“I could organise your travel,” Jason interjected. He was more desperate than ever to get things moving and now just wanted them out of the country. He leaned forward. “I have a friend who works for a passenger liner. I could get two tickets for a crossing to England.”
She looked alarmed. “I’m not sure I can afford it.” She shook her head. “I need to check our savings.”
“I have plenty of money.”
“No. I couldn’t possibly...”
Jason cut her off. “If you don’t allow me to help, you’ll be forcing me to break my promise to Eckert.”
She touched her mouth and thought a moment. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You should say yes,” he replied softly.
She laughed uncomfortably.
He hadn’t won yet. “I think Eckert would want you to put your pride aside to make sure you were both safe.”
She dropped her eyes. “You’re right,” she said sadly. She gathered the cups and crossed to the sink. “I will accept your offer of help, only if you allow me to pay you back once we’re settled in England.”
“Certainly.” He could see she was a proud woman and wasn’t going to budge without this agreement. “When can you be ready? There’s a passenger liner leaving Hamburg in six days’ time. Is that too soon?”
“Six days!” She turned to face him. “It’s very sudden. I’ll have to think…” then stopped, her face a determined mask. “There’s nothing to keep us here. We’ll be ready.”
“Excellent!” He quickly checked his watch. He had only twenty minutes left before being recalled. “I’m sorry, I have an appointment, so unfortunately must leave.”
Lydia thanked him again as she walked with him to the door. She shook his hand. “You must surely have been sent by God to protect us.”
“Don’t forget, six days’ time, I’ll return,” he reminded.
“We’ll be ready.”
Quickly, Jason made his way back to the edge of town where, concealed from the road, he returned home seven minutes later. He was filled with an intense feeling of joy. He had seen his mother and the grandmother he never knew and felt his visit had gone extremely well.
Chapter Six
Three days passed before Briggs returned to Alnwick. It was the early hours of the morning and things were not as he’d hoped.
A group of soldiers had come into town and taken control. The officer in charge, Captain Harrison, was organising fresh food and water for the residents. A curfew had been declared after fights, broken out over limited supplies, had caused a number of deaths.
Despite this, Briggs was not the only person out that morning. Three young men, watching from a side road, suddenly spotted the mercenary walking down the main street.
“Hey you! You with the army?” one of them called, as they approached brandishing weapons.
“The army?” Briggs stopped as they stepped into his path. “Is the army in town?”
“Got ourselves a parrot,” another chided. He looked to his friends for approval. They dutifully laughed. They were delighted with their game, especially now, when close up, they could see the number of weapons Briggs was openly carrying. Outnumbering him three to one they figured their chances were good and had gained a ‘high’ from the power.
“Phew, he’s got some beauties,” a gangly youth said, in awe of the rifles slung on Briggs’ back.
“Hand over your weapons,” the man standing directly ahead ordered. He waved a handgun in Briggs’ face.
Briggs didn’t move.
The young man became irate. “Hand over your weapons or I’ll blow your fucking head off,” he snarled. He shoved the barrel of the gun against the mercenary’s forehead.
This was the move Briggs was waiting for. Overstretched, the youth no longer had proper control of the weapon. In a flash the soldier had grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it so the gun was pointing away. Instantly the bone gave with a loud crack. In the same movement the youth’s hand was worked to fire the weapon. The gun enthusiast on his right was dead before he hit the ground. The third man on his left had registered the change of events, but had no time to act on it. His chest ventilated, when the gun discharged at point-blank range, he hit the tarmac with his eyes still open. To finish the job on the screaming youth with the broken arm, the mercenary released his hold. The damaged limb now free to dangle, hung by the muscle at 45 degrees. Then, as the young man tried to pull away, Briggs grabbed his head and twisted it violently to one side, instantly silencing him.
Feet pounding in his direction alerted Briggs that the gunfire had attracted more unwanted attention. He looked up and saw two soldiers running towards him. As they drew closer they suddenly stopped and raised their guns when they saw the carnage ahead.
“Drop your weapons,” one demanded.
Briggs didn’t flinch. He was confident he could shoot his way out of this one also, and was just about to make a move when suddenly three more squaddies joined their colleagues on the road.
“Drop your weapons immediately,” the soldier ordered.
This time the mercenary submitted. He could outgun them, but out in the open and without cover there was a chance he might get grazed; a risk he couldn’t afford under these circumstances. He’d just thrown down the last of his weapons when the rest of the platoon arrived.
Captain Harrison made his way through his men to examine the bodies at Briggs’ feet. “What happened?” he finally asked.
Briggs stared at the officer, unabashed. “It was self-defence,” he replied coldly.
Harrison pointed to the guns near the bodies. “Are these yours?”
“No.” Briggs nudged his head down. “They belonged to them. It was an armed mugging.”
Harrison stopped, thinking for a moment, then slowly circled the mercenary, observing the scene from every angle. He’d witnessed this sort of thing before and could see this man was no ordinary civilian caught up in this tragedy. He’d been in the army long enough to know a professional killer when he saw one. He stopped in front of Briggs and was about to continue his questioning when suddenly they were interrupted.
“Briggs! Captain Briggs! What you doing here?” It was Sergeant Andrews, Captain Harrison’s second-in-command. “Heard you were in the Middle East.” He stepped up and gave Briggs a friendly slap on the arm.
Briggs smiled. He was pleased to see him; it was a good time for a distraction.
“Do you know this man?” Harrison asked, surprised.
“Yes. He led my platoon six years ago.” Then to Briggs, “What you been doing since leaving the army?”
“Work in the Middle East was pretty steady so I just stayed there,” Briggs replied casually. He genuinely liked Andrews and was pleased to see him. They’d got on well and always seemed to see eye to eye. “I got back a couple of weeks ago. I was lucky I was away from the city when it was attacked.” His eyes briefly flicked to Harrison who was still observing him closely.
“Did you pick these weapons up in the Middle East?” the captain asked.
“No, I got them from a gun shop near Rothbury,” Briggs replied. He pointed at the bodies. “I thought a little self-protection wouldn’t go amiss for this very reason.” Briggs knew Harrison was aware no gun shop would sell the sort of weapons he was carrying. But what can he do about it? he thought. Nothing!
Harrison stepped back. “We’ll have to confiscate your weapons if you’re to stay in town.” He indicated to two men to remove the guns.
“Fine,” Briggs replied. “As long as I can have them back when I leave.”
“They’ll be returned on your departure,” Harrison confirmed, then he turned to two soldiers standing close by. “See if you can identify these men. If their families are still in town, inform them of their deaths. Then make sure you give them a decent burial, not like those poor bastards out in the woods. Get the vicar to say something.”
The men nodded, then stooped to search the corpses for identification.
Andrews and Briggs trailed behind the platoon on their way back to base.
“So what work were you doing in the Middle East?” the sergeant asked.
“Contract,” Briggs replied, then halted any further questions with an immediate change of subject. “Does anyone know what caused this?” He waved a hand east towards the vaporised RAF base.
“After Serboria bombed Bolonia’s capital city, the UN went in as peacekeepers.”
“Yes, I knew that much. So how did we go from peacekeeping to being nuked?”
“When Serboria refused to relinquish control to the UN, last I’d heard everything was heating up. Next thing we knew we were bombed and can only presume Bolonia must have launched a retaliatory strike. Serboria would’ve been on high alert and therefore relying on their auto-defence systems. When attacked, they would’ve systematically launched against anyone considered ‘the enemy’. Any other auto-defence systems on standby would also do the same, triggering a chain reaction, as you know.”
Briggs nodded.
“The platoon was out on exercises,” Andrews continued, “and we’d just lost contact with Otterburn, when we saw Boulmer being hit in the distance. We made our way into Alnwick, whilst a small scout party went back to Otterburn. They returned a few hours later and confirmed the destruction of the town along with the military base.”
Andrews led Briggs from the path and turned up the drive of Alnwick’s main library. “This is our base for the moment,” he explained. He continued into the building and stopped in the hallway. “We’ve started a distribution programme with uncontaminated food and water collected from a food bunker located in the Cheviots.”
At the mention of the words ‘food bunker’, Briggs suddenly became more attentive. This was where the new power would be. This was the new currency. He knew it would take years, possibly even decades, for the country to recover. Food growth programmes would take time to organise and the land would have to be given time to cleanse. Food bunkers in the meantime would be the only lifeline for survivors.
“There’s an even bigger bunker somewhere else in the hills, but we’re not sure of its exact location,” Andrews continued. “Apparently the town councillors knew where it was, but we can’t find them either. Nobody knows where they are. They could have been killed or maybe left town. A search of their offices revealed nothing.” He continued along a hallway. “The food will only last a few more weeks, so something needs sorting soon.”
Andrews stopped outside a door at the bottom of the corridor. “You can put your stuff in here. It’s where the rest of us are crashing.”
“Thanks.”
The following morning Briggs rose before dawn and, as he left the over-cramped accommodation, was pleased to find Andrews was also up.
“I think I’ll head off this morning,” Briggs informed. “I was sidetracked on the way to Berwick yesterday. I want to check my sister’s okay.” He blew gently on a steaming mug to cool the contents. “Can I have my guns? Then I’ll be on my way.”
“Sure.”
Andrews led Briggs from the staff kitchen to an office behind reception. He retrieved a key from a cabinet by the door and opened a locker across the room. He removed the guns and handed them to the mercenary.
“Thanks.” Briggs holstered his weapons. “As soon as I know she’s okay, I’ll probably come back.”
“Good,” Andrews said genuinely. He walked with Briggs to the exit. “Hopefully we’ll see you again soon.”
“I’m sure you will,” Briggs replied. They parted at the door. “I’m sure you will.”
Outside, Briggs quickly headed north. There would be a change of plan, but checking on the safety of a fictitious sister was not the change in mind. A secluded spot on the outskirts of town proved to be a perfect vantage point to watch the daily routine of the resident troops. Hunting humans was no different to hunting prey and Briggs was an expert at both.
Two days later he had enough information to carry out the next stage of his plan. Captain Harrison was always present during the distribution of daily food parcels and Briggs decided a carefully timed attack the following day would remove this irritant permanently.
A bomb, assembled from household products found in a local chemist, was used to stage an assault to look like theft. It was detonated just as the distribution centre was being prepared and the result achieved all he’d hoped, and more.
Captain Harrison and three of his men died instantly at the scene. Two civilians were killed and five injured. Before the smoke settled some who’d been waiting for food parcels grabbed what remained and ran off, inadvertently assisting Briggs with his masquerade.
With Harrison dead, the way was clear now for Briggs to return to the town and take command. He was confident Andrews wouldn’t be a problem and would happily step down given their history and his superior rank.
Congratulating himself on a job well done, he settled down for one more night in the surrounding forests before returning to the base the following day.
Chapter Seven
In 1930, the Mark was still reeling from the ruinous inflation which had made it virtually worthless in the early 1920s. This, and the Great Depression, made Jason decide the safest way to acquire money would be to exchange gold for cash. He had thought about forging notes, but decided against this as it simply seemed to be a complicated and dangerous way to add to the present economic disaster.
He based his financial needs on the amount of gold required to cover a similar journey in his own time period and in a couple of days, with Jessica’s help, had gathered enough jewellery suitable for the era.
Once the financial side of the journey was sorted, Jason spent his time searching through records for an appropriate ship. He found information, surprisingly quickly, on the passenger liner ‘Oceania’ which left Hamburg on March 15th at 9.30 p.m. and arrived safely in Southampton the following day.
Jason arrived in Hamburg, just after 8.00 a.m. on 12th March 1930, with enough gold in his pockets to purchase tickets for the ‘Oceania’.
He was surprised to find the port already bustling and, worse, he had miscalculated his point of arrival. Instead of materialising discreetly on the outskirts of the harbour as planned, he had arrived in the middle of a large group of immigrants gathered at the quayside – a greater error would have seen him treading water in the North Sea.
Thankfully, the group, preoccupied with their luggage and children, never noticed his unusual appearance.
Quickly he made his way through the crowd and soon found directions to the ticket office, which, he was told, opened at ten.
With plenty of time to spare he decided to take a slow stroll into town to exchange some of his gold for cash. He soon found the main street where a number of jewellers were based.
The first would only buy a small amount of gold. Despite the owner’s enthusiasm for what he said ‘were excellent pieces’, a lack of funding prevented him purchasing more. Jason left the shop with less than half the amount he thought he would need for the tickets.
There were only two more jewellers close-by and he now questioned whether he’d been too blasé about the ease with which he would be able to raise funds.
The next quashed those doubts. The economic climate didn’t seem to have hit this business as hard and the owner obviously had more disposable cash as he bought the rest of Jason’s gold. He was particularly keen on a ring which encompassed an emerald and gave Jason a better price than he’d hoped for his goods.
His gold sold, Jason returned to the harbour. Once there, he discreetly checked the time.
Allotted time was so essential in his travels, he couldn’t afford to be casual about the period remaining. Therefore, his timepiece, which included an additional stopwatch, was unavoidably out of place in this era. He scanned the watch face, carefully hidden below his cuff; it was just after 9.30. With half an hour still remaining before the ticket office opened he moved to a seat on the edge of the pier and settled down to watch the activit
ies on the harbour.
Magnificent sailing ships filled the port, as sail instead of steam was still the cheaper and predominant method of travel by sea.
The immigrants were starting to embark. Passports and tickets were being checked before they made their way up the ramp and onto the liner – a large twin funnelled steamer, capable of carrying seventy-five passengers and fifty crew – on its way to America. Their luggage had already been loaded and a small child was crying because he wanted something which had been accidentally packed.
The harbour to Jason’s left was quieter. A short distance away, a small ship was moored up. A crewman pottered around on the deck.
Jason stood and walked down to look at the vessel more closely. He couldn’t decide whether it would be used for deep sea fishing or not, but either way, it didn’t look fit to leave shore. The ship’s name, ‘The Plenith’, did not register in his mind at first, only the distress. He couldn’t remember why it disturbed him. He stood pondering where he’d heard the name for almost a minute, before he suddenly recalled.
The captain of this tatty little vessel – with the paint peeling off its hull and the sun-bleached decks – destroyed so many lives, he thought, with a surge of rage. A swell of sadness pushed forth as he thought of his grandmother and how desperate she must have been to leave the country, to be willing to risk sailing on this floating death trap.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
Jason jumped at the voice; he hadn’t expected to be spoken to.
He turned to find a tall, broad man with a tanned, leathery face, nearly completely obscured by a beard, standing off to his left.
“I’m her captain,” he said. He smiled and revealed a row of stained teeth.
Jason was nauseous with disgust. He found the stench of the man’s breath, his body odour, but most of all his very presence, incredibly repulsive. Here was the parasite who had killed his grandmother and destroyed his mother’s life. Anyone who could brutalise a woman, especially one who had come for help, was nothing less than a monster. Trembling with rage, Jason controlled the urge to attack him. The potentially devastating consequences in ‘time’ were the only thing holding him back.
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