The Three Most Wanted (33 page)

“You have an idea?”

“Yes. I want to empty some more Facilities. Using nonLees, y’know.”

Eduardo’s head turned slightly to one side as he digested this.

Pope Cornelius’s eyes lit up. “Spread hope.”

“Yes...” From the gleam in Eduardo’s eyes he’d immediately seen the progression from mere hope to outright social unrest. “Yes. That’s an interesting one. But no, now’s not the time. The point is, this ship’s going to Africa, where you can settle in a free town and go on with your work as best you can from there, in safety. Is that what you want to do?”

On the tip of my tongue to say yes, but I paused. Something about the way he said it, something about this whole secret nighttime conversation...

“What’s the alternative?”

Eduardo smiled slightly, as though I’d just passed some test, and the Holy Father answered, “A small group of us will be leaving this ship within the next half hour and travelling to a new HQ much closer to the EuroBloc. Sorting and all the rest of the rot has spread to other blocs, but it started here. When you’re getting rid of a weed, you deal with the roots first. So I’m staying on the scene if I possibly can.”

I swallowed. “In EuroBloc territory?” Did my voice have to squeak like that?

“No. Close to it. Somewhere happy to have us so long as no one knows about it.”

“Where?”

“If you choose to come,” said Eduardo, “you’ll be told when we arrive there.”

Many island Free States were to be found in the Mediterranean—mostly dry, barren places, lacking sufficient freshwater for reforestation and of no interest to the EuroBloc. A number of them probably wouldn’t mind sheltering the Holy Father, providing the EuroGov didn’t find out. None of them would be able to put up any more resistance than a wet paper bag if the EuroBloc came to get us, mind you.

I looked at Bane, my heart thudding uncomfortably in my chest. This felt all too much like that moment when we’d left the deceptive safety of the bus to face a trek to a destination we all secretly feared we’d no chance at all of reaching. A cowardly part of me wanted Bane to insist we go to Africa, to refuse to consider this much riskier course.
How can I face this again? So soon? We just got here… and we only just made it this time…

But we
had
made it…

We
had
. Against all the odds. The three of us had had no chance alone, but we’d not
been
  alone, had we? The Lord had been with us on every step of that ghastly journey, and He was still with us now.

And the Holy Father was right. If the war was really for hearts and minds, then what we did spoke as loudly as what we said. If I wanted to fight, I had to stay.

Bane was, surprise, surprise, scowling. Weighing the risk to me against the temptingly positive response to his idea.

“Can Jon come?” I asked.

“If he wants to spend a night bouncing along in an open boat,” said Eduardo.

“I dare say he will.” Bane looked at me again. “Do you want to go?”

“Want” wasn’t at all the right word. I actually
didn’t
want to go, quite a lot. But I would
go
, providing he didn’t absolutely refuse to go with me.

I nodded.

He sighed. “I s’pose we’ll go.”

“Marvelous.” Pope Cornelius sounded sincere and I couldn’t help a faint snort.

“I’m surprised you’re even asking me after that meltdown on the train.”

“I saw a brave woman grieving because she could not save a brave man,” said the Holy Father very evenly. “What is there to be ashamed of in that?”

But I turned my head towards Bane and let him slip his arm around me.

“Well, anyway,” said Eduardo. “You two go and speak to Jonathan—make it quiet and discreet, please. I’ll send a couple of guards along in a minute to carry his stretcher, assuming he’s up for it. Don’t go out on deck until I give the word. We’re waiting for the Eye of Sauron—sorry, Vatican slang—the EuroBloc satellite, I mean—to pass over. Then we’ll have enough time—just-about-if-we’re-lucky—to get where we’re going before one of the USNA ones comes over.”

Ah. Thank goodness most of the satellites from the turn of the century were no longer operational. And no question of replacing them, these days.

We tiptoed along to the sickbay and woke Jon.

“Fancy a boat trip?” Bane whispered in his ear.

“Aren’t we having one already?”

“This is a ship, silly. D’you want to go bounce, bounce, bounce all night in a little boat to a rather-less-safe location than Africa to carry on stirring the pot?”

“No. Do I look mad? Are you two going?”

“Yes,” I murmured.

“Okay, then. When do we go?”

“Right away, apparently. Here come your stretcher bearers.”

Two Swiss Guards had just slipped into the sick bay.

“Okay.” The guards lifted the stretcher he still lay on and he hissed slightly in pain. “Oh, I’m so going to regret this. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

By the time the stretcher had been maneuvered back up several flights of narrow ship’s stairs, Jon had gone very white but not changed his mind. Eduardo was already directing two lines of people over the ship’s side and down rope ladders into a large twin-hulled highPropulsion speedboat. Lots of familiar faces from the briefing and the train carriage.

“Margaret, you
are
coming!” Sister Mari looked pleased.

Kyle…? There, just climbing over the side. My heart leapt with delight our reunion wasn’t to be over so soon, then sank… he was going back into danger as well.

“Come on,” Eduardo was hissing, “hurry it up, move…”

We reached the side at last and Bane climbed down first, steadying me as I reached the boat, which went up and down in such a way one had to pretty much jump for it. We sat beside Father Mark, who looked utterly unsurprised to see us. “Made it, then?”

“Oh, very funny,” growled Bane.

The Holy Father was seated in the middle of the boat, surrounded by anxious-looking guards. Jack was sitting near him too, clearly hyper-alert, but he returned Bane’s and my smiles. Also looking forward to getting to know fellow refugees from the British department? The boat looked well overloaded to me, even before Jon’s stretcher was lowered down and wedged into the foot well in front of us. One of the guards who’d carried him climbed down with a life jacket and wriggled a now grey-faced Jon into it.

Life jackets...

“No life jackets for the rest of us?” I muttered to Father Mark.

“No space. Just say a Hail Mary.”

Bane snorted.

Father Mark added, “That is… there are life jackets for non-swimmers. You can swim, can’t you?”

“I can swim,” I assured him. “We both can.”

“That’s all right, then.”

The cabin space below us and every locker and cupboard must be stuffed with equipment salvaged from the Vatican. We fifty or so seated passengers were packed together like sardines. Father Mark was right. No space for life jackets.

From the way Eduardo chivvied the guards loosing the mooring ropes, time was very much of the essence. All the same, ropes coiled, we floated silently until the black silhouette of the
Freedom II
disappeared entirely over the horizon. Only then did the engines spring into life.

The boat leapt forward under full throttle, smacking from wave to wave like an out-of-control toboggan. Definitely overloaded. Let’s hope we didn’t capsize.

I said that Hail Mary.

Then I took Jon’s hand and held it. Every smack of the boat drew an almost choked-back whimper from his lips.

“Regretting it yet?” Bane took his other hand.

“Oh, shut up,” gasped Jon, holding tight.

Eventually he either passed out or fell asleep. I huddled up to Bane in the nighttime chill and watched the stars, trying not to think about where we were going and why.

We’d left the ship. The
Freedom II
which even now steamed towards Africa and safety. Without us.

The immensity of the stars above mocked my little concerns. Bane’s heart beating under my ear and Father Mark’s warmth at my side and the gentle rise and fall of Jon’s chest in the moonlight mocked the mockery. Everything truly precious in the universe was right here, and I was right to worry about it. To fight for it.

And if we made it to our destination, that’s what we would do.

###

Thank you for reading my book, I hope you enjoyed it! If so, would you consider leaving a review at your favourite retailer? I would really appreciate it.

Thanks,

Corinna (A.K.A. the Author!)

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DON’T MISS BOOK 3

LIBERATION

The EuroBloc Genetics Facility where Margo was imprisoned stands empty...

...every other Facility is full.

Time to do something about it.

Out September 2015!

Scroll on down or click for
a
SNEAK PEAK!

Paperback: ISBN 978-1-910806-10-4

ePub: ISBN 978-1-910806-11-1

Find out more at:

www.ChestertonPress.com

www.IAmMargaret.co.uk

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Corinna Turner has been writing since she was fourteen and likes strong protagonists with plenty of integrity. She has an MA in English from Oxford University, but has foolishly gone on to work with both children and animals! Juggling work with the disabled and being a midwife to sheep, she spends as much time as she can in a little hut at the bottom of the garden, writing.

She is a Catholic Christian with roots in the Methodist and Anglican churches, and also edits her parish magazine. A keen cinema-goer, she lives in the UK with her Giant African Land Snail, Peter, who has a six inch long shell and an even larger foot!

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with Corinna (and Peter!)...

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