by Robin Crumby
“Thank God you guys were listening. The Brits here are dithering, they’re cut-off from their chain of command and seem incapable of making a decision for themselves.”
“We have an asset overhead right now. Looks like you have quite a party in progress.”
“We thought we heard something. I wondered if that was you.”
“Always keeping an eye on you. You know me.”
“That’s so sweet,” she said as Jack gave her a quizzical look that made her feel self-conscious.
“What do you have in mind? We need some guidance here. It seems like quite a confused situation you got there. Good guys and bad guys all mixed up.”
Jack grabbed the handset and took over. “We need to evacuate the civilians before things turn ugly here. If you can get some transportation up here nice and quiet, we might be able to get the civilians out without them noticing.”
Riley was gesticulating at him, but it was too late. Now anyone listening in would know their plan.
“It’s risky. I might be able to get my hands on a couple of R.I.Bs, but not enough for forty five. The other option is you find a secure location, like a basement, and barricade yourself in till the morning when we can get some reinforcements to you.”
“We don’t think we can last out that long. The last thing I want to do is get trapped in a basement with no food, water, or radio reception.”
“Understood, then let’s keep that as a last resort.”
“Listen Guardian Angel, we don’t have much battery left. I’ll power it up again in half an hour and see what you’ve come up with. In the meantime, we’ll get everyone ready just in case you can get us out.”
“Copy that. Will come back to you when I know more.”
***
Outside the castle gates, in the warmth of the pick-up truck’s cabin, Terra was sitting next to Briggs with the air-con turned up, flexing her gloved fingers next to the heater vent. Copper and Victor were huddled together in the cramped back seat alongside two others. A voice came over the handheld radio lying on the dashboard and Briggs grabbed it impatiently.
“Boss, we just intercepted a series of transmissions we believe to have come from Flynn’s men inside the castle. Sounds like they are experiencing some communication issues. They can’t raise their Captain and they don’t know what to do.”
“Excellent. Victor, your jamming device seems to be worth the price we paid for it,” said Copper with a smug grin spreading across his face. Victor nodded. He looked relieved more than anything else.
“They’re cut-off,” he mumbled, “they’ll have to make their own decisions now.”
“I’m sorry I doubted you,” conceded Briggs.
“By the way, we also intercepted another call on an insecure channel. They were talking in code. An American and a woman’s voice. Sounds like they’re trying to organise a rescue.”
“How romantic,” mocked Briggs. “Make sure we’re ready for them. So Terra, how is it to be back at your former home? I told you I had a surprise for you.”
“I love it darling,” she enthused. “Seems different to the last time I was here. They’ve fortified the whole place. I don’t remember those machine gun nests around the walls or the steel panels welded to the front gate. Seems like they’ve learned a thing or two from the last time someone tried to break in.”
“It won’t make any difference,” shrugged Victor.
“We didn’t try to break in,” corrected Copper, “we ransacked this place. Nearly burned it to the ground.”
“If that’s true then why the hell are we back here cleaning up your mess? If you’d have done your job properly and not left a certain someone behind, we wouldn’t need to be here.”
“Last time, we underestimated them. It won’t happen again.”
“And tell me again, what’s the deal with the Sister?” asked Briggs, turning towards Copper.
“She’s the veil of respectability we talked about. She makes this whole thing legitimate.”
“Who is she though?”
“She runs a women-only group we worked with a while back. Based in a hotel near New Milton up until a fire ripped through the place. They moved out of the area and we lost contact. We had an arrangement. Quid pro quo.”
“Now I am curious,” said Briggs. “What sort of arrangement?”
“Protection, food, that sort of thing. Plus they had some weird breeding programme.”
“Breeding programme?”
“Yeah, it proved very popular with the men back at the hospital. I used to get a lot of volunteers. Something to look forward to on a cold winter night.”
“All makes sense now. If they’re going to start repopulating the place, they’ll need a massive baby boom,” mused Victor. “It’s no wonder they’re crying out for young women of child-rearing age on the island. I heard they have a maternity unit set up near Newtown with line after line of empty beds and infant cots. The Sisterhood will get VIP treatment.”
“The Professor mentioned something about a wide-scale vaccination programme. In time, he said that they would be able to inoculate at birth, or genetically alter the embryos before they’re born or something.”
“I wouldn’t believe everything he tells us. The scientists told us there is no vaccine, that they’re still learning about the virus. It could be decades before they can move beyond the theory.”
Their conversation petered out for a few seconds as they noticed some activity on the castle walls. A soldier was carrying a box of something towards the machine gun nest covering the entrance to the castle.
Terra remained puzzled by Briggs confidence. She felt a little nervous sat directly in the firing line. They were virtually staring down the barrel of the machine gun. It wasn’t just the threat of violence, she was also distinctly uncomfortable being this close to her old home and Jack. She knew most of the other people she had spent time with would already have left. After all this time, she wondered what she would say to Jack.
The last time she had seen Zed and Riley, it was under impossible circumstances. She had watched helpless as they were interrogated and beaten. She had tried to intercede on their behalf but Victor had told her not to get involved. She thought back to what Briggs had done to Zed’s arm and shuddered in horror.
The sheer brutality had been unforgivable. He was inhuman, barbaric, almost medieval in his despicable use of torture. Yet, hadn’t she allowed it to happen? She could have spoken up, appealed to Briggs’ mercy, but she had remained silent. That sat heavily on her conscience. In a funny way, had Zed been killed outright, at least there would have been closure. Like this, her discomfort and guilt remained raw. They would assume she was guilty by association.
All these unsettling thoughts were still buzzing around her head when she realised with a slight jolt that she had completely missed what Briggs had said to her and noticed him staring. He didn’t like to be ignored.
“I said, do you know where they’ll be holding Damian King?”
“Well, not for certain, but really there are only two likely places,” she replied animatedly, thinking through the various options. “There are a couple of dry storage rooms with lockable doors, where they have kept people before. They’re in the bowels of the castle. He’ll be in there, I’d imagine.”
“I reckon it’s time to stir up the hornet’s nest and see if we can’t get inside. Copper, have a word with the Sister can you? Let’s keep pushing Jack’s buttons. Sooner or later, they’re going to let their guard down. Let’s keep our wits about us. Tonight could still be full of surprises.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The crew quarters on board the Chester were a little basic for Zed’s liking. Even after more than two years of sleeping in a draughty castle on an assortment of threadbare mattresses and shared rooms, this was a new low. The bunk he had been assigned to for the night was in a bunk room that smelled musty and lived-in. His guide had apologised and explained that all the officer quarters were occupied so this w
as the best they could do at short notice.
He was issued with a blanket with a residual stench of damp and sweat masked by fabric conditioner or possibly air freshener, he couldn’t tell. The foam pillow offered little support and was heavily stained with an oily residue from what he assumed was Brylcream or some other hair product. It was at least warm, but with the air conditioning turned off on this level to conserve power, it was stifling and airless down here. He was sharing the room with half a dozen others who seemed to come and go at all hours as they rotated through different watches.
He was woken by a firm nudge in the back which he shrugged off as the clumsy actions of another transient room mate. The hand on his shoulder was more insistent the second time.
“Zed, wake up.”
It was a voice he recognised but he felt so exhausted that he tried to ignore it, hoping they would go away.
“Zed, you need to wake up. We’ve just heard from Riley and Jack. Briggs and Copper have just showed up at the castle. I thought you’d want to know.”
His eyes flickered open, suddenly wide awake. He sat up too quickly, smashing his head against the bunk above. Swinging his legs over the edge, he clutched his forehead, still seeing double. He remembered the pills the Doctor had given him which must explain why he felt so groggy and disoriented. He hoped it would pass quickly but knew from experience it would take several cups of strong coffee.
“What time is it anyway? It felt like I just dropped off.”
“It’s about midnight. Come on, we don’t have much time. Here are your clothes.”
Zed slid into his jeans and finished getting dressed on their way to the Ops Centre. Jones filled him in en route, relaying the bones of his conversation with Riley.
“So what’s the plan? Can you get that many out?”
“Unlikely, not without anyone noticing. If I was Briggs, I’d have the whole castle surrounded, all landing areas patrolled. From the thermal imaging we got from the drone, we assume they’re using the civilians as human shields, trying to stop us launching a surgical attack. It’s smart. We can’t touch Briggs and Copper without collateral damage. And if we did try and mount a rescue, it’s uncertain how the crowd would react. They could turn on us. It’s more complicated than it sounds.”
They passed the medical centre on their way, passing room after room of men sleeping or keeping watch over their stations throughout the night.
“What do the Colonel and Lieutenant Peterson suggest?”
“Well, there’s the rub. Hurst is under the command of the Royal Navy, so technically, Captain Armstrong is in charge. Officially we can offer assistance only when it’s been asked for.”
“And unofficially?”
“Unofficially,” he winked, “we can do whatever the hell we like. As long as no one finds out.”
“You mean ‘ask for forgiveness not permission’?”
“Something like that. I still need to get sign off from the CO. I can’t just take my team out on personal crusades and vendettas you know. If Peterson gives this the green light, then we’ll go get Riley and as many of the others as we can get out.”
“And if we get the chance, what about Briggs?”
“This is a rescue mission, not an assassination attempt.”
“Fair enough, so what are we waiting for? When do we leave?”
“Wait a minute. I never said anything about you. My team are specialists at this type of operation. It’s what we do. Having a civilian along is not advisable. Especially one with only one arm.”
“Listen Jones, no one knows that place like I do. If you’re going to get in there without anyone knowing, then I’m the only person who can help. You need me.”
Jones tilted his head, weighing up the options, playing it out in his mind. He didn’t seem overly convinced, but shook on it anyway.
“This is a bad idea, but I don’t have a better one. You’re going to need some kit,” he said looking him up and down, “can’t have you tagging along looking like that.”
***
The two R.I.Bs loaded with four men each were slowly lowered one by one down the steep sided hull of the destroyer. They swung out over the water underneath the davits whose pulleys and ropes whirred with electrical efficiency. With a small splash, they touched down in the light swell. One of Jones’s men released the cables and they revved their twin outboard engines and headed out to join the other R.I.B which was waiting for them off the Chester’s bow.
Zed looked around at Jones and his two other companions on the R.I.B. They were dressed head to toe in black, with webbing and pouches accentuating their bulk. They wore black helmets with night vision goggles secured at the front and balaclavas that covered their faces. He found it hard to distinguish one from the other. From spending time with these guys during the trip to Porton Down, he knew they were professionals. They looked relaxed but alert. They kept conversation to an absolute minimum, facing outwards, eyes on the shoreline and surrounding water for any unexpected contact.
The sea state was relatively calm compared with the storms of the previous week. At night fall, the wind had dropped to barely above a whisper, so there was a residual swell only. It made for a comfortable half-hour sprint up to the castle in the darkness, surfing across the waves at nearly thirty knots.
Zed had been kitted out with the same uniform as the soldiers. Unlike the others who seemed to be bristling with knives and weapons, he had been given a matt black Heckler and Koch Colt pistol which he had secured to a chest holster integrated with his body armour. Jones had been clear, it was for emergencies only. He was their guide. If they encountered any resistance, he was to sit tight and let them deal with it. With a shrug, he was content to go along with the plan. He was in no position to argue on this occasion.
When they got to within a half mile of the castle they cut their speed to avoid any unnecessary noise. There was a westerly wind which would help mask their approach, but they needed surprise on their side if their plan had any hope of working.
Jones unclipped the handheld radio and raised it to his mouth.
“Irish girl, this is Guardian Angel. E.T.A ten minutes.”
“Copy.”
Zed had briefed them carefully before they left. There were several landing areas accessible to small craft that lay between the sea defences and groynes, hidden from view from all but those on the castle walls or waiting on the shingle beach. Ironically, it was the same route that Copper’s men had used to attack the castle, though this time, the plan was to break out, not in.
There were scattered clouds and a thin crescent moon. Unless Briggs’ men had infrared gear, it was very unlikely they would see the R.I.Bs as they drifted in silently on the waves.
Jones gestured for Zed and the other men in the R.I.B to crouch low as they cut the engine and grabbed a single paddle to steer them the remaining hundred meters to the beach. Zed lowered the night vision goggles into place and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. What he saw made his eyes nearly pop-out on stalks.
***
Jack and Riley gathered the remaining civilians in the Hurst canteen where he had quietly briefed them about their planned escape. On the sides were stacked unwashed dishes and pans from the evening’s dinner which had been cut short by the approach of the convoy.
“Listen, we’ve only got one shot at this,” said Jack. “We need to be ready on top of the roof by the back wall in ten minutes’ time. Space on the boats will be tight, so don’t bring any bags. Just wear warm clothes and meet back here as quickly as you can.”
“What do we say to the soldiers if they ask?”
“Say nothing. If they find out what we’re doing, they’ll try and stop us. Okay, off you go, time is of the essence.”
A few minutes later the first of them arrived back wearing heavy woollen coats, hats, waterproof trousers, whatever they could find at short notice. Jack surveyed the motley crew and removed items they were carrying that were superfluous: children’s toys, keepsak
es, weapons.
“You won’t need any of that. We’ll come back and get your stuff another time,” he lied, knowing full well that for many of them, this would be a one-way trip to the island, possibly never to return. They would be leaving all of their worldly possessions behind. Jack knew that, for Scottie in particular, it would be hard. He had spent the last couple of years curating a vast library of rare books and first editions gathered from the local area. Hurst’s museum cabinets displayed curiosities from a by-gone age. Vinyl records, games consoles, computers, mobile phones and expensive wrist watches. Posters from rock concerts, gold disks, paintings, and sculptures. It was a treasure trove of memorabilia. A time-capsule of what life had been like before the outbreak.
For the rest of them, they would not look back. Moving to the island would be a fresh start, their slate wiped clean.
Riley led the first group out on to the roof, keeping them low and hidden in the shadows, in case anyone was scanning the building for movement. Jack joined her and uncoiled the long mooring line which Sam had been splicing with a new eye. The rope was dry and warm, covered in crusted green algae and seaweed that crumbled in his hands. He looped it through the new eye and secured the end round the post of a rusted railing and tested the line. It would hold, Jack was fairly sure, but only if they went one at a time.
He looked over the edge and scanned the shoreline, searching for Jones. Even from this elevated position, he couldn’t see anything but knew they were close. Directly below them, he heard displaced stones and a cough that betrayed the presence of one of Briggs’ men. Jack shuffled back into the shadows away from the edge, gesturing to the others to stay low and keep quiet.
***
Through Zed’s night-vision goggles, he could see three heat signatures standing separately along the beach. One appeared to be smoking which would render his ability to see in the dark as virtually nil. Another was hiding in the shadows, trying to warm himself, alternately throwing his arms wide before clutching his sides, panting heavily. The other further up the beach was looking in the wrong direction, out towards Christchurch Bay. One of Jones’s men had a longer barrel weapon and took up a firing position, aiming towards the first of the guards.
