Angus rushed over and hauled him to his feet.
“Incredible!” His face was pink with excitement.
Jack felt unsteady and, suddenly, his legs gave way.
“You all right, Jack?”
“Give me a couple of minutes.”
Angus hauled in the two crumpled parachutes and repacked them into their bags.
“I’ll get rid of these. Can’t see we’ll need them. You feeling any better?”
“I need to go and sit down – I could do with some food or something.”
Angus looked around. “It all seems very quiet. Maybe over there… that looks like a hotel or something.”
In a few minutes, they approached the impressive facade of the Charing Cross Hotel, just off Trafalgar Square. There was a restaurant on the ground floor and, despite the early hour, it seemed to be serving. Jack was still feeling shaky and he knew he needed to sit down for a bit.
The area in front of the hotel was fringed with sandbags. A sleepy-looking guard, wearing a tin helmet, which looked too big for him, cupped a mug of tea beside a makeshift sentry post. He nodded to them as they passed.
A few weary-looking travellers were huddled inside the restaurant. Angus and Jack found a quiet table beside the window that looked out onto the street. A white-coated waiter spotted them and approached. He had a strong East End accent.
“You’re up early lads. What can I get you?”
Angus didn’t need to look at the menu. “Er, can you do us a big fry up – you know a few eggs, bacon, a few sausages…?”
Angus’s order made Jack feel even more queasy. The waiter looked at them, grimaced and exhaled loudly, making a sort of psssht sound. “You having a laugh, son? Haven’t you heard? There’s a war on. There are restrictions you know…” The waiter then bent down and spoke to them furtively behind his palm, “unless, you know, you’ve got an extra bob or two…”
Jack and Angus glanced at each other.
“Er, get us what you can for, er, a pound…” Jack said.
The waiter took a double take. “A pound?” he said, completely astonished. He waited and then said the word again, this time whispering it, as though he might be struck by a bolt of lightning for saying it aloud, “A pound…?”
Jack blushed and shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry – I mean, you know, a few, er, shillings…”
The waiter looked at them oddly. “I’ll see what I can do.” And with that he wheeled round and marched off.
Jack whispered to Angus, “Think I might have got my valuations a bit wrong…”
“Do we actually have any money?”
Jack padded his backpack. “Of course… VIGIL prep room has the lot – just as you said, Angus, ‘be prepared’.”
“How long will the money last?”
“A lot longer than I first thought.”
Jack had started to recover and his thoughts went back to their escape from VIGIL. It was then that he suddenly recalled the strange apparition that he had seen at the entrance of the Taurus Control Centre. “Angus… just before we escaped, did you see…?”
“What?”
“I know there was a lot going on, but after Johnstone fell off the Taurus, I looked over to the entrance of the Control Centre. It was open, and I swear I saw, well, I saw me… and also there was a guy standing next to me…”
Angus looked at Jack as if he had gone mad. “You saw yourself?”
“I know you can’t see clearly through the atmosphere of the Transfer Chamber… but yes… I’m sure… and I think the other guy standing there, well, I think it might have been Dad. It’s ages since I’ve seen him, but Mum still has photos round the house and stuff.”
Angus’s eyes widened in amazement, “I don’t remember that – are you sure?”
“I don’t know,” Jack shook his head. “How could it be?”
Angus shrugged.
Jack grimaced, “And I tell you, I only saw us for a moment, but we didn’t look too good… I mean we looked like we had been beaten up or bruised or burned or something…”
“Maybe you saw future you or something weird?”
“Don’t know Angus. I guess that’s good isn’t it? I mean that there is a future me. But there is one thing bugging me.”
“What?”
“Well,” Jack paused. “I don’t know if it means anything, but you weren’t with us.”
An anxious look flashed across Angus’s face – but in a split second it was gone.
“Forget it Jack. We can’t worry about that now.”
“But if it was Dad and me that I saw back there, then, well, that must mean we meet Dad somewhere and it must mean maybe we get back home somehow… I don’t know. It’s all too weird.” Trying to fathom the logical implications of it all made Jack’s brain hurt.
The waiter reappeared. “Here you go, lads.”
He placed two large plates of egg, bacon and sausage in front of them. He glanced around, furtively. “Er, three shillings please.”
Jack dropped the coins into the waiter’s hand and he slipped them into his pocket without making eye contact. They had made a friend for life.
“Very good of you, sir. Very good indeed. Men will say that this was your finest hour.” The waiter said, putting on a gruff upper-class accent.
“I’m sorry?” Jack said.
“You know lads, from Mr Churchill’s speech. I know them all off by heart…” The waiter cleared his throat, stood to attention, put on a low, growling voice and announced, “Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves, that if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say: this was their finest hour.”
He grinned. “What do you think lads – not bad, eh?”
Jack was bemused. “Er, very good.”
The waiter realised that the boys hadn’t recognised his impersonation of Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, giving part of the speech he had made the previous week. He blushed and said quickly, “So, will you need anything else?”
“Maybe something to drink… tea?”
“Certainly – and I have a few old newspapers if you need to kill some time.”
“OK.”
The waiter rifled through some old papers stacked on the sideboard.
“You know, I’m going to keep a few of these, I think. Some day one or two of these front pages might be quite valuable. This one’s from just a few days ago.”
The waiter held up the paper so they could read the headline.
FRENCH SIGN ARMISTICE
Jack scanned the article.
In the same railway carriage in which the 1918 Armistice was signed to end the First World War, yesterday the French signed an Armistice with Germany to end hostilities in France. Three fifths of France will be occupied by Germany including key Atlantic and Channel ports…
Jack looked up at the date on the newspaper: 23rd June 1940.
“My boy has joined the army… trust you two will be doing your bit to fight the Nazis?” the waiter said.
“Yes…” Jack faltered. “I suppose we will.”
The waiter put on his Churchill voice again, “We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender…” He stopped and looked at Jack and Angus for some sort of approval, but they just stared up at him blankly. Sheepishly, he put down the newspaper and shuffled off.
Jack flicked through the newspaper, “This makes pretty depressing reading… all about the war, rationing, evacuation… take a look.”
As Angus flicked through the newspaper, Jack stared out of the window. The street was a little busier now and there were a few taxis, cars and buses moving up and down the Strand. The people in the street had no idea that, within a few weeks, their city would start to endure months of terror bombings in the Blitz, whilst a few young pilots would fight a struggle for the survival of their country in the sky above them.
AMATEUR SCIENTISTS HELPING WAR EFFORT
Jack started to read:
The government will consult scientists to discuss what else can be done to support the war effort. Details are classified, but a spokesman for the War Office said, “The British Empire stands alone against Nazi aggression. We must look at all ideas, from whatever source, that might help us in the war effort…” It is understood that scientists from leading universities will continue to be engaged but now amateur inventors and scientists will be contacted as well, as the War Office leaves no stone unturned in the search for new ideas.
Jack squinted at a small, poorly rendered picture of two men underneath the article. The caption read:
Cambridge physicist – Dr Petersen and amateur scientist – Dr Pendelshape – to be consulted by War Office.
Jack did a complete double take – staring back at him from the page was Pendelshape; somehow he had survived the battle of Gravelines.
“I recognise him.” The waiter paused from clearing their plates, leaned over and stabbed a chubby finger at the picture of Dr Pendelshape.
“What?” Jack said with incredulity.
“Yes. My mate who works down the road at the Savoy says he’s been staying there for weeks. Must have a bob or two. You get all the posh sorts down there and the top brass – government, military – we’re right close to Whitehall, we are.” The waiter shrugged, “He’s probably still there.”
“What – at another hotel – what did you call it?”
The waiter peered closer at the picture. “Yes. I’d swear it’s him. Yeah – the Savoy – just a bit further down the Strand, on this side. Only my mate mentioned it ’cos he tips well he does, a bit like you lads. Anything else for you, now?”
“No. But take this anyway.” Jack thrust a pound note into the waiter’s hand. “You’ve been very helpful.”
The waiter stared, dumbfounded, at the one-pound note in his hand.
“Er, thanks – very good of you. Very good indeed.”
The waiter moved off again with a spring in his step as Jack reread the newspaper article.
“We’ve hit the jackpot. Pendelshape… he’s here… in London. It’s exactly what Inchquin was talking about,” Angus said.
“Jackpot in one sense, I guess,” Jack said. “But if Pendelshape is here, well, it must mean that VIGIL has been defeated. Pendelshape wouldn’t risk it unless he knew VIGIL couldn’t stop him. It means we’re on our own. VIGIL’s last hope.”
Angus’s face fell. “You’re right. What do you think they’re trying to do?”
Jack rubbed his chin thoughtfully, trying to remember what Inchquin had said. “Well, Dad told VIGIL that they were planning an intervention in 1940. And they’re here – you know – in London. So maybe it is something to do with helping the British defeat Germany early on in the war. Avoiding all the horrors of the war – it’s a typical Revisionist plan. They tried it with the First World War… now they’re trying it with the Second World War.”
“But how?”
Jack looked at the article. “According to this, it looks like Pendelshape is posing as some sort of scientist. I don’t recognise the other guy in the picture – Petersen – but maybe he is, like, a real scientist from Cambridge University or something. Maybe he has something that will be useful to the British government in their fight against the Nazis. Who knows? But I guess it’s not surprising Pendelshape’s here, bang in the middle of London. It’s the centre of government – 10 Downing Street, Parliament, Whitehall, all the government places – everyone who matters hangs out here.”
“Well, I think we need to pay our old friend Pendelshape a little visit,” Angus said.
“Yeah, I’m thinking the same. But it won’t be as easy as that. He’s probably got other Revisionists working with him. And, well, they will know we’ve escaped. Maybe, instead of confronting him, we should spy on him… see what he’s up to, who he’s talking to… maybe then we can work out what’s happening… and then…”
“What?”
“Stop them – for good this time.”
Angus grinned. “You’re beginning to sound just like me.” He scratched his chin. “There’s just one thing we’ve forgotten.”
“What?”
“The time phone. Maybe we should ditch it?”
“I already did.”
“Are you mad? It’s our only way back.”
“I had to make a decision. If the Revisionists have taken over VIGIL HQ they will just use the next time signal to come and get us… we’ll be dead meat.”
“Where did you put it?”
“Left it on top of Nelson’s Column. Couldn’t think of anything else to do with it. At least we know where it is… and that no one will find it.”
“So long as you don’t ask me to climb up and get it.”
“Well, it might come to that. But now we’ve got another good reason to check out Pendelshape. He might be our only way out of here.”
Cautiously, they made their way east down the Strand, away from Trafalgar Square and towards the Savoy Hotel. A couple of taxis rumbled past in front of them followed by an old-fashioned, red double-decker bus. More people were on the streets now – office and shop workers and quite a few men and women in uniform. They all carried odd-looking canvas boxes on strings.
“What’s in the boxes?” Angus asked.
“Gas masks, I think,” Jack replied. “Anyway, stop gawping and concentrate. I think the Savoy must be down here somewhere…”
“Jeez!” Suddenly, Jack stopped in his tracks and hauled Angus into a doorway. “It’s him!”
Sure enough, standing right in the middle of the pavement, only twenty metres ahead of them, was the unmistakable figure of Dr Pendelshape. He was looking away from them, down the street. By the way he checked his watch and tapped his foot impatiently, they guessed he was waiting for someone.
“Don’t let him see you,” Jack whispered.
“What do you reckon?” Angus said. “Shall I take him out?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “How exactly?”
Pendelshape glanced at his watch again and peered down the Strand and then back up to Trafalgar Square. Jack and Angus melted into the shop doorway, but there was nowhere to hide. As he looked up and down the street and continued tapping his foot, a large black car slid to a halt right in front of him. Its rear windows were tinted black. A swarthy, well-built man in a black coat got out of the back and then a second man got out of the passenger seat. For a moment, Pendelshape seemed to hesitate. There was an exchange of words and Pendelshape took a single step back, away from the car. The swarthy man quickly looked up and down the street, as if checking for something, and then, quite suddenly, both men grabbed Pendelshape and man-handled him into the back of the car. The whole thing took less than five seconds and Pendelshape was taken completely by surprise. The doors of the car slammed shut and it drove off into the morning traffic as if nothing had happened. Apart from Angus and Jack, no one seemed even to have noticed that there might have been some sort of altercation.
Angus was the first to speak, “It looked like those men were arresting him.”
“Or kidnapping him,” Jack said. “Angus, the car’s getting away. I think we have to follow them… he’s our only hope.”
The car was heading for Trafalgar Square. Soon it would be out of sight and Pendelshape would be gone.
“Over there!” Jack waved Angus to a taxi that had just deposited its passenger outside the Savoy.
Jack rushed over and stuck his head in the cab, “Can you follow that big black car?”
The taxi driver looked Jack up and down suspiciously, “Well, son, I’m not sure…”
Jack pulled out a ten-pound note, “We’ve got money.”
It seemed to do the trick. The taxi driver’s face lit up, “Hop in.”
The taxi pulled off and soon they had passed through Trafalgar Square and were trailing the car, with Pendelshape aboard, towards west London.
Jack leaned forward. “We don’t want to keep too close… just follow so we don’t lose sight of it…”
Jack caught the driver’s dubious expression in the mirror.
“What are you two then… secret agents or something?”
Angus leaned forward this time. “Almost. We’re time travellers and there’s an evil time traveller in the car in front, but he’s the only one who can get us home.”
The taxi driver laughed. “Gawd… well as long as you pay me, what do I care?”
The two cars snaked their way onwards through London. Quite soon, they were in the suburbs.
“Where’s he taking us?” Angus said.
“No idea… we just need to stay on his trail.”
Suddenly, the taxi driver interrupted them. “I’m sorry about this lads, but there’s some madman on a motorbike behind us. He keeps trying to overtake…”
Jack and Angus spun round on their seats. The traffic was thinning out, and, sure enough, a motorcyclist was trailing them. He had on large goggles and a helmet – though it looked more like a skullcap. A yellow scarf billowed out behind him.
“I’m going to pull in and let him through,” the taxi driver said.
Suddenly there was a roar as the motorbike closed in on the taxi, and then, moved dangerously into the oncoming traffic to try and overtake. In seconds it was alongside the taxi.
The taxi driver was suddenly anxious. “He’s going to kill himself and us too if he’s not careful…”
“Must be one of your relations, Angus, some motorbike nut.”
Angus smiled. “Yeah, you’re probably right – probably Great Grandfather Ludwig on his way to the airport to fly his Hurricane.”
The motorbike drove on and as he passed the taxi, Jack and Angus noticed to their surprise that the motorcyclist was indeed wearing an aviator’s leather jacket over some sort of military uniform.
Day of Vengeance Page 5