“Who are you?” He demanded angrily, thumping the grass by his leg with a clenched fist.
“Now that is possibly both the simplest and the most complex question of all,” Brandis replied, taking up a similar seated position against the inside of the other main wheel, seven yards away. “You think that you’re the only one hearing these voices?” He added, echoing a question he’d asked someone else some months before in far less pleasant circumstances. “Hal Markowicz hears them… I know that much… and it’s almost certain that Reuters does also, although I’ve never been able to confirm that. There are perhaps others – some of the Direktors, almost certainly – although most of Hindsight haven’t been here long enough yet, I suspect.”
“How could you possibly know this?”
“A variety of sources…” Brandis shrugged. “Of course, I hear them too… or… I used to…”
“You… you mean they’ve gone?” Thorne asked sharply, suddenly very interested in what the man had to say.
“For perhaps three months or so now… since just before we crossed paths up north.”
“Why…” was all he could managed now: the all-encompassing question of the moment. “Why did they go… why do they come at all… just: why…?”
“I never found out why they stopped…” Brandis admitted, and Thorne was surprised to note the sadness and loss in the man’s words. “That was never explained. They may come back, I suppose. As to why they came in the first place? Well, that, unfortunately, I’m not completely sure of either, although in the case of Markowicz and the others, I have my suspicions. No doubt, like me, you asked them this directly?”
“Yes…”
“Yes,” Brandis nodded again. “And no doubt, as in my case, even they weren’t able to give you an adequate answer…” He released a soft chuckle as he considered the matter at length, the faint sound carrying clearly to Thorne against the relative silence of the night overall. “Let me guess: ‘we are you… we’re not you...’,” he mimicked, mostly keeping any malice out of his tone. “‘We don’t know… we can’t remember’…” This, they’ve said to me also over the years, many many times…”
Asshole…
“Sounds familiar,” Thorne conceded with a sardonic smile, amused in spite of himself that his inner voice was actually feeling insulted. “What the bloody hell are you doing here, anyway?” He added, snapping his attention back to far more immediate concerns. “I thought – I’d hoped – that maybe I’d heard the last of you up on the Murray. Couldn’t wait to bugger off then, and now you’re all chummy and ready to ‘play nice’…”
“I did say that we would talk more…”
“Yeah, well; we’re not fuckin’ friends yet, mate! You left me with a face full of bloody pepper spray last time, so you’ll excuse me if I’m less than overjoyed.”
“To be fair, you were pointing a gun at me: my option was far less lethal…”
“Yeah, yeah…” Thorne growled with a dismissive wave. “You probably saved my life that day… and Briony’s… I think we both know I was never gonna use it. Look, is there actually a point to this little tête-a- tête? Like I said to Alec: I’ve got enough shit to deal with right now without anything else being heaped on my plate...”
“Yes…” Brandis agreed solemnly. “I – I am sorry… about Evan…”
“Look, I – !” Thorne began, ready to anger once more, but quickly checked himself as he caught the genuine sadness in the other man’s tone. “I – yeah… that… that was hard…”
“That it was unavoidable doesn’t make it any less painful…” Brandis agreed softly. “He was a good man… one of the best…” It was the depth of feeling in that voice that triggered a final alarm in Thorne’s mind: that there was real connection there rather than a general level of empathy.
“You… you knew him, didn’t you…” he began slowly, wishing he could’ve seen the expression on the other man’s face at that moment. “I’m not even going to bother asking how you know about something that only happened this morning, but that’s not just some random sentiment for the loss of a good soldier, is it?” He added, accusation creeping into his tone. Thorne rose to his feet once more with renewed energy, although he was forced to duck his head slightly to avoid striking it on the underside of the B-17’s engine inboard engine nacelle. “No more screwing around, now! Who are you… really…? Or should I just call for the bloody guards and be done with it?”
“You’re far too interested now to do that,” Brandis smiled, shaking his head faintly and quite pointlessly in the almost total darkness. “Who I am will come, I promise you. Do you think I’d have let that slip by accident? I’d never deny Evan in any case: he was far too good a man to be disrespected in such a way.”
Think, boss… think about this!
“But…” Thorne’s voice trailed off as he was left momentarily speechless. Can you see this? Can you see the truth?
Not yet… not yet…the voice whispered inside his mind, excitement seeping through and filling him with adrenalin also. But we can feel the answer’s close… that it’s within our reach.
Like the bottom failing on a box full of memories and old knick-knacks, all the facts, rumours and unrelated snippets of random information Thorne had collected over the last two years regarding Brandis came tumbling out into the forefront of his mind. The huge reserves of gold… the complete anonymity of the man… his apparent ability to turn up just about anywhere and disappear again at will… those and any number of other little pieces of data whirled around his thoughts, some of them now suddenly falling into place with that last revelation that he somehow knew – or was possibly known by – one of the Hindsight team.
“One of the team…?” He blurted out loud, his subconscious sorely disappointed that it was too dark to fix the man opposite with a triumphant glare. “You know us…! Hindsight…! How stupid of me not to see it when it was staring us in the face the whole time! Three thousand tons of gold, by God! Of course you can’t amass that kind of wealth in one lifetime… what kind of idiot would even think that was possible? Who’re you working for? The UN? CIA? Surely not MI6 – the bastards would’ve told me…”
“They probably wouldn’t have, but none of the above, I’m afraid…” Brandis confessed with a smile in his voice. “I represent a private enterprise that didn’t actually exist in the world you left behind, although it will in the one you return to…”
“If we ever return…”
“Oh, you will: there’s no doubting that…” Brandis assured in a way that was strangely comforting. “Not for some years yet, I’m afraid, but it will happen.”
“And why are you here… here and now, skulking about under empty bombers in the middle of the bloody night? You’re clearly not one to do things on a whim, so there must be some point to this little visit…?”
“Well, to be honest; for similar reasons to that of Air Commodore Trumbull…”
“The fuck…?” Thorne spat in instant disgust, so incensed with the answer that he momentarily forgot where he was and jerked his head upward, banging it solidly on the underside of the bomber’s wing. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck…!” He added in a sharp hiss, clutching at his head with one hand.
“I know what Alec was trying to do, goading you into losing your temper,” Brandis explained, completely unfazed as Thorne bent over double, still clutching at his bruised head and releasing a long, stifled groan that was equal parts anger and pain. “It was a good start, but it’ll take more than some half-arsed attempt at insubordination to drag you out from behind that Floyd-like bloody wall of yours.”
Fuck it…! You don’t have to take this shit! Call the bloody MPs…!
“I think I bloody will…!” Thorne growled, recovering enough to stand upright again, this time first making sure he had moved out into the open air behind the huge wing’s trailing edge.
“Never mind about calling anyone…” Brandis drawled casually, dismissing the idea before Thorne even had an opportunit
y to verbalise it properly. “Just sit down and listen to what I have to say…”
“Why don’t you go and – !”
“Sit down and shut up…!”
The command was hissed so softly as to be almost inaudible, yet to Thorne’s stunned surprise, his muscles seemed momentarily to have acquired a new master. As he fought vainly against it all the way, his body instantly dropped to the grass once more, crossed its legs and waited patiently, facing the darkness from whence the order had been given. Surprise gave way to outright fear in those few precious seconds as he also realised he was suddenly unable to utter a single word, his lips working silently and desperately for speech that would not come.
“You will sit there and be quiet until you’ve heard what I have to say!” Brandis snarled, also stepping out from beneath the aircraft until he was a separate silhouette against the lighter backdrop of its lower fuselage. “I didn’t have the damned strength left to keep you under control last time we met, but I can assure you; tonight I can keep this up for more than long enough, and if you think sitting on grass is the worst thing I can make you do to yourself tonight, think again! I’ll have you in the OR’s mess, kissing privates so fast your feet won’t hit the floor!”
He left that double-entendre hanging long enough to give a struggling Thorne time to consider the true horror of it before continuing. Not a single muscle would respond to his own thoughts, a sensation so alien and terrifying that it was quickly stripping away any remaining anger or bravado.
“This was what my ‘visit’ was all about,” he said sharply, crouching down on his haunches a few yards from Thorne and still in the night time shadow of the aircraft itself. “Alec doesn’t get it… none of them get that you just don’t trust anyone else… with anything. Lies… subterfuge… misdirection… withholding of information at all levels: all of it just tools of the trade for your over-developed defence mechanisms. You cannot do this alone! This isn’t something you can deal with through denial and repression: this isn’t your family! Alone, you will fail, and you’ll drag the rest of the free world down with you! Stop struggling…! I can feel you fighting it! It’s bloody annoying and it won’t accomplish a damned thing!”
“Your voice…” Thorne croaked, face red with exertion as he somehow found enough strength to force the words out. “…accent…!”
“Yes... yes, I know it’s failing…!” Brandis hissed in return, tanking an awkward, crouching step backward and forced to momentarily steady himself with one hand on the ground. “I’m using all my energy… just holding you… there…!” He added falteringly through clenched teeth. “It appears I… underestimated… how much willpower this would take…”
“I… know... you…!”
“D’you think so?” Brandis wheezed with a bark that was halfway between a cough and a snort of derision. He could feel his remaining strength fading now, taking his accent and his other defences with it. The point of no return was quickly approaching, and he couldn’t afford to push his luck much longer. “That’s yet to be proven, but I’ll tell you this for nothing…” he added, rising to his feet and falling backward another stumbling step as he reached out for support against the fuselage of the bomber behind him. “Your priority right now is to deal with this Ambon situation. If you don’t screw things up too badly, you may come out of it all right, although I’m not holding my breath on that at the moment. Once it’s done however, you’re going to need help like you never have before… that, I can promise you. When that happens, I’ll be waiting: when the time comes, I’ll help you find me.”
“I know you…” Thorne croaked again, now able at least to drag his hand up to his throat with painstakingly slowness.
“Yes, yes… you’ve said that…” Brandis muttered dismissively, his breathing laboured now as he leaned heavily against the B-17’s fuselage.
“Who…?”
“You’ll find that out soon enough! Heed what Alec said… heed what I’ve said. When all this is done… when you’re ready… I’ll tell you everything you want to know… and more…”
Thorne rolled onto one side then, finally freeing up enough movement to allow one leg to stretch out and start pushing him awkwardly forward.
“Christ, you never give up, do you?” Brandis observed croakily with a hint of grudging admiration. His head jerked around at the distant sound of an engine, and ducking beneath the underside of the fuselage, he was able to see some kind of vehicle approaching slowly from the far end of the runway. “Well, that’s my cue…” he quipped brightly. “I’ll keep holding you for another minute or so if I can, just to be safe. I’d ask you not to come looking for me, but I know you won’t take any notice…”
“F-fuck… you…!”
“My case in point… You won’t catch me, but I appreciate that you’ll make the effort…” He stepped over Thorne, crouching down behind his prone form. “I can teach you how to do this…” he added with a shrug, “although you’ll find it’s of surprisingly little use…” He was gone then, little more than a shadow as he disappeared into the darkness, threading his way through the rows of aircraft and beyond.
Whatever was restraining Thorne held for perhaps another twenty seconds or so then disappeared completely, as suddenly as it had come, and left him wheezing desperately for air and lifting himself to all fours. The MPs’ jeep cruised straight past his position, completely oblivious as he lay there in the darkness, and it was surprising even to himself that he made no effort to attract their attention. He crawled out into the open as they drove on, rolling over onto his back, his entire body shaking in fear and anger over what he’d just experienced.
Ambon
Dutch East Indies
It was just after midnight as Ritter cracked open the door at the far end of their barracks hut and peered out into the starlit night, taking some time to make sure there was no unseen guards about, waiting to challenge him. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he drew the door back with excruciating slowness, hoping beyond hope that there would be no creak from the hinges to give him away, or from the floorboards beneath his bare feet as he moved into the opening and again paused to check his surroundings. He’d already spent at least thirty agonisingly long minutes waiting inside his own quarters, listening to the soft snores of his commander-in-chief from across the hall before working up the courage to venture forth, trying to remain confident that Reuters would stay asleep throughout the rest of the night.
The awful, almost petrifying thought of the bomb’s imminent detonation had plagued his every remaining moment of that afternoon and evening, and he was determined that Eileen should also be told, if for no other reason than that if there was to be any hope of escape, he would need anyone he could get at his side. An exceedingly glum and defeated Reichsmarschall following him about the whole time however had effectively put paid to any chance he might’ve had to make contact with her prior to lights out.
A light, careful placement of one foot on the first step down to the ground produced a soft squeak that seemed as deafening as nails on a blackboard to the adrenalin-pumped pilot as he froze again in mid-step, once more casting his eyes and ears about for any sign of detection or betrayal. This time, the distant sound of soft, alien voices came to him in the silence that followed, and without any further urging, he moved back into the darkness of the hut’s entrance as quickly as he was able, closing the door until there was once again just the slimmest crack along one edge behind which he was able to peer out.
The voices, although still soft, drew closer all the same, and after a moment or two he was able to pick out the flicker of a hand-held lantern, carried by one of two men approaching the far end of Donelson’s hut, from the direction of the beach to the north. The pair halted a few dozen yards away, little more than silhouettes behind the glare of the light, and he strained to hear what was being said as they began to talk again.
“You need come no further, private: I will find my own way from here…” one of them whispered softly, both o
f them speaking Japanese.
“But, Kaigun-daii-dono,” the other argued plaintively, caught between standing orders and an ingrained desire not to raise the ire of an officer, “our orders are to restrict any contact with the prisoners… particularly the woman. Besides…” he continued, changing tack slightly, “…it may not be safe to be in there alone…” Somehow, the man subconsciously knew he’d said exactly the wrong thing, even as the words had left his mouth, but it was too late now, and all he could do was prepare himself to weather the coming storm.
“You think I cannot defend myself… with two of them here an old man and a woman…?” Oshiro Takeshi snarled indignantly, rounding on the guard without hesitation. The loss of face he’d suffered from being shot down by a female still stung his arrogant pride, and he wasn’t about to let some lowly enlisted man get away with an insult like that. “You forget your place, you insolent dog! Get out of my sight!”
“Hai, Kaigun-daii-dono…!” He hissed, snapping rigidly to attention before executing an immediate about-face and marching off in the direction they’d come, not daring to turn his head to look back.
Oshiro waited a moment or two, glaring angrily after the retreating guard, before extinguishing the lantern he still held and moving carefully forward, clearly heading for the nearer entrance to Donelson’s hut. As he turned away from Ritter’s position, he was momentarily able to catch the glint of moonlight on a blade of some kind, clearly grasped in the man’s other hand.
“Scheisse…!” Ritter breathed angrily, nerves dissipating slightly as he recognised the significance of what the Japanese officer was up to. A man sneaking into a woman’s quarters in such a manner with a knife in hand could only have one of two possible motives – possibly both – and neither were good. Ritter wasn’t about to allow the swine an opportunity to carry out either one.
What he could actually do however was another matter entirely; one that left him momentarily immobile. Certainly, he could barge into the hut, causing a scene and drawing enough attention to bring the guards running, but what might that actually accomplish? Even if the guards did come, from what he knew of the brutality of the Japanese – and even of some the more barbaric Germans in uniform, he had to admit – there was no guarantee they wouldn’t just join in rather than put a halt to any unsavoury proceedings.
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 96