The Ghost Roads (Ring of Five) (13 page)

In the meantime, all was going well. The country, indeed the world, trembled on the brink of war, with Longford poised to use the chaos to gain control. But that was not enough. It never had been. Control of one world was no good without absolute control of the other. The Ring of Five had served its purpose. It was time to act. He lifted the phone.

T
en miles away, in a small, though perfect Palladian mansion, Nurse Flanagan stretched luxuriantly in satin sheets. Bed was delicious, but so many little treats awaited her when she woke. There was her own Cordon Bleu chef to cook breakfast. After that perhaps a facial, or a massage, and then of course there was that handsome tennis coach … She sighed. There was so much on offer it was hard to know where to start. Then she heard noise, a crash from the hallway, pounding feet on the stairs,
hammering on the bedroom door. She sat up in alarm as the doors burst open. Suddenly the room was full of men pointing guns at her.…

A policewoman stepped forward.

“Come quietly. We don’t want to use force. Your fingerprints were found in the apartment of a known terrorist associate.”

Nurse Flanagan threw back the covers. They wouldn’t dare shoot her down in cold blood. Her silver derringer was in the bedside cabinet. She reached out for the handle. The policewoman reached out her hand too.

Nurse Flanagan’s torso arched as forty thousand volts hit her. Her body convulsing, she fell from the bed onto the floor, but even as her body revolted, her mind was clear. They had planted Danny’s fingerprints in the foreign representative’s apartment. But she had been sure to wipe everything she had touched, and the night before, she had worn gloves. Then it came to her: the telephone. She hadn’t wiped the telephone. Before the Taser was turned on her again, she remembered who she had called. Longford!

V
andra was miserable as she lay in bed in the Roosts. All her friends were gone on missions. She didn’t know when or if any of them would be back, and her own mission had been postponed. The sound of her fellow pupils breathing was irritating her, and a third year, Vanessa Odile, was snoring loudly. Besides, Vandra couldn’t sleep knowing her friends were out there, in danger. After an hour
of tossing and turning, she crept out of bed and, pulling a blanket around her, slipped out the door onto the little balcony that ran around the front of the Roosts. She shivered and pulled the blanket around her shoulders, then stepped back into the shadows as the door of the boys’ Roosts opened and a furtive figure exited.

The cloaked boy passed so close to her she could have touched him. Whoever it was, he was up to no good. Vandra waited until the boy had reached the ground; then, taking the steps two at a time, she followed.

The shadowy figure moved swiftly toward the driveway, staying underneath the trees. Vandra had to run to keep up. Soon she was breathing hard, and she realized with a guilty pang that she had not been keeping fit. A shadow detached itself from a nearby tree and a cold, clammy hand tightened around her neck. She struggled, but her arms were held to her sides in a grip like iron. She knew that if she did get free, she was a long way from the school. Her screams would not be heard, and she could not outrun her opponent. She stopped struggling, and at that very moment, a familiar voice spoke and the grip at her throat slackened.

“Funny, I usually foresee these things.”

“Toxique!” Vandra cried out. “What are you doing?”

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“I couldn’t sleep and I saw someone sneaking around. What’s your excuse?”

“A little more complex than that, I’m afraid,” another voice came. Agent Starling stepped out from under the trees.

“Er, I’ve been doing a bit of training with Agent Starling,” Toxique said guiltily.

“Have you?” Was everyone devious at Wilsons? Vandra wondered.

“Well, I thought I had to,” Toxique said defensively. “They’re always giving missions to Danny and Dixie and Les. I want to prove that I can be as good a spy as everyone else.”

Vandra had often had the same feelings. If she admitted it to herself, it was the reason she felt down about the mission being suspended.

“I was sending him to Grist on his own,” Starling said gently. “I am of the opinion that your chief talent is as a healer, Vandra. It is too precious in these times to be risked on a mission.”

“But Toxique,” Vandra said, hurt by the deception, “he’ll scream or something like that! They’ll catch him.”

“He has to learn not to do it. But time is short. Come with us as far as Tarnstone. A boat will take Toxique to Grist.”

“I thought there were no boats.”

“There are no official boats, but there are always smugglers. I have a boat that will bring Toxique across tonight. I paid dearly for it. But we must be there on time. Come with us as far as Tarnstone.”

Without waiting for an answer, Starling went in under the trees. She started pulling at branches, and Vandra realized that a car was concealed there. Starling started the engine and pulled the car onto the driveway without turning on the lights.

“Well?” the woman said. Toxique jumped in. Vandra paused, then slid into the passenger seat.

Twenty minutes later they were on the outskirts of Tarnstone. With trading suspended, there was no money circulating in the town. Even late at night, Tarnstone was always busy with revelers, but tonight no one moved. They sped through the suburbs toward the port and soon found themselves among vast empty warehouses and deserted wharfs.

“It’s down here,” Starling said, easing the car between two warehouses. She stopped and flashed the headlights twice. The signal was returned with two flashes from a torch. Starling started forward again. They emerged onto an old wharf strewn with packing cases and winches and other marine junk. They eased around the debris and found themselves at the water’s edge. A man stepped out and raised his hand.

“Get out of the car,” he said. Vandra didn’t like any of it. The man whose features she couldn’t see; the dark, silent dock, oily water lapping against the piling. Nor did she like the look of the long, thin smuggling boat, powerful engines throbbing, that bumped gently against the dock.

“Get on board,” the man said.

“Where’s Captain Strang?” Starling said suspiciously.

“Captain Strang is no longer in charge of this vessel,” a familiar voice said. “I am.”

Vandra turned in horror. Toxique whimpered.

It was Rufus Ness, the ruthless general of the Cherbs.

A CHAIN OF LIGHTS

N
ess didn’t carry a weapon. He didn’t have to. A group of heavily armed Cherbs appeared from behind an old shipping container. Ness flashed his torch three times. Another torch answered from the roof of a warehouse. Then another, and another. All the way down the wharf, torches flashed in answer. Starling turned pale.

“Yes, Agent Starling. You have thwarted us for years. But now we have infiltrated the entire waterfront.”

“A bridgehead,” she said dully.

“Yes. Even now the expeditionary force is embarking in Westwald. By morning Wilsons will be ours. In the meantime, this is by way of thanks for the years you held us up.” Ness stepped forward and clubbed Starling on the side of the head with the heavy torch. She fell without a
word. Vandra rushed forward to her. The Cherbs laughed and jeered. Vandra looked at them with hatred, wishing them all dead. She tried to examine Starling’s wound, but two Cherbs picked the woman up carelessly and threw her onto the deck of the smuggler’s boat. Vandra and Toxique were bundled roughly after her.

“So much for my career as a spy,” Toxique said miserably. Ness and his men stepped down onto the boat and cast off. The powerful engines roared, the boat’s stern dug in, and the boat roared out of the harbor and into the channel.

They sped past the ruins of the old railway bridge where Vandra had once fled Westwald with Danny and her other friends, a long time ago, it seemed. The wind stirred Vandra’s hair. The Cherbs had their attention fixed on the far shore, so she was able to creep forward to Starling. She felt her pulse. It was strong. There was an open gash above her ear, the blond hair matted with blood. Vandra tore a strip off her blouse to staunch the blood. As she reached down, Starling’s hand gripped her forearm.

“I’m going to stay down,” she whispered. “Try to tell me what’s going on.”

Vandra crawled on her hands and knees to the bow. The boat was traveling fast now on a choppy sea, and spray was coming over the bow, stinging her face as she lifted it above the thwart. She held her breath. The entire Westwald shore was a wall of light. There were boats drawn up on the beach, flat-bottomed boats with a
shallow draft, and Cherb soldiers were filing onto them. Vandra tried to count the soldiers. Perhaps a thousand? Most of them were on board now, the craft well loaded down.

The spray was coming over the sides of the smuggler’s craft now as well. Ness laughed, his face slick with salt water.

“A good fresh night for a new beginning, a new order!” he shouted. The smuggler’s boat was built for speed, not for stability in high seas, and it corkscrewed violently as it slowed. One of the Cherb soldiers, his face green, turned away from them and leaned over the gunwale. The others looked worried.

“Sir,” one said, “these autumn gales in the passage. They blow up very quickly. All shipping ceases.”

“Nonsense!” Ness roared. “All the forecasts are on our side. I have assurances, charts and graphs. Cast off the fleet!”

There was confusion onshore. Many ropes were cast off, but others were left tied. The shallow craft carrying the Cherb soldiers turned in the rising wind. Voices carried to Vandra’s ears across the water. Toxique stood at the rail, his hands gripping it as if he would never let it go.

“What is it, Toxique?” Vandra asked, though she knew his gift of telling the future and she dreaded his answer. Frozen to the rail, he did not speak.

Onshore they had finally cast off the ropes and the invasion craft had set sail. Vandra looked out toward the open sea and saw ranks of whitecaps leading off into the darkness.

“To Wilsons!” Ness shouted over the sound of the sea. “To Wilsons and glory!”

The troop carriers eased out into the main channel. At first it wasn’t too bad. The storm had moved closer and lightning flickered on the horizon, but the invasion craft had gathered way and were making good time. The smuggler’s boat moved in alongside them. Vandra could see the faces of the troops. They didn’t look like the battle-hardened Cherbs who had thrown them onto the boat. These were younger, and they didn’t look tough or brave.

The only time, Vandra realized, that she had ever seen Cherbs was when they were in uniform. She had never imagined them in school, doing homework, being told off by their mothers.

“The youngest-ever invasion fleet,” Ness boasted. “My own personal choice.” His words were carried away by the wind. The Cherb who held the wheel of the boat handed it over to another and came forward. He brought his weather-beaten face close to that of his leader and spoke quietly, but Ness erupted in a fury.

“What? Turn back? After all these months of work, to abandon surprise, all because of a little wind? Begone, you maggot!”

With one blow of his great hand he swept the Cherb over the side. The boy’s head appeared once above the waves; then he sank. At that moment a cloud swept across the moon and the night turned black. A moan of fear rose from the Cherb troops. A small searchlight was aimed out to sea from the bridge of the smuggler’s boat.

The waves sweeping in were bigger now, and the troop carriers were making little way. One of them was driven against the railway bridge pillars. A railing was torn away, and several young Cherbs fell into the water. Ness looked on, stolid and assured.

“The wind will die down in a few minutes. I have all the forecasts. Take heart. Tarnstone and Wilsons are ours!”

Hardly able to tear her eyes away from the struggling boats, Vandra forced herself to look down onto the deck. While the others were distracted, Starling had crawled into the shelter of the wheelhouse. She looked up and there was a glint as moonlight broke through the ragged clouds. She had a sharp knife in her teeth. She held up one hand: Wait. The time is not yet right.

The moon had only been hidden for a minute, but in that short time the scene had changed utterly. The sea was a maelstrom of white. The troop carriers were making no pretense of forward motion; both were trying to turn back the way they had come.

“No!” Ness roared, his neck bulging. “Stay your course!” Other sailors on the bridge of the smuggler’s boat took up the cry.

“You’ll broach! Stay your course.” But the inexperienced captains had only one thought on their minds.

Vandra was suddenly aware of Starling crouched under the gunwale beside her.

“What’s happening?” Vandra said, the storm snatching her words away.

“They should turn into the wind and try to ride out
the storm,” Starling said. There was blood and spray running down her face. “They’ll broach if they keep on like this!”

“What’s broach?”

“Watch,” Starling said grimly. She was on her feet, making no attempt to hide herself, for the attention of Ness and the others was fixed on the storm-tossed boats.