What really troubled the Queen was the lack of information regarding the families of survivors, and she felt very deeply for those thousands of people now working for the national recovery with no real news of their loved ones. Hardly any of them knew whether their families and friends were alive or dead. Her parting shot to Sir Ian James concerned this issue:
‘Sir Ian, we would be grateful if you could address this problem at your earliest convenience. I know that members of your family have been found and it would be appropriate for other British citizens to be afforded the courtesy of knowing if their loved ones have indeed survived – or not. We know that it is a very difficult task, but nonetheless a vitally important one.’
Sir Ian acknowledged her request and felt mildly guilty when he thought about the rescue of his son and family. Nevertheless, he decided to set up an extensive team to work on this issue. He could use the UK News to list survivors – and victims in due course.
Dame Ann and the PM were preparing for the Cabinet meeting at noon, when the real work would begin. She believed that she had selected a good, strong team to support Sir Ian. After allocation of portfolios, the new ministers would be able to take a huge load off the shoulders of Sir Ian – and he could concentrate on being a diplomat. He fully grasped the need to talk urgently with world leaders and negotiate all sorts of agreements concerning the resettlement of displaced Britons. He could not just abandon or forget the refugees waiting for some sort of relief from their purgatory. He also had to address the thorny issue of finance. The British financial infrastructure and institutions had collapsed and the value of the British Pound had plummeted.
He must try to instill at least a modicum of hope.
To that aim, they had devised a questionnaire for every displaced British ex-resident to read and complete and return as soon as possible, but no later than the end of February. These questionnaires were wide-ranging and probing. They asked for details of residence, skills, education, race, religion and minutiae about the family group now surviving.
However, the main questions detailed the choices for the future. There were a number of options; some less palatable than others:
Volunteer for work with the British Government in Brussels and permanent resettlement in Belgium / Holland, dependent on skills.
Remain in temporary accommodation in Germany and attempt to absorb oneself into that country’s culture, obtaining temporary work.
Re-settle into one of a number of countries around the world willing to take limited numbers of skilled workers, supported with British funding. (The list was being re-drafted and updated on a daily basis)
Remain in temporary accommodation and volunteer for the clean-up operation in the UK when the snow finally melted.
None of the above. Return to one’s country of ethnic origin using one’s own resources.
Clearly, there were concerns about education for children, employment for parents and medical care for the sick. Europe could not be expected to take on the financial and social responsibility for a million extra potential inhabitants. In addition, Germany would probably have to house the main bulk of the British Armed Forces in soon to be reinstated army camps and RAF bases. Add to that the steady stream of UK based snow-survivors landing in Europe, at a rate of approximately five thousand per day and increasing.
It was a problem of colossal proportions, and Sir Ian would need every ounce of his strength and every vestige of his political skill to persuade member states of the UN to adopt a policy of patience and magnanimity. The world had already had its own severe financial and social problems before this catastrophe happened, and without the firm promise of future British funding could not be expected to bankroll the UK forever.
However, The Prime Minister could now rely more heavily on Dame Ann, who had volunteered to take on the mechanics of the resettlement problem. It was an issue upon which she would sink or swim.
And if he knew Ann Fletcher, she would definitely rise to the surface!
Day 27
Friday 10th January
A Hotel in Belgium
The five Townsends, plus Bracken, had endured forty-eight hours of torment and limbo. Since the helicopter pick-up at noon on Wednesday, they had suffered the full gamut of emotions.
Immediately after wheeling away in the helicopter from No.50 they were momentarily filled with joy and relief at being rescued. However, almost immediately they realised that Chloe and Chris had been left behind, and despite their pleading the helicopter crew refused to return and pick them up. They explained – quite brutally – that gunfire was observed by the aircrew and their orders were to retreat as hastily as possible in those circumstances. The Townsends were filled with guilt and despair and Sue was inconsolable. They had survived for so long in Les’s bunker only to be thwarted at the eleventh hour.
‘It isn’t fair,’ she bleated.
The flight, direct to the hospital ship, on the orders of the PM’s office, lasted about forty minutes and they landed to a less than enthusiastic welcome. One had to remember that many of the staff on these ships also had family ashore, and each time a helicopter landed with total strangers they suffered additional personal heartache and resentment.
The family were placed in a lounge with a group of very dodgy looking people. Sick, filthy dirty, emaciated and exhausted. The Townsends, by comparison looked as if they had been transported from a Health Spa.
No-one spoke to them until a nurse approached with a questionnaire to be completed by each individual. This took about thirty minutes during which time they were supplied with hot drinks and sandwiches. After about another hour, a nurse returned for the finished questionnaires and informed them that dinner was from 6pm in the restaurant on Deck Six. They discovered that they were aboard the Fred Olsen Cruise Liner, Balmoral, now operating as a hospital ship. Survivors were brought here for treatment before being shipped ashore to a holding camp.
They were all growing disconsolate with the treatment handed out, but were not inclined to complain, as every once in a while, yet another group of extremely poorly people paraded in for treatment. At 5.30pm, the increasingly grumpy nurse returned, and took them one at a time into a small cabin for a cursory medical examination. They were all promptly pronounced fit and a flight to the European mainland was scheduled for 9pm that night. They were allowed to retain their own clothing, as it appeared to be relatively clean and lice free, and were unceremoniously sent into dinner. The dining room was crowded with some motley looking characters, all dressed in military fatigues. They were mostly males with the odd young woman scattered about – they spotted no children or toddlers at all. It was eerily silent and the Townsends soon came to comprehend the extent of the torture these people had suffered.
A young man of about thirty with the newly universal short-cropped hairstyle - and very bad teeth – sporting a broken arm in plaster sat at their table. Les greeted him with a cheery hello and was rewarded with a sullen and angry response:
‘What have you got to be so bloody pleased with yourself about?’
They were all taken aback and Matt took up the attempt at conversation.
‘We’re sorry mate if we've said something wrong. No offence!’
The man looked up and scowled.
‘I should hope not, mate! How come you lot are so clean and smart and well fed? Who did you kill or bribe to make your survival so easy? Take a look around, pal – most of these people have been through hell and back, and you lot look as though you just come back from a cruise to the Caribbean! Don’t expect any sympathy from us, mate. Try looking for it in the fucking dictionary between ‘shit’ and ‘syphilis.’
He seemed mildly amused by his poor joke, but continued his rant:
‘We've all lost family and friends, and the outlook is pretty fucking bleak, so if I were you I’d keep my head down, because there are some pretty desperate people looking at you and wondering – why do they look so good – when we've been eating cockroaches and our own shi
t.’
Les looked at the man and then his own family, indicating that they should leave the dining room and prepare for the flight out. So they left the remains of their dinner and returned to the flight deck lounge where they waited impatiently for their 9pm trip out.
‘God, I didn’t realise how bad it was elsewhere and how lucky we were,’ said Lynne. ‘We were so fortunate – thanks to Les and his bunker. I don’t think I could have survived what that man seems to have been through.’
‘It's not our fault that Dad had the wit to think ahead. It's not our fault!’ said Marie with tears in her eyes and acute frustration in her voice.
‘And now we've lost Chris and Chloe too!’
The others sat in silence, really taken aback and feeling terribly guilty that they had survived. They read every word in the UK News, which had just been delivered to the ship. Its pages pulled no punches and gave brutal particulars of the true story. By the time the Townsends had taken in all of the gory details, they heartily and unconditionally empathised with the young man’s anger.
The chopper ferrying them, plus several others, took off at 9.05pm and landed at Brussels International Airport an hour later, where only the Townsends disembarked, and were bundled into a waiting car which whisked them off to the hotel in which they now reclined.
They had been here for the best part of two days with only the Pounds Sterling in their wallets, no other clothes and no understanding of what was going to become of them. They ate free of charge in the hotel restaurant and enjoyed showers, baths, room service and European TV, which was full of news of the crisis. But no-one came to see them and they were mystified beyond understanding.
Then, finally, on the Friday evening they had a single visitor.
Dame Ann called up to Les and Sue’s room and requested a meeting. ‘Of course,’ Les agreed, and Chloe’s mother appeared a few minutes later.
‘Perhaps I should explain myself and clarify why you have been treated in the way you have. I won't apologise because you are many times better off than most, but I shall try to mitigate the reasons for your puzzlement and distress.’
The five Townsends sat down to listen more carefully to what Ann Fletcher had to say.
‘I appreciate fully that your actions have saved the life of my daughter Chloe. For that I am very grateful. Currently, I am the deputy Prime Minister in a new Government of National Recovery and am in a position to make things happen. I arranged for the rescue mission and the heli lift out, and if it hadn’t been for those two interfering idiots at your house – all would be well. However, it's not, and the search continues for Chloe, as we speak. The men you know as Brady and Bryant were sent by me.’
Sue interrupted to ask if Brady was really Chloe’s father, but Ann disregarded her.
‘To continue. When Chloe …and Chris of course, are rescued, she will be joining me for the foreseeable future. It's up to her and Chris to decide what becomes of him. Now turning to you - the Townsends. You have saved my daughter’s life and you should be recompensed. To that end, you will be flown to Orlando, Florida and take up the occupancy of my own property just outside of the town. All of the appropriate paperwork has been arranged – I assume you still have your current passports?’
They all nodded as she carried on:
‘I will supply you with US$100,000 for the first year, and arrange employment for the three of you still of working age. These funds are from my own private fortune. I owe you at least that, so no false modesty, please.’
The Townsends were agog.
‘What if we don’t want to go,’ spluttered Matt.
‘Look around you, young man. The UK is in a complete shambles. Where else do you expect to go? If I were you, I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Now, if there aren't any more silly questions….no…well then, you will be picked up from here at 9am tomorrow morning and driven to Frankfurt, where you will board a United States Air Force jet for Orlando, via Washington. I’ll need your passports to complete the visa formalities tonight. You will be given them back at Frankfurt. You’ll find everything of administrative interest at my villa. In addition, my agent in the US will meet you on Monday morning to talk about work and money. Well, I’ll bid you goodbye and good luck – and thank you once again for looking after my daughter.’
With that she swung around and disappeared from the Townsend’s lives forever.
‘It's too bloody good to be true!’ shouted Matt after her.
‘I agree, son,’ replied Les, ‘but what are our options? You heard what that chap said on the boat – and we saw the snow as we flew out. It could be years before the UK is habitable again. It's a bloody good option – even if temporary - in my view. What do you say girls?’
Marie was not happy about Chris and Chloe.
‘Perhaps they can come and stay or Chris might move over permanently. We've got a good friend and contact in Ann Fletcher and we can use her again, I suppose,’ answered Sue, enthusiastically.
They talked it over and chatted until the small hours, sipping white wine from the complimentary room service. They were both trepidatious and tremendously excited both at the same time. Everything had happened so fast since leaving No.50. In the end, they all agreed that this was a fantastic opportunity and should be grasped with both hands. Only Matt was unsure.
‘I don’t know, dad. Can we trust a woman that we don’t really know?’
‘We’ll find out soon enough, son.’
*******
At 9am sharp, the Townsends climbed aboard the USAF minibus which was waiting outside the Hyatt Hotel and set off on the long drive to Frankfurt. The warmly clad, helmeted army driver wasn’t particularly chatty and could confirm nothing about their flight.
Their route took them via Maastricht, Koln and down the E35 towards Frankfurt. They enjoyed their packed lunches, supplied by the USAF and eventually the sun peeked out from behind the January skies.
After passing Limburg at J43, the driver answered his phone for about the fifth time that morning and read a text, and then left the Autobahn, explaining that the airfield was just north of Frankfurt itself. He drove about fifteen miles along wooded lanes until he crossed a junction. It was a quiet road and no other traffic passed the minibus either way.
As the vehicle trundled along with the Townsends merrily chatting away about their respective futures, the driver slowed a fraction as a sharp ninety degree bend approached, just before the village of Weilmunster. Twenty metres from the turn, he released his seatbelt, slowed the bus and came to a stop. He turned and stared hard at the Townsends.
‘Why have we stopped,’ asked Les. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Well, sort of, sir,’ replied the driver, who cleared his throat before continuing.
‘You and your family are in great danger. You were never supposed to reach the airport today. You were never supposed to reach Orlando tomorrow morning and you were never supposed to interfere with Ann Fletcher’s plans.’
The five passengers all turned to each other, eyes wide with surprise, but remained silent.
‘Do you see that break in the barrier fifty metres ahead of the vehicle, there - on the corner?’
The Townsends peered through the windscreen and nodded in unison.
‘Well, you were all supposed to take a trip this morning – not to Orlando but a final and fatal trip – through that barrier and disappear for ever.’
Lynne gasped in shock.
‘What? Are you making some sort of sick joke?’ she wailed in fear.
‘I knew it! I fucking knew it!’ muttered Matt excitedly.
‘No ma’am, I'm not joking. The original orders were to see you over and into that ravine, and make it look like an accident – on the strict orders of Ambassador Fletcher. I’ve brought you here to prove that your deaths were planned and ordered by Ms Fletcher. I’ve been receiving updates by phone all morning – as you’ve probably noticed.’
However, Les would have none of it.
�
��There's no way that Ann would do such a thing. It's impossible – that would be cold blooded murder!’
The driver merely glared at Les and shrugged his agreement.
‘Oh dear God!’ muttered Sue.
‘Luckily for you,’ the driver continued, ‘I have just received a coded order to deliver you safely to the airport for your flight. You may have just heard my phone bleep – a few short minutes ago. We intercepted the original driver, who was ‘interviewed’ and revealed his instructions, and I am now to get you to Frankfurt in time for your flight, which we have reinstated.’
‘Why are you telling us all this,’ demanded Les.
‘Because, Mr Townsend, you need to know that Ms Fletcher is a very dangerous woman and that your lives are in great danger. There are things being authorised way above my pay scale – so I don’t know the full story – but I do know that Ms Fletcher is being monitored at the highest levels. She is ruthless and treacherous. You cannot trust her ever again.’
‘Why doesn’t someone stop her,’ snarled Matt?
‘That also is information way above my pay scale. All I know is that you are to catch the flight out and further instructions will be delivered en-route. The main aim is to get you safely beyond the tentacles of the lady in question.’
Naturally, the whole family was dumbfounded. They could barely believe their ears, and sat back in silence as the driver completed a U-turn and headed back up the wooded lane towards Frankfurt.
They sat in silence for the entire journey, each with his or her own thoughts, bewildered and afraid.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 70