Contents
Title Page
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1: Deception
Chapter 2: Escape
Chapter 3: The End of the Road
Chapter 4: Skipper
Chapter 5: The Parcel is Opened
Chapter 6: Into the Hornet’s Nest
Chapter 7: Trouble at Tower Bridge
Chapter 8: The Pastor strikes
Chapter 9: Sam
Chapter 10: 64 Baker Street
Chapter 11: Wanted
Chapter 12: Beaulieu
Chapter 13: The Recruit
Chapter 14: The First Night
Chapter 15: Assembly
Chapter 16: The Race
Chapter 17: Spy School
Chapter 18: Shooting Class
Chapter 19: Languages
Chapter 20: The Siege
Chapter 21: Exploding Rats
Chapter 22: The 9.59 to London
Chapter 23: Primrose Hill
Chapter 24: The Safe House
Chapter 25: The Trapdoor
Chapter 26: The Tunnel
Chapter 27: The Bell Foundry
Chapter 28: The British Museum
Chapter 29: The Astrolabe
Chapter 30: Memories
Chapter 31: The Chase
Chapter 32: The Lovebirds
Chapter 33: Fire and Brimstone
Chapter 34: The Greek Cross
Chapter 35: Flight from Butler’s Wharf
Chapter 36: The Light That Had Seemed So Bright
Chapter 37: Across Tower Bridge
Chapter 38: London Crumbles
Chapter 39: The St Paul’s Watch
Chapter 40: On Top of the World
Chapter 41: Oranges and Lemons
Chapter 42: St Mary le Bow
Chapter 43: In the Midst of the Stones of Fire
Chapter 44: Return to the Wharf
Chapter 45: Sleeper
Acknowledgements
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J.D. Fennell was born in Belfast at the start of the Troubles, and began writing stories at a young age to help understand the madness unfolding around him. Also a lover of reading he devoured a diverse range of books - his early influences include Fleming, Tolkein, Shakespeare and the Brontës.
He left Belfast at the age of nineteen and worked as a chef, bartender, waiter and later began a career in writing for the software industry.
These days he divides his time between London and Brighton, where he lives with his partner and their two dogs.
Published by The Dome Press, 2017
Copyright © 2017 J.D. Fennell
The moral right of J.D. Fennell to be recognised as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
eBook ISBN 978-0-9956723-4-5
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For my beautiful Mum
Forever loved
Forever missed
Chapter 1
Deception
Hastings, Saturday, 3rd May 1941, 10.34 pm
Many must die for the world to change.
Will bristles at Colonel Frost’s parting words as he pushes his bicycle along the gloomy path through the woods. He pulls at the stiff, starched collar of his gleaming white shirt giving passage to a bead of cold sweat that rolls from his nape and scurries down his spine. He shudders and tries not to think about Frost and his men who follow in the woods on either side. Armed, and invisible in the darkness, they watch his every move. His heart pounds like a hammer and he wonders if they can feel it vibrating through the trees. He swallows. Despite his nerves, his excitement for this mission is at tipping point. So too is his anticipation for the twist that he is about to stir into the pot – a twist that would result in his torture and execution. If Frost catches him, that is. He would not let that happen. There was too much at stake for it all to go wrong now.
“You are one of us, Will,” Frost had said. “Four years I have overseen your training and I could not be prouder. Today will be your baptism of blood. Do not fail me. Do not fail our masters.”
Masters! Will had almost baulked at that. His hands curl into fists at the thought. He had held his tongue, his expression fixed, his face a mask, a mask he had worn since this all began just over four years back. To this day it still surprises him how he has managed to hide the truth of who he is from Frost. But then again, anything is possible when the desire for retribution runs this deep.
He shifts uncomfortably in the clothes Frost made him wear. Expensive as they are, they feel a little snug compared to the rough military fatigues he has worn every day for the past four years. Four years. The time had passed so slowly yet it only seems like yesterday when he became one of them.
He loosens his tie, undoes the top button and breathes in.
That’s better.
He is sixteen, with dark hair and is well built for his age. The schoolboy image does not sit well with him. It reminds him of another time, when he was someone else.
Someone normal.
The stirring of old memories makes him tremble inside; he closes his eyes, takes three breaths and carefully pushes the thoughts from his mind.
‘Another time,’ he whispers and recalls Frost’s orders: ‘Remember what you are, what you are capable of. The school uniform is a disguise. It will make you seem less of a threat,’ he had said. Loath as Will was to admit it, Frost was right.
He stops when he hears the approaching drone of a Spitfire patrol. The air vibrates, the trees sway and rustle as the fighters storm overhead flying south over Hastings. A squadron to intercept random raids from German fighters, he guesses.
Emerging from the trees he hears a swing band and laughter coming from a house beyond the vast wall. He sees two guards standing by a pair of tall iron gates watching the Spitfires disappear into the night. With a light tread, he approaches and coughs politely. The men jump and spin around with pistols pointing directly at Will.
‘Hello,’ says Will in a friendly tone.
‘Stop right there,’ says the guard on the left as he removes something from his pocket with his free hand. A torch.
A dim light sweeps Will’s face and body.
‘Ha, it’s just a schoolboy,’ mocks the guard.
‘He looks a bit old for that uniform,’ says the other.
Will smiles and steps forward, ‘Excuse me…’
‘I said, stay right there!’
Will ignores him. ‘Please, I’m afraid my bicycle has a flat tyre. Do you mind if I use your telephone? I must call my father. He’ll be terribly worried.’
‘Clear off, boy,’ says the other guard.
Will’s mouth dries, but he cracks a sweet smile.
The guards look at each other, laugh and pocket their weapons.
Will seizes his moment and swings the bicycle at the guard on the left, who drops the torch and falls backward slamming his temple on the gate pillar. He slumps to the ground unconscious. Before the second guard can pull out his weapon, Will is on him, his fist slamming into his jaw in a fierce blow. The guard is out cold before his hand reaches his gun
.
‘I am no schoolboy.’
He crushes the torch with his foot, killing the light, and glances behind him, aware that Frost and the agents of VIPER are watching. He swallows hard, trying his best not to give himself away. Four years of hard training, all of it leading up to this moment, this sweet deception.
Dragging the guards away from the path, he removes the Welrod silencer pistol from his satchel. He stands where he knows Frost can see him, points the pistol toward the men and shoots.
He hurries toward the manor house, darting between the bushes that line the drive. He hears water trickling and stops, his foot cracking a twig. A confused face appears from behind a tree. A guard relieving himself. Their eyes lock. The guard shouts out and fumbles for his gun, but Will slams the man’s head against the rough bark and let’s him fall forward into his urine.
Rapid footsteps crunch on gravel. The fourth guard. Will dips behind the tree and pulls a small tube, the length of a pencil, from the inner sleeve of his blazer. He locates a row of small darts beneath his collar, removes two and slips one into a rest inside the tube. He hears a pistol cocking as the footsteps become slow and cautious on the grass near the tree. His assailant’s breathing is fast, making his location easy to determine.
Will slides around the trunk and shoots a dart at the guard. The man stiffens as he grabs his neck, his face contorting as the poison works fast and renders him temporarily paralysed.
Will pops the second dart into the pipe and slips it back into his sleeve. No one from the party will have seen or heard what is happening outside. The music is loud and the windows are draped with heavy blackout curtains and anti-blast tape.
‘Every cloud…’ he whispers.
The party will be in full swing. He imagines revellers dressed in dinner suits and cocktail dresses drinking champagne and dancing as if they don’t care that there is a war on and the world is in crisis. He wonders if the Grandmaster and his henchman, the Pastor, are present. He is the one person he fears the most: Gideon the Pastor, or the holy man as some people call him, an innocuous title for a monster of a man. Will shivers at the thought of the bloody stories he has heard about him. But there is no time to think about those now.
He circles out of sight to the side entrance, removes a lock pick from his inside sleeve, picks the lock and cautiously opens the door. The reception hall is dimly lit with a scattering of candles and the smell of alcohol and smoke lingers in the air. The space is vast and ornate, but in an old style, as if it is somehow stuck in time. Crossing to the drawing room, he freezes, thinking he sees a shadow flit across the landing. Could it be that not everyone is at the party? He squints, but sees no one. A trick of the light, or a symptom of nerves, perhaps.
Reaching into his satchel, he removes three round metal balls, each the size of a fist. He presses a button on each one. They make a ticking sound, a countdown of ten seconds before the ether gas will be released. He opens the drawing-room door and rolls them along the floor towards the partygoers and the band.
The balls pop and hiss loudly as he closes the door.
And then the music stops, he hears bodies fall to the floor and glass smash on the hardwood. Someone tries to leave the room, a fist bangs weakly on the door, but Will holds it tight. A moment later, all is quiet. The party is over.
His mission is to find the notebook and spare no lives. But Will has other plans. The notebook is in the library on the first floor, locked in the Grandmaster’s safe. He hurries up the stairs, glances around, recalling the layout from this morning’s final briefing.
‘Hello,’ says a flat emotionless voice.
Will jumps, his heart thumping. Emerging from the shadows is a tall thin man with long white hair brushed back from his head. His eyes are small, like coals buried in two deep pits. A small tongue darts out and dampens his thin lips, as if he is hungry. His suit is black, like a preacher’s.
Will’s spine goes cold. It is Gideon, the Pastor.
‘I’m afraid the Grandmaster has retired for the evening,’ says the Pastor as he cocks his ear to the side. His eyes narrow as he registers that the party has gone quiet.
Something shiny opens in his hand. A razor.
Will swallows, faltering for a moment, trying desperately not to think of the horror stories he has heard about this vile man’s reputation. He feels beads of perspiration prickling like frantic ants on his forehead.
‘Who are you?’ asks Gideon.
Will has to act. Deftly, his fingers reach into his sleeve for the pipe, but the holy man’s eyes flare and he runs at Will, the razor raised in the air ready to cut. Will is fast. He blows the dart at Gideon, whose attempt to deflect it leaves it lodged in the inside of his wrist. He grimaces and groans, his gnarly fingers stiffening as the poison seeps through his body.
Will trembles, the razor is inches from his face. He steps back as the Pastor falls to the floor, his eyes mad with fury at this indignity. Will edges around him, conscious that time is not on his side.
‘Gideon, what is that noise?’ comes a voice.
Will looks up to see the Fellowship’s Grandmaster emerge from the library. He is old and decrepit, his blue eyes watery and confused.
Will removes the pistol from the satchel and points it at the old man. ‘Inside,’ he commands.
‘What have you done?’ asks the Grandmaster.
‘Nothing to worry about. Your henchman is incapacitated for a short period.’
The Grandmaster retreats into the library. ‘What do you think you are doing? My men…’
‘Shut up,’ Will snaps. ‘They are unharmed. Your men and your guests are out of action for the moment.’
Will glances around the room. There is a portrait on a wall. If Frost is right, the notebook is stored behind the painting. He points the pistol at it. ‘Open it. Give me the book.’
The old man pales.
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
Will glances through the curtains at the grounds and beyond the wall. It is only a matter of time before Frost figures out something is not quite right.
‘We have no time. In moments the agents of VIPER will storm this house and kill all of you. There is a chance you will survive, if you do what I say.’
The old man sneers and scoffs. ‘You’re just a boy. What do you know about anything?’
Will’s eyes blaze. He grabs the Grandmaster’s wrist and drags him to the portrait with the barrel of his pistol lodged in the crook of the old man’s neck. Will twists his arm and watches as his face contorts with pain, his eyes staring into Will’s. What has he become? What have VIPER turned him into? But he has no time for morality now. There is too much at stake.
‘Open the safe.’
He presses the barrel deeper into the Grandmaster’s neck. The old man struggles for breath and coughs, his face burning red. Trembling, he lifts his hands and concedes.
He opens the safe.
Will sees a small book-size parcel inside, wrapped in an aged oilskin cloth. His mouth dries and he hesitates before slipping it into the satchel and backing out of the room.
‘You can’t do this,’ says the Grandmaster. ‘You don’t know what you are dealing with.’
‘Better that I have this, than VIPER. I suggest you hide somewhere. They will be here any minute. With me gone they may not waste time killing you and your guests as they hunt for me. But that is something that I cannot guarantee.’ He turns and hurries out of the library, skipping carefully over the twisted form of the paralysed holy man.
‘You won’t get far. Gideon will find you. I can promise you that.’
The Grandmaster’s words send a chill over Will. He bolts down the stairs with a grim feeling that he should have finished Gideon off for good.
Chapter 2
Escape
Will scurries along the shadows of the perimeter wall, with the parcel tucked safely into his satchel. He had done it! He had seized the notebook. The plan had unfolded as Frost had predicted,
with the exception of Will’s modifications: the ether bombs and the pretence of killing the guards. Why should any more innocent people die? There was a war on and enough people were dying already. He had handled the notebook with tentative revulsion as if it was infected with some sort of disease. But it is worse than that. He knows what destruction its secrets could bring in the hands of VIPER. His only thought now is to get it far away from Frost and his ruthless pack of killers.
Looking back at the house, he imagines Frost’s men searching the rooms. On the ground floor the Colonel will be prowling, surveying Will’s handiwork. He will be furious. A smirk cracks on Will’s face at the thought. He hates Frost; he hates them all for what they have done.
The two guards are stirring as he slips through the gates and sprints towards the woods. The blast of a gunshot shatters the silence. Frost’s men, his former colleagues, have spotted him. He ducks as something whizzes past his ear and splinters the bark of a tree directly in front of him. Glancing back, he sees the Fellowship’s guards are up and searching for their weapons, too. Will hears the booming voice of the Colonel barking an order. It is cut off sharply by the crack of pistols. Will takes cover and catches his breath. More gunfire erupts. He recognises the short recoil of the pack’s Johnson semi-automatic rifles. The guards do not stand a chance. Will hopes they have the sense to clear out. A chase might keep some of the agents of VIPER off his tail.
With his heart racing, he hurries blindly through the woods, ignoring the twigs that lash out at his face and body. The area is unfamiliar and the terrain uneven, causing him to stumble twice. The gunfire has ceased and Will wonders what has become of the guards. Have they been gunned down mercilessly like so many others?
Sleeper Page 1
