After some reflection and discussion, Brady and Chloe agreed in principle with Ann’s reticence, but decided in any case to travel to Quimper and make subtle contact. At first with Bryan, and then with the Stubbins.
Ann was not entirely unhappy with that arrangement, as she recalled the good doctor from the episode in her office some months before. She knew that he would be putty in her hands and may very well assist in the demise of Brady.
However, she must be patient and bide her time. Brady must be destroyed without alerting Chloe to Ann’s involvement, or she would certainly lose her again – and this time there would be no reprieve or touching reunion.
***
The next evening saw them at St Jean de Luz, just south of Biarritz. The crossing into France was uneventful. They were Dutch citizens heading back to Amsterdam and the French had no objections, even though they advised that road conditions were appalling and that there would be lengthy delays en-route. Their three new identities were not yet on any security radar and so they proceeded unhindered.
By Saturday evening, they were parked up in Camping Nantes, on the outskirts of the city, a mere one hundred and fifty miles from Quimper. However, as they researched the nature of the new Breton, they learned that the British Armed Forces were patrolling and blockading the new ‘border’, and they would need a watertight plan to cross safely into Brittany.
They would need a damned good reason to explain why they were entering Breton and not returning directly to Holland. So, that evening, they caught the tram into central Nantes and embarked on a ‘bar crawl’ before dinner, casually enquiring into the political situation. The locals were eager to talk about the new Breton and complained bitterly to Ann, whose fluent French and open purse encouraged loose tongues.
After a couple of hours of buying drinks and sympathising with their hosts, they realised that there was a way – albeit risky - into Breton which would not compromise their identities.
After dinner, they returned to the campsite and drew up their plans.
The next morning, Sunday 30th June, they would attempt an infiltration without being detected by the forces of Lord Irvine. None of the three really knew precisely why they were travelling to Brittany, or what they were going to do once they had established themselves.
Perhaps for Chloe it was merely curiosity and a reason to be involved with the new regime. For Brady: he wanted to be with his daughter – and for Ann – who could ever know what she was planning next?
***
They had learned from their bar crawl that the British patrols were not quite as comprehensive as they might like the rest of the world to believe. The main highways and junctions were certainly covered in the attempt to prevent ingress by terrified French refugees, but there were plenty of minor roads which allowed free and easy access into the main Breton territories. They had been advised to depart Nantes and head due north on the N137 towards Rennes. When they reached Nozay, they should take the road to Vay and then Plesse. It was then a series of minor roads travelling by a circuitous route ending up in Ouestembert via Herbignac, which should put them firmly in the new Breton without encountering the army. Once there, they could use their satnav to find their way to Quimper using the N160 via Lorient. Brady had checked the ACSI campsite book and had chosen Castel L’Orangerie de Lanniron, in fact the only site near enough to Quimper city to be useful. He had rung ahead and reserved a pitch with no problem, since tourism was at an all-time low.
The trio prepared their documentation in case of any unexpected road blocks and inquisitive questioning. They reconfirmed and rehearsed their story as Dutch/Swiss tourists wanting to take a look at Breton before returning north to Holland. The final task was to ensure that their new physical disguises matched their fake passports.
When all was prepared, they departed Nantes at 10am, topped up the fuel tank and set off for Quimper. It was a Sunday morning and the roads were quiet, and when they reached Nozay and turned off towards Vay, they barely saw another vehicle for miles. There was no sign of the British army and only once did they see a small military helicopter, identified by Brady as a RN Lynx, several miles in the distance.
It was an easy drive, although fairly tense, as they never really knew if an army road block would appear round the next bend. However, by midday, they intercepted the main N160 at Theix, just a few miles south west of Vannes and joined the flow of traffic going about their Sunday morning business. They bypassed the city via the ring road without incident, and reached Lorient in good time. As they approached Quimper, the traffic slowed and increased in volume, and it was here that they encountered their first road block.
‘Damn,’ swore Brady, ‘let's hope they let us straight through.’
However, their luck temporarily ran out as the motorhome was pulled over into a layby. A soldier approached the 'van and having spotted the Spanish number plate, clearly had several questions to ask.
Brady rolled down the driver’s window and smiled brightly as the sergeant approached.
‘Good morning,’ said Brady, trying his best to sound like an innocent tourist.
‘Passports, please,’ ordered the soldier, holding up his hand.
Chloe had been holding them in readiness and passed them through to the sergeant in quick time. He examined each carefully and then looked up at Brady before speaking again.
‘Please wait here sir, whilst I consult my officer and the computer. It won't take a second.’
Brady nodded and replied, ‘Okay,’ silently cursing but smiling anyway, trying to seem relaxed and unconcerned.
‘Are we sure of our passports?’ he asked nervously.
‘Well, mine is fine!’ snarled Ann, ‘I don’t know about yours.’
Chloe responded first:
‘Our contact in St Kitts was extremely professional and exceptionally expensive. There won't be any problem, I'm sure.’
Brady was too jumpy to reply, so sat silently awaiting the return of the sergeant.
In his place came a highly suspicious Major in the Military Police, armed with a swathe of probing questions.
‘Good morning, sir. May I enquire as to your business in Breton. We haven’t seen many tourists hereabouts for some time, let alone Dutch and Swiss in a Spanish 'van of German manufacture. It's odd, you’ll admit.’
Brady took a deep breath and launched into the cover story about being in Spain on holiday when the snow began and having remained in Marbella in relative safety until the crisis relaxed somewhat. (Luckily the Major didn’t test his Dutch!) However, now that the mutant threat had raised its’ ugly head, they were returning home to Hardenberg in north east Holland to re-join relatives and check out their respective properties. They had been travelling hard for almost a week and had decided to take a detour into Breton to check out the new set up.
It all sounded plausible and the Major listened in silence as he absorbed the story.
‘How long do you plan to stay in Quimper, sir?’ he probed.
‘Only a few days, just to gather our wits and get some rest. We need to plan a route through the chaos in France first.’
‘Yes, you will, sir. It's pretty rugged out there. How is it that you weren’t picked up by one of our border patrols?’
His attempt at springing a trap didn’t work.
‘Sat nav, Major. It doesn’t like this part of the world. We got awfully lost after leaving Nantes.’
‘Oh, is that right, sir. You don’t sound Dutch, if I might say so, sir.’
Brady smiled and again replied easily.
‘Dutch father, British mother – dual nationality. Lived all my life in the UK – where my other passport lies in the mud.’
The policeman paused as if to ask another question, when his attention was drawn to an altercation and raised voices directly behind him. He turned and walked a few paces towards the incident when Brady called after him:
‘Major, is that all, can we get on?’
The soldier stopped, turned, hesitate
d momentarily and then re-approached the 'van.
‘Alright, sir. Just one week, please.’
He handed up the three passports and turned back towards his rear and the increasing intensity of an argument in French and English.
Brady didn’t need to be told twice. He started the 'van’s engine and drove smartly away through the road block and onwards towards Quimper.
‘Shit, that was close,’ mouthed Ann.
‘Never mind,’ said Chloe, ‘we made it, and they are just too busy to check our details. In any case, it's not a police state. I think that they are after French refugees, not tourists.’
Brady signalled his agreement as he accelerated towards Quimper and the safety of the campsite, which they reached within half an hour. It was basically deserted, so they had the pick of the pitches. They selected a quiet corner and set up camp. An hour later they were in the city centre, having asked reception to call them a taxi.
As they ate lunch, Chloe asked what their next move would be.
‘Well, I don’t know about you two,’ stated Ann positively, ‘but I'm going to contact John Stubbins first thing in the morning and find out just what's going on around here.’
Brady advised caution.
‘Just you be careful Ann. If he smells a rat, we might have Irvine’s people on our backs sooner than we thought.’
‘Don’t panic, Andy, I know what I'm doing. I'm not a complete fool!’
Brady looked at Chloe and raised his eyes to the ceiling:
‘That's exactly what I'm worried about!’
Day 199 / Z-Day 164
Sunday 30th June - Noon
Breton
‘The broadcasters are ready for you First Minister.’
Phillip Singh remained as the PPS to the most senior minister of the old British political hierarchy. He had survived the downfall of Sir Ian James and Ann Fletcher and all of the scandal which that involved. He was a career civil servant and none of that administrative fallout had affected his position. He was a highly competent, high ranking assistant and provided the continuity required at such a precarious time.
‘Excellent,’ replied Lord Irvine confidently, ‘I'm ready to go, so let them in to set up their gear. I have a short meeting with the Health Minister and will return at 1130 with M. Zadou and make myself available. Is my speech complete, Phillip?’
‘Yes sir. The news crew have the script and are transposing it to the tele-prompter.’
‘Good, I’ll see you in an hour. I’ll leave everything in your capable hands.’
Phillip Singh nodded and hurried away to finalise the preparations for the noon speech which would formerly declare the formation of Breton. Irvine would be accompanied by M. Zadou, the Breton Prime Minister, who would endorse the announcement. It would be a momentous day in the history of Britain and her new French ally. There would be no turning back – certainly whilst the United Kingdom was in such a ruinous state. The mutant threat precluded any return to the old homeland for the foreseeable future, and this God-given opportunity to settle in Brittany was the best chance of survival for the British race. Lord Irvine was not prepared to squander it!
The transfer from Brussels continued apace and the administration had been inundated with requests from old British passport holders to return to Breton from all over the world.
Ex-pats, those trapped in far flung reaches of the world by the disaster and thousands of forcibly resettled refugees were all scrabbling to return ‘home’.
Lord Irvine intended to promise that they could all settle in Breton. It may take some months, but anyone with evidence of domicile in the old UK would be allowed to re-relocate to Breton in due course.
It was their right.
***
Meanwhile 'The Rook' was ready.
Her army of near starving and rabid mutants had streamed south towards the crossing points and were now massing in Kent and Sussex. The horde backed up as far as London and despite incessant bombing attacks from the human air forces, nearly one million had survived intact and mobile, and were ready for the invasion.
Many thousands of others had embarked in any vessel which would float, and at 0001 hours on Monday the first of July had set sail for France and Belgium.
However, this was only a diversion. 'The Rook' intended and assumed that the human spies would pick up the mass movement on the surface and all available aircraft would be diverted to deal with the threat.
Whilst her seaborne fleet sailed east, the main thrust of her attack would commence.
And the humans would not be ready.
***
Lord Irvine commenced his address to the world at noon precisely, declaring the formation of the new Breton, and there was much shaking of hands, back slapping and general frivolity between him and M. Zadou.
They both gave moderately lengthy speeches outlining the plans for the future, which more or less coincided in philosophy and spirit. Crowds of French and British citizens had gathered outside the administrative HQ and were celebrating the new union in good spirit. The old flag of Brittany – black and white striped – had been interspersed with red and blue and flew over the square outside the building. Everybody seemed happy.
However, the euphoria merely temporarily blocked out the menace creeping closer from the west.
As the celebrations came to a close, the first reports of the bombing of the mutant invasion fleet filtered in and quickly usurped the headlines.
Elation turned quickly to apprehension and terror.
***
Brady, Ann and Chloe had watched the ceremonies on TV in a bar in Quimper, and had watched as the crowds quickly dispersed when the news of the mutant attack began to dominate the bulletin.
‘Well, that puts the cat amongst the pigeons,’ commented Brady. ‘Shall we go back to Spain? It seems the logical solution.’
Before the others had a chance to answer, the newsreader made a sudden and solemn announcement, in French, but with English subtitles:
‘It has just been announced from European Headquarters in Brussels that, in an attempt to cease the flow of human traffic, certain measures are to be put in force with immediate effect.
Firstly, a State of European Emergency has been declared. This will involve a European wide curfew from 8pm to 6am starting today, the first of July. Any breaches of this curfew will be met with deadly force by the military and the police. Anyone on the streets between these hours will be assumed to be a mutant and will be fired upon and destroyed. The countries involved are France, Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Denmark and Norway.
Secondly, the following borders are now closed:
France – Germany. France – Italy. Germany – Denmark. Germany – Holland. Germany – Belgium. Norway – Sweden. Spain – France.
An announcement regarding the Breton – French border will be made shortly.
Commercial flights from and into France will continue, but at a much reduced rate. Check with your airline or the internet for details before travelling.’
The three stared at the screen and then at each other:
‘Well, that's torn it,’ exclaimed Brady, ‘we are well and truly trapped.’
Ann swallowed her brandy in one gulp and made her position clear.
‘Well, I'm not bloody well trapped anywhere. I'm off to contact John Stubbins. If he's in such a powerful position, then it's payback time. I've got several markers to cash in with that fellow and I intend to take full advantage. I’ll see you back at the 'van. I’ve got my phone, so if you need me, text.’
With that, she stood and flounced out of the bar, leaving Chloe and Brady, as usual, in her wake.
‘Nothing’s changed, I see,’ quipped Brady, ‘I wonder if she’ll include us in her escape plans. I doubt it.’
‘You might be right,’ retorted Chloe, ‘perhaps we should return to the campsite and make plans or our own.’
Once again, before Brady could reply, the TV anchor made another sombre announcement:
‘Well, that's us fucked then,’ moaned Brady, ‘we need a plan, Clo. Let's get back to the 'van and see what we can come up with. And perhaps your mother will come up trumps for once in her life.’
Chloe grimaced – ‘I'm not holding my breath.’
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 136
