When they faced the cold facts of life – they could be a hell of a lot worse off. They could be sitting in a transit camp in central Europe with very few prospects. As it was, they were in sunny San Diego – wherever that was – were alive, and had some good prospects for survival.
The only real spanner in the works was that Chloe and Chris were still in Europe. They had no news of their circumstances, and this was a real and continuing worry. They took comfort in the fact that Chloe was with her father, but the loss of Chris was heart breaking.
Nevertheless, they talked long and hard about their circumstances and decided that they should make the best of anything the Americans might offer, and that they could search out Chris and Chloe when the opportunity arrived – which it surely would.
At that point, the phone rang and Les answered. It was an official of the US Social Service Administration. She wanted to meet the family and discuss their future, and could they come to an address in San Diego the following morning at 10am. Les replied in the affirmative and hung up.
‘Well, it looks as if we are going to learn our fate – tomorrow at 10am. Matt, can you check out this address. Perhaps reception can help. I suggest we spoil ourselves with a pizza tonight and treat tomorrow as the first day of the rest of our lives. I see no point in brooding or complaining. Are you all with me?’
The family smiled and agreed. It would be a fresh start.
The following day, the Townsends walked into central San Diego, found the appropriate public building and were welcomed into the office of a Ms Sara Gallagher.
Ms Gallagher was friendly and polite and explained the situation carefully and precisely.
‘Well, Mr and Mrs Townsend, Marie, Matt and Lynne, I'm here to explain what the US Government is going to do to assist your resettlement. The British government or UKRA is talking to countries worldwide, asking them to take in British citizens and try to integrate them into their own cultures. The programme hasn’t been officially sanctioned or started as yet, but we are given to understand that up to fifty thousand British citizens will be resettled in the United States.
In short, you are the first!
San Diego has been given the honour of hosting your arrival and we are immensely proud to be doing so.’
The Townsends were non-plussed. They stared at each other in silence until Sue muttered a belated thank you. Ms Gallagher continued.
‘I know that you have been through terrible experiences and are in deep shock, so we are going to guide you gently through the process. In a few moments, we are going to travel out to a pleasant suburb of San Diego to view your new home. I'm afraid all five of you will have to co-habit there for the time being – but it has four bedrooms – so it won't be a squeeze! In due course, we will interview you all with a view to providing work – I understand Marie and Lynne are well-qualified teachers – and that Les is a chemist. However, there is no rush and the next two weeks will be taken in slow time. We will establish US citizenship applications for you all, and get Bracken his shots. All of the administrative paperwork will be completed in the weeks after you settle in. The US Government has agreed that apart from paying the first two years rental on your home, a grant of US$25,000 will be made to assist your economic needs until you obtain employment. Yes, you will have to contribute to your new society – but in America the sky is the limit.’
Ms Gallagher beamed as she made her speech.
The Townsends were dumbfounded.
Finally, Les managed to speak. He was keen to confirm one vital issue:
‘So this is not charity. It's part of an international initiative to relocate British citizens. We thank you, Ms Gallagher and we thank the United States. I, for one, embrace your kindness.’
Ms Gallagher stood up and led them to the door.
‘We’ll go out to your new home now, but I warn you, there may be some of the media and neighbours awaiting your arrival. The disaster in the UK has been national headlines for weeks, and you will not be short of sympathy or support. Please, follow me.’
They traipsed out in a sort of dream-like trance and climbed into the waiting Honda Hybrid.
‘A local dealership has donated this car as part of the welcome process. It's yours now.’
‘Wow,’ exclaimed Matt, ‘this is fantastic! Thank you so much!’
They travelled out to find their new property, and drove up to a large detached two-storey villa sitting in about an acre of land in an affluent suburb. Manicured lawns and palm trees adorned the front, and a huge double garage was attached to one side.
‘Oh my word,’ cried Sue, ‘this can't be ours!’
‘Oh yes it is – but only for two years, then you pay your own way,’ warned Sara.
There was a crowd of newspapermen, TV cameras and neighbours crowded around the driveway. As the Townsends climbed out of the car, they all broke into a spontaneous round of applause and neighbours ran up, shaking hands and hugging. The entire Townsend family was reduced to tears, and Les could hardly speak when interviewed on TV.
He managed to thank the US public for their generosity and spoke briefly of their experiences and their missing son, who remained in the snow as far as they knew. After about fifteen minutes, Ms Gallagher broke up the press conference and led the Townsends into their new home. It was nothing short of marvellous. New furniture and all mod cons adorned the luxury villa. Outside was a huge garden, patio and swimming pool. At the bottom of the garden was a golf course. It was heaven.
It almost made then forget the hell that they had so recently left behind.
Ms Gallagher spent an hour showing them around, and presented Les with five bank cards for the account at the local bank which held the US$25,000.
‘You can go shopping for food and clothing tomorrow. In the meantime, the fridge/freezer has enough for today. Well folks, I’ll leave you now and will phone tomorrow. We still have that paperwork to do! Goodbye, everybody.’
They wouldn't let Sara go without hugs all round and she departed with tears streaming down her face. I don’t believe she’d ever done anything so heart-warming in her life before.
The Townsends checked the fridge for refreshments and found a bottle of bubbly. They fetched five glasses and toasted their good fortune on the patio.
If they could only find Chris and Chloe, their happiness would be complete.
***
Nine thousand miles away, sitting in her hotel bedroom sipping a glass of tepid, ghastly French white wine, Chloe was watching the ten o’clock Belgian News. The sport had just been briefly reported, when suddenly she bolted upright in her chair and screamed.
‘Chris, Chris come quick! Quickly – your family is on TV.’
Chris rushed in from the bathroom, with a towel around his waist, to be greeted by Les thanking the American people surrounded by the rest of his family. They managed to get the gist of the story and understood that they were all safe and sound in San Diego. When the news article faded, Chloe was ecstatic.
‘Chris, that's brilliant news. Tomorrow we can make contact and then fly out to join them.’
Chris was not so certain.
‘What about your mother?’
Chloe replied with venom.
‘Fuck her..I’ve just about had all I can take from that woman. She's a liar and a cheat. We’re off, Chris – as soon as Dad can arrange it.’
***
‘Damn! Damn and fucking blast!’
Ann Fletcher had just seen the same news feed on the internet.
‘How in hell’s name did those bloody people get to the US. Someone is not playing straight with me – and when I find out who, there’ll be hell to pay. What the fuck was that bloody driver doing? They should all be lying at the bottom of a cliff by now….not swanning around in San bloody Diego’
She was seething with fury.
‘If this interferes with the plan – I'm going to fucking murder somebody!’
Day 33
Thursday 16th January – 2300
>
Brussels - Belgium
Chloe Fletcher sat back and smiled.
She was sitting in a small backstreet hotel in the suburbs of Brussels, arranged and paid for by her ‘father’, Andrew Brady.
Chris Townsend was with her as the three snow escapees were still on the run from Ann Fletcher.
Brady had been despatched back into the snow to rescue Chloe from her hideaway in Walthamstow by Dame Ann Fletcher. The deputy Prime Minister had recruited her ex-husband on the pretence that Chloe was his daughter – born some twenty-three years previously at the end of their brief marriage in 1989. Dame Ann had gone on to diplomatic stardom whilst Brady had become a senior officer in the RAF. Brady’s close family in Grantham had died in the snow, and he had successfully escaped Britain by reaching the coast and finding a small rowing boat in an attempt to cross the English Channel to France.
As it happened, a Danish icebreaker picked him up minutes from death and he had transferred to a hospital at Volkel in Holland, where Ann Fletcher ensnared him in her web of intrigue.
Naturally, Brady was motivated by fatherly love and accompanied by Ross Bryant, SAS, they infiltrated London and rescued the girl and her boyfriend – Chris Townsend, whose family now basked in the Californian sunshine – as demonstrated on the recently viewed newscast.
Brady, Chloe, Chris and Dame Ann had met for supper in Brussels on Saturday the eleventh of January, but the meal had ended prematurely and explosively. Ann Fletcher revealed that she had been using Brady as a tool to restore her daughter to her own sphere of influence. She had abused her power to achieve that end and at the restaurant, it had all come out.
She claimed that Chloe was not Brady’s daughter at all, and that if Brady caused a ‘stink’ she would bring about his downfall. He would carry the can for the ‘illegal’ rescue.
Chloe had overheard the argument and the three, Chloe, Chris and Brady, had stormed out of the restaurant – leaving a furious Ann Fletcher to her own devices.
Brady had found the small hotel and this is where they had hidden since the eleventh. They had returned to their original hotels en-route and swept up their belongings before Ann had time to react. By midnight, there was no trace of any of the three fugitives.
Brady had been heart broken when Ann claimed that Chloe was not his daughter, but subsequent events clarified the situation once and for all.
When Brady broached the subject, Chloe was puzzled.
‘Chloe, what's your date of birth?’
‘ The seventeenth of November, 1989. Why?’
‘Because Ann is now saying that you are not my daughter because the last time she and I met was in Cambridge in August 1988 – and therefore someone else must be your father. Are you sure of your date of birth?
Chloe was still mystified.
‘Of course – it's in my passport anyway. Look, I'll fetch it and we can both see.’
Chloe went into her suitcase and extracted the passport, handing it to Brady. It was due to expire the next year but clearly gave the date of birth as the seventeenth of November 1989.
‘Damn,’ swore Brady. ‘That's disappointing to say the least. I was hoping ….’
Chloe looked at the forlorn expression on Brady’s face and was moved to tears. She also was awfully upset by this subterfuge, and had quickly grown fond of Brady in the few short days she had known him. She wanted a father. She needed a father now more than ever, and Brady was just the sort of caring individual to make a perfect parent – even after all these years.
At this point Chris chimed in. He was studying the document in question:
‘Chloe, did you apply for this passport nine years ago?’
‘Well, no, I was only fourteen and at boarding school. My mother did it……..oh shit….she made the bloody application!’
All three looked at each other with a clear understanding of what probably happened. Brady spoke first.
‘The bloody woman must have faked the date of birth to make it impossible for me to make a parental claim. My God, she thinks of everything!’
Chris spoke up again.
‘However, it's unlikely that she faked the birth certificate.’
‘Yes, you're absolutely right Chris. We’ll check that document and the conundrum will be solved,’ agreed Brady.
Chloe was not so optimistic.
‘Sorry, chaps, but I haven’t got a copy and I suspect that Somerset House is under water by now.’
‘Yes, you are probably correct. Damn…how do we get a copy of your birth certificate? We can't just break into Ann’s flat or office, and we don’t know where she keeps it anyway. It might be in a bank vault lying under the snow’
Once again, Chris spoke up.
‘Well, if I remember correctly, my mother got the ancestry bug a few years back and researched our family tree. I know that you can trace almost anything on those sites – including dates of birth.’
‘Chris, you are a genius,’ exclaimed Brady.
Chloe hugged Chris, who was beaming happily.
‘Oh-oh, there's one snag with that…most if not all UK websites are not operating. Servers and storage systems have been destroyed. I know that the UKRA probably have accessed some info, but I can't just stroll into their building and ask for this gen. They'd arrest me in a heartbeat.’
Chris rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
‘It's not only Brits that research their family trees – is it?’
Chloe and Brady looked at each other in mock shame.
‘Of course. We just need a computer and we can access a European Ancestry site. Brilliant,’ cried Chloe in growing excitement.
‘It might be easier on the old language skills if we chose an Australian, Canadian or American site?’ added Chris once again.
‘Doh!’ uttered Chloe, slapping her forehead. ‘I suppose eventually, we’ll start thinking straight.
‘Eventually,’ agreed Brady, smiling at Chris.
***
The next morning they asked the receptionist if there was an Internet Café nearby and she directed them to a place just three hundred metres distant.
Brady hired a computer for an hour, bought three coffees and they sat down to discover Chloe’s true date of birth.
They tried an Australian site first and immediately found ‘Ancestry UK – Australia’ and it gave a free fourteen-day trial. They let Chloe work the keyboard – as it was much quicker – and within thirty minutes, they had made family connections using the Fletcher surname, using Christian names which Brady remembered from his time with Ann. Her full name was Ann Marjory Fletcher and after a few blind alleys, the information they sought flashed onto the screen:
Chloe Fay Fletcher, born Peterborough, Cambs, 17 May 1989.
Chloe was the first to react.
‘Yes! Result!’
She swivelled in her chair and hugged her father. Her real, undisputed father.
Chris shook his hand and hugged Chloe in turn.
‘Now we know the truth, maybe we can fight her. Can we get a print-out of this information?’
Chloe made a few key strokes and a printer on the counter sprang into life. They picked up their evidence – Chloe had printed three copies – and departed the café to find a damned good restaurant for lunch.
Brady felt supremely uplifted and extremely happy.
He did have a daughter.
Day 33
Thursday 16th January – 1200
General Update
Sir Ian James and a small entourage had travelled to New York to fulfill several obligations, and complete several complex negotiations with world leaders.
The momentous decision to essentially ‘write-off’ the landmass known as the UK – albeit temporarily - had been taken, and the re-location of the scattered waifs and strays throughout the world who possessed British Passports was underway.
Sir Ian met with the Secretary General of the UN privately and was assured of continuing humanitarian support. He addressed the UN Assembly la
ter in the day, making a moving and compelling speech, stating the case for international forbearance and support. By the encouragingly, but not unanimously warm reception he received as he sat down, that critical backing seemed assured.
However, he was not naïve and realised that many nations across the globe secretly relished the British downfall, and that their co-operation would be strictly limited to a minimum.
The President of the United States was generous and supportive.
‘We can now take sixty-thousand of your citizens, Sir Ian, and the first are trickling in as we speak.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you Mr President. By your lead, others follow,’ replied Sir Ian with sincere gratitude. The special relationship’ was reaping untold dividends.
The Prime Minister met with dozens of world leaders over the coming days, both individually and collectively, securing promises of relocation numbers. The Commonwealth was the most generous – as he had expected – but he was surprised and touched by some of the assistance he was being offered. Even North Korea made friendly noises, but he couldn’t imagine sending any Britons to Pyong-Yang just yet!
Finance reared its ugly head on numerous occasions – as he knew it would – and he revealed the plan to recover the gold from the Bank of England and emphasised that a further US$500 billion lay buried ready for extraction. He emphasised that Britain had some financial assets, but was also forced to admit that its re-emergence as a world power could take up to a century or more – if ever.
As a consequence, political leaders were hesitant to promise extra funding for the rebirth of the UK, but rather conceded that the best they could do in the short term was to take on the refugees.
After a week of meetings, discussions, argument and pity, Sir Ian was on the edge of despair and chronic fatigue.
He desperately needed to take a break and informed Ann Fletcher that he was travelling to Camp David for a week of rest and recuperation. She had control until the end of the month. He would return on the 31st of January to re-assume his place as British leader.
Dame Ann couldn’t have been more delighted.
***
The situation in central Europe was fraught, but coming under increasingly tighter control.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 84
