The Hurst Chronicles (Book 1): Hurst (31 page)

 “Very well, Jack. What have I not heard? Surprise me.”

“The Parkhurst crew. Dead. Destroyed.”

The man in black pursed his lips and grimaced: “Parkhurst prison? What are you talking about? Is that meant to mean something? I’m growing tired of your games.”

“Your friend, Briggs? Briggs is dead. It would seem that your axis of evil is finished, before it ever had a chance to get going.”

The man in black laughed again throwing his hands up in mock despair but showed no flicker of recognition that he knew what Jack was talking about, shaking his head. Jack’s gambit had failed. His lie about Briggs’s death fell on deaf ears and he did a poor job at concealing his frustration.

“Axis of evil? Is that what you really think? You’re more deluded than I thought. Oh so wait, you’re the good guys and we’re the bad? Life is never that black and white. Please don’t kid yourself that you’ve captured some evil genius hell bent on your destruction and now the world will be a safer place. The new world is full of people like me. I’m just like you, Jack. Fighting for what I believe in, looking after my own. Trying to make a better life. You want to know the difference between us? You’re an idealist. I’m a realist. You see the world through rose-tinted glasses. You think everyone is inherently good. I don’t. Life is a game and people are merely pieces on a chessboard. You just have to figure out how to use them to win.”

He shook his head with a pained expression, enjoying the moment. “You think because you live in a castle you’re better than the rest of us? It’s pathetic. You see the world in absolutes. Good versus evil. Do you really think that because I’m wearing black, it makes me a bad person? Please, don’t judge a book by its cover. Next you’ll be telling me that living in a lighthouse makes you a shining beacon to others, you self-righteous arse.”

Jack was shaking with rage, his left eye flickering involuntarily. “No Damian, you’re wrong. I don’t judge people based on what they believe, but I draw the line at killing innocent people. It is our actions that define us as people. Not our clothes, or what we say. You see the world in shades of grey, I don’t.”

“But Jack, the search for a cure is paramount. Our very survival depends on it. So the end justifies the means. And sure, if that means a few thousand extra people need to die while we test a vaccine, isn’t that a price worth paying? That’s progress, no?”

“I’m not talking about all those hundreds of people you killed in the name of science, I’m talking about the women and children you executed in cold blood against the wall, murdered, right here. Those were my people. They were unarmed. They didn’t stand a chance.”

“You think the death of your people makes the slightest bit of difference? Don’t be so sentimental. Thousands of people are dying every day.”

He clicked his fingers repeatedly to emphasise his point, then paused and smiled, remembering something.

“Curious to think that your people were killed by former policemen. Interesting, no?” He put his finger to his lip, tilting his head before continuing in a mocking voice, laced with irony.

“How quickly people can change. Those same men who dedicated their lives to upholding the law could be persuaded that killing others is right and necessary. The rules of the game have changed. Wake up and hear the music, Jack. The world has changed and it is you who haven’t kept up. You bury your heads in the sand here like ostriches. You’re no better than me or anyone else. You just think you are. You and me, we’re the same. Fighting for what we believe. If you’re not careful, you’re going to find yourselves isolated and alone here. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that Camp Wight will be on the other side of the Solent. How can a bunch of fishermen like you hope to protect this castle against a whole army of trained fighting men? My men won’t give up until this place is raised to the ground. Next time, you won’t stand a chance, even with your new friends.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. We fought you off before. We’ll do it again. You really think they’ll come back and risk their lives to save you? They’ll leave you here to rot.”

“My men won’t come back here for me. They’ll come back here again and again until your pathetic group is wiped out, all of them. So long as they have breath in their lungs, and bullets in their guns, they’ll keep coming. It’s just what they do. Your people came to Hurst to die. They just don’t know it yet.”

Jack had taken all he could take for one day, but the man in black wasn’t finished yet, he had one last poisonous thought to share.

“Perhaps it hasn’t occurred to you that I could be a carrier. Immune myself but infecting you and your people even now, slowly spreading the virus. Bet you didn’t think of that, right? Careless Jack, sitting so close, breathing the same air as me?”

Jack shuddered inwardly, listening to the man in black’s hollow laugh. It had occurred to him that the girls may not be the only ones immune to the virus, but the chances of any of the rest of the hospital group being immune were a hundred-to-one. He shook his head, refusing to rise to the bait.

“I’ll leave you to your twisted thoughts. I have better things to do than listen to the delusions of a man who’s never going to see the light of day again. We’ll talk again when I’m good and ready. Enjoy your silence and solitude. That’s all you’ll get from us,” said Jack.

Jack had had enough of this goading. For the last few minutes, he’d been clenching his fists, tighter and tighter into balls. He could feel the veins on the side of his neck throbbing. He swore that if he spent one more minute with this man, this monster, he’d tear him limb from limb.

He stood up too quickly, clumsily kicking over the lantern that stood between them. The glass smashed and the flame was extinguished in the dust on the ground, its wick and mounting tumbling clear. The whole room was suddenly plunged into darkness.

Jack scrambled towards the door, feeling with his hands in front of him. He started hammering and shouting Tommy’s name, trying to keep a lid on his mounting fear. The man in black’s disembodied voice in the darkness seemed to come from multiple directions, echoing off the walls of the dry storage room.

“Poor Jack,” he repeated, followed by that same hollow laugh.

Jack banged louder on the door before the key turned in the lock and Tommy’s friendly face appeared in the doorway peering in to see what was happening. Jack wrenched the door open wider and barged Tommy out of the way. Tommy stood there for a second staring after Jack as he hurried away towards the stairs towards the light and fresh air, getting as far away from the man in black as he could.

Tommy looked back into the darkness, wondering what had spooked Jack, searching out the face of the man inside. All he could see were his legs and the smashed lantern on the ground. He picked up the lamp and the larger shards of glass and slammed the door shut. He motioned for the guard to lock up again, before running after Jack.

On the stairs, he found Jack limping heavily, breathing hard, perspiration on his forehead. He supported him through the narrow doorway to the roof of the Gun Tower. He hobbled over and found Nathan looking out over the battlements surveying the 
USS Chester’s
 progress into the calmer waters of the Solent, off Yarmouth heading east towards Cowes and Southampton water. Jack snatched the walkie-talkie clipped from Nathan’s belt and depressed the talk button.

“Peterson, it’s Jack here, over?”

There was a few seconds delay before a voice he recognized well came back loud and clear. “Go ahead Jack.”

“We’ve got a major problem. I don't know how, but they know. They know all about Camp Wight.”

There was no response from Peterson so he continued, the stress obvious in his voice. “And it sounds like the story about the girls is bona fide. They do have immunity to the virus.”

There was a long silence, while Jack checked the volume on the radio to make sure it was still transmitting and the battery hadn’t failed, before Peterson’s response came back.

“Roger that. Jack, this is an insecure line, so be careful what you say. Let’s continue this conversation face to face. Right now we need to get those girls to a safe location.”

“OK, One of them is safe. And we think we know where to find the other. We’re going to need some transport though.”

There was another silence. “We’ve got our hands a little full right now, but we’ll send the chopper as soon as it can be spared. Hang in there, Jack.”

Jack signed off and looked back towards the island. Dark clouds were blowing in from the southwest. He could see light rain falling underneath. The dull ache in his shoulder intensified as the painkillers began to wear off. His heart sank as he remembered the loss of Terra. It was as if he’d locked that memory away and stumbled across it again unexpectedly. Sam was right. She was a resourceful woman. She would do whatever it took to stay alive. He had to believe that and trust to luck.

Chapter fifty-six

Terra woke after a restless night and immediately felt a shooting pain down her side from sleeping on a hard bed in the cold, damp room. It took a few moments to get her bearings as memories from the last few days came slowly back into focus. The trip to Osborne House, the dinner, Peterson and Armstrong’s speech, the sense of renewed hope for the future. Then Briggs had taken that all away. Kidnapped, imprisoned, forsaken. Alone again. She was a survivor though, wasn’t she? She’d survived worse than this.

Her surroundings were relatively spartan, bare stone walls cold to the touch. A simple chair and table nestled under a bare timber-framed window, which looked down over the ruins of a castle. In the foreground were a small chapel and courtyard, ornamental gardens and high stone walls covered in moss and lichen.

She had been brought here under cover of darkness, hooded for most of the journey, disoriented. She was unsure where exactly on the island she was. Her best guess was that this was Carisbrooke Castle as she could think of no other site of this scale or grandeur. It also fitted the bill based on what she knew of Briggs and his men. They had been incarcerated in Parkhurst prison, no more than a couple of miles away.

She stretched out her arms, ran through a few warm-up exercises and yoga positions to stimulate her circulation and stop the shivering. It took a few painful minutes to eliminate the stiffness she felt in her lower back and arms. Staring out the window, a light drizzle flecked the windows from rain clouds blowing in from the sea.

She heard footsteps in the corridor and the rattle of keys as the door swung inwards and one of Briggs’s most trusted men stood waiting to take her downstairs for another audience with the man himself. Her escort was a curious looking individual. The facial tattoos that decorated one side of his head reminded her of a Maori warrior. His beard and sideburns were in need of a good trim, with only a small tuft of hair at the scalp. The rest of his head was shaved smooth. Nevertheless, despite his radical appearance, he seemed cordial enough.

Terra had been pleasantly surprised by Briggs’s behaviour towards her so far. He had been kind and attentive, asking her repeatedly what she needed to make her stay comfortable. His men had returned several hours later after an exhaustive search of Newport. They brought clothes that were comfortable though two sizes too big, together with expensive toiletries the like of which she had not seen in years. He had been insistent that she wore a particular dress, the yellow one, knee length, classic style with the floral pattern. The autumnal yellow of the dress set off her red hair in the sunlight. Apparently the dress reminded him of a special someone he had known long ago and seemed to put him in a good mood.

Her escort knocked but didn’t wait to be invited in. Briggs was in the middle of an angry exchange with another prisoner whose hands were bound behind his back. She recognised the man from Osborne House but didn’t know his name. He was in his mid to late fifties with a full head of white blond hair. A large cut had been patched up above his left eye, a purple bruise darkening underneath. She exchanged a pained look of sympathy before he was led away. He tried to say something to her, pulling back against the rope binding his wrist but was quickly pulled away. As the door slammed shut behind him, she heard him shout “Don’t tell them anything.”

Briggs’s expression softened as soon as he spotted Terra.  He threw his arms wide, beaming a smile. “Good morning Terra. How fares our Queen of Hurst this rainy day?”

“Well, thank you,” responded Terra awkwardly, maintaining her distance. The great hall made her think of Hurst, though the castle was clearly much older judging by the roof and brickwork. It reminded her in so many ways of the historic places she had visited as a child. The Tower of London, Hampton Court, Windsor Castle. The musty smell, the damp and cold, but also the sense of awe and wonder at standing somewhere so rich in history. It was almost as if she could sense the ghosts of kings, queens and noblemen who had graced these royal surroundings. There was a very real aura of history and drama that impregnated every stone, every brick. One could not help but feel a little bit inadequate and unworthy standing there amongst these magnificent surroundings. The incongruity of Briggs and his men’s occupation of the castle was not lost on Terra.

“Come and sit and have some breakfast with me. Hatch, bring us something to eat.” He studied Terra, trying to anticipate what would make her happy. “Bring us some coffee and I think cereal and fruit today, am I right?”

“Thank you,” responded Terra, taking her seat modestly, opposite Briggs, who couldn’t take his eyes off her and looked her up and down, enjoying the shape of the dress and the way its cut accentuated her curves. He watched, absorbed by her every move as she helped herself to an apple, which she carefully cut into slices and ate one by one. When she had finished, he asked for the plates to be cleared before restarting his inquisition. There was no artifice, no subterfuge, no threat, albeit implied, to his questions, and she willingly complied, answering his every request with a directness that he found refreshing. 

“Now, why don’t we go back to where we left off last night? You were telling me all about Jack and Zed. Where are my notes?” He rummaged in a pile of papers in front of him and pulled out a sheet of lined paper. The handwriting looked childlike, accompanied by doodles and scribbles in the margins.

“So I’ve got here that your friend Zed likes to carry around a double-headed axe. Who does he think he is? Spartacus? Bit cumbersome isn’t it?” He turned towards his henchmen who were standing nearby and laughed bawdily. Turning back to Terra, without a hint of irony, he went on: “I prefer a butcher’s knife myself. More up close and personal.” He crudely gestured a slice across his neck to demonstrate how he liked to use it, prompting another laugh from his men.

“I look forward to meeting him. Sounds like my kind of guy. I might put his head on a spike outside my castle as a reminder to any other jumped-up wide-boy who thinks they can mess with me.”

“But Briggs.” She paused a little embarrassed. “Can I call you Briggs?” He nodded and encouraged her to continue. “As I assured you yesterday, the people of Hurst had nothing to do with the attack on your convoy. They’re pacifists mostly. They spend their time fishing and growing vegetables, not fighting. They’re not looking for trouble.”

“Bullshit. Anyone who’s in league with the Americans is no pacifist. The missile or bomb that killed my men may have been American, but you can be sure that someone from Hurst helped pull the trigger. They’ll get what’s coming to them.”

She leaned forward, her eyebrow raised playfully. She looked composed in Briggs’s company, demure, playing along. She knew from last night that Briggs had a weakness for her. She suspected he was more than a little bit susceptible to her charms. She intended to use every advantage that gave her, without crossing the line. The bruise on her left cheek ached when she moved her jaw, a reminder that you could push him only so far. Briggs had expressed his regret immediately and the man who struck her had not been seen again. She remained unintimidated by the threat of further violence, though not oblivious to the danger. She was deliberately provocative, working hard to retain his attention. She wasn’t sure how much Briggs had heard of the plan for Camp Wight, but it wouldn’t hurt to test the extent of his knowledge and spread a little disinformation at the same time to downplay Hurst and create a degree of separation.

“I can assure you the Americans want little to do with Hurst. It’s an outpost, nothing more. They have no appreciation of history. No real understanding of local politics. Like a bull in a china shop, they’re, well, just doing what Americans do best. Throwing their weight around, sticking their noses in to other people’s business. Trying to do the right thing, but in the process, treading on a lot of toes.”

“OK Terra. If you’re so bleeding clever, what would your counsel be?” asked Briggs in a moment of indulgence.

She smiled and Briggs looked at her suspiciously, his head tilted to the side as if he was torn between wanting to believe her and beating her to a pulp. She was under no illusion that the moment she ceased to please and beguile him, she would find herself thrown from the castle walls in to the pit below. Careful Terra, she told herself. Be very careful.

She leaned forward and fixed him with her most winning smile. “If the Americans want to set up camp here, let them.” She shrugged and look over his shoulder. “Wait until they’ve ferried over their supplies and stores, got everything set up. Bide your time. What harm can it do? If you risk an all-out war with them, you’ll lose. Remember the war on terror? Remember what happened to every army that invaded Afghanistan or Iraq or Syria and tried to fight the Taliban, ISIS or Al Qaeda in a conventional way? They all failed. You could do worse than learn from those lessons. Your men need to become invisible, like shadows. Go underground, become fifth columnists, fill every position of power. Bide your time. Your guys should become sleepers waiting for the right moment to strike, when the allies are at their most vulnerable.” She leaned back again, her smile gone. “Anyway, that’s what I would do.”

“Interesting. You and I think alike. Terra, you might just make a name for yourself round here. I need a good adviser, someone I can trust. I’m just not sure I can trust you Terra. For a start you’re a woman. Never trust a woman. That’s what my mum used to say, God bless her. Every woman I’ve ever known has lied or cheated on me.”

He stood up and leaned across the table, over the fruit bowl that had been placed between them. He picked up a ripe peach and sunk his teeth deep into its flesh, biting down to the stone and ripping his mouth away, allowing juice to dribble down his chin. He wiped the liquid away with his sleeve and grinned lasciviously towards Terra.

“Of course, if you could prove to me that I could trust you, that would be different. But right now, my head is full of questions about you Terra. Questions, questions. You’re going to have to earn my trust. Do we understand each other?”

Terra swallowed involuntarily, her mouth and throat suddenly dry. She knew exactly what he meant. She was beginning to ask herself what she was going to have to do to keep Hurst safe and keep her enemies close. She had started down a very dangerous path and it was already too late to turn back without consequences. The only way was forward, deeper and deeper into the maze, and one wrong turn could just prove terminal.