Jen smiled wanly. She found it a bit coincidental that he had chosen Hyde Park underground station for refuge, when there were so many other stations to choose from.
As if he had read her thoughts, Oscar cleared his throat noisily and said hesitantly, ‘I have to confess something to you, Jen: I have been purposely trying to find you.’
Jen was intrigued. What could he possibly want? ‘Come with me, Oscar,’ she said, ‘and meet Myron.’
She took hold of his hand and pulled him towards their small section of the network. Myron was still sitting against the wall where Jen had left him. He was fixated on the pages of a particular file, and hadn’t noticed Jen’s arrival.
‘Myron, look who I’ve found!’ she cried.
Myron looked up and beheld Oscar Saracen, of all people, holding Jen’s hand. For a moment, they stared blankly at each other.
‘You remember Oscar Saracen, don’t you?’ Jen asked Myron as he continued to stare. ‘Myron!’ Jen snapped.
‘Yes, yes, I remember him!’ Myron replied in an exasperated manner. ‘What’s he doing here?’ He addressed Oscar with a fierce scowl. ‘I suppose you want my help this time, do you?’ he added, recalling their first meeting at labour camp five.
Oscar felt uneasy, taken aback by Myron’s unfriendly welcome. He couldn’t tell that Myron was just jealous of him holding hands with Jen.
‘I knew about your father, Myron—we were secret allies for a long time,’ Oscar revealed. ‘He was the one feeding me the information that you have there, in those files.’
Myron couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He needed to know more.
‘How do you know that I’m the one you’re looking for?’ Myron asked suspiciously. ‘I could have found these files lying around, for all you know.’
Oscar moved closer to Myron, and whispered, ‘I have been watching you both for a while. I saw you at your family home. Who do you think placed the briefcase among the debris for you to find?’ Oscar answered. ‘Your father had entrusted me with his files. It was a perfect opportunity for me to place the files where you could find them. If it weren’t for me, you would still be none the wiser.’
Myron was gobsmacked by Oscar’s revelations, but also angry at him for taking such a risk.
‘Well! That was a dangerous and foolhardy thing to do, wasn’t it?’ Myron hissed. ‘Why didn’t you just give them to me in person?’
‘I do like to live dangerously!’ Oscar quipped. ‘Besides, I waited until the coast was clear, so no harm, no foul—right?’
‘You’d best sit down! I want to know everything you know,’ Myron replied calmly.
Oscar sat down beside him, and Jen followed suit. Oscar hadn’t come empty-handed. He had food for all three of them. He emptied his pockets out onto an old but clean T-shirt he had found. Although they had been too busy to think about food for most of the day, Myron, Jen, and Oscar attacked the morsels with relish.
‘Thanks, Oscar,’ said Jen with her mouth full. ‘It’s a bloody feast!’
‘Eat hearty,’ said Oscar solemnly. ‘We’re going to need all the strength we can muster for what’s ahead.’
*
Oscar spent most of the evening telling Myron and Jen what he had overheard Brigadier John Howard saying to a visiting dignitary to the battle site. Sir John’s death, Oscar had learned, was no accident: it had been an assassination, and Myron’s mother became just another victim of circumstance as she perished in the blast with her husband.
‘The files will tell you everything, Myron,’ said Oscar. ‘Everything you need to know is in that pile. The information therein effectively signed your father’s death warrant.’
Myron realized Oscar was the perfect ally to help Jen and himself expose the government’s diabolical agenda. Oscar was smart, articulate, and passionate. But would people listen to what he had to say this time around?
‘We’ve got to team up, we three, disseminate this information among the people!’ Myron enthused. ‘With your gift for gab, Oscar, you’re the perfect spokesman!’
Oscar guffawed. ‘Don’t you remember what happened last time? They all laughed at me—called me a crazy man.’
‘But it’s different now,’ said Myron. ‘From the scuttlebutt we’ve heard circulating around the underground network, people are beginning to believe that the conspiracy theories you spouted, are actually fact.’
‘Right!’ Jen put in. ‘They certainly won’t laugh at you now.’
‘I appreciate your confidence, Myron,’ said Oscar, ‘but I’m on the run. I need to stay hidden—I have no doubt that a death warrant has been placed on my head. So you see why I needed to tell you everything, don’t you?’ Oscar was almost frantic in his manner. ‘The Brigadier saw me listening in on his conversation with the dignitary—all I could do was run, and it’s all I’ve been doing for the past week. That is, until I received word from your father to come to London and help him out. He somehow knew that his life was in danger.’
He gazed at the pile of files and asked, “Have you understood what you’ve read so far?”
‘I can grasp most of it,’ Myron replied, ‘but there is the odd segment here and there that I haven’t been able to digest. I hope you can make more sense of what my father was driving at.’
‘Let me have a look,’ said Oscar.
*
Oscar spent the rest of the evening hidden away from sight with his penlight torch, and the files that Myron had given him. He knew exactly what Sir John was trying to relay, but he had done it in such a manner that only a select few (Oscar included) would gather his full meaning, in all its cryptic glory. This was the first time that Oscar had actually read the material in its entirety, and it had opened his eyes to quite a few things along the way—things he knew nothing about.
Oscar was eager to share his findings with Myron and Jen, who had been waiting patiently for his return. He made his way out of the darkness and joined them.
‘I know what your dad was trying to say, Myron,’ he said excitedly. ‘Come this way, out of range of prying ears—and bring the rest of the files with you.’
Myron and Jen rose from the discomfort of the stone floor and followed Oscar into the darkness of his private little sanctum. Oscar pulled the penlight torch from his pocket again and shone it over the floor to find the files that he had already taken.
*
Oscar had uncovered the biggest conspiracy of them all. The government was operating a secret program. It brought the whole context of the war and why they had opted for the use of labour camps into the open. One other piece of information that had grabbed Oscar’s attention was the fact that Brigadier John Howard’s name was mentioned on more than one occasion in an authoritative light. What possible hold could the Brigadier have over the Prime Minister? was the question foremost on Oscar’s mind, and when he had told Myron and Jen they, too, began to wonder the same thing.
‘If only we could find out!’ said Oscar, his voice trembling with excitement. ‘It will be risky, but we’ve got to try!’
Myron turned to face Jen, who stared at Oscar in bemusement.
‘You’re damn right it would be risky!’ said Myron. ‘I’d almost rather take my chances in a labour camp or on a battlefield. If we were to get caught, the consequences would be brutal. Hell, man, undertaking such a venture would be tantamount to suicide!’
‘I’m up for it!’ said Jen.
‘Me, too,’ Oscar agreed.
Myron sighed. ‘I guess I am, too. We’ll be like the Three Musketeers.’
He held his hand out and Jen and Oscar put theirs atop his in solidarity.
*
‘The best way we can get our message across,’ Oscar was saying, ‘is through printed media. When I left the military fortifications, I made my way towards Northwood. I knew that was where they printed all of the government postings, so I decided to go and investigate. I found the place, and more to the point, the printing press. The equipment, although old and slightly rusty
, seems to be in good working order, and paper is plentiful—rolls and rolls of the stuff, all undamaged. Ink is also in good supply. I have worked with one of these printing presses before; it’s an old Fuji offset, which will do quite nicely!’
‘When do we start?’ Myron asked excitedly.
‘Straight away! Here’s what we’ll do.’
Oscar suggested that he go and find the printing press again. Myron and Jen would collect more information for their newsletter, and then join him in Northwood a week later to get the printing and distribution underway.
*
Bidding his comrades goodbye, Oscar took what little information they’d already pulled from the files and made his way through the tunnel network.
It took Oscar around three hours to find his way through to Finsbury Park station. He used what was left of the underground station maps, and avoided venturing outside. This doubled his journey, but at least he was safe from the patrols.
The only problem he had was getting to Northwood from Finsbury Park. Everything from that point on was a blur; he had been in such a hurry to get back to London, he hadn’t memorised the route he’d taken there from Northwood.
Oscar decided it would be best to take refuge for the night, within the seclusion of the underground station. He covered a substantial amount of ground and felt the need to rest—a two-hour nap should do it. Food would have to wait until the morning; he wasn’t that hungry, having eaten with Myron and Jen at Hyde Park.
Oscar found a decent resting spot amongst the rubbish and debris that had been left behind by others passing through. He kicked the rubbish away from his chosen nest, only to discover a nasty surprise. Rats had infested all of the Finsbury Park tunnel network, spreading all kinds of diseases and causing many deaths. Oscar had stumbled upon one unfortunate victim of this scourge, decomposing and maggot-infested.
Oscar felt his gorge rise and promptly vomited on the disgusting corpse.
‘Sorry, mate,’ he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. ‘I’d best be moving on. May God keep your soul.’
Oscar made his way further through the tunnel network, making his way towards the entrance of the station.
Along the way, Oscar stumbled across more bodies. The smell of death was thick in the damp air, clinging to the insides of his nostrils. He steeled his nerves and soldiered on, his eyes on the prize of desperately-needed fresh air at the end of the tunnels.
The horrible corpses all around Oscar were unnerving. He knew things were getting worse, but he hadn’t realised the magnitude of how bad they really were. He was more committed than ever to doing something about the Government’s flagrant disregard for its subjects.
Oscar needed to get to Northwood as soon as possible, but there was still the problem of remembering the route. It would be so much easier just to walk out into the open, but the omnipresent patrols squashed that idea. The last thing Oscar wanted was to end up back in another labour camp.
On reaching the entrance to Finsbury Park underground station, Oscar came across a tramp who was scavenging fruitlessly for scraps in the rubbish bins. Oscar approached him cautiously, not knowing if he was diseased or not.
The withered, grey-haired man heard Oscar approaching from behind. He became defensive, wanting to protect what little he had left of his own.
‘Stay away! Don’t come any closer!’ he warned. The codger picked up a lead pipe and brandished it menacingly.
‘I’m not going to hurt you—I’m just glad to see that I’m not the only one alive down here,’ Oscar said with a snigger, as the codger cut a comical figure, and he doubted that he would really hurt a fly.
The old man continued to brandish the pipe as he slowly made his way over to Oscar. He wasn’t convinced that Oscar wasn’t there to kill him off.
Although the rats had caused some of the deaths within the tunnel networks, they were not responsible for all of them. Yet another government order meant that the patrols could kill on a whim, moving from their positions on the outside into the underground stations to claim their victims: disposing of the minority groups in a fashion eerily reminiscent of Nazism.
*
‘So, why are you here then? You can’t expect me to believe that you’re lost!’ the old man said, spitting in the dirt.
‘I’m trying to reach Northwood,’ Oscar explained patiently.
The codger cackled. ‘Why the hell do you want to get to Northwood? It’s a shit ’ole!’
‘There is something I desperately need in Northwood,’ Oscar replied, ‘and I doubt very much that I would be able to find it anywhere else. It’s the only one of its kind in existence.’
The old man rubbed his stubbly chin thoughtfully.
‘Well, that sounds mighty damn interesting. Tell me all about it, boy.’
‘On my way back from the front line, I passed through Northwood. I stopped in an old factory to get out of a heavy downpour. I thought I might go exploring while I was there, and it was good that I did.’
Oscar paused, much to the annoyance of the old man.
‘Go on, go on, whippersnapper!’ he urged.
‘I came across a printing press, an old Fuji offset,’ Oscar continued. ‘The thing is, though, I thought all the printing presses had been destroyed when media publications were made illegal.’
The old man lowered his lead pipe and approached Oscar. ‘I can tell you feel pretty strongly about all this,’ he said, ‘and I feel like I can trust you. I’m no fan of the goddamn government myself! I’d like to hear more about what you’ve got up your sleeve, boy.’
‘Not so fast,’ said Oscar. ‘Before we go any further, what’s your name—if you don’t mind me asking?’
The old man was reluctant to share such irrelevant information with a stranger, but knew that his thirst to know more wouldn’t be quenched if he couldn’t trust Oscar enough to tell him his name.
‘Arthur John,’ he said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Now it’s your turn!’
Oscar extended his hand, and Arthur reluctantly took it.
‘Oscar Saracen. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Arthur.’
Arthur looked at Oscar curiously. He had heard the name ‘Oscar Saracen’ before, but he couldn’t quite remember when or where.
‘Ah, you seem to recognise my name,’ Oscar said.
The cranky codger said cunningly, ‘Seems I recollect the name from somewhere, but I’m old and my memory ain’t worth a shit. How about we cut all this cloak and dagger crap and you tell me why you seem so damn familiar!’
‘Before I was taken to labour camp five,’ said Oscar, ‘I was a notorious firebrand, lecturing people about the government’s true intentions. Of course, nobody believed me, but the government obviously did, or I wouldn’t have ended up in the camp in the first place. But that’s all in the past. Now I have the information to back up my theories.’
‘Now I remember as clear as a bell!’ said Arthur. ‘I was in Hyde Park on the day of your arrest. And here’s something that’ll really make your day: I was one of the operators of the printing press that you seek!’
Oscar couldn’t believe his luck. Was it coincidence or fate that brought them together? Whichever, he was thankful, as Arthur would be a tremendous asset in the fight to expose the government.
*
‘I’ll tell you how to get to Northwood,’ said Arthur, ‘but it’ll come at a price. I ain’t had a decent bite to eat in days. You got any food?’
‘Not much. Wait here, and I’ll see what I can do.’
Oscar reluctantly went on a food-finding expedition, feeling almost like Arthur was blackmailing him. He returned an hour later and emptied out his pockets to show morsels he had collected.
‘Here’s enough to last you a couple of days. I’m sorry, but it is the best I could find.’
Arthur grimaced at the mould-covered scraps, but he was starving; he grabbed at them greedily, stuffing them in his almost toothless mouth.
‘Tastes like shit,’ the old man
complained.
‘Why, you ungrateful old buzzard!’ Oscar snapped. ‘I risked my life to get you those scraps!’
‘I’m not ungrateful, whippersnapper,’ Arthur shot back. Then his tone softened. ‘I appreciate it, I really do.’
‘Well, OK,’ said Oscar. ‘Now for your end of the bargain: tell me how to get to Northwood.’
Arthur did, and then took the rest of scraps to his secret storage area—a pretty pointless act, really, as he was the only one who lived in the station. Oscar left Arthur to his own devices; he needed to rest for a bit before undertaking the journey to Northwood, using Arthur’s underground directions to get him there.
Oscar walked further through the tunnel network to find somewhere to bed down for the night, before undertaking his mission to Northwood. Oscar found a spot close to where he needed to start his journey, but the stink was overwhelming. There was another body. He covered his face with one hand, and then grabbed the body with the other, dragging it as far away from his rest area as possible. The victim was a girl; she couldn’t have been older than nine. It saddened Oscar so much that he couldn’t help but shed a tear, and it made him even more determined to expose the government jackals.
He pulled the girl’s stinking corpse far into the tunnel, placed her into one of the many crevices that lined the network, and covered her face with a discarded jacket he found to hand.
‘I will fight for you—and everyone else! The government will pay for what they have done to you!’ Oscar whispered in the corpse’s ear.
*
The next morning, Arthur awoke Oscar per their arrangement the night before.
‘Rise and shine!’ said Arthur, shaking the lad. ‘You said you wanted to get an early start.’
‘I need you to do me an important favour after I am gone,’ said Oscar, yawning and rubbing his eyes. ‘I need you to seek out two people for me—they are an integral part of my plan! I need you to give them directions on how to get to Northwood. If you do this one thing for me, the rewards will be plentiful.’
‘Reward, you say?’ said Arthur, visions of a banquet dancing in his addled head. ‘What reward? Tell me.’
Going Underground Page 16
