Fogbound- Empire in Flames

by Gareth Clegg

  Simmons checked his watch. It was approaching six minutes when a double click sounded on Lynch’s comm-link followed a few seconds later with two soft knocks on the door.

  Lynch pulled it open, and Turner squeezed through, pushing it closed behind him.

  “The approach to the cells is clear. There is a stairway leading up to the ground floor just around the corner. From there, this passage continues across into the cellar. Plenty of light cover then it opens out into a larger area with at least four guards.”

  “Four?” Simmons asked.

  “Yes, they look like they’re having a party. Lots of wine bottles on the table. If we leave them for another hour, they’ll be unconscious.”

  Simmons glanced at Turner. “We don’t have the luxury of time. We need to move now.”

  “Understood. Blake is keeping an eye on things down there.”

  “Good,” said Lynch, running her hand through her hair. “Any sign of the cells or the package?”

  Turner shook his head. “Not that we’ve seen so far, but with the guards there, it’s a safe bet she’s somewhere close by.”

  “Any signs of movement upstairs?” Simmons asked.

  “No, it’s all quiet. But we should leave someone to watch the stairs for anyone poking about.”

  “Fine,” Lynch said. “Head back to Blake, and we’ll follow. Is there enough room for Fletcher to tag a couple before you and Blake do your work?”

  Turner considered for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, it’s doable.”

  “Take her with you, then get into position. We’ll meet you as soon as I’m happy the stairwell is secure.”

  They left Curtis guarding the stairs. He propped his shotgun against a wall before unpacking a few unusual looking discs from his pouches. They were the size of a saucer but maybe an inch thick and a rich black.

  As they moved forward, Simmons turned to Lynch. “What’s he up to?”

  “Curtis?” Lynch asked. “He’s just laying out a few toys, so we aren’t surprised if anyone heads down before we’re ready.”

  Lynch stopped, looking back at Simmons. “Best not be the first to climb those stairs. Make sure Curtis or one of us has cleared it.”

  “So these are dangerous little surprises then?”

  “Yes, deadly.”

  They continued through the brick-lined passage, noting short corridors leading off either side, each stacked with barrels. As they approached the lit area, their progress slowed to a crawl.

  Fletcher knelt in a firing position, leaning on the corner of a wine rack for cover. It ran from floor to ceiling and contained smaller square partitions filled with bottles. Each section had a black slate hanging from it with a chalk description. Among the signs proclaiming ‘Musigny’, ‘Richebourg’ and ‘Beaune’ with dates ranging back to the eighteen-thirties, were several recent additions chalked over the slates. These proclaimed such esteemed vintages as ‘Rat Piss’, ‘Vinegar’ and ‘The Good Stuff’. It seemed the new residents had an affinity for the finer things in life.

  Within the room, a low murmur of voices split the silence and glasses clinked. From his position beside Fletcher, half the table was visible, the edge of the doorway obscured the other side of the chamber. Two guardsmen lounged in plush green chairs, their tunics thrown over the chair backs while they nurtured crystal glasses of red wine. Empty bottles lay strewn around the floor.

  Lynch leaned over to Fletcher. “Set?”

  “I’ve got clean shots on this pair, but Blake and Turner will need to cover the distance to the others. Might get messy.”

  “I don’t mind messy,” Lynch replied. “As long as it’s quiet.”

  “Aye. In that case, set.”

  Lynch nodded and turned to Simmons. “You stay here while I check with our scouts. Fletcher, be ready for my signal. Everyone else will go on your first kill.”

  She disappeared into the gloom ahead almost as quickly as he’d seen Blake and Turner do.

  “Now you’re in for a treat, Simmons,” Fletcher whispered to him. “You get to see this wee beauty in action.” She pulled the stock tighter into her shoulder and waited. It wasn’t long before a single click came through her comm.

  “Showtime,” she whispered. That was all Simmons heard. The next second the nearest guard slumped from his chair, a spray of bloody mist bursting from the back of his head and speckling his neighbour’s face.

  The unmistakable silhouettes of Turner and Blake burst into the light from their position in the shadows. Neither of them worried about the extra distance required to go round the table. Blake went over while Turner slid under as both disappeared from view.

  The only movement came from the second trooper in Simmons’ line of sight. He was blinking and wiping at his face as he struggled to make sense of his friend’s body collapsed on the ground in a spreading pool of blood.

  A crash from the far side of the table and two heavy thuds were all the sounds that issued from that room. Before the final guard could shout for help, a low click beside Simmons announced Fletcher chambering another round. Getting to his feet, the guardsman tumbled backwards over his chair as the silent rifle took him in the forehead.

  The three seconds of chaos ended. All that remained was the sound of a glass rolling on the floor and the steady glugging of wine splattering onto the stone floor.

  “Clear.” It was Blake’s voice.

  As Lynch stood and crossed into the light, Fletcher rose and motioned to follow. “Come on, Simmons. You dinnae want to miss all the fun. We’ve got an Empress to rescue.”

  A little too dazed to utter any words, he followed her into the lit room. It had been so fast, three seconds, if that. In that time, Fletcher had dropped two guards with headshots, while Blake and Turner had covered the distance to engage in hand-to-hand. He shook his head in wonder.

  “Everything all right?” Lynch asked him.

  “Fine,” was all he could manage as he absently rubbed his injured leg.

  The cells were easy to locate, but try as he might, Turner couldn’t find a key on any of the guards or in the surrounding area.

  Simmons ventured, “Perhaps only the officers carry keys.”

  “It’s a reasonable assumption,” Lynch said, “but we don’t have time to go hunting for them.”

  The main entrance to the cells was behind a sturdy grille of black steel. The bars were an inch thick with just enough space to get an arm through between them.

  “What now?” Simmons asked.

  “Turner, go relieve Curtis on the stairs, we need him up here,” Lynch said.

  Simmons looked at her through a frown. “You’re not thinking of blowing the doors, are you? That will bring all the remaining guards running, won’t it?”

  “You don’t know Curtis well, do you?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. “He’s got a bag of tricks that would make Houdini blush.”

  “Fair enough. I shall wait for the show.”

  It was only a minute before Curtis made his appearance. He headed over to Lynch. “Major, Turner said you needed me.”

  “Mister Curtis, we require your expertise.” She motioned him to the metal doorway. “I want in as quietly as possible.”

  He examined the gate for a few moments, checking the locking mechanism and the solid bars. “Five minutes?”

  “Proceed,” Lynch said, smiling at Simmons.

  Curtis rummaged through his leather pouches and produced a sticky substance. He picked pieces from it and packed them around the lock.

  “What is he doing?” Simmons asked.

  “Ask him.”

  Simmons turned his attention back to the engineer. “Excuse the interruption, but what is that?”

  He looked up from his work. “Thermite.” When that garnered no response, he continued. “A mixture of ferrous oxide and aluminium which burns fiercely once lit. Hot enough to melt the steel of this gate.”

  “So, not explosive then?”

  “Not in the sense you’re thinking. It�
�s quick and quiet, just gives off intense heat and light.”

  “Isn’t it awfully dangerous to be carrying around in your belt?” Simmons asked.

  “No, it’s stable and requires high temperatures to burn—about three thousand degrees. I use a magnesium fuse, burns hot, but much easier to ignite.”

  He produced a small strip of silvery metal from a different pouch and placed it into the sticky substance.

  “Ready to go when you are, Major.”

  “Take cover,” Lynch said leading Simmons ten feet away from the barred gate and around a corner.

  “Could I watch?” Simmons asked.

  “Yes, but don’t look directly at it once it’s lit. Curtis says it can damage your eyes.”

  “Ah, like staring at the sun?”

  “That sort of idea.”

  Curtis gave a hand signal showing he was ready to go in five.

  Simmons waited as the engineer produced an ArcLighter much like his own and applied it to the fuse. It burst into a brilliant light. The whole room lit up as Curtis retreated towards them.

  The magnesium impressed Simmons, but the thermite was amazing. Hissing and spluttering, the entire lock glowed yellow then white. Sparks flew from it, flung five feet bouncing from the walls. Molten metal dripped from around the mechanism, then a resounding clunk as the whole section fell onto the ground.

  Well, there’s something to impress Bazalgette with, my newfound respect for thermite. What had Curtis said? Ferrous oxide and aluminium, I’ll remember that.

  Curtis pushed the door open after kicking the molten slag to one side, which had pooled on the brickwork floor along with the remains of the lock.

  Blake was first through into the secure area beyond. It turned out to be another part of the cellar with six dark alcoves, not deep enough to be called passages in their own right. In the farthest of them lay a filthy mattress with a dishevelled figure sprawled atop it. The place stank of human waste and Simmons noticed a slops bucket near the makeshift bed. It lay on its side, contents spread across the floor, a stain crawling up the bottom edge of the mattress.

  The young woman wore soiled and stained clothing, a mismatch of once beautiful garments, now fit only for an incinerator. Beneath a mass of matted hair and layers of caked dirt, she had an unmistakable look of her grandmother. Her chest rose and fell, but her breathing was shallow. A distinct chemical odour clung about her, both on her breath and from the clothing.

  “Looks like we’ve found our Empress,” Lynch said.

  “Yes,” Simmons replied, “but she’s drugged up to the eyeballs.”

  “We haven’t got time to mess about explaining the situation to her. We should keep her under and get the hell out of here.”

  Simmons blew out a sharp breath. “I don’t like it, but agreed.”

  Lynch called across the room. “Blake, get ready to check upstairs for the imposter, I’ll take the Empress.”

  “Whoa,” Simmons said. “You can’t do that. You are too—”

  Lynch whirled on him. “Too what? Too weak? Just a woman?” Her eyes didn’t hide the fury behind them, and Simmons stepped back. Damn, I was trying to be gentlemanly.

  “I’ll have you know I’ve carried that great sack of coal,” she pointed to Blake, “for three miles. You think I can’t handle this young lass?”

  Simmons held out his hands. “I’m sorry, Lynch. I wasn’t questioning your ability, just trying to say you’re too valuable.”

  The fire behind her eyes still burned but seemed to dial down from incandescent to merely white-hot. Her face regained some of its usual composure as Turner appeared at a breakneck run.

  Lynch turned her ire towards the new arrival. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you to watch those stairs.”

  “Sir, I’ve been outside, and we’ve got company. Another train just arrived, looks like a whole platoon of the Black Guard decided it was party time at the Palace. They’re already fanning out through the grounds and advancing on the main entrance, armed and ready for contact.”

  Lynch drew in a breath and looked around the room. “Blake, wait. There’s no time to hunt for the other one. Simmons, get that cannon of yours fit for action, we might need it.”

  “Which way, sir?” Turner asked.

  She paused a second in contemplation.

  “Back to the storeroom,” Simmons said. “We’ll head for the train. If we get stuck, they won’t be able to surround us.”

  Lynch nodded. “Curtis, get some of your tricks ready. Something to slow them down. Let’s move, people.”

  She hoisted the unconscious body and headed to the passageway. Turner and Blake raced ahead to check the route was clear, disappearing around a corner.

  Fletcher caught Lynch’s eye. “I’ll go with them. See if I can find a location to support you.”

  “Go,” Lynch said, waving her off. “Simmons, it’s up to you and Curtis to watch our backs. I think the time for stealth is over, so make as much noise as you have to.”

  He looked at Curtis, who was checking through yet more pouches. He nodded to Simmons in acknowledgement.

  “Clear, move on, move on,” said Turner as they reached the stairs. He waved them through, and as if hearing a silent question from Curtis said, “Everything’s armed on the stairs, and I added a little something—”

  An explosion echoed above them as brick dust and mortar rained down.

  “I guess they found it,” Curtis said with a grin, it was the first time Simmons had seen him smile since meeting the man.

  “That’s the front door,” Turner said. “Best get moving. Go, go, go.”

  Simmons turned, backing up behind the others as he kept his eyes on the stairs. Something bit him, a sharp pain in his chest and he cried out.

  “Are you injured?” asked Lynch.

  “No,” he replied. He realised it wasn’t a bite. It was the device Bazalgette had given him to identify the pocket watches. “Damn, there’s a Watchman with them.”

  39

  Nathaniel looked on, impressed by the work he and Callam had achieved. The power flow wasn’t as stable as he would have liked, but it was good enough.

  It was Callam who spotted the mistake which had gone unnoticed for their last three attempts. As Bazalgette had suspected, it was a simple oversight. A hastily written seven which looked more like a one which had compounded calculations based on it.

  “How about that?” Callam said, moving to stand beside him. “It’s a thing of beauty, isn’t it?”

  They’d taken power feeds from the core and routed them through a series of complex circuits, enabling them to supply the remaining systems that Raphael couldn’t handle directly.

  “Hmm,” mused Nathaniel.

  “Come on, it may not be the prettiest of wiring jobs ever, but it works like a bloody charm.”

  Nathaniel scrutinised the tangle of jury-rigged connections that ran the length of the control room. Well, done is better than perfect, he thought. There would be plenty of time to tweak and improve the weaker links once the systems were operational. He’d already collected a mental list of six items that required urgent attention.

  “Yes,” he said, “it is marvellous.”

  Callam turned towards the centre of the room, at the twisted figure sat amongst the high energy cables. “Raph, how are you doing?”

  “Everything is working. There seem to be a few deviations from baselines, but they are within safe tolerances.”

  Nathaniel scowled. “So you still have variations even now we’ve reduced your raw power input?”

  “Yes, though it’s becoming easier to monitor and maintain reliable levels across all the systems I have control of.”

  “Job for another day, mate,” was Callam’s reply. “I don’t know about you, but I’m shattered. A cuppa, a bite to eat, and a good night’s rest are in order if you ask me.”

  Nathaniel nodded in agreement. “Sounds like a fine plan.” He checked his pocket watch, twelve fifty-two. They’d bee
n working flat out for over twelve hours. There had been only the one tea-break where they had resolved the problems with the calculations. It was the only time either of them had stopped.

  As they turned to leave the room, Callam called back, “Goodnight, Raph, give me a shout if you notice anything untoward with those levels.”

  “I will, Callam.”

  “Goodnight, Raphael,” Nathaniel added with a small wave of his hand.

  “Good evening to you both,” Raphael replied then returned to his silent contemplation of all the systems he managed.

  “So tea then?” Callam asked.

  “Thinking about it, I might get straight off to bed. Still a lot to do tomorrow.”

  “Right you are then. I’ll see you bright and breezy in the morning.” Callam headed off down a corridor towards the canteen, his heavy footfalls receding while Nathaniel turned the corner to head back to his room.

  He spotted a technician in the communications centre and wondered if they had drawn lots for who got the night shift. His thoughts wandered to Lynch’s team, and how they and Simmons were faring in their attempt to find and rescue the Empress. They would be sneaking onto a train any minute now if they were running to schedule, then heading towards Hyde Park.

  Another wave of fatigue crashed over him. He hadn’t realised how tired he was, and with relief, he pushed the door open to his small room and collapsed onto the bed.

  Nathaniel awoke with a start to the sound of klaxons blaring and flashing red emergency lighting. What the hell?

  Still dressed, which in this case was a blessing, his hand fished around in his waistcoat pocket for the watch while he tried to force the sleep from him. He felt the cool curved metal under his fingertips and flipped it open. Five minutes past two, he must have been asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

  He stood, his legs wobbling until he caught his balance with the help from a small bedside table. He reached over, dipped his hands into a bowl of lukewarm water and splashed it onto his face.