Rabat, Morocco – en passant – I have
always wanted to see the sun rising over the Atlas Mountains. Daddy such a
sweetheart. I know he’s dying to get back to Europe for some shooting. Much
love, Moo moo.
(2g4t10dgp
Estoril)
They assembled and set off from the tradesmen’s entrance on
the eastern wing of the Membury mansion. Toddington and Frankley had brought
their cars round and between them kitted out the band in comfortable, well
broken in trench coats. The Duchess had insisted that her man, Birch, accompany
them as her representative. An old soldier of Toddington’s vintage,
acquaintance and approval – there was no objection from anyone to him joining
them. Birch supplied the appropriate footwear for a midnight tramp
across the fields from the boot room in the ground staff’s quarters.
It was quite dark when they set off. The lights from the
house cast their shadows long as they crunched across the gravel path of the
kitchen garden. Their coats brushed against the foliage releasing wafts of bay,
rosemary, mint, sage into the chilly night air.
They filed through a gate in the high wall, Birch leading
the way across familiar ground to the current boundary of the estate. The
lights of the house were now distant and faint as their breath wreathed around
them like ghosts.
They kept their torches pointed at the ground by their feet
so as not to be seen from afar. Once
beyond the boundary, Toddington took the lead, referring regularly to the
1:12500 OS map he had brought. They were not going directly towards the centre
of activity but rather skirting to the north and east. They crossed two meadows
then followed the edge of a copse which would give them some cover should they
need it on the higher ground overlooking the works. DD fancied he heard cicadas
– but that was preposterous.
In the fields they were bothered by bats like big black
butterflies feinting and stalling around their heads. As they hugged the edge
of the wood they heard small animals scurrying away and the call and response
of owls at evensong, warning each other of their approach.
Just past the copse they came upon a high chain link security
fence with threatening signs and a top tier of barbed wire which leaned
outwards. Toddington’s bolt cutters made short work of this. He work quietly
and expertly, cutting in such a way as to create a small gateway which, the
band of brothers having passed through, could be replaced and secured in such a
way that it would not be obvious from a medium distance and could easily be
peeled back when they made their getaway. He made this directly adjacent to one
of the signs to make it easier to locate on their return.
The contractors had built the fence sufficiently far from
their operations to prevent curious ramblers seeing what they were about but happily
this was beyond the range of the call of the nocturnal bolt cutter.
They cautiously approached a compound of temporary looking
buildings of timber construction. The even steady sand paper noise of the
cicadas could clearly be heard now above the lower more monotonous drone of an
engine or generator and there was a pungent smell of oil and petrol. The
buildings were arranged in a U shape around a floodlit area about the size of
two tennis courts. They were mostly single storey site offices and stores of
various kinds. But there were two barn like structures which they guessed were
for housing the heavy plant.
Through the gaps between the buildings they could see some
movement. Being careful to remain in the shadows they crept forward into the
gap to take a look finding themselves close to the open end of the U. At the
far end was a stand which reminded DD of the VIP seats at the Charnock St
Richard speech day.
At the open end people in boiler suits and lab coats scuttled
around inspecting, poking and prodding banks of dials and pieces of electrical equipment.
Close to where the intruders were hiding, stood a massive pantechnicon behind
which, out of sight of the boiler suited boffins, Delamere and Knutsford leaned
smoking roll ups and spitting casually.
Frankley whispered, “That lorry’s about the size and shape of
the ones that have been hijacked. This looks like they’re preparing for some
kind of demonstration or show. I can’t believe they’d use a stolen lorry right
under the noses of whoever it is they’re trying to impress.”
Just beyond the end of the U, in the direction the lorry was
headed, two great arc lights illuminated an area where bespectacled and white
coated men were excitedly fiddling with things on the ground like a lot of Dads
at a bonfire night party. Delamere climbed into the cab of the lorry and under
the direction of one of the Dads reversed it a few yards. It was then that DD
spotted the source of the sound he had first thought was cicadas. Directed at
the same space as the arc lights were two small satellite dishes issuing a
stream of sparks like jet propelled glow worms though these were not as obvious
as they might have been due to the glare of the arc lights.
DD observed, nodding in the direction of the space, “That’s
the portal. They’re going to send that lorry through – you were right Frankley,
it is a demo.”
Frankley, “There must be some sort of quid pro quo here between
DICS, the MOT and the Parks. Maybe they get the franchise to run the road
network in return for developing the Camino Real for the government. But I bet
they don’t know what the Parks are actually using it for – now that could be
embarrassing for them.” He smirked and winked at DD.
DD, “Yup .... but this set up ... it reminds me of ...”
Just at that moment the arc lights dimmed and engine of the
pantechnicon burst into life again with Delamere at the wheel and Knutsford
beside him. As the vehicle lurched forward towards the portal DD leapt forward
and rushing across the space between them flung himself at the rear side of the
superstructure and stuck to it like a spider just above the wheel arch.
Frankley and Toddington were silent and stunned.
Birch muttered,
“How does he do that?”
There were two blinding flashes from the arc lights as the
vehicle entered the gap between the Dads equipment leaving an impression on the
eyes of a large rectangular black hole through which the lorry had disappeared
with DD stuck to its side.
There was silence. Then slowly a ripple of applause rang round
the arena from the watching operatives followed by a hubbub of conversation as
when the curtain comes down and the lights go up at the end of a show.
“Let’s split up and meet back by the woods. We can’t be sure
no one saw Dunstable and will come looking for other unwanted guests,” said
Toddington.
Frankley nodded his agreement but Birch worried,
“What about
the boy?”
“He knows what he’s doing.” Frankley sounded confident but did
not feel it. “He might be in Yorkshire by now, for all we know.”
“I’ll circle round and see if I can pick anything up,” said
Toddington as they parted, feeling a little unsure himself. He was thrown back
to his nights in France creeping out and listening at the German trenches. But what
he heard did not improve his mood.
One of the Dads had seen DD and was in some consternation.
Toddington only caught snatches of their conversation – “finely balanced”,
“unsettled” and “shredded” among other things. Foggy’s words came back to him.
“They are not called Shreddies for nothing.”
Had DD’s presence disturbed the tuning of the portal and
disrupted the passage through it? Had he made it safely to the other hub?
It was with rampant imaginings and a heavy heart that he
rejoined the others by the copse and together they trudged back across the countryside
to the Membury home.
No comments:
Post a Comment