The Hurst Chronicles (Book 2): Sentinel

by Robin Crumby

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Riley was with Jack and Sergeant Flynn on top of the Gun Tower at the centre of the Hurst castle complex. It gave them a panoramic view of the approaches and the long line of people and vehicles heading their way. The exterior sodium floodlights set up along the castle walls revealed a sorry procession of men and women.

  On the refugees’ feet, many of them wore shoes wrapped in plastic and strips of blankets to shield them against the worst of the weather. Others were hooded, carrying duvets, sleeping bags and waterproof sheeting. It was like a moving conveyor belt of human detritus, transported by the last vestiges of hope. Though several carried weapons, this wasn’t an army in any conventional sense. They were refugees on their way to the island. So why on earth, wondered Riley, were they taking the time and trouble to visit the castle?

  The Toyota pick-up truck at the head of the convoy turned front on to face them, parking near the main entrance to the Tudor castle. The vehicle behind pulled in alongside in full view of the figures on top of the Gun Tower.

  Riley was trying to make out the faces of the five people sitting in the back of the truck. One of the men stood up as if on cue, leaning over the truck’s cabin to angle a powerful light towards his face so he could be seen. He certainly didn’t look familiar.

  He reached down into the belly of the truck and pulled out what appeared to be a loud hailer, like they used in public meetings and protests she had attended on NHS picket lines. He fiddled with the switch and was met by dissonant feedback, echoing round the castle walls. He adjusted the volume, apologising to those around him who were clutching their hands over their ears. He pointed the megaphone away from his body and tried again. He depressed the button and blew into it a couple of times to check it was working and then cleared his throat.

  “People of Hurst, people of Hurst,” he repeated, seemingly self-consciously at the sound of his booming voice reverberating round the brick and stone. “We come to you in peace as your allies and friends.”

  “Where have we heard that before?” whispered Riley.

  “Many of us have walked a long way to join you today. We are in urgent need of food and shelter for the night.”

  “Why are you here?” shouted one of Flynn’s men from above the gate.

  “We’re on our way to the island and were told you would be able to give us shelter.”

  “There are too many of you,” shouted Flynn’s man, before he was hushed by the soldier next to him.

  “Please, we have women and children, senior citizens who will die if they stay out in the open.”

  “It’s a trick,” said Riley under her breath. “Don’t trust them.”

  There was a silence as both sides seem to take stock.

  “I understand that Hurst is now under military command,” he continued with growing authority, “with a humanitarian obligation to provide assistance to those who request it. May I ask who is in charge here?”

  Riley glanced at Jack who seemed unsure how to answer. Technically, Hurst was under military control and Sergeant Flynn was the highest-ranking soldier, but he seemed reluctant to step forward. Flynn was no politician, that was for sure. He gestured Jack forward, encouraging him to respond on Hurst’s behalf.

  “I am Jack, may I know who you are?”

  “Jack?” he sounded surprise, “I was led to believe that you had already left for the island. My name is not important, but you can call me David. There are others amongst us that know you better than I.”

  With that, he stepped aside and handed the loudhailer to the hooded figure behind him. The figure rose from the shadow cast by the truck’s cabin. The woman theatrically threw back her hood so that her features caught the light for the first time. It was a face Riley would never forget.

  “Jack, we have not met though I feel we know each other well. My name is Sister Theodora. I sent my emissary, Sister Imelda, to you several days ago and she is still not returned. Am I to believe that she is being held captive here?”

  “On the contrary, the Sister is alive and well. She is our guest, not our prisoner. I will fetch her for you, so she can speak for herself.”

  Jack passed the instruction to Tommy who set off in search of the Sister.

  “I have heard it said that you hold several prisoners here and that anyone who stands against you is swiftly dealt with. Is this what Hurst has become, a lawless enclave?”

  “Not while I live and breathe. Hurst is a beacon of freedom and fraternity.”

  “Then how do you explain that she was sent here to plea for help and has been so poorly treated? My request was that you hand over Jean and Joe to us so that they may stand trial for their crimes. We maintain that both of them were responsible for the fire that killed many innocent people from my group.”

  “They deny what you are accusing them of and I believe them. Even so, I offered to hold the hearing here at Hurst on neutral ground, but Sister Imelda refused. She insisted they be tried by their peers back at the Chewton Glen. I disagreed. Considering you claim they are guilty, I don’t see how they could get a fair trial.”

  “If that’s your final decision, then so be it. You have sealed your own fate. Harbouring known criminals makes you and all who reside here accomplices.”

  “My offer stands. I believe it is fair and right. We would guarantee an independent and fair trial, free of prejudice, conducted by those with no affiliation to the people you accuse. Sister Imelda was adamant that any such claims of independence were false. It now seems clear that she came here with no intention of compromise or settlement. Let’s be clear what this is about: revenge, not justice.”

  “Sometimes, they are one and the same.”

  “Only if you believe in a natural law and a violent justice, red in tooth and claw.”

  “I assure you, sir, we are God-fearing folk, not vigilantes. We simply want to see those responsible held to account for what they did.”

  Tommy appeared through the roof top entrance with Sister Imelda trailing behind. She was brought to the edge of the Gun Tower roof so that those below could see her.

  “Are you well Sister? Why did you not return?”

  “Because they refused my request outright, as you rightly predicted. Sister, I knew that if I waited, eventually you would come.”

  “And here I am,” she replied, throwing her arms wide. “Now perhaps you can make them see sense before this situation deteriorates further.”

  With that the Sister sat back down and the man next to her clicked off the beam of light illuminating the party in the pick-up truck. In the silence that followed, a hubbub of conversation could be heard throughout the castle and the crowd outside.

  ***

  At the heart of the Tudor castle, Sister Imelda pleaded with Jack and Sergeant Flynn to come to their senses. She turned to Riley.

  “Riley please, you know what Sister Theodora is capable of. Once she’s set her mind to something, she doesn’t back down.”

  “And the people she’s come here with, who are they?”

  “Some of them I recognise, local groups we worked with, but there are too many to explain this great a number. They must have come from far and wide. Bournemouth, Christchurch, Weymouth, Poole, who knows? We know there are a lot of people trying to reach the island.”

  “Do they not see the military presence here? The decisions here are no longer mine to make,” said Jack with a heavy heart. “Sergeant Flynn is in command.”

  “Then Sergeant I beg you. Give her what she wants. Throw open your gates and give them shelter for the night.”

  “We all have orders Sister. This isn’t some refugee centre. We’re not set up to dispense humanitarian aid. This is a military outpost charged with the defence of the Solent. The only thing I can do is call this in and see if we can get dispensation to release food and bedding, but we’re not opening those gates.”

  “May I remind you Sergeant that you have a humanitarian duty to provide assistance to civilians in distress?”r />
  “Not when they issue threats,” countered Jack. “Don’t be fooled Flynn, this is an attacking force. They intend to occupy the spit and force a settlement. Be sure to relay that to headquarters. The only thing bullies respect is force.”

  “These are civilians, Jack, not soldiers,” reassured the Sister. “Surely you don’t intend to fire your weapons at unarmed men, women and children?”

  Riley was listening to the Sister’s attempts to twist and distort with increasing frustration. “You really are a piece of work. Don’t come over all innocent. You know full well that this whole crusade is a charade. How do you explain the large number of heavily armed men flanking the refugees? Do you really think we wouldn’t notice them quietly occupying the spit over the last few hours, surrounding the castle and posting lookouts to spy on us?”

  “I assure you…” started the Sister, playing the innocent.

  She was interrupted by a commotion outside. Riley could hear the repeated beeping of car horns as two vehicles attempted to barge their way through. The crowds in between them and the gate were pressed closer together and they had to physically ease people aside. They were playing what sounded like Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro at top volume.

  Racing back up to the roof of the Gun Tower, Riley could see an expensive looking Range Rover and what looked like a Humvee. Rounding the far corner of the castle, they were flashing their headlights urgently, nudging people aside as they progressed towards the main gate. The two vehicles both screeched to a halt, scattering stones at the shins and ankles of those around them. The doors flew open and Riley recognised the swagger and self-importance of Briggs and his entourage. Last but not least emerged the Professor and Copper.

  Riley could scarcely believe her eyes. She hurried back towards the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time, stumbling and grabbing at the rail to keep herself upright. She ran across the courtyard, through the Tudor gate towards the gatehouse. Inside, two of Flynn’s men looked surprised by the interruption. One of them was trying to raise headquarters on the communications equipment set up on the desk.

  “Can I help you?” asked one of them as if she was interrupting something important.

  “I need to get an urgent message to Sergeant Jones on board the Chester.”

  “I’m sorry, if you come back in the morning, I’d be happy to help get a message to your boyfriend, but with what’s going on outside, now’s not really the time,” he said with heavy sarcasm.

  “What? No, look, it’s important. I’ve just come from the Chester. I’m one of the team that just returned from Porton Down. I need to tell Jones that those men outside are the same ones that ambushed us.”

  “Now look, I don’t care who you are or where you’ve come from. I take my orders from Sergeant Flynn, not you, so if you don’t mind…” he said rising from his chair.

  Riley looked him up and down dismissively, her blood boiling at his petty bureaucracy and male chauvinism. “We’re wasting time. Please don’t make me go get the Sergeant. I promise you, you’ll regret it.”

  “Last warning. Either you get out or I’ll have you thrown out. Private Lester, show this lady out would you?”

  “Yes, Corporal.”

  Riley clenched her fist and thought about ramming him up against the wall, but thought better of it. “You idiot. You’ve probably just got us all killed. I’ll be back, God help me, I’ll be back.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Riley stormed out of the radio room and headed back up the stairs to find Flynn. Her mind was churning. Briggs and Copper must be supremely confident. They were taking a mighty big risk coming here. She wondered whether the presence of the Sister lent an air of respectability to their mission tonight.

  She found Flynn on the roof top scanning the convoy with a pair of binoculars.

  ‘Sergeant, can I have a word please,” asked Riley impatiently.

  The Sergeant seemed distracted, as if he had just spotted something in the distance he didn’t like the look of. He ignored her and relayed further instructions to Corporal Ballard who was on the walkway below him, keeping his voice low to avoid alarming others. Riley turned to Jack in despair.

  “Jack, please. This is important. Why won’t anyone listen to me?” she said physically stamping her foot in anger.

  “What is it, Riley?” asked Jack, noticing her frustration for the first time.

  “We have to get a message to Lieutenant Peterson. You do realise who those men are?”

  “Never seen them before. Don’t tell me, friends of the Sisters?”

  “No, much worse. The man on the right, the tall one there,” she said pointing at the figure striding around purposefully shouting at his men, “is Briggs, and the shorter, stouter one next to him is Copper.”

  “You mean the Copper who led the attack on Hurst? Why didn’t you say anything before?”

  “I’ve been trying to tell you for the last twenty minutes but no one’s listening.”

  “Sergeant,” interrupted Jack to no effect. “Sergeant,” he shouted, more insistent this time. The Sergeant looked up flustered.

  “What is it Jack?” he replied with some irritation. “Look, I’m sorry, I appreciate your help, but this is now a military matter.”

  “You do realise who we’re dealing with? That man out there is Briggs,” he paused waiting for a reaction, but Flynn seemed not to recognise the name. “You know, public enemy number one, the man who attacked the convoy from Porton Down?” he said pointing towards the figure now staring at them, as if he could hear every word. “And the other guy there led the attack on Hurst a few months back.”

  “Rings a bell, but so what? Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because now it all makes sense. I know why they’re really here.”

  “Weren’t you listening Jack? They’ve already told us their reasons.”

  “Don’t be fooled Sergeant. That’s all a smoke screen. The real reason they’re here is Damian King.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he said, increasingly frustrated with Flynn’s refusal to take their concerns seriously. “They want him back. He’s been held prisoner here for months. I’ve always refused requests to hand him over. If anyone should stand trial for what they’ve done, it’s him.”

  “Slow down, you’re not making any sense.”

  “What I’m saying is that, not only do they want us to hand over Joe and Jean, but they’re also here for Damian King. They’re using the Sister as a patsy, a smokescreen.”

  “Jack’s right,” Riley leaned in supportively. “Sergeant, if you give an inch, they’ll take a mile. This whole place could fall like a house of cards.”

  “Trust me,” continued Jack. “They’re out for revenge. They want to finish what they started when they first attacked this place.”

  “But listen,” cautioned Flynn. “I don’t have a whole lot of choice. I appreciate what you’re saying, but at the end of the day, they’re right, we do have a duty to provide humanitarian assistance.”

  “Has everyone lost their heads around here?” implored Riley throwing her hands in the air. “No offence Sergeant, but this is above your pay grade. Call it in to command. Let Colonel Abrahams decide what should be done.”

  Flynn bristled at Riley’s condescension. “I take my orders from Captain Armstrong, not the Colonel or the Americans.”

  “But you said yourself that the Captain is not answering, so what are you going to do Flynn?”

  “There’s not much more I can do. Without authorisation, all I can do is wait.”

  “Unbelievable,” raged Riley. “Every minute we delay they’re surrounding this place. Then what?”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have a base to organise,” shrugged Flynn to Riley’s thinly-concealed annoyance. He walked away to find Corporal Ballard for an update.

  “Jack,” said Riley conspiratorially, “we can’t wait around for them to get their act together. We need to
take steps right now. There must be another way of contacting the Colonel and Peterson. They need to know this. Do we have any other way of getting the word out? What happened to all our old walkie talkies?”

  “Follow me Riley. Don’t worry,” he winked, “we’ve still got a few tricks up our sleeves.”

  ***

  Riley followed Jack through the corridors of the castle to a store cupboard where he had stowed some of his gear ready for transfer to the island. Inside a grey canvas bag was his service revolver and a black walkie talkie with a charger cable. He checked the safety and tucked the revolver in his belt, along with a handful of bullets. Grabbing the radio, he powered it up and was relieved to find that it still held a charge.

  “It’s short range Riley, so they may not hear anything we say, but it’s worth a try.”

  She snatched it from his hand and turned the dial till the digital read-out showed ‘Channel Nine’. She closed her eyes, composing her thoughts for what she wanted to say. She had to assume that others less friendly to their cause would be listening.

  “This is an urgent message for Jones, this is Irish girl. The men from the Forest are here now. Repeat, they are here now.”

  There was a crackle of static as she released the transmit button and then silence.

  “Jones said that one of his guys monitored this channel day and night, just in case,” said Riley anxiously.

  She looked at the handset and twisted the volume button to make sure it was working. There was a reassuring green light on the top by the on/off switch that suggested there was still power. Riley was just about to try again when an American voice answered: “Standby.”

  They exchanged excited looks and waited. She gnawed at her fingernails, hoping that the message had been received and understood. She trusted Jones’s team that it would be treated with the urgency it deserved.

  “Go ahead Irish girl. This is Guardian Angel. What can we do for you? I hear you have some visitors?”