by Robin Crumby
“We’ll be back in no time. Briggs promised,” reassured the minder, observing her body language.
She didn’t doubt it. Victor had refused to divulge any of the details, but it was an open secret that the rebels were growing in confidence. They were nearly ready to execute their carefully prepared plans. Victor said it was safer that she knew little of what had been agreed. It must have something to do with the professor and why they wanted him.
She hated being kept in the dark like this. Victor had tried to placate her with repeated promises. Despite her misgivings, she swallowed her pride. Her conscience was screaming at her to get as far away from Briggs as possible, but where could she go? She was caught in a lie. Victor’s veiled threats to expose her duplicity kept her within his power.
Fifteen minutes into their crossing, a sudden beam of light swept across the wheelhouse, as if alerted by their presence. The ferry was running dark, all navigational lights extinguished, relying on the experience of the pilot. As the searchlight swept back, it picked out the passengers. They turned as one to squint towards the light. The source was unlikely to be friendly; perhaps a navy patrol boat or large inflatable.
The skipper wasted no time in turning the wheel sharply to starboard, trying to break their lock. He nudged the throttle levers forward, reassuring himself that the twin diesel engines were at maximum power.
The water off their starboard bow seemed to erupt, spray cascading down on to the terrified passengers. The skipper jinked left, instinctively steering away from where the round had landed. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder, keeping track of where the other boat was. The light picked out his pursed lips and grimace.
Terra caught glimpses of the pursuing vessel as the searchlight fought hard to keep them in its beam. A larger patrol boat was quickly closing the gap, still perhaps a kilometre away to their right and certainly too far for small arms fire.
Ten seconds later there was a deafening explosion, much closer this time. The force of the water almost broached the ferryboat, showering the huddled figures in a fresh deluge of freezing cold seawater.
Little by little, they were finding their range. A third and fourth round fell close by, one in front and one behind. Terra could see the dark outline of the spit ahead of them, and the first of the channel markers flashed by.
The ferry turned sharply, lining up with the buoys ahead. Soon they would be within the narrow tidal passage that led to Buckler’s Hard. Terra wondered whether the larger interceptor would attempt to follow them.
“Is it deep enough?”
“I don’t know,” said the skipper, looking over his shoulder. “Not at half tide.”
Terra was relieved to see the searchlight power down as they broke off their pursuit, to a small cheer from all those on board.
“Sorry about that. Bit too close for comfort.”
Easing back on the throttle, the ferryboat lost momentum as their bow sank back level so she could see ahead again. The ferry navigated the bends in the narrow river, sweeping past the ghostly outlines of yachts and power boats on river moorings. Either side of them were mudflats that looked perilously close.
“How much further?” she asked, checking her watch.
“Couple of miles yet. Don’t you worry, Mrs Briggs. We’ll have you there in no time.”
Terra bridled at his condescension, but let it pass. She had grown used to the over-familiarity of these local men. She shivered against the bitter pre-dawn air, pulling her collar up. She followed her minder’s lead and sank lower below the gunwale to shield her face from the wind funnelling between the trees. She fished out a pocket mirror and took a moment to straighten her wind-blown hair, apply some lip gloss and perfume in the dim light from the instrument panel. She wanted to look her best for the reunion with Briggs.
Chapter Nine
Terra had heard so much about this place. The Beaulieu River was said to be beautiful, hence the name. She only wished she could see it in daylight.
It was hard to imagine, but Buckler’s Hard was said to have been a major shipyard. Some of Nelson’s ships that fought at the Battle of Trafalgar were built here with oak from the New Forest.
The skipper cut the power, and the ferryboat coasted towards the narrow jetty. He noticed her staring up the hill following the line of picture-postcard historic cottages.
“That’s the old high street up there,” he said, pointing up the hill. “Motor Museum and Lord Montagu’s estate are further up. I could show you if you like, when you’re next here.”
“If I wanted a guided tour…” she started to say and then thought better of it.
“Sorry, I was only being friendly.” He shrugged.
At the top of the hill, two school-liveried minibuses had their engines running, waiting to collect the last arrivals. Their headlights cast long shadows across the car park and roadway. She followed the man carrying her luggage, recognising the back of a pale-coloured Range Rover half-hidden behind a low hedge.
Two figures emerged, striding purposefully towards them. With some excitement Terra recognised Briggs.
“I thought you weren’t coming!” She smiled in feigned surprise. Briggs put his arms around her slender waist, lifting her gently off her feet. He squeezed her so hard she could barely breathe.
“I was worried. I heard there was some trouble.”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle. Were you worried about me?” She laughed coquettishly.
“Wait till you see this place. You’re going to love it.”
“I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
He grabbed her again, pulling her in tight like a predator sniffing its kill, flaring his nostrils, inhaling her scent.
“They’ve got everything. Horses, tennis courts and a pool.”
“Looks like someone missed me,” she whispered into his ear. “I guess they’re right. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.”
“Only the best for my princess.”
“Darling, you’re always thinking of my happiness.” She beamed, hoping she wasn’t overdoing it. Victor looked on amused, enjoying her performance.
“Come on, let’s get you back. You hungry, gal? There’ll be breakfast waiting.”
****
The short drive from Beaulieu took longer than she expected, along narrow roads carpeted in wet leaves like some technicoloured tunnel through the woods. Several times they had to slow to a crawl as low-hanging branches brushed against the windshield.
After the cold night air, Terra was enjoying the heated seats. She leaned her head back against the window, closing her eyes.
“Here, take my coat,” said Briggs from the front passenger seat. “If you’re tired…”
“I’m too excited to be tired. I just didn’t sleep much last night, that’s all.” She sighed, wondering if she was overdoing the whole “missing you” thing.
Round the next bend, Victor braked hard, almost ramming the stationary bus blocking the road. A crude barrier was guarded by two armed men. The guards approached the vehicle in their high-visibility jackets and asked to see their papers. One of them shone a torch into the cabin’s interior and seemed to recognise Briggs. He stepped back and waved through the convoy.
Passing the East End Arms, they turned right at speed towards South Baddesley and Portmore. In places, the road surface was potholed and uneven, shaking Terra from her drowsy state.
The entrance to the school was barricaded. They slowed to navigate a chicane forcing them to stop in a heavily defended area. Terra noticed rusting sheet metal welded together to form narrow firing positions. Its surface appeared heavily marked with bullet indentations as if this site had been fought over many times. They passed a large pond to their left, reflecting scattered clouds and a brightening sky. It would be dawn in less than an hour.
Through the chicane and raised barrier, Victor tutted impatiently as the lead vehicle slowed for a speed bump. He steered round and accelerated the V8 Range Rover dangerously fast towards the ta
ll pillars and iron gates framing the entrance.
Terra sat forward to get a better look at the three-storey period buildings silhouetted against the dawn skyline. Through the gates, Victor turned sharply left past a statue, tyres squealing, parking up outside the main entrance.
Briggs and Victor jumped out, slammed their doors and set off towards an ornate doorway, still lit by hurricane lamps either side. Terra recognised one of the guards from Carisbrooke who appeared to be wearing a radio mic. He touched his earpiece and mumbled something into his sleeve, holding the door open for them.
Briggs deposited the heavy suitcases in the hallway and with some theatricality threw open his arms to welcome Terra.
“So what do you think?”
“Very nice.” She nodded, looking around with genuine surprise. Briggs clicked his fingers.
“Cyril, take these bags to the master suite, there’s a good chap.”
He turned to face Terra with a beaming smile.
“We’re staying in the old headmaster’s lodgings. It’s not exactly five star, but it’ll do. Do you want to change first or go straight into breakfast?
“I’m starving. Food first and then I might have a lie-down.” She winked at him.
“You’ll find everything you need laid out in the hall.”
“Are you not joining me?”
“I’ve got a couple of errands I need to attend to, and then I’ll come and find you, okay?”
“No problem.” She smiled. “Take your time.”
Stepping into the dining hall, the sun was just breaking through the tree line, bathing the whole room in a soft yellow light. Row upon row of bench seats and long tables were set out, rubbish still strewn across the floor, as if there had been a welcome banquet the night before.
Right now, the place was virtually empty but for the silhouette of a lone figure reading a book.
The professor looked up from a well-thumbed textbook and waved her over.
“How lovely to see a friendly face.” He greeted her with a warm smile. He removed his reading glasses and blinked up at her. “I trust you had a good crossing?”
“It was a bit hairy, actually. Luckily, the allies couldn’t seem to get their range.”
“So much for the amnesty then.”
“More importantly, how have they been treating you?” she said, noticing some bruising underneath his left eye. He looked older than she remembered, dark shadows under intelligent eyes.
“I suppose I should be grateful that the punishment beatings have stopped. These days I even get to sleep in a bed.”
“Progress indeed. What have you done to deserve all these privileges?” she enquired a little provocatively.
“I’ve been up at the hospital most days, working in the laboratory.”
“I see. I hadn’t realised you were helping them.”
The professor seemed confused by the question. He glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one else was around.
“I wasn’t exactly given a choice. Copper can be quite persuasive.”
“Indeed he can. Sooner or later he always gets what he wants.”
He studied her carefully, puzzling over something. She anticipated his concerns.
“Look, professor. If you’re wondering whether you can trust me, I assure you we’re in the same boat.”
He didn’t seem altogether convinced, refusing to look her directly in the eyes.
“Forgive me, but you don’t strike me as someone being held against their will,” he said.
“I’ve just had longer to adjust, that’s all,” she replied, tilting her head.
“Then what makes you stay?”
“We’re all doing what we have to do to survive, professor. Surely as a scientist, you of all people should understand.”
“Good heavens, it’s not my place to judge.” He smiled. “I don’t blame you in the slightest if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve always marvelled at the ingenuity of certain species to adapt when threatened. As ever, those best able to adapt have the greatest chance of survival. People like you and me, Terra.”
Terra had forgotten how much she enjoyed their exchanges. Briggs was no great conversationalist, and she missed an opponent worthy of her intellect. She found deconstructing the professor’s statements fascinating, for the same reason that she never tired of rereading her translated copy of Machiavelli’s The Prince that she kept by her bed.
She was desperate to ask the scientist about his work but hesitated. She decided that the best approach would be to flatter his ego. After all, he struck her as the sort of gentleman who would never say no to a lady.
“Do you mind me asking what they have you working on at the hospital, or is it a secret?”
“Me? I’m helping them with their research.”
“Research into what?”
“A vaccine, of course.”
“But King doesn’t strike me as being interested in saving lives.”
“Don’t underestimate him. He knows full well that whoever develops the vaccine first will have a huge advantage. There’s still a long way to go. It may take years, decades even. For now, we’re attempting to isolate the most potent strain of the virus, the one that has adapted most successfully.”
“Why?”
“The more we can find out about the virus the more likely we are to find a vaccine. You see, if a virus kills its host too quickly, then the virus dies out. To be successful, a virus needs to walk a fine line between infecting the greatest number of people before killing its host. Viruses are always mutating, exchanging genetic material with other strains. Developing a vaccine is like trying to hit a moving target. Finding the most potent strain will allow us to focus our efforts.”
“Professor, with all due respect, you don’t know these people like I do. King is using you.”
“I’m not a fool, Terra. I have no intention of being an accessory to genocide. I’ve answered their questions, that’s all.”
“The only thing they really care about is that island. They want it for themselves. Trust me, they have no interest in a cure. To King, that virus is a weapon.”
“It did occur to me that they might be trying to start a fresh outbreak,” whispered the professor, leaning forward.
“Could it work?”
“Unlikely. There are well-designed quarantine measures on both sides of the Solent.”
“Then could they find a way to smuggle infected people on to the island?”
“Perhaps that’s why they’ve been asking so many questions about incubation periods. No, it would still be tough. For a start, in the unlikely event that they were successful in starting an outbreak, the risk of it spreading back to the mainland would be too high. It would serve no purpose.”
Terra leaned back in her chair, taking in everything the professor was saying. An idea began to form in her head. She reached forward and grabbed the sleeves of the professor’s jacket, looking deep into his eyes.
“We have to find out more about King’s plan before it’s too late.”
He nodded weakly, looking over her shoulder as the dining hall began to fill with more of Briggs’s men.
“Look, we can’t talk here. Meet me outside in a few minutes. It’s better if no one sees us leave together. Wait until I’m gone.”
Chapter Ten
As Terra finished her scrambled eggs on toast in the breakfast hall at Walhampton School, she pondered what she had learned from the professor.
She knew Briggs wanted the island for himself, but couldn’t figure out how they planned to achieve that. Displacing the allies would be an impossible task, even with King’s help. First, they would need to unleash the virus, deal with the Americans, wrestle back control, blockade the Solent, then starve out the survivors. That might take years. It was an impossibly ambitious plan, but knowing Victor was involved, she knew never to underestimate the man.
Shortly after seven o’clock, a bell summoned the remaining residents of Walhampton School to breakfast
. The other tables around her filled quickly, and Terra checked her watch and took her cue to leave.
With a scrape of her chair, she approached the breakfast buffet, poured herself one last cup of coffee and made for the patio doors that led to the stone-paved terrace.
Outside, she found the professor standing next to the mirror-like surface of an ornamental pond. She blew on her mug and squinted into the dazzling morning sunshine.
The professor seemed oblivious to her presence at first, chewing his lip, mumbling something under his breath. She stretched and yawned, acutely aware of how tired she felt.
For a few moments, they stood side by side, enjoying the peace of the morning. There was a faint mist hanging over the landscaped gardens and fields that extended all the way down towards the shoreline. The sweeping views in the soft light were stunning.
He placed a hand on the small of her back and nodded towards the pathway. To their left, a high fence surrounded an old astroturf pitch, now serving as home to several temporary structures that protected farm equipment and vehicles from the elements. Where there had once been playing fields for rugby, football or cricket matches, there was now ploughed earth and row upon row of vegetables, enough even to feed a small army.
Following the line of trees, the path veered left towards a wooden bench covered with mildew. There was a dedication on the headrest that was hard to make out. In memory of Harvey someone. She couldn’t read the rest.
Shaded by tall oaks, it was a beautiful spot overlooking a small lake. The water’s surface was almost entirely covered in algae and water lilies, grown wild through the summer. Dragged up on the bank was a collection of kayaks and canoes, several small dinghies with their masts fixed in place. The tails of their tattered mainsails flapped gently in the breeze.
Terra sat heavily on the bench, letting out a weary sigh. She closed her eyes for a second, enjoying the earthy smell of woodland, wet leaves and lakeside flowers. Turning to face the professor, she snaked an arm along the back of the bench seat to rest a hand gently on his shoulder.