An Atlantean Triumvirate

by C. Craig R. McNeil

  “A boat? This is the pride of the Royal Navy! Be careful who you say that to!”

  “A boat,” Murdoch repeated doggedly, “in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, being sick. I’ve got to spend God knows how long down there on New Atlantis with a bunch of jumped up farts who’re trying to prevent a war they started because they’re so bloody ignorant and downright thick. Apart from that I’m fine.”

  “Join the club. Apart from the being sick bit, I’m with you all the way.”

  “You? What’re you going down there for?”

  “What do you think? Head of security.”

  “What?” Murdoch was surprised. “Why wasn’t I told?”

  “Just been confirmed. Me and the Nightshade boys are looking after everyone. What a waste. We’re going to be on New Atlantis for God's sake! Nothing can get to us down there!”

  Murdoch grunted with sympathy. “Take a look around, Riley. Look at it. Three dreadnaughts and their support fleets, two aerial dreadnaughts, three submarine dreadnaughts under the waves. What do you think this is? It’s not security. This is a show of force. You and Nightshade are just the icing on the cake.”

  “Thought that might be the case,” said Riley unhappily. “Looking after a bunch of bureaucrats isn’t my idea of fun.”

  “Mine neither. At least you lot just have to walk around looking tough. I’ve got all the crap to do.”

  “Spying? Really? That doesn’t surprise me.”

  Murdoch looked up at the impassive scarred face. “Are you taking the mick again?”

  Another smile. “Never Murdoch, old son. Now come on to the canteen with me and let’s get you some breakfast.”

  Murdoch allowed himself to be led away, his stomach turning at the thought of having to eat the greasy food that Riley would place in front of him.

  The Renown seemed to bob gently in the deep swells as it lay off the port side of the Invincible like an iron whale. Murdoch could see signs of hurried activity around the port and aft conning towers as the Renown prepared to receive the dignitaries from both the United States and the Empire. It would be an uncomfortable moment for the Americans. In terms of size, the battleship they had arrived on was easily matched by the Renown. The Invincible was on a different planet altogether, dwarfing both the Renown and the American ship by a factor of three at least. Murdoch wondered how many dreadnaught class ships the Americans had. After he had managed to crash land one into the Ice Base there had been a concentrated effort to find out just quite how many there were, not that it had done much good. Murdoch held the private opinion that if there were any more dreadnaughts then they would either be held deep within the United States itself or out in the vast Pacific where the Americans had significant interests. Either way, the Americans weren’t showboating for once and willy waving about 'my guns are bigger than yours.'

  A small skiff motored its way through the sea from the American ship to the Renown where a lift was lowered down to it. That’s them, thought Murdoch. Time for me to head over myself. He was the last to leave. Riley was already on the Renown with several men from Nightshade, ready to receive the American delegation. Probably bored witless as well. All the British party were also onboard the Renown but Murdoch had insisted on seeing the Americans board first before he made his move. He really hoped nothing stupid was going to happen. The American party was composed of a few relatively high ranking senators and their entourages. There was a three star general in there was well, a General Bartlett. Intelligence was a bit sketchy on Bartlett but he’d overseen the American operations in Mexico and Alaska. Murdoch thought he sounded like an out and out stiff backed army man and he wasn’t sure if this was a good thing. It could mean Bartlett would be straightforward to deal with but it could also mean he was one of those redneck nutcases who wrapped themselves in the Stars and Stripes. The Americans also had their security forces as well; sharply dressed dark suited men hanging menacingly in the background. Murdoch made a mental note to keep an eye on them as he didn’t want any gunfights breaking out. Riley would probably have it all dealt with by now anyway. He would be glad when this was all over and done with. He had better get moving because everyone would be waiting on him now.

  The journey across to the Renown was uneventful. Murdoch’s sea legs had finally arrived typically as he was just about to board a submarine where they wouldn’t be needed. And that greasy breakfast had actually worked and his stomach was calm for the first time ever that he’d been at sea. No, that wasn’t true. He’d been fine onboard the luxury cruise ship, the SS Colossus but that had been different because he’d been constantly drunk and had no time to be sick. Dearie me. Was it that long ago?

  A clunk announced the arrival of the lift up to the top deck of the Renown and Murdoch stepped into it as the sole passenger. His meagre luggage of one travellers trunk had gone on ahead by the last boat. It started to rain, slight drops spitting through the cage that enclosed him. By the time the lift had reached the deck, it was raining heavily and Murdoch was cursing his lack of a waterproof Barbour jacket.

  Stepping out on to deck he was greeted by a hard faced soldier, obviously from Nightshade by the insignia on his beret. He pointed his Sten sub machine gun at Riley.

  “Papers please sir,” he said in that bored emotionless voice that all soldiers on guard duty had.

  “Bloody hell man! It’s me, Murdoch. I’m with MI6.”

  “Very good sir. Then you’ll have your papers.”

  “What? Of course I’ve got my damn papers. I wouldn’t have been let across if I wasn’t meant to be here.”

  “Can I see them sir?” the soldier was quite menacing now, covering him with his gun as he held out his left hand for Murdoch’s security clearance papers.

  Murdoch could see a small crowd gathering interestedly on the nearby conning tower. And he was now soaking. Grumbling he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a damp set of papers.

  “You wait until I see Captain Riley about this. It’s a damned disgrace.”

  “Captain Riley’s direct orders, sir,” replied the soldier as he checked the papers. “He said no one was to get on board without the correct clearance. Even you, sir.”

  Bloody Riley. Murdoch stalked away to the door into the conning tower followed by the Nightshade guard. He was glad to get inside away out of the rain which was turning torrential. He made his way down to his usual cabin which thankfully hadn’t been taken over by any of the diplomats. It was nice to know that he still had some perks. It would take a good hour or two to get down to New Atlantis so he had plenty of time to smarten up and have a quick snooze. Knowing the way things were likely to go he was unlikely to get much sleep over the coming days.

  It could feel them now. The life forces had been there for many moons now but always out of reach, always just beyond the limits of its power. But now his pets had found old tunnels that had been exposed when an underwater volcano had erupted some moons ago dislodging masonry and ancient rock fall. And his pets had explored the tunnels, worked their way towards the life forces. So desperate had they wanted to feed yet he had held them back, calmed them with brief psychic strokes. And how his patience had paid off. He felt a massive influx of life forces this day. He and his pets would feed well.

  Murdoch woke to the sound of the docking alarm blaring outside in the corridor. Splashing cold water on his face, he quickly roused himself and made his way to the airlock where he would disembark. Murdoch had cleared himself to be the first off the Renown as he wanted to see the American party as they arrived on New Atlantis. He waited for the thud and hiss of air as the airlock from New Atlantis moved into place and created an airtight seal. Murdoch’s ears popped as a further hiss of air signalled that the air pressure between New Atlantis and the Renown was equalising. Murdoch tapped his foot impatiently as the iron door slid slowly aside allowing a slightly warm damp draft to breeze in. Murdoch was through the door before it had even half opened waving brusquely to various bystanders as he swep
t down the docking platform into the unloading area where the main parties would disembark to be greeted by the Mayor of New Atlantis. Normally the floor would be covered in dirt and grease and packing crates would be piled ceiling high but for this special occasion the dock was sparklingly clean with Union Jacks hanging from the ceiling along with a token Stars and Stripes.

  A brass band was standing ready (a brass band?!? Where the hell had that come from?) and struck up with a rousing rendition of God Save the King as the two large bay doors slid slowly open to reveal the massed ranks of British politicians. Murdoch almost laughed at the surprise on their faces. The brass band was obviously an unplanned addition to the proceedings. The British contingent quickly sped through leaving the way clear for the Americans. Murdoch noted that a greeting party had assembled obviously to guide the Americans to their quarters.

  Ah, yes. Here we go. There’s General Bartlett, outstandingly smart in his olive green uniform with shining brass buttons. Murdoch noted how Bartlett hung back from leading the party down the ramp into the loading bay. Maybe he was in charge and didn’t want it to be known. Hmmm…. Murdoch checked his notes. That would be Senator Donaghue at the forefront with Senator Polanski behind him. Smartly dressed they couldn’t help looking around in interest despite their professionalism. Ahhh… the Secret Service men. Black suits, white shirts, black ties. Where’s the funeral? Maybe not the best thing to say at this time. Oh dear, were they reaching for guns? No, but they’re definitely carrying weapons judging by the suspicious bulges under their left arms. And they were all carrying briefcases. Listening equipment? Murdoch made a note to have New Atlantis scanned for bugs once the summit was over.

  There they are. It was almost always the grey men who were the ones to watch. The men who melted into the background, average height, average build, average hairstyles. Him, him and him. That fella with the goatee beard, that one with the wire framed glasses and that one with the slight limp. Murdoch was sure they were the ones to watch. He could be wrong but there was something about them. He would pass their details onto Riley. Talk of the devil… Oh no. No Riley. Come on. Don’t mess them about.

  Riley and his seven man team had spread about the docking bay, Sten sub machine guns at the ready covering the Secret Service agents who were reaching into their jackets for those suspicious bulges. Murdoch tensed. This is what he didn’t want, what no one wanted. Come on Riley, put the bloody guns away.

  As if reading Murdoch’s thoughts Riley and the Nightshade soldiers raised their guns and slung them over their backs. Everyone visibly relaxed.

  Senator Donaghue was greeted by a now extremely nervous New Atlantean dignitary just as the brass band started playing a rather bad version of the Stars and Stripes and within minutes everyone had disappeared. Well, that was that over with. He had an idea who to keep an eye on over the coming days. The summit started in three hours and he wanted to check out the meeting auditorium before the delegates arrived.

  A muttered hubbub permeated the circular hall like the hum of bees busy about a hive. The American and British diplomats were now mixing readily, many of them being old friends or at the very least old foes. Murdoch could see the war of words had already unofficially started over in the far corner where raised voices had caused a few raised eyebrows and some talk of “rank amateurs.”

  The hall was located at the peak of the main dome of New Atlantis where the many supporting struts were brought together to meet overhead. Heavy glass panels merged seamlessly with bronze plates which reflected the shimmering light from the spotlights outside the dome. In the middle of the room a long elegantly carved mahogany table dominated, soaking up the light from the overhead chandeliers. This was where the main negotiations would take place. Many minor asides would take place in smaller rooms and antechambers or even over lunch or dinner but it was here, in the Great Hall of New Atlantis, that the big one would be discussed. If common ground for peace could not be found between the two countries then everything would fall apart. Murdoch reckoned that there was a good chance that a deal would be hammered out. The Americans wouldn’t be here, deep in enemy territory, unless they had something to say and play for. Murdoch was angry at the thought that they would get away with the murder of King Edward but some things were bigger than individuals, no matter how important a figurehead they had been.

  The hubbub ceased and people began filing out leaving to do whatever they had been ordered to do. Heavy chairs were pulled back and important diplomats sat down on their important posteriors pulling out reams of written notes and paperwork from sumptuous leather briefcases.

  Eventually there was silence interrupted only by the occasional quiet cough or clearing of throat. The only people left in the room were sitting around the long table apart from Murdoch who sat at a small table to himself.

  “Good evening everyone,” said Senator Donaghue. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure to be here but I doubt it would be well received. We all know why we’re here and what our aims are. I hope we can all reach an agreement and bring peace between our countries.”

  Senator Donaghue’s opposite number was Sir Jeremy Halford, one of the few good men Murdoch knew at Whitehall. He was a politician but he was a damn sight less of a backstabber than your usual Whitehall civil servant.

  Sir Halford nodded briefly, acknowledging the tacit admission that the Americans wanted peace. But why, Murdoch wanted to know. All this on the basis of a few leaked British Intelligence reports that the Core was leading them on a wild goose chase? It didn’t wash.

  “Good evening gentlemen,” replied Sir Halford nodding briefly at all the Americans on the opposing side of the wide table. “As Senator Donaghue has said, we hope we can reach an agreement on all our terms.”

  Sir Halford checked his notes before continuing. “Now gentlemen, let’s be blunt. We are aware of several acts of unwarranted aggression against the sovereign territory and citizens of the British Empire. Said acts have been committed by aggressors identified as American or allied to America. The British Empire has committed no act of aggression against any American territories or citizens. We have no interest in doing so.”

  Sir Halford flicked through his notes, before sniffing in the way that only a British diplomat can sniff. It’s a sniff that says “Well really, we’re much better than you. What on Earth are you doing breathing my air?”

  “Perhaps you’d like to explain your terms to us Senator Donaghue?” asked Sir Halford once he’d finished reading his notes.

  Typical Halford. Straight in there with a left hook. Murdoch had heard from Sir Walter Grimes that Halford was a hard hitter and didn’t like dithering about. Even so this was only ten minutes into the summit.

  “The United States recognises that it has displayed errors in judgement that has affected its relationship with the British Empire. Our intelligence agencies have received information showing that we have been misled by our allies to believe that Britain was planning a campaign of war against America.” Donaghue cleared his throat, obviously finding it difficult to say what he had to. “On behalf of the American President and the citizens of the United States, I would like to formally apologise for the damage caused by our forces. I would also like to apologise for the loss of lives and America sends its condolences to the families of all concerned.”

  Donaghue stopped to take a sip of water. On his left General Bartlett sat with his back typically ram rod straight, eyes front, whilst to his right sat Senator Polanski scribbling notes on a pad of paper.

  “I’ve been told that you know who our allies are, Sir Halford,” continued Donaghue to a brief nod from Sir Halford. “America is taking steps to clarify certain issues with our allies and the British Empire can rest assured it has little to fear from them.”

  That was interesting. ‘Allies’ not ‘ally’ ‘Them.’ Was Donaghue deliberately misleading his audience or did the Americans really have allies other than the Core? Murdoch made a note to look into this further when he got back to White
hall. He suspected the statement about being misled was a lie to gloss over American brashness.

  “You asked me for our terms, Sir Halford but I think it would be wiser for me to ask for your terms,” finished Donaghue.

  “Very well,” said Sir Halford scrutinising a sheet of written notes passed to him by his aide. “America will withdraw its remaining forces from the Spanish sovereign territory of the Azores. It will pay for any damage caused by its forces during the occupation and compensate the families of the many British nationals killed.”

  Donaghue shifted uncomfortably and flashed a glance at the unemotional object that was General Bartlett. Probably wondering how to deal with the Khadrae still on the Azores Murdoch thought.

  “America will claim responsibility for the murder of King Edward and the several hundred citizens of Glasgow. This will be a private matter as we don’t wish the British people to start calling for a war between our two nations. You will also pay the British Empire a suitable amount in compensation. We suggest a figure around ten million sterling to be quite reasonable. Lastly, our scientists would be most interested in taking a look at the data you have amassed about the Core. There are several other bits and bobs we require of you but I’m sure our people have it all written into the documents that will need to be signed.”

  Sir Halford passed Senator Donaghue a copy of the treaty, a magnificent document several tens of pages long full of dense legal text.

  With that, Sir Halford stood up, surprising everyone around him. “That will be all I think. You know how to contact me Senator if you require any clarification of the treaty. Good day.”

  Murdoch looked at his watch. Three quarters of an hour had passed since the summit had started. Sir Halford had the Americans over a barrel. He knew it, they knew it and it was making for a short meeting. The sneak attack by America had been a plan to start a debilitating war between Britain and Germany. A weakened Britain would be open to a surprise attack by America backed up by dreadnaughts and Khadrae. Any fool could see what the plan had been – its simplicity was quite astounding. Once it had been uncovered what could the Americans do but retreat and apologise for their stupidity, limiting the damage to a few strained diplomatic ties between their country and Germany and Britain.