CHAPTER 4
SOUTHAMPTON
The slender grey-green passenger train slowed to a crawl as it entered the station, hissing steam with a loud protesting shriek from its brakes as it came to a shuddering halt. Looking out the window, Sheppard still felt awful about having left Harry behind in London, but felt even worse about having lied to his late brother’s driver. Nevertheless, he knew that he could not ask him to risk his life for what Sheppard believed had developed into a family matter, a foolhardy one at that.
Stepping out onto the platform, Sheppard felt the refreshingly cool air on his skin. After being cooped up for a couple of hours, it was good to be outside again. Although late in the day, Sheppard noticed that the platform was still full of holiday travelers patiently waiting to board other trains. A couple of overly excited children ran back and forth squealing and chasing one another while their harried parents tried keeping them from running into other passengers. Demobilized soldiers, many missing limbs and unable to find work, helped people on and off the train, hoping for a small token for their efforts. Sheppard slung his worn army kitbag over his shoulder and stood on the platform, not really sure what to do next. A crippled former soldier missing an arm walked over, tipped his hat in greeting, and asked to carry his bag. Sheppard didn’t need the help, but realising that the man lived off tips, he asked him for directions out of the station. A few words were exchanged and for his troubles, the old soldier received a more than generous tip. The soldier smiled gratefully and with a nod of his mangy-looking khaki service cap, he went off in search of more work.
Trying not to look too conspicuous, Sheppard began to stroll down the platform when a man with a newspaper under his arm approached Sheppard. His heart started to race, but the man continued walking past him as if Sheppard was not even there. Thinking back to what he had been told earlier, Sheppard knew that he was in the right place at the right time and that he would eventually be contacted by whoever it would be, so he decided to quit being paranoid and took a seat on an empty wooden bench. Sheppard felt his stomach rumble, so he pulled an apple from his bag and took a big bite. It tasted delicious and helped to satisfy his healthy appetite.
An old, rather obese, and almost bald vicar walked out of the milling crowd and unceremoniously deposited himself down on the bench beside Sheppard, huffing and puffing as he fought to catch his breath.
“My son, it is a beautiful day, is it not?” asked the exhausted clergyman.
“That it is, vicar,” Sheppard replied, trying to be polite but wishing the man would just leave him alone. He didn’t want the man hanging around him…not now.
“Waiting to board a train?”
“No, I just arrived from London. On holidays,” lied Sheppard.
“Well you don’t seem to have much luggage for a man on holiday,” the vicar remarked, observing Sheppard’s small canvas sack.
Becoming uncomfortable with the man’s line of questioning, Sheppard reached into his bag and pulled out his last apple. “Care for an apple, vicar? They’re good for whatever ails you.”
A broad smile appeared on the clergyman’s face. “Thank you for your generosity my son, but I suspect that you will need it far more than I will where you are going.”
Sheppard’s heart skipped a beat. “Pardon me?”
The vicar leaned toward Sheppard and then spoke in a hushed tone. “Please follow me and I will explain everything to you, Captain Sheppard.”
Sheppard did not know what to say. He simply rose with the vicar and followed the stout man off the platform. They walked across a narrow cobblestone road towards a small pub that had a large cross from an old wooden ship hanging prominently outside of it. Stepping inside, the smell of pipe tobacco filled the pub. Once inside, the vicar waved to the barkeep and then led Sheppard to a quiet secluded corner where they took a seat facing the door. A young boy came over, took their order, and soon returned with a couple of pints.
“Captain Sheppard, please let me introduce myself. My name is Thomas Fairfax, former naval rating and the Vicar of Swaythling for the past ten or so years.” The vicar proceeded to swill down his beer in one gulp and then waved to the boy for another round. “I am also a lifelong friend of Captain Scott.” Taking a quick look around to make sure no one was watching them, Fairfax reached into his long gown pockets and produced a large rolled-up wad of money and a ticket, both of which he surreptitiously handed to Sheppard under the table. “What you have there is a ticket to take you across the channel tomorrow morning. Once you arrive in France, you will have to obtain further passage to Paris. From there, I have reserved you a private cabin on the Orient Express, no less. It’s really supposed to be quite luxurious. Oh, how I envy you my boy.”
“Odd…I don’t,” mumbled Sheppard to himself.
“Once you’re onboard the Orient Express, stay in your room and try not to draw too much-unwanted attention to yourself. When you reach your destination, that being Constantinople, get off the train and whatever you do, don’t dilly-dally around, head directly to the Hotel Imperial. There you will wait to be contacted by a former White Russian Colonel by the name of Yuri Shipov.”
Sheppard, unlike the vicar, slowly sipped his beer while listening attentively to the instructions. “Do you know this man, Shipov? Is he a good sort?” asked Sheppard, trying to glean whatever information he could from his contact.
“Don’t know my son. I’ve never met him, or any other Russians. I just know what I am told to pass on,” answered the vicar as he quickly downed his second beer and let out a great belch for all to hear.
“Vicar!” exclaimed Sheppard, with a look of disgust on his face.
“Sorry captain, better out than in I always say. Now my son, you must come with me to my house for some food. I am quite the good cook, or so I’ve been told,” said the vicar, patting his wide belly.
From the looks of the man, Sheppard didn’t doubt it.
“Of course, you must also spend the night there as well. You can use the spare room I have in the back. It’s not much. I don’t get too many guests, but you’ll have to share with your man.”
“My man?” asked Sheppard, suddenly suspicious.
Fairfax wove his fingers together and then rested his arms on his considerable girth. “Yes, your driver. He arrived an hour or so before you.”
Sheppard didn’t like the sound of that. He wasn’t going to be played. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he brought out his pistol and aimed it at Fairfax’s stomach under the table. “Vicar, humour me. Describe my driver.”
“Well, let me see—he’s black, looks like a bare-knuckle boxer. He said he’s an ex-soldier and fought in the war like yourself,” said Fairfax, taken back by Sheppard’s sudden caution.
Sheppard relaxed his hand off the pistol grip. Shaking his head, Sheppard asked, “Vicar, he wouldn’t have driven a brand-new silver Bentley Sports-Tourer with a missing windshield would he?”
“Well, I don’t know one car from another. But he is a pleasant enough fellow, quite talkative too.”
“Thanks, Vicar, I appreciate all you have done for me.” Sheppard made to stand, but then stopped and looked at the vicar. “One thing though, how did you know who I was, and, more importantly, when I would be arriving?”
“Captain Scott sent me a picture of you; he got it from your uncle he said. It was sent along with the instructions and the money for your trip sometime last month,” explained Fairfax, as he struggled, huffing and puffing to pull himself up off his seat.
“A month ago, you said you got my picture a month ago?” said Sheppard incredulously.
“Yes, that’s right. Now please follow me,” said Fairfax, with a friendly wave goodbye to the barkeep as they left.
Sheppard cursed his crafty uncle under his breath. That old fox has been playing me like a bloody chess game, and he’s already several moves in front of me, thought Sheppard.
It took them a few minutes to stroll back to Fairfax’s house, a modest home nestled besi
de a three-hundred-year old stone church overlooking a small duck pond. Sheppard eyed his car parked outside the church and was dismayed to see that it looked far worse for wear than when he had last seen it in London. There were huge gashes on the driver’s side, and the front end looked as though it had seen a collision or two as well. Sheppard bit his lip and shook his head. It was going to cost a pretty penny to repair such a beauty back to its once original, near pristine condition.
Fairfax led him inside his small, but hospitable two-room house. Right away Sheppard saw Campbell sitting beside the roaring fireplace, wearing his usual blue fisherman’s hat, brown pants, and green woollen shirt. He appeared quite relaxed while enjoying a hot cup of tea.
“Evening sir,” said Harry, with a mischievous grin on his face.
“Harry Campbell, I thought I told you to wait in London until I got back,” said Sheppard, wondering why his driver would have raced all the way to Southampton to arrive ahead of him.
Campbell handed Sheppard a cup of piping hot tea. “I know what I was told, but your uncle visited me at the hotel while you were packing and asked that I accompany you sir. You know, to keep you out of trouble.”
“He came to see you?”
“Yes, he came to the front desk and asked to speak to me. I was just as surprised as you are that he wanted to speak to me, especially considering that I’ve never even met the man before today.”
Sheppard leant forward until he towered over Campbell. “Just what exactly did my uncle tell you about what was going on?”
Campbell sunk down in his chair. “Sir, he said he knew I was a corporal during the war and reminded me that officers shouldn’t go running off without supervision,” said Campbell, with a weak smile.
“That’s all?” pushed Sheppard.
“No sir, he said you were going to do something really important for your brother. If you don’t mind me saying so, Mister Thomas was a good man, a real gentleman,” Campbell said proudly. “He really treated me well. I’ve never worked for a finer man…present company accepted. So if you’re going to do something for your brother, then I want to be part of it too.”
Sheppard smiled at Campbell’s unflinching loyalty to his family. He knew there was no point in objecting, Campbell undoubtedly would just find another way to tag along. With a grin on his face, he offered Harry Campbell his hand. “Welcome aboard Harry. I just want to warn you well in advance that you may…or may not live to regret your decision.”
“Why’s that sir, where exactly are we going?”
“Eventually Mongolia, however, by the sounds of it we will be going there via Constantinople.”
Campbell’s eyes lit up at the news. “This all sounds so damned exciting.”
“I’m glad you think so,” said Sheppard. “Now Harry Campbell, come clean. What the hell did you do to my car?”
CHAPTER 5
VOYAGE TO THE EAST
Sheppard and Campbell quietly made their way across the channel and then on to Paris without interruption. As directed, they jumped into a cab and proceeded straight to the Gare de l’Est, a lavish and immaculately kept train station with an elaborate arched glass roof. As the main station in Paris for all traffic heading east, it did not take long for them to find their ride, the fabled Orient Express. Both men travelled light with only the clothes on their back and a small knapsack filled with only the barest of items. Not wanting to risk being seen by any potential Red agents hanging about the station, Sheppard decided that they would board early and head straight to their private room located in the second-class compartment. Sheppard was not surprised to see that the room was actually quite small, with two narrow beds built one above the other and a table with two small fold down chairs. It was tight for sure, but at least they wouldn’t have to share it with anyone else.
“Well, at least you won’t have to sleep in a chair tonight Harry,” quipped Sheppard, thinking back to the vicar’s home.
Campbell sat on the lower bunk and then bounced up and down on it to test its strength. “I’ll take this one sir. If you’re going to snore like you did last night then at least I won’t be above it,” shot back Campbell, with a straight face.
Precisely on time, the train’s whistle blew loudly. Sheppard peered out his window as the train gradually rocked to life. He was always surprised at the amount of noise made by the carriages as they were slowly pulled forward by the train’s powerful steam locomotive. Soon they picked up steam as they departed from the station and began to speed up as they headed east towards Strasbourg and the Franco-German border.
The first couple of days of the trip passed uneventfully. Sheppard filled Campbell in on all that he knew and tried passing the time with impromptu Russian language lessons. Sheppard may have had an ear for languages; however, poor old Harry Campbell clearly did not, butchering every word, he was taught.
At suppertime on the third day of their journey, the train pulled into Bucharest, Romania. Sheppard had steadily grown bored and restless after sitting in their cramped compartment for the past several days. He preferred being outdoors to being locked up in their small room. They had been having their food delivered to their room, but now an edgy Sheppard couldn’t take being cooped up anymore. He wanted to stretch his legs and take at least one decent meal outside of their room before they arrived in Constantinople. Quickly washing and changing his clothes into something far more presentable, Sheppard tried to convince Harry to join him. No matter what he said, Campbell just couldn’t be convinced to accompany him. Claiming that he wasn’t hungry, Campbell picked up his book, The War of the Worlds, by HG Wells and pretended to read while Sheppard continued making himself respectable.
The dining car was located two carriages ahead of theirs. Sheppard found himself negotiating the narrow passageway in the train’s cars as people bustled about either trying to board or leave the train. Once inside the elegant dining car, Sheppard asked to be seated alone at the far end of the car so he could watch the door. He was soon offered a menu from which he ordered roast lamb with all the fixings and several glasses of scotch, which he consumed as his aperitif. Sheppard knew he was drinking far too much, but once he had one drink, he always found it difficult to stop. Looking around the now crowded carriage, Sheppard saw several young couples sitting together eating their supper meal. Sheppard suddenly felt out of place and very much alone. However, his meal soon arrived and Sheppard attacked it like a hungry lion taking down its prey. When he’d decided that he’d eaten about all he could, Sheppard thought about ordering an after dinner coffee when he was approached by a short, youthful-looking man wearing an ill-fitting train employee’s uniform.
“Excuse me sir, are you Monsieur Christopher Sheppard?” asked the young man in French.
“Yes I am. How may I help you?” Sheppard replied in French.
“Sir, I was told to deliver this note to you,” said the youth, handing Sheppard a small sealed envelope.
Sheppard thanked him, gave him a tip, and then read the contents of the letter. It simply read, Danger. Proceed to your room immediately. Sheppard’s heart instantly raced at the warning while outwardly he tried to look composed. The thought that Harry Campbell was alone in their room and might be in serious danger suddenly sunk home. Sheppard cursed his arrogance and his amateurish mistake of leaving his companion alone. Standing, Sheppard calmly paid for his meal, left another generous tip, and then quickly departed for his carriage. As he left, he glanced over his shoulder, wondering if one of his fellow diners had sent the message, or if any of them intended him any harm.
Outside, night had fallen. The train once again raced along the track, gently rocking from side to side.
Sheppard swore under his breath. It was becoming obvious to him that he wasn’t thinking things through enough. He certainly wasn’t his older brother, and he most definitely wasn’t used to playing cat and mouse games. He knew that he needed to smarten up and fast. Worst of all, he realized that he had foolishly left his pistol in his room. S
heppard tried to remain calm as he quickly made his way back to his carriage. He was relieved when he stepped into the second-class carriage and saw their room; he was almost home. Suddenly, Sheppard froze in his tracks, something deep down in his gut said something was just not right. Edging forward, Sheppard saw that he was alone in the carriage corridor, but the door to his room was slightly ajar. His heart pounded in his chest as he reached down and slowly pushed open the door. Sheppard’s racing heart skipped a beat when he saw Harry Campbell lying sprawled out on the floor. Their room had been thoroughly ransacked.
Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Sheppard took a step into the cabin to check on Campbell when suddenly he sensed movement behind him. Spinning around, he only just managed to bring his arms up to block a knife thrust from an assailant who had launched himself out of the adjoining cabin. The man attacking Sheppard was of similar size but was powerfully built with the cold, expressionless face of a practiced killer. Reaching down, Sheppard grabbed his opponent’s outstretched hand, holding on to it as tight as he could, he stepped back slightly, curled his fist and threw a punch into his opponent’s face.
The train rocked on the tracks as it took a sharp curve in the tracks.
Sheppard’s punch went wide.
His adversary had anticipated the move and pulled back forcefully on his arm, taking Sheppard off his feet for a moment. Then with as much strength as he could muster, he struck Sheppard hard across the face with his free hand.
Sheppard saw stars and reeled backwards in pain from the blow. Somehow, he managed to remain on his feet, all the while struggling to maintain his vice-like grip upon his foe’s knife hand. Out of the corner of his eye, Sheppard saw his enemy’s free hand coming back to strike him once more; instinctively he turned his body. The punch hit thin air. Grabbing his assailant’s other arm, Sheppard applied as much pressure as he could onto his rival’s knife hand, hoping to inflict enough pain to force him to drop his knife. If he was hoping for a quick end to the fight, he was in for a shock. His opponent didn’t even flinch; instead, a crooked sadistic smile crept across his wide face. No matter how hard Sheppard tried, the man did not intend to let go of his knife.
The Last Eagle (A Christopher Sheppard Adventure Book 1) Page 6