by Wendy Reakes
He was stunned at the vision inside the tunnel.
Along one side were wooden hives carved from tree trunks, resembling the shape of a baby’s cradle, held fast by a crossed section of wood. The roughly manufactured and ancient looking cradles had lids over them which looked like a tiled roof. They were quaint despite the deadly occupants.
Around the hives was a controlled field of chives with flowering lavender heads, to provide pollen to the bees, or so Amos explained. He had to yell to be heard. Not just because he was speaking through a visor, but because the sound of bees swarming about the tunnel was deafening. Ben had to admit feeling daunted by the bees encircling him. They were practically covering one sleeve and he forced himself to resist the urge to brush them off with his other hand. He was sweating inside the suit, even though he had been warned that the temperature was less humid in there. Despite the urge to keep a manly stance, Ben began shaking his head violently as more and more bees swarmed over the visor covering his face. He was becoming disorientated. He raised an arm towards Amos, as a signal for him to guide him out of there. He was almost blind now. There was nothing left to see except the bees swarming all over his head. He began to panic. If he didn’t get out of there right that second he was going to turn and run, hopefully in the direction from where they’d entered. Ben felt a pressure on his side. Someone was leading him away. He was moving his legs now, putting one foot in front of the other as if he was walking in slow motion and he was groaning; groaning so much that he felt any minute he would vomit inside that gauze covering and make matters ten times worse. He finally lost his bearings.
He was stopped by the people guiding him out. He knew that, only because his feet were no longer moving. The bees were being brushed away from his visor and as he tried to pull up his arms, he could not; the weight of them was too great. He looked down, and as far as he could see he was covered from head to toe with bees. He shivered, and the bile in the back of his throat was more intense and the heat...the heat was making him feel dizzy. He swooned.
He only briefly passed out. The suit had been removed and he was back in the ante-space sitting upon a seat of some sort. A female worker was offering him a beaker of water. He took it, even though he could barely control his shaking hands. He could hear Amos speaking and, as Ben looked up, he watched him strip his own suit from his body. There wasn’t a single bee on him.
“Some people are susceptible to bees. The bees can sense it. They would not have attacked you if you were less vulnerable.”
“Vulnerable? Jeeze, is that what you call it?” Ben was beginning to get his breath back. “You could have warned me. That was no picnic.”
“Your susceptibility would not have been detected before you entered. If you knew of it, you would have warned us prior to the visit.”
Ben licked his lips and nodded. The old man had a point. Nevertheless...“You know visit wouldn’t be a word I’d use in a situation like that.” Ben drained the water in the beaker and handed it back to the girl. “Can’t we just get out of here?”
Amos nodded and took his arm to help him stand. Ben shook him off. He already felt like a girl and he certainly didn’t want the colonel to witness his distress when he went through that door.
Outside, Ben’s eyes caught the Barnes’. He had a mocking look on his face and for once Ben gave into that. Touché, Barnes, he thought. Tou-friggin’-ché.
Chapter 58
The men in suits stood outside his flat door as Charlie Croft closed down his files, deleted the ones that could potentially incriminate him and switched his five flat screens to screen saver. An underwater sub was following a single clown fish called Captain Nemo. The sub and the fish swam from one screen to the other, in a beautiful coral clad ocean.
They knocked again. He waited and watched their faces, which were reflected by his ingenious camera device onto the panel of the door. He wondered if they were feds, as he called them. Spending too much time talking to Fischer had seen to that. They didn’t look like feds. In fact they looked more like double-glazing sales men. Double-glazing on windows in a flat barricaded outside by metal shutters? He didn’t think so.
One of them called out. “Mr. Croft? We are colleagues of your sister, Charlotte. We have reason to believe she has gone missing.” There was a pause as Charlie thought about Charlotte and when he'd last seen her. It had been early the previous night when she’d come round after her flat had been turned over. She had claimed Ben had gone under the radar, so Charlie had helped her with a little research. They had been investigating something called Sous Llyndum, and after they’d discovered that it could be the name of a place, and given its translated title, ‘Under London’, Charlie had an idea to call British Heritage. He had spoken to the guy at the top, which kind of baffled Charlie. He remembered thinking at the time that whatever Sous Llyndum was, it must be pretty important if the head of British Heritage was prepared to talk to him rather than one of his minions.
After getting nowhere, Charlotte had gone home. She was pretty miserable too, if he recalled. And she was pregnant. Maybe she’d topped herself. Charlie shook his head as he got up to answer the door. Nah, Charlotte wouldn’t do something like that.
He spoke into an intercom. “Show me your I.D.”
He watched the men look around to see where the voice had come from. They peered into the spy hole in the centre of the door. Except it wasn’t a spy hole. It was where Charlie disguised his camera. They each held up a wallet. Press, it said. And beneath, City Limits. That was the weekly newspaper Charlotte worked for. So maybe they were legit. He looked at their names and compared their photos to their faces. Tim Trainer and Brett Welsh.
Weren’t they the two Charlotte suspected had ransacked her apartment? Or at least one of them.
“How did you locate me?”
“Can we talk about that inside?”
“No. You don’t get in until you tell me how you located me.”
Charlie saw them look at one another. The one called Tim Trainer nodded to the other. “Your address is in Charlotte’s personnel file. You are her next of kin.”
What! How could Charlotte have been so stupid? Then again, as far as her employers knew, he was just Charlie Croft with absolutely no link whatsoever to ICE. “Okay, take a step back. I’m opening the door.”
They did.
Charlie flicked a switch to turn off the camera, pulled and pushed all the bolts and locks and finally tugged the door open. He ushered them inside. He took one glance out in the darkened hall and then he slammed the door shut. The two men stood in front of his desk looking at his screens. His sub was chasing Captain Nemo, going back and forth between each. “Hey how do you do that?” the one called Tim Trainer muttered.
“What’s this about my sister?” Charlie resented strangers checking out his stuff. It was private and the thought of his highly sensitive data getting out in the open made him shudder. He’d already planned on retrieving his files from Fischer later, when the coast was clear.
“She went off the radar last night.”
Off the radar. That was the same term they had used with Charlotte when they told her about Ben. “How do you know that?”
“We were concerned about her after she phoned in and told us her flat had been ransacked.”
Charlie doubted that. They were lying. He allowed them to continue. “We went over last night and watched her leave her flat at about 11.30. We were just guarding her; watching her back. You understand?”
“Sure, sure,” Charlie said. His sarcasm was lost on them. He knew it would be. “So where’d she go? You followed her, right?”
“Well, actually, that’s why we have concerns. Her car turned into Downing Street.”
Charlie laughed. “That’s crazy. What would Charlotte be doing going to Downing Street that late at night?” He was beginning to feel nervous. He tried not to show it.
“Our sentiments exactly,” Tim Trainer said.
Charlie walked over to his chair
and sat himself down. He put his feet up on the desk in the same place as he always rested his feet. “You’re wasting your time. I have no idea what Charlotte’s doing or where she is. I haven’t heard from her since last night.” Well, that was the truth.
Tim Trainer sat on the only other chair. It was the one Charlotte had sat upon the last time he saw her. The other guy, Brett Welsh, sat at the end of Charlie’s unmade bed.
“This is a strange looking pad you’ve got here?” Brett Welsh said.
“It’s steam punk.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
Tim Trainer interjected. “So what did Charlotte have to say for herself yesterday? Surely she gave you some hints about where Ben Mason had disappeared to?”
“She didn’t know. She was just as baffled as you guys.”
“Perhaps she mentioned the Prime Minister. I mean that’s where she went…Number Ten.”
“You don’t say. Crazy, huh?” They faux-laughed, collectively. “Sorry I can’t help you guys, but I’m sure she’ll turn up. She’s a big girl.”
“Really, you think so? Because you know Ben Mason still hasn’t shown and we’re getting the impression they could both be involved in something pretty dangerous. But of course if you’re not concerned...”
“No, I’m not. They can look after themselves.”
Tim Trainer went towards the door. “Perhaps!” he said.
Brett Welsh handed Charlie a card. “Call if you think of anything.”
Charlie used it to fan his face. “I will.”
After they left, Charlie re-attached all the bolts once more and after he’d switched his camera back on, he leaped to his chair and travelled across the floor on its castors. He reached the end keyboard and tapped in some file names. The screens fired up and he located Fischer55. He typed into the instant messenger box. Need help. Don’t send files back. Shit happening. Location secure.
A message came back almost instantly. Fischer55 here. No worries. I’m your man.
Chapter 59
While Ben Mason was inside the bee tunnel, Barnes had an opportunity to speak to Byron alone. He could see his men across the concourse, near the tunnel that would lead them out of there. Some of them were crouching on their haunches with their backs against the wall, some with their heads leaned over their arms. It was hot as hell and they were all sweating profusely. The Llyn workers and Byron seemed unaffected by the heat. They were used to it, he guessed.
He moved closer to her as she stood waiting for Amos and Mason to emerge from the bee tunnel. Their eyes met. His with a forced intensity, hers, curious and just a little reluctant to be caught whispering with him while in the midst of her people. “I was expecting you last night. You didn’t come,” he said. He saw her flinch. He already knew intimate conversations weren’t her forte.
He was amused by her standoffishness; how she despised him and lusted after him, all at the same time. He did that to women. He was known as a bad boy and even though the women he chose would never marry him, most of them loved the sex. The women he chose were ladies. He hated tarts and even though he could have had many, it was the straight-laced ones he went after. They were hard to get, but after he'd had them a few times, he invariably lost interest and went on to the next. Only a few had complained about him not wanting them again; the others were too ladylike to confess their desire to keep sleeping with him. Byron, on the other hand, was a useful tool. It suited him to keep her interested, in case he needed her to execute the plan.
“Wasn’t our love making before the banquet enough for you?” she snapped.
“No. Why would it be? I’ve waited a long time to see you again. I thought we would use every moment we had.”
He watched her look over his shoulder, to see if anyone was watching them. “I have a message for you,” he said.
She frowned as he reached into his back trouser pocket and pulled out a small pale blue envelope. She took it from him. “What is this?” she whispered.
“I found your old nanny, Elizabeth Breakspear.”
“What?” she whispered.
“I like you, Byron, or should I say Annabel?” He forced a sincere looking smile. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I just wanted to give you something special, that’s why I looked up your people. The nanny is the only one still alive.”
Byron’s eyes welled up. He was surprised at her display of raw emotion. “You saw her?”
He put his arm out and propped his body up against the wall behind her. “I certainly did. She’s in Richmond. A real nice lady!” That was a lie. The woman was so aged she was incapable of doing much. Not much good to man nor beast. “She asked me to give you this letter. I thought you’d be pleased.”
She gulped. “I…I am…but, you shouldn’t have done that.”
“It was nothing,” he grinned.
“No, I mean…” she stopped. She looked like she was thinking about what she was going to say. How she was going to thank him. He loved impressing women with his generosity of spirit. They fell for it every time.
He moved closer until their faces were only inches apart. His voice was husky when he said, “What? What do you mean?”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him with a passion he’d never seen on her face before. “I mean…if you ever try interfering in my life again, I will kill you.” That’s when she pushed him away from her and left him seething about her clear lack of appreciation.
Chapter 60
Byron walked away to calm the anger boiling up inside her. She wanted to lash out at Barnes with a slap across his smug face, but she knew it would not be a wise move. Instead she went to the door leading to the bee tunnel to wait for Ben Mason and Amos to reappear.
She glanced at the letter in her hand and recalled the last day she had seen her nanny before she was abducted from Hyde Park when she was a child of twelve. The last memory she had of Elizabeth was when she had been pushed to the ground by the men who had taken her. Elizabeth had been screaming and crying and calling Byron’s name. But of course she was called 'Annabel' then. Annabel Byron, the daughter of a wealthy and religious family.
Now there she was, after all those years with a letter in her hand, allegedly written by her nanny, Elizabeth Breakspear. Barnes had looked proud of himself. The expression on his face had made her feel nauseous; it had been a long time since a man had made any sort of assumption on her part.
She shoved the letter in her pocket as Amos and Ben Mason came out of the bee tunnel. Mason looked distressed. He was wiping his forehead, drying his brow on the hem of his shirt. He was drenched in sweat
“We shall go now,” Byron said.
Mason seemed pleased to know they had finished that part of the tour. Just as the colonel joined them and before they all went to head back, he pointed to the tunnel at the end of the row. “What’s in that one?”
“Chickens,” Byron answered.
“Chickens? You can’t be serious.”
Byron was always serious, especially when it came to the working of Sous Llyndum. “We eat the meat and the eggs. We use the feathers for our comfort and we grind the shells for our daily calcium intake. We give the bones to the birds.”
Mason took one more look back. “Isn’t it a bit cruel to keep them locked up there like that?”
Byron was unable to comprehend the question. She stopped and looked at him, as if he had lost his mind. “Cruel? Cruel to a chicken?”
End of Part 3
Part 4 - Chapter 61
Mark Buzzard and Charlotte Croft lay on the bed, feigning sleep. Only moments before, a noise had forced them to rush to the metal cot and tuck their soiled hands under their bodies, out of sight. Up until then, it had been only a few hours earlier when Mark had instigated an escape plan.
They had both agreed that on the other side of the far wall there could possibly be a way out. After the threat of being fed to the birds, vultures no less, Mark had pulled a plank from the bed and had begun to
scrape away decayed plaster and loose grouting from bricks already crumbling and straining against the vibrations of the underground trains. As he laboured, Charlotte stood guard at the front of the cell, watching the light down the passage, waiting for a sign of any movement, which could risk them being discovered.
They swapped roles after an hour, allowing Mark to have a brief rest. Charlotte could only keep up her side of the bargain for about fifteen minutes. Much to his annoyance, it was only after she’d attempted two shifts that she’d told him she was pregnant.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would never have allowed you to do that kind of heavy labour.”