Tamsin Beech Ch. 14: Portsmouth

Sally was silent for a moment. In her eyes Jessamy Beech was a legend. It was uncomfortable seeing one's idol displaying even a hint of human weakness, "Wh-what will you do if you find her?"

Jessamy took a swallow of her tea and stood up straight, "WHEN ... I find her. I'm the only parent she has left. I'll start ... trying at least, to be a proper mother to her."

"But you're Jessamy Beech!" Sally protested, "you can do anything. You're a legend."

Jessamy shook her head and gripped Sally's shoulder, "And how did I get here? By hunting people like animals? By killing without mercy? There should be no place for people like me anymore. My daughters should be living in peace and raising families, not spending their lives fighting and killing. Maybe ... maybe once the Coalition has gone, maybe once the Reivers are gone ... maybe then they'll get the opportunity."

Behind them, Sally Blackthorn's petty officer called down from the wheelhouse, "Gosport in five minutes. Time to get your shit together ma'am."

Sally Blackthorn extended a hand, "Good luck Miss Beech."

Jessamy set her mug down and gripped the proferred hand in both her own, "You too Sally. Don't hang around. Turn this boat around and get the fuck straight back to Devonport."

. . .

Back in her tiny room at Fort George, Phoebe Beech began making a mental list of what she'd need. Leonid Denisovich would be leaving for Drumnadrochit on Loch Ness at first light. On foot to avoid detection. But if someone else was already on their way, there would be no need for one of their community's leaders and best fighters to endanger himself. She recalled Merida's words from earlier, 'we've let you become part of the community we're building'.

Ha. If the Reivers found Fort George there would be no community. The men would be enslaved, the women forced into a life of unimaginable brutality and degradation. Then most probably eaten. She would be their scout. She would watch the Reivers like a hawk and report back. Merida and Ross, Tamsin and Leonid had given her shelter and a purpose. It was time she repaid them in whatever way she could.

Phoebe had decided to travel light. Food - she could do without. Growing up on Kerrera, Phoebe's hunting and foraging skills were second to none. Water - there'd be more than enough to refill her canteen along the way, in Britain's largest freshwater lake. She loaded a few dozen priceless rounds of spare ammunition for her Glock into the side pockets of her tatty Osprey rucksack, along with a patched four season sleeping bag, blanket and spare clothes. A metal mess tin and firestarter. She filled her quiver and selected a spare string for her bow. A knife. Then as an afterthought - though she was unable to explain to herself why, she packed the ring binder of data Tamsin had found in Ayr - concerning Project Chronos.

She'd wrapped it carefully in polythene for protection and over the course of a year had read it thoroughly from cover to cover. Though phrases like 'temporal displacement' and 'cataclysmic paradox' still meant nothing to her. Perhaps if Phoebe had known then what a huge part it would play and how it would so drastically change the rest of her life, she might have thought twice and left the ring binder on the shelf.

But fate is never easily swayed from its true course ...

. . .

There it was ...

After a whole year of searching, and wondering. The North Korean flagship Baekdusan sat moored to the dock barely a hundred yards away. It had taken Tamsin Beech hours to pick her way through the ruins of Portchester, across Horsea Island, then over the crumbling M275 motorway bridge down through Portsmouth's old ferry terminal. Several times she'd imagined seeing lights somewhere ahead through the falling snow.

But with her exhaustion and the stinging wind making her eyes water it wasn't until she was almost alongside the massive aircraft carrier that what she imagined was proven real. Tamsin hunkered down beside a rusting cargo container before she was spotted ... and couldn't help but immediately notice the two bodies she shared her cover with.

One, the black clad corpse of a Russian soldier, with blood freezing into red icicles from a horrendous neck wound. The other, a bruised and unconscious North Korean woman, had been hastily covered with the same tatty coat Yeonmi had been wearing. With a little luck she might be discovered before hypothermia set in.

Dead Russian, unconscious North Korean. It was clear where Yeonmi's loyalties lay. But now what? Change into the gore spattered Spetsnaz overalls and casually saunter onboard? No. There had to be another way.

. . .

Kim Yeonmi Gylan's brother, Kim Napp Gylan, had been born in Pyongyang only 400 miles from sacred Paektu mountain itself. He'd been able to proudly announce that he was North Korean through and through, whereas she had come into the world onboard the Coalition flagship, as their fleet had steamed somewhere past the coast of South Africa.

Now, she supposed, the volcanic Paektu and its rocky caldera, beautiful Heaven Lake and every settlement in the immediate vicinity were all gone. Wiped out by hurtling chunks of the rogue asteroid Thanatos.

"Let morning shine ... on the silver and gold of this land," Yeonmi whispered under her breath as she crept up the carrier Baekdusan's gangway - senses straining. As with many of the malnourished crew's uniforms, the stolen sentry's clothes were a terrible fit. But they would have to do, "three thousand leagues ... my beautiful fatherland."

Pfft. What use was an anthem without a country? After years of struggling to rebuild their shattered home and fend off hordes of starving refugees from neighbouring South Korea and China, her father had admitted defeat. The DPRK fleet had evacuated Haeju naval base in South Hwanghae province to seek a new life elsewhere. Like the rest of the Coalition, that dream now lay in tatters.

Yeonmi stepped off the carrier's gangway into a deserted corridor.

. . .

Jessamy Beech was put ashore at a rotting jetty in Stokes Bay. Conscious that the St.Piran's rumbling engine noise might draw unwanted attention, she crouched down amongst snow dusted gorse bushes until the patrol boat had moved away out of earshot.

Silence. But for the waves shushing against the oil scummed shingle and a flock of turnstones muttering angrily at her for disturbing their sleep. The land to the east of Portsmouth, as far as Chichester had been transformed into treacherous sucking mudflats dotted with submerged debris. So landing at Gosport had been the only viable option. Quickly checking her compass, Jessamy moved inland, north east through what had once been the town centre.

The community had been utterly pulverised by Thanatos, then the debris swept up into a towering embankment by some later tsunami. A wall of rubble twenty or thirty feet high in places - leaving what had once been the town's streets scoured clean. Glock and crossbow at the ready, Jessamy jogged through ankle deep snow, ash and dead seaweed, around the inlet that had once been known as Stoke Lake. Past the rusting remains of an old Royal Navy submarine that had been split open and discarded like an old tin can. And fifteen minutes later, across Haslar Bridge.

"Vo skolʹko my osvobozhdayemsya?" called a voice from somewhere in the darkness ahead. Jessamy stiffened, then threw herself behind the faded green and white hull of what may have once been a ferry of some kind. The vessel had been tossed out of the harbour and into the road where it would most likely remain until it disintegrated.

Had she been spotted?

"Ya ne znayu," replied another voice in thickly accented Russian, "eto zamorazhivayet·sya zdes."

Two of them at least. Great. It confirmed she was in the right place. Why else would Russian sentries be posted? Jessamy presumed the Baekdusan was therefore close. Most probably at the naval base across the far side of the inlet.

She had already admitted to herself that even if she got aboard, she knew nothing of the carrier's layout. She spoke barely a word of Russian and nothing of the North Koreans' language.

"A guide might be useful at this point," she murmured to herself. And how the hell was she even going to get across the water to the naval base?

There was a good chance these Russians had a boat. She smiled sadly to herself, as she was reminded of something Hamnavoe had once done, while they'd been fugitives on Orkney. Something stupid, reckless and typically Hamnavoe ...

He'd huffed, then stood up from their hiding spot and strode towards the checkpoint blocking their way.

"You fucking dick," she'd whispered in disbelief, and ducked back into cover.

Wanting to make himself as conspicuous as possible, Hamnavoe had started shouting to get the attention of the militia manning the checkpoint, "EXCUSE ME? ARE YE LOOKIN' FER ME?"

Without another thought, Jessamy stepped out from behind the wrecked ferry, "HELLO? ARE YOU LOOKING FOR ME BY ANY CHANCE?"

"Derʹmo!" cursed a voice. By the light of a smouldering brazier, Jessamy could now see there were definitely two Russians. Only two, as far as she could make out. Easy pickings.

But regrettably, she needed them alive.

"OSTANOVIS, GDE TY! SNIMITE SVOYE ORUZHIYE!" a pair of Kalashnikovs were aimed at Jessamy as the two black clad Russians emerged from Gosport's old ferry terminal, warily glancing around.

They'd be twitchy and liable to blast her if she made one false move. Jessamy tossed her Glock and her crossbow into the snow and slowly raised her hands, "Cold night," she said conversationally.

"TY ODIN?"

What the fuck did that mean? "I'm sorry I don't have a fucking clue what you're saying. English?"

One Russian halted a few steps away, his face concealed by a black mask, snow goggles and a beanie. He directed an old wind up torch at Jessamy's face, making her wince, "You ... alone?"

"Yes," Jessamy nodded. She may have once been able to bluff her way past thugs like these by fluttering her eyelids and smiling sweetly. But now she was in her fifties and a few things were heading south, it was going to take a little more effort, "as a matter of fact I am. I ... have an urgent message for your president. Would you be so kind as to give me a lift over to your flagship?"

The Russian glanced at his companion who was carefully scanning the road back to Haslar Bridge through NVGs, "U kogo bolʹshe iz nikh?"

The other shook his head, "Ne to chtoby ya mog videt."

Checking to see if she'd brought company. The first Russian pressed the cold barrel of his Kalashnikov against Jessamy's tattooed cheek, "Message? Who ... are you?" he demanded haltingly in garbled English.

Jessamy raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise, "You mean you don't recognise me? I'm Jessamy Beech."

. . .

Crouching outside Tamsin and Leonid's room, Phoebe pushed the pencil written note carefully under the door.

'Dear Leonid, thank you for what we shared. I don't regret it one bit. But others think I've somehow betrayed Tamsin. This is my way of atoning for the things I've done. Stay safe, take care of wee Angus and wait here for Tamsin. I'll go watch the Reivers myself. See you back here in a few days. Pheebs.'

Then she crept silently down the dusty stairwell and let herself out into the freezing midnight air. It had been a simple enough task to secure a rope to one of Fort George's ornate stone corner turrets as she went about her business during the day. Choosing the precise moment when every guard's attention along the ramparts was elsewhere took a little more time.

Phoebe waited patiently behind a teetering pile of split logs - additional fuel for what was turning into one of the coldest winters since Thanatos. Then, when she deemed the time was right, she tiptoed the few yards across to the turret, tossed her bow down to the sandy beach on the seaward side and abseiled down after it.

Foraging oystercatchers peep peeped irritably at her from the shoreline as Phoebe waited amongst seaweed and oil streaked debris, listening intently for any sign that she'd been spotted from above. Nothing. She sincerely hoped the fort's guards would be more vigilant if the Reivers ever came their way. Tightening her pack, Phoebe grabbed her bow and began creeping around the base of Fort George's sturdy stone walls, towards the road. Towards Ardersier and Inverness. Towards the village of Drumnadrochit beyond ...

... and the Reivers.

. . .

Tamsin had been about to make her move. With the Baekdusan's forward gangway apparently unguarded, she gripped her Grach and prepared to sprint across the few yards of open ground. Then she heard an engine ...

An outboard motor sputtering somewhere out in the darkness. Coming closer from the direction of Gosport. Now what?

Frustrated, Tamsin squeezed back into the shadows as a RIB drew up alongside the outer wall of the dock only a few yards away. It was hard to make out any detail but she guessed there might be three people onboard. Scouts? Changeover? One thing was certain. She was pinned down.

Three North Koreans came striding down the forward gangway with a stern looking Russian officer leading. They fanned out and raised weapons as the trio from the RIB ascended concrete steps up onto the dock barely ten yards from Tamsin's hiding place.

"Eto yeye?" demanded the Russian officer.

One of the RIB crew snapped to attention and nodded, "Da ser."

It was clear two from the RIB were Spetsnaz. But the third appeared to be a civilian woman. Dressed outlandishly in a mixture of DPM and sealskins, she wore her hood up. Both hands were securely cable tied behind her back. A prisoner.

An icy finger of dread began to trace a line down Tamsin's spine, as the Russian officer stepped forward and tugged back the woman's hood.

It was all Tamsin could do not to cry out as her Aunt Jessamy's long blonde dreadlocks tumbled free. What the fuck was she doing here?

"Has she been searched?" asked the officer.

"Yes sir. No explosives or concealed weapons."

"So. This is the famous bounty hunter ... Jessamy Beech," the officer paced around their captive, studying her closely, "I've heard all the ... legends about you, and to be honest I was expecting someone a little more ... formidable? I am Major Rosomakha, commanding the president's personal bodyguard."

Tamsin watched Jessamy intently as the older woman peered over Rosomakha's shoulder.

"Looking for someone?" Rosomakha asked.

Jessamy shook her head, "Nah. I thought that with such an eminent visitor as myself the president might have come down personally to say hi," she defiantly fixed Rosomakha with her pale blue eyes, "instead of sending his personal ass-wiper ..."

Tamsin had no doubt that Jessamy could've ducked or dodged the blow, as Rosomakha backhanded her across the face, splitting her lip. But she didn't. Her aunt was planning something. And baiting the president's bodyguard was apparently a part of it.

After a few seconds, Jessamy spat blood into the snow, "You hit ... like a little girl major. Is that all you Spetsnaz assholes are? A bunch of little girls running around playing soldiers?"

Rosomakha ignored the taunt, "Why are you here?" he demanded.

"I've got a message for your president."

"What message?"

Jessamy smiled sweetly, "Tut tut major. President's ears only. And I guarantee he'll be right royally pissed off if he doesn't get to hear what I've got to say."

Rosomakha considered for a moment, then turned to the North Koreans, "The president should be in the missile room. Even if she's bluffing I'm sure he'd like to meet the 'great' Jessamy Beech before she's executed. Take her there and hand her over to the president's bodyguard. But watch her closely. If she makes one false move ... anything at all ... shoot her. I'll be along momentarily."

Tamsin stared wide-eyed as Jessamy Beech allowed herself to be escorted at gunpoint up the gangway and onboard the Baekdusan, bidding farewell to her Spetsnaz escort as she went, "See ya later shitheads."

Fuck. Her Aunt Jessamy taken prisoner. An impossible situation had suddenly become worse. At the foot of the gangway, the Russian major addressed the two Spetsnaz from the RIB, "Grigorevich, Bekmambetov. Good work. Was she alone?"

Tamsin found she had to concentrate to understand the accents, but it seemed Leonid's Russian lessons had come in useful after all.

"As far as we could tell sir," replied one of the pair. Grigorevich? Bekmambetov? They both looked identical with their faces concealed. He handed over Jessamy's weapons - her trusty Glock handgun and a small but powerful crossbow.

"Get back to your post," Rosomakha tucked the Glock into his belt, "contact me direct if there's any more enemy activity."

The two Spetsnaz saluted and trotted back down the steps to their RIB. A few seconds later Tamsin spotted it roaring off into the darkness. But Rosomakha remained. She watched as the Russian major peered around the deserted dockside, frowning.

The unconscious North Korean woman lying beside Tamsin groaned softly. Both the gangways leading aboard the Baekdusan would normally be guarded at all times surely. But Yeonmi had taken out the guards here ...

Tamsin held her breath as Rosomakha paced nearer to her hiding place, drawing his weapon. Suspicious.

Then she saw what he was seeing. Blood spatters. Drag marks. Partially concealed by the falling snow. But not hidden enough. Before Rosomakha discovered her, Tamsin lunged out into the open clutching her handgun, "FREEZE, FUCKER! DROP THE WEAPONS!"

Rosomakha's eyes widened almost comically, "You!"

Tamsin watched the Russian's right hand drift to his thigh holster, and in doing so missed what the left was doing.

TWANG!

Searing pain lanced across Tamsin's hip as she instinctively threw herself sideways, the bolt from Jessamy's captured crossbow narrowly missing her belly and grazing her skin. All those weeks and months of combat training under Leonid in North Wales hadn't been wasted.

It wasn't serious thankfully. Biting back the pain from the wound, she lay on her side and took aim with the Grach.

Rosomakha tossed the crossbow away and stared coldly down at her, "You really want to do that Miss Beech? If the Baekdusan's crew hear gunfire out here you'll be dead in seconds."

"Maybe that's a chance I'm willing to take," she could feel warm blood dribbling down over her thigh where the crossbow bolt had broken the skin.

"Why are you here? What are you hoping to achieve? Surely not to rescue your aunt. She's only been our prisoner a few minutes," Rosomakha's eyes flickered from side to side. Observing, calculating, "perhaps to dissuade President Volk from launching our nuclear weapons?"

President Volk. So it was true. The smug piece of shit had backstabbed his way into the top job. But it sounded like that might be the least of her worries, "L-launching? You can't be serious!"

Rosomakha calmly folded his arms and nodded, "The Coalition's invasion of your country has failed. We don't know exactly how you did it but you've beaten us. President Volk wishes to leave the people of the United Kingdom with a parting gift before the Baekdusan departs."

Did Volk know about Fort George? Pivoting on one hand, Tamsin suddenly swung her legs in a wide arc at the Russian's. He sidestepped. But in doing so lost his footing on the icy concrete and stumbled. Tamsin was instantly rising to her feet, throwing herself forward to club Rosomakha with her handgun.

She missed. He was too damn fast. With an angry snarl, Rosomakha charged at her, wrapping his arms about Tamsin's waist as he forced her back. Her Grach clattered to the ground. Her spine jarred as she slammed into the cargo container she'd hidden beside, her breath exploding out in a single gasp.