip great hooks over the axles and lash it down, then rig up the camouflage ‘netting’ of padded sacks. Untidy deck cargos of food did actually dock at Gozo from time to time – though hopefully we’d be there before the satellite got a look.
That done, we allowed the sailors to usher us below to eat, sleep, and crash out. So far, so good.
***+***
6
SCHOOLBOYS IN A SWEET SHOP
All three White Waters made such good speed that by the time Airmail and ourselves pulled up to the base of the Citadel, Stamp and Letter were coming down the ramp, unloaded already.
“We’re taking these big babies to their kennels.” Stamp spoke on the earpiece, rather than wind down his window and get a cab full of dust. “Envelope and Frank are being unloaded now. If you go and wait halfway up the ramp, you can get in there as soon as they come out. Eduardo thinks we can get it all unloaded now if we don’t waste a second.”
On they drove. Twenty of the closer ruined houses were each now home to a truck, though we’d only needed six of them for this mission.
The engine bellowed as we crawled upwards. We were heavily laden. Only minutes later Envelope and Frank came through the Citadel gates, wheel arches noticeably higher. There must be many willing hands inside.
Folding our mirrors in, we inched carefully through the narrow arch behind Airmail and the willing hands practically swamped us. With eight people to a crate, each was slid quickly down a board laid from tailgate to ground and borne off into the Administrative block. Bane and I could hardly get to help and our driver was told to stay in the cab.
“Clear!” Eduardo banged on the truck side as the tailgate was flipped up and latched. “Get this thing out of here, double quick.”
The satellite was due in about five minutes... The trucks inched back through the arch and tore off down the hill, bouncing jauntily on their unburdened springs. The last crate vanished inside and Eduardo herded everyone after it.
“Clear the square, looks like a carnival out here. Inside, everyone… Team members only to the main conference room.”
Ah yes, time to open the goodies. Bane made to head that way, but... A tired-looking figure sat at the base of the cathedral steps with two sticks resting in the crook of his arm.
“Bane…” I nodded to the steps. “Let’s get Jon.”
“Are you actually planning on getting better any time soon, mate?” demanded Bane, heading that way. “’Cause you look worse every time I see you.”
“Ha ha,” said Jon wearily. “I’ll leave you with those two for a couple of days and see what you look like, shall I?”
“That bad?” I said sympathetically.
“Oh yes. And the worst thing is I have to keep pretending I don’t want an arm, but I really do. Could I have an arm, please?”
We took his arms and heaved him to his feet.
“Ah, thanks.”
“So where are the terrible two?” asked Bane.
“Gone.”
“Already?”
“Yeah, as soon as they heard the mission was a complete success, they looked at the Sat chart and the next safe slot’s not until late tonight, so they were off to the harbour at once to catch this one. Asked me to say, ‘we did it for Luciano so don’t thank us,’ and ‘no, thank you, we don’t want any of the toy guns’. Which I’ve now said. So let’s forget about them.”
A moment of silence and he added abruptly, “Praise the Lord, I’m so glad you’re back safe.” Flung his arms around us each in turn and hugged us, burying his face in my hair for slightly too long. Bane pretended not to notice. Jon looked that washed out.
Jon let go of me at last and, as we headed on across the square, I was struck by a strange realisation... if someone came up to me right now and told me my parents had been killed, I’d be terribly upset, but if something happened to Bane or Jon, I’d be devastated. They’d become my immediate family. My… pack.
“So how was it, Margo?” Jon dragged me from chewing on this guilt-inducing truth. “Were you okay?”
After all the waterworks in the last month... fair enough question.
“Fine, actually. I’m not saying actually getting on the boat wasn’t one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life, but… once I was on it… certainly once it was too late to go back, well, we just spent three months in EuroBloc territory, didn’t we? Seems I’m actually kind of used to it. Though I think I was getting a false sense of security from being with a whole group of super confident guys too stupid to be frightened, but there we are.”
“Thank you,” said Bane, in mock offence.
“I wasn’t actually referring to you. But I swear some of those young guards actually think it’s dead cool to be risking martyrdom like the priests and sisters always do.” The EuroGov didn’t lay its hands on Swiss guards very often, but when they did they tended to treat them as though their very existence ‘incited and promoted superstition’.
“As far as I’m aware,” Bane was trying to keep a straight face, “all those ‘young guards’ are several years older than us.”
“Oh, Lord help me, you’re right.” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “When did I get middle-aged?” Jon sniggered, so I gave him a gentle poke with my elbow. “Anyway, it was much better than I expected.”
“Good,” said Jon. “That’s good. Any chance you’ll stay at home next time?”
“What, now I’ve proved I can do it?” I tried not to get annoyed. “That’s not the point, Jon. And no.”
“Smooth, Jon, very smooth,” said Bane.
“Well, you can’t blame me for trying.”
“With all the subtlety of a pickaxe.”
“Oh, like you’re going to do any better!”
I ignored them and concentrated on getting Jon up the steps. By the time we reached the top, all six members of the postal service were jogging through the gates, trucks put to bed. They beat us to the main conference room, where the army of helpers had stacked the crates in piles according to what was stamped on the sides. With one of each type arranged along a wall, the team waited impatiently in
what little space remained.
“Uh, is everyone else here?” asked Bane. “Full check, please.”
We all gave our code name in sequence – everyone who’d risked their life deserved to be here for this.
“Have we got a can opener?” asked Bane. Father Mark held up a handful of small flat cylindrical things and placed one on the lock of the first crate. “Uh, we’re quite positive there’s nothing explosive in there, right?” Bane edged in front of me slightly, as though that would help if we accidentally set off a whole crate of explosives.
Eduardo waved his networkAccessor.
“Nothing explosive anywhere on the train’s manifest and the codes on the side of the boxes correspond to nonLethal tech. Let’s crack them open.”
“Okay.” Bane nodded to Father Mark and everyone moved away and turned their backs.
Crack.
Fox One and Fox Two wrestled the lid up and everyone crowded forward as though they’d never seen a nonLee before. Father Mark pulled aside a rectangle of foam to reveal… actually, worth a look. Rows of gleaming, brand new nonLethal pistols, a newer model than any I’d seen. Better still, two spare power magazines nestled beside each one.
“Wow, look at these.” Fox Two picked one up. “Sleek.”
“Brilliant.” Bane handed one to Jon to feel.
“Shiny, aren’t they.” Jon ran his hands over it appreciatively, making no move to get up from his crate seat.
“Better than shiny!” said Kyle.
Father Mark examined one with a mixture of professional interest and personal distaste. Not keen on any type of weapon. But he knew what to do with them.
“I like these.” Eduardo actually cracked a small smile, sighting down the barrel at the wall. “Look like they should be more accurate.”
Father Mark gave a slight grunt of agreement, then got back to passing them out so everyone had one to look at.
“They’re probably not charged, but if anyone fires one of these things, they’ll still be on extra sentry duty for a month,” warned Eduardo.
“What about those of us who don’t do sentry duty?” asked Sister Krayj sweetly.
Liberation (I Am Margaret Book 3) Page 6
