Moment of Truth (18 page)

Aubrey adjusted the rope around his waist. It had been his idea. He didn't want the three of them separating during what he hoped was going to be a controlled descent.

Lieutenant Davey clapped his hands together. ‘Best to go now.'

‘Really?'

‘We're in perfect position.'

Aubrey looked down. Lights twinkled from the houses and businesses of the spread-out city and outskirts. He could make out where the Salia River joined the Mosa River, the confluence being the reason a town grew here in the first place, the Romans knowing a good spot for a trading post when they saw one. For a moment, Aubrey had a vision of an ancient property agent pointing out the delightful river frontage to a centurion, and how the place would be close to schools and shops – when they were eventually built – and deciding not to overquote once the centurion starting fingering his well-used blade.

More sombrely, however, Aubrey took note of more recent developments. North and east of the city he could see earthworks and fortifications. The approach to the city in that direction followed the valley of the Salia River, between beetling ridges of higher land that – some thirty or forty miles away – became the Grentellier Mountains. The open land either side of the road and the river was entrenched and mounded, and sprouted barbed wire much as an ancient ruin would throw up ivy. A fortress loomed on the city side of this build-up. As well as being the centre of the military precinct, it was the gateway to the airfield beyond, where mooring masts stood lonely on the banks of the river.

He wiped his eyes. He was humbled by the confidence George and Caroline had in him. They were perfectly happy throwing themselves out of the dirigible and relying on him. The small bundle of equipment he'd managed to drop successfully, on a previous pass over their position, had been enough for them. Aubrey was their man.

As an alternative, Aubrey had asked Lieutenant Davey about the new parachute devices he'd heard of. The airman had laughed and told him that the airship corps refused to have anything to do with parachutes because if the crew could simply abandon ship, they'd do nothing to save the craft when in difficulty.

Aubrey's opinion of the military mind was confirmed by this. Why have common sense when you can have rules instead?

Aubrey wiped rain from his eyes and tugged on his close-fitting black cap.
I'm confident,
he told himself.
More than that, I'm confident I'm confident.

Captain Bailey was confident too. His bluff assurances that he'd had dozens of operatives who'd managed such a procedure was meant to be comforting, but was undercut when he'd declared that most of them survived.

Caroline's voice sounded close behind him. ‘Time, Aubrey, I should think.'

Aubrey hadn't had any ulterior motive when he arranged his friends on the rope. Naturally, he had to go first. And naturally George was the ideal rearguard man. That meant Caroline had to take the place right behind him. Of course, they'd have to bunch up before they stepped off the ledge...

‘Put your hands on my shoulders,' he said.

‘Like this?'

Exactly like that. And can you move a little closer?
‘That's fine. George?'

‘Right here, old man.'

They'd dressed warmly, in heavy overcoats, boots and gloves, all black so as not to stand out against the night sky. It didn't stop Aubrey from shivering a little as he contemplated the drop, and he was acutely conscious of the weight of the gold sovereigns strapped around his waist, part of the funds to be used for their mission. He knew, intellectually, that being heavier wouldn't make him fall any faster, but a primitive part of his brain had other ideas and it was the one that was squeezing his panic gland. ‘On the count of three, everyone. Right. One, two, THREE!'

An instant of tangling, a roaring whoosh in the ears, the buffeting of wind and hard rain, and Aubrey found he was looking up at the bulk of the airship and wondering why it was moving away from them so quickly. Then his perceptions righted themselves and he realised it wasn't rising – they were falling.

‘Aubrey!' Caroline tugged on his arm and her face swam into view. She was wearing an aviator's leather helmet to keep her hair in, and her eyes were huge in the night time. ‘The spell!'

He knew he'd forgotten something.

With George flailing away nearby, doing his best impression of a crested grebe, and Caroline undulating gracefully, Aubrey found it difficult to concentrate, but the undeniable – and looming – presence of the earth beneath them gave him the necessary incentive.

He rolled out the Akkadian syllables and inserted a considered value for their rate of descent – then their plummet slowed so dramatically that he nearly lost his supper. George squawked in what Aubrey hoped was a continued approximation of the crested grebe, just in case any of the inhabitants of Divodorum were insomniac skywatchers with good hearing.

When he'd gathered himself sufficiently, and disengaged his neck from the woollen scarf that had taken on boa constrictor-like qualities, Aubrey quickly estimated how fast they were falling and was relieved to see that the treetops below were relatively stationary. The rain squall had passed, too, and if it weren't for the wind he decided he'd be quite enjoying their position.

He turned to Caroline. Her teeth were white in the darkness. ‘Isn't it wonderful, Aubrey! I can see for miles!'

Aubrey was enchanted all over again by a magic much more subtle than his craft. Caroline's unashamed excitement made his heart thump even more than could be accounted for by their plummeting.

George bobbed over, pulling himself closer by the rope around their waists. He jerked a thumb at the ground and looked quizzical. Aubrey sighed. He needed to bring their fall under control.

‘Drag yourselves closer!' he shouted. ‘I'll get us down!'

The rope seemed like a good idea at the time,
Aubrey thought as he tried to push his face away from the rough bark of the tree. The rope had tangled around the trunk, trapping him close. ‘Caroline! George! Are you all right?'

‘Up here, Aubrey.'

With some difficulty, Aubrey levered his head a little away from the trunk and peered up through the leaves. Caroline was perched on a solid branch, looking down with some concern. She'd managed to hook one end of the rope around a projecting limb. While he clung to the trunk, he was taking the weight of the other end, but if he slipped he could drag her off.

‘Where's George?'

‘Over here, old man, upside down and swinging away.'

Aubrey tried to look to his left, but couldn't move his head in that direction. ‘Is anyone hurt? I mean, apart from my bark rash?'

‘Uncomfortable,' George said, ‘but unharmed.'

‘I'm quite comfortable,' Caroline said. ‘Can you hold on, Aubrey?'

Aubrey had his arms wrapped around the trunk of the tree. He wasn't quite sliding downward, but he couldn't find anything to grip on to. ‘Not for long.'

‘Right. I'll just need a minute.'

Aubrey made out a flash in the darkness. The pressure on his rope eased and for a panicked moment, he fell. Then, after barely a foot, he was brought up short and he clutched the trunk, his heart racing.

‘There,' Caroline said briskly, as if she were discussing a garden arrangement. ‘The rope is secure now. You can climb up. George?'

‘Still dangling here.'

‘I've cut your rope away from me. I'm now going to drop off my branch while holding it.'

‘What? Are you sure?'

‘You'll be hauled up to the branch. Do grab it.'

Aubrey had been inching up the trunk, but he nearly let go of his end of the rope. ‘Caroline! What about you?'

‘Oh, don't worry about me.'

He needn't have. In the darkness, it was hard to make out, but a bulky, cursing shape shot upward, almost colliding with him on its upward passage, and somewhere overhead it thumped into a branch with enough force to make the tree shake. More cursing, then a shower of twigs and leaves fell about Aubrey's head. ‘George?'

Silence for a moment, then a forbearing voice. ‘I'm safe. Scratched, bruised, and probably green from head to foot, but I'm safe.'

A slim silhouette swooped past, flipped, and landed lightly just above. Light laughter told Aubrey it was Caroline rather than some woodland sprite, although he was sure he could be forgiven if he confused them.

He clenched his teeth and edged up his rope until he joined his friends on the limb Caroline had chosen.

Caroline was sitting, bright-eyed, hands in her lap, aviator helmet just slightly askew. ‘Well, here we all are. What's next?'

After burying the rope and finding the bundle of earlier dropped equipment, it was a matter of waiting for dawn and the train and munching chocolate bars for breakfast.

They found an elevated area in the woods, a knoll where a large boulder had pushed its way up through the grass, to monitor the city and the railway. As the night passed, cool and moist, the shapes of the town began to emerge from the blackness. Towers and spires of churches, remnants of the medieval city, the old bridges over the rivers and, as the light grew, buildings made from limestone, common in the area.

Aubrey could make out two significant parts of the city. To the north-east was the fortress, looking outward toward the Holmland border. On the west side of the city, closer to their current position, was the sprawl of the university, a conglomeration of buildings that showed every sign of having grown over the centuries, stretching along the bank of the Mosa River, and penetrating the surrounding streets toward the centre of the town. Even at this early hour, electric lights showed in the university buildings, signs of those either working very late or beginning before anyone else.

The plan was to wait for the morning's first Lutetia– Divodorum passenger train, then to mingle with the people arriving. As Divodorum was an important centre in the north-east region of Gallia, the influx of newcomers to the town was unlikely to cause comment. The suitcases they'd recovered from the equipment drop gave the semblance of ordinariness that Aubrey wanted. They were foreign students, registered and expected, perfectly normal thank you very much.

Aubrey took it as a good sign that the train arrived on time, and their mingling went smoothly. As the passengers alighted and left the station, Aubrey, Caroline and George emerged from the woods nearby, chatting about their non-existent journey and blending in for all they were worth.

Divodorum was an oddity. Only twenty miles from the border with Holmland, it was relatively secure. The wooded and hilly region between the city and the border had long been deemed an unlikely route for the enemy to take. The build-up in fortifications had been routine, according to their briefing papers, and became almost perfunctory once the Holmland alliance had struck east at Muscovia and simultaneously pushed through the Low Countries. A third front? Through Divodorum? Ridiculous.

As such, life went on in the university town much as it always had – apart from a healthy dose of suspicion that Holmland agents were everywhere.

George was the appointed navigator for this phase and he confidently pointed the way. ‘Left at that big lumpy building.'

‘The theatre?' Aubrey said.

‘That's the one.'

Caroline was walking by his side. She'd abandoned her aviator's helmet – to Aubrey's disappointment as he thought it rather chic – and was wearing a bright red, close-fitting toque hat that matched her bright red suitcase and shoes. He wondered how much of her wide-eyed gazing about was real and how much was assuming the guise of a new student. She leaned close. ‘Can you spot the Holmland agents?'

He jerked his head about and, to his astonishment, his hand went to his revolver. ‘Holmlanders?'

‘A little louder, old man,' George muttered. ‘I think a few people back in Albion didn't hear. We turn right at the fountain.'

Aubrey hunched, feeling enemy agents all around, and vowed that he'd keep well away from grabbing at his firearm as a first response. He glanced at Caroline, but she was still pointing at the sights. ‘Did you see someone?' he asked in what he hoped was a low voice.

‘No, but I'm alert.'

‘There it is,' George said. ‘On the corner.'

The boarding house was tired-looking limestone, three storeys, many windowed. Wide stairs and an elaborate canopy over the door suggested that, perhaps, it had known better days.

The landlady was expecting them. After inspecting Aubrey's letter of introduction she showed them to their rooms. Her suspicions were of a baser kind than suspecting them of being Holmland agents, Aubrey guessed, and it explained why Caroline was given a sunny room on the ground floor, while George and he were put far away – at the other end of the building on the third floor.

From his window, Aubrey could see the university. The clock tower chimed nine o'clock and he was on a mission. For a moment, he revelled in the feeling. He'd had adventures – hair-raising adventures – but they were always happenstance and doing one's best in harumscarum circumstances. This time, however, he'd been charged with a specific responsibility to undertake. His worth had been measured and found satisfactory. For someone who had spent most of his life striving to prove himself, it was most pleasing.

A knock came at the door. Before he could respond, it opened and George slipped inside with his suitcase. ‘Found a place to stow your stuff, old man?'

Aubrey's suitcase was still on his bed, unopened. ‘Top of the wardrobe too obvious?'

‘'Fraid so. Any other suggestions? Apart from under the bed.'

Encoding devices, some basic wireless telegraphy equipment, and a selection of useful tools and weapons weren't the usual accompaniments for students, and their instructions had been to conceal them as soon as possible. Details on exactly how to do this had been left to them. Quite a few other details had been left up to them, covered up with much talk of having to show initiative. It either showed faith in their initiative or a lack of understanding about the actual situation in Divodorum.

Or perhaps it's the way wars unfolded.

‘It looks as if under the bed will have to do for now.'

‘Good Lord,' George blurted from the window, where he'd wandered. ‘I think we have trouble.'

At that moment, Caroline arrived at the door and she joined Aubrey in hurrying to the window. Together, they watched the dirigible that was approaching Divodorum from the south. ‘What's Captain Bailey up to?' Caroline said. ‘I thought he would have been well clear of the area by now.'

‘That's not the A 205.' Aubrey peered over the rooftops. ‘That's a Gallian military airship.'

‘Can you make out any identification?' Caroline asked.

The great craft rumbled closer to the city, but the way it veered toward the eastern edge of Divodorum tended to confirm their speculation. ‘Definitely Gallian,' Aubrey said. ‘But first things first: we need to find somewhere to set up our post.'

The primary objective for their mission was to find a building to act as a facility for the second phase team, a building that would be secure enough and private enough for remote sensers to work from.

‘So we need to reconnoitre?' George said. ‘Splendid.'

Aubrey plucked a map of the city from his suitcase. It didn't need to be hidden – it was the sort of thing that any newcomer to Divodorum would have. He unfolded it and frowned. ‘We could go separate ways,' he began, but Caroline had other ideas.

‘We should purchase bicycles. A perfect mode of transport for a student. We can cover more ground.'

It was George's turn to frown. ‘How long are we likely to be out?'

‘Don't worry, George,' Caroline said. ‘I've already asked our landlady if she could put together a hamper for us.'

‘Really?' George brightened. ‘I wouldn't have dared. She looked rather formidable.'

‘She's an old dear. Worried, of course, about the war. Her husband died in a skirmish thirty years ago but she won't move. Divodorum is her home, she says, but she wishes they'd finish the earthworks to the north. Oh, and she's sure that the Mayor's assistant is in the pay of the Holmlanders.'

Aubrey groped for an appropriate response. ‘You found all that out just now?'

‘It's not difficult, Aubrey. It's just a matter of asking a question or two, then nodding sympathetically and listening hard.'

George went out with some of the gold to find a bicycle shop. Caroline took the opportunity to help the landlady in the kitchen – while continuing to gather as much local knowledge as she could.

Which left Aubrey alone, so he took the time to review the mission plans and to make some notes on refinements to the rate of descent spell. Something that would avoid proximity to trees would be a useful addition or, if he couldn't devise such a thing, a quick treatment for bark rash was his next option.

The bicycles George bought were fresh, new and of the best Gallian make. Aubrey felt quite stylish as he mounted the bright blue model he chose, and quite unobtrusive as the student population of Divodorum had apparently decided, as one, to wake up and take to the streets. Most of them were cyclists of one sort or another. Predominantly the daredevil sort, Aubrey decided as they swooped past, gowns and scarves flying.

Navigator George led the way again, with Aubrey and Caroline close behind. They spent a good two hours meandering through the blessedly flat streets, sizing up and discarding properties for a number of reasons – lack of access, lack of electricity, poor condition, too close to other buildings. Aubrey was determined to delay the inevitable next step of approaching property agents. He thought that young people interested in light industrial premises may be unusual enough to draw attention. Curious Gallians were one thing, but more professionally curious Holmlanders would be bound to follow.

Lunch was in a little park near the university, with many students having the same idea and enjoying the sun. Over good bread, cheese and local ham, they discussed the few possibilities and why they weren't really good enough anyway. Nearby, others argued philosophy, art and sport.

War seemed a long way away. Aubrey enjoyed the ease of the lunch but was nagged by their lack of success. He wanted to nail down this part of the mission quickly, finding a base. After that would come the more complicated work of readying it for the team of remote sensers. Aubrey had some plans for this phase that might prove demanding, in time, resources and their personal capabilities, plans to go beyond their mission outline. He wanted to impress the Directorate, and doing more than expected was a useful way of going about it, to his mind.

George pointed with a cheese-laden length of crusty bread. ‘I say, isn't that what's-his-name?'

A Gallian officer was striding toward them, ignoring the students lounging on the lawn. He bore down on them with intent, and alarm stirred inside Aubrey. He didn't want a run-in with authorities, not so early in their mission.

‘Fitzwilliam!' The officer beamed, and continued in good Albionish. ‘You are here!'

Aubrey stood and grasped the Gallian airman's outstretched hand. ‘Hello, Saltin. What brings you to Divodorum?'

‘You, of course! Ah, M'mselle Hepworth, Doyle – and is that a Divodorum ham?'

‘It certainly is,' George said, ‘and a jolly fine one it is. Congratulations on the promotion, Saltin.
Major
Saltin.'

‘Join us, Major,' Caroline said, catching Aubrey's eye. ‘Please do.'

‘Plenty for all,' Aubrey said, divining Caroline's intent. It was far better for Saltin to sit on the ground for a picnic than to stand in the middle of the park, the centre of attention. With the elaborate uniform of the Gallian airship corps, his thick dark hair and his prominent, well-oiled moustache, he was almost the complete anti-student, the opposite of their carefully studied casualness, artfully arranged assemblies of coats and scarves, and hair that was dishevelled just so.

Major Saltin was a prominent member of the Gallian airship corps. Aubrey and George had saved him from certain death when his dirigible exploded while on a goodwill tour of Albion. Full of Gallian energy and charm, he had become an important connection between the Gallian military and Albion intelligence services.

Major Saltin's appetite was as good as George's. He was quick to put together a stylish arrangement of ham, cheese and bread. ‘It was your Commander Tallis,' he said between bites, ‘who wanted me to meet you, to be your person of liaison. His people communicated with my superiors, who sent the message down the line to me. I flew in this morning.'