Project: Retribution

Two

"MILLER!"
I awoke with a start and felt myself gasping for a breath I'd been holding in my sleep. I couldn't find her, couldn't see where she'd fallen when the plane had swept by, dropping its deadly payload on the field. I could just hear her voice, calling to me from a million miles away, beyond the charred remains of—
"You okay?" asked Riley, standing over me as I sat in the library chair. "Miller?"
"What?" I said, coughing through my dry throat.
"Wow, you were really gone there," she grinned. "Why didn't you go to bed?"
I rubbed my eyes and looked at the clock ticking away on the mantle piece. It was a little after eleven and the cup of tea on the table next to me had skinned over and gone cold. Riley, standing before me in plain fatigues and a hooded sweater, offered me her cup.
"I just made a pot. You want some?" she offered. I nodded and took it, tasting the three spoonful's of sugar she'd stirred in that made me wince. She chuckled and went away to the kitchen as I tried to remember how I'd got there. When she came back, we swapped cups and I was able to taste the coffee this time. She sat down in the chair opposite me, leaning forward and wringing her hands together.
"Fuck, Miller, I'm wired," she said. "They'll be here in an hour and I'm shitting myself. Is that normal or what?"
"It sounds perfectly natural to me," I said.
"Do I look okay?" she asked. "Don't answer that, I don't want to know if I don't, okay? I just want to get the first part over with. Then I'm sure I'll relax into it. Fuck."
She got up and paced back and forth in front of the fireplace which I hadn't lit that morning. I'd made up the kindling, but I hadn't planned on lighting it until midday. Now was as good a time as any, I guessed.
"Riley," I asked.
"Yeah? What is it?"
"Light the fire and calm down, okay?"
"Sure, yeah. They'll like it in here, I know it. Dad will buzz off the ambience, that quaint old-English theme you've—"
She swore again and dropped to her knees, finding the box of matches which she fumbled with. I got out of my chair and knelt beside her, taking one from the pack and lighting it first time.
"Holy shit, Miller," she whispered. "I'm scared out of my mind here." I put my arm around her as the kindling took and squeezed. "I'm not going to lose it, not today," she snarled at herself. "Not yet anyway."
"Plenty of time for that later, Claudia," I said, and she laughed.
"Jesus, my Sunday name. Shit just got real, right?"
We watched the flames grow and she added a log from the bucket when the time was right. The warm glow spread throughout the room and we got to our feet, taking a chair each.
"I radioed through to the Outpost," she said. "Told them our plans."
"Did they ask about the house?" She nodded.
"They always do."
The house on the lake was our bolt-hole, our retreat from the life that we now lived under the watchful eyes of the NSU military. Although for many years my Dad and I had lived under similar scrutiny from the US, the Russians made nowhere near as many demands as the Americans had done, but it still made Riley and I uncomfortable, especially after Vaagstad. What that episode had taught us was that any noble power, any group could contain within it a number of dangerous elements and it was wise to plan for the worst, even if the worst never happened.
So, we'd secretly plotted to build a retreat, a place where we could escape to from time to time and live for a while out from under watchful eyes. Riley and I had spent many days searching the Lake District for just such a place, one that offered protection from satellites and aircraft and she'd found the perfect spot. Over a few months we'd moved a lot of supplies up there, including weapons and ammunition but absolutely no electronic devices, anything that could be traced or seen easily from above. And on the top of a nearby peak, overlooking the lake, lay a glider under scrim netting, our last-chance lifeline if things truly took a turn for the worst. It could only manage two people, but it was capable of carrying us across the sea to Europe and no further. We both knew that if the day came when we had to use it, things were truly coming to an end.
"There's a good chance that someone knows where it is," she continued. "But on a scale, with the problems in the US and the situation in France, I think we're pretty low down on their priorities right now."
"I hope so. I also think your family will like it up there," I said, and she nodded. "The route I plan to take avoids most of the obvious ruins that are still standing and keeps us in the countryside."
"That's good; I'm worried that seeing more carnage might be too much for them. But right now, I really don't know what to expect. What kind of trauma have they gone through? What must they be feeling?"
I spread my hands open and shrugged.
"I don't know either. I guess we should just take it one day at a time." I looked at the clock and got up. "I need to put the pie in the oven if it's going to be ready for tea."
"Dinner."
"Whatever."
"Seriously, if you call it tea in front of my folks, they're gonna wonder what you're talking about."
"They won't when they see the pie."
"That's true."

We heard the chopper cutting through the sky long before we saw it. The landing area was clear of sheep now and Riley and I were stood in our coats and hats, waiting. When she first heard its blades whipping the air, she stiffened and looked at me. I gave her a reassuring smile and she took a deep breath.
"Here we go then," she muttered and stamped her feet against the cold.
It came in hard, banking suddenly as it cleared the top of the house and sent anything not heavy enough flying into the air. Riley instantly ducked her head and I shut my eyes against the dust flung into my face. Then the helicopter hovered above the pad for a moment before dropping gently onto the grass.
"Someone's in a hurry," shouted Riley over the whine of the engines.
The pilot stared at us blankly through the window. Then the side door slid open and an NSU soldier in fatigues leapt out, looked around, and ushered the passengers off as quickly as he could. Riley's mother climbed out first, followed by her sister and then her father, all dropping low to avoid the spinning blades that had no risk of touching them so high above their heads.
Riley moved to meet them, and the soldier jogged towards me, carrying something in his hands.
"Miller?" he asked, and I nodded. "This is for you."
I took the padded envelope and felt my insides tighten. We hadn't been expecting anything and I already had the files for the next trainees in the library. Whatever was in the envelope was new and would no doubt demand our urgent attention.
"What is it?" I asked out of reflex. The soldier grinned like he was looking at a total idiot who should know better and just shrugged.
"How would I know?"
He ran back to the chopper, saw that Riley and her family were clear, and signaled to the pilot through the glass. She nodded and when the door had slid shut, the helicopter rose effortlessly into the sky and turned northward.
As the down blast receded, Riley led her family towards me and I stuffed the envelope into my coat, tugging the zip over it.
"Mom, Dad, Alicia, this is Miller. Miller, this is my family."
Riley's mum, clearly flustered by the abruptness of the landing, looked at me with startled eyes of light green. She was bundled in a down jacket that made her look larger than she actually was and the woolen watch cap she wore was pulled down over silver-grey hair. She smiled, held out her hand and we shook. As a matter of formality, I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. When I pulled back, her skin had pinked a little.
"You can call me Karen," she said. "This is my husband, Chris."
I offered my hand and the tall, lean figure gripped it tightly. He had salt and pepper hair and a moustache the color of gunmetal. For his age, he looked spry and still full of life, the way a high-ranking General might. He stood like one too, proud and strong. I suddenly realized where Riley had gotten her spirit from and as he smiled, his grip tightened further on my knuckles. A lifetime working with US soldiers and now their Russian counterparts had always prepared me for encounters like this and I met the pressure pound for pound. Whatever test had been offered, I seemed to have passed it because his eyes softened to me as he let go.
"This is Alicia, my daughter and Claudy's sister."
As Karen stepped aside, I saw Riley shoot a dreadful look at me as I mouthed the name Claudy to her with a puzzled look on my face. I wouldn't be forgetting that in a hurry, and she knew it.
"I'm glad to finally put a face to the name," said Alicia, stepping forward. It was then that I realized that, like so many families, names vanished behind their respective roles and I was now hearing them for the first time. Riley had always referred to her sister and her mom and not once could I remember hearing her call them by their actual names. It felt strange to do so now; I kind of wanted to call her 'Riley's sister' again.
"Likewise," I said and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. As I did so, she moved to hug me instead and I found myself gripped in a tight embrace. I matched it, confused of course, until she whispered in my ear.
"Thank you for what you did for my boy."
We broke apart and I smiled, nodding once. Tears came readily down her cheeks and her bright red hair framed a care-worn face.
"We should go inside," said Riley. "Before we catch our deaths."
I turned and led the way, Chris falling in beside me, walking stiffly. We crossed the field towards the house, and I saw him take it all in, looking left and right as we did so.
"This is all yours?" he asked.
"In a manner of speaking," I replied. "My father and I took it over at the request of your government to train soldiers."
It was kind of true, I thought, although coming out and saying that we claimed it because the owners were either dead or miles away sounded crass. By law, it was officially mine now and it was no longer possible for the original owners to return and demand it back, but these were details that didn't need saying right there and then.
"It's pretty spectacular," he said. "Claudy told me about it over the computer, but she didn't do it justice."
The three-story house was big by any standards and it sat on a lot of land that had once belonged to the game keeper. It was made from a creamy colored brick that glowed in the afternoon sun like warm milk. It was roofed with slate and edged with cast-iron guttering. Two enormous bay windows with white frames faced northwards and on its western side a courtyard bore a lone oak tree in its center, flanked by bronzed metal benches. I led them around it all to the back door, the one leading into the kitchen so they could take in the training huts and the poly-tunnels as well.
"This is amazing, Miller," said Karen. "You two live here all by yourselves?"
"It's lovely, isn't it?" said Riley. "And kind of; I claimed one of the houses down the road as well."
"I guess you can claim what you want here," laughed Alicia. "There must be no one for miles in all directions."
"Only sheep and deer," I said. "And a bear to the north."
The smell of the pie in the oven had the desired effect and as they neared the doorway, Karen became very animated. Chris retained his military-like gait, all the way into the kitchen, but I could swear I saw him lick his lips at least once. I honestly didn't know what it was like to be in their unfortunate position; thanks to my dad I'd never had to go hungry or wonder where my next meal would come from. But here were three people who'd had that luxury taken from them and I felt a pang of guilt as they stepped inside our well-stocked kitchen.
"This is simply wonderful," said Karen, shedding her coat as Riley offered to take them to the drying room.
"Very impressive," said Chris.
"Can I get you all a drink?" I offered. "Beer? Coffee? Tea?"
"Anything wet will be fine," said Karen. "As long as it's not too much trouble."
I opened the fridge and, deftly avoiding the Russian labeled lager, found a couple of cold Belgium beers and offered one to Chris. He smiled and took it.
"I have soda, or the kettle has just boiled for tea or coffee," I said to Karen and Alicia. "Which would you prefer?"
"I'll take coffee," said Riley's sister, looking at her mother. "What about you, Mom?"
"Coffee would be nice," she nodded. I was beginning to feel awful, simply because I could see how uncomfortable they felt. It was a home, someone else's home and as they stood stiffly by the doorway, barely moving an inch, all the pain and loss began to rise to the surface with startling clarity.
Riley appeared in the doorway behind me and I knew she was seeing what I could see, and it broke her heart. We were both at a loss now as I stood in the light spilling out from the fridge and Chris, his beer unopened, looked away. The silence stretched on until Karen, taking a deep breath, looked straight at me.
"So, you're the last Englishman?" she asked. I nodded. "Every one of your people have either been killed or fled overseas, is that right?"
"Yes."
"But you're still here."
"Yes."
She took another deep breath, steadying herself as the tears filled her eyes. The green sparkled like emeralds and glinted as the afternoon sun came in through the window.
"Then there's still hope for your country, Miller. A strong hope, right?"
I smiled and nodded.
"In spite of all this destruction and death, you're still here. That seems like a pretty hopeful situation to me, isn't that right Chris?"
Riley's father nodded and Karen cleared her throat, looking about the kitchen before stepping forward.
"Where's the kettle, son? I'm dying of thirst here."
The tension evaporated in a fit of laughter that brought Alicia's arms around her mother's neck.
"I'm okay, Ali," she said, shaking her daughter off. "I just need a hot cup of joe, okay?"
"Sure, mom," said her daughter and Riley handed her the kettle from off the stove. I shut the fridge and passed the bottle opener to Chris. He snapped open mine too and we toasted with a clink of glass.
"Hell of a woman, my Karen," he said to me. "Always has the right words for me, right when I need them."
I looked at Riley who glanced at me, smiling a very happy smile.
"I know that feeling, sir," I said. "I know it very well."

With drinks in hand, Riley ushered everyone to the library where the fire was roaring away and there were plenty of soft couches to sit on. As she went, I told her I'd be with them in a moment and when they'd gone, I opened my coat and took out the envelope. It felt thick and heavy and it landed on the table with a thud. I hung my coat and hat up on the back of the door and took a pull from my beer before tearing open the seal.
"What the fuck is that?" hissed Riley, startling me as she darted back into the kitchen.
"Don't go sneaking up on me, Claudy," I grinned, and she landed a fist on my shoulder.
"I fucking knew you'd dine out on that," she said. "Did the Private in the chopper give you it?"
"Yeah."
"Well? What is it?"
"If you'd give me a bloody second, I'll take a look. Don't you have family to entertain?"
"I saw you hide that thing," she said. "I was waiting for a chance to take a peek."
I drew out the wad of papers and discarded the envelope on the table. It was a dossier, three separate dossiers to be precise and I handed the first to Riley before looking at the second.
"Americans," she said, flipping open the manila flap. "Sailing from Boston. Stocked up on supplies and might be on their way here." I read the same brief on a slip of paper pinned to the front of all three of the files.
"Mum, Dad and daughter," I said. "You've got dad?" She nodded, then whistled. "What is it?"
"Not just Americans," she said. "Holy shit!"
"What is it?"
"He stole the recipe! Jesus fucking Christ, he did it."
"What?" I cried, peering over her shoulder.
"11 herbs and spices. He knows them all! We need to get after this guy ASAP."
"What are you talking about?"
"He's a colonel in the army, name of Sanders."
Riley broke into a fit of laughter and handed me the file back. I shook my head and stuffed them into the envelope again.
"I say we drop the folks off at the lake house and head on to the landing site," she said. "Family of three, be home in no time."
"Not happening, Riley," I said, shaking my head. "You're not ducking out to go and work. No way."
"But—"
"If word comes in, I'll go myself. You need to do this, okay? They need you to do this."
She bit her bottom lip and stared at the envelope on the table. Then she nodded and smiled but there was sadness in her eyes.
"It's hard, Miller. Fucking hard."
I hugged her and she settled into my arms, squeezing me tight.
"You can do this, they're good people," I reminded her.
"I know. But please, don't go working without me if you can help it. They're just three refugees, they'll be fine for a while."
"I know."
We broke and she sniffed, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweater.
"Did you hear mom? Christ, that was powerful shit."
"I know where little Claudy gets it from now."
She grabbed the front of my sweater with both hands and pulled me close to her face as she snarled, "You'd better forget that name, mister, if you ever want Riley time again!"
I snatched a kiss and she slapped my cheek playfully, then grabbed the coffee pot and vanished into the hallway. I took one last look at the envelope, realized that the image of the young daughter in the file had burned into my mind, and went to the fridge for more beer. Barely over 8 years old. If they made it, they'd sail to Ireland perhaps, or on to Liverpool or somewhere along Scotland's coast maybe. Risky business at best.
I took two bottles, closed the fridge and headed towards the library where the sounds of laughter invited me in from the hallway.