“Why would he? He asked the sisters to assist your investigation where possible. We simply report back any suspicious military activity. Part and parcel of our oversight role. Checks and balances against the over-exuberance of military science.”
“Though I notice you’re not exactly an enthusiastic support of Doctor Hardy,” he suggested, testing her loyalties.
“I’ve always had my doubts about him. And Wu.”
“To doubt is human.”
“Even for those of us with faith.”
“I must admit, my impression of Hardy has improved immeasurably in the last few weeks working together.”
“Really? What changed your mind?”
“He saved my life.” Zed shuddered at the memory of the attack. “At St. Mary’s. Three men tried to kill me.”
“How extraordinary. From villain to hero in one leap?”
“Not exactly, but the more I learn about the virus and the vaccine, the more I understand them as stepping stones towards a new world order. Levers, if you like. A means of mass population control. There are too many small coincidences. Unseen forces meddling in the shadows.”
“Sounds far-fetched.”
“Does it? Epidemiologists admit that pandemics are one of the most powerful agents of social and economic change imaginable.”
The sister seemed to consider the suggestion. “It may surprise you to know that our world views are not that far apart. You assume bad actors were responsible, I believe the disease was God’s will. Punishment for the sins of man. Wiping the slate clean so that we can start again, like Noah’s Great Flood.”
She pulled a sheet of lined paper and a pen from her pocket.
“Personal redemption hides in the strangest of places. It’s never too late. You have to be prepared to make the first step.”
He stared at the writing paper, unsure what she wanted him to do.
“Why don’t you start by telling me what you’d like to say to Heather. Just a few lines, anything. Get it off your chest.”
“I’ve never been one for expressing my feelings.”
“Then just let her know you’re thinking of her, that you’re alright. Baby steps towards reconciliation work, I promise you.”
She balanced the notepaper on the armrest, her pen poised.
“Now what would you like me to write?”
Chapter 16
“Permission to come up?” shouted Terra over the noise of the Sheridan’s twin engines pounding into the tide and waves, gripping the handrail as she climbed the narrow stairs to the flying bridge.
The boat lurched to starboard, its bow colliding with the crest of a larger wave, throwing her off balance. Victor helped Terra up the last steps, directing her towards a cushioned seat behind the skipper. She made herself comfortable, pulling a headscarf tighter under her chin, fighting another bout of nausea.
After more than a dozen trips onboard Briggs’s luxury power boat, Terra had finally set aside her misgivings about the vessel’s lack of sail and dowdy fit-out. The wipe-clean PVC cushions and factory-made teak paraphernalia her ‘yachtie’ parents would have despised. The Sheridan was a capable workhorse if nothing else, particularly in weather like this, making excellent progress east towards the enormous container ship anchored off the Brambles Bank.
The Maersk Charlotte was significantly larger close up than she remembered. Unloaded of much of her cargo, she sat higher in the water, further accentuating her size. High up above them, three men worked on a rig slung below davits. Using long-handed rollers, they painted the bow a pale blue colour leaving a white stripe that reminded Terra of an Argentine football strip. On seeing Victor, his former crewmates waved in welcome, making her wonder how often he made this trip.
She spotted other modifications made since her last visit. Every fifty metres or so, Captain Anders had created fortified positions, protecting the gunner from incoming small arms fire. In place of the original fire hoses mounted on the guard rail to stave off Somali pirates were the barrels of machine guns protruding from narrow slits. The hull appeared riddled with minor indentations. Caged walkways and padlocked gateways at regular intervals provided a second line of defence. The Charlotte was rumoured to contain a treasure trove of stores, weapons and valuables, attracting unwanted attention from local groups unwilling to trade.
Terra noticed a lone figure tracking their approach, carrying a shoulder-launched weapon. She nudged Victor and pointed towards the threat, much to his amusement.”
“That’s Abdul. Don’t worry about him.”
As they came closer, Terra realised Abdul was in fact a shop window mannequin dressed up to resemble a jihadi fighter complete with a genuine rocket-propelled grenade launcher. Their final approach prompted a flurry of activity from above, as crewmen sprang into action.
Towards the ship’s starboard quarter an electric winch whirred into life, lowering a steel walk way that led to the main deck. One of the crew took their bow line as Victor and Terra stepped over the gap as they boarded the Charlotte. Copper elected to stay behind to oversee the unloading of several wooden crates.
Terra followed Victor through narrow passageways and stairwells signposted to the crew quarters. An overpowering stench of diesel, sweat and what she could only describe as boiled cabbage. The overhead lights gave off an electrical hum as they passed, flickering intermittently, that lent a nightmarish quality to the ship. Victor strained under the weight of two black holdalls he insisted on carrying himself. The captain of the Charlotte, Anders Bjorklund, bounded down the stairs from the bridge to meet them.
“Victor, my old friend.” Anders enveloped his former First Officer in a bear hug, looking over his shoulder expecting to see someone. “Where’s Briggs?”
“He sent his apologies,” replied Victor, refusing to elaborate.
Anders leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks, whispering: “You should not have come.”
“Did you get the vaccine?” Anders asked Victor.
“Not as much as I hoped.” Victor patted the holdall. “Next time, give me more notice. What was so urgent?”
Anders wagged his finger. “Remember what I taught you. A good middleman never introduces his buyer to a seller.” He winked. “It is the same rule with wives and girlfriends.”
“May they never meet,” they said in unison, like some well-rehearsed routine.
“Well, tell your buyer there’s more where this came from. As much as he needs.”
“This outbreak must be good for business,” added Terra.
“Until they find out it doesn’t work,” Victor joked. “A placebo is better than nothing. It gives people hope.”
“Hope is always good for business,” laughed Anders.
Victor unzipped the holdall and placed two metal cases on the table. Terra noticed a jewellery case underneath with a number combination which Victor hurriedly covered up again with a piece of cloth.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see a man about a dog.” Anders laughed, almost as if they were playing a private game only they knew the rules for.
“You hit the nail on the head,” added Anders, seemingly amused by another idiom. English was a second language to both men.
Anders waited until Victor was out of earshot before his smile evaporated. “I warned you never to come back here.”
“I didn’t have a choice. We need to talk.”
He shook his head, eyes narrowed. “Not here,” he conceded, gesturing for her to follow.
The corridor to the captain’s quarters passed two open doorways to bunk rooms recently sprayed with air freshener or cheap perfume that masked the same stench of unwashed bodies. Outside the rec room, a young girl in a miniskirt, her makeup smudged, lipstick crudely applied, stepped aside to let them pass. Her companion, an unshaven Filipino, lunged for Terra’s hand, his movements slurred and imprecise, muttering something under his breath. Anders patted the crewman’s cheek, pushing him back against the wall. “Easy, Angelo. This one’s not for
you.” The crewman blinked, eyes struggling to focus from the booze on his breath.
Anders’s cabin was surprisingly spacious. Sofa, desk spread with papers, leather armchair, small kitchenette. He set a pan of water on a portable stove and waited for it to boil. Several photos caught Terra’s eye. The captain’s Danish wife, blonde, a few years younger than him, two teenage kids, golden retriever panting at their feet. A charcoal sketch of Jack’s profile captured him perfectly. That knowing smile. She leaned in, noticing the signature. It was a self-portrait.
From the sofa, Terra studied Anders as he went about the theatre of making tea, warming a China tea pot, setting cups and saucers on a silver tray, the cow-shaped jug containing fresh milk.
“I told Victor before, I refuse to be your go-between. Everyone knows the Charlotte is neutral. We don’t take sides. If Briggs finds out what you two are up to…”
“He doesn’t even know we’re here.”
“He’ll find out one way or the other.”
“I wouldn’t have risked coming if it wasn’t. Briggs tried to buy smallpox virus from you, didn’t he?”
“Smallpox? Of course not. I want nothing to do with his war.”
“You can’t stay neutral forever. You realise if he gets his hands on both the smallpox virus and vaccine it will grant him unprecedented power.”
“Why does he play these ridiculous games with people’s lives?”
“Anders, you need to get word to the Allies. Warn them what Briggs is attempting.”
“Why would Captain Armstrong listen to me?”
“You have to make him listen.”
Anders nodded. “I can try. How long do I have?”
“Victor says Briggs went to Folkestone. He’ll be gone another day.”
“Why?”
“To meet with the United Nations task force. He doesn’t tell me anything.”
“This is the third time Briggs has avoided me. He suspects something.”
“You’re just being paranoid. It doesn’t stop him trading with you, does it?”
“We trade whatever is scarce. Supply and demand. Vaccine, drugs, alcohol, weapons.”
“Victor must be making a pretty penny brokering all these deals.”
“The boy has a talent for bringing people together. The Charlotte is like a second home to him.”
“I notice he’s storing his valuables here now as an insurance policy. If Briggs were to find out.”
“He did the same when his parents separated. Gives him a sense of security. Spreads his risk. That boy always has an exit plan. You should see his cabin. I have a skeleton key. It’s like a bank vault. Gold bars, rubies, emeralds, diamonds, pearls. The man’s a magpie, always on the lookout for ways to enrich himself.”
“Perhaps it’s his passport to someplace else. Why doesn’t he just leave now? What’s he waiting for?”
“He must have unfinished business.”
“Meaning?”
“That boy always thought of himself as an explorer.” Terra nearly spilled her tea, coughing in disbelief. “An adventurer, like Columbus or Drake, bringing back cargo from the new world, enough to buy his family the lifestyle he thinks they deserve.”
“Briggs couldn’t care less about material things. They’re perfect for each other.”
“Though he knows how to spoil a woman,” added Anders, reaching out to touch the fur lining of Terra’s new coat.
“We all have our weaknesses,” acknowledged Terra. “You must know Victor better than anybody. What does he want?”
“What does anyone want?” He looked her in the eye. “You remind me of him. Always working the angles.” Terra ignored the dig, waiting for him to continue. “Like I told your friend Zed when he was here, Victor is the velvet glove around Briggs’s iron fist. Many have underestimated him.”
Anders paused as if a nagging thought had just occurred to him.
“This business in Folkestone. Why would the UN want to meet Briggs?”
“Because Briggs could wreak havoc with a single command,” boasted Terra. “They need him onside to have any hope of brokering peace.”
Anders openly laughed at her overconfidence. “If the Allies link up with the United Nations, the rebellion is finished. They couldn’t hope to win a conventional war.” Anders seemed to remember something. “Jack always said the UN would come. He dreamed of this day.”
Terra lowered her head in shame, closing her eyes for a second. For the first time in a long while, the emotion was genuine. “I tried to save him. You know that, Anders. Look, I know you two were good friends. Not a day goes by that I don’t blame myself.”
“You were all so naive, blinded to what was really going on. King never forgave Jack for locking him up. He wanted revenge at any cost.”
“Jack was stubborn, so set in his ways. He couldn’t adapt to the new world.”
“That intransigence cost him his life,” admitted Anders. “I’d like to shake the hand of whoever got King in the end. Did you find out?”
Terra shrugged. “Who had the most to gain?”
“Briggs always claimed it was some deal that went wrong.”
“We all know the Council authorised pre-emptive strikes against several other rebel leaders around the same time.”
“Leaving Briggs alive was sloppy, unless...” mused Terra. “Unless, Briggs is in league with Armstrong.”
Anders considered the suggestion, appearing to realise something for the first time. “Jack always said that he saw something special in you. Something he admired: your intuition. Something he needed. Perhaps Briggs sees it too.”
“I hate to disabuse you, but Jack didn’t know me. Not really. He only knew the side I chose to share with him.”
“Then perhaps you’re the only one who can’t see it.”
“See what?”
“I don’t know the English word for it.” He shook his head, struggling to articulate something that was so clear in his head. “Look, I’ve spent half my life at sea on board ships like this. So did Jack. You come to understand what makes people tick, why they behave the way they do. You and Briggs are a perfect match, opposites that complement one other.”
“You mean opposites attract? Yin and yang?”
“Yes, dualism. Except you, you’re a chameleon. You change your colours to suit the situation.”
“Do I?” said Terra, trying to deflect.
“You’ve spent your whole life knowing what people want before they know it themselves. The only problem is, you never took the time to figure out what you want yourself. You adapt and mould to Briggs. Like a parasite.”
Terra blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the slight. “If you’re so great at reading people, why don’t you tell me what I really want?”
“I would but you don’t yet know it yourself. You haven’t decided yet. You’re so busy pretending to be something you’re not. Pleasing Briggs won’t help either.”
“You underestimate Briggs. He’s a man with a plan. He could have had anyone but he chose me. Why?”
“Deep down, you already know the answer.”
An idea seemed to flicker for Terra, remembering Briggs’ whispered words. “He used to say I was the key, but the key to what? The castle? To his heart? I honestly don’t know. Perhaps, a term of affection?”
It had been irritating the hell out of her for months, but she wasn’t ready to elaborate, certainly not to Anders. She drained her cup and stood up. “I’d like to go back now. Victor will be wondering where I am.”
He grabbed her arm as she went to open the door.
“You’re hurting me.” She grimaced as he held on tight to her sleeve.
“You owe it to Jack to find out. Will you do that?” She nodded her acceptance and he released her.
Chapter 17
Zed and Sister Imelda arrived back at The Winter Gardens to find one of the Royal Navy’s Merlin helicopters landed at the base of the cliffs in the car park next to the harbour and boatyard. He hurried inside,
expecting to find the colonel returned from Folkestone. He froze on hearing Major Donnelly’s voice, pausing behind a potted plant, listening to his exchanges with the Mother Superior, Sister Theodora.
“It makes me very happy to hear you’re giving these girls a fresh start. It was a lack of purpose that got us into this mess in the first place.”
“I know. Some of the girls delivered to our care have the most appalling deficit in moral fibre, lives wasted in shocking indolence, drinking or drug-taking. Others we see are self-obsessed, feckless teenagers wallowing in self-pity. We try our best to instil them with fresh purpose.”
“The Council thanks you for your efforts. I suspect many of these girls are lost causes but they may yet prove helpful to the regeneration programme. You wouldn’t believe the living conditions we rescue them from. People of all nations, creeds, and religions thrown together into some unholy broth, incapable of living in harmony.”
“Like some modern day Sodom and Gomorrah,” she whispered, checking they were not being overheard.
“We should not be afraid to speak our minds, Sister.”
“Indeed. Even before the pandemic, our mission was overrun with refugees from a morally bankrupt system. Inner city poverty bred individuals incapable of penitence, many beyond redemption. The locals blamed immigration, but it was the core that was rotten.”
“Perhaps the pandemic was God’s way of purging the unclean.”
She reached out and took his hands in a moment of intimacy. “May He leave no stone unturned.”
Footsteps over his shoulder flushed Zed from his concealed position behind a potted plant.
“Mister Samuels,” announced the major with displeasure. Sister Theodora visibly stiffened, withdrawing her hands. “Is Doctor Hardy with you?”
“No, sir. He’s upstairs with Doctor Wu. Is the colonel with you?”
“We came straight from Porton. I’m not expecting him back until tomorrow.” He looked over Zed’s shoulder, distracted, eager to get where he was going. “If you’ll excuse me, Sister.”
Zed heard a familiar laugh from outside and wandered out to investigate. Leaning against the railing, smoking a cigarette, was Anton, the Russian scientist from Porton Down. Zed had never noticed how thin Anton’s hair was from the back. He would be bald in a few years. Something made Zed think of a survivor from Chernobyl.
The Hurst Chronicles | Book 4 | Harbinger Page 11