The Hurst Chronicles (Book 1): Hurst (16 page)

Their host sitting at the head of the table led another round of applause as the guests nodded and murmured their approval of the outline plans.

Captain Armstrong continued: “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is for celebration. Tomorrow is when the planning proper starts in earnest. So I invite you to raise your glasses and let us toast our new friends Captain Bjorklund and Lieutenant Peterson. I give you Camp Wight.”

As chairs scraped back and everyone stood, the dinner guests repeated in unison “Camp Wight” before draining their glasses and sitting down again.

Terra caught Jack’s eye, sitting a few places down opposite from him and raised an eyebrow and inclined her head in admiration of what she’d just heard, mouthing “Wow”. Jack smiled and raised his empty glass in a silent toast.

Peterson introduced a scientist from the University of Southampton’s Centre for Biological Science. Professor Nichols opened by talking about his life-long passion for the Isle of Wight. When he wasn’t lecturing at the University he had spent most of his adult life painting and reading and walking its coastal paths, based in a small holiday cottage in Ventnor in the south of the island where he had the good grace to be staying when the outbreak occurred. In a calm methodical monotone, he explained that virology was not his field of science but that from what he understood of the virus from his limited study, it shared many similarities with the Spanish flu pandemic which had proven so devastating at the end of the First World War.

The professor explained that Spanish flu had infected one third of the world’s population at the time and been responsible for as many as fifty million deaths. Like Spanish flu, the ‘Millennial Virus’, as he called it, is airborne and passes quickly from person to person. The flu had been so successful in spreading because different strains made prevention and immunization programs difficult. The virus was capable of adapting and bypassing the body’s immune system. It was resistant to all antibiotics and had proven a most effective killer. Without the facilities or staff to undertake a proper medical study, their best chance was to avoid all contact with the virus and to maintain strict quarantine for new arrivals until the all clear could be given. He wholeheartedly endorsed the military plan to establish a survivor colony here and volunteered to set up a medical team at St Mary’s Hospital just up the road in Cowes. Providing the military could provide him with the necessary resources there was no reason why they couldn’t commence trials and start testing a vaccine. Although he cautioned that he could make no guarantees and that this research effort could take several years.

There was a small commotion at the back of the room. A scuffle near the door. Raised voices heard above the dinner table chatter. A muffled cry from one of the guards who had been listening to the talks, chewing gum, with an automatic weapon slung over his shoulder. He was unceremoniously dumped on the floor, clutching his throat and spluttering for breath, blood pouring from between his fingers. A heavy set man stepped from the shadows and stood by the entrance a knife glinting in his right hand.

Jack stood and shouted at the guards at the other doorway but it was already too late. Two armed men had appeared behind them and grabbed them round their necks and dragged them outside into the corridor before falling silent.

A tall figure advanced menacingly towards Peterson and Armstrong. Two henchmen followed just behind, brandishing shotguns towards the rest of the room to deter any wannabe heroes from rushing them. “Everybody shut up and sit down. Jamie, you’re on crowd control.” One of the henchmen, the smaller one, broke off and stood to the side breathing heavily and keeping watch on the seated dinner guests.

The two navy officers were unarmed and stood perfectly still. The tall man joined them at the front of the room and waved a pistol lazily between their heads. He was mid-thirties, muscular and athletic looking, wearing only a grey t-shirt, his arms and neck richly tattooed with intricate patterns, passages of text and colourful scenes of snakes, swords and full-breasted women. The British officer studied his adversary, his chin raised, undaunted. “Who are you?” he challenged.

“Never you mind navy boy.” He looked around the room at a sea of frightened faces. “Sorry to break up your party, only I never received my invitation.” He sneered and raised his hands to silence the room again. “But I decided to come anyway.”

A few of the guests recognized the tall heavily tattooed man, whispering his name under their breath. His reputation preceded him. Career criminal from the East End of London, barrow boy turned gangster. Had been serving eighteen years for armed robbery before some well-meaning genius determined to release the remaining inmates of Parkhurst Prison now that the guards were no longer able to look after them. Briggs nodded, pointing the gun towards the whispers, wagging a finger in disapproval.

“No one thought to invite Briggs eh?” He tutted and continued wagging his finger at the guests. “Shame on you.”

“So you’re Briggs. I’ve heard of you,” interrupted Peterson quietly, puffing out his chest and squaring up to Briggs, his expression hard to read, an eyebrow raised. Peterson had met his fair share of bullies in his time.

“And you’re the septic.” Peterson looked puzzled, pretending to be unfamiliar with this provocation. “Septic tank, yank? Rhyming slang? I forgot you’re not from around here are you. Bit far from home, eh septic? This ain’t your turf. You’ve got no place ordering people around here. You’re poorly informed if you think you can do anything on this island without my say so. Haven’t you heard, I run things round here.”

There was a murmur from the guests that he silenced with a raised finger. “Shut it. I’ve had enough of you lot.”

“Now look here,” interrupted the Captain, attempting to reassert his authority. “This whole island is being placed under military control, which means you have no right to be here. Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but this is a private meeting and you were not invited. Go back to whatever hole you just crawled from and leave us grown-ups to sort this mess out.”

Briggs laughed, turning his head away, shaking his head before looking back with a deadpan expression. “Who put you in charge, eh? I couldn’t give a toss what you think mate. Nothing’s going to happen on my island without my say so. And you, septic. You’re new here, so perhaps you haven’t heard. I’m in charge and I say who comes and goes. Grab a ticket and get in line.”

Briggs sneered and wandered between the tables, eyeballing the other dinner guests in their dusty mothballed finery. He stopped behind one of the island leaders, a portly man with a red face, and reached for a half-eaten roast potato, mopping the gravy from the plate. He chewed noisily with his mouth open, licking his fingers while looking round the room. When he’d finished his mouthful, he placed a hand on each of the man’s shoulders and began massaging lightly, kneading the back of his neck with his thumbs. The islander was perspiring heavily, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He looked increasingly uncomfortable, glancing from side to side at his fellow guests, appealing for their support.

Briggs grabbed a fork and in one fluid movement jammed it down into the man’s hand, breaking a bone and embedding itself in the plump soft flesh. Briggs ignored the man’s high-pitched scream and put a thick tattooed arm around his neck, dragging him backwards off his chair. His legs kicked helplessly, ruffling an ornate rug with his neatly polished brogues. Briggs dumped him on the ground and raised his pistol. “Want to know what happens to people who double cross me? You lied, Bairstow. You think because we’re convicts, we’re all stupid, do you?” The fat man on the ground was shaking his head, his hands raised in defence. “When you do a deal with Briggs, you pay up, or bad stuff tends to happen. Ain’t that right boys? Well you’re going to get what’s coming to you.”

He fired a single shot into his abdomen and the man bent double clutching at the entry wound. A sad, almost disappointed expression settled in his eyes as a red stain formed around his mid-riff and his body went limp. There were gasps of disbelief and shock from the dinner guests, who recoiled in horror, pushing their chairs away from the blood that had begun to pool around his body.

Captain Armstrong stepped forward pointing angrily at Briggs, spitting with indignation: “That’s brave. Shooting an unarmed man. You coward.”

Briggs parried his intrusion and pistol-whipped the naval officer across the face, leaving a bloody streak and small cut on his cheek. Armstrong fished a white handkerchief from his trouser pocket and pressed it to his face to staunch the flow of blood.

“You and who’s army? Oh sorry, I forgot, all your men are dead Captain. And you really think a bunch of navy nancy boys is any match for an army of street fighters and career criminals? I don’t think so. I’ll take one of my boys for ten of yours. Don’t make me laugh. I’ve spent eight long years on this island at her Majesty’s pleasure. I think I’ve earned some time off for good behaviour, don’t you? Tell you what. How about you get off my island tonight, and I let you live?”

Peterson inserted himself in between Briggs and Captain Armstrong. “You really think your little gang is any match for the military? I’ve dealt with Somali warlords, drug barons in Columbia, guerrilla fighters in Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq. A bunch of convicts with shotguns is no match for the United States finest, a Navy Seal team expert in weapons, tactics, counter-terrorism and explosives. I can summon them at a moment’s notice.” He clicked his fingers. “I have drones that can hunt you down when you least expect it. Precision weapons that can take out a vehicle travelling at 50mph. Trust me, mate,” he said the word ‘mate’ in as good a cockney-accent as he could manage, “you don’t have a hope in hell.”

“I’ll take my chances. You really want a war? My lot sabotaging your relief effort at every opportunity? Smuggling sick people across from the mainland and letting them loose in your precious Camp Wight? Do you? Because that’s what you’ll have: a war you can’t win.”

“Listen Briggs, this situation is too important for petty squabbles to interfere. We’re facing an extinction event for humanity. Total annihilation. This virus is bigger than any local feud. Lay down your weapons and join us. You can’t win, you know that. And there will be plenty of other battles to fight. Men with your talents could be useful. I’m sure we can find them jobs that would keep them, how shall we say, entertained.”

Briggs came and stood with his nose almost touching the American’s, a snarl on his lips. “You really think we want anything to do with your lot. Don’t waste your breath. Why doesn’t everyone sit down and make themselves comfortable, shall we? We’re going to work out a different kind of deal.”

Out of sight within Lieutenant Peterson trouser pocket, a micro-transmitter was flashing red, broadcasting a distress signal. Every sixty seconds it buzzed lightly against his trouser leg to confirm its activation. Even now a Navy Seal rescue team on a high state of readiness would be scrambling, ready to be on site in less than ten minutes.

Chapter thirty-three

Sam’s curiosity had completely got the better of him and he’d ignored Jack’s instruction to stay with the boat. He was crouched behind a large hydrangea bush peering through the grand window of the stateroom where Jack and the others were being held. There was nothing he could do except watch. He caught some of the conversation whenever Briggs approached the window or when the wind dropped and the trees had grown suddenly still.

He noticed a guard bound and gagged by the main entrance with a swarthy looking guy standing over him, keeping an eye out for any late arrivals to the Osborne gathering.

He racked his brains to think what he could do. Light a fire and cause a distraction? Set off the fire alarm and then try and steal into the room unseen? He was armed with a Swiss Army penknife and Jack’s old service revolver that looked like it might explode if he actually pulled the trigger. As long as no one got too close a look, it served an important purpose as a deterrent more than anything. Jack said the revolver deserved to be in a museum, which was exactly where they had found the weapon in the Hurst historical collection along with muskets, suits of armour, swords and other weapons salvaged from nearly five hundred years of Hurst history.

The revolver felt comforting in his right hand, where he’d retrieved it from his belt. Standing up, it was fine tucked into his trousers, but sitting down made things uncomfortable. The cold metal against his skin and the barrel plunged deep into his Calvin Klein’s made Sam worry that the revolver might just go off and do some lasting damage. It would be just his kind of luck.

He angled his head towards a faint throbbing noise in the distance but it was gone again before he located its source. It sounded large and mechanical, close and far away all at the same time. He turned his head back towards the stateroom. It was nearly dark outside and he was fairly sure he couldn’t be seen with his back to the bush. He had no idea what was going on in there, but from the looks on people’s faces, they were scared. The large man in the grey t-shirt with the tattoos paced around the room, talking loudly, jabbing his finger a couple of times, raising his voice in an angry rant at someone’s expense.

He kept watch for some time, pondering his next move and was craning his head forward trying to hear better when footsteps behind him caused him to freeze. All he could make out from his cramped position, without disturbing the flower heads were dark shadows, figures advancing very deliberately towards him, their faces obscured by helmets and goggles. They were armed and moving fluidly as one connected organism. They took up position with their backs against the brick wall of the building. Sam was only a few feet away holding his breath and secretly hoping he was invisible in the half-light.

One of the men walked straight up to the bush where Sam was crouched within and put his finger to his lips. He removed his headset and gestured for Sam to come out from his hiding place. Sam dropped the gun and came out holding his hands up. The soldier grabbed him, span him round and roughly pushed him down on to his knees. He drew Sam’s arms behind his back and secured both hands together with what felt like a cable tie, doing the same with his legs. He stuffed a piece of cloth in Sam’s mouth and whispered in his ear. “Stay down and you’ll be fine. Don’t move. Are we clear?” Sam nodded, reassured by the American accent that they were friendly. He lay on the ground with his face resting on the lawn. It was already damp with the evening dew.

He saw the soldiers move together as a unit towards the main entrance, hearing the pop of a silenced weapon as the guard went down. One of the team caught the guard’s body and weapon before it could clatter on the ground.

The team moved inside and Sam waited, prone on the ground, incapacitated. He was not a religious man, but found himself whispering a silent prayer that Jack and Terra would be unharmed, whatever came next.

There was a loud explosion that made the windows rattle but not shatter. He heard an American voice shouting instructions to lay down their weapons and surrender, which was swiftly greeted by small arms fire. He craned his neck round towards the window but couldn’t move his arms or legs to adjust his position. He could see smoke through the windows and bright flashes and then darkness as all the lights went out. It was all over pretty quickly after that. Briggs’s men didn’t stand a chance against highly trained soldiers expert in hostage rescue and equipped with night-vision goggles.

A few of them must have got away as the fire fight seemed to move to a different part of the building and then grew louder outside beyond view.

Two minutes later, the Seal team re-emerged escorting Peterson to safety; two other injured hostages were helped out and lowered down next to the wall. Sam couldn’t see their faces. The soldier who had bound Sam trotted over and flashed a torch in his face, leaning down and removing the gag from his mouth. “Talk fast. Who are you?”

“My name’s Sam,” his voice cracking, “I’m one of the good guys, came here with Jack and Terra from Hurst. They’re my friends.”

The soldier dumped him back on the floor and double-timed it over to the main group, where a medic was checking the hostages and treating their injuries. He spoke in a low voice with his Sergeant and Lieutenant Peterson who nodded in Sam’s direction. The soldier relaxed a little and wandered back, flicking open a knife to cut the ties securing his hands and feet, and hauled his prisoner back to his feet.

“You ok? Nothing personal, just doing my job.”

Sam nodded. The blood was rushing back to his extremities and he felt a little faint but unharmed. “There’s someone over here wants to talk to you, will you come with me sir?”

Sam followed the soldier, his legs stiff and leaden. He spotted Jack propped up against the other hostage, being cleaned up by the medic who was swabbing at a cut on his forehead. He looked a bit bashed up, with a blackened face, split lip, blood soaked down his right side, but otherwise in one piece.

Peterson looked anxious and interrupted their reunion. “Gentlemen. I suggest you come with us. We can’t vouch for your safety here. Briggs’s men were easily scared off but they’re likely to come back in greater numbers.”

Jack looked up with fire in his eyes. “Wait, what about Terra?” he said, seizing hold of Peterson’s arm, to the protestation of the medic, who was restraining Jack and lowered him back down.

Peterson looked confused. Jack continued: “The woman I came here with? Terra? What happened to her? I need to go back and look for her.”

“Jack, there’s no time. Listen…” he took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “I saw her. Briggs took her, along with some of the others. I couldn’t get to her. I’m sorry.”

Jack looked exhausted and distressed. Sam put his hand on his shoulder to console him. “Will she be ok? I couldn’t take it if they did something to her.”

“I can’t promise you that Jack. But if they’ve got any sense they’ll look after her and make a trade. We’ve captured a couple of theirs. She’s a smart lady, Jack. She’ll do what it takes to stay alive.”

Peterson turned towards the Seal team leader. “Sergeant Jones. Your team stay behind to secure the area and help with the clean up. I’ll take Jack back to the ship to get patched up. Sam? You want to tag along and keep the old man company?”

Sam nodded enthusiastically and they both followed Peterson and his men through the wood behind the house, over a small ridge and down a slope towards a hidden valley where the Seahawk had landed to maintain the advantage of surprise and stealth.

Sam put his arm around Jack’s shoulders, supporting his weight. “I’m sure she’ll be fine Jack. Like he says, Terra’s a survivor. She’ll find a way. Have faith Jack. She’ll be fine.”

Jack shook his head. “You didn’t see this guy, Sam. He was like something out of a gangland movie, straight out of prison, with an axe to grind. He’s delusional. Thinks the island and all that’s on it belongs to him. Certifiable and he’s surrounded by an entourage of crooks and Neanderthal thugs.”

“Sounds a bit like Hurst then. She’ll fit right in,” joked Sam, trying to put a brave face on it. “Knowing Terra, she’ll charm them to death, twist them round her little finger.”

Jack winced with pain as his chest was wracked with another coughing fit from smoke inhalation. They both trudged off behind the others to find their ride back to the ship, with Sam helping support his weight.