by Frank Tayell
“That sounds about right, I’m afraid,” I said. “They could have sent their helicopter ahead to find whether that bridge was traversable, or found an alternate route, or an alternate bridge, or they could have turned due south a minute after that picture was taken.”
“Indeed,” the admiral said.
“So does this change anything?” I asked.
“On its own? No. But taken with the photograph of Calais, yes. The photograph of the minibus tells us they might not have gone to the Pyrenees. The cartel, however, have returned to Calais.”
“But we don’t know if they’ve left again in that destroyer,” I said. “If the ship is still there, can we sink it?”
“Theoretically, yes,” the admiral said. “But it wouldn’t be you or I. An assault on a destroyer in Calais is very definitely a task for the French Special Forces. They are, however, engaged at the moment.”
“Tell me that Mister Mills has handed over his submarine,” I said.
“He has not,” the admiral said. “We have a stand-off in Kenmare Bay.”
“This day just gets better and better,” I said. “Let’s call Sorcha, and at least find out if she knows anything more about the Alps.”
Chapter 7 - Sales Pitch
The Courageous, Kenmare Bay
Sorcha Locke ended the call, and closed her eyes until a finger tapped a drumroll on her shoulder.
“What did he say?” Tuck signed.
With three of them present, the Royal Navy ship’s comms room was crowded, Captain Flora Fielding having joined them for the call.
“Secondly,” Locke said, slowly shaping each word, “that they have satellite images suggesting, but not confirming, the French and Ukrainian convoy went to the Alps rather than the Pyrenees. Mr Wright wondered if I recalled anything, during our meeting with the Polish pilot, which might help identify precisely where they have gone. I can’t.”
“And that’s secondly?” Tuck signed. “What’s first?”
“There’s a tank in Calais,” Flora said.
“A Leclerc MBT?” Tuck signed.
“Yes,” Locke said.
“What else?” Tuck signed. “Is the Russian destroyer still in the harbour?”
“The photograph was from two days ago,” Locke said. “It doesn’t show the destroyer.”
“So we don’t know,” Tuck signed.
“Captain, how much danger are we in?”
Flora leaned against the bulkhead. “A Udaloy-class destroyer is a warship. This is an amphibious landing platform. We can take a beating, but we can’t win a battle.”
“Then the question we must ask ourselves is whether a battle is likely,” Locke said. “During our escape, while the vessel following us hit a mine, we did not. From what I know of them, they would take the risk of any mines remaining. They clearly possess enough engineering skill to restore the tanks to an operational condition, and we must presume they can do the same with a ship’s engines. It comes down to the toxin on the deck.”
“One of my fellow captors died,” Flora said. “But Bill and I did not.”
“We need more satellite images,” Tuck signed.
“Or we need to travel there ourselves,” Locke said. “I believe there is an opportunity here. Can we send a message to Captain Mills? I would like to invite him aboard for a council of war.”
“He prefers Mister,” Flora said.
“Of course he does,” Locke said. “Because changing his name is easier than changing any more substantial aspect of himself while giving cover behind which he can deny the world itself has changed beyond recognition.”
Tuck tapped Locke’s arm. “What do you want Mills for?”
“I think I have a solution to all our problems,” Locke said.
The two clean-shaven and brushed-uniformed French soldiers outside the officer’s mess snapped to attention as Mills marched towards them. The submariner didn’t salute, but threw the door open, looked around the empty cabin, and deflated a nearly imperceptible millimetre as the trap he’d expected didn’t materialise.
“Thank you,” Flora said to the two sentries. “Make sure we’re not disturbed.”
She followed Mills inside, and Locke and Tuck followed her.
Mills took the captain’s chair. The three women took the chairs nearest.
“You said this is a council of war,” Mills said peremptorily, his brusque words made even gruffer by his Yorkshire growl.
The invitation had been sent over the radio. After an hour, and after his repeated demands for more information had been rebuffed, Mills had come over to the Courageous, alone.
“We need your advice, experience, and training,” Locke said. “The admiral called us. They have a satellite image of Calais. In the picture is a tank. A Leclerc MBT, which was certainly not there the last time we were in the port city.”
“They returned for diesel?” Mills asked.
“We believe so,” Flora said. “And for the destroyer.”
“A Udaloy-class ship, yes?” Mills asked.
“Yes,” Flora said.
“But the cloud cover is too complete for us to know whether it is still in the harbour,” Locke said. “If they knew about Lisa’s redoubt in Haderslev, they must know of the base in Portugal. The Bay of Biscay, and the harbour in which we would search the Pyrenees, lies on the route between France and Portugal. If we are to continue our search for the French and Ukrainians, the cartel will almost certainly find us.”
“They knew about Denmark,” Mills said slowly. “They’d know about Elysium, too.”
“Oh,” Locke said with feigned surprise. “Of course they would. Then our situation is doubly precarious.”
“The harbour in Calais was mined?” Mills asked.
“But they were using small craft to clear the mines,” Flora said. “We got through, the ship following us didn’t, but the minefield must be considerably depleted.”
“They were able to repair a tank,” Mills said. “Repairing a ship’s engine is within their capability. What of munitions?”
“They have shells for the tank,” Locke said. “Would a Russian destroyer be able to fire anything found in a French Army supply dump?”
“Ask the colonel,” Mills said.
They already had. Leon was uncertain except on one thing, that he’d wanted to be part of the meeting, but Locke had insisted no.
“He isn’t sure,” Flora said.
Mills nodded, a hint of satisfaction curling a smile around the edge of his mouth.
“It comes down to the toxin on deck,” Mills said. “Two vials were given to important vessels, of which a destroyer is not one. They were also given to important officers, to use on any sensitive equipment that could not easily be destroyed. Who was in command of that vessel?”
“I don’t know,” Flora said.
“Two vials?” Locke said. “It doesn’t sound like a lot.”
“Enough to kill an army if it was airborne on a battlefield,” Mills said. “Spread on deck, exposed to the elements, by now, it could have been neutralised. If it has, then only the minefield will prevent them reaching the open sea. The question we must ask, and which the satellites will answer, is how long they will wait before they risk their lives to get that vessel out of the harbour.”
“Then it is only a matter of time before they arrive here,” Locke said. “When they do, you must be ready to sink their ship. You are able to do that, aren’t you?”
Mills frowned. “I have two torpedoes. I can’t fire them. I can’t launch my missiles, not without ripping my boat’s keel in half.”
“The photograph was taken two days ago,” Locke said. “The destroyer could be here tomorrow. Tonight. What will you do then?”
Mills leaned back in his chair, thinking. “What will you do?”
“Run,” Locke said quickly. “Can you?”
“No. We can’t leave the harbour.”
“We can’t let the cartel capture your warheads,” Locke said.
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p; “And you can’t let the cartel follow you to Faroe,” Mills said. “If that destroyer takes up position outside Torshavn, you will all become slaves.”
“Then offer a suggestion,” Flora said.
“We need intel,” Mills said. “If the satellites can’t provide it, this ship can. Sail to Calais, use the ship’s sensors to probe the harbour, out of range of the tank’s cannon. If the ship has gone, search for it. Find it. Lure it here. I’ll do the rest.”
“And what do you mean by that?” Locke asked.
“I can detonate a warhead,” Mills said.
“A nuclear warhead?” Locke asked. “You want us to bring the destroyer back here so you can destroy it, and yourselves, and us, in a nuclear fireball?”
Mills shrugged, far too calmly for Locke’s tastes.
“Let’s call that plan-B,” Flora said.
“Until you have an alternate,” Mills said, standing up, “it’s also plan-A.”
Flora escorted Mills back to his boat, leaving Sorcha and Tuck alone.
“That was your plan?” Tuck signed.
“Not exactly,” Locke said. “I expected a grand gesture, but not one that would consume us all. Clearly he likes to spread the death and glory around.”
“Maybe we should have told him the French went to the Alps not the Pyrenees,” Tuck signed.
“It would confuse the issue,” Locke said. “And the issues at hand are the warheads on that submarine and the destroyer in Calais.”
“So now what?” Tuck signed.
“I’m working on it,” Locke said.
Day 277 - 15th December
Chapter 8 - More Money, More Problems
The Faroe Islands
“I solved your money problem,” Annette said by way of greeting as she dropped her bag on the floor and threw herself on the sofa.
“Won the lottery, did you?” I asked, looking up from the laptop I’d been pecking at, one-handed.
“She means the currency question,” Kim said, unbuckling Daisy from her chair. “And be careful with your belt, Annette. Your knife is digging into the upholstery. How was your day, Bill?”
“Spent here,” I said. “Dean’s been bringing me the reports so I can work from home.”
“Oh, why can’t I do that?” Annette asked. “There was such a thing as home-schooling in the old world, you know?”
“And I know how you’d spend the day,” I said. “I was actually working. The programmers make the hotel’s ground floor too frenetic, while the Marines keep the upper floors far too military. Add in the stairs, and I find it easier here.”
“Doing what, though?” Annette asked.
“Deciphering Siobhan’s handwriting for one thing,” I said. “I was transcribing the reports from her patrols. Not so we have an account, but so we can decide, in future, what those reports should contain. If we’re building a bureaucracy from the ground up, we need it to be efficient. Turns out all those stories you hear about doctor’s handwriting goes double for the police. But it’s nothing compared to Dean’s scrawl. I practically needed the Rosetta stone to translate it.”
“We brought you dinner,” Annette said. “You missed it, you know?”
“I thought it was still lunchtime,” I said, checking the time.
“When the sun knocks off early,” Kim said, “so should you. But it’s not late. About half five. George and Mary are coming over tonight so I thought we should get home and tidy up a bit. George has found some old movies on DVD, and he thought it would be fun to watch them together. It’s Noel Coward tonight. Some propaganda film from the Second World War. I forget the name.”
“This Happy Breed?” I guessed. “What was the currency question you’ve solved?”
“Strictly speaking, Mirabelle solved it,” Kim said as Daisy toddled over to my chair. I lifted her onto my lap.
“Mirabelle’s solved how we create a currency?” I asked. Daisy took one look at the mono-colour lines and scratches on the pieces of paper at the desk, wrestled herself free, and toddled over to her small table. There, like she always did before drawing, she began sorting the crayons and pencils according to a logic all her own.
“Almost,” Kim said. “Mirabelle solved the problem of what we use for currency. She’s rigged up a mesh-net between the school, the hotel, the sports centre, the docks, and the ships. She thinks she can set up a wireless network across the entire town. Comms is her priority, making sure we can talk with one another, and the patrols can send us a warning, should they need to.”
“The admiral asked her to do that?”
“It was her own idea,” Kim said. “After yesterday.”
I glanced over at the girls, but Daisy was engrossed in her crayons, Annette was re-watching her vampire cartoon for the umpteenth time. “Any more images of Calais?” I asked.
“Too much cloud,” Kim said. “She set up the mesh-net while she waited. It’s not nearly as complicated as it sounds.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I said. “So what is this amazing solution to our economic crisis?”
“You don’t see it? We can have a digital currency. We don’t need to print notes, or stamp coins, just run a database to store the transactions, but as long as we’ve got a working ship, we’ll be able to keep it up and running. Point-of-sale terminals can be found in any store. If the power does fail, the database still exists. No one loses money as long as we manually record who earns what.”
“Oh. Right. Now I see what you mean about this being a solution to the currency question.”
“But it is something we can announce,” Kim said. “People can debate whether our currency should be enumerated in dollars or pounds. It might distract them for a while.”
“Hopefully long enough for us to figure out who should be paid how much for what,” I said. “Did I miss any other news?”
“The New World is still heading south,” Kim said. “Another few days, and they’ll reach Labrador, all depending on how fast they dare risk travelling at night.”
“Ah. Well, that’s probably for the—” But I was interrupted by the doorbell.
“That must be George and Mary,” Kim said. “Though they are very early.”
But it wasn’t the respectable couple. It was the admiral, dressed in a calf-length raincoat onto which she’d sewn fluorescent stripes.
“Come in out of the rain,” Kim said. “And when did that start? It was nearly dry a few minutes ago.”
“I won’t stay,” the admiral said. “I came to borrow Bill.”
“Is there trouble?” I asked.
“I hope not,” she said. “I need a witness. This might take all night.”
“Just Bill?” Kim asked.
“For this, yes,” the admiral said. “It’s safer if you don’t know any more until it’s over.”
“And I don’t like the sound of that,” Kim said, taking my coat down from the peg. She wrapped it around my shoulders, pinning it like a cape over my cast. When she reached for my gun belt, the admiral stopped her.
“No, leave that,” she said.
“No one goes anywhere unarmed,” Kim said. “No one. Anywhere.”
“Tonight, being visibly armed will bring more trouble than solutions,” the admiral said.
“That is not at all reassuring,” Kim said. She planted a kiss on my lips. “I’ll wait up.”
The admiral and I walked slowly through the lamp-lit streets. The rain had dragged people back indoors. The handful of stragglers were hurrying home, or up to the sports hall, with nothing more than a hurried wave or muted grunt. The exception was the patrol. Colm loomed in the doorway of an un-powered cafe, close to the harbour. I assumed he was sheltering from the rain before I saw that Siobhan, Gloria, and Reg were in the shadows behind him. The admiral gave them a satisfied nod, but it wasn’t a good sign that Reg and Gloria had been recruited as obvious backup rather than Dean, Kallie, and Lena. Clearly, whatever was happening tonight presented a risk so grave the admiral didn’t wanted the teena
gers exposed to it.
At the harbour, the admiral’s demeanour changed as she approached the solitary guard on duty in the hastily constructed sentry box at the end of the jetty leading to the Amundsen.
“Hamid, I understand it’s your birthday,” the admiral said. “Mr Wright and I will take over the rest of your watch.”
“Ma’am?” the Marine asked, confused.
“No one should spend their birthday in the rain,” the admiral said. “Go on, before I change my mind.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral,” the Marine said, and hurried away into the gloom.
“I think he’s gone,” she said. “We’ll wait on the bridge.”
I kept my counsel as I followed the admiral up the gangway, onto the Amundsen, then battled my way up the near-vertical ladders to the icebreaker’s bridge.
Exhausted, I collapsed into the captain’s chair. “Where’s the skeleton crew? Isn’t someone supposed to be here, on duty?”
“I changed the roster,” she said. “The ship is empty, except for you and me. Tonight, I expect Commander Crawley to seize the ship.”
“And we’re going to stop him?” I asked.
“We are going to negotiate with him. Stop him if we can, let him take the ship without bloodshed if we can’t.” She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small pistol, which she tucked into my sling.
“I thought you didn’t want us to be armed,” I said.
“Not visibly,” she said. “And that is only to be used if they won’t let us leave. There is a lifeboat at the stern. If we have to run, go there. Sophia Augusto is waiting in her ship to pick up the lifeboat. But I don’t expect a battle.”
“Then why did you just hide that gun there? No, why am I here?”
“As a witness. And it is for that reason that Kim is not. If Crawley takes the ship, people will demand to know why it has gone. They will believe you as much as they will believe me, which is to say that some will not believe anything either of us say, and will blame us both. It is important that blame is not spread too far.”